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La Vie en Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie.”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

treasure doyoung , high school au, strangers to lovers & prompt 31 pls! 💓

thank you so much for requesting!! this took a while bc I was confused with how to start, so enjoy :)

Kim Doyoung - “you never saw me.” highschool au! strangers to lovers!

You never really knew the boy well, but to be frank, not everyone did either, he only had a close knit of friends, plus, he was the type to only speak when spoken to. He gave off the impression of someone who liked to focus on their interests and hobbies, the type to not waste time partying like most kids at your school did. You admired that. He got good grades and he has a passion for dancing.

Unfortunately for you, your admiration for him ended up turning into a huge crush, you were always glancing at him, and whenever he would catch you he would only give you a smile in return. You wanted to get to know him better, but despite him literally sitting a row ahead and two seats to your left, he seemed so far away. He seemed like a stranger to you, you often wondered; ‘if he saw me in the streets would he even recognise me?’ You were sure that was the case, you weren’t the only girl to be caught staring at him, and you weren’t the only girl he smiled at.

Your feelings for him only deepened ever more when your class voted you both to be captains. Doyoung, of course, got voted captain, and you, vice captain. It was both a nightmare and dream come true, you two would be able to look into each other’s eyes and discuss plans for any class excursions or what not, the nightmare part was you being scared of embarrassing yourself.

You would always make sure there would be nothing stuck in your teeth after every meal and after every snack, you stopped wearing laced shoes due to your fear of them suddenly being untied and you tripping, so you switched to Velcro shoes. You switched to hair clips to put your hair up due to your fear of the hair tie snapping in the middle of class, now that, that was a personal and unpleasant experience.

Despite you always being on edge, Doyoung always had his eyes lead back to you, his gaze always softening, as he let out a small smile whenever you turned your back towards him.

It was like any other normal school day except for the fact that the teacher had been absent and that led to you having a substitute. After a long day the substitute had put you and Doyoung upon the task of bringing the many boxes filled with folders into the staff room. As you and Doyoung rearranged the boxes from lightest to heaviest, Doyoung decided to break the silence.

“Sucks to be here after school hours, huh?”

He smiled took you a while to register that he was talking to you and there was no one else in the room, you wanted to refrain yourself from embarrassing yourself, of course.

“Yeah, but it feels nice being able to help.”

You cringed after that sentence left your mouth, you felt so embarrassed, you mentally facepalmed yourself, you wanted to just jump into any hole avail-

“Hey you don’t have to be so hard on yourself okay?” He smiled softly and put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

‘Huh?’ You has been snapped out of your mental scolding and now you had no idea on how to reply.

“I see the way you’re so cautious around everything or how you scold yourself sometimes, you just gotta relax, you know?”

He continued, “its all apart of life embarrassing yourself but the best part about it is that you can laugh at all the embarrassing things you’ve done.”

He started walking out of the room with you following behind him with boxes in both of your hands.

“Now you’ll be able to laugh at it all, so you know, I wouldn’t call them embarrassing, they’re really just memories in disgu-“

“Wait your laces!”

It was too late, he had already tripped with the folders scattered around the floor, his cheeks tinted with a deep scarlet red. You put your box down and offered him a hand.

“You never saw me.”

You burst out in laughter with tears brimming your eyes, “what happened to the memories in disguise? Huh?”

You let your head fall back due to the laughter, whereas he watched you, his gazed soften, and smiled softly at you, he saw you in a light he had never seen you before, he saw you differently, he saw you, and felt like he knew you, he felt familiarity.

Treasure 13 Reactions, Imagines, Scenarios and MTLs!

My requests are always open to anyone and everyone! I also do ex-trainees and current trainees!

Please send any requests I’m bored

Honesty

A rather long piece about a certain dodgeball player not being quite that honest about his past.

warnings: female! reader, graphic mention of death, murder, mention of blood, yandere and alcohol and drug use

“C’mon! Is that all you got?” You take another sip of your relatively weak drink, a little bit of rum mixed with a whole lot of cola. It wasn’t your intention to get all that drunk, but you couldn’t abstain while trying to get someone else drunk. The pirates were wasted every night Razor would give them off, but the problem with those day’s was that Razor would join the fray sometimes, and the absence of your husband way key to this plan working. “Since when are you such a lightweight?”

“Lightweight?! I’ll have you know I held the record for most tequila shots downed in an hour at a bar back at home.” True to his word, despite the seven shots he’d already thrown back, he wasn’t anything more than tipsy. “If you drank more than twenty in an hour, you didn’t have to pay.”

“Sounds like an easy way to get drunk.” 

“You don’t wanna know how big those shot glasses were.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve, your nose crinkling when you saw the amount of dried up goop on there. You would’ve rather spent your night with nearly anyone else, but he was the only one that took the bait when you’d suggested drinking at the bar. Most didn’t want to get near you with a six foot pole. “Their technique was to get you shitwasted by the seventh glass or so and make you pay for all of it.”

Geldro was a plain old alcoholic with a rather serious criminal record, having been a notorious serial killer, targeting wannabe hunters that had high hopes and little ability, easy targets that no-one looked for since most would just assume they’d died during the exam. He freaked you out, his hair and beard disheveled, and eyes that always seemed to be pointed down at your chest, despite you dressing as modestly as possible when he was around.

The only reason he’d followed you up on your offer to get drunk was because you had access to the liquor cabinet-key, and so he could ogle you during. He wouldn’t touch you, though, you were sure of that. 

He wasn’t suicidal.

Keep reading

Hi, I saw ur post about requests closing soon so I figured I’d give ya another, but it’s okay if ya don’t get to it anytime soon since you have so many!! Can I request Yandere Suga and Daichi with a fem! darling who’s oblivious to them, and they both maintain the image of friends in front of others but they’re actually fighting each other for your love, but then you start dating someone else and they both team up? I 💕 your writing so much, I’m excited to see what you do 😌

Yes of course bby! Hope you like it 💕

Daichi Sawamura x female reader, Sugawara Koushi x female reader

TW implied non-con, slight nsfw, manipulation, abuse of power (kinda), minor violence, mentions of grief

Tug O’ War

You meet Daichi first, on the outskirts of Miyagi thanks to a blown tyre and a dead phone battery. It’s just after nine pm and you’re ready to resign yourself to abandoning your car and hiking the rest of the way when the police cruiser pulls up, and sitting behind the wheel is Officer Daichi. 

Sawamura, he tells you on the drive into town.

“So I take it you’re not from around here?” he asks, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

There’s a small smile adorning his face, but you know he’s just being polite, trying to break the somewhat awkward silence between the two of you. Truth be told you don’t mind the quiet. With his radio playing quietly in the background, you’re still trying to sort through your thoughts, prepare yourself for what’s waiting for you when you arrive. 

But that’s not his problem, and you don’t want to be rude, so you shake your head with a faint smile of your own. “I am actually… or I was, I guess. I moved away after high school.”

A lone eyebrow quirks, “Oh yeah? So what brings you back to Miyagi then? Family?”

Fingers twist in your lap.

“… Something like that.” 

Maybe it’s because of the nerves eating away at your stomach, or maybe it’s just been a while since you’ve been back, but the drive to your sister’s house feels like it takes longer than it should. Daichi makes easy conversation the whole drive, and by the time you pull up out front of your old childhood home you find yourself glad of the temporary reprieve. 

“Thank you. For the lift, I mean,” you tell him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he lifts your suitcase out of the trunk and passes it over to you. “I would have been up for one hell of a walk if you hadn’t come along.” 

He grins down at you, laughing not unkindly, “It is kind of my job, but you’re welcome. I could hardly leave you stranded, now could I?”

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can speak a word the front door of the house is thrown open and a tiny figure barrels out onto the front lawn. You have a split second to brace yourself before impact, tiny arms wrapping around your middle, “Auntie!!!” 

A bewildered Daichi watches as you smile (genuinely, perhaps for the first time that night), ruffling the boy’s hair. “Hey buddy, how’s my favourite little man?” 

Glancing up, you spy your sister standing in the open doorway and your smile fades a touch. Your nephew’s already excitedly chattering, blissfully oblivious to the situation - a minor miracle in and of itself - as he eagerly tugs you back up towards the house. 

It’s only when you’re halfway up the driveway that you remember Daichi.

A glance back over your shoulder confirms your suspicion - he’s still standing there, watching the odd display with a slightly confused expression, though to his credit he manages to quickly school his features back into something a touch more befitting an officer of the law when he realises he’s been caught.

“Thank you again, really. I appreciate it. You’re kinda my hero tonight.”

He nods, and it might be a trick of the dim light, but you swear you see his cheeks flush pink, “Anytime.”

Just as he promised, your car is picked up by a local towing company the very next morning before you’re even out of bed. The tyre is replaced without too much fuss, but when you go to pay, the mechanic simply shakes his head and tells you it’s all been taken care of.

You make a mental note to swing by the station and thank Daichi (again) in person.

***

It’s only fitting, you suppose, that you meet Suga a few days later. 

Thursday’s your sister works late, which leaves you to pick your nephew up from school. You’re thankful that they’re already aware of the situation, nobody questions why a veritable stranger is passing through the gates - at least, not after your nephew perks up at the sight of you, shouting your name as he hastily tries to shove his arms through his backpack. In his excitement he almost trips - would have tripped - if not for the silver haired man who catches him before he can stumble, setting him right with a shake of his head.

“Please slow down, Daisuke. You’ll hurt yourself,” he chastises gently. 

Your nephew pouts, and you can’t help but chuckle a little as he ducks his head in shame as you approach. “Hey bud, did you have a good day?”

Hazel eyes regard you curiously as your nephew clings to your legs, nodding before burying his face into your side. 

“You must be Y/N,” the man - Daisuke’s teacher you can only assume - says as he straightens up. 

Considering your nephew had all but screamed it across the courtyard, there’s not really a need to confirm it, but you nod anyway, accepting his hand when he offers it. 

He’s tall and handsome - though maybe handsome’s the wrong word. Pretty, maybe - his features are soft and delicate, with long eyelashes and eyes you could quite easily lose yourself in, truth be told.

“His mother told us you’d be coming by every now and then to pick him up. It’s nice to finally meet you, I’m Sugawara, Daisuke’s teacher.” He pauses, biting his lip for a moment before exhaling quietly. “I’m sorry, by the way, about…”

You’re quick to wave him off, ignoring the painful tug in your chest, “Please, it’s- I-I’m not… It’s fine.” 

It’s very much not. 

Even as you say the words your hand finds its way to Daisuke’s hair, stroking it gently as his grip tightens. You’ve never been good at dealing with grief, your own or anybody else’s, but you can’t stand the platitudes - even those with the best of intentions. 

Sugawara frowns faintly but he doesn’t push you and desperate to change the subject you force a smile on your face, “So, you’re the famous Suga I’ve heard so much about! He absolutely adores you, you know? You’re almost all he talks about at home.”

He laughs, and just like that you feel the tension in the air dissipate. “Oh, is that so? I guess I could say the same about you. I’ve heard nothing but ‘auntie Y/N’ all week.”

Your cheeks heat, and you gaze fondly down at the boy still clinging to your side. “He’s a good kid.”

Daisuke chooses that moment to pipe up, launching into a detailed recount of his day, much to your and Suga’s mutual amusement. 

And neither you nor Daisuke notice that while you’re engrossed in his retelling, Sugawara’s pretty hazel eyes are focused on you, a soft smile playing across his lips. 

Thursday afternoon pick ups quickly morph into Tuesday, Thursday and Friday afternoon pick ups as well as Monday morning drop offs, and you don’t mind one bit. For one, you know that your sister appreciates it more than she lets on and you would do anything to make this even the slightest bit easier for her, and it gives you a bit more time to spend with Daisuke, which you’ve missed more than you care to admit. 

Also because whenever you do stop by to pick him up, Suga - Koushi, as he keeps insisting you call him - makes it his personal mission to strike up a conversation, whether he’s out there supervising the kids or not.

He’s friendly and warm and has a surprising habit of making you laugh at the most unexpected things, and you can’t help but find yourself being reeled in by the silver haired man. It doesn’t hurt that Daisuke thinks he hangs the moon in the sky, but there’s just something about Suga that’s… easy.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t poke or pry. You still have a few friends in Miyagi, but the conversations inevitably end up circling back to what happened and how you’re holding up. You don’t blame them, you know they’re only worried about you, but it’s exhausting. Suga’s a breath of fresh air, and you hadn’t realised how desperate you were for a friend who didn’t know all the grizzly details.

Though being Daisuke’s teacher, he undoubtedly does.

But Suga seems content to pretend, until the day you arrive sniffling, eyes rimmed in red and unable to muster your usual smile.

That’s when the facade breaks, and he takes you back inside the classroom away from all the prying eyes of the other parents and lets you fall apart on his shoulder. You should be mortified, but you suppose that Suga’s probably uniquely equipped at dealing with emotional outbursts, considering he spends his days surrounded by six year olds.

“He was like my big brother,” you whisper after a while, your voice shattered and raw. “I miss him so much.”

He doesn’t say a word but his grip tightens and he hums quietly, and that’s enough.

***

A week after you get settled, you swing by the local police station with two coffees in hand and timidly ask the uniformed officer sitting at the front desk if Daichi’s around. The man looks at you, looks at the two drinks in your hands and grins a little too widely. 

“Good ol’ Daichi, eh?” he winks, “Yeah, he won’t be back for a while. Can I help you with anything, ma’am?”

Your cheeks burn. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise considering he’s a police officer and all, but it does and you feel like an absolute idiot. Of course you should have checked before coming, but even if you’d had the foresight to do that, it wasn’t like you had his number.

Thankfully the other officer takes pity on you after you explain why you’re actually there, promising to let Daichi know you stopped by, diligently taking down your number to pass along as well. 

True to his word, it’s hours later - well into the afternoon - when your phone lights up with a notification. Several, in fact.

Hey Y/N.

It’s Daichi.

Sawamura.

Srgt. Mokoto said you came to see me today?

Is everything okay??

The corner of your lips quirked up, and you get the sense that Mokoto had likely neglected to tell Daichi the real reason you’d dropped in, probably to make him sweat. 

Hey :)

Yeah everything’s fine.

I brought you coffee as a thank you for the other day! Which I maaay have drank myself when you weren’t there…

But let me make it up to you! I can drop by the station if you’re around on wednesday at all?

The reply comes quickly. 

Absolutely. 10:30 work?

You shoot back a quick reply confirming and toss your phone on the couch with a sigh. 

It buzzes again a moment later, but the text message waiting for you isn’t from Daichi.

So a little birdie tells me you’re back in town. 

***

“You know, you really didn’t have to bring me coffee. I meant what I said, it’s part of my job. My boss would have had my ass if I’d just left you stranded there like that.”

You glance over at him with a wry smile. “Yeah? And paying for my new tyre and the towing, is that part of your job too?”

Daichi’s cheeks flush pink and he almost chokes on his sip of coffee. “Ah.”

‘Ah’ indeed. “So considering I doubt you’re going to let me pay you back-”

He lifts a hand to stop you, shaking his head adamantly, “Not a chance. I know the guy who runs the garage, he owes me a favour. It was nothing, really-”

“Then coffee is the least I can do,” you say with an easy shrug. “But I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to keep you too long-”

Daichi’s hand - warm and rough - reaches out to close around your wrist, stopping you before you can stand.

“Stay,” he says, dark eyes glimmering.

***

You’ve forgotten, having spent the last few years living in the heart of Tokyo, just how small a town this really is. 

You’re standing out by the school gates watching Daisuke run around with his friends when Suga decides to broach the subject. 

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Hmm?” You glance up to find him watching you with that same fond if not mildly exasperated expression on his face. It’s not his fault, not really - you’ve just been a little out of it the past few days. 

Thankfully, Suga doesn’t hold it against you, chuckling. “Tomorrow night - are you free?” he repeats.

Your eyes widen a little, cheeks warming. “Um… well I kinda have a… thing earlier, but I should be free by then. Why?”

A silver eyebrow lifts. “A thing?” he prods.

“Just a thing. Why are you being so nosy all of a sudden?”

Suga laughs again, “Well if you’re not still tied up with your thing, I’m having some friends over for drinks for my birthday. You should come.”

Which is how you find yourself standing nervously out the front of Suga’s apartment, a bottle of wine in hand. 

When you knock, however, the person who opens the door is not the one you’re expecting. Tall, broad shouldered and handsome, out of uniform for the first time since you’d met him-

“D-Daichi?”

The brunette stares, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

“I, uh… I’m- is Suga… Is Sugawara here?” you manage to stutter out, fighting the urge to fidget under his gaze.

His brows furrow, an odd look passing over his eyes, and for one awful moment you think you’ve somehow managed to screw up the address. But before you can embarrass yourself further, a familiar head of silver hair appears behind his shoulder, slapping him on the back.

Relief washes over you. “Suga! Happy birthday!” 

Pushing a still somewhat bewildered Daichi out of the way, Suga’s quick to wrap you up in a warm embrace - which takes you by surprise - with a grin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Your eyes flicker back to Daichi for a split second, and Suga’s follow. He’s more observant than most give him credit for, but even the most oblivious would have a hard time not noticing the blank expression on the brunette’s face - or the way he was still staring at you. “You two… know each other?” he asks, ignoring the teasing and impatient shouts coming from inside the apartment.

Finally, Daichi snaps out of his stupor. “Yeah. We met the night she moved back into town.”

“Which is a polite way of saying that my car basically imploded and he saved me from having to hike all the way back to my sister’s,” you correct, and Daichi huffs in amusement, though he doesn’t disagree. “Suga teaches my nephew,” you tell him, answering the unspoken question written across his face. “I didn’t realise the two of you were friends, though!”

The two share a glance over your shoulder.

“Yep.”

“Small world, I guess.”

You laugh, passing Suga the bottle of wine, allowing Daichi to lead you inside with an innocent hand on your lower back.

There’s a decent few people squashed into Suga’s modest apartment, but somehow you manage to find yourself sitting around his coffee table, Daichi’s arm slung over the back of your seat, Suga sitting opposite you both, discussing - of all things - high school sports.

“Volleyball, huh?”

You can kind of see it. They’re both tall and in great shape - you’re pretty damn certain the muscles Daichi sports aren’t just for show - but it’s more than that. You tilt your head, chewing on your bottom lip. “What school did you say you played for?”

“Karasuno,” Suga says.

It takes a moment for it to click - though you blame that on the drink in your hand that Suga’s dutifully kept topped up - Karasuno… the flightless crows. Ah yes. 

A slow smile creeps across your face. 

“I saw you play once.”

Both men’s eyes widen, “You did?” Suga asks.

“Yep. The guy I was dating at the time, he played too.” You almost laugh when you glance up to find Daichi frowning at your side, an unexpected tightness in Suga’s usually easy going smile, “It’s okay,” you reassure them, ignoring the traitorous flutter in your stomach, “you guys won. It damn near broke his poor heart.” Not that he’d ever admitted as much out loud.

There’s a short silence, then-

“What team?” 

You do laugh at that, “Don’t you think you guys are a little past high school rivalries?”

The ex-captain and setter meet each other’s eyes. Neither speak a word, but something utterly indecipherable passes between them, and when Daichi finally breaks it to glance back at you, there’s a sharp grin plastered across his face.

“Nope.”

You shake your head, feeling like you’ve missed something. 

***

Hours later, fresh from a steamy shower, you stumble into bed and grab your phone from the nightstand. Sure enough, two unread messages are waiting for you.

You looked so damned pretty today. 

Are you gonna let me take you out to dinner now or am I gonna have to get on my hands and knees and beg?

You smile into your pillow, quickly typing out a reply.

I don’t know, you used to be pretty good on your knees.

Your phone lights up a moment later, a familiar ringtone playing out.

***

Life gets busy after that. 

Suga mentions that Daisuke is struggling in class, so you decide to join some of the other parents and volunteer as a ‘class helper’ one afternoon a week. Dai beams whenever you show up, and Suga seems eternally grateful for the extra set of hands - even if it’s just for craft time. 

And just when you think you’ve managed to patch one hole, another appears. Miyagi might be a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, it’s not immune to the low life creeps that used to hang around your old apartment block in the city - you’re mugged walking back from the store, a bag of groceries for dinner in arm. The guy only hits you once, a blow to the cheek that sends you sprawling to the ground, grabs your bag - the one with your phone and wallet - and runs. 

Your sister almost bursts into tears when she sees the cut on your lip, and it’s guilt more than anything else that swells through you when she spends the next twenty minutes berating you for not being careful enough.

You know she doesn’t mean it, you know she’s just scared. The promise falls from your lips before you can stop it, but it’s worth it you think, when her face relaxes and she pulls you into a tight hug.

But when you drop by the station the next morning, Daichi takes one look at you, and you watch in perfect slow motion as that warm smile freezes and falls. You expect the police report he makes you file, though you don’t really hold that much hope that they’re going to get your phone or wallet back, but not the words that come out of his mouth next.

“Self defence classes? Daichi, I...” you exhale with a huff, “don’t you think that’s a little excessive?”

The dark look in Daichi’s eyes as they flicker across your face tells you otherwise. “What if they had a knife, or a gun?” 

You would have just thrown your bag and run, you weren’t stupid - your purse wasn’t worth your life, but Daichi doesn’t want to hear a word of it. 

“What if your wallet wasn’t all he wanted?” he presses, and you stiffen at the implication. Gentle hands reach across the table to grab yours, the rough pad of his thumb brushing against the back of your palm, “Just you and me, two hours a week, that’s all I’m asking.”

… What now?

“You’re going to teach me?”

“You got somebody better in mind, sweetheart?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow and a wry grin.

It makes sense, you suppose - what with him being a police officer and all. 

And between your one on one sessions with him, volunteering at the school with Suga, making sure that Daisuke got to school on time, that the house was cleaned, there was food in the pantry and your sister wasn’t falling apart, you were running on fumes.

Yet when you come home exhausted and aching from Daichi’s place and catch sight of him, casually leaning against your doorway with a bag of takeout and that damned smirk you’d fallen head over heels in love with all those years ago, you can’t help but grin.

“Hey, baby. You hungry?”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

***

They’re more observant than you give them credit for.

Suga notices the way you gingerly stretch to put away the paint supplies one afternoon.

Daichi catches an eyeful of a bruise on your neck as he hovers over you - the makeup you’d used to hide it having rubbed off with the last manoeuvre.

Suga catches you checking your phone more often, smiling softly to yourself.

Where Daichi used to be able to coax you into staying back for a drink, you were quick to finish up and head home, claiming to be tired and hungry. You don’t take him up on his offer for dinner either. 

But the final nail in the coffin came in the form of a drawing.

“Dai, who’s that?” 

Suga’s crouched by his desk, gazing oddly at the picture your nephew had drawn. The task was simple - draw your family. Daisuke had dutifully done just that; him, his mom, you, and-

“Auntie’s new boyfriend.”

Suga’s eyes snap to yours and you curse your heart for skipping a beat. “I didn’t know you were dating anybody.”

***

Daichi’s fingers tap restlessly on the leather of the steering wheel. 

He was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago but when the call came in, he didn’t really have a choice but to answer it. She’d asked specifically for him after all, and even if she hadn’t, the Sergeant would have tossed the case his way regardless.

Mokoto knew how he felt about you.

Spending an hour and a half sitting in your living room while your sister sobbed wasn’t exactly how he’d planned on spending his afternoon, but he supposed it came with the territory. He knows how to do his job properly, though. Listening, asking the right questions, offering sympathy without promising results - it’s nothing he hasn’t had to do before. 

“Please Daichi, she- she’s all we have left, I… I can’t-”

It didn’t mean he wasn’t aching to leave with every second that passed. 

Of course, it wasn’t a complete waste of time. Through her tears, your sister did manage to give up the name of the guy you were fucking. 

A name he certainly recognised from way back in high school. He knows he’s going to enjoy pursuing that particular lead, but as he pulls his car into the driveway and switches the motor off, Daichi shoves the thought aside.

He has other, far more pressing matters to deal with.

His heart thrums like hummingbird’s as he walks up the pathway, nodding politely at his elderly neighbour as he passes. 

The sight that greets him inside his living room makes the wait worthwhile.

You, on your knees, stripped down to your pretty, lace underwear, arms cuffed behind your back and your plush lips wrapped around his best friend’s cock.

With his long fingers carefully carding through your hair, Suga coos at you between breathless moans, praising you for being such a good girl for him with every roll of his hips. You’re shaking, trembling as silvery tears spill down your cheeks and when he drops his wallet, phone and keys on the bench and kicks off his shoes, your wide, pleading eyes turn to greet him.

Daichi’s cock stirs in his pants, a rush of excitement and something much, much darker and more primal flooding his veins. 

Noticing that he no longer has your full attention, Suga’s eyes follow yours. “You’re late,” he says with a lazy smirk.

Loosening his tie, Daichi huffs out a laugh, “And I see you didn’t bother waiting.”

the solace of banality - lucas (yandere oc) x reader (6.6k)

your time in the hospital has made you miss the simplicity of a life not held captive by a madman in the woods - and has made you just foolish enough to ask him about it.

cw: dark content, yandere, kidnapped reader. hospital setting. chubby fem reader, references to past dub-con and non-con, references to cannibalism, forced intimacy and domesticity, physical abuse.

a/n: for a primer on lucas, see here or his tag on my blog.

this was a commissioned work.

Lucas had not taken his hands off of you the entire ride from the hospital, back into the woods. He'd mumbled something about needing to make sure he moved the truck later on, as he'd stepped out and helped you down in return, strong arms wrapping around you so that you have to do the bare minimum of exertion yourself. His grip is as assured as ever, but there's a tightness there that you haven't felt for some time - as if he needs to press himself into you, just to be sure that you're still there.

And, too, to make sure that you don't run. 

You suppose he doesn't like the idea of you knowing where the truck is parked, but it's not like you could drive it even if you did remember. Lucas treats it like a spooked animal, a strange little creature whose quirks and foibles he has learned over time - you're almost certain that if you were to get behind the wheel, it would not obey you the way that it obeyed him. So you keep your mouth pressed shut and concentrate on the slow journey from the truck to the front door of the cabin. Your gaze returns to it, just once, parked closer than you've ever seen it - but Lucas coughs, and his brows draw in, and you guiltily return your gaze to your feet. 

It's getting colder. It's the end of November, and the ward at the hospital had been decorated early (to give some festive cheer to the people who were stuck there, you suppose). Frost crackles beneath your feet. The moment you'd been signed off as able to go home, Lucas had rushed you out of there, tension tight in his shoulders - so the sun has barely risen, and there's been no time for the cruelty of winter to be tempered any by what warmth it has to offer. 

"Want you home, sweetheart," he'd grumbled, as he'd signed papers at the hospital desk with a surname you do not recognise. He'd let you keep your first name, but he'd given 'Smith' at the hospital as your surname (are you missing, you wonder? Would your real name have been too much of a giveaway?), calling you his wife, smiling tightly as he'd said you'd wanted to keep your maiden name in a very good imitation of a husband a little frustrated by this. "Sooner the better. This place makes me nervous." 

His hands do not move from you as he unlocks the front door, either. As he ushers you in, as he breathes a sigh of relief at the comfort of the cabin around you. 

He'd gone home, just to tend to the chickens. It was the only moments you'd had free from his stifling company - well, that and the surgery. You breathe out, tight and controlled, counting in your head as you feel the twinges of pain. Cold air. The doctor had said you might feel it in the scar for the rest of your life. You'd had maybe an hour and a half at most a day, to be alone with your thoughts and the room--

You'd thought, only once, about telling the doctors the truth. About begging them to help. Do something. 

But you'd remembered the hissed warning in your ear, when he'd driven you to the hospital with a fear you'd never seen spread over his features. If you did that - if they knew - he'd said he wouldn't hesitate to bring as many people down with you both as he could, and the thought of what he might do in an enclosed space to strangers and doctors with no worries as to who got hurt--

No. Better to keep your mouth shut, and pretend everything was fine. 

"Let's get you on the couch, darlin'," Lucas murmurs, still tightly holding onto your waist as if you don't know every inch of this cabin as intimately as you know the back of your hands. "They said for you to stay restin', didn't they? I ain't lettin' you get worse. Not takin' you back there if I can damn well help it." 

You nod, as he lifts you up with ease and deposits you onto the crease of the sofa, the deep comforting dip that is usually Lucas's space. For a moment, you look up at him, and he looks down at you. 

You take in everything about him. The worry etched into his features, the bags beneath his eyes, the coiled tension ready to snap at any moment if you don't do exactly as he says. You take in, too, that he's been wearing the same shirt for three days, that his stubble has grown out some, that he looks at you like he can't believe you're back here on the couch. 

(He'd been afraid he'd lose you, you think. It's the only explanation you can possibly conjure for why he'd taken you out of the cabin, to a place teeming with life, risked everything he had here in order to make sure you didn't die. You'd been here, in this exact spot, the night he'd taken you to the hospital, curled up and sweating and nauseous and too weak to make it to the bathroom to do anything. You'd thought you were going to die right there too). 

You wonder what he sees in you, in turn. 

He'd brought you new pyjamas from the hospital gift shop. They were cheaply made, pink and white stripes, that kind of satin that pulled if you so much as rolled over in bed. But they were new, and they'd been bought for you, so you hadn't mentioned the pulls under the armpit to Lucas. You're wearing them now (they'd laundered them at the hospital for you), with an old dressing gown wrapped around you that you've only ever seen Lucas wear. It smells like him. 

You wonder if you look wan yourself; if your eyes are shadowed, if your mouth is drawn, if your hair is lank. You'd been able to shower, you'd been able to use the bathroom on your own - but you'd almost . . . missed his cloying presence. The nurse had helped you, when you were still too weak, but . . . her hands lathering shampoo through the strands of your hair had not been as gentle, as slow, as thorough as Lucas's always were--

He lets out a slow, controlled breath. 

"You really gave me a fright there," he rumbles, and summons a smile from the pit inside of him for you. "I really thought . . . Well. Don't wanna dwell on nothin' too dark there, do we?" 

It's a question he expects an answer to, you realise, that stern green gaze stuck on you. You shake your head - and then, trembling, put forth;

"I . . . I was scared too. I . . ." Swallow the confused feelings that come swimming up in you before you say it; you've learnt to play this game. It's better to be alive than it is to be chopped to pieces, and if you weren't so good at this part you're certain Lucas wouldn't have bothered to take you to the hospital. "I didn't want to leave you."

His face softens. 

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning forward, to press a lingering kiss on the crown of your head. "I wasn't about to let you go nowhere, y'hear? Now. Let's get a blanket 'round you. Let's get you tucked in, and I'll bring you somethin' to eat. I don't trust the food they gave you in there."

When they'd done the blood tests, the nurse had said that your iron levels were the most perfect she'd ever seen, and you'd thought about Lucas's meals. The meat bleeding dark juices onto the plate. You'd swallowed your disgust and smiled at her, shrugging modestly, telling her that your husband handled the menu and you just ate what he gave you. 

He'd been sat beside you, and he'd shifted when you'd called him your husband, his mouth twitching at the corners. She'd congratulated him on it, a smile on her face - taken in by the size of him, the dog tags shining around his neck, his obvious care for his poor invalid wife--

If only she'd known. 

It's strange to be back in the cabin again. 

Altogether, you'd been in the hospital for nine days; there'd been some complications, they'd wanted to keep an eye on you, they'd had to do a more complicated surgery type than they'd originally thought-- and those nine days had been . . .

You don't want to call them blissful. Nearly dying is not blissful, oxygen tubes and cannulas and blood tests and the smell of antiseptic are not blissful things, really. But it had been so different from the life you'd been accustomed to living! It had been so different to be somewhere else, to see other people--

You don't know quite how long you've been with Lucas, but if it's November again you think it's been over a year. You'd been taken in September, you remember - and he'd mentioned Christmas, that first year, but you'd still been too scared to really think much of it beyond giving him a trembling kiss on Christmas Eve and letting him dress you up in one of the more scandalous pieces from the wardrobe, as a gift, that night-- 

A year of solitude can do a lot to a person. The only other human being you've interacted with is Lucas - and one lost hiker, once, who'd come limping out of the trees whilst you were feeding the chickens with Lucas in the doorway and had called out to you. You'd been too startled to call back, but you'd waved your hand in greeting - and then Lucas's own hand had been on your shoulder, and you understood in no uncertain terms you were to go back inside, and you'd put the record player on when you'd heard the first scream. 

You don't know if that really counts, all things considered. 

But suddenly, you had found yourself surrounded by people! Nurses came and spoke to you, and doctors, and other patients (though Lucas had insisted that you needed a private room, you'd still come across them in the hallways and the corridors when you'd moved around, when they'd taken you out for walks to ensure that you were recovering well). You'd heard more voices than you had in forever, different accents and different inflections and you'd been bombarded with names you didn't always remember. 

Some of the strangers stuck in your mind more than others. There'd been a nursing student who got all red and awkward and stuttery when Lucas spoke to her. There'd been a doctor who had also been a veteran, who had made Lucas's spine stiffen and his words go clipped and rough. There'd been a mother of a young woman who had her granddaughter with her for visiting, who'd mistakenly barged into your room thinking it was her daughter's - and though you'd expected Lucas to lose his temper at them both, he hadn't. He'd crouched down on the floor and asked the little girl about the stuffed bunny she was carrying with a perfectly serious expression, and for a minute you had forgotten about the axe and the blood and the snarl and the lies, and you'd thought what a good father your husband would make. 

You'd had to give yourself a stern talking to inside your head, when the visitors had been sent to the right place and Lucas had turned back to you to fuss over your blankets and his eyes had still been soft with a longing that you did not want to think about. In a different world, maybe. In a different time. In different circumstances-- 

And there was everything else, too. All of the other little freedoms you'd forgotten about.

Food and television and human contact, being alone, a bed to yourself. 

You'd thought, then, how much you'd taken it all for granted.

"Is your husband not here?" The nurse says, cheerfully bustling into the room with your breakfast on a tray. She looks around for him, before she winks at you and pulls from her pocket a tiny packet of chocolate spread, which she lays on the plate next to the toast and the packet of butter and the tiny jar of jam. 

The first time you'd asked for toast, they'd brought you chocolate spread, and Lucas had shaken his head and taken it off your plate before you could even think about it. 

"It ain't good for you," he'd said, sagely, with all of the assurance of a man who was used to being listened to. "Have the jam instead, if you've gotta. The butter on it's own's plenty rich enough though, I think."

He'd watched you like a hawk, and you'd been too scared to put more than a sliver of the strawberry jam on the toast, so you'd eaten exactly what he wanted. 

"He's gone home," you say to her. Your voice still feels a little rough and croaky - you'd been told that they'd put a tube down your throat for breathing, during the surgery. You haven't had much experience of hospitals before, so all of this is a novelty in more than just the freedom from Lucas. "He has to feed the girls - h-his . . . o-our chickens, I mean."

She shakes her head, smiling. 

"I'm sure he means well," she says, perching for a moment on the chair by the bed that Lucas usually occupies. "I mean! He clearly cares about you - I almost never come in here and see the room without him, he's part of the furniture! - but sometimes a girl just needs a treat, you know?" She winks again, and you laugh. 

A part of you feels guilty about it - that same part of you that occasionally looks at Lucas and does think about him as a spouse, that same part of you that sometimes drives you to press a kiss onto his cheek when you're not thinking because he says something sweet. It's the part of you, you think, that wants you to give in and accept and be what Lucas wants and forget everything else, just to make it easier. 

But it's a part that's easier to quell amongst the hustle and bustle of the hospital. 

"Now," she says. "You're going to be in here for a few more days, so I've brought you the menu - just circle what you want and I'll take it to the kitchens. If he doesn't see it, he doesn't know if you chose the unhealthy options!" You laugh aloud again, and reach for the menu, flicking through to see all of the other options. So many foods you haven't had in over a year - so many things you'd never dare ask Lucas to make--

You feel another twinge of guilt when you circle the roast chicken and vegetables, but you tamp it down as you circle apple pie. You'll give Lucas a bite or two, and he'll forget that he'd said you were a vegetarian--

"Good choice," the nurse says approvingly, as she takes the menu from you and tucks it into the pocket of her uniform. She gives you a conspiratorial nudge. "Honestly, I shouldn't say it, but you'd be amazed how many vegetarians take the meat option in here! Good for them, I say. You need to keep your strength up! Now - where's that remote? Shall we put it on that horror channel you wanted and I'll take it with me, so you can say it's lost and he just has to put up with it?" 

You do war within yourself before you dare ask him. You know Lucas's temper - it's hard not to know it, living out here with him for so long. Ordinarily, you do anything possible to make sure that it doesn't flare too openly; you act soft and sweet and agree with him and avoid any topic of conversation that you think might set him off. It's terrifying to see how the way he stands change, the curl of his lip and the grit of his teeth and the slightest tilt of his brows - it reminds you of all of those other people, out there, who have not been so lucky as you. All of those people who have seen him get angry and then learnt his anger in the swing of his axe instead of in the blade of his words. You could so easily have been one of them, you are usually able to sternly remind yourself when the whisperings at the back of your mind get almost too loud to handle. If you hadn't been soft and sweet and scared and what Lucas had found pretty, if you'd screamed instead of begged or fought instead of cried, you would have met your end in the woods too and your flesh would have been parcelled up into the old chest freezer and none of this would have happened--

But that was before the hospital, wasn't it? 

That was before he'd shown you that he cared about you enough to take you into town if things were dire enough - before you'd shown him in turn that you could be trusted to keep his secret. You'd had so many chances to blurt out the truth, but every time you'd held your tongue and you'd smiled and laughed and called him your husband as if it were real. 

The fourth day, Lucas had come in and had slipped a plain gold band onto your finger as a doctor had watched, taking your blood pressure. 

"Found it," he'd said, gruffly, and you'd seen that there was a matching one on his own. "I know y'don't like to be without it." 

You'd kept it, even when you could take it off and you were back in the truck and were free of the ruse. Now, as you slowly bring yourself to the kitchen doorway with a blanket wrapped around you, you play with the ring on your finger and hope he notices that, and that the little movement wins you points. 

"Lucas?" You ask, to get his attention - but you don't need to. He has already heard, his head up and cocked, and he shakes his head and sucks his teeth when he sees you standing there, bare feet on the cabin floorboards. Of course he'd heard the couch creak, of course he'd heard the pad of your footsteps - this is a man who'd heard you so much as sit up in bed from the couch, back when you'd first gotten here and he'd slept on the sofa instead of intertwined with you. He'd always come, always asked you if you were alright, if you needed him to help . . .

"Darlin'," he says, shaking his head. "You shoulda just called. You ain't s'posed to be on your feet too much. I'll bring you anything you want."

You swallow, still absent-mindedly twirling the ring on your finger. It's perhaps a size or two too big; if it were really your wedding ring, you're sure you'd have lost it doing the washing up or getting it caught in your clothes or something by now. 

(It's not yours though, is it? You wonder if Lucas bought them in a pawn shop - but no, that would have caused whispers around a small town that might have gotten back to the hospital eventually. You know the far more likely scenario is that he's had them this whole time, pried from the fingers of some poor unsuspecting camping couple who pitched their tent a bit too close. You don't like to think of the little metal band that warms your own wedding finger on the cold hand of a corpse. You haven't taken it off since he gave you it. 

You're too afraid there'll be an engraving inside, a name that isn't yours, a promise that only means something to two people who are no longer on the earth. 

At least, you suppose, they died together.)

"I . . . I've just been thinking," you say, gathering all of your courage up to try and screw it to the sticking place. Lucas is still being a little too indulgent with you; letting you get away with things that he wouldn't normally. A later bedtime, a bit of pouting, a VHS he'd gotten for you of a fantasy film that he didn't much like played at night instead of one of his own. He's still too raw and open at the thought that he could have lost you, and you don't think you'll ever get a better chance than this one. 

And he's noticed the ring, still on your finger, and there's the faintest dusky flush up his cheekbones. You let your gaze flick down to his own hands, to see that the matching band is still in place on his finger. 

(Lucky, then, that they both almost fitted. You're certain that Lucas would have taken that as a sign; another piece of proof that the two of you were always meant to be. That thought makes your stomach roil uncomfortably, but you try to ignore it. The more he thinks the two of you were destined, the more attached he is to you, the more he loves you - the more likely he's going to be to agree to the thing you're about to ask him). 

"C'mon then," he says, shaking his head in fond exasperation, moving from the kitchen counter to come and take you by the waist and propel you back towards your comfortable nest on the sofa. "You can tell me just as well in there as out here, an' I won't worry half so much. I bought some ice cream one of the days we were in town, y'know. Been waiting for you to feel a bit better. How's about I go grab it from the freezer and make us a bowl and you can tell me what it is that's on your mind, huh?"

"That would be nice," you say, fluttering your lashes, looking up at him from under them in a way you've learnt makes him swallow, his throat bobbing. "Thank you." 

"Aww," he says. "Anythin' for you, darlin'." 

You wrap yourself back up in the other blankets left on the couch and let Lucas leave the room to go out to the freezer and fetch the ice cream. You force yourself not to think of it nestled in the chest freezer, surrounded by cuts of meat - an incongruous tub amongst flesh and bone, a ropy thigh pressed against the lid, a fleshy cheek pressed against the bottom. 

There's no sign of that when he returns with a chipped willow-pattern bowl full of vanilla ice cream and he passes you a spoon, cuddling up close to you on the sofa. You let yourself be manipulated half into his lap, his chin on the top of your head, the warmth he kicks off enough to make the ice cream melt to a pleasing consistency. He insists on feeding you the first bite, and you do not protest it - all the better, to make him soft and adoring. You even force yourself to giggle like an idiot, in a way that makes him growl in approval. 

"Well then," he says, between spoonfuls, and you're grateful that at least you won't have to look him in the eyes when you ask the question. "C'mon, let's get it outta you. What did you wanna ask?" 

Last chance saloon, if you want to backtrack. If you want to think of some other silly question that might not set him off - for another pair of new pyjamas, a colouring book and some fancy pencils, anything that he'll see as an indulgence but not as a declaration of war. 

But, oh . . .

The freedom of those days. The sound of people around you had made you miss the sound of the city, the smell of antiseptic had made you miss any smell that wasn't Lucas's aftershave and the chickens and the frosty air. Controlling a television, choosing your own menu, seeing other people going about their days and knowing that despite the isolated existence you're now living, people are still out there living their lives in a way you know Lucas will never let you. 

It doesn't matter, you force yourself to think, if you will never get that freedom back. Lucas would never let you go, and you're not foolish enough to so much as think about it, let alone ask. You're never going to fulfil so many of your dreams (you'll never see Tokyo, or Paris, you'll never see the Northern Lights or try that fancy hotel in your hometown and you'll probably never know how your favourite manga ends) - but just a taste of it, every so often, with Lucas's hand in yours and him beside you to watch over you--

That's not too much to ask, is it? 

You swallow again, feeling heat rising to your own cheeks. 

"I've just been thinking," you say to him, careful and calm. "About . . . the town? The one that the hospital was in?"

He stiffens all over, and you feel it where you're pressed against him. Like a coiled up spring, tension in every curve and line of his body. 

"Yeah?" He says, his tone warning - if you were smarter, you'd stop there, but you've opened the floodgates now. Your mouth seems to be operating without the express consent of your brain, and the words come flowing out awkwardly smashing into one another in a rush of noise. 

"It's just - couldn't we do something there? Together? See a movie? Run errands or go shopping or surely they have a bowling alley or something we could go to on a date?"

"Sweetheart."

It's rough and dark and angry, but now you've started you cannot stop. 

"I mean, they've seen me! They know I live with you, they're going to ask questions about me, and I don't mind I'll tell them exactly what you want me to tell them but it would be so so nice to do something with you, even if it's just once every few months, I'd just like to be outside--"

The bowl of ice cream clatters to the floor, the remainder of the sticky yellow-white treat oozing across the floorboards like spilt blood, and your brain finally catches up with you and you go stock-still like a deer in headlights as Lucas eases his arms from around your waist and shifts so that he can be next to you, so that he can look you in the eye before he tells you he's going to kill you. 

His gaze catches yours, stern and forbidding and cold as the frost had been when you'd stepped out of the truck. Your hands start to shake as you desperately try and reassure yourself that, if you're lucky, the first blow will kill you and you won't feel any of the rest--

But to his credit, Lucas doesn't jump straight to blazing anger. 

You can feel it simmering in him, like it's rising off of him like steam - but instead, he says, his voice cold and deep and barely restrained;

"No."

"Lucas--"

"I said no." 

He doesn't soften the phrase with a pet name, and this is a bad sign. His gaze remains affixed onto yours, pinning you in place, as much a captor as the man himself. You feel like you will bow and break under it, but you have gotten this far - your foolish heart cannot resist just one more attempt, as if you will somehow find the chink in his armour that will allow you this one tiny freedom. 

"Not often. Just--"

He stands up suddenly, like a tree being shaken to its foundations, and your heart jumps into your throat. He's going to pull down one of the weapons mounted on the wall in the hallway, you know it - he's going to drag you outside and you're going to bleed out on the frosted grass and he'll prise the ring off your finger and wait for someone else it will fit, he'll bury you in an unmarked grave, he'll spin some story next time he's in town about why you're not there--

"I need some air," he says instead, shortly. "I'll be back home in a bit." He reaches to pick up the bowl, not looking at you now. You can see that his grip is white-knuckled, that the veins in his wrists are more prominent than usual. His mouth is set in a grim line. 

"L-Lucas--"

"When I get back," he says, as if he hasn't heard you at all. "I don't wanna hear another word about this nonsense, understand? I keep you safe. I keep you fed and warm and safe an' loved, and I'm not gonna take you out back into a world that doesn't deserve you just so it can fuckin' chew you up and spit you out." 

He turns away and walks, the thud of his boots heavy on the floorboards. 

"We're gonna have an early night," he says, pausing at the door. "I think all that time in the hospital's scrambled your brain good and proper. But don't worry, sweetheart," he looks over his shoulder, gaze like frosted green glass, words a bladed threat. "I'll make sure t'remind you." 

You know you have gotten off lightly. 

It is hard not to think that if you had been someone else, if you hadn't played your game so well, Lucas would not have suffered the question as coolly as he managed to. Or even if you had asked such a thing a few months ago - he would have taken it as a personal attack, as you saying he was not enough for you. 

The fact that he comes back, that he manages to give you a tight smile when he sees that you haven't moved from the sofa where he'd left you except to pick up a battered old fantasy book from the shelf full of mismatched paperbacks - that seems to calm him. You suppose that he's thinking at least you listened to him, hopefully you've taken everything he's said to heart . . .

But that's not the truth. Not really. 

Despite what you know is sensible, you have been thinking about freedom for every moment whilst you've been alone. 

Or, 'freedom' in a sense. You have been thinking about the laugh of the nurse and the buzz of the television and the food in front of you on a clean white plate that has never before played host to a hunk of meat that was once a person. You've been thinking about the sounds of the city and the feel of warm worn leather beneath you in Lucas's truck. You've been thinking and plotting and rewriting in your head exactly what to say to try and convince Lucas that maybe, just maybe, it might be alright. 

Once or twice a year, even! Christmas shopping, perhaps. A Valentine's Day movie - a sappy romance, or a musical, or something he couldn't object to. Something all romantic and soft and chosen specifically to be done with him, so he doesn't feel as though you're trying to escape. 

Lucas lifts you from the couch and guides you into the bathroom - kisses the top of your head and presses against you wanting and needy in the shower, as the hot water cascades over you both, as his fingers brush oh-so-gently the scar left on the soft roundness of your flesh in wonder. His eyes soften as he looks at it, as you suppose he remembers how close he came to losing you - and it's that look, the soft devotion in his gaze, knowing that despite it all Lucas cares about you enough that he broke his own rules to take you somewhere safe, that makes you think that perhaps it might be safe to bring it up again. 

He brushes your hair before bed; helps you put on one of the pretty cotton nightgowns patterned with sprigs of flowers that he always chooses, when he gets the choice (your pink and white striped pyjamas are in the laundry basket, waiting to be washed, Lucas wrinkling his nose and mumbling about the smell of that place). 

You sit up in bed as he pulls out his own sleepwear, and you clear your throat before you speak. 

"A-about earlier . . ."

"If it ain't an apology," Lucas says, voice tight, his back to you - your eyes are drawn to the scars that decorate his body like badges of honour as he pulls the old shirt he sleeps in down, "I don't wanna hear it."

"C-can't we just . . . talk about it? Like a . . . like a married couple would?"

Lucas turns around now. He does not lower himself onto the bed, as he stares at you with something inscrutable in his gaze that makes you trip over your words. 

"I don't want to run, Lucas! I love you!" That's a lie, but you hope he won't notice, won't care, because you said it yourself and not because he demanded you did so. "I just . . . I want to show you off, I want to do normal things with you! Even if it's just the groceries, even if it's just picking up flour or sugar--"

"I've already said no," he bites out. "I've already said no, and I've already told you to stop askin'."

"Lucas, please--"

"Stop."

You'd been wrong. You feel it slipping out of your grasp - the thought of that tiny freedom, grabbed with both hands, slipping through your fingers like fine sand. His words are horribly final, obviously designed to get you to stop asking, to keep your pretty mouth shut and be the quiet and well-behaved little spouse he wants you to be, but . . . 

The thought of something that is so close just being stolen from you like this is too much for you, and you can't let yourself be cowed.

"Can't we just talk about it--!"

"I think you've done enough fuckin' talkin'." 

He looks at you with murder in his gaze and you cringe back into the pillows. Here it is. He's going to beat you to death. He's going to kill you. You've really fucking done it now, haven't you?

But he doesn't.

He looks at you for one more beat, before suddenly a slow smile spreads across his face. 

"Okay," he says, and the change in his demeanour is scarier than anything else you've seen in months. "Okay, yeah. Get outta bed, sweetheart. C'mon. Let's talk this through in the kitchen like grown-ups."

He doesn't help you to the kitchen, this time. He leaves it to you, and you're slow about it - your body protests being taken from the warm embrace of the bed and back out. The nightgown tangles uncomfortably around your ankles, and you stumble more than once.

Lucas, though, had left immediately. Consequently, you're not surprised to see him up and at the stove when you get into the kitchen. The kettle is on the hob.

"We'll talk it through with a hot drink," he says, pleasantly enough. "The way real married couples do, yeah? Sit down, darlin'. Just let me get this to boilin'."

You can't believe how reasonable he's being. You wonder what it is that you said that brought him to this point - the married couple thing, perhaps? The profession of love, that maybe hadn't pierced him properly until a few minutes later? Whatever it is, you're grateful for it, as you sit down on one of the wooden kitchen chairs and let out a soft sigh. 

"Y'know," Lucas says, from over by the stove. "I thought about just fuckin' cuttin' your tongue out so you couldn't ask me anymore."

A cold shiver down your spine, but Lucas's tone is conversational, and you do not see one of his big knives out in the kitchen anywhere. Maybe he is going to apologise, you think. 

"I . . . I'm glad you didn't," you say, voice soft and thready. "Thank you."

Lucas snorts. 

"Yeah. Thought 'bout what you said . . . People in that town sure do know you exist now. And though I ain't planning on takin' you back, just in case . . . Thought that a missin' tongue might be kinda hard to explain, y'know?" 

The kettle whistles, high pitched enough to make you flinch. You notice, suddenly, that he has not put any mugs or cups on the table, and your entire body seems to feel as though it's made of ice. 

He has one of those old-fashioned kettles; enamel, white and blue, a long spout and a metal handle that needs to be warmed through on a hob. He picks it up by the handle now, and walks towards you. 

"So I thought," he says to you, his tone still pleasant, but his voice rough and low. "How am I gonna stop her runnin' her mouth? How am I gonna teach her that when I tell her to stop bringin' somethin' up, she oughta heed my words?"

"Please don't--" You babble out, as he lifts the kettle up. You can hear it bubbling inside, boiling away against the enamel and tin. You've burnt your tongue on a hot chocolate before, sure, tried to drink a coffee before it was cool . . . But the thought of what Lucas is about to do seems far, far worse than that. 

With the hand that is not wrapped around the kettle's handle, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls it back fiercely until his hand meets the back of the chair, forcing your face up and pinning you in place. 

"It's just a lesson," Lucas says, infuriatingly calm. He lifts the kettle up, and you feel the heat radiating off of it as it comes too close to your skin. "I didn't wanna do this, darlin'. But you ain't left me much of a choice."

"I won't bring it up again!" Lucas lets out a snort, and the barest drop of water snakes from the spout. It splashes onto your bare neck above the nightgown's collar, and you swear you hear the flesh sizzle as you squeak out in pain. 

"It's a bit too late for that now," he tells you. "C'mon. We don't want this to get cold now, do we?"

"Lucas, please--!"

"Open your fuckin' mouth," he says, his eyes glittering. "And swallow like a good girl, and I'll only make you drink this one kettleful. I can boil another as easy as pie. I can keep fuckin' going until you can never talk again, y'hear me?"

You're shaking, but he has slowly, slowly started to tip the kettle now. The spout is coming far too close to your lips for comfort. 

"You'll wanna wrap your mouth around it," he says, and you do not miss that it's not the first time he's said that kind of thing to you. Hot tears of fear and frustration well in the corner of your eyes. "If you make me pour it into you like you're a teacup, you're gonna panic and just get burns all over your pretty face too."

The spout nudges your lips. 

"Open your mouth," Lucas coos to you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. "Open your mouth, and we'll just do one kettleful, and I'll get you s'more ice cream once you've learnt your lesson. One kettleful and it'll prob'ly only be a week or so 'fore you can talk again." 

You try and will yourself to think of something to get out of it, but Lucas is getting impatient. He tugs roughly on the hair in his fist and lowers his own mouth close enough to hiss into your ear;

"Don't open it and . . . well. You don't really wanna find out, do ya'?"

Outplayed. 

You open your mouth.

Moon Starves Sun

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Part one: Sun Eats Moon

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

Part three: Moon Starves Sun(Full part)

Synopsis: The aftermath of 'Sun Eats Moon' in Satoru's perspective.

(Warnings: implied sex, forced relationships)

When Satoru's close like this, he can hear your heartbeat. 

It's been a while. Ten years. An entire decade. Everything about this is different, yet so familiar. He feels like he's finally reached the shores, feeling the warm sands underneath his feet. Like he's been given his favorite food after being starved for years. Everything melts. Everything except for you. 

He'd like to stay like this forever, listening to your rabbit heartbeat, feeling your soft skin, but for your sake, he pulls himself off you. Lying on a wooden desk probably isn't that comfortable. 

Your eyes are shut. Your breathing is shallow. You're so pretty like this under the moonlight. Your clothes are barely hanging onto your body. He can see every mark he's left on you. Part of him wants to make more, but he'll let you off the hook for now. He's nice like that. 

"Still with me?" 

Your eyes flutter open. You don't respond, but at least you're not crying anymore. He can work with that. 

"C'mon, pretty girl," he says, voice soft, "let's piece you back together." 

The belt left lines on your wrists. He'll kiss them better later. For now, Satoru collects your clothes and heels from the floor, placing them on the desk. He helps you reclasp your bra, runs his fingers on your arms when you finish buttoning your blouse. It's a quiet affair. Every so often, he'd catch your eyes. You don't let yourself linger for long. Satoru finds that a little cute. 

You say nothing when he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you out of his office. Maybe you're still dazed, still gathering yourself back up, because you don't struggle as much as he predicted. You try to leave his grip when the two of you reach the lobby. He's quick to stop you. 

"Where, do you think you're goin'?" He grips your wrist when you take a step away. 

You look at him, eyes shimmering like water. 

You swallow. "My apartment. I—I need to go back—" 

He clicks his tongue, bringing you back in. 

"We can get your stuff later." He tells you with a grin. "let's just go home, tonight. I'm exhausted." 

You open your mouth. Satoru waits. You say nothing, and he thinks you're starting to get it. 

The moon is a dusky red tonight. Satoru thinks it's an ugly color. 

☾

If Satoru could describe you in one word, it would be: predicatable. 

Normal, boring, a speck in the crowd—none of these are bad things. Just like how much of the universe is nothing, you're an empty void, too. Not everyone can be like him. From the minute he was born, Satoru was destined for greatness—a prodigy, heir to a millionaire conglomerate, the Sun itself. His life isn't written on his forehead for everyone to read. 

You are the exact opposite. Completely unassuming. He practically knows everything about you without even having to ask. 

Like how Satoru can instantly tell you've never been over to a boy's room before. 

You've probably never even been in a relationship before him, either. Even before he managed to corral you into his arms, you were always so annoying about the other things like school and friends. Though, you don't really have much of the latter anymore. His fault, Suguru never fails to remind him. 

He watches as your eyes linger over his shelf: the numerous trophies and awards. You're still standing meekly in the corner, still garbed in your school uniform, clutching your backpack. He has to roll his eyes at how obviously you're trying not to look at him. 

"What're you waitin' for?" He finally asks. You jump, eyes flitting over to find him before you find the floor. He resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

It's not like you two haven't done shit before. You sucked him off twice now, and he's finger fucked you against the bleachers. You should really stop being such a prude. 

"C'mere, pretty girl." 

(Pretty sure thats all what tumblr's gonna let me post, here's the full part!!!!!!!!!)

TIME TRAVELER AU PT 2

Original post/idea here. Part 1 is here. Part 3 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

I fucked up.

You thought as you sat on the bed, holding your head in your hands.

I fucked up so baaaaaad.

Not only have you healed Baldwin of his leprosy, forever changing history of the LEPER KING, but also managed to somehow be his bride. To make matters EVEN worse, you cant just up and leave right now because you dont know the disastrous effects it'll have on the future now that Baldwin wont die of leprosy, which means that the kingdom of Jerusalem wont fall to Salauddin and his muslim army and after that its just a domino effect.

You tried to view your options here.

I stay here, marry Baldwin and fuck up the fabric of time and space because how can someone from the future marry someone from the past? Wouldnt I cease to exist?

I leave, return to my time where authorities arrest me for fucking around with time- that is, if I even exist in the future now that I've altered history. Who knows if my ancestors survived/were born after this?

No. Neither option is good. I need to stay here and fix this. But in a way that i dont draw too much attention to myself so that im so insignificant that nobody remembers, let alone writes about me in the history books.

You were drawn out of your thoughts with someone knocking on your door. "Come in." You said, straightening yourself.

A couple of servants walked in, all women. "Princess Y/n." They all courtesied. "We've been sent here by his majesty to prepare you for dinner with him."

Princess? Ah yes. Only a couple of hours ago, Baldwin had proposed to you, I guess the concept of asking wasnt a thing here as he just slipped on the big beautiful ring on your finger.

You narrowed your eyes at them. "First of all, Im not a princess. You will address me as Y/n only. And secondly, Im not going to join him for dinner, so there's no need to prepare me" The maids all shared a look of confusion before the head servant spoke.

"But we cant address you as anything else until you wed the king, after which you will be our queen, princess."

"Didnt I just tell you not to call me princess? Just call me Y/n!" The head maid shook her head. "Princess, we can not do that. If we do, then we would be punished. And we must prepare you for dinner with his majesty!" The maids moved ahead to start helping you but you raised a hand, halting them.

"I said, no." You said sternly.

"What... what will we tell the king, princess? He's expecting you-"

"Tell him i cant come because Im sic- no, Im not feeling well and Id like to be alone." You cant say "sick" in this era, because that means "death sentence" here and you dont want to be fretted over and bring attention to yourself as "the king's fiancee got SICK!". Besides, you do need to be away from Baldwin as much as possible and have some time to plot your moves.

-

You had pulled out your notebook and began writing out dates and historic events of this era to plan your escape. You're trying to find some sort of shortcut where Baldwin gets sick again and dies, leaving his kingdom in the hands of his sister and brother in law, who will bring its downfall-

Someone knocked on your door gently. "Princess?" You quickly hid your notebook. "Come in."

Baldwin walked inside and towards you, eyes worried as they scanned you up and down.

"I heard you're not feeling well?" He asked and before you had a chance to back away, he had cupped your cheeks in his hands tenderly. "What's wrong? Shall I fetch the royal physician?"

"No." You replied with your face smushed in his hands. "I'm fine." You pulled your face away his large hands.

Confusion spread through his blue orbs. "Then why did you not join me for dinner?" He asked, using a hand to push your hair over your ear, not taking the hint that you didn't want him touching you.

"I just-" what possible excuse could you come up with that would be both effective and not insulting enough to have your head chopped off. "you- you dont care about me."

Baldwin looked at you in bewilderment. "I dont... care about you? Princess, how can you say that?" He tried to cup your cheek again but you backed away before he could, putting on a face of hurt.

"How can I not? You dont care about what I want, or even ask me what I need?" You feingned pain in your voice, turning away from him for dramatic effect.

He grabbed your shoulders and turned you towards him, his pupils grew wide as if trying to search for what it is that you need. "My love, what do you want? Just say the word, and I'll give it to you."

You looked down, again for the theatrics, and Baldwin lifted your chin. "Go on."

"You never- never asked me to marry you."

"Huh? But I did today-"

"No, you stated it- demanded I marry you." You furrowed your brows and looked down again.

Baldwin smiled. Of course, how could he have not asked you? You were a girl after all, you want to be courted the traditional way. Its not your fault that you dont know that kings do not ask permission for things. They just get it, because who would refuse to marry a king?

He kissed your forehead, lifting your chin again to meet his eyes. "Im sorry, princess. I shouldve asked." He took your hands in his and had that charming smile again. "Will you marry me, Y/n?"

"No." You shook your head. "I... I cant marry you, your majesty." You said, adding tears into your eyes. His brows furrowed in concern.

"What? Why?" You tried pulling your hands away but he didnt let go, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

"I-" well, you could say that youre not catholic and the church would never let you two get married, but you also dont wanna be tortured for being a "heretic". Maybe religious differences could be the last plan. Taking your silence as hesitance, Baldwin spoke. "I can offer you everything and more. Jerusalem would be yours. What is it that I lack that anyone else could offer?"

"I am not a good match for you!" Ah yes, lets do the typical "its not you, its me." You bit your lip as you yanked your hands out of his and walked towards the window, your back to him (theatrics). "You and I are not equals- no we are nowhere close! Youre a king, your father was a king, your family is royalty. I come from nothing, as did my ancestors. There will never be stability in our marriage when we come from such different backgrounds!" You never thought that you would be putting yourself down and call yourself "inferior" to break up with a man.

Silence hung in the air, as you held your breath.

"Youre right." You heard him say behind you. "We are not equals, we never will be." For some reason, instead of being relieved, a chill ran down your spine. Baldwin wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. "I may be a king, but youre far superior to me. You're an angel, sent to me by God, and you saved me. I wouldnt be king anymore if you werent here, princess."

Warmth spread from your cheeks to the tip of your ears, both due to the close proximity and his words. Sensing your bashfulness, he chuckled, kissing your cheek as he turned you around to face him. You could hear your own heart beat at how close he was.

Baldwin tilted his head, half lidded eyes staring at you. "Youre everything and more that I could ask for, princess. Never put yourself down and compare yourself to me, hm?" He said, giving your arms a gentle squeeze before moving away, but not detaching himself completely as he took ahold of your hand and looked back at you.

"Now that this is settled, let us go eat. I've had the servants prepare a feast for us and then we can discuss wedding arrangements-" shit shit shit shit shit fuck it!

"I'm not catholic!" Baldwin halted at that. You've already said it, might as well dig yourself a deeper hole. You let the tears form in your eyes. "Im... Muslim. I didnt tell you because I didnt want you to think I was working for Salauddin and spying on you for him, you know I wasnt! I really did only want to know about you. Please believe me, I wasnt-"

"I believe you."

What? Just like that.

"You- you believe me?" You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Once again, Im sorry i didnt tell you I was a Muslim, but dont worry, I'll pack my things and leave tonight-"

"Why? We still have to get married."

You blinked slowly. "But... Im Muslim?"

Baldwin shrugged. "So? It doesnt change anything."

You looked at him in bafflement. "It does! It changes everything! We cant get married! Im a Muslim! The church wont allow interfaith marriages, and I dont intend on converting to catholicism either if thats what youre suggesting!"

"I am not suggesting that. You can be a muslim if you want to, but we're still getting married." Baldwin stated matter of factly.

"The church wont allow it-"

"The church will do as I say. I am the head of the church. Besides-" He smiled.

"I dont remember angels having to prove themselves to be a catholic. You saved my life, you cured my incurable disease. As far as the church is concerned, youre a miracle sent to me by God. Youre the Chosen One!"

Is he... is he hearing himself? Can you try to convince him?

"But... but Jerusalem deserves a Catholic Queen-" you tried weakly, but he cupped your cheek and smiled gently at you.

"I am Jerusalem, Y/n. And I deserve you." Was all he said before pecking your forehead.

He tugged you along with him. "Now, we have to eat."

You dont want to eat. You want to stay behind and think of another strategy because clearly you cant talk yourself out of this wedding.

"I'm- I'm not hungry." You said, making him frown.

"How is that possible? You havent had anything since morning. I dont want you getting sick before the wedding." Baldwin continued to pull you along.

Does he not listen?

"I dont want to eat- I- dont feel like it." You said a bit harshly this time, hoping he'd take the hint.

And he did, finally stopping. He sighed and let go of your hand. "Okay. I suppose if you really dont want to, we can skip dinner tonight." Fucking finally. "Its just... I seem to have developed a habit of enjoying meals with you. And now that my leprosy is cured and I have no more diet restrictions, I just- I had the kitchen prepare some of my favourite dishes that I was able to enjoy before my disease disabled me."

You stared at him. Is he- is he trying to guilt trip you? Baldwin once told you that due to leprosy he had ulcers in his mouth, and he couldnt eat different types of food, and was only able to have bland, soft goo.

You looked away from his big sad eyes. He's not getting to you. You need to go back to your room, make yourself scarce, be far away from him as often as possible.

"You can still go and eat dinner alone."

With one hand, he cupped your cheek. "Princess, you know I cant eat until you eat too. But its okay, if you dont want to eat, then I wont too. I guess I'll just have the servants finish the chicken roast and oh-! They even made strawberry cream cake for dessert. But- maybe another day."

You looked into his eyes, those blue orbs that were filled with sadness, resembling a kid who was just told "no candy!"

Sighing, you held his hand. "Maybe I can have a few bites."

His face lit up. Ah, he knew you'd come around. "Lets go!"

-

The next day, youre helped by the maids to get ready for the day. Apparently, Sibylla wanted to meet you and discuss some things, and you suspect she wants to talk about the wedding preprations.

The maids had prepared your bath and were very insistent on washing you themselves but you made them all leave the bath chambers. Finally, they compromised when you told them that they could dress you up if they wait outside.

Setting your old clothes on the bed, you entered the bathroom and settled into the warm water. The essential oils and flower petals soothed your mind and body, and you finally had some desperately needed silence to hear your own thoughts.

Last night at dinner, Baldwin was very- well, "happy" would be an understatement to how he felt near you. And all those forehead kisses and skin contact doesnt go unnoticed by you either. You suppose that since he had leprosy, he never really had or was allowed to touch anyone else. But now that hes cured, all thanks to your dumb ass, he craves the physical intimacy.

You closed your eyes as you sank deeper into the warm water. Gosh, did I really have to give him the water? Had I not done that, he would still be ridden with lepro-

Your eyes snapped open. Thats it. You just have to make sure he never drank your water in the first place! Yes! You can go back in time and sure, its always dangerous to go back in the same time period more than once, but you really dont have any other option now, do you?

After half an hour, you finally exited the bathroom and the maids practically ushered you to sit in the chair as they finally, FINALLY got to dress up the future queen of Jerusalem and after a whole hour, they're finally done. And... well you look good. Your hair has been done nicely, and a delicate golden headpiece, almost like a elegant hair band sits on top of your head. They added some color to your cheeks and lips with crushed berries. As for your clothes, they dressed you in a dark blue tunic with loose, flowing sleeves. The tunic itself was made of silk, probably brought in from the Byzantine empire and was only available to the upperclass of this time.

"I am not wearing those!" You said when they opened the jewellery boxes. There were diamonds and other precious stones adorning the earrings and necklaces.

"But princess, you must wear these. It is royal protocol for the king's bride to be, and the future queen to wear the royal jewels." The head maid said. She doesnt know that you dont plan on sticking around and if you leave wearing these jewels, who knows what havoc would that cause?

"No. I dont want to wear them."

The maids shared a look of concern. "What?" You asked them.

"Its just... his majesty picked these out for you himself. He would be mad at us if you were not wearing these." One of the younger servants spoke as she fumbled with her fingers. Through the mirror, you looked at everyone's worried expression. You doubt that someone as calm and collected as Baldwin would lose his marbles over his fiancee not wearing jewellery.

"I dont think the king would be mad at you if I dont wear some jewellery. He isnt one to get angry that easily, you know?" You said chuckling, but it died when you saw them share the same concerned looks again. This time, you turned away from the mirror to look at them directly. "What? Go on, no secrets."

Another maid mustered up the courage to mumble. "Well- it's just- the king- I mean- his majesty is calm but um-" she paused to look at the other maids for help but they all avoided eye contact. "Out with it." You said a bit sternly.

"His majesty... gets... emotional- yes, emotional! When it comes to matters concerning you."

"Emotional? What do you mean? Speak clearly, no word will get out of this room, I promise." You spoke all while glaring at the other maids to make them silently comply to not tattle on their friend.

The maid bit her lip. "His majesty... gets mad when he thinks that you're not being treated well." You gave her a look to continue. "A few weeks back, while you were strolling out in the garden, his majesty reprimanded some of his knights for not escorting you. He asked them why they weren't guarding you?"

A few weeks back? It may have made some sense for Baldwin to be protective of his bride to be, but you two weren't engaged until yesterday. And before that, his relationship with you was barely platonic, more like a king-servant thing.

"Tell her about the kitchen incident too." Another maid whispered.

"What kitchen incident?"

"Um, 2 months ago, when the kitchen had prepared a feast for his majesty, he almost fired the entire kitchen staff for serving olives with the entree." You gave them a quizzical look. "Well, his majesty had told them that you can't eat olives and had told them not to include it in the palace's food. But it was a feast to celebrate his victory and the staff thought it'd be best to add olives because the king likes them."

Your eyes widened at that. He almost fired the kitchen staff because you said you can't eat olives? I mean, it's not like you're deathly allergic, you just didn't like how tart they were and when Baldwin saw you picking them out on your plate, all you could manage to blurt out was that you can't eat them. Perhaps, he thought you had diet restrictions like him.

You huffed. That still didnt warrant such a reaction from him. "That isn't nice. Don't worry, I'll talk to him."

The maid looked at you in horror. "No! I mean, his majesty would not like that we- um..." she tried to come up with appropriate words that wouldn't be insulting. Her scrunched up face as she thought hard made you giggle.

"Fine, fine. I won't say anything to him. You have my word." You said, smiling at them assuringly.

The head maid then held out the pearl necklace to you. You sighed and nodded, and they all cheered as they started picking out the jewels for you.

Its okay. You told yourself. I can always drop them somewhere before time travelling.

-

As soon as you were dressed, one of Sibylla's lady-in-waiting came to fetch you. She hurried you, saying something along the lines of "you must see princess Sibylla right away!" And you couldn't stop her from pulling you along, so time travelling will have to wait.

"Princess Sibylla needs to see you right away, princess!" The maid said as she pulled you towards a room. Knocking on it, the door swung open and you were met with the sight of different gowns hanging on dummies with maids tending to them, and right in the center of the room was Sibylla, practically jumping on her heels.

"Y/n!" She yelled out as she ran towards you and engulfed you in a hug before her lady in waiting, the same one standing beside you, cleared her throat. It caught Sibylla's attention who gasped softly before backing away and immeadiately giving you a courtesy. "I mean, princess Y/n." You gave a nasty look to the lady in waiting before shaking your head at an embarrassed Sibylla. "You don't need to courtesy to me, princess Sibylla."

She immeadiately beamed. "Of course I do! You're not going to be just my sister in law, you're also going to be Queen of Jerusalem! Of course i bow to you."

Me, a queen? Yeah, we'll see about that.

"Still, I consider us friends before anything else." You offerer her a small smile. "You called for me?"

"Oh? Oh, yes!" She immeadiately grabbed your hand and pulled you further into the room. "I didn't know what colours and material you preferred, so I ordered them to bring everything with the best seamstresses in kingdom!" She pointed at the seamstresses, who bowed to you.

"But... I don't need clothes. I already have a wardrobe." Your statement made Sibylla laugh as did a few of her hand maidens.

"Ahh, you're so naive!" Sibylla giggled. "That wardrobe doesn't exist anymore. You're a princess, soon to be queen, you need a royal wardrobe!" She said as she dragged her hand over one of the gowns, feeling the material. "And! You still have to select your bridal gown!"

For the next 3 hours, Sibylla had the maids show you different gowns and materials, even helping by giving her input as to what would suit you.

"I still like my old clothes, they're quite comfortable." You sighed. Designing your new wardrobe was not something that needed your urgent attention at the moment. You need to return to your room and get the time machine from your old dress and leave this era.

Sibylla nods. "I understand what you're going through. I still remember how they burned away my entire wardrobe when I married Guy. But I suppose its poetic in a way. Since you're starting a new life, so why not start one by getting new clothes!"

Wait.

"They burnt all your old clothes?" Sibylla nods. "Mmhmm! In a way, you're burning away your past! And starting a new-" You didn't stick around as you immeadiately rushed out of the room and made your way towards your own.

You can't- your old clothes has your time machine. If they burn it, you can't ever leave!

You burst into your room, looking at the empty spot on your bed where you'd left your clothes before going in the bath.

"No." The maids, they must've put it in your closet. You searched it, searched your entire room but to no avail.

A maid walked into your room, watching you tear apart the bedroom. "P-princess? May I help-"

"Where are my clothes?!" You walked upto her, the poor maid's fright apparently on her face. "WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES!?"

"They- they're burning it-"

"WHERE?!"

"The gardens!"

You ran out of your room, and made your way towards the royal gardens as fast as you could, but with how huge this palace was, getting there took a while. Not to mention when you did get to the gardens, you didn't spot anyone there, but you did notice the smell of something burning, which lead you to the back of the gardens, that was away from everyone's sight.

There you found them, two maids burning your clothes in a small bonfire.

"PUT IT OUT!" You yelled as you rushed towards them, startling them.

"Princess-" they began bowing.

"Didn't you hear me? PUT THE FIRE OUT!" They scrambled about trying to find some water, but of course, they didn't have it.

"I'll get it from the fountain!" The two maids ran to get a bucket of water for you, but it would be too late by the time they came. So when you spotted your old dress burning, you pulled it out with bare hands, not caring about burning yourself.

The dress was mostly burnt to ashes, while only few bits remained that were still on fire. You managed to wrangle out your time machine out of it, the small metal box that was burning hot and left marks on your skin as you tried to hold it.

But even from here, you could see the damage was done. The area that displayed the year had now completely melted off, as did some of the buttons.

No. No. No. No. No. NO!

You couldn't help but cry as reality began to set in. You're stuck here.... you're stuck here forever.

Heart wrenching sobs wracked your body as you tried to hold the hot metal machine in your hands, your skin burning as you tried. Even when the servants came and poured the water on the fire, you still kept on crying, clutching your machine to your chest, partly to conceal it, partly from helplessness.

The maids looked at each in worry as they tried to console you, tried to pacify you, lest you had them executed. But it didn't matter, you were inconsolable. While one of the maids sat by your side, trying to soothe you, the other one ran in to get help.

Moments later, when you were able to hide the machine in your clothes again, someone came up and touched your shoulder from behind.

"Y/n?" You looked up through your tears. It was Baldwin. For some reason, seeing him only made you cry harder as you finally realised that you were stuck here with him. That you fucked up permanently.

"Oh princess. What's wrong? Don't cry- shhh, I'm here." He pulled your body towards him, letting you sob into his chest heartbreakingly. Exhaustion, frustration and shock must have overtook your body, as you fainted in his arms.

"Princess? Y/n?" He tried waking you up before collecting you in his arms and rushing back into the castle.

-

Hours later, you woke up to find yourself back in your room, lying in your bed. Your eyes looked down at your hands which were now wrapped in bandages. They only served as a reminder of what youd lost- your time machine.

Tears welled up in your eyes again. Am I- am I really stuck here? You sniffled.

A hand came up to caress your cheek, startling you.

It was Baldwin. "Princess? Do you want to tell me what happened?" His soft tone made you even more sad, and you raised your bandaged hands to wipe your tears, but he caught your wrists and lowered them back gently, using his own hands to wipe away the tears.

"No, you cant use your hands for sometime. The burns need to heal." His hand remained on your cheek, thumb caressing the area under your eye. "What happened, Y/n? Why were you so upset?"

You cant avoid the topic for long, and now that your way of escape is gone, you need to be careful of what you say and how you act around the king.

You let out a shaky breath. "They... they burned my clothes."

"Mmhm. Dont worry, I will have them bring in the fanciest clothes for you. Sibylla will make sure of it. Only the best for my princess." You shook your head. "Its not- its not that... They were my clothes... they burned away-"

"I know... but its a tradition. The maids burn away the bride-to-be's old clothes to signify that youre detaching yourself from the past and starting a new life." He explained, watching as you sniffled. Clearly, you were still upset over this.

"But the maids, they still should've informed you of this tradition before doing anything. I know how emotional of a transition this could be for girls." You nodded sadly, heart still sinking at the loss of your machine. "Dont worry though, they will be punished harshly for it. I have them in the dungeons tonight, and tomorrow-"

"What? Punished? No!" You cut him off. You dont want anyone to die because of you, especially when you dont know if anyone these people could potentially be an ancestor of yours.

"But they caused you harm. You burned yourself due to their-"

"No, no. Please, don't punish anyone- I- it was my fault for not knowing about royal traditions! Please, your Majesty, I beg you- don't do this- i- i-" You pleaded.

"Shhh, okay. Okay. I won't punish them for it." He patted your hair. "On one condition."

You looked at him in confusion.

"You call me Baldwin from now on." He grinned. "We are to be husband and wife soon, I don't want us to use royal titles with each other."

Your eyes widened. Is he- is he really giving up titles? You're not that blind to see his attempts at intimacy, but what you don't understand is why or even how you came to be on the receiving end of it.

What exactly is it about you that has made him want to marry you? Surely, Baldwin would've preferred to marry someone of this era, someone who is more compatible with him. Despite you trying to blend in the past months, you allowed Baldwin to see how you're not... as Conservative as most people of this time period are. One could say that he may be impressed by how intelligent you are than others, but it also brings up the factor of being "threatened" or "insulted" by the same intelligence.

Even though you consider beauty to be a "subjective" thing, the whole "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", you're not blind to how attractive others are. So why not them?

Did he only like you because you're intriguing? Does he still think you're a spy? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?

Probably. Or maybe he really does believe all that mumbo jumbo about you being "an angel sent to save him."

"As you wish... Baldwin."

-

Last night, after Baldwin had left you to rest, you stayed up and tried to figure out if you can fix your time machine, and if not, then can you built another one?

Fucking hell. You closed your eyes. I made it once, I can build it again. But it's easier said than done.

Back in the present, you had the technology to build it. Now? You have to first make the technology and the tools from scratch before you could even get on making your time machine, all while keeping your science project discrete, which was easier before because you weren't going to be married to a fucking King!

Right now, you're sitting in Baldwin's private dining room (yes, there are more than one dining room. He's royalty, what did you expect) having breakfast- well, being fed breakfast.

"You really don't need to do this." You said as Baldwin fed you another spoonful. He smiled as he wiped your lips with a napkin. "I don't need to, I want to. Besides, I don't want my princess starving."

Involuntary, your face flushed. "I- the maids could've fed me. And im not a princess." He frowned slightly. "Why would you- open wide, princess- why would you want the maids to feed you when you have me?" He pushed the spoon to your face as you parted your lips, but then he pulled it away and brought his face close to yours. "Do I make you nervous?"

You backed away immediately. "I- no- I mean-"

He burst out laughing. "I'm- I'm sorry princess, but you are just too endearing!" Baldwin chuckled as he grabbed the spoon again and fed you.

Your cheeks reddened, this time more out anger than embarrassment. "I don't want to eat anymore." You muttered, turning your face away.

He smiled as he brought the spoon to your lips again. "Ah ah, but you still haven't had enough." However, you rejected again, looking away instead of replying.

He sighed, placing the spoon back on the plate. "I'm sorry, princess. I shouldn't have laughed at you."

"You shouldn't have." You mumbled, face still turned away from him.

His lips quirked up a bit. "You know, for someone who insists that she's not a princess-" He turned your face to him gently. "- you sure have all the blandishment of one."

"Blandishment?"

"Flattering actions of a princess." He nodded.

You frowned. "Are you calling me a spoiled princess? A brat?"

"I would never!" Baldwin gasped. "I enjoy you acting like royalty, demanding respect and attention. You deserve it and more. Besides-" He picked up some food on the spoon again and brought it to your lips. "Even if if you were a spoiled, bratty princess, I wouldn't mind. I would enjoy spoiling you, hm?" He nudged the spoon to your lips softly.

You parted your lips, making him smile. It really is hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you with his baby blue eyes. They just- they draw you in.

"Also, before I forget, I will be leaving the castle today to meet Salauddin. So you can either hand out with Sibylla, who still wants to help you design your wedding gown, or your can-"

Salauddin? "Why are you meeting Salauddin? Isn't he your enemy?"

He chuckled. "Only on the battlefield. He and I have developed a friendship, or a mutual respect over the years. As to why I'm going to meet him, is... well, you."

"Me?" He nodded. "Since you told me that you're a Muslim, I thought that we could perhaps have a discreet Islamic wedding- what is it called? Nikkah? So, I could go and learn more about it from Salauddin."

You opened your mouth to protest. You don't need to be part of history as the "king of Jerusalem's Muslim wife" or "the Muslim-Christian wedding that took place during the Crusades", even if it might make the world more progressive.

But then, you didn't protest. "Can I come?"

Baldwin raised a brow at you. "You want to meet Salauddin?" You shook you're head. "Well, no, not really. I mean, I don't mind meeting him, but I just want to get out of the castle for a bit. It's been months since i left this place, I just want to get some fresh air." This could be the perfect opportunity for you, because if memory serves you right, Muslims of this era had made significant advances in science. Maybe you can use their help to get some tools to make the time machine again.

Baldwin looked unsure. "I don't know if it would be safe for you-" you held his hand with your bandaged ones. "Please, Baldwin? Can't you take me with you? And wouldn't I be the most safe when I'm with you?" Ah yes, stroke the male ego.

Finally, he smiled.

"Alright. I supposed it would be fine, after all, you should see the kingdom you're going to be the queen of."

Thoughts? (Also, I need to go shower rn, so I'll put the read more later. Doing so much effort for u guys, my spoiled greedy children)

Part 3 is here.

Title: Negligence.

Pairing: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation of Nursle.

Word Count: 9.0k.

TW: Dub/Con - Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Kidnapping, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Lactation, Geto and Gojo Have Their Own Thing Going On That Is Entirely Separate From The Events of This Fic, and Age Gaps. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Two]

Suguru wouldn’t let you hold Himari.

You’d offered to as he led you out of Suguru’s apartment, reached for her instinctively as he gently urged you into the passenger seat of a familiar black car, but Suguru was in a fugue state – eyes glassy, voice softened and tempered, a glazed smile painted over his lips. He kept Himari pressed against his shoulder, and then, when she started to stir, in his lap, bouncing idly on his knee as he drove. It was dangerous – for Himari and for you. You were tempted to tell him that, to insist on holding the daughter that wasn’t supposed to belong to him, but then you remembered that he was a cult leader and a kidnapper and a murderer and you kept your mouth shut.

Instead, you kept your hands tucked between your thighs and your eyes focused on the passing landscape, on Tokyo as it dwindled from skyscrapers to rustic storefronts to backwoods. You thought of Megumi, first, surprisingly. Even if he didn’t spend the night with Satoru, he’d notice if you weren’t in class, tomorrow. He’d be worried.

You wondered if Nanako and Mimiko had been worried when they suddenly couldn’t find you in Suguru’s bedroom, where you’d spent the days following Himari’s birth recovering, when you stopped appearing at Suguru’s temple with a folder of worksheets and enough candy to keep two girls under ten engaged for a full ninety minutes. You wondered how Suguru explained your absence, if he bothered to explain it at all. You wondered how long they’d hold it against you.

It was getting dark by the time you left the city entirely. With the setting sun to your backs, Suguru slipped onto a deserted seaside road and, still in that gentle tone, broke the silence. “Was it different?” And then, as Himari sniffled, “With him, I mean. Different than it was for us.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was talking, another to recognize that you were supposed to answer. It was less that you were lost in thought and more that you were lost in the absence of it – your mind a vague, cloudy haze of static and fog and every other grey, disembodied, terrible thing that could seep its way into your consciousness and leave you entirely blank, entirely numb. It was all you could do to remember how to open your mouth, let alone piece an intelligent response together. “With Satoru?”

“Satoru,” Suguru repeated, almost disdainfully. “It took you months to call by my given name.”

You couldn’t deny that, although part of you was tempted to try. Because it was true. Because it had.

Because it was different – or, it had been, at least. Things had moved so quickly, with Satoru. He’d gone from a stranger to a stalker to something not totally unlike a partner in a handful of hours, and you’d watched it all from a distance, never fully able to shake that strange sense of liminality. He was rich, and stable, and he’d never suggested that you quit your job or attempted to lock you up in his mansion of an apartment, as trapped as you’d felt. He’d raped you, but you couldn’t say you believed Suguru wouldn’t have, had you not been so terrified of what would happen if you ever tried to remove any part of yourself from his control. You knew, rationally, that they had to be around the same age, that Satoru shared every quirk and every immaturity that’d once made you disgusted to so much consider Suguru in a romantic light, but it was different. When you first met Satoru, you’d seen him as a parent, a provider, a man who wanted to raise your daughter (albeit, with or without your consent). When you first met Suguru, you’d seen him as a boy who fell asleep in temple gardens and pretended not to be as scared as he really was, and if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you’d never really been able to stop seeing him that way.  

Suguru clicked his tongue. He still wanted an answer, but it was all you could do to shrug, to let your gaze drift back to the passing landscape. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t think I would’ve wanted to marry him either, if he’d asked me to.”

You heard Suguru shift, the engine rev. He started to say something, but a shrill, ear-piercing, howl of a cry cut him off. You didn’t need to check to know it was Himari, and to know why.

“She’s hungry.” You spoke without thinking, snapping toward your daughter. You’d been on your way to feed her when you found Suguru next to her cradle, meaning she was already more than an hour past due. Himari didn’t cry often, but when she did, it was usually for a good reason. Yet another trait that must’ve come from Suguru – had she taken more closely after you, she might not have done anything but cry.

Something crossed across Suguru’s expression; a flash of irritation, a spark of anger, but nothing more violent, nothing lasting. He cooled back into stoic neutrality as one of his hands fell away from the wheel and to the back of your daughter’s onesie – lifting her out of her lap and depositing her unceremoniously in your arms, his eyes never leaving the road. “Can you take care of it?”

It. You had to dig your teeth into the side of your tongue just to stop from saying something you’d regret, from telling him not to talk about your daughter like some unfeeling, inanimate object, not to talk about her at all. You were in a car with a murderer, and you couldn’t forget that just because of some misplaced, motherly paranoia.

Instead, you looked around for a jacket, a blanket, something to cover yourself with, and when you found the car utterly and entirely barren, you settled for turning away from him and struggling the sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder. You went through the motions mechanically, automatically – cooing and running your fingers through Himari’s soft hair as she latched on, little hands grasping the scrunched fabric of your dress as she practically fed herself. You preferred formula, especially with Satoru breathing down your neck, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

A minute passed in relative silence, Himari’s crying slowly fading back into her usual incoherent, but relatively cheerful babbling. Eventually, her little eyes fluttered shut, and you pulled her away, holding her against your shoulder as she fell asleep. When she’d gone quiet, Suguru glanced toward you out of the corner of his eye. You saw him stiffen, straighten, then felt the car veer off the road and come to an abrupt, jeering stop.

You held Himari that much closer as Suguru let himself out. He took his time – his fingertips brushing over the hood as he made his way to your side of the vehicle, opening your door and nodding to the side. “You can leave her on the seat. I promise, I’ll try to be fast.”

You clung to Himari, who shifted restlessly against you. “You really can’t leave newborns unattended, she might—”

“I’ll be fast.” That smile was back in full force, albeit cast in shadow by the quickly dimming light. “I’ve missed you.”

You didn’t want to, but he was using that tone, again – the one that meant he was already running out of patience. Leaving Himari tucked against the backrest, you let Suguru take your hand and pull you out of your seat. No sooner were you on your feet than the door was slammed shut behind you, then Suguru’s hands were on your waist, pinning you against the side of the car. The heat of the dark metal sapped into your back, your shoulders as Suguru’s mouth found its way to the side of your neck, the crook. “I’ve missed you,” he repeated, his voice airy, edging on desperation. “I thought something happened to you. You were gone, and I couldn’t find her, and I thought someone must’ve taken you, or—”

His voice cut out. He didn’t draw back, but one of his hands fell away from your waist, reappearing on the neckline of your dress. His movements were hasty, rushed, like he couldn’t tear the fabric off of your shoulders and down your chest quickly enough. You weren’t wearing a bra, but even if you had been, you doubt it would’ve been much more of a barrier. A chilled sea breeze washed over your exposed chest as Suguru’s mouth fell from your throat to your collarbone, and then to the curve of your breast, lingering. “Wanted to do this since you got pregnant,” he muttered, as something heavy and spiked dropped from your diaphragm to the pit of your stomach. “Held off for the baby, but she’s had more than enough time with you.”

For a brief moment, every intelligent part of your mind seemed to slow, stall, then stop altogether. You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, but unfortunately, you weren’t given the chance to be so painfully oblivious.

Suguru’s lips latched onto your left nipple, and anything you might’ve said was replaced with a hitched whimper.

He was rougher than he really had to be, than his daughter had ever been. The only thing you could think to compare him to, deservedly, was Satoru; just as forceful, just as loud, just as sickeningly eager. The only difference was his tempo. Satoru had always been too giddy not to rush, eager to steal a kiss before you left for work or wake you up with a hand lodged between your thighs, but Suguru seemed content to act as if he had all the time in the world, as if you were somewhere more private than the shoulder of a public road. The flat of his tongue lulled over your nipple as he drank, his free hand coming up to paw at your other breast in almost meditative patterns. You tried to shut your eyes, to block out the wet sounds of his lips working against your skin, but as routine as it was supposed to be, there was little you could do not to hear an occasional, satisfied grunt, not to feel a certain amount of relief as the pressure you’d learned to ignore began to dissipate. His teeth grazed against your skin, and reflexively, your hand found the back of his head, nails biting into his scalp. Rather than pull away, Suguru seemed to purr – the noise deep and throaty, reverberating against you as he leaned that much closer, as he shifted and you felt something stiff press into your thigh. Don’t think about it, you forced yourself to chant in the back of your mind, trying to remember all the age-old coping mechanisms you’d used when you were with him, all the coping mechanisms you’d forgotten after realizing that they wouldn’t work on someone as unpredictable as Satoru. You couldn’t think about it. You couldn’t put a name to it. You couldn’t acknowledge that sucking on chest was in any way connected to the hard, pulsing cock pressing into your—

But you didn’t have a choice. Suguru gasped, his breath hitching, and then he was drawing away from you, his forehead resting against your collarbone as a hand fell to the waistband of his jeans, freeing his cock – already stiff, already leaking into his palm. “I missed you.” You’d lost track of how many times he’d repeated the same meaningless phrase, but this time, his voice shook, misery seeping out from each fractured syllable. You might’ve felt more pity, but any sympathy you might’ve been able to feel for him was quickly drowned out by the material of your skirt being gathered in handfuls at your waist, his cock finding its way between your plush thighs. His larger body kept yours in place as he rutted against you, his open mouth leaking drool and milk and all the other ungodly things you could imagine onto your chest. It was embarrassing, really – just how tightly you kept your eyes shut, like a child walking through their first haunted house. Like all the bad things in the world would go away just because you couldn’t see them. “For weeks, I couldn’t—I didn’t know where you were, I thought—”

His form jolted against yours. You felt it – a sudden, liquid heat against your thighs, a sudden tension where Suguru’s chest pressed into yours – at the same time you felt the first tear fall, searing your skin where it made contact. There was another, then yet another, before you finally realized what was happening.

Suguru was crying.

Huh.

He’d never done that, before.

Finally, you forced yourself to open your eyes. Rather than attempting to look at Suguru, to see if his shoulders were shaking as violently as it felt like they were, your gaze moved outward, first to the bay, then to the sky – as black as spilled ink, now that the last traces of light had faded. As black as Suguru’s eyes.

You carded your fingers through his hair as he cried silently into your shoulder, never making a sound. Minutes passed before he spoke again, but you let him be the one to break the silence. “I don’t get it.” You hummed, and he went on. “I don’t understand why you didn’t try to leave him, too.”

“I might’ve, eventually. If I’d had more time.”

“But you didn’t.” His blunt nails bit into your waist with enough force to sting, but you didn’t say anything. “I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

You didn’t try to answer.

~

Suguru stopped at a gas station to clean himself up. You stayed in the car, clutching Himari to your chest, attempting not to flinch as her tiny hands pulled at your hair and grabbed at your skirt – searching for something to do, to entertain herself with. The rest of the drive passed in relative silence. Suguru didn’t try to make conversation, and even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn’t know where to start.

Finally, Suguru turned down an unpaved backroad, and far too soon, you were in front of a house you recognized. The architecture was traditional, the design compact, but you could remember Suguru saying that he and the girls didn’t need much. Later on, when he decided you shouldn’t be allowed to wander any farther than his line of sight during your pregnancy, he’d played with the idea of a larger property – something that could accommodate a growing family. If he’d ever had any real plans, they must’ve been abandoned after you left.

“We’re only stopping by,” Suguru explained, as he moved to step out. You didn’t wait for him this time – shouldering the door open and pulling yourself to your feet before he could decide he needed to drag you out of the car himself. “There’s a nursery attached to the master bedroom. The girls can look after Himari while we’re gone.”

Your breathing hitched, then stopped altogether.

The girls.

You’d managed to forget you’d have to see them, tonight. Suguru would’ve been enough to handle on his own.

You tried to take a step back, more out of reflex than anything, but your legs were unsteady, unreliable. You stumbled, but before you could so much as start to fall, Suguru was by your side, one hand on your arm and the other underneath Himari. He started to say something, but you were faster, louder. “I—I can’t. They’ll be so—I knew you wouldn’t hurt them, but I shouldn’t have—”

“They’ll be just fine.” He wasn’t crying, anymore. Instead, he took on the inflection, the stature he’d worn when you first met him – when he’d been the level-headed priest and you’d been a distraught non-believe desperate for help. If you hadn’t known better, if you couldn’t still see the reddened skin around his eyes, you might’ve called his composure sadistic. “And they’ve been waiting for you all night. Wouldn’t it be cruel to disappoint them now?”

It'd be crueler to make them face the woman who’d married their father and abandoned them without a second thought, but you doubted Suguru would agree. He was already curling his arm around yours, already guiding you towards the rustic villa. Whatever daze was keeping you from losing your mind entirely must’ve worn-off sometime during the drive. It was all you could do to keep yourself on your feet as you edged closer, closer to the front door. You were walking down the unpaved driveway, then standing on the wooden porch, and then, Suguru was ushering you inside – taking Himari out of your arms as you passed over the threshold. You didn’t try to resist. He wouldn’t ask the girls to hurt her, not after how long he’d spent holding the idea of a new, adorably helpless little sister over their heads, and wherever he was going to do to you after this, you didn’t want Himari involved. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use her against you.

Suguru moved further into the villa, but you froze in the entryway. You could already hear the little, rushing footsteps, already picture the betrayal in their eyes, the questions they’d ask you and the answers you wouldn’t be able to give them. They’d hate you. They had to already hate you. You abandoned them, and they would know you abandoned them, and they would—

Two arms wrapping around your legs, the force of a smaller body crashing into yours. You glanced down and found Mimiko, clinging to your waist, her face buried in the material of your skirt. She wasn’t crying, but you could see her shoulders shaking, feel her nails digging into your thigh through the thin fabric. Reflexively, you reached down, resting a hand on top of her head and moving to nudge her away gently, to see if she needed help, but she only clung to you that much tighter.

Nanako was there, too, but she hadn’t latched onto you. Unlike her sister, she kept her distance, hands ringing the hem of her sweater as she stared pointedly at the floor. “Geto-sama told us what happened,” she explained, while Mimiko mumbled something incoherent and affirmative into your skirt. “He said that sorcerer – the white-haired one – took you and Himari away.” There was a pause, a quick glance in your direction. “He promised he wouldn’t let it happen again.”

Her eyes met yours, and suddenly, her nervous posture, the measured distance left between you and her – it made sense. You recognize the light in her eyes, or rather, the lack therefore.

It was the same shadow her father’s eyes took on, when he looked at you.

Whatever lie he’d told them, Nanako clearly didn’t believe it. Mimiko – sweet and loyal and prone to holding onto the things she loved like there was someone could come and take them away at any time – would’ve believed Suguru if he told her that world ended every time she closed her eyes, but Nanako was more pragmatic. She knew something was wrong. You doubted she would speak to you at all if she knew just how wrong, but still.

Swallowing your guilt, you lowered yourself to one knee and hugged Mimiko properly, squeezing her for one beat, then another, before letting her go entirely. Nanako was next. For all her reservations, she was running towards you as soon as you opened your arms to her, crashing into your chest and clinging to you twice as tightly as her sister had. “I’m sure he won’t,” you mumbled into her hair. And then, pulling back, “I know I was gone for a while, but it’s alright. The sorcerer Geto-sama told you about – he just wanted a little advice. He had two children he was raising all on his own, just like Geto. He heard all about how wonderful you two are, and wanted to know if I could stay and show him how to bring up the best kids in the world.” A kiss on either forehead, a thumb drawn over Mimiko’s cheeks to wipe away the tears she was frantically (and unsuccessfully) attempting to paw away on her own. “But, although I was very flattered, I told him that I had to go home. I knew you two would be fine, of course, but let’s face it – Geto wouldn’t last a day without me.”

It was your turn to pause, now, to lower your voice into something secretive. Mimiko was still sniffling, still determined to keep her face buried in her hands or your shoulder, but you made sure to meet Nanako’s eyes, to sound as sincere as you could – even if complete honesty was beyond you, at the moment. “Don’t tell Geto, but I missed you two most of all.”

Nanako looked like she wanted to say something. She almost did, too – tensing, opening her mouth, but she shut it again just as quickly, her eyes falling back to the ground in a sharp, violently narrow glare.

The pain was instant and beyond words. You wanted to pull her and Mimiko close again, to squeeze them tight and promise you wouldn’t leave them, not again, to apologize when you’d inevitably have to for the sake of a sister you hadn’t given them time to love. You wanted to—

You heard Suguru’s footsteps, felt his hand on your shoulder, and every thought you might’ve had that wasn’t devoted to your daughter’s well-being was gone.

Rather than embracing the girls, you drew back from them. Suguru pulled you gently to your feet, his hand falling from your shoulder to your elbow before wrapping around your wrist. “Keep an eye on your sister.” You could only be thankful there was still an ounce of warmth in his voice, as he addressed the girls. “(Y/n) and I have one more errand to run. We’re trusting you two to look after her, until we come back.”

You might’ve added something, made sure they both knew that you really had missed them, but Suguru was already drawing you towards the door – still ajar. The last thing you saw was Nanako taking Mimiko by the wrist before the door was slammed shut, and you were left entirely alone with Suguru.

~

Of all the places you expected him to take you, his temple hadn’t made the list.

His followers must’ve been sent away for the night, and the property’s attendants either dismissed or told to stay in their dorms. Every window was dark and shuttered, the gates locked and the doors bared. As you followed Suguru across the desolate courtyard and into the main shrine, you tried to think of places you would’ve wanted to be taken to, but came up empty. Part of you had been expecting the cheap, equally lifeless chain motels he’d shown a fondness for during your pregnancy, or worse, the hotel where you’d spent your first night together. Another, larger, quieter part had been able to imagine him driving into the deepest, darkest forest he could find and having his monstrous spirits tear you to shreds before you could so much as scream.

His ultimate destination was far from shocking, and yet, you still felt your heart drop into your stomach as he led you into his darkened sanctuary. As if in preparation, two tapered candles had been left burning in metal trays on either side of the screen door, and Suguru took one up as he passed by. You were left to linger in the doorway as, with a surprising meticulousness, he lit the candles scattered throughout the sanctuary, casting the open space in an ebbing golden glow. When he was finished, he collapsed onto his raised dais – perched on its edge, rather than laid across it. He almost looked out of place, without his usual costume, his usual posture. He almost looked his age.

You didn’t move. Running seemed impossible, but so did breaking the silence, doing anything to make yourself an active participant in Suguru’s bizarre ritual rather than a passive observer, a prop to be moved from place to place with little thought as to where you might want to be. A moment passed in silence, then another. Finally, he cracked. “Sit down.”

You didn’t move. “Are you going to kill me?”

He didn’t react. “All I asked you to do was sit down, love.”

“Are you going to kill Himari?”

He flinched into himself, going crooked. Something like hurt passed across his expression, as genuine as it was hypocritical.

He didn’t respond, but either out of pity or remorse or a lack of anything else to do, you found yourself closing the gap between you and him, setting yourself down on the edge of his platform. Immediately, his head fell onto your shoulder, his hand to your thigh, as if he was afraid you’d leave him again if he didn’t cling to you. “…I thought about breaking your legs,” he confessed, without prompting. “I was angry, when I realized you hadn’t been taken by force. I thought I’d be able to do it in Satoru’s apartment, leave enough blood to make him think I’d killed you, but—” There was a pause, a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. I guess I waited too long, lost the nerve or something.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” And then, when he shifted curiously beside you, “It would’ve scared the girls. They’re already having such a hard time.”

At that, Suguru melted entirely against you. There was an airy laugh, a small sigh, and you felt his hand on your hip, his thumb drawing loose patterns into your side. “So considerate,” he muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “Maybe, one day, you’ll care about me like that, too.”

A knot formed in the back of your throat. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him – or, that you hadn’t, before he made it clear that the ways you were capable of caring for him weren’t enough. If you hadn’t felt anything for him, none of this would’ve ever happened. If he’d been satisfied to let you feel the same way about him that you felt about his daughters, it would never have gotten this bad. If you’d just laid back and let him fuck you the first time he’d asked, he would’ve lost interest in you months ago. You almost said so, too, tensed and opened your mouth and everything, but Suguru was moving before you had the chance to spit something out, his mouth crashing into yours with all the care and all the tenderness of a blunt object shattering bone. His teeth cut into your bottom lip, his body pressing into yours with enough force to throw you off balance, but his arms were already around your waist, keeping you upright. It was less that he slid off of the dais and more that he collapsed – dropping onto his knees at your feet, as little difference as it made in terms of height. He never let you stray very far, but tonight, he seemed determined never to leave more than a hair’s width of space between your body and his. His lips fell from your mouth to your neck, his hands finding their way to your hips. One darted for your neckline, but dropped back to your waist just as suddenly – all ten fingers soon burrowed into the plush of your waist.

“Your dress.” He wasn’t panting, wasn’t grinning, wasn’t laughing. His voice reverberated dully against the base of your throat, his pointed canines scraping over your skin as he spoke. “Take it off.”

You swallowed. Normally, he preferred to undress and re-dress you himself. You’d been scolded more than once for thinking you had any right to decide what you wore without his loving input, and when pressed, he claimed it was a show of love; proof of his dedication, his devotion.

This wasn’t about love, though, or dedication, or any other flowery word he’d ever used with you.

This was about control.

Your hands shook as you raised them to the back of your dress, finding the row of corset-type strings keeping the loose material in place. You fumbled with the knot for seconds, but Suguru was patient, willing to wait until the bodice fell away from your chest entirely, pooling at your midriff. You weren’t wearing a bra (again, an extremely difficult habit not to get into with a newborn at home), and one of Suguru’s hands came up, a scarred palm cupping your breast with enough force to bruise. You remembered, dimly, the time he’d spent pulled over by the side of the road earlier that day, but the memory was foggy, already so far away. You wouldn’t have been surprised if all of this seemed like one hazy, distant dream by tomorrow morning.

He detached from you suddenly, pulling away and kneeling on the sanctuary floor. Rather than relief, you only felt the world distort more violently around you; your pulse slowing and your vision burning as you clumsily pushed yourself to your feet, allowing your dress to fall away entirely. You moved to sit back down, but Suguru caught you before you could – his fist wrapping around your ankle, then skirting upward, settling gingerly against your thigh as his dark, soulless eyes raked over you. His stare caught on your panties, and his expression darkened. “I’m going to kill him.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. The pair had been Satoru’s pick; not quite a gift, but something given to you, regardless. They matched his aesthetics – needlessly detailed, smothered in lace, cast a shade of light blue so pale, it bordered on ivory. With how expensive Satoru’s tastes tended to run, you were sure the set had cost a fortune, but the priceless fabric gave away without protest as Suguru slipped two fingers under the waistband and tore. The ruined article fell away before you could so much as process that he’d moved.

Suguru’s impressive patience waned quickly. In the same motion, he pushed himself to his feet and took you into his arms, carrying you against his chest onto the dais, then to the altar pressed against the far wall. The scrolls laid across it were sent to floor with a single movement of his arm, and in the blink of an eye, you were laid across the polished wood, Suguru on his knees between your open legs. Your mouth opened, but there was no time to protest, to call out before his face was buried between his thighs, tongue lapping over the length of your slit. Still, you grit your teeth, bracing yourself to sit up, to tell him to—

Oh.

He'd gotten his tongue pierced, sometime after you left.

He was shameless. A rounded, jeweled stud dragged over your pussy, circling your clit with no pattern or pace, no intention other than to taste you. Never content to leave you to your own devices, he kept his hands wrapped around your hips, pinning you to the surface of the altar as he tried to all-but swallow you whole. It was messy, and overzealous, and worst of all, it was good. It was a matter of seconds before a mixture of spit and arousal stained the inside of your thighs and dripped from his chin, less than a full minute before you had to concentrate just to keep yourself from squirming underneath him. Not that it would’ve mattered, if you had. Suguru had always been playful in bed, content to milk reactions out of you with measured precision and careful vigilance, but that had been when you at least attempted to present yourself as willing. Right now, anything you might’ve felt seemed secondary to Suguru’s pleasure; satisfied groans soon joining the slick, wet noise ricocheting off the walls of his sanctuary. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, crossed your arms over your face, but neither distraction helped to stifle the feeling of his lips latching onto your clit, suckling on it with all the care and all the delicacy of a butcher’s knife cutting into lifeless flesh. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes by the time he pulled away, but the pressure was immediately replaced by the bridge of his nose grinding harshly against the bundle of nerves, his tongue slipping past your entrance to curl against the most vulnerable parts of your cunt.

He let out another reverberating moan, and reflexively, your hand shot to the back of his head, your fingers soon tangled in his dark hair. One of his hands fell from your waist, and for a moment, you thought he was moving to pry away yours, that he didn’t want you touching him. But, fortunately or otherwise, his attention wasn’t on you. Instead, he reached for the elastic band holding his hair in place, pulling it out with enough force to snap the cheap plastic. You didn’t realize what he was trying to do until you felt him lean into your palm, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the semblance of your touch.

If you’d been capable of feeling anything more towards Suguru than you already did, you might’ve found the sight pitiful.

At the moment, though, you weren’t in a place to be quite so sentimental. It was all you could do to knot his hair around your fingers as you felt tight and hot form in your core, as your thighs threatened to snap shut around his head. You bit into the inside of your check with enough force to draw blood as Suguru moaned shamelessly, as he dragged you that much closer. It was too easy to forget to care whether or not he’d enjoyed it, too reflexive to gather his hair in your first and pull, to buck involuntarily into his mouth, to—

Suguru drew back suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. Thankfully, you caught yourself before you could feel disappointment, and after a few shallow breaths, found the strength to follow his stare away from you and towards the sanctuary door. Instantly, your heart stopped beating, the blood running cold in your veins.

Satoru stood in the doorway, cast in shadow save for his bright, piercing eyes. One of his hands was still wrapped around the doorframe, while the other hung limp at his side, cupping a small, pulsing ball of… light?

You didn’t have time to think about it. Suguru acted swiftly – pulling you into his arms and onto his lap, seating himself on the altar where you’d previously laid. “Drop it,” he said, his tone cold, cutting, not unlike an owner talking to his disobedient pet. He’d been short with you all night, but you couldn’t say he’d ever spoken to you quite like that. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”

The light dimmed before disappearing entirely, but Satoru didn’t move. He didn’t do anything, but you could feel it – a drop in the sanctuary’s temperature, a change in the air pressure, something deep and intrinsic that you didn’t want to be a part of. Reflexively, you tried to stand, to move, but Suguru held you tight, an arm barred over your midriff.

Despite everything, Satoru was the first to break the silence, albeit without doing anything to make that intangible tension any more bearable. “I should kill you.”

“You should.” Suguru’s fingertips dug into your side. “Those are your orders, aren’t they? Or are you going to put off delivering my head to the higher-ups for another three years?”

Whatever he was talking about, Satoru didn’t seem interested in acknowledging it. “You took my girls.”

“You fucked my wife.”

At that, something seemed to break. Suguru’s chest pressed into your back as Satoru’s eyes shut, as he sucked in a harsh breath and broke out into a fanged grin, the sharpest you’d ever seen him wear. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He took a step forward, all hostility gone in favor of a sort of manic, unpredictable buzz. You didn’t know whether to be relieved that there was a slightly diminished chance you’d be caught in the middle of their fight to the death or terrified at the thought that they might want to do anything but tear out each others’ throats. “I fucked her after she left you. Bet you can’t stand it – knowing you’re not the only one who gets to run away.”

Suguru, for all his faults, didn’t flinch. He’d always had an even-temper at the worst of time. “What do you want, ‘toru?”

Satoru’s stare fell away from Suguru and onto you. His expression softened, taking on an almost apologetic lilt. Almost, but not quite.

“Not much,” he admitted, with a shrug. Even from a distance, even in the dark, you could tell his nonchalance was forced. “Just to say goodbye, make sure my pretty girl’s gonna be taken care of. Gotta wrap up loose ends, n’ all that.”

Suguru, for his part, seemed far from convinced. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, he only held you closer. “And why should I let you?”

“Because I love her?” And then, with another step toward the altar, “Because you know I could wipe this building off the face of the planet, if I wanted to.”  

Pragmatic as he was, Suguru seemed to consider it. The hand over your side flexed, a chin settling against the dip of your shoulder, and beneath you, his stiff cock pressed into your ass – either unaffected or worse, fueled on by Satoru’s interruption. You were still attempting not to dwell on the implications when Suguru responded, level-headed as always.

“If you try anything, I’ll kill the baby.”

The second before a car crash, the spark where two wires failed to connect. For the longest time, you couldn’t seem to process what he’d said or how it could’ve been so gut-wrenchingly terrible. Rather than pull away, you flattened yourself against him, glancing over your shoulder. You opened your mouth, but the ability to speak was suddenly beyond you, set deliberately out of your reach. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it, and yet, his expression was stoic, unchanging, the pinnacle of neutrality. There was no laugh from Satoru either, forced or otherwise. Still, he kept up his smile. As if Suguru hadn’t said anything of consequence. As if either of them had any right to so much as touch your daughter.

Satoru didn’t respond to the threat, nor did Suguru urge him to. Almost mechanically, Suguru’s arm fell away from your midriff, and with little more than a nudge to the back of your shoulder, you were on your feet, vulnerable and shaking on the center of the raised dais. You could still feel a mix of slick and saliva coating the inside of your thighs, and you had to swallow the urge to make a grab for your clothes, to put yourself through the humiliation of being forced to strip twice in one night.

 Thankfully, tragically, you were liberated from any illusion of free choice swiftly. Without protest from Suguru, Satoru stepped onto the dais and took you by the hand, either overlooking or failing to acknowledge the panic in your eyes in favor of intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing gently, as if you could still believe he genuinely wanted to comfort you. Rather than pulling you into his arms, dragging you down to the floor, he looked to Suguru, cocking his head to the side. “Get up.”

Suguru’s lips quirked downward, but he obeyed, pushing himself to his feet. “How blasphemous.”

Now, he pulled you off of your feet. In a moment, you were in his arms, and the next, you were perched on the altar, your back pressed against the wall and your legs spread around Satoru’s waist. “Blasphemous,” Satoru echoed, his voice low but plainly audible in the silence of the sanctuary. “would be fucking the most beautiful woman in the world on the ground. That’s why I’m her favorite – ‘cause I’m so considerate.”

No part of you trusted Suguru. No part of you preferred Suguru to Satoru, or the other way around. No part of you thought that, unless your life or his pride was threatened, he’d ever lift a finger to help you, but you found yourself glancing toward him out of the corner of your eye, doing your best to silently communicate that you needed to get out of here. Instead of sympathy, jealousy, you only found an idle smirk, a glassy sheen over his eyes that you could only imagine you’d mirrored for most of the day. “You’re not the one she’s married to, idiot.”

There was a dip, a surprisingly fleeting kiss to your lips, then your jaw, then your throat. “But she would get with me if you were out of the picture, right?” The question was punctuated with a nip to your collarbone, a hand dropped low enough to cup your pussy. The heel of his palm ground into your clit as two fingers pushed into your soaked cunt, spreading apart and scissoring you open. You tried to bow your head, to keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut, but you were still sensitive from your ruined climax, still so painfully exposed, and there was nothing you could do to bite back the cracked whines and pitiful mewls that slipped through your pursed lips. It was far from verbal confirmation, but Satoru hummed, grinned against your chest as if you’d sung his praises. “I’d get you a nicer ring, nicer house, nicer honeymoon. Always make sure you’re good n’ taken care of while Suguru’s busy playing god.”

Suguru huffed, and Satoru fell into a steady pace, adding a third digit as he carelessly fucked his fingers into your cunt. You didn’t hear him move, but before you could brace yourself, Suguru was at your side, leaning onto the altar to cup your face and trace over your jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I take care of you, don’t I?” You opened your mouth reflexively, ready to tell him that you were sorry, that you didn’t want him to touch you, that you wanted this to stop, but he was faster than you, more malicious. His thumb was forced past your lips before you could make a sound, pressed against the flat of your tongue with just enough force for your jaw to ache in protest. “I can’t blame Satoru for not being able to see that, though. Not when you treat me so cruelly.”

Cruelly. You’d never been cruel – at least, no crueler than you absolutely needed to be to survive. You felt pins and needles prick at the corners of your eyes before you noticed your vision blurring, before tears were streaming down either side of your face in boiling tracks. Satoru purred in sympathy, falling low and nuzzling into the tender spot at the base of your throat, flicking his wrist and burying himself inside of you to the knuckle. “You don’t have to worry, I know he’s the mean one.”

He was whispering, but that didn’t matter. He was too close, too awful for each word not to be absolutely deafening, for each little movement of his hand not to leave your nails scraping against the smooth wood of the altar, searching for purchase you wouldn’t find. Time was moving too quickly, it had been since you arrived at the temple. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t breathe before Satoru pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck and you were coming undone around his fingers, your thighs locking around his arm and keeping his digits inside of you until you could remember how to suck in a gasping inhale, until the last of the aftershocks faded and you could bring yourself to open your eyes. It wasn’t until the warmth of Satoru’s mouth fell away from your neck that you noticed the strange, copper tinge spread over your tongue, that you registered the absence of Suguru’s hand against your jaw. When you thought to look in his direction, he was evaluating his own hand. A thin, red line formed a dotted ring around the base of his thumb. You must’ve bitten down, at some point.

You must’ve hurt him.

Fear drowned out any satisfaction there might’ve been. He mentioned deciding against breaking your legs, earlier; was there any chance he’d change his mind? Would Satoru be able to stop him, if he tried to hurt you? Would Satoru even want to stop him? Himari was still alone, still in danger, and you wouldn’t be able to get to her if you couldn’t walk. You wouldn’t be able to stop Suguru from—

Satoru reached out, his hand curling around Suguru’s wrist and dragging it down to his height. With Satoru’s guidance, Suguru’s thumb came to rest against his bottom lip, then slipped into Satoru’s mouth entirely, his lips soon sealed around its base. There was a second or two of stillness, a swallowing-type noise too loud to ignore despite your best attempts not to hear it, and then, Suguru was pulling away and Satoru’s lips were crashing into yours.

It was strange for Suguru to be so clumsy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be as surprised by Satoru’s lack of polish. It was all you could do to choke back a renewed sob as his mouth moved against yours, as his pointed teeth ghosted over your lips and grazed the underside of your tongue. He was all instinct, no logic, and when you tried to straighten, to leave enough room between you and him to catch your breath, he only seemed to want you closer. His hands were on your waist, then your arms, then your chest, never satisfied unless he could dig his claws into the most tender parts of you, and this time, when his canines grazed over your lips, he wasn’t satisfied to leave your connection at contact alone. He let out a shameless moan as he lapped at the puncture wound, warm blood leaking down your chin and pooling on your chest where it pressed into his. Again, you looked to Suguru for help, and again, you immediately wished you hadn’t bothered.

He wasn’t perched on the altar, anymore. No – he’d shifted, slinked, positioned himself behind Satoru where he was bent at the waist. He caught your eye as his arms snaked around Satoru’s midriff, as Satoru arched his back to better take advantage of the new contact. There was the distant, muffled sound of fabric rustling, a keening whine from Satoru, and then, Suguru’s hand was curled around Satoru’s stiff, leaking cock – pumping over the shaft while his dark eyes burned holes into yours. “Get it over with,” he muttered, the bitter sterility of his tone a sharp juxtaposition to the grin creeping across his expression. “Before I remember why I want you dead.”

Satoru didn’t have to be coaxed into compliance. No, he let himself be eased into place, let Suguru slot himself against his back as he carefully aligned Satoru’s flushed tip to your entrance. Even after he’d let go, his hands finding the edge of the altar on either side of you, Satoru failed to move on his own. You could feel him drifting from your lips to your throat, then lower – to the crook of your neck, a spot Suguru’d always favored. Vaguely, you were aware of his lips moving against your skin, of warm breath fanning over your chest and leaving frost wherever it’d touched. His voice was muffled by proximity, but whether or not you could hear him didn’t really matter. You would’ve recognized those three little words from a thousand miles away.

“I love you.”

If you’d been able to laugh, you would’ve.

At least Satoru didn’t expect you to say it back.

Suguru must’ve missed it – that, or he was beyond the point of caring. His teeth sunk into the nape of Satoru’s neck, and then, something hot and piercing was inside of you.

This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out. A fractured moan tumbled past your lips as Satoru immediately fell into a brutal pace; all that teasing tenderness gone the moment your pussy was wrapped around his cock. Suguru didn’t pull away, but he didn’t help, either; straightening his back and gazing down at you with that same foggy, absent, pleased expression. It took you a moment to put a name to it; lovestruck, all glassy eyes and hollow smiles, any anger hidden behind a thick curtain of glazed-over satisfaction. He’d never looked away from you, but when you met his eyes, he seemed to soften even further, his shoulders dropping as he brought a hand to the small of Suguru’s back, spurring him on. “He’s always been this bad.”  Suguru let out a keening whine into your shoulder, and Suguru chuckled airily. “Like a dog in heat. You’d think be as desperate as one, too, but apparently, his standards are too high for him to do anything but act like a whore.”

You couldn’t take it – the way Satoru’s hips crashed into yours, how his pubic bone ground against your clit, the pure venom interlaced with Suguru’s velvet-soft tone. You knew that it was useless, childish, but you couldn’t swallow down the cracked sob that rose up from somewhere deep and unprotected in your chest, couldn’t hold back the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. Suguru’s smile widened, his sharpened teeth catching the dull candlelight, but Satoru was kind enough not to be so observant. His attention was dedicated entirely to fucking into you as quickly and as deeply as possible; his cock never less than half buried. You felt him twitch, and before you could hold yourself back, your hands were on his back, your nails embedded in pale skin and tearing upward every time he bottomed out and sent a new type of agony coursing through your system. “Stop, stop, I can’t—”

“You can.” Clipped, concise, dripping with stone-cold affection. You’d be surprised if you ever heard any warmth in Suguru’s voice again. “That is, unless you’d like to break two hearts on the same night.”

Your mouth was still open, but you couldn’t answer. Satoru groaned as he rutted into you, his pace growing that much more erratic, his hips grinding into yours. He pulled you into another deep, copper-tinged kiss as he pressed his body flush to yours, as you felt something thick and hot and soul-crushingly familiar flood into you. It might’ve been the sensitivity, or the overstimulation, or the herbal stench of incense left to burn for a minute too long finally taking its toll – it didn’t really matter, either way. No explanation could’ve dampened the feeling of your cunt clenching tight around him, could’ve prevented the utter desolation of cumming on Satoru’s cock.

It seemed to go on for the longest time – second after second of thoughtless, helpless pleasure, century after century of Satoru against you, edging on your climax with the occasional sharp movement from his hips, a hasty kiss pressed into the corner of your jaw. Finally, after a small eternity, the last of the aftershocks faded, unwanted bliss fading into a slow, pulsing ache settled deep into the deepest pit of your chest. You felt Satoru shift; not pulling away, but lifting himself up, bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he said, again, and then, more quietly, “I’m sorry.”

You wanted to say something, to call him a liar, to spit out every venomous and vitriolic and warranted thing you could ever say to either of them, but it was already too late. Something vital slid out of place, a poor signal finally losing connection entirely, and then, everything went dark.

~

Nine months later, you’d find yourself in Suguru’s temple again, albeit not his sanctuary. A brown-haired woman in a lab coat and several female attendants swarmed around you, pressing damp cloths to your forehead and constantly rearranging the thick quilts laid over your limp body. Dried tears formed defined tracks down your cheeks, and every part of you screamed for rest, for escape, for a quick and merciful death. It was all you could do to suck in a shuddering breath, to remind yourself that there were more important things in the world than your own well-being. Sleep could wait. This couldn’t.

Slowly, you managed to turn your head towards Suguru, standing at your bedside just as he had for the past six hours. Your vision was distorted, dimmed around the edges, but it would’ve been impossible to miss the small, white bundle in his arms, already beginning to move. You could practically taste the relief, only slightly soured by your own exhaustion. Loving Himari had been a miracle. It would’ve been a lie to say that you hadn’t expected yourself to be more callous, the second time part of you was ripped away and molded into the shape of a man you hated.

Your eyes flickered to Suguru’s expression, to those impossibly dark eyes, and instantly, your relief was replaced by pure, unadulterated dread. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, softened and careless, but… Oh, god.

You’d never seen so much death in his eyes.

“Suguru.” You hadn’t meant to say anything, and yet, your voice was clear – a little hoarse, but far stronger than you felt. Never looking away from the bundle, he hummed, and you went on. “Can I see…?”

“Him,” Suguru filled in, bouncing your newborn – your son, gently. “A healthy baby boy. It’s a shame, really – I chose names with another girl in-mind.”

Thankfully, he didn’t make you ask again. With no small amount of care, the bundle was placed gently onto your chest, Suguru’s hand remaining on your shoulder – as if only waiting for your limited strength to give out. It took you a long moment to brush the swaddling sheets to the swaddling blanket aside, little hands immediately reaching up to bat against your own, and another to register what you were looking at. It wasn’t hard to see why Suguru was so angry.

You stared down at your son, and eyes more blue than the clearest, brightest sky stared back at you.