Omfg I Just Had Such A Good Au Idea Waitwaitwait

I want #league of villains to stomp on me.

me self reblogging my posts just in case the specific mutual currently online that I think would like it hasn’t already seen it

now playing…

angel by massive attack

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

yandere asylum therapist! suguru x reader

my first ever dark content/yandere oneshot aaaaaa!!! plsss thoroughly go through the cw’s before reading ^^;

cw’s!!: non-consensual drugging, mentions of needles/syringes, medical malpractice, descriptions of violence (gutting, beating someone to death, etc.), mentions/romanticization of cannibalism, blood eating, medical abuse (???), gn! reader, no use of y/n, uhhhh freaky suguru. like he’s actually crazy (but so are u) and uhhh i think that’s it?? ^^;

wc: 1.3k (what.)

“how have you been feeling?” your therapists voice is soft, just barely loud enough for you to hear. it’s like he’s trying to grasp at any sense of normalcy, as if any of this was normal. your head feels like it’s filled with cotton when you move to look at him, a deadly look in your dazed, slow-blinking eyes.

he completely disregards your glare with nothing but a growing smirk, shifting to adjust your position on his lap. “i see you’ve taken well to the sedatives.” his cold hand grazes your bare arm as he speaks and you have to resist the urge to use all of the strength you have left to throw yourself onto the floor just to get away from him. you decided against it. you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you like that.

suguru’s a charming man. every nurse, therapist, and criminal in this hellhole of an institution knew that. maybe that’s why he clung to you like this. you saw through him, had threatened to knock his teeth out just because you found his smile unsettling in the preliminary meeting (“a convenient way to find your perfect fit!” is what one of the brochures had read).

a few weeks later he was your primary therapist. the only one allowed to see you for sessions and the only one able to prescribe what medicine you took.

this time it was a strong sedative administered by needle, only given to you the one day a week you saw him for your “sessions”. he seemed to enjoy this one, considering how he hadn’t switched the prescription in almost a month (though you were sure he was upping the dose every week, there was no other explanation for the way the syringe seemed to get more and more full every time you saw the nurses holding it).

it’s only now that he seemed to notice the narrow-eyed expression you were giving him. “aw, don’t look at me like that… it’s for my safety, angel. i can’t have you lashing out and hurting me, can i?” his palm rests on your cheek and as much as you will the muscles in your neck to jerk away from his touch, it still doesn’t work. only a small grunt leaves you and that sound only heightens the amusement in his eyes.

“m’gonna fuckin’ kill you…” you manage to strain out. you despise how weak your voice sounds. you despise the way his eyebrow quirks up in interest in response to your threat. you despise how his voice comes out a low, patronizing purr when he asks “oh, are you?” because he knows you will. he knows that if he lowers your dose you won’t hesitate to hunt him down. he’s seen your files, he knows.

you let out a shaky breath at his words, that deadly glare in your eyes never faltering as your head nods in response to his question (though he’d barely constitute it as a nod, more like a subtle twitch of your muscles). “m’gonna gut you… cut you alllll the way from your bellybutton to your fuckin’ throat…” you can feel the delirium from your medication settling in when you’re halfway through speaking, but that doesn’t stop you.

“how gruesome.” is all he hums, a deep, twisted glint of admiration in his gaze. “you’ve certainly grown more creative.” the pad of his thumb presses into your bottom lip as he speaks. he seems almost satisfied with your violent description, like you’d just given him the greatest gift he could possibly ask for (to him, it was).

he couldn’t help but feel touched by your words, how you planned something particularly torturous just to bring him as much pain as possible. the way you hurt people — at least before you were admitted — was concise and unmeditated. someone made you lose your temper so you hurt them, plain and simple as that. you were only able to plead insanity because of the way you “blacked out”, only noticing the soreness in your arms (and the brain matter in your hair) after you had beat a man to death.

so for you — a patient with uncontrollable violent outbursts — to plan something specific just for him? oh, he could feel the pleasant chill rolling down his spine. how would you do it, suguru wondered. would you steal a scalpel from the nurses or a knife from the kitchen? would the way you cut him open be clean — planned, even — or would you just hack at his skin until you were satisfied? he could almost imagine the way you’d pin him down (not like you had to, he’d let you see his insides if you asked politely enough) and run the cool metal over his abdomen before he felt the sharp contrast of the warmth of his blood trickling down his skin. he could only hope he would be alive long enough to see the crimson tainting the pretty skin of your hands, getting under your nails and sinking into the grooves of your palms, absorbing every drop of him.

suguru was so lost in his fantasies that he didn’t notice the way you had squinted at his far away expression, a muscle in your jaw giving a small twitch. maybe if you…

suguru also didn’t notice the way you had managed to slowly pry your jaw open, the tip of his thumb now resting against the ridges of your bottom row of teeth. at least, he didn’t notice until you miraculously willed your jaw to snap shut, the metallic taste on your tongue bringing you a primal sense of satisfaction (you would’ve preferred to bite the the tip of his thumb clean off to teach him a lesson, but this would do).

and oh, you would’ve laughed in his face if you could when you heard that strangled little gasp leave his lips. you relished in the way he watched you with a dumbfounded look, his usually piercing eyes opened wide in surprise.

your victory was disturbingly short lived, though. his shock quickly turned into something almost giddy with the way his eyes seemed to light up like a child who was just handed their favorite toy. he forced his thumb deeper into your mouth, his head cocking to the side almost observantly. “how do i taste, angel? hm?” there’s a crazed look in his eyes. you feel like you’re getting dissected. “maybe you should eat me after you cut me open, yeah? i’d let you, you have my permission.” he’s all too eager to give you more ideas, more ways to torture him even after death.

his arm snakes around your middle so he can press a palm to your stomach. “i’d be with you forever… wouldn’t you like that, angel?” he murmurs lowly by your ear. you don’t have the strength to answer anymore, your eyes blinking slower… and slower…

he holds you tight as you slump against him, (the sedatives make you intensely drowsy… it doesn’t help that he had prescribed you double the recommended amount) making a mental note to up your dosage once again. he can’t risk you building up some sort of immunity, can he? if the force of your bite was any indication, he’d have to find a new medicine for you within the next month or two (not like it was any hassle on his end. if anything, he was excited to see your adorably pathetic attempts to brute force your way through the daze of a new drug).

he just had to keep you here with him… you’d learn to love it.

to love him.

actually i need to have the nastiest sex w shiu rn like this isn’t even funny

ehehe….. ehehehehehe……….

i have such a specific prompt in my mind rn that’s like very fluffy and sweet but i also have half written angst that i need to finish up……. every day is a roulette on this acct

suguru x f!reader ~ atonement!au

cw: angst mainly, some fluff(i think?), suggestive, one(1) consensual almost sex scene w suguru (someone walked in), historical setting(wwll) likely with many inaccuracies, lying, misunderstandings, romance (childhood friends trope), war, major character deaths. mentions of injury, disease, sexual assault, prison. hopefully not but probably confusing timelines, etc.. . a/n: i apologize in advance and so sincerely about hiromi

ah, summer. the sun burning bright in the clear blue sky of the lovely morning. the warm air, warm earth, warm skin, all being warmed by its light. all except for you in this moment.

your body shivers, drenched. cool water soaked through the thin fabric of your undergarments and doused in your hair. little goosebumps have formed on your skin now.

no words are spoken as you hold your glare at the man who stand only a few feet away. no words are spoken but there is communication of sorts that you cannot comprehend. your eyes pour all the emotions you are yet to understand onto the other. it's a language you don't have the knowledge to translate. a fruit yet to ripen enough to fall from its branch, it's holding on. barely, but still holding.

although you are in open air, there is an incredibly low ceiling weight down on you. crushing. your spine can only carry so much weight before it shatters; the the delicate porcelain of the fine china you dine from.

there is a piece of the the broken vase in your hands, and one in his. your clothing, a skirt and a blouse, lay in messy pools on the ground near the fountain where you left them.

it's an easy moment to misinterpret, and it feels so much longer then it truly is.

bravely, you take the first step and break that odd connection. the link severed and conversation of no words interrupted.

pulling your skirt back up to rest at your hips, and your blouse over your shoulders, you dress yourself quickly; it's rather hard to do even simple things with quick efficiency when frustrated. you pick the almost whole vase of the stone side of the fountain; the smaller piece that got you here, clutched tightly between your fingers. through out, your lips are pressed tightly into themselves in a firm unmoving line.

you nearly bump into him as you walk past. just close enough to grab the last piece of the broken vase held between his fingers. there isn't a moment where you look back or try to find his gaze again.

he can't even get a word out, you didn't wait to hear it — didn't bother to. you miss the way his hand clenched at his side. tightened into a white knuckled fist with his nails digging into the warms of his palm before relaxing.

there are still ripples in the water of the fountain you were just in. it's angry and along with something else he can't point.

suguru extends his hand reaching for it. hovering over the disturbed water before touching the whole of his hand to it as gentle as he would you. resting on its surface, he's quelling it, it's anger and frustration. soothing it in the way he is unable to do for yours.

it may well only be his imagination, but the warmth of you that had been stolen by the fountain, leaving you shivering and cold, he could still feel it against his palm.

the touch of his hand to the water in the fountain suddenly feels incredibly perverse.

~~

she was clever.

though she did give herself too much credit for how clever she could be. in all her cleverness she still had a lack in experience and was filled to the brim with naïveté and ignorance she failed to recognize.

a rather lonely young girl who found solace in the click click of her typewriter. fingers moving fast over the keys. it's always in the background of her mind. so far removed and far in her own world, the young girl felt like a god amongst the simple people. the all knowing narrator; the all powerful author.

she found solace in the printed word. something that cannot be taken back once the mark on paper had been made.

she's in her room now, listening to the words of her cousin as she confides in her (staying with them because of her parent ongoing divorce.)

unfortunate as it may be, it's a story she's heard before. it's been done countless times and is just eo overused. it provides no novelty and no inspiration. it is of no interest to the young writer as it does nothing to support her pursuit for a good story. that won't come from her aunt and uncles divorce.

~~

suguru's back home, greeting his mother on his way in. he's been invited to dinner with your family tonight; although.. he was not a part of it, only the son of your family's housekeeper. he was raised like he wasn't one — grew up being treated kindly and raised along side you and your siblings. suguru felt at home in your home. he felt at home in the company of your family, he felt at home in the company of you.

he decides he'll write you a letter of apology to give you before dinner. to clear the air and avoid any unnecessary awkwardness or tension at the table. you're both adults, good friends, it was a small conflict (though he could hardly even call it that).

you will work this out.

he sits at his little desk, sliding a piece of paper into his typewriter and takes a deep breath before he starts. the clicks of his fingers on the keys fill his ears.

suguru has got just about a million crumpled copies of failed apology letters thrown aside when the frustration finally settles in.

it's become an unreasonably difficult task to write you, his oldest and closest friend, a letter. it's truly ridiculous.

the image of you, with your undergarments soaked through, hair wet and skin glistening. your eyes were wide; somehow, you were glowing in the light of the sun and yet shivering like a leaf. he can still see it. feel it.

a moment that had felt infinitely longer than it was. a moment that could stretch for an infinite more moments without any complaints from him.

the deep rise and fall of your chest, the pink hue that had taken over your face, the water droplets dragging down your skin — below your clothing — and back in his line of sight again.

how teasing. never could he have imagined feeling jealousy towards a droplet of water.

suguru managed to have picked up on all of this while maintaining kinda the contact of your gazes. for as long as he could; up until you made the first move to break it.

a heavy sigh leaves his lungs. it's quite hard to feel apologetic when such thoughts busy his mind. there is a tightness in his chest. and one in his pants too.

suguru faces his type write once again. his intentions this time, far less innocent than an apology to a dear friend. it's only between him and his typewriter, a rather private affair, but it's intense. his adams apple bobs in his throat when he sallows. he begins.

pressing the keys slower now, with much more force. as if a punishment. punctuating each letter printed on the paper.

it's short and it's concise, but it's descriptive and honest. he's so focused, like he's been tasked with writing the word of god from memory.

suguru laughs to himself a little when it's done. its more of a short pleased hum of satisfaction. relief. signing his name at the bottom to complet it. sighing as he hovers his fingers over the still drying ink.

he feels ready for that apology letter now.

~~

with the folded and sealed letter in hand, suguru's steps feel lighter and that weight on his shoulders lifted. a giddiness of sorts creeps up his throat; anticipation.

a little away, he spots your younger sister and calls out to her. he hands her the letter with instructions to deliver it straight to you. the girl gives him a quipped nod in affirmation and runs off quickly. the letter held in her hands like it hold all the secrets of the world.

it's only a moment later that the lightness in his earlier steps becomes a haunting, sinking feeling in his chest. a cold sweat quick to pool over his tan skin., and the worst taste he has ever had the displeasure to taste claws its way up his throat and finally erupts in his mouth.

as loud as he possibly can, he yells. calling out to her. for her to stop, to get that letter out of her hands.

~~

the girl was running fast, as fast as she could. overtaken by curiosity and interest, finally she has something she could work with. what did suguru feel he needed to write you instead of telling you himself at dinner later tonight?

she runs and runs and doesn't stop until she reaches her sanctuary, the door of her room slammed shut behind her. opening the letter with careful greedy hands, she's sitting on the edge of her bed as she reads through it.

the contents of the letter, the words written, hitting her face. the feeling somewhat similar to having your face splashed with cold water in an effort to wake you up. it's also awakening, enlightening if you.

~~

my dear y/n,

in my dreams, i kiss your cunt.

your sweet, wet cunt. in my thoughts,

i make love to you.

all day long.

suguru.

~~

she reads it once, then she reads it twice, and then she folds it back the way it was using the deep red wax stamp to seal it once again. composing her self quick. between this and the fountain incident she had witnessed, she feels older now. also a new sense of responsibility fills her. a responsibility to protect you, her beloved older sister, from the threat that had never been anticipated; suguru.

there's a knock at her door that snaps her out of it, her cousin. the other poor girl, comes in hardly containing her tears. she tells her about her two younger twin brothers have been so incredibly horrible to her, not understanding that it wasn't her fault they were staying with your family but the ongoing divorce of her parents.

the young girl does her best to try and console the other. in an effort to do just that, to distract her and taker her mind off it (as well as the fact that the young writer felt the need for a second opinion, this was so far out of her realm after all), she tells her about the letter. the two girls read it together.

the cousin is quick to believe that suguru is manic, her own diagnosis for him. the new friends split a short while later, each to get herself ready for the dinner tonight.

on her way, the girl remembers to seal the letter perfectly, and hand it to you. you deserve to know the truth about your so called 'friend'.

~~

the dinner table is a rather uncomfortable place to be at the moment. the air is suffocating from the heat of summer and the awkward tense weight dampening the atmosphere.

short, quipped, forced conversation with long stretches of silence. you are sitting at the edge of your seat, sweating bullets now as your eyes try to avoid suguru's however you can. he appears calmer than you're sure you do, but he obviously is not at ease either. the weight of your earlier encounter still heavy, still new.

your hands meet beneath the table. tracing along each others fingers and the lines in his palms.

the young writer is doing her best to act natural, shooting suguru piercing glares from where her head is lowered to face her plate. she knows.

your younger cousin tries engaging in conversation with your fathers friend, hiromi. your mother, her aunt, is quick to call the girl on her actions. "wipe off the lipstick dear, you are far too young for that." there's an underlying meaning, a reminder to her that she is just a girl. a child.

there's tense banter, back and forths and the

you strangely feel like an outsider at the table. in your own home you are an onlooker. removed from the innermost circle of your family.

the dinner, it's a transition of sorts. a shift. one filled with unease and an impending feeling of crisis on the rise.

~~

when suguru first arrives for dinner, dressed in a well pressed tuxedo and his hair tied neatly at the base of his neck with a few pieces framing his face. you're the one to answer the door. his eyes find yours before they unwillfuly drag down your form. it's only a quick glance, it doesn't last long. clearing his throat and his eyes are back to looking straight into yours.

"it was a mistake."

your response is quick, there's more he wants to say, you know that. "she read it."

though in part it could be expected, still its not a pleasant thing to hear or have to realize is the truth. "i'm so sorry. it was.. the wrong version."

mhm, "yes.", you've gathered that much, but regardless, that hardly changes the situation.

"it was never meant to be read. by anyone."

"no." of course it wasn't.

you weren't giving him anymore than one word yes or no answers. there is no room for conversation, in fact this interaction was hardly a conversation at all.

not granting him another word from your lips, you turn away and venture into the house — leading the two of you into the library. it's a dark room, illuminated only by the little light in the desk your flicked on upon arrival. leaning your hands on the desk as you turn to face him.

"what was written in the version that was meant to be read?"

he feels nervous, scared in this moment; he's walking on eggshells, his words measured and careful. "well i don't know it was.." he glances up at you "more formal. than that."

"less anatomical?"

he can't contain the short laugh that leaves him, it's rather silly in a way. pushing it down and clearing his throat, "yes"

the ticking of a clock in the background, a steady, constant sound. you can't decide if it's one you find comforting, filling the quiet moments, encouraging you. or whether it felt like a threat, counting down the limited moments you have before some horrible inevitably happens.

you look rather apprehensive now, next words coming out vulnerable and honest.

"i've never done anything like that before. i was so angry with you and with myself. i thought that if you'd went away then, i'd be happy. i don't know how to believe i could be so ignorant about myself,"

your steps pause and you turn towards suguru once more, "so stupid." your eyes sting. they burn. wet and ready to spill out over the confines of your eyelids.

he searches your face, eyes darting over it, not missing a single part. tentatively taking steps towards you as you take steps back. he isn't closing the space between you, only trying to keep it the same as it's been.

"you do know what i'm talking about. you knew even before i did."

realization can be such an interesting experience emotionally.

his expression now mirrors your own, eyes burning with wetness from what he feels in this moment, "why are you crying?"

"well.. don't you know?"

in two steps, the space between you no longer only maintained, it is closed, "yes, i know exactly."

you're pressed to the book-lined shelves of the library wall, and a kiss is to your lips. your first.

its urgent and eager, but it only last a second before he's pulling away; only a little, just enough to be able to look you in the eyes. and he waits.

your movement hesitant at first, pretty eyes fitting between his eyes and lips until the second kiss finally lands. it's slower, sweeter, kinder; though it remains just as eager as the first.

arms wrapping around his neck, bringing him further into you. suguru's hands are pulling the delicate straps of your dress down, holding them in his hands as he holds you. feeling you.

the kisses move from you lips to your cheek to your jaw. he moves down to kiss your neck and nip at your collar bone before he decides he misses your lips against his.

you bring your leg up to rest at one of the steps on the libraries ladder, opening yourself up further to him. his hands glide over your skin, making there way to the target destination.

gentle firm hands guide you. steady you.

you've never been this close to somebody before, it's exhilarating. and embarrassing. his touch on your skin so warm, gentle yet firm. it feels so good. you're lost in one another; in each others touch, each others breath, each others skin, you equally belong to each other now. you think you might always have.

"y/n"

"suguru"

"i love you" and all you could only return the sentiment to him tenfold. "i love you"

"y/n.." the voice is small, broken. and it neither yours nor sugurus. your younger sister. you pull away from each other, disentangling your limbs, left on the edge of what could've been. what should've been.

you leave the room without a word or glance in the young girl's direction. suguru follows shortly once he's tired his appearance. running through his disheveled hair in an attempt to smoothen the inky locks and brush out any knots. he ties it at the base of his neck once again, and fixes up suit.

on his way out of the library room, there's a pause. like he wants to say something, clarify, but ultimately he decides against it. leaving the room without a word to the distraught girl, who in the rooms now emptiness try's to calm herself and process what she had witnessed.

how could.. . someone do such a cruel thing to another person?

~~

the twins, your cousins had left the dinner table earlier. gone out to play they said. your sister finds a note on one of their chairs declaring that they've run away because their older sister had been mean to them. you, your younger sister, suguru, and your fathers friend hiromi, had set out to look for the two boys.

their older sister had made a rather dramatic exit at the table when the letter was read aloud.

your mother sits alone at the front step of the house refusing to call the police because she would have to hold conversation with the constables wife whom she found to be incredibly tiresome company. she instead thinks of how your father will be calling soon, saying he'll have to stay in the city a little longer to finish work. a lie so poorly concealed it's insulting. nothing significant will happen until my death. it's a sad bleak reality the woman had long fought but accepted for herself.

you return shortly after, along with your younger sister and cousin arriving with you. the twin boys not yet found.

~~

during the search for the twins, each person heads on differing direction.

your younger sister first makes her way to the pool, looking for the boys there. in her head she imagines the vivid image of them drowning and tries to express it in words. the young girl is also thinking about how she, for the first time in her life, has gotten to meet a real villain, and gotten to save someone who she cares for when in danger.

she decides to head to the island temple next to see if the twins had gone there. although she was frightened by the dark, she was no longer a child, and as such had a responsibility to go forth. it was more an action to prove to herself he'd truly become a grown up rather than just a child.

as she approaches, she she's a rather large figure she can't recognize, it begins moving when she casts her flashlight on it and breaks apart.

it had been two people?

the larger of the pieces had run off, a smaller figure left in the grass. trembling and teary and disoriented, a little voice she recognizes calls her name, it was her cousin.

the larger figure gets away from the scene quickly and your sister, rather than consoling the other girl, asks if her cousin could identify her attacker. quickly she follows up with the question, "was it suguru?"

it sounds more like a statement than. question. the write has a narrative in her head, written out so clearly she could never feel mistaken. the story in her mind of what she had seen needed no evidence.

the cousin, the poor girl, still firghtened and shattered doesn't confirm the suspicions, only saying that she didn't get to see who the attacker was as he had covered her eyes during the assault. she didn't know who it could've been, eventually though, she gave up on her attempts to explain. maybe she was right, after all if anyone might've seen him it would be her.

after returning to the house, the still frazzled girl is taken upstairs to her room to rest. meanwhile, your sister, a narrator who has the whole case figured out is the first to speak to the constable and investigators. with full confidence, she says the attacker had been suguru.

"are you sure about what you saw. did you see this with you mr own eyes" the man would ask again.

"yes."

"then tell me, what did you see"

"i saw suguru attacking her. he attacked my sister before. i saw it. i know what i saw. it was suguru im sure."

suguru on the other hand, is still yet to return. him, nanami, and the twins who have yet to be found.

when hiromi does return a short time later, you brief him on the situation, letting him now what had happened.

during the investigation with the officers, your sister remembers another piece of evidence she could present to them. the letter. surely it would be enough to prove that suguru would be capable of doing such a thing.

the house is a mess, there are police everywhere, investigators still conducting interviews, the twins and suguru are still missing, and everyone is convinced now that not only did he attack your cousin but you as well.

a ridiculous tale born from a childs immaturity and wild imagination, though there is no proof of that.

hours later, suguru returns with the twin boys safely in tow. his blazer removed and thrown over his arm, he's holding one of them by hand and carrying another on his shoulders. obviously m, he's glad he got to find the two boys safe and return them home, so he's rather confused when he sees the expression you make upon seeing him.

it's not at all what he'd have expected, from you or everyone else present.

glares and dirty looks are shot his way, when the boys realized the house was in sight, they let go of him and ran into it to try and avoid getting into any trouble for running away.

your mother sends your sister up to her room, asking that she follows the twins and ensures they make it to their room and she goes to hers after.

it's upsetting, she feels worry that her claims would be dismissed with the saviour act he'd put on. it would absolutely ruin her goals to make herself appear less child like. she wasn't a child, she had proved that much. she was thirteen.

when she gets to her room, she watches the window only to be met with the image of suguru being handcuffed by the police investigators. she can't help but breathe a sigh of relief, he'll be taken away, you'll be safe. he'll be punished. the sparks she needs to write her story have been ignited.

truly, a god amongst the people.

she sees you approaching him, speaking to him. the girl believes you're chastising him for his actions, for the assaults. from where she's looking down at the scene, she can't truly see either of your faces and she can't hear the conversation so when you take his hands in your own it confuses her.

nonetheless, the manic man will be taken away. in the end of it all, she has won.

~~

"suguru, i'll wait for you. come back. come back to me."

you sound exasperated, god does he feel that too, but that is a promise he cannot make to you right now.

he can't do anything right now. no more talks of studying to become a doctor, no conversation with you about well, you. it was all on hold for a possibly indefinite amount of time.

your argument by the fountain, your silly banter and teasing remarks,

his whole life, stolen from him in a single night.

~~

three and a half years later, suguru is on the front lines; a soldier stationed in france. his beautiful long hair has been chopped off and shaved so close to his scalp. he's lost weight and his bright mauve eyes turned sunken and gloomy. in passing, he's thought about whether they would still be capable of having wordless conversation with your own.

suguru is navigating the french country side, with two other solders (they've been separated from the rest of the unit earlier when the retreat in dunkirk began. it is where they're headed now). and though the two men outrank him, he has experience navigating in the country side while they do not, so he find himself leading the small group over to the coast.

the three men end up seeking shelter in an abandoned barn for the night before they're back continuing there journey the next morning.

it's not all the letters you've sent him, back when he was in prison and now, that would be too many for him to carry comfortably; but he has a small stack hidden in his uniform. right above his heart is where he keeps them. there's a little bloody injury in his chest, shrapnel, next to the space for his stack of letters.

that night, he thinks back to his days in a cell, the last words you said to him before he'd been dragged away. visitors weren't allowed, so he hadn't gotten to see you again until he joined the military.

suguru remembers the last time he seen you so well, memories of an ancient yesterday still so clear in his mind; memeories that can now only ever me memories. he'd been offered a reduced sentence, to be let free early if he joined the army. you'd began working as a nurse and cut off all ties with your family for their hand in his false conviction.

they should have known him. the did know him, or so he believed. to think of himself as your family and to feel at home there was a naive and all overly optimistic way of thinking.

at the cafe, it was then the last time he'd seen you. stuck working a job you were far too overqualified for because of him. it was a nervous exchange, uncertain and uneasy.

he felt a guilt seeing you there, waiting for him though he may never return again. he needed to tell you that.

"you don't owe me anything."

you don't need to leave your family. you don't need to leave your future. you have so much ahead of you.

this is his burden to bare and he refuses to share it with you. of course you're far to stubborn to allow for that. when ever have you failed to challenge him?

"have you not been reading my letters?", all he can do is stare, "suguru. if they allowed me to, if i was allowed to i would have visited you, everyday. i would have been there everyday without fail."

it hurts to says the words, coals burning in his chest and the fumes burning his throat on their way out, leaving a nasty taste in their wake.

"yes. yes i know, but y/n if all it is we have going for us, is a few mere moments in a library three and half years ago, then i don't think-"

the words make it seem small. they make the moment seem insignificant and it is in reality, to him, anything but. perhaps that's the truth, there is no justification for holding onto something so dearly. for making such a small moment bigger than you both. hoping that that momentary connection will save you both from the nightmare you've found yourselves living.

your hand comes up to cup his face, it's so gentle, there are little callouses on your fingertips now, still he relishes in the feeling of its coolness on his skin. "suguru, come back . come back to me."

oh, the look he gives you. his eyes look so sad, you can feel it; hopelessness. he's trapped.

he walked you to the bus stop after, you had another shift at the hospital coming up soon. you boarded the bus after you shared your last kiss. he's ran after the bus until he could no longer, and your eyes focused on him as you disappeared into the horizon until you lost sight of him.

the war had broken out soon after and he'd been drafted, you promised to keep writing him, to wait for him.

~~

the horrors of war had taken their toll on suguru. he's chest injury from the shrapnel aches, there are blisters forming on his feet from the walking, he's thirsty and he's hungry and he's dirty and he could have it so much worse.

when things get especially difficult, he returns to your promise. he returns to the morning by the fountain. he returns to you. suguru takes out a post card you gave him — back at the bus stop, from the stack he keeps; a picture of a white house with a blue roof by the ocean. it was so beautiful. it was a future with you.

"come back to me" he'll make sure of it.

as suguru and the two corporals he is temporarily leading make their way to dunkirk. the devastation of the war so clear around them. the ruins of towns and villages, bodies scattered around, the smell of blood, rotting flesh, and gunpowder is inescapable; a reminder of the looming threat to their survival. images of people being blown to pieces make themselves familiar in suguru's mind, it no longer fazed him; it's a familiar sight. though it's one that's consuming him.

how is it things came to this?

~~

six years ago, three years from the incident, suguru recalls a moment that had been nearly forgotten by him.

she was ten at the time, he'd went out with her to the river for a swimming lesson. he was tasked with teaching her how to swim. the lesson had gone well, she did learn fast. truly a bright child.

when the lesson was over, suguru now dried off with a towel over his shoulders to dry his hair, she asked him a question. "if i feel into the river, would you save me?" she asked. it was strange but he hadn't thought much about it, "of course." besides that the girl wanted to be a writer, maybe it was a line she was testing to see how it would land.

but then he heard a splash. she had jumped in. suguru didn't really have a choice but to save her. now he's dripping wet again, scolding her about being so reckless. it was not have been the reaction she had expected at all.

suguru being angry enough to scold her? she only wanted to see if he was telling the truth about saving her.

the girl explained that she jumped in to see if he would save her because she loved him. suguru didn't conceal the way his eyes had rolled at that, because however annoying that moment may have been, it was entirely insignificant.

maybe that's why. maybe it was jealousy?

~~

at long last, suguru and the two men that have grown to be people he considered friends, find their way to the shore. they have reached dunkirk.

it's loud, crowded, and chaotic. a few fights had broken out between the men, blaming someone for something or the other had caused death. it's a scary thought but, even when suguru returns to you, he won't be a free man. he's completed his sentence for the crime he did not commit, he fought in the war to atone for something he never did and to gain his freedom, but in that suguru had truly become a guilty man. he's committed murder. more than he has the heart to count.

he tried to in the beginning, to in some cruel way try to honour the lives he took, but it got out of hand. the numbers too big and growing too fast. is it possible for a man to leave the battlefield with a clear conscious?

that night, suguru and his two mates found an old abandoned house by the shore to rest for the night. there were other soldiers already there but the found themselves a spot.

exhaustion is quite a funny thing because you don't feel it in its full until you rest. his bones are heavy and his muscles ache from the strain. the little wound in his chest from the shrapnel is taking longer to heal than previously expected, but to complain or worry about a such a small gash in a space with others who have lost limbs doesn't feel right. to take up a space for care or use up supplies would be wrong.

despite everything, suguru has it good.

before he falls asleep, suguru thinks outloud about staying in france. maybe he could find a way to save more than he's hurt.

one of his friends reminds him there are boats on their way to take them back to london. he asks that they wake him up when the boats get here, his hand clutched over his chest where he keeps the stack of your letters and the post card of the house by the ocean.

you're waiting for him, and against all the odds, he will come back to you.

~~

back in london, your younger sister, is now working as a nurse in training at a hospital. not the life she'd imagined of going to study at cambridge like you had, but it's keeping her occupied.

she still writes. she writes letters to you ( there's never a response but she never stops), she writes to your mother but is keeping her distance, she writes short stories she submits to local newspapers in hopes of getting published (nothing so far). she writes mostly in her journal now. the click click of her typewriter set aside.

there is an aid of dread and despair. it came after news of the english retreat. the girl had also received a letter from her father informing her of the marriage of her childhood friend and cousin's marriage to nanami. they are to be wed the following week.

the news she receives in her fathers letter brings to the surface her years old guilt. she's known for a while after the incident that summer that she in fact did not know what she saw.

the knowledge she carried with her for sometime now: the attacker that night had not been suguru, it had been hiromi.

she couldn't free herself from the guilt. no matter how much of her life she has given up, no matter how good of a nurse she is, she could never make up for what she had done.

on her walk to the hospital, she sees people. friends, family, couples, engaging in mindless chatter. what ever could be so interesting? they're lives seem so lovely, so carefree. what would that be like she wonders. would she ever get to experience it?

her and a friend she made working at the hospital meet up on their way to work. an ambulance approaches the hospital, the two young women rush towards it wanting to help in anyway they can.

as she's cleaning and dressing the leg of one of the injured, she takes in how many injured men have arrived this morning alone. could suguru be among them? could he forgive her if she cared for him the way she did for this soilder now. would he free her if the torment she subjects herself to if she healed him?

after the rush in the hospital that morning, she learns her short story had been published and received lots of praise for it: a retelling of the moment at the fountain, starring you and suguru and herself as a child.

a week later, she takes the morning off to make her way to the church where her cousin is to marry hiromi. she takes a seat in the back row, watching the two read their vows. when the vicar asks the small crowd if there were any objections to the union, though merely a formality. she considers objecting, halting the wedding, and naming hiromi as the attacker that summer three and a half years ago.

who would believe her now?

she goes to visit your flat later. she's been trying to get a hold of you, but it's been difficult. you're difficult to track and incredibly talented at avoiding unwanted company. to her suprise, when she gets there, you let her in.

it's a small place, not in the best condition either, but she's glad you have somewhere to return to. you talk, she tells you about the wedding she had just attended, and you talk about clearing suguru's name. in the middle of your conversation the afore mentioned man comes out of the bedroom.

it's a mixture of shock and relief. the idea that he may have died in france now seeming ridiculous, it would be so unlike him.

suguru turns furious at the sight of her. overcome with the emotions he's gathered from his time in prison and in the war. yelling that she leaves, that she'd ruined not only his own life, but yours as well. she tells him she wants to make things right, to clear his name.

"i want to help. let me help. ive realized the horrible mistake ive made. i was a child, and i i didnt understand. it wasn't you. i know that now."

oh how ridiculous she still sounds. there is damage that cannot be undone through apologies or recognition that the damage exists. it feels cruel and stupid of her to be here to begin with.

suguru, come back. come back to me

soothing him. you hold his face in your hands, keeping him from looking at her. "look at me. suguru look at me. come back to me."

the three of you discuss what you want her to do. first of all, she'll go to your parents and tell them the whole truth of the situation and what she had done. next, she'll withdraw her initial testimony against suguru.

on her way out, she apologizes to you a final time, and secretly hopes you'll let her see you again.

she can see the two of you from where she stands through the window of your flat. holding each other close. embracing one another with so much love no matter your circumstance. it's so beautiful.

if for nothing else, than she is glad that she at least was unable to hurt the love you and suguru felt for one another. it's been left unmarred by her and the war. safe from all the destruction that surrounds you both.

~~

"three.. . two.. . one... .we're live again!"

the year is 1999. the war has long been over, the world has moved on. the young girl, now an old woman, has gone on to become a renowned novelist. with ths release of her twenty first novel on her seventy seventh birthday.

"ms s/n l/n, welcome again. we wanna talk now about your new novel, atonement. a story of star crossed lovers and love that persists beyond all odds. it's set to come out on your birthday, only a few days from now. it is your twenty first novel and-"

"it's my last novel. i won't be able to write for much longer. not that i am retiring, i never really considered this a job. it's just all i know how to do.

i'm. i'm dying.

i am told, by my doctor that is, that i have vascular dementia. my understanding of it, is that my brain will slowly begin shut itself off and eventually i will die of it.

i think that's why i could finally get myself to complete the novel. it would be my last and i felt i had to get it out and into the world.

it's strange,

umm, this novel is my last. also this novel was my first. my first ever novel.

i've been writing it, countless drafts and copies, since i worked at the hospital during the great war.

i could never quite find the right words for it."

"so then this novel is autobiographical. was that perhaps the problem that you found in writing it?"

"yes, it is entirely autobiographical.

i had made the decision to tell no lies, only the complete truth. no play on words or use of any rhymes. i got first hand accounts for all the events i hadn't witnessed and wrote the content of the story exactly as it had happened.

but... i found no worthiness in it. "

"no worthiness in the truth..?"

"yes. no worthiness in the truth.

because the truth is, that i never went to visit my sister. in truth, i was too much a coward to do that. to face her, and suguru. that was all imagined, it never truly happened.

it never could have happened.

suguru geto, had died of septicaemia, blood poisoning, on the beaches of dunkirk on the last morning of the evacuation. from what i was told, the cause was a small untreated wound from a piece of shrapnel that had pierced his chest. he never did see her again.

they never had their reunion.

my older sister y/n, well, i was never able to set things right between us. in part due to my own cowardice and in part because she died in a bombing at balham underground station during the blitz. i.. the last i saw of her was in my attempts to visit her where she worked at another hospital, she would always brush past me when she did see me. wouldn't even yell or scold me like i was used to as a child.

and so.. . my dear sister and suguru had never gotten the thing they longed for and deserved more than anyone i know. they never got time together, or a life together.

something that i felt i had prevented.

you see, i understand why people read. i understand why people write; likely, i understand better than most.

and as i wrote and read the drafts of the novel that told the truth of this story, i thought to myself, what hope.. what gratification or fulfilment or satisfaction can be given to a reader with an ending like that?

hopeless? pain? suffering? that is not why we read.

so in the book, i wanted to give suguru and y/n what they had lost out on in life, all the things they could never have.

i don't like see it as evasive or cowardly but rather as kind.

i gave them their happiness.

i let them love one another.

i gave them a life in that house by the ocean. one filled with laughs and love and sincerity. it's all that they wanted. it's all they deserve.

its all that i.. took away.

soon i will die, and all the characters in the novel, who are real people who still live will too. we will only exist in those pages and in those lines.

all that will exist of y/n and suguru is the story i have written.

all that will be exist for them too"

"the title of the book, 'atonement', it's referring to yourself. correct? your own atonement."

"yes."

"have you atoned ms. l/n?"

"hmm" it's a small sound. unexpectedly, it's rather pleasant too. the woman's eyes softened age from the sharp ones she had as a child, though they remain just as piercing.

"it's difficult for me to say. one cannot decide for themselves if they have atoned can they? and the only two people who could say, well, they're gone.

maybe that makes this easier."

Contains: mentions of infantilization, dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, mommy kink, it's pretty freaky, lmao.

Suguru is most definitely the most devoted pleasure dom.

Suguru loves you in ways you can not begin to comprehend. He's so unimaginably gentle and sweet. His "let me take care of you" attitude doesn't waver one bit, doesn't let you lift a finger. You don't even have to beg for it but he does like when you do.

His favorite positions are ones where he can see your face, cow girl or mating press for example, loves having you on his lap, however he won't let you put in any effort, he's got enough muscle mass to manhandle you and move your hips for you, just let him <33

That being said, suguru does not like you down there, he should be the one taking care lf you with his mouth, not the other way around silly.

Will playfully threaten to spank you, but his preferred method of punishment is taking his sweet time with you in front of a mirror, but you'll have to work very hard to convince him to be even a tiny bit stern, he loves when you act like a spoiled little princess (chronic enabler) and would rather encourage it.

It's not sex with suguru if he's not constantly praising and cooing at your ear, it honestly gets embarrassing, calls you his precious baby in a sickening sweet tone, his sweet darling, his little sweetheart, his sweet thing emphasis on HIS. He's aware of how embarrassing it gets and relishes in your reactions. He HAS to infantilize you a little bit :((((

Not to be mistaken for humiliation!!!!!! Suguru will not be mean to you in the classic sense. The most he'll do is slightly mock and tease you, will definitely make you say what you want out loud. And coo at your shy little mumbles.

He loves having you cockwarm him completely nude on his lap while you suck on his fingers, his hands would be busy playing with your hair; patting your head; massaging your thighs or breast, or warming up your tummy, loves to gently kiss you on the crown of the head and rub his cheek against it. Bonus points if he has you watch yourself enter sub space on the mirror.

Aside from his fingers, the only thing you're allowed to suck on are his nipples, and god does he love that, call him mommy and he loses it. Needless to say, wishes he coule breastfeed

A huge fan of overstimulation, gives you several orgasms on purpose to have you completely limp and pliant in his arms for aftercare, you absolutely will NOT be wearing your own clothes afterwards either, get comfy in one of his shirts for easy access on the kitchen counter the next morning <33

my dominican family drinks cafe con leche at night w dinner. why. how. ru a masochist.

chat why do ppl drink coffee

omg normal people dni actual PERVERTS and DEPRAVED WEIRDOS with GROSS ABNORMAL EROTIC FIXATIONS only

need him to impregnate me NEOWWWWW

He’s finished

(so have I 👀)