Latest Posts by junkyuholic - Page 4

TW: nsfw, yandere, toxic relationship, friends with benefits, guns, threats of harm and death, name-calling

gn reader

When you open your heart to your fuck-friend, he sighs with rust.

You still have his cum inside your hole as he tears you a new one—telling you he doesn’t have the fucking time or the fucking energy to deal with lovey-dovey confessions right now—he has enough bullshit on his goddamn plate already without having to consider you and your fucking feelings as well.

If you’re not going to shut up and fuck him, you might as well shut up and fuck off.

So you do. The latter, that is.

Part of you knew it was going to end up this way. You with your heart broken and him with the blood on his hands. But part of you had hoped as well—hoped he felt the same way—hoped your words would soften his edges and wash away all the muck in his head enough to let you in.

You’d read a little too much into those gentle touches he sometimes bestowed upon you in his weaker moments—that soft way he cried when holding onto you during the night, wordless and clingy and begging you not to go.

But the more you think about it, the less you understand why your heart aches. It doesn’t really make much sense after all…

In truth, he’s an asshole. Always been. And you deserve better.

He’s always so angry. Always on something mudding up his blood. Never with anything nice to say. It doesn’t really matter how you’d held him in his nightmares or patched him up when he’d stumbled through your door drunk and bloody. 

Scarred boys in need of fixing aren’t good for your health—especially when all they have to offer you in return are callous words of rejection.

He’d always been secretive. He wasn’t a very good lover—but you're not entirely sure if he was ever even a good man. The wounds he’d dreg to your apartment in the middle of the night always left blood on your sheets. He never agreed to go to the hospital—always insisted your first-aid kit was enough, even when he'd come to you with bullets you’d have to dig out with a pair of tweezers.

You realize he’d been using you. You were convenient and stopped being convenient the minute you wanted more—and upon the realization, you move on.

And then he comes crawling back…

Shivering in the rain like a beaten street mutt—looking starved and sick like one, too. There’s blood on his shirt and a grim darkness in his eyes. He tells you to let him in, and you only barely have the guts to tell him to go away. 

He has this tortured look on his face—as though something’s your fault, as though you’ve wronged him in some way, as though you’re the reason he’s out in the cold with nowhere to go.

Barging in and slamming the door behind him—he locks it and pockets the key—ignoring your questions as you ask him what the fuck’s gotten into him. He looks deranged—water dripping from his matted bangs, eyes reddened, and cheeks streaked. You only now notice it isn't because of the rain.

“You said you wanted me, didn’t you?” he huffs. “Here I am.”

You’re tense. You hadn’t felt like that with him before, it takes you a minute to realize it’s because you’re scared. After all, you’d wanted him all those other times—rough or otherwise. And now you didn’t want him at all. 

“You should leave. You’ve been drinking.”

“What? You changed your mind already?” he accused, then scoffed with an unamused laugh. “I’m not surprised. People like you, who like danger and bad men, are always so fickle-hearted.” He approaches you too fast for you to back away, his scarred hands curling into your sweater—split skin from recent beatings bleed onto the fabric. “Flighty little slut, you’ve probably already found the next guy who gives you a rush. Isn’t that right?” He’s seething as he pulls you forward, looking like a hostile hound.

You lay your hands on his chest to keep him at a distance—feeling his entire body shake like static. You wonder if he’s taken drugs tonight, but looking into his eyes, you don’t think so. They aren’t fidgety but deadset. Actually, upon closer look, you don’t even think he’s drunk.

But anyway, it doesn’t really matter. You still don’t want him here. “I’m serious. Get out, or I’m calling the police.”

“Oh? Are we slinging threats now?” he jeers, showing no signs of letting go or leaving—he only pulls you in closer, so close you could kiss. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared now.” He breathes out a short excuse for a laugh as you veer away, putting his lips to your ear instead. “You should have been from the start—but no—grinding up on me at the club as though you’d die without my attention. Crying pretty tears when you saw me all beaten and bruised—acting as though you want to save me. Tch—”

He throws you down on the carpeted floor. You wince from the impact, and when you look up again, you see he has a gun pointed at you.

You stop breathing. A dark hole in your gut seems to want to swallow you from the inside, and you think you might just want it to if it means escaping the threat before you.

“I shouldn't have come here…” he mutters—finger resting on the trigger all too calmy. “But I just couldn’t get your face out of my head. Looking up at me with those doe-eyes, wearing my shirt even though it’s got blood on it after I fuck you silly, saying such sweet little nothings as if I’d paid you to.”

He sighs—heavily—as though he’s expelling spirits. His hand remains holding the gun poised and pointed straight down at you even as the other drags down his face, pulling his maw before sliding through his wet locks, raking them away from his face.

“I gotta kill you, you know?” he says, shoulders slumping with the statement. He sniffs—it's almost soft enough to be a sniffle. “That’s the only way to solve this. That’s the only way to get you out of my fucking head.”

He cocks the safety with a click that makes your life flash before your eyes. Faces of your family and friends, people you haven't seen in years, childhood pets long dead, a job interview, the holiday you felt true happiness, the night you went out dancing and met him.

The tears stream silently down your face, and you still don’t breathe. Every part of you, every nerve and muscle, has gone completely still. Unmoving, unblinking as you stare up through the barrel of the gun and wait for the bullet to come through.

His finger curls tighter around the trigger, and you close your eyes with a furl between your brows. And then…

Nothing. There’s a large exhale.

“I can’t do it…” 

You open your eyes to see the gun lowered. The sight brings a rush of air back to your lungs, making you all but wheeze as it fills you, breathing in far too much and much too quickly. You regain some semblance worth of motoric, too—able to scramble backward until there’s no more room to be gained, sitting with your back against the wall. Eyes peeled at him where he’s taken to crouch, holding his head with his free hand and the one still with the gun in it.

He fists his hair and tugs on it frustratedly, muttering to himself. “Dozens of lives on my hands, and I can't kill this one single-” he stopped short.

This time, when he looks at you, there’s something else in his eyes. No malice or scorn, but something sad—pity almost.

“Well… seems like you got what you wanted...”

The pity’s meant for you.

“This is what having my heart feels like.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Dabi JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Toji AOT – Eren DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ (FEMxM) INSERT masterlist ♡ (GNxM) INSERT masterlist

- on childhood loneliness

@aphexxtween on tiktok/ @mazzystarjpg/ mastermind- taylor swift/ the virgin suicides/ @heavensickness/ if you’re anything like me- taylor swift/ pen15/ @mango-season

Flickering

💌Yandere!Dabi x F!Reader💌

9.7k words

Summary: 

Dabi seems so nice for a villain at first - chivalrous, even. But you should know much, much better than to get yourself tied up with someone like that.

Tags:

Short smut, consensual smut, progressive yandere, soft dabi for the first part but it does get worse dw 😌, kidnapping, murder, small hint at dabi having body issues, dick piercings, tongue piercing, dabi nice to u :)

A/N: uh oh *accidentally projects romantic fantasies onto dabi and then leaves them out to rot into my usual stuff*

———

It’s a quiet night.

Recently, there’s only been quiet nights. Still, unwavering - caught in an illusion filled with only passing cars and the rhythmic flickering of neon signs. There isn’t much to distract you from the sound of your own footsteps, and there is even less to be concerned about.

Unless, of course, the silence is a concern in itself. Which it is. Because on these streets there’s always a mugging or a robbing or some mis-doing to fascinate the watchful eyes from within the cars. Something to gawk at and something that must be ran from.

But ever since two weeks ago, when you found yourself staring into a pair of blue eyes that outshone the signs, there has been nothing of the sort. Your walk home has been safe and uneventful but you’ve never felt watched due to it - just lucky.

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Oblivion

💌Yandere!Katsuki Bakugo x F!Reader💌

4.1k words

A commission for @jitsukawaa

Summary:

To Katsuki, the fact that you’re oblivious to your surroundings is both a blessing and a curse.

TW for: Dubcon

Tags:

College au, quirks still exist just fill the rest of the plot in in your head, cunnilingus/oral sex, dubious consent, bakugo having some subtly strange behaviours and some not subtle ones, thank you for commissioning me :D

———

You’d always tried your best to let him do his thing, unless it interfered with your daily life.

Because Katsuki had weird relationships with pretty much everyone. Eijiro, you’d seen that friendship in action during one of your classes. The way that Katsuki would silently offer him a pen, expecting no words of thanks or appreciation. Eijiro knew Katsuki well and thus did not say anything, knowing it would only irritate him.

Ashido had told you that he was a lot more explosive in high school. Apparently her friend group had slowly worked around those issues and managed to befriend him, even if it didn’t seem like it.

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Baby’s Hooked On Feeling Low

💌Yandere!Pro-Hero!Shinso Hitoshi x F!Reader💌

9k words

Written for everyone who voted Shinso on my poll :) title from this song

Summary: 

You just can’t help yourself sometimes. Luckily, your favourite pro-hero is here to do it for you.

TWs for: Rape | Noncon, suicide, sexual harassment, alcohol use

Tags:

Gradual yandere, shinso is a closet yandere for most of this but its a lil obvious 😳, reader really likes shinso, pussy eating, cat adoption, two kinds of pussy in this fic, romance, yes it is a travis scott song wtf r u gonna do abt it

(a/n) i really like shinso 😩 writing him as a yandere is lowkey hard because i see him as such FINE boyfriend material

———

He’s your favourite pro-hero. A few of your friends have never heard of him but you don’t care. He works in silence, subtly, nobly refusing the attention he would get for his work had he perhaps been a bit flashier, a bit bolder. He’s all about helping the underdog, understanding why people commit crimes and cutting it off at the roots.

The most you really see of him online- when you’re not on fan-forums or the local news- is long posts of people detailing all the things that he’s done and talking about how he deserves more recognition.

“Shinso’s so underrated!” They say. “He’s volunteering, he actually works with the police to make sure people don’t reoffend!” - followed by a few rare gifs of him in action.

But yet, he stays off the top ten. The teens, even. He collaborates when he needs to, and gives his teammates a leg up on surpassing others on the billboard by allowing them to take the credit.

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Different

I wasn’t in a good mental place yesterday, so I wrote the third part of Circumstances and Unwillingly for Osamu, because why not. Do enjoy this fuckery (: (And I know I said no spice on this one, but well, it happened, it be like that sometimes) I hope I can do the other two justice, let me know what you thought!

Characters: Yandere!Osamu Miya x (afab)Darling, Yandere Atsumu Miya Rating/Warning: Mature, Yandere, Lemon, Dub-Con Words: 4845

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Chop.

Half-listening to the sound of a knife cutting through the hill of parsley on the cutting board before you, you sighed, burying your face in your arms propped up on the kitchen countertop. Osamu side-glanced you, estimated your behavior as if you were a diamond and he the jeweler, unwilling to even miss one movement you made. Part of him still believed you’d reach for the knife to attack him or risk yourself, but you wouldn’t. At least, not that day. 

Actually, you were glad that after all that happened, Osamu had left the door to the room open, allowing you to roam. It was bad enough that Atsumu had used you for his sick pleasure, and you had to endure Osamu being very thorough in cleaning you up, you wouldn’t have wanted to be alone in your roam, stuck in the dark and silence while he went and made dinner. The only thing that was promoted by being locked away was the endless stream of thoughts that you couldn’t escape, no matter what you did. 

If only your memories had been kind ones, but by now, they were only filled with the bad things that happened to you lately. 

As if you were a child, Osamu had lifted you out of the water in the bathtub and made you stand facing and touching the wall, bending over for him as he scrubbed you down. The fact he kept his underwear on had reassured you at first but having him - who, in fact, had never seen you stark naked like this before, much less touch you inappropriately - clean you inside out was just as bad. You couldn’t even describe the feeling of his fingers digging into your pussy, not for pleasure but the sole purpose of cleaning, all while he cursed under his breath about his brother.

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My sister gave me an entire tin of my favourite crayon colour

Title: Till The Water Boils Over Or The Frog Drowns.

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

Word Count: 5.8k.

TW: No Curses AU, Dub/Con -> Non/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Kidnapping, Financial Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Infantilization, Spanking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Forced Codependency. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

It started the day Satoru first introduced the concept of ‘time out’ to your relationship.

He was immature and you were stubborn. You loved him, but without Suguru’s even temper and calming presence, sparks tended to fly in a way that left you at each other’s throats. With your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, you’d watched him sigh, roll his eyes, and storm out of your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You gave yourself a second, then another – sucking in a shallow breath and shutting your eyes, talking yourself through all your usual cool-down methods. You were supposed to go out, tonight, to a restaurant you and Satoru had both been talking about for weeks. You still had about an hour before Suguru was supposed to get home, before you were all supposed to leave together. It wasn’t a good day to fight, even if you knew Suguru would smooth everything over as soon as he got home.

When you were done, you moved to the bedroom door. One hour was plenty of time to talk things out. One hour was plenty of time to kiss and make up, even if you would hold a grudge for a—

You pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried the knob. It turned, but the door still didn’t open.

You pressed your shoulder into the wood, shoving with more force than you ever should’ve had to use. Something shifted – a chair slotted underneath the handle, Satoru’s back leaning against the other side of the thin wood – but didn’t give.

The frustration you’d only just managed to suppress resurfaced immediately. Still pressed against your side of the door, you called out, attempting to keep your tone soft, light. “Satoru? Baby?”

 The sweetness in his voice was equally artificial. “I’m right here, angel.”

“I—I think the door might be jammed.” You tried the knob again, rattling the metal for emphasis. Satoru only hummed in response, and you grimaced. “Are you gonna let me out, ‘toru? I really don’t have time to be—”

“Ninety minutes.”

“…ninety minutes?”

“Ninety minutes,” he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “After that, we can check and see if you’re still feelin’ so bratty.”

You were almost thankful there was a door between you. If it hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to stop yourself from throttling him. “Satoru, I really don’t have time to—”

There was an obnoxiously loud hum, the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. You groaned, resting your forehead against the cool wood. Whatever. He was being petty, again. You could do ninety minutes. And, even if you couldn’t, he’d probably be back in ten, tail between his legs and pouting for your attention.

You quickly resigned yourself to passing the time as quickly as possible. You laid face-down on your bed, bemoaning your taste in men and picturing all the ways you could break up with Satoru, once he let you out. You scrolled through your phone, spamming Suguru with half-coherent messages and memes from the very depths of your camera roll. You re-organized your closet, sorting your clothes by color and alphabetizing your shoes. You managed to read a full page of one of the bulky historical fiction novels Suguru kept on the bedside table before deciding you’d be better off breaking up with both your current boyfriends.

You checked the time when you were done, and discovered that you’d managed to kill a whopping fifteen minutes.

God, you were so fucked.

Only half-consciously, you gravitated back to the door, slumping against it. You opened your mouth, ready to call out to Satoru and say whatever you had to say to get out, but another voice cut in before you got the chance. “Baby?”

Suguru. He must’ve gotten back early. You let out a shallow sigh, letting your head fall forward in relief. “Right here,” you said, making no effort to hide your exasperation. “Can you open the door? I think ‘toru blocked me in.”

His deep chuckle was muffled, but still clearly audible. “I’m afraid I can’t. He’s still pretty mad, couldn’t stop talking about how you copped an attitude with him.” There was a pause, a shoulder being rested against the other side of the door. “I think he mentioned something about a dress?”

You were glad he couldn’t see you – he would’ve hated the way you grimaced at the reminder. “It’s a nice restaurant. I wanted to dress up a little, but he’s just so immature, and when he saw the dress I wanted to wear—”

Suguru cut in. “The red one, right?”

“Yeah, with the window on the chest.” You sighed. “Please, Suguru? I really don’t want to spend the next hour of my life locked in my own bedroom.”

Another laugh, this one more stifled than the first. “He just knows how pretty you’d look, babe. Probably doesn’t want anyone else to find out how beautiful our partner is.” When you didn’t respond, he added, “Didn’t he just buy you somethin’ brand new? He can’t complain if he’s the one who picked it out, right?”

You pursed your lips. He had – a pure ivory dress, a little shorter than mid-thigh and sleeveless, not exactly conservative, but not meant to show as much skin as you usually preferred to. It’d come with matching gold jewelry, and you’d politely accepted the gift, kissed him on the cheek, and stashed it under your bed to rot. It wasn’t ugly, nothing so expensive could be, but it suited Satoru’s tastes, not yours.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to soften the harsher edges of your distaste. “You know how Satoru is. Everything he picks out is just so—so him.”

“I’m starting to think you both might be causing problems.” You kicked the base of the door, but Suguru didn’t indulge your outburst with acknowledgement. “Just try it on, alright? If it’s that bad, we can always go without him.”

It took another minute or so of condoling, but soon enough, you were slipping into Satoru’s gifted dress, cursing as you struggled with the tiny, finicky zipper and smoothed wrinkles out of abused silk. You pulled your fingers through your hair once before returning to the bedroom door and knocking defeatedly. As if to add insult to injury, the door swung open in an instant, a smiling Suguru waiting on the threshold.

“See? Absolutely gorgeous, as always.” He leaned forward, cupping your cheek. You let his lips brush over your forehead before pulling away. Thankfully, he wasn’t cruel enough to draw it out any longer – his hand falling to yours and taking it up, tugging you gently towards the living room. “Satoru’s going to forget he was ever mad at all as soon as he sees you.”

You didn’t bother responding, only slumping against his side and letting him guide you forward. Distantly, you heard Suguru calling out to Satoru, but you were already busy – too occupied promising yourself that this would never, ever happen again to care what either of them was saying.

You would, of course, be wrong.

~

Barricaded doors quickly became a weekly inconvenience. You and Satoru fought often (never intensely and never for very long, but often), and he owned the apartment – meaning, despite all your whining, you couldn’t exactly tell him that his doors couldn’t all lock from the outside. Your ‘cool-down sessions’ (Suguru’s words, not yours) lasted anywhere from twenty minutes to a couple of hours, and Suguru was always the one to let you out. When you couldn’t be locked up and left to stew, Satoru would take it upon himself to leave the apartment – if only for as long as he thought it would take for you to forget you’d argued at all. You got used to it quickly. It wasn’t fair, you didn’t enjoy it, but you got used to it. You’d always had more patience than you really should’ve, when it came to Satoru’s antics.

And then, Suguru started showering with you.

Finding time to spend together was an ever-present obstacle in your relationship. Satoru alternated sporadically between planning lectures and grading papers late into the night to rolling his eyes at the concept of due dates and dulling out extra credit on a whim, and trying to guess if Suguru would be free was a pursuit in futility – his sermons were scheduled, but he was almost always being called out on some mysterious errand on behalf of one of his countless, faceless apostles. You didn’t work at all, but you went to school, and you kept yourself busy. You’d never be as busy as Satoru and Suguru, but you did your best to keep up with them.

Currently, you were basking in the afterglow with Suguru, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Satoru was already gone, rushed off to some early-morning lecture, but Suguru didn’t have anything to do, and you—well, you could miss a lecture or two if it meant spending time with him. And, even if you couldn’t, it was hard to imagine tearing yourself away from the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing aimless patterns into the small of your back, of his lips pushing warm, open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. His hands drifted to your hips, grip tightening ever-so-slightly, and you felt a raspy groan reverberate against the side of your neck, Suguru pulling you close as he—

“Save it,” you said, drawing back. He pouted and you grinned, pecking the corner of his jaw and sitting up, letting his sheets pool around your waist. “Just for a few minutes – I feel gross.” A full groan, this time. You laughed, combing his disheveled hair back and pressing another kiss into his forehead, this one lingering just a beat longer than the first. “You’ll survive a shower, Suguru.”

You felt him shift underneath you. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was sitting up, his arms still around your waist – keeping you messily laid across his lap. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll wait your turn.” And then, when he only hummed in response, “I’m being serious. Somebody in this relationship has to wash their hair every now and then.”

His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, and he was moving toward the edge of the mattress with your body still tucked against his chest. He was planning on carrying you, presumably. Sometimes, it felt like if it were up to Suguru, you’d never walk anywhere on your own again. “I know.” His voice was still raspy with sleep, his usual articulation weighed down by the fatigue that came with a morning spent in bed. “I’ll help.”

“That’s really sweet, but—” You strung your arms around his neck as he stood up, taking you with him. “—I think I’ll be alright on my own, Suguru.”

For the first time all morning, his eyes flickered open, wandering idly in your direction. He held your gaze for a beat, then another.

Finally, the edge of his lips quirked upward – the sly, knowing grin you’d fallen in love with soon painted across his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone to match, all confidence and cloying, calculated sweetness. “No.”

You faltered, at that. “…no?”

“Don’t wanna be away from you for that long,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll take care of. Don’t want you to have to worry your pretty little head over anything.”

You tried your best to laugh, but it was a weak effort, better left unacknowledged. “I don’t know how I feel about my boyfriend offering to, I don’t know, shave my legs or something.”

He only soldiered on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

~

You felt Satoru’s hands on your waist first, then his chest against your back. His mouth found the curve of your throat as if by instinct, teeth grazing against a bruise Suguru had left in the same spot the day before. You felt him lean against you and dropped the knife you were holding onto a nearby cutting board, bracing yourself on the edge of the counter to compensate.

You glanced over your shoulder as his head bowed, face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He must’ve just gotten home – he was still wearing his sunglasses, only the first three buttons on his shirt undone. You grinned, twisting around just far enough to kiss the top of his head before turning back to your ingredients. “Rough lecture?”

“Grad students,” he muttered, the dread in his voice plainly audible. “One more fucking extension request, and I swear, I’ll fail the entire class.”

You hummed, letting him sink further into you. You might’ve let him stay there, too, if one of his hands hadn’t fallen to your ass while the other slipped underneath your loose shirt. Before he could creep upward, you jabbed an elbow into his chest. “Keep it in your pants. You still smell like a college campus.”

Of course, he didn’t budge. “But I missed you,” he whined, as shameless as he was clingy. “I had to leave so early, and I was stuck in my office for so long, and I’m gonna die if I have to wait any longer. Is that what you want? For me to die?”

“You could always go to Suguru, if you’re that insatiable.”

“But I want you.” You felt a thumb slip below the waistband of your sweatpants (or, Suguru’s sweatpants, technically – he’d been unbearable unless you were wearing his clothes, recently) and batted his hand away. Your efforts were, predictably, unsuccessful. “Please, baby?” And then, after a beat. “You don’t care about dinner more than you care about me, do you?”

You felt something delicate inside of you falter, crack, then fall apart entirely. It was strange – how long you could nurse a wound without acknowledging it existed at all. “It’s not that, I just—” You stuttered, then stopped entirely. You deflated underneath Satoru’s weight, and as if in response, he held you that much tighter, keeping you as close as you could be, lest he carve open his chest and force you into the open cavity. “I… I guess I feel like I haven’t really been doing a lot for you two, lately. You pay all the bills, and Suguru goes out of his way to take care of me, and there just… It makes me feel kind of useless.” You tried to punctuate the confession with a smile, a laugh, but both were hollow beyond the point of recognizability. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t tried at all. “You get it, right? I just—I don’t want to be the only one not doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence. You felt Satoru settle against you, his chest pressing into your back before he pulled away, detaching from you entirely. You sighed, letting yourself relax.

And then, just as suddenly, you were off of your feet and in Satoru’s arm, one tucked under the bend of your knees while the other supported your back. You managed a stammered, half-coherent protest, but if Satoru was listening, he wasn’t bothered.

He carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, your half-finished recipe forgotten in favor of dropping you onto the nearest couch and kneeling over you, already pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Sounds like our baby’s been thinkin’ too much.” He was grinning, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Let me put a stop to that.”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have time to respond. His mouth was already crashing into yours; swallowing down anything you might’ve said and replacing it with a breathy moan, a haze over your conscious thoughts.

You didn’t bother trying to talk your way out from underneath Satoru, again.

~

You couldn’t breathe.

It took you a moment to realize what was wrong, another to put together why. You felt the blunt tip of Suguru’s cock hit the back of your throat as Satoru’s chest pressed into yours, the latter pressing the air out of your lungs while the former forced you to choke what little was left up. Satoru had set a relentless pace; his thrusts brutal, his tempo erratic, his hips crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. Two of Suguru’s thick, calloused fingers were lodged between your body and Satoru’s drawing quick, precise patterns into your clit, while both of Satoru’s hands were wrapped around the underside of your thighs, keeping your knees pinned to your chest, your body folded in half and pressed into the mattress. They’d always been taller than you, with Suguru kneeling by your head and Satoru looming over you, they both seemed so much bigger. They both seemed so, so much stronger than they ever had before.

You couldn’t breathe. The lack of oxygen was already rushing to your head, already replacing your sense of logic with a shrill, panicked buzz. Your body hurt everywhere they touched it, the warmth pooling in your core and arousal left behind by previous climaxes not enough to dull the sharp sting of Satoru’s nails against your skin, not enough to soften the harsh edge of the grin you could only barely see spread across Suguru’s lips out of the corner of your eye. It was a struggle just to move your jaw, and even then, any sounds you were able to make were borderline incoherent – your little chants of ‘red, red, red’ so stifled and so garbled by Suguru’s cock that you couldn’t have blamed him for not hearing you at all. It was only when you tried to pull your head back that his eyes fell away from where Satoru’s cock was fucking into your dripping cunt and to your face, tears of distress already beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. You let out one more panicked cry, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to see the fear in your expression and know something was wrong, but that grin you had loved so much only widened, sharpened. “Like that, princess?” You felt his free hand on the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair while the patterns being pushed into your sensitive clit sped up, intensified. “Faster,” he cooed to Satoru, his voice laced with something vicious and mocking. “If she can still cry, she can still fuck.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Suguru just liked to be mean in bed, and Satoru liked to indulge him. That was the only reason they were doing this to you, that was the only reason Satoru listened; leaning that much more of his weight onto as his cock beat against the walls of your cunt. “Fuck,” Satoru muttered, as Suguru’s cock twitched against the roof of your mouth. “Got tighter when you said that. Is that what you want? For me and him to fuck you unconscious?”

This time, you didn’t try to pull back, you jerked – lurching out of Suguru’s hold, drawing back until you could gasp and pant and fill your aching lungs. “Red,” you half-choked, half-cried. “Red, red, stop, too much, I can’t—”

Satoru cut you off with a throat groan. You felt his form tense against yours, heard a shameless moan spill past his lips, and suddenly, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. “Too close for that,” he muttered, his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “You can take it for me, angel.”

You couldn’t, but you didn’t have time to tell him that. You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to spit out was a keening, pitiful whine as you felt something deep in your core pull taut and snap, as your cunt clenched around him and you came undone on Satoru’s cock for the nth time. At the same time, he went stiffed above you, forcing his hips flush with yours and filling your abused pussy with something thick and searing. The feeling was alien, strange. You could’ve sworn he said he would wear a condom, tonight.

It felt like you laid there for a small eternity – trapped under Satoru’s limp body, Suguru still petting idly through your hair. You stared unblinkingly at the ceiling until, days later, Satoru pulled himself upright with a raspy grunt, turning to Suguru. You were vaguely aware of his head being lowered into Suguru’s lap, moving to finish the job you hadn’t wanted to, but that seemed distant, unimportant. The room was too small, too closed-off. You weren’t getting enough air. You were too warm. You were too small. You—

You needed to leave.

Your body was on the edge of the mattress before your mind could make the conscious decision to move. You were shaking, despite the damp humidity clinging to your skin, but you tried to ignore that and focus on getting your feet underneath you, on fishing Satoru’s shirt off the floor and pulling it over your head. You’d need pants, too, and your wallet – maybe you’d still have a little cash stowed away, something from before Satoru insisted you start carrying one of his platinum cards. You’d spend the night in a hotel, or better yet, rent a car – get out of Tokyo altogether. You had a friend who lived outside of the city – or, you used to, at least. You couldn’t remember the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru and Suguru.

You made it to the doorway before Suguru called out. “Going somewhere, princess?”

You froze, but didn’t look over your shoulder. You could barely stand. You needed to go. “I just—I think I need a little air.”

“Give us a minute. Me or ‘toru should go with you.” There was a lull to his voice, an airiness just barely audible over the slick, sloppy sound of Satoru’s mouth moving over his shaft. You could remember admiring that about him, once, constantly thinking about how lucky you were to have such a cool, confident boyfriend. Right now, though, it was hard to think of his unfaltering composure as anything but inhuman. “It just wouldn’t be safe to let you—”

“I need air,” you repeated, because it was true, because you did. Little, black spots were already starting to dot your vision, and it felt like someone was trying to wrap their hands around your throat and squeeze. “I… I think I might be gone for a while, too.”

For all his tenderness, Suguru didn’t sound very concerned. “How long?”

“A couple hours,” you tried, and then, much more quietly, when he let out a disbelieving hum. “…a few days?”

This time, Suguru didn’t have to say anything at all. Leaning against the doorway, Satoru’s cum still dripping down the inside of your thigh, it took less than a minute for you to crack on your own. “I think we… I think I might need a little space.”

There was another beat of silence, occupied only by a soft groan from Suguru, the sound of noisy swallowing from Satoru. Finally, he sighed. You didn’t dare to look, but you could picture him shaking his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. Acting as if you’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “What do you think, Satoru? Have we waited long enough.”

“—too long.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse, breathy. In your peripheral, you could see him dragging the back of his hand across his lips as he raised his head. “We’ve had everything ready for months, now.”

That was all Suguru needed to hear. He turned back to you, letting his head lull to the side. “Come back to bed, won’t you, princess?”

You didn’t respond. What little air you still had hitched in your collapsing throat as you attempted to move forward, only for a hand to catch your shoulder and hold you in-place. It was Satoru – now standing less than a full step behind you. He didn’t bother with a warning before wrapping his free arm around your waist and dragging you into his chest and off of your feet. You made a weak effort to thrash, to squirm, to dig your nails into the forearm laid over your midriff, but Satoru didn’t make a sound, didn’t let you go, only hauling you back to where Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. You shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as you did. They’d both always been able to pick you up and throw you around like a kitten, being carried from place to place by its scruff. It was always only going to be a matter of time before they stopped listening to your half-hearted protests entirely.

“Over the knee,” Suguru said with a sort of flippant, beckoning gesture. “I want to make sure we get off on the right foot.”

Wordlessly, unceremoniously, you were dropped face-down into Suguru’s lap – his thighs pressing into your exposed stomach. Satoru lowered himself to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and reaching out, cupping your face delicately. More out of reflex than anything intelligent, you tried to push yourself up, but a hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you paralyzed. Sometime between the doorway and the bed, the shaking had gotten worse. You doubted you’d be able to keep your legs underneath you, anymore. “Twenty-five,” he announced – an executioner reading out his victim’s sentence. “Fifteen for trying to leave us, and ten more for not listening to me. Does that sound fair, Satoru.”

“So mean, Sugu’,” Satoru whined, but you could already see a crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “The poor thing doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“Which is why we have to make a strong impression. I want her to know there’ll be consequences for misbehavior.” You felt his hand drifting up the length of your spine, lingering on the sensitive junction between your shoulder blades. “Twenty-five, okay, princess? I’m going to need you to count for me – if you lose track, we’ll have to start over.”

“Suguru, ‘toru, I don’t—I don’t understand what—” You were cut off by a sudden, bruising blow to the plush of your ass – all force, no friction. It took you a second to realize that it was Suguru’s hand, another to consciously acknowledge that he’d spanked you. Like you were some bratty toddler. Like he wanted to hurt you.

It took another lash to know you out of your spell-bound state and send a keening, pitchy cry spilling past your lips. The tears you’d managed to hold back minutes ago were back in full-force, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chin, accompanied by the occasional sniffle or ragged sob. Suguru hummed, but any sympathy he might’ve had remained unexpressed, hidden behind a thick veil of strict impassivity. “I need you to count. I know it’s hard, but it’ll only get more difficult if you don’t cooperate.” He paused, clicked his tongue. “We’re still on one. Are you going to be good, or do I have to get the belt?”

“Hurts, Suguru, you’re hurting—”

Another blow, this one to the back of your thighs and twice as harsh as the first two. Meekly, you mumbled a weak “…one.”

You couldn’t see past your own tears by the fifth strike, and by the tenth, you were sobbing openly. Each blow leaves your skin burning and your ass pulsing, but despite everything, he was far from brutal. His pace was measured, precise, and he was strategic – careful to never abuse the same spot to the point of numbness. After the fifteenth, you sniffled and forced yourself to raise your head, meeting Satoru’s eyes and silently pleading for his pity, for his help. Rather than empathy, you found a glassy stare and his hand in his lap, pumping idly over his cock. A few hours ago, you could picture yourself teasing him for not being able to go a full minute without someone touching him, even himself. Right now, the sight alone was enough to make bile rise into the back of your throat.

His thumb ran over your cheek, his palm settling under your chin and tilting your head back. “Don’t give me that look. This is twice as gentle as he’s ever been with me.”

By the time it was over, you were near-inconsolable, every number followed immediately by a string of distorted gibberish, a disjointed plea for him to stop, or be gentle, or let you go. You laid limp across Suguru’s lap as he drew slow, tender patterns into your abused flesh, every little touch sparking a new kind of pain, dragging another ragged sob up from somewhere deep and visceral in your chest. He was talking to you, cooing sweet nothings, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to hear him. You wanted to leave.

But, you couldn’t, and even if you’d had the strength to try, you wouldn’t have gotten very far. You hadn’t seen him move, but at some point, Satoru must’ve left the room. When your crying began to wane and you could bare the thought of opening your eyes, you found him standing in front of you, holding a glass of water in one hand and three white pills in the other. “Open up,” he said, drawing out each syllable for a beat longer than he really had to. “It’ll help with the pain, promise.”

You pursed your lips, grit your teeth, but Suguru’s thumb pressed into a fresh bruise and fear immediately overwhelmed your sense of caution. Suguru took precious seconds to reposition you – drawing you up by your shoulders to straddle his thigh – and Satoru’s hand found its way back to your cheek, his thumb tapping your bottom lip and slipping onto your tongue as you, reluctantly, opened your mouth. The pills were first, allowed to sit on your tongue until their bitterness reached the back of your throat, then the water, poured sloppily enough for the excess to spill out of the corners of your mouth. The reaction was instantaneous – a wave of nausea, then fatigue, your eyes immediately too heavy to keep open, your body too distant to justify attempting to control. You went slack, falling against Suguru, and he chuckled, bowing his head.

The last thing you felt was his mouth against your throat before everything went numb.

~

You woke up hours later, tucked into a bed that wasn’t yours and in more pain than you’d ever felt before.

Shock and terror startled you into consciousness before you could so much as attempt to fade back into blissful oblivion. You tried to curl up, to make yourself as small and as safe as possible, but your leg caught on something – a leather cuff, discovered after throwing the sheets that’d been laid over you to the side. A shackle, lined in velvet and sitting loosely at the base of your ankle, a silver chain connecting it to an unseen point underneath the bed. You gave it another tug, just to check, and unsurprisingly, it refused to budge. You choose to look away before the pit quickly opening up inside of your chest could deepen any further.

Instead, you turned your attention outward – to the rest of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one you shared with Satoru and Suguru, or the undecorated guestroom Satoru had semi-converted into a home office. The walls were a pale pink, the shelves already stocked with stuffed animals, fairy lights, jewelry boxes that (knowing Satoru) were no doubt filled to the brim. You weren’t wearing Suguru’s shirt anymore, either. Your blood ran cold as you glanced down and found yourself in a pastel blue nightgown – all lace and silk and frills no one could ever hope to actually sleep in. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted that they’d re-dressed you while you were unconscious, without your permission, or thankful they hadn’t waited until you were awake enough to try and stop them.

Seconds seemed to move in thick, dripping clumps. You couldn’t be sure how long passed until your disoriented stillness was interrupted, but by the time the plain, white door (a neat row of undone deadbolts visible above to the knob) swung open, Satoru stepping through with Suguru following shortly behind him. Automatically, you started to move towards them, but caught yourself, pressing you back into the headboard and crossing your arms over your chest, as if that gave you any kind of authority. As if there was any authority you could have, chained to the floor in the bedroom of a pre-schooler.

“You were beginning to worry us,” Suguru started, sitting on the foot of the bed. “But, then again, our little princess was always a delicate one, wasn’t she?”

You stiffened, bristled. You opened your mouth, but closed it as Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders, collapsing next to you. “Here,” he said, holding something out. “Suguru wanted to make you ask, but I’m not that stingy.”

 You attempted to shift away from him, but Satoru had never made things that easy. He clung to you that much tighter as your eyes fell to his hand, finding—

A cup.

A sippy cup, pink and plastic and decorated with little, glittering clouds.

The nausea was immediate, nearly overwhelming. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to throw it across the room. You wanted to do anything but accept it, but your throat was bone-dry, a steady throbbing already begging to root in the back of your skull. Wordlessly, you snatched it out of his hand and (with more than a little strain) pulled off the lid, drinking as quickly as you could. Satoru’s nails scraped against your bicep, but neither of them commented.

Suguru waited until you were finished to go on. “You’ll get used to it, after a few weeks. It’s really not that different from our prior relationship, just a few aesthetic changes ‘toru and I thought a—” He paused, grinned. “—softer environment might suit you.”

“We can be more honest now, too.” Satoru sounded too giddy, too happy. “Those last couple of days practically killed me – having to watch you leave the apartment, acting all independent n’ shit. This way, there won’t be anything stopping us from keeping you all to ourselves.”

A beat passed in silence. It took you a moment to realize you were supposed to say something, and another to actually open your mouth, to find your voice when all you wanted to do was shrivel up and shut your eyes. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” you muttered, like that would make it true. Like enough stuttering, simpering obliviousness would be what made them change their minds. “When are you going to let me go?”

Beside you, you heard Satoru try and fail to suppress a breath of a laugh, and Suguru’s grin only seemed to widen.

To that one thought about the different monarchs YES TO ALL

Ahahaha im so glad so many people liked that idea (OG post here), so ive decided to work on it. So, lets set the story okay? (also btw do not @ me with historical inaccuracies and dates because i simply dont care about all of this that deeply). This AU will have multiple parts, where reader gets to travel through different time periods (and some of them will be real historic figures, others would be created by me).

Reader is a scientist, was working on her time machine (which is just a small box with time/year slots on it), and decides to travel to the past to solve some mysteries, or perhaps simply for the love of history.

So, where does reader travel to first?

1180. Landing right in the kingdom of Jerusalem. And who does she meet?

King Baldwin IV- the leper king.

Reader wanted to see how leprosy, a deadly disease at the time, had affected the king, who despite his conditions, still managed to possess great military strategies and IQ. And how even though his people knew about his outcome, still pledged their loyalty and unwavering support.

You, a scientist of the modern time ofc brought along futuristic gadgets with you. Knowing how youd look in your present era clothes, you wore a watch that allowed you to change into clothes of old times, to blend in easily. All of your gadgets were concealed easily because of their "invisibility cloak" feature.

You made your way towards the castle, making sure to not let awe be apparent in your face as you took in your surroundings, thinking of all the questions youd like to ask the wise king. Of course, you had to make sure you dont do anything to disturb the historic timeline, because then it just might lead to disastrous results.

Getting into the castle was easy, after all you had equipment to sneak you in undetected. You looked around as the servants rushed around, talking about making the arrangements perfect for the feast. You figured out that the feast was probably for another victory the king had gotten, which meant that everyone would be too busy to notice you snooping around.

With everyone engaged downstairs, you had your way up to the king's study, where you opened the door only to be met with a tall burly man standing there, looking surprised to see you.

"Who are you?" He barked, and you got the worst vibes from this man.

"Uh- Im a servant!" You said,backing up a little, just in case you needed to make a run. The man narrowed his eyes as he looked you up and down. "A servant? No servants are allowed in the king's study!"

"The king sent me here." You lied. "And why are you here if servants are not allowed?"

The man's eyes widened in rage before grabbing you by the neck. "Because Im not a servant, fool! I'm his brother in law!" He shook you hard. "And I dont think youre a servant, if you couldnt recognise me! I will have your head, spy!"

"GUY!" Someone yelled from behind you, making Guy look up as his grip around your neck loosened. "Let her go!"

"Your majesty, she's a spy-"

"She's a servant. I sent her up to retrieve my papers." Guy let you go, as you quickly turned around to see him- King Baldwin. You bowed to him as you gave him a glance, noticing his piercing gaze through his iron mask. His gaze shifted from you to Guy. "And what were you doing here, Guy?"

"I was looking for Sibylia, your majesty." He said.

"In my study? My sister is waiting for you downstairs. Go." Guy scrambled away with his tail tucked between his legs, while you watched as the king made his way into his study, leaving you outside.

You took a step back, about to leave-

"Well, come on in." He called you. You ponder over it for a second before walking in. Look, how many times can you meet a historical figure like him?

Baldwin was sitting in his chair, his eyes looking at you through his mask. "So, who are you and what were you doing here? And dont bother lying, unless you want to be tortured for attempted assassination on the king."

You bit your lip before sighing. "Im Y/n L/n." Clasping your hands together, you took a deep breath. "I came here because... I wanted to know about you."

He rested his chin on his palm. "Why? Do you not know about the king of Jerusalem? Where are you from?" He's not vain, but he knows that his numerous victories have made him popular over the years. So why do you not know of him? Or his brother in law, Guy, who is very vain.

"Im from nowhere. For as long as I can remember, Ive been travelling from place to another. Of course, Ive heard about you, but... I crave to know more." You said, partly telling the truth because you do want to know more about him.

His eyes remained on you, the same intense gaze. "And why should I allow you to know more? Do you mistake yourself to be worthy enough to even be in the presence of a king?"

Shit. He was trying to put you in the corner. You had to play this smart.

You smiled softly. "Of course not. Then again, none of us are worthy of anything God blesses us with." You paused, letting the words settle. "Your majesty, I only wish to know more about you because I like to write. I like to write about history, and when one day, God forbid, you succumb to your illness, wouldn't you like to be known for more than just your victories?" You'd read about how Baldwin IV was a fan of history and stories.

His eyes stared at you- no, through you. Unmoving, he replied. "Man shouldnt be so narcissistic to have someone write about his deeds."

You gave a nod. "Jesus wasnt a narcissist. Neither was Mary, nor Abraham. Muhammad wasnt a narcissist either, yet theyre mentioned in books- holy books, nonetheless."

The room fell silent for a few seconds, before he spoke. "True. But why should I have you write it, instead of using one of my scribes?"

"Precisely for the reason you just said." You raised your head a bit. "They'd write never ending praises for you, portray you as this omnipotent ruler, make you look like a narcissit even. I have a keen eye, your majesty. I like to look at what there is beyond the surface. If you let me be your scribe, I could write about details you dont even know. Id write about your strengths as well as weaknesses, for the generations to read and learn from you."

Baldwin remained still for a few moments before finally standing up, walking directly towards you until he was face to face. His blue eyes shining bright under his iron mask.

"I will let you write, under two conditions. First- I approve what gets to be in the book. And second... you spy for me."

"Wait, spy?"

He hummed. "Well, not a conventional spy. You wont have to leave this castle and penetrate enemy territories to eavesdrop. I still dont trust you enough. No- you- you will spy on my court. I want to know what is happening, when, where, and who says what." Under his mask, he raised a brow. "Do you accept?"

You pretended to hesitate, when in reality this was the exact situation you wanted to be in. "Hmm... yes. I accept."

"Good." He walks back towards his desk. "I expect that it goes without saying- complete discretion." You smiled. "Of course, your majesty."

-

Months passed by as you worked for the king. He let you in on details, allowed you to ask personal questions, and in return you kept an eye on everything that happened in court. Listening on to what the servants whispered to eavesdropping on "secret meetings" of the nobles- of course, headed by Guy. Oh how you loathed that vermin's guts. No- he had no guts. A spineless creature, who blatantly talked of the king's eventual demise and all the ways he'd make the kingdom flourish again, how he'd show "no mercy to Salauddin and his muslims". You have no idea how Sibylla was attracted to him- a man who plans her brother's demise openly.

As for the king, working with him- or for him, wasnt all bad. In fact, it was quite fun. The amount of stories, the secrets youve been able to discover- none of it could ever be found in any history book. Most of all, you respect Baldwin on a whole new level now.

His struggles, ever since he was kid- not being a legitmate ruler, his parents being forced to separate, then being diagnosed with leprosy but forced to keep it a secret, the competition with his other sibling to be the heir, and of course, even when he did become the king, he still had to prove his mettle- his worth that he's worthy of ruling even with his disease.

With his life expectancy being uncertain and a huge amount of responsibility being shovelled onto him, he had to learn a lot and master various skills in very short time.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Y/n could only imagine how isolated he must feel. Not being able to touch anyone, to have a significant other, to constantly win battles and do everything in your power to help the kingdom flourish, just for him to not even be alive to enjoy the fruits of his efforts. And worse, he's forced to give it away to his brother in law, that useless piece of shit.

Its one thing that confuses you about Baldwin. You know how persistent he is, how when he sets his eyes on something, he does everything in power and BEYOND to achieve it. For example, when he was only a child and had started to lose the ability to use his hands, he quickly learned to use his thighs to steer his horse. He did not let his disease hold him back, so how does a person as motivated as him simply allow his kingdom to be left in the hands of someone as incapable as Guy?

Then again, you suppose he's doing it for the sake of his sister. Baldwin adores Sibylla, and you could see why. Sibylla was his older sister, she took care of him, and she was forced to marry early because the court would only allow Baldwin to be king IF she were married, so that when Baldwin dies of leprosy, her husband could take care of the kingdom. Baldwin views it as the ultimate sacrifice, so even though he has tried to separate his sister from Guy, she has refused because she's in love with him.

God knows how. You wondered. Guy does not have any redeeming qualities, then again youre thinking like a 21st century woman. Woman of this time had the bar for men set below the deepest level in hell.

"So, what do you have for me today?" Baldwin asked you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You sighed, shaking your head. "Nothing new, really. Your brother in law, pardon my language your majesty, has been spewing shit about how he'll make the kingdom great again when you die. But when those nobles ask him how, he either has no answer and tries to cover it up by saying its a secret, or he'd say something so ridiculous- his ideas are bound to not only fail, but actually destroy the kingdom even more. I am surprised he doesnt give himself a headache by his own voice. God knows i get one whenever he opens his mouth." You complained, rubbing your temples making the king chuckle. Baldwin seemed to enjoy how informally you spoke.

"Guy is... something else. I apologise on his behalf." You could sense him smiling under his mask. You gave a small smile, but truthfully, your head was actually hurting a lot. You could only hope this was not a migraine developing.

"Would you like tea? Or wine?" He asked as he called in a servant. "Just water for me, thank you." You said, closing your eyes for a few moments as the sharp ache in your head increased.

Baldwin's eyes remained on you, a calculated gaze. "Are you alright? Should I call in the physician?" You shook your head. As if you could trust physicians of this time. "No, I'll be fine after I sleep." You have some medical potions with you that could heal your basic diseases and pains. A gift of modern medicine. But you'll have to use it discreetly, lest someone from this era discovers it and calls you a witch.

The servant soon brought in a chalice filled with water for you and you immediately took a sip of the cool water. Baldwin stood up as he walked over to the window, looking out into the dark night.

"Can I ask you something personal?" You asked. He hummed. You stared at his back, the white cloak he was dressed in. "Do you think if you never had this disease, would you still be a great king? A king who is so motivated to make his kingdom as successful as he can before his time is up?"

He looked back at you, and for a second you wondered if you had slighted him. But these past few months, you've learned to read his body language, despite how hard he conceals both himself and his thoughts.

"No." He said, turning back to the window. "I probably would've been a spoiled brat, I don't think I would've even been chosen to be king. I would've lost it to my half brothers." He tilted his head as he looked at a particular star in the sky. "I suppose my disease is a blessing. God blessed me with it to humble me. Had He not, I probably wouldn't be religious."

"And is that how you see your suffering? A blessing from God?" You asked as you pulled out the medical vial from your cloak and poured it in your chalice. Your headache had started to pulsate now and you needed this.

"I do. I have to serve my people, and my suffering has brought me closer to them and to God. And even with my disease, I was made a king. Isn't that divine intervention? My purpose on earth?" He said almost monotonously, as if he's had this conversation a thousand times.

You took sip of your medicated water, headache immeadiately reducing in intensity. "So... if you had the chance, would you still be the leper king? Or would you be healthy but... not a king? Just a man who gets to experience life like the rest of us, eat normal food, play with others, walk without having to wear a mask, or even fall in love?"

He remained silent, but his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. Tired? Or defeated?

"I prefer not to think about things I have no control over, Y/n." He finally turned around and his blue eyes looked at yours, though this time, there was something else swirling in them. "Finish your water and head to bed. I don't think you're well enough to tell me a story tonight." You smiled gratefully. Over these past few months, the king had enjoyed the modern world stories you told him. Some were literature classics, like Romeo and Juliet, others were straight up fanfic plots with details missing because he wouldn't have understood them anyways.

You were about to pick up your chalice when suddenly Baldwin fell to the ground.

"Your Majesty!" You rushed over to him, watching him tremble on the ground as he struggled to breathe. You dropped to your knees and attempted to remove his mask, only for him swat your hand away.

"No! You'll get it too!" He said, his eyes screwing shut in pain. He was worried about you contracting leprosy.

"Just- trust me." You pursed your lips as you moved his hand away and removed his mask, before removing the white veil underneath it, which was there to prevent his peeling skin and sores from sticking to the iron mask.

You didn't gasp when you saw his disfigured face. No, you'd seen it already when they constructed his face using modern technology. You touched his forehead with your palm, noticing how warm it was. This was one of his leprosy fevers, it was serious and quiet painful. But you already know he doesn't die until 1185 and it's still 1180.

"I'll go fetch the physician-"

"No!" Baldwin yelled, struggling to breathe. "No- just-" He suddenly whimpered as pain shot through every fiber of his body, making him dig his heels into the ground. Your heart wrenched at the sight.

"Its- too- hot- i-" you looked around before grabbing your chalice and bringing it to his lips, holding his head in your lap, you helped him drink the water. He drank it all, his forehead now covered in sweat and his face still contorted in pain. You held his hand and squeezed it.

"Its okay, Baldwin. I'm here. I'm right here." You whispered, his head resting in your lap as you gently wiped his forehead with your sleeve.

Baldwin stared up into your worried eyes, and that was the last thing he saw before he passed out.

-

Baldwin woke upto screaming. Opening his eyes, his blurred vision slowly cleared upto watch you and Guy screaming at each other, the latter had his hand clawed into your hair.

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOURE TALKING TO, YOU WENCH?!" Guy yelled as he shook you harshly.

"A SPINLESS BEING NOT WORTHY OF BEING CALLED A MAN!" You spat back, eyes red with rage.

Guy's eyes widened at the insult before he raised his hand to strike you, but was stopped by Baldwin.

"Guy! Let her go!" Both of your heads snapped towards the king.

"Y-your Majesty?" Guy couldn't believe his eyes. He survived?

"I said- let. Her. Go!" Baldwin commanded as he stood up and walked over to them, making Guy immeadiately let you go and bow to him. Baldwin's eyes landed on you, and you gave him a small bow.

"Leave." Baldwin commanded, eyes fixed on you.

Guy looked up from his his bowing position. "Your Majesty, I'm so glad you're well-"

"I said, LEAVE!" Baldwin's voice boomed, his eyes never leaving yours. Guy scrambled put of the room quickly, and you started to leave as well, but Baldwin grabbed your wrist.

"Not you." He said, those blue eyes piercing into you. "I- how long was I out?"

"2 weeks." You replied.

Baldwin let out small gasp as he let go of your hand and slowly walked towards the mirror in his room. It was quiet for a minute.

"What... happened?" He asked, looking at his reflection.

"Well, after you fainted, I called in the physicians and they took you to your chambers. They had prepared some medication but were hesitant to apply it on you, fearing they'd contract your disease. So, I convinced them to let me do it since I had already touched you. When I was done, your sister, princess Sibylla and Guy came. Guy asked the physicians when you would be dying, and the physicians said a few days and that this time- you may not wake up from your fever. While your sister broke down, and honestly I'm not trying to create problems for you guys, but you could ask anyone and they'd tell you just how much Guy beamed at the news. Anyways, they both left soon after that. Things were quite for a week, with the physicians coming in to give me the medication to apply on you. Then-" you paused trying not to show your frustration in your voice. "In the second week, Guy started fussing around and throwing tantrums since you didn't die yet. I mean, I was in your room but I could still hear him yelling at the physicians outside about how his coronation was being delayed because you were still here. It pissed me off, but you know me- I'm not one to get into family matters. So I didn't do anything. Then today-! Ugh, he came in while I was in your bathroom and I saw him grabbing a pillow and bringing it near your face. He stopped when I chucked your bible at him- so sorry about that but it was nearest thing next to me- and I just asked what he was doing. And do you know what he said? He had the nerve- THE NERVE to say 'I'm just trying to end his suffering, in fact you should do it. I can't risk contracting leprosy, I'm the future king!' And then I chucked your golden cross at him- again very sorry for that. And then we got into an argument and well- that's what you woke up to."

It was quiet again. You looked at Baldwin staring at his reflection, and for a moment, you thought he wasn't listening to you.

Baldwin nodded. "Okay. Thank you, Y/n. You may go to your room now. I will send in some physicians to check if you've contracted leprosy."

You frowned. "I havent-" but you stopped. How were you supposed to explain to him that you're "vaccinated".

In the mirror, his eyes shifted to you. "I know, but I'd like to know for sure. For my peace of mind."

You nodded. "Look, I'll go apologise to Guy right now-"

"No. There's no need. I'll talk to him myself. You've done enough. Please go to your room and wait for me." Baldwin gave you a small smile and watched you leave.

Moments later, he had a guard fetch the head physician in, who confirmed your story.

"Its true, your Majesty. Y/n risked her life to be with you for the past 2 weeks. She didn't leave the room and would apply medication on you herself, changed your clothes, wiped your sweat and even fed you some soup herself. She seemed very determined- almost as if she knew you'd recover. I'm ashamed to admit that I... I did not think you would." The physician even confirmed all the shit Guy had been doing, but Baldwin didn't need anyone's testimony to know that Guy was planning his downfall- and celebrating it. He wasn't surprised by that.

He was surprised by 2 things:

1. You hadn't contracted leprosy.

2. He was recovering from his disease.

"Its true. As you'd asked, I had done a check up on Y/n and I did not find any signs of leprosy... or any disease. She's as fit as can be!" The physician said in awe.

Baldwin smiled at that, looking at the mirror again. His own skin had begun healing. Many of his sores had already disappeared, and his complexion was returning to normal. And physical appearance was one thing, but Baldwin could even feel himself healthy on the inside. That constant ache in his bones was gone, the fatigue was gone, the suffering was gone.

But how? How could it just go away like that?

It's been 2 days since he woke up, and his health only seems to be improving at an exponential rate. And he's still trying to figure out how he got well out of nowhere. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the events of that night.

All he remembers is falling down, fever enveloping his body so quickly, he felt like he was burning up, and then you were there and you helped him drink-

Baldwin eyes snapped open. It made sense.

He called in the guard and had him fetch his senior council members in his court room.

"I have 2 surprises for you." Baldwin said as he sat on his throne, looking over the members (Sibylla and Guy were also present), all staring and perhaps gawking at how well he looked now. "My disease is cured. I no longer suffer from leprosy." The court immeadiately fell into whispers and mutterings before going silent when he raised a hand. "I know it sounds impossible, but as you can all see, my health has not only improved but in fact I have become stronger. My body is no longer ridden with sores and boils. I no longer wear a mask, neither do I require assistance in walking. In fact, I am even able to use both of my hands to not only use a sword but also-" He pulled out a dagger and aimed it an apple he threw in the air, piercing right through it. "- I am no longer blind in one eye."

The court erupted in cheer, congratulating the king and praising God for saving Baldwin and the kingdom. From his throne, he could see Sibylla clapping in joy and wiping tears from her eyes as she smiled at him, while Guy looked at him in shock.

"Your majesty! What's the other surprise?" One of the members asked.

Baldwin smiled as he stood up.

"I have found a wife. She's the one who healed me."

He looked at the court that had once again erupted into cheer.

"Jerusalem has a new Queen."

-

"What do you mean I can't leave?" You asked the guard who was stationed outside your door.

"Ma'am, as I said before, the king has asked you to wait for him and ordered us to not let you leave until he comes." He said before closing the door again.

You scoffed. Can't leave? Why the hell not?

It's probably because I insulted Guy. He wants to punish me because of that. Will he throw me in the dungeons? Or will he just have my head chopped off?

You pulled out your time machine, the small box in your hands.

Well, I'm not sticking around to find out. Time to leave-

Just then, you heard the door open, making you hide the machine again. Is he finally here?

"Princess Sibylla." You bowed.

She chuckled, grabbing your shoulders. "Now, now. There's no need for that. In fact, I have to be the one bowing to you now." She said before kissing your cheeks. She's always been very humble and kind, and over the past few months, you've developed a good friendship with her.

You gave her a quizzical look. "What do you mean?" She laughed again. "Oh come on. You don't have to hide it anymore. Tell me, how did you persuade Baldwin to marry?"

"The king is getting married? To who?"

Sibylla raised a brow at you. "To-"

"Sibylla." A voice cut her off.

Baldwin was standing at your door. You bowed quickly, he looked at you before shaking his head at his sister.

"Will you leave? I have to talk to Y/n."

Sibylla nodded as she walked towards the door, but not before giving him a hug and congratulating him.

You two were alone now.

Baldwin had his hands clasped behind him as he walked closer to you.

"How are you feeling?" You asked him, eyes shifting to his hands. Is he holding a knife? To punish you for insulting Guy?

"I'm well, all thanks to you." He replied.

"Huh?" You looked at him confused, but your mind was still occupied with his hands. What is he hiding?

I need to delay this and find an escape route to use my time machine. You thought.

"Um- I uh- I heard you're getting married." You gulped, eyes still fixed on his hands, trying to anticipate any sudden movements.

"I am."

"Oh um, congratulations."

"Thank you." Baldwin said, tilting his head slightly at your wide eyes fixed on his hidden hands.

Cute.

"Y/n." He called out to you.

"Look, if you- if you're still mad at me about what I said to Guy, I apologise. But- but just so you know, I- I DONT THINKS ITS GOOD OMEN TO MURDER ME BEFORE YOU GET MARRIED!"

"Y/n."

"I WILL HAUNT YOU-! IM SORRY BUT I WILL AND I WILL HAUNT YOUR WIFE AND YOUR KIDS-"

"Y/n!" You looked at him as he stared at you with amusement. "You're being ridiculous."

"Huh?"

With one hand, he cupped your cheek as he brought himself closer.

"Why would I kill my soon-to-be wife?"

What? Wait-

"What?!" You shrieked backing away. "What kind of joke is that?!"

Baldwin looked insulted. "I wouldn't joke about this. You're very important to me."

"No- I- what?!"

He sighed as he sat on your bed. "Well, it makes sense, doesn't it? You saved me from an incurable disease, clearly you're the Chosen One, sent to me by God, and now I'll marry you."

You looked at him perplexed. "What are you talking about?! Saved you? All I did was help you drink water, apply your medication and-" you paused.

Helped him drink water... from my chalice... the one with... the medicinal vial.

"No." You covered your mouth in shock. What have I done?! This would change history completely! Shit. Shit. shit shit shit-

"Yes. You dont have to be so worried. The council is actually quiet happy that Im marrying someone, and they agree that there is no better match than the woman who saved my life-"

"I did not save your life!"

"Of course, you did. You gave your chalice-" "How is that even possible?! It only had water!" "Water that touched your lips first. Of course, it mustve been your essence, your saliva that healed me-" "Ew, no. Do you even yourself?! This is all unbelievable!"

Baldwin furrowed his brows slightly. "Its... not. I mean, look at you. You spent weeks taking care of me, you touched me, and yet did not even show signs of any illness, let alone leprosy! Of course, youre the chosen one!"

"I am not the chosen one!" You yelled as you pulled at your hair frustratedly. How could you fuck up so bad? If Baldwin really is cured, then history will be changed- and it will have disastrous impacts on future-

Baldwin pulled your hands away from your hair, tutting at you. "Dont do that. Youre the Queen, you cant hurt yourself."

"I am not the Queen."

He nodded. "Yet. But you are a princess now." Baldwin said as he pulled out the box hed been hiding behind his back all this time. Before you could even react, he'd already pulled out the big gold ring with a sapphire that had tiny diamonds around it and he slipped the ring onto your finger. You gawked at the ring making him chuckle.

Baldwin bent down to kiss your forehead sweetly before tapping your cheek admonishingly.

"Now, no hurting yourself princess. I want my queen in perfect health." Your cheeks reddened at how close he was, making him laugh even more as he pecked your forehead again and turned to leave.

You couldn't even say anything, he'd left you speechless. He looked back once, a lazy smile on his face.

"I should leave you to rest now, before Sibylla returns and starts pestering you with wedding preparations. She told me that shed been looking forward to this day for a very long time."

so this is part 1. thoughts????

PART 2 here!

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.

Moving Up

mafiaAU! Shalnark

Warnings: arson, mentions of torture, mentions of death, Shalnark being a creep

Word count: 4.2k

You had to call him eventually.

As you looked over the charred and foamy pile of what had once been store product, you could only put off the inevitable for so long. Arson was serious, to say the least, and you were told that if anything like this happened, you needed to call him so that he could decide where you went from there.

So why were you stalling? Probably because with a lot of floor cleaner, trash bags and a lot of hard work, you could clean up the mess without anyone even knowing what had happened. Sure, it would take all day and would only cost the store money, but it wasn’t like you would be making anything today with the burnt pile that currently sat in the middle of the floor.

But the first big issue with that plan was that your boss had told you to make the call. He had been the one to discover the fire and subsequently put it out, and after doing that he made you come in on your day off, gave you a run-down of what had happened and then gave you the order to call the troupe. Trying to get out of doing that would just cause him to give you grief for it later.

And the second thing was that the Phantom Troupe always inevitably found out any secrets anyone tried to hide from them. They had lackeys all over the city and a reliable information network that traveled fast. It wouldn’t surprise you if one of their underlings was aware of the fire and that word had already reached the ears of the man you were supposed to call. That would leave you in an awkward position of trying to come up with an excuse as to why it had taken you so long to contact him.

How long had it been, anyway?

You glanced over to the clock.

….. It’d been over an hour. Somehow you’d wasted an entire hour pushing off the inevitable.

Ah, fuck.

Keep reading

I want giggly cuddly sex with tadashi 🥺 where there’s no power dynamic just us two having a good time and wanting to make the other feel good :((

I combined these two little ditties into a fic!!! I hope you don’t mind!!!

CW: established relationship, praise, sex, fluff/smut. 

yamaguchi x reader 

(reader has a vagina- no pronouns or gendered language used)

first time

It's one of the pitfalls of a new relationship; everything the other person does is endearing. 

"I'm just saying, it's weird that the fourth movie is so good!" Yamaguchi digs his hand into the bowl on your lap, picking through the entire bowl to scrape at the popcorn kernels. He tosses the bits into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, cracking through each kernel loudly, before pausing to suck the excess salt off of his fingers. 

God, if anyone else did that, you'd probably be disgusted, or at the very least annoyed, but there's something about Yamaguchi that makes it unbearably endearing. Maybe it's the little shoulder dance he does every time he takes a bite. Maybe it's the way your heart skips a beat when his tongue swipes over his knuckle, catching a bit butter. "Name another series that has a good fourth movie. You can't. Scream 4 is one of a kind." 

He does it again, crunching through the kernels happily, tongue peeking out once again to wipe across his fingertips.

God, you wished he would lick you like that. 

"Tadashi, you're gonna break a tooth." you chide, even as you sink further into his lap. There was plenty of space on the couch, but you had somehow migrated to his lap sometime during the previous movie. The arm around your shoulder tightens, pulling you into a kiss on the cheek. It's greasy with butter residue, but somehow it still makes your heart flutter. 

Fuck. Only 3 months into the relationship and you were wrapped around his finger, watching movies that you didn’t have any interest in. Any little annoyance was forgotten as soon as he flashed you that freckled smile. Every little nuance you discovered made you fall deeper into .... like.

Not love. Like. You weren't ready to admit to the 'love' word quite yet, but it was getting closer. You had been 'in like' with Yamaguchi since shortly after he moved into the cubicle next to yours.  Maybe it had been the way he always remembered to grab you an extra sugar packet for your coffee, or the way he laughed at whatever podcast he was listening to that day, or the way he silently procrastinated at the end of the day so you could walk to bus together: whatever it was that won you over didn’t matter, what did matter was that Yamaguchi made you feel happier than anyone else.  It felt natural to be with him, to be held by him, to be ‘liked’ by him.

...Your only complaint was the pacing. One of the best and worst things about the two of you was that you were both polite, constantly dancing around unsaid boundaries, trying overly hard to respect each other, avoiding any situation that could possibly make the other one uncomfortable. Which meant your physical relationship was nothing more than the occasional kiss.

Honestly, you were beginning to think he didn't want to. His hands never wandered, his texts never turned dirty, and you certainly never initiated anything. It felt like there was never an opportunity to start anything; even now, sitting on his lap while wearing a sweatshirt he had left at your apartment weeks ago, it felt wrong to interrupt a wholesome moment.

Not that you didn't want to. God. You wanted to.

"You know,  I don't think anyone's ever worn my hoodie before." he comments, eyes never leaving the television. He’s enthralled with this stupid movie, even though he had seen it 'dozens of times.'

"Really? I’ve been wearing it as a shirt. " you grab at the fabric, "Do you want me to take it off? "

"Yeah, sure." he responds blankly, attention still glued to the movie. Then, he seemingly realizes what he said, face immediately erupting into a furious blush. He's quick to separate for you, almost spilling the entire bowl on the ground. You mirror him, unsure if you should laugh at his panic or cringe. "No! Do not take your shirt off! I do not want that!" 

"Tadashi. Calm down." You laugh, even as disappointment settles in the back of your throat. Does... does he really not want to see you undressed? Is this why you guys having had sex yet? Did he just see you as a friend? For his comfort and not your own, you inch farther away, back against the opposite arm as him. "It's fine, I get it."

"No, I-" he takes a moment to settle himself, "You look phenomenal with my hoodie on, I just, I don't want you to take your shirt off unless you want to, because it’s totally something I want. I think about it-" he pauses mid sentence, ears burning so red that his freckles seem to disappear, " I mean, if- I'm not like that- if you're not ready- that's not why I invited you over. I'm not expecting anything." 

He gives a nervous chuckle, widening the distance between the two of you more. You let his words sit, only the sound of the movie in the air. 

"So." you begin slowly. "You think about me without a shirt on?"

“I mean, of course.” He is acutely aware of the edge of the couch, his body teetering at the brink, but he bares it. "Can I tell you something? You can't laugh at me. Or think I'm a pervert." 

"I can't promise that. Are you, like.... sniffing my underwear or something?" you joke, a grin sneaking across your face.

He snorts and shakes his head almost violently. 

"Okay, no! Now the real thing doesn't sound as pervy." he adjusts only slightly, his shoulders unbunching themselves. Most of the tension in the air has melted away. That's what was so great about Yamaguchi; even when things turned awkward, they quickly returned to normal. "Do you remember that time Yakki split that water all over you?"

You roll your eyes at the memory. "Of course."

"And you had that little white blouse on?" he swallows, "My productivity at work dropped about 50% that day. It was so bad that the boss scolded me." 

"Yeah, because you were too busy worrying about me catching a cold!" you say, "You even gave me your jacket!" 

"No, I gave you my jacket because your shirt was see-through.” he admits, “My productivity dropped because all I could think about was how I wanted to take you and that little see-through shirt into the storage closet."  

Oh God. This is it. This is the opportunity. 

You lean forward with a tilt of your head, the gapping neck of the shirt falling forward past your collarbone. His eyes are glued to the neckline, tracing over the hint of skin, silently begging for more. You tuck your knees up under you and begin to crawl, only half convinced that this is sexy.  The closer you get, the more he can see down your shirt. His breath hitches slightly at the sight, but he doesn't dare to look away.

"Oh? What were you thinking about doing to me in that storage closet?" Yamaguchi lets his legs fall apart and, hesitantly, you place a hand between his knees, fingertips grazing the grey cotton of his sweatpants. The band of his bright red underwear peeks out from under his shirt and, without thinking, you trace over it with a pad of your finger. At the touch, he leans forward, lips tickling the shell of your ear as he speaks. Your heart is thrumming in your eardrum, so hard you can barely hear what he's saying. 

"First, I would have ripped that wet little shirt off, button by button." he chuckles, reaching to tuck a tendril of hair behind your ear. Your pussy clenches at the low rumble of his voice, so hard you feel like your stomach is cramping. "Then, I-"

A scream cuts through the room. The both of you jump forward into each other, knocking your skull against his jaw. Almost in unison, you both reel back: you clutching your ear, him clutching his lip.  The bowl spills across your laps, scattering popcorn all over the couch and floor as you both frantically search for the source of the noise. The dramatic music of the movie drums through you as some damsel in distress is running across the screen, screaming for help.

One beat. Two beats. 

Then, you laugh. It's one from the belly, that makes your gut ache from effort. You're trying to reach for Yamaguchi, make sure he's okay, but your eyes are watering, and your whole body shaking.  He's giggling too, still covering his lip. 

"The movie scared me!" you explain through tears. He nods in agreement, gesturing to the mess across his lap, including a huge butter stain across his crotch. It's not a funny moment, not when both of you are aching, but an intangible something has you both snorting and sobbing through giggles. The moment is way too long, way past the point of any humor, but Yamaguchi's snickering feeds into yours. 

Finally,  Yamaguchi manages to collect himself, scrunching his lips into a straight line. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards and you dissolve into giggles once again.

"I want to fuck you so bad right now." he breathes. His directness surprises you. "But not on top of the popcorn." 

You pull a deep breath, trying to center yourself. "We could move?"

"My roommate is going to kill me when he comes home to this mess." he says, but he stands anyway. You follow and his hand finds the small of your back, pulling you into him softly. He presses a kiss against your lips, warm and gentle, and then pulls back with a grimace. 

"I think you bruised me.” he touches his lower lip gingerly, as if testing it. 

“I’m sorry, we don’t-” he silences you with another kiss and now you can feel the swollen corner of his mouth, gritted slightly with salt. He clutches on to your top as he steps backwards, dragging you along with him so the kiss doesn’t break. Each step is rocky and unsure (you barely miss colliding into the wall) but you stay embraced, your hands clutching into his dark locks, partially to keep your balance as blindly follow. His hands trace up under your shirt, thumbs digging into the soft of your hips, pulling you flush against him, forcing you deeper and deeper into him until-

“Oh, shit.” he breaks away suddenly, pushing you back slightly. “I- my room- I need you to stay here.” 

“What are you talking about?”

“My room’s a mess, I really didn’t expect that you would- that we-” he shakes his head. “Gimme 30 seconds- please. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

You don’t object as he scuttles away, clicking the door firmly closed behind him. You can hear the muffled sounds of drawers slamming and objects being tossed about as you wait. It feels like you have been standing there, starting at the generic art hanging in the hall, for ages. It’s much longer than 30 seconds, but not quite the eternity it feels like.

The door creaks open and your favorite freckled face peeks out.  “Hi.” 

“Hi.” you repeat. Somehow, every amount of tension had returned in the scant amount of time you had been apart. Both of you knew what you wanted to do, but, the knowledge seemed heavy. It was an explored territory, sleeping with someone new. No matter what your past relationships were, each new experience with a new person (especially a new person you CARE about) brought its own pitfalls and challenges. It seems so serious, so scary, until you tear your eyes away from the floor and actually look your boyfriend in the eyes.

"Did you just brush your teeth?" you reach out and brush a little bit of white foam from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. He leans into your palm with a smile.

"I didn't want to taste like popcorn." he says and you can't help but laugh as he leads you into the room. It’s his brand of organized chaos; there’s clothes peeking out from the closet, miscellaneous knick knacks on the nightstand (including a still foamy toothbrush) and half hung posters across the walls. . You break away to sit on the bed, tracing over the pattern of the bedspread. 

“I like this.” you comment, “Very nice.” 

He nods, frozen in the doorway. Slowly, he reaches up to the lightswitch and flicks the light off. The darkness feels heavy with anticipation and worry as he pads around to the other side of the bed. He feels it too, you decide, as you watch his adam’s apple bob in the low light, this insane mixture of pressure and excitement.

For Yamaguchi, it’s the thoughts that usually plague his mind at night that grate away his confidence. The dreams of your skin between his fingers, your taste on his lips, are so close to reality, but he can't bring himself to make the first move. Even in the low light, he can see the curve of your waist, slowly contracting with every exhale. His own breathing matches your pace and, for some odd reason, that realization makes his chest burn with longing.

"I'm not expecting anything. If you don't want to." he reiterates as he lies down. How pathetic, he thinks. He really wasn't expecting anything, but, god, was he thinking about it. He'd been thinking about it since the first time he had seen you from across the If he could just reach out, just grab your collar and pull you to him, he could finally-

"Tadashi." his skin jumps at the sound of your voice and the sound of you shuffling, laying across the mattress. It's enough to knock him out of his thoughts and back into reality. He swallows back the tightness in his throat as he inches closer to you, his knees brushing against yours. He feels the gravity of the mattress shift as you shuffle closer and closer, until you're within inches of him.  You're almost face to face now, close enough that he can feel the way your breathing picks up as his hand finds your shoulder. You hum at the contact; he's warm. Even through the thick cotton, his skin is unusually hot against you. 

"You're like a little space heater." you whisper. Yamaguchi blinks, thinking, before his lips peel into a smile.

"Is that a good thing?" He doesn't wait for an answer.  He squeezes gently and you let him pull you forward, nose pressed against nose, hip against hip. His own shoulders shake with a silent laugh and you can't help but join him. It's something about the novelty of the situation, the joy in doing something new, breaking an unspoken boundary, that makes you laugh. You both dissolve into giggles, shifting closer and closer until you're laughing in each other's arms, fully pressed against each other. Even through your sweatpants you can feel the suggestion of his cock pressed against you, heavy against his thigh.

" ’Dashi." you whisper into the thin space between you. 

"I- Yeah?" he lets out a shaking breath. You take his hand and guide it to your chest, his fingers immediately cupping the flesh, massaging the flesh with a surprisingly steady touch. The way he sucks in air, fast, surprised, and hungry, sends heat pooling to your core.

"There's no popcorn here." you joke, "If you wanna fuck me." 

It's enough to break through his anxiety and he's against you again, this time with no laughter to keep your lips apart. His mouth finds yours, hungrily catching your lower lip between his teeth, tugging it ever so slowly. The sharpness makes you gasp and he uses the opportunity to kiss you deeper, tongue against yours. He tastes like his brand of toothpaste- soft and sweet mint. It's unexpectedly hungry, unexpectedly rough. 

The kiss doesn't break as he rolls over on to you, pressing your back into the down of his bed. His heart is already racing, battering against his ribs, as he continues tugging and teasing your breast, but he can't find it in himself to slow down. His free hand pushes up the hem of your shirt (his hoodie) to expose your chest. The kiss ends as he pulls away, forcing the short in-between your teeth, holding it up to give him free reign of your body. His head dips to join his hand, breath hot against your nipple. The cloth muffles your moan, but not enough to hide it from your lover.

He pauses, mouth open and tongue lulled out of his mouth, gazing up at you through his eyelashes. "Is this okay?" he's not touching you, but you can feel the low vibrations of his whisper against your skin.

"Yes, please." you whine through the sweatshirt, wrapping your hands into his hair. "Please, Please."

His tongue traces over your nipple delicately before he pulls back,  just far enough to watch it pebble under his touch.  He returns to work, clamping down and sucking, leaving the dull pain of a blossoming bruise behind. Your hips rut up into nothing, looking for any sort of friction.

He continues like this, leaving scattered marks across your skin as he worships you. Yamaguchi seems so content, just learning the scape of your body, but the building tension in your core is wearing thin.

Trailing touches down his body, you slipped your hands under the band of his sweatpants, gripping him through his boxers. Yamaguchi breaks, resting his forehead against your collar bone with a swallowed groan, as your fingers trace around the crown of his cock. Unwilling, he bucks into your light touch, dragging his length through your grasp. You tighten your fingers as he continues fucking himself against your palm, his own hands drifting to grasp your hips, pushing down your shorts just a fingers-length. Finger pads traced against the newly exposed skin, dipping lower and lower until tracing over the lace of your underwear.

"Wow." he breathes, lifting his head up to press a kiss against your chin. "Lift your hips for me, beautiful." 

You comply, letting him peel off your shorts and underwear in one pull. The cool night air made you shiver, but his warm hands soon returned to explore the newly exposed skin. 

"Oh, you're so..." his hand dips in between your legs, dragging a digit through your folds. The sound of your slick against his fingers makes his cock pulse in your grasp. He leaves his thought unfinished as he starts circling your clit with a steady touch. The pressure sends you keening, hips rolling into his touch eagerly, but he remains steady, patient.

He's building you up embarrassingly fast, leaving you sweaty and panting under his touch. Just as your legs start shaking, your body right on the brink, he withdraws. His tongue darts out to wipe away your fluids from his hand and he groans at the taste, eyes fluttering. 

"I'm sorry, beautiful. You can't  cum until I'm inside you." he whispers, sitting up to peel off his shirt. Clusters of freckles dapple his shoulders and it's all you can watch as he scrambles away to the nightstand drawer.  He returns a moment later, eager tearing through the tin foil packet with his teeth.

"Tadashi! Be careful!" you scold as you throw the blankets aside.

"It's not ripped!" he says, grabbing the bunched up shorts from the crook of your knee and tugging it completely off, dragging you a couple inches down the mattress with them. He tosses them aside as he pulls off his own; even though you just had your hand around it, the sight of his cock makes you anxious. It's thick, much thicker than you anticipated, and around leaking, a bead of precum catching at little light in the room.

As he begins rolling the condom on, you peel off your top and Yamaguchi's mouth falls open, eyes darting around the entirety of your body.

"Holy. You-" he sighs happily. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." He surges forward, pressing you down into the mattress once again. His mouth is against yours, swallowing your whines. His hands are at the small of you back again. but now it's about but pure. He's forcefully angling your hips back and forth against his cock, dragging your clit against his spongy head and spreading your wetness against the plastic film. 

"I can't believe I get to fuck you." he says in between kisses. Yamaguchi continues to fuck your folds, his calm pace finally losing it's rhythm. "I can't believe I get to play with this perfect pussy. Can't wait to see you cum around my cock." With a trembling hand, he reaches down and presses his tip against your entrance, hesitating before sinking just the head inside you. The pop of his cockhead entering your cunt makes both of you gasp in unison- and another wave of giggles over takes the both of you.  As he dips down onto his elbows, eyes screwed shut, he doesn't make a move for a long moment, the only sound in the room is his steady breathing.

"I'm sorry, I'm just-." he presses a kiss against your neck, another laugh bubbling up, "You just- ah, you're so pretty. I can't believe this is real." 

Your hand catches his jaw, pulling his face up into yours. Your thumb traces over his cheek, tracing over the subtle dimpling of his pock marks. The freckles scattered across his cheeks, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes as he smiles- he's the beautiful one here. At your touch, he pushes further into you, steadily feeding your tight whole inch by inch, watching the way your mouth gapes and twists at the pressure. Once he's fully seated in you, he pauses, watching your chest move with each breath. 

"Dashi," you whine, hooking your ankles together around his waist, "You're so thick." 

"I know, you're doing such a good job." he presses a kiss against your forehead as he begins rolling his hips against you. Each thrust is rough, your hips angled up for him to sink his full length into you. "Keep being good for me, baby." 

With an unexpected strength, he tugs you closer, lifting your hips off the bed. Each stroke is steady, pumping his entire length in and out of you at a tantalizingly slow pace. His name falls out of your mouth like a prayer, begging for more, but he doesn’t oblige. It stays sinfully slow, building you up in a controlled burn. Each kiss, highlighted by the mingling of your hot breaths, is further raking the coals. 

“Is my pretty baby gonna cum for me? Look how great you’re taking me.” he groans.  He’s praising you blindly now, neither of you sure of exactly what he’s saying, all of his attention focused on grinding into you.

Your back arches further, and you’re seeing stars as he fucks you just right. You can barely keep your vision focused on him, those grey eyes clouded with concentration Your orgasm knocks the breath out of your lungs and you come undone with a strangled laugh, fisting the sheets desperately. The way you clench down around him makes his hips finally stutter, a hiss escaping his gritted teeth. Your chest is filled with a flurry of emotions as you sling your arms around his shoulders, unable to wipe away the goofy grin in your face. 

A few more snaps of his hips has him melting into you as he cums. He tucks his head under your jaw with a hum, dropping you on to the mattress. His hands find their way back to your chest, giving you a final squeeze.

"Fuck." he whispers into the soft of your neck as he withdraws. He's quick to peel off the condom and tie to off, discarding it off the side of the bed. Yamaguchi rolls onto his back, holding his arms open expectantly. "You're so hot when you laugh, you know that?" 

Curling into his arms, finding some sort of gross comfort in his sweaty warmth, you can't help but suppress another giggle.

"Hey, be careful. Keep laughing and we'll have to do that again." he grips your jaw, tilting your face towards him to capture you in a kiss. "Don't test me; I'll fuck you so hard you'll need a standing desk on Monday."

"Oh yeah?" you tease, your hand tracing down his chest, connecting his freckles. "Prove it."

"Oh, I will, come here-"

The distant sound of a door slamming catches your attention. "Yamaguchi, what the fuck?" a familiar voice echoes through the apartment. 

Yamaguchi shoots up, frantically searching for his pants in the sheets. "Fuck, I forgot about the popcorn!"

Liv……this senario with Levi.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZTdbjkgnB/

vi i have been hanging onto this ask for SO long hoping that one day i would be strong enough to write this into a full fic but i need the world to see into your big sexy brain bc this is DELICIOUS

glass houses levi ackerman/f!reader (aot) word count: 1.2k tags: en ess eff double yew, age gap, voyeurism, stripping, mentions of masturbation

18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

Older neighbour!Levi who has all of his things unpacked within the first few hours of moving in, cardboard boxes broken down and tucked neatly away as quickly as they appear. You don't even really notice it happen; one day the apartment across the courtyard between your buildings was empty, and the next he's there.

So can you really be blamed for the fact that you aren't expecting a spectator when you start to peel your clothes off in front of your open window after a long, gruelling day at work? Your bones are weary, your shower is calling to you, and your neighbour is watching you undress.

The thin silky robe you pull on after you duck down out of sight feels insufficient to cover your body after you've been spotted--the humiliation leaving you feeling acutely bare as you peek your head up over the windowsill enough to see if he's still looking as raptly as he had been a moment prior.

He is.

At least he seems to have a sense of humour about it, if the wry little smile he shoots you with his hand placed over his eyes in a faux-display of coyness is anything to go by.

He doesn't have much by way of decor or furniture--a minimalist if you've ever seen one--but everything he does have that you can see from the vantage point of your own apartment is tasteful and expensive. It's one of the first things you notice when you risk another glance in the direction of his apartment the next morning, the second is a fleeting glimpse of him with a mug in his hand--and the sighting has you skittering quickly away, your heart pounding in your chest as rapidly as it had been when you weren't wearing any clothes, in spite of the fact that now you're fully dressed.

You're not sure what makes you do it again that second night. Maybe it's the cheap wine you've been drinking, maybe you're lonely, maybe you're craving that same adrenaline rush that you'd felt the night before when his eyes were the only thing on your skin.

You take your time undressing in front of your window this time, putting on a bit of a show. You know he's there even without looking. You'd caught a glimpse of him, on that same spot on his couch, with another glass of red wine in his hand--but more than that you can feel his eyes on you again.

It feels even better than it did the first time.

It becomes a routine after that. Your new neighbour settling in with his glass of wine every night to watch you painstakingly strip yourself bare for him. It feels like an eternity passes as you're slowly pulling off every article of your clothing until there's absolutely nothing left, and somehow every night that eternity seems to pass a little faster--leaving you with the feeling that you wish it had lasted just a little bit longer. That his stare had lingered on you just a little while more.

He never touches himself. No matter how tantalizingly you let your own touch linger on your body, how gently you graze the soft dips and swells of your own form. It drives you crazy, leaves you panting and moaning as you fuck your own fingers in the the privacy of your bathroom a short time later--but somewhere distantly you recognize that maybe that's the point.

The day you (inevitably, finally) meet him face to face in the little courtyard nestled between your homes you're taken aback by how handsome of a man he is up close.

He's older than you--that's certain now that you see him in all his glory--but he's aging gracefully. Time has exceedingly been kind to the angular, symmetrical lines of his face.

You don't know what to do. Or say. Part of you wants to turn heel and run for it, but instead you just laugh--breathy and light in the afternoon air.

"Hi," you say through your giggles, a hand reaching up to cover your flushing, burning cheek.

"Hello," he greets you with a polite dip of his head and a little smile of his own.

You tell him your name. Because what else are you supposed to say to the man who's been watching you get naked for the past 9 days? Who's watched you work your own nipples into sensitive little peaks just for the thrill? Who's seen you trail your fingers down down down between your legs under the guise of pulling off your panties?

"I'm Levi," he says, and hearing the way he says it nearly makes you tremble. Watching his lips form the shape of his own name makes you ache in the deepest part of your core.

"It's nice you meet you," you say softly.

Properly, that is.

He smirks slightly, then he hums.

The air between you feels too thin, too charged for a first meeting, too familiar for two strangers to be sharing between them.

"Have you lived here long?" Levi asks, and you have the fleeting thought that if he doesn't stop talking soon you're going to get to used to it, too attached to the very sound of it.

"Two years," you reply. "I moved here when I graduated college and started working."

He makes a little sound of recognition befitting of the small talk the two of you are sharing, but his gaze is piercing. He's appraising you. Sizing you up. Undressing you with his eyes in the same way he's watched you do with your own two hands.

"Well," you clear your throat, taking a step back towards your building, "I guess I should-"

His hand moves quickly, extending towards you. You pause, staring down at it, and the little card tucked between two fingers as he holds it out in your direction.

You pluck it slowly from his grasp, and turn it over in your hand.

Levi Ackerman, CEO ACKERMAN CORP.

You swallow as you read the credentials on the business card. The name, the title. The email address, office number, and fax details. Finally, the neatly scribbled series of digits on the lower righthand corner of the simple but tastefully designed card.

"My cell number." Levi anticipates the question before you can voice it, and your eyes flicker up toward him, greeted with a gaze of molten steel that threatens to drown you under it's weight. "If you ever need anything, or would like to grab a drink."

"I'm not much of a red wine fan," you say, setting out with the intention of levity but the words are too breathless to be teasing.

He smirks, clicking his tongue behind his straight white teeth. "I'll get you anything you'd like."

Your heartbeat thrums under your skin.

"Alright, Mr. Ackerman."

"Levi," he corrects you pointedly.

"Levi," you repeat, and you like the way his name tastes on your tongue. You wonder if he tastes just as sweet.

You turn towards your building, pausing once you take a single step away.

You turn back, glancing at him over your shoulder. He's already started in the direction of his own building.

"Levi?" you call towards him and he pauses, turning back to face you once more.

His brow quirks curiously.

You smile.

"Welcome to the neighbourhood."

Bad Taste

A commission I was allowed to post! I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you all enjoy reading it :D

WARNINGS: Yandere! Chrollo, PT member! reader, female! reader, explicit nsfw, casual sex, mentions of explicit violence, mentions of murder, mentions of character death, reader is kinda immoral but that comes with the pt territory, dubious consent

"You have bad taste, you know that?" You said, lying on your side, tired eyes slowly moving over every choice that had gone into the design of the bedroom. At first glance, you would've called the excess of gold and silver gaudy, but then there was that minimalist abstract painting in the corner, or the classical bedside table made out of gray marble, and you decided even that descriptor wasn't fully applicable. The maximalism of a rich hoarder, was the only term that felt somewhat correct. "None of these pieces work together."

Chrollo smiled as he looked up from his book, participating in your critique of his interior design skills. "I'd call it the curse of having many interests. If you ask me, committing to a single style or type of art when there is so much variety in the world is as much a sign of bad taste as you consider this to be."

"The art nouveau brutalist bathroom is an abomination, Chrollo."

"Or so you continue to remind me. Would you rather I hang the Klimt with the byzantine sculptures?"

"No. I'd rather you throw those away. Or sell them." You sat upright and pulled the sheets off your body, sitting on the edge of the bed so you could stretch properly, your fingers tapping against the side of the mattress while you thought of what you were going to do next. Shower or get dressed and leave?. "Such a waste letting them get water damage."

"Stop suggesting we have sex in the bathtub then."

"No." Something about the clumsiness of sex in bathrooms had always appealed to you, and if you liked seeing Chrollo with his hair wet while he was bent over you, who’d judge you? "I don't think I will."

"I figured."

You stretched your arms over your head, feeling a delightful pull on your sore muscles. You’d slept badly, you always slept too lightly when other people were around, but the calm and laziness of the morning made the slight exhaustion lingering on your body feel less bothersome. There was nothing on the agenda today, so you could truly just go your own way. Perhaps you’d train a bit later in the evening, or visit a botanical garden if the weather was nice. Visiting gardens was always your go-to activity on lazy days, since you always felt truly at ease feeling your nen curl around so many different specimens, all responding to your commands. Controlling flora was a tricky ability, especially in less habitable areas like the dusty deserts surrounding Yorknew, so to be in a location where nothing would ever be able to truly harm you was comforting. You didn’t know whether that comfort came from the security or the control. 

At the thought of your ability, you wondered when you’d use it next. The last time had ended a bit anticlimactically. You’d wrapped nettles around a man’s throat, only for him to suffocate and die in mere minutes, apparently allergic to the plant. You’d gotten in a bit of trouble, since he’d been meant to give information, but luckily his colleague knew enough to save your hide. When you’d started to master your own ability, you’d never considered allergies being relevant so often. 

You lowered your arms and rolled your shoulders, looking back at Chrollo who was smiling ever so slightly. “So when’s the next heist? Or are you leaving to find new members first?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You are under the impression that killing Hisoka has no priority?”

Ah. You should’ve figured.

“Didn’t want to assume. Aren’t you supposed to be quite strict with the ‘no leg matters, just the spider’ philosophy?” You suppressed a smile at the mention of Hisoka, knowing any sign of affection, as small as it was, wouldn’t be appreciated. You didn’t particularly care about Shalnark and Kortopi, only having worked with them in passing for a few years, so it wasn’t like you felt betrayed by the magicians actions. If anything, you’d found Chrollo’s continual leniency on the magician’s schemes to be surprising, and retrospectively quite an obvious mistake. “Well. With eight or so members it’ll surely work out fine.” 

It would. You’d only seen a handful of them in combat, but if they managed to corner Hisoka, he was dead, an opinion that was supported by the fact that Hisoka was already supposed to be dead, having lost to Chrollo in the arena. 

You’d watched the show on television, a bit disappointed when it had stopped being broadcast due to the deaths of most of the camera staff. Either that, or the producers had chosen not to show such a massacre, as exciting as it had been. Even with gyo constantly activated, you had barely been able to keep up with the quick movements and techniques displayed, which had definitely increased your respect for Chrollo, the trust and belief the rest of the spider had in him definitely not unfounded.

You’d asked Hisoka in private shortly after his quasi-death and expulsion of the spider how he intended to fight them all off, certainly in close quarters, but he’d just kept it vague and acted indignified at your lack of belief in his capabilities. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him to be capable of somehow pulling off something most would deem impossible, but rather that you really wished to know how he was planning to do so. A mystery is only as compelling as the explanation that is served, and you were left only with curiosity and impatience. 

Still, you’d decided a while ago that you would bet on Hisoka. The odds were high that he intended to kill you along with the rest of the spiders if he ever got the chance, but you doubted he’d chase after you if you made yourself scarce before anything big could happen. The parts of the plan he’d clued you in on were compelling enough to bet on, since even if Hisoka failed miserably, you still had enough time to work out a second plan of your own. 

"Just to sate my curiosity on the matter." Chrollo asked, looking over the edge of his book as you grabbed a short satin dress you’d worn yesterday night that had been discarded next to the bed. Pulling it over your head, you were relieved to not fully be naked anymore, not out of a sense of decency or prudishness, but because Chrollo’s stare tended to be a bit too appreciative for your liking. "Are you two close?"

You didn’t need to ask for clarification.

Truly, you liked Hisoka. He was an interesting figure and so upfront with his betrayals that you wondered how he still managed to fool anyone into trusting him. His style, his humor, his fighting style. It was all so uniquely him and yet at the same time so inhumanly distant that you had trouble seeing him as an actual person. Instead, he felt more like a character you could enjoy watching, and you would be lying if it hadn’t flattered you that he’d enjoyed watching you too. 

"We're not intimate, if that's what you're asking." This was edging a bit too close to a discussion on your relationship with him for your liking. Chrollo, ever the achiever, didn't bore you with such things usually. Instead, he'd either lure you into some quasi-intellectual debate or just leave you be. Your favorite ending to one of these meetings had been when he'd expressed interest in some blockbuster that was airing, and you'd surprised yourself into inviting him to come and watch it with you. The movie theater experience, complete with popcorn and a soda, had been fun in a domestic way you'd not experienced in a while. Ranting about the bad quality of the film was also a fond memory, though you were not the type to grow attached to domestic activities. "Didn't think you were the jealous type."

"I wouldn't call it jealousy." He said earnestly, chuckling when he saw the disbelieving tilt of your head. "If anything, I'm trying to see whether you've betrayed the spider too."

You forced your eyebrows to lift in surprise. "Oh. I'd never. How little faith do you have in me?"

Whatever playful tone you’d placed in your words, it seemed to be the wrong choice, as you were pulled back into bed by your hair. The casual atmosphere had ended, and the pretense of this just being a chat was broken. His fingers curled around locks of your hair, pulling at your scalp, and the book was discarded somewhere on the bed. 

You let it happen, finding the sting of his grip on your hair more comfortable than this conversation, especially since it ended up with your barely covered upper body sprawled over his lap. He looked down at you, and if he spotted your gratitude at this turn of events, he did not show it. Instead, he actually seemed angry, his entire face frozen on a blank slate. If he could not even find the state of mind to force a neutral expression, you’d definitely crossed a line. 

Luckily, he acknowledged his own anger too, which saved you from having to navigate what exactly he was taking offense to. 

"You've chosen a bit of an unfortunate moment to joke with me. Safe to say, I wouldn't call myself completely stable at the moment." It was at times like this that you truly appreciated his features, his face and body made to be cast in marble. Bloodlust only enhanced the image, washing off the false domestic and normal air that he clothed himself in to blend in. "It'll pass, but for now I'd urge you to give me a serious response."

That made sense in retrospect. Last night he’d been quite a bit more rough than he usually was. His hand had found your throat on many occasions, and while you did not mind being manhandled a bit, the force with which he sucked hickeys into your neck and the pressure of his arms around your waist had proven a bit intense at times. You’d just explained it away as a mood, but this made quite a bit more sense. 

"How about this, I’ll give you a quick rundown of everything I know: I haven't spoken with him ever since that entire mess with Shal and Kortopi," His hand tightened around your hair, and you figured he didn’t like you minimizing the events that had occurred, but to be fair, he would’ve been more suspicious had you acted all respectful to his dead friends. "But he did tell me something beforehand which I think you might find interesting."

His expression did not change, but Chrollo did seem a bit irritated that you were playing coy. "Well?"

"The boat led by the Kakin Empire heading towards the dark continent. Apparently there will be some kind of contest held on board during the trip, and Hisoka seemed quite interested in it. If I had to guess, he's going to be there, trying his best to make the entire affair about twenty percent more complicated." 

If you felt any regret having spoken those words, you didn’t feel it yet, though you kept the possibility open that you’d feel a bit bad about it later. If only, if only.

The seed had been planted. Chrollo probably had an inkling that you telling him this was intended by Hisoka, but that didn’t really matter. Hisoka wanted a fight, so it’d be out of character for him to suggest a fighting stage and not show up. The spiders would crawl on board, head toward the dark continent, a place so dangerous every expedition you’d heard of had stellar mortality rates, and hopefully they’d never return. 

On the day of the departure, you’d stay behind. You liked excitement and part of you wanted to explore the dark continent and its mysteries as much as any other, but it’d be certain death for you if you went. There were too many things left to experience on this planet, and dying at the hands of either Chrollo or Hisoka left a bad taste in your mouth. 

They were both dear to you, but you really hoped they’d kill each other and sink the boat. 

"A hobby you two seem to share."

"As if you don't." You lightly admonished, smiling as his fingers were still pulling at strands of your hair, his eyes murderously intense as he stared down at you. "Well, are you going to kill me or am I free to go?"

"You seem to be misunderstanding something." He grabbed your face and made you face the wall, a multitude of painted faces in varying degrees of realism staring back at you. "Whatever I don't get rid of, I collect. And since I am quite fond of you, even if I deem your betrayal to go too far, I won't kill you. Instead, I'll pin you to these walls like those paintings you seem to hate so much and enjoy the sight of you until I feel ready to throw you away. Act with that in mind."

You suppressed a sigh and realized you'd been right in your assessment of where this was headed. A shame, even if it was way too late for you to take back your countermeasures anyway.  "Chrollo, do you hear yourself speak right now?"

"I do. I know what I sound like." He sighed and let go of your face. When you slowly remade eye contact with him, he was looking quite pensive before he bent forward, closing the gap between you and him. For a second you hoped that he'd kiss you, just to cut this conversation short. You knew what was at the end of that road, while this was inching further and further into uncomfortable territory. “Don’t act like this is coming out of nowhere. I think you’re quite aware of the effect you have on me. I myself find it quite interesting at times, and in all honesty, it would be much easier to see exactly what you’re made of if I keep you a bit incapacitated.”

"That sounds quite scary." You said, less sarcastically than you'd intended, the sincerity of his words sending a shiver down your spine. The slight quirk of his lips, the complete nonchalance with which he'd admitted to his plans for you if you betrayed him, all made you believe that he was not kidding in the slightest. You'd always known it was a bit risky sleeping with the head of the spiders, but that danger had been part of the enjoyment. What fun was there in hooking up if there wasn't a risk of death involved? "I wasn't aware you felt about me like that."

"You have your moments."

"I see."

Being proven right was a bitter victory in this case, as much as you wanted to pretend it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You and Chrollo had spent many a night like this, and a few months ago, you had been quite pleased with the set-up, your post-heist adrenaline and bloodlust always being channeled in the best way possible, but in that same period you’d felt something start to change. 

During heists he rarely deployed you, something that was even beginning to be noticed even by other spiders. Your abilities were being questioned, and you’d even heard that little black-haired shit wonder whether you always slept your way to the top. Three members had to remind you of the rule not to fight other spiders, because otherwise you would’ve gouged out his eyeballs and thrown his guts to the dogs.

It was insulting, and the mere idea that Chrollo was in love with you was even worse.

It made you uncomfortable to see a man you had so much respect for debase himself in chasing you. He never did anything outwardly romantic, but he stared, and you could tell that any time you spent with him was intriguing him. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He was supposed to be better than that. You couldn’t stand it when he sighed after kissing you or left books on the dinner table for you to take when you left. 

He couldn’t betray the spider, not in such an awfully human way. 

And so you’d decided one morning while waking up in his arms, his heartbeat thumping underneath your ear, that you’d prefer it if he died. Death would freeze the image you had of him, of the ruthless and constantly shifting leader of the Phantom Troupe. Death would freeze all of them, since after Uvogin and Pakunoda’s deaths you’d noticed more and more cracks in what used to be a perfect formula. 

Feitan and Phinks, who used to go off on their own in between heists, now seemed bound to the hip, their cruelty and ruthlessness a mere façade for what even a blind person could see. Franklin called Shizuku every few hours, checking in on her location and how she was doing. Nobunaga had completely lost it, even if everyone pretended to not see it, and you weren’t someone who generally empathized with unknown faces, but the civilian woman he’d fixated on after the death of Uvo was clearly having to deal with a lot of delusional bullshit.

The changes spread gradually, but the spider was not what it used to be. Most of the members had grown up together and preferred not losing one another, the recent deaths of those close to them proving they were not as okay with being replaceable as they’d pretended to be all this time. None of them would ever utter such a thing, but you noticed it regardless. 

Being annihilated on the way to the dark continent, or at their destination, would be the best way for the spider. All in order to hold onto its principles. In some way, you felt like you were saving the man whose death you were planning, whose body had been pressed against yours so often. You’d never been the sentimental type, but the idea that you were saving a legacy from dying out painfully was beautiful to you. Chrollo wouldn’t ruin himself in your name. The others wouldn’t slip away into insanity and sentimentality. 

Hisoka was the only one who knew how you felt, and had even agreed with your views, meaning he was the sole ally you had in this perspective. You’d spent years with the Troupe, and in some distant way, you loved the spider. Vaguely, you realized you’d accept it if Chrollo killed you now. Maybe he’d prove you wrong. Maybe he would get rid of your traitorous self, kill Hisoka and purge the spider of all that had desecrated it. 

You would accept it gratefully. 

Chrollo let go of your hair and his thumb traced a line across your forehead. 

“Fine.” He breathed out. 

“We’re leaving it at that?” You asked, cursing yourself for even responding, and even more for the desperation you felt at the loss of his aggression. Chrollo immediately moved, languidly shifting your body and his so you were below him once more, your legs on either side of his hips. He pushed his hair back and rubbed his eyes a bit before taking another good look at you. You couldn’t decipher his expression fully, but decided a mix of exhaustion and exasperation came closest.  

“We’re not.” A hand moved under your waist and lifted up your lower body, slotting you against him. He bent forward over you and out of the corner of your eyes you saw him slowly wrap a hand around his cock and pump himself a few times. When he was sufficiently hard, he moved the hand with which he’d touched himself up to your mouth, two fingers patiently waiting on your lips to be licked. Knowing this song and dance, you opened your mouth, your tongue searching and finding his fingers instantly. Whilst you were sufficiently coating his fingers in spit, his dark eyes moved over your body. “We’ll be done once I say we’re done.”

The authoritative comment did little to turn you on, his possessive and romantically laced comments from earlier still making you feel weird. Still, when he pulled his fingers from your mouth and lowered them to your pussy to lubricate your entrance, the few flicks he performed against your clit did make your chest rise from the mattress a bit. 

Pressing his forehead to yours, he quickly grabbed his cock and pushed it inside you, a satisfied sound leaving his throat as he successfully entered you. The pace he set was slow, gentle in a way that made you want to cry.

“Don’t betray me.” He said, and you felt your stomach turn at the pleading tone accompanying it. It was hard to enjoy the way he rolled his hips against yours, pushing his cock further into you, when your mind was miles away. How could you be present when all you wanted was to leave and forget he’d ever disappointed you like this. “I’ll do much worse than kill you if you do.”

That wasn’t a lie. He’d probably lock you up, steal your ability and hurt you until you didn’t have the strength to fight him anymore. Maybe he’d cut your legs off, maybe he’d bind you to a bed until malnutrition and muscle decay did the work for him. That part didn’t scare you, it was what he’d do after that that terrified you. He’d keep you with him, sleep next to you, and trace your injuries. He’d insist you read with him, watch movies with him, make love to him instead of the distant sex you preferred. He’d love you, earnestly and in his own way, and you’d rather die than experience it, since it would mean the man you loved was utterly gone.

“You know, don’t you?” He asked. “Please tell me you know.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, desperate for him to shut up.

Court Proceedings

A birthday fic for my lovely @cherrywlne loml!!!!!!!!!!

Warnings: Yandere! Kenpachi Zaraki, medieval fantasy au, bad working conditions, mentions of physical ailments, mentions of murder, explicit nsfw both consensual and nonconsensual, 8k words

As ladies giggled and swarmed around your mistress, you looked over a few shoulders to see exactly what they were looking at, despite having already seen it a million times. 

The object of their attention was the colour atop of your mistress’ nails, her having used a special lacque to get them to stay such a vibrant red colour. The lacque was a paint that provided colour atop the nails, some new invention made by an alchemist with too much time, the pigment making the nails of one’s hands stand out in beautiful ways. When first heard of such an invention, many of the maids had had their doubts, whispering to each other that discolored nails were not exactly a sign of beauty. The countess provided a counter argument by just placing her hands gently against her equally as burgundy dress, the silk and lacque providing contrast with her skin in an awe-striking way. 

Everyone behind the scenes of the dinner party had been told to keep the purchase of the lacque hidden, as that would’ve ruined the surprise. It had worked just as intended, all the other ladies present jealously gazing upon the countess, timidly asking her where her lady had acquired such a thing. 

The reply, always an amusement to you, was as predictable as it was false. 

“Oh? You haven’t heard of it?” Countess Tièna said, a faint and disarmingly patient smile tugging at her lips. “An alchemist from the west has made a special type of paint that is safe for the human skin and holds pigment within nails for quite a long time. I was simply too curious not to try it out, and I must say, I am not disappointed.”

“You look absolutely breathtaking, my lady.” The new wife of the earl added, nipping her floral tea delicately, taking only the tiniest of sips. “I’m sure you must have garnered many suitors for such a well-decorated hand.”

It was presumably said as a light attempt at humor, but every eye snapped towards Tièna, gathering her reaction to such a comment. The countess’ marriage prospects were, after all these years, still a subject of interest. Both because of the power she held in her territories, the rumors regarding her late husband's death, as well as the mature beauty she’d turned into. 

The countess’ smile faltered for a single second. Another lady coughed slightly, having covered her mouth even before any sound came out. You were staring blankly at the wall with your back straightened, keeping your peripherals on the table to check if everyone was still well. As a servant, you had a basic understanding of the politics that went on in this place. One had to, when every conversation you overheard during work was between high-ranking nobility.

She couldn’t be seen faltering as a host, which was as far as you could guess her current motivation, so the countess pretended to burst out in giggles before studying her own hand. “It must be so. Well-decorated it is most certainly.” 

Her attempts at tying off the subject were ignored, as the second question rose up immediately.

It was, unsurprisingly, one of the older, more conniving ladies that spoke up. “I have even heard the esteemed captain has visited here a few times. It might be presumptuous of me, but might he be after said hand?”

You side-eyed the countess, reading her reaction. An insinuation that she’d even humour the captain’s possible affections was preposterous, and raising it as an actual possibility of marriage was an insult to the countess at best. 

It wasn’t a nobility thing, the ladies’ dislike for the captain. He was born from a high enough station and had been majorly successful in his position. It was rather that despite his noble birth and many military accomplishments, he seemed utterly uninterested in the subtleties of the court, instead relying on his rank to make sure no indiscretions ever affected his station. 

He was absolutely hated among lower nobility, and even high nobles seemed wary even associating with him, despite his influence. The captain ruled with brute force, and at times seemed more akin to a barbarian than a high lord of the court. Returning his affections would mean social death in the countess’ eyes, even if it’d lean her a great deal more power to associate closely with the military. 

“It is quite presumptuous of you, I am afraid.” The earl’s wife gasped, the hard choice of words surely testing her constitution. “There is a bit of business with which he needed my approval, and I aided him in his endeavors.”

Your face did not move an inch, your gaze settling firmly on the curtains, but inside your mind, your head was whirring. 

That was a lie. 

The countess had no idea why the captain had visited so often lately, but there was no way she could ever tell the other noble ladies that. It would be too easily reconstructed as romantic interest, despite the fact that all the times the man had visited her, he’d barely stayed for more than a few minutes, saying little each time. His silence was worse, as he was not known as a bashful man, meaning there had to be something she was missing. 

Telling the others he’d needed her aid with military business was a fair move, since it implied her own influence in those kinds of matters. Despite this, you knew from the moderate reaction and the soft ‘oh’s that not everyone believed this. 

One of the newer ladies, who’s names you’d stopped trying to remember after your countess’ sixth move (she couldn’t seem to decide whether country-life or city-live suited her more), lifted a dainty finger. “How intriguing. I’ve yet to meet the captain. From what I’ve heard he is a valiant warrior and brilliant strategist. I am most certain he is quite busy, since of course protecting a country leaves much work to be done, but I am curious whether or not he will attend the celebration of the Third next week.”

An older woman shook her head and placed her hands atop one another on her legs. “I would not count on it. Captain Kenpachi is known for being a bit of a truant with such occasions. Perhaps the socializing is not to his liking.” 

They all laughed as if a joke had been told. 

You could tell that the ladies here were in leagues above the countryside nobility. There they still let personality shine through, messy hair days and muffled curses when things went wrong, while here every movement seemed studied. None of their backs touched the leaning. Drinking the expensive tea that had been laid out occured in slow bouts of minimal sips. None of the food that was present had been touched, but everyone had something on their plate. None of them spoke with accents, even the lady you knew to be from the south speaking the language like she’d never spoken anything else. Eyecontact was short and divided between the most important players, the countess in particular having the privilege as host to decide whom she’d meet halfway. They all smiled, though the subject matter was not nearly as innocent as they were making it seem. 

If others were able to see the cards in your hand, it meant you were either stupid or unwilling to play the game, and these women were playing. This was as close to outright gossiping they could get in this group without shifting power in any direction. For the countess, allowing clear insults to the captain at her party would be something the rest could hold against her and use later, but changing the subject would make the ladies presume the countess did hold some affection, and they would force that rumor to fly until it became a problem. 

Or at least, this is what you presumed. Once you’d spoken to Natlan, a clerk, and he’d held theories of social standing shifts and codes hiding within the colours of the dresses that had made your head boggle. You kept it simple. It was hard keeping up with professionals.

The viscountess, a black-haired woman with very sharp eyes, delicately pushed a non-offending hair strand over her shoulder. This lady in particular wore a blue dress fitted to perfection, and sat perfectly upright and slightly diagonally on the chaise she’d been assigned, to make her dress fall perfectly, hovering barely over the floor. “Do you know the reasons for his absence, lady Tièna? Perhaps having discussed military strategy with him has given you some insight on his personal reasons for staying outside of the court proceedings?”

You sucked on your cheek as you heard the question, feeling in your stomach the direction this conversation would take. 

“Sadly, I do not know him that well.” The countess diverted, before pointing towards you, to which you just stood up straighter, cursing your own existence. "But perhaps she can clue us in.”

“The help?” Came the soft question of the earl’s wife, looking at you as if she’d just noticed your very physical presence in this room.

Tièna nodded in your direction, allowing you to speak.

You bowed your head. “I was temporarily traveling with the captain’s entourage from Sitsum to Tserk and back.”

“That is quite a distance.” The viscountess stated dryly, having dropped her smile for once, forgetting her decorum when addressing the staff. “What reason could you possibly have had to travel all that way?”

The countess held up her hand, motioning towards her painted nails, not yet wanting to give up the adoration they had afforded her. “I couldn’t just send a coachman, could I! When I heard of its existence, I simply had to make certain the boxes would arrive safely.”

While the viscountess opened her mouth to reply, the earl’s wife cut in between with barely hidden excitement, her tea cup even being placed back on the saucer so she could clasp her hands. “Boxes? There are more?”

“Oh my sweet ladies,” the countess nearly sang. “Of course I brought you all some as well, how vain do you think me? I simply had to test it before giving you all such a rarity, since I did not want to accidentally gift something subpar. The restraint in time due to the long travel time meant I had little choice.”

They all cooed and started heaping words of praise and thanks onto the countess, some of the younger ladies even whispering among themselves in excitement. During the trip, you’d become very acquainted with the bottles, and you knew that none of the colors meant for others were quite as shiny and full as the one meant for the countess. It was a childish move, but a welcome one, as you hoped it had changed the subject successfully. 

“I do not mean to cut our excitement short, and we can certainly revisit the subject of the beautiful lacque later, since I am sure we are all quite curious as to how it’s made and what brilliant alchemist could have made such a thing, but the captains constitution interests me a little bit more at the moment.” Lady Babette was unperturbed by the gift, and was eager to return to the gossip, quite possibly because it was the more fruitful information. Some seemed disappointed at the change of subject, but the more experienced ladies all seemed eager to continue a truly worthwhile conversation. Lady Babette turned to you and her smile fell. “So, could you perhaps tell us how the captain seemed to you?”

You smiled and hoped it didn’t seem too forced.

“As there were quite a number of people traveling with the entourage, I did not see the captain often.” You hesitantly started, picking your words very carefully, lest you get berated at the end of the party. “The few times I did see him, he was traveling at the back of the caravan. I did not recognize him as the captain at first.”

The memories swirled inside your head, even as you forced them away. You’d not speak them aloud, and no one here would learn of what had actually taken place during the trip. 

After weeks on the road, one's day to day thoughts become little else but varying desires. Wishing for a soft bed, for a full meal, for a small break to refill your waterskin and rest your legs, for the journey to be over already. 

The way to, you’d still been filled with adrenaline and excitement at going to Tserk, the port city being known for its beautiful lights and amazing food. You were so curious to see the city square, where you’d been told there were more stalls than in the entire capital. Merchants selling their goods, bars filled with jolly people eager to make a quick buck off of travelers. You’d saved your money for months, really wanting to bring back some sweets for your family, and maybe a new coat if there were nice ones. 

This excitement kept you from growing tired when the missed sleep started adding up, the carriages filled to the brim and the ground hard and cold to sleep on. The third night, you were gifted a bedroll by a soldier who’d seen you struggling, and you’d thanked him profusely. When he’d started insinuating that you needed to repay him with sexual favors, you’d excused yourself and slept in a different part of the caravan. There were more people sitting around a campfire at this new section, and you were sure that if the soldier found you here, you could yell for help. That big guy in particular would be a useful ally, if he was a tad more heroic than he seemed.

After three hard weeks of walking through rough terrain and arriving in Tserk, you realized you’d forgotten along the way that you were traveling with a militant company, and cities did not particularly enjoy having foreign armies conducting business. The vice-captain, the one who’d held contact with Lady Tiena about you accompanying them, had informed you to go about your business and then return to the camp, since staying in the city would be dangerous.

So no fresh eel, tuna and salmon on your plate. No exciting nights spent talking to people in the bars, or hours spent exploring the markets. Just a quick trip to the alchemist, who of course didn’t even live in the city. You couldn’t even see a glimpse of it. The alchemist was a stoic man who preferred his silence, so instead you were forced to undergo another four hour hike up to his house, at which you were given the boxes and sent right back down, the man not even offering you some water or food. 

Disappointment and all out exhaustion were the themes of the way back. 

The military campaign had been short, and while some soldiers were left behind to ‘protect the peace’, most would return back, though the caravan was significantly shorter. The first day traveling again, after a mere two days of respite, had been spent trying to get back into the rhythm, to no avail, but at least you were among people you recognized from the way to, your eyes now sleepily following the big guy you’d seen before, his black hair swaying side to say in a hypnotizing way. 

But his hair wasn’t necessarily what had caught your initial attention.

He’d dropped a knife. For miles you’d noticed the dingy string swing back and forth, barely holding onto the weapon anymore. How he didn’t find the constant tapping of the sheath against his hips annoying, you couldn’t fathom, but you also couldn’t tell him, the few feet you’d have to sprint to catch up too much to ask of your poor legs. The bottles had taken up your space in the carriages, meaning all that was left for you to do was walk, a terrifying realization knowing you were weeks off from the mansion Without even the quietest snaps, you saw the metal disappear into the snowy road and knew it wouldn’t have made loud enough a sound to be noticed.

You curled your coat tighter around your body and sighed, pushing yourself to close the distance.

Reaching the location of the knife, you stopped walking and picked up the weapon. After a while you reached the man, and you tapped his arm. He stopped walking and faced you, and you completely froze beyond the cold already seeping through your bones. You’d known he was massive, but how could a man look this angry. He looked like he’d tear you limb to limb for just having touched his arm. 

You held out the knife with a small smile. “You dropped this.”

His eyes went towards the knife and he took it from your hands, flipping it in the air once before throwing it in a nearby random carriage, the soft thunk making you feel quite silly for having gone through the effort of retrieving something that was probably worthless. 

“So I did.” He grumbled, casting you a single glance more before turning around and continuing to walk, the caravan moving continually. It’d be hours before camp would be made, but you still yearned for even a glimmer of warmth and sleep.

For now, the relief regarding the lack of wind reaching you behind the back of this monster of a man was enough.

None of these resurfacing memories were part of your description to the ladies. You kept your story short and to the point, trying not to say anything that would lead them to suspect you of withholding information. Technically you did not lie. You hadn’t known. You still could barely believe it. 

Your anxiety was probably still shining through, as several more experienced attendees of the tea party visibly frowned, though you felt hesitant to call it such. Just the barest raise of the eyebrows, a hint of distrust in their eyes. Even if you’d told the entire tale, including every single detail, you were sure that would still be the case. Maids were known to lie every now and again, as they’d all be dead if they didn’t. The difference between a good maid and a bad one was the timing. 

“Since you state you only saw him a few times, the odds of you two having spoken must be quite small.” Lady Babette said with a sigh, clearly having hoped for some more direct information on the captain's personality. “But the entourage must be quite familiar with him, how did they talk about him?”

“As they are a wartime outfit, things could be quite militant,” you said, the words rushing across your tongue. “Most did not want to acquaint themselves with me.” 

“Hey! Girl!” Someone shouted, and by the grit underlying the voice, you recognized it as the one who’d dropped the knife earlier that day. You looked up, not yet realizing he was calling you, but the second you made direct eye contact, you were fully awake. “Come here.”

Not really knowing the chain of command, and kind of curious as to why he was calling you over to the much more lively campfire, you crawled out of your bedroll and walked over, just a few steps shy of the entire group. To be put on the spot so heavily was a bit embarrassing, but you were here now. Nothing to do but endure, as the hole in your left shoe had taught you today.

“Is there something?” You resisted the urge to rub sleep out of your eyes and tried to look agreeable. No servant of Lady Tièna would continue to be in her employ if she found out you’d behaved discourteously during your travels. The group soldiers all regarded you curiously as the big man had addressed you. A small smile tugged at your lips. “You found a knife?”

He scoffed and instead waved over to a free spot next to the fire. You blinked, but your feet were already moving and sitting yourself down next to some people you recognized during the day, not really feeling up to questioning anything.

Despite the big man not having said a word, the others all seemed humored, to various degrees, and quickly the silence stopped. At first you were completely overwhelmed, but grateful to sit beside the warm fire, but soon several people asked you why you were traveling with the group and what your name was. After the introduction, things went easier. They were all nice, and you’d sorely missed some livelihood during your travels. 

Food was passed around, though the amount was nothing in comparison to the gallons and gallons of alcohol doing the rounds. Compared to the dutiful stride during the day, every single one of them seemed eager to let loose a little now. Tales were being swapped, drinking games played, and when it was your turn to tell a dirty joke, you visibly surprised them all with the most vulgar one you’d ever been told, a bald soldier sitting right across from you spitting out his ale at the punchline while the rest burst out in laughter. 

It reminded you of the time you’d broken your leg and were sent home a while. You hadn’t wanted to sit at home the entire while, so after a week, you’d asked your neighbor to just help you get to the nearest pub so you could spend your time people-watching. You made sure to pay the bartender for a drink every so often, and while those were the most expensive few days of your life, you regarded them dearly.

A drunk soldier had tripped over the back end of your dress and spilled some drink on the big man and you by proxy, and quite nearly immediately a fight broke loose. Just like in the bar, it’d seemed more like a play than an actual fight. Sure, at the end the offender held a broken arm and a bruised nose while his opponent just laughed, but instead of complaining, he doused himself in ale and loudly declared himself a repentant sinner, causing another wave of cheers and lively chatter.

When most of the conversations had died out, and the vast majority had gone to sleep, you were still sitting next to the smoldering ashes, not yet ready to let the evening slip by. The big guy had also stayed, though he looked tired and kind of pissed, even if you had learned that it was probably his set expression. Eager to immediately prove you wrong, his expression shifted to a wide grin and he turned to you, holding out his hand. 

“I’m Zaraki.” 

You smiled and introduced yourself as well, feeling the happiest you’d felt in a while.

“Come on, girl.” Said a woman who was probably the same age as you. “You can tell us everything! I can see that you are nervous, but there is no need to. What you say will not leave this room.”

Resisting the urge to laugh nervously, you instead just nodded. Seems like they didn’t buy the idea that you were just anxious from speaking so much in front of nobility. Lady Tièna smiled her usual patient and loving smile, but you saw by the tightness of her lips that she’d be angry with you if your story did not entertain her guests sufficiently. It didn’t matter. You’d rather be hit by her for such a minor offense than deal with the consequences of the truth. 

She’d kill you, if she knew.

“Ah, well. That is really all.” You lied. “I don’t think I saw him at all after we passed the mountains. It was only after arriving at the capital that I recognized him again and identified him as the captain of the eleventh.”

“Eleventh division.” Tièna corrected.

“Yes. The eleventh division, my apologies.” Only referring to the numbers was the modern way of saying it, something that had certainly not reached this place yet. “But I promise, that is all.”

“Are you sure?” Another lady drawled, disappointed at the anticlimactic story.

“I promise.” You repeated, more firmly this time.

It was not all. Definitely not.

“Please-please-please-” You chanted, head thrown back as your chest rose off the ground against his skin. Sadly, your pleading found no willing listener as his hips slowly came to a halt, again, and you wondered why a brute of a man such as him would be so incredibly cruel, not just to you, but to himself. “Nooooo...”

He snorted a laugh. “You’re acting like I’m hurting you.” 

“You’re being an asshole.” You slapped his chest in mild indignation, the sweat on your skin heating and cooling in cycles for what felt like forever now. Your legs were aching, his body so big you couldn’t wrap your legs around him, leading to him having put one of them on his shoulder. When he thrust in, a heavy slap resounding through the forest, you could feel your body folding. “Don’t tease so much.”

“I’m not teasing, I’m just getting the most out of this.” With any other man, in any other case, you would’ve been uncomfortable. The forest floor wasn’t the best place to fuck on, and there were people waking up just a bit out of sight. If even one of them walked out into the forest to piss, you’d be caught. Regardless, you wanted him with every fiber of your being, the predatory look in his eyes sending shivers down your spine. “We’ve got a twelve hour march after this, so I’m getting my fill.”

“Don’t talk about walking.” You moaned, your lust addled brain now making room for how little you looked forward to making it even worse through the course of the day. God, why were you letting yourself be fucked by quite nearly the biggest man in the entire caravan? What was wrong with you? You’d probably not even last an hour before collapsing. “Not looking forward to it.”

“Pfft. I’m not that cruel.” He pushed his hair back, and you wondered if he knew how attractive the motion was, or if he could feel you tighten up on him in response. You couldn’t tell, but he did start moving his hips again, and you were sure that if he didn’t let you come this time, you’d cry. “If you can hold out for just a bit longer, how about I put you on my spot on one of the carriages so you can rest a bit. I’m not usin’ it anyway.”

You hummed and decided that such a deal would definitely make this giddy feeling last a bit longer, the flutters in your stomach not killed the day after by another harsh day. You coyly looked up at him and wondered if you’d ever found something so simple so romantic. “Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

“Fine.” You smiled widely and raised your hands to his face, cupping his harsh features and imagining what could possibly be going on inside his head. You two were no longer strangers, having made this entire affair way more intimate than it had any right to be, but he still felt miles away. “But only if you kiss me.”

“A hard bargain.” He said, but he immediately bent down, letting your leg fall into the damp grass. At first you’d used the bedroll, but after the third position he’d wanted to try, it’d been discarded somewhere. You’d look for it later. There was only one thing you wanted now. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely, your tongues interlacing while your lips glided over his. Heavy balls slapped against your ass and despite already being firmly attached to one another, his hands grabbed your waist, forcing your lower body a bit up into the air so he could thrust faster. You broke the kiss to whimper against him, your entire body lifting off the ground to chase the pleasure he was giving you. 

His face disappeared into your neck, and as you felt him suck a hickey into your neck, you looked up into the bright blue sky, trying to keep yourself from screaming his name as his cock pummeled into you, twitching when he felt you clamp down on him. Digging your nails into his back, you closed your eyes and heard your whimpers become more and more desperate until pleasure finally shook through your entire body, your head thrown back in utter rapture.

He moaned, a low and masculine sound, and you felt cum fill you up, waves of warmth being thrust inside you while you were barely coming down from your own high. Sitting upright, not yet pulling out, he regarded you with a bit of amusement. You were still panting, lying completely defeated on the forest floor. 

“And here I was trying to spend more time with you.” A large hand went toward your boobs, and he started to firmly massage one of them, a lazy smirk on his face. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” You actually didn’t, but you were sure the tired smile you had on your face made you seem much more mischievous than you really were. As if you’d been in the state of mind to do anything but chase after pleasure when you were being fucked like that. “Do I need to do it again?”

He bent forward and placed his hands on either side of your head, leaning over you completely. Slowly, he moved his hips against yours a few times, experimentally, to see if he could go another round. You got your answer through a dangerous sounding chuckle. “I think you might have to.”

--

All in all, the rest of the way back had been interesting. When you returned to your lady, having gone away from the caravan on the last night to avoid having to say goodbye, you wondered if you’d ever again experience such a romance. Sure, there were servants that married outside of work, but such matters were often more about convenience than passion. Nothing like what this had been. You’d even had dreams of leaving with him, of grabbing his hands and going across the sea, but thoughts of your responsibilities and the people depending on your paycheck had made you dutifully pack your bags and return. 

You delivered the lacque to your lady, were hit once for one box that had been damaged during the way, and then dismissed to return to the normal day-to-day tasks. Nothing had changed. 

And nothing would change, you thought, your period returning two weeks later leading you to believe you’d truly gotten away with the entire thing. When you’d been ordered to accompany Lady Tièna to the capital to tend to her chamber whilst she was gone, you went along, sad you couldn’t even visit home before being brought along to another trip. You just sent a letter with a few weeks worth of pay to your family, and hoped everyone was okay. 

It only took a few days to arrive at the capital, which had been an easier journey since you were allowed to sit front of the carriage next to the driver, a seat that only became cumbersome when it started raining. The capital was a beautiful city, though you didn’t look forward to it much, knowing the beauty was only there if one kept to the the main roads. Any detour and being accosted or swindled were par for the course.

The destination was, of course, the castle, but to get there, every noble had to get through the entirety of the capital. The city center had been destroyed so many times the houses were various eras of architecture, modern white brick interlaced with the bygone popular red clay bricks. You were not a fan of it, though you couldn’t tell whether that was because of the people or the city itself.

There were people swarming the streets everywhere, but the gate to the castle was especially busy, a lot of nobles arriving for the ceremony, though you’d still not been told what exactly was going on. There were enough balls and occasions for them to all blur, and as long as you did your job well, no one would care if you didn’t know what exactly was going on. Even one noble had several guards and maids surrounding them at all times, so for there to be a lot of nobles, it also meant there was a great deal of personnel.

At this giant crowd, you merely looked over the uncountable number of heads, trying to spot anything interesting. Mostly, you were just relieved the cart ride would be over soon, your hips aching after having sat on a hobbly surface for the last ten hours. You cracked your neck and took another quick glance, determining whether it was necessary for you to sit upright and act professional yet. 

And then you’d seen him. 

It was almost impossible to miss him, his head sticking far out in the crowds, though several spears obstructed the view. The same black hair, the same glare, though his clothes were leagues more expensive, an odd mix of the standard neat vest and pants mixed with heavy set boots, silver shoulder pauldrons and a wide belt around his waist. 

You didn’t want to point, but still turned to the driver. “That’s-”

“Who?” The driver said, looking at the crowd to find who you’d been so shocked by. “Ah. Captain Kenpachi? It’s pretty rare to see him here, I guess.”

To say your blood ran cold was an understatement.

“Captain?!”

He blinked. “Yeah? You mean the big fellow, right?”

Every last bit of air seemed to escape your lungs at a snail's pace, and you found it difficult to fit this bit of knowledge into your world view. “Isn’t his name... Zaraki?”

“Kenpachi Zaraki, yeah.” The driver focused more on the road now that the crowd was getting thicker, yelling out in front of him on multiple occasions to get people to move to the side whilst you were desperately waiting for him to continue speaking. “I knew it was something with a Z.”

“Oh.” You breathed out.

It took about a day after finding out you’d had an affair with one of the most powerful men in the country before you’d gathered your sensibilities again. At first you kept tripping, distracted by your newfound knowledge, but after a quick slap by Tièna after you asked her to repeat herself, the rhythm of work brought you back, though even now the thoughts were waiting at your peripheral. 

Your mistress at her entrance to the proceedings had done swimmingly and, at the very least, you’d not lost focus, even when Zaraki had been right there in the crowd, talking to someone. Your eyes had been fixated on him, but the second he turned even slightly in your direction, you’d looked away. Well, it wasn’t your direction. It was Lady Tièna’s. 

And yet… he’d shown up a few days later. You’d nearly gotten a heart attack as you’d walked in with tea, and he’d sat on the chaise. He’d not fit in with the feminine style your lady preferred, and when you sat down the cups, he threw you a mean-looking grin that assured you he remembered you clearly. Lady Tièna had been unsure how to deal with him, especially since he didn’t give a clear reason for his presence. You knew what he was there for, the slightly manic eyes he held whenever you two made eye contact making you foolishly imagine that the late night talks and moments of passion had actually meant something to him. 

Another week, and you’d realized they’d meant nothing. He just saw you as an easily accessible whore, conveniently here in the capital while he did some business. The first moment he’d gotten you alone, he’d made this clear, shushing you whenever you tried to speak up and pressing your face in a pillow while he made use of you. Despite the more comfortable setting, the soft cushions and the feathers beneath you, it was a lot more uncomfortable and painful compared to the hard and wet forest floor.  

It had broken your heart a little, despite how you knew it was foolish to even let it surprise you. You tried to get used to the new set of circumstances, despite knowing how close to execution and betrayal you were. Just a single glance from someone who would tell, a single word spread too far, a single meaningful sigh the ladies would hear from your lips. 

Again, it was the rhythm of work that brought you back. It would always be like that, the clear structure of Lady Tièna’s care making your own life fade to the background. You washed, bathed, cleaned, refreshed, and maybe at the end of the day, you would not think too long about your situation. You had more important things to think of. The celebration of the Third. The entire reason for coming here. The one’s dependant on your pay.

You lived towards the festivities, hoping it would rid your mind of all these thoughts, and when the celebration did arrive, you were disappointed it did not consume you as much as you’d promised yourself it would. The ceremony lasted the entire day and night, but your presence was not required after the garden luncheon. Desperately trying to find something to pass the time with, you sneaked away towards the staff rooms, hopefully getting in a nap before your late shift. You’d have to clean Tièna’s room, empty her bedchamber pot, ready her late night tea, remove her laundry and notify the other staff of whatever she wished to eat tomorrow. 

Close to your destination, you locked eyes with a rather nervous looking guard whose eyes were darting between you and something behind you. Paying a little more attention, you suddenly heard some boots behind you, heavy-set, and at a pace you’d recognize in your dreams. 

“You certainly walk faster when it’s on marble.” The new arrival said. You turned around and saw Zaraki, and immediately bowed deeply, feeling the guard's gaze burn into your back. Despite your fears for Zaraki- captain Kenpachi acting improperly with an audience, he seemed to agree that an extra set of eyes was unwanted. With a quick look toward the guard, the man was dismissed, and somehow the realization that it was now just the two of you was neither better nor worse. The captain looked you over. “How’re you doing?”

You took a shaky breath

“I am doing fine.” Slightly unsure how to carry yourself in this situation, you just clasped your hands in front of your body and wiggled back and forth on the heel of your feet. “Is there... any reason you stopped me?”

“Do I need a reason?” He took a step forward and placed a finger under your chin, a low noise escaping him as he got a good look at you. “If I want to see my woman, I will.”

You interrupted his reveling by taking a step back. 

“My lord, that’s not something-” To say you were at a loss for words would be a lie, since you knew exactly what you needed to say, but did not dare phrase it the way your heart wanted to. “That’s not something that’s proper.”

His brows furrowed and he crossed his arms, and you would’ve accused him of pouting if he did not seem so incredibly scary doing so. He was big, and everytime you looked at him, at his bulging arms and struggling clothes, you believed the rumors you’d been told about him since arriving here a little more. How he’d halved a man wearing armor with a practice sword on the battlefield, how he’d punched an iron gate open, how he’d ripped off a head clean using only his thumb and index finger. Rumors. Scary stories. Tales that felt more real with each second you spent in his vicinity.

“Proper? I don’t think a maid who let’s herself get fucked in someone else’s bed can talk about being proper.” He grumbled, his voice raspy and low, making you need to focus to catch some of his sentence. 

“I hardly let you.” You argued, before catching yourself in your rudeness. You’d basically implied he’d raped you, a harsh accusation to throw, despite not being completely untrue. He’d cornered you after meeting him again in the halls of the castle and had barely spoken before dragging you into an unused room meant as a secondary room for your employer, undressing himself before you’d even gathered what was happening. Still, he was more powerful than you could even fathom, both in strength and status, and using the staff was only customary in some houses. Perhaps you’d believed for too long that the castle was different. You cleared your throat. “My apologies. I meant to say that I appreciate your kindness, but there is no need for you to concern yourself with me.”

“Stop being so uptight.”

“I do not mean to be.” 

“Well, you are.” He crossed his arms. “You were a lot more fun while traveling.’

A livid feeling bubbled at the base of your neck and for a second, you saw actual red. It took a deep breath and a full ten seconds of re-composing yourself before you opened your mouth to speak again, hoping the time had been enough to wash away the bitter and angry tone you wanted to place on your words so badly. “Captain Zaraki, whilst traveling I was unaware of who you were, and I’m sure you were unaware of my position.”

“Nah, I knew you were working for that Tièna woman. I asked Madarame while we were in Lippenfield.” 

“If you knew then why would you-?” You cut yourself off and found a wholely dehumanizing reason for it. Ah. He’d really let you whisper confessions of your feelings all the while knowing it was nothing but a fling for him. A fun distraction before he settled down with one of those ladies who wouldn’t even make eye contact with you. 

If anyone knew what had happened, they wouldn’t put any sort of blame on his end, while you’d most certainly be sent home for disgracing your employer. Even if he had any sort of feelings toward you, which you doubted, the only one at risk here during this conversation was you. You needed to remain poised, and show no sign of weakness or anger. The same as usual.

“I see. I apologize for my insolent behavior then, but I must still ask you to forget about me, since I neither want to cause trouble for my lady, nor be an issue for a more suitable match.” Footsteps in the distance were a lot louder when you didn’t want to be caught. You turned around to see who approached and blanched when you noticed it was the second in command to Za- captain Kenpachi.  The last thing you needed was any more eyes. “If there’s nothing else I can do for you, I will take my leave now.”

Risking decorum, you just walked away, gripping the fabric of your dress tightly. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you would surely start bawling if you heard even one thing they said, no matter the subject. To avoid losing yourself like that, you hurried to the chambers of your mistress. The staff chambers would be too full at a time like this, so behind the curtains of your ladies bedchamber would certainly be a better place to cry until you stopped feeling so goddamn desolate. 

The two men you left behind watched as you left, and the second you got out of earshot, Madarame turned to his captain, his arms crossed. 

“How’d it go, cap’?”

Kenpachi Zaraki sighed deeply, before turning around and heading the other direction. Madarame followed suit, suppressing the slight amusement he felt at seeing his captain so out of sorts.

“I have no idea.” He shrugged, deciding to go to the training fields to find some poor chums to work off some energy, since his plan A for that purpose had promptly backfired. Zaraki glowered as he walked through the halls, many people flinching at the sight of him. Madarame only sighed and tried to save face by smiling at the passerby. The captain sighed deeply. What had changed here? She’d been blabbering about love before they’d split and now she could barely look at him without looking half out of her mind with anger. So she hadn’t expected him to be a captain, what did that matter? Was she angry he didn’t say anything about that or something? Ugh. “Women are way too complicated.”

“Hear hear.” His second in command agreed. 

“What’s your take on it?’ Kenpachi asked, feeling a bit disgruntled he had to ask for advice on the topic, but he was getting tired of seeing you dart around so skittishly. He wanted you back, the wide-smiling beauty that had trailed behind him and gripped him by both his body and mind in the span of two weeks, but all he saw now was a ghost of you, bruises, polite words and dark circles hiding you from him. “My main idea now is to just kill that countess.”

Madarame sputtered and looked around to see if anyone had overheard that. “What would that fix? I know it’s my job to get you out of political messes, but don’t just charge into them!”

“Do you have anything better?”

“Anything! Anything is better!” 

“Hmm.” He considered some alternatives for a second. If killing that cunt of a countess would create too much of a fuss, surely he could just take you for his wife? There’d be bitching about that surely too, but at least he wouldn’t need to apologize to any of the other captains that way. A dark voice within him said that you’d probably be too loyal to that woman to just leave with him after this entire fiasco was over, or you’d have sixty other objections, like women were prone to have. He’d need to be your only right option, and make you certain that that was the case. “I think I have an idea.”

“Please don’t tell me about it. It’ll only ruin my evening.”

It didn’t sound that dramatic in his own mind. He just needed to ruin you for anything else. If one of those uptight ladies, preferably that Tièna woman, would walk in on him fucking you, you’d probably get fired, and you’d be ripe for the taking. If anything, he was saving you from a long time of being a servant, since Zaraki for one, was quite interested in what you’d look like taken care of. The stench of nobility and servitude had to be washed off of you, and he could once again smell and touch you, in all your natural glory.

“Your call.” Zaraki shrugged, rolling his shoulders as he walked further down the halls, his mind shortly remembering how you’d looked while he had followed you, the sight of your back one he missed already. Quickly pushing away the sentimentality, he readied himself to bash some faces in, the training grounds surely lessening some of the aggression he felt. 

And then after, he could come and get you. 

A Father’s Care

Part 1 [ - Part 2  -  Part 3]

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Rating: Explicit Characters: Fem!Reader, Endeavor / Enji Todoroki, The rest of the Todoroki-Family, minus Rei Word-Count: 5015

Warnings: Dub-Con, Actions that could be seen as Cheating, Molesting, Lemon, Violence against the Reader

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-«« 

a/n: Okay, I didn’t think this idea would get so out of hand but it ended up being way to many pages so I had to split it in two. Here’s part one and I just… ah, what did I do… Please, read with caution. (Especially part two, this one is still quite harmless…) However! It’s my Christmas present for you guys, so I hope you still can enjoy… it… to some degree, let me know what you think!

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

The holiday season was a joy for you. You could not remember a time you didn’t like it, even with the hassle and bustle that came with the years that you grew up. Still, you always looked fondly upon the days, planning gifts and presents for your loved ones, wrapping them up nicely, and eventually giving them to your family and friends. Seeing their faces light up and maybe a tear or two when they remembered how much they wanted this or that - what else was there to make your heart swell and generate a little bit of peacefulness in your life?

You loved all the lights and twinkles around your home and the city. To decorate and make everything festive, only to sit back relax with hot cocoa and some Christmas movies, what better way to spend your free time could there be? Some people might be miffed about all the jingles and colors, but for you, the streets never looked better, never shone brighter, and were never more heartfelt than in these few Christmas days.

There had been so many Christmas parties in your life, before Christmas, and the days afterwards. Days, where everyone had been merry and joyful, laughing and singing together. It had never mattered to you what you did on these days. Karaoke, hot pot, going to a fair - everything had always been a joy. And once it was over? You looked forward to the next year. Each year the same, and yet you never got tired of it, no matter how repetitive it was.

But this year, this year would certainly not be repetitive.

Keep reading

The Earth Kills the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 6.3k

Part two of The Sun Eats the Moon

Synopsis: A retelling of The Sun Eats the Moon in Suguru's perspective

(Warnings: forced relationships, bullying, non con touching, non con kissing)

Suguru liked you. 

It wasn't even a crush. A passing interest, maybe. You were pretty. You had a nice smile. Though, he'd never directly spoken to you, he could tell that you were kind. Not in the artificial cherry most people were. Natural, like honey, never spoiling. You share the same homeroom as Satoru, and he'd always tended to be observant, unlike his friend. One thing he liked about you was how observant you were. You were constantly looking out for your friends, mere acquaintances, and everyone in your vicinity. Often, Suguru wondered if being a people-pleaser was natural or from a fear of not fitting in. 

Suguru is observant. He notices the lingering gaze Satoru gives you when you walk away, hurrying to catch up with the rest of your friends. Satoru then turns back to the carton of chocolate milk you'd left him.

"Cute," Satoru says after a minute. It's more of an afterthought than anything. He pops the carton open. Suguru hears the fabric tear. He hums in agreement. The topic switches to something else, a hot celebrity maybe? Suguru can't remember. That day had been so insignificant to him. It hadn’t mattered to him for Suguru to remember anything further.

A few days later, Suguru noticed Satoru was spending a lot more time with you. 

It was hard not to notice, actually. His friend attached himself to you like he'd die if he couldn’t. Satoru went everywhere with you now. Suguru caught him walking you from school, offering you rides in his new car, following you to the lunch hall. And if he couldn’t go to where you were, he’d drag you back to him. Watching you and Satoru was a bit like watching two magnets. North pole and South pole. So different, yet constantly finding the other. 

“Tryna’ run away from me, now?” Satoru asks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he watches you fiddle with your bag.

You laugh, continuing to fish out your lunch box. “Just grabbing lunch.” 

“Eat with us,” Satoru insists, “we found a great spot up at the rooftop.” 

You meet Suguru’s gaze just then. He’d been silently lounging on a nearby desk, observing the two of you. He gives a smile. You return it. Polite. He wonders if your mother taught you to smile like that.

“I thought students weren’t allowed up there?” You ask Satoru. 

The boy rolls his eyes. “So, who cares? It’ll be fun.” 

You pause, right then. The tiniest of hesitation. Suguru wonders if you’re noticing just how different you and Satoru were. You, the people pleaser, meek, always more than willing to bend towards authority. Satoru was rougher, more resilient, uncaring of signs and rules. The gap between the two of you is astronomical. Could you feel it as well?

Whatever you’re thinking, it’s gone in a moment. You rise, giving Satoru another laugh. To Suguru, it sounds pretty. 

“Well, have fun for me. Besides, I can’t ditch my friends. They’re waiting for me.” 

With that, you give both him and Satoru a tiny wave, before disappearing out of the classroom. Suguru waves back. Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes on your back until he can’t see you anymore. 

“Got ditched again, hm?” Suguru teases. Satoru only groans, tossing his head back as he leans dangerously on the chair.

“Always leavin’ me for ‘em, too,” he complains, “so fuckin’ annoyin’.”

Suguru can only smile, getting up to follow his friend out the door. He can barely count how many times he’d seen this before, each with a different person. It starts the same. Satoru will cling onto you for a couple more days, and then ask you out. When you say yes, he’d date you for a few weeks before eventually getting bored and dumping you. 

It’s a cruel cycle, something that’s just an inevitability with Gojo Satoru. The boy can’t stay in one place, he’s constantly moving around, never one to stop. For Satoru, Suguru was the most permanent thing in his life. Which made sense, they were pretty similar in terms of ideals. 

A cruel cycle, and Suguru feels a tiny bit of sympathy for you. You were sweet, unlike the type Satoru typically went for. Honey. Natural. Truthfully, Suguru was a little disappointed as well. The type of disappointment he’d feel when someone took the last crab stick before he could. A fleeting feeling, one that ultimately wouldn’t matter. 

◉

From the day they first met, Suguru knew one thing: Gojo Satoru has never been told no before. 

It made sense. He was the only child to one of the most powerful families in the country. Spoiled from day one, some could say. Satoru grew up knowing nothing but wealth and prosperity. They met when they were both still in elementary school, still with high-pitched voices and large eyes. Suguru’s family was fairly affluent as well. Now that Suguru thinks back, perhaps their meeting had been orchestrated by meddling parents in order to form more connected. It didn’t matter, either way. It had benefitted all three parties, after all.

Yes, Suguru knew from the moment Satoru pointed at him and declared him his ‘best friend’, that Satoru had never been told no before. 

Satoru was the Sun. The universe revolved around him, catered to him. Suguru supposed he wasn't much better considering he too spoiled his best friend in that sense. They were different. They'd been born different, coming from families who cherish them with wealth and power. Suguru supposes it was natural for them to be so intertwined. Like calls for like. 

Suguru isn’t aware of the exact details, but he knows you rejected Satoru. 

The boy doesn’t have to tell him. His friend is uncharacteristically quiet during that weekend. He has no interest in the arcade, or the next basketball tournament his team is going to compete in. Satoru just sits on top of Suguru’s bed, casually sucking on a carton of chocolate milk. Suguru glanced down at the abandoned PlayStation remote. He’d lost yet another game against his dark-haired friend with no complaints. Satoru didn’t even play

You’d really done a number on him, Suguru thinks to himself. Suguru would assume it’s heartbreak, but he knows his friend better than that. Something burns in his chest, but he’s pushing it away before he can figure out why. Nipping it in the bud. It was a cruel thought. A bad one. He should ignore it.

Well, it’s done. It doesn’t matter anyway. Satoru would eventually get over it. He’s not known to sulk. 

He’s not there to see what Satoru tells them, but he’s there to see the effects. 

It starts out small. Or perhaps just not noticeable enough. Gojo Satoru has always attracted attention, whether it was satisfactory or not. Lackeys, Satoru often calls them because they're too far beneath him to even be called equals.

Suguru notices their sudden interest in you before even you can. A harsh word here and there. Giggling at the word 'easy'. You peacefully trek on, not noticing the abuse until it turns physical. That starts at the end of Monday. 

By Tuesday, they're already shoving you down each chance they get. You get surprised when it happens the first time, then the second, then the third. You have soft skin, plushy, Suguru could tell. He wondered if it was getting marked now. He wonders if you go home, peeling of your uniform, staring at the bruises of hands on your skin because you’re so fragile.

(They never go too far, not enough to completely injure. Suguru knows this because one time, one of the idiots had pushed you too hard. You’d stumbled, nearly hitting the back of your head with a metal locker. Satoru had seen. Suguru doesn’t know what Satoru did, but that particular one was gone the next time and the rest got the memo to scare, not injure.)

Satoru never takes part in this, but he keeps an eye on you sometimes. Tuesday evening comes and they both silently watch you through a window. You move through an empty hall, before they arrive again, slapping your binders out of your hands, chortling with each other. They're too far away to hear, but Suguru could bet it would sound like nails scraping against a chalkboard. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru watches his best friend. Satoru looks impassive, face blank as he stares down at your figure. Akin to a child watching ants burning through a magnifying glass, instilled with that innate desire to see them explode into ash. 

When the lackeys leave, you bend down on the floor, collecting your stuff. Your hair covers your eyes, so he can't see your expression, but he can see your shoulders tremble. Were you-

A corral of people run to you. They lean down, picking up the stuff you had missed. You look up, your eyes are shiny but you're laughing when they say something. You wipe at your eyes, standing up as they lead you out of the hallway. Suguru had seen them hanging out with you before. They all seemed like they supported each other, supported you. 

Suguru feels his frown deepen, conflicted. He doesn’t like it.

"It's not nice to pick on the weak, Satoru," he quietly says. 

Satoru's eyes trail your figure out the door. He gives a small hum.

By Wednesday, your friends disappear from your side. 

The abuse is getting worse, noticeable to the point where the rest of the student body is heavily avoiding you. Teachers won't raise a finger at what's happening. As much as they like to preach about their 'zero tolerance for bullying', Suguru knows they'll willingly turn a blind eye when matters involve Gojo Satoru. No teacher wants to deal with the wrath the Gojo family is more than willing to unlease for the sake of their heir.

Yet, you aren't getting it. You don't break, don't bend. He can feel the humiliation roll off of you in waves, yet you don't react. Which was strange because he knew your archetype. A people-pleaser, constantly bending over backward for other's sake. You want nothing more than to become part of the crowd again, completely invisible. You’re community-oriented. You thrive off of companionship. This ostracization must be killing you. Suguru doesn't get it until he spots your face, just once, narrowed eyes, anger. 

Pride. He'd forgotten other people had that too. Though, Suguru admires it, a part of him knows it shouldn’t last.

Suguru thinks he does it because he pities you. You're a little naive. Suguru has your thought process figured out. You think if you take the torment long enough, Satoru would eventually just forget about you all together. Once he's done with you, you'd focus on picking up the pieces that used to be your life. It's not a bad plan, if you weren't dealing with Gojo Satoru. 

The boy is a hurricane. Fast, unrelenting, unforgiving. Satoru won't stop. He won't stop until you're ruined and broken. Turned into a mere asteroid of what you once were. 

So, Suguru decides to give you a push in the right direction. 

The students have already created a wide circle for you by the time he steps in, bending down, picking up the stuff you had dropped. You're silent until he hands you his pieces. He doesn't bother responding to your timid thanks. 

"Give in," he tells you, watching the way your eyes widen as you look up at him.

You're weak. Physically, emotionally. He could easily pick you up with one hand, crush your body with his fist. Satoru could eviscerate your body from existence. You don't stand a chance with him. With either of them. 

His advice to you is good. Reasonable. And yet, he sees the face you make, the way you slowly get up. You won’t listen. That same burning feeling in his chest starts. It's gotten more painful. 

You don't listen to him until you lose nearly everything. Just as he warned you. Friday comes. You become Satoru's. And it's a little too late for everything. 

◉

Suguru doesn't think you ever learn that Satoru loves messing with you. 

Or, perhaps you do, but you can't help it. You're too honest, too open. He often wonders if that's how you were raised. To be honest, open, vulnerable. Your parents must have filled your thoughts with delusions, coddling you with words of cheap motivation. The world is your oyster. You just had to reach out and take it.

Maybe now you're finally realizing, sitting on Satoru's lap, that all men aren't created equal. 

Clearly, you weren't happy about it. Yet, you aren't complaining, sitting there pliantly legs firmly crossed, hands curled into tiny fists, staring rigidly on the floor. The first few times Satoru had done this in public, you were always biting your lip, tears threatening to fall. Now, Suguru thinks you just dissociate, coming back when Satoru laughs at something, jostling you in his arms. 

It's a bit like watching a helpless bird on the ground, twitching and spasming after it had just collided with a glass window. Pitiful, but there was nothing that could be done. It's the inevitability of it all that makes him pity you more than anything else, really.

Every so often, your eyes would catch his. It's a quick glance, as though you were wondering if he was watching. He can barely catch it, but Suguru is observant. Much like you. It's meaningless, and your gaze returns to the floor. Your fists tighten. 

Granting you mercy, Suguru stops looking at you during those times. 

He's not sure how Satoru sees you. Perhaps, you're akin to a dog for him. Though, that might not be very good for you. Satoru hadn't been very good with animals when he was younger. Satoru had always been rough with any pets he came into contact with, pushing and tugging. Suguru doubted that had changed. 

Satoru's is your official title. It isn't a relationship. It's an ownership. Unequal from the start. The one who holds the leash in the end, will always be Satoru. 

It took a while for you to fully learn that. 

Suguru didn't mean to catch the two of you. Looking back, it was probably because Satoru couldn't care less if someone was watching. Maybe Satoru was being obvious on purpose. It was a little while after school had officially ended. Suguru knew your usual routine would place you right at the library, scrolling through books. Satoru would most likely be there too, pestering you about this and that. It's the scene Suguru prepares himself to walk into.

Instead, you're wedged in between the white-haired boy and the wall, there's no space for you to do anything but sink. You're already crying (when was the last time you smiled?), trying to pull away but Satoru isn't letting you. He's gripping you by the chin, forcing eye contact. His sunglasses are off, tucked on his collar. 

Suguru's close enough to hear. You're begging. Apology after apology. It's barely a whisper, but they're spilling out of you like a prayer. He can't discern the context, but he knows enough. 

You made Satoru angry. 

He's still smiling, but it isn't sincere. Almost bordering on mania as he tightens his grip on you, forcing you further into the wall. Suguru doesn't think Satoru has ever hit you before, but now he's wondering if quick violence was preferable to this. 

"Don't be like that," Satoru chides as another squeak leaves your lips, "Where was that smile you were givin' him, hm? C'mon, pretty girl. You were wearin' it just a second ago." 

"It-it wasn't like that, I swear," you continue to plead, still not realizing that it's too late, "he was giving me his notes. Please-please Satoru-" 

"Wrong answer," he cuts you off, you flinch at his harshness but Suguru decides Satoru's being nice to you. He's been known to do worse, "we've been over this before, haven't we? Or did your stupid brain forget?" 

You're choking down another hiccup. It takes a minute for you to calm down enough to speak clearly. Ever impatient, Satoru's hand digs into your shoulder. 

"I'm sorry, Satoru," you say, "it won't happen again." 

He tilts his head, waiting. You wilt under his gaze. 

"I'm sorry...’Toru." 

Satoru gives a satisfied hum, pulling back and Suguru can practically see your lungs sag with relief. His mania is gone, replaced by something much more lighthearted and carefree. Suguru'd seen it before, but it was certainly something watching Satoru go from one high to the next. Even to Suguru, it's terrifying to witness. 

Suguru decides to make himself known right then. He comes out of the shadows, acting as though he'd just arrived. His friend lazily gives him a wave, curling an arm around your waist. You try to scrub away your tears with your forearms, unaware of how much Suguru had seen. Another mercy Suguru grants you. He doesn't acknowledge it. 

The three of you sit in the library for half an hour until you're done pretending that you're studying. When Satoru walks you home, Suguru follows. He notes that you barely hesitate to give Satoru a chaste kiss on the lips, and he wonders how often his friend has demanded one from you for you to be so casual about it. 

He thinks he gets it when he and Satoru are walking on the street without you. To Satoru, you aren't a dog. You aren't a pet, something that he keeps to see bark.

No, you are just Satoru's. 

◉

Towards the end of the year, Suguru realizes that Satoru loves you. 

He's nicer to you, now. Suguru doesn't think you've realized how softer Satoru's gotten, but the change is there. He spots less marks on you now. The biggest evidence he has is that stolen moment of you and Satoru. You'd accidentally fallen asleep during lunch break, dozing off on your desk. Satoru was right next to you, gently pushing your hair out of your face. Satoru loves you. 

You've changed too. Adapted, he should say. You cry less, now. Each time he sees you, you look more and more put together. As though, you're done mourning. The final stage of grief. Acceptance.

Despite how much nicer Satoru is to you, he's still just as clingy. Suguru notices that even now, none of your former friends speak to you. No one at school does. It's an unspoken rule to not mess with Satoru's things. 

Suguru can still remember the last guy who hadn't gotten the memo. A new student. Freshly transferred. Suguru had heard the conversation. The guy was hardly interested in you. It was nothing more than small talk. The pat on your shoulder had been thoughtless at least, friendly at most. 

Satoru beat him until the boy was bloody and had a broken nose. A week later, he'd transferred again. 

You're off limits. To everyone but Suguru. 

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

So, sometimes when Satoru can't walk you home. Suguru does. 

It was just the beginning of spring. The school year was starting to end. The school itself was starting to slow down. Teachers were getting less and less strict, less work was given out. It didn't matter. Colleges had already been picked. They were all close to the end. 

You don't say much when the two of you are alone. Suguru understands. It's hard to say much of anything when you're crushed by the weight of Gojo Satoru. But Suguru could have sworn he'd seen a flicker of relief when he came to pick you up and not his friend. You're clearly happier when it's him. Suguru decides he likes how that feels. It's a quick feeling of superiority. Something that quickly disappears when your eyes flick down. 

He knows where your house is, but he lets you take the lead anyway. Suguru figures it's the least he can do, give you that sense of control when nothing you do ever really does anymore. 

You and him have forged a shaky companionship. He's not sure what he is to you entirely, but you seem reliant on him in some way. it’s his fault, he thinks. He wonders if it has to do with the contraception he'd given you. He can still remember the trembling hands as you took it from him, curling the packet into your grip. That day he went home and his fingers felt strangely itchy. 

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

When he asks you a question, you answer. At least you aren't mute, though Suguru doesn't think he'd blame you if you ignored him. Your voice is stilted, with enough words to answer the question, but still not enough to fully sate him. 

And then, you break. 

Just a bit. 

A tiny piece of you shatters, and you show yourself to him. 

He'd been talking about something insignificant, college, his plans. Just ramblings. Somehow, Satoru comes into the conversation and he's talking about the area of his friend's college campus, how Satoru mentioned that he's looking for apartments for the two of you to stay in. And then, you're uncharacteristically scoffing. 

"Right," you say, head faced down on the sidewalk as you kick a rock, "because I'm following him there." 

Suguru can't help but place the sarcasm in your voice. The bitterness. He's heard it before, but it's a fascinating thing hearing it come from you. And then Suguru realizes that you accidentally gave something away. 

You were leaving. 

Somehow, it never crossed Suguru's mind that you were still rebelling, even now. And yet, he can't shake off the heat in your voice, your words. 

You seem to realize this too, freezing. 

He lets you falter for a few more moments before giving you a reprieve. 

"Satoru's idealistic like that," he let out. 

Your shoulders lower, and for the sake of both you and him, he doesn't press any further. 

He doesn't let himself let it go, even when he drops you home, arriving to his own house. Always cold. The mansion's lights are always off. No one's ever home. And Satoru's out of town. 

It's better this way, Suguru thinks as he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. No distractions, he can think better, as he replays your words over and over again. You were leaving. You were leaving. You were leaving Satoru. 

The night passes. When Satoru comes back to town, he's joyful as always, an arm slung around your shoulders. Suguru watches the way he coos at you, saying how much he missed you. You take his affections the way you always do, with a strained smile and wavering eyes. 

You glance at Suguru. Suguru stares right back. 

For a moment, Suguru thinks he understands why people are so enthralled with solar eclipses. The moon is seen as an underdog in most instances. It must be thrilling when a weak satellite can cover the sun's rays. Even for just a little bit. 

Suguru doesn't tell Satoru. He pushes the burning in his chest, ignoring the itchiness in his fingers. Things are better this way, right? After all, the two of you come from completely different worlds. It's nonsensical to think otherwise. 

Two weeks before graduation, you disappear without a trace. 

And Satoru breaks. 

It's a slow dissent. It comes in stages. The boy is angry at first, searching for you at school, when he can't find you there he loses his facade and demands where you are from your parents. They can't give him a clear answer because you're an adult now and you barely told them a thing before moving out. Suguru doesn’t think they knew what Satoru was to you. He doesn’t think they ever will.

The heat fades day by day, Week by week. Satoru starts to deflate the longer you aren't in his hold, his to mangle, and grab, and keep. He stops taking care of himself. His skin became paler, cracked lips, hollow cheeks. His eyes turn into this grayish blue that Suguru can't bring himself to look at for too long. He loses weight day by day. 

Suguru had never seen him react this way before. Satoru was always shining. He was the sun. Now, the center of the solar system was dying. He can feel himself dying with it. 

Satoru hadn't just loved you. Satoru had been obsessed with you. He breathed you in, inhaled your essence like oxygen. You'd been a part of him; a necessity. And then, you tore yourself away, leaving him bleeding on the concrete.

Guilt. Suguru feels it in his stomach, rising to his throat, threatening to stain his clothes. It's too late to say anything now, so he keeps it huddled deep inside of him. Suguru hopes it'll never come out. He helps the best he can, being there for his friend, his best friend. 

It takes a month for Satoru to start eating properly again. A few months later he starts regaining his usual physique. The gray in his eyes stays for a bit longer than Suguru likes. Suguru supposes he should take what he can get.

A year passes like that. The evidence of what you left behind fades, like bruises disappearing on skin. Suguru and Satoru become college students. Then, they graduate.

When Satoru joins the business, Suguru, his right-hand man, his second, his best friend, is right next to him. They’ve always worked well together, but that doesn’t change as they shift into adulthood. Despite how different Suguru and Satoru were, Suguru liked to think that their personalities were stagnant; unchanging even to the times.

What Satoru feels about you remains stagnant as well.

Suguru doesn’t think about you often, these days. Barely a few times a year, when he feels nostalgic enough to get out his old high school yearbook. He’d page through, spot your smiling portrait face. He’d find himself staring at you far longer than he liked too.

At first, Suguru thought Satoru was the same. Much like how one thinks about a lost toy they cherished when they were younger. The resentment would fade with time. Satoru didn’t speak about you for years.

Suguru hadn’t expected the girls, however.

He doesn’t notice the first one. He sees her, but he doesn’t internalize it. She’s hurriedly putting on her clothes after a clearly exciting night, so Suguru respectfully averts his gaze. He’s more focused on his exasperation at how Satoru had missed yet another meeting with the board. They would be less than pleased if they discovered Satoru didn’t show up because he was hungover.

The second time it happens, Suguru has a passing thought of how familiar the girl looked, despite being sure he’d never seen her in his life.

The third time it happens, Suguru realizes all the recent girls Satoru’s been bringing strike an uncanny resemblance towards you.

It’s not anything too obvious, but all of them would look a bit like you. Most would have your skin tone, your hair. One had your eyes, not the color, rather the shape of it. Satoru had kept her around the longest.

Suguru doesn’t say anything about it. Part of him wonders if Satoru is even doing it on purpose.

Suguru loves Satoru like he would his own brother, but his recent hobby was starting to get on his nerves a bit.

“So much work,” the man complains, “Why can’t we just send all this off to Ijichi?”

“He has his own work to complete,” Suguru reprimands, “the sooner you stop complaining, the sooner we can finish.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but moves to another page of meaningless paperwork; Something that would be scanned into their system and then tucked away into a random file cabinet. They currently sat in Satoru’s grand kitchen, lounging on the barstools after Suguru had pounded Satoru’s door in. Satoru had let him in with an irritated look, complaining that it was the weekend and he had ‘stuff’ to do.

“He’s my assistant,” Satoru retorts, “my work is his work.”

“The reason why we’re in this mess in the first place is because you kept pawning off your job to the poor man in the first place. You’ve given him wrinkles from just the stress of being in your vicinity.”

“That’s insulting,” Satoru counters, “my presence is nothing but calming.”

“You do the exact opposite, actually. A black hole that sucks the soul out of everyone who hangs around you.”

“You hang around me all the time and you don’t have wrinkles.”

Suguru smiles. “It’s because I don’t respect you enough to listen to anything you’re saying.”

Satoru’s about to respond, when another voice interrupts him. Alluring, feminine.

“Satoru,” she coos, “When are you getting back here?”

From his seat, Suguru has a clear view of Satoru’s bedroom. Only her head is peeked out, and Suguru notes her bare shoulders. Your eyes, and your lips this time. She’s tilting her head, mouth curved in a coy smile.

Of course. Suguru can only roll his eyes. There’s that same burning feeling in his chest. During the years, it hasn’t really gotten any better.

“Coming, coming,” Satoru calls back, “just a minute, babe.”

“Stuff to do, hm?” Suguru drawls with amusement. Satoru flips him off.

"Worry 'bout yourself," Satoru says, "when's the last time you got any, huh? Honestly, when's the last time you've taken a break? A vacation?"

"I can't," Suguru replies, "I'm always stuck babysitting you."

“I’ve been waiting for half an hour, ‘Toru." The woman interrupts. "Can’t you just do it later?”

Suguru hadn’t even noticed it. He brushed it off, barely hearing their conversation as he shuffled around the papers.

Satoru had.

He hums. Straightening his back.

“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. You should head on home.”

At first, he thought Satoru was talking to him. Then, he hears the woman’s annoyed huff.

“Hold on, you’re kicking me out?” She asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Satoru says, not sounding very apologetic, “I got a lotta’ stuff to do and you’re not gonna wanna stick around.”

His tone is light, but Suguru can’t help but place a sense of annoyance in them. The anger. His posture is stiff, almost like he’s primed for a fight.

‘Toru. She called him ‘Toru.

You used to call him ‘Toru.

“Seriously, I-”

“I hate repeating myself: Get the fuck out.”

There’s silence, and then Suguru can hear her mutter to herself as she shuffles inside the room. She comes out minutes later, not quite dressed, but presentable. She shoots Satoru a glare, to which he only waves off. The door shuts with a noticable thud.

“Back to work,” Satoru says, “do you feel hot? The AC has been acting up, lately.”

He carries on like that, back to normal, as though he wasn’t about to snap just a few minutes ago. Suguru follows suit, not aknowledging the outburst, much like he doesn’t aknowledge most things regarding you.

Later, Suguru laughs about the hypocrisy of it all. Satoru brings home physical reminders of you, but he refuses the remnants of you. The most intimate parts, he’d kept hidden away from his life, yet he still wishes to touch, to feel. He wonders how you’d feel if you knew that Gojo Satoru is wrapped around your finger, even now.

◉

Satoru had done something yet again. It's always something with Gojo Satoru. Suguru should have left him to deal with the legal team himself, but here he was, trailing beside the firm’s directors as the man droned on and on how well Mr.Gojo would be well taken care of how here our clients are family. He forces himself to push away that feeling in his chest, scorching his throat. He was getting sick of the constant blabbering. He’d glanced away for just a second.

And then he saw you.

You, not some remnant, not some picture, not someone similar. You. He knew it was you. A little older, a little taller. You’d switched the high school uniform for a blouse and a pencil skirt. Suguru stares. He’s tempted to say your name, seek you out, as though you’re old friends-

He reels himself back in.

You disappear through a frosted glass door, completely unaware of his gawking. You hadn’t seen him. Good. The firm’s director didn’t notice his pause, carrying on as though nothing happened. Suguru smiles and laughs at the horrible ice breakers, but he also steals a glance at the name of the door you went through.

Later, Suguru looks up Higuruma Hiromi. A well-established lawyer. Worked at the firm for nearly a decade.

You are his sole paralegal.

Law. He had never considered it for you. Now, he thinks it’s a little fitting. He can’t help it. He looks you up. You have no social media, most likely from a remnant fear, but he finds where you went to college, what your area of study was, where else you’d worked, your life. Questions he’d had for nearly a decade he finally has an answer.

Honestly, Suguru was a little mad it was all so easy.

He can’t see the entire scope of your life, but he knows you were happy after high school, away from Satoru. You seemed happy when he caught that glimpse of you. There was a slight smile on your face, you never did that with Satoru around.

Satoru’s a little pathetic, a thought he has to concede to. He’s still hung over you, while you clearly hadn’t thought of him in years.

Suguru stares at your picture a little more.

The burning feeling comes back again. Hotter, melting.

Oh.

Suguru is disgusted by you.

You, that bitch loitering in Satoru’s bedroom, that greedy firm director. Disgust, that sick feeling crawling down his stomach, seeping into his bones. He’s disgusted by the weak.

He’s even more disgusted when they think they can defeat the strong. Decieve them.

You always thought you were better than Satoru, better than Suguru, even from the beginning. Even when you rejected him. Even when Satoru’s goons were torturing you, you still thought you could get out of it somehow. Even when Satoru had his hand on your shoulder, claws sinking into your flesh, you were still looking for a way out. It was like watching a rat trapped in a cage, pathetically sniffing around for an exit.

The weak could never escape the whims of the strong. It was a truth of the world, something he’d always known and yet it’d take a decade for him to put the words together. The weak could never make a fool of the strong.

You are weak. A mere satellite floating along, before getting trapped in the Earth’s gravitational force. Suguru could crush you with one fist. Satoru could evisirate you to atoms.

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

“I’ve put together a legal team that will represent you.”

Suguru places the neat stack of documents onto Satoru’s desk. The white-haired man barely gives them a glance. Suguru knows Satoru won’t ever look at them, even when your name is hidden somewhere within the sheets, along with Higuruma’s. Suguru wonders how long it’d take for Satoru to figure it out. It’s a shame he won’t be there to see it unfold in real-time, but perhaps, once Satoru puts the pieces together, he’ll thank him.

Here, in the present, Satoru types away at his computer, barely paying attention to Suguru’s words.

“Oh, great,” Satoru says off handedly, “thanks, man.”

Suguru sighs.

“Uh, I love you?” Satoru tries again.

“Never repeat those words to me ever again,” Suguru responds, “I wish you’d be a bit more interested in this, considering it’s your fault the company is in this mess in the first place.”

Satoru gives a hushed hum of agreement. Suguru smiles.

“In other news: I won’t be here next week.”

That catches his best friend’s attention. Satoru gapes at him.

“You’re quitting?”

“No, idiot. I’m taking your advice. I’m taking a few weeks off. I already put it in the calendar that you never check so why did I even bother.”

“A vacation? You never take vacations, even when I beg you to,” Satoru squints at him, “What’s the occasion?”

Eventually, Satoru will figure it out. For now, Suguru wants to enjoy this.

“I worked hard this year. I should reward myself, shouldn’t I?” He reasons, “oh, and I have a surprise for you showing up in a week or so. Let me know what you think of it.”

“A gift? For me?” Satoru beams. “You really do love me.”

“Don’t push it.”

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then Suguru supposed he would be the Earth. Close enough to receive the star's radiance, but with a strong enough magnetitic field to shield from solar winds. 

If Suguru was the Earth, then Suguru supposed you would be the Moon. A tiny cratered satellite he tugs along with him, forever in sight of the burning sun. 

Creature

This is, of course, for this one special anon ♥ Jokes aside, always remember guys to not read stuff that isn’t appealing to you instead of regretting it later (;

Fandom: Original Content Pairings: Yandere!Hephaestus x GN!Darling!Reader  (However, I did decide on calling them Priestess in this work, though nothing else as indication) Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Planning to set the reader up for sex, Dub-Con, Monster Fucking, Implied Cuckolding, various innuendos, Getting flashed), Forced Relationship, Power Imbalance, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Mention of insecurities and anger issues

Prompt: @sintember Free Day Friday: Creature - Monsters, beasts, cryptids galore. We can’t let those humans think they run the show.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««  

“So… how do you like him?”

Hephaestus’s hands fell to your shoulders. Large thumbs resting against the back of your neck while his fingers wrapped around your throat, sliding under the golden necklaces he crafted for you. Once again, he let you feel his subtle superiority over you as he leaned against you ever so slightly, pushing you down. Putting you into your lowly, human place by his side. It was just his illusive way of exerting his power over you, but you were so used to it that you didn’t try to stand up straight and push back against him. To stay in favor was the goal when it came to the gods, even with someone as kind and forgiving as Hephaestus was. Being defiant towards him would result in him pinning you down on the ashen floor of his forge until you swore your devotion to him, and later remark how dirty you looked and how it was unfitting of your position.

So, instead, you kept your eyes pinned on the monstrosity before you. You wanted to give it the benefit of the doubt, that looks were deceiving, and you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but you had no other words to describe it. It was a creature formed after a man but clearly nowhere near human. And after being with Hephaestus for what must be years on earth now, you knew this was a golem rather than a living, breathing being. It was also, very clearly, not his first try, which unnerved you more. This had been a planned and practiced endeavor, and you weren’t sure how to properly accept such a gift from your benefactor.

You could have had it worse with the god whose eyes you caught. Had it been anyone else but Hephaestus, well… You saw what they did to the other humans; the shameful displays and broken minds. Being a priestess to the god of blacksmiths and various other crafty skills, your worst experience was the nude modeling for his creations in front of other beings interested in his doings. Otherwise, you were a glorified house warmer, just making sure to wipe the floor after Hephaestus came home, dragging ashes after him, and helping him wash and relax after another day of working. You’d also serve him as his personal outlet for various rants and reassure the big, mighty smith when his thoughts turned angry and insecure. In return, you were spared the same awful life that your fellow humans on Olympus had, which you were endlessly grateful for. You could spend your days resting and honing your own skills when he wasn’t at home, Hephaestus never telling you what to do or constantly attend him. The only times you really left his lofty home were the occasional times you two had to go to an outing of the gods or when he asked you to come and fetch a new gift he had made for you from his forge yourself.

But you weren’t sure you wanted that.

“He’ll help you at home,” Hephaestus explained proudly, moving around you and patting the back of the golem who stood closer to the god’s height than yours. He was shimmering, silver iron, a piece of art so delicately crafted that he moved soundlessly despite his massiveness. With toned muscles chiseled into his body, he almost looked as handsome as Apollo. However, when Hephaestus beckoned you closer, the golem holding his hand out to you, you felt the freezing cold of metal against your fingertips, smooth like stone in the ocean.

The hairs carved onto his head didn’t move as he cocked his head at you, probably wondering why you were so warm in comparison. It just was unnatural not seeing the strands move. But his eyes were no better, soulless gems hammered into his head, lips carved into an eternal, gentle smile. He was unnerving, but how could you possibly deny such kindness from your god? Even if it wasn’t the blessing of being allowed to return to the human realm, refusing the golem he had crafted to assist you for the small chores you had to do every day, might shatter what little respect Hephaestus had for his human. You didn’t want to think about the things he would be capable of doing once you lost his favor.

Hephaestus might have been nicer than other gods, but you weren’t an idiot trusting in just the gentle attitude he showed towards you until now. He, too, had his fair share of misdeeds and anger issues, and you knew the crooked ways he looked at you when he thought you didn’t notice, his gaze burning on your skin. You weren’t the only one to notice, either. Whenever you two met Aphrodite (much to the chagrin of both gods), she’d give you one of these burning looks as well. Hephaestus at least looked at you with something akin to serenity and delight, but hers was a look so full of pity it was barely endurable. And that while she had countless of mindless humans flocking around her that you felt were much more to be pitied than you.

But who were you to judge immortals and their ways? A lot of what you learned about them in the mortal realm hadn’t exactly turned out to be wrong, but they were definitely different from how you expected them to be. All you could do was hold out your hand as politely as possible, watching in a mix of fear and surprise as the golem bent to kiss the back of it, cold lips lingering reverently against your skin. Your face snapped to Hephaestus as you wanted to make sure it would not upset him, but he looked at his creation in a mix of pride and adoration. As if it was his child.

“T-Thank you…” you stuttered, getting very mixed signals here.

Hephaestus didn’t like you around the other humans or gods. He didn’t want you to participate in games or even to wait on him, hand and foot. He mostly kept you by his side when he could, not allowing anyone closer to you than he was. Even if this was just a golem, you thought he’d hate seeing any kind of contact between you two aside from a quick handshake as you tried to offer.

“You like him then?” Hephaestus asked, finally looking back at your flustered, anxious form, and you nicked, again polite rather than genuine.

“That’s good,” he sighed, and you almost felt like he was deeply relieved, though you didn’t know what was bothering him so, despite you being closer to him than even his family. “You tend to be alone while I work here, so he’s in charge of keeping you company and protecting you.”

Feeling like this was genuinely meant as just another kind gesture from him, you smiled for the first time, slowly nodding in understanding. “Thank you for considering me,” you told Hephaestus, and he smiled back. He looked almost boyish in the way his eyes sparkled and the happiness of his achievement spread over his face. He seemed very pleased with his creation and bringing you joy through it. You usually weren’t as happy about his other gifts, too many necklaces and rings stored away in your closet already. It had become increasingly hard to feign surprise and adoration for every piece of jewelry he made for you. So even though it still felt weird to lay your eyes on the creature, you actually felt Hephaestus’s concern for you as you looked at it, albeit unnecessary since you rarely left his house without him and could maintain it just fine.

“I’m very relieved,” he confirmed your suspicion, dragging a large hand over the golem’s head in a bizarre form of a pet. “There’ve been things I couldn’t do for you yet, so I wanted you to have a companion who’d be able to satisfy your every need.”

Taken aback by the statement, you looked up at Hephaestus, furrowing your brows as you tried to think of what he could mean. Unable to figure it out on your own, you looked back at the golem who, despite his expression being chiseled into his face, seemed a bit mischievous now. Even Hephaestus let out a small chuckle, seeing your surprised confusion, before gesturing at his creation, the golem reaching for the knot holding the expensive-looking fabric he wore in place.

In a swift movement, the garment fell to the floor, and you released a startled gasp, shielding your eyes with your hands and turning around. “What do you think?” Hephaestus asked, pride vibrating in his laugh. “A perfect replica of mine, wouldn’t you say?”

Keep reading

Videotapes

Hizashi x reader

Summary: Hizashi picks up a fan to bring back to his place to make a special little home movie ;)

Warnings: s m u t, swearing, Hizashi gets a little rough, and uhhh… a bit of yandere at the end… 

A/N: I hadn’t ever written Present Mic sm*t before, so i decided to give it a go. I couldn’t help but make him a little crazy at the end there. I am who I am.

Keep reading

Duolingo Sucks, Now What?: A Guide

Now that the quality of Duolingo has fallen (even more) due to AI and people are more willing to make the jump here are just some alternative apps and what languages they have:

"I just want an identical experience to DL"

Busuu (Languages: Spanish, Japanese, French, English, German, Dutch, Italian, Portuguese, Chinese, Polish, Turkish, Russian, Arabic, Korean)

"I want a good audio-based app"

Language Transfer (Languages: French, Swahili, Italian, Greek, German, Turkish, Arabic, Spanish, English for Spanish Speakers)

"I want a good audio-based app and money's no object"

Pimsleur (Literally so many languages)

Glossika (Also a lot of languages, but minority languages are free)

*anecdote: I borrowed my brother's Japanese Pimsleur CD as a kid and I still remember how to say the weather is nice over a decade later. You can find the CDs at libraries and "other" places I'm sure.

"I have a pretty neat library card"

Mango (Languages: So many and the endangered/Indigenous courses are free even if you don't have a library that has a partnership with Mango)

Transparent Language: (Languages: THE MOST! Also the one that has the widest variety of African languages! Perhaps the most diverse in ESL and learning a foreign language not in English)

"I want SRS flashcards and have an android"

AnkiDroid: (Theoretically all languages, pre-made decks can be found easily)

"I want SRS flashcards and I have an iphone"

AnkiApp: It's almost as good as AnkiDroid and free compared to the official Anki app for iphone

"I don't mind ads and just want to learn Korean"

lingory

"I want an app made for Mandarin that's BETTER than DL and has multiple languages to learn Mandarin in"

ChineseSkill (You can use their older version of the course for free)

"I don't like any of these apps you mentioned already, give me one more"

Bunpo: (Languages: Japanese, Spanish, French, German, Korean, and Mandarin)

Obsidian Masterlist

-The Original Piece: Part One and Two

-Jasper's First Appearance

-Courting

Kinktober: Monster Fucking

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons

After months of adventuring with your party, you can't help but be curious about a certain dragon born....

cw: cisfem reader, Monster fucking, OC x reader, fantasy racism (someone is not nice to dragonborn), biting, slight mention of bleeding, fingers in holes

PART ONE OF TWO

a/n: A very special thanks to @tyga-lily, who talked with me about her little dragonborn and made me fall in love with this concept and to @saetyrn9 who came up with his name :)

"The bath is free, Obi."

For how much a night costs, the room is nothing special, but any inn with running water is heaven sent. It’s been almost two months since anyone in your party has slept in a proper bed and your body can feel it. Simply wearing the silk of your nightgown feels luxurious at this point; sleeping on down is going to feel obscene.

"I'll be quick." Your party mate stands with a grunt, the day heavy on his joints. You almost want to tease him, but after this adventure, your knees are screaming too. It's hard enough for you to throw yourself on to the bed

Despite knowing him for the greater part of a year, you always forget how large the dragonborn is until he’s next to you. Towering over you with delicate horns and ridged crest, Obsidian Vyke -Obi, to his friends- is all black scales and teeth. The air crackles around him the way it crackles around all sorcerers, subtle yet wild, so it’s unfair that he’s also built wide. Thick biceps and a barrel chest: no magic user should be that muscular.

"Take your time." You watch him as he moves around the room, dipping around the singular bed and pulling his sleeping clothes from his travel sack.

"I'm sorry about this," Obi says, peering over his shoulder, "I know I'm not as nice to room with as Kiri."

The two other members in your party had been fast friends-- unfortunately, they were also quick to become lovers. Usually, that did not pose any issues to the group, but tonight, the inn only has two rooms available. It seemed cruel to separate the lovebirds, so you and Obi agreed to cohabitate for the night.

"I don’t mind sharing a bed with you." The idea gives you butterflies, this flitting, nervous energy. You trust the man with your life-- fuck, he’s saved your life in battle -- but something about sleeping next to him makes your skin goosepimple. "As long as you don't snore."

His eyes narrow in a smile. "I'll try my best."

The dragonborn undoes the lacings of his leather outerwear using the sharpened tips of his claws, delicately catching them under and pulling. The motion is careful and patient, repeated until he can toss the garment into the room's only chair.

It’s not that you don’t want to share a room with him. In fact, you think you want this a little too much. You're absorbed with all of his movements as he primps a bit, adjusting the hem of his shirt so it sits properly, running a palm over his crest, sliding off his traveler's boots. If you're lucky, his shirt will be next and you can catch a peek of the toned spance of his stomach.

"My lady," His teeth flash in the fire light, pearls against the deep, dark opalescent hues of his scales, "You're staring."

"Ah, I'm sorry!" He’s one to talk; you’ve felt his gaze following you for weeks now. That's the only reason you're thinking about him and his body.

And, using that logic, he's the only reason you bought that bodice ripper last week, the one starring a pretty red dragonborn and his human lover--

"Is there something in my teeth?" Obi teases. That earns him a giggle, but, when you don't respond, he exhales through his nose and moves closer. "We're rooming together tonight, so if there's any tension between us, I'd rather-"

"I heard a rumor," you blurt out.

He goes pale. "About me? What did Thyrll tell you?"

"No, about dragonborns in general."

Relief relaxes his features.

"And you just want to know if it's true?" There's a click in his voice as he laughs, something strange and inhumane, "It's okay. You can ask. Let me guess- I eat poor little gnomes? I enchant humans with my-"

"Is it... inside of you?"

The dragonborn pauses at that, eyes wide. "Excuse me?"

"Your..." You cannot believe you're about to say this, "Cock."

"Oh."

You scramble up, hands over your face as you head towards the door. You aren't sure where you're going to go in a nightgown, but anywhere else has to be better than here.

"Oh, I'm sorry! That was so rude of me."

A wall of muscle suddenly blocks your way. Those dexterous hands that you were admiring moments ago are now touching your shoulders, rubbing up and down affectionately.

"It's alright, my lady, I'm just... surprised." He smells like petrichor, something strangely earthy and yet unnatural clinging to his scales, and laughs like summer rain, "I think it's natural to wonder about different races, I just didn't think..."

His sharp eyes are dilated a bit, the pupils closer to almonds than slits as they bounce up and down your body.

"I've had my own... curiosities about others as well," he admits, "So, who am I to judge?"

Your spine prickles at that. Who exactly was he curious about? One of the elves in your party? The barmaid downstairs? Or is it you that the thinks about at night, cock in fist?

The dragonborn misreads the upset look on your face. "I promise that I am not cross with you. How about I answer your questions and you'll answer mine? No judgments."

You settle a bit. "If you're sure."

He smiles a draconic smile, all teeth and the smallest flick of his tongue.

"Of course I'm sure. I'm not embarrassed because my species is a bit different than yours."

You watch him for a long moment. He’s kind. A scoundrel at times, but kind. It's etched into his face, always reflected in his wide, chartreuse eyes.

"So, it is different,” you say carefully.

"It is."

“Very different?”

“When my cock is hard?” He says it so easily. Always proper, it makes you squirm to hear him curse, “No. But when I’m not, it is, in fact inside.”

"It's just... flat down there?"

"Yes- give me your hand."

You weave your fingers in between his without a second thought, but he just shakes his head and pulls away. Then, he takes your still open palm in his and brings it to his torso. The muscle there is just as firmed as you imagined and it's hard not to linger in once spot to appreciate it, Slowly, Obi guides your hand down, running it over the linen of his pants. Underneath, you can feel how it's slightly ridged with larger scales than the rest of his body and, subsequently, larger gaps form in between. It's just skin-- well, it's just scales. You're touching nothing technically intimate, but your heart races anyway, caught in your throat.

"See?" His voice has the edge of a tremble and, when you look up, you realize just how close you two have become. Practically chest to chest, his snout is only inches from your face, close enough that you can see how each individual scale slightly shifts in color as the fire dances. He seems to have realized too; dragonborn expressions are hard to read, but you don't miss how deep his breathing has become.

"It's nothing like touching a human, is it?" he mumbles, hand squeezing yours ever so slightly, “Not intimate at all.”

"Well." You curl your fingers up, clumsily feeling through the fabric, "Maybe a bit.”

The fire crackles in the fireplace. He breathes again, on the brink of a sigh, and you think he’s just as caught up in this as you are.

"Just a bit?" Heat radiates from him. If he were human, it'd be alarming, but instead there's a comfort to it. You're still warm from the bath, and yet you chase that heat, slipping your hand from his just to bring it under the waistline of his pants.

"More than a bit."

He's hot underneath it all, almost uncomfortable to the touch as you explore the space blindly. His eyes haven't left yours, his lids getting heavy with every prod and poke of your fingers.

A vertical line of soft, exposed skin catches your ring finger and his body jumps reflexively as you accidentally dip inside of him. It’s strangely dry, yet much softer than the rest of his scaled body. Despite yourself, you explore it a bit more, pressing in the same way you’ll be playing with your own pussy tonight.

"A-ahh--" The dragonborn sucks in a deep breath and you can feel his abdomen crunch under your touch, "Be careful."

"Did I hurt you?" you ask as you pull away.

His chittering laugh returns. His hands rest on the small of your back, not pushing, but not entirely platonic either. When he talks, the air tastes like distant embers, just far enough away, yet not close enough, "You didn’t hurt me, don’t worry."

“Are you sure?” you press, “You made a weird noise.”

“Very sure,” He dips low enough to press his lips against the shell of your ear, "You’d do the same if I put my fingers inside of you."

This time, the heat is coming from inside you, twisting and pulling with want.

"With your claws?" You manage to joke through your suddenly dry throat, "I might cry."

"I could cut them," His voice is rolling and low as his hands explore, one traveling up your spine and the other dipping the smooth over your ass. When they both reach their zeniths, they switch directions. The silk of your dress catches against his skin, pulling it up and revealing the fat of your ass to the air. "Nice and short."

His nails dig gently into your skin, nothing more than a nip, a test.

"You’re so soft, all over. Your body just gives when I touch it,” There’s a distant tone to his voice as he speaks into the curve of your neck, “Too delicate for me, aren’t you?”

You hum in disagreement and his teeth prove you otherwise. It’s barely a graze, but the nip against your pulse point drags a whimper from deep within you. Your companion chuckles, then coos with pity as he does it again, much, much kinder this time.

“Oh, you’re knock kneed and sweet for me,” The already blossoming bruises are soothed by a warm, textured flash of wet. His tongue is rougher than a humans, longer too, and it leaves behind a string of spit that is more viscous than any human’s. “Like a fawn. My sweet fawn.”

The hand that once explored him is trapped in between your bodies, unable to move, but you can feel something against your stomach: something hard, something thick. Too much cock for your human body, but, fuck, you’re going to try.

“Bet you’re even softer down here.” A singular clawed drags over your bare ass, searching for underwear that isn't there and your body trembles with want, “Oh, look at that, shaking like a leaf. I bet you’d melt if I-”

A sharp knock at the door scrambles you two apart. A moment passes and the sound almost feels imaginary, but then it happens again. You smooth your still wet hair and try to gather yourself, heading to the door in a hurry. Somehow, the dragonborn is more flustered than you. His scales are physically ruffled and his usually stoney brow is creased. He can’t blush, but you swear you can see his face alight as you swing the door open.

There stands a familiar elvish figure, with dark straight hair and the prettiest of smiles.

“Kiri!” you exclaim. She’s a natural beauty, like most elves. All legs and sharp angles, she’s a good head taller than you, leaning over with almost a condescending grin. She’s so beautiful that you almost hate her for it.

“I am sorry to be a bother, rogue.” She speaks in Elvish and the dragonborn’s head tilts slightly side to side, like a dog who hears his name, as he tries to listen. “I came to thank you and the sorcerer.”

“Oh, yeah, no worries,” Your Elvish is unnatural on your human tongue, “We are fine here.”

“My lover thanks you too,” she winks and giggles. She’s over a hundred years older than you, and yet still head over heels like a schoolgirl. Elves might live for thousands of years, but they take hundreds to mature. “We will not be sleeping much tonight.”

You roll your eyes and pretend to gag, biting back a smile, but then Kiri grows serious.

“If he scares you, please let me know,” she continues.

“Obi?” you say, “He’s a sweetheart.”

“I’m sure he is, but those teeth! Like needles. Braver than me, sleeping next to a monster like that.”

You glance at your dragonborn and he looks away before you can meet his eye. A disappointment settles in your stomach. Monster is such an ugly word for a pretty man. Everything about him is charming and refined, from the way he speaks and the way he walks, to the way he shines his scales when he thinks no one is looking.

“That’s rude.” You’re quick to reply. Kiri grew up around only her own kind and their ideas-- she doesn’t always know what’s uncouth or offensive because of it, “Don’t say such awful things.”

“It seems like he’s already gotten hungry.” She jerks a chin to your shoulder. You reflexively reach to cover it, only to pull away when the spot feels wet. Blood speckles your fingers- not enough to warranty any worry, of course, just the slightest graze of the skin.

“That’s not--”

“I tease, I tease!” she continues, “I know it is just a scrape. Can you imagine? To lay with someone who is all claws, fire and untamed magics! I-”

The man in question stalks in between you two silently. With a towel in his arms and a chip on his shoulder, he stomps by with a snort of his nostrils.

“I’m going to bathe.” His Elvish is worse than yours, but it's enough to make Kiri’s face drop. The worst part is that he doesn’t sound angry-- you could deal with anger. Instead, he sounds heartbroken. “I don’t mean to be frightening.”

You both walk him stalk down the hall until he disappears around a corner. Kiri swivels to look at you, bewildered. “Since when does he speak Elvish?”

PART TWO

BNHA ! Bakugou Katsuki ! IMAGINE

WC: 1.2k TW: NSFW, yandere

You’re attracted to Bakugou for many reasons – he’s tall and ripped and handsome and a bit of an asshole – but really, what you like about him most is that he doesn't seem like he’d be too much trouble. And you mean that in many ways. 

You’ve been in relationships before, and none of them have ended on good terms – always leading to deep upsets and disappointments. You’d come to the realization that boys, on any level that wasn’t purely sexual, were something you didn’t really need or want at the moment – which is why Bakugou, in all his disinterested glory, was just perfect for you. 

He’d fold you in half in filthy places like the locker room or bathroom or in his smoke-steeped car – making your heart beat from the thrill without that nagging feeling of being underappreciated because, well, you didn’t really care. He wasn’t your boyfriend and you weren’t committed to each other in any serious way, so there really weren’t any grounds for standards or expectations – it was just sex – carnal ball-clapping sweaty sex – pure and simple and just what you needed. No more, no less.

You didn’t go on dates or meet each other's parents or give each other chocolate on Valentine's Day or any other presents on any other holiday – you didn’t even hang out aside from seeing each other at parties and sometimes in the school hallways. He’d cock his head with a grin, and you’d smile coyly up through your lashes, and you’d meet in the handicapped bathrooms between classes to get drilled over the sink with your face smudged against the cool mirror.

It's only when he starts knowing things about you that you grow a little stiff with your arrangement - things he couldn’t possibly know from you as you’d never cared to speak about your private life. And sure, some of those things he could have easily found out through your social media standing – which already makes you feel a little iffy – but there are other things he’ll slip out, specifics about your interests and classes and whereabouts and the stuff you do with your friends – stuff you’re positive you’ve not posted anywhere. 

When you asked him about it, halfway jokingly with a somewhat nervous laugh, he’d only quirked a brow and brushed it off, insisting you’d been the one that told him. And you, despite being sure he’s lying, decide to believe it anyway. Because what the two of you have right now is still good – much better than any other fuck-friend you’d had before. Katsuki makes you so wet, and he's always so able to just pound your orgasm right out of you. 

If payment is small talk, you can humor him.

But then the sex becomes a little dull. Instead of his fist wrapping tight around your throat, he’s now sucking gentle love bites into the skin. And he no longer has his hand in your hair, forcing your face down against a cold surface with nails digging into your scalp to keep you still while fucking you fast and selfishly from behind.

Both his hands are instead holding you around the waist, keeping your body skin-to-skin against his chest as he gently lolls you on his lap – so slow you can’t even feel your heart – so slow you’re still breathing through your nose. He hasn’t slapped your ass once, and it’s beginning to get a little sad.

You want to tell him that you want him to fuck you like he’s a dirty cop and you’re a criminal resisting arrest – and not this old married couple shit. But you also don’t want to be rude. 

However, after all the one-sided heart-to-hearts he’d sat you through lately – spending more time chatting than making you cum – you were left feeling a little awkward, honestly. And between that and how he’d started texting you goodnights at eight-thirty – you were afraid he’d lost his original raw sex appeal.

He’s become so pedestrian in your eyes he might as well have been wearing glasses and a sweater vest.

You let him finish without saying anything – but you can't deny you’re happy when you feel him finally blow his load.

Dismounting him, you jump to your seat in the car and pull your panties back up without a word.

It’s silent while he lights a smoke and rolls down his window – his hand coming to rest on your thigh after.

You look out your own window, your face in your palm while you think. And then talk. “I think… we need to stop.”

He's a little busy with his cigarette, but still, he answers, casually. “Stop what?” Smoke goes out his mouth and up his nostrils, then out again.

“This.” You answer. “Fucking.”

The hand on your thigh stirs and you catch him shifting his head to look at you, but you don’t return the gesture – keeping your eyes fixed on the puddle peppering with raindrops out on the empty parking lot the two of you’ve often spent time burning rubber drifting donuts before making the windows steamy.

“Why?” He eventually says. Flicking the spent filter out onto the wet pavement. Rolling the window back up and leaving the both of you in a way too tense silence of muted rain.

You sigh, leaning back against the headrest. “We’re not strangers anymore... It’s just getting a little boring.”

He taps another cigarette up from his box but doesn’t light it – just rolls it around in his fingers with his head bowed. “Boring, huh?” He repeats. And then there’s a pause. 

A hefty pause. A silent one that lasts a little too long and makes you forget the subject in favor of thinking about other things – like, had your roommate done the dishes this time, or were they still on the counter?

“What if I lock the car and drive us off a cliff?” He breaks through your thoughts, and this time, it’s you who turns your head. Looking at him while he still fingers the same slim roll in his hands – mumbling to it, it would seem. “I’ll laugh, you’ll scream… and maybe I’ll light this cig’ while we’re in the air…”

He sighs – as though what he’d just said was not what he’d said – then copies your action, letting his head fall back to rest against the leather – his face blank and his breath steady.

“If you fuck someone else, I’ll break their face.”

This time you blink when staring at him – face riddled, doubting what you were hearing come out of his mouth. “You what?”

“If- you fuck- someone else…” He repeats slowly. “I- will break- their face.” He says it so calmly you’re still unsure whether you heard him right. “Understand?” He asks – chin cocked up while glancing at you from the corner of his red eyes. “I won't stop punching until their teeth are on the ground and their eyes are so bloated and bloody they can no longer see who it is that’s throwing the hits.”

You blink a few more times. Stunned into a stupor, picturing it with parted lips without any words escaping them.

He rolls down the window again and puts the smoke between his lips.

And while he lights it and blows the roof full of grey, you’re still hung up on the image…

Maybe Bakugou wasn’t as boring as you thought.

Lost Nuance

College AU Uvogin x fem! Reader

This plays in the same universe as the college AU with Shalnark! I had a large part of this already written in my drafts, but it eventually got to this 5k piece. 

This is a bit darker than my average piece, so take the warnings into account. Contains nsfw, yandere, violence and other disturbing themes.

“-so I think that’s it. D’you need help with anything else?”

“Nah, I think it’s fine. Only need a passing grade anyway.”

You laughed as you packed your books, your back already lamenting having to carry all this home. “That’s the spirit.”

“What’s the rush though?” He leaned backward in the cheap chairs provided by the library, and you wondered how the plastic was holding up. “Usually I have to beg we stop.”

“The dance is tonight, remember?” Your friends and you had all already gotten dresses and suits, planning to spend the afternoon dressing up and eating together. It had been a while since you’d seen the lot of them, so you were looking forward to some quality time. Uvogin’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yeah, yeah, get it out of your system. I have plans for once.”

“Who would’ve thought? Someone asked you?” He dug into his pockets, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, waiting for you to nod that the librarian wasn’t near. “You’re leaving the nest, y/n.”

You weren’t asked by anyone, but you didn’t want him to make fun of you, so you kept quiet. He got caught every week with another girl so you couldn’t exactly expect him to understand that it simply didn’t seem to be in your stars to meet someone. Everyone you even tried to approach looked at you as if talking to you was already life-threatening.

He lit up the cigarette.

Keep reading

i like yandere fics because i would much rather be locked in a basement and subjected to unspeakable horrors than work

It’s Graduation, Isn’t It?

Yan Gojo Satoru x F Reader.

Warnings: Gojo Satoru, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, weird roundabout guilt tripping and emotional manipulation. Word count: 5.5k.

It’s a shame the sun sets in the west. 

The celestial body is indifferent to your plight, its energy refined and unrelenting. Its golden beams chase after the dark fabric of your uniform as if sucked in by a black hole. You’ve done what you can to withstand the heat's attack — tying your hair up, opening rickety windows, downing enough water to last a lifetime — but sweat still stubbornly glistens along your temple. 

Worse than the sun and its heat, however, is the other heavenly body present in this stuffy room. An individual with abilities so far beyond your comprehension, he’s earned the privilege and burden of calling himself the strongest. Those two words are the closest anyone could come to accurately describing the immeasurable scope of his strength. What does the most honored one do in this four-dimensional playground the rest of you carbon-spaced species have to occupy? How does someone who can see infinite realities burn his free time? 

Does he tilt the Earth off its axis for curiosity’s sake? Create a vacuum that swallows the atmosphere’s nitrogen, oxygen, and argon? Beckon the moon closer to turn the ocean’s reign of 71% to 100%? 

No, Gojo Satoru does none of these things because he’s busy. Busy lazing around on a desk you just cleaned (and will have to clean again, the dirt wedged into his soles taunt), sucking obnoxiously loud on a sweet treat. 

You point your broom handle at him. 

“Hey, you.” 

Gojo plops the cherry-flavored lollipop from his mouth and points to himself, faking incredulity. “Me?” 

“Have you ever heard of the phrase, ‘many hands make light work?’” 

“I have now, sensei.” 

Content, he resumes savoring his lollipop. You ignore his jab at the occupation you don’t hold yet, but have both set your sights on. 

“Do you find anything about it convicting? Doesn’t it make you want to, y’know, pitch in?”

“Nope,” he replies, popping the ‘p.’ The single-file lines of kindergarteners whose bright yellow hats remind you of ducklings dutifully following their mother have better manners. By a lot. 

You roll your eyes. It wasn’t like you were expecting anything from him, but you thought he’d be more creative with his excuse. You’d just barely begun cleaning this classroom when Gojo invited himself in as a (not) silent spectator. If you ever wanted to get out of here and enjoy your Friday evening, you knew ignoring him would be the best option. The only option. That strategy is easier said than done. Ignoring someone like him is like defying gravity. You think you can after the leap is made, but with every tumble back down to the ground, you’re reminded not everyone gets to ignore the laws of physics. 

Gojo shifts until he’s sitting criss-cross. “Why are you doing this, anyway? Isn’t Shoko s’posed to have cleaning duty?” 

He has some audacity sounding exasperated, as if you’ve chained him down until your task is finished. The supposed prison doors are wide open. He could waltz out at any point, unimpeded. Instead of doing something that makes sense, he’s chosen to needle you for attention. It wouldn’t be a first. At least he isn’t levitating the cleaning supplies like last time…

Regardless, you’ll miss the chaos that always nips at Gojo’s heels. A pang tugs at your heart. You snip the ligature in two. 

“She asked to switch out as a favor.” 

“A favor, huh?” Gojo hums, tasting your words as much as the artificial cherry on his extra red tongue. “I keep telling you, one of these days, someone’s gonna come along and take advantage of you. You’re too nice.” 

“Hah. Only you could turn a compliment into an insult.” 

“And only you could turn an insult into a compliment,” he replies, grinning. You return his dumb smile, which feeds his. “Seriously, though. I sometimes wonder if your blood is made of sugar, because—” 

“—You’re way too sweet.” 

“—You’re way too sweet.”

Your voices overlap in a dissonant harmony, your tone far flatter than his. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

And then you both burst into fits of laughter. Gojo appears sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck until your laughter dies down. It’s an unusual look for him. A healthy dose of humility would do him some good. What a shame his immune system will defeat this foreign invader before his system can absorb it. 

“That obvious?” 

“That obvious,” you reaffirm, still wearing the smile he gave you. 

“How reassuring. If you can mimic my thought process, you can’t be sugar, spice, and everything nice.” 

You lean your weight on the broom that’s lost its traditional purpose. “What could you possibly need reassurance about?” 

Rather than responding verbally, Gojo keeps his attention on you, dipping his head just enough for his sunglasses to slide down his nose. You tug your mask off and set it aside. You were almost finished cleaning and this conversation is proving more interesting, anyway. 

Gojo dips his head slightly. His circular sunglasses slide down his nose, revealing the two celestial bodies that inhabit his eye sockets. His long eyelashes flutter with every blink, reminiscent of winter’s first snowfall. As always, his silence is difficult to understand when you’re so used to never hearing it. He accounts for this by giving you extra time to think about what he’s communicating. How considerate. 

Does that mean…? 

You. He’s looking at you. 

Frowning comes easily.

“Is this your way of saying I’m an incapable sorcerer?” 

Fourteen-year-old Gojo would’ve said yes before you finished the question. Seventeen-year-old Gojo might if you catch him on a bad day, but those never seem to happen when he has you to be around. 

“You’re at the level you should be.” 

This is the closest thing you can receive to a compliment from the almighty Gojo Satoru, although ‘compliment’ tests the dictionary definition. 

‘Slightly-above-average-acknowledgment’ fits better. To most, a third-year such as yourself obtaining the rank of Grade Two is highly commendable. Most finish their time at Tokyo Jujutsu High at Grade Three if they’re still alive. But, compared to Gojo (everyone compares themselves to him, no matter what they claim), you might as well be sitting at the kiddie table. The four dimensions you can’t go beyond, the same four dimensions that serve as his starting gun. 

You can’t bother feeling offended. You’re not fourteen anymore yourself. 

“What did you mean, then?” You ask, your tone holding no acidity. 

“Exactly what I said — that someone’s going to come along and take advantage of you,” Gojo fixes his sunglasses back into place. You no longer see his eyes but you feel them. “You’ve never been good at spotting a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Or a wolf in wolf’s clothing, for that matter.” 

“Wh— that addendum doesn’t even make sense!” 

“It is for those capable of abstract thought.”

The deadpan delivery of such a pompous line, even by his standards, earns more laughter. He grins at the delight he’s caused, the apples of his cheeks prominent.

“Okay, okay, let me run this through my Gojo translator. Is this your weird, borderline rude way of expressing concern for me?” 

“Only borderline? Oh no, I must be losing my touch,” he gasps, his hand flying to his chest. “Let’s kick the rudeness up a notch. Alright, you’re—” 

You wildly wave your hands. “Cut, cut! We can leave it at the abridged version!”

He bites down on his lollipop. His patience to savor its taste must’ve dried up. You listen to his molars crunch his treat into pieces, which he soon swallows. You don’t doubt there’ll be plenty more where that came from. His rosy lips become rosier when his tongue runs over them. 

“See what I mean? That should’ve been your cue to lay into me.” 

He’d need to do far worse than that if provoking such a reaction is his wish. 

“One, if I laid into you every time you said something tactless, I’d die from asphyxiation. And two, you’re not making a fair comparison. Of course I have more grace for you than some rando.” 

Gojo looks like a man who’d just won the lottery. “Oh? Why’s that? I’m just that special to you, an exception has to be made?”

“There could be research studies conducted on your ego,” you murmur, shaking your head. You know he’s acting, but he could be a little less convincing. “I’m this way for all my friends, which you managed to weasel your way into being. Of course this extends to you.” 

He clutches at his chest and sputters as if he’d gotten shot. “Just… a f-friend…?” 

To give his acting further credence, he stumbles back. The momentum pushes him off the desk’s edge. Your eyes widen as his body falls back. The broom topples to the floor as you lurch forward, wanting to break his fall. When you get to where he should be, there’s no sign of him. Not even a stray hair. Blinking, you’re about to call out for him when a presence manifests behind you. One that could bend the Earth, inhale its air, and conquer its moon. 

You pivot out of instinct and launch a high kick at the unknown force. 

Your attack doesn’t land, it suspends midair. In the second it takes for you to comprehend what just happened, the ‘unknown force’ throws his head back and guffaws. You lower your leg from infinity’s repulsion. Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest and glare up at him. While he laughs at your expense, you consider the impenetrable barrier that protects him from any unwanted contact. 

For some reason, you once asked Shoko what would’ve happened if Gojo wasn’t on your side. 

“We’d all be dead,” was her nonchalant answer. “It wouldn’t even be a fight.” 

You didn’t shiver then and you don’t shiver now. That what-if is useless, an inert product of the three pounds of gray matter in between your ears. Speculation lives so it can die. You’ve buried this one and see no reason for its exhumation. 

Gojo stuffs his hands into his pocket and bends down to your level. 

“Uh oh, that look means I’m in trouble,” Gojo says, not sounding bothered by the prospect in the slightest. “What’re you thinking? Dinner on me? We should hit Nakamise-dori before the 9-5 crowd lets out.” 

Tempting as that prospect is, you must stay strong. He messed with you, so you’ll mess with him. It’s for balance and all that. This definitely isn’t born from pettiness, no, you’re not fourteen! You’re seventeen. Which might be worse, because you’re running out of years to use your age as an excuse. Or did you run out already…?

“And what if I said I wasn’t thinking about you? You’re not the center of the universe, y’know.” 

“I kinda am, though.” 

(He’s got a point. He kinda is). 

“Right, right. Well, I’m sure the universe’s center would prefer to eat alone, rather than with this insignificant pebble.” 

You’re plenty capable of carrying out your own melodramatics. This classroom has served as his amphitheater long enough, he deserves to be the chorus now. You go to and fro, collecting cleaning implements and putting them in their proper place. The window cleaner suspiciously evades your grasp until you shoot Gojo a non-threatening glare. He snickers and releases his infinity. Finally finished, you head out of the classroom, not sparing him a glance as you brush his shoulder. Interestingly, this contact is allowed. His innate technique relaxes just long enough for your own theatrics to play out. 

Gojo wastes no time in chasing after you. His long legs close the paltry distance with little effort. 

He pokes your cheek. “C’mon, at least give yourself some credit! You’re more than an itty bitty pebble.” 

You make the mistake of turning to face him. His boyish grin immediately gives him away. 

You mistake the poison ivy in his hands for an olive branch. His boyish grin gives the secret away, but it’s too late, he’s already all your eyes can register. 

“A rock would be more fitting.” 

He looks far too proud of that line. You’d rate it a 6/10 at the most. 

You hasten your pace, navigating the school’s engawa with practiced ease. Gojo falls into step almost immediately, his persistence infinite. He whines your name, prolonging the last syllable. He must recognize that you’re heading back to the dorms. 

It’d be impossible to count all the times you’ve walked this specific path over the past four years. Not everyone who once accompanied you is still here to do so. The fleeting thought brings the scent of antiseptic, the hum of air conditioners, the cold chill rivaled only by the dead bodies it held. 

After graduation, you’ll leave many things behind. The morgue won’t be one of them. Not in this line of work. 

You remember the confusion you felt upon learning two of your underclassmen were sent on a mission, only for one to return. Once the initial shock wore off, you rushed to where the body was kept. You couldn’t protect Haibara, but you could still console Nanami. In the end, this proved to be too great a self-imposed burden. Nanami’s composure eclipsed yours.

(Sterile lights overhead flickered, reflected on an edifice of cold lockers. 

“Nanamin,” you croaked, your voice hoarse. You pointed toward the silvery storage. Rows upon rows, mostly empty, for now. “Why are there so many?” 

It was quiet, save for the cooling system’s thrum. You wondered if he hadn’t heard you. Began to hope that was the case, once you recalled you were supposed to be here for him, not the other way around. 

Eventually, he spoke your last name. 

“I respectfully disagree,” he said. “Truthfully… it might not be enough.”)

Sweat and tears were shed on this campus. If you put them on a scale, which side would outweigh the other? 

You shake your head like that’d erase these thoughts.

It won’t be much longer. Morgues won’t leave your life, but this particular one can. 

Gojo whistles a song that’s been topping the Oricon Singles Chart recently. You’re grateful for the distraction his questionable rendition brings. It pulls you out of your stormy thoughts, and reminds you that the sun will set and rise another day. 

“Are you really abandoning me on a nice evening like this?” He probes, as if he’d ever let you. He isn’t above throwing objects at your window to lure you out. You could be meditating, studying, or listening to music through the cheap pair of headphones you bought from the convenience store on your iPod; he wouldn’t let up. 

Shoko once offered you 2,000 yen to stop ignoring him after a miserable wasabi and toothpaste switcheroo prank. Utahime upped the bid to 3,000 yen on the side of prolonging his torment. Gojo overheard the bidding through a cracked window. He promised 20,000 yen on top of Shoko’s proposal. 

In the end, you came out without taking anyone’s money. Watching Pride and Prejudice during your weekly movie night was his punishment. 

(“This might actually be what does me in,” Gojo complained. “Not all the assassination attempts, or that Zenin reject. Wear something skimpy to my funeral or I’ll haunt you.” 

You whisper-yell, “This is important to the plot!” 

He obeyed for three minutes before pestering you again. 

“This the type of guy you go for?” He asked, jutting his thumb toward Mr. Darcy on the screen. “Rich and emotionally stunted? Cause if so, have I got some good news for—” 

You pressed your pointer finger to his lips. For someone who loves blabbering on, he looks terribly pleased about you shushing him. He must’ve relaxed his infinity to give you the chance. 

“What I like about him most is how taciturn he is.” 

This quieted Gojo for five minutes before his pestering began anew.)

“I want to at least get changed,” you explain. 

“Oh, you’re getting all dressed up, just for me?” 

“Pfft, no way. I just feel sweaty and gross from cleaning in that inferno,” you roll your shoulder, lamenting at the aches it’ll bring tomorrow. “I’m gonna miss that one yakisoba stand when I’m home. I’ve got to freeload yummy meals off you while I still can.” 

“Say ‘pretty please, Toru,’ when you’re back and you’re more than welcome to keep freeloading, stingy woman.” 

You laugh at the high-pitched inflection he uses to imitate your voice. You’ll miss this, you’ll really miss this. You’ll miss Gojo. You’ll miss painting Utahime’s nails while she vents about him. You’ll miss Shoko chastising you for not eating breakfast and you chastising her for not eating dinner. You’ll miss naming Suguru’s collection of curses after Pokémon. You’ll miss offering to tutor Nanami in subjects he’s better than you at just to see his reaction. 

In the end, even all of that can’t compare to how much you’ve missed home. 

“Absolutely not. My parents are planning to visit when I do, I can’t risk having you embarrass me in front of them.” 

It is said that when Gojo Satoru was born, the balance of the world shifted. 

You’ve never been fully able to conceptualize what that means — how it’d feel for the universe to hold its breath in anticipation over a birth. 

This current in the air, the inexplicable thundering of your heart, and churning of your stomach… 

… Was that moment anything like this? 

You no longer hear Gojo’s footsteps on the wooden floorboards. You turn around, noting how he’s firmly planted himself in place. The glint of his sunglasses prevents you from seeing his eyes. You give him a few moments before breaking the unusual silence. 

“Toru? What’s wrong?” 

“Just a moment ago…” he trails off, evidently deep in thought, “You said ‘visit.’”

“I did.” 

“Didn’t you tell me way back you want to become a teacher?” 

The ebb and flow of his cursed energy is odd. You’re used to its enviable composure, never fluctuating beyond its baseline. He effortlessly maintains it better than those who have dedicated their entire lives to the art. This abnormality lasts about a millisecond before smoothing itself over. Any fluctuation from an unfathomable generator of cursed energy like Gojo can’t go undetected. It’s like a soft wind picking up to 200 mph. 

Your current stance is one you’d take upon coming face to face with a curse above your capabilities, a subconscious call from your body. If Gojo notices, he doesn’t point it out. You relax your muscles. 

“I do. Back in my country, we don’t have any formal educational institutions for jujutsu like there are here. Forming an organized response to curses and other threats is real messy. I want to apply what I learned here back home.” 

Gojo… he never asked for specifics on your plans after graduation. This realization injects guilt into your veins. You just thought he knew. You mentioned it to your classmates who asked. Gojo never asked. He just assumed, the same way you had.

Internally panicking, you continue, “I’ll visit, too. A-And we can stay in touch. We have our phones, emails… we won’t fall out of contact. I promise.” 

It’s as if you’ve been thrust into a trial with a life sentence on the line.

A gentle breeze passes through, rustling the canopy overhead. Flecks of austere and amber peek through the branch’s interstices. They dance like a flame’s dying embers. Gojo is silent. There’ve been very few instances you’ve seen him this way. Uncertain, hollow. The latest is after the failed assimilation of the Star Plasma Vessel, Riko Amanai, almost a year prior. 

“Toru, I’m so sorry, I thought— I thought you knew,” you murmur, taking a step forward. “Let’s—” 

“Would you reconsider?” Gojo interrupts. He hasn’t done that to you since you first met. 

You wet your lips. “I mean… this has been my intention all along. I want to protect where my family lives, train other sorcerers up… I can’t just let that go.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck stand. You can feel it, the scrutiny of his Six Eyes. How he’s picking you apart on a molecular level. The dilation of your pupils, how electrical signals encourage your heart to pump faster, and the subsequent increase of blood flow throughout your cardiovascular system. 

Anxiety wraps its thorny appendages around your person. You should’ve made it clearer, made sure there wasn’t any room for interpretation. 

“The higher-ups are finicky about anything far from their purview. They won’t approve of you teaching.” 

His words come out as cool as the ice his eyes resemble. They are calculated, unfeeling, slicing straight to the bone. Frostbite’s a horrible death, since you feel parts of yourself die before you’re granted the same privilege. 

“I’d follow any regulations they want. It doesn’t even need to be a huge thing, I’d be okay with just pointing potential sorcerers here. There couldn’t be anything wrong with that.” 

You’re trying to grasp his angle here. It’s one thing to voice his concerns, but he’s erring on belittling you. You won’t accept that. Not when it comes to this, the raison d'être that pushed you to overcome impossible odds. Boarding a flight with a one-way ticket to Tokyo by yourself at fourteen, standing in your classmate’s shadow, fighting tooth and nail for your grade. 

You get him being hurt by this revelation, but is that all this is? There’s an unidentifiable variable here.

Still, you want to keep things civil. This is Gojo, one of your closest friends. Someone who actively laughs in the face of authority, uses your head as an armrest and spams your phone at three in the morning because he’s bored. There’s nothing to feel threatened by here. 

Gojo gazes down at you through his eyelashes. “What if a special grade shows up under your watch? You gonna run at it and get yourself killed?” 

The kindling inside you threatens to combust from the oil he just poured. You subdue it as best as you can. 

This is Gojo, this is Gojo, this is Gojo…

“I’d follow proper procedure and report it back here,” you reply, trying to match his aloof tone. Yours isn’t as nearly as convincing, since unlike him, you’re acting. 

He closes the remaining distance, standing tall and imposing before you. 

“And in the meantime? You’ll just sit pretty, twiddle your thumbs, wait for help to arrive?”

Stab, stab, stab. 

Each word expands a wound that can’t be sutured shut. 

“Gojo, what’s gotten into you? Is it that difficult to respect my decision?” 

“If it’s a stupid decision, then yeah. Hard to respect that.”

Your heart plummets. So does your view of him. 

Stunned into silence, you fail to notice how close he’s gotten. You take a step back. He takes a step forward. The process repeats itself until your back hits the shoji behind you, halting your retreat. You could very easily rip through it and run further, yet, what good would it do? What would it solve? 

In the distance, you hear the distinct thump of a shishi-odoshi.

Gojo sighs. It’s a heavy sound, unbefitting of someone his age. The following silence is just as heavy. You can’t tell if it’s a stream you hear rushing in the distance or if it’s your blood. He removes his sunglasses, folds them, and tucks them away. His eyes are beautiful. They are the cosmos, infinite and chaotic. More than that, they’re elusive. Infinity means you can’t determine the start and end. The beginning and end are concepts concocted by humanity, in its hubris to place parameters on an unknowable universe. Parameters are nice. You can work with parameters. 

Consider the sun. It’d take 1.3 million Earths to fill the star closest to you. That’s a high number, seven digits, but a million can be understood. The Earth is a touchstone in that way. The universe doesn’t stop at your solar system, though. It goes and goes, stretches and stretches. Gojo Satoru’s familiar with that stretch, you are not. 

How many of you would it take to match his strength? 1.3 million? What can possibly serve as a touchstone?

How do you measure the immeasurable? 

“We’d be dead,” you remember a voice saying. “It wouldn’t even be a fight.”

You shiver.

Gojo bends down to your level, but not quite. He cages you in — one arm stretches out and settles on the shoji’s thin sheet beside your head. Thanks to his infinity, he can ‘lean’ against the frail partition without ripping into it. Intrinsically, he knows the limits of things. How much he can push and pull before they collapse. 

He knows your limits too. He knows them very well. 

Or maybe he doesn’t, because he parts his lips to speak again. 

“How you fear and love look so alike,” he says, plainly, like it’s a normal observation. “I can see it. The surge of neurotransmitters and hormones, everything is illuminated. On display for me to interpret. For example, when I do this…” 

His large hands wrap around your neck. He applies the slightest pressure, enough for you to register it, enough for your breath to catch in your throat. His pupils dilate from the show your body’s various systems give him. 

“Your sympathetic nervous system just glows. You must feel it. The heightened respiration, heart rate, that primal instinct to flee, fight, or freeze. Y’know when your flight’s about to land at night? How the city lights look as you descend? It’s similar.”

Gojo’s breathing picks up. At least he can breathe. You still can’t bring yourself to. 

“Then, if I do this,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your face and eyelids low, “Your hormones go crazy. Everything lights up.” 

His lips brush against yours as he speaks. 

“So crazy, in fact, I can’t tell which of the two you feel more right now.” 

He kisses you. 

It’s sweet in flavor alone — you get a taste of the artificial cherry he enjoyed earlier. Apparently, he enjoys you more, because he takes the time to savor your taste, instead of crunching you down to your basic elements. The shock, confusion, revulsion, fury, and hurt, so much hurt, pierces through you like a gunshot. You swaddle yourself in cursed energy. Unleash it, let it scald him like liquid flame. 

His burns hotter. Like the sun, like the largest known star. His cursed energy, his strength, it doesn’t eclipse yours, it transcends. Forget 1.3 million. That number is a joke. A gnat he could swat aside. 

You splay your fingers against his chest and push. He detaches himself from you, not putting up the slightest resistance. 

The way he looks at you is animalistic. Unquantifiable. You start to think you might understand him, only for a new facet to reveal itself, as crucial as what came before and what will come after. Lust. Yearning. Pleading. Demanding. And hurt, its tint overlays every new dimension. Hurt that you made him care. Hurt that you want to leave. Hurt at how he plans to make you stay.

Gojo Satoru didn’t ask for your plans after graduation because he didn’t want to ask. You didn’t tell him your plans for after you graduate because you didn’t want to tell him. 

This is Gojo, this isn’t Gojo, this was always Gojo…

Where there’s infinity there’s paradox. 

“If you felt this way about me…”

You make a point of saying ‘this way’ instead of ‘love,’ because love is only supposed to hurt up to a point. That’s what you believe. No one would willingly endure it otherwise. 

 “...Why didn’t you say so sooner?” 

“... Why didn’t I say so sooner, right?” 

Your voices overlap, although Gojo deviates slightly from the script. 

He runs his hand through his tousled hair and laughs. It sounds forced. 

“Didn’t I, though?” He asks, his grin crooked. “Who do I spend every waking moment beside? Watch movies with, no matter how shitty? Hey, no need to answer this pop quiz, I already gave you all the answers.” 

His long and lithe finger presses against your trembling lips, shushing your protest. 

“Maybe it isn’t fear and love so much as a fear of loving me.” 

This speculation makes you wince. 

“I get that, baby, I do. I have a bad personality. One of the worst, really. And you? There are some bad elements. Like your penchant for wanting to be loved, so long as it’s quiet and unobtrusive. You’re a naughty girl in your own right. But, bad elements aren’t the whole of you. That pesky niceness overrules everything else. Hence my earlier conundrum.” 

Ah, yes, the wolf in wolf’s clothing. He couldn’t have made it any more obvious if he tried. Maybe this is your appeal to him. You give the benefit of the doubt at the cost of yourself. He’ll happily accept every ounce you empty from your coffers, because he knows if he doesn’t lap up your self-destruction, somebody else will. His ego can’t accept that. The implications are too damning. If this is your nature — which he’s proven it is — then that ‘somebody’ could be out there. Waiting for their fill. 

Gojo just lucked out because he struck first. He sunk his teeth into you before anyone else could have a taste. 

You’re way too sweet, after all. Sweet is his favorite flavor, but it’s a popular flavor, which incurs some risk. 

He could apologize right now and you’d want to forgive him. Those are your dimensions, your start and end. He won’t apologize, though, because infinity can’t have parameters like you do. Not beyond the consonants and vowels that make it a word. He’ll let you feel its mass and weight, but he won’t let you understand. 

“Satoru,” you speak in a soft voice. His eyes shine brilliantly, like splintering glaciers reflecting the sun. How they fall to your tingling lips and linger there isn’t lost on you. “I don’t want— we can’t part on these terms.” 

“Rest assured then, because we aren’t parting.” 

“That isn’t your call! You’re right, okay? I wanted all the loose ends to neatly tie themselves up so I’d feel better about going home. That was wrong of me, so I get why you’re upset and acting all— whatever it is you’re doing.” 

“If you’re worried about your family, they could always move here,” Gojo suggests. “Hell, it doesn’t just have to be mom and dad, you can bring everyone on over. Second and third cousins too. I’d take care of everything.” 

Deep down, on a microscopic level, you know this is the closest thing to compromise you’ll get from him. 

He keeps going upon noting your uneasy silence. 

“It’s not like I want you to be a miserable hikikomori. There’s plenty here for you, just give it some thought. Like little Megumi, for instance. He’s taken a shine to you. I can teach him, yeah, but you’re by far a better influence for the non-jujutsu side of things. And this school!” 

Gojo motions to your surroundings. “You’d still get to teach, train, whatever you want. And when we help bring up the next generation of jujutsu sorcerers — that will be how change comes about. Everything you need is right here.”

“... Because you’re here?” You tentatively ask.

“I was gonna leave that unsaid, but yeah, that’s a major selling point.”

Gojo’s grin loses its sharpness and relaxes into a closed-mouth smile. Your heart feels like it’s being drawn and quartered. Various influences tug on the organ, refusing to give you up, even if it causes agony in your chest cavity. Amazingly enough, you want to plant yourself in the poor soil he’s spreading. Seeds of forgiveness long to be sown. That angelic-looking demon who conquered your lips and chilled you to your core could be a doppelgänger. 

Logically, you know that isn’t the case. Mr. Hyde is still Dr. Jekyll at the end of the day. However, what does logic leave you with? The knowledge that your closest companion can and will sculpt your future if what you create isn’t to his liking? That makes the hurt worse. The agony too personal. You can only take so much. 

“I’ll… reconsider my plans,” you mumble. 

He wraps an arm around your slumped shoulders. “That’s my girl. I knew we could work this out. A little communication goes a long way.” 

There are an infinite amount of ways you could respond to that belittling statement. You could utilize your cursed technique and see how far it’d get you. You could scream, collapse, cry, beg, or condemn. This merry-go-round of options spins and spins. He can see it too. He’ll let you take the lead this once. Any path you tread, he’ll adapt to. 

The universe holds its breath, as does the world’s strongest sorcerer. 

“Does your budget allow for a trip to the dango after dinner?” You ask, wearing a smile that doesn’t feel right just yet. 

Gojo, on the other hand, has no difficulty returning it. 

“Only if I get to feed it to you.” 

A heavenly body such as his has what it takes to bring passing asteroids into orbit.

Breaking free isn't just difficult.

It's impossible.

Sink to the depths.

The long awaited Christmas Bash Bonten fic, hope it's worth the wait y'all <33

Bonten x female reader

wc. 8.3k

tw: yandere, noncon, dubcon, noncon drug use, murder, abuse, blood, violence, choking, dp, sex trafficking, kinda stockholm syndrome-ish, nsfw, manga spoilers

You’re not entirely sure what it is exactly that stirs you from sleep, only that it’s early, the first rays of dawn light just barely peeking through the window.

Kokonoi’s arm’s slung over your waist, red silken sheets pooling over bare skin, yet even with the warmth of his body lying beside yours, it’s not enough to keep the chill from seeping into your bones. Cool, but not freezing – just on the edge of discomfort.

There’s the temptation to simply roll over, curl up against Koko and drift off for another few hours. You’re still tired, and sleep – even in the arms of a man you despise – isn’t something you have the luxury of squandering. And yet the moment the thought enters your head, you push it aside. Despite the early hour and your seemingly never ending exhaustion, you can already feel the beginnings of restlessness setting in.

You can lie there, close your eyes and will yourself back to sleep, but you’ll only toss and turn – and risk waking Koko in the process.

No, you think, better to try and slip away. Across the hall and largely untouched is the room they’d given you. Your clothes are there, warmer blankets, a bed, your own bathroom with a shower. A far cry from the old, stained mattress they’d so graciously allowed you to use when you’d first arrived.

You can’t remember the last night you’d actually slept in there, but it is nice to have a space that’s just yours – even if it doesn’t truly belong to you at all. Nothing here does. Nevertheless, the thought of a hot shower and some temporary peace and privacy is an alluring one. It’s not just the exhaustion, your entire body hurts from last night, the finger shaped bruises that mar your hips and thighs the least of them.

Slowly – gingerly – you begin to wriggle out from under his arm, trying to extricate yourself without–

“Mmpfh.”

The groan is low and rough, heavy with sleep, and as his arm tightens around your waist dragging you back against him, Koko’s lips brush along your neck, “And where do you think you’re going?”

Your stomach knots. Months ago, you wouldn’t have noticed the faint, warning edge to his tone. Then again, months ago you’d been under the foolish assumption that out of all of them, he was the sane one.

The safest.

“Can’t sleep,” you reply.

He hums idly, long, lithe fingers trailing up your side.

“…That’s not what I asked you.”

He’s not mad per se, not yet. But it’s always a tightrope with Koko; one minute things are fine and you can almost pretend that whatever it is that’s between you two has any semblance of normality, but one tiny misstep; a thoughtless comment, flinching away at the wrong moment, and everything falls apart.

Koko might lack the hair-trigger penchant for violence that some of your other captors favour, but you haven’t been able to shake the unpleasant memories of the last time he’d flown off the handle.

The thought of testing those limits so early in the morning isn’t a pleasant one.

And so you roll over to look at him properly, careful to keep your expression neutral, sleepy even. As if the thought of slipping away from him wasn’t one born of desperation, but merely a whim of your semi-conscious state.

Your reply momentarily gets stuck in your throat, however, when you actually take him in. Naked, propped up against the headboard and bathed in the dim morning light, there’s a certain kind of striking beauty to the man. Even with long, silvery locks mussed and eyes glazed with sleep – those same eyes that flit over your features, narrowed as he awaits your answer.

“I was gonna go take a shower. I still feel all…” Somehow, telling him that you feel gross after spending the night with him doesn’t seem like a smart move, no matter the truth of it. “I didn’t want to wake you,” you amend.

Another half truth. Yet it seems to do the trick in placating him, his expression softening as he presses a chaste, almost affectionate kiss to your lips.

“You shouldn’t have worried. I need to get up soon anyway.”

He smiles as he says it – one you’ve learned better than to believe genuine – laying his hand to rest at the base of your throat. Instinctively, you stiffen, heart skipping a beat. No matter how long you’ve been here, the unspoken rules about leaving permanent damage, you still haven’t been able to shake that innate fear every time their fingers tighten around your neck.

And from the look in Koko’s eyes, the way his smile turns cold, he knows it.

His touch is delicate, teasing almost as his thumb sweeps along the column of your throat, and for a moment you’re confused by the sudden intensity in his expression–

Until he reaches a sore spot; the edge of a shallow cut, courtesy of one of the others, and cruelly presses down. It’s enough to draw a sharp gasp from you; one that’s quickly swallowed up by Koko’s mouth as it collides with yours.

Domineering.

Possessive.

His hips rock eagerly against your own, teeth nipping at your bottom lip – harsh enough to draw blood – and all thoughts of a peaceful, quiet morning go up in smoke.

“But we have some time, don’t we?” he pants between kisses, already drawing your naked body back under his.

It isn’t a question.

Stupid of you to think that it ever is.

—

The glowing red numbers on your old alarm clock tell you it’s a little after three in the morning when the door to your apartment slowly creaks open.

For the fifth time this week.

Squeezing your eyes shut, relief washes over you, the knot in your stomach easing as your brother’s familiar footsteps creep down along the hallway. He’s home. He’s safe, for tonight at least.

And just as you have every other night this week, and the countless nights before that, you feign sleep as he pulls back the curtain of your room, peeking in only to check that you’re where you’re supposed to be.

Tonight, however, he hesitates before leaving.

You can smell the booze and cigarette smoke wafting off of him. The faint, metallic tang of blood that almost – almost – draws you out from your charade. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something stupid and gotten himself in a fight at some dingy bar downtown, but the air feels heavier tonight.

Something’s… off, and so you keep your eyes shut.

There’s a dull thud – the back of his head hitting the wooden doorframe. “Fuck,” he mutters, and then he’s gone.

—

“D’ya want some, babe?”

Sanzu’s cheshire grin widens, the scars either side of his lips stretching as you meekly shake your head. The same answer you’ve given every time he’s so generously offered to share his stash.

“Your loss,” he says with an unaffected shrug, shoving you back down to the couch. Just across the hall, in the other room, Mochi and Takeomi are deep in the middle of a discussion about an upcoming meeting, their voices floating down the hall.

You catch a snippet or two, something about distribution and profits – some mid level dealer getting a little too greedy for his own good – but it’s easy enough to tune it out.

And once upon a time, you’d be mortified at the thought that anyone could just walk in and see you like this; half naked and sprawled out before Sanzu like a whore. But this is practically tame compared to some of the other far more public displays you’ve been subjected to in the months since you arrived.

Besides, it’s not like either one of them would be in a position to judge. Only yesterday, Takeomi had you on your knees, sucking his cock under the table while he had his morning coffee and cigarette.

You hadn’t so much as blinked when Sanzu’d come home, splatters of fresh blood staining his pastel suit, and rather than heading into his own room to shower and sleep it off, had made a beeline straight for you. Ignoring the TV show you’d been absorbed in, he’d simply grabbed you by the arm and snapped at you to take off your top.

By now you know better than to argue.

“Lie still for me,” Sanzu instructs, but he’s barely paying attention as he grabs the baggie and taps out a small pile of coke onto your stomach. You watch, steadying your breath so as to not disturb the white powder while he takes out a card from his back pocket and begins cutting it into neat lines.

And despite how many times he’s done this, it never feels any less surreal. Why he chooses to snort drugs off of you when there’s a perfectly good coffee table less than a foot away is beyond you, but you’ve long since given up trying to make sense of the pink haired Bonten executive. All you can really hope for with Sanzu is that if you play along, you won’t get too badly hurt in the process.

A gamble at the best of times.

The leather of the sofa feels odd your bare skin, the room not quite warm enough to be comfortable, yet you’re fairly certain that it’s the way those big, blue eyes bore hungrily into your own that has your stomach tightening and goosebumps prickling at your exposed skin.

And you pretend that it doesn’t send a flood of heat rushing to your cheeks when those eyes flicker down to your breasts, nipples already pebbled, and his smirk widens.

But you only gasp, a shivery, pathetic sound, jerking in his grip – almost disturbing his carefully cut lines of cocaine – when his tongue darts out to swirl around your belly button instead.

The light slap to your face that follows doesn’t bother you nearly as much as the grating sound of his hyena-like laugh.

“I said, stay still,” he taunts, as if he wasn’t the one deliberately trying to rile you up.

You have to remind yourself that it could be worse. That he could have used the knife today, or decided he wanted to share you with the Haitani’s again. That he could just as easily tie you down and paint your skin black and blue, fuck you ‘til you pass out, make you choke on his cock or a thousand other horrible things.

He still might.

Closing your eyes, you murmur a halfhearted apology and let your head tip back as Sanzu leans over your stomach once more, this time with a finger pressing one nostril closed. The sharp snort and the drag of his nose along your skin are bad enough, but it’s the low, drawn out ‘Fuuuuck’ that leaves his lips that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

Sanzu sniffs again, and even with your eyes shut, it’s impossible to mistake the sound of his belt unbuckling or the hiss of his zipper as he slides it down. Your heart rate picks up, anticipation and not a small amount of uneasiness unfurling inside of you, but you’re not surprised.

You’ve come to learn that Sanzu enjoys three things in life; drugs, sex and frankly terrifying displays of violence. The first two, from your experience, usually go hand in hand. From the dried remnants of blood on his clothes, flecks of it dusting his hands and his pale, scarred face, he’s already indulged in the latter this morning.

A small mercy, you suppose.

You brace yourself for his hands on your skirt, panties being ripped off, or maybe just shoved to the side if he’s feeling especially impatient, so the strange, plastic rustle that comes next takes you by surprise.

Your eyes snap open, head jerking forward just in time to see a little blue pill go into Sanzu’s mouth. And the relief that washes through you only lasts for a split second before his hand is in your hair, yanking you forward to slam his mouth against yours.

It hurts, both the sting of your scalp and the crushing force of his kiss, but the pain gives way to panic as his tongue forces its way past your lips, and you taste artificial sweetness, feel the weight of that little blue pill on your tongue.

“What the fu–”

Sanzu doesn’t let you finish the expletive, clamping his hand over your mouth and squeezing your nose shut.

“Swallow,” he leers.

The drug only takes minutes to kick in.

Warmth begins to seep through your veins. Slowly at first, matching the drag of Sanzu’s tongue along your throat, but it spreads, burns hotter until you’re shifting beneath him, soft little noises escaping you with every touch.

But they’re good noises. It feels good, the way he grabs at you, yanking your thighs apart so he can settle between them.

The press of his cock at your sopping cunt.

And it’s hard to focus, to think as the lights on the ceiling begin to dance, a dizzying haze sweeping through your head. Instead, you focus on Sanzu, the pretty pink of his hair, blue eyes blown wide and that manic, beautiful grin.

You’ve never felt more alive, every nerve ending electrified as he fucks you – you don’t care that you’re in plain view of the others, that you’re moaning and crying out like a two bit whore in a bad porno. All that matters is the delicious stretch of his cock every time he fills you, the buzzing pleasure building in your core with every frenzied thrust.

You’re chasing that high, delirious and in love, and you never want this to end.

—

‘Do you trust me?’

He’d asked you that, months ago now. Another late night, the two of you sprawled out on the old couch in your living room, mindlessly watching reruns of game shows. Or, at least, that’s what you’d been doing – your brother had come in later, bringing the food he was supposed to have brought hours ago, an odd expression on his face.

And the words had just… slipped out. He’d looked almost surprised by them, but glanced at you nevertheless to hear your response.

The answer back then had been the same as it is now; yes. Always.

How could you not, when he was your big brother? The one who protected you, who took you in after your parents left you both orphans at too young an age. He’s never been perfect – a little too rash, sometimes. Irresponsible. Childishly selfish, too, though to his credit he is trying to be better.

He wants the same as you do; a different life. A better one, where you don’t have to work for scraps and every month isn’t a struggle to make ends meet.

So yes, you trusted him. But you never asked for the details, and he never volunteered them.

And you trust him now, even as the pit of unease grows inside of you, and a thousand questions dart through your head. You did what he asked – left work when you got his frantic call, raced home to pack your things.

The only thing you’d faltered on was his last request.

“We have to leave and we have to do it quickly,” he’d told you. “We need the money more than we need those stupid rings, okay? Just… please. Do this for me.”

He was right, really. Your parents’ wedding rings may have been all that you had left of them, but if it came down to a choice of having a temporary roof over your head, and food for the next few days… well, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.

(You didn’t ask what happened to the money you already had set aside.)

That didn’t mean that watching the shopkeeper sniff disinterestedly before counting out a measly sum wasn’t like selling off a part of your soul.

You trust him, but as you return home, money in hand, and the door swings wide to reveal a dark haired stranger waiting for you in the living room, you wonder whether you should have offered that trust to him so blindly.

—

Tonight is a celebration.

For what, exactly, you’re not entirely sure. Another year of successfully flooding Tokyo with drugs and violence, maybe, more competition wiped from the map – they don’t share these things with you, and in all honesty you don’t particularly care.

The less you know about these things, the better.

Tonight, it means a black dress with a slit to your thigh and a choker at your throat that feels more like a collar. Yet it’s not some packed club in Shibuya that they take you to, but an old, abandoned warehouse down by the docks.

From the outside, the place looks like a dump, looming corrugated walls that were once white bleeding lines of rust and grime, the giant lettering out front faded and peeling. There’s not a soul in sight, the night almost eerie if not for the muted thumping of bass that creeps out from the cracked windows.

You can’t help but think back to the first and only time you’d been brought here, Sanzu and Takeomi driving you out in the early hours of the morning. Of course, it’d been different that night. You weren’t dressed up as arm candy for one, and the three of you hadn’t stayed long – just long enough to watch the weighted black bags sink quietly down into the depths of the ocean.

And you might be tempted to wonder if they had similar plans for you tonight, but the grim truth is that if they wanted you dead, they needn’t go to all that trouble. A bullet to the brain while you slept would do the job just fine. After all, they’ve made it abundantly clear by now – there’s no one left to miss you. No one left to care if your body suddenly turns up in some filthy alleyway downtown.

The thought doesn’t bother you as much as it used to.

“You remember the rules, don’t you?” Mikey asks, glancing sideways when you obediently fall into step with him.

He’s forgone his usual attire for a red suit, the colour bringing a flush of life to his normally pallid complexion. Even the dark circles around his eyes look less severe. Yet there’s something else in his expression tonight, a detached sort of… iciness that’s decidedly unsettling.

Whatever the reason they’ve come here – brought you along with them – you’re beginning to think it has very little to do with getting drunk on high end scotch.

“I remember,” you reply, taking his arm when he offers it.

And you do. Since this whole awful chapter began, you can count on one hand the number of times they’ve let you out of the tower, and the rules never change.

“I’ll be good.”

There’s a slight upturn to the corner of his mouth, but he says nothing more as Sanzu steps ahead to push the warehouse doors open.

You’re half expecting that despite the derelict appearance outside, the interior of the warehouse would be something lavish – that would account for Mikey’s suit, at least, the designer dress and heels they’ve shoved you in.

But it isn’t.

Mikey leads you in, Kakucho and Takeomi flanking either side with the others trailing behind, and the first thing you’re assaulted by is the heavy stench of smoke from cigars in the air – so thick it almost chokes you. There must be thirty or so guys inside, drinking, smoking, laughing, lounging back in their seats and hovering over poker tables.

And then there’s the women.

Young and beautiful, half naked as they flit between the men – some dancing, others balancing trays of drinks and food. You watch as one of them, a girl who could be no older than nineteen, pulled by her waist into the lap of an older man, his fingers sliding under the waistband of her thong. He doesn’t even look at her, too busy cackling with his friends over his own stupid joke.

Your stomach turns, and behind you, one of the others snickers.

Ran, you think.

Mikey, of course, doesn’t break stride. None of them do, tugging you along until three men step forward, the one in the middle – the oldest, heavyset with slicked back hair and a too wide grin – opening his arms in greeting with a short, respectful bow.

“Manjiro, my friends, welcome!”

Mikey blinks. “Junichi.”

The man – Junichi, you gather – eyes you for but a moment, dismissing you entirely as he snaps his fingers and two girls step forward with drinks in hand. “Come, let’s talk. The last shipment just arrived, and I think you’ll be more than pleased with the goods.”

Which is how, twenty minutes later, you find yourself perched on Kakucho’s lap, trying desperately to forget the terrified expressions of the women – girls – stuffed into cages, crying and sniffling and begging–

“Drink,” Kakucho murmurs, handing you a glass of amber liquor. You don’t even pause before knocking it back, wincing at the dry burn as it slides down your throat.

His knuckles graze your side, a low hum escaping him when you readjust yourself, but otherwise his attention turns back to Mikey and Junichi’s entourage. Back to the business at hand. Because that’s what this was to them; just business. Girls stolen, manipulated and lied to, forced into their brothels and onto the streets to make a quick buck.

Drugs, weapons, gambling, money laundering, murder; why not add sex trafficking to the list?

It’s not like you didn’t know this was going on, but knowing something to be true and actually having the evidence shoved in your face are two very different things. Those girls, that–

That could’ve been you.

Kakucho’s arm’s still loosely curled around your waist, but suddenly it’s stifling – too hot, too close, too smothering – and your stomach turns. He’s not even paying attention, at least, not until you start to pull away from him.

His brows knit, but he doesn’t say a word as you push to your feet, unsteady.

No, it’s Rindou, seated across from you on the other side of the table, watching you like a hawk, who pipes up, “Going somewhere?”

His bored expression betrays little, but you hear the underlying message clear enough. Keep your mouth shut, do what we say, and don’t leave our sight. The same rules they always have for you.

You can’t summon the energy to care about that right now.

“Bathroom,” you mutter, and don’t look back.

Except it isn’t the bathroom that you head to, but rather the emergency exit door that lies just beyond them. You’re not stupid enough to think you can run (there’s nowhere left for you to run to) but you need space, and air to breathe that isn’t tainted with stale smoke and too much cologne.

The cool night breeze bites at your bare skin; a thousand tiny pinpricks, but it’s a welcome discomfort. The wind that blows through your hair, the distant thrum of heavy machinery and the gentle slap of waves against the docks, even the aching pain in the balls of your feet from your heels, you hone in on them, let yourself be lost to them – even if it’s just for a minute.

You’re not an idiot, you know that one of them will come and retrieve you sooner or later, that you’ll inevitably have to listen to them chew you out, or worse, have to endure the teasing mockery while they make you apologise for breaking the rules.

But at the sound of the heavy door swinging open and footsteps echoing out, you can’t help the stinging disappointment that washes over you.

“I was coming back, I just… I just needed a minute,” you say, not even bothering to turn around.

The laugh that follows, however, isn’t a familiar one, and you jerk back around to find one of the men from inside leering at you instead. “No need to rush on my account, we got all the time in the world."

A very real trickle of fear slips down your back. You’re not so naive anymore to mistake the expression on his face as anything but pure hunger. Not so stupid as to think that if he did try coming at you, that you’d have any hope of fighting him off – not when he’s a full foot taller than you at least, and built like a tank.

He takes a single step towards you, his grin widening as you skitter backwards, almost tripping on your damn heels. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I wouldn’t hurt a pretty thing like you.”

“I-I’m not–”

Not what? Not like the girls inside? Tits out, stuffed into lacy g-strings and thigh high stockings to bend and serve Junichi’s men. Not like the girls in the cages, terrified and filthy, soon to be plied with drugs to make them nice and compliant.

He knows that. You hate yourself for even making the comparison, but the fact you’re fully dressed instead of just prancing around in your underwear should set you apart easily enough. And he had to have seen you come in with Mikey and the others, to know that you’re with them in all the ways that count.

Which, you realise with another stab of panic, means that he simply doesn’t care.

You’re with Bonten, but you’re not one of them.

Intentionally, he’s placed himself firmly between you and the door back inside, meaning that if you want to run the only option you have is the sprawling labyrinth of warehouses and shipping containers behind you. And that’s assuming you’re quicker than him.

If nothing else, you’ve learned that size doesn’t always impact speed.

You swallow tightly, legs shifting as you brace yourself to kick off your shoes and run if you have to–

“Gonna scream for help, girlie?” he calls out, his tongue swiping along his lower lip as he mirrors your stance. “They won’t hear you in there, so why don’tcha just make this easy and come to daddy.”

The words make you want to retch, but there’s no chance for you to react as the door behind him – the door to your freedom – flies open once more and a familiar figure steps out.

Kakucho’s mismatched eyes, one vermillion, the other a milky white, dart from you – shivering and terrified – to the hulking man standing only feet away, and narrow dangerously.

And if you’d bothered to glance at your would be attacker, you might have seen the way his face pales, how he straightens, hands reflexively coming up in front of his chest in a gesture of peace and apologies start to form on his lips.

But your attention is fixed on Bonten’s number three as Kakucho draws his gun from the holster hidden by his jacket, flicks off the safety, and with a casual ease that still terrifies you, shoots.

Once. Twice. Three times for good measure. The man’s dead before his bullet ridden body hits the ground.

“If you’re not careful, Mikey’s gonna put a leash on you,” Kakucho comments after a beat, stowing his sidearm and carelessly stepping over the corpse when it becomes clear to him you’re not gonna come on your own. “You don’t go anywhere without us.”

There’s a thousand things you could say in response to that, but as he grabs your jaw and forces you to meet his stare, the only words that slip from your mouth are, “Thank you.”

He almost smiles.

—

“Please– please, this…”

You look wildly from the dark haired man to the blonde sitting passively on your kitchen countertop.

“Whatever he’s done, I-I can fix it,” the words spill out faster than you can stop them.

An empty promise, to be sure – they know it as well as you do.

The taller of the two, the dark haired one with a scar slashed across his face, holds a gun in his hand. Holds it easily, comfortably, as if the weapon is merely an extension of his arm. As if he’s held it a thousand times, used it without breaking a sweat. And you know, with a sinking certainty, that whatever it is that your brother’s gotten himself mixed up in, ‘fixing it’ isn’t something that you’re going to be able to do on your own.

But you’re terrified. These strangers have broken into your home, your brother’s gone, and now there’s a gun and it’s all you can do to keep yourself from falling apart.

“I-if it’s money, I have some,” you stammer, reaching into your purse to pull out the cash from the pawn shop. “It’s only a few hundred, but–”

“Stop talking.”

Finally, the blonde speaks – and the rest of your rambling words die in your throat.

Tired, bloodshot eyes bore into yours, “Do you know who we are?” he asks.

Again, your gaze flickers between the two. Surely if your brother had mentioned either one of them, they would have made an impression, but there’s nothing.

He never told you anything, and if you’re supposed to–

“Are you deaf?” the dark haired one snaps when your petrified silence stretches too long. “Answer him.”

Wordlessly, you shake your head.

The two share a look of their own, and the blonde hops off the counter. “Unfortunate.”

He sweeps out of the room, not even sparing you a backwards glance… Leaving you alone with his terrifying friend.

Shit.

Time seems to slow, abject terror coursing through your veins as you spin back to face him, fully expecting to see the muzzle of his gun greeting you, a flash, a deafening bang–

But he hasn’t moved – the gun’s still in his hand, yes, but it hangs passively down by his side. Is this the part where you fall to your knees and beg? He hadn’t seemed moved by your pleading earlier, but just standing there mutely, shaking like a leaf while you scramble for something to do that’ll save you feels wrong too.

“Please,” you whisper, “my phone’s in my bag. Just let me call him and we can fix this, I– I can…”

There’s something in his mismatched eyes that robs you of your words. Not pity, exactly – somehow, he doesn’t strike you as the overly sympathetic type – but more a kind of grim understanding. As if he knows that whatever your brother was caught up in, you are a wholly innocent party – and it still won’t save you from what happens next.

“We’re past that now,” he mutters, holstering the gun as he marches forward to grab you by the arm. “C’mon, you’re coming with us.”

—

“Stop fucking whining, you can take it,” Rindou pants in your ear as another strangled gasp leaves you. “You always do.”

Because they never give you a damn choice.

The bathroom stalls at the bar weren’t built with three people in mind, but somehow you’re sandwiched in there between him and his brother, skirt hiked up, Rindou’s hand wrapped around your throat and your panties stuffed in Ran’s trouser pocket.

Ran fucking your cunt, and Rindou’s cock stuffed deep in your ass.

And it burns, every synchronised thrust bringing a fresh wave of searing pain. The tears come unbidden, and yet the sight of them only serves to make Ran grin, leaning down so he can lick them from your flushed face.

“Don’t be shy now, show us what a good little cock whore you are, hm? Takin’ us both like this,” he laughs, and all you can do is whimper when his lips crash roughly against yours.

It’s hardly the first time they’ve fucked you together like this, but back home there’s usually some kind of prep– not since the early days have they split you open without a care. Tonight, however, they’re on a tight schedule. Something about a meeting, a late dinner with the boss, the exact reason they’d given escaping you.

‘Just a quickie,’ Ran had promised with a wink when they’d cornered you on your way out of the bathroom, shoving you back into the seedy cubicle before you could so much as try to protest.

Rindou’s grip tightens, cutting off your air supply and making you jolt and jerk and writhe on their cocks, because between them you can barely stand. And every snap of their hips and the lewd, wet, squelching sound that accompanies it sends you closer and closer to the edge.

It hurts, fuck it hurts more than you remember, but as Ran’s hand slips down to where your bodies meet, and those calloused fingertips graze at your clit, your whole body shudders and shakes.

Dark spots begin to appear in the corners of your vision. You’re screaming, or moaning maybe – the choked noises are hard to decipher as your fingers claw at Ran’s back, trembling on your tippy toes when their rhythm starts to falter and instead they settle on a brutal pace to chase their own ends, fucking you deep and hard and fast.

It’s too much, you can’t breathe, and yet when Rindou’s teeth sink into your shoulder and Ran’s cock hits that sweet bundle of nerves that has you convulsing around them both, a wave of pleasure slams into you so hard that for a second there, you’re almost positive you pass out.

Neither one of them lasts long after that; the younger Haitani hammering into your asshole, cursing up a storm as thick, hot ropes of cum paint your insides, his older brother following only moments behind.

And you – oxygen deprived, stuffed to the brim and half delirious with the potent mix of pain and pleasure – tumble off that precipice right along with them.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Rindou’s grip eases off your neck after a moment. “Knew you fuckin’ liked it,” he snickers, pulling himself free. “Our little pain slut.”

Gulping down heaving breaths, you ignore him, choosing instead to collapse against the stall wall, closing your eyes and waiting for your racing heart to calm.

“She always does,” Ran agrees, and you ignore that too.

Already, you can feel their cum beginning to seep down your thighs, dripping down onto the tiled floor. Unfortunately for you, your underwear’s currently balled up in Ran’s pocket.

Swallowing down the last scraps of your dignity, you begin to turn to the older Haitani sibling to plead for them back when, with an audible bang, the door to the bathroom slams open.

Shit.

You freeze, eyes widening as footsteps approach your cubicle–

“Hey, shitheads,” Koko’s voice calls, and the burst of relief that washes over you is palpable. “We’re leaving, hurry the fuck up.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, footsteps receding and the heavy door swinging shut behind him.

“You heard the man,” Ran says, grinning all too smugly as he smoothes down the front of your skirt. “Fix yourself up, princess. Can’t keep the boss waiting.”

—

He’ll come for you.

Your brother is going to come.

The words are like a mantra, repeating them over and over again the only thing that keeps you from shattering completely when you lie down on that lumpy old mattress and will yourself to sleep after another night of being used and fucked and hurt for their pleasure.

He’s going to come and get you out of here, and the two of won’t ever look back.

… It’s been weeks now, hasn’t it? You’ve lost count of the days, one bleeding right into the next. A never-ending cycle.

Maybe you’ll start somewhere fresh, move to the countryside and find a job working at a bakery or a little shop – anything to put distance between you and this. You won’t ever have to wake up and wonder what fresh horrors are in store for you, whether today will be the day that one of them will finally reach their limit and end it–

He’ll come.

He’ll come.

He’ll come.

The tears arrive unbidden, silently streaming down your cheeks and seeping into your pillow while you shake fitfully with tiny sobs. So lost hurtling between misery and raw, flickering hope, that you don’t even hear the door, don’t realise that you’re no longer alone – at least, not until the light switches on.

“You’re not still crying, are you?” Ran – still wearing his three piece suit despite the late hour – asks mockingly, crouching down over your mattress.

You don’t reply as he pushes your hair back to revel in your red eyed, teary expression, but the watery glare you shoot him is answer enough.

His grin widens.

“Aw,” he tuts, “and here I thought you’d be happy to see me, especially when I come with a surprise. We brought it here just for you!”

You tense at that word, surprise, eyeing him warily, “What do you mean?”

Ran’s eyes glitter, and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You’ve been here weeks now, months even – long enough to know that his idea of a surprise likely won’t bode well for you.

Then again, it doesn’t matter whether you’ll like this surprise or not, because Ran’s already straightening up, beckoning for you to follow with that same cruel smirk.

And you’ve learned by now that it’s easier, less painful, when you do as you’re told, so you quickly scamper to follow him.

He leads you to the elevator, presses the button for the 28th floor, and when the doors open again, you’re surprised to find that unlike the upper floors, this one’s hollowed out. Unfinished. Paint markers still on the walls, fluorescent lights flickering from the exposed ceiling above.

As if the construction crew had simply given up halfway through.

Your stomach twists into a knot. Something is wrong.

Ran steps out of the elevator smoothly, offering you his arm when you make no move to do the same. “Don’t wanna keep ‘em waiting,” he says with a wink.

On shaking legs, you reluctantly trudge after him. But as he leads you down a corridor, and the muffled sounds begin to get louder, clearer, and you hear grunting and laughter – someone howling in agony – you falter, tugging at his arm.

“Ran…”

“Shh,” he says, long fingers encircling your wrist and tightening painfully, “you’re gonna be good and stay nice and quiet. Can’t spoil the surprise now, can we?”

Even if you wanted to back out now, and damn the consequences, his grip on you is tight and you’re not strong enough to pull yourself free. So you walk with him, cold dread mounting with every feeble step.

The reasons for which become apparent as you round the corner of the hallway and the space suddenly opens up. There, in the middle of the empty room are three people. Sanzu, Rindou and a third bound to a chair, head hanging low and impossible to mistake–

Your brother.

The desperate noise that claws its way up your throat is smothered by Ran’s hand clamping over your mouth, his arm snaking around your waist to anchor you in place when you try to run for him. “What’d I tell you about being quiet, hmm?” he purrs, his nose nudging at your temple. “We’re just here to watch.”

And while both Sanzu and Rin meet your wide eyed, horrified gaze with amusement, your brother’s facing away from you, slumped over as much as the thick rope bindings will allow.

At the sound of your arrival, however, he stiffens, struggling to lift his head.

“Huh? W-who’s there?” he slurs. Before he can so much as turn, Rindou’s fist slams into the side of his face with a sickening thwack. Your brother grunts, spitting out a mix of blood and spit, and much to your horror, a tooth as the younger Haitani leans down to grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his face back up to sneer at him.

“Pay attention. We’re not done yet.”

But it’s Sanzu who takes the lead when Rindou shoves your brother off in disgust. “You can’t just fuck Bonten over like that, run off and think we won’t come after ya. Have you forgotten who the fuck we are?” he asks.

Your brother heaves in a ragged breath, shaking his head. “No, no, I didn’t– I gave–”

Another blow, this time to his nose, and he bellows out in agony as the cartilage cracks gruesomely and blood sprays.

Your stomach churns, a strangled cry of your own swallowed up by Ran’s palm – but you hear his laugh, soft as a lover’s touch if not for its malicious edge.

He’s enjoying this, you realise, tormenting you by hurting him. They all are.

They’ve fucked you, used you, hurt you. Made you beg and bleed and moan for them, but through it all, you don’t think you’ve ever felt the same bitter, seething hatred that you do right now.

“Gave what?” Sanzu presses, blue eyed gaze darting up to meet yours as that unsettling grin of his widens.

It takes a moment for your brother to answer him, a steady drip of blood seeping down his face as he waits for the pain to subside enough to speak. “Money,” he pants. “And– and her. My sister.”

The words don’t hit you right away. You can’t make sense of them, they–

They don’t make sense.

You don’t realise that you’ve gone completely still in Ran’s arms, that everyone else in the room, save your brother, is watching as your brain tries fruitlessly to process what you’ve just heard.

My sister… My sister…

My sister.

… No.

That– that can’t be right. You mustn’t have heard him correctly, he can’t have meant what you think he does…

He was going to meet you at the apartment.

He told you that he was going to meet you there, you just had to go and sell off the rings first. He– he was going to meet you there. You were going to leave together, but he got held up – that’s why he wasn’t there when you came back from the pawn shop.

He wouldn’t have sold you out, he wouldn’t have just left you… would he?

There’s a sound in your ears, a dull roar growing louder and louder by the second until it drowns out everything else. You’re shaking, you realise, trembling against Ran as you stare mutely at your brother, your supposed protector.

He gave you up?

“And what, ya think a few grand and some stupid slut was enough to wipe your debt?”

The backhanded insult slides right over you, lost to the pounding in your chest, the black, bitter nausea you feel clawing up your throat.

“Fine,” your brother spits, more blood splattering the concrete. “A peace offering then.”

A… a peace offering?

Ran’s murmuring something in your ear, but you can’t make sense of it, not as hot tears finally spill over and your legs start to give way.

He catches you, of course, lets you cling to him like a lifeline. But the hand that strokes your hair tightens and yanks, forcing you to turn back and watch.

Watch as Sanzu’s manic grin fades away, becomes something cold and predatory as he turns back to the table full of tools and takes up his revolver.

You know what’s coming.

Know it, but can’t make yourself move, can’t force a sound that isn’t a sob from your lips when Sanzu raises the gun and jams it against his forehead.

And as your brother starts to blabber, desperate, hoarse pleas spilling from his lips, Sanzu scoffs.

“Fuckin’ pathetic.”

BANG!

—

The sound of the lock turning draws you from your mindless boredom.

You briefly glance over, long enough to see Mikey slip silently through the door, before going back to staring out the lavish, floor to ceiling windows of his bedroom.

The clock on the wall tells you that it’s still early, but already the sun’s setting over the city, golden light bathing the towering skyscrapers. All your life you’ve lived in Tokyo, and yet before they’d brought you here, you’d never seen the city you loved from a bird's eye view like this.

So beautiful, the sky awash with pink and peach hues and scattered cirrus clouds. So… serene looking. The streets below, the thriving hustle and bustle you grew up in, it’s a world away now, the people down there little more than ants scurrying about.

Mikey hasn’t moved, watching you wordlessly from the doorway. Waiting, no doubt, for you to acknowledge him beyond that first cursory glance.

“You’ve been gone for hours,” you murmur eventually.

“I know.”

Distantly, you nod, drawing your knees up close to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. Still refusing to look at him. “You locked me in here.”

“I know,” he repeats, and that last vestige of lingering doubt that maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t meant to leave you trapped in here when he left goes up in smoke.

And you’d thought that you were spent, all that anger and panic and broken desperation used up hours ago when you’d banged your fists against the door and screamed yourself hoarse.

Even then, you think you’d known the truth, but to hear him admit it with such… such indifference, as if locking you up like an animal is nothing, all those emotions bubble up to the surface once more. Your fists clench, blood pounding and fingernails biting into the palm of your hand and you have to force yourself to stop and breathe for a moment, to calm down enough that you won’t do or say something you’ll regret.

Because you forget sometimes, just exactly who Mikey is and what he’s capable of.

A good thing too, because when you finally deign to turn around and face him, you’re hit with the realisation that something’s off about him tonight. He hasn’t moved so much as an inch, but it’s more than that. There’s a sort of preternatural stillness about him as he stares, an emptiness in his expression that makes the little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

As quickly as your anger had come, it recedes, a cold pit forming in its wake.

“Mikey,” you begin, your tone softer as you slide from the same bed he left you in this morning. “Why? I woke up and you were gone and the door was locked and I couldn’t get out. I– was it… did I do something wrong?”

There’s a slight twitch in his jaw, but otherwise his expression doesn’t waver as you pad across the floor to him. He reminds you of a cornered animal, tensed and volatile, dark, tired eyes fixed on your every move when you tentatively reach for him, fingers featherlight as they cup his cheek.

Mikey relaxes, shutting his eyes and leaning ever so slightly into the touch. The knot in your chest slowly loosens at the sight, and you can barely hold back your sigh of relief.

Good, you think, you can work with this.

“It wasn’t a punishment,” he mutters.

“Then why?”

His eyes snap open, “So you wouldn’t go wandering.”

You jolt back at the sudden bitterness in his tone, the hand you have on his cheek slowly falling back to your side, “Mikey–”

His expression darkens, “Have you forgotten that I own you? You’re mine,” he snarls quietly. “I don’t owe you shit, and if I wanna make sure you stay where I fucking left you, you should be thankful I don’t just chain you to the bed.”

You shake your head desperately, scrambling backwards towards the bed. “No, t-that’s not what–”

“Shut up,” he snaps. “You still don’t get it. The only reason you’re not rotting away six feet under right now is because I let you live. You’re not here to settle a traitor’s debt, you’re here because your life belongs to me. You belong to me.”

He closes the distance between you in an instant, cornering you up against the bed frame. One harsh shove and you’re falling onto the mattress with a yelp, the air knocked from your lungs. Mikey doesn’t waste a beat, clambering up after you and yanking at the silk robe you’d thrown on that morning, tearing it from you before turning his attention to his own clothes.

“Mikey, please, just wait–” you gasp, only to fall silent at the dark glare he levels at you.

Grabbing you by the hips, he roughly flips you – ignoring your undignified yelp – drawing your ass back up until you’re on your knees, face shoved into the sheets. You only try to rise to your hands the once – he shoves you back down with a muted growl, one hand curling around the back of your neck to keep you in place.

Stay down.

And you suppose that you should be grateful that he takes a moment to spit on your cunt, before he lines his cock up and sinks himself inside of you.

You don’t know how long he fucks you for, how many rounds he goes, only that by the time he finally pulls out, spent and panting, the sky’s an inky black and every inch of your body aches.

He doesn’t say a word as he collapses beside you, but truthfully you don’t expect him to. Whatever it is that’s just occurred between you two, it’s changed something fundamental. Broken something, and even as you lie there mutely trying to comprehend it, you realise on some instinctive level that there’s no fixing this now, no going back.

But Mikey isn’t the only one utterly spent. There’s no tears left for you to shed tonight, and you’ve no energy to fight it when, after a minute or so, he lets out a frustrated grunt and pulls you close, shifting until you’re lying nestled against his side.

In the darkness of his room, no noise but the soft sounds of your breath and the warmth of Mikey’s body next to yours, drifting off to sleep should be easy. And yet, despite all that, and the bone tired exhaustion weighing you down, you find yourself oddly awake, staring once more out the massive windows.

Watching as a soft blanket of white snow begins to cover Tokyo.

communal property [pt. 1] /// Ushijima x f!Reader x Tendou (18+)

Summary: Tendou shares everything with Ushijima—his food, his dorm room, even the AVs he likes. Why not his girlfriend, too? [Part 2]

A/N: The ‘you deserve two boyfriends’ meme but make it college AU. Y'all don’t even know how excited I got about this…it’s embarrassing…but ngl this is the good kush 😌

Tags/warnings: college AU, baby’s first poly relationship, soft??, exhibitionism, Tendou is a tiny bit shady with that sharing is caring mentality

They really do share everything, so you guess it makes sense that they end up sharing you.

At first—meaning, when you first start dating Tendou and Ushijima is just his intimidatingly hot roommate who seems like he’s constantly glaring at everyone—you think it’s weird. They have the same major and every semester when they enroll, Tendou plans their schedules so they can take at least half of their classes together. He texts Ushijima to set up times for lunch and dinner so they can eat in the cafeteria together, they meet up to walk to volleyball practice together, and (even before Tendou brings up the poly thing) Ushijima’s usually around when you’re with him.

They share stuff, too, not just their schedules. Their dorm suite (which is about 10 times nicer than the regular rooms on the same floor—it’s student athlete privilege, and yes, you’re bitter about it) is littered with items that always seem to fall under collective ownership. Boxes of energy bars and whey protein powder lining up the walls in neat stacks; medals and trophies and flags from high school volleyball; the singular bottle of body wash and the accompanying 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner they keep in their bathroom—all of it belongs to both of them. You ask Ushijima once if there’s anything he wouldn’t share with Tendou, and he has to think for a while before answering.

“My toothbrush,” he says seriously. “But if he asked, I would let him use it.”

They’re close enough to the same size that they can share clothes sometimes, and since they have a single closet with no system of organization, it’s really hard to tell whose is whose. This gets you in trouble when you start dating Tendou—if you think about it, it might be the reason the three of you ended up together in the first place.

The jersey incident, as you refer to it in your mind later on, occurs a few weeks into your relationship, when Tendou’s at an away game for the weekend and he leaves you a voicemail telling you he misses you. Everything’s new and shiny and you like hearing that he hates having to be away from you, so you dig his old high school jersey out of the back of his closet for the sole purpose of taking a racy pic to send to him. It’s gigantic on you—figures, since Tendou is stupid tall for some reason—but you tie up the hem under your tits and let it slip off of your bare shoulders and the effect is pretty cute.

And hey, you figure you may as well go all the way and dress up to cheer your boyfriend on, so you beg your roommate to let you borrow the ‘slutty cheerleader’ costume she wore on Halloween: itty bitty pleated white skirt, thigh high socks, hair tied up in pigtails and sparkly white pom-poms to complete the look. You put your camera on auto-timer and take way too many pictures, and when you’re decently satisfied with the results, you send them to Tendou along with your usual good luck, I’m cheering for you! text before the game.

It takes him about one minute to respond.

> holy fuck (y/n)

> jesus

> r u trying to make me cum in my fucking pants

> Attachment: 1 image

It’s a blurry selfie of him in his team uniform, substantial dick print clearly visible through the shorts. You flush, grin, and preen at your ability to give your boyfriend a hard-on from hundreds of miles away without even showing that much.

Unfortunately, that’s not all.

> where did u even get that shirt? u know its wakatoshis not mine right lol

< Wait, are you joking? you ask back, horror dawning on you as you twist around in front of a mirror to check the number on the back. Did you actually just send your boyfriend a sexy picture wearing his roommate’s shirt? You don’t want to believe it, but sure enough the back of the jersey reads SHIRATORIZAWA 1. You may be clueless when it comes to volleyball, but you’re pretty certain that 1 is the captain’s number, and Tendou was not the captain of his high school team. Shit!

> ya lmao mines at home, thats definitely wakatoshis

< OMG no!!! please don’t tell him 😰 You immediately pull the jersey off and bury your face in your pillow as your roommate looks on curiously. Knowing Tendou, you’re never going to live this down.

> dw abt it

> he thinks its hot lol

You can actually feel the blood draining out of your face. < WHAT!! You showed it to him???

> hes sitting right next to me😂😂 dont be mad please baby

< I hate you so much Tendou I’m seriously going to kill you

> wakatoshi looks all flustered, wanna see?

< No I hate you

Tendou sends the picture anyway. Ushijima does not look flustered in the least. He looks as serious and vaguely annoyed as he does every time you see him, and all you can think about is the fact that your boyfriend’s best friend saw you wearing that stupid cheerleading outfit and his old jersey and he probably thinks you’re a moron.

You refuse to answer any of Tendou’s texts until he comes back and apologizes sincerely. You can’t look Ushijima in the eye for way too long. And despite many requests, you absolutely do not let Tendou fuck you in the cheerleader costume.

Weeks later—ages—you’re sitting one of the dryers in the laundry room quizzing Ushijima on terms for your upcoming biochem test while he folds his clothes, and you lose your train of thought when you see the accursed Shiratorizawa jersey in his hands. You’ve always felt awkward over that stupid photo, but you decide now is as good a time as any to get it out in the open and lighten the mood.

“Hey, do you remember that time I thought that was Tendou’s? You know, when I…sent him that picture… He said you might’ve seen it by accident.” Your voice trails off, but you’re impressed at how well you’re faking nonchalance.

The dryer churns under your thighs and somewhere behind you there’s another student humming Kendrick while they fold their clothes. You keep your gaze firmly glued to the flashcards you’re going through so you don’t have to make eye contact, but out of the corner of your eye you can see Ushijima stop folding the jersey and look up at you. “Ah… Tendou showed it to me.”

That little shit. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was kinda hoping you’d forgotten by now.”

“I didn’t.”

His voice is closer than you thought and you look up reflexively. Ushijima is standing in front of you. He’s so big, you think despite the fact that this is not exactly a revelation (honestly, you think it every time you see him). His face looks the same as usual, but there’s a charge in the air. Some kind of tension, the kind you’re used to in different contexts but you barely recognize here because Ushijima is your boyfriend’s roommate.

You know you look like a mess (it’s midterm season and you’re too busy to do your own laundry) and the only reason you’re even here is that you and Ushijima are in the same biochem section and he is 100% definitely going to fail without your help, but somehow all of that falls away and you don’t feel like you’re sitting in the basement laundry room with ugly fluorescent lights flickering above you and half a dozen other students milling around. The way Ushijima is looking at you isn’t the way a guy looks at ‘some girl who’s dating his friend’ or whatever.

“I’m not going to forget,” he continues.

He’s watching you like instead of sitting on a dryer in sweats and a dingy old camp t-shirt, you’re wearing the same slutty cheerleader costume from the photo: made up like a beauty queen, pom-poms in hand, tits pushed up against the loose fabric of the jersey you’re wearing that’s about half a second away from falling off entirely. His jersey. Ushijima’s eyes move over you and you have to fold your legs and for some reason the thought crosses your mind that he’s about to kiss you, and no, of course that doesn’t make sense, but as soon as you think it you can’t stop thinking about it.

He’s going to kiss you. He’s going to kiss you. Ushijima’s going to kiss you.

He reaches forward and you shy away at the last second—only to feel like an world-class idiot once again when his hand closes around the stack of index cards at your side. “Heterotroph hypothesis,” he says flatly.

You breathe out a quick sigh, trying to feel relieved and not the tiniest bit let down. “Uhh…early life forms—something about the first life form, right? They couldn’t produce their own food, so they were heterotrophs…”

Ushijima flips the card around to read the back. “Correct.” And that’s that.

///

You didn’t start going out with Tendou thinking that you’d end up in a throuple with the two stars of your college’s volleyball team, but honestly, it’s not like there aren’t signs.

The jersey incident is the first, unless you count the fact that most of the stuff Tendou invites you to do is stuff he’s already doing with Ushijima. Late night study date at the library? You show up and Tendou’s there with Ushijima already, the two of them claiming an entire 6-person table with their papers strewn out everywhere, disagreeing about the meaning of one of the practice exam answers (they’re usually both wrong). Coffee date before class? Tendou’s late, but it’s cool because you can tell he literally sprinted to meet you at your favorite bench on campus, bringing with him you the iced coffee you asked for along with his ever-present roommate. It takes some getting used to, but you like Ushijima so you don’t mind.

Sometimes you think it’s weird that they’re friends. Other than being tall and playing volleyball, they really don’t have much in common. Ushijima has to be the polar opposite of your goofy, cheerful boyfriend, who can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life…then again, maybe that’s why they’re so close? You know through Tendou that there are a lot of people on the team who respect Ushijima, but it seems like it’d be hard to develop an actual friendship with the guy. Figures that Tendou—who doesn’t give up when he’s interested in someone, as you can attest to firsthand—would be Ushijima’s closest and oldest friend.

They’re not all different, though. You discover a third similarity between the two of them when you go to their first home game and see them really play for the first time: talent. It’s crazy—you’ve never been into sports, but you don’t need to be to see how good they are at what they do. The ball moves so fast you barely understand what’s going on, but there’s no mistaking how often the announcer says each of their names as they score point after point after point.

You learn a lot of things at that match: what a ‘guess blocker’ is, what Tendou’s face looks like when he scores (it’s pretty similar to his sex face—is that weird or cute??), and that Ushijima is one of the best spikers in Japan. The way he slams the ball down into the opposing team’s court doesn’t even look real sometimes. You keep wondering if the volleyball is going to pop like a balloon under the force of his hand.

After the match, your voice is hoarse from screaming but you still manage to yell congratulations for your boyfriend when you meet him and Ushijima leaving the locker room in the stadium. You’re still pumped on the adrenaline of the game, so you don’t even protest like you usually would when Tendou picks you up in the middle of your hug and lifts you off the ground effortlessly. “How was I? Awesome, right? I told you we would beat them!”

“You did, you so did—“ Even though your throat hurts, you can’t help gushing about every rally, every soul-crushing block, every impossible spike. “—and then the guy on the left thought he was clear to shoot it but you just—“ You throw your arms in the air and mime hitting the ball down like a blocker. “Wha-bam!—and the look on his face, I thought he was going to punch you!”

Tendou laughs and lays a sloppy kiss on your cheek, just as thrilled as you are by the win. “You really liked it that much? I thought you weren’t into sports.”

“I loved it! You were so cool! I can’t believe I’m dating someone so cool!” You wrap your legs around his back and hug his face close to yours, reveling in the fact that this weirdo belongs to you wholly and entirely, that you get to have him to yourself (well, other than his roommate). “And I’m not into sports, I’m into you.”

Tendou smiles in a way that makes the sides of his eyes crinkle up and little red patches bloom over his cheeks, a look that says, I like you so much (Y/N), I like you I like you I like you, except he’s probably trying not to be mushy like that since Ushijima is standing off to the side.

You feel a little bad for ignoring him (no one likes being the third wheel, even if he never seems to care) so when Tendou sets you down you turn to Ushijima. “And you! Holy shit, Tendou said you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. It was super loud when you hit the ball—wait, are your hands okay? If I hit something that hard I’d probably break a finger.”

“My hands are fine…this is normal for me.”

But just because you’ve got them here in front of you and you’re still pumped from the exhilaration of the win, you can’t help grabbing Ushijima’s hand and flipping it palm-up to inspect. True to his word, there’s no redness, just the calluses he’s built up on his long fingers. “Wow.”

“You don’t need to worry about Wakatoshi,” Tendou tells you, grinning and then making a face. “He’s a monster, he can handle it.”

“No kidding. You’re both monsters.” You put the base of your palm up against Ushijima’s to gauge the size of his hand against yours, and without prompting Tendou grabs your other hand to press against his own. Tendou’s fingers are a bit longer, but Ushijima’s are…thicker, more solid. Your hands look like a little kid’s in comparison. “Can I be honest? Half the time I was thinking I actually feel bad for the other team. If I had to take on both of you at the same time, I’d probably cry.”

You’re (mostly) joking, but it’s still a complete shock when you see the side of Ushijima’s mouth curl up a tiny bit. You’ve known each other for months at this point, but you’ve never seen him smile until now. Half of you is wondering if this is some kind of optical illusion caused by the atmosphere and the dim light of the stadium cutting through the evening, but the other half of you enjoys it. You made him smile!

“Don’t sell yourself short, (Y/N).” Ushijima says, tipping his head to the side.

“Yeah…” Tendou chimes in, resting his chin on top of your head and folding his arms around your neck from his place behind you. “I’m sure you could take both of us. Right, Wakatoshi?”

So that’s probably a sign.

It’s not the first. And it’s definitely not the last. Tendou drops plenty of hints that the two of you should actually be the three of you; you just don’t get it. You don’t even get it when he forgets to lock the dorm room door a few times while the two of you fuck in between classes—he’s got you sitting on his face, whining, whimpering, panting his name while he slithers his long tongue over your clit, and Ushijima just…opens the door and walks in.

You tense up, and not just because Ushijima is witnessing what you look like naked and getting ate out like your pussy is a five course meal with extra dessert—you tense up because you’re about to cum, the kind of climax where you couldn’t stop it if you tried. And you try, you try to hold back, you try to lift your soaking wet cunt off of Tendou’s mouth, but your thighs are too weak and anyway he’s holding you down right in place to tongue-fuck you into literal oblivion—

—so you can’t help it, okay? You can’t help locking eyes with Ushijima, who looks completely dazed at what he just walked into and you can’t help panting out his name because it’s the only fucking thing in your stupid fucking brain— “U—shi—ji—ma?” you gasp, and then you’re squeaking and you’re tipping over that edge and your cunt is quivering around the slick muscle of Tendou’s tongue inside, goddamnit you are going to kill him for not locking that door, except who cares because he’s still licking and you’re writhing in his grip with his fingertips pushing into the fat of your thighs while he keeps you in place, and your boyfriend’s roommate is looking at you!—

And then Ushijima disappears out of the bedroom and you hear the door of the bathroom slam shut. Tendou’s grip eases, and he rolls to the side on his narrow twin bed to make room for you to fall back down flat onto it.

“You…didn’t lock the door.”

“No way,” he laughs, wiping his mouth. “Wakatoshi has a key, y’know. It’s his room too.”

The most annoying part is that Tendou does not look the least bit remorseful. You growl and attempt to push him off the edge of the bed with your foot (unsuccessfully). “You could’ve put a sock on the doorknob! Or texted him!”

“Aw, come on. We sexile him so often I feel bad…I thought he’d be out for longer.” Tendou rubs a circle on your back, still suppressing laughter, but that doesn’t help your frayed nerves.

“He saw—everything! He totally saw me cum, and I said his freaking name—“ You roll onto your stomach and stuff your face in Tendou’s pillow to muffle a scream. “Oh my god. I want to die. I wish we could get struck by lightning right now.”

“It’s okay, babe! It’s not that big a deal, I promise.”

You glare at Tendou, who inexplicably seems to believe what he’s saying. “Shouldn’t you be jealous or something? Another guy saw me naked.”

“Wellll…I’d be jealous if it wasn’t Wakatoshi.”

Ugh, what is that supposed to mean? You frown, irrationally annoyed at the implication that Ushijima would have zero interest in your naked body. “Yeah, I get it, he doesn’t see me like that. But it’s still embarrassing.”

“…You think Wakatoshi doesn’t see you like that?” Tendou shifts himself to hover over you, smirking down at your body. “He went to the bathroom, right? …What do you think he’s doing in there?”

What is Ushijima doing in the bathroom? You can hear the shower running through the thin wall between the two rooms. It’s the middle of the day, and he didn’t come from the gym. “He’s showering?”

“Hm…so Wakatoshi came in and saw you—“ Tendou punctuates this with a kiss on the side of your neck and you shudder. “You, the hottest girl on the fucking planet. Naked. Cumming. And you said his name.”

“Um—it was an accident...” Fuck, you shouldn’t be letting Tendou mess around with you while Ushijima’s probably like six inches away through the wall, but you have a bad habit of getting caught up in Tendou’s pace.

“You did. You moaned Ushijima all sexy—you know how sexy your voice sounds when you cum?” Tendou sighs and slides his hand up your inner thigh, hooking it over his hip. “Wakatoshi hasn’t heard a girl moaning his name in a while. What he’s doing right now…he probably can’t help himself.”

“So you think he’s—“ You bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut and try to stop yourself from picturing Ushijima in the shower, water dripping over those perfect muscles while he…um…does some self-care. “Oh my god.”

“Aww, you like that? Me and Wakatoshi both want to fuck you…that makes you horny, yeah?” You can feel Tendou shuffling with his sweatpants and pulling his cock out to line it up with your bare tummy while he layers kisses over your cheeks and gropes one of your tits. “We should give him something to jack off to… I bet he can hear everything. I bet he’s dying to hear what that cute little voice sounds like when my dick is stuffed up you instead of my tongue…”

No. Nope, nope, no way. Tendou’s too fucking good at this. Your pussy is twitching—dripping your juices sticky all over your thighs, but you also feel like you might spontaneously combust if he keeps talking. “I—I have to go back to my room,” you blurt before you can change your mind.

Tendou blows out a low sigh, then laughs and falls back to the side and pushes his hand through his hair like he never really meant any of it. “If you insist, princess.”

“You better apologize to him for me,” you say, rolling your eyes as you wiggle back into the pair of shorts you abandoned on the ground.

“Sure, okay. But the option’s open! Believe me, Wakatoshi wouldn’t mind.”

Wouldn’t mind what? you think. Somehow the obvious answer escapes you.

That is, until you meet them for dinner a week later (you’ve been avoiding Ushijima, and by extension you’ve been avoiding your boyfriend too) and Tendou decides that it’s time to be upfront, so as you’re sitting across from them at the booth in the dining hall trying to sneak leftovers into your backpack because you’re running out of meal points, he just comes out and says it.

“So (Y/N)— have you ever heard of polyamory?”

➠ [Part 2]

Unprofessional [pt. 1] /// Yandere Tendou x f!Reader

Summary: The new hire you’re supposed to be training at your office job is a little too attached for his own good…or yours. [Part 2]

A/N: Someone requested yandere Tendou and I was like !!! However when I wrote it, it turned out kinda long so I split it into 2 parts; I’ll answer the req when I post part 2. Anyway I’m obsessed with the concept of salaryman Tendou, please enjoy!

Tags/warnings: yandere, timeskip (Tendou is 22-23 in this), workplace/office setting, liberal use of “senpai”, alcohol, Tendou’s crackhead energy is toned down a little bit because of the setting [In part 2: smut, 18+]

You don’t really like Tendou when you first meet him.

Your first impression when your boss introduces the new employee is that he’s all talk and no substance. He’s been hired fresh out of university, and he’s got the stink of a former frat boy all over him—that baseless enthusiasm, chaotic goodwill and arrogance mixed together. That might have been your type when you were still sucking down cheap keg beer from red solo cups, but you’re two years into your career as a real grown-up adult now, and the cockiness that radiates off Tendou in waves is just…annoying.

Unfortunately, when your boss tells you to take the newbie under your wing, train him, and be his mentor, it’s not a request. It’s a demand. So you decide to suck it up. If you’re going to have to spend every second at the office with Tendou trailing after you like a baby duck, you may as well get used to him.

Keep reading

Title: Domesticated.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very inspired @elsecrytt.

Pairing: Yandere!Satan x Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 7.0k.

TW: Dub/Con & Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Reader Is Straight Up A Bad Person In This One, Toxic Relationships, Semi-Public Sex, Bondage, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Coercion, Prolonged Grooming, Mentions of Blood and Violence, Slight Stalking, and Obsessive Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were the first one to find Satan.

It wasn’t difficult. You’d been around long enough at that point to know that the birth of a demon was a strange, spontaneous thing; loud and wild, often accompanied by pillars of flame and always violent enough to leave the earth scarred in its wake. While his brothers fell from paradise like stars displaced from their heavens, you followed the cloud of smoke rising from the wasteland that made up the Devildom’s outskirts, tracked the scent of cedar and ivy and sulfur until you found him, seething in a crater of his own creation, freshly charred feathers still littered around him as he lashed out blindly, his aggression without a target but no less volatile for its aimlessness. He was bare save for the ash smeared across his pale skin, and you could make out a lashing tail behind him, a pair of curling horns sprouting from his waist-length hair, a pair of cat-like pawed feet he’d grow out of in a few weeks – all the same shade of black as the obsidian that surrounded him and tipped with a green you could only compare to the color of toxic waste, to the kind of emerald shine an insect might wear to let you know it was venomous. Every part of him practically glowed with rage. If you’d been aware of which throne he would take after he and his brothers found their footing in their new realm in that moment, you would’ve thought it was fitting.

In short, he was beautiful. Awe-inspiringly, breath-takingly beautiful.

And you were never the kind of person who could resist beautiful things.

Carefully, with dampened footsteps and a preference for the shadows, you edged closer to him, never letting Satan leave your peripheral. You were still a hundred or so feet away when he snapped toward you, pointed teeth already bared and curved talons poised to attack. You couldn’t be sure how lucid he was, but whatever happened to be running through that empty mind of his, it wasn’t enough to stop him from snarling at you, from hunching his back and digging his claws into the ground and charging, intent on tearing anything he saw apart before his anger could cool. Elation overwhelmed you. You felt the corners of your lips curl upward as he lunged, your heart practically beating through your chest as his lithe body streaked through the flame-tinged moonlight, as you took in the rabid creature that would be your end. There were sixty feet between you, then forty, and then—

And then, something dark and terrible descended from the clouded sky, tackling Satan and pinning him to the ground. Lucifer, you discovered, once the dust cleared and you could make out his face, his wings (lesser by two and painted the color of impurity, you noted with a not inconsiderable sense of satisfaction). You didn’t wait for him to notice you. Slipping back into the shadows of the wasteland, you stole one more glance toward Satan only to find his attention still fixed on you, unwavering despite his new guardian. Your eyes met his, and without hesitation, you spared him a smile. Of course, he didn’t return the gesture, but you didn’t mind.

You slipped into the night, already dreaming of the day you’d see him again.

~

By the second time you got so close to Satan, he’d already gained a reputation of his own.

You couldn’t say you weren’t proud. His anger cooled in the months after his conception, and he found a place among his brothers who, in turn, established themselves in the Devildom’s admittedly lax hierarchy of power and pleasure and all the many things that thrived when given reprieve from the harsh light of the sun. You kept your distance. As greedy as you were, you knew better than to get involved with people who knew better than to get involved with you.

Instead, you watched from the crowd as Satan grew into his rank, as the more untamed parts of his demonic nature fell away and he came to resemble something… cleaner, something less animalistic. You didn’t care for the change, but still, you kept track of him. What could you say? Even polished, he was still a gem worth keeping an eye on.

Your dutifulness was rewarded, too. Or, that was what you told yourself, at least, as you picked the lock on the door of the lecture hall where he’d thrown his latest fit, where it’d taken Mammon and Beelzebub’s joint strength to restrain him. You let your fingertips graze past overturned tables and side-stepped the shattered remains of shattered chalkboards and wooden chairs, taking in the proof of his untamed rage as you approached him. He’d been restrained, left to fester in his wrath until he was calm enough to deal with properly. Silver chains adorned with hundreds upon thousands of archaic runes kept him bound to a marble pillar near the center of the classroom, his arms trapped against his side and his more demonic features still on full display, much to your delight.

Despite having been on his own for a few hours, now, his rage had yet to die down. His fangs were still bared, his claws still biting into his own palms, his thorned tail still lashing back and forth behind his back like that of some starving wildcat, agitated that its quarry had been taken away. He only had a fraction of the wild radiance you’d been so captivated by during your first encounter, but still, you found yourself grinning. Even diluted, he was still beautiful.

This time, you didn’t have to mind your distance. You came to a stop less than a full arm’s length in front of him, ducking slightly when the point of his tail made a jab at your throat. “It’s alright, princess,” you started, keeping your voice low, your tone light. Like you were trying to soothe a wild animal – which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly not what you were doing. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just wanted to see that pretty face again.”

He really was so unlike he had been, the first time you’d met. There was a flicker of recognition in those burning eyes, a slight change to his posture. He pressed his back against the pillar, squaring his shoulders as his rabid snarl dulled into a thin scowl. His tail continued to thrash and writhe, but he didn’t try to go for your throat again. “I don’t need your help.”

“I wasn’t going to make an offer.” His eyes narrowed, and you held his piercing gaze for a second, then another, before allowing your attention to drift lower. Surprisingly, his uniform hadn’t been damaged during his rampage, only displaced; his shirt missing a few buttons where he’d torn at the collar, the jacket he always let hang open pushed so far back, it now threatened to fall from his shoulders altogether. What you were looking for lied lower, though – in the unnatural creases and unusual tautness of his pants. It was a common (albeit, no less embarrassing) side-effect of supernatural creatures giving into their true nature, especially for younger demons who never learned how to control their more primal instincts. He probably knew that, but you doubted he knew how to take care of it, just yet. Especially with his older brothers still learning how to handle their own sinful impulses. “I mean, I would be willing to give you a hand, if you need one,” you went on, nodding to his painfully hard cock. “But, if you’d rather seethe and growl in an empty classroom until one of your brothers comes back for you…”

You held up your hands, moving to turn on your heel and leave him alone with his anger, but Satan’s eyes widened, straining against his bondage as he lurched forward, practically drooling at the first hint of fresh blood. “You… you can do something about that?”

The muted excitement in his voice gave away his eagerness, his desperation. You let out a breath of a laugh, taking half a step closer, testing the boundaries before trying to catch such an active spark in your hands. When he didn’t immediately lunge at you, you brought a hand up, cupping his cheek and running your thumb over his jaw. “Of course,” you said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if he was the foolish one for being stupid enough to doubt you. “But only if you ask me to. I’m not going out of my way to help someone who’s going to tear my throat out as soon as I’m done.”

And, even then, you could’ve been persuaded to lay back and let him have his way with you if he begged prettily enough. Luckily, he was already distracted, already leaning into your touch and staring up at you with a new kind of reverence. He couldn’t have known he was doing it – his pride wouldn’t have allowed him to. As far as you could tell, this was all instinct. “Do it.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’ll have to do better than that, princess.”

He was quiet for a moment, then another. “Please,” he spat, finally, as if the word burnt his tongue. “Please, help me get rid of it.”

“No one’s going to want to do anything with you if you use that tone.” And yet, you stepped forward, resting one hand on his shoulder while the other dropped to the tent in his pants, to his cock. You ground your palm against his shaft through the thick material, and Satan grit his teeth. He didn’t know much, but he knew enough not to debase himself so willingly in front of you. “You’re lucky I’m such a bleeding heart. Otherwise, I would’ve left you here to suffer minutes ago.”

You watched him try to fight it, clenching his eyes shut as he braced himself, putting more effort into limiting his reactions now than he’d ever spared for his temper tantrums. With deft hands and saliva already pooling below your tongue, you shifted his pants down just far enough to free his cock – hard enough to press into his stomach. Like everything else about him, it was beautiful – pale but not ghastly, visibly veined but not overly defined, the head tinted a deep shade of pink you didn’t know you’d held such a fondness for, before you saw it on him. It was already leaking, too – pearls of precum dripping down his length and smearing against your skin as you wrapped your fist around the shaft and pumped lazily, playing indifferent to the way he bucked and writhed underneath you. “This,” you started, slowly, “is called a handjob. You can do it yourself, too, but it’s not as good. You’ll probably just end up making it worse.”

You swiped your thumb over his leaking tip, and he gasped, pressing himself flush against the marble pillar. You heard his restraints rattle and tightened your grip just enough to distract him, to give him something better to think about than getting away. “Pay attention, ‘cause you’re going to have to return the favor. That’s how this kind of thing works – I help you, then you help me.”

He nodded, sucking in a shaky breath. He wasn’t the brightest thing you’d ever come across, but he still might’ve proven himself to be a dutiful-enough student. “A h-handjob.”

“Good boy.” You teased the head of his cock by way of reward, then ground the heel of your palm into his base as a punishment for making you wait. When you were sure the lesson had sunk in, you took to jerking him off in earnest, taking on a pace just on the brink of satisfying and drinking in the little, stuttering moans that dripped past his lips in response. When his legs started to buckle, you worked a knee between his thighs and slotted your chest against his, staring up at him with as much adoration as someone like you could lend to something like him. You felt his cock twitch in your hand, heard his breathing turn raspy and shallow, and without warning, you pulled away, removing yourself from him completely.

He let out a desperate whine, the embodiment of pitiful. With an airy chuckle, you lowered yourself onto your knees, letting your hands fall to his waist. “This one’s a blowjob,” you muttered, just barely loud enough to be audible. He might’ve been a mediocre student, but you were an excellent teacher – always striving to fill curious minds with as much applicable knowledge as you could. “Some people call it oral sex, too. You’ll like it even more.”

His voice was so weak, so prone to cracking and breaking that in another world, it could’ve been cute. “…sex?”

“We’ll get to that later.” You pressed a fleeting kiss into his hip. “Just pay attention to me, for now.”

He really was lucky to have you. Anyone else might not have been able to handle how roughly he thrust into your mouth as soon as you’d taken the leaking head onto your tongue, might not have been willing to put up with his insatiable desire to bury himself in your throat – unaware or uncaring of your desire to breathe. You were patient, though, and strict, eager to swallow him down as deeply as you were able to before pulling back, pinning his hips down, and running the flat of your tongue up the sensitive underside of his cock. Whatever well of self-control he’d been using to bite back his pathetic little noises had clearly run dry. He moaned unabashedly, throwing his head forward and shuddering. His tail lashed out, his body determined to protect itself where his mind was unable to, but you didn’t pull away as it curled around your arm, didn’t waver as its curved thorns shredded your sleeve and sunk into your skin. Rather, you groaned around him, savoring the pure heat dripping down your arm, the way his agony seemed to drive itself under your flesh and make a home there. It was an overdue paradise, one that paled in comparison to what you could’ve had if Lucifer hadn’t interrupted you on that first night. You tried to treasure it all the same.

You fell into a steady rhythm quickly, no longer in the mood to tease him. You kept your eyes open as you bobbed your head, fixed to his flushed cheeks, his pained expression, the way he couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted to shrink into himself or struggle against his restraints. “Stop, I—” He cut himself off with another moan, a quick jerk of his head to the side. As if there was anything he could do to hide from you, in a state like this. “There’s something wrong with—”

“You’re going to cum,” you corrected, pulling off of him just far enough to speak. With your lips still pressed against the head of his cock, you added, “That means you want me to keep going.”

If he had any mind to protest, he wasn’t able to put his complaints into words. Instead, all he managed to spit out was a fractured sob as you felt him throb against your tongue, as he came undone in your mouth. You milked him for all you had, pumping a fist over his shaft as he clumsily fucked your throat, his inexperience shining through once his inhibitions had been thoroughly pushed to the wayside. When you were sure you’d gotten everything out of him that you could, when your senses had been overwhelmed by the heady taste of him and the proof of your labor sat heavy in the pit of your stomach, you drew back, pushing yourself to your feet and taking in what you’d done to him. He was a mess, his face red and damp with sweat, emerald scales visible just underneath the collar of his shirt. With a slight smile, you fished something out of your pocket – a small, silver cage that you’d liberated from a succubus’ locker about an hour prior, when you heard Satan had lost his temper yet again. It fit the base of his cock as if it’d been made for him – pressing flush against his skin as it snapped into place with a satisfying click. When you were done, you pushed a kiss into the corner of his lips before stepping back.

 “When that starts to get uncomfortable,” you started, grinning. “Come and find me.”

You didn’t give him a chance to protest before slipping away, leaving him panting and half-dressed for someone more tender-hearted to take care of.

~

He made it three weeks before seeking you out. An impressive lapse, considering he’d been hard again by the time you left that classroom.

This time, you made an effort to keep your distance. No more trailing behind him as he walked with his brothers or standing on the outskirts of the crowd as he picked a fight with yet another low-ranking demon – no, what he needed from you now was separation, the time it would take for him to think to look for you in his peripheral and then, later on, to convince himself the pleasure you could give him was worth the blow it’d deal to his ego. You’d started to lose hope by the time bridged the gap at one of Lord Diavolo’s frequent balls, thrown to celebrate Satan and his brothers ascending to the rank of Avatar. No one could seem to remember there ever being a rank by that name before their arrival, but legislation was for the Celestial Realm. Citizens of the Devildom were always more than happy to sample their prince’s generosity, regardless of the occasion.

You’d just finished slipping a stunning silver ring off of a witch’s finger and onto your own when he found you, red-faced and visibly out of breath, as if he’d just run from one side of the castle to the other. You grinned, moving to speak, but he clearly didn’t have an interest in whatever you might’ve said; taking hold of your arm and dragging you out of the main ballroom by way of greeting. You made no effort to resist. Struggling was for people who wanted to run, people who’d lost control and needed to be somewhere else. You, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here.

You let haul you down a dimly lit hallway and through a simple wooden door – almost meager, by the prince’s standards. It was a storage closet, as far as you could tell, the shelves stocked with miscellaneous supplies and the light limited to what little could flood through the gaps between the doorframe after Satan slammed it behind him. You didn’t mind it, but you would’ve preferred something a little brighter. You would’ve preferred to have him on a podium, underneath a spotlight, where you could see every last inch of his perfect body. You would’ve preferred to have him on a stage, posed to your preference for the approval of an eager audience. You’d always been charitable, like that.

But, you couldn’t linger on how you would’ve liked him when you already had him right in front of you. As soon as he’d ensured you were alone, he was scrambling to find your hand in the darkness, to press your palm into the outline of his throbbing cock and whine ­– a sound it’d taken him minutes to make, the first time you were alone together. “I can’t take it off, and—and it hurts.” His speech was frantic, disjointed, prone to slipping and tripping over itself between coherent words. You couldn’t imagine how he’d spent the past few weeks. Even his brothers would’ve noticed something was wrong, if he was always this worked up. “The cage burns when I touch it, and it won’t stop leaking—”

“Ah, ah, that’s enough.” The saint that you were, you chose to put him out of his misery sooner rather than later. “Why don’t you show me the problem?”

At that, he froze up, his neediness momentarily overwhelmed by pure, unadulterated shame. His fangs caught on his bottom lip as he looked away from you and towards himself, his hands shaking ever-so-slightly as he brought them to the button of his adorably uncharacteristic dress pants. His brothers must’ve picked out his clothes – partially, at least. You didn’t know whether to be amused or endeared by the fact that he wasn’t quite ready to make decisions for himself, just yet.

Under your instruction, he stripped quickly, the pieces of his suit falling away until he was left exposed in front of you, dressed only in your last gift to him. Speaking of – his cage was… stranger than you’d remembered it bring, the silver bars pulsing with a dull violet glow. A lasting enchantment, you figured. You should’ve expected as much from something you’d snagged from a succubus, those freaks.

You ran a finger over the curved spine, taking a long moment to appreciate the craftsmanship before you turned your attention back to the source of Satan’s suffering: his cock, already hard and, like he’d said, already leaking. You probably should’ve been more selective when it came to how you restrained him. The flesh of his shaft strained painfully against the bars of his cage, the tip already drooling enough pre-cum to smear on your palm and pool on the floor in between his legs. The poor thing looked nearly suffocated – pale and ever so slightly discolored, sensitive enough to twitch and send a rough shudder up the length of Satan’s spine as you ran your thumb over what little of the underside remained exposed. He only had himself to blame, really. If he’d only swallowed his pride and come to you earlier, he wouldn’t need your help so badly now.

He wouldn’t need to prove that he deserved your help, after ignoring you for so many weeks.

“Poor baby,” you half-cooed, taking his face in your hands and pressing a lingering kiss into his forehead. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to take something so difficult so soon. I’m sorry for making you suffer, like this.”

Immediately, you felt him stiffen. You could only hope it was a habit he’d never grow out of. You couldn’t imagine a version of Satan who was driven by anything other than the ongoing, everlasting need to prove himself and, when that failed, tear down everything that could claim he hadn’t. “I’m fine,” he said, as if he hadn’t been on the verge of tears only a second ago. “I could take this and more, if I needed to. It’s just— you said I would need to find you, eventually, and I wanted to get it over with before—”

“That’s enough.” You were sure he would’ve gone on for the next century if you let him, but you weren’t really interested in what he had to say. Not while he was so put-together, at least. “Do you want my help or not?”

He might’ve been a bad liar, but to his credit, he wasn’t delusional. Shakily, he nodded, keeping his lips pursed and his eyes pleading.

“Is that all you’re going to give me to work with?”

“…please.” He was more hesitant than he’d been the first time, but not quite so acidic, not quite so aggressive. He was begging, now, and you could never seem to turn away those in-need. “I’ll do anything.”

You sighed, the gesture airy and drawn-out. Eventually, when it seemed like his already-tenuous patience was starting to thin, you let your touch fall away from him altogether. “Why don’t you get on your knees?”

His expression fell – not so much disappointed as he was confused. “How will that—”

“I have other things to do tonight.” An expectant smile, a nod towards the floor. “I can’t help me if you don’t help me too, Satan.”

The weight of his given name seemed to do the trick. Slowly, his movements stilted and reluctant, he lowered himself onto his knees, his eyes quickly falling away from yours and find a home in his lap. You were glad you’d chosen to wear what you had – making quick work of the sashing binding your robes together and discarding your panties while Satan watched out of the corner of his eye, too embarrassed to stare but too curious not to look. You were tempted to take him by the hair, to find something to wrap around his neck and pull it tighter and tighter until he was exactly where you wanted him to be, but you couldn’t let yourself be so selfish. You couldn’t let yourself forget to take care of him – even if you could justify putting it off until he’d taken care of you.

With little warning, you brought up a foot and ground the toe of your heeled shoe into the shaft of his caged cock. He hissed, throwing his head forward and shrinking into himself, shrinking against you; his chest pressing into your thigh as he bucked mindlessly against your foot, the lewd act coming to him more naturally than you ever could’ve dreamed. Now, you raked your fingers through his hair, jerking him upward and guiding his mouth to your cunt. His eyes widened, a surprised grunt slipping out of some vulnerable pocket of his chest, but you held him in place. “Remember what I showed you last time?”

He hesitated, but not for very long. There was a slight lapse, a pause as he tried to bridge the gap between your anatomy and his, but after a moment of scraping your dull nails over his scalp, of grinning down at him with as much love and patience as you could muster, he let his eyes fall shut and opened his mouth, his tongue darting part his lips and lapping tentatively over your slit. His next swipe was a touch more confident, and the same went for the one after that, and the one after that. A slight groan bubbled up from the base of his throat, his hands coming to rest on your thighs – his curved talons biting shallowly into your skin. You embraced the spark of pain without complaint. As if you had the heart to interrupt such a valuable learning moment.

It was slow work – as sloppy as it was messy, his enthusiasm barely managing to overshadow his inexperience. You couldn’t tell how much of it was on purpose, if he meant to grind the bridge of his nose against your clit, if there was any rhyme or rhythm to how he drew his tongue over your entrance, but it was savage enough, animalistic enough to draw a shallow moan from your lips, to earn the flattened edge of your heel ground against his cock. It took ages for his tongue to slip into you, the tapered point curling and probing against the walls of your cunt. He was lucky to have been born such a rabid creature, to have been gifted such a pretty face. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be worth a minute of your time.

It was a good effort, but it wasn’t enough. With a sharp jerk to his hair, you pulled him away from you and threw him to the ground, his pointed talons leaving a row of raised skin in their wake. With a startled expression and a fog over his eyes, he blinked up at you, barely bothering to try and push himself up before you brought your heel down on his chest and pushed him flush against the floor. “Stay down.” You flashed him a smile, trying to pretend you meant for it to be comforting. “Don’t you trust me?”

He didn’t answer. You didn’t wait for him to, shedding your robes completely and straddling his waist. His prep work had been… minimalistic, to put it kindly, but you’d never been one to back down from a challenge. You met his eyes, holding his half-lidded gaze as you wrapped your hand around his cock and pulled his cage away as easily as if it’d never been there at all.

You took slow, agonizing seconds to line him up with your entrance, rolling your hips to spread his precum over your slit. He let out a slight whimper, then managed to find his voice. “What… what are doing?”

“I think I’ve already told you about this one,” you said, your smile now genuine. “We’re going to make love, princess.”

In your own defense, you gave him a chance to protest, to complain, to throw you off of him and rejoin his brothers in the prince’s ballroom. You waited a second, then another, and when he failed to do anything more than stare up at you with that pleading expression, you lowered yourself onto him, only stopping when you were sure he’d bottomed out.

You were able to bite back your voice, but Satan wasn’t so skilled when it came to hiding his reactions. His body went stiff underneath yours, his eyes falling shut as a sinful moan trickled past his lips. You heard his breath hitch, felt his cock twitch, and then he was coming undone inside of you, likely marking the first time he’d cum inside of anyone, because of anything but your mouth. You couldn’t help but laugh, drinking in his fractured whines as you started moving, rolling your hips and grinding against him, riding him properly – not that he’d know the difference. “S-stop,” he managed, though little pained noises and blissful gasps. “It— It hurts—”

Overstimulation, clearly. It was amazing, how sensitive a demon so ferocious could be. “You’ll like it once you calm down. Just try to tough it out for me, alright?” With one hand on his chest, you let the other slip between your legs and to your clit, sorely neglected by his earlier guesswork. “I’ve made you cum… how many times now? Twice? I think I get to take a little something for myself.”

If he was capable of responding, he didn’t seem to think it was worth the effort. Instead, he only collapsed underneath you, his talons scraping against the stone floor and his point fangs biting at his own lips while you used his cock as your own, personal toy; as something to be played with but otherwise left on the outskirts of your consideration. While he might’ve been willing to fuck anything you put in front of him, you held yourself to higher standards, seeking out whatever made heat pool in your core and that aching knot in the pit of your stomach draw itself that much tighter with a refined sense of determination. You’d known how pretty he was, but there was a different kind of beauty to the way he looked writhing below you, to the pitiful sounds he made every time you clenched around him or moved in a way that threatened to milk his cock – still hard, despite his whining, still needy – dry. It was clumsy, little more than reflex winning over dower rationality, but he tried to move his hips in time with yours, to seek out the heat of your cunt whenever you threatened to pull away and abandon him completely. Not that you were going to. As pathetic as his sensitivity was, you weren’t much better – the anticipation you’d built up in his absence more than enough to make up for his inexperience. Your climax rolled over you in thick, lethargic waves, dimming the edges of your vision and pulling a raspy, vaguely humored gasp from somewhere deep in your chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You’d make him keep going until he gave you something better, next time.

Tonight, though, you had better things to do than babysit. With a shallow inhale and a moment taken to compose yourself, you pulled away from him and pushed yourself to your feet. Satan let out a displeased growl, loud enough and deep enough to rattle off the walls of the storage closet, but you shut him up quickly, pressing the sole of your boot into his shaft and rocking with just enough force to leave him spilling ropes of thick, ivory cum on his stomach, the evidence of his depravity left splattered against the pale skin of his midriff and the dark leather of your shoes. He moved to grab your ankle, to keep you that much closer to him for that much longer, but you pulled back, straightening yourself and shrugging your robes back on while Satan watched you, his eyes glassy and his fangs bared. “Maybe, next time, you’ll be able to take the lead,” you wondered aloud, then laughed. “Wouldn’t count on it, though. I think you’re cuter when you don’t have to think for yourself.”

You could still feel his eyes burning into you as you slipped back into the castle.

~

He started asking you to meet him in the House of Lamentation, after that. You told him you didn’t have a problem with empty classrooms and storage closets, but he insisted. You weren’t surprised. Just as he was learning that he would have to be well-behaved for you, you were starting to realize that you’d have to be gentler than anticipated with him.

That’s what you were doing now – being gentle. The collar wrapped around his neck was loose and lightweight, the leash that connected his throat to your hand allowed to fall lax for the moment, at least until the next time he did something that you would need to. You’d even let him take charge, laying back while he buried his face between your thighs, a skill he was eager to hone after you admitted his natural talent left more than a little to be desired. He was making progress, too. He’d learned to bite back his pride while he lapped over your cunt and pushed aimless patterns into your clit, spurred on by every twitch and moan he could draw out of you. There was a pillow between his legs, something soft and pliable he could grind against while he took care of you, but the thin golden ring sitting at the base of his cock made sure he wouldn’t have his fun before you had yours. This one wasn’t enchanted (you’d been tempted, but magic could be fickle and you didn’t want to bring an arcane locksmith into your time with him), but it worked well enough, and he’d never really gotten the hang of taking care of himself. To be fair, that was something he didn’t have to learn. He had you to dote on him, and you weren’t going anywhere. Not for a few hours, at least.

His hand curled around your hips, spreading you open further as the tapered end of his tongue lavished your clit, his drool mixing with your slick and staining the inside of your thighs. You let your eyes fall shut, using your legs to pull him closer as you bucked into his mouth and used his tongue to nurse yourself through your climax, only letting him go when the first pangs of overstimulation began to set in. Even without your encouragement, he didn’t go far. You felt the mattress shift, sensed his body on top of yours, and then, his mouth was crashing into your own, his kiss all teeth and tongue and violent lust. Within seconds, you could taste your blood on his lips, make out the little, airy noises only partially muffled by your connection. You could—

Your fist was crashing into his cheek before you had time to think, to stop yourself. Your knuckles caught his jaw with enough force to pry him off of you and leave him on the floor, still sitting up but visibly folded into himself. You cursed under your breath, your eyes only flitting to the door once before you lowered yourself to the ground beside him. There was a half-hearted snarl, but it died in his throat as soon as you were close enough to cup his cheek. You let out a softened coo as you pulled him close, pressing a fleeting kiss into his forehead. “Ah, I know, I know.” Another kiss, this one to the bruise forming along his jaw. Your remorse, although left mostly unspoken, was genuine. Anyone would’ve mourned leaving a mark on such a beautiful face. “Are you hurt?”

“As if something like that would affect an Avatar.”

As sharp-tongued as he was defensive. You were thankful for his ego-serving tendencies in this moment more than most. With an airy laugh, you strung your arms over his shoulders and let him bury his face in the dip of your shoulder. “Just don’t surprise me like that again, alright?” And then, after he managed to nod, “I know you’re strong enough to take it, but it’d break my heart to see you get hurt. Because of something so trivial, especially.”

When he didn’t pull away, didn’t respond at all, you sighed. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

It was little more than a mumble, spoke just under his breath. “Thank you,” he paused, melted that much further into you, “for taking care of me.”

“Good boy.”

You left a few minutes later, dressed in one of his shirts and little else. For your own peace of mind, you decided not to think about how long it’d been since you’d seen him bury his teeth in anything aside from you.

~

Honestly, it’d been weeks since you’d seen his fangs at all.

You’d had this problem before. Ever the romantic, your idle mind tended to linger on what couldn’t be reclaimed, to drive you towards the pursuit of wild beauty despite knowing that truly untamed things couldn’t be found twice, let alone a few times a week, whenever the careful surveillance of his brothers lapsed and Satan could seek you out like some mangy, prowling predator, spurred on by the promise of relief. Really, you would’ve given up on him after that first encounter, after he failed to sink his claws into your neck, or—

A ragged grunt drew you out of your thoughts and back into the present moment, back to Satan where he hovered above you. You were in some shadowed tunnel of the catacombs underneath the House of Lamentation, tonight, and you’d been kind enough to let him take charge, to keep your thighs wrapped around his waist as he fucked into you like a trained mutt, rather than the wild animal you were looking for. The stone of the altar he’d laid you over was cool against your skin, his horns pleasantly calloused where your hands were wrapped around them, and yet, your mind still wandered, the feeling of his cock beating against the walls of your cunt numbed by your lack of interest. Satan was less unaffected, his eyes clenching shut as he buckled against you, burying his face in your chest as he pushed open-mouthed kisses into whatever he could reach. It was sickening, the thought that he might’ve wanted you to return such tender affection. It was sickening, the thought that he could be capable of being so banal.

His hips crashed into yours, and you felt his lips turn upward, his cock twitch inside of you. “I think—” A pitchy whine, a half-swallowed whimper. “I think I’m in love with you.”

God. You might’ve been starting to hate him.

You let your hands fall to his shoulders. “Down, boy.”

He shook his head, too lost in his own bliss to listen to you. You scowled, shoving lightly at his chest, attempting more to get his attention than to force him off of you. “Down. Unless you want me to assume you’ve forgotten how to be obedient.”

“I—I love you,” he repeated, and then again, “I love you.” One of your legs was forced over his shoulder, his chest pressed almost flush to yours – bending you in half in a way that would’ve been painful, if you’d been anyone else. You let out a throaty growl, marking the first time you’d stopped to his level, but Satan didn’t hesitate, didn’t relent, only bowing his head and letting his rhythm deteriorate into something less calculated, less taught. You would’ve been pleased, if you hadn’t been so angry with him. “We— We’re going to be together, and you’re going to be mine, and I’m going to be—”

You could see tears running down his cheeks, hear his voice shake from something entirely separate from pleasure or desperation. You cursed under your breath, dragging your nails down the length of his spine and clawing at his back with enough force to break the skin, but he didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to mind, to care, to notice.“I’ll be yours.” He sounded so pathetically determined, as he thought it would come true if he only spoke loudly enough, if he only fucked you desperately enough. He probably did. You’d never taught him any better, and you weren’t sure he had anyone else who would even know to try. “I’ll only be yours.”

You were struggling, now, thrashing underneath him, but he was still an Avatar, still ranks above any station you would ever be able to reach. He held you in a bone-crushing, heart-wrenching embrace; close enough for you to feel his heart beating through his chest, to pick up on the half-muffled sobs catching in his throat. He only pulled away to bring one of his hands up to your jaw, to hold you in place while he pressed his lips against yours in a kiss so soft and so gentle, you would’ve been tempted to call it loving had it not been so vile.

By the time he drew back, he was smiling, and you couldn’t seem to remember why you’d ever thought he could be anything but hideous.

“And you’ll never have to leave again.”