#yandere

It's not a kiss. It's an apology. It's a confession. It's every "I'm sorry" and every "I love you" and every "I don't deserve you" that he's never been able to say aloud, poured into the press of his mouth against your skin.

When he pulls back, there's paint on his lips. Red, like he's been drinking pomegranate seeds. Like how your blood always looks so beautiful on his lips.

You reach for him—just to brush the paint away, just to touch his face, just to remind him that he's here and you're here and you're not going anywhere—

He flinches.

Just... withdraws.

Pulls back into himself like a flower closing at dusk. His shoulders go rigid. His jaw sets. His eyes, his beautiful green eyes, go distant and guarded.

"Don't."

Don't pity him.

Don't comfort him.

Don't look at him like he's something broken that needs fixing, even though he is, even though he know he is, even though he been broken since long before you found him and he'll be broken long after you're gone.

Don't touch him like he's worthy of your tenderness.

He doesn't say any of that. But you hear it anyway.

So you let your hand fall. You never push. That's why he keeps coming back to kneel at your feet—because you understand that some creatures can only be loved sideways, in glances, in silences, in the space between reaching and touching.

He exhales. The tension in his shoulders eases by a single degree.

And he picks up his brush again.

He paints robins on your collarbone. They perch on the branches of old hickeys, little rust breasted birds with wings half open, ready for flight but choosing to stay. Choosing you.

He paints so slowly. His free hand rests on your knee, thumb tracing absent circles on the inside of your thigh—just... there. Just reminding himself that you're real, that you're here, that you haven't left.

He doesn't understand why you stay.

Why do you stay? Why do you let him do this? Why do you let him paint your bruises into flowers when he should never have bruised you in the first place?

He thinks about it constantly. It keeps him up at night. It follows him through his days like a shadow with teeth.

He wants to ask.

He's terrified of the answer.

So instead he paints. He paints and paints and paints, covering every mark he's made with something beautiful, something soft, something worthy of you. He's trying to become someone who deserves to touch you. He's trying to paint his violence into love, his roughness into reverence, his fear into something that could almost pass for tenderness.

The tears come without warning.

They always do.

One moment he's painting a delicate vine on your skin, and the next there's a tear sliding down his cheek, and then another, and then he's silently crying while his brush hand stays perfectly because he's so used to falling apart while still doing what needs to be done.

A tear drops onto the half finished rose on your thigh and makes the color bleed.

He makes a sound—a small, frustrated, heartbroken sound—and scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. But his hand is covered in paint, so now there's red smeared across his cheekbone, across the bridge of his nose, across his lips. He looks like a man who's been trying to claw his own heart out through his mouth.

He looks broken.

He looks beautiful.

He looks at you with those wet, dark eyes and there's a thousand apologies in them and not a single word makes it past his lips.

He's sorry he's not better. He's sorry he's not gentle. He's sorry he keep hurting you when all he want is to keep you safe. He's sorry he's like this. He's sorry he can't say any of this out loud.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry—

"It's okay," you whisper.

His jaw tightens. His eyes flash—not with anger at you, never at you, but at himself. At the part of him that wants so badly to believe you and the part of him that knows he never will.

He shakes his head like a dog.

It's not okay. It's never okay. He's never okay.

But he doesn't leave.

Because you're his entire world.

He dips his brush again. He paints another rose on top of the smeared one, layering his apologies like rain drops in a puddle, like all the things he can't say building up into something almost visible.

Your friends see his work and call it romantic.

"Oh my god! He's so artistic," they say, admiring the painted robins on your collarbone, the roses blooming down your arms. "So lovely."

They don't know what lies under the paint. They don't know the marks, the cuffs, the chains, the nights when his control slips and his love comes out too rough and he hates himself for it for days afterward.

They don't know the roses bloom with blood and the robins sing screaming.

But you know.

You know all of it.

You know that the boy on his knees before you with paint on his face and tears in his eyes is the same one who bruised you. You know the hands that hold the brush so gently are the same ones that gripped you too hard. You know the mouth that kisses your painted skin in silent apology is the same one that bit down with too much hunger.

You know he's a boy made of thorns who desperately wants to be a flower.

And you love him anyway.

Maybe because of it.

He's so pathetic, in the truest sense of the word—so full of pathos, so drenched in yearning, so achingly human despite all his training to be anything but. He'd carve out his own heart if you asked. He'd hand it to you still beating. He'd apologize for the mess it made on your floor.

But you don't want his heart carved out. You just want him. Here. On his knees. Painting your bruises into flowers and crying silently and flinching from your comfort and still, still, still choosing to stay.

He doesn't know how to be loved. No one ever taught him. He was raised on discipline and duty and the cold lines of expectation.

But he's learning.

Brushstroke by brushstroke.

Rose by rose.

He's learning.

The light shifts. The golden hour fades into dusk. He's still painting. He'll probably paint until there's nothing left to cover, and even then he might keep going, might paint flowers on unbruised skin just because he wants to, just because it gives him an excuse to touch you gently, to stay close, to keep kneeling at your altar.

You don't rush him.

You just sit there, watching the sunset catch the paint on his face, the red smear across his cheek, the way his lashes are still wet. He's so beautiful like this—broken open, trying so hard to be good.

He catches you looking and his expression flickers. Something soft. Something almost vulnerable. Something that might, in another life, in another boy, have been the beginning of a smile.

He doesn't smile.

But he doesn't look away either.

And when he leans down to press one more kiss to the newest rose on your thigh—longer this time, slower, like he's trying to memorize the feel of your skin against his lips—you feel the words he still can't say vibrate through you like a struck bell.

I love you.

I'm sorry.

I'm trying.

Please don't leave me.

You won't. He should know that by now. Maybe he's starting to.

You let your hand rest gently on his head. Just for a second. Just the lightest touch, barely there, barely anything.

This time, he doesn't flinch.

He exhales against your skin.

And he keeps painting.

Maybe tomorrow he paints you a garden.

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝖽𝖼 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𖹭

"Obviously." You rolled your eyes dramatically. "If I die, at least make sure it goes viral."

"Hey, don't say that!"

"I'm kidding." You snorted before handing her your phone. "Record everything. Don't stop recording unless I actually drown."

"That's... somehow not reassuring."

You only laughed, already jogging toward the floating platform where your instructor—your assigned jetpack guard—waited with practiced patience. He secured your life jacket, checking every buckle twice.

"First time?" he asked.

"Is it that obvious?"

"A little."

You groaned. "Please pretend I'm a professional."

"I'll do my best." His amused smile somehow settled your nerves. "Just hold onto the support handles until I tell you otherwise," he instructed. "I'll keep you balanced. If you panic, don't fight the movement. Trust me."

The jetpack engine thundered to life beneath the surface. A second later, the pressure exploded upward. You barely had time to yelp before both of you surged into the air.

Your laughter broke into the wind as the lagoon rapidly shrank beneath your feet. Instinctively, you tightened your grip on the handles while his gloved hand stayed firm around your waist despite the force launching both of you skyward.

"Relax!" he called over the roar. "You're doing great!"

"I'm literally flying!" The words disappeared into another burst of delighted giggles.

The jetpack skimmed low enough for icy spray to pepper your legs before surging skyward again. Laughter escaped you as the instructor guided you through a smooth turn, the shoreline spinning into a blur of blue water and cheering tourists.

"See?" he laughed. "You're a natural."

Still grinning, you glanced down.

The lagoon stretched beneath you like a postcard. Your friends were little more than colorful dots on the dock, one of them still holding your phone toward the sky.

"Whoa..." you breathed, your excitement slowly giving way to awe. You hadn't realized how high you'd climbed.

Your smile faltered. "...We're really high."

"We're fine," the instructor called back. "Just enjoy the view."

You tried to…

But then, without warning, the steady pressure of the hand secured around your waist shifted.

It wasn't enough for you to understand what had happened. Your body merely registered that something felt... different. The grip that had held you effortlessly throughout every dive and spin suddenly loosened, and before your thoughts could even catch up, your balance tilted ever so slightly away from him.

You instinctively started to turn your head. "...Huh?—"

You never got the chance to look at him. The hand around your waist slipped away completely. One second you were flying. The next—

there was absolutely nothing holding you.

Your stomach lurched so violently it felt as though your heart had been ripped straight out with it. A scream exploded from your throat before you even realized you were falling, your body dropping away from the jetpack so suddenly that your hands clawed uselessly at empty air. Until—

SPLASH!

The impact swallowed your scream beneath a towering wall of water. On the dock, laughter ceased instantly. Heads whipped toward the splash.

"What the—"

"Someone fell!"

Your friends froze in horror, one of them still filming with your phone pointed toward the sky, unable to lower it fast enough.

For one suspended heartbeat, every eye searched the water where you'd disappeared beneath the surface.

Then another horrified scream rose from somewhere in the crowd. 

"LOOK OUT!"

Dozens of faces snapped upward again. High above the lagoon, the instructor was no longer upright.

The jetpack still roared, blasting powerful streams of water as if nothing had gone wrong. But without his balance, the instructor had already been thrown backward, falling flat onto his back, completely helpless.

The shock lasted only a second before the entire lagoon erupted into chaos.

Shouts rang across the water as two rescue guards dove in without hesitation. Your lungs burned violently as water forced its way through your nose and down your throat. You couldn't even tell which way was up.

Strong hands finally caught hold of your life jacket.

"There! We've got her!"

The world lurched as they dragged you toward the surface. You broke the surface with a violent gasp, only to choke as water spilled from your mouth. Your chest felt like it had been crushed, every breath scraping painfully against your throat as the guards hauled you onto the dock.

"It's okay, breathe... easy, easy."

You barely heard them.

The moment your knees touched the wooden platform, another coughing fit doubled you over. Water dripped from your hair and clothes, your vision blurred with tears as your friends rubbed circles against your back.

"Oh my God..."

One dropped to her knees beside you while the other wrapped both arms around your shoulders before you could lose your balance again. "You're okay... It's okay..."

People were already crowding around, murmuring over one another, some calling emergency services while others stood frozen, staring back toward the lagoon.

Still coughing, you instinctively looked over your shoulder. Several rescue guards were pulling another body from the water.

The instructor.

His arms hung limply as they lifted him onto the dock, his head lolling unnaturally to one side. Then one of the guards shifted, no longer blocking your view.

Your breathing stopped.

There, just above his brow… a small, dark hole sat in the middle of his forehead.

Blood mixed with the water running down his face, thin streams trailing across the wooden planks beneath him.

The realization spread through the crowd one horrified expression at a time. He hadn't died from the fall.

He'd been shot.

—

The room smelled faintly of coffee and damp paperwork.

A laptop on the desk replayed the same shaky recording for what felt like the tenth time. The officer paused the footage just as your scream echoed through the speakers before leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the desk.

"So..." he began at last, his voice calm but unreadable, "none of you saw anyone?"

The three of you exchanged uncertain glances.

Your friend, still clutching the strap of her bag, swallowed before speaking. "I... I was recording the whole time. I never looked away from the screen." She shook her head helplessly. "I didn't notice anyone else."

The officer gave a slow nod, jotting something into his notebook before turning to your other friend.

"And you?"

She hesitated, searching her memory. "I wasn't really looking around either," she admitted quietly. "I kept watching them through the camera. Everything happened so fast... by the time I heard her scream..." Her voice faded, guilt creeping into her expression.

"Hm."

The officer closed the notebook without another word and finally looked at you. "You were closest to him." His eyes studied your face carefully.

"Did you notice anything unusual? Anything at all?"

"No." Your voice came out hoarse from the water you'd swallowed.

"It happened too fast. One second he was holding me, and the next…” You paused, the memory making your stomach tighten. "I was falling. I didn't even have time to look at him."

The officer remained silent for a moment before asking, almost casually, "Do you have any idea who might've wanted him dead?"

You blinked.

"What?"

"Or perhaps..." He folded his hands together. "Someone who might've been targeting you instead."

Your friends looked at you in confusion. You stared back at the officer, disbelief slowly giving way to irritation.

"...Excuse me?"

"You were attached to him when the shot was fired," he said evenly. "If the timing had been slightly different, you might've been the one hit.”

Your brows pulled together. "I don't know what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything." His tone stayed frustratingly neutral. "I'm asking whether there's anyone in your life who would have reason to harm you."

A humorless laugh escaped you. "No."

"You've never received threats?"

"No."

"No personal disputes? Financial problems? Someone holding a grudge?"

Your jaw tightened. Every question felt more absurd than the last, but you forced yourself to answer without raising your voice.

The officer didn't react. He simply held your gaze for another long second before he slid a notepad across the desk along with a pen.

"Before you leave, I need all three of you to write down your full names, phone numbers, and current addresses. If you plan on leaving the city, let us know beforehand.”

“....”

The three of you exchanged uneasy glances before taking the pen in silence. As you finished writing, the officer gathered the sheet and tucked it into the case file.

"We'll contact each of you again if we need further statements," he said matter-of-factly. "Until then, if you remember anything—no matter how insignificant it seems—you'll notify us immediately.”

—

Outside the station, the afternoon air felt heavier than it had a few hours earlier. Police cars came and went, officers spoke quietly near the entrance, and the distant wail of an ambulance faded into the city's usual traffic.

"So..." she glanced toward the road, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Let's just head home."

You gave a distracted hum in response, but your hand had already wandered to your face. Your fingers drifted to your left cheek, scratching absently for what felt like the hundredth time. The itch wasn't painful, just irritating enough that you couldn't seem to leave it alone.

"Tch..." The sound slipped from your lips before you realized it.

"What's wrong?" one of your friends asked, stepping closer. Her brows knitted as she leaned in to study your face. "Wait..."

"...Did you get hurt?"

"Hm?"

"There..." She frowned harder, clearly trying to figure out what was bothering her. "There's just... something."

Confused, you pulled your phone from your pocket and switched to the front camera. At first, nothing looked unusual—until you tilted the screen toward the light.

The skin along your left cheek had turned an angry shade of red, almost as though it'd been lightly scorched. It wasn't bleeding, but the angry patch easily explained the relentless itch.

"What is it?" your other friend asked.

"I think..." You frowned at your reflection again before locking the screen. "I should probably get this checked."

"Now?"

You nodded. "I'll just stop by the hospital. It's bothering me."

The two exchanged uncertain glances. "Are you sure you'll be okay going there alone?”

You offered them a tired smile and shook your head. “Ofcourse, I will. Why do you guys suddenly say that?”

She exchanged a glance with your other friend before lowering her voice. "I was just thinking about..." She hesitated. "You know... him."

“....” Your expression cooled almost instantly. "...Don't."

"I'm serious." She shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. "He called you from, what, six different numbers after you blocked him?"

"Uh… more than that actually," your other friend corrected under her breath.

You let out a tired sigh. "That was months ago."

“And… I don't really want to remember it.”

A brief silence settled over the three of you.

"...Just be careful, okay?" your friend murmured.

You forced a smile. "I will.”

After a few reluctant goodbyes, they finally disappeared down the pavement, leaving you standing alone outside the station.

The itch returned almost immediately. You scratched your cheek again, then stopped yourself with an irritated sigh.

Several minutes later, a cab pulled up. You climbed into the back seat, gave the driver the name of the nearest hospital, and leaned against the window. Your phone found its way back into your hand almost instantly. The same red patch stared back at you. The longer you looked, the more uneasy you became.

"Rough day?”

The driver's voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You looked up, seeing only the back of his head.

"...Kind of," you admitted quietly before lowering your phone. "Could you hurry, please?"

A low chuckle escaped him.

"I'll get you there." His fingers tapped once against the steering wheel. "Unless traffic decides to piss me off.”

“....” You let out a slow breath and leaned back again.

The ride passed in uncomfortable silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional glance you stole at your own reflection. No matter how many times you looked, the redness seemed a little more noticeable than before.

By the time the hospital came into view, you'd almost convinced yourself it was nothing. You paid the fare, climbed out, then hesitated.

The irritation didn't seem serious enough to justify calling another cab afterward, especially during the evening rush.

You stepped back toward the driver's window and tapped lightly against the glass. It rolled down a second later.

Without really looking at the driver, you leaned toward the window, "Would you mind waiting? It shouldn't take too long."

“....”

Instead of answering, he casually lifted two rough fingers. He held them directly in front of his mouth, his tongue deliberately sticking out between the knuckles as he turned toward you.

The act was entirely wrong, uncomfortable even. Causing a violent shiver to race straight down your spine. It made you halt completely.

"...What?" Your brows drew together as confusion and deep unease flickered across your face.

Only then did he let his hand fall away. There wasn't a hint of embarrassment on his face. Just an almost lazy indifference as he looked at you, as though he hadn't done anything unusual at all. 

"Double check," he drawled. "I mean.”

You stood there for a few seconds, the driver's words taking a moment to register. Whatever unease had crawled beneath your skin lingered, refusing to leave even after the joke had been clarified. You looked at him once more before shaking your head lightly.

"...Never mind." Your voice came out quieter than you'd intended. "Just... go ahead."

He didn't answer.

The window slid back up, and you turned toward the hospital entrance instead, rubbing absently at your cheek.

Inside, a nurse guided you into one of the examination rooms, where a middle-aged doctor adjusted the overhead lamp before gently tilting your chin toward the light.

"Hm..." He studied the reddened patch on your cheek in silence, his gloved fingers hovering just above the irritated skin before lightly examining the edges.

"This wasn't caused by heat," he murmured.

You frowned. "Then?"

He removed his gloves and looked at you over the rim of his glasses. "Radiation residue."

Seeing your confusion, he continued, "Certain specialized rounds leave behind trace amounts. If someone was standing close enough when the projectile passed..." He glanced back at your cheek. "...a burn like this isn't impossible."

"Were you involved in some kind of shooting?"

You hesitated before giving him the shortest version possible of what had happened at the lagoon.

"I see."

He opened a drawer and retrieved a tube of ointment, carefully spreading a thin layer over the burn before covering it with fresh gauze.

"Use this twice a day. Don't scratch it, no matter how much it itches." He scribbled something onto a prescription pad before handing it over. "And tell the police. This may be relevant to their investigation."

You nodded, folding the paper without looking at it. "I will."

Whether you actually planned to return to the station tonight was another matter entirely.

—

By the time you finally made it home, the clock on your phone read 7:58 PM.

It buzzed again.

Six missed calls.

You stared at the notification for a moment before locking the screen with a tired sigh. Whoever it was could wait. Right now, all you wanted was a shower, clean clothes, and a few hours of silence.

After paying the driver, you climbed the stairs to your apartment, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The familiar quiet wrapped around you almost instantly.

You slipped off your shoes near the entrance, dropped your bag beside the couch, and had just started unbuttoning your shirt when something clinked softly in the kitchen.

Your head tilted.

"...Rats?"

Impossible. You'd checked every window before leaving that morning.

Frowning, you made your way toward the kitchen. The sight waiting there stopped you cold.

A man stood in front of your open refrigerator, one hand resting lazily against the door while the other rummaged through the shelves. He didn't even glance back.

"...Don't tell me this's all you've got." His voice was low, rough around the edges. He shifted a few containers aside before clicking his tongue.

"Not even a damn beer."

Your breath caught. 

"W-Who are you?" Your voice cracked. "How did you get in here?!"

He reached into the fridge, pulled out one of your soda cans, and shut the door with his foot. Only then did he answer.

"Keep your voice down." He weighed the can in one hand. "Ya were enough of a pain in the ass to find."

A quiet hiss escaped the tab as he cracked it open. "Don't make this more annoying than it's gotta be."

Every instinct screamed at you to call someone. To inform the police. Your hand shot toward your pocket.

The phone barely cleared the fabric. Something blurred across your vision.

CRACK...

The unopened soda can slammed into the phone with frightening accuracy. It flew from your hand, bounced once across the tiles, and came to rest near the hallway. The screen had shattered beyond recognition.

Then the man finally looked at you. Recognition struck immediately.

The jaw, the scar and those tired green eyes.

The cab driver...

He stared for a second before speaking. "...[name]."

A pause.

"Right?"

He scratched absently at the side of his neck. "...Nah."

Another pause.

"[Na... me]?"

A shrug. "Whatever." He took an unhurried sip of the soda. "Point is..." His gaze settled on you.

"Ya comin' with me..." Another sip. "...or am I gonna have to carry you?"

You forced yourself to breathe. Your eyes drifted toward the knife block sitting beside the sink.

"...Just who are you?" you asked, keeping your voice as steady as you could. "What do you want from me!?"

"You."

He reached into his jacket, pulled out his phone, and flicked through a handful of photos before turning the screen toward you.

It was you.

Jogging everyday.

Crossing the street outside your apartment. Buying groceries. Walking home after sunset. Each picture had clearly been taken without your knowledge.

"...This you?" he asked. His thumb lazily swiped to the next one. 

"Wasn't hard." Another swipe. "Kinda predictable, actually."

He lowered the phone, glancing briefly toward the apartment door. "...Neighbors ever stick their noses where they shouldn't?"

The question sent a chill through you. You didn't answer. Instead, you turned.

Run.

Pressure struck the side of your neck before your first step landed. Your body instantly gave out beneath you.

Your knees hit the floor. Your eyes remained open. You could still hear your own breathing. Still see everything around you. But nothing moved...

"...There it is." His voice came from somewhere above you. "Told ya."

He bent down, hooked an arm beneath your stomach, and effortlessly slung you over his shoulder. As casually as he adjusted your weight and headed for the front door.

"Buckle up.”

—

The cigarette between one man's fingers burned low, its ember glowing each time he took another drag. “So?”

Across from him, the other barely acknowledged the conversation, too busy leaning over a cheap cup of instant ramen. Steam curled lazily into the stale air as chopsticks scraped the bottom of the container.

"You taking the job or not... Toji?"

The chopsticks paused only long enough for him to finish chewing. Then he swallowed, tilted the cup to drain the last of the broth, and exhaled through his nose.

"...Gotta send her to the border." His voice remained flat. "Alive." The word itself sounded more troublesome than anything.

"What a pain."

The other man smirked around his cigarette. "But the money's worth it, right?"

Toji looked up. The corner of his mouth tugged into a lazy, humorless grin. "Yeah." A short chuckle escaped him.

"That's the only reason I'm bothering."

—

The old lock rattled before the worn key finally turned.

A damp, abandoned room greeted him as the lone bulb overhead flickered to life, bathing the space in harsh yellow light.

You were exactly where he'd left you—wrists rubbed raw, ankles no better, duct tape still sealing your mouth. The moment the light struck your face, you instinctively shrank away from the figure in the doorway despite having nowhere to run.

Heavy footsteps stopped in front of you.

He crouched, hooked two rough fingers beneath your chin, and forced your face up. His gaze drifted over the bruises around your wrists and the exhaustion in your eyes before he let go with a quiet scoff.

Even now.

A quiet scoff slipped from him. His grip disappeared just as roughly as it came. "Save your energy for later."

He began to rise, already finished with the inspection.

"Mmh—! Mmh, mmh!!" The frantic noises behind him made him stop. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly. Annoyed.

He looked back over one shoulder, expression as blank as ever. "Ya got something useful to say?"

Your breathing hitched. For a brief moment you hesitated, fear warring with desperation before you nodded as hard as you could.

His eyes lingered on you for another second, judging whether you were worth the trouble. Then, without warning—

Rrrip…

The duct tape came off in one swift pull. A burning sting exploded across your lips and cheeks.

You sucked in a sharp breath, wincing as tears threatened your eyes from the pain alone. Every instinct screamed to cry, but you forced yourself to swallow it down. If this was the only chance you'd get...

You couldn't waste it.

"...Who's behind this?" you asked, voice shaky despite your effort to stay composed. "Why are you doing this—"

His eyes rolled before you'd even finished. "Bullshit again." His hand reached for the roll of tape beside him.

"No—!" The word escaped louder than intended. "No, no, no... please." Your voice cracked as panic flooded in. "Hear me out... please. Just once... just once, please."

"I'll pay you!" A beat of silence.

"You can… have everything I have."

He looked at you with something dangerously close to amusement before letting out a quiet scoff. 

"Sure you will."

Your heart lurched. You shuffled backward on instinct until your shoulders struck the wall behind you. "No, I'm serious!" Your breathing became uneven. "Please... please, I mean it."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting. "...You've got thirty seconds."

You nodded so quickly it almost hurt. Your lungs struggled to keep pace with your racing thoughts.

"Listen... I..." You swallowed hard. "I just need to know who hired you."

"I know you're doing this for money," you rushed on before he could interrupt. "You... you can have all my savings. Everything I have. I'll give it to you."

Your voice trembled despite every attempt to steady it. "Just... just let me go... please."

A low hum escaped him. He tilted his head ever so slightly. "Let you go?" His expression stayed almost painfully indifferent. 

"So ya can run straight to the police?"

"No!"

"You can follow me!" you blurted out. "Like you did before! Please... believe me."

"You think you're the first person to say that?”

“—” Your mind raced, scrambling for any scrap of leverage against a man who seemed impossible to sway. Your gaze flicked over the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scar near the corner of his mouth, and the complete lack of empathy in his piercing green eyes.

Desperation clawed at your throat. If you didn't say something—anything—to make him believe you, he was going to leave you here in the darkness... and you might never walk out.

After trying everything you can think of, your mind suddenly goes blank for a few agonizing seconds. 

“You… listen,” The world feels like it tilts beneath you. Without thinking, driven by nothing but pure survival instinct, the words leave your mouth.

"You can fuck me. I... I'll let you fuck me..."

The words hang there, heavy and unbearable, and the second they leave your lips, regret crashes over you.

The room goes completely still.

His gaze stayed fixed on you, reading the panic written across your face. After a long moment, he exhaled through his nose and tilted his head, a cold smirk tugging at the scar near his mouth.

"Ya think that's gonna pay bills?"

The words landed without emotion. To him, everything had a price, and your offer clearly wasn't worth anything.

"Tch."

One hand steadied your head while the other pressed the tape back over your mouth, cutting off every desperate word before it could leave your lips. Ignoring your muffled protests, Toji stood and walked toward the door.

The lock clicked shut behind him.

—

The whole night passed without seeing him.

The next morning came and went in agonizing silence, and still, the room remained empty. There was nothing left to do but wait for him to come back.

You watched the light beyond the window slowly fade until the room fell dark once again. Hours in the same position had left one entire side of your body aching, stiff and nearly numb.

Then the heavy door creaked open. Boots echoed across the concrete as the overhead light snapped on, forcing you to squint against the sudden brightness. You lifted your head just enough to see Toji standing there.

Without a word, he rolled a plastic water bottle across the floor until it bumped against your leg.

He stood over you for a moment, silently taking in the rope burns around your wrists and your exhausted state. Then he crouched, wrapped a calloused hand around your shoulder, and hauled you upright. Pins and needles shot violently through your numb side.

Before you could react, he ripped the duct tape from your mouth in one swift pull.

He twisted the bottle open and shoved it against your lips, forcing you to drink. You swallowed greedily, choking as water spilled down your chin and soaked the front of your shirt when he refused to slow down.

The bottle emptied just as quickly. He pulled it away, and you slumped forward, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

"Washroom..."

Toji paused, his jaw tightening. He looked immediately pissed, a deep line forming between his dark brows as if your basic human anatomy was a personal inconvenience to his schedule.

With a heavy, annoyed sigh, he reached down, hauling you up roughly by your one arm. Your deadened legs wobbled beneath you, but he didn't care to let you find your footing, unceremoniously dragging you across the concrete toward the small adjoining bathroom.

Once there, he shoved you inside.

He didn't leave though. He just stood right in the doorway, his massive frame completely filling the frame, holding the door wide open.

You blinked through your exhaustion, looking from him to the toilet, your mind stumbling over the lack of privacy.

"...?" You swallowed hard, forcing the words past your dry throat. "Can you please untie my hands?"

Toji leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked down at you with flat, utterly bored eyes. "For what?"

"To clean..." you muttered, your face burning with a sudden, humiliating heat.

He rolled his eyes, letting out a sharp click of his tongue. He stepped forward, his movements terrifyingly fast as he grabbed your wrists. With a quick, dismissive twist of his fingers, he untied the left hand only, leaving your right wrist still bound and restricted.

He stepped back to his post in the doorway. Humiliated and desperate for a shred of dignity, you reached out with your one free hand, trying to pull the bathroom door closed.

He didn't even blink. He casually extended a single, heavy foot, planting his boot against the wood and holding it open nonchalantly. The door didn't move an inch against his weight.

Your breath hitched, a mix of frustration and shame tightening your chest. "Hey..? Let go of the door."

Toji’s eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous, low edge bleeding into his gravelly voice. "Dontcha order me around."

He shifted his weight, looking down at you with a mocking, entirely merciless smirk playing on the corner of his scarred mouth. "Besides, didn't ya say you'd let me fuck you? So what's ya issue now? A door?”

Your eyes widened, a sudden frown of sheer surprise twisting your features. "That's—that's not how I meant it!" you stammered, your voice cracking.

"Shut up," Toji cut you off, his tone instantly dropping into a flat, icy command that brooked zero argument. He didn't even look angry anymore. Just completely done with the conversation.

"Do what you gotta do, or I'm making ya piss on the damn carpet. Take your pick."

"..."

The words died in your throat. You didn't argue anymore. Nope. There was no winning against a man who truly did not care about your modesty, your comfort, or about you.

You kept your head down, your eyes burning as you stared at the floor tiles. You moved with agonizing slowness, glancing up at him just for a split second to see if he was looking or if he had at least looked away out of basic decency.

He was just standing there, propped against the frame, watching with the same detached indifference. As you finally forced yourself to do your business under his unblinking stare, a suffocating wave of mortification washed over you.

Embarrassing, you thought, your chest aching with a raw, bitter sting as you kept your gaze fiercely locked onto the ground.

Fucking embarrassing…

—

A few more days dragged by in that same suffocating rhythm.

He kept you tied, only coming in to force water down your throat, shove a single meal your way, or order you to wash up once a day. 

Every time he did, he looked irritated, as though keeping you alive was an inconvenience. The only thing that changed was the length of the silence between his visits.

What didn't change was the question gnawing at you.

Why hadn't he delivered you yet? If this was just a job, why the delay? Was the buyer farther away than you'd assumed... or had something gone wrong? Every passing day made the answer feel further out of reach, until the uncertainty itself became exhausting.

Then the heavy door flew open.

Toji walked in with a purpose you hadn't seen before. Before you could react, he was already in front of you.

He grabbed your shoulders, hauled you up, and dragged your stiff body across the floor before shoving you into a wooden chair. Pulling another chair over, he sat directly across from you, elbows resting on his knees, his dark green eyes fixed on yours.

"How much are you willing to pay?"

A stunned silence dropped over the room. You stared at him for a few agonizing seconds, your mind racing to catch up with the sudden shift in his motives.

He was bypassing his client…?

"Everything…" you breathed, your voice raw. "Everything I mean it."

Toji didn't look impressed. He leaned back, his expression turning flat and entirely bored.

"How much in exact?"

"..." You swallowed hard, calculating the numbers in your head, knowing this was your only lifeline.

"Worth more than a million. Even more, actually. And…”

“As I said before, I'm willing to give you my body, so yeah...!"

Toji closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. He didn't want a sob story, and he certainly hadn't asked for your body. But if you insisted on offering it as part of the deal, he'd treat it as nothing more than a cheap down payment.

He dropped his hand from his face, his green eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, dark intensity. "Strip," he commanded flatly. Before the word could even fully register in your brain, his hands gripped the hem of his own black shirt. With a fluid, unbothered motion, he began pulling it up over his head, revealing the sharp, chiseled lines of his abs and the heavy musculature of his torso.

Your eyes widened in absolute shock, your heart leaping straight into your throat. "What? Now? Wait—!!"

Toji stopped midway, his arms lifted, the dark fabric of his shirt bunched up around his collarbone and obscuring half his face, but his piercing gaze remained entirely fixed on you through the gap. 

Realizing how horribly your words had backfired, You quickly cleared your throat, trying desperately to sound grounded and speak the only language he actually cared about.

"Your main priority is money," you said, forcing your voice to stay steady. "I can get it for you. But we have to handle the logistics first!" 

Toji's lips twitched into a dismissive line. "Ya just have to tell me the pin," he said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rumble. "Ya ain't going anywhere."

Your mind scrambled, you knew that if you just handed over a number, you became entirely useless to him. 

"Large withdrawals don't work like that," you argued. "The bank needs me there. My ID. My signature. They won't hand over that kind of money to a stranger, no matter what pin you have...”

Toji didn't move. He sat there in the dim light, studying your face for a long, agonizing moment. He didn't believe you—not fully. 

But he also knew the annoying, bureaucratic reality of wealthy institutions. He knew you could be telling the truth, and he wasn't a man to risk a massive payout over a technicality.

Rather than untying you completely and trusting you, he opted for a pragmatic middle ground.

"Fine," he muttered and dropped down into a crouch in front of your chair. A short, wicked blade materialized in his hand.

With one precise flick of his wrist, he sliced through the ropes binding your ankles. They dropped to the floor, freeing your feet, but he left your wrists bound tightly behind your back.

He stood up in one motion, sheathing the knife before you could even blink. "You try anything..." He didn't even bother to finish the sentence.

Without waiting for a response, he was already moving, turning his back on you and walking toward the door to prepare for the trip.

You sat there, your ankles suddenly free, completely speechless for a second. It worked…?

—

No… you weren't naive enough to believe he'd suddenly trusted you. 

Minutes crawled by.

The room fell back into that same suffocating silence you'd grown to hate. How long did it take to get ready?

You frowned toward the closed door. Had he changed his mind? Was he talking to whoever had hired him? Were they arguing over you?

The lock finally clicked.

Your head snapped toward the entrance. Bu, it wasn't Toji.

A different man stepped inside, dressed in an immaculate dark suit that looked almost absurdly expensive compared to the decaying room around him. 

He spared you only a brief glance before looking past. "Everything ready?"

Heavy footsteps answered from somewhere behind him. Toji appeared in the doorway a second later, one hand shoved lazily into his pocket.

"Hm."

The suited man sighed through his nose. "You packed everything?"

"Yeah."

"And the vehicle?"

"Outside."

Another small nod. "Good." The conversation continued as though you weren't even there.

"The route changed," the suited man said. "There's more activity than expected."

Toji didn't look particularly interested. "So?"

"So don't take the highway." 

A shrug. "I wasn't planning to."

The suited man studied him for a moment before giving a short, resigned hum, as though he'd expected exactly that answer.

Then, his attention settled fully on you. He approached with measured steps. Your shoulders instinctively tensed. "What are you—"

He crouched in front of you before you could finish. From inside his jacket, he produced a slim black folder along with a small electronic scanner no larger than his palm.

Your brows knitted together. "...What?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he flipped open the folder, briefly checking whatever documents were clipped inside before setting the scanner on his knee.

"Hold still."

Before you could pull away, his hand had already closed around your bound wrist. Your body reacted instantly. "Let go!—"

You twisted sharply, trying to wrench your hand free, but the ropes left you with almost no movement. "What are you doing?!"

"Stay still." His grip never tightened. It simply remained impossibly steady.

"I said let go! Damnit!" You struggled harder. The scanner emitted a quiet electronic beep as he calmly positioned your thumb against the glass surface.

"No!" You jerked again before a large hand landed heavily on the back of your chair.

Toji.

He simply stood behind you, one broad hand resting against the chair as if reminding you exactly how pointless resistance was.

The room somehow felt smaller. Even your breathing sounded too loud.

The suited man glanced up briefly, then back down and pressed your thumb onto the scanner once more. A soft chime echoed through the room.

He lifted your hand away. "...Done." He returned the scanner to the folder with practiced efficiency before pulling a small ink pad from another pocket.

Your eyes widened. "...Wait."

He took your index finger next. You struggled again, weaker this time. "What are you taking?"

Silence…

He rolled your fingertip across the ink, then onto one of the papers clipped inside the folder with precise, practiced movements.

He simply closed the folder with a quiet snap and stood. For several seconds, neither man spoke. The suited man tucked the documents back inside his jacket before looking toward Toji. 

"Everything's settled. The transfer location's been changed." The suited man's gaze lingered for another moment. "Don't waste time." 

Toji clicked his tongue. "Mm."

A brief silence followed. Then the suited man gave one last glance toward you. Whatever expression crossed his face disappeared too quickly to read.

He turned and headed for the door. Just before stepping outside, he paused without looking back.

"Hurry up."

The door shut behind him. You stared after it, your thoughts spiraling. Transfer, settled, and moving?

What had they just done with your fingerprints? What exactly had been settled?

Your gaze slowly lifted toward Toji. He remained exactly where he'd been, shoulders loose, looking down at you with the same tired, almost bored expression. Without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of dark cloth.

Before you could react, he stepped behind you. The fabric slipped over your eyes, plunging the room into absolute darkness. You instinctively jerked back, but his hand caught the side of your head, holding you still as he tied it firmly behind your skull. "Hold still."

A second later, another wad of cloth was shoved between your teeth. "Mmph—!"

He ignored your muffled protest, securing it tightly behind your head before giving it a brief tug to check it wouldn't come loose.

Satisfied, he rubbed the back of his neck and stepped in front of you. One arm slid beneath yours while the other hooked around your waist. Before you could brace yourself, he hauled you effortlessly onto your feet.

"—!?" Your legs nearly buckled after days of weakness, and you stumbled straight into him.

"Tch…" He steadied you with obvious reluctance, waiting only long enough to make sure you wouldn't collapse outright. 

You let out a muffled, frustrated sound through the gag, earning nothing more than an impatient click of his tongue. His grip tightened just enough to keep you moving as he steered you toward the door.

—

There was nothing left to guide you except sound and touch. Before the rough shove that sent you forward. Hands catching you before you hit the ground, only to throw you sideways onto cracked leather seats a heartbeat later.

The engine rumbled to life beneath you.

Blind, gagged, your wrists still bound behind your back, you lay awkwardly across the seat, forcing yourself to stay calm. Every bump in the road jolted through your weakened body, every turn sending you sliding across the upholstery until something—a boot, maybe a knee—wordlessly shoved you back into place.

You had no idea where he was taking you anymore.

—

Eventually, the engine died.

Before you could even brace yourself, a large, calloused hand clamped around your thigh.

"Mm—!" You were dragged across the seat so abruptly your hip scraped the edge before your forehead smacked straight into the car frame. Pain exploded through your skull. A muffled cry escaped behind the gag.

"Careful." The familiar voice came from somewhere to your right—calm, almost absentminded.

The grip on you disappeared just as another pair of hands seized you instead. 

"Tch..."

You recognized the irritated scoff instantly. Without so much as asking if you could stand, Toji hauled you up against him and started walking.

After what felt like five long minutes, he finally stopped. Your feet touched solid ground. One hand remained gripping your upper arm while the other reached behind your head.

You squeezed your eyes shut on instinct before slowly blinking them open. “....?”

An abandoned water park stretched around you.

The resort had long been abandoned. Rust covered the railings, weeds cracked through the pavement, and silent slides loomed overhead. Beyond the still pool stood a weathered hotel, its dark windows staring back like empty eyes.

Your head snapped toward Toji. Confusion lasted barely a second before it curdled into anger.

"What the HELL are you doing?!" you shouted the instant he yanked the cloth from your mouth.

"You said we were going to the bank! Why did you bring me here? What are you planning?!"

“....” Toji looked down at you with the same detached expression he'd worn all morning. "Ya tried t' trick me," he said flatly. 

"So I tricked ya first."

Silence…

Your jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest, almost amused smirk. "Hm." He tilted his head. 

"What's with that look?" His voice stayed lazy as he reached toward your face, fingers aiming for your chin. "Gonna bite?”

You jerked forward without thinking, snapping your teeth at his hand—CHOMP!

“....”

The back of his hand struck across your cheek. It wasn't a full-force hit, but it landed squarely against the injured, bandaged side of your face.

White-hot pain shot through your head. A broken gasp escaped you as your knees nearly gave out. Before you could recover, his fist buried itself in your hair. Your head was wrenched back. Tears stung your eyes.

"Look at me." His voice had gone cold. Just something hard enough to make your stomach drop.

"The deal's off." His grip tightened another fraction. "I wouldn't lose sleep killin' ya right now."

Your breathing came faster despite yourself. For a moment, his eyes dropped to the rise and fall of your chest. Then they lifted back to yours.

A quiet hum escaped him. "But..." His grip loosened just enough to keep you upright.

"...we got bigger fish t' fry."

Toji's grip in your hair stayed iron-tight as he shifted his stance. His boot hooked behind your ankle and twisted hard, yanking your leg out from under you. 

You dropped fast, knees cracking against the concrete. Before you could even brace yourself, his free hand was already working his belt open.

"Stay down.” he muttered, voice low and flat. The metal clink of his buckle echoed once before he shoved his pants low enough to free his cock. It hung heavy, half-soft, right in front of your face. 

He didn't give you time to react. His palm cracked across your bandaged cheek again. Harder this time—making your vision spark white. 

"Open. Now."

"No! Get off—" You tried to twist away, but his fist in your hair wrenched your head forward. The soft weight of his cock slapped across your injured face, once, twice, the heat of it dragging over the bandages. He kept doing it, smacking your swollen cheek with the length of it until it started to stiffen against your skin.

"Tch. Look at you." Another slap, this time with the head, leaving a wet smear. "Thought you could pull one over on me?"

He pressed forward without warning, forcing the thickening head past your lips. Your jaw ached from the earlier hit, but he didn't care. He shoved deeper, the underside dragging over your tongue as he fed inch after inch into your mouth. 

When you gagged and tried to pull back, his hips snapped forward, burying himself to the root in one brutal thrust.

"'Take it," he growled, voice still eerily calm. Both hands locked on your head now, fingers digging into your scalp as he started fucking your throat. Each thrust was rough and deliberate, the head punching past your gag reflex again and again. 

Spit spilled from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin in thick strings. He didn't slow down when you choked—he just pushed deeper, grinding his pelvis against your nose until your lungs burned.

"Cry all you want." His tone stayed detached, almost bored, even as he used your mouth like a toy. "Should've thought about that before ya tried to play me."

He pulled back just enough to let you gasp for air, then slammed forward again, harder. Your nose pressed flat to his hairy pelvis, throat convulsing around him. He held you there, hips rolling in short, grinding motions while your vision blurred with tears. 

Every time you tried to push against his thighs, he slapped your wounded face again—until your arms dropped limp at your sides.

"Hands off," he ordered. "You lost that choice." His pace turned vicious after that. Short, brutal thrusts that made your throat bulge visibly with each one. 

"Tch," he muttered, almost to himself. "Keep that throat open or I'll break your jaw.”

Toji didn't bother pulling out after he finished down your throat. He stayed buried to the hilt, letting the last weak pulses of his cock empty into you while your throat kept spasming around him. 

When he finally dragged his length free, a thick string of spit and cum stretched from your swollen lips to the head of his cock before it snapped. You barely had time to cough before his boot slammed into your shoulder, knocking you onto your back against the cold concrete.

"Ain't done with ya yet," he said, voice flat as ever. His pants were already shoved down to his thighs, cock still glistening and half-hard. He dropped down without warning, one knee pinning your chest while his hands went straight for your clothes. 

Fabric tore under his grip—shirt yanked open, buttons scattering, pants ripped down your legs with zero patience. You tried to kick, but he caught your ankle and twisted it hard, forcing your leg up and out until your hip burned.

"Fight if ya want. Won't change a damn thing." He shoved your thighs apart with his knees, settling between them like he owned the space. His cock dragged heavy against your inner thigh, already thickening again. 

One hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse hammer under his fingers. The other reached down, lining himself up without a word of warning. The blunt head pressed against your entrance, then pushed—hard, relentless, forcing its way inside with one brutal thrust that made your back arch.

"Tch... fuck." he muttered, almost to himself. He buried himself to the base in one go, hips snapping forward until his pelvis smacked flush against yours. The stretch burned, your walls clenching around the sudden invasion, but he just grunted and started moving. 

Your hands flew up on instinct, pushing at his chest, but he grabbed both wrists in one hand and slammed them above your head, pinning them there with his full weight. "Quit squirming."

He fucked you with deep, punishing strokes that made your whole body jolt. Each thrust bottomed out hard, the head of his cock battering against your cervix until pain and pressure blurred together. His free hand slapped your bandaged cheek again, then gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him while he used you. "Stay awake."

He let go of your wrists only to hook both hands under your knees, folding you in half until your thighs pressed against your chest. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his cock punching into you with wet, obscene sounds that echoed off the walls. 

Sweat dripped from his jaw onto your face. He didn't slow down when you cried out—he just fucked harder, hips slapping against your ass with bruising force. Every thrust shoved you a few inches across the concrete, scraping your back raw.

"Don't." he warned, voice still eerily calm even as he pounded into you. His balls slapped against your ass with each brutal thrust. He leaned down, teeth sinking into the side of your neck hard enough to leave marks, then licked over the bite like he was tasting sweat and fear. "You'll wear what I leave on you, brat."

He shifted his grip, one hand moving to your throat again while the other pressed down on your lower belly, feeling the bulge of his cock moving inside you. 

Toji's fingers dug into the soft flesh of your throat, cutting off whatever broken words you tried to force out. "St—" was all you managed before two thick digits shoved past your lips, scraping over your tongue and jamming deep until they hit the back of your throat.

Your eyes rolled back instantly, body convulsing as you gagged hard around them. Spit flooded your mouth, bubbling around his knuckles while he held them there, pressing down on your tongue like he wanted to feel every wet choke.

Your pussy clenched violently around his cock from the intrusion, walls fluttering and squeezing his girth in panicked spasms. Toji hissed through his teeth, hips stuttering for a second. "Tch... fuck." A low grunt left him. "Gettin' tighter every time." He shoved his fingers deeper, curling them against your soft palate until you retched, tears spilling fresh down your temples.

From somewhere behind him, a calm, measured voice cut through the wet sounds of your throat being used. "Toji. Come out once you're finished."

Your head jerked toward the voice on instinct, desperate for any shred of help, but the suit man didn't spare you a glance. He stood there like you don't even exist, eyes fully on Toji.

Toji didn't even slow down. If anything, his hips snapped harder, brutal and punishing, driving his cock so deep your cervix ached with every thrust. "Yeah. I'm comin'.”

The suit man hums before his footsteps fade away without another word, leaving you alone with Toji's free hand fisted in your hair and yanked hard, forcing your head back to face him.

The fingers stayed buried in your throat, making you gag and drool around them while he fucked you. "Eyes on me." He ground his pelvis against your clit with every vicious thrust. "Ain't nobody comin' for ya."

Every time your walls fluttered around him he slapped your bandaged cheek again, hard enough to make your ears ring. "Tch... no wonder that shepherd wanted his stray back.” He let out a quiet, irritated breath. "....”

He buried himself to the hilt one last time, cock pulsing thick and hot as he emptied inside you, grinding deep while your walls spasmed around him. Only when the last spurt finished did he pull out, leaving your hole gaping and leaking his cum down your thighs.. 

He didn't even look at you as he tucked himself back into his pants, the sound of his zipper cutting through the silence like a knife. His boots scraped against the grimy floor as he stepped over you, and you felt the shadow of his frame loom for a moment. 

"Don't ya move."

You couldn't see his face from where you lay, but you could feel his gaze on you. Then the door clicked shut. His footsteps faded down the hallway, heavy and unhurried, until there was only the sound of your own ragged breathing.

You stared at the door. At the crack running along the hinge.

Why?

You hadn't done anything. You hadn't crossed anyone. You hadn't stolen, hadn't cheated, hadn't even looked at someone the wrong way.

Then why you?

Your mind raced through every face you'd ever known, every conversation, every mistake, every stranger you'd passed on the street. There was nothing that could explain any of this.

He'd already taken everything. Your savings, freedom—even your dignity. So why were you still here?

If money was all he'd wanted, he could've killed you after the withdrawal. Instead, he kept dragging you from place to place like you still had some purpose.

Everyone had to be looking for you by now. But if Toji kept moving you... they'd never find you.

Your body screeched in protest as you forced yourself to roll, bound wrists scraping raw against the floor. You didn't even know where you were trying to go anymore—just anywhere.

You paused when you spotted the table nearby. Slowly, painfully, you dragged yourself toward it, lifting your bound wrists to rub the rope against the sharp metal edge. It wouldn't give. 

Your whole body throbbed with every desperate movement, but you kept grinding the rope against the table leg, breathing harder and harder until the fibers finally started to fray. The moment you felt give, you arched back and shoved your legs through the gap, using your teeth next, tearing until the rope finally snapped free.

You immediately looked down at your ankles and clawed at the remaining rope, pulling and scratching until it tore apart. Once your legs were free you grabbed the table edge and hauled yourself up, a broken wince escaping as your back and everything else screamed in protest. 

You scanned the room until you spotted your skirt crumpled in the corner, your torn panties useless beside it. You grabbed the skirt and pulled it on with shaking hands, then moved toward the door on unsteady legs.

You eased the warped wooden door open a fraction at a time. Every muscle protested as you slipped into the hallway, pausing the moment both feet crossed the threshold.

No sign of him.

You limped forward, one hand dragging along the stained wall for support. Every step pulled at your aching ribs while the raw rope burns around your wrists throbbed with each movement, crumbling plaster scraping beneath your fingertips.

A cool draft brushed across your face, carrying the scent of rain.

An exit…

You shoved your shoulder against the rusted metal door. It resisted at first, groaning in protest, before finally giving way with a screech.

An abandoned water park stretched before you, swallowed by years of neglect. Cracked pathways vanished beneath tangled weeds while rust bled down every railing. Towering slides loomed overhead, their faded paint peeling beneath the grey sky. Pools that had once sparkled now sat thick with algae, their murky surfaces barely stirring in the wind. The entire place looked ready to collapse.

One wrong step…

You swallowed hard.

This place could kill you just as easily as he could.

Your gaze swept across the grounds. Scanning the slides and rusted maintenance buildings.

Nothing.

You whipped your head to the left, tension flaring in your neck.

Still nothing.

Had he really just left? Was he gone? Had he actually—

Don't think. Just move.

You forced your body forward, limping across the uneven concrete. Every few steps you glanced over your shoulder, expecting to find him standing there—that same lazy expression, those dark eyes already knowing exactly where you'd run.

Your bare foot came down on a slick patch of moss hidden inside a crack in the pavement.

It slipped.

You threw your weight sideways, grabbing blindly until your hand caught a rusted pipe. The impact rattled through your shoulders as you barely stopped yourself from crashing face-first onto the concrete.

A shaky, sobbing breath escaped your trembling lips. "..."

You tightened your grip, forcing yourself upright. One more step. Then your weakened ankle folded beneath you.

"Ah—!" A blinding flash of pain shot up your leg, short-circuiting your brain. You clawed desperately at the empty air. The world flipped upside down.

SPLASH!

The stagnant water swallowed you whole.

Freezing filth rushed into your nose and mouth before you could scream. The shock drove every thought from your mind as you sank beneath the cloudy green water.

You kicked desperately. The raw skin around your ankles screamed the instant the filthy water touched it. Fire raced across every rope burn. Your wrists flared just as sharply when you tried to pull yourself upward, every stroke sending another bolt of pain through your arms.

It hurt.

It hurt enough to make your body lock up.

You fought toward the surface with clumsy, desperate movements, your heavy clothes dragging at every limb.

You sucked in a breath—Only to choke as another wave slapped across your face.

Water filled your mouth.

You coughed violently, arms thrashing without rhythm as your soaked clothes pulled you under again. "H-Help—!”

The desperate plea dissolved instantly into another wet, choking fit. Your vision began to blur at the edges, turning dark and fuzzy. Then, a horribly familiar, low voice drifted effortlessly across the water.

"...Ya like t' embarrass yourself or what?"

You blinked through stinging, watering eyes. Toji stood at the edge of the pool, one hand buried in his pocket, broad shoulders loose as he looked down at you. There wasn't a trace of urgency, concern, or even surprise on his face.

He watched you struggle for another agonizing second. Then, he clicked his tongue in mild annoyance. "If ya wanted t' die that badly..." His massive shoulders rose in a lazy, slow shrug. "...could-a just told me."

A beat passed before the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Wouldn't want my piggy bank dyin' yet.”

Suddenly, a muffled, sharp vibration buzzed from inside his dark jacket. He glanced down carelessly. Another desperate, strangled cough escaped your lips as your nose slipped beneath the water again.

Without a single word, he finally moved. He crouched down at the edge of the pool. One large, calloused hand reached down over the water.

His thick fingers hooked tightly into the collar of your soaked, heavy shirt. With absolute, terrifyingly effortless strength, he lifted. Your feet left the water entirely. Your legs dangled uselessly in the air.

Water streamed from your clothes in heavy, cascading sheets, slapping against the concrete before he deposited you onto the cracked ground.

You collapsed onto your hands and knees, coughing until your ribs ached. Murky water spilled from your mouth in ragged bursts.

You were sniffling, gasping, and sobbing, trying desperately to fill your burning lungs with air.

Above you, Toji stood at his full height, giving you a slow, calculating once-over from head to toe. "Hm." A faint, amused scoff escaped his lips.

"Even managed t' cover your shit." His dark eyes lingered on the hem of the skirt you had frantically pulled back on before running. "...Ya're really somethin'."

One of his massive hand grabbed the front of your skirt and ripped it straight down the middle, the fabric tearing like paper. The ruined cloth was tossed aside. Your top came next. His fingers hooked into the collar and yanked, buttons popping, seams splitting until both the shirt and the bra beneath were shredded and flung away. 

Cold air hit your bare skin as you were left naked except for the tattered remnants clinging to your wrists. "No—please, stop—fuck you, you piece of shit—" Your voice cracked into desperate curses and pleas, but Toji only grunted in irritation. He caught both your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head against the wet concrete.

"Shut it." His free hand delivered two quick, sharp slaps to your already bruised cheek. "Ain't nobody listenin' to that mouth."

He shoved his pants down just enough to free his cock, then dropped to straddle your chest. Your wrists stayed trapped in his grip while he shoved his length between your tits, squeezing them together with his other hand. He started thrusting, slow and deliberate, the head of his cock bumping your chin with every stroke.

A few heavy drops from the sky splattering across your face, then more, cold and relentless. Water ran down Toji's back and dripped from his hair onto your skin, but he didn't pause. 

His hips kept moving, cock sliding between your breasts, getting harder with each thrust while your choked sobs mixed with the sound of rain hitting concrete.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. But he ignored and kept fucking the valley of your tits until he was fully hard, thick and heavy between your soft flesh.

"Tch." He finally pulled back, grabbed one of your legs, and hauled it up over his shoulder. The position spread you wide, exposing your already swollen, red pussy to his gaze. He leaned in, spat directly on your cunt, then lined up and drove in dry. "Fuck..."

The only slickness came from the cum he'd left inside you earlier. It made a filthy, wet sound as he forced his way deep, stretching your sore walls around him. Your back arched off the ground. A broken, choking sound tore from your throat.

Toji's hand clamped around your neck, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He held your head pinned to the concrete while his hips snapped forward, each thrust making your ass bounce and his coarse pubic hair grind against your clit.

Midway through a brutal thrust his phone buzzed again. He clicked his tongue, reached into his pocket with one hand, and answered without slowing down. He put it on speaker, the other hand still crushing your windpipe.

Almost with a rough thrust, he leaned over you, and mercilessly pressed the phone directly against your wet ear.

Instantly, a man's voice erupted from the speaker, so sharp it seemed to slice straight through your pounding heartbeat.

"Toji."

"Wo ist mein Liebling?! Warum antwortest du nicht?! Was zum Teufel machst du da?!" A harsh breath crackled through the line before he barked again, his voice dropping into something far more dangerous.

"Bring sie sofort zu mir. Hörst du mich? Sofort. Und wenn ihr auch nur ein Haar fehlt..."

“....” 

Your entire body went rigid. 

Because you knew him...

The man you had disappeared from almost a year ago.

You'd blocked every number he used. Deleted every message. Left without giving him the closure he'd insisted he deserved because there was nothing left to explain. 

Every conversation with him had become another cage, every apology another promise that lasted a day before he tightened his grip again. You had walked away because staying had become unbearable.

You'd expected anything else. But never...

Never this.

Your trembling hands curled against the rough concrete as your mind desperately tried to reject the obvious, but there was no mistaking it.

Toji caught every flicker of realization crossing your face. His mouth slowly curved into a smirk, lazy and mocking. He watched you for another second before giving a quiet, amused huff through his nose. "Know him?" 

Toji didn't seem bothered by your silence. He pulled the phone away from your ear and lifted it to his own instead, looking more inconvenienced than anything.

"Quit yellin'," he barked. "English."

A long beat of silence crackled through the speaker before the man spoke again, every trace of panic stripped from his voice.

"Where is she?"

Toji's eyes drifted back to you. You hadn't even realized you'd started shaking harder until his gaze settled on you.

A dry chuckle escaped him. "Funny thing..." he said, scratching idly at his jaw. "Ya paid me t' bring her in." He let the sentence hang just long enough.

"...Then figured you'd kill me after."

Silence...

Then the voice on the other end snapped. "What?"

"What the hell are you talking about?—"

With a careless flick of his wrist, Toji tossed the phone onto your chest. It bounced once against your bare skin before settling there, the speaker still on, the frantic voice spilling into the open air.

"...Liebling? Can you hear me?"

"What did he do to you?"

"Answer me."

"[Name]!"

Your fingers twitched weakly beside the phone, but they wouldn't obey you. Toji knew they wouldn't.

He kept driving his cock into your cunt with brutal, punishing thrusts, each one forcing your ass to slap against the wet concrete. His hips snapped forward without mercy, the thick length stretching your already swollen walls while the previous load inside you squelched wetly around him.

Toji's free hand gripped your jaw, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he forced your head back against the ground. Rain poured down over both of you, soaking his hair, running down his chest, dripping onto your face with every thrust.

"[Name], huh..." he said, voice low and flat even as he kept fucking you.

His pace turned more vicious, the wet slap of skin against skin mixing with the rain and the distant voice still demanding through the speaker. Your body jolted under him with every thrust, tits bouncing, thighs shaking around his waist.

Toji's hand moved from your jaw to your mouth. His rough fingers hooked between your lips, pulling them apart into a forced, grotesque smile while he kept pounding into you. Your eyes rolled back, unfocused and glassy, tears mixing with rainwater as your expression went slack and fucked-out.

"Hah..." he muttered, almost to himself, watching the way your face twisted under his grip. "...ain't even here anymore."

His cock twitched deep inside you. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding his pubic bone against your clit as he came hard, pumping thick ropes of cum straight into your womb. 

His hips jerked with each pulse, forcing every drop as deep as it would go while his fingers kept your mouth stretched into that empty, broken smile.

"...She's occupied."

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