#cop au

hello hello!! i'm so excitedddd for this one you guys! but i just want to put a little disclaimer, i am not in any way experienced with anything having to do with law enforcement, so i probably will get things wrong, but i don't really care because leon is the only cop i care about and he's fictional anyway yay 🩵

this is going to be a mini series, so hopefully no longer than 10 chapters, and it will be updated once every two weeks to allow me to tackle more projects alongside it 💙

“Dispatch to Unit 31, status?"

"31, code four."

"Copy."

A small sigh leaves Leon’s lips at hearing the radio comms. It’s been code four all around for the past hour, and he couldn't be more grateful for that. Swing shifts are the worst. With people coming out of work, traffic in the roads, and bars filling up, it's usually the busiest time for a patrolling officer.

Glancing at the clock, he reads the time: 10:34 p.m. Less than an hour and a half before the end of his shift. He can already picture himself passing out as soon as his head hits the pillow, drowsiness already settling in his senses, which he combats with much needed caffeine.

He stopped at a Wawa’s a few minutes earlier to pick up piping hot coffee and the last surviving Boston cream donut—fully aware of the irony of doing so in uniform.

The steaming liquid sloshes in its lidded container sitting in the cruiser’s cup holder with every turn of the vehicle. With a hand on the wheel, the blonde’s eyes are focused on the road, looking for somewhere he can stop to eat his little treat before wrapping up his shift.

A parking garage comes into view. Free on Sundays, empty, quiet, and in a decently safe area of D.C—it's exactly what he needs. 

Five minutes later and he’s sipping on his coffee quietly, taking bites of the sweet pastry that he chews slowly. It’s not exactly the best tasting food, but he wasn't expecting any better from a convenience store. If anything, the cheap flavor is comforting, nostalgic, and he enjoys the silence of the night with the familiar taste on his tongue.

Despite his seemingly relaxed appearance, Leon, having been a police officer for six years now, knows that being alone means to always be on guard. He makes sure to check his rearview mirror and surroundings every now and then, keeping his instincts on guard at all times.

It’s exhausting, and makes him appreciate all the more the moments he’s not in blue, but for now he finishes his food with as much relaxation as a man on duty can allow himself.

Once done, he wipes his sticky fingers with a napkin, then gathers the trash into a plastic bag before stepping out of his vehicle. Like routine, he throws a glance around him to survey his surroundings, before making his way to the nearby garbage bin.

Dusting his hands once he’s discarded the bag, he stretches his neck until it makes a cracking sound before exhaling deeply. He really can't wait to go home.

When he turns to head back to his car, his heart lurches as he gets quite literally jumpscared by the sudden appearance of a girl. She's standing by the cruiser, her eyes wide and her expression wild with a faint smile on her lips. Almost like she's at the zoo and she just saw her favorite animal for the first time. 

Leon clears his throat to recollect himself, eyeing her appearance to quickly make an assessment of her. Oversized clothes—a large hoodie and ripped jeans—dirty, old sneakers, chipped nail polish, and clearly unwashed hair. He can't tell if she’s purposely trying to look homeless or if she actually is. 

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he puts on his ‘work’ voice.

The young woman does not respond. Instead, she simply continues staring at him with that same sort of awe filled expression that he finds hard to decipher. He’s usually not easily intimidated, but put simply, this girl gives him the creeps.

“Ma’am?” he repeats, and she finally blinks, as if pulled out of a reverie.

“H-hi…” she murmurs with that odd smile still on her face. Then, as if realizing how uncanny she must look, she quickly schools her expression. “Hi, h-hello, mister—uh, Officer… I, um, need help.”

Taking in her stammered response, Leon’s frown deepens. “What kind of help?”

Her eyes dart around, as if searching for something, before she meets his gaze again. “My car broke down… and I don't have insurance to call.”

Clicking his tongue, he gives her a pointed look. “You do realize it's illegal to drive a vehicle without car insurance in D.C, right?” 

“Yes, s-sorry…”

He sighs, already dreading the headache of dealing with this when he could be on his way back to the precinct to clock out. “You don’t have anyone to come pick you up?”

The girl fiddles with her long sleeves as she shakes her head. “No… I’m new in town. Also my car usually just needs a push, nothing too bad. It’s just so damn old,” she chuckles, strained and too loud for her mediocre joke.

With a sharp exhale through his nose, the policeman finally relents. “Alright… Where is it?”

“Uh, fourth floor. I-I just came down here to see if anyone could help me…”

“Right, then. Lead the way,” he gestures towards the elevators.

As she walks ahead slowly, their footsteps echoing in the empty garage, he keeps a safe distance out of precaution. He still has a bad feeling about this, and it doesn't help that she keeps turning around to steal quick glances at him.

“What brought you here?” he asks, prodding for more information about the odd stranger.

“Oh, um, I work at this food place down the street,” she points vaguely in the eastern direction. “I did closing alone tonight.” Another nervous chuckle.

Once they reach the set of steel doors, he watches her hesitate for a split second before pushing the ‘up’ button. Now that he’s standing closer, he can see more clearly the red blood vessels in her eyes giving them a glassy appearance. Then, it all clicks. She's high.

Leon follows her inside the elevator, then presses the correct number while keeping a watchful eye on her. “Ma’am, are you under the influence of any drugs or alcohol?”

Her eyes widen at the sudden question, and she laughs, then looks panicked, then laughs again. “Just a couple of edibles! I swear!”

“And you are planning on driving your car while high?” he scoffs, placing his hands on his hips.

She tracks the movement with her eyes, visibly gulping, before focusing on his face again. “Uh, it's not a c-crime if I haven't done it yet, right?”

The deep sigh he makes is made of pure frustration. “Alright, I’m gonna need to see some I.D,” he makes a motion with his hand.

“No!” she immediately retorts, before coughing nervously. “I-I mean I don’t have it on me… It’s in my car.”

Just as she says that, the elevator dings as it comes to a stop, prompting the man to mutter a sarcastic ‘perfect’ under his breath. 

“After you,” he grumbles.

Her breath audibly hitches at the command, and she doesn't move for an entire two seconds where she just stares at him, before finally stepping out of the lift.

Leon is growing more and more suspicious of the girl, and he’s now starting to realize it may not have been very wise of him to follow her upstairs. With a hand on his radio, he looks around for any lurking threats. After all, this could be a scheme to get him jumped—you never know what to expect these days.

The floor is completely empty, however, with only a few sparse cars parked throughout. They pass car after car, and the young woman shows no sign of stopping just yet. She doesn't even reach in her pockets to pull out a key. 

He definitely has a bad feeling about this.

Once they nearly reach the far end, she slowly comes to a halt. When he also stops a few feet behind her, there is an eerie silence encompassing them that is only interrupted by the buzzing of a flickering light in the corner. She doesn't say anything, just stands there with her head tilted down and her hands trembling lightly.

“Ma’am?” he rasps out, a churning sensation in his stomach.

Finally, she slowly turns to face him, her breathing weirdly uneven, but it's her expression that makes him want to step back. She has that same wide eyed smile she had before, the corners of her mouth twitching and making her look even more uncanny.

Then, she drops to her knees. “CanIpleasesuckyourdick?”

Leon blinks, completely unmoving for a second, before he frowns in utter confusion. “What?”

“S-sorry, um…” she clears her throat and he almost sighs in relief thinking he must've heard her wrong, only for her to reiterate her unhinged demand slower. “Can I, uh… please s-suck you off?”

This time, it's his turn to let out a strained laugh, like he can't believe what in the ever loving fuck she just said. Clearly, she's a lot higher than she claimed, and it's certainly not just ‘a couple of edibles’.

He can see her pleading eyes, her weirdly shy expression, and if he was any other man he might be willing to take the offer just for the ego boost alone. How many guys can say they had a pretty stranger beg for their dick? But that's the thing, pretty strangers don't beg for dick. At least not unless they’re clinically insane.

When she stays kneeling, looking up at him with a hopeful expression as if waiting for him to actually consider her offer, his worry increases tenfold. This feels like the start of a true crime story. He looks around again, his head turning in every direction to catch whoever might come out from a shadowed corner.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he mutters with a locked jaw.

“No… I know it's weird, but I mean it.”

Officially done, he rests his hand on his holster with a stern face. “Alright, that's enough. Stand up.”

In response, she gives him puppy eyes, like a child who wasn't allowed candy. “B-but please! I can be quick if you don't have time!”

“Christ… Are you insane?” he scoffs, and the accusation seems to affect her as she retreats into herself, sitting back on her heels. “Stand up or you're getting arrested for harassing an officer on duty.”

With her head bowed and a small voice, she argues further. “But… I’ll make it so good, I promise…”

Leon feels his eye twitch in irritation. This is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him, and he can't believe the sheer unhingedness of this woman.

“You know what? I’m not doing this shit tonight, I’m leaving,” he shakes his head, then begins to turn and walk away. “You stay put. I swear to God if you follow me—”

He’s cut off by the sound of shuffling behind him, and sure enough, she's already scrambling on his tail on her damn hands and knees. He feels like this has to be an elaborate prank or else he just met the craziest person ever.

“Please d-don’t leave! I just— I really need this,” she pleads as she continues to crawl closer. “I know you're a good cop, Leon, but damn it, it’s a blowjob! Just take it, it’ll be good. Please!”

The sound of his name brings him into a screeching halt, and suddenly it's no longer just about a crazed individual, but something potentially a lot worse.

“How the fuck do you know my name?” he snaps coldly, and sees her visibly shiver from his tone.

“Uh… Lucky guess?” she tries with an awkward smile.

Leon looms over her with a death glare, his hand back on his holster. “Do you think this is funny?”

“No…”

“Then answer my fucking question.”

He knows his name plate only displays ‘L. S. Kennedy’, so the fact she so casually dropped his first name when he cannot remember meeting her before makes his hair stand up.

With her head bowed like she's being told off by a teacher, she takes a moment to gather her thoughts before murmuring, “I guess you don't remember me but… One time, near Union Station, you were with another officer and I heard him call your name… I asked you for directions that day, but looks like you, um, forgot.”

Leon nearly chokes from her claim, and he would think he’s having a weird dream if not for the cool, humid breeze on his skin feeling all too real. 

“How is that— Who—” he pauses as he struggles to formulate a proper question. “Are you stalking me?!”

“What?! No!” she answers quickly with a fervent headshake. “No, no, look… I just remembered you, a-and saw you come out of your car just now and thought I would, you know, make an offer.”

“Is that what you call harrassment?” he scoffs loudly. “So you planned this shit, huh? You don't even have a car, do you?”

She stays quiet, and that confirms his accusation. This has reached new levels of weird if she truly remembered him from a one time encounter, though he’s not sure if he buys that.

“So what the hell is this? Some kind of fetish?”

“It’s not a fetish. Like I told you… it’s an offer.”

“Yeah, no, that's just called solicitation,” he tsks, his tone dripping with disappointment. “Do you go around giving out ‘offers’ to random cops?”

“No. I’ve never done this before,” she huffs, seemingly offended. “And I’m not asking for money so you can't arrest me.”

Leon feels his jaw clench in pure annoyance. This woman is unbelievable. “Well I sure as hell will if you don't stand up. How many times have I asked you already?”

To his great dismay, she still asks for confirmation as if her demand isn't batshit crazy. “So you’re really saying no?” she murmurs as she slowly stands up.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not interested,” he clicks his tongue, relieved she's no longer on her knees.

After a moment of silence, he’s about to ask for her I.D again when she speaks quietly. “...I can deepthroat.”

That’s it. 

“Hands behind your head,” he grits out while reaching for his handcuffs.

Her eyes widen like the possibility of actually getting detained somehow hadn't crossed her mind. “Wait, wait, wait! Y-you can’t— I can't get arrested! Look, I’m sorry for what I said. Just f-forget I said anything, please.”

Leon does not care for her regretting once things became serious. This woman is a danger to public safety—including herself, because he is certain plenty of other men would have taken her oh-so-kind offer and then her body would end in a ditch. 

“Hands. Now.” He barks once he’s made his way to stand behind her. Without hesitation, he grabs her wrists that she had raised weakly one by one to restrain them. “You thought I was playing? This isn't some funny prank to pull on an officer.”

She’s tenser than a rock as he snaps the cuffs in place, and then she suddenly makes a sound. A sound Leon tries to ignore, but is certain is in fact a pleasurable moan. 

“Did you just…” he chokes on his own breath. 

He handcuffed her and she moaned. This is unprecedented levels of unhinged.

She doesn't respond, seemingly mortified, and when he begins hauling her back to the elevators she asks quietly, “am I under arrest?”

Clearly, the concept bothers her greatly if she looks so defeated. Good, Leon thinks to himself. She needs to learn a lesson, even if he’s still hesitant to fully arrest her. Why? He isn't sure. But he theorizes it's a mix of pity from the obviously tormented soul, and apprehension of having to deal with her any further.

Especially if she keeps making weirdly tempting offers.

“No. But you will be if you don't cooperate. I’m taking you downstairs for the breathalyzer.”

“I’m not drunk, Leon, I promise!” she gives him those damn puppy eyes again. Christ, why does he always get the lunatics?

“Quiet. And it's officer Kennedy to you.” He pushes the lift call button repeatedly, a sense of urgency filling him with every passing second.

“I’m not lying this time!” she protests again.

He audibly grunts in frustration as he pulls her inside the elevator. “Stop talking or I’m charging you for resisting arrest.”

That seems to do the trick, and she finally keeps quiet as they make their way to his cruiser. He can't help but notice the repeated glances she steals his way, and how the arm he’s holding is awkwardly stiff against his palm. 

Once near the car, he lets go of her to grab a BAC device from inside, then brings it to her mouth with a cold expression. “Blow.”

As soon as the order is out of his mouth, he cringes at the double entendre of the situation. But then, he watches her dart her gaze in sudden shyness as she wraps her lips around the tube, as if she wasn't making outrageous requests a minute ago. 

The numbers on the quadrant flicker as it calculates her alcohol intake, and he can't help but feel there's something oddly intimate about the moment. As soon as he’s able to get a reading, he steps back with a frown as he reads the results: sober. She wasn't drunk after all. Still doesn't change the fact she is most definitely too high to be walking around alone this late at night.

“I told you,” she grumbles under her breath, her arms shifting uncomfortably in the bounds.

Giving her a lingering look, Leon feels himself somewhat lower his guard. Yes, this still takes the cake for the most bizarre encounter he’s ever had, but outside of being oddly horny, she seems to be harmless. He just feels bad for her more than anything.

“What’s your name?” he suddenly asks, his voice softer now.

“Uh…”

Quirking an eyebrow, he observes her with interest. “Don't tell me you forgot your name.”

The girl looks around nervously before meeting his eyes with her bloodshot ones. “If you're not arresting me, can't you just let me go?”

He remains quiet for a moment, then finally clicks his tongue with a nod. He has no legal reason to continue detaining her, especially since he’s letting her behavior slide and not making an arrest. She just looks like someone who needs help more than a criminal.

Gesturing for her to spin around, he undoes her handcuffs when she complies, and this time, she seems to put extra effort into not making a sound. It would be funny if it wasn't infuriating.

“Alright… Off you go,” he mutters as he steps back. “Next time, don't take too many edibles if you can't handle them.”

“R-right,” she nods, and with a final wide eyed look his way, begins to walk away.

Leon watches her from his spot, a sense of worry settling inside him about the fate of this poor, deranged girl. He wouldn't be surprised if her face was on the paper the next day if some sick asshole finds her. Especially if she asks for sexual favors from random men.

He wonders what could drive someone like her to act like that. Drugs, sure, but there is more to it. No one acts like this unless they’re mentally unwell, and from the sight of her demeanor, she clearly isn't.

As he sighs deeply, debating if he should offer her a ride home but not sure if it's the right decision, she stops in her tracks and slowly turns to him with that hopeful expression she had earlier. 

Oh, God. What now?

“Hey, Le—I mean Officer… Do you think it could be possible if, um, since you don't want me to t-touch you… you could maybe, uh, just like, I don't know… spit in my mouth or something.”

Leon’s expression remains completely unmoved for a moment, as still as a statue as his brain short circuits with her incredulous demand. 

This is the weirdest fucking day of his life.

“Alright…” he exhales, and he sees the flicker of hope in her eyes before he continues. “You’re under arrest for disorderly conduct and public intoxication. I’m taking you in.”

Next chapter coming soon.

By the time you were dry and dressed, Rio’s cum no longer dripping from your lips. Agatha had been seen by medical bandage, but still in pain.  Holding whatever bruised ego she’d had left. 

You pulled your wet hair into a bun again, clocking that she wasn’t in your shared office you walked outside. 

The cool air hits you, as breath turns to little clouds escaping you. 

You should have stayed with Rio. Though you weren’t sure what the rules on fuck buddies with emotions meant post fight. Neither of you talked about it, but you’d helped one of your assholes, and now you needed to find the other. 

It didn’t take long, walking to the back of the city’s precinct to where all the cruisers were supposed to be secure by the gate with it’s barbed wire. 

It’s getting easier to figure out where your partner is, like there’s a little part of you that knows when she’s in trouble, or just broody. 

So spotting Agatha was more about your instincts. Her bomber jacket pulled up, it’s breaking in spots and patchy. 

Just like the duffel bag she brings to work with it’s duct tape and broken side zipper. 

If you were doing a psychological profile on your partner, which was not a smart road to go down, but here it was. 

As you were a voyeur to the way her collar was flipped up. resting on the hood of the cruiser, smoking a cigarette. 

The brand you were sure she’d started smoking in high school but never tried anything more expensive, even when she’d made detective. 

With the jacket you figured was from the fall she’d started at the academy. 

Agatha was the type who patched things, who worked on her cars, who had a smart ass comment for every stupid person. 

Who didn’t suffer fools, but found herself to be the biggest fool of them all. 

Yet through the tough butch facade, the late nights, the bad coffee, and worse attitude. 

Agatha couldn’t kill that little bit inside of her, that redeeming quality that had a childlike hope. 

Agatha might seem tough and trigger-happy. But she still mended the first coat she’d bought from all those years ago. Her duffle was wrapped in different decades of tape, a clear sign that she didn’t give up. 

Not on something she believed in. 

And damn the onary detective, she believed in you most of all. 

Even from all that stupid hazing, it was clear as she nursed her cigarette and pushes her knuckles to dab at her bloody nose. 

Agatha was stewing in whatever this thing was, and you knew in your gut it wasn’t just the case. 

But as you stared at her, she must have felt you too. 

Partners' instinct of whatever, because she stopped bringing the cigarette to her mouth and clocked you. 

You slink over to her, trying to not to drop your head, remembering that you had grabbed a senior FBI agent and a homicide detective by the balls a mere hour ago. 

Agatha’s hand shakes with the cigarette and she lowers it. 

Never wanting you to see her weakness, and you don’t. 

You move onto the hood of the car and wait for her to talk first. 

Big mistake. 

You think maybe you shouldn’t have come out here, that you should have stayed with Rio. Maybe this is making things more confusing. 

But you care. 

Fuck you, but you do. 

The words Agatha said play in your mind: “I’m closer to you than a girlfriend, or stupid lover. Alright, I need to know everything that goes through your head. All of it, every bit of it.” 

Jesus, this was a mess. 

Your boot slides on the condensation on the front bumper of the cruiser and the air is colder than you thought. You shiver, but it’s because you're still damp, knees bruised from giving head on the tile floor. 

Wordlessly, Agatha takes off the old bomber jacket and slips it over your shoulders. 

A gentleman and a scumbag, you can’t believe it’s happening, but your fingers move to the edges, and you curl into it. 

Stupid girl, your a cop! 

But damn it, it feels heavy on you, like what you imagine it would be like to have the strong body of Detective Agatha Harkness on top of you while she slept naked. 

It’s heavy and big, and it smells of things you would never get to know the origins of. Because that would mean being too close to her. 

Still, it was better than some dumb football player's varsity jacket. 

And you looked down at the corners of it, frayed and loved. 

You hate that you think of what it would be like to know Agatha intimately, did she take care of others like this? Until the stitching was gone, until there was nothing left to rags. And then the great big scary cop would sit and put it all back together. 

“I didn’t want you to see me smoking.” Agatha’s voice cracks, and she snubs the cigarette out. 

“I thought you quit? Patches and all.” Your own voice wanes, project of Rio’s thick meat down your throat. 

Your partner's eyebrows furrow, always so deep in concentration.

“This case….It ain’t what….” She stops, confusing you and herself in the process. 

“Why won’t you tell me what’s happening in this case?” You say straightforward and Agatha’s flannel lightly flaps in the breeze, stray strands of hair wisp around her sheek. 

She thinks more. 

“I’m not some dumb probie who can’t take it. Why are you treating me like that?” You push, trying not to sound as angry as you were about it. 

Agatha scoffed at the idea, but heard a noise from another cop moving to get into their car. 

You nod towards them but Agatha doesn’t give such politeness, even to someone else in blue colors. 

You wait for the cruiser to drive away, and still you wait more. 

And you think maybe this is why Rio couldn’t take Agatha. 

They were so similar and yet so different. 

Rio wanted to talk shit out, she had a hard time not telling you her feelings. She wanted to talk abut the sex you’d just had. She wanted to clean you in the shower herself. Rio’s car was pristine, not so much as a stain. Her life was full of control, because she came from nothing, and wasn’t about to lose it overnight. 

But Agatha, Agatha was…messy. She had ten years on Rio, yet she drove an older car, in worn clothes. Always clean and best foot forward. But her car had emergency kits, because she knew only of a world where the worst things happened. 

Her desk was sloppy to others, but she knew where every single sticky note was placed. 

Agatha wanted others to understand, but didn’t want to ever have to say it out loud. 

Agatha watched and understood, deduced. 

Rio spoke and bet with her hunch. 

Both of them were a force.

And it felt too lovely to daydream of them together. You could imagine them intertwined in the wee hours of the morning, all sweat and bedsheets. Kisses that bruised, and love that time itself feared. 

You stare ahead and almost jump when Agatha speaks. 

“I need to know where your allegiances lie.” Her tone is cold, and you spin to glare at her so fast. 

“How dare you?” You whisper into the cold air and Agatha seems to be momentarily shaken by that. 

“You are my partner in the daylight, and in her bed at night. I need to know, who you…..I need to know I can trust you.” Agatha seems to decide that’s easier. 

“I was in the elevator, I had your back on the roof, I was with you in the warehouse! What more do you want from me?” You list and still the old cop doesn’t give.  

Agatha opened her mouth to say something and then bit her bottom lip. 

Acting as if her teeth piercing the soft skin was as good as evidence tape at a crime scene. If she could keep it to herself, then this might all be salvageable. 

You stare, upset at her. 

You're hurt, stand up, off the car in a huff. 

You don’t see Agatha panic visibly at you walking away again. Her jaw sets as you turn back to her, ready to throw her jacket at her.

But your hands can’t seem to take the soft fabric off yet. 

“If you just want to work with Rio, I’ll go. I’ll get re-assigned. Maybe the next probie you get you can work with! Perhaps if they finally take a bullet for you-you’ll trust them!” You shout, hating yourself for this, when all you wanted, more than anything, was for Agatha to pat you on the head. 

And tell you what a good detective you were. 

How much she loved being your partner. 

Your fingers curled at the sleeve cuffs, willing yourself to walk away.

To not stand there and beg, please, for Agatha to want to be your partner too. 

To want you back. 

Agatha pushes off the car, her shoulders squared, and she’s got storms brewing in those big baby blue eyes. 

You just want to know for a second what she’s thinking, fuck you were lying. You were a mess to know it all, every second of the day you’d like to know what Harkness was thinking. 

But as the detective is staring you down, you’re sure she’s about to be brutal.

Just like the first few weeks of being her probie. 

Be vicious, be calloused, and cut you down with mere words. 

But here you were, post blowjob, puffy lips, staring at her, in her coat. 

Waiting for your judgment. 

Agatha inches forward and you think for a second she’s gonna kiss you again. 

You hate how you are ready to push up on your toes and meet those lips once more. 

You lean forward, fuck you can smell faint nicotine and suddenly you want to smoke a pack. But only if they’d been on her lips first. 

God damn it, she could smoke naked with you in her lap - blow big smoke clouds against your face. 

Then put out each one on your skin. 

God, you’d ruin yourself while rutting against her thick cock. 

You’d let her ruin you for anyone else. 

What beautiful toxicity. 

What intoxicating madness. 

Agatha’s upper lip twitched and then she said it;

“Chaos.”

You inch backwards and don’t understand, because your mind was still in the gutter imaging being fucked by the older detective and used like an ashtray. 

“What?” You say too quickly. 

“You're smarter than Rio. I don’t want another Probie. I have my own. Blackberry is in my apartment. It’s taped under the toilet tank top. I’ll give you the address, I can’t put it in evidence. Somebodys dirty, but your to squeaky clean for me to think it’s you…” Agatha says, and suddenly you envision being on your knees in the showers again. 

Had the detective seen you?

Lost in front of Rio, needing her to destroy your throat? Needing to apologize to the FBI agent?

But Agatha interrupts your panic at her being a peeping tom. 

“Chaos is what you’d said. I said it that day; don’t forget a 10-80. Pepper gave a killer right hook.”

Your mind was catching up now. Seeing the woman from the office space. 

“The dodgy BDSM club, Chaos.” You said, and Agatha tilts her head to the side just a little. 

The detectives face morphs to anger so fast you almost feel the whiplash. She’s leaning in again like she might kiss you.

Her breath hot on your cold lips. 

“You ain’t no little kitten, huh? You meant it when you said you didn’t need me playing Mommy. Is it Rio? She take you there? Do you guys play Daddy is that it? You need her to be rough because it’s the only time you feel like the weight of the world isn’t on your shoulders?” Her assessment makes your heart drop into your stomach. 

To feel seen and understood in such a horrible way wasn’t freeing in the least. 

“You got a lot of assumptions there.” You say back, but Agatha’s grin is angry and wild. She’s got enough of an answer from your face. 

“I don’t like it. Not one bit.” Agatha’s sternness shouldn’t make your body feel on fire. The illusion that you were important to her somehow. 

“I’m not asking you to,” you bite back just as fast, shaking your own head. 

“You’re gonna get hurt.”

“I’m not yours to protect you-”

“Bullshit,” Agatha said so fast you couldn’t think of something to say to that. 

So your eyes are wide and you stare at her with utter bewilderment. 

Agatha drops her stare on you for a millisecond and she doubles down. 

“Bullshit, you were mine the second you sat down with your pristine button-down and brand new sparkling badge. Now I’ll tell you what I know, but you- you can’t keep doing this. Letting Rio just-”

You get angry at her now. Cutting her off, getting into her face more. 

“What? Just what? What she did with you!” You shout at the end and see how Agatha twists away. Burnt by your words. 

“This isn’t a game, you-you can’t let..”

“What is the problem, Detective? That I’m getting laid, or that you want to be the one fucking Rio? What is it?” You want her to lose it, god you want a kiss again. Just like in front of all those strangers. 

Agatha laughs fully now and then seems to shake herself out of it. 

“You’re so far from the truth, you couldn’t be further.”

“God, what is this game? Are you enjoying this? Is that it?” You deduce wrong again, and Agatha rubs at her face. Then seems to make up her mind. 

Dropping her hands, she gets a jolt of confidence at her own idea. 

“Tell you what, you drop Lady Death. And I’ll tell you everything.” She says, leaning back on the car once more. 

“You two are meant for each other, you know that.” You tell her honestly, and Agatha doesn’t respond negatively, just waits for you. 

“Final offer.” Agatha puts her hands up and then slaps her thighs again like she’s done with this. 

“Why do you call her that, why does everyone call her that?” You push, and Agatha grinds her teeth and sniffles in the cold air. 

“I think your bootycall should explain it to you, but fuck it. You should know what your getting into, I guess. It’s her OCD tendencies, her god damn need to-” Agatha curled her fingers into little claws and screwed her face up. But pushed on; “She got her partners killed… A few of em. That’s why she doesn’t have a partner. Val figured Lady Death was better off alone. Just like me. We’re not good for pretty things, probie you stay away from her. Lady Death only brings more death. You got it?” 

Agatha has this glint in her eye, you see it. 

“You still love her, you don’t believe it. You-you…” You can’t finish the thought but you see the detective look down at the cement conflicted. 

“I don’t want to tell you this again,” Agatha gives you a haunting look. “Stay out of trouble, stay away from Lady Death.”

You take the jacket off and don’t notice that Agatha winces at the action. She doesn’t want you to. She wants you to wear it all the time.

You handed it to her, waiting as you held it in the air. 

“I’m going to chaos.” You state and Agatha watches you, and you want to read that expression across her face but you just can’t. 

Agatha seems to have decided, grabbing the jacket from your hand. 

“It opens tonight, I go with you.”

You open your mouth and she holds up one long finger and stops you. 

“I go with you, or else.” Her threat doesn’t scare you anymore, but you nod. 

Then you bite your inner cheek. But don’t ask her who was going to break that news to Rio. 

The rest of the day, you worked to try and find Pepper while Agatha made calls to attempt and get a warrant for Tony’s father, Howard’s estate names. 

Anything to find out what all he owned, and who he knew. 

It was difficult, but by the time the evening came Rio walked back in with her own bag full of goodies. 

Opening it and bringing out black straps, harnesses, leather, latex, hoods, and all kinds of kinky attire. 

“Rio, I didn’t realize you’d turned into a full-blown pervert.” Agatha joked, thrown off when the FBI agent snickered. 

“We are looking at the FBI’s wardrobe selection for an undercover mission.”

“Kinky.” You say simply but reach inside the bag to find nipple clamps.

Wondering who the last person who used them were. 

“Now we know why the FBI doesn’t get any word done.” Agatha states having reached in to find a corset and holding it up to her flannel shirt comically. 

“We don’t want to look like cops.” Rio stated to the older detective who was surprised to see that Rio was willing to talk to her at all. 

“You gonna wear a fursuit?” She joked back, not sure how to talk to her ex right now. 

There didn’t seem to be as much venom as before, like she was scared of hurting Rio’s feelings now. 

The two shared a long look as you reached into the bag finding chest harnesses fit for twinks. 

They communicated without words, and Agatha seemed to soften at something between them. 

Rio turned to you as you were having a little too much fun in the bag. 

“Find something you can hide a gun in. And don’t forget the collar.” Rio said, but pulled it out of her back pocket. 

You eyed it, not having ever worn one before. 

It’s black leather, dog and leash like. But the gold tag leaves no question. That you were owned by someone. A warning to all. 

Rio and Agatha waited patiently for you, not interrupting you. 

“Whyyy?” You linger sing-songly, not taking it out of your not-girlfriend's hand. 

“So they know you aren’t available for play,” Agatha answers before Rio can. 

But you're a little stunned when there’s no jokes, no witty retort. 

You scoff, dropping the harness in your hand back on the bag. 

“I’m not wearing that. I’m not some pet.” You state back, a little furious at the implication. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t really up for debate. You go in, you go like this. Or not at all.” Rio says, not waiting for Agatha to agree or not. 

“Rio-” You start, but the older Latina isn’t budging.

“This is how you go in, or not at all.”

“You can’t just-” You start, and Agatha doesn’t give you two the room. Instead, she reaches out and shuts the door, blocking it with her body. 

You witness the move out of the corner of your eye. 

That fear when the exit isn’t available anymore, that’s your own PTSD. But never had you felt that in a room with these two. 

“I’m not a pet!” You shout a little too loudly. 

“Cariño, no one is saying you are. But there’s a safety element here. You’re walking into a Gangster’s BDSM den that is mostly full of some not-so-nice people.”

“I’ve been in BDSM clubs before!” You reason, seeing both women bristle at that. But Rio’s able to keep her anger under control far longer than Agatha can. 

“This isn’t like those; this one is invite-only. And it’s got a certain…mafia feel to it. If someone grabs you, see’s your not there with someone-”

“Human trafficking would be the least of the concerns.” Agatha agreed. 

And your gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them. 

Then back to the collar still outstretched in Rio’s hand. 

“I’m not doing it.” You say back and there’s a power shift in the room.

Never before have Agatha and Rio been on the same page, and against you. 

You’d assumed in your sex crazed fantasies that you’d have them eating out of your hand. That they’d do some serious non-con work and you’d cum until you were blue in the face.

Instead, this strange calmness fell over the space. 

Two dominants who weren’t arguing with each other, but implementing safety protocols for a submissive. Their submissive, someone they cared about, together. 

It was eerily quiet, no arguing, no angry remarks, or dumb sarcasm. 

Their eyes weighed on your shoulders, your safety was their only concern. 

You hated how you craved it, like some kind of broken flower hungry for the sunlight. Desperately inching closer to the heat of them. 

Fuck no. You looked at the door again, and Agatha gave you a sad smile. 

“Nowhere to run, you got two choices.” Agatha reasoned back, her hand on the doorknob. 

You twist to see Rio, she’s so sure of herself, confident, and yet….Fuck you couldn’t ignore it. 

The love in her eyes. 

This wasn’t some hook-up for her, and the more you sat in this silence, the more that reality fell onto you. 

“I-I’m not-”

“You can take it off, the second we walk out.” Rio reasons, and somehow thats worse. That she knows you well enough to know that saying something as simple as that was helping you. 

“I don’t belong to anyone.” You remind her, and Rio’s sad smile matches Agatha. 

You taste the lie sour in your mouth, close to the flavor of bile on your tongue. 

In this small detective office, with these two brooding dominants gazing at you. 

You realized you had belonged to the two of them for far longer than you’d realized. 

Your hand reached out to the collar, but just as your fingers brush it, your wrist lifts. 

You can’t take it. 

Rio understands, she lowers her hand and nods to you. 

You turn around, trying to look anywhere but Agatha. But you can’t - you have to know.

And her eyes don’t leave yours, as Rio pushes your hair over your shoulder. 

Her fingers linger under your collar, making the baby hair on your neck stand at attention. 

But the FBI agent isn’t in a rush, and you wonder if it’s because she never thought she’d get the chance to actually collar you. Or if Rio was scared, she’d never get the chance to do it again. 

Either way, your shoulders dropped and the leather wrapped around your neck, the gold tag hitting the light. 

You couldn’t look away from Agatha. 

Something about being in between them, in this moment, it was the closest you figured you’d get to being intimate with the two of them. 

Agatha’s stare was unyielding, and unreadable. 

But Rio’s taking her time buckling the collar.

And you don’t want her fingertips to leave you, fuck, you want her to choke you from behind. 

To make your sweaty palms lay down on your commanding officer's desk. 

Rio’s hand pushing on your spine, never letting you up, never giving you a choice. 

You wanted your clothing ripped to shreds like you were only here for their enjoyment. Not a thought spared for your decency or modesty. 

The idea of Rio fucking you from behind, fingers squeezing your neck while Agatha watched, judging you. 

Telling you how poorly you were doing. How little she thought of you. How disappointed Agatha was to see how low you’d go. 

You wanted to be bruised, to be consumed, to be abused. 

With Agatha watching you, maybe she’d grope at her own cock over her slacks. God, you’d die if she pulled out her own cock to enjoy. 

You’d beg again, under Rio’s bruising hold - ‘don’t cum inside’ you’d say it. You’d not mean it. 

Fuck, you wanted that.

Staring at Agatha as Rio’s fingers secured the collar. 

It dawned on you. 

The leather was a formality. 

Hill, Chief, damn it, everyone else knew it. You’d been wearing it around the precinct this whole time without even realizing it. 

Hours later, you’d arrived at the club Chaos. 

Leather and sin, Agatha had a sort of biker butch look to her. No one would dare take her for a bottom. But her breasts were pushed up, and you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to lick them until you creamed. 

Then there was Rio, giving a bit more goth vibes. But her hair up tight and high, not a strand out of place. The perfect display of control. Her heels looked like they could pierce the ground. But her arms gave butch daddy all the way. 

You were in actual Hell. 

You wore a simple black cocktail dress, bruise marks just visible on your upper thighs from Rio. You were sorta thankful for the dress. 

Because as you got dressed, it would have been clear.

You were banged up - you had the body of someone who regularly engaged in consensual non-consent. Rio’s marks were everywhere. 

Bruises and bites, varying in ages, some more yellow. But beautiful purples and dark shades seem like the expanse of the galaxy on your body. 

Agatha didn’t see it all, but hints of it peaked out on your skin. 

Where as their own banged-up faces from the previous fight was covered with mountains of concealer. Rio had been patient to cover up her own gashes. While Agatha has not enjoyed the process one bit, saying it made her look more like someone who fit in to have the slice on her nose. 

After all that preening and costumes, here you three were, ready to get into the party. 

“How are we getting in?” You whispered, the collar tag clicking against the link as you walked in your own heels. 

“Shhh,” Rio said from behind, and you bristled but Agatha threw an arm around your shoulder in whispered in your ear. 

“Subs don’t talk in the entrance, they’ve got big rules here. Don’t leave our side. Trust me, you look delicious, and someone’s gonna start a fight if we aren’t careful.” Agatha’s arm around your shoulder is heavy; she’s all muscle, even for her fifties, and you hate how it makes you feel special. 

God you needed therapy. 

Rio didn’t seem to mind the display either; she walked forward towards the bouncer. Skipping the line entirely, taking out a black card and waving it to the bouncer. 

He unclicked the link and then you were pushed inside black velvet curtains and into something out of circus do le meets German EDM warehouse. 

There were cages in the air and silk wraps, horrible music, and beds lining the walls. 

Nothing like the BDSM clubs you had attended. Those people worked on consent and safety. This wasn’t that. 

This looked like the first place someone had come up with date rape. 

“Chaos.” You whispered as flood lights cast over the crowd followed by techno lasers. The music was pounding through the floors, just base with the occasional screamo noise. 

Not a splash of color in the crowd over a two thousand people. Unless you counted the freshly covered spanked skin in the corner. 

It was black leather, latex, or bare skin.

It was a free-for-all, no rules, so nothing like safe, sane, consensual at all. 

You eye Rio with a bit of jealousy and she arches an eyebrow.

“You come here often?” You say, like the girlfriend ready to lose it. 

But she shakes her head and flips the black card over. 

It reads ‘Valentina Allegra de Fontaine,’ and you try not to gasp. 

Agatha’s arm over your shoulder keeps you standing up. 

“Lady Muerte is a little thief, first stole evidence, now stolen ID’s?” She jokes, but Rio steadies a glare at her. 

“Your gonna have to trust me at some point Aggie.” The latina reasons, her game face impenetrable. 

“I’ll need a lot more beer first.”

You try to see a bar but people push past you rudely, their sweaty bodies touching you. 

Agatha’s good at keeping her arm around you, and Rio seems to run offense to walk in front of you. 

“This place looks like they only serve white claws and roofies.” You turn in to her side to whisper. 

“I’m more of a blue ribbon fan, but let’s see if we can’t get upstairs,” Agatha says carefully, and you watch Rio’s chin lift as she also looks up into the heavens of this rave turned orgy. 

“Why would the head of the FBI have a card here?” You ask as you all move through the crowd of people, either tripping on drugs on fucking with the rage of someone on bathsalts. 

You can’t get through them quickly, but you're glad that the two of them are blocking you with their bodies. 

Because people reach out with their hands to feel you, it’s how you imagine the hands look in Dante's Inferno before they drag you down. 

But Agatha doesn’t lose her cool, and Rio doesn’t make a scene. 

They simply push through the crowd and take care of you like they’ve been a threesome this whole time. 

Working without speaking, an oiled machine, a trained family unit.

Operating with the knowledge you ertr their prized submissive, and nothing can take you away. 

You feel safer than you have in a long time. 

Even in this sea of bodies and drugs. 

Men's and women's eyes and intentions so disgusting towards you, but still, you have Rio’s looming form in front of you. 

And an arm around your shoulders, your hip bumps the detectives, and you feel the Glock. 

Someone pushes into your side and you stumble a little and your butt moves back against Agatha. 

Annnd that is not her gun. 

But Rio’s pushed just as quickly, and her ass goes to your front. 

A cute little train with the sub in the middle, but it’s because someone’s wearing a pig mask and oinking, and someone else is chasing him with a metal prod. 

Rio’s hand moves back, and you instinctively reach out and take it. 

Her fingers slipped effortlessly between yours as a clear promise. 

‘I’ve got you.’

And you don’t remember why you were only letting her be your booty call. 

Not when her grip is so strong. 

Agatha reaches out to your combined hand and squeezes, and you both look up. 

The next level seems to have a second bouncer. 

You’re not sure why you’re going upstairs, but the fact that it has extra security feels like a good reason to move there. 

One guy shifts to look out into the sea of fucking, his giant stature impossible to miss. He guarded the stairs and you see he’s packing his own gun. 

“Chaos is an understatement.” You murmur once the oinking is out of earshot.

“Keep your eyes down,” Rio says, and you remember her saying the same thing while degrading you. You’d needed something darker, something more intense, and she’d made it so you weren’t allowed to look at her. 

It sent a thrill down your spine, and you obeyed without so much as a thought. 

Agatha set her hands on your hips and you three pressed on. 

The spotlights reminded you of being a cop in the streets, the music reminded you of being a dumb twenty-something who wanted her holes filled. 

This place was an easy place to forget you had a life, only chasing the physical pleasures. 

As you stumbled, looking down, being guided by the two of their bodies. 

You noticed you’d stepped over a used condom and a few wrappers in the dark room. 

“Seven more feet,” Agatha whispered to you, and you hated how calm you felt between the two. 

This wasn’t the place to get into a headspace. 

You were on the clock.

You wanted so badly to check your weapon hidden in this tight dress. 

You wanted to not inhale the scent of the two older women pressed against you. 

But you were trapped in a club, with no way out. 

“Breathe,” Rio reminded you, used to topping you. Aware of the way your body responded to stress, even as she was casing the place. She was still taking care of you, still monitoring you. 

“How are you getting up there?” You asked, and no one answered. No one knew, but as you waded through the crowd, you realized. 

It wasn’t an issue of getting up there; it was an issue of getting out.

Monday morning.

Who was stupid enough to cause a ruckus this early in the morning, especially under watchful eyes of the morning crowd. Aren't the trouble makers still in bed after a night of wreaking havoc? It's exactly the reason why you avoided the night shift— too much action for you. 

And you have yet to finish your morning coffee.

You navigate the inner city roads, observing the morning rush-hour traffic while sipping some strong coffee. It’s bitter, but it sharpens your senses. You are going to need every ounce of your wits for your next target.

The car radio in your cruiser alerts you of the recent uproar and you just happen to be the lucky officer close enough to the commotion. 

“We got two adult males, in their mid to late 20’s, causing some scene near the city center. You are the closest to the scene, so go take a look. No weapons or injuries reported”, came the familiar voice of the dispatcher, Nanao Ise.

You head to the location marked on your GPS. It was in the local business sector and it didn't take long for you to spot the crowd that had gathered to witness the show in a side alleyway.

The alleyway is narrow for your car to squeeze through, so you hop out without signaling. You planned to be discreet as possible because you did not want the perpetrators to flee. You walk towards the crowd that had gathered around the main event. You quietly stand behind, observing and assessing the situation. 

Two adult males are at the center, trading bare punches. Around them, tickets are exchanged, and informal bets are placed as spectators cheer and wager on the outcome. You let out a quiet sigh—this just turned from a street brawl into an organized illegal fight. The case just got a whole lot more complicated.

You focus your attention back at the fighters. One was well put together and had short, bright orange hair that reminded you of the sunset sky. The other looked a little rough around the edges, bright blue hair and alluring blue eyes. The second one looked more feral, more dangerous and more familiar. 

Your eyes focus on the blue haired one a lot longer than you anticipated. That hair and those eyes? Total animal-kingdom vibes. Like those colorful poisonous animals that scream ‘I’m toxic’ just by existing.

You decided to take a step back and request for backup. But a loud mouth civilian decided to blow your cover.

“A cop!!!”, the fool yelled before he scurried away like a mouse. 

You had to act fast. At least capture one of the offenders. You ran past the crowd that was now quickly dispersing in different directions. You grabbed the portable walkie-talkie radio while running towards the fighters. “Requesting for backup!”, you yelled into the radio. 

As you pushed closer to the heart of the chaos, you realized the orange-haired man had already fled. Surprisingly, the blue haired man just stood there, teeth grinding and fists clenched into a ball, ready to burst a vein in his forehead.

“Fuck, Ichigo! Get your ass back here! We ain't done, damn it!”, he yelled, oblivious to your presence. 

You slowly grabbed your cuffs from your utility belt and quickly placed them around his left wrist. 

Click.

“What tha-!” His head snapped around, drawn by some instinct. His eyes narrowed, trying to catch a glimpse of you. He was still flustered, thrown off by the fact that he’d let his guard down.

“You're under arrest!”, you boldly declared, although he overshadowed you in height and strength. Your heart was racing with the danger looming. That backup better arrive fast in case he turned violent.

He gave you a challenge with his right hand, trying to pull himself away. You continued to persist and swung your leg under him, causing him to topple forward. He lost balance and crashed forward, landing hard on his stomach.

“Ya playing dirty. Fight fairly!”, he challenged you after you finally wrestled his right hand into the handcuffs. The way you moved and tackled him, it mirrored his own fighting style.

“I’m not fighting. I’m catching a criminal”, you corrected him, plopping onto his back to catch your breath. He put up a struggle, and consequently, you felt a twinge in your lower back. 

“Get off me! You lookin’ for a fight or somethin’?” He kept struggling and squirming beneath you. He didn’t know when to give up, and it was getting on your nerves.

You slid a hand behind his head, feeling his beautiful blue hair slipping through your fingers—then shoved his face into the dirty pavement.

“Do you not understand your situation? Either you are brave or just plain stupid. Or both”. You lift up his face, dirt caked on the side of his face. There is definitely something familiar about this man. Your brain struggled to piece together scattered memories, scrambled and lost after the car accident last year.

Not long after, your backup arrives. You hear footsteps approaching, echoing through the now-deserted alleyway. Just a minute ago, the alley had been the epicenter of an illegal fighting and gambling ring.

“Made yourself comfortable?”, your partner joked. 

“Shut it, Shuhei. I think I sprained my back wrestling him”. You played up the mild ache, hoping to earn some sympathy from your partner.

“And you let the other guy get away? How can you be so careless?”Officer Shuhei scowled, his face tightening. He took his job way too seriously and did not appreciate any shortcomings.

He expected you to handle a two-against-one situation by yourself? That’s exactly why backup was requested! Shuhei took a few steps forward, and something interesting caught the corner of his eye.

“Get up”, he ordered you. It was obvious who was the senior officer in charge.

“What? Worried about his back but not mine?” you let him have a fake pout. You were the playful type, always provoking him, testing his patience.

Before he dragged you off him, you quickly got up from the man’s back. Shuhei squatted down and ran his hand under the detainee’s shirt. 

“Hey! That’s harassment!” you warned him, though you knew he was just conducting a simple body search for weapons or drugs.

Shuhei didn't entertain you. Instead, he lifted the guy's shirt up to reveal a number 6 tattoo on his back.

“Things just got interesting,” he said, examining the etched number on the culprit’s back.

You stood behind Shuhei, your gaze tracing the elegant font on his back, and a quiet nostalgia stirred in your chest.

“No shit!”

————

After a quick 10-minute drive through the city, you arrived at the station. As you stepped out of the car, Shuhei pulled in behind you in his own cruiser. He walked towards you while you stood there, holding the back door wide open.

“He ain’t budging”, you explained your predicament. Throwing him in the car was easy. Dragging him out was going to be a struggle. 

“Did you at least get his name?” Shuhei asked, glancing at the man in the backseat, who looked annoyed and frustrated.

“Grimmjow. He didn’t hesitate to tell me that much.” 

Grimmjow definitely recognized you but hadn’t said much during the car ride. He was saving the fun for later.

“Alright, Grimmjow, get out,” Shuhei warned, his voice more authoritative than yours. 

Authoritative or not, Grimmjow didn't give a shit.

You were just about ready to head into the station to call for more backup—until you realized all the cruisers were gone. There was no one around to help, and you didn’t want to wrestle with the man again, even though it felt like you had done it several times before.

After a few years on the job, you knew exactly how to draw him out. Negotiation. It was like coaxing a kitten from hiding—you just had to offer the right bait for them to bite.

“Listen, Grimmjow”. His name lit up your brain and tickled the tip of your tongue, as if you had chanted his name countless times before. “If you make this easy for us, we will make it easy for you. We just want to ask a few questions and get you the help you need”, you explained while pointing to the cuts on his knuckles. You didn’t recover any weapons at the scene, so the injury was probably from throwing raw punches at each other.

Grimmjow gave you a side glance and flashed you a cocky grin. “Hah. Ya think I’m stupid? A little cut ain’t gonna kill me.”

“No. Maybe not. But it might get infected and that might kill you”, you persisted, but he didn't bite.

He shuffled in the back seat and turned his back to you. For a moment, you thought he was about to slide out of the car. Instead, he flashed his middle finger, the chains rattling as his wrists strained to extend the digit.

Shuhei was ready to step in, but you placed a hand in front of him. You had another bait to toss.

“We’ll find the other guy you were fighting and give you another swing at him? You want that, don't you?” you offered. For some reason, you carried this predetermined vision of him—a fighter whose pride meant more than his life, although his instinct for survival came naturally.

You seemed to hit the mark with that suggestion because Grimmjow's posture and attitude completely changed. He finally dragged his butt out of the car seat and stepped onto the pavement. He cranked his neck to the side, and you heard a few sharp pops from his joints— an attempt to look intimidating. 

Shuhei led everyone into an interrogation room. A few mismatched chairs and a beat-up desk sat beneath flickering fluorescent lights bright enough to trigger a seizure. The white walls were chipped and peeling, scarred by the countless scuffles that had played out within that confined space.

Grimmjow plopped down on the chair and leaned back, the cold metal cuffs digging into his spine. He sat like the world owed him something—legs spread, head tilted back slightly, a cocky smirk just teasing the corner of his lips. He could’ve been raising hell right now, but a certain gorgeous cop had caught his attention, and it lifted up his spirits.

During the ride to the station, he couldn't help but stare at the back of your head and the side of your face. Through the smudged plexiglass barrier, he was able to recognize you but the question was, did you recognize him? He was yet to become aware of your missing memories. 

Although a very dominating creature himself, he found your commanding authority tickled his loins. And the way he occupied the chair as his personal throne, he shamelessly didn't hide the fact that he had an erection slowly building and erecting up a visible tent.

Shuhei was in no position to notice the act of profanity unfolding just beyond his sight. His face was buried behind a laptop, fingers racing across the keyboard as he scavenged for more information on the detained man and his gang.

Your eyes couldn’t avoid the obvious. With his hands tightly bound behind his back, he made no effort to hide his excitement—nor did he have any intention to do so.

Your eyes widened with shock and disbelief. You watched the clothed erect grow and expand as soon as you made eye contact with it. You looked up at Grimmjow who gave you a silent immodest grin, inviting you to come closer.

Perhaps he had a kink for female cops? Or maybe he got off on getting handcuffed by one? 

You gave Shuhei a quick side glance to see if he saw what you saw but he was very much preoccupied with the task of finding any dirt on Grimmjow, even though the dirt was quite visible at this point. 

Once Shuhei locked onto an assignment, the whole world around him became invisible. Not very cop-like of him. You, on the other hand, were always on high alert and aware of your surroundings. That was how a certain trainer had trained you, his words ingrained in your fractured memories: “Don’t ya let them get the upper hand by getting all distracted. Stay on guard, react on instincts and don't ya dare overthink”.

Instead of taking the seat behind the desk next to Shuhei, you broke protocol and decided to entertain this man who was staring at you as if you were his next meal, luring you with his hungry gaze.

You circled the table and slid onto it, seating yourself directly across from Grimmjow—only an arm’s length away. The space between you was narrow, risky. If he decided to headbutt you, it wouldn’t end well. However, the hostility he had shown early had dissipated. He appeared more calm and needy. His growing erection was sending out mixed messages and you were growing intrigued and alarmingly aroused.

“You forgot me already, princess?” He spoke, his voice a few decibels lower, just enough to keep the conversation out of Shuhei’s earshot.

“Call me officer”. You paused, biting your bottom lip as you searched through your memories. The way he called your princess was taking you somewhere you've been before. A gym?

Grimmjow leaned forward with his torso, the cuffs rattling with each movement. With every movement he made, your guard should have been up. But instead, you found yourself leaning in, drawn closer, as if he had an absurd secret to share.

“So you did forget me? I trained ya at the gym years ago. Before ya took the damn police exam. Come now, princess. You wont have a job if it wasnt for me. Be a little fuck’n grateful”. If you thought that cocky grin couldn’t get any wider—well, there it was, smeared across his face, practically helping you piece together those fragmented memories you were so desperate to retrieve.

Realization sucker punched you hard in the gut. You recognized him as that hot personal trainer who worked with you for three months straight. And one day he just disappeared, though not before breaking your heart and steering you into a relationship that had only just begun to blossom.

Luckily, you had moved on and the car accident was a blessing on top as you had completely forgotten about this man’s existence, sparing your heart from further angst.

“Oh yes. I didn't recognize you earlier. Hit my head hard a year ago”, you explained, although you didn't owe him an explanation. Unfortunately, after retrieving those lost memories, the suppressed feelings that accompanied those memories were also resurfacing.

“Well then, I didn't train ya hard enough”. He didn't like the fact that his former student had succumbed to such brutal injuries— it bruised his pride as a trainer. And though he struggled to show it, there was a hint of concern beneath the surface.

“It wasn't a physical altercation. My car rolled over”, you clarified.

Grimmjow leaned back on the chair, his erection ready for some attention.

“So what else do ya not remember?”, he challenged your memories.

All you could recall was throwing punches and kicks for 3 months to prepare for the entrance exam. There was some build up of emotional tension but before things got serious he had disappeared. Unless….

You gulped a dry lump in your throat. It felt like you just swallowed a million glass shards. 

Grimmjow could tell he caught you in a net he laid out. “That’s right, princess. You remember it, don't ya”, he whispered, egging on your imagination.

You shook your head in full denial. There was no way you would forget getting banged by your hot personal trainer. That's like a classic porn scene coming to life. Yet, you can't recall doing anything indecent with this man.

“Gym went under? So you went to the streets?” Pushing aside your racing thoughts, you continue with the investigation. 

But he wasn't ready to let it go.

“Nah. Still got the gym. Just found another hobby” he answered you out loud, but quickly dropped to a soft whisper. “Don't ya think ya should give me a hand here? Maybe it will jog up some more memories”.

You look stunned at his suggestion. “What is this new hobby? Illegal fighting? Drugs? Gangs?” Your eyes slowly fell back to his erection, realizing it must be getting uncomfortably tight in there. “You're on your own with that”, you whispered back. With your body temperature rising, you removed your hat and set it aside. 

“Gang, yes. Drugs, No. I hate that shit”. His eyes slowly travelled up and down your body, undressing you with his leering eyes. “You sure about that? It's reacting to you after all”. 

You glanced to the side—luckily, Shuhei was still buried deep in his search, fingers typing up a storm. The clatter of keys muffled the soft whispers you exchanged with the man you once knew. “You really think we believe you? If it's not drugs, how else does your gang make money?” You extend your leg and press the sole of your well polished shoe up against his crotch. 

“I ain't telling you how I make a living. And it ain't pimping”, he grinned, feeling the friction of your shoes up against his clothed erection, making his dick twitch from the firm pressure. “That’s it, princess. You know just how I like it”, he encouraged you, leaning back on his chair to indulge himself under your touch. 

None of this was triggering any flashbacks of moments you might’ve shared outside of training. You gave Shuhei one last glance before making your next calculated move.

There was a pen lying on the table beside you. You gently swipe your hand across the table, taking the pen with you, guiding it accidentally off the table. “Opps”. And with that, you gracefully hop off, careful not to jolt the table and snap Shuhei back to reality that was about to unfold. 

As you gathered the pen off the floor, your other hand settled firmly on Grimmjow’s crotch, feeling the outline of his length under your palm. You palmed him good, making sure the tent was indeed from his cock and not a fold in his pants. You slowly unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, fumbling a little as you tried to one hand it. After a failed struggle, you held the pen between your lips and made use of both hands to set him free. It was hard to hide the eagerness in your trembling hands. 

Your heart is racing. Your body is reacting. His cock was free but ironically the owner wasn't. You are on your knees and looking up at him— that cocky grin was still there, celebrating his victory. He couldn't believe he was about to receive a blow job by a cop while in handcuffs.

You remove the pen from between your lips to free up your salivating mouth. 

He swallowed his initial reaction, feeling your warm breath around the sensitive tip. Your nervous hands wrapped around the base of his cock and you took in all the details, from the shape to the texture, the length and the girth. 

“Maybe a little taste will jog up that memory”, a soft whisper that came from above.

You cast one last glance over your shoulder, catching only a glimpse of Shuhei’s legs beneath the desk—his shoes tapping out a steady rhythm. What was he even trying to find? A biography on this man? You've seen your partner work hours on end without losing focus. Knowing that, you felt gutsy to continue on with your pursuit— searching for your missing memories. 

Your soft lips wrapped around the swollen red tip, your plush mouth was soothing to the raw, dry shaft. You took your time to savor the feeling, the entire length fit so perfectly in your starving mouth. Did it jog any memories? No. Did it awaken ‘urges and desires’ for this man that might have been suppressed for years? Sure, let’s call it that.

Grimmjow, well known for his impatience and destructive attitude, was moving rather carefully and discreetly, keeping things low-key, all the while fighting the primal impulse to thrash his hips wildly at your face. Regardless of his approach, it was only a matter of time before Shuhei made his appearance.

With a mouthful of fresh precum, you had completely lost yourself in the act, letting your guard drop entirely.

Suddenly, it hit you—the clicking and tapping of keys had stopped. You weren’t sure when, but the room had fallen completely silent. The only thing you could hear was your heart thumping against your ribcage and speeding up with each passing second. 

Grimmjow noticed Shuhei had finally pulled away from the laptop screen and glanced in his direction. Despite this, Grimmjow made no effort to end the obscene situation. This was a rare moment, an opportunity if you must call it, he could not let slip from your lips.

Shuhei had noticed you were missing, the wide table shielding you and your indecent, unprofessional conduct. He heard some muffled slurps and suction sounds. He paused and held his breath. He looked into Grimmjow’s blue eyes, the man’s pupils were dilated as if he was riding a blissful wave.

The moment you realized you had an audience, it was too late. You took so much pride in keeping up your guard, yet it had faltered for a brief moment, thanks to those ‘urges and desires’.

Before you got a chance to pull Grimmjow out of your mouth, Shuhei had already grabbed both your hands by the wrist and shackled them behind your back. 

Once your hands were secured, Shuhei squatted down to your level and parted some of your dishevelled hair out of your pretty face. He had to witness that slutty face stuffed with a fat cock that wasn't his.

“And what the hell are you doing? Officer L/N?”, he asked, his voice calm but commanding. 

You tried to pull Grimmjow out of your mouth but struggled. Shuhei had you pinned, his hand firm on the back of your head, keeping you bowed in silent humiliation.

“Sucking my dick. Can't ya see?” Grimmjow happily answered for you considering your mouth was preoccupied. The less he spoke, the better because it wasn't doing you any favors. 

“I can see that. But why? Shoving a random filthy street rat’s dick down your throat. Are you sure you want a disease?”Shuhei continued with his guilt trip and also took a jab at Grimmjow. 

“What ya call me?”, Grimmjow shot daggers at the other officer, quite obvious they had become rivals. 

“A street rat. Or maybe you are a stray cat? Either way… it's a filthy dick”. 

“What? You jealous mine’s getting sucked on and your’s ain't?”

As the two exchanged insults at each other, you almost passed out from choking on Grimmjow’s cock that had been jammed so deep down your throat for a good few minutes. 

With a steely glare still locked onto his opponent, Shuhei finally set you free and tugged on the back of your hair to pull you away from your misery.

You gasped for air, coughed hard as the lungs inflated with fresh oxygen, a string of saliva still connected your lips with the tip of his throbbing cock. 

Grimmjow let out an animalistic growl, overwhelmed by the instinct to claw at the male officer for stealing his mate, even though his hands were bound. And let's not ignore the fact that he had no claws. Not in this universe.

Shuhei looked at you with disappointment. Not only did his heart just get crushed, but you gave him the slut vibes.

“I… I can explain. We know each other”, you tried to save your face and reputation. That perfect, innocent cop image completely shattered right before Shuhei’s eyes.

Your eyes darted towards Grimmjow, making eye contact with the sexually frustrated man, hoping he would say his part. 

“Ya we know each other. We go way back. Was helping jog up that memory with my dick”, Grimmjow winked at you. 

Not exactly what you wanted him to say. But what else did you expect to come out of his untamed mouth? That's all on you. 

“No explanation needed. You want some dick? Let’s give you some dick, you slutty cop!” Shuhei could not hold off his anger any longer. He was frustrated waiting for you. Honestly, it was his fault for never making a move all these years, hiding behind the excuse of being ‘professional’. His uptight, well-disciplined ass cost him his love. Normally, he did not break rules. But today, rules will be broken.

He tugged on your handcuffs, forcing you to stand up straight. He stood behind you, taunting Grimmjow with a slow strip tease, his hands unbuttoning your shirt and unravelling you like a present. You felt Shuhei’s warm breath against the side of your neck and Grimmjow’s eyes fixated on your exposed skin. His visible dick danced with approval. Shuhei’s cock also did a little twitch in his pants and you felt him grind his hips against your ass, seeking for some friction and attention. 

He slid his hand under the bridge of your bra and lowered the fabric that held your breasts in place. You could see Grimmjow practically salivating like a starved animal— a feral, uncontrollable animal who was tied up by his owner and a delicious prey tangled and danced before his eyes.

Shuhei cupped both your exposed soft breasts and gave them a rough squeeze. But he could not linger— time was limited. It was only a matter of time before his colleagues returned. 

His hands trailed down towards your pants and he undid them with rather ease. First he removed the utility belt and set it on the table, safely out of reach to avoid possible mishaps or accidental triggers. At least Shuhei had some sliver of rationality left in him, but it was fraying fast.

Once securing everyone's safety, he continued to lower your pants and panties, dropping them both to your ankle and kicking your feet to lift them off the floor. 

Without any hesitation, you lift one foot and then the other. You were cooperating well, not a single protest came out of your mouth. With your lack of resistance, Shuhei felt less guilty and more inclined to continue with his insults and degrading actions.

Shuhei slid your pants off along with your shoes and panties, kicking them under the table and looking up from where he was kneeling. Your legs were spread wide, giving him the money shot of your wet dripping pussy, taunting him as it glistened with your arousal. 

“Sucking a stranger got you this wet?”, he asked, degrading you on the spot.

“Shut up. Like I said, I know him”, you reminded your partner. But Shuhei wasn't buying it. You were already a cock sucking slut in his eyes.

He stood up and tugged on your cuffs again, forcing you to turn around and away from Grimmjow. 

Grimmjow got a nice view of the outline of your round ass but your shirt was in the way. He licked his bottom lips and watched in anticipation. Shuhei placed his hand on the back of your head and guided you forward. Your bare chest collapsed on the table and he gathered the shirt up and away to showcase your ass. 

“Oh fuck!”, both men muttered under their breaths in unison, dicks already discharging pre from the sight alone.

Shuhei quickly covered Grimmjow’s view of your sweet pussy and you heard some clinks and clanks, unzipping and a thud. He set his utility belt on the table next to your face. 

You couldn't see or touch anything. Neither could Grimmjow and it was driving him insane. You heard more sounds, rustling and tearing of a wrapper. It wasn't a chocolate bar, that's for sure.

He aligned himself square between your cheeks and used his hand to guide his tip against your wet entrance. Soon, your mushy insides were clenching down on his hard invading length— the feeling of pre-lubricated rubber sliding with ease and filling you up. Your body twitched, there was no foreplay with this impatient man and he pushed his length all the way in with his initial thrust. 

Shuhei had a nice rhythm going, the sturdy table kept you anchored and grounded. Your moans were in sync with the movements of his hips. Eventually, your own hips moved back to match his pace. 

Slap. Slap. Slap. 

The sound of skin to skin smacking had turned Grimmjow feral. He was ready to stand up and headbutt the officer out of the way and stick his own raw dick into your inviting cunt— no protection.

“Fuck…so tight”. “Ahh fuck…dont clench so hard”. “You’re so…soft inside”. “You like that spot?” The round tip of his cock had found that sweet spot that made your legs tremble.

The verbal description was enough to lure Grimmjow out of his dormant state. That aggressive and loud mouth Grimmjow was back and causing a disruptive scene from behind. 

“Fuck this! I had her first. Get your dirty hands off her. Hey! Hey!!! Don't ya fuck’n ignore me you twig for a dick!”, he snapped.

Grimmjow squirmed in his seat and planted a foot on Shuhei’s ass, shoving him forward and balls deep inside you. You were speechless, your mouth left wide open as if you wanted to let out a scream but nothing came out. The tip of his cock just kissed your cervix and left you seeing stars.

Shuhei barely managed to hold off an accidental outburst— too early to empty his balls. He wished to savor this moment, as he wasn't sure if he would ever be served seconds.

With his dick still buried deep inside you, he pulled you up by the handcuffs again and turned you around. He pushed you forward and you collapsed on top of Grimmjow. With his other free hand, he pulled out a condom packet from his front pockets and tore it with his mouth, never once losing rhythm to his thrusts. 

Both you and Grimmjow are left bobbing to the thrusts, the impact almost sending you to your first climax. 

Shuhei pushed the curled up condom in your mouth and slightly unraveled it with his two fingers. He removed his fingers from your mouth, the condom sitting between your parted lips. With one hand, he secured your hips in place so he did not have to miss a beat. His other hand grabbed a few locks of your hair and guided your face towards Grimmjow’s dick. From that point, you knew what had to be done.

You pushed the condom onto Grimmjow's upright cock with ease using only your mouth. You ended up giving him a delicious blow job in the process while Shuhei fucked you from behind. Horizontally sandwiched between the two men, your body was bouncing between the two, open shirt and your free breasts flailing like ping-pong balls, dicks coming from both ends. 

Even Grimmjow wasn't expected to sit still. His hips came slamming at you, his cock hitting the back of your throat, perfectly synchronizing with Shuhei movements from behind.

The room didn’t echo with the usual tension between a hostile felon and interrogating cops, but with blissful moans and groans complimented with the sucking and slurping sounds and skin on skin slaps. Let's not forget the growing wetness that oozed between your legs, the latex rubber exaggerating the sloshing sounds that came deep within your sex. 

Grimmjow couldn't hold back any longer, his hips jerking off the chair, cock slamming deep down your throat, face fucking you while Shuhei’s grip kept your bobbing head anchored in place.

Your gags were unheard, ignored and lost amongst the symphony of moans and groans. You choked a few times and eventually even that became numb. 

Grimmjow was the first to succumb, the tip of the condom slowly filled up like a balloon in your mouth. Shuhei pulled your mouth off the dirty condom and began chasing for his own release. 

Your head collapsed onto Grimmjow's shoulder, who was recovering from his most recent orgasm. Shuhei delivered a few more thrust, your convulsing walls taking care of the rest. You clamped down, smothering his spastic cock, drawing out his long awaited release. 

Shuhei released his grip on your hips, leaving you bruised and sore but not as sore as your scalp and throat. It took him a few minutes to recover, his body collapsed backwards against the rustic desk. And when he finally did come to his senses, you were already on top of the other man’s lap, sloppily riding for round two.

“Atleast change the condom!”Shuhei yelled from behind, trying to fetch a fresh packet from his pockets. 

But it was too late. As you bounced on Grimmjow's lap, maneuvering the best you can with both your hands tied up, you heard a pop on the inside. A gush of warm fluid filled you up and coated your inner walls, making your movements a lot more fluid and effortless. 

Shuhei cleaned himself up and tucked his sensitive  limp cock back into his pants. He tidied his clothes, discarded the DNA evidence and went back to his laptop to check the live security cameras. As expected, some of his co-workers were making their way back after running their morning errands.

He could interrupt the two lovebirds as they shared a passionate kiss, however he decided against it. If they still had feelings for each other, who was he to get in the way of rekindled love? 

Besides, Grimmjow didn’t have any previous record that warranted an arrest, at least not at the moment. You, however, had committed professional misconduct, which could lead to much more severe consequences. He wasn’t prepared to lose you. Work would be unbearable without you.

Drowning in pleasure, locked in a daze, you barely heard Shuhei’s footsteps fading into the distance. He stepped out of the room and locked the door from the outside. You pulled away from the kiss and turned your head towards the locked door, becoming a prisoner and trapped with your crimes— The crime being the man whose lap you occupied. 

“Focus on me, princess…”, Grimmjow called for you. Once the other officer had disappeared, he finally had you to himself. 

You turned your head back and gave him the attention he had been seeking. 

“Why did you disappear?”, you asked. You wanted to cup his face with your hands and interrogate him properly. However, the thick metallic cuffs digging into your skin was a reminder that you were at the mercy of the law. 

Grimmjow pressed his burning forehead up against yours, nose touching, lips twitching in anticipation. 

“Trouble with some people. Had to leave the city. Didn't want to drag ya into it”, he explained without giving too much details. You were still a cop, after all—and he was still under arrest.

A brief silence settled between you as your mind processed what he’d just said. Lies didn't suit his pride. And not like you had much of an established relationship with him. 

“Ya remember me now?” He tried to guide your attention back to him with his deliberate movements from below. 

You felt the growing pool of sticky mess between your legs. You stared into his blissful eyes, the aggression he held was gone once more.

“I remember it all. The way you stood me up on our first date and disappeared for good. But I don't remember having sex with you”, you replied. No matter how hard you tried to search the deepest crevices of your blurred memories, the closest you ever got to a relationship with him was some occasional flirting — and a date he never showed up for.

Wearing that gullible, puzzled look on your face, which he tried so hard not to mock, but he couldn’t help and chuckle at your innocence. You were simply an easy target for him. You always were. 

“I don't remember saying that we had sex”, he corrected you with a wide, mischievous grin. 

You straightened your back and tried to headbutt his forehead for being such a pain in the ass, both figuratively and literally. 

“Asshole!” You smacked your forehead against his in frustration. And that’s when you realized just how much of a hardhead he really was.

“Careful, princess. And be grateful. At least fucking you stupid helped with your memory. Imagine how much more you can remember if we continue at it”, he teased, picking up the pace from below.

“You know what! Ughhh You are sooo…. fuck…going to jail…ahhh shit… I'm gonna cum if you don't slow down!”

“Oh? If this is what I get to endure while in your jail, I would gladly take a life sentence", he grinned, kissing you on the lips and pounding you to your next release.

And yet, she owned the room.

Nanami’s jaw tightened. He knew better than to move too soon. If he lunged now, she’d slip through his fingers like always. No, he had to be patient.

He had to watch.

You felt him watching.

It was instinct now, knowing when you were being hunted. The heat of his gaze was different from the usual leering eyes of the elite men you often stole from—it wasn’t lecherous, wasn’t admiring.

It was razor-sharp, brimming with quiet disdain.

Detective Nanami Kento.

You fought back a smirk as you turned toward the bar, pretending to peruse the glasses of champagne lined up like golden soldiers. You had to admit, he was impressive. The best in his field. Always one step behind you, always just missing you.

A lesser thief would be sweating under the weight of his scrutiny. But you? You thrived on it.

Let him watch.

Let him think he had a chance tonight.

Because by the time he realized what you’d done, you’d be long gone.

The plan was flawless.

A stolen key card. A well-placed fire alarm. An ‘accidental’ collision with the CEO of a billion-dollar corporation, just enough to swipe the security codes from his pocket. It was almost too easy.

By the time the security team was dealing with the chaos downstairs, you were already in the penthouse suite, disabling the final set of alarms. The safe was hidden behind a grotesque oil painting of the man who owned this hotel.

You sighed. “No accounting for taste.”

Cracking the safe was child’s play. Inside, stacks of crisp bills and black-market gems sat nestled in velvet cases. But you weren’t interested in the money—not tonight.

Tonight, you were after something much more valuable.

A flash drive, tucked away in the back.

Proof of fraudulent transactions, offshore accounts, and a tangled web of corruption that reached into the highest offices of government. This would be worth more in the hands of the people than any stack of stolen cash.

As you slipped the drive into your clutch, your pulse remained steady. Another successful job. Another win.

And then you heard the click of a gun being cocked.

“Don’t move.”

Damn it.

You turned slowly, hands raised, to find Nanami standing in the doorway. His gun was steady, his expression unreadable beneath the dim glow of the security light. Rain dripped from his hair onto his suit, the tan fabric slightly wrinkled—he must have chased you up here.

You tilted your head, feigning nonchalance. “Detective.”

“Enough games.” His voice was low, laced with irritation. “Step away from the safe.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Come on, Kento. We both know you’re not going to shoot me.”

His jaw twitched. “Don’t test me.”

You took a slow step forward. His grip on the gun remained firm, but you noticed the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers flexed slightly.

He hesitated.

And that was all you needed.

In a blur of movement, you knocked the gun aside, twisting your body to sweep his legs from under him. He stumbled back, just enough for you to pivot and sprint toward the open window.

“Damn it—”

You didn’t wait to hear the rest. The moment your feet hit the metal fire escape, you were running. The night air burned against your skin as you vaulted over the railing, grabbing onto the zip line you’d set up earlier. The cityscape blurred beneath you as you soared over the alley, landing gracefully on the opposite rooftop.

By the time Nanami reached the window, you were already disappearing into the night.

Your voice echoed across the distance, teasing.

“You like your girls insane.”

And then you were gone.

Nanami stood at the window, grip tightening around the gun in his hand. Rain continued to pour, streaking down the glass like the taunt of a ghost.

She had gotten away. Again.

He clenched his jaw, a sharp breath escaping through his nose. She was a criminal, a thief, a menace.

But the worst part? The part he refused to acknowledge?

He didn’t hate the chase.

Not at all.

*-*

The precinct smelled of burnt coffee and frustration.

Nanami stood at attention, spine straight, expression neutral, as Chief Yamagata paced behind his desk, his fury barely contained.

“Again, Nanami?” His superior’s voice was tight, each word clipped. “The Phantom Fox slipped through our fingers again?”

Nanami didn’t flinch. He simply nodded once, accepting the reprimand like he always did.

“She should be in cuffs right now,” Yamagata growled, slamming a fist against his desk. “Instead, she’s out there making a mockery of us. Of you.”

That one stung, but Nanami didn’t react.

“You’re one of my best detectives,” the chief continued, his voice lowering into something that almost sounded disappointed. “But if you don’t bring her in soon, Internal Affairs is going to start asking why. And frankly, I’ll be asking too.”

Nanami swallowed the irritation rising in his throat. Because the truth? The real reason?

He knew why he hadn’t caught her yet.

He knew, and he hated himself for it.

*-*

Rain drizzled lazily against the pavement as he approached his apartment. His muscles ached from tension, his mind a storm of sleepless nights and unsolved cases.

Catching her should be simple. He was always just one step behind, always so close, and yet… something inside him slowed at the last second, like a faulty trigger.

She made a fool out of him.

And yet—

Nanami stopped dead in his tracks

There, on his doorstep, sat a bouquet of carnations.

Pale peach, soft pink, blood red.

A small white card nestled between the petals. He already knew who it was from, but his fingers still itched to confirm it.

His heart pounded as he picked up the note, unfolding it with a slow, deliberate motion.

Have a lovely evening, Detective <3.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His fingers curled around the card, crumpling it before he could stop himself.

“Fuck her,” he muttered under his breath, but his pulse betrayed him.

He stepped inside, tossing his coat over the chair before pressing his back against the door, exhaling sharply.

Fuck her.

*-*

He should be doing something productive. He should be working on her case file, mapping out her next heist, something, anything to stay ahead of her.

Instead, he sat at his desk, staring at her photograph like a man possessed.

Her criminal record was a collection of nothing. She had never been caught, never been identified beyond the alias. Her methods were surgical—clean, calculated, effortless. She never left bodies, never harmed a single soul.

She only stole from the rich, redistributing wealth like a modern-day Robin Hood.

And fuck, if Nanami didn’t respect that just a little bit.

He ran a hand down his face. He was losing it.

Worse than that, he was obsessed.

She haunted his every waking thought. His dreams were no better.

At night, she visited him in ways that made his blood burn.

She was a shadow slipping through his fingers, a whisper of silk and temptation. He dreamt of pinning her against his desk, tearing that smug little smirk off her face with his lips. Of pushing her onto his bed, of feeling her wrists go slack as he locked the cuffs around them. She’d fight, of course she would—because that’s what she did. But in the end, she’d surrender.

She’d surrender to him.

He’d wake up drenched in sweat, pulse hammering, the sheets tangled around his legs. He’d run a hand down his chest, stomach tight with something shameful, something animalistic.

And then, inevitably, he’d reach down, fingers curling around his aching cock, hissing between his teeth as he pumped himself to the thought of her.

It was pathetic.

It was wrong.

But it was the only relief he could find.

When he came, he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, choking down the groan that threatened to escape. He didn’t deserve pleasure, not when it was her name echoing in his skull.

Not when she was out there, free.

Not when he was falling apart because of her.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, you were slipping between the cracks of the world like a whisper, like a ghost.

The money you had stolen from the Luray Grand Hotel was already being put to good use. It had been converted into grocery vouchers, rent payments, school supplies. The people who lived paycheck to paycheck, the ones who fell through society’s cracks—these were the ones you worked for.

You didn’t need the money. You never had. But you loved the art of it. The thrill. The game.

And you loved knowing that somewhere out there, Nanami Kento was tearing himself apart trying to catch you.

You couldn’t help but smirk as you thought about the flowers you had left on his doorstep. A little taunt. A little game.

After all, it was no fun if he didn’t chase you.

And he always did.

*-*

The next time you ran into him, he didn't even recognise you. After all, the poor man was probably not on guard when he was sitting in a damn coffee shop, looking so good in his uniform it was probably illegal- yeah you had a thing for uniforms, so what?

What did he drink? A coffee, with a small, simple pastry.

A simple man.

(A hot simple man)

Having a crush on the man that was constantly on your tail, on your ass, trying to catch you and land you in jail, was probably not the best idea of the century.

But hey. You only live once right- so why not?

You’d had your fair share of run-ins with the man. Not exactly the best kind of run-ins either. He was the law, and you were… well, you were something else entirely.

You didn’t need him to know who you were. You were just here for the view. The view of his perfect jawline as he leaned over his coffee, his blue eyes narrowing as he sifted through paperwork. The way the cuff of his sleeves brushed against his skin as he moved, all long limbs and sharp movements. There was a small scar just below his chin, barely noticeable, but it made him look... dangerous.

You took a deep breath and casually slid your phone from your pocket. Snap.

The sound of the camera clicked as you captured the moment, your fingers brushing against the screen in a way that made your heart skip. You bit your lip, staring at the picture you’d just taken of him. Nanami didn’t see it, didn’t know you’d taken it.

What were you even doing? What was the point?

But it wasn’t like you could help it.

You were a criminal, a thief.

But even thieves could have guilty pleasures.

Nanami glanced up suddenly, catching your eye for the briefest of moments before you quickly averted your gaze, pretending to look at something else on your phone. He furrowed his brow, a slight frown on his lips. Did he recognize you? Did he feel that same thing stirring between you?

No, of course not- you always wore a mask during your heists, or makeup that modified your traits enough to keep the cops away from you.

You’d seen him in action too many times to know that a man like Nanami didn’t just let himself get distracted. Not by you. Not by someone like you.

He stood, and you forced yourself to tear your eyes away as he pushed his chair back and headed toward the door. As he passed, you could feel the heat of his presence like a weight on your shoulders, but you didn’t turn to look at him again.

You couldn’t.

Not when, somehow, you had found yourself wanting him.

*-*

Nanami couldn’t escape her.

She was in his head, a specter draped in silk and smoke, lingering in every dark corner of his mind. Even now, as hot water streamed over his back, she refused to leave him alone.

He braced one hand against the shower wall, exhaling sharply, water pooling at his feet.

His body was tight with frustration—physical, mental, something deeper. He wanted her in a way that made his blood run hot, that made his fists clench, that made him want to tear her world apart until she had nowhere left to run.

*-*

He was scrubbing a hand over his face when it hit him.

An epiphany. A possibility.

His mind snapped to attention, pieces clicking into place. The past heists, the escape routes, the layovers. The pattern. The detail he had been too preoccupied—too fucking obsessed—to see before.

His breath hitched.

He knew where she lived.

Fuck.

He nearly slipped on the tile, catching himself against the wall before bolting out of the shower. Water dripped from his body as he rushed to his desk, yanking open drawers, flipping through papers with wild urgency. He was so singularly focused, so consumed, that he didn’t even bother with a towel.

There—

A low-income apartment building. Lower middle class. Nothing flashy, nothing extravagant, but close enough to key locations in the city that she could move undetected.

He was already pulling on his clothes, his fingers moving on autopilot, his body still damp as he buttoned up his shirt and grabbed his keys. His gun. His badge.

He was out the door in seconds, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

His hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity as he weaved through traffic, his foot pressing harder against the gas than it should have.

His mind was a tangled mess of calculations and desire.

He should be thinking about arresting her. He was thinking about arresting her. But his pulse was too quick, his breath too sharp, his cock half-hard in his slacks because fuck, he was exhilarated.

He was chasing her.

And she had nowhere left to hide.

*-*

The apartment building was old but well-kept. Peeling paint. Dim lighting. The kind of place where neighbors kept to themselves, where anonymity was currency.

Nanami climbed the stairs, each step deliberate, each footfall grounding him against the high buzzing under his skin.

Third floor.

Apartment 13.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back, before he raised his fist and pounded on the door.

A beat of silence.

Then—footsteps. Light, careful.

The door cracked open.

And there she was.

Nanami went still.

He had never seen her face before. Not really. She always wore a mask, heavy makeup, shadows concealing her identity. But now, standing in the warm glow of the hallway light, she was—

Beautiful. Too beautiful.

Her lips parted slightly as she looked at him, her expression unreadable.

“Officer,” she said, voice smooth, polite, measured. “May I help you?”

Nanami could hear his own breathing. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach for the handcuffs at his belt, to pin her to the nearest surface and end this fucking game.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he slid his badge from his pocket, holding it up. “Detective Nanami. I’m following up on a lead.”

Her brows arched ever so slightly. “A lead?”

“Yes. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

She hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second, but he caught it.

Then, she stepped aside. “Of course. Come in.”

Nanami entered, his shoulders grazing the doorframe.

The apartment was tidy, modest. A couch. A small bookshelf. A single candle burning on the kitchen counter, filling the air with something warm—vanilla, maybe. Or amber.

He forced himself to focus.

She was watching him carefully, her expression neutral, but there was something in her eyes. Amusement? Nerves? Excitement?

He shouldn’t have been excited.

He should have been focused on evidence. He should have been analyzing every detail, cross-referencing it with years of thefts, looking for any indication that this was the den of a world-class criminal.

But all he could think about was the way she smelled. The way her lips curved. The way her collarbone peeked from beneath her loose sweater.

“Detective?” she prompted.

Nanami blinked. He had been staring.

“Do you live alone?” he asked. His voice was steady. His body was not.

Her head tilted slightly. “Why?”

He inhaled through his nose. “Standard questioning.”

She leaned against the counter, arms crossing loosely over her chest. “Yes, I live alone.”

Nanami’s gaze flickered, scanning the apartment. The bookshelf. The shoes by the door. The slight messiness of the coffee table, as if someone had been sifting through papers earlier.

He took a step closer.

She didn’t move.

“Do you work?” he asked.

“Freelance,” she said smoothly.

Nanami hummed.

Silence stretched between them. Tense. Thick.

His fingers twitched again.

She was too composed. Too calm.

“You seem nervous,” he said, watching her reaction.

She exhaled a small laugh. “Should I be?”

He stepped closer. Too close. He shouldn’t have.

But he did.

“You tell me.” His voice was low.

Her breath hitched.

Fuck.

Nanami clenched his jaw. His hand flexed at his side, resisting the primal urge to touch her.

She was playing innocent. But he knew better. He could feel it in the air between them, thick and charged, an invisible pull dragging them together.

He could arrest her. Right now. Slam her against the wall, click the cuffs into place.

But another part of him—a darker, filthier part—wanted to see what she would do if he didn’t.

The game had never felt more dangerous.

Nanami stood in the dimly lit space, his broad frame blocking the only exit, golden eyes tracking her every move. You leaned lazily against the kitchen counter, one hip cocked, a slow smirk curling at the corner of your lips. The air between you crackled, thick and electric, an invisible thread of tension that neither of you dared to sever.

“You’ve been busy,” Nanami said, voice steady but taut, like a wire pulled too tight. “Luray Grand. The Vincent Auction. That little stunt at the Harrow Club. You’re getting bolder.”

You picked up the wine glass resting on the counter, swirling the deep red liquid inside, eyes glinting in amusement.

“Oh, Detective, don’t tell me you came all this way just to compliment me.”

Nanami exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening.

“You should be more careful. You’re running out of places to hide.”

You took a slow sip, gaze never leaving his.

“Or maybe you’re running out of excuses.”

His fists clenched at his sides. God, you were insufferable. Infuriating. And beautiful. So goddamn beautiful it made his teeth ache.

Enough.

He moved. Quick, precise. His hand shot out, fingers grazing your wrist—

And then the glass shattered over his head.

The world blurred for a second, pain splintering through his skull. He stumbled back, just enough for you to lunge. He barely had time to react before your knee slammed into his ribs, your elbow following, sharp against his shoulder.

But Nanami wasn’t a rookie. He recovered fast.

He caught your wrist mid-swing, twisting just enough to spin you off balance. You gasped as he shoved you against the counter, his body pressing close, breath hot against your ear.

“That,” he said, voice low, “was a mistake.”

You laughed, breathless. “You liked it.”

His grip tightened. “You think this is a game?”

“I think,” you murmured, tilting your chin up, lips almost brushing his, “you’re enjoying this more than you should.”

He should’ve denied it. Should’ve pulled back, should’ve snapped the cuffs on you and ended this.

Instead, his free hand traced the line of your jaw, fingers brushing your pulse. It was racing.

So was his.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered before he could stop himself.

Your lips parted slightly, lashes lowering—

Then you punched him square in the jaw.

He grunted, stumbling, but the pain barely registered beneath the sheer desire pounding in his veins. When he looked at you again, you were grinning.

“And you’re pretty, Detective,” you mused, shaking out your fist. “Maybe a little dumb.”

He lunged.

You dodged, but not fast enough. He caught your wrist, twisting it behind your back as he shoved you toward the heater in the corner. The metal was cold against your skin as he forced you down, the weight of him pinning you just enough to steal your breath.

Then—click.

You tugged experimentally. The cuff around your wrist rattled against the iron bars.

“Oh,” you hummed, peering back at him, lips curving. “Just when I was starting to like you.”

Nanami let out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

“This isn’t a game,” he repeated, but it sounded hollow now, more for his sake than yours.

You smiled. Then, before he could react, you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was all teeth and heat and desperation, your mouth fierce against his, biting, pulling, taking. His breath hitched, body reacting instantly, heat spiraling through his spine. He kissed back, hard, his hands gripping your waist, your hips, nails digging into the fabric of your clothes.

You moaned into his mouth, and it nearly broke him.

And then—

Pain. White-hot, sudden.

His vision swayed, the room tilting as something heavy—ceramic?—slammed against the side of his head.

Ah.

Vase.

His knees buckled. His grip slackened. His world faded to black.

The last thing he heard was your voice, soft, amused, lips brushing against his ear as he fell.

“Sweet dreams, Detective.”

*-*

Nanami woke up alone.

The apartment was empty, stripped clean, like she had never been there at all. The faint scent of jasmine still lingered, but everything else—her clothes, her files, the teasing little mementos she always left behind—was gone.

A ghost. A phantom.

Fuck.

She had slipped through his fingers again.

He let out a slow, controlled breath, running a hand down his face. He should be used to it by now. The chase, the game. The inevitable loss. But this time, it felt worse. This time, she had lived in his space, tangled herself into his life like a silk thread, and now she was gone, like she had never existed at all.

He clenched his fists, jaw tightening.

This wasn’t over.

*-*

The months that followed were a fever dream of obsession.

Nanami tracked her every move, piecing together the crumbs she left behind. She was everywhere—in the security footage he reviewed late into the night, in the whispers of underground informants, in his bed, in his dreams.

God, the dreams.

He should be ashamed of them. And he was. But fuck, they were good. So good that he woke up with ruined boxers, the scent of her phantom touch still clinging to his skin.

In those dreams, she let him catch her.

He pressed her against cold brick walls in alleyways, his hands rough and unrelenting, feeling her tremble beneath him. He pinned her wrists above her head, metal cuffs biting into her skin. And she smiled, lips curling like she knew exactly how far gone he was, like she wanted him to lose control.

He always woke up aching, panting, furious.

And desperate for more.

*-*

Then came the gala.

A big one. High society, political figures, old money dripping in arrogance and expensive cologne. A perfect target.

And she would be there.

He knew it the second he stepped into the grand hall, the air thick with wealth and champagne. He adjusted his tie, scanning the crowd with sharp, precise eyes, waiting for the first flicker of her presence.

And then—

There.

A vision in black silk, all soft curves and sharp eyes, moving through the crowd like she owned the place.

She found him before he could even think of approaching.

“Detective.”

Her voice was smooth, teasing, like a blade wrapped in velvet. You stepped in close, the scent of jasmine and something dangerous curling around him.

“Dance with me,” you murmured, tilting your head up, looking at him through dark lashes. A challenge. A dare.

Nanami should have said no. He should have dragged her out of the building, slapped cuffs on her wrists, ended this madness once and for all.

But her hand was already in his, fingers sliding against his palm, and fuck, she was warm.

So he obliged.

The music swelled, slow and sinful, as he pulled her into his arms. His grip was firm, unyielding, but she melted into him like they had done this a hundred times before.

His palm rested against the small of her back. Her body pressed flush against his.

She was intoxicating.

“So tense,” she teased, breath ghosting against his jaw. “Afraid I’ll steal something from you, Detective?”

He exhaled sharply. “I already know you will.”

She hummed, pleased, fingers tightening slightly around his own.

“You should know,” she said, voice quieter now, almost… soft. “Tonight’s the last time you’ll see me.”

Nanami stiffened. His grip tightened. “What?”

“This is my last heist in Japan.” She smiled, tilting her head, watching him carefully. “Though you’ll still see me. In the news. On the most-wanted list.”

A sharp, foreign feeling stabbed through his chest. Something like frustration, something like disbelief. Something dangerously close to fear.

“You’re lying,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She chuckled, but there was something almost sad behind it.

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

His jaw clenched.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re getting caught tonight.”

She smirked.

“Am I?”

Something about the way she said it, the way she looked at him, sent a shiver down his spine. The dance ended. A cold realization began creeping over him—

And then the alarms blared.

The music cut off. The chatter turned into chaos, voices rising in panic. Red lights flashed along the walls, security flooding the room.

Nanami’s head snapped toward the nearest exit, his heart pounding.

Too late.

She was already gone.

His grip tightened around nothing but empty air.

He turned, scanning the chaos, pushing past frantic guests, adrenaline spiking, his mind racing to piece it together—

And then he saw.

A window left slightly open. A shadow slipping into the night.

Gone.

Again.

Nanami stood there, frozen, fury and admiration warring inside him, the remnants of her warmth still burning on his skin.

Fuck.

This wasn’t over- it couldn't be.

*-*

Nanami got home late.

No, late wasn’t the word. It was closer to early.

The sky was beginning to pale at the edges, the city finally winding down after the chaos she had unleashed. His body ached, exhaustion settling deep into his bones as he shut the door behind him, peeling off his suit jacket. The gala had been a disaster, his men had scrambled, and the security had been humiliated.

As always.

And she had gotten away.

Again.

His fingers worked at the buttons of his waistcoat, methodical, his mind racing. He should be angry. He was angry. But beneath the frustration, beneath the humiliation of being played like a fool, there was something else. Something hotter. Something he refused to name.

With a sigh, he shrugged off his vest, tossing it onto the chair before running a hand through his hair. He needed sleep, he needed a goddamn drink, he needed—

His eyes caught something on the table.

A phone. A cheap, nondescript burner phone that hadn’t been there when he left.

His pulse kicked up.

Slowly, cautiously, he picked it up, pressing the button to wake the screen. There was only one message.

Coordinates.

Nanami exhaled through his nose, pressing his lips into a thin line. His fingers moved before he could stop himself, plugging them into his phone. The map loaded, the little red pin dropping onto a location.

A beach.

In Malaysia.

His breath left him all at once.

She was truly gone.

Months passed. He worked. He did his job. He ignored the phantom touches of her hands, the memory of her body under his palms as they had danced. He ignored the fact that he still saw her in his dreams, that he still woke up reaching for someone who had never been his.

But when he finally had time off—when he was granted a rare week away from the madness—his feet carried him to a plane.

To that beach.

It was foolish. He told himself that even as he walked along the shoreline, his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, his slacks cuffed slightly to keep the tide from soaking them. The air was humid, the breeze warm against his skin, but the place was quiet. Empty.

She wasn’t here.

Of course, she wasn’t.

She had played him one last time, and he had been stupid enough to believe she might—

“Hmm? Who’s that?”

His body went still.

That voice.

His head whipped around, his breath stalling in his chest, and—

There she was.

Standing at the edge of the beach, watching him with something infuriatingly amused in her expression. The golden light of the setting sun kissed your skin, illuminating the curves of your body, and—

Fuck.

You were wearing a bathing suit. A damn good one.

His mouth went dry.

“Well, well,” you mused, crossing your arms under your chest, head tilted slightly as your lips curled into something resembling a smirk. “What an interesting coincidence.”

Nanami exhaled sharply, forcing himself to pull his gaze up to your face. “So you were telling the truth.”

You laughed, the sound warm, teasing.

“Oh, Kento. You should know by now—I never lie. I just… leave out certain details.”

His jaw tightened. “And what detail was this?”

“That you’d actually come looking for me.” You stepped closer, and he fought the urge to step back. “I mean, I hoped you would. But a cop on vacation? Here, of all places? That’s dedication.”

“I needed a break.”

“Hmm.” Your eyes dragged over him, slow and deliberate, before you smirked again. “Well, lucky me.”

He let out a slow breath. “You’re not running.”

“And you’re not arresting me.”

"I'm not in my jurisdiction."

"Ah." You hummed.

You stood there, the tension crackling between you like a live wire. The waves lapped at the shore, the distant hum of music from a beachside bar filling the silence.

Nanami swallowed. He should walk away. He should turn around, head back to his hotel, and pretend this never happened.

But then you reached out, fingers grazing his wrist. Light. Barely there.

And that was it.

He moved first.

His hand shot up, cupping the side of her face, pulling her in hard. Your lips met in a clash of heat and frustration, months—years—of tension igniting in a single kiss.

You made a sound against his mouth, something like a gasp, something like a laugh, before melting into him, pressing up against him, fingers sliding into his hair.

He groaned, deep and rough, as he pushed you back, walking them towards the nearest wall, the nearest surface, anything to ground himself.

You broke apart just long enough to breathe, and you grinned, breathless.

“Took you long enough.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him so you could feel exactly what you had done to him.

You didn’t tease. Not this time.

You just sighed against his mouth, tugging at the buttons of his shirt, and he was lost.

Later, when the sun had set and they were tangled together in your sheets, your fingers tracing lazy circles against his skin, you murmured, “So, what now, detective?”

He exhaled, eyes closed, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder.

Now?

Now, he was completely fucked.

A/N: hope this was okay! and that it was in the rhelm of what you wanted, tbf i kinda went overboard haha.

Masterlist.

~

You stared into the darkness of the basement for what felt like too long.

It was quiet down there, but not the kind of quiet that felt comforting. It was the kind of silence that felt suffocating—taunting. It was so loud in its taunting, snickering at you and your idiocy and naivety. Even as you laid on the floor, feeling like the lowest of jokes, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret the decisions that brought you here.

Nat was your friend. Or at least, you liked to consider her one, and even faced with the threat of the worst punishment Steve could muster, you just couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything differently. You couldn’t imagine yourself waking Peter up that night and telling him you saw the redhead escaping, effectively alerting the other husbands to her presence, leading to her subsequent capture. It just wasn’t in you, and clearly none of these men—not even Peter—knew you at all if they thought it was.

The first time you tried to move, you couldn’t, and for a brief moment, you thought that Steve had injured you in his delight to toss you down the stairs like a sack of flour instead of a person. However, you quickly came to realize that wasn’t the case. You could move your fingers and toes fine, even twitch your leg, but you just couldn’t find the strength to move. You felt beyond defeated, and when you blinked, you weren’t shocked to feel a sting behind your eyes.

There was the most awful aching feeling in your chest, both heavy and hollow even though you didn’t know how that was possible. You wanted to cry and scream, but you also never wanted to utter another word ever again. You wanted to let out everything you felt since the moment you came here, but in the same breath, you desperately wanted to feel numb. If you didn’t feel a thing, then you couldn’t get hurt, and you hurt so much, right now.

Peter killed Michelle.

He didn’t help kill her, but he did kill her, and in the grand scheme of things, maybe that shouldn’t make a difference. After all, you’d still been under the impression that he did nothing while his brothers did. You’d still been under the belief that he allowed it to happen at best and helped it happen and cover it up at worst. So, why did Peter pulling the trigger make all the difference in the world to you?

Was it because you thought you were falling in love with him?

That thought had you squeezing your eyes shut, so tight that it hurt, and it was hard to hold back your sob. Your nails scraped against the hard floor as you shook, struggling to breathe as your stomach turned. Once you started it was so hard to stop, and it wasn’t long before the sound of your choked cries were filling the basement. It was a thought you’d considered before, but that was when he wasn’t a murderer.

That was when he hadn’t murdered your best friend.

How could you possibly rationalize it now? Deep down, you knew that this wasn’t your fault. Deep down you knew that there were names and studies dedicated to people in your position and the psychology behind it, but that didn’t make you feel any better. Peter had murdered your friend in cold blood…

…and you thought you loved him.

The thought made you want to be sick, and with horror, you could actually feel your stomach turning. You hurried to sit up, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth as you struggled to keep it down. The bathroom only some feet away was locked—wouldn’t be unlocked until someone came down to open it and let you in—and you didn’t think you could handle sitting in a room with your vomit just stewing in the corner.

Struggling to get to your feet, you pressed your other hand to your stomach, trying to settle it. Keeping your mouth closed, you breathed through your nose, lashes fluttering, and after some time, you slowly stumbled towards where you knew the bed to be. You didn’t care about turning on the light, finding no need, and when you sat down, your head drooped in defeat.

There was really no telling how long they’d keep you in here until they figured out what to do with you, and while you knew that Peter would try his damndest to get them to go easy on you, you also knew that they wouldn’t consider a word that left his mouth. You—and also Peter by extension—had proven Steve and the others right, and you found it unlikely they’d ever listen to another suggestion from Peter about you ever again. Or at the very least, not for a long time.

Besides, Peter wasn’t the aggrieved party.

Bucky was, and such a thought made you shudder. You’d done well to avoid attracting Bucky’s ire even though he reminded you of Steve in some ways. Although, unlike Steve, Bucky didn’t seem the type to look for any and every excuse to punish you as he’d prefer in a contrast to Peter’s methods. Bucky seemed—if nothing else—fair to you, and that’s what scared you the most.

Bucky now felt wronged by you.

So, there was really no telling what was in store for you.

You recalled the way he’d reached for you, desperately trying to get past Peter in his efforts to get his hands on you. You didn’t want to imagine what he would’ve done had he succeeded, and you swallowed as your mind went rampant with the possibilities. Your hand came up to graze the tear in your sleeve, wincing at the slight sting you felt when your finger came in contact with the skin. Some part of you knew that had Bucky succeeded, he just might have killed you in his rage, and where you once would’ve welcomed such a thought…

It only made your heart ache, now.

You didn’t want to die, and when you thought about why, your stomach only twisted into knots once again. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you keeled over, throat tight as you tried to swallow down another sob. Your chest hurt so much, feeling like someone had an iron grip on your heart and was just squeezing and twisting it to their content. When you gasped, a cry escaped with it, and the only other time you could recall feeling like this was the day you realized your friends were dead and you were all alone.

You cried until your throat felt raw, and you didn’t fight your body as it started to collapse to the floor, sliding off of the bed in a heap. Covering your face with your hands, your lightly dragged your nails down your skin, frame shaking as you rocked back and forth. Your stomach wouldn’t stop hurting, and you couldn’t stop shaking. In fear or anger or despair—you didn’t know.

You did know that this was all Peter’s fault. He was the one who decided he had to have you, as if you were some thing to be acquired instead of a human being with a life and feelings and autonomy. If it weren’t for him, your friends would still be alive, and you wouldn’t even be here. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be feeling ripped apart by how you felt about the man who kidnapped and raped you. All of this was Peter’s fault…and even still…more than anything…

All you wanted was for him to hold you.

It was hard to say how long you stayed in the basement. The darkness and silence was endless, and it felt like months, but in reality, it was probably mere days. You did know that it was long enough for your stomach to ache from more than just fear and for your nightgown to stink from more than just sweat. You didn’t think you were capable of feeling embarrassed about that anymore. After all, Peter never made you feel like it was something to be embarrassed about, but that was before you heard the sound of the locks on the basement door.

Despite your shame, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Until the light from the top of the stairs outlined a familiar silhouette.

You merely stared at him as he stood on the first step, yours on him and his eyes on you. You couldn’t hear any noise coming from the main part of the house, and you said nothing when he closed the door behind him. Peter wasn’t good. You knew that since the beginning when he told you that everything he did was so that he could have you, making it all okay. Peter had never been good.

So, why did looking at him now hurt so much more than it ever had?

As soon as Peter was close enough, the first thing he did was take your face into his hands. You couldn’t really feel them, realizing that you got your wish to feel numb, and that just made your chest ache more. Just days ago you were desperate to feel the comfort of Peter’s touch, and now you couldn’t feel it, at all.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured, face a mere inch away from yours.

When you didn’t say anything back, you noticed the way his face fell, lips pressed together as he eyed you. His gaze lingered on yours for the longest, thumbs just grazing your skin, and you watched the way his tongue darted out to swipe between his lips.

“We need to get you cleaned up.”

His words had you blinking, and it was only then did you notice the fresh dress resting on the crook of his arm. You didn’t ask him what day it was because it didn’t matter. You only knew what would be happening today, and it’s why the dress on Peter’s arm was so pretty. It was why you’d been locked in the basement for days. It was why Peter looked at you the way he did as he helped you stand.

“I’m so sorry,” were the words he murmured into your hair as soon as he leaned you against him.

What was he apologizing for exactly? For killing Michelle or lying to you about it? For taking you and ruining your life in the first place? Or for failing to protect you from the wrath of the other husbands? Maybe he was apologizing for what was to come, and that made you shut your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again as he brought your head to rest in the crook of his neck.

You didn’t respond—didn’t know how to—only allowing him to guide you into the bathroom after unlocking it. You couldn’t really say how you got naked, only feeling as if you blinked before finding yourself sitting in a tub of hot water with Peter raining water down over your head. He was talking to you, saying something that went in one ear and out of the other. All you could focus on was that dress on the toilet, wondering what they planned to make you do while wearing it.

When you felt the weight of Peter’s gaze, it was only then did you take note of the silence. You didn’t know if he’d asked you a question or if he simply opted to stare at you, but when his hand came up to graze the side of your face, you assumed it was the latter. Perusing you, you watched as his gaze became distracted by the shallow scrape on your arm from Bucky’s nails, and when Peter’s jaw tightened, you knew that he realized where it came from too.

“Peter,” you softly forced out, throat tight.

He gave you his undivided attention, and you licked your lips.

“What are they going to do to me?”

Your question came out almost inaudible, just barely above a whisper as you found yourself almost too afraid to ask—too fearful to want to know. When Peter’s face fell some, your own frown deepened, and when he sighed, your heart sank.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he slowly told you, and you could see that he was telling the truth.

You knew that Peter would have no say in this, you’d known that, but faced with the knowledge that was completely in the dark only served to make your stomach twist more. Only this time, you weren’t able to stop it, and it was Peter who kept you from falling as you hurried to get out of the tub. You only just made it to the toilet in time, and with nothing in your stomach to throw up, all you expelled was bile.

One of Peter’s hands were on your waist, the other soothingly rubbing your back as you vomited again. With every heave of your stomach, you shook more and more, and when you were done, you could only stare at the wall behind the toilet.

“You’re sick,” he said, tone strained with worry.

You shook your head.

“No, I’m just… I’m scared,” you honestly told him, lifting your gaze to meet his. “…and heartbroken.”

Peter sadly tilted his head, and your lips quivered.

“Why did you lie to me?” you breathed. “Why did you…? Why did you minimize your part in it?”

You continued before Peter could lie some more.

“Why did you hold me and comfort me and tell me you weren’t as bad as them when you’re much worse?”

“I’m not,” he argued, grabbing your shoulder.

“…but you are,” you said with a frown. “At least with Steve and Tony and Bucky I know who they are. I fear them because they’ve shown me why I should.”

Peter pulled you closer, resting your head on his chest as he rocked you.

“You made me love you.”

The words came out small and choked, your face crumbling as Peter stilled, and you’d stupidly thought you had no more tears left. Your body proved you wrong, frame shaking as your chest tightened, a cry escaping you in the otherwise quiet bathroom. Peter didn’t respond right away, just holding you as you cried.

“I’m still the same person I was before you found out,” he whispered, rocking you. “…the same person you begged to run away with.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” he confessed. “…but it’s why I can hold you every night for as long as I want.”

He leaned down to gently kiss your forehead, and your vacant and tearful gaze was on the bathtub, now.

“You don’t have to agree with it, even I don’t agree with it, but it had to be done if I wanted you all to myself.”

You knew that justified it all in Peter’s mind, and the part of your brain that was conditioned to normalize your new reality wanted to pull him closer, but the part that desperately missed your friends and family and old life only wanted to be sick.

When Peter rinsed you off and dried you, his fingers grazed your skin as he helped you get dressed. Soothing words left his lips that didn’t really mean much because how could he calm you against something that was unknown to him too? He didn’t even know what he was comforting you from. Once dressed, he stood before you, looking you over with his fingers grazing over yours.

When your eyes met his, his gaze softened, and you didn’t stop him when he leaned in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. Like every touch and kiss of his, now, you didn’t really feel it, and when Peter pulled away, you felt that the numbness that consumed you reflected in your own gaze. He heaved a sigh, fingering the ring on your finger.

“I still love you,” he assured you, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “That’ll never change…and even… Even when I have to do whatever it is I have to do today, I’ll be doing it with love.”

Those words didn’t exactly comfort you, and your eyes briefly closed when he walked you out of the bathroom. The stairs were hard to take, courtesy of your lack of food and what little sleep you’d managed to get. You shook beside Peter, and you knew that it was from more than just not eating. In fact, you were sure you were going to throw up again.

The house was unusually quiet—as well as empty—and that did nothing to alleviate your uneasiness. Peter’s hold on your hand was gentle, and as much you loved to hate him in this moment, you appreciated that he walked outside with you instead of walking you outside like a prisoner. You were surprised by how early it was in the day, bringing your hand up to shield your eyes from the rising sun. Days in the darkness had them hurting from the harsh natural light.

Just as you got used to it, a familiar and intimidating voice spoke.

“Leave her right there.”

Only, it wasn’t the voice you were used to being on the receiving end of. Your eyes met familiar blue ones as Peter was forced to step away from you, Bucky’s gaze very much transparent as he looked at you. His anger and disgust were palpable, and you found that you couldn’t hold his gaze.

That was a mistake.

“You will look at me,” he sneered, hurrying over to you and harshly gripping your chin.

Behind him, you could see Peter take a step forward only to be stopped by Sam. Bucky’s fingers were painfully pressing into your skin, and as difficult as you found it, you held the brunette’s gaze. It was in that moment that you realized why the house had seemed so quiet on your way out. You noted that the only person missing was Jane, and you guessed with her pregnancy and a need for someone to watch Margaret and Sharon’s children, they decided to kill two birds with one stone.

They clearly didn’t want to stress her, and that only made you more fearful of what was in store for you.

“We’re not stupid, you know,” Bucky said to you, and you swallowed. “We expect the odd escape attempt here and there.”

You weren’t used to being on the receiving end of Bucky’s venomous gaze, blue eyes icy.

“We look forward to it even,” he confessed. “None of you will ever succeed, so it helps you realize that, and you get it out of your systems.”

You blinked back tears, and Bucky took note of them, lip curling over his teeth.

“In fact…we had been anticipating yours from the moment we let you out of that basement, but I guess you really were too docile to fight back properly,” he continued, voice growing bitter. “Too docile even to tell one of us when our wife was trying to escape.”

When you blinked again, a tear finally escaped, and you didn’t know if you were supposed to respond. Evidently you were.

“What?” Bucky wondered, roughly letting your chin go. “Nothing to say for yourself?”

Your chest heaved with a deep breath, and you started to glance around.

“No, don’t look at them. Look at me,” Bucky ordered. “After all, it was my wife who anything could’ve happened to.”

When your gaze met his again, more tears spilled over, and you sniffed.

“I’m sorry-.”

“We expect you to fight back…try and make a run for it… What we don’t expect is more loyalty to a traitorous wife than the men of the house,” he interrupted you, spitting the words out and making you flinch. “…because anything could come of that. You could kill one of us.”

“I… I’m sorry,” you said again, knowing it wouldn’t change anything but also knowing it was what he wanted to hear.

Bucky stared at you for a long time—too long—just looking down his nose at you as if he could barely stand to look at you. You were all too aware of the eyes on you, all too aware of the example being made out of you. You were in the dark about what was going to happen, now, and it made you want to be sick. However, of all the things you expected…

You didn’t expect Bucky to quickly grab your arm, twisting it—and you with his other arm—before violently shoving you to the ground. It happened so fast that when you finally cried out in pain, clutching your wrist, you were already looking up at him from the grass. He wasn’t looking at you though, hands behind his back as he stepped away from you.

“There are two outcomes for you today,” he started, making his way towards Peter who looked like he was moments away from committing murder—again. “Personally, I’m partial to either outcome…”

When you started to push yourself to your feet, the dark-haired man heard it, pausing to look at you with a wag of his finger.

“No, no. You don’t get up yet…”

Heart sinking, you sat back down, clutching your arm to you as you looked between him and Peter.

“The first,” he dragged out, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We finally get to see what Peter has in him…”

You froze, skin growing cold and heart dropping to your gut.

“…see if he has what it takes to make you…” Bucky turned his gaze to you, eyes glinting wickedly “…beg him to stop.”

You couldn’t stop more tears from spilling over, the realization of what this day could possibly bring crashing down on you like a wave. When you glanced over, your eyes met a familiar green pair, and Nat’s disgust and regret was plain as day on her face. She looked at you like she wanted to take your place in a heartbeat, but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

You couldn’t hold in your sob, pressing your hand to your mouth.

“You can’t cry, now,” Bucky’s voice reached you as he neared you. “We haven’t even started yet.”

He forced you to your feet, and his hands were the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

When you first got here, Peter promised that that would never be you. He told you that he would never, but considering the circumstances of your offense, that choice was no longer up to him. You couldn’t stop sobbing, choking noises climbing out of your throat as Bucky continued.

“The other option is two months in the basement.”

When your eyes met Bucky’s again, there was a gleam in his eye and a curve to his lips that told you it wouldn’t be so easy as choosing which you’d prefer. You didn’t even want to say that the choice would be easy if given one because while your worst fear was recreating what Margaret had to go through during your first days here…you also knew that two months down in that darkness would break you beyond belief.

Two months down there, and you were sure you wouldn’t even be yourself when you emerged.

“It all depends on who gets to you first,” Bucky softly said, making you frown at him.

When he stepped away, you swayed on your feet, but his hand met your arm again when he turned you towards the small pond, free arm gesturing towards the dense trees behind it.

“Those legs that are near and dear to Peter’s heart are going to take you as far as you can go…”

His whispered words made you frown.

“Now, don’t think that you’re getting away…” he looked at you and you slowly looked at him. “…because you’re not. Someone will catch you, it’s only a matter of who, and that determines if this pretty little dress is coming off or not.”

His reminder of one of the possibilities made you lightheaded, and you pressed your hand to your chest when he walked away.

“If Peter catches you, then Peter will do what he has been instructed to do…”

The man in question spoke up, quietly pleading with Bucky, but the older man ignored him.

“…and I was going to participate in this little game,” Bucky said, jaw ticking as he looked at you. “…but you deserve to be terrified after what you did.”

You pressed your lips together, blinking away tears as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“So…” he backed up, a small smile on his pink lips. “If Steve catches you…”

You couldn’t stop your knees from buckling, world spinning as you caught yourself on your hands and knees. Your skin pricked, and you felt almost on the verge of a heart attack.

“He gets to put you in the basement…” a pause. “Again.”

The sounds of the world were going in and out, and once again, you felt like you were going to throw up. Both options were the last thing you ever wanted, and once you ran into those trees, you didn’t know what would relieve you less—the sight of Peter or the sight of Steve. It was sick, really, because obviously you would rather be caught by Peter, but not if it meant…that.

…and if Steve caught you, you just knew it wasn’t going to be that simple

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Bucky’s words were mocking, filled with a mixture of disdain and satisfaction, and as you looked up at him, you didn’t know who you hated more—him or Steve. The blond in question was someone you had avoided looking at since you stepped outside, bitter to see the sick satisfaction that no doubt covered his features at your humiliation.

Your comeuppance.

Pushing yourself to your feet was a struggle, and you didn’t look at Peter, too afraid to realize that he might be who you wanted to catch you, after all, even if it did mean public humiliation beyond comprehension. You felt beyond alone as you walked down the small decline, the dewy grass so nice against the soles of your feet despite the circumstances.

It was only when you got to the tree line, staring inside, did it hit you.

You were going to be hunted and chased down like some animal, and depending on who caught you first, that was what your punishment would be. Both options were enough to make your stomach flip, and for the life of you, you just couldn’t decide which was better. With a panicked sob, you forced your feet to move.

Every tree looked just like the other to you, and there was nothing in these woods to signal some kind of progress as you ran. It was crazy to think that there had once been days when you dreamed about being in these woods, closer to freedom and away from the craziness you’d been forced into. Now, however, you were in said trees and all you could think about was who would get to you first.

Bucky’s words echoed in your mind.

It wasn’t a matter of whether either of them would catch you. Both of you knew that you weren’t getting away from here, let alone from Peter or Steve in these woods. One of them was going to find you first, and even as you brushed past harmful branches and stumbling vines, you still didn’t know which choice presented to you was better. More than anything, you wanted it to be Peter to find you, but could you be okay with being raped for the whole household to see? This wasn’t like that day with Margaret…

Both Steve and Bucky wanted to make the biggest example out of you, and so the entire household would be there to witness your humiliation. However…it was one day. One hour even at the most of Peter doing what he normally did whenever you were alone…just in front of everyone else. If Steve caught you on the other hand…

Two months in the basement was a thought that actually made your knees shake, causing you to stumble against a tree. You knew—you knew—that you couldn’t handle that, and you knew that Peter knew it too. One option was just one bad day, that was all, but the other option would turn you into even more of a mess than you already were. You’d spent less than a week down there at the most, and both times were hell for you.

The second more so than the worst, and you didn’t want to unpack why that was.

When you heard a tree branch snap, you felt yourself freezing. The tree you were next to was larger, much larger than you, and you remained perfectly still as your hand rested against it. You had only stopped for a few moments, and the whole time you’d been lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even heard any footsteps. In fact, something in you told you that you were supposed to hear the snap of that branch.

When you dared to peek around the trunk, all of your breath left you.

The sight of Steve’s blond hair and back was a stomach turning one, and just as quietly as you peeked around, you hid yourself behind the tree once more. With one movement, you could end this torture and not have to be fucked for the whole household to see, but no matter how much you didn’t want that…you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

…because you didn’t want the alternative either.

Steve terrified you beyond belief—something Bucky had acknowledged—and something in you just knew that he wasn’t going to find you and take you back to the house as easy as that. Outside of raping Margaret, you had never heard of Steve doling out any kind of physical abuse, but you had a sneaking suspicion that Steve would strike you square across the face if he could get away with it.

Peeking around the tree again, you watched him walk away, scanning the area before him for any sign of you. Your nails pressed into the trunk, and with a sinking heart, you both accepted and hoped that Peter would find you, making peace with what that meant for you. With Steve completely out of your sight, you didn’t know which way to go, and so you went forward, adjacent to the direction Steve went.

You felt like you were getting so turned around the further you walked, and you wondered what would happen if you just decided to go back to the house. You wondered how the punishment would be decided then—provided you actually made it back without being caught. The thought of being caught by Steve prevented you from remaining calm and thinking clearly.

Or maybe it was everything else that did that.

You could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes, and you struggled to swallow, throat feeling incredibly tight. You’d thought that you cried enough in the basement, but that kept proving to be untrue. A few tears skipped down your face before many more followed behind, and you took in a shaky breath.

How was it that you hated Peter so so much for what he did…while also wanting nothing more than to just return to your bedroom with him when this was over? You didn’t want to go back down there, alone and bathed in darkness. You wanted to sleep in your bed with Peter and you wanted him to hold you while you cried about the very thing he’d done that caused the tears.

You hated him, but you wanted to be near him.

You didn’t want to hate him from afar. You wanted to hate him while staring at his face every night and listening to the sound of his breathing and feeling his hands on your shoulder as he sat behind you in the bathtub. You hated Peter so much for what he did—and lying about it—but it just wasn’t the kind of hate where you couldn’t stand the sight of him, and you hated him all the more for that.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of footsteps, and considering you’d gone in the opposite direction of Steve, you were prepared to meet your fate when your gaze would meet that of a familiar brown one. Only, the eyes that met yours weren’t brown…they were blue…and you felt your lips part.

You didn’t hesitate to run the other way, a scream climbing out of your throat when you were tackled to the ground. Steve’s hand was pressed to the back of your head as he slammed your face against the leaves and sticks, making you gasp, and when his arm snaked around your neck, a choked sound left you.

You weren’t surprised when he threw you to the dirt again.

“I knew…” he started, slowly following you as you attempted to crawl away. “From the moment Peter gave us that crock of shit about a gentler method, I fucking knew.”

You clawed at the dirt when Steve reached down to pull on one of your legs.

“I knew then that he was being too soft with you,” he spat, flipping you over. “I knew that it would come back to bite us.”

Steve squatted over you, one hand tightly curling around your throat, and you struggled to breathe as he slowly forced you to your feet. Your scraped at his hand, gaze tearful and pleading as Steve stared you down, nostrils flaring. His blond hair was a mess, an unusual sight for you, but those blue eyes were as cold as ever.

Steve really hated you.

“Bucky is better than me,” Steve hissed at you. “…because if Margaret had gotten as far as Nat did because of you, I wouldn’t make Peter stop until you were begging for him to put you out of your misery.”

You pushed at his hands, panicked, and he only shook you in response.

“You think he’s your best fucking friend,” Steve breathed through clenched teeth, sizing you up. “Instead of the man who owns you.”

When he threw you down, your head spun, and you struggled to right your vision. You pressed your hands to your temples as you cried, fighting the urge to curl in on yourself.

“That ends today…”

Steve’s words were spoken with finality, and you didn’t quite understand the meaning of them as you heard approaching footsteps. You heard Steve exhale, and when you dared to look up, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of Peter.

“Peter,” he acknowledged. “Love that timing of yours.”

Peter didn’t hesitate to hurry towards you, placing a hand on your head as you sobbed. As you’d suspected, you knew it wasn’t going to be that simple if Steve caught you instead, and you realized just how complicated it was going to be at the sound of his next words.

“We need to make sure nothing like this happens again, Peter,” Steve told him, and they shared a look, something unspoken between them that had Peter’s jaw clenching.

“So, is that why you forgot who she belongs to? Is that why you treated her like you used to treat Peggy on her really bad days? She’s already terrified of you. What more do you want?” he sneered at him, briefly looking at you and brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“I need her to be terrified of you,” Steve answered, hands on his hips. “I told you from the beginning that you were too soft with her. I told you what needed to be done for her to get it.”

“Yeah, Steve, alright, I get it-!”

“…but you don’t,” Steve yelled at Peter, staring at the younger man just like a brother would. “You don’t get it because if you did, this would’ve never happened.”

Steve gestured around, cutting you a scathing look that made you wither.

“She would’ve never felt more loyal to Nat than the men who run this household. She would’ve understood that she exists to serve you and the house as a whole by extension.”

You hated the way Peter’s hands slowed on your face, and when you looked at his own face, he looked to be deep in thought.

“Not just the wives and whatever they think is best, but what’s best for the family,” Steve paced. “You are going to make her understand that she’s not your friend and certainly not your fucking equal.”

You watched Peter defeatedly exhale, eyes falling closed.

“You are going to make her understand that, right now,” Steve snarled.

“Steve…”

Peter’s tone was pleading, and that was when you finally sat up, looking between them with a racing heart. You scooted back, but Peter’s hand on your arm prevented you from going far. When your gaze met his, his eyes had softened, something in them pleading with you.

“I will make you, Peter.”

Steve’s tone was scarily calm, and you glanced at him, lips shaking at the malice in his eyes.

“Do you understand me? I will not rest until I catch her slipping up again, and depending on my mood that day, I just might make you fuck her right there in the garden for all to see,” he quietly told him. “So, it’s either now or it’s later…but it is happening. You decide.”

In truth, you didn’t know why you were crying. You had already accepted that you’d rather get the bad thing over with than drag it out for two months. However, that was the thing, wasn’t it? Steve was going to make Peter do this and still turn around and throw you right down in that basement. Even though there was less humiliation involved, it still seemed unfair.

“Do this and…maybe I can convince Bucky to only leave her down there for a month,” Steve proposed, and by the tone of his voice, he knew that he’d won.

You barely had time send Steve a scathing look of your own before your back roughly met the ground.

Peter’s mannerisms were rough, and while you knew it was because Steve wanted them to be, it didn’t mean you had to like it. You didn’t think Peter had ever been rough with you, and you cried out at the harsh pull on your hair, his other hand painfully digging into your waist.

“See, you need to understand, sweetheart,” Steve’s voice reached your ears as he circled you. “That you belong to Peter. You exist as an extension of him, now. You exist to exalt him, and the only way that you will get it in your head that you’re his property…”

Peter had flipped you onto your stomach, now.

“Is if he treats you like it.”

You yelped when your chest was forced to the ground, Peter manhandling you in the way he knew Steve wanted.

“…and what better way to do that than to show you that he can and will take you wherever and whenever regardless of who is around to see it,” he slowly said, making sure he was heard loud and clear.

The humiliation of feeling Peter push his cock into you before Steve’s very eyes had you squeezing yours shut, a harsh sob escaping as Peter’s skin slapped against yours. His hand was on your throat, and you clawed at it, gasping when his teeth pressed into your shoulder.

“You don’t have autonomy over your body anymore. You don’t exist independently of Peter, and that extends to this family…”

Peter’s harsh thrusts made your toes curl, and what was once a rough entry had become much smoother. With no warning and feeling wholly unprepared for this turn of events, tears escaped your eyes, and your fingers dug into the grass and dirt. The feel of Peter’s cock pushing into your walls was a familiar one you’d grown to love, but the sound of Steve’s pacing steps and voice made you want to crawl in a hole.

You felt torn apart.

“Had you previously understood that, all of this could’ve been prevented.”

Steve sounded pleased with himself—and Peter—and the thought made you sick. When Peter pulled your head back, you winced, and you started to move away from him, wanting this earlier and regretting it now—especially since you were going back into the basement anyway.

When Peter’s lips grazed your ear, you shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you, hand painfully pulling at your hair, making you cry out again.

You recalled Peter’s words from earlier, and you knew why this was happening. You understood the hierarchy in the household, understood that what Steve said went, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Steve would’ve absolutely made this happen for the whole house to say. You understood that this was the better alternative, but that understanding is what made you cry more.

This wasn’t something to be understood. The man thrusting into you had killed your friends and kidnapped you, and the man before you had helped. Peter wasn’t your husband or your lover but instead your captor and rapist. Nothing about any of this was right, and in this moment, you shouldn’t be rationalizing or understanding anything.

…but you did.

You understood why Peter grabbed you with no hesitation and proceeded to fuck you under Steve’s watchful eye. You understood why being raped for all to see had briefly been the better choice to you than being sent back into the basement. You understood why Peter was murmuring sweet nothings and apologies into your ear as he roughly held you down and plunged his cock into you.

You understood it all, and you hated it.

You didn’t want to simultaneously hold Peter closer and push him away as he roughly fucked you against the grass, face to face with you, now. You didn’t want him to obey when Steve told him to fuck you harder. You didn’t want to understand that Peter didn’t actually want this because if that were true he simply wouldn’t do it, right? You didn’t want to accept that this house didn’t follow the rules of the outside world and that so long as you were here—and you would be here forever—neither would you.

“Are you sorry, now?” Steve wondered, somehow able to hear his voice over the sound of your cries. “Hmm?”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, but you knew you gave him that anyway the moment you started crying. When Peter’s eyes met yours, he shushed you, a poor attempt to make this better somehow, and his next words made you blink.

“Do you see how much worse I could be?” he whispered, too low for Steve to hear. “How much worse they want me to be?”

You stared at him, nails digging into the skin of his arm, and with another harsh sob, you nodded.

“Do you understand what I’ve been trying to protect you from?”

Again, you nodded.

Peter’s nose grazed your own.

“Do you get it now?” he sadly asked you.

When you nodded again, unable to find your voice between cries, Peter shushed you. His fingers pressed into your skin, and his hips painfully came down against yours. When his lips pressed against yours, they swallowed the noises that escaped your throat.

“I never wanted this for you.”