In The Woods (Somewhere) - Mothman!Gojo
In the Woods (Somewhere) - Mothman!Gojo
Ghost stories around the city whisper about a creature in the forest. They describe it as a moth like monster that only brings misfortune and death.
But what will you do as you learn these silly ghost stories are true flesh and bone… and now haunting you?
pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader
wc: 12.9k
warnings & tags: 18+ only MDNI, monster x human relationship, loose interpretation of the mothman legends and stories, death mentions, protectiveness & obsession that can be read as slight yandere like, lot of bug discussion, monster transformation with a touch of body horror, wound licking, blood & tear consumption, magical healing, car accident, allusion to f!oral receiving, kidnapping, character deaths (this ends happy I promise) feral and lovesick Gojo, if there is anything I missed please let me know!
a/n: this is my first submission to @willowser Haunted House Collab and I’m so honored to be part of this! Thank you for putting this together dear Willow! The title is from the lovely Hozier song. Also a big thanks to @skeletoncowboys for letting me scream about this monster & to @stellamancer for always being my dearest comrade in Gojo hell, enjoy and thanks for reading! Stay spooky!
Your grandfather once told you he believed butterflies were fairies and moths were angels.
It made sense to your child logic that butterflies could be fairy creatures. You even imagined fairies had butterfly wings. But, you had argued back in disgust that moths couldn’t be angels.
“Now now,” your grandpa had laughed. “Why can’t moths be angels?”
He gently explained moths were mainly seen in the evening and around light. He believed moths were the forms angels took to keep watch over everyone late in the night when no one believed they were being protected
“And,” he told you with all his sweet patience. “Something like a moth that loves the light can’t be bad.”
Scientifically you now understand moths mainly were nocturnal as a survival instinct for less predators and more opportunities for prey. Some were even active during the daytime. But your grandfather's words stay with you, etched into your heart.
He is why you are here after all.
The campus at night always holds a certain hollowness.
However, the storm that blew in yesterday continues looming with ominous clouds in the sky. It cast an early darkness against the city. The thick haze feels as if something could slink out of the shadows.
When you slip out of the research lab building there, against the light outside, one lone white moth flutters in the air.
Quickly glancing around the campus stretches out before you a vacant lot. In that moment of surveying, delicate wings rapidly flutter fast and wild against your face.
“Ack!” A surprised squawk leaves you at the moth’s sudden charge.
“I told you!” You hiss out waving the bug away. “You could’ve waited for me at home.”
The moth, outraged by your words, rushes against your face harder. Silk wings flap hard while it continues waving around your line of sight in a flurry.
“Calm down, you big baby!” You snap back annoyed and start stomping towards your car.
Now the little insect stops its fluttering attack to gently land on your face. As the bug travels across your cheek, its presence is a gentle tickling sensation. It finally stops and rests against you.
“Happy now?” You mutter low praying no one spots you with a large white moth on your face.
“I’m gonna pick up dinner. So are you getting in the car or meeting me back home?” You speak casual yet still within a low mutter.
With a delicate tickle again, the moth scurries across your cheek then across your nose making your lips twitch in a slight giggle.
Then the creature flutters away, your answer.
The pizzeria you end up at is adorably cozy. You spotted it during the drive to and from campus. Once you read the online reviews and got their blessing you decided to check it out.
Christmas lights hang from the takeout counter where you wait for your order. There’s even a quaint bar-like area. But what catches your attention is the small section of things littering the walls behind the counter.
It reminds you of a scrapbook.
Various newspaper clippings clutter one side. A few blurry photos are folded and pinned to the board. Plenty of hand drawn images scatter among the collage and they range from adorable to terrifying.
All of these things are about one single moth creature.
The board itself is even titled -
The Moth’s Nest.
Moth nests can be disastrous. They infect fast and are hard to exterminate. Plus once they create a nest, infestation is soon to follow.
“Ah, looking at our board.” A smooth voice purrs into the air and you turn towards it in slight embarrassment.
A beautiful blonde woman grins at you from behind the counter now.
“I heard the town had a moth thing but this…” from the drawings, which all included a strange humanoid like creature, this is far from the high moth population count it was known for.
The woman barks an amused laugh and it crinkles her rather lovely eyes.
“You could say that,” she grins. “You new here?”
“Sort of.” You nod. You’ve been here for almost a full semester now and you wonder if the newness will ever melt away.
“Well then, welcome to town!” The woman’s name is Yuki and for being a newcomer she pays for your pizza.
“Even though you got this for takeout, why don’t you stay? Eat here and keep me company.” She winks and you happily slide into the open seat she pulls up for you at the checkout counter.
“So what’s a lovely thing like yourself doing here?” Yuki asks smoothly and you almost choke on your first bite.
After she cackles a warm charismatic laugh, you swallow through your surprise and tell her.
“An en-tah what?” She caws confused like a bird and even her furrowed brows make you snicker.
“An entomologist,” you clarify.
In simple terms, you study bugs.
“Oh!” Yuki’s eyebrows fly fast up into her bangs as her eyes twinkle excitedly. “So you’re all about the creepy crawlers then.”
“Not all of them,” you reply back friendly.
You favored Odonatology and Lepidopterology.
The studies of dragonflies, damselflies, butterflies and in this case-
Moths.
“Well now,” Yuki grins and turns to glance at the board. “Looks like you’re in the right place to find moths.”
It was one of the reasons why you chose this program. The university boasted a plentiful and hands-on ecosystem to explore right within the town’s backyard. You just never expected an urban legend to come attached to the critter population.
Curiously you nudge your face towards the odd journalistic collection and ask about it.
Yuki’s face melts into a wistful look that casts a surprising shadow on her.
“It’s a creature that apparently lives in the woods…” she begins, low and steady.
No one knew how or when it began inhabiting the forest. Some argued it’s a simple folklore meant to scare rowdy kids from venturing into the woods.
“The stories say it’s an actual demon.” Yuki explains.
“There’s a belief that anyone who sees it either dies soon after or calamity befalls the town.”
Yuki’s words conjure up a poisonous fear. She adds how any sight of the cryptid, even in the strongest of nonbelievers, brought a sense of unease.
“But,” Yuki shrugs easily turning back to you. “Some people say that thing is a hero.”
The word hero gets tangled in your ribs
Your new friend explains there are those who have seen the beast and lived to tell a different tale.
Multiple children on different occasions have got lost in the woods. Yet, they always found their way out. Most of them claimed the moth creature helped them.
“There’s even an elderly man who went hiking and still swears up and down that thing saved him from getting attacked by a mountain lion.” Yuki comments.
“That’s a big claim.” You admire the thought of this monstrous creature possibly being a silent guardian. However, it festers something dangerous in your heart that weaves a sticky web.
The pizza on your plate grows cold. The lone drink you were nursing now is a watered down mess. You’ve lost your appetite and decide to head home.
There’s not much for your mind to process. It feels like the same sensation of walking out of a horror film and trying to understand what you saw. You try to rationalize this disorienting simply the same sensation you’d also get hearing ghost stories at sleepovers.
Yuki urges you with a warm charm that you’ll come and visit again, you promise her you will.
Walking out with leftovers in the box, the night greets you with a soupy fog. The lingering storms coat the streets in a mystic cloud.
You wonder if this clouded fog is inside your mind as well.
You’re about to take a step out into the parking lot when a horrifying animalistic shriek pierces the air.
It sounds distorted, a static shrill cry summoned from an ancient abomination.
The screech shoots straight into your bones startling you and making you jump in a pause.
In that moment a car speeding way too fast for a parking lot flies by you. It drives by with a whirling speed rattling the wind.
The noise, the shriek, stopped you from stepping out into the car’s path.
You mind buzzes, maybe too much. The gloomy air seeps into your skin and brings a heaviness over your body. You exhale shakily trying to just settle yourself as you head home.
When you return to the tiny closet of your apartment, there outside against the balcony door your white moth flutters furiously waiting for you.
Sliding the door open you’re about to greet your extra house guest until the text chime on your phone draws your attention away.
As you check your phone charging on the couch, a sudden thud lands against your apartment floors. The flapping of wings flutters into the room.
Before you can even turn around, a shadow falls over you. The presence of something large looms like a ghost, silent and steady yet radiating a chill besides you. Then a firm fuzzy face suddenly dives into the side of your neck burrowing against your skin.
“You need to be more careful.” A voice crystal and aware, yet flickering as if it speaks through the branches of the woods, clicks at you.
You think of the car that blazed by.
“It happens and I’m okay.” You reassure.
The inhuman face hiding in your neck draws back. Then a firm head soon enough gently butts against yours. The action jolts you out of your thoughts and you rapidly turn towards the heaviness leaning against you.
Crawled straight from the shadow of the woods, from the whispers of terrified stories, the creature before you still doesn’t seem real.
You think of Yuki and the moth’s nest board at the pizza shop. All the pictures depict the creature with haunting crimson eyes.
You wish you could have told Yuki the monster’s eyes aren’t red, but instead a piercing sky blue.
And instead of two eyes, the creature holds six beautiful eyes all over his face.
All six eyes of those eyes blink at you with the depth of a haunted lake shimmering within their gaze.
-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-
“Why do you want to study insects?”
Discovering the cryptid could talk was honestly more surprising than discovering he was real.
Also, he had a name.
“Sa-to-ru.” He had told you, pronouncing its syllables as if your little human brain might not get it. It made you scowl. Yet the name itself sounded like something that fluttered out of the forest breeze.
Currently the moth creature, Satoru, sits happily on your apartment balcony under the dark cover of night. You have articles you need to read, lab reports to finish. But, you stay sitting on the floor beside him.
“My grandfather studied them.” You explain, giving the same answer you always do when this question is asked.
“He loved almost every type of bug there was.”
“Sounds like my type of human.” The moth amusedly chitters. “Love to meet him.”
“Honestly, he would’ve loved to meet you too.” You truthfully admit and almost grin thinking of how excited your grandpa would’ve been to see this creature.
“Unfortunately, he passed away a few years ago.” You add simply.
“Oh.” The cryptid replies quietly. “I’m sorry.”
You politely thank him.
“Is he the one besides the moth?”
You’re surprised Satoru even noticed that.
The frame sits on your eclectic shelf filled with books and trinkets. There’s two pictures in that frame. One is a photo of your grandfather during his days when he moved out here to teach at the university you currently attend. The other photo is you and him both holding up big nets when you were a little weed of a thing looking so happy besides him.
Besides those photos is his favorite sketch.
“It’s a luna moth, right?” He’s right again. Though, you’re not surprise he recognized it.
“Yup, the lunar moth was his favorite.” You fondly agree.
Actias luna.
Your grandpa used it as his example of how beautiful and lovely moths could be.
“He’s a man of good taste.” The moth compliments and for some reason it tugs at your lips. You can almost hear your grandfather's voice warmly boasting in pride.
“I wanna show you something, little human.” The moth quickly changes topic and when you turn to him, you find him grinning.
Rows of dangerous sharpened fangs flash within his mouth. They are a visible warning to not trust this creature, but you do.
“After your class this week, I’ll take you somewhere.” Satoru urges.
“Are you going to eat me?” You ask a bit stunned.
Satoru laughs, a flickering chirping noise that bounces off your apartment balcony.
“Oh little human, if I did eat humans I would’ve done that already.”
You glare at him but sighing you agree to whatever he has in store for you.
On your last class of the week, there outside against the campus street light your white moth flutters excitedly.
You think about how dangerous it is that he sticks around campus, even in this form.
With a rapid flurry he flies around your face. You can’t help but snort at the tickling sensation.
“Yeah I’m here, let’s go.” You tease.
Under the twilight hazee, you follow the moth into the woods.
The setting sun casts a shadow over the stretching forest. The trees silently watch your hesitant trek as you follow the moth further into the thickness.
Eventually you’re in the heart of it. No noise greets you, not even the rustling of birds or the fleeing of other animals. It’s as if in this depth all life had stilled. No movement or sign of life encroaches into this space. You realize this might have been the most ridiculous idea, following this cryptid myth into the unknown.
Suddenly the moth stops in front of a large solid tree.
“This is what you wanted to show me?” You’re a bit confused. The insect flutters around you in a huffy flight then goes to spin around the tree.
Satoru himself now slides out from behind the tree in his humanoid form.
“It’s not just a tree.” His six eyes narrow at you annoyed. Your eyes roll exhausted with him already.
“Do you trust me?”
The question surprises you.
Hesitantly you nod, a quiet yes. Satoru then effortlessly scoops you into his arms as if you weigh nothing.
A wild squeak escapes you. His firm arms hold you in his grasp and your mind starts scrambling being this close to him. The fur of his body tickles your arms and the solid warmth of him curls around you.
Satoru’s chittering laugh bounces among the trees.
He then takes flight.
You swallow back a petrified screech threatening to escape and simply let the wind rush around you. A solid thud comes, a landing.
“Open your eyes, little human.” Satoru whispers excited.
You hadn’t realized you had closed them.
The nest before you is a cobwebbed cocoon. You had never seen one this big. The opening of it is carved out wide, a webbed open maw with secrets trying to draw you in.
“Go in, you can see more.” His wistful voice skitters out playful, so light it could get caught in the tree branches.
He’s eager to show you this.
Hesitantly you lean into the nest just to glance inside.
It’s actually rather cozy. Webs and branches twist in a delicate pattern to create a solid enclosing. Leaves scatter the inside floor that is rather large. You can even imagine his large form curled in here cat-like as he sleeps.
“So? What do you think?” He asks with an anticipated edge blooming in his voice. He’s showing you his home.
You remember when he first showed himself to you, even gave you his name.
The logical reasoning within you thought many times about studying this cryptid. There was even a fleeting moment you considered capturing him and returning him back to the lab.
Now you are here discovering his home. You find yourself wanting to unearth as much as you can of this incredibly infuriating but wonderfully interesting creature.
“It’s nice!” You earnestly admire the space. Yet, the truth whispers a harrowing fact.
The bigger the nest, the bigger the infection and danger.
So you instead turn to glance out to the forest around. You’re so high above in the canopy of the trees. Silence seems to settle thicker here among the sky and it mingles with the evening darkness.
The forest, even as tranquil as it appears, holds a sense of loneliness you can’t fully describe.
“Have you been here at this spot for long?”
He chirps a humming yes.
“The high placement keeps me safe and away from prying eyes.” Among the trees and leaves he is simply a shadow.
“Do people try to hunt you?” That grim thought arrives.
“A few try, but no one’s even come close.” A cocky pride brims in Satoru’s tone.
You understand why people would try and search for him. But to hunt him like some prized sport? So you have to ask why.
“Besides some humans believe killing me will solve and save them from all their disasters, a select few who want me for other purposes.” Satoru muses as his antennas twitch.
“What other purposes?” You glance back at the cryptid perched on the solid large branch beside you.
In the dark, all six eyes glimmer with an animalistic reflection, a haunting gleam and reminder of the creature's true nature before you.
All those months ago, these multiple eyes stared at you from the edge of the woods by your apartment and the campus like silent terrors. Now they watch you with intent safety right by your side.
“There’s an old legend…” Satoru answers. “It says my kind could bring someone back from the dead.”
The words spark a curious flame in you.
“Wait, really? Is it true?”
The moth being simply shrugs, an action so human you almost want to laugh.
“Some believe it. That’s enough to hunt my kind.”
So many questions cluster in your mind. You wonder more about his kind, about him. Yet there is no way to scoop all those questions out.
All you can do is gaze out at the scenery before you.
The trees pierce the darkness with their own spiked tendrils. The night sky blankets above you with twinkle stars, glimmering pockets of faint light so clear.
Yet, for some reason this again feels so lonely.
Even with the stretching comforting woods, you can’t shake the sensation of solitude slipping out.
“So why do you still stick around?” You suddenly ask not even understanding why yourself.
“What? Around you or here?” He asks.
“Both.”
A chirp of a sigh comes, heavy with an ancient weary.
“I’ve thought about leaving, migrating somewhere else, somewhere safer.” His voice drops gently, a small click in the wind.
“But…” His voice trails off even more delicate.
“Something just keeps…pulling me back here. Like I’m meant to be here. That I’ve been waiting for something.” You’ve never heard him this wistful and distant.
Then his response also has you curious.
“Do you have any idea what it is?” You cautiously and gently press.
“No idea.” His answer is rapidly too casual that you snort, shaking your head.
“And why am I still hanging around you? Who knows, maybe I just like to bug you.”
The pun isn’t lost especially on you and you groan annoyed even though a smile twitches at your lips.
Among the shade of stars and shadow of the forest, you sit with a creature of the darkness.
-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-
The moth had first appeared at your window balcony dancing around the light like an ethereal wisp of a spirit. It happily flew around you and even spun around your entire apartment. You eventually had to shoo it out.
For a while, it was simply you and this strangely persistent moth.
After that, six eyes began appearing at night at the edge of the woods. Strange clicks like howls erupted in the air, haunting lingering sounds that rattled you.
That same week the moth showed up to your apartment flying in a bit of distress. The wings of it flapped slower and you wondered if it was dehydrated or dying.
As you had opened the sliding door to the balcony, that’s when you first witnessed it.
Like butterflies, moths go through a similar life cycle of emerging from a pupa or chrysalis. The new adult insects must crawl out of its old cocoon. The process is the blend of life and destruction.
You discovered the same applied to moth creatures.
The wings fell first then the twisting and emergence of a body from the small frame transformed to life a fully formed creature.
That first time the moth creature metamorphosed on the balcony you screamed so loud your neighbor across the hall came worriedly to check on you.
You had hoped it was all just a bad dream…
Now when you return home early, that monster rests in your bed instead of lurking under it like all the scary stories whisper where monsters lie.
Curled within the sheets, burrowed deep and taking up the entire frame, the creature slumbers. You barely can spot Satoru underneath all the pillows. A few of your shirts peek out from the swirl of blankets and you try not to linger on that.
The messy twisted bed cocoon however does make you think of the grand nest you saw.
A faint snore grumbles out into the room. The muffled animalistic noise should frighten you. Instead it echoes a soothing rumble as you go to make dinner.
In the meditative process of cutting, claws scratching against the tile floor startles you. Your heart skips at the sudden noise and your face whips to the entryway.
In this form, the moth cryptid has to hunch from touching the ceiling.
Satoru’s imposing frame fills up the entire space even with his thick wings folded to his body. The intricate beautiful antennas on top of his head flicker curious. Among the monstrous features, human-like qualities are visible in his arms, his legs, and the core of his body. Yet even in that familiarity, he is covered in sleek fur.
The sigh of this unbelievable being in this tiny kitchen almost has you laughing. Months ago this would have made you scream in terror. Now, his existence has settled into your life a strange blooming metamorphosis.
Then all six of Satoru’s clustered eyes go wide in terror.
His talons rattle rapidly on the floor as he scurries to your side.
“Your hand.” He comments sharply.
Glancing down, blood trickles over your hand and drips softly onto the cutting board. The cut thankfully isn’t deep, simply sliced the top of your finger.
“Guess that means I’m ordering out.” You mutter.
However your new companion immediately snags your hand.
Satoru’s grasp is hard, a terrified clutch as if he’s worried the cut will worsen. Flickering your gaze to him now, all six eyes focus at your hand with a startling petrified seriousness.
“I’m fine.” You reassure. “Let me just grab a band aid.”
The creature’s firm hold is unrelenting, refusing to budge even as you tug to release your hand.
“Hey-” you’re about ready to chide him and urge him to let go-
Until the moth cryptid leans down and with a long thin tongue begins licking at your wound.
Air gets knocked out of your lungs.
You mind can’t process the sight but the wet tickle of his tongue swiping along your skin grounds you. Satoru’s tongue swipes frantically and fast, a panic.
A dangerous heat runs up your arm and claws at your chest. This shouldn’t feel this intimate. Yet, it does.
You can’t even exclaim in surprise because in the small dimly lit kitchen, the moth has you under his spell.
Instead of the panic, there’s now an eased almost lazy and leisurely lap at your skin. The way his tongue slides across you is as if he’s trying to savor you. It slithers with a reverence between your knuckles, across your fingers, and your mind slowly melts.
Then with one last slow deliberate lick, Satoru draws back.
A daze has fallen over your foggy mind filled with smoke until you blink and notice your cut is gone.
Blood faintly lingers around his mouth, coloring the white fur of his face and it should scare you. And it does but the fear comes from how gorgeous he looks, and knowing it’s your blood…
The thin tongue immediately darts out to lick at the bloody traces.
The sight teeters into an overwhelming sensation and you forcibly break your focus to glance back at your healed hand.
“You have healing powers?” You croak out trying to process the sight.
“No.” For a creature that lives in the woods, he understands sarcasm rather well.
You glare at the creature who now tilts his face away. He avoids your eyes as he fiddles with the edge of your shirt.
“Moths can't heal.” You comment.
“I’m not like a typical moth now am I, little human?”
That damn nickname.
Annoying as Satoru is, you still can’t believe the sight of your healed fingers.
“Thank you for healing me.” You mutter still not able to process but are grateful all the same.
The moth creature hums a proud amused thing you quietly ignore.
Moths didn’t have healing properties. Hawk Moths could recreate antioxidants in their body to replenish themselves. You wonder if that’s how Satoru operates with his abilities.
Another part of you, one that sounds warmly like your grandfather’s voice, whispers that the creatures of this world simply hold mysteries we may not ever know.
You suppose the cryptid refusing to leave your side is the solidified truth of that.
Suddenly Satoru’s head softly plops against the top of yours.
With soft gentle rumbles he rubs his face into your hair.
“You know,” you begin softly as your fingers itch to run up against his fur. “You don’t have to keep sticking around here.”
“Hm?” Satoru hums out a bit dreamily.
“You can go back to where you’re from. You don’t need to keep staying with me out of obligation for freeing you or feeling like… you have a debt you want to repay.” You breathe the words out firmer.
The nuzzling against your head stops.
“Oh?” Satoru begins with a curious chirp. “That’s not why I stay.”
His confident reply stills you.
“Like I said maybe I just like bugging you.” He grins coy. “And besides, I stay because eating the fabric of your clothes is pretty nice free food and I like scaring away any humans that might come by.”
“You bring me closer to buying an electric fly swatter!” You screech and swat him away.
“Aw, don’t be like that!” He whines and flutters his wings almost taken back.
You ignore him and his annoying clicks vying for your attention while you order dinner for the night.
“I forget…Humans are so easily annoyed. You most especially.” He says bristly and it’s the last straw.
Healing your arm or not, this creature manages to wiggle under your skin in a way that no one else has. You blame the damn moth for how on edge you feel. Yet the truth lies in the strange unfathomable heat still brewing under your skin.
As you leave you get food you stare at him hard. You sling the balcony door open, a silent demand he leaves. His multiple eyes, shimmering sapphires, search your face.
“I see...” His reply is a brisk breeze.
Turning your back to him, you head to grab your keys. You don’t even see him leave and instead stomp to head out.
You even fully close your bedroom window. It’s the crack of an entrance you’ve recently been leaving open that allows him to flutter in when he’s a smaller moth.
Now as leave you’re thankful for the momentary space from the infuriating infestation.
Against the early night sky the pizzeria glows an electric beacon against the darkness. Clamoring chatter and an upbeat song greet you when you step inside. You’re not surprised it’s packed on a night like this.
Yuki yells a bright excited welcome at you from across the restaurant and it warms you.
Now leaning at the bar your attention can't help but find its way to the bulletin board by the entryway. Even with the annoyance and conflicting desire, seeing the arranged clutter about the local moth creature draws out a strange sinking feeling within you.
“You interested in the bug?”
A deep rumble of a voice drips out smooth and breaks your focus immediately.
Turning to the side, you discover you’re not alone at the bar.
The man is thick, solidly built and strikingly handsome. He seems older than you, with an aged weathered dignified presence about him. With only black hair and a scar across the corner of his lip, he sits looking bored at the counter with a toothpick in his mouth.
“It’s interesting.” You admit truthfully.
“Think the bug is real?” The man questions with the faintest hint of curiosity.
You shrug again. “Anything is possible I guess.”
“Indeed it is.” Now his voice holds an interested purr that sticks to your skin in an uncomfortable way.
Your eyes flicker back to him and you find his attention however is on the board.
“Some say it’s a demon.” He suddenly adds.
“I’ve heard.” You agree calmly.
“Whatever it is…it’s bad luck.” The mystery man says briskly.
You heard that as well.
“Some say it’s not.” For some reason, a small protective spike rises in you and you even think about Yuki calling it a hero.
“Yeah well, everyone can read an omen wrong I guess.” His words cast a dangerous thickness into the air that slithers up your skin.
“Besides, there’s an old legend I heard once.” he continues.
“It says…if a moth flies into your home it means someone is going to die.”
Dread crashes into your body and consumes you quickly. You’ve never heard that saying before and it bubbles an awful bile in your stomach making you feel sick.
“That’s awful.” You can’t help but answer back sharply it even surprises you.
You think of your grandfather, his belief moths were angels, and how that guided you to where you are now.
And you can’t help but think of the moth in question.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you.” He leans back into his seat to stare at you.
No response for him seems to come to mind. If anything, a strange chill trickles down your spine as if you’re staring down a creature surveying and waiting to strike.
Yuki calls out your name and breaks your focus.
“Wish I could stay and chat but we’re a bit busy tonight!” She winks at you and now you grin, eased at her presence.
You wish her a good night and begin gathering your order to leave.
“Be careful out there.” The stranger mutters. Your eyes flicker to him. His attention is back on the slice of pizza before him.
“Don’t know what might be out there trying to fly into your house this time of night.”
His words create a sticky cobweb of emotions in you. You simply take your food and rush out.
Driving back to the apartment you glance at your hand fully healed and still lingering with the phantom sensation of the moth’s tongue licking at your skin.
You think of how effortlessly this strange creature carved a space in your life.
Now a sense of danger prickles against your skin, like the way the air tightens electric before a storm.
When you arrive home, a silent apartment greets you. The emptiness clouds your space and the walls creep in close and cold.
A piece of you expected him to return, maybe even hoped. But trying to sort through those emotions again bubbles a strange ache in your chest.
Before you go to bed you slightly open your bedroom window and settle under the covers. Closing your eyes, you accept the silence and solitude lingering in your room and heart.
Sleep trickles in faintly. You fade in and out of being awake.
Then your bed shifts.
A heaviness immediately curls against you. The softest brush of moth wings graze your arm. Soft chirps, faint and delicate, float into the room.
Satoru’s face burrows against the top of your head, a silent apology.
This is new.
He’s never done this before. He’s never slept on your bed with you. But your heart races too fast in your chest and your mind still feels so clouded from this night that you can’t even react.
Or, you don’t want to react.
This is new, yes. But a wild desperation inside of you sinks its claws into this new proximity. You simply keep your eyes closed and shift to settle deeper into the bed, deeper into his warmth.
The smell of the brisk forest, clear and earthy, lulls you to sleep.
Waking up the next morning, you’re alone.
A part of you wonders if you dreamed his return.
Yet on your nightstand rests a sweet plucked wildflower that wasn't there before. It greets you a bright good morning.
-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-
Your open apartment balcony door brings in a warm evening breeze. A favorite series of yours plays on the television as you grab another mouthful of popcorn.
“Can I have some?” Satoru whimpers.
“No.” You answer through the mouth of popcorn.
“So mean! Why are you so cruel to me, little human!?” He pouts and you simply ignore him.
Even with the moth creature crouching on the floor his body still looks frightfully full and large. His fur is fluffed out more and he almost looks adorable like this simply sitting beside you.
His presence should create a distorted sense of reality. Yet no sense of panic rises within you. If anything, only more curiosity has started gnawing in you.
What kind of moth species did he originate from? Where was he even originally from? Did he have a family?
“What’s your favorite human activity to do?” It seems you were not the only one curious.
Recently Satoru has begun pestering you with a plethora of questions from what foods did you like the most to these more strange human specific ones.
“Don’t know, I have a lot.” You answer truthfully.
You rationalize all the questions you have and that he even asks are mutual inquisitive curiosity about the other’s species, a chance to learn.
Except, for you, the source of your curiosity masquerades as a yearning you don’t want to hunt out yet.
“Humans are terrified of the oddest things.”
Satoru’s comment breaks your thoughts.
You turn towards the creature who stares at the television with all six eyes.
The series you had put on had been an old favorite of yours, supernatural and fantasy based. The main heroes in this episode were being terrorized by monsters that came alive from a children’s book of old fairy tales.
“Well this series is older so the effects and monster makeup isn’t all that impressive.”
“Not that.” The moth corrects you quickly. “I mean that creature isn’t even scary.”
You want to make a comment about how of course a creature that crawled from the woods and haunts a town would not find this terrifying.
“What are you afraid of?” Again the moth humanoid questions.
You shrug. “A lot of things.”
“You don’t need to be afraid of anything.” He chirps so matter of factly it surprises you. “Especially because I’m here now.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes at his cocky boast. Yet your heart flips at the protective claim.
“But…I do think humans may be the scariest creatures of all.” Satoru notes with a wistful distance in his voice.
You wonder if he’s trying to tease you or even be a bit poetically pessimistic.
“I agree.” You nod reaching for popcorn. “Humans can sometimes be scary.”
In all the beauty that comes with being human, you know there is a darkness that comes with the territory. The lovely prickle of rain starting to fall soothes you as the episode jumps to the next.
It’s one of your favorites. The main character gains a secret wish stone that transforms into her love interest because she desires and wishes for him most of all.
You rise to the kitchen to grab a drink.
“What do you wish for most, little human?”
His words stop you frozen. They come out so simple, a curious purr almost.
Your mind tries to reach towards something noble and grand like to wish for world peace or wish for climate change to end. You think of wishing for a better car, better apartment, to get rid of your money problems.
Yet it all cultivates into a simple easy response.
“Love, I guess.” It’s a simplified answer.
“That?” Even Satoru sounds dubious.
“Yeah…love. If you have love, then everything else sort of just falls into place.” With love at the cornerstone, everything can build from there.
A chittering like sigh dances into the room.
“Boring. At least say something interesting like an endless supply of sugar or something like that.”
You can’t help but snort at such a silly answer.
“Is that you’d wish for then?” You now ask the creature.
“Mhm…maybe. Or maybe something extra special your little human mind couldn’t comprehend.” Such a coy response only makes you roll your eyes.
But for some reason, that answer feels heavy like it needs to be unearthed. You don’t push the answer, or him.
As you clean up around the kitchen, you glance back to the living room. There Satoru rapidly consumes all your popcorn as fast as he can.
“You freaking pest!” You screech annoyed and he simply blinks his six blue marble eyes at you as if he did nothing wrong.
“I’m not a pest.” He replies innocently and it annoys you even more.
“You’re literally a moth! What is more pest-like than that?!”
Satoru’s monstrous face flickers. It faintly crumbles until his eyes hollow out a cold downcast.
“Right there? You just sounded just like every other human.” His words, low, raw and sharp, rip through you.
He doesn’t say it but you hear the undercurrent.
I thought you were better than that.
A festering ache swells in your chest as the weight of his words drag you under.
Quietly you start making two bowls of popcorn now. You grab the chocolate syrup. Satoru had a fierce sweet tooth. It took you by surprise when your gas station candy treat went missing and his sticky fur said enough.
So you drizzle plenty of chocolate over the salty snack then you quietly speak.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
A moment of silence fills the space.
“It’s alright little human... Sometimes I forget your little human brain makes so many mistakes like that. I can’t get too mad.” He chirps so bored.
You’re tempted now to throw away the chocolate popcorn.
Thankfully the air seems to lighten as you head back to the living room two popcorn bowls in hand.
There Satoru’s multitude of eyes are entirely glued to the television now. The familiar dialogue comes and you whip your attention to the screen as well.
The big realization between the main heroine and her love interest unfolds as he realizes what her wish manifested as.
The moment is heated, drenched in undeniable chemistry. The magnetic pull even has you entrapped. Then the love interest without hesitation pulls the heroine and kisses her with a fierce released love.
Now it feels so intimate, too raw to watch. You turn away under the guise of grabbing more popcorn.
“Is that how humans show affection?” Satoru’s voice is a curious twinkle of a chirp.
“Yup,” you weakly agree while you check your phone hoping to seem disinterested.
“Seems aggressive.” For some reason his disgusted comment makes you snort.
“Uh, it depends. Kissing is…” there’s much you can say on the manner but you simply shrug.
“It’s nice.” A simple but true answer.
“What’s it feel like?” The question drips with an inquisitive click but for some reason it slithers dangerously under your skin.
“Uh…again, it depends. There’s different types of kisses for different situations and the emotions can change with them.” You explain.
“Sounds complicated.” Satoru muses and you snicker relaxed with the episode ending.
“I thought you knew all about human interactions?” You now ask, curious yourself.
“Not in that way.” That’s fair.
“Or really…I’ve just never been interested in seeing humans interacting in that way.” He adds rather low.
“Until recently.” That addition he gives cuts across you as if it’s covered with sharp glass edges.
“Guess this series does that, even to moth creatures.” You lightly try diffusing whatever shift starts to swirl in the room and drag you into its current.
Satoru stays quiet, curled into himself and his wings. Very faintly his antennas droop, enough that you notice it.
Rain now steadily prattles on peacefully mixing with the episode playing. Yet in the silence your skin crawls with something unspoken you can’t evade.
You close your eyes hoping to avoid any more questions and pretend you’ve fallen asleep. Naturally, a nap overtakes you and you jolt awake when a text message brightly wakes you up.
“So what episode are we on?” You sleepily ask, noticing the cryptid hasn’t left. Evening would be arriving soon, the time Satoru normally slipped back into the woods.
“A weird one.” He mutters and now curiosity flickers in you over which episode it is.
Your eyes widen.
Of course it would be this one.
The heroine’s best friend falls in love with a monster living in a cave. It’s another one of your favorites. Now, the obvious reality sinks its fangs into your throat.
“This is the most ridiculous one by far.” Satoru scoffs. “No human would actually love a monster like this.”
His words deflate something in you. All the nerves and prickling emotions scatter.
“I don’t know.” You offer back lightly. “Maybe there’s something extra human to love a monster.”
All six eyes rapidly blink towards you. Their glassy yet sharp attention focuses so intently and it’s unnerving.
“You don’t mean that.” He snips and it distorts his voice more than normal.
You shrug.
“What do you mean by that?” He annoyingly asks, persistent.
What you mean is sometimes humanity can see through what society deems as monstrous and instead love the core of what a being is.
“I mean, it’s like what the episode says,” you nudge towards the television.
“If love is fanged even between humans, why can’t a monster find that same love?” You quote it vaguely but enough to capture the core.
The same goes for humans you explain.
“Cause like what we said earlier, humans are a bit scary from time to time right? A little bit monstrous ourselves?”
So why not settle with a love fanged and coated in the shadows.
The episode takes a shift when the heroine’s best friend greedily kisses the bat-like creature. An electric desire jolts across your spine as it dries your throat.
“I never knew humans could…desire something like this.” Satoru’s eyes now unabashedly stare at the television with a religious focus almost afraid to look away.
“Some do.” You try sounding casual, but your voice croaks.
A heavy fog clouds your mind. Before he can ask or comment anything else you brightly announce you’re going to take a shower. You scurry to the bathroom without even once glancing at the moth monster.
It’s a pathetic excuse but it’s early evening now. This decision isn’t entirely out of the blue. You just need to cool down and take yourself away from the moment.
However, under the weight of the water, under the heat of the steam, you try washing away the festering arousal seeping into your veins.
The episode flashes in your mind. Except this time you picture yourself in the arms of the towering moth creature.
This danger has been brewing well beneath the surface and now slips past its shackles.
It rips you open raw and wild, unrelenting in a way that a slick heat already pools between your legs. You should not, by all rational means, be attracted much less so attached to this monster. Yet, you are.
You remember how easily he swept you into his arms, how solid and built his frame is. He is stunning. You can’t even deny that.
You even think about how comforting a presence he was in your bed. Those thoughts melt and mutate dangerously.
Now, you imagine how warm and solid he would feel against you, between your legs. What he looks like drunk on pleasure-
Exhaling shakily, you turn the shower as cold as you can.
When you return to the living room after the shower, the sliding door is still wide open. Rain continues to twinkle its beautiful song into the living room, a living room now very vacant.
No moth creature is in sight and the bowl of chocolate drizzled popcorn remains untouched.
-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-
In the research lab you grade quizzes from the class you work assisting with. This time during the week the lab is thankfully empty and it gives you time
to catch up on your articles and work.
A surprise knock however disrupts that peace.
Your advisor walks in with a warm grin. Besides her is the man from the bar.
A confused anxiousness seizes your heart and you try keeping your face composed.
You politely smile as your advisor calls your name.
“This is Toji Fushiguro. He’s an agent from the local conservation group trying to investigate where our dear little moth friend went.” Your advisor explains polite and casual.
Your heart sinks rapidly.
The unknown moth had been in a large observation box the first time you saw it.
It had been a new and recent find. Being a first year in the program, you simply were allowed to watch and observe the new species.
Bigger than a typical silk moth, the unidentified moth had beautiful intricate designs on its wings you’d never seen. The little creature was also incredibly feisty. On multiple occasions it flew into the side of the box as if trying to push its way out.
Now that glass enclosure sits empty.
“Do you think it would be alright if he asks you a few questions?”
You happily agree hoping that cooperating will divert any attention from yourself.
With a grin your advisor leaves the room to give you and Fushiguro space. Now alone with the man from the bar, he sleepy grins a coy amused thing.
“So, we meet again.” That deep voice sulks out with a lure that feels poisonous and sticky.
“We do.” You nod politely.
“Shouldn’t be surprised you’re a bug fan.” He scratches at his jaw and for some reason his casual attitude towards you twists your stomach.
You want to make a witty comeback but nothing comes to mind. Instead you stare down this mysterious man.
“What makes a cutie like you get into bugs huh?” He asks casually.
“My grandfather.” You answer truthful and curt.
“Hm, that’s nice.” Fushiguro nods understandingly.
His eyes begin scanning the lab with that same boredom he wore at the restaurant bar.
“So when did ya let the moth escape?” His relaxed question makes you choke.
“Excuse me?!” You snap. “I didn’t let the moth out.”
Except you had.
The first night you stayed late at the lab you accidentally forgot to close the windows.
In that mishap, the moth escaped. You were thankful another class used the lab after you and disrupted the possibility of anything being pinned to you.
The department of course was a bit disheartened. However, everyone warmly joked about half of the job of being an entomologist is chasing after things way too fast to catch.
That happened months ago.
“I’m going to be honest with you.” Toji Fushiguro leans against the table with a brazen ease. “I’m here looking for that thing cause it’s dangerous.”
For some reason, you don’t fully believe him.
“Remember what I told you about moths? They’re bad luck.” His stare is unwavering and cold.
“That’s arguable.” You surprisingly fire back.
Toji Fushiguro shrugs. He slides his hands into his jogger pant’s pockets.
“If that’s all you wanted to discuss, then I need to ask you to please leave. I have work to do.” You answer sharp and composed.
He simply shrugs again and pushes himself off the table he leans against.
Without another word Toji Fushiguro simply heads to the door. Before he leaves the man stops.
“That bad luck I told you about? S’gonna catch up to you soon, pretty. Just want to give you a warning.”
It sounds like a threat instead of a warning.
At his words a venomous bile pools in your mouth and you almost want to snarl at this man. He leaves with just a casual wave of his hand and not another word.
The rest of the time in the lab you can’t focus on anything. You simply float in this strange inertia.
When you leave, no moth flutters outside to greet you.
A new wave of terror wiggles through your stomach.
Your apartment is also deadly silent. Worry prickles all over your body as you slide open the balcony door. You even peer out into the woods hoping to find six gleaming eyes staring out.
Yet only the darkness, eternal and empty, stares back an ancient unforgiving warning.
So try pushing aside this rattling worried energy. You try to make dinner, even put on a favorite movie for background noise.
Your mind however can’t leave the thought of Toji Fushiguro. Mainly, you worry about the absence of your moth. Fear eats away at you as if an actual creature has crawled inside.
And maybe he has.
You miss him. You miss Satoru. You’re worried about him.
He’s become a staple in your life, a strange fixture pestering you. You can’t imagine a day without his presence now.
Then a realization trickles in a slow and sticky truth.
He is a creature of the woods, a myth of the darkness. Maybe he never meant to be yours.
Now here you are. A selfish human simply trying to keep him all to yourself.
A sudden clash of something solid rams into the balcony rail. You can’t help but shriek.
Thee moth creature rapidly shoves his way into your living room. He crawls inside feral like something out of a horror movie.
“Satoru!” You cry out his name and rush towards him.
Satoru’s piercing sky eyes, all six of them, are wide and frantic. His gaze darts around the room. Then he begins sniffing around the space.
“Someone’s been in here.” Satoru’s voice drops, a waterlogged frantic gurgle.
“Wait what?” You ask terrified. “How do you know?
You start glancing around the room now and follow Satoru as he continues rapidly smelling the space. There are no signs of someone breaking in and entering. Nothing even seems out of place or stolen.
“I smell something new. It’s not either one of our scents.” Satoru’s voice drips with a sharp dread and it chokes you.
“What does that mean?” You croak trying not to get caught up in the terror and panic, but their current is so strong.
Suddenly Satoru whips around.
There in the hallway of your apartment he completely consumes the entire space with his imposing frame. The darkness of the hallway and dim lighting casts a grim shadow over him. His wide frantic eyes are animalistic, more than you’ve ever seen.
His shoulders heave with rapid breaths. In a blink Satoru suddenly crams his body against yours.
This giant of a monster curls down to crouch into you. His face begins rubbing against yours. Soft growl like purring rumbles into the air.
You can’t help but whimper his name as fear has you in its maw.
What’s going to happen? What could you do?
You try to voice these questions, these worries, but the words get tangled in your throat.
“Nothing will harm you.” Satoru snaps deadly as the edge of his tone wavers into a frayed growl.
Those strange humming clips and chirps he makes float into the air while he continues comforting you.
Clawed hands curl into your back with a noticeable pressure. There’s a hint of danger in his tight grasp. But then you realize you’re also clutching onto him with an iron hold.
Frustratedly you try blinking away tears managing to stubbornly spill down your cheeks.
Satoru, who still rubs his monstrous face against yours, immediately notices your tears.
A distressing chattering noise comes and you’re readying to reassure him you’re fine.
His tongue instead moves to lick at your tears.
The action stills you immediately. The slick appendage rapidly slithers across your face trying to quickly wipe away your tears.
You think about when he healed your hand, when his tongue wiggled across your skin to lap at your blood. Now here he is again, consuming you, trying to heal and comfort you.
His tongue however slides down across your cheeks tasting the salt of your skin. It immediately sparks to life an intoxicating heat that drowns out the panic.
A part of you wonders about the danger swirling around him and how there might be a possibility that doom is seeping into you.
This might be your doom, to adore a creature composed of myth and nightmare.
You blink and a few lingering tears rapidly run down your cheek straight to the corner of your lip.
Satoru, fast as ever, moves to lick them up. In the process his tongue slithers close to your lips, running across the edge of them.
You inhale sharply and your eyes can’t help but snap open wide. You’re breathing heavily. The way Satoru’s large shoulders begin heaving, so is he.
Suddenly he breathes out your name and it gets tangled in your heart.
“Mine.” Then his voice, animalistic and monstrous, cracks the air with a low possessive growl.
His tongue begins running across your lips without hesitation. The wet wiggling intense sensation has your eyes closing in absolute bliss. You sigh and want to open your mouth to let his tongue slip inside.
“You’re mine.” He snarls out feral and wild. Those strange clicks of his come faster and soon enough his claws draw you closer.
Suddenly Satoru inhales deeply against your skin.
Then he groans a terrible wonderful noise that makes your knees buckle.
“Oh you smell so good.” He slurs. He continues to smell every inch of your skin, trying to map and memorize your scent.
A whimper escapes you and Satoru rumbles out a comforting click.
He begins dragging his down your body with a focused intent.
“Stronger, it’s getting stronger.” He mutters against your clothes.
“Satoru-” you say his name a bit worried.
The moth creature shoves his face unabashedly against your clothed sex. He groans loud, almost debauched and all thoughts float out of you. His antennas rapidly twitch.
“Oh it’s here.” Satoru mumbles in awe, possessed, as if he’s found a deity. “You smell so good here.”
He growls frustrated as he tries burrowing his face closer and closer to your dripping arousal.
You croak out his name waterlogged.
Satoru snaps to look up at you from his knees. All six eyes are glossy and frantic.
“Please? Please, my little human, can I have more?” He begs.
That’s when you notice his mouth is wet drenched with saliva. He’s drooling at just the thought of you, drunk on your smell.
All you can do is nod, caught in the same intoxication desire.
Effortlessly he claws apart your pants at the seam and dives in. You can’t even chide him for that.
Your mind goes blank, consumed by pleasure and lost in its woods. As you cry out while his thin tongue runs up and down every inch of you, you realize Satoru is right.
You are his. And maybe he is yours.
Satoru arrived in your life and never left. He instead stayed in the safety of your light with you under the cover of his wings.
-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-
“Don’t go to class today.” The moth mumbles.
Satoru has been glued to your side since the discovery of your intruder last week. He barely leaves the apartment and when he does it’s only because you need to leave. Currently he sits on the bedroom floor with wide sleep deprived eyes.
The antennas on top of his head flicker quickly. He’s tried been pushing himself to stand guard even during the day.
“I’ll be fine, it’s just a lecture.” You reassure him.
“Besides, you should take this time to sleep. You need to rest.”
“I’ll be fine.” He mirrors your words back to you.
Your monster’s six eyes hold a daze focused like he’s trying to be aware of everything all at once. Slowly and delicately you let your hand run against his soft face.
The delicate fur, now a tangible dream under your fingertips, is so sulky. The touch jolts the creature into awareness.
Satoru’s eyes all flutter you and instantly his face melts against your hand.
“Don’t go.” He whispers a static like mumble.
“I’ll be okay.” You even lean down to kiss the side of his face.
“Fine, then I’m going.” He snaps a firm unwavering decision and you can’t argue with him.
As you walk to the lecture hall building he flutters so swiftly and dizzying in his normal moth form. He even flies all around your face, another angry urging for you to not go.
You gently hold out your hand. Slowly the moth flutters to land on top of your hand.
He is gorgeous in every form including this one. Shimmering wide eyes, large intricate wings, all composed in this sweet creature furiously crawling over your hand.
“I know you’re still upset, but I’ll be fine.” You softly reassure him for the hundreth time.
He stops and stares at you. Gently you run a finger across his fuzzy little head careful to not touch his antennas.
He flies from your hand and lands immediately on the corner of your lips.
A goodbye kiss.
Your lips twitch amused and deeply fond.
“I’ll see you when class is over.” With that you head to class.
Walking into the classroom, one of your peers excitedly speaks to everyone present in the room.
“Did you guys hear?! Someone just saw the mothman thing on campus a few minutes ago?!”
Terror unfolds in you and your heart collapses among its cage. He must have transformed in the woods, or in flight.
“Really? Are you sure?” A skeptic quickly emerges and you cling to their words.
“No I swear! Everyone’s been talking about it online! So many people saw it fly into the trees by the woods!”
You haven’t been this terrified since the contained moth was missing or since you first saw six reflective eyes staring at you from the dark.
Chatter breaks out immediately with so many discussions. Some of your classmates show their disbelief while others eagerly ask for more information.
You try to keep your composure as you slide into your seat.
“Hey,” someone says your name. Your friend that sits next to you stares at you with a scrunched up face of concern.
“You okay? You look kinda sick.” She frowns.
You wearily smile and use the excuse that you have been under the weather. A cold chill even runs up your spine.
“Then head back home,” she comforts you with understanding eyes. “I’ll send you the notes from today and let you know if you miss anything.”
Grateful you wearily thank her and she nods warm, reassuring, wishing you rest. As you turn to head out you catch the last bit of conversation bubbling along with your classmates.
“Well…if someone saw the moth thing, doesn’t that mean something bad is gonna happen soon?”
“Yeah that’s what the legend says.” Someone grimly agrees.
Scrambling, you shove yourself out of the classroom before you hear anything else.
Now out of the room you shakily exhale trying to calm yourself down.
At this time in the evening the hallways are deathly silent, harrowingly so. Unlike the lab building, so open and light with its many windows and expanded hallways, the lecture hall building’s tight corridors create a haunting clustered stillness.
That stillness seems to be creeping in more and more.
As you walk towards the elevator, sudden footsteps begin stomping behind you.
They are solid and firm, staying a decent pace away from you. The anxiousness from these past few days create an unbearable itch that crawls over your skin.
So you turn around.
And the hallway is dead empty.
No one walks behind you.
Fear tastes icy and rotten as it infects your body. Instantly you whip around to rush to the elevator.
You clash straight into someone.
The collision knocks you out of your thoughts and you quickly blink into focus.
A rush of apologizes stammer out of you.
“Hey, it’s okay.” The man you ran into warmly reassures you.
You finally get a good look at him. He’s handsome with a strong jaw and a faint mustache. He looks official in his suit. The smell of cigarettes surround you.
“Actually, I was wondering if you could help point me in the direction of the main office.” The man smiles warmly.
This had to be the source of the footsteps you heard. The dread you have slowly simmers at the sight of him.
“Oh course.” You grin weakly at the man, thankful your fear is calming down. “You have to go down to the other end of this hallway-”
A sudden hand comes up from behind you.
It slaps over your mouth with a painful grip. Then something sharp pierces your neck.
The scream from your throat fades along with your focus.
The last thought flashing through your mind before you fade into darkness is that Satoru was right.
You shouldn’t have gone to class.
-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-
The jostling of your body wakes you up.
Groggily you blink into focus. You first notice it’s late at night. Next, you’re laid across the back seat of a car and your hands are tied.
In the front seats sit the man you ran into at the school and Toji Fushiguro. You go to scream but a tightly wrapped cloth blocks your mouth.
“You’re awake.” Toji drawls out slowly and surprised.
You screech at him through the material.
“Yeah, I knew you were with the moth this entire time.” He grins at you through the rear window.
You continue to scream as best as you can, sounding feral and panicked as tears fill your eyes.
“Guess living with a monster makes you sound this wild.” Toji Fushiguro’s accomplice mutters without even glancing once at you.
He begins typing away on his phone.
“We got more buyers willing to pay if we bring the moth in alive.” The man comments.
Everything clicks.
They were after Satoru. And you’re the bait.
Maybe Fushiguro’s accomplice is right. Maybe living with a monster has leaked into you because the noise you make doesn’t sound human.
Your scream, still stifled, carries so many emotions. Your pain, terror, anger and frustration, all of it courses through your veins and rips out in waves.
“Hey.” Toji Fushiguro glances back at you from the rear mirror. “Keep it down. I don’t wanna get too aggressive, but I will.”
He casually pulls out a gun and waves it around.
The horrifying casual threat causes your eyes to go wide and now all the fight you had trickles out.
“Watch it!” Suddenly the man in the driver's seat screams out.
Your eyes flicker forward.
Against the darkness, illuminated by the car’s headlights, a looking figure stands in the middle of the road.
Six eyes stare out from the darkness a brilliant terrifying electric blue. Delicate wide moth wings flare out and break against the night.
Through the fabric you scream out his name, except it gets drowned out by the revving of the engine.
Toji speeds up with full intent to hit the creature.
“What are you doing?!” The other man cries out.
You even scream in panic. Your moth however flies up, missing the impact.
He’s gone from sight.
A solid clang lands on the roof.
A sharp stab pierces the top of the car with a snap. The screeching of metal being ripped away follows fast. The eyes of the monster stare into the car with a disastrous terror.
Satoru smiles wild and gleeful at the men, a predator that's captured its prey.
Then…Everything happens in a blink.
The car swerves. The speed makes you feel as if you are flying. The colliding noise of scraping metal and then a solid impact. Everything becomes distorted as if you are in a snow globe spinning and trying to focus on a dizzying fuzzy world.
An unholy monstrous scream rips into the air. It’s all you hear as you fade in and out of consciousness.
You blink and suddenly twigs from the forest floor press against your body. A sharp object pierces your side. Every inch of you screams in pain while also a numbing sensation starts creeping in.
An inhuman roar screeches out and your eyes snap open.
Off to the side along the trees you see the faint edge of Satoru within the darkness. Faintly you hear a wet ripping sound. It’s visceral, like a vulture digging into a macabre carnage.
You watch his clawed hands viscously dig into whatever he stands over. You try gathering your voice trying to say something, anything.
Then six electric eyes snap up to you from the dark forest. He is the terror of the woods, a feral monster interrupted from its hunt.
Your vision however goes blurry and it gets harder staying awake.
A wreck howl of your name breaks into the air.
Tender clawed hands scoop up from the ground. You’re cradled against him gently and tight. The fabric in your mouth gets ripped away and now the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth fast.
You wheeze out Satoru’s name. There’s so much you want to say. But you’re getting so tired.
“Stay awake!” He snarls desperately sensing your exhaustion.
Nothing feels real. Even staring up at your creature, his six eyes seem to become twelve, like clusters of galaxies carved out in the night sky.
But you’re fading. You know and he knows it.
Breathing hurts and now a cool chill runs across your body from the inside.
Your grandfather's words about moths being angels float into your mind.
You recall how terrifying angels are sometimes described. Some of them are composed of wheels of fire, with many wings.
Yours has many eyes.
You’re grateful Satoru is here with you at the end. You’re grateful this angel found you.
Water droplets plop onto your face and you wonder if it’s raining.
Satoru screams your name with absolute anguish. A darkness crawls over your eyes. Soft and peacefully, you fall into its waiting arms.
-.⊹˚₊⋆˙↟☾↟˙⋆₊˚⊹.-
A soft steady beeping pulls you out from the darkness.
Wearily you open your eyes. But the bright light of wherever you are immediately has you shutting your eyes tight.
A cold hand touches your arm.
The touch jolts you awake. In a panic your eyes immediately snap open and your body shoots up only to find yourself tangled.
Tubes run from out of your arms. One tube even rests under your nose. The beeping noise you faintly recognize is a heart monitor and realization hits that you’re in a hospital.
Then when you turn to the side, a man you don’t know sits beside you.
You have never seen a man as gorgeous as him. Striking cloud white hair, a chiseled jawline, broad shoulders and then…
The brightest blue eyes, clear as a summer sky, stare at you so frantic and hesitant.
The man says your name, his tone faintly pleading.
For some reason his voice sounds vaguely familiar. But that thought is put on hold when the door to your room opens and a nurse walks in.
“Oh thank goodness you’re awake!” She sighs genuinely warm to see you and even seems a bit surprised.
What happened? You were dying. You were sure of it.
“Do you remember anything that happened?” The nurse asks gently as she checks your vitals.
“I…” your voice wavers as the memory clips at you, terrifying and heartbreaking.
“It’s okay if you don’t.” The nurse says comfortingly. “It’s common for accident victims to have a foggy memory. Plus after the one you were in it’s understandable.”
Weakly you question about what happened, how you got here.
With soft eyes the nurse explains it all.
You were the only survivor of the car crash. A part of you vividly remembers Toji Fushiguro and the man with him. A part of you dark and hollow gleams grateful they are no longer here.
You however didn’t walk away unscathed. You have a few broken ribs, a very bad concussion and light internal bleeding being monitored.
“We even found damage near your heart that could’ve been deadly-”
Yet, you were alive.
“And….” The nurse’s eyes twinkle warm and adoring as they flicker to the man behind you.
“This man found you and brought you in. Came into the hospital with you in his arms like some kind of bloody guardian angel.”
You whip your attention back to him as well. The man’s blue eyes stay so intently focused on you.
They remind you so much of the pairs of six eyes that watched you with the same unwavering gaze.
Then the nurse’s words click.
An angel.
No. This couldn’t be…
The idea so wild and unbelievable barrels into you fast. It knocks you breathless that you can’t help but cough out.
Everyone instantly scrambles to grab you something to drink. It’s your mystery man who hands you a cold water first and you guzzle it down with a frantic speed.
“I’ll let you get some rest. Please hit the call button if you need anything.” The nurse squeezes your shoulder and you thank her with a weak cough.
Now in the quiet safety of the hospital room, your attention snaps to the man still intently staring at you with glossy blue lake eyes.
You take the jump. It might be the most far stretched idea and you can blame the concussion but -
You whisper out Satoru’s name.
The white haired man nods fast and a sob escapes you.
It’s him.
Through tear soaked questions you ask him how.
“Remember that legend I once told you? About us being able to bring someone back from the dead?”
His voice is now clear, so distinctly him even in this form you can’t miss it now.
His words are a chilling breeze.
“I died.” You whisper the cold realization.
And he brought you back.
“But you…what happened?” Your eyes so clouded with tears scan his very beautiful and human face.
The Satoru before you is so familiar yet so different. The deep inhale he gives moves his shoulders. You’ve seen it before when his wings moved with the same exhausted exhale. Instead now a weary weight, a very human one, colors his stunning features.
But a sudden eased smile tugs at his lips and the sight is stunning.
“We’re allowed to bring someone back…it’s just at a little cost.” His voice flutters out light and his words get trapped in your throat.
You can’t fight the tears. They come in waves and your shoulders shake as you cry.
“Wait,” Satoru rapidly panics as he slides closer to you. “What’s wrong?!”
He gave up everything. His form, his livelihood, his essence as a creature of the myth, he gave it all for you.
That solid truth rips so much sadness and guilt through you all you can do is angrily cry, frustrated.
“Why are you crying?” He asks concerned and a bit confused.
“Because,” you hiccup. “Because I did this to you.”
You would carry this guilt for the rest of your life.
“What? Don’t like the way I look? I thought I was pretty handsome in this form, yeah?” He lightly teases to perk you up.
You give him a look of disbelief wondering if you should call the nurse to escort this headache away from you.
“Okay okay,” he says, thankfully understanding your heartache.
Gently Satoru’s hand moves to rest against you on top of the itchy hospital blanket. Fondly he runs his hand over your leg. You watch as his eyes follow the path of his hand like he’s trying to solidify your presence beside him. A sadness shimmers within his blue pools.
“If anyone’s to blame…it’s me. I did this to you.”
Quickly, through a teary blubbering mess you reassure Satoru he did nothing wrong. His hand softly squeezes your knee.
“Do you remember when we were watching that weird show and you asked me what I’d wish for? What I wanted more than anything?”
Suddenly Satoru speaks firmer, eyes still not facing you.
“I wished I could be with you. I wanted to live a full life by your side.” His answer is low, but so beautifully clear it’s like dawn breaking over the forest.
Those endless blue eyes turn to you.
Gingerly Satoru raises his hand. He runs his fingers against your face with a tender touch, a delicate brush like that of a moth’s wing.
“Never feel guilty about what happened. I would make this decision over and over again. I don’t regret it and never will.” He says firm, absolute and devoted.
Tears return again but this time for another reason, one so beautifully overwhelming it consumes you.
Satoru gently draws you into his arms to hold you steady against his sturdy chest.
“Can't get rid of me now, little human.” He teases but the faintest edge of emotion cracks his voice.
A laugh escapes you among the tears.
“You’re a little human now too, bug boy.” You joke as the new nickname comes so easily to you.
“There’s nothing little about me, especially in this form.” He deeply purrs.
You’re about to snap at him for being crude until he shrieks.
“And bug boy?! You never even called me that before! If anyone is the bug freak it’s you!”
You laugh, truly laugh, and a warm buoyancy floats within your entire body. He joins in alongside you. His laugh is such a wild and free noise you want to keep it forever.
“This being a human thing,” he suddenly mutters against the top of your head. “Might take me a little while to get used to it.”
“It’s okay,” you whisper back, fully resting against him. “We’re all still trying to figure it out too.”
Satoru’s hand begins rubbing against your back effortlessly, so human and natural.
“You already seem to be doing a good job.” You mumble feeling sleepy again.
He hums amused. “I know. I’m just that good.”
You want to make a snide remark but then Satoru kisses the top of your head. Your heart jumps at feeling his lips.
“I get to do this all the time now.” He whispers slightly in awe, like he spoke a hidden thought out loud.
You can’t help but grin giddy.
Before, you had begun experimenting very enthusiastically about getting to learn how to kiss him in his old form. But you understand.
This felt right. It always did, even when you never wanted to admit it before.
“No more mothman.” Satoru mutters a quiet realization and you clutch his shirt.
“You’ll always be my pest.” You reassure him.
“Hey.” You can hear the mock frown in his voice and you snicker.
You think about Satoru as your cryptid emerging straight from legends.
If he was seen as a harbinger and warning of danger, it strangely has you thinking about love.
For what is love if not a warning? A ‘be careful, don’t run too fast, please be safe, please let me protect you’ warning morphed into a wish and want to keep someone safe. Horror and love sometimes walk hand in hand together after all.
In the arms of your harbinger, you wearily start falling asleep. Satoru senses it too and places another kiss on your head.
When he gently moves to rest you back on the bed your eyes glance to the window. The dark evening night stretches out deep and wide
Against the glass, you notice a fluttering movement.
Soft green delicate long wings catch the light from the hospital room.
Actias luna.
More tears brim in your eyes.
The beautiful lunar moth dances against the window, against the darkness, as if to greet you a warm hello and wish you well.
More Posts from Junkyuholic and Others
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.
Keep reading
Time Traveller AU part 7
Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!
"Gather the troops and have them warn the public. All the infantries will be stationed here and here. The archers and cavalary-" Salauddin was sending orders to his generals. As soon as he was informed of Baldwin coming, you knew he had only limited time to make a game plan.
You didnt understand why Baldwin would come all the way here for a war. He wouldnt leave Jerusalem unarmed this way, so either he's bring half of his army while the other half protects his kingdom from invaders- which would put him at a great disadvantage against Salauddin. Or he's bringing all of his men and that means Jerusalem is practically up for grabs.
No. He wouldnt leave Jerusalem unarmed like that, so that means he's inadequately prepared for the war?
No. Baldwin's too smart. If he won against Salauddin at just 16 years, then he's definitely coming up with a plan. And it scares you to not know what he has in mind.
You looked at Salauddin who had just finished instructing his generals, as they left. He was stressed, you could see that. War. Its not a small thing. There are no true winners when there's blood shed on either side. While Salauddin does have the advantage of fighting in his home ground, that is also his disadvantage. At the end of it, his people- his Egypt will suffer.
"Y/n." Your eyes meet. "I need you to stay inside the palace. I will have guards assigned to you. If they tell you to go somewhere, follow them."
"What? No. I'm coming with."
"Have you lost your mind?"
You ignored his insult. "If Baldwin is coming for a war-" "You're gonna talk him out of it?" "I mean, its not a bad plan but I was gonna offer you to use me as a bargaining chip? That way you could avoid blood shed." You wouldn't offer to put your life in danger but since your time machine is still not ready, you need to avoid a war.
"No." He gave you a stern look. "I dont want you anywhere near him or his men. You will stay here. Listen to me for once."
"But I-"
"Y/n." He warned. You sighed before nodding. Well I could always just go out when he leaves, just like last time.
Almost as if he had read your mind, he made you follow him to a room that had no windows or any other exits besides the one door that was made of solid wood and had guards stationed outside.
"This is the safest room, Y/n. It is impenetrable." Oh no, you cant stay here.
"I think you're overreacting a bit-"
"Overreacting? Your fiance is coming over to start a war because of your crazy brother-in-law who you underestimated because you said that he's just a tool. I think I'm reacting very appropriately." He shut you up.
"I want Isabella."
"No."
"Please Salauddin, I need to keep her safe too-"
"No."
"This may be the last wish you ever grant me, so can you just agree-"
"You think I'm going to die?!" Salauddin stared at you in disbelief.
"I... I didnt say that." You tried to think of a lie. "I mean, maybe this might be the last time you see me... alive? Who knows when the angel of death pays you a visit? If we look at the statistics, between you, me and Baldwin, at least one of us going to die-"
"Stop talking." He gritted out, "Fine."
-
"Princess." Isabella wailed as soon as she entered. You let her hug you. "I missed you too, Isabella." You smiled wiping away her tears.
"I- I heard rumors of a war! Is it- his majesty coming?" The girl sniffled. You nodded.
"Its true. A war is going to happen... unless I do something about it." She blinked in confusion. "Huh?"
You held her hands and gave her your most pleading eyes. Its time for manipulation.
"I need you to get me out of here." "Why?" "Because I need to talk to my future husband out of war."
Her eyes widened. "B-but its too dangerous for you to go outside, princess!"
You sighed. "If I cant even protect people from unnecessary pain and bloodshed, then what good am I as a queen?" Yes, time for some heart breaking lines about self sacrifice. "I would rather risk my life than the lives of those who have their families waiting for them at home. I would happily fall on my own sword if it means my subjects wont have to. If I cant prevent suffering of the very people who would bleed for me, then I have no right to be the queen of Jerusalem."
-
Half an hour later, Isabella had knocked on the door for the guards to let her out.
"Sultan Salauddin has forbidden-"
"Princess Y/n from leaving. Not me. I'm her lady in waiting and the princess needs me to get her belongings so that she can write her will."
"We can have it fetched-"
"You? A common man she has no relations with- wants to touch her stuff? I dont think so." Isabelle glared at them through her niqaab (all of your maids had followed your dress code in Egypt). She didnt wait for an answer as she began walking away before a man appeared by her side. It was one of Salauddin's guards.
"What?" She snapped at him, continuing to walk.
"They sent me to walk with you and bring you back safely." He said before grinning at her. "I thought you'd be happy to see your habeebo."
"Habeebo?" She asked, reaching your room.
He caught her wrist and turned her around, gazing at her veiled face with affection. "You cant still be mad at me for leaving the other night- I had duties."
"What right do I have to be mad at you?" Isabella kept her face down, conveying she was still very much mad.
"Habeebo's habibti- you have all rights over me. You're the only woman for me." Habeebo said as he placed a hand over his heart.
Isabelle finally giggled, freeing her wrist from his grasps. "Stop... someone could walk in on us." She warned.
"So? I'm not afraid. I can do anything for love!"
"Anything?"
"Anything." He assured her.
"Then go fetch me some cold water while I pack the princesse's belongings. Hurry now, I'll be waiting for you here." Habeebo all but smiled before walking towards the kitchen, leaving Isabella alone in your room.
As soon as she was sure he was gone, she removed her veil and quickly changed her chaddar with yours.
"Thanks Isabella." You muttered as you slipped on your chaddar. Yes, you had left Isabella in the room upstairs and pretended to be her to slip out of there. She had told you about her crush Habeebo who you had also fooled into leaving you here, and youre sure that if he were to go back upstairs and find Isabella instead of you, he'd protect her. Surely.
Sneaking out of the palace wasnt a hard feat by now. What was hard was trying to figure out what way to go to find Baldwin or Salauddin, with all the people panicking as they were being constantly warned by guards about Baldwin's arrival.
You decided to go through the market and head towards the madarrasa, though you doubt Abbas is anywhere done with the parts you gave him to make. You had given a week's deadline but only because you needed him to hurry up, not because he could actually make them in such little time.
The streets were packed, shops were getting closed and people were trying to rush home to safety. You were nearing the madarrasa when you were pulled to the side in an alley.
"Y/n!" Abbas exclaimed. "Finally, I found you." You raised a brow and he grinned. "Your things are ready."
"Already?" You were in disbelief. How did he-
He puffed his chest. "Of course. I had a deadline and with the war being announced, I'm glad I made haste!" You felt hope again. If the parts are ready, all you need to do is assemble them and you can leave this timeline for once and for all, and if Baldwin and Salauddin do end up fighting each other, everything works out! You're sure that Salauddin would win by playing to his strengths, and because eventually Guy will fuck up and betray Baldwin and cause him to die. Then another crusade will happen and Salauddin will take over Jerusalem! Everyone wins.
"Well? Hand it over."
"I dont have it with me right now! I took the parts home to work on them. Lets go." You trailed behind him, the market still bustling as the air became more tensed. They're kingdom is about to be attacked and they have little to no time to prepare for it.
Soon, you reached his home. It was a cozy place, made of mud. The beige walls added onto the coolness. He lead you inside, crossing the patio. Abbas told you to wait there while he went inside a room to get your parts. While waiting, your eyes landed on a cage in the corner that had 5 doves.
"Here it is." Abbas returned with a wooden box and gave it to you.
Opening it, you saw the designs you had given him. You took the parts out and examined them. They weren't top notch, but they'll make do.
"Thank you." You handed him a pouch of gold coins. He pocketed it before raising his brows at you. "So... will you finally tell me what this is for?"
You looked up at him before taking out your time machine. Might as well assemble it here and leave as soon as possible. "I would but I'm afraid it'll go over your head." He frowned at your words before grumbling angrily under his breath before going to the doves to give them seed. Good, he should be distracted while you put these parts in.
It didnt take more than a few minutes for you to place them in. All you had to do was to put in the last key, turn it on and set the date-
"Y/n." You looked up at Abbas, not understanding his horrified expression. What's wrong? You followed his gaze and looked behind you, and there it was-
A shadow standing at the doorway of the patio.
You squinted your eyes before your heart dropped at the realisation.
Black robes, hood over the head, geared up.
Assassin.
"This is the wrong house." Abbas said with a trembling voice.
The assassin stepped forward into the light, while you and Abbas took a few steps back.
"What- what do you want?" The assassin didnt answer him, his eyes fixed on you. This is- this is not an Ismaili. They wouldnt attack alone, and especially not so soon, and not when a war hangs over their head.
The assassin took another step forward, this time you grabbed the time machine and held it closely. This made the dark figure tilt his head at you.
"Get behind me." You moved behind Abbas. "Get out of my house- this is not the time. Evacuate!" Abbas warned the guy but he didnt stop staring at you.
As soon as he took another step, Abbas grabbed a wooden stick from the side and ran towards him, only for him to be flipped over his shoulder and slammed to the ground. You took this as a sign to run but the assassin was faster, grabbing you by the chaddar as it ripped off you. Your eyes widened as he grabbed you by the shoulder and yanked you back and your immediate reaction was to slap him, but he caught your wrist and pushed you back inside the patio. Abbas got up and tried to punch him, but he was knocked down back on his back in a second.
You ran, but didnt make it more than a few steps before you got tackled to the ground. You struggled to break free but the assassin had his arms wrapped around your neck, putting you in a chokehold.
Knowing Abbas couldnt come to your rescue, you clawed at the assassins hands, flailed about trying to break free from under him. But he had overpowered you, putting immense pressure until you started seeing black dots.
Just at the last moment, your eyes caught the sight of the dove cage and instinctively, you yanked the cage, hoping to hit the assassin in the head with it, but all you managed was to tip it over, the latch holding it close dropped.
And in the next moment, the doves flew out and went straight for the assassin. You wouldnt say they were attacking him, but the moment he saw them flying in his direction, he raised his hands to bat them away, which only caused him to get scratched-
You didnt stick around to find out if they clawed his face off, springing to your feet as you ran inside a room, hoping to find a window to escape.
You spot the window, quickly opening the wooden frame to leap out. Only the moment you have one foot out, you're pulled back inside and thrown against the wall.
The assassin is back, his body language conveying he's more pissed now than before.
You cant outrun him. You take a fighting stance. You know very well that you cant beat him either, but it works well to at least make him doubt that.
Maybe you could bribe him?
"What do you want?" You ask him, your fists raised. He tilted his head at your attempt to look ominous.
You glared at him. "You let me and my friend go, and I can assure you I can give you enough gold to keep you out of work forever. I am..." you pause before using your last card. "I am King Baldwin's fiance, future queen of Jerusalem. Let me go, and I'll give you anything you want."
He took another step forward and you knew you were backed into a corner so you punched him, only he caught your fist before it was anywhere near his face.
He stared at you, tightening his hold on your wrist.
"Please dont hurt me." You gulped before raising your other hand to punch him, but he caught it too. Now both of your hands were in one of his while he used the other to grab your throat and push you against the wall.
"Oh fuc-" He squeezed a pressure point on your neck until you passed out.
-
Salauddin was on his horse at the front of his army, waiting at the gates of his kingdom for Baldwin. His generals had informed him that they had placed the respective troops posted according to his plan. Everyone waited with baited breath for his command. They're ready to protect their sultan, ready to sacrifice their lives to protect their kingdom.
Salauddin heard them before he saw them.
The heavy jingle of metal armour, the marching of the horses and then he saw their cross flags. He gave a nod to his men, signalling to be prepared.
They're coming.
In all honesty, Salauddin was expecting Baldwin's army to not make it through the hot desert, since they rarely ever leave Jerusalem.
But it was still a surprise when he saw the actual size of his army.
It wasnt that much. Thought he anticipated it, after all Baldwin wouldnt have left his kingdom without some men, but now this means that Baldwin is not relying on numbers.
He's relying on strategy. And its hard to predict Baldwin's moves.
Salauddin's mouth turned into a grim line. What was he planning?
The templars lead the army to the gates of Egypt. The Muslims had their weapons ready to be drawn. Salauddin watched the Christians Knights halt.
Do they attack now?
Baldwin emerged from the masses on his horse, sporting his iron mask despite not needing it anymore. Salauddin also rode his horse to meet him halfway, knowing his generals dont appreciate him leaving.
Their horses stopped a few feet apart from each other. Everything was silent apart from the sound of warm air whooshing through the desert.
Baldwin raised his hand. Salauddin heart skipped a beat. He's going to signal them to attack-
"Salam alaikum!" Baldwin greeted with a wave.
Salauddin gave a nod. "Walaikum asalam."
Baldwin tilted his head. "Why so tense, Sal? Not happy to see me?"
"I dont like uninvited guests." He replied. Baldwin chuckled. "Of course. But we're friends-"
"Why are you here, Baldwin?"
Baldwin stared at him. No king appreciates being interrupted.
"I'm here to meet my fiancee."
Salauddin stared at him unamused. "You left the Holy Land to meet your fiancee who was going to return home soon anyways?"
Baldwin shrugged. "I missed her."
"Baldwin."
The young king sighed. "I know I should've informed you before coming but I really do want to see Y/n. I mean no harm, Salauddin." He raised his hands in surrender. "I just thought it would be a nice surprise for her. Ever since she cured me, I realised I hadnt seen the world that much, so what better location than Egypt?"
Salauddin stared at him, before his gaze fell on his army.
"Come on, Salauddin. Where's Y/n?" Baldwin asked with a goofy smile.
Salauddin's brows furrowed before he sighed. "In my palace." He nodded at his men to open the gates as he lead Baldwin in. But not before whispering to his second in command to surround the kingdom from all perimeters and be on high alert. Things can always go south.
Baldwin smirked looking at the size of Salauddin's army. "Aww, you didnt have to bring them for my warm welcome." Salauddin ignored him, knowing very well that Baldwin knew how it looked when a king comes unannounced at another king's door.
-
They soon arrived at the palace, welcomed by servants and maids who were looking at Baldwin in awe. They had heard rumors of his beauty, and when he removed his mask, they realised how huge of an understatement it was. And the fact that this young king was the one to defeat their sultan at just 16 years age, it definitely added to the charm.
But Baldwin wasnt blind to the furious gazes of his soldiers either. He just ignored them, which was easy since his mind was occupied by thoughts of you. Y/n. My princess. My angel.
What surprised Salauddin was that Baldwin hadnt come alone. No, Guy was here too which only confused him more. If Baldwin brought Guy along, then who did he leave to take care of Jerusalem? Sibylla and Guy's son was still too young to be a heir.
He did remember your theory about Guy being the one to hire the assassins to ambush you in the desert. If Guy came here despite his failed attempts to get rid of his enemies, then he's either incredibly stupid or he's well assured that he'll get away with everything.
Salauddin wont let him. He'll make Guy pay.
"I hate to rush you Salauddin, I know Muslims are knows for their hospitality but can you just lead me to Y/n's room? She is a sight for sore eyes." Baldwin requested sweetly, making Salauddin roll his eyes. He signalled a servant to bring you down.
Guy looked disgusted to be in the presence of so many Muslims, but the moment he caught sight of any maids passing by, he would be eyeing them like a piece of meat. A maid came by holding drinks in a tray. When she offered it to Baldwin and then Guy, the latter startled the poor girl by purposely touching her wrist with his grubby paws.
Salauddin gripped the armrest tightly. If he wasnt Baldwin's brother-in-law, Salauddin would've plucked his eyes out and had him whipped in public to make an example out of scum like him.
"So, when did you leave your camp outside Jerusalem? I was expecting to see you there on my way here, but there were new troops of yours instead." Baldwin asked, sipping the cool drink.
"I came here with Y/n. I had some errands that required my attention." Salauddin didnt bring up the ambush, watching both him and Guy to gauge their reactions. Did they know?
"Went on any new conquests recently?" Salauddin decided to make small talk as they waited for you. He hopes you're not taking time to get ready to meet Baldwin. He'd rather you come up covered in a chaddar when Guy is here.
Instead of allowing Baldwin to answer, Guy cut him off. "Of course! We are the noble warriors, the Chosen Ones! God wants us to conquer as much as possible, for the sake of his-"
"How dare you talk to me?" Salauddin silenced him. "I'm talking to your king. He may allow it but you're in my kingdom now. You will abide by the rules or so help me, your head will be on a spike for the crows to shit on." Guy's eyes widened and his jaw fell open. No one had threatened him like that, at least not since he married Sibylla.
Baldwin barely suppressed a smile and when Guy looked at him for help, he only shrugged. "You should listen to him. We are his guests, after all."
The servant returned with the special guards he had assigned to protect you, all looking scared.
"S-sultan... the princess-" Baldwin and Salauddin's gaze sharpened at your mention. The poor servant gulped.
"The princess is gone."
There was deafening silence. The servant had his head bowed, along with the guards, all too afraid of the wrath they're going to face.
"Gone? Gone where?" Salauddin spat as he walked upto them.
"I- I dont know-" Salauddin grabbed the guard by the collar and shook him. "I left her in a room with no windows, a room guarded by the 6 of the most skilled men. Where did she go?!"
The guard's head only lowered further. "Sultan, we only opened the door to let princess Y/n's maid in and out. B-but- but when we opened the door, the maid was waiting there instead of the princess!"
"Which maid? Where is she?!" Salauddin roared.
The guard nodded at his men who pushed a young girl forward roughly. She fell on her knees, crying pitifully. He immediately recognised her.
Isabella.
"Where's the princess?" Salauddin questioned her, only to be answered in hiccups and tears. A vein on his forehead popped. He doesnt have time for this. Who knows where you are? If you're safe-
"Isabella." Baldwin called out gently, kneeling in front of her. She sniffled and bowed her head. "Isabella, look at me." She took panicked breaths before lifting her eyes to meet his kind ones, not a a grain of anger in them.
"You know where princess Y/n is?" He asked, pushing her hair back over her ear. She shook her head, hiccuping though she wasnt bawling her heart now.
"Use your words, Isabella. Tell me what happened." Enchanted by his gentleness, she spilled, told him all about how you made her take your place so that you could go and stop you from starting a war with the sultan.
Salauddin watched the interaction closely, trying to figure out if Isabella was lying. He did note Baldwin's behabiour throughout this entire interrogation as well. For someone whose future wife is missing, Baldwin is surprisingly calm. Then again, he's rarely ever seen Baldwin lose his temper.
"Where did she go?" Baldwin questioned her once again.
"I- I dont know, your majesty. She never told me!" Isabella cried out.
Baldwin nodded before standing up, his brows furrowed as rubbed his chin with his thumb and index finger.
"If Y/n was going out to stop me and she never reached the gates, then it means... she's still here." Baldwin said after some deep thought. He looked at Salauddin. "Your men have surrounded the kingdoms, havent they?"
Salauddin nodded before ordering his men to find you.
"Search every house, every place. No one gets in or out of the kingdom!" He yelled at them, watching them leave. He felt Baldwin stand beside him and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his face wasn't... too concerned.
"You know, for someone whose fiancee is missing, you're surprisingly calm." Salauddin was both stating his observation, and accusing him too. Did Baldwin know where you were?
Baldwin simply smiled, his dimples showing. "I know you will find her."
"And why is that?"
"Because if I dont have Y/n in my arms by today, then I will burn your Egypt to the ground."
-
The Templar Knights kicked down doors, rattled the poor citizens and took great glee in destroying their belongings, using you as an excuse to "search thoroughly". Salauddin's army was also rigorously working to find you, interrogating everyone for any clues on you. Then again, no one had really seen how you looked like. You were just another woman covered in a chaddar and niqaabi among a whole city of them. It would be like finding needle in a hay stack and Salauddin wasnt about to allow anyone to rip off the niqaabs off his Muslim women. He wont allow such a transgression.
Fortunately, Baldwin agreed. After all, why would you be hiding from him? You dont have a reason to, right? But still, he had to find you. So he was walking through the streets of Egypt himself to look for you.
Salauddin had joined him, and not just because he wanted to ensure the safety of his folks but also to stop Guy from provoking Baldwin by feeding him any lies.
That cretin was getting on his last nerves.
Salauddin pretended to be deaf as Guy harshly whispered to Baldwin that "How can a princess just vanish? Clearly, there's someone plotting. These Arabs must've sold her off! They dont respect women like we do-" only to be pushed away by Baldwin who told him to focus his energy on finding you.
Its been 3 hours since Baldwin's arrival and still no sign of you. Despite his best attempts, Salauddin could see Baldwin's calm demeanour chipping away. He was running out of patience.
They were now standing outside the madarrassa where all the scholars, students and staff were rounded up. Salauddin was the only one who knew about Abbas, but now that he looked at each face, he realised he was the only one missing.
Immeadiately, he sent the guards to find him. Salauddin was sure that he knew about your whereabouts, He had to.
"Who is Abbas?" Baldwin asked as they both followed the guards that had found out his residence.
Salauddin didnt miss the suspicion in his tone. As much as he wanted to toy with Baldwin, now is not the time.
"He is a craftsman. Y/n had hired him to make something for her. Maybe she went there to collect it." He purposely avoided telling him about the unique chessboard you had gifted him.
After half an hour, they had reached Abbas's residence. It wasnt all that odd to find the front door open, and truth be told, no one was expecting anyone to be home.
It was concerning to find the disasterous state of the house as they entered. Clay pots were smashed to the ground, a cage lying empty in one corner. Clearly, something had happened here.
However, something caught Salauddin's eye that made his heart sink.
Your chaddar, lying on the ground.
-
You woke up with a pounding headache. When your lids fluttered open, they first spotted the single candle in the corner of the dimly lit room. Memories of the previous events flashed through your mind and you fitted the pieces like a jigsaw puzzle.
When your eyes finally adjusted to the dimly lit room, you realised you were still in the same room the assassin had knocked you out. Not only that, but Abbas was also lying beside you, though he hadnt regained conciousness yet.
"Abbas- Abbas, wake up." You raised your hand to shake him, but your eyes caught the sight of your ripped sleeve. When- when did this-
You looked down at your clothes and realised they were all tattered too. Your niqaab was gone, you recalled the assassin had pulled off your chaddar during your escape attempt, and now that you looked at Abbas, he was in a similar state too. His clothes were torn and ripped too. But why? The assassin had already knocked you two out, he didnt need to-
You gasped, patting yourself to find your lack of belongings. Your time machine was gone, as was your jewellery an coins. You'd been robbed!
Panic surged into your veins as you violently shook Abbas, your machine was gone- your only way out of this era was gone!
"Abbas! Wake up!" But he only groaned in response. What was wrong with him?
You dont have time to wonder as you rushed to open the door. You need to catch that thief, assassin- whatever he was, before he got too far and you lost your time machine forever. Grabbing the handles, you tried to yank the door open, but it didnt even budge. Its... locked.
You whipped your head around, remembering the window you were trying to get out of earlier. Running up to it, you tried to open the wooden shutters, but they didnt move an inch. No. No. This is- this is not happening. You ran back towards the door. You felt your throat close up as you pulled the door with all your might before banging your fists against them in frustration.
You were locked in.
The thief has your time machine. He's probably gone far away with it. By the time anyone comes to your aid, he'd have fled the city. He'd be gone as Baldwin and Salauddin fight and burn Egypt to the ground. I'll be trapped here, probably die under the rubble with Abbas-
Abbas.
You look back at him, still unconscious. How hard was his head hit?
You fall back on your knees besides him, trying to wake him up. He'd know- Abbas would know how to get out of this room. He's smart, and he knows his house, probably built it himself- he'd know a way out.
"Abbas! ABBAS! Wake up! Wake up-!" You grabbed his head and laid it in your lap, turning it side-to-side to see if he was bleeding. You started to massage his temples, hoping the circulation will wake him up.
Wait. Circulation.
You recalled what they taught you in first aid class- what to do when someone faints? Raise their legs above heart level. You quickly moved and pulled his knees up until they were able to stay bent on their own, before cradling his head in your lap again, tapping his cheeks.
"Abbas- Abbas, wake up please. Abbas-! I swear if you dont wake up, I will give you a tight slap-"
You were cut off by the sound of the door being banged.
What in the-
The door shook as something hard banged against it. You jumped at the force. Did the war start already? Are they using cannonballs?
No. While cannonballs were used as heavy artillery in medieval Europe, it was more popularly used in the 1700s, but I'm still in the 1100s-
NOT THE TIME TO GEEK OUT! I'M ABOUT TO DIE-
The door burst open and light flooded into the room, blinding you for a moment. You raised your hand to shield yourself from the light before slowly bringing your hand down as you saw figures entering into the room.
Once your eyes finally adjusted, you recognised the figures in front of you.
Salauddin. Baldwin. Guy-
Guy?
All three of them stared at you, though your eyes remained focused on Baldwin, who looked at you, then at your clothes, and then... at Abbas.
The look of relief turned into confusion. What? Whats wrong?
You heard Salauddin yell something in Arabic at his soldiers, which made them instantly look away and leave the room. Baldwin kept looking at you in barely suppressed shock.
"Baldwin?" You whispered, though it was Salauddin who moved first, removing his chaddar and bending down to cover you with it, but your eyes were fixated on Baldwin's face. Why is he... looking at you like that?
Wait. If Baldwin and Salauddin are here together, then it means there's no war. Which means-
"Are you okay? What happened?" Salauddin asked you, though before you could answer him, Guy began laughing.
"Okay? She's more than okay!" He smirked. "After all, she was spending some time with her secret lover!"
Both your and Salauddin's eyes went wide. It finally clicked why Baldwin was looking at you like that.
He thinks you and Abbas-
"No. That's not true-" You tried to speak but Guy cut you off.
"Of course it is! Look at you, holding his head in your lap so sweetly!" He accused before snarling at you. "And you chose a dirty Muslim to cheat on our King? The audacity! And the lack of taste."
You shook your head. "Thats not true. This is Abbas. He's a- a craftsman-" "Oh, I'm sure you were pretty crafty with him too." Guy cut you off.
"Shut up, Guy!" You snapped. "I came to get my valuables from him. It was a gift! I had them commissioned for- for you Baldwin!" You half lied.
"And where is that gift?" Guy interrogated.
"I was robbed. We both were-" "Oh how convenient!" You glared at him. He was framing you. You pointed at your clothes. "How else do you explain the torn clothes?!"
Guy hummed and you knew you were going to regret as soon as a disgusting smile crept on his face.
"Well, animals fuck with wild passion-"
"I WAS ROBBED!" You yelled. "Look, the thief even knocked out Abbas!"
"I dont see a head injury." Guy shrugged. "I just think he's passed out from drinking. Or maybe his stamina wore out-"
"Shut up! Just shut up!" Your face was red with rage, though to anyone else it may have looked like you were caught red handed in a lie. You calmed yourself down. You need to explain before things got worse.
"Baldwin, I'm not having an affair with Abbas. He's married-" Once again, Guy cut you off, this time waving his hands. "My king, it doesnt matter to these Muslims. They're into polygamy. Whats one wife, when you can have four?"
Of all the things, this is the one thing he knows about Islam?
You didnt detect one, not a single emotion of trust or love from Baldwin's stoic face. Is he- is he actually believing this bull?
Why wouldnt he? He's a man after all. And who knows what other lies Guy has been filling his head with to make him doubt your loyalty?
Enough is enough. You need to come clean.
"You know what Guy? I was going to keep this a secret to let you beg for forgiveness, but I think its time for the truth, hm?" You watched Guy's smirk falter. Enough games. You stared at Baldwin with determination. "Here's what has happened Baldwin: Charlotte didnt just happen to drop by Jerusalem. No, Guy summoned her by pretending to be you. Oh and I have that exact letter where Guy used your respectful name as proof. Guy exploited Charlotte and his plan was to use her and her son's illness to infect you so that you could die and he could get your throne."
Guy's face paled. But you didnt stop there.
"Of course, when that didnt work because you and I have an unbreakable bond, Guy decided to get rid of me." You looked at Salauddin. "When I left for Egypt and I was at Salauddin's camp, he had hired assassins to ambush us in the dead of the night and kill me or Salauddin, or both! If I were to die while I was with Salauddin, he would've convinced you that Salauddin was the one who killed me. And if Salauddin was dead, then it meant good news for Guy because he would have to deal with one less enemy after he took your throne."
"Lies! There's no proof-"
"No proof? Baldwin, did you realise that more than half of my entourage was missing? Its because they're dead. And if that isnt enough proof, then this might help-" You pulled up your sleeves to show your fading burn marks. "My back is full of these marks because the assassins left me to die in a burning tent. It was Salauddin who saved me!"
"And today? When we heard you were coming, everyone thought that there will be a war. I left the palace on my own, to find you Baldwin. I wanted to stop you from committing unnecessary bloodshed! I came to Abbas's house to get my gift for you, but Guy sent a thief after us! The thief knocked us out and he robbed us both!" You explained. "Didn't you ever wonder Baldwin- why Guy decided to accompany you today? Guy has never left Jerusalem, not even for a war, not to defend his people. He wouldnt leave the throne empty! He hopes, he prays and he plots for you to die everytime you leave Jerusalem so that he can finally be king!"
"BLASPHEMOUS!" Guy screamed, red in the face. "You wench-!"
"With all due respect Guy, which is NONE! I didnt think you would be smart enough to come up with such schemes. I underestimated you, which turned out to be mistake because you made Baldwin doubt me!"
Guy shook his head and stood in between you and Baldwin, acknowledging the stoic faced king first. "This is slander! All lies, Baldwin! I'm your brother-in-law! I would never betray you!"
"Never betray Baldwin? You aren't even loyal to Sibylla! I could have more than half of Jerusalem attest to that you've tried sleeping with other women! Adulterer!" Guy's eyes practically popped out of his socket and he screeched.
"You dare accuse me of cheating?! YOU?! You're the one who is locked in a dark room with a strange man in your lap like a fucking whore!" Not risking Baldwin's suspicion, Guy stormed towards you with his hand raised to strike you.
"You unfaithful, lying bitch-!" You heard the air being sliced and you flinched as you felt something splatter across your cheek.
Thud.
You looked down to where the sound came from.
Guy's head dropped in front of you.
Your ears began ringing. Slowly, your eyes trailed back up to where his body remained.
Headless body. That fell to its knees before dropping to the side.
You could hear the ringing get louder.
Baldwin stood there, his eyes full of rage, his hand holding his sword that had just cut off Guy's head.
He was breathing heavily, nostrils flared and a vein popped in his temple. Your heart dropped as his eyes landed on you and he moved towards you.
Your consciousness finally gave out.
Salauddin caught you but not for long as Baldwin made his way to you. Fearing for you, Salauddin tried to bargain for your life.
"Baldwin, she didnt-"
"Let her go. Now." Baldwin commanded, throwing Abbas's head off your lap. He didnt wait for Salauddin to move, simply taking you from his arms, ripping off the chaddar and replacing it with his cloak instead, before picking you up.
"Lets go home." He whispered in your ear before kissing your temple, pulling you snug against him as he walked out of the room.
-
You wake up to the feeling something wet on your legs. You jolt, eyes snapping open as you look for your potential assaulter-
"Isabella?" You croaked as you saw the young girl at the foot of the bed, her face red and eyes swollen from all the crying.
"P-princess." She greeted tearfully, holding a wet towel in her hand. Her lips wobbled as she spoke, nose bright red, sniffling as she stared at you with those big sad eyes.
"What's wrong?" You couldnt help but be soft with her. She just- she looked so pitiful.
She looked down, her hands clutching the towel tightly. "You- you were- you were gone for so many hours. I- I didnt know where you were- his majesty and the sultan- they were so mad- they were so concerned- i- i didnt think they believed me when I said I didnt know- where- where you were- i thou-thought you were-" Her tears cut off her hiccuping explanation. You didnt think she would be this distraught over you.
"Its... its okay, Isabella. You didnt do anything wrong. I'm... fine." You tried to calm her down, beckoning her forward. You sat up on the bed, taking the rag from her hands before holding her hands in yours. Giving them a gentle squeeze, you assured her. "I'm fine, Isabella. In fact, I should apologise for causing you all the trouble-" She shook her head. "No- princess- its my duty to serve-" You gave her hands another squeeze, calming her down.
"Thank you- oh. Isabella-" You looked at her hands, noticing something red peeking from her wrist. You pulled her sleeve up, realising that the redness was from the welts on her arms. "What happened?" You asked, turning her wrist around, noticing a small scratch.
She pulled her hands away, pulling down her sleeves as she sniffled. "N-nothing to worry about, princess-"
"Did you get injured? Are you okay?" She nodded. "I just- when I heard you were missing, it made me worry too much and I- I tend to scratch my arms when I'm stressed!"
You gave her sympathetic look, grabbing the cool towel from earlier and handing it to her. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Isabella. Here- take this. It'll help your skin, hm?"
"But the king asked me to wipe your sweat with this-"
"Its fine- wait? What sweat?"
She nodded. "We've been travelling through the desert for some days. His Majesty suggested I be the one to wipe you clean while you were unconscious." Now that you looked around, you realised you were in a tent, much different in design to Salauddin's.
Wait, desert?
"We've left Egypt?"
"Yes-"
She stopped speaking as soon as the sound of footsteps filled the room.
You stiffened at the sight of Baldwin.
Isabella had to only take one look at his face before taking her leave. Events of the last time you had seen him flashed through your mind, and you couldnt help but be scared of him when you remembered the murderous look on his face as he killed Guy. It is one thing to know that a king has killed people, perhaps even more brutally than this but after spending so many months with Baldwin, you had become accustomed to his soft nature. Never in your worst nightmares could you have ever imagined such a barbaric actions from him, and to his own brother-in-law.
It made you question everything, your own mortality- your own safety with him.
"How are you feeling?" He had his arms crossed behind his back as he made his way towards you. It took everything for you to not flinch back and beg for your life. No- no, you need to think smartly. If he wanted to kill you, he wouldve gotten rid of you back there-
Or maybe he has decided to torture you.
"I'm fine." You replied weakly, keeping your eyes on your lap. You dont want to risk pissing him off.
Maybe I should apologise, clear the air before he has any other doubts about me.
"I'm sorry." You said abruptly, finally looking up at him. His stoic expression didnt falter. This is not the Baldwin you knew, no. This was the king you had imagined when you first came here. Stiff and apathetic.
Taking his silence as a sign, you continued. "I'm sorry... for everything. For hiding the truth about Guy, for causing misunderstandings, for making you doubt me-"
"I never doubted you." He cut you off.
Your brows raised in surprise. He sighed sitting down on the bed besides you.
"I never doubted you, Y/n. Not once." He said with conviction."I didnt doubt you when Salauddin said you'd be with Abbas. I didnt doubt you when Guy raised false allegations. I didnt doubt you when I saw you in that dark room alone with that man. You could've been naked in there and I still would not have doubted you."
Your lips parted. What... what was he-
"You trust me? That much?" You couldn't help but whisper.
He smiled sadly. "I do. And more than that, I trust in my love for you." Baldwin looked down at his hands, still smiling gently. "I love you so deeply that I know you would never betray me. I have loved you the way I want someone to love me. My love for you... it is free of impurity, of imperfection. And thats how I know you would never betray me."
You couldnt help the tears that came in your eyes, and you looked down. How could he- how could he-
"If anyone should apologise, it should be me, Y/n." Your head snapped back at him. He was looking at you with genuine guilt. "I may have loved you deeply but I have failed to express it to you. Had I- had I done a better job, had I let you know just how much I feel for you, you wouldn't have hesitated to come to me. You wouldn't have felt the need to hide your traumas, your pain from me. You wouldn't have felt shy to get my help, to tell me your secrets. All of this could've been avoided if I had made you feel secure enough to come to me. I alone am responsible-"
"Baldwin." Your teary voice cut him off. You shake your head, sniffling at him. "This- this isnt your fault- I-"
"You did nothing wrong." He assured you, holding your hand. "Traps were set for you, but it was my job to save you from them. I am your protector, your shield. I owe my life to you. I owe everything to you."
A tear slipped from your eye. "I- I didnt think you'd save me. I thought you didnt trust me- I thought I lost you forever." You dont know why you said that, but they were true.
"I would've found you. I will always find you." Baldwin cupped your cheek, he felt his heart break at your confession.
"If I don't go to you Y/n, then where do I go?" And at that, the dam you'd been holding finally broke.
Baldwin immediately pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as you buried your head into his shoulder, sobs wracking your entire being. You dont know why you're crying, whether its because of Baldwin's pure love for you, or that Guy is dead because of you and you've ruined the timeline, or because you're mourning the loss of your time machine and its just dawning on you that you're stuck here forever.
He patted your back, rocking you gently like a child. "All my paths lead to you, Y/n. All my conquests bring me to you. Everything leads to you." He kissed your cheek, his hand petting your hair smoothly as you broke down in his arms. "You... you are the beginning and end of my everything."
Baldwin pulled you away and wiped your tears away with his thumbs. "I love you, Y/n. And I know you love me too. You may not say it, but I know deep down in your heart, you love me. I know you do-"
"I love you, Baldwin." You said.
His eyes went wide. "You don't have to say it-"
"I love you, Baldwin. I really do." You admitted.
Baldwin's shock was replaced with joy, a grin gracing his face as he cupped your face and kissed your forehead deeply.
"You have no idea how happy you've made me." He whispered before pulling you into his embrace.
-
Following this, you both began your journey back to Jerusalem. Every now and then, you'd start crying again because you'd realised just how much you were loved by Baldwin. You remembered the time when you saw him with Charlotte and you didn't give him a chance to explain. You had already decided that he was a cheater, he was disloyal. Yet when the tables were turned, when everything pointed against you and Baldwin had every right to find you disloyal, have you punished for even being in a locked room with another man, he trusted you. He didn't question your love for him. And even if you didn't love him back then, you respected him enough, both as a king and as a man and he still didn't ask for an explanation, let alone accuse you of adultery.
The rest of the trip home was spent with you crying and Baldwin consoling you like a toddler. No matter how many times your tears fell, he was right there to wipe them away and assure you that you did nothing wrong.
Did you love Baldwin? Maybe not back then, but you do now. Perhaps he was right. Maybe you did love Baldwin deep down, you just didn't know it.
And it's not like you don't have a choice either way. With your time machine lost, you can't leave this place. So, you've accepted your fate and agreed to marry him. Baldwin says the wedding preparations are mostly complete and the wedding day is on Sunday.
Today is Friday, when you both finally reach Jerusalem. It didn't dawn on you until now just how you were going to face Sibylla, the woman whose husband was killed because of you.
But Baldwin already had a plan. "Guy was buried in an unmarked grave outside of Egypt. I have instructed my knights to inform everyone that Guy had died a dishonourable death because he was a traitor to the crown."
"Traitor to the crown?"
He nodded. "I'll tell Sibylla I caught him cheating on her and plotting against me." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Its believable. She'll be upset, but she'll get over it. Besides, she deserves better than him. I have already found a list of suitors for her."
He truly has thought of everything.
-
Sibylla as expected was the grieving widow and after she welcomed you and Baldwin, she excused herself and left. You pitied her, she really did love Guy despite all his shortcomings. But she also respected her brother.
After a quiet dinner, you had returned to your room. You sat on your bed as you thought over the events of the past few days. Baldwin had assured you that he doesnt hold any hostility towards Salauddin. In fact, to further put your mind at peace, he told you that he had invited Salauddin to the wedding. As for Abbas, Baldwin said he doesnt know what happened to him but he's sure Salauddin didnt harm the man.
"Did you ever find your family?" Baldwin had asked earlier. You shook your head, telling him that you mistaken someone you thought was family.
"I know you would prefer to have the Nikkah first, before our actual wedding, but I wasnt able to find someone to marry us off in the Islamic way. But then-" He grinned, almost proud of himself. "I decided who better than Salauddin?! Since he'll be arriving on the day of the ceremony, he could walk you down the aisle and then later that day, he could do the Nikkah for us!" You could only smile and agree, what difference does it make what ceremony happens first? You're stuck here either way, and you're gonna be his wife soon.
You sighed and got up to dress into something more comfortable. As you removed your clothes, your hand found something in your underclothes.
The key.
You fiddled with it. Its useless now. The thief probably has broken your machine or sold it and it could be anywhere in the world now, also useless without this key here.
You put it back in your underclothes. Perhaps it'll be of use you can craft your machine again one day.
Lying in your bed, you thought about Guy. You didnt feel guilty, no. He had it coming, and it really was a matter of you versus him at the end. But what bothers you is how much you had underestimated him.
Guy's plan was perfect. There was no chance of escape for you. He had ambushed you and Salauddin, and when you narrowly escaped that attack, he brought Baldwin to Egypt to cause misunderstandings between him and Salauddin. And when they found you with Abbas, all his allegations were perfectly said. You're only here because Baldwin was far too much in love with you. He had no reason to not take Guy's words over yours.
You turned to your side and closed your eyes.
Perhaps God saved me.
-
Today is Saturday and Sibylla had taken you to get your dress fitted.
"Whats that?" You pointed at the huge frame, covered by silk as the servants struggled to hang it on the wall.
"Oh, you're not supposed to see it yet, but Baldwin had commissioned a portait of you. He wants to gift it to you tomorrow, so dont peek. He'd hate to miss your first reaction." She explained.
"You look... absolutely stunning." Sibylla praised as she looked at you in awe. She brought some jewellery to pair with your white gown. A diamond necklace, tear drop earrings, and-
The ring.
"Its the-"
"The exact same ring!" Sibylla finished for you, slipping it on your finger. "After yours was stolen by that thief in Egypt, Baldwin had the same ring made again by the royal jeweller within a day!" Your heart warmed at the gesture. Baldwin must've known you felt guilty over losing his family ring.
"Isabella, will you pass me the veil?" You asked. Isabella brought the soft veil and helped you wear it. As she was adjusting it, your eyes caught sight of her hands again.
"Oh, they didnt heal?" You gently grabbed her hands, taking note of the same red welts on her arms again. She pulled her hands from your grasp away.
"N-no, they healed princess. Its just- its that I'm stressed again! Thats why my skin is itchy and I- scratched them raw."
"Stressed? By what?" You asked.
"Oh- um, the wedding." She muttered. "Its- its not that I'm not excited for it, I am very happy for the union of you and His majesty, but its just we have very little time and there's so much to do-"
You giggled, nodding at her understandingly. "I see. Well, I apologise for causing you to stress. And I hope you know how much I appreciate your efforts."
"Its my honour to serve you, princess." She squeaked.
"Well, do get those checked out soon, Isabella. I dont want you getting sick." Sibylla advised the young girl who bowed her head before taking her leave.
Sometime later, after you had lunch with Baldwin, you decided to go to the gardens and... be by yourself for a while.
Planned or not, I'm getting married tomorrow. This will be my last day as a single woman and I... I should savour every moment left.
You were sitting in a cozy little spot in the royal garden. It was besides the huge bush maze, near the area where your time machine had first gotten burned by the maids accidentally. Speaking of maids, the small entourage had given you space and were standing near the maze, away from your eyes with some knights. They were all eager to please you, the future queen, if only to get a better status by you or Baldwin.
But you had already decided to make Isabella your lady-in-waiting. She deserves it, for everything she's done for you.
You laid down on the soft bed of grass, looking up at the sky as you wondered what will happen tomorrow. Well, nothing about the wedding, Sibylla had made you rehearse several times that you knew exactly how the ceremony will go tomorrow. No, you were curious about... how your wedding will impact the future.
Will you cease to exist? Will the world change because the crusades might not happen since a Christian king married a Muslim commoner? Will there-
Doves flew up in the sky. You smiled, recalling the doves in Abbas's house. You hoped he was alright now. Maybe he could attend the wedding-
Wait.
You sat up with a jolt at the realisation, heart beating fast as you connected the dots.
-
Isabella rushed to the gardens. A servant had told her that you had immediately summoned her. Fearing the worst, she hiked up her gown and ran as fast as she could.
She was out of breath by the time she found you. "You called for me, princess?" She gasped out. You hummed, standing beside a gilded cage of doves.
"Arent they so beautiful?" You asked her, beckoning her to come forward. "They are indeed." She agreed, standing beside you.
"I was thinking of releasing them tomorrow, outside the chapel. All the maids could hold them in their hands and release them as I walk out with the king. What do you think?"
She nodded. "Wonderful idea. I'll go and have it arranged-"
"Hm? Oh, I took care of that. Why dont you open the cage and hold this one for me?" You smiled at her as you made you took a few steps back. "And gloves off, Isabella. I want to see how you will look like tomorrow."
Isabella throat ran dry, She gulped looking at you, then at the cage before back at you.
"I- I cant hold the doves, princess. They'll slip out of my hands-"
"We have plenty here for you to practise. Dont worry. Now make haste." You crossed your arms in front of you and looked at her expectantly.
She parted her lips to say something, but then looked back at the cage. "Whats the matter? Dont know how to hold them?" You sighed before making your way back to the cage. "They're just tiny little birds, gentle ones really. They wont bite you, so I dont know why you fear them. Here, let me show you how to hold one." You opened the cage and carefully held the dove in your hands, petting it softly. "There, there."
You suddenly thrusted the bird in her direction, and Isabella jumped back. "What's the matter? Scared of birds?"
Isabella hesitantly nodded. "Yes, I'm sorry princess- I- I- dont like birds. I'm very much afraid of them." You nodded understandingly, before placing the bird back in the cage. "How very inconsiderate of me. Very well, off you go." Isabella bowed graciously and was about to leave when you suddenly grabbed her arm and rubbed a feather along her exposed arm.
"P-princess-!" She shrieked, trying to yank her arm out of your grasp but your grip didnt relent.
"Would you look at that?" You grinned looking at the area turning bright red. "Are you itchy now? Did I stress you too much?"
Isabella could only look at you in horror as you became angry.
"How stupid do you think I am?" You snarled before throwing her hand down. "That itchy red skin wasnt from stress, it was from birds!" Her eyes widened.
"You had me thinking that your tears, your red skin, your snotty sniffles was because you were soooo concerned for me. But you actually had the rose fever from birds!" You recalled seeing the scratch on her hands the day you had first seen her skin, which wasnt just random skin welts. They were hives, from her allergy to avian protein (or birds, in simple terms).
Isabella could only look at you in silence as you continued. "How long did you think you could keep this charade up? Did you honestly think I wouldnt find out?!" She kept quiet while you continued, which only made you angrier.
"It was you. You were the thief. You- only you knew when I would leave the palace. You followed me! And you stole from me?!" When she didnt speak, your threatened her.
"Say something before I tell the king how you attacked me!"
Isabella looked up, and she smirked.
"You have no proof."
You looked at her in disbelief. Instead of defending herself, denying all the things- she basically admitted to it all.
"Isabella, where are my belongings?" You asked her. "If you return my things, I wont let you stay here, but I will let you leave this castle on your two feet." You didnt bother asking her why she did it, you cant waste any more time. You need to get your time machine back.
She shrugged, playing with her nails. Now that she was caught, she didnt bother putting up her scared, demure little girl image. "It doesnt matter. You will never get it. And you're not getting rid of me either. After all, you have no proof of any of the things you accused me of."
"You think you're going to get away with it?" She hummed. "I already have, princess. Now, I will be returning to my duties to prepare for you wedding tomorrow. And I think we'll do no birds-"
You pulled out a knife, silencing her. She looked at the knife before smiling. "Are you really going to kill me? Did you forget how I overpowered you and Abbas back there?"
"I havent." You bring the knife up to your throat. "But if you dont tell me where my belongings are this instant, I will slit my throat and let you explain to the king how you killed me. Oh and you may think you can just sneak out of here, but remember, there's a whole entourage who saw you come here. They'll tell Baldwin you were the last person to see me, and then no matter where you run, Baldwin will hunt you down. Him and his Templar knights."
Her brows furrowed at your threat. "Princess, I dont-"
"Dont think for a moment I wont do it, Isabella. I'm mental." When she remained quiet, you pressed the blade harder into your neck, just enough for the skin to break and blood to pour, making her eyes wide.
"Okay! Okay- stop! I'll tell you."
-
Isabella lead you to a room inside the castle, hidden away in a corner. You had never been here before, you realised when you stepped inside. She pulled out a drawer from the desk, which had a false floor in it. Lifting the wooden panel, you saw all your belongings, including your time machine.
"Leave." You ordered her. Once you were alone, you pulled out the key from your underclothes and placed it inside. Saying a tiny prayer, you turned on the machine.
It worked. The tiny lights turned on. All you had to do was set the date and-
The machine was snatched from your hands. "Isabella drop-!" Your eyes widened at the sight of Baldwin holding the machine.
"What are you doing?" He asked you, looking at the machine.
"Baldwin, please give it back-"
"This?" He shook the machine in his hands. "Sure, you can have it." He smiled at you before bashing the machine to the ground.
"BALDWIN NO! STOP!" You tried to stop him, but Baldwin pushed you away and kept smashing the machine until its lights went out and they key broke.
"NOOOOO!" You finally snatched it from his hands but it was too late. The screen wouldnt turn on, wouldnt display the date no matter what you did. The key was broken.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" You cried out.
"What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you?!" Baldwin yelled. "What were you going to do with that? Leave me, the love of your life, to go where?! Back to heaven?!"
Heaven? No fucking way-
"Do you- do you actually think I'm an angel?" Oh god. The look on his face was enough to let you know that he was actually serious.
"You can deny it all you want, but I am your husband to be and you cannot lie to me! You appeared out of nowhere in my castle. You cured me, you brought that baby back to life and you have escaped death one too many times! You may think I'm a fool, but I'm the king of Jerusalem, head of the Church and you were sent to me by God Himself! YOU ARE MINE AND I WILL NOT LET YOU GO BACK!"
Oh God. Oh God, you're marrying a crazy person.
Wait.
"How did you know I was here?" Your brows knitted together when he didnt reply, still looking at you in rage. "Did Isabella-" You gasped.
Of course. OF-FUCKING-COURSE!
"She wasnt a thief. She was a spy!" You chuckled humourlessly. "All this time, I thought Guy was behind it all, but I knew- I knew he was too dumb to come up with such a plan. It was you! It was always you! You sent the Ismailis after me! You sent Isabella after me to steal my belongings and spy on me! You set me up with Abbas so that when you "saved" me, I'd fall for you! Oh and I'm sure you made it seem like Charlotte was also here because Guy had called her. You framed Guy just so that you could have an excuse to get rid of him!"
"I did it because I love you!"
"You hurt me because you loved me?" You whispered to him, tears flowing down your cheeks. "I almost burned to death because of you. And you say- no. Why did you do this, Baldwin? Why the hell did you do all this?!"
"I was- I was testing you." He answered, bending down on his knee to cup your face. "I... only wanted to see if you would come to me for help. If you truly trusted me, loved me enough to come to me." He wiped your tears away. "I'm sorry it had to happen this way, but it worked out in the end-"
"You dont test the people you love, Baldwin."
"Oh, come on. Even God tests his strongest believers-"
"YOU ARE NOT GOD!" You shrieked, pushing him away.
"I'm not, but I'm special to Him. He made you for me. He gifted you to me. He made you fall in love-"
"I dont love you!" You cried. "I can never love you! Never!"
Baldwin's face hardened. "You do love me. You said so yourself. Now, youre just saying nonsense out of hysterics. Calm down-"
"I hate you. I have never loathed anything as much as I loathe you. I would never love you, even if you were the last man on Earth. I fucking hate you."
Baldwin stared at your red face. "Well, I hope you can change your mind because we will be getting married tomorrow regardless." He tried to touch your face but you slapped his hand away. "Besides, I love you enough for the both of us."
-
Its Sunday. You were locked in your room with a whole infantry ordered to not let you out. You had cried the entire night at your loss, at your fate, at your stupidity. How could you have ever trusted Baldwin? And now you will have to marry this religious lunatic.
The maids did their best to dress you up and tried to mask your red, swollen eyes. And with Isabella in the room, you were sure she had told them to not comment at your pitiful state.
You were standing outside the chapel with Salauddin. Everything seemed to blur, the choir singing, the attendees- you couldnt focus on anything.
"Y/n." You finally looked up at Salauddin, who was looking at you with deep concern. "Are you okay?" He asked you, noticing your teary eyes and dull expression.
"No."
He wasnt expecting you to answer bluntly.
"Do you want to marry Baldwin?" He whispered.
"No."
"I can help you-"
"No." You sniffled. "No one can."
The knights stood outside the chapel doors, waiting for you to enter. A few ladies held your trail behind you. Salauddin cast a glance at them before passing you something in your hand discreetly.
"Abbas asked me to give you this."
You opened your palm to see-
A key.
The key!
But how did he make this? You never designed it-
You smiled. That genius. He must've used the other parts to figure out the design and crafted it.
Abbas, I'm sorry I dont give you enough credit.
"Give him my thanks. And a lot of money, hm?" Salauddin could only nod in confusion. You looked back at your ladies. "I need to pee." Their eyes widened at the use of such crass language, especially in front of the sultan.
"But princess, the ceremony is about to start-"
"Would you rather I pee in my gown?" You snapped.
"But there is no bathroom here-"
"Then be useful and find a sheet and a bush. Now!" They all scrambled away to find some bush. You looked at the knights in front of you. "Go inside and inform them of a delay. The princess has to take a shit."
They looked hesitant to leave. "I'm not taking off my underclothes in front of you men. LEAVE!" They hurriedly went inside and closed the door to give you privacy.
You looked at Salauddin. "Can I borrow your horse?" He nodded, helping you up on it.
"Where are you going? I'll come with."
You shake your head. "No. I have to go alone. And I suggest you go inside as well."
"Y/n-"
"Please, Salauddin. No more questions. I dont want to lie to you." You smiled at him.
Salauddin reluctantly went inside the chapel, and you rode the horse out of there. There was only so long before Baldwin realised you had left, so you needed to speed things up. Grateful that you had swapped your broken time machine during your heated argument with Baldwin. You placed the new key in, just as you heard the sound of galloping horses and Baldwin-
"Y/N!" You didnt pay attention as you sped off ahead, only stopping when you reached the edge of the cliff. Climbing down, you looked at your machine as you turned the key.
It didnt turn on.
No. No. No-
"Y/N! GET BACK HERE!" Baldwin yelled at you, getting off his horse as he made his way. His troops had surrounded the area so you couldnt escape.
You looked back at your time machine and you- you banged it with your hand. "Come on. Come on!" This had to work- you banged on it as you would bang on a TV set when it stopped working, on a remote when it didnt operate quite right.
"Did you think you could escape me?!" You looked up and Baldwin was a few feet away.
"Baldwin stop!" You took a step back, nearing the cliff. "I'll jump-I'll fucking jump, I swear!" He halted.
"Dont be stupid, Y/n. Come to me, and we can put this behind us-"
You banged on the machine, cutting him off.
The machine turned on.
You grinned as Baldwin stared at you, shaking his head. "Dont-"
You jumped, pressing the button and hoping you returned to your time. You hadnt been able to set the date cause of the broken buttons.
The last thing you heard was Baldwin screaming your name.
So what do you guys think? Yall better comment and send asks and reboots because i sacrificed lunch and dinner for this.
Also, what do u guys think will happen in the next part? Do you think she'll return home or to a new timeline??? And which era???👁👁
General Yandere! Osamu Miya Profile
Yandere! Osamu Miya x fem! reader
Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, extreme possessiveness, unhealthy/toxic thoughts, mentions of dub-con, slight misogany/traditional gender roles, mentions of motherhood/forced motherhood, mentions of harassment, basically Osamu is obsessed with you congrats love </3, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
DARLING PROFILE
Introverted
It’s not that Osamu isn’t capable of being attracted towards a more social darling, but rather that there’s something very endearing and appealing about a darling that isn’t out with friends 24/7.
He doesn’t like the idea of other people monopolizing their time, and consequently it would make him much happier (and quell his protective tendencies) to have a beloved that spends most of their time at home.
Even a homebody would be perfect for him – of course, he wants his darling to have hobbies and activities that take place beyond the four walls of their home that they enjoy, but he likes knowing that ninety percent of the time, they can be found in pristine shape inside their home.
It fuels his more domestic fantasies as well; he likes to imagine spending lazy Sundays with his darling, snuggled up on the couch while rain pours outside, watching Top Chef or other favorite movies and shows, popcorn and other snacks slipping past their lips as he criticizes the chef’s cooking alongside Gordon Ramsay.
He likes to imagine the way his darling would look so pretty wearing his clothing, the hickeys he’d decorated their neck and collarbone with in last night’s passionate throws of intimacy standing out like a beacon as they sleepily rub their eyes, yawning out that fucking adorable morning ‘Samu.
He just likes knowing that his darling is mostly content with staying home most of the time – he hates the idea of them being out with strangers, with people that could potential hurt them or have ill intentions, and in his mind this is a perfect win-win. He’s a homebody too, and this way he can spend all of his time with them, by his side, preferably cuddled into his chest or with his tongue down their throat.
He just loves the way his darling slowly sees him as the most important person in their life, because he’s the only person in their life – it’s a dream come true, and to see their face light up when he gets home from work not only gets his heart racing and his palms sweat, but his pants so fucking tight.
Artistic
Now, this particular trait isn’t a must-have for Osamu, but it’s definitely a factor in what attracts him to his darling.
He likes the idea of a beloved that has hobbies of their own – someone who finds passion in their lives, and devotes a substantial portion of their time to practicing and perfecting their chosen art form.
This could be quite literally anything – painting, playing an instrument, drawing, cooking (Osamu’s personal favorite, though he must be a better cook than you, no exceptions), writing, sewing, crocheting, anything that gets his darling’s creative juices flowing.
He loves to watch them practice; there’s something about the expression on their face as they concentrate that really gets him going. Maybe it’s the way their tongue sticks out just slightly as they put the final touches on the cupcake batter they’re mixing, the way their brows twist together as they brush the ink over the paper, how they tap their foot as they try to keep their rhythm while playing a difficult passage on their instrument.
He just loves the way they look so invested and passionate, and if Osamu is being honest, a lot of this fascination comes from his hopes that one day they’ll think of him with that degree of devotion.
He loves the idea of his darling paying him so much mind and attention that he becomes their hobby, that their artistic urges get focused onto him – maybe the little scarves and knickknacks his darling makes start being his size or having gray hair and gray eyes.
Maybe the poems they write start depicting a man of strong build, with callused fingers and a heart of gold.
Maybe the pottery they mold starts resembling two hearts beating together, symbolizing his and his darling’s everlasting love.
It’s sappy and he knows it, but there’s something about his darling being passionate that really speaks to him – maybe it’s because he sees himself reflected in them, but regardless it only fuels his obsessive tendencies, pushing him to learn as much as he can about the craft so he can impress you, just as he desperately wants to.
Smart
Again, this particular trait isn’t hard and fast for the chef, but it’s most definitely a plus in the stages of his infatuation forming. He’s always had a thing for smart, capable women; he likes the idea of a girl who isn’t afraid to be right, who doesn’t try to dumb themselves down for other people.
Of course, humility is important too (no one likes a braggard, do they?), but Osamu takes pride in the fact that his darling is so smart, that his darling is so talented. And this can take the shape of many different things – perhaps his darling is a gifted mathematician, able to solve equations with little trouble because they just get numbers.
(He likes to imagine the way their math skills might falter as he holds them over his knee, their pretty ass bare to him as he spanks them again and again, hearing them count aloud and grind their pussy against his knee in a way they think is oh-so-subtle.)
This could be his darling being strongly empathetic; able to understand the way others feel, putting them at ease and investing in making sure they’re okay while Osamu flounders to understand why they’re crying in the first place.
(He likes to think this is a sign that his darling would be a perfect mother, always able to calm down their children and make them giggle and smile, even while their knee is scraped up or their favorite toy is broken.)
It could be that his darling has knowledge of a very particular, niche topic; he could listen to them talk for hours upon hours, never losing interest as he nods along to their words, watching the way their lips move and form words, part of him forcing himself to listen while the other part wars to reach out and shut you up with his own mouth.
He just really likes the idea of a smart darling, one he can be proud to call his own, and if you were to tell him off with some logical, well grounded argument? Well, he’s still not letting you out of the basement, but fuck it all – one glance at his pants is enough to show you how your little speech has affected him, and he has no qualms showing you, either.
Optimistic
While Osamu isn’t necessarily a pessimist, he’s most definitely in the middle of the spectrum in terms of his outlook on life. He likes to consider himself a realist; he has no delusions about what life is (though, he most certainly does have delusions about what the two of you are), and he’s not embarrassed to say that more often than not, life has a way of choosing the non-ideal routes.
Of course, things could obviously be much worse (how can he say life is bad when it’s led to him meeting you, the single best thing that’s ever happened to him), but they could be better too. He’s neutral, really, which is why a darling that’s more optimistic would be a perfect fit for him.
Overwhelming negativity is exhausting, and if his darling only ever complains without anything positive to say, Osamu would quickly grow annoyed and tired of their presence, snapping at them to shut up, I can’t listen to you bitch anymore.
It’s not that his darling has to be always happy, always looking at the bright side (as this, too, can be equally as annoying as constant negativity), but he likes that his darling just naturally assumes the best in people.
Of course, it terrifies the protective part of him, the one that’s always paranoid about their safety and the intentions of others regarding them, but even for as much sleep as it causes him to lose at night, it’s just too damn cute. When they’re smiling at others and encouraging them through difficult times, Osamu can’t help but swoon; they’re just too adorable, too motherly, too fucking perfect.
He likes that they’re just genuinely a happy person – he’ll always lend an ear to them when they inevitably have a bad day or need to complain, but he’s quick to give them kisses all along their face and neck, whispering that they’re absolutely right babe, I hear ya.
He just likes how sweet it makes him, and only furthers his idea that they need protection – the world has a nasty way of dimming those that shine brightest, after all.
GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS
Controlling
While it isn’t necessarily purposeful, Osamu has a bit of a problem when it comes to being a prominent figure in your life.
He’s used to having to share everything, from the limelight to the occasional toothbrush, socks to volleyball shoes with his twin. He’s used to being known as ‘the other Miya’, as the chef with the famous athlete for a brother.
So to finally have you, something all completely his own, how can he be blamed for being a little more paranoid? Can he really be faulted when he’s just trying to make sure that you stay his and only his?
He’s not even really conscious of the way he slowly begins becoming an omnipresent part of your life, how those cold metallic eyes are always watching over your shoulder, staying fixed on your figure because every little thing you do is riveting to him, fascinating and something he needs to see, to make sure you’re doing as you should, that you’re staying safe and healthy and happy.
He doesn’t mean to come off as the controlling boyfriend (though, his tendencies of being more intrusive than he should be will start much earlier than the boyfriend stage – when you’re both still acquaintances, friends, when his obsession is still freshly new), but with the way he slowly begins demanding more and more from you, the message will be pretty clear.
You’ll likely write it off at first; his insistent questions of who are you going with when you tell him you’ll be out for the afternoon seeming oddly serious, but it’s ‘Samu, right? It’s Osamu Miya, a man you know isn’t as petty as being jealous over your time being spent with another, who isn’t bothered enough to be weird about it, right?
You’ll just laugh it off, though this has the opposite affect on the man in front of you – your laughter has him on edge, wondering if you’re lying to him, wondering if you’re going out to meet another man – what’s Atsumu up to tonight?
Suna?
Ginjima?
The paranoia eats away at him as he paces around, terrified that you might be flirting with another man, chatting and making eyes at some piece of shit, that he could be touching you and fucking you and making you scream out a name that isn’t Osamu fucking Miya – the paranoia is really rather extreme, the deeply rooted fear forcing him to get more serious much quicker than he’d expected.
Soon he’s not only asking who you’ll be with, but where you’re going, how long you’ll be out, what you’re expecting to do, when you think you’ll be home, where and when to be checking your phone for texts or calls from him.
You’ll think it’s strange, confusing why he’s being so weirdly protective over you (and being so damn insistent, as he’s literally grasping your hands in his and forcing you to repeat back a promise to check yer damn phone every five minutes, what if something happened? Ya understand, right? I have to be able to check in with ya when I need to.), but, just like before, you’ll just brush it off, nodding hesitantly and slipping out the door, unease crawling up your spine.
You’ll slowly come to feel as if Osamu is suffocating you, his presence overwhelming and always there, as if there’s no escape from his probing questions, his insistence on you always contacting him (though, the tracker he’s placed on your phone makes it so that his demands to update him on your location via text aren’t really necessary, but it makes him feel better).
And from there, things only get more extreme – he’s catching your wrist as you go to pluck a piece of fruit out of the pile, narrow gray eyes watching you as he tells you to choose something healthier, why don’t I just make ya somethin’ to eat?
He’s sighing and blocking the door when you leave the living area, telling you to sit down and drink the glass of water he’d given you before you go lay down in bed, before you use the restroom, before you shower or brush your teeth or yawn or speak.
He quickly becomes the sole dictator of your life, making you ask permission for every little thing, making you feel subservient and below him, making you feel as if you’re nothing without him, as if you can’t properly take care of yourself without his guidance, without him metaphorically (and literally) spoon feeding you.
And frankly, as irritating and terrifying as it is, it’s difficult to get mad at him – after all, Osamu doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It’s not even about explicitly controlling you for him; it’s more about making sure you’re his and that no one else can get to you, to make sure that you aren’t being swept away or stolen by anyone else.
And of course, it’s to get you trusting him, relying on him, needing him, because isn’t that what relationships are about? Mutual love, dependence, desperation?
Protective
Going hand in hand with his paranoia and controlling tendencies, Osamu views you as someone who, despite your best efforts, isn’t really able to take care of yourself. He trusts you and loves you, at least as much as he can given his staggering devotion to you, and yet he doesn’t inherently trust you with you, with your health and safety and care.
No, that’s his job, him as the man and your caretaker and the only one who can actually take care of you, who can adhere to your every need, whether you’re aware of it or not.
He’s fairly domestic at heart, loving the softer moments, and you’ll notice this extremely early on with his obsession with you. He’s always trying to cook you things, and while it’s sweet, soon it’ll start getting a bit weird.
He’s got a full course meal for you every lunch, always your favorite foods cooked exactly how you like them despite never mentioning it to him in more than passing. He’s raising his chopsticks and telling you to say ahh, his voice soft and gooey, practically purring at you. He’s placing the sushi against your tongue and smiling boyishly at you, his cheeks dusted pink while pride swirls in his chest that you’re eating his food.
It’s sweet, at first, and damn can he cook, but once he starts showing up at your door with breakfast and dinner as well, inviting himself inside to eat with you and your family, chatting up your father and helping your mother cook, you’ll start growing uncomfortable, unsure of why he’s there.
You won’t know why he seems to care so much and why he’s subtly tapping your wrist under the dinner table, smiling softly and telling you to slow down a bit, you’ll choke if ya keep eatin’ like that.
It’s strange and it’ll feel beyond out of place, but Osamu is a charmer. He may not be as obvious or charismatic as his twin, but your parents will quickly be won over, everyone around you telling you how good of a person he is, how he’s such a catch, how he’s so sweet to you, won’t you just give him a chance?
He’s always pulling you closer to him, keeping you by his side so that you don’t stray too far, keeping a hand on your wrist or shoulder or waist or back, warm fingers pressing into your body as a discreet but strong reminder that he’s right there.
He’s grasping your hips as he maneuvers you to the side to avoid the crack in the sidewalk, sending you a strangely shy, boyish smile as his cheeks turn pink and he murmurs something about you being oblivious as hell, yer always getting’ hurt.
He’s quick to grab your wrist when you’re opening doors or grabbing something sharp or hot, sending you a small look as he does it for you, murmuring something under his breath about you being too delicate, can’t have ya doing something so dangerous.
He’s genuinely concerned about your health and safety, truly – he doesn’t mean to be overbearing. He’s not trying to be condescending by saying that you’re incapable of doing anything substantial on your own; of course not! He’s just concerned that you tend to be clumsier than he’d like, and what would happen if you tripped and skinned your knee, broke your arm, got a life threatening concussion that altered your life forever?
(Or, worse yet, made you forget about him?)
He’s just doing what he thinks of best, and the trouble with Osamu is that while he’s not particularly delusional, he’s also not particularly great at seeing the reality behind his actions. He knows he’s a bit more overboard on his protectiveness over you than he should be, but he’s able to honestly write it off as being chivalrous, as being a good, caring partner.
He thinks he’s being romantic and exactly what you want when he cuts the crusts of your sandwiches off for you (even if you didn’t ask).
He thinks he’s being attractive when he doesn’t let you package your own leftovers from the restaurants, claiming the food is ‘too hot’ even though it came out more than forty five minutes ago.
He’s just trying to help, and he’d never be able to forgive himself if you were hurt when he could’ve prevented it – after all, what does that say about his ability to take care of you? Does he even deserve to call himself yours if he can’t keep you from getting bruised or scraped?
Would you even want him if he can’t protect you like a man should?
Obsessive
Generally speaking, Osamu’s devotion to you knows no bounds.
He’s busy with his restaurant, cooking orders and managing paperwork, but in between shaping the rice and signing his name, every single thought is aimed towards you. He’s constantly idly wondering about what you’re doing, what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, whether you’re happy or sad or whether you miss him.
He likes to imagine the way you look at any given moment you’re apart; he’ll imagine the soft smile on your face as you see a particularly cute pet when you walk down the street, your fingers itching to reach out and give it some love.
He’ll imagine the way you’d sigh to yourself and roll your eyes when your coworkers are being annoying again; he’s told you so many fucking times to just quit so you don’t have to worry about it anymore, but you always refuse and laugh him off.
(It pisses him off that you so lightly reject his advice; can’t you see how being there is ruining your mental health? Can you not see how it’s deteriorating you, how you’re so much more stressed now, how the money isn’t worth your time? It infuriates him, and he’s sure that once you’re living together, your full time job will be taking care of the house, not your own finances. He’ll cover that, so don’t you worry your pretty little head.)
He’s imagining the way you shrug on your jacket, zipping it up until it stops right below your nose because it’s fucking cold outside, how you’d look like a cute little hedgehog all wrapped up for winter – no doubt warm and soft and perfect to hold in his arms.
He’s always thinking of you in sweet, domestic situations; you’re just too adorable to him, and it’s always been his fantasy to find a partner and live out those horribly cliché romantic tropes he always sees in TV or reads in books.
He wants to be the one spoon feeding you warm soup on cold days, watching as you flutter your lashes shyly at him and compliment to new recipe he tried out (or, more accurately, the recipe he made up knowing your favorite ingredients).
He likes to think about waking up in the mornings with you, the sunlight streaming onto your face as you let out soft little breaths and even the occasional snore, making his nose scrunch up and a snort leave his laugh because fuck, he’s heard that nose through your window for years and now that it’s right in front of him?
He’s imagining falling asleep with you, too, helping you with the skin routine he demands you set up and carry out with him – he wants to have dozens of photos on his phone of you making a kissy face in the mirror with him, a white mask covering your skin and making you look like some sort of slasher serial killer.
He’s plagued by thoughts and fantasies of you in every shape and form. (Some much, much more explicit than the kind, domestic ones – images of you on your knees with cum dripping down your chin and onto your tits, your fingers holding open your pussy and turning away your head in embarrassment as he stares from above you on the bed, the way you’d wantonly moan out his name and scratch down his back because he just feels too damn good.)
And so, the basis of his obsession with you starts out almost immediately with gathering information about you.
He wants to fantasize these sweet (and not-so-sweet) moments with you, but in order to this he needs to know more, to learn more. He wants to know everything he possibly can; when do you fall asleep at night?
Do you spend hours staring at your phone in the darkness of your bedroom, or are you out the moment your head hits the pillow?
What kind of food do you like?
Do you eat breakfast, and if so how would you feel about breakfast in bed, with you woken up to the scent of freshly scrambled eggs and a few (much too heated) kisses to your forehead by Osamu himself?
Do you prefer to spend time with others or by yourself?
Are you an animal person, and if so would you consider getting a pet with him as a trial run for your first child?
He wants to know every possible detail there is about you – and he’s frighteningly good at it. He’s just so unsuspecting; he’s nice, funny, a stand-out guy to everyone that knows him, and why would you have reason to think any differently?
Sure, it may be slightly offputting with how insistent he is that he’s always with you and making sure others don’t get close to you, but you’ll answer every question he throws at you.
After all, it may seem a bit odd to be asked what your greatest fear is, but you’ll just at him and puzzle over the answer, pressing a finger to your lip as you hum in thought.
It may be strange initially to be bombarded with so many questions about your future plans (where do you want to live? What do you see as your ideal marriage? Your ideal house? Your ideal number of children? Could you see yourself becoming a housewife or a stay at home mother?), but you’ll shrug off the sense of unease coiling at your shoulders and answer him honestly, because that’s just what friends do.
However, once his questions start teetering to a more questionable side, things that you don’t feel comfortable sharing with him, with another man, red flags may begin appearing for you. After all, why does he need to know your bra size?
The package of fancy lingerie that appears on your front door the next day in delicate lace of your favorite color surely can’t be connected to him, right? Even if the fit is perfect?
Why does he need to know how heavy your periods are; what knowledge could that serve him?
(Quite a bit actually, if the some twenty boxes of pads, tampons, and menstrual cups he’s hoarded into his closet in his apartment is any indicator.)
You’ll slowly grows confused by his efforts to know more and more, but Osamu is slick; he’s good at keeping information at bay, at comforting your fears because he's just such a nice guy, now won’t you please take another sip of your beer and tell him what position gets you seeing stars every time?
He just loves you, and he expresses his love by overfilling his brain with information of his favorite variety – you.
DEALING WITH RIVALS
While it would be a stretch to say Osamu never feels jealousy, he wouldn’t be lying if he said that the majority of his unease with other men earning your attention lies from the perspective of simply wanting to protect you.
Of course, he doesn’t like the possibility of your attention and love deviating away from him, your pretty eyes no longer focused on his, your smiles and laughter no longer aimed at his words and jokes. He likes that you seem to like him – he needs you to like him, after all, but that isn’t the entirety of what fuels his jealousy.
No, it’s the paranoia that eats away at him every time he sees you in public with any number of other people around you. He knows what kinds of monsters a lot of men are – he went to school with a number of them, and while he considers his friends to be good guys, even his closest companions have said questionable things over the years.
Hell, he’s though some questionable things over the years – of course, he’d never act on them, but idle thoughts of wow, she’s got nice tits or those pants are tight, wish she’d bend over again shocking him and making his cheeks flush red. He always feels guilty, immediately leaving the room and not able to look the woman in the eye ever again, but if he, Osamu Miya, someone who likes to think of himself as a feminist and non-threatening to women, is capable of such thoughts?
Then what do the men that don’t hold themselves to higher standards think? What kind of sick, perverse thoughts are rolling through their heads when they see a pretty woman nearby, a pretty woman like you?
It makes his skin crawl to just think about it, and so while he knows that rationally four out of five men would never hurt you, there’s always the what if eating at the back of his mind. He likes to think of himself as a the chivalrous, traditional male partner who cares for and protects his lover, and what kind of a man would he be if he wasn’t able to keep vicious hands – and heaven forbid, cocks – away from you?
What does that say about his ability to protect you, his ability to keep you happy and safe by his side? And so, while jealousy happens to him fairly often, most of the time it’s an ugly mix of his own personal jealousy, his protectiveness, and pure selfishness that cause him to tense up and watch the scene with an extra careful eye.
Towards the beginning of his obsession with you, Osamu was much more reluctant to actually interfere in situations in which he suspected something bad may happen. Of course, the moment anything bad actually did happen, like the man talking to you and reaching out to touch your shoulder, forced him to spring to life, to come to your aid and make him out to be not only the knight and shining armor, but also to get you out of that situation.
He’ll always remember the first time he did this – you ‘d been cornered by a man at a park while Osamu ‘happened’ – at least, you think it was an accidental meeting – to be passing through. The man had been sneering at you and backed you up against a tree in a less populated area, with no one seeming to notice.
You’d been visibly scared; shoulders tensed up and little stuttered pleas for him to move falling past your lips, but the man didn’t seem to care – or maybe, didn’t seem to mind. He’d been quick to swoop in, stepping between you and the man, and while Osamu doesn’t quite have the same physique as he did in high school, his height and the still very clear muscles coating his arms were enough to have the man scuttering off, spitting at the ground and glaring at Osamu.
He’d immediately turned around to help calm you down, leaning down and placing his hands on your shoulders, and it’s safe to say that the way you hugged him and whispered your thanks only further cemented his obsession for you – if you were to ask in the future, that’s the moment he’d say he knew he was in love with you.
And so, after that initial turning point, Osamu hasn’t hesitated much when it comes to defending you against unwanted (or, even wanted) attention from men – it’s his job, after all, and the reward of you clinging to him is so damn worth it.
The bell chimes right as expected, Osamu’s back facing the door to Onigiri Miya.
He can’t help the wide grin that takes over his features, even as he tries to bite it back so as to not lose his cool. He’s sure a flush is coating his cheeks; you always come in around five o’clock on Wednesdays like today, ordering your usual – onigiris that Osamu makes specially for you, but would never tell you is only willing to make for you.
He’s molding the rice with his hands at the counter, grateful for the open concept kitchen and eating area because as he turns around and sees you walking up to the register, the breath gets sucked out of his lungs.
Fuck, you’re so pretty.
And you’re looking right at him – chuckling as you call his name and wave your hand again, breaking him of the stupor he’d been trapped in. He clears his throat in embarrassment and fixes his cap, wiping down his hands on his pants as he approaches the register.
You greet him and give him your order, mentioning off-handedly you’ve been looking forward to his food all day – it must’ve been the only thing that got you through work, you’re sure. Osamu’s heart melts in his chest, the feeling in his fingers fully gone as he lets the compliment sink in, but he’s almost on autopilot as he rings you up and takes the money from your hand, already pushing the tray containing the onigiri your way.
(He’d already had it prepared, something you asked with a laugh as you took the tray, though you’d turned on your heel after thinking him before you could hear his small, vulnerable of course.)
His shift takes what seems like forever after that – he’s trying to focus on cooking, on making sure the seaweed lays perfectly against the rice, the filling being mixed to perfection, not letting any customers wait too long at the register, but it’s hard.
It’s hard to not watch the way you enjoy your food as you sit at the table by the window, the overcast sky shining in on you and making you seem to glow.
It’s also hard to ignore the way the man at the table next to you keeps sneaking glances at you, and when he opens his mouth to finally speak to you once you’re roughly halfway through your food, Osamu’s hand involuntarily crushes the rice in its grasp.
He curses under his breath as he sets it aside, perking his ears up and straining to hear the conversation. He’s flirting, Osamu realizes with a gut-wrenching feeling in his stomach – and badly, too. All compliments about your looks; you’re looking pretty today, love that skirt on you. Do you work out? You’ve got great legs. Osamu feels a shiver roll down his spine, and suddenly the mishappen rice is forgotten as he can only stare at the interaction, feeling his body temperature rising rapidly the longer the stranger talks.
You laugh weakly at the man’s comment, clearly uncomfortable as you shift in your seat to get further away from the man who’s clearly leaning in towards you. Your fingers tap nervously against the table you’re seated at, the shop suddenly feeling much too empty to you.
Oh, uh, that’s very nice of you… you trail off, hoping to end the conversation in its tracks. Unfortunately for you, the man doesn’t seem to pick up your hint.
He resumes on, rambling on about his own workout regimen, even going so far as to pull back the sleeve of his t-shirt and flex, cocking a brow at you and offering to let you touch his bicep.
You refuse, as politely as you can, and turn back to face your food. This seems to displease the man, and Osamu watches with a sharp, dangerous inhale of breath as the man reaches over and grabs your hand, setting it on his arm as he murmurs out a doesn’t it feel good –
Osamu’s moving before he knows it, having jumped the counter and practically sprinting to reach you. His wrist slaps away the man’s hand, your own fingers retracting immediately. He stares down in anger, disgust, barely contained rage, watching as the stranger’s lips part, anger and fear swimming in the man’s black eyes. Get out. Harassment is not tolerated in this restaurant. Get the fuck out, and don’t ever come back.
His voice is deep, the scariest you’ve ever heard it, and for a moment even you’re terrified – of Osamu, of all people.
But it seems to do the trick; the man is out of his chair in an instant, almost cowering away as he shakes his head and haughtily scoffs, walking towards the exit and keeping his shoulders taut all for show.
Osamu growls, before spinning on his heel and facing you, his hands on your shoulders as he searches your eyes with his own. He asks frantically if you’re okay, bombarding you with questions while you simply stare, before lunging at him and wrapping your arms around him, your shoulders shaking slightly as you whisper your thanks over and over. Osamu freezes for a moment, a pink flush spreading across the plains of his cheeks, before his arms return the embrace, squeezing you so much it nearly hurts.
He stays like that for who knows how long, before you pull back and he begrudgingly lets you go. You gulp and tell him you’re okay, that you’ll just finish this last bit of onigiri and then you’ll be off, and Osamu only nods, a displeased look on his face.
He scruffs your hair as he stands up, smirking down at you as you whine a bit, before he steps out the door, following the path he’d seen the man take.
It’s not hard to find him, nor is it hard to shove him against the alley wall, his fist meeting flesh once, twice, five times as the howls in pain. He’s clutching his face in his hands and crouching down by the time Osamu is done with him, but all the chef can do is spit at him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and cursing under his breath.
Disgusting, treating women like that. Especially my women. Don’t you ever fucking come back, or next time I’ll kill ya. I’m dead serious. Yer fucking dead.
He seems happier when he steps back inside the shop, sending you a little wave to which you return, unknowingly making his heart flutter and his resolve harden.
Yeah, he’d do whatever it takes to make you safe and happy – even if it means roughing up his own criminal record.
TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY
To be quite honest, the prospect of kidnapping you occurs to Osamu disturbingly quickly.
He’s always seen himself as wanting to end up with a partner one day – a pretty wife that he cherishes and who cherishes him back. He wants to live in a nice, downtown apartment a few blocks away from his restaurant, the whole place painted shades of white and gray (he’d never admit it, but just to match his hair and because his skin tone looks best against the color), with maybe a cat or child running around not too long after.
It’s a fantasy, pure and simple, but while little fourteen year old him was embarrassed to be daydreaming about such a sappy idea (Atsumu had been more than willing to make him aware of how weird this was when he’d accidentally let it slip at sixteen), the embarrassment has faded with age until Osamu began viewing the idea as less of a desire and more of a sure aspect of his future.
And so, once his feelings of such magnitude for you form, you seem to fit perfectly into this image he’s built in his mind.
You’d be such a good partner – he’d love to live by your side, sharing the dinner table with you, a bed, a shower, even a toothbrush if you wanted to. (And in case you’re wondering, yes, he wants to.)
It’s remarkably easy to imagine stepping into a bath tub with you, his bare chest against your bare back as you lean against him, letting your wet hair fall over his shoulders and his chin hook above your head. He'd rub his arms up and down your shoulders, admiring the way you shiver in his touch before relaxing, the heat of the water making your muscles loosen as the shiny diamond on your ring finger winks up at him, validation that you’re his, that he earned you.
It’s surprisingly easy to imagine poking your nose with a dollop of whip cream as he makes a batch of eclairs, seeing the way your nose scrunches up and you giggle, wiping it off your skin and instead placing it on his lips, following it up with a kiss and mischievous tongue that licks away all the cream.
It’s disturbingly easy to picture the way you’d breathlessly whisper to him that the test is positive – we’re – you’re – you’re gonna be a dad, ‘Samu.
You just fit the entire fantasy oh so perfectly, and so it just feels natural to substitute in your form whenever he finds himself idly daydreaming about his future. It’s mostly during long shifts at the restaurant or late nights alone in his bed that the thoughts come, but after only about two months of his obsession reaching it’s full fledged rage that the notion that he needs to live out these fantasies really solidifies.
No longer is it something he sees himself eventually doing – no, he will be living out his hopes for his future life, and you will be the one doing it with him. And so, while he’d ideally have you consenting to this and choosing to move in with him, Osamu isn’t above forcing you, either.
Of course, he’ll ask you first; it’s intended to be casual, the way he brings up moving in together, your brows shooting up in confusion because we’re not dating, ‘Samu, right? So why would we move in together…?
And really, you don’t have to remind him of that – you’re practically dating, aren’t you? With the amount of time you spend together, the longing glances he gives you that he swears are returned, and the way you melt into his touch when he gives you what you think is a friendly hug or kiss on the cheek.
You’re basically already together – which is why Osamu decides that sure, you may be pissed at him for the first few days, weeks, hopefully not months of being his captive, eventually you’ll come around. You seem to have a soft spot for him, and he can treat you like he should – he promises.
He can make you happy, in ways you’ve never been happy before.
And really, as much as you won’t want to admit it, Osamu is right.
You are mad when you first wake up to a semi-familiar but not quite known bedroom, your chest rising and falling rapidly because this isn’t your home. You don’t remember going home with anyone the night before, so where are you?
It’s only once Osamu slips into the room, his face lighting up at seeing you awake that the pieces slowly start connecting, the lock he sets into place on the door’s deadbolt making panic eat away at your gut.
You’re mad, enraged, terrified, and all Osamu can do as you struggle and yell at him to let you go is sigh and nod his head, telling you that it’s okay, I understand this is scary, but it’s what’s best for you. For us.
Of course, that doesn’t get you any calmer – you’re quick to spit out allegations of him being crazy, telling him that there is no ‘us’, that it’s not okay for him to be locking you away with him for the rest of your life – as he so brazenly tells you.
Osamu is patient, though, at least at the start. He’s not delusional enough to believe that you’d be happy the moment you wake up in your new home, that everything would be rainbows and butterflies.
However, Osamu does eventually expect you to straighten up; maybe it’ll be Stockholm Syndrome, maybe it’ll be those feelings of attraction you’d held for him before being stolen away resurfacing once more.
Frankly, he doesn’t care – all he cares about is now you’re in his grasp, by his side, where he can keep you safe, secure, and his. And safe he’ll make sure you are; the entire house is nearly babyproofed, because while he doesn’t think of you as an infant or treat you like one, there’s a part of him that’s too terrified that you’ll see the knife and start getting ideas.
He’s scared that if he doesn’t have covers on all the outlets, you’ll take the fork and jam it in as far as you can go, hoping your heart will eventually stop beating. The thought is too much for him to bear, and so he’d begun planning to make his apartment (in a very exclusive part of town, thanks to Atsumu’s connections, complete with soundproof walls and more square footage than he could ever hope to use) as perfectly fit for the both of you as early as he could.
And so, once you wake up that fateful morning to his bedsheets, you don’t really have a chance at escaping. And despite being kidnapped, you’ll find that you don’t particularly want to; you don’t have too much anonymity, but at least Osamu respects you enough to let you do your basic hygiene alone.
He’s not accompanying you to the toilet, nor does he brush your teeth for you, nor does he dress you himself. Of course, he’d love to do any number of these things, but he still sees you as your own, respectable person – just a person that needs him, is all.
Some things Osamu will still force you to include him in, though; showering is an activity that is always done together, your wet, nude bodies hovering close as he runs the loofah over your back, dipping dangerously close to your ass as he breaths a heavy kiss against the shell of your ear.
Cooking is an event that while he mostly does alone (he doesn’t trust you with a knife yet), you’ll be seated at the dining room table, expected to keep him company while he flies around the counters with pots and pans.
He’s really not too terrible of a captor, really. He’s pretty physically affectionate with you, always pressing kisses against the crown of your head, your fingers, your thighs, your lips and neck, and his arms are always around your waist while he sighs and relaxes against you.
He’s touchy, yes, but every amenity under the sun will be yours when you’re under his roof – nice TV’s with access to every streaming platform you could want, because he knows you get hankerings for programs that are difficult to find.
You’ll have exquisite food, always prepared by him and hand made with love (and perhaps, other things as well, though you’d rather die than find out the secret ingredient of his famous fried rice).
You’ll have an assortment of fluffy, warm sweaters (all of which have been worn by Osamu and spritzed with his cologne, just to get you falling in love with his scent), and all the blankets and stuffed animals you could ever want.
He wants to spoil you, and his only rules are pretty easy to follow; obey him, don’t try to escape, and don’t try to do anything that could hurt you.
It’s not horribly complex, is it?
It’s really not, and after a while of being stuck with Osamu as your only human contact, his kind words, compliments, gentle touches and earnest desire to please you, you’ll slowly find yourself letting your guard down, developing begrudgingly loving feelings towards him. You’ll hate it at first, hate both himself and yourself, but at the end of the day you really don’t have a choice.
Because while Osamu may chastise you for attempting to crack your neck (you’ll break it, baby, don’t crack it like that) or wear something light weight when the heating is broken for a few days in January (put on yer jacket or my sweatshirt, can’t have you walking around in shorts and a t-shirt for Christs’s sake), it’s difficult to ignore the way he looks at you with such reverence and devotion.
And while it may have scared you at first, eventually you’ll come around to it – isn’t it nice to know how much Osamu needs you? Isn’t it nice to feel wanted and desired, to know you’re the reason your captor is living, breathing, smiling?
It’s a head-fuck, sure, but who cares? All you’ll ever know for the rest of your life is Osamu Miya, so why not make the best of it?
PUNISHMENTS
For the most part, it’s true that Osamu is a fairly lenient captor.
He’s not particularly harsh nor demanding, and he does genuinely want to see you smile and return his feelings. Those fantasies of having a loving domestic life with you that he’s harbored for so long bar him from any truly atrocious acts, like burning you or leaving scars on your pretty body.
He doesn’t want to hurt you, not only because it would ruin his fantasies of being your perfect, caring lover, but also because he’d never be able to live with himself if he knew he was the reason for you being in pain. He’s driven to madness by his love for you, but he’s still not fully detached from reality – he knows that causing you pain is wrong, particularly physical pain. He’d be no worse than all those men he was trying to keep you away from when he was still developing his feelings for you.
And so, Osamu tries to give you as much freedom as he can within reason. You’re obviously not allowed to venture into the real world by yourself, nor are you allowed to do anything he deems dangerous (though, while belittling at times, eventually you’ll start to agree that it is dangerous for you to handle knives and razors, that you should just let him cut your apples and shave your legs).
You’re not allowed to disobey him, either, because if there’s one thing Osamu can’t tolerate from you, it’s disrespect or purposefully going against his words.
He doesn’t particularly enjoy brats, and he wants to be able to trust you to keep yourself out of harm’s way; it would save so many stress induced headaches, his eyes wearily watching the clock as he desperately wishes time would hurry up so he could close up shop and head home to you. He’s not super strict, and frankly it’s pretty easy to placate him – just hug him and compliment him, tell him you appreciate everything he does for you, and let him pamper you for a while.
He’s more than happy to take care of you; grabbing water and whipping up a nearly Michelin level meal of your favorite foods, with a yummy dessert for the both of you to share.
(With only one spoon, of course.)
He’ll turn on your favorite movie and have you lean back against his chest, his fingers idly massaging at your scalp as you watch the bright colors and action, familiar with every line and making him chuckle as you recite it.
He’ll lift the covers over your tired form when you’re about to fall asleep, diving down below them as he trails kisses down your stomach and between your legs, wanting you to fall asleep while feeling good, even if it leaves him hanging and having to either fuck his fist or your pretty thighs while you sleep.
And so, you’ll discover it’s actually pretty hard to tick Osamu off enough to get him to punish you – but when you do, he’s remarkably good at shutting down the behavior, even if it kills him to do so.
Osamu’s always known he’s soft on you; he doesn’t claim to pretend that he’s the traditional man of the household, putting you into your place so that you’re always the subservient woman.
No, if anything, Osamu plays both roles – being the strong man in the relationship, and caring to your every whim and need. And so, while it makes his heart ache and his gut wrench in agony to do it, he knows that the best way to punish you is to stop taking care of you.
He thinks the fastest way to show you that he’s your everything is to stop being it for a while – not cooking for you, not holding you in his arms, not engaging you in conversation and asking about your day, not giving you more attention than you would ever know what to do with.
It hurts him (more than it hurts you, if we’re being honest), but it’s the only way – and so, as Osamu watches in displeasure as you shake your head at him, he’s internally sighing. You’d refused to let him bathe you again – you’d been feeling rebellious lately, and while you’d only been with him for about a month – not nearly long enough for the Stockholm Syndrome to set in to the degree he wanted it to – he was starting to get sick of it.
Can’t you see he just wants to give you the proper love and care you deserve? It’s so hard to properly wash yourself, and it’s such a sweet, intimate moment to let him take control of your body, to run the soap through your hair and down the expanse of your arms and legs. Your rejection of bathing feels like a rejection of him, and so he merely nods his head, those gray eyes fixed on you.
Okay, he tells you, sitting up from the dinner table.
The barely touched food in front of you is snatched away from you in the blink of an eyes, being scraped into the garbage bin before you can even utter a word.
You’re confused, your rebellious flare dying down as you stare at him, unsure of what he’s doing. Osamu doesn’t say anything more, merely washing the plates in the sink while willing himself to not glance at you.
(It takes an inhumane amount of self-restrain to accomplish this task, as he’s so used to stealing looks at you nearly every minute of the day, too mesmerized by your beauty to do anything more than gape like a fish, but he manages.)
And maybe it’s petty, but hearing the way you mutter his name has his resolve hardening, because fuck, you’re already cracking.
Once the dishes are done, he dries his hands and whistles a tune to himself, heading down the hallway to his office. Paperwork is strewn across the wooden top, evidence of the way he’d been procrastinating for days on doing it in favor of spending time with you, but now is the perfect time. With a heavy sigh, he plops down into his rolling chair, picking up the pen and getting to work signing and approving business transactions, visualizing where he wants the company to be this time next year.
He slowly grows immersed in the work, having chanted to himself too heavily at the start of the paperwork to ignore you, ignore you, make her dependent on you by ignoring her needs, it’s the only way.
And so, when you peek into his office room, biting your lip in worry, Osamu genuinely doesn’t notice. You’re not sure what’s going on – he’s never this dismissive of you, always asking you if you’re hungry or need anything, if you’d like to read a book together or take a nap.
He’s never gone this long with at least smiling at you, and while it’d likely only been forty five minutes since you’d told him in a moment of bravery that you didn’t want to bathe with him, it feels like a lifetime.
You watch for a few moments, before carefully sitting yourself in the plush armchair in the corner of the room, situated so that you’re watching his back as his pen flies across the paper and his finger across the calculator.
At some point, Osamu notices your presence, but he steels himself to remain visibly ignorant to you and your eyes that seem to be boring into him.
Soon he finishes for the night, groaning as he stretches his shoulders and arms, but as he gets up to leave he doesn’t bother to spare you a glance.
You heart aches; are you missing him? The thought has you biting your lip harshly, tears stinging at your eyes at the realization, but before you can anything you hear Osamu turn the faucet on the bath on, the sound of rushing water making you stiffen up. Perhaps… if you want his attention back, maybe you’d have to…?
Osamu's brows are tightly drawn as he strips himself of his clothing and steps into the tub, trying to let the warm water relax his tense muscles. He peeks at the (purposefully) open door to his left, wishing that you’d appear, but after five minutes of you not showing up, Osamu sighs.
This is the right thing to do, he just knows it – how else is he supposed to get you dependent on him, on his love and protection? He knows it, he swears, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, that his lungs don’t feel like they’re crushing under the weight of his heartache –
He’s brought out of his reverie as he feels a poke at his hand, opening his previously closed eyes to see you standing next to him, a nervous and somewhat embarrassed look on your face.
With a start, Osamu notices that your cheeks are wet and your eyes still a bit red, and immediately guilt is crashing into him; he made you cry, fuck. He blinks at you, trying to keep his face emotionless, and watches as you gulp.
I-um, can I get in with you? You’re asking in such a quiet, unsure voice, and for a moment Osamu threatens to break his careless façade, the urge to swoon at your cuteness nearly too much to handle.
He blinks once more, prompting you to keep speaking.
You play with your fingers as you stare down at them, letting the words fall off your tongue. ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a brat. I’m just – I don’t know. I’m scared, ‘Samu, of how I’m feeling. You stole me away, and I’m not supposed to love you or even like you, but I don’t think I hate you anymore. I think – I don’t know, it’s confusing, but I think that I’m starting to need you.
Osamu’s heart is racing in his chest, your admission making his chest flush bright red, joy eating away at him because are you being honest?
Are you speaking from the heart?
The way you look so frustrated at yourself tells him that you are, and with a swallow much too loud to be unheard by you, Osamu speaks. Do ya understand that I’m just trying to take care of ya?
You quickly nod, chancing a glance at him, only to find his gaze stuck on you, the intensity making you shrink back.
It’s silent for a moment, before Osamu’s face splits into the softest, happiest smile you think you’ve ever seen, his arms opening wide as the water splashes lightly against his chest. Hurry up, cold water’s no fun to be in.
Your lips part and your eyes widen, and quickly you’re stripping off your clothes, too relieved at the way he’s looking at you to be embarrassed as every inch of yourself is revealed to his prying gaze. Soon you’re clambering in, burying your face into his neck and wrapping your arms around his torso, letting him return the embrace as you whisper against his skin.
I’m sorry ‘Samu, I know you love me and just want me to be safe, I’m sorry I acted out. I won’t do it again, just – just please, don’t ignore me. I need you too badly for that.
Osamu’s never had such a warm, pleasant feeling sit in his stomach before, and neither has he had such wonderful, romantic sex in his life as that night – with you clutching at him, not letting a single inch of space between your bodies, his name rolling off your tongue in waves as you came again and again and again, all for him.
OVERALL DANGER
Overall danger rating: 6/10
Osamu isn’t too terribly dangerous.
As far as yanderes go, he’s somewhat tame; he’s mostly just extremely devoted to your safety, and in turn devoted to making sure he knows everything about you so that he can properly fulfill his duty as your lover.
He’s a bit of a sucker at heart, and so while he’s capable of hurting others on your behalf (and isn’t afraid to do so, if he feels your safety is being threatened), Osamu treats you with delicacy.
You’re precious to him, something he can think of as truly and wonderfully his; he doesn’t have to share you with another soul on this planet, and he cherishes the idea of being your one and only in the same way. He’s lovestruck, truly, and while his protective tendencies may scare you at times, it’s truly coming from a (mostly) good place.
He just wants you to be safe and happy and his, and so while it likely doesn’t win him many points to be relocating you to his apartment, chasing off any rivals for your affection, time, or attention, Osamu sees it as a necessary evil.
He’s always wanted to have and be a loving partner, and you’re the one he’s decided has to be it. So while he may not be the traditional knight in shining armor, all Osamu cares about is you falling for him, just as you should.
All he wants is for your dependence on him to grow, so that the two of your can be mutually addicted to one another, unable to go nary an hour without at least some form of contact, be that a smile, a touch, a kiss, or feeling your wonderful, perfect little cunt squeezing around him.
Osamu just loves you, and try all you can, but eventually you’ll return his feelings. And how could you not?
There’s something wrong with him, yes, but have you ever felt so loved?
Have you ever felt so seen, validated, wanted?
You never have, and you never will, so just accept it. Accept him.
Title: Negligence.
Pairing: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).
A Continuation of Nursle.
Word Count: 9.0k.
TW: Dub/Con - Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Kidnapping, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Lactation, Geto and Gojo Have Their Own Thing Going On That Is Entirely Separate From The Events of This Fic, and Age Gaps. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
[Part One] [Part Two]
Suguru wouldn’t let you hold Himari.
You’d offered to as he led you out of Suguru’s apartment, reached for her instinctively as he gently urged you into the passenger seat of a familiar black car, but Suguru was in a fugue state – eyes glassy, voice softened and tempered, a glazed smile painted over his lips. He kept Himari pressed against his shoulder, and then, when she started to stir, in his lap, bouncing idly on his knee as he drove. It was dangerous – for Himari and for you. You were tempted to tell him that, to insist on holding the daughter that wasn’t supposed to belong to him, but then you remembered that he was a cult leader and a kidnapper and a murderer and you kept your mouth shut.
Instead, you kept your hands tucked between your thighs and your eyes focused on the passing landscape, on Tokyo as it dwindled from skyscrapers to rustic storefronts to backwoods. You thought of Megumi, first, surprisingly. Even if he didn’t spend the night with Satoru, he’d notice if you weren’t in class, tomorrow. He’d be worried.
You wondered if Nanako and Mimiko had been worried when they suddenly couldn’t find you in Suguru’s bedroom, where you’d spent the days following Himari’s birth recovering, when you stopped appearing at Suguru’s temple with a folder of worksheets and enough candy to keep two girls under ten engaged for a full ninety minutes. You wondered how Suguru explained your absence, if he bothered to explain it at all. You wondered how long they’d hold it against you.
It was getting dark by the time you left the city entirely. With the setting sun to your backs, Suguru slipped onto a deserted seaside road and, still in that gentle tone, broke the silence. “Was it different?” And then, as Himari sniffled, “With him, I mean. Different than it was for us.”
It took you a moment to realize that he was talking, another to recognize that you were supposed to answer. It was less that you were lost in thought and more that you were lost in the absence of it – your mind a vague, cloudy haze of static and fog and every other grey, disembodied, terrible thing that could seep its way into your consciousness and leave you entirely blank, entirely numb. It was all you could do to remember how to open your mouth, let alone piece an intelligent response together. “With Satoru?”
“Satoru,” Suguru repeated, almost disdainfully. “It took you months to call by my given name.”
You couldn’t deny that, although part of you was tempted to try. Because it was true. Because it had.
Because it was different – or, it had been, at least. Things had moved so quickly, with Satoru. He’d gone from a stranger to a stalker to something not totally unlike a partner in a handful of hours, and you’d watched it all from a distance, never fully able to shake that strange sense of liminality. He was rich, and stable, and he’d never suggested that you quit your job or attempted to lock you up in his mansion of an apartment, as trapped as you’d felt. He’d raped you, but you couldn’t say you believed Suguru wouldn’t have, had you not been so terrified of what would happen if you ever tried to remove any part of yourself from his control. You knew, rationally, that they had to be around the same age, that Satoru shared every quirk and every immaturity that’d once made you disgusted to so much consider Suguru in a romantic light, but it was different. When you first met Satoru, you’d seen him as a parent, a provider, a man who wanted to raise your daughter (albeit, with or without your consent). When you first met Suguru, you’d seen him as a boy who fell asleep in temple gardens and pretended not to be as scared as he really was, and if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you’d never really been able to stop seeing him that way.
Suguru clicked his tongue. He still wanted an answer, but it was all you could do to shrug, to let your gaze drift back to the passing landscape. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t think I would’ve wanted to marry him either, if he’d asked me to.”
You heard Suguru shift, the engine rev. He started to say something, but a shrill, ear-piercing, howl of a cry cut him off. You didn’t need to check to know it was Himari, and to know why.
“She’s hungry.” You spoke without thinking, snapping toward your daughter. You’d been on your way to feed her when you found Suguru next to her cradle, meaning she was already more than an hour past due. Himari didn’t cry often, but when she did, it was usually for a good reason. Yet another trait that must’ve come from Suguru – had she taken more closely after you, she might not have done anything but cry.
Something crossed across Suguru’s expression; a flash of irritation, a spark of anger, but nothing more violent, nothing lasting. He cooled back into stoic neutrality as one of his hands fell away from the wheel and to the back of your daughter’s onesie – lifting her out of her lap and depositing her unceremoniously in your arms, his eyes never leaving the road. “Can you take care of it?”
It. You had to dig your teeth into the side of your tongue just to stop from saying something you’d regret, from telling him not to talk about your daughter like some unfeeling, inanimate object, not to talk about her at all. You were in a car with a murderer, and you couldn’t forget that just because of some misplaced, motherly paranoia.
Instead, you looked around for a jacket, a blanket, something to cover yourself with, and when you found the car utterly and entirely barren, you settled for turning away from him and struggling the sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder. You went through the motions mechanically, automatically – cooing and running your fingers through Himari’s soft hair as she latched on, little hands grasping the scrunched fabric of your dress as she practically fed herself. You preferred formula, especially with Satoru breathing down your neck, but you didn’t have much of a choice.
A minute passed in relative silence, Himari’s crying slowly fading back into her usual incoherent, but relatively cheerful babbling. Eventually, her little eyes fluttered shut, and you pulled her away, holding her against your shoulder as she fell asleep. When she’d gone quiet, Suguru glanced toward you out of the corner of his eye. You saw him stiffen, straighten, then felt the car veer off the road and come to an abrupt, jeering stop.
You held Himari that much closer as Suguru let himself out. He took his time – his fingertips brushing over the hood as he made his way to your side of the vehicle, opening your door and nodding to the side. “You can leave her on the seat. I promise, I’ll try to be fast.”
You clung to Himari, who shifted restlessly against you. “You really can’t leave newborns unattended, she might—”
“I’ll be fast.” That smile was back in full force, albeit cast in shadow by the quickly dimming light. “I’ve missed you.”
You didn’t want to, but he was using that tone, again – the one that meant he was already running out of patience. Leaving Himari tucked against the backrest, you let Suguru take your hand and pull you out of your seat. No sooner were you on your feet than the door was slammed shut behind you, then Suguru’s hands were on your waist, pinning you against the side of the car. The heat of the dark metal sapped into your back, your shoulders as Suguru’s mouth found its way to the side of your neck, the crook. “I’ve missed you,” he repeated, his voice airy, edging on desperation. “I thought something happened to you. You were gone, and I couldn’t find her, and I thought someone must’ve taken you, or—”
His voice cut out. He didn’t draw back, but one of his hands fell away from your waist, reappearing on the neckline of your dress. His movements were hasty, rushed, like he couldn’t tear the fabric off of your shoulders and down your chest quickly enough. You weren’t wearing a bra, but even if you had been, you doubt it would’ve been much more of a barrier. A chilled sea breeze washed over your exposed chest as Suguru’s mouth fell from your throat to your collarbone, and then to the curve of your breast, lingering. “Wanted to do this since you got pregnant,” he muttered, as something heavy and spiked dropped from your diaphragm to the pit of your stomach. “Held off for the baby, but she’s had more than enough time with you.”
For a brief moment, every intelligent part of your mind seemed to slow, stall, then stop altogether. You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, but unfortunately, you weren’t given the chance to be so painfully oblivious.
Suguru’s lips latched onto your left nipple, and anything you might’ve said was replaced with a hitched whimper.
He was rougher than he really had to be, than his daughter had ever been. The only thing you could think to compare him to, deservedly, was Satoru; just as forceful, just as loud, just as sickeningly eager. The only difference was his tempo. Satoru had always been too giddy not to rush, eager to steal a kiss before you left for work or wake you up with a hand lodged between your thighs, but Suguru seemed content to act as if he had all the time in the world, as if you were somewhere more private than the shoulder of a public road. The flat of his tongue lulled over your nipple as he drank, his free hand coming up to paw at your other breast in almost meditative patterns. You tried to shut your eyes, to block out the wet sounds of his lips working against your skin, but as routine as it was supposed to be, there was little you could do not to hear an occasional, satisfied grunt, not to feel a certain amount of relief as the pressure you’d learned to ignore began to dissipate. His teeth grazed against your skin, and reflexively, your hand found the back of his head, nails biting into his scalp. Rather than pull away, Suguru seemed to purr – the noise deep and throaty, reverberating against you as he leaned that much closer, as he shifted and you felt something stiff press into your thigh. Don’t think about it, you forced yourself to chant in the back of your mind, trying to remember all the age-old coping mechanisms you’d used when you were with him, all the coping mechanisms you’d forgotten after realizing that they wouldn’t work on someone as unpredictable as Satoru. You couldn’t think about it. You couldn’t put a name to it. You couldn’t acknowledge that sucking on chest was in any way connected to the hard, pulsing cock pressing into your—
But you didn’t have a choice. Suguru gasped, his breath hitching, and then he was drawing away from you, his forehead resting against your collarbone as a hand fell to the waistband of his jeans, freeing his cock – already stiff, already leaking into his palm. “I missed you.” You’d lost track of how many times he’d repeated the same meaningless phrase, but this time, his voice shook, misery seeping out from each fractured syllable. You might’ve felt more pity, but any sympathy you might’ve been able to feel for him was quickly drowned out by the material of your skirt being gathered in handfuls at your waist, his cock finding its way between your plush thighs. His larger body kept yours in place as he rutted against you, his open mouth leaking drool and milk and all the other ungodly things you could imagine onto your chest. It was embarrassing, really – just how tightly you kept your eyes shut, like a child walking through their first haunted house. Like all the bad things in the world would go away just because you couldn’t see them. “For weeks, I couldn’t—I didn’t know where you were, I thought—”
His form jolted against yours. You felt it – a sudden, liquid heat against your thighs, a sudden tension where Suguru’s chest pressed into yours – at the same time you felt the first tear fall, searing your skin where it made contact. There was another, then yet another, before you finally realized what was happening.
Suguru was crying.
Huh.
He’d never done that, before.
Finally, you forced yourself to open your eyes. Rather than attempting to look at Suguru, to see if his shoulders were shaking as violently as it felt like they were, your gaze moved outward, first to the bay, then to the sky – as black as spilled ink, now that the last traces of light had faded. As black as Suguru’s eyes.
You carded your fingers through his hair as he cried silently into your shoulder, never making a sound. Minutes passed before he spoke again, but you let him be the one to break the silence. “I don’t get it.” You hummed, and he went on. “I don’t understand why you didn’t try to leave him, too.”
“I might’ve, eventually. If I’d had more time.”
“But you didn’t.” His blunt nails bit into your waist with enough force to sting, but you didn’t say anything. “I don’t understand why you didn’t.”
You didn’t try to answer.
~
Suguru stopped at a gas station to clean himself up. You stayed in the car, clutching Himari to your chest, attempting not to flinch as her tiny hands pulled at your hair and grabbed at your skirt – searching for something to do, to entertain herself with. The rest of the drive passed in relative silence. Suguru didn’t try to make conversation, and even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn’t know where to start.
Finally, Suguru turned down an unpaved backroad, and far too soon, you were in front of a house you recognized. The architecture was traditional, the design compact, but you could remember Suguru saying that he and the girls didn’t need much. Later on, when he decided you shouldn’t be allowed to wander any farther than his line of sight during your pregnancy, he’d played with the idea of a larger property – something that could accommodate a growing family. If he’d ever had any real plans, they must’ve been abandoned after you left.
“We’re only stopping by,” Suguru explained, as he moved to step out. You didn’t wait for him this time – shouldering the door open and pulling yourself to your feet before he could decide he needed to drag you out of the car himself. “There’s a nursery attached to the master bedroom. The girls can look after Himari while we’re gone.”
Your breathing hitched, then stopped altogether.
The girls.
You’d managed to forget you’d have to see them, tonight. Suguru would’ve been enough to handle on his own.
You tried to take a step back, more out of reflex than anything, but your legs were unsteady, unreliable. You stumbled, but before you could so much as start to fall, Suguru was by your side, one hand on your arm and the other underneath Himari. He started to say something, but you were faster, louder. “I—I can’t. They’ll be so—I knew you wouldn’t hurt them, but I shouldn’t have—”
“They’ll be just fine.” He wasn’t crying, anymore. Instead, he took on the inflection, the stature he’d worn when you first met him – when he’d been the level-headed priest and you’d been a distraught non-believe desperate for help. If you hadn’t known better, if you couldn’t still see the reddened skin around his eyes, you might’ve called his composure sadistic. “And they’ve been waiting for you all night. Wouldn’t it be cruel to disappoint them now?”
It'd be crueler to make them face the woman who’d married their father and abandoned them without a second thought, but you doubted Suguru would agree. He was already curling his arm around yours, already guiding you towards the rustic villa. Whatever daze was keeping you from losing your mind entirely must’ve worn-off sometime during the drive. It was all you could do to keep yourself on your feet as you edged closer, closer to the front door. You were walking down the unpaved driveway, then standing on the wooden porch, and then, Suguru was ushering you inside – taking Himari out of your arms as you passed over the threshold. You didn’t try to resist. He wouldn’t ask the girls to hurt her, not after how long he’d spent holding the idea of a new, adorably helpless little sister over their heads, and wherever he was going to do to you after this, you didn’t want Himari involved. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use her against you.
Suguru moved further into the villa, but you froze in the entryway. You could already hear the little, rushing footsteps, already picture the betrayal in their eyes, the questions they’d ask you and the answers you wouldn’t be able to give them. They’d hate you. They had to already hate you. You abandoned them, and they would know you abandoned them, and they would—
Two arms wrapping around your legs, the force of a smaller body crashing into yours. You glanced down and found Mimiko, clinging to your waist, her face buried in the material of your skirt. She wasn’t crying, but you could see her shoulders shaking, feel her nails digging into your thigh through the thin fabric. Reflexively, you reached down, resting a hand on top of her head and moving to nudge her away gently, to see if she needed help, but she only clung to you that much tighter.
Nanako was there, too, but she hadn’t latched onto you. Unlike her sister, she kept her distance, hands ringing the hem of her sweater as she stared pointedly at the floor. “Geto-sama told us what happened,” she explained, while Mimiko mumbled something incoherent and affirmative into your skirt. “He said that sorcerer – the white-haired one – took you and Himari away.” There was a pause, a quick glance in your direction. “He promised he wouldn’t let it happen again.”
Her eyes met yours, and suddenly, her nervous posture, the measured distance left between you and her – it made sense. You recognize the light in her eyes, or rather, the lack therefore.
It was the same shadow her father’s eyes took on, when he looked at you.
Whatever lie he’d told them, Nanako clearly didn’t believe it. Mimiko – sweet and loyal and prone to holding onto the things she loved like there was someone could come and take them away at any time – would’ve believed Suguru if he told her that world ended every time she closed her eyes, but Nanako was more pragmatic. She knew something was wrong. You doubted she would speak to you at all if she knew just how wrong, but still.
Swallowing your guilt, you lowered yourself to one knee and hugged Mimiko properly, squeezing her for one beat, then another, before letting her go entirely. Nanako was next. For all her reservations, she was running towards you as soon as you opened your arms to her, crashing into your chest and clinging to you twice as tightly as her sister had. “I’m sure he won’t,” you mumbled into her hair. And then, pulling back, “I know I was gone for a while, but it’s alright. The sorcerer Geto-sama told you about – he just wanted a little advice. He had two children he was raising all on his own, just like Geto. He heard all about how wonderful you two are, and wanted to know if I could stay and show him how to bring up the best kids in the world.” A kiss on either forehead, a thumb drawn over Mimiko’s cheeks to wipe away the tears she was frantically (and unsuccessfully) attempting to paw away on her own. “But, although I was very flattered, I told him that I had to go home. I knew you two would be fine, of course, but let’s face it – Geto wouldn’t last a day without me.”
It was your turn to pause, now, to lower your voice into something secretive. Mimiko was still sniffling, still determined to keep her face buried in her hands or your shoulder, but you made sure to meet Nanako’s eyes, to sound as sincere as you could – even if complete honesty was beyond you, at the moment. “Don’t tell Geto, but I missed you two most of all.”
Nanako looked like she wanted to say something. She almost did, too – tensing, opening her mouth, but she shut it again just as quickly, her eyes falling back to the ground in a sharp, violently narrow glare.
The pain was instant and beyond words. You wanted to pull her and Mimiko close again, to squeeze them tight and promise you wouldn’t leave them, not again, to apologize when you’d inevitably have to for the sake of a sister you hadn’t given them time to love. You wanted to—
You heard Suguru’s footsteps, felt his hand on your shoulder, and every thought you might’ve had that wasn’t devoted to your daughter’s well-being was gone.
Rather than embracing the girls, you drew back from them. Suguru pulled you gently to your feet, his hand falling from your shoulder to your elbow before wrapping around your wrist. “Keep an eye on your sister.” You could only be thankful there was still an ounce of warmth in his voice, as he addressed the girls. “(Y/n) and I have one more errand to run. We’re trusting you two to look after her, until we come back.”
You might’ve added something, made sure they both knew that you really had missed them, but Suguru was already drawing you towards the door – still ajar. The last thing you saw was Nanako taking Mimiko by the wrist before the door was slammed shut, and you were left entirely alone with Suguru.
~
Of all the places you expected him to take you, his temple hadn’t made the list.
His followers must’ve been sent away for the night, and the property’s attendants either dismissed or told to stay in their dorms. Every window was dark and shuttered, the gates locked and the doors bared. As you followed Suguru across the desolate courtyard and into the main shrine, you tried to think of places you would’ve wanted to be taken to, but came up empty. Part of you had been expecting the cheap, equally lifeless chain motels he’d shown a fondness for during your pregnancy, or worse, the hotel where you’d spent your first night together. Another, larger, quieter part had been able to imagine him driving into the deepest, darkest forest he could find and having his monstrous spirits tear you to shreds before you could so much as scream.
His ultimate destination was far from shocking, and yet, you still felt your heart drop into your stomach as he led you into his darkened sanctuary. As if in preparation, two tapered candles had been left burning in metal trays on either side of the screen door, and Suguru took one up as he passed by. You were left to linger in the doorway as, with a surprising meticulousness, he lit the candles scattered throughout the sanctuary, casting the open space in an ebbing golden glow. When he was finished, he collapsed onto his raised dais – perched on its edge, rather than laid across it. He almost looked out of place, without his usual costume, his usual posture. He almost looked his age.
You didn’t move. Running seemed impossible, but so did breaking the silence, doing anything to make yourself an active participant in Suguru’s bizarre ritual rather than a passive observer, a prop to be moved from place to place with little thought as to where you might want to be. A moment passed in silence, then another. Finally, he cracked. “Sit down.”
You didn’t move. “Are you going to kill me?”
He didn’t react. “All I asked you to do was sit down, love.”
“Are you going to kill Himari?”
He flinched into himself, going crooked. Something like hurt passed across his expression, as genuine as it was hypocritical.
He didn’t respond, but either out of pity or remorse or a lack of anything else to do, you found yourself closing the gap between you and him, setting yourself down on the edge of his platform. Immediately, his head fell onto your shoulder, his hand to your thigh, as if he was afraid you’d leave him again if he didn’t cling to you. “…I thought about breaking your legs,” he confessed, without prompting. “I was angry, when I realized you hadn’t been taken by force. I thought I’d be able to do it in Satoru’s apartment, leave enough blood to make him think I’d killed you, but—” There was a pause, a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. I guess I waited too long, lost the nerve or something.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” And then, when he shifted curiously beside you, “It would’ve scared the girls. They’re already having such a hard time.”
At that, Suguru melted entirely against you. There was an airy laugh, a small sigh, and you felt his hand on your hip, his thumb drawing loose patterns into your side. “So considerate,” he muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “Maybe, one day, you’ll care about me like that, too.”
A knot formed in the back of your throat. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him – or, that you hadn’t, before he made it clear that the ways you were capable of caring for him weren’t enough. If you hadn’t felt anything for him, none of this would’ve ever happened. If he’d been satisfied to let you feel the same way about him that you felt about his daughters, it would never have gotten this bad. If you’d just laid back and let him fuck you the first time he’d asked, he would’ve lost interest in you months ago. You almost said so, too, tensed and opened your mouth and everything, but Suguru was moving before you had the chance to spit something out, his mouth crashing into yours with all the care and all the tenderness of a blunt object shattering bone. His teeth cut into your bottom lip, his body pressing into yours with enough force to throw you off balance, but his arms were already around your waist, keeping you upright. It was less that he slid off of the dais and more that he collapsed – dropping onto his knees at your feet, as little difference as it made in terms of height. He never let you stray very far, but tonight, he seemed determined never to leave more than a hair’s width of space between your body and his. His lips fell from your mouth to your neck, his hands finding their way to your hips. One darted for your neckline, but dropped back to your waist just as suddenly – all ten fingers soon burrowed into the plush of your waist.
“Your dress.” He wasn’t panting, wasn’t grinning, wasn’t laughing. His voice reverberated dully against the base of your throat, his pointed canines scraping over your skin as he spoke. “Take it off.”
You swallowed. Normally, he preferred to undress and re-dress you himself. You’d been scolded more than once for thinking you had any right to decide what you wore without his loving input, and when pressed, he claimed it was a show of love; proof of his dedication, his devotion.
This wasn’t about love, though, or dedication, or any other flowery word he’d ever used with you.
This was about control.
Your hands shook as you raised them to the back of your dress, finding the row of corset-type strings keeping the loose material in place. You fumbled with the knot for seconds, but Suguru was patient, willing to wait until the bodice fell away from your chest entirely, pooling at your midriff. You weren’t wearing a bra (again, an extremely difficult habit not to get into with a newborn at home), and one of Suguru’s hands came up, a scarred palm cupping your breast with enough force to bruise. You remembered, dimly, the time he’d spent pulled over by the side of the road earlier that day, but the memory was foggy, already so far away. You wouldn’t have been surprised if all of this seemed like one hazy, distant dream by tomorrow morning.
He detached from you suddenly, pulling away and kneeling on the sanctuary floor. Rather than relief, you only felt the world distort more violently around you; your pulse slowing and your vision burning as you clumsily pushed yourself to your feet, allowing your dress to fall away entirely. You moved to sit back down, but Suguru caught you before you could – his fist wrapping around your ankle, then skirting upward, settling gingerly against your thigh as his dark, soulless eyes raked over you. His stare caught on your panties, and his expression darkened. “I’m going to kill him.”
You didn’t have to ask what he meant. The pair had been Satoru’s pick; not quite a gift, but something given to you, regardless. They matched his aesthetics – needlessly detailed, smothered in lace, cast a shade of light blue so pale, it bordered on ivory. With how expensive Satoru’s tastes tended to run, you were sure the set had cost a fortune, but the priceless fabric gave away without protest as Suguru slipped two fingers under the waistband and tore. The ruined article fell away before you could so much as process that he’d moved.
Suguru’s impressive patience waned quickly. In the same motion, he pushed himself to his feet and took you into his arms, carrying you against his chest onto the dais, then to the altar pressed against the far wall. The scrolls laid across it were sent to floor with a single movement of his arm, and in the blink of an eye, you were laid across the polished wood, Suguru on his knees between your open legs. Your mouth opened, but there was no time to protest, to call out before his face was buried between his thighs, tongue lapping over the length of your slit. Still, you grit your teeth, bracing yourself to sit up, to tell him to—
Oh.
He'd gotten his tongue pierced, sometime after you left.
He was shameless. A rounded, jeweled stud dragged over your pussy, circling your clit with no pattern or pace, no intention other than to taste you. Never content to leave you to your own devices, he kept his hands wrapped around your hips, pinning you to the surface of the altar as he tried to all-but swallow you whole. It was messy, and overzealous, and worst of all, it was good. It was a matter of seconds before a mixture of spit and arousal stained the inside of your thighs and dripped from his chin, less than a full minute before you had to concentrate just to keep yourself from squirming underneath him. Not that it would’ve mattered, if you had. Suguru had always been playful in bed, content to milk reactions out of you with measured precision and careful vigilance, but that had been when you at least attempted to present yourself as willing. Right now, anything you might’ve felt seemed secondary to Suguru’s pleasure; satisfied groans soon joining the slick, wet noise ricocheting off the walls of his sanctuary. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, crossed your arms over your face, but neither distraction helped to stifle the feeling of his lips latching onto your clit, suckling on it with all the care and all the delicacy of a butcher’s knife cutting into lifeless flesh. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes by the time he pulled away, but the pressure was immediately replaced by the bridge of his nose grinding harshly against the bundle of nerves, his tongue slipping past your entrance to curl against the most vulnerable parts of your cunt.
He let out another reverberating moan, and reflexively, your hand shot to the back of his head, your fingers soon tangled in his dark hair. One of his hands fell from your waist, and for a moment, you thought he was moving to pry away yours, that he didn’t want you touching him. But, fortunately or otherwise, his attention wasn’t on you. Instead, he reached for the elastic band holding his hair in place, pulling it out with enough force to snap the cheap plastic. You didn’t realize what he was trying to do until you felt him lean into your palm, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the semblance of your touch.
If you’d been capable of feeling anything more towards Suguru than you already did, you might’ve found the sight pitiful.
At the moment, though, you weren’t in a place to be quite so sentimental. It was all you could do to knot his hair around your fingers as you felt tight and hot form in your core, as your thighs threatened to snap shut around his head. You bit into the inside of your check with enough force to draw blood as Suguru moaned shamelessly, as he dragged you that much closer. It was too easy to forget to care whether or not he’d enjoyed it, too reflexive to gather his hair in your first and pull, to buck involuntarily into his mouth, to—
Suguru drew back suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. Thankfully, you caught yourself before you could feel disappointment, and after a few shallow breaths, found the strength to follow his stare away from you and towards the sanctuary door. Instantly, your heart stopped beating, the blood running cold in your veins.
Satoru stood in the doorway, cast in shadow save for his bright, piercing eyes. One of his hands was still wrapped around the doorframe, while the other hung limp at his side, cupping a small, pulsing ball of… light?
You didn’t have time to think about it. Suguru acted swiftly – pulling you into his arms and onto his lap, seating himself on the altar where you’d previously laid. “Drop it,” he said, his tone cold, cutting, not unlike an owner talking to his disobedient pet. He’d been short with you all night, but you couldn’t say he’d ever spoken to you quite like that. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”
The light dimmed before disappearing entirely, but Satoru didn’t move. He didn’t do anything, but you could feel it – a drop in the sanctuary’s temperature, a change in the air pressure, something deep and intrinsic that you didn’t want to be a part of. Reflexively, you tried to stand, to move, but Suguru held you tight, an arm barred over your midriff.
Despite everything, Satoru was the first to break the silence, albeit without doing anything to make that intangible tension any more bearable. “I should kill you.”
“You should.” Suguru’s fingertips dug into your side. “Those are your orders, aren’t they? Or are you going to put off delivering my head to the higher-ups for another three years?”
Whatever he was talking about, Satoru didn’t seem interested in acknowledging it. “You took my girls.”
“You fucked my wife.”
At that, something seemed to break. Suguru’s chest pressed into your back as Satoru’s eyes shut, as he sucked in a harsh breath and broke out into a fanged grin, the sharpest you’d ever seen him wear. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He took a step forward, all hostility gone in favor of a sort of manic, unpredictable buzz. You didn’t know whether to be relieved that there was a slightly diminished chance you’d be caught in the middle of their fight to the death or terrified at the thought that they might want to do anything but tear out each others’ throats. “I fucked her after she left you. Bet you can’t stand it – knowing you’re not the only one who gets to run away.”
Suguru, for all his faults, didn’t flinch. He’d always had an even-temper at the worst of time. “What do you want, ‘toru?”
Satoru’s stare fell away from Suguru and onto you. His expression softened, taking on an almost apologetic lilt. Almost, but not quite.
“Not much,” he admitted, with a shrug. Even from a distance, even in the dark, you could tell his nonchalance was forced. “Just to say goodbye, make sure my pretty girl’s gonna be taken care of. Gotta wrap up loose ends, n’ all that.”
Suguru, for his part, seemed far from convinced. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, he only held you closer. “And why should I let you?”
“Because I love her?” And then, with another step toward the altar, “Because you know I could wipe this building off the face of the planet, if I wanted to.”
Pragmatic as he was, Suguru seemed to consider it. The hand over your side flexed, a chin settling against the dip of your shoulder, and beneath you, his stiff cock pressed into your ass – either unaffected or worse, fueled on by Satoru’s interruption. You were still attempting not to dwell on the implications when Suguru responded, level-headed as always.
“If you try anything, I’ll kill the baby.”
The second before a car crash, the spark where two wires failed to connect. For the longest time, you couldn’t seem to process what he’d said or how it could’ve been so gut-wrenchingly terrible. Rather than pull away, you flattened yourself against him, glancing over your shoulder. You opened your mouth, but the ability to speak was suddenly beyond you, set deliberately out of your reach. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it, and yet, his expression was stoic, unchanging, the pinnacle of neutrality. There was no laugh from Satoru either, forced or otherwise. Still, he kept up his smile. As if Suguru hadn’t said anything of consequence. As if either of them had any right to so much as touch your daughter.
Satoru didn’t respond to the threat, nor did Suguru urge him to. Almost mechanically, Suguru’s arm fell away from your midriff, and with little more than a nudge to the back of your shoulder, you were on your feet, vulnerable and shaking on the center of the raised dais. You could still feel a mix of slick and saliva coating the inside of your thighs, and you had to swallow the urge to make a grab for your clothes, to put yourself through the humiliation of being forced to strip twice in one night.
Thankfully, tragically, you were liberated from any illusion of free choice swiftly. Without protest from Suguru, Satoru stepped onto the dais and took you by the hand, either overlooking or failing to acknowledge the panic in your eyes in favor of intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing gently, as if you could still believe he genuinely wanted to comfort you. Rather than pulling you into his arms, dragging you down to the floor, he looked to Suguru, cocking his head to the side. “Get up.”
Suguru’s lips quirked downward, but he obeyed, pushing himself to his feet. “How blasphemous.”
Now, he pulled you off of your feet. In a moment, you were in his arms, and the next, you were perched on the altar, your back pressed against the wall and your legs spread around Satoru’s waist. “Blasphemous,” Satoru echoed, his voice low but plainly audible in the silence of the sanctuary. “would be fucking the most beautiful woman in the world on the ground. That’s why I’m her favorite – ‘cause I’m so considerate.”
No part of you trusted Suguru. No part of you preferred Suguru to Satoru, or the other way around. No part of you thought that, unless your life or his pride was threatened, he’d ever lift a finger to help you, but you found yourself glancing toward him out of the corner of your eye, doing your best to silently communicate that you needed to get out of here. Instead of sympathy, jealousy, you only found an idle smirk, a glassy sheen over his eyes that you could only imagine you’d mirrored for most of the day. “You’re not the one she’s married to, idiot.”
There was a dip, a surprisingly fleeting kiss to your lips, then your jaw, then your throat. “But she would get with me if you were out of the picture, right?” The question was punctuated with a nip to your collarbone, a hand dropped low enough to cup your pussy. The heel of his palm ground into your clit as two fingers pushed into your soaked cunt, spreading apart and scissoring you open. You tried to bow your head, to keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut, but you were still sensitive from your ruined climax, still so painfully exposed, and there was nothing you could do to bite back the cracked whines and pitiful mewls that slipped through your pursed lips. It was far from verbal confirmation, but Satoru hummed, grinned against your chest as if you’d sung his praises. “I’d get you a nicer ring, nicer house, nicer honeymoon. Always make sure you’re good n’ taken care of while Suguru’s busy playing god.”
Suguru huffed, and Satoru fell into a steady pace, adding a third digit as he carelessly fucked his fingers into your cunt. You didn’t hear him move, but before you could brace yourself, Suguru was at your side, leaning onto the altar to cup your face and trace over your jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I take care of you, don’t I?” You opened your mouth reflexively, ready to tell him that you were sorry, that you didn’t want him to touch you, that you wanted this to stop, but he was faster than you, more malicious. His thumb was forced past your lips before you could make a sound, pressed against the flat of your tongue with just enough force for your jaw to ache in protest. “I can’t blame Satoru for not being able to see that, though. Not when you treat me so cruelly.”
Cruelly. You’d never been cruel – at least, no crueler than you absolutely needed to be to survive. You felt pins and needles prick at the corners of your eyes before you noticed your vision blurring, before tears were streaming down either side of your face in boiling tracks. Satoru purred in sympathy, falling low and nuzzling into the tender spot at the base of your throat, flicking his wrist and burying himself inside of you to the knuckle. “You don’t have to worry, I know he’s the mean one.”
He was whispering, but that didn’t matter. He was too close, too awful for each word not to be absolutely deafening, for each little movement of his hand not to leave your nails scraping against the smooth wood of the altar, searching for purchase you wouldn’t find. Time was moving too quickly, it had been since you arrived at the temple. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t breathe before Satoru pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck and you were coming undone around his fingers, your thighs locking around his arm and keeping his digits inside of you until you could remember how to suck in a gasping inhale, until the last of the aftershocks faded and you could bring yourself to open your eyes. It wasn’t until the warmth of Satoru’s mouth fell away from your neck that you noticed the strange, copper tinge spread over your tongue, that you registered the absence of Suguru’s hand against your jaw. When you thought to look in his direction, he was evaluating his own hand. A thin, red line formed a dotted ring around the base of his thumb. You must’ve bitten down, at some point.
You must’ve hurt him.
Fear drowned out any satisfaction there might’ve been. He mentioned deciding against breaking your legs, earlier; was there any chance he’d change his mind? Would Satoru be able to stop him, if he tried to hurt you? Would Satoru even want to stop him? Himari was still alone, still in danger, and you wouldn’t be able to get to her if you couldn’t walk. You wouldn’t be able to stop Suguru from—
Satoru reached out, his hand curling around Suguru’s wrist and dragging it down to his height. With Satoru’s guidance, Suguru’s thumb came to rest against his bottom lip, then slipped into Satoru’s mouth entirely, his lips soon sealed around its base. There was a second or two of stillness, a swallowing-type noise too loud to ignore despite your best attempts not to hear it, and then, Suguru was pulling away and Satoru’s lips were crashing into yours.
It was strange for Suguru to be so clumsy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be as surprised by Satoru’s lack of polish. It was all you could do to choke back a renewed sob as his mouth moved against yours, as his pointed teeth ghosted over your lips and grazed the underside of your tongue. He was all instinct, no logic, and when you tried to straighten, to leave enough room between you and him to catch your breath, he only seemed to want you closer. His hands were on your waist, then your arms, then your chest, never satisfied unless he could dig his claws into the most tender parts of you, and this time, when his canines grazed over your lips, he wasn’t satisfied to leave your connection at contact alone. He let out a shameless moan as he lapped at the puncture wound, warm blood leaking down your chin and pooling on your chest where it pressed into his. Again, you looked to Suguru for help, and again, you immediately wished you hadn’t bothered.
He wasn’t perched on the altar, anymore. No – he’d shifted, slinked, positioned himself behind Satoru where he was bent at the waist. He caught your eye as his arms snaked around Satoru’s midriff, as Satoru arched his back to better take advantage of the new contact. There was the distant, muffled sound of fabric rustling, a keening whine from Satoru, and then, Suguru’s hand was curled around Satoru’s stiff, leaking cock – pumping over the shaft while his dark eyes burned holes into yours. “Get it over with,” he muttered, the bitter sterility of his tone a sharp juxtaposition to the grin creeping across his expression. “Before I remember why I want you dead.”
Satoru didn’t have to be coaxed into compliance. No, he let himself be eased into place, let Suguru slot himself against his back as he carefully aligned Satoru’s flushed tip to your entrance. Even after he’d let go, his hands finding the edge of the altar on either side of you, Satoru failed to move on his own. You could feel him drifting from your lips to your throat, then lower – to the crook of your neck, a spot Suguru’d always favored. Vaguely, you were aware of his lips moving against your skin, of warm breath fanning over your chest and leaving frost wherever it’d touched. His voice was muffled by proximity, but whether or not you could hear him didn’t really matter. You would’ve recognized those three little words from a thousand miles away.
“I love you.”
If you’d been able to laugh, you would’ve.
At least Satoru didn’t expect you to say it back.
Suguru must’ve missed it – that, or he was beyond the point of caring. His teeth sunk into the nape of Satoru’s neck, and then, something hot and piercing was inside of you.
This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out. A fractured moan tumbled past your lips as Satoru immediately fell into a brutal pace; all that teasing tenderness gone the moment your pussy was wrapped around his cock. Suguru didn’t pull away, but he didn’t help, either; straightening his back and gazing down at you with that same foggy, absent, pleased expression. It took you a moment to put a name to it; lovestruck, all glassy eyes and hollow smiles, any anger hidden behind a thick curtain of glazed-over satisfaction. He’d never looked away from you, but when you met his eyes, he seemed to soften even further, his shoulders dropping as he brought a hand to the small of Suguru’s back, spurring him on. “He’s always been this bad.” Suguru let out a keening whine into your shoulder, and Suguru chuckled airily. “Like a dog in heat. You’d think be as desperate as one, too, but apparently, his standards are too high for him to do anything but act like a whore.”
You couldn’t take it – the way Satoru’s hips crashed into yours, how his pubic bone ground against your clit, the pure venom interlaced with Suguru’s velvet-soft tone. You knew that it was useless, childish, but you couldn’t swallow down the cracked sob that rose up from somewhere deep and unprotected in your chest, couldn’t hold back the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. Suguru’s smile widened, his sharpened teeth catching the dull candlelight, but Satoru was kind enough not to be so observant. His attention was dedicated entirely to fucking into you as quickly and as deeply as possible; his cock never less than half buried. You felt him twitch, and before you could hold yourself back, your hands were on his back, your nails embedded in pale skin and tearing upward every time he bottomed out and sent a new type of agony coursing through your system. “Stop, stop, I can’t—”
“You can.” Clipped, concise, dripping with stone-cold affection. You’d be surprised if you ever heard any warmth in Suguru’s voice again. “That is, unless you’d like to break two hearts on the same night.”
Your mouth was still open, but you couldn’t answer. Satoru groaned as he rutted into you, his pace growing that much more erratic, his hips grinding into yours. He pulled you into another deep, copper-tinged kiss as he pressed his body flush to yours, as you felt something thick and hot and soul-crushingly familiar flood into you. It might’ve been the sensitivity, or the overstimulation, or the herbal stench of incense left to burn for a minute too long finally taking its toll – it didn’t really matter, either way. No explanation could’ve dampened the feeling of your cunt clenching tight around him, could’ve prevented the utter desolation of cumming on Satoru’s cock.
It seemed to go on for the longest time – second after second of thoughtless, helpless pleasure, century after century of Satoru against you, edging on your climax with the occasional sharp movement from his hips, a hasty kiss pressed into the corner of your jaw. Finally, after a small eternity, the last of the aftershocks faded, unwanted bliss fading into a slow, pulsing ache settled deep into the deepest pit of your chest. You felt Satoru shift; not pulling away, but lifting himself up, bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he said, again, and then, more quietly, “I’m sorry.”
You wanted to say something, to call him a liar, to spit out every venomous and vitriolic and warranted thing you could ever say to either of them, but it was already too late. Something vital slid out of place, a poor signal finally losing connection entirely, and then, everything went dark.
~
Nine months later, you’d find yourself in Suguru’s temple again, albeit not his sanctuary. A brown-haired woman in a lab coat and several female attendants swarmed around you, pressing damp cloths to your forehead and constantly rearranging the thick quilts laid over your limp body. Dried tears formed defined tracks down your cheeks, and every part of you screamed for rest, for escape, for a quick and merciful death. It was all you could do to suck in a shuddering breath, to remind yourself that there were more important things in the world than your own well-being. Sleep could wait. This couldn’t.
Slowly, you managed to turn your head towards Suguru, standing at your bedside just as he had for the past six hours. Your vision was distorted, dimmed around the edges, but it would’ve been impossible to miss the small, white bundle in his arms, already beginning to move. You could practically taste the relief, only slightly soured by your own exhaustion. Loving Himari had been a miracle. It would’ve been a lie to say that you hadn’t expected yourself to be more callous, the second time part of you was ripped away and molded into the shape of a man you hated.
Your eyes flickered to Suguru’s expression, to those impossibly dark eyes, and instantly, your relief was replaced by pure, unadulterated dread. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, softened and careless, but… Oh, god.
You’d never seen so much death in his eyes.
“Suguru.” You hadn’t meant to say anything, and yet, your voice was clear – a little hoarse, but far stronger than you felt. Never looking away from the bundle, he hummed, and you went on. “Can I see…?”
“Him,” Suguru filled in, bouncing your newborn – your son, gently. “A healthy baby boy. It’s a shame, really – I chose names with another girl in-mind.”
Thankfully, he didn’t make you ask again. With no small amount of care, the bundle was placed gently onto your chest, Suguru’s hand remaining on your shoulder – as if only waiting for your limited strength to give out. It took you a long moment to brush the swaddling sheets to the swaddling blanket aside, little hands immediately reaching up to bat against your own, and another to register what you were looking at. It wasn’t hard to see why Suguru was so angry.
You stared down at your son, and eyes more blue than the clearest, brightest sky stared back at you.
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.
Enji Todoroki General Yandere Profile
Yandere! Enji Todoroki x fem! reader
Tw: kidnapping, stalking, power imbalances, financial trapping, mentions of physical/domestic abuse, mentions of non-con, sexist undertones, Enji wants you to be his cute little housewife, mentions of breeding/pregnancy, a few mentions of making sure you eat enough/food, Enji is patronizing whoo boy, he makes you share a toothbrush and yes he's weird about it, this is set in a divergent timeline where Enji and Rei are formally divorced and his relationship with his family is loose and not super tight, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
WC: 11K
DARLING PROFILE:
Kind
Enji is, simply, harsh.
His quirk, his mannerisms, his attitude, his everything, really, is a bit rough around the edges, forming a man with only enough self control to get what he wants. He’s lived his whole life bitterly, constantly jealous, constantly wanting, willing to throw everything away in order to achieve his goals.
And once everything starts caving in around him, his family and career both taking unexpected turns, Enji finds himself so, so painfully alone. He doesn’t pretend to delude himself into thinking he’s not deserving of his fate, but this places him into a position where he shoulders the guilt while desperately trying to find any outlet to forget it.
And this is where a darling who is kind comes into play – he needs someone who won’t judge him for his past. He needs someone who doesn’t treat him like scum, who is still polite and empathetic to him and his emotions. A darling who is able to consistently praise him will have him smitten quickly, growing emotionally dependent on hearing their sweet words in order to function, in order to not let the depression and stress get the better of him.
And even once his obsession has formed and he’s deep in the depth of his infatuation, a darling who is just too kind to kick him to the curbside is absolutely essential for him – they must be doting and caring, helping rebuild his shattered confidence and psyche, and with every compliment they dish out, Enji vows that he’ll return the sentiment tenfold, in his own way of course.
(This means buying his darling millions of yen worth of their favorite things, all kinds of wonderful gifts that he hopes will sway them in his favor, that will get them drooling over him and all that he can provide for them.)
Hardworking
Although he’s in a mental state that leaves him much more susceptible to finding a partner once he divorces Rei, Enji is still a picky man. He won’t fall for just anyone – no, they must fit his standard, be acceptable and meet the rather long and detailed checklist he has for those he considers as potential romantic partners.
And near the top of this list is determination. He’s a man motivated by his own goals and is willing to stop at nothing to achieve them – and so, a darling that can at least somewhat match this aspect of his personality is critical.
He has no patience for a darling that gives up easily; he wants someone that’s willing to put in the effort to see it pay off, someone who understands the concept of self-discipline and holding yourself to certain moral standards.
He finds it wildly attractive when someone has strong character, and his interest would immediately be piqued with a darling who brings an attitude of perseverance and hard work into every aspect of their life, be it work, their hobbies, their relationship, and everything in between.
He wants someone who is perhaps not quite as stubborn as him, but is still serious in their goals.
(He hopes that one day, making him happy and pleasing him will be one of these goals – just as pleasing his darling is one of his own. And he’s more than happyto please them in whatever way they so desire. More than happy.)
Motherly
Because he views his darling as the perfect wife, his darling absolutely must possess at least somewhat of a motherly air about them. He likes the idea of having a nurturing partner, if only because he finds it endearing when they care for others.
As a hero he shares this sentiment, and although it may sometimes be overshadowed by his need to become the best, deep down inside he does very much wish to help others – his methodology is just a little more violent, a little more overt.
His darling, by contrast, should prefer a methodology that’s much gentler, something that focuses more on making others feel safe and heard and cared for.
Besides, Enji very much desires to have children with his darling; to build a second family, one that he’ll care for and nourish much better than his first. And so, if his darling is to be a good mother, they must embody these traits.
Besides, although he doesn’t fall for his darling because of his fantasies of making them a mother, once the feelings are formed these daydreams only further his feelings, deepening his obsession because oh, he’d give absolutely anything to see them pregnant with his child, carrying his seed, creating something that symbolizes the love and dedication between them.
And so, his darling needs to be someone who naturally takes care of others – and in return, Enji will take care of them. Just how it should be.
Pushover
This trait is a bit less crucial compared to the others, but it’s still most definitely a positive from Enji’s perspective.
Of course he likes a darling who has strong opinions and stands up for them, but he loves a darling that will let him guide them through any hard decisions, or really any decisions at all.
Although he’s not as outright controlling with his darling, he still very much feels that he wears the pants in the ‘relationship’, and thus he is the one calling the shots.
A darling who is happy to let him take over their life like this is a massive help to him – he doesn’t have to fight for control, nor does he have to argue with them about why certain decisions really should be made by him as the more dominant partner, as the one who knows more about the world, as the man. It’s an outdated view and it’s one that he doesn’t really want to admit out loud, but he enjoys the idea of a partner who will revere him and allow him full control.
He wants to be loved and cherished, and in return for a love like this, he’ll do his best to provide for and take care of his darling in every way he possibly can – so really, if his darling knows what’s best for them, they’ll step back and let him make all the tough decisions.
They’ll nod and smile and agree with whatever he chooses, pressing a kiss against his cheek and telling him how much they trust him, how they know he’d never hurt them, how he only wants what’s best for them.
Just the thought makes something warm swell in his stomach, the level of trust making him feel wanted, needed, a concept so foreign that it almost feels wrong. But oh, how he likes it.
GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:
Controlling
But in a very, very strange way – a lot of what fuels Enji’s obsession is this desperate, innate need to right his wrongs. He’s very, very aware of how thoroughly he ruined his family, how horribly he treated Rei, how he was a poor excuse of a father and husband, and he sees his love with you as almost being his second try. With you, he can do all the things he should have done with Rei and his children – he should have been sweet and loving, a present father that cared about each of his children equally. He should have been a doting husband, spoiling his wife and making her feel loved and desired.
But he didn’t, and although Rei has long since divorced him, Enji finds himself feeling lonely, incomplete, restless to try again, to properly provide for a sweet little thing he can call his own. And this is where you come in – and from the moment he realizes his feelings for you are more than a simple attraction, he dives in head-first.
He decides he'll approach everything with you in a way as opposite from his previous marriage as possible – he's all grand, romantic gestures, always showing up with a bouquet of flowers in hand and just the slightest pink tint on his scarred cheeks.
The grand, romantic gestures are, of course, merely things he’s seen in rom-coms; the women always look happy when the love interest swoops in with flowers and gifts and pretty clothing, the beaming smile and large hug the man gets as a reward seeming very, very appealing to Enji, despite his rigid exterior.
(Just the thought of you hugging him has his heart racing – it’s something so intimate, so entirely new that it makes every nerve in his body stand on edge, a shiver running up his spine as he imagines the way your body would feel pressed against his, how you’d sigh and sink further against him, how you’d squeeze him and god, the view he’d get when he looks down to see your body pressed so tightly against him that not even a breath of air could separate you -)
He’s scouring through women’s magazines, burying his nose in the glossy pages and searching for ideas and clues as to what women enjoy as courting gifts.
(He has to scoff under his breath every time he sees a new dieting tip or regiment, internally frowning and worrying that you’re seeing these ads and potentially obsessing over your weight. The last thing he’d want is for you to be unhappy with your body – certainly not when he’s so very happy with it. Not to mention the nutritionally heinous foods the magazine recommends – he’d sooner have you eat raw paper than follow this ludicrous advice.)
He’s even caving and very, very awkwardly asking his female sidekicks and employees at his agency about their tips on how to seduce a woman. He struggles to make eye contact with them when he asks, his imposing figure almost reminding them of a shy, nervous teenage boy with the way he’s so earnest about his question, his eyes lighting up when they mention an idea he hasn’t tried yet, pressing them for details and specifics and you must tell me what to say to her – how does one follow up gifting a puppy?
It would be sweet, really, how devoted he is to making sure that you’re absolutely spoiled, that you get a whole variety of lavish gifts designed to sweep you off your feet. It would be wonderful, really, except that Enji has never understood the concept of being too much – which is how everything will start to feel very, very early on in this process.
It was nice at first to receive a fresh bouquet of roses every morning at your desk with a handwritten card attached. (Written in impeccable handwriting, the cursive letters looping and elegant as they spell out short, simple, sweet messages signed with a capital E at the bottom, reading please make sure to eat enough today and that skirt looks lovely on you.)
It was nice at first, but after the second week of daily bouquets and even a few finding their way to the doorstep of your apartment, the sight of the pretty red flowers makes a sinking feeling swirl in your gut.
(Enji notices this, dismayed and frustrated by your lack of a positive response, and decides to double down and just gift you bigger flowers, because maybe your lack of joy at receiving the bouquets is because they aren’t big enough, aren’t grandiose enough, aren’t good enough.)
It was nice to get the cute, small stuffed bunny on your desk one morning, and you’d even grown so fond of the little thing that you perched it on the edge of your desk, assuming it was a one-time gift. But it wasn’t – the stuffed animals kept coming, getting bigger and more detailed and much, much more expensive, you’re sure.
(Enji is careful to remove each and every price tag on every gift he sends you, simply because he doesn’t want you to feel that you owe him financially, nor does he want you to be swayed into accepting him as your partner by mere economic standing – that’s an asset that you’ll come to know, of course, but he’d rather lure you in via more traditional ways. It doesn’t exactly stay secret, though, because once the necklace with a delicate array of at least five diamonds in it arrives at your front door, your secret admirer’s wealth becomes very, very difficult to hide.)
He’s gifting you jewelry with more precious jewels and gold and silver than you could possibly wear, and outfitting your closet with all kinds of dresses and skirts out of materials and cuts you could never hope to afford for yourself.
(And, of course, they’re all tailored to fit you perfectly – how Enji managed to get your exact sizes is still a question that haunts you, one that makes you scared to upon the nicely wrapped boxes that you find in excess outside your front door.)
It’s all just too damn much – Enji is suffocating with his attempts to woo you, his every gift and gesture leaving you feeling uncomfortable. What he’s trying to do is very, very obvious – and it feels wrong. He’s the number one hero, a busy man with much more important things to be doing – so why is he going after you? And why with such ferocity?
His forwardness will scare you off, driving you to avoid him and grow suspicious of his motives, and Enji does not like this development. This wasn’t supposed to happen – you’re supposed to want him, to be seduced by all of his efforts, to be swept off your feet and swooned by his gifts and words (delivered with the grace of a garbage truck, of course, but the sentiment is there – even if looking at your pretty face distracts him, all the words leaving his head and making him stand there gaping like a fool).
Enji doesn’t like it, and so he presses harder, stepping up the frequency and volume of his gifts, only effectively pushing you further and further away from him as you grow more uneased and unsettled. And if you were to confront him about it?
Well, this is where his controlling tendencies come into play – denying who he naturally is can only last for so long, and despite being a man with superb self-restraint, the moment that Enji feels you’re slipping from his fingers he’s morphing back into the man that commands your every move.
Suddenly he’s no longer presenting you with the newest shampoo you’ve been talking about (it’s salon grade, the best stuff out there, and much too expensive, but not for Enji – nothing is too expensive for him when it’s for you) but rather letting this expression wash over his face, one that you’ve never seen before.
It’s cold, remarkably so; his lips are pressed tightly together, his brows perfectly straight, those eyes lifeless as he tells you to stop fighting, go inside and change into the green dress I gave you last week. We’re going for dinner, and you’ll order the house salad and a slice of chocolate cake for dessert. Do you understand me?
It’s weird and unexpected and scary, and it’ll have you immediately stuttering out a yes and scurrying inside, too frightened to disobey. And really, while Enji winces every time he does this, eventually he finds himself trying to justify it as simply ensuring your relationship will last.
Obviously it’s not good that he has to force you into these small, minor, inconsequential things (like going on a date with him or letting him accompany you home afterwards), but this is different from with Rei – you want this, right? You’re just too shy to tell him how flattered you are about all the attention he’s giving you.
You’re just playing coy, acting on your age-old feminine instincts to make men chase after you, to be demure and make your partner work for your affection and love. And eventually, Enji will convince himself that this is different, he’s wooing you and getting you into a relationship with him willingly – you want him.
You practically love him already – things are going well. They’re successful.
They have to be.
And so, while Enji doesn’t mean to be controlling, the end results is that although he plays the nice guy that spoils you and gives you anything your heart desires, at the end of the day he is the one in charge, and he is the one dictating your relationship.
And really, what can you do to stop him? He’s strong, both physically and with the general population – one word from him and you’d be hunted for like a madman, ostracized from the community, brought back to him like a pup to its owner.
You belong with him, and it’s his job to make you see that – even if you want to remain blind.
Possessive
Enji Todoroki doesn’t share. Once he decides that he wants you, you become unequivocally his.
Sure, he wants to do things a bit differently with you and get you to harbor more loving feelings towards him, but from the moment his infatuation forms you don’t really have a choice in the matter.
You can pretend like you do, if it makes you feel better (and it will, because at least you can pretend that you have even an ounce of control in the relationship, that you aren’t just some adorable little thing he’s decided he wants hanging off his arm and warming his bed), but at the end of the day you’re subject to Enji’s whims.
And although Enji lets you harbor this fantasy of your relationship being truly consensual, the moment something occurs that threatens it, his true colors are shown. Namely, when he thinks your attention is veering away from him, his jealousy and anger become difficult to keep in check, his quirk acting up and letting off small sparks and flames all along his body. His fists clench and his jaw tightens when he sees another man around you, and although he tries to rationalize that the man likely doesn’t want anything to do with you, just simply being in your presence is enough to make Enji suspicious.
Even if the man isn’t talking to you or acknowledging you in any way, he’s anxious – he’s scared that something about this man will attract you, that you’ll somehow find him better than Enji.
Maybe the man is friendlier – Enji’s aware that he isn’t exactly the most approachable person on the planet.
Maybe he's funnier – Enji knows he can’t crack a joke to save his life.
Maybe he’s a better conversationalist – less formalities and awkwardness, able to get you laughing so hard you snort.
It makes Enji’s skin crawl, his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s fisting his hands, and before long he will intervene. He’ll grab you as gently as he can on the elbow, guiding you carefully but quickly away to the other side of the room and physically maneuvering so that his body is blocking your sight of the man – and more importantly, blocking his sight of you.
He’ll try to talk with you, trying to distract you and get your mind off of the other man, all in an effort to get your attention back on him. He’s reminding you that you have him, that you don’t need some other man, that you already have one who’s capable of providing for you and caring for you as you deserve.
Frankly, he discovers just how deeply his feelings for you run in a situation where jealousy gets the best of him – you’d been approached at a small gathering by a man from another agency who was clearly hitting on you. He was leaning in close, smiling with a smarmy smirk and nursing on his cocktail like a lifeline.
Enji had noticed the two of you out of the corner of his eye, and immediately he’d gone stiff. He couldn’t stop staring at the way the man kept getting gradually closer to you, how he kept leaning in further, how his hand slid from his pocket to your shoulder, then your arm, down to your hand and oh, oh god, it looks like he’s bringing it down to your waist –
Enji had been by your side in mere moments, his gaze card and harsh as he’d stepped in front of you, making some poorly toned excuse about needing to speak with you for a moment, before unceremoniously dragging you away from the stupefied man.
From that day, Enji absolutely refuses to allow anyone close to you. And really, can he be blamed? After all, he fell for you, so why wouldn’t anyone else? You’re beautiful and caring, smart and dignified, and if he can see your potential as a lovely, perfect little wife, surely others can too.
And so, Enji ramps up his controlling tendencies the more he’s presented with situations where the green-eyed monster accompanies him. And this control takes its main form through financials – that is, while Enji originally didn’t want to attract you to him via his material wealth, he decides it’s a necessary evil in order to have you staying by his side only.
He starts ‘forgetting’ to peel off the price tags of the gifts he gives you, pretending not to notice how your eyes practically bug out of your head when you unbox the pink pendant he’d bought for you.
He starts inviting you out for lunches and dinners more often, ordering for you and choosing the most expensive items off the menu despite your numerous pleas that you’ll opt for something – anything – cheaper.
(It’s frustrating, too, because as angry as you want to be at him for ordering for you, he always chooses something you end up liking – of course it’s because he’s done extensive research and stalking, finding out your favorite foods and what flavors you dislike, but it all seems like one large, awfully strange coincidence to you.)
Exerting financial control over you keeps you complacent, because the guilt you’ll feel at how much money he’s sinking into you will have you following his every word, even if it his commands are a little strange and off-putting – like spending less time with any male friends (or really any friends for that matter) or slipping the small photograph of him into your purse (it’s weird and you do so hesitantly, making sure the polaroid is at the bottom of the bag – and trying to ignore the way his muscles are oh-so fucking defined in the tight black shirt he’s sporting in the photograph).
It’s all just a big ploy to keep you from running off with some other man – but really, if you somehow did manage to do that, Enji won’t be particularly merciful. He will be cornering the man as he leaves your apartment and he will be holding him by the neck against the cold concrete wall, threatening him to leave you alone or experience the rather unpleasant sensation of burning alive.
It’s not particularly heroic, but Enji doesn’t care – he can’t, not when the threat of you leaving him for another man is very much present and real. It’s too scary, too much for him to handle – it would mean you rejecting him, his second fuck-up in love, and the loss of someone who fits absolutely every one of his desires in a woman.
You’re too perfect for him to lose – so instead, he’ll own you.
Dependent
He will never admit it, but there’s this part of Enji that grows stronger day by day, every time he sees your face, that tells him in the most raw, real way that he absolutely needs you.
He’s essentially lost what he had of his family, and with the sharp uptake in responsibility as the new number one hero, the new symbol of modern peace, Enji finds himself turning to you in his time of need, in his more vulnerable moments.
Because really, though his exterior is tough and jaded, he’s only human – he too needs someone to love, someone to hold and latch onto, and latch he does. You’re his, and he expects you to understand that even if he doesn’t verbalize it.
He cherishes your very existence, each and every thing you do, finding you to be remarkably weak yet remarkably endearing, your inability to defend yourself simultaneously adorable and frustrating. He needs you to realize that you’re his everything; his whole reason for living now, even if he doesn’t give you many clues into this.
He isn’t the best at expressing his emotions, and although the love and desperation he feels for you is constantly overwhelming him, overflowing from his chest and making him dizzy, he doesn’t articulate just how deeply these feelings run.
Of course he’ll tell you how you’re beautiful, or that you’re my responsibility to protect, but he’ll also say significantly less romantic things like how you belong to him, how he's never letting you out that front door, how he’ll never let those disgusting, filthy villains touch something as perfect as you.
He thinks it’s sweet and exactly what you want to hear, but it’s not – it’s scary and strange and weird, but these are your biggest clues as to his dependence on you.He won’t tell you, but his expectations for you are honestly monumentally high; he wants you to be his perfect little wife, everything that Rei wasn’t, and this includes giving you every ounce of his love.
He wants you to be diligently cooking him hearty meals, keeping the house tidy and clean for the two of you, to be massaging his shoulders while he relaxes from a stressful day at work. (Hell, he even wants you to wear cute little aprons, collars with his name stitched onto them, those maternity/breast feeding bras before you’re even pregnant…)
He wants a domestic fantasy with you, and this extends to other, more vulnerable things as well. He expects you to embrace him as he walks through the door everyday returning home, to give him a light peck on the cheek and ask about his day, to let him hug you from behind and kiss your neck as you slave away over the stove.
He never really got the chance to do such loving things with Rei (not that he particularly wanted to), and as a result he honestly feels like he’s having to make up time, that he needs to be taking every single ounce of affection and love you can possibly give him, and he’ll feel no guilt at all.
He won’t outright ask you to cuddle him, but when he sits on the large, overstuffed leather couch and stares at you expectantly, you’ll quickly learn to run over to him and snuggle up into his side, to bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms and legs around him even if his body heat cooks you alive.
He won’t ever explicitly ask you to give him those fluttery, soft morning kisses he’s seen all the time in terrible corny rom-coms he religiously watched for inspiration while trying to court you, but the moment you smile sleepily at him and press a kiss against his lips while you holds you close in the morning glow?
God, it’s in those moments that he wants to give you absolutely everything he has – every part of his body, soul and heart, every single cent he owns, every piece of fame and fortune he’s ever amassed.
Enji just wants to please you, and although he comes off as an odd mix of demanding yet generous, terrifying yet strangely awkward, inside his heart is hammering against his ribcage every time you so much as smile at him, every time you so much as look at him. In the hazy afterglow of a round of passionate morning sex (in which you’ve realized that fighting will get you nowhere – it’ll only earn you an Enji that’s more frantic and desperate to get you moaning and crying out his name), when he latches onto your smaller, exhausted and sweaty body, pressing you as tightly against him as possible, sometimes his demeanor will crack.
He’ll lean down to deeply inhale the scent of your hair, to watch the way your chest rises and falls, and he’ll whisper in the softest of voices that he loves you, you’re the light of his world. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you, but Enji is hellbent on never finding out – after all, there is no chance of escape with him, and he’s sure you’ll learn your place soon.
After all, pretty, submissive girls like you always do.
DEALING WITH RIVALS:
Enji is, regrettably, terrible at hiding his jealousy.
He’s always been in a constant state of envy, whether it was vying for the top spot in the heroing world against All Might, desiring the perfect offspring in order to have the Todoroki name and himself live on, and countless other examples. He’s prideful and so fucking jealous of everyone around him, and this is only heightened when it comes to you – his possessiveness over you is nothing to sneeze at, and the minute he feels that your attention is threatened, that you could possibly be yearning for another?
He’s wasting no time stepping in, mercilessly shutting down each and every opportunity you could possibly have of being with anyone other than himself.
As much as he’s loathe to admit it, his jealousy and possessiveness stems from a place of insecurity; he’s aware that he’s by no means the perfect partner, and he rationally knows that you could do much, much better than him.
And so, as a sort of panic-induced response, Enji decides that you simply aren’t allowed to interact with any other men – this way, you aren’t presented with the opportunity to even let the feelings form. And he’s diligent with this theory, too – he’s always standing near you, acting as your shadow with watchful, hawk-like eyes trained on your figure.
He’s never been the best at reading people, but he’s able to tell from miles away when someone approaches you with intentions that are less than innocent, and immediately his lips are thinning, his brows furrowing, his entire body temperature raising by five degrees because you’re his, and this piece of scum disguised as a man obviously doesn’t realize this.
He’s your guardian angel in many ways (though really, he takes the guardian portion much too far – even men who have no romantic intentions with you are viewed as potential threats, shooed away with a vengeance that will make them too afraid to even think about you without imagining themselves engulfed in flames), though at times it will make you feel more than a little patronized.
It’s as if he doesn’t trust you – you don’t really have a relationship, at least in your eyes, but you know the number one hero wants something more than friendship with you. And so, you do your best to avoid evoking his anger and wrath by not romantically involving yourself with another man – and yet that’s not enough for Enji.
It can’t be, simply because as pretty and sweet and smart as you may be, Enji will always know better. It’s a controlling tendency and a mildly sexist view, but he thinks of you as his doting, loving housewife-to-be, and it’s the man’s job to make these sorts of decisions.
You’re just too sweet and outgoing for your own good – you’ll get mixed up in all sorts of trouble if you’re not careful, and lucky little you has someone like Enji to watch out for you and make sure your pretty head has nothing to worry about. And so, Enji sticks to you like glue, warding off potential suitors with grueling stares and a presence and reputation too strong to ignore.
Enji’s day had been long, and one of those days that made him seriously question his abilities as a hero. A villain had managed to trick him, and although Enji had of course eventually arrested the perpetrator, his deception had led to a lot of wasted time and more damage to surrounding buildings than was acceptable.
His head was pounding, his body still feeling overly hot from all of the fighting, and though not normal, he’d decided he was done for the day and left the rest of the agency’s calls to his sidekicks. Leaving early had felt almost freeing in a way, the world looking a bit different with all this extra time – walking down the sidewalk, Enji scanned the windows of each shop he passed.
As per usual, you’d been on his mind all day – flashes of your face sitting just behind his eyelids, your name just a hair away on his tongue, the feeling of your phantom touch sending shivers down his spine. It was irritating, distracting, heavenly, and with each window he passed, he kept an eye out for anything you might like.
He’d gotten you a pretty tea cup set yesterday, and although you’d been hesitant and visibly uncomfortable at receiving such a gift (the set was very, very obviously expensive, the marbled china too perfect and pristine to have costed anything less than a year’s worth of your salary), Enji was eager to gift you something that would be received better today.
Streets passed by, nothing quite suiting his vision for what you deserved – he’d need something more subtle today, something simple and sweet and something he knows you like – The confectionary is small, with swirling black letters over a baby pink banner spelling out the name of the store. The windows are lined with all sorts of chocolates and candies, all wrapped up in pretty, ornate packaging that makes Enji immediately pick up his pace, practically storming into the small shop.
It smells like vanilla and sugar as the door shuts behind him, and although it makes him wince, he knows you’d love it. Shelves nearly as tall as him line the shop in narrow rows, displaying all sorts of sweets that he’s never heard of before – caramels, gumdrops, chocolates, lollipops, anything and everything under the sun.
He’s only been in the store for roughly five minutes, staring at a collection of truffles with furrowed brows and a downward curl of his lip when he hears a small laugh over the gentle, happy classical music playing quietly over the speakers. Immediately he’s perking up – the laugh sounds familiar; the lilt of it, the tonality, the soft intake of breath right after it stops.
His lips part, eyes going wide, and before he can even really control himself he’s rushing towards the source of the noise, his entire face growing warm when he sees you – you’re at the register, a few candies sitting on the wooden slab, your purse in hand as you fish for presumably your wallet.
You look gorgeous today – you’re wearing a shirt he’s never seen before and your favorite pair of jeans (the ones that make your ass look so, so very perfect – perfect to squeeze at, to grope and touch and smack and press himself against…), and although he’s briefly disappointed that you aren’t wearing an item of clothing that he’d gifted you, he notices the clerk all too soon.
The clerk – Hyoshi, his nametag says – is smiling at you. He’s all teeth, a grin that makes the hairs on the back of Enji’s neck stand up, his nostrils flaring because you’d been laughing, and it must be this man’s doing. This man, who’s visibly weak even under the ridiculous confectionary uniform he’s sporting – arms that couldn’t hope to lift even a fraction of what Enji can, a chest that isn’t ruggedly defined like the hero’s, and a stature that’s frankly pathetic compared to the frame of the redheaded man behind you.
Enji’s angry, and as the man opens his mouth to presumably say something else (potentially something that’ll make you laugh again), his words die on his tongue as he glances behind you to see the behemoth of a man who’s quite literally acting as your shadow.
His eyes widen and immediately he’s stuttering out a w-welcome in, Endeavor! At that, your shoulders go stiff, your mouth parting into an adorable little ‘o’ that Enji can practically see in his head, and you slowly turn around.
Oh, hello Endeavor, aren’t you normally on patrol right now?
Enji’s jaw works, and although a small part of him is pleasantly surprised that you’d remembered his patrol shift, your words only serve to further frustrate him. You knew it was his time on the clock – and yet, you’d still ventured out into the heart of downtown, completely on your own, defenseless except for the measly, very sad pepper spray you keep in that worn purse of yours – both of which he keeps pleading with you to let him replace.
(He’ll get you new pepper spray and a taser and a pocketknife, just because he knows how dangerous these streets can be, and with your pretty face and your pretty body he’s sure villains would be lining out the door to get a taste of you. And of course, the new bag – he’s bought you plenty, in a wide variety of styles and colors, each gift getting more and more desperate to be the one you finally deem as being good enough to use, but alas.)
Enji doesn’t even bother with a greeting, instead stepping up to the counter, slamming down his credit card and stepping in front of you. I’ll be paying for her sweets. His voice is cold, firm, and sends the clerk into a scurry to process the transaction, meanwhile you’re staring in mild shock from behind the hero.
Of course you’re not surprised – how can you be, when he insists on spoiling you in every possible way? And yet the raw animosity he’s radiating right now can’t be ignored – you get the feeling as if you’re somehow in trouble, though you can’t figure out what for. As soon as the card reader beeps, Enji’s scooping up the card and your sweets, his thick fingers wrapping around your wrist just barely too tightly and marching out the door, telling the clerk over his shoulder to keep the receipt.
It takes every bone in his body to not turn back around and swing at the man behind the counter, his eyes shutting tightly in concentration as he tells himself that it’s not worth it, the media will find out, your reputation will be damaged. But as his eyes peel open and he realizes the way you’re squirming in his grip, he only sighs and releases you, those teal eyes of his appraising you with a frown.
You’re feeling guilty again, unsure of yourself as you gently rub your wrist, and for a moment Enji feels regret – did he hurt you? He hadn’t meant to, he’d just been angry and it was already hard enough to not harm the man who’d made you laugh, and surely you’d understand that he didn’t mean to –
You break the silence before he can voice his concerns, clearing your throat and thanking him in a meek voice. Enji merely nods, a small grunt your only response as he begins walking again, your sweets – and your purse – firmly in his hands, just so that you won’t have to carry them.
When you don’t immediately follow him, Enji pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a brow cocked.
What? Follow me – we have dinner reservations this evening, at that new seafood restaurant by the harbor. Fuyumi tells me it’s quite good; order the crab legs and the caviar.
There’s no room for disagreement in his tone, and for a moment you just blankly gape at him, the situation too strange for you to really process.
But all too soon his eyes are narrowing, and you’re practically tripping over your feet to follow him, keeping your gaze cast downwards as Enji’s hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you even though there’s not a civilian in sight on the desolated sidewalk he leads you down.
TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:
Honestly, Enji is complicated as a yandere; there’s a part of him that knows that there are aspects of his relationship with you that mirror that of his previous marriage. He knows that although you may not be treated as terribly (and that you have more purpose to him than simply an incubator), you’re still trapped, essentially a slave to his will.
And yet, as time passes and his dependence on you grows stronger, he can’t help but justify his actions, deciding that yes, you may be stuck with him, but at least he spoils you rotten with your favorite foods, expensive clothing and jewels, an unlimited supply for each and every hobby you may have. He may have you trapped between a rock and a hard place in terms of leaving him, but at least he genuinely loves you - he aches to spend time with you, to hold you in his arms, to feel your heartbeat against his ear, your lips against his, your body writhing below his.
He’s convinced himself that this time is different, that you’re different, and as such he eventually decides that it’s really in both your best interests to just relocate you, to get you officially by his side. It’s really paranoia that drives this decision – he’s a working hero and a man with many, many enemies, and so it’s really the only option that keeps you safe.
Stealing you away into his private home – he’s the sole inhabitant, aside from a cleaner or two, since moving out of the Todoroki household – is the best option for a multitude of different reasons. You’re safer this way – the state-of-the-art security systems he’s installed around the estate are the best money can pay for, able to detect intruders and any suspicious activity in the blink of an eye. Enemies don’t have much of a chance of getting inside, and even if they had managed to, Enji will be right there to burn them to a crisp for even daring to get close to his beloved.
And even aside from outside threats, keeping you trapped at home will allow him to keep an eye on you and make sure that you don’t accidentally hurt yourself – you’re ridiculously clumsy to him, your every action having him hold his breath slightly in anticipation, in fear that you’ll somehow trip or fall or bruise your pretty skin. Plus, this way he’ll know that you’re eating healthily and in the right quantities, that you’re getting proper exercise, that you’re relaxing as you should, that you’re spending adequate amounts of time in the interior courtyard he’d prepared in preparation for you.
(It’s beautiful, as loathe as you are to admit it – all kinds of flowers bloom along the walkways, bamboo and tall grasses and trees growing in neat lines and providing shade for the flowerbeds on hot summer days. There’s even a small stream flowing through it, the gentle trickling noise almost enough to cancel out the painful silence that exists between you and Enji when he decides to join you for your scheduled garden time in the afternoons – uninvited, as always, and yet still unable to sense how desperately you wish you’d get these times alone to yourself.)
Aside from your safety, keeping you in his home helps feeds into his domestic fantasies of the two of you – you’re so very precious to him, and from nearly the beginning of his obsession with you, he’s always viewed you as the perfect wife – specifically, the perfect housewife.
He’s a traditional man, believing in traditional gender roles, and although he doesn’t view you as being less-than based upon your status as a woman, he does expect certain things from you. He’s the breadwinner, the strong, capable one who provides you with a roof over your head, food, and any gift under the sun the moment you make even the slightest inclination of wanting it.
And in return, you’re to be his caring, nurturing wife – the one who keeps the house neat and tidy, a room dedicated to only cleaning supplies that you get always stay stocked and ready for you, should you become inspired and wish to fulfill this domestic fantasy of his. The cleaning products are all diluted down to a level that wouldn’t be dangerous if you were to ingest them – you’d get sick, surely, but it’s nothing a home-trip from a doctor who’s been sworn to secrecy can’t handle.
There’s also, unfortunately, a drawer within the room that a particularly bored you had one day opened only to immediately slam it shut. Dozens of cleaning outfits sat neatly folded in the drawer, the black and white getups looking much too tight and much too short. A few weeks later you’d returned to the drawer, bored out of your mind while Enji was away at work, peeling one out with careful and trembling fingers. And of course, to no one’s surprise, the outfit fit like a fucking glove – hugging your curves and accentuating them, the skirt full and flouncy and very easy to flip up, the bustline practically choking your breasts with how tightly the black cotton pressed them together. You’d changed out of it shortly after, the rather disturbing and shameful fleeting question of whether this was the type of thing Enji liked making you too disgusted, guilty, and bashful to really consider.
In his idealized domestic world, you’d cook for him, too, but it takes a very long time for him to trust you enough to not purposefully burn or cut yourself in the kitchen. He has daydreams about coming home from a hectic work day to see you standing over the stove in a cute apron, humming some song and lighting up when you hear the door open and close, his announcement of being home making you practically bounce on your heels.
He wants to have you cook for him, to see you slave in the kitchen putting every ounce of your concentration and time into making him a meal you know he’ll enjoy, but that fantasy has to wait for the time being – just until he thinks you’ve finally lost that rebellious streak of yours, just until you finally come to realize that you belong by Enji’s side.
And so, in the meantime he’ll have you make him small things that hold little potential for you to hurt yourself with – simple sandwiches with pre-sliced ingredients, so that you won’t cut yourself chopping tomatoes or slicing bread. He'll have you prepare a sandwich for him and one for yourself, too, ordering you to sit down at the dining table with him and share a meal – though the conversation is hard to come by, and each attempt he makes at starting it is only met with single word answers from you.
(Another domestic fantasy he harbors but would never tell you about is to have you sitting with him at the table, looking at him with those pretty eyes and your voice dropping to a sultry volume, your chopsticks bringing the food you diligently and loving prepared for him up to his lips, your tone teasing as you tell him to open wide! He’d keep eye contact the whole time he chews, never once breaking it as he tells you in that low, gruff voice of his that it’s perfectly done, the seasoning is impeccable. He wants you to be bashful, to smile and hide it with your hand, your lashes fluttering as you glance at him then back to the food again, too shy to say much but your body language showing just how much his praise effects you, just how good it feels to be the center of his attention, the apple of his eye, his absolute everything.)
He wants you to be his sweet housewife, and although he won’t force you into any of the work, it’s extremely obvious what he wants of you – he’s always telling you about when you get adjusted, how you’ll be more open to fulfilling your role.
When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be happy to iron his clothes; perhaps you’ll spritz a bit of the perfume he buys you onto his shirts, just as a reminder of you during his long days.
(As if he needs a reminder – certainly not, when you’re on his mind nearly every minute of the day.)
When you’re more adjusted, you’ll be pleased to see the positive pregnancy test in your trembling hands, your voice riddled with joy as you announce the good news to him, watching him drop the phone and keys in his hand and instead hoist you into the air, spinning you with a grin on his face so bright it nearly blinds you, concluded with a passionate kiss and a few tears on his cheeks because he just can’t fucking wait to have you as the mother of his child.
It’s all this talk of ‘when this’ and ‘when that’, but the strange thing about Enji as a captor is that he’s incredibly patient with seeing these fantasies come to fruition – sure, he may be forcing you into being a housewife just as he did with Rei, but this is different – you get a choice about some of it, unlike her. You don’t have to do the dishes, but you can if you’d like. You don’t have to bear his children, but you can if you’d like.
(And frankly, it’ll be hard not to – once your need for human contact and your strange, mixed feelings for him grow, you’ll eventually give into his requests for intimacy, and once the floodgates are open, you will end up pregnant from the sheer frequency and volume at which he pumps you full of his cum.)
All that being said, life as Enji’s captive will honestly not be too terrible – he’s still following you around the house like a shadow, but he’ll let you sleep in your own bed at the start, let you have your own bedroom and bathroom, and he won’t even force you into spending time with him at the beginning.
Because really, as tortuous and painful as keeping you away from him is, he repeats the mantra over and over in his head that eventually it’ll be worth it – eventually you’ll see things his way, and eventually you’ll come to see just how deeply his feelings for you run. You’ll realize that he’s only ever loved you, that he cares for you more than any other man possibly could, that he only has your best interests at heart – that’s why he always swung by your apartment at the end of his patrols, peering in at you through your windows, just to make sure you were safe and sound.
That’s why he kidnapped you, to ensure your safety and keep you in the arms of the only man truly capable of providing for you, just as you deserve.
That’s why he’ll never let you escape him, no matter how you beg and plead for your freedom – you don’t understand the outside world like he does. You think you do, but each villain he arrests is a nail in the coffin of your freedom – you have no fucking clue how dangerous the world is, and Enji isn’t hesitant to remind you of this.
You’re unhappy with him? Well, your options are here, in his warm house where he’s willing to give you every ounce of his attention, love, and touch, or out in the big, scary world where women like you are easy targets for men who love destroying easy targets.
So really, you’re in the best hands with Enji – he knows how to take care of you, and he’ll spoil you with every possible treasure you could want. What’s not to be happy about?
PUNISHMENTS:
As a general rule, Enji doesn’t ‘do’ punishments. Because he views his relationship with you as his second try at finding a companion, there is no part of him that actively desires to hurt you. He loves you, in some sick, twisted way that’s much too obsessive and desperate to ever be considered healthy, but it’s still love nonetheless.
And as such, Enji does genuinely want your relationship to be as wholesome and sweet as possible; he wants you to want him, to actively choose to spend your time with him, to want to be in his presence every moment of every day. He wants everything to be as perfect as possible – the idealized life, a life where he’s the number one hero coming home to his lovely wife who cherishes him and he cherishes in return.
And so, when you do something that doesn’t quite line up with this fantasy, Enji is understandably upset. Why can’t you just accept that this is your reality now? Why do you insist on fighting him, even when you know you won’t win? How could you?
He’s Enji Todoroki, Endeavor the Flame Hero, and you’re just you. You’re pretty, of course, and smart and sweet and caring, but you’re still just you. There’s nothing you can do against someone like him – which is why Enji is able to excuse your poor behavior most of the time.
He understands; it’s difficult to accept that you’re weak and powerless, and he understands that when you lash out and act out, you’re just expressing frustration and fear at being taken care of so wholly and completely by someone so much stronger than you. It must be scary, after all – Enji can be so intimidating and he knows it, so he’ll try his absolute best to calm down anytime his anger starts to flare.
The last thing he wants to do is harm you, and he wants everything in your relationship to be as different as possible from that with Rei – and hurting you in any way would too closely resemble his previous marriage, ruining the beautiful illusion he can live under with you.
And so, most of the time Enji is able to grit his teeth and shut his eyes, letting the anger subside by telling himself about all the wonderful things about you – things that always get him feeling calmer, that make the buzzing sensation in his head and the suffocating feeling of anger dissipate. Nine times out of ten, he’s able to calm himself down this way – and if that’s not enough, normally exiting the room and getting a breath of fresh air is enough. He’ll tell himself that he absolutely cannot fall into the same habits he did with Rei – you’re different, you’re special, and he’ll calm himself down as often as he needs to in order to avoid being seen by you as the big, scary man who will hurt you if you disobey him.
Thus, getting Enji angry enough to the point where he can’t simply calm himself down is actually quite difficult – generally, this involves you hurting yourself. Most other things he can twist into seeming not so bad, rather just being you not having adjusted to life as his woman quite yet. He can write off your escape attempts as you still clinging to this ludicrous sense of independence you seem so hellbent on keeping.
Attempts to harm him can be discarded as your misplaced sense of anger at your situation, because although in your heart of hearts he’s sure you’re happy to be in your natural familial setting (as the wife of a strong, capable man of course), you’ve confused yourself by trying to reject something that’s just so right.
Of course these events don’t make him happy, but they’re able to be disregarded – but when your blood is drawn by your own accord, even Enji can’t pretend this is something else. This is you purposefully trying to injure yourself, purposefully trying to show him that you aren’t happy, that you don’t want this – an idea that makes him panic, that sends his fists clenching, that gets him pacing and his mind racing as he tries to figure out how to set you straight without harming you. And so, Enji eventually decides that after he cleans up your injury, rather than simply hitting you
and physically showing you that he won’t stand for this sort of misbehavior, he has to be more restrictive with you. He won’t be so lenient for the days following your bad behavior – you won’t be so spoiled, your rights won’t be so freely handed to you.
You must understand that Enji is charge, and that he’s being generous and loving and kind by allowing you such free reign around your shared home. Really, he doesn’t need to be so generous – and he’ll teach you that an angry Enji is much, much worse than the normal doting, lovesick Enji you’re used to.
Enji is frozen as he opens the front door. He’d come home a bit early from running some errands, the groceries in his hand dropping onto the hardwood floors below him. His jaw is dropped a bit, the sight of your bright red blood staining your forearm making a wave of sickness wash over him.
Who did this?
Who could’ve hurt you like this? There’d been no security alerts while he was gone, and there was absolutely no way that you’d left the interior of this house in the two hours he was gone. In the next breath he’s rushing forward into the kitchen, by your side before you can even blink, paying no mind to the way you gasp and stumble away from him, as if you’re afraid of him.
It makes Enji’s chest ache, but the sight of your blood is too distracting for him to focus on the uncomfortable ache. Instead, he’s thrusting your arm under the kitchen sink, the lukewarm water making you wince ever so slightly as it runs over the wound.
Enji’s brows furrow as he examines your arm; the cuts are long, zigzagging in every direction in a way that looks strange, not like any normal attack pattern he’s seen before. This doesn’t look natural, either – not like a regular scratch, not like you just slipped and fell and had unfortunate luck. No, this looks like something else entirely – like something purposeful, like their appearance marring your pretty skin isn’t accidental in the least. It’s only then that Enji sees the glinting silver fork out of the corner of his eye, sitting on the edge of the counter with a bit of red staining the ends.
Immediately his body is freezing, his grip on your arm squeezing tighter as the gears turn in his mind. You must have…
His jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth, those blue eyes of his slanting over to look at you with such intensity and anger that you physically shrink in on yourself. His grip is too firm for you to pull your arm back, Enji absolutely unwilling to let you run away from this.
Did you do this to yourself?
His voice is surprisingly even, given the look on his face, and immediately you’re shaking your head, your entirely body paralyzed with fear. You’ve never seen Enji look this scary before – or at least not towards you.
Your answer only serves to further anger him, it seems, because soon he’s literally snarling, his face twisted up into this ugly look of rage that’s only heightened by the scar across his eye.
Don’t lie to me, I will always be able to tell when you’re untruthful with me. He pauses, taking a deep breath, his voice just the slightest bit unsteady. Did you do this to yourself?
This time you nod yes, tears prickling at your eyes and starting to spill down your cheeks, and at the sound Enji makes, they only flow faster. He looks like he’s in more pain than you are – his face is red, and a few flames lick up around his shoulders. The heat washes over you, and soon the begs are slipping off your tongue before you can help yourself.
Enji pays you no mind, every ounce of his self-control going towards not slapping you in the face for your blatant stupidity. Soon he’s letting go of your hand, stomping towards the small first aid kit he keeps in the kitchen, entirely silent as he carefully wraps your arm in bandages, not paying your rambling any attention or mind.
As soon as you’re securely bandaged, he leaves the room and you hear the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut reverberating throughout the house.
The rest of the night passes in a blur, with you somehow getting from the floor of the kitchen where you’d laid down and eventually fallen asleep all the way to your bed, with the blankets carefully slotted over your body.
Nothing seems to be amiss the next morning, your footsteps cautious as you approach the bathroom, your brows shooting up when you notice that the counter is completely bare – your toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash are all missing, as are all the expensive lotions and facial scrubs Enji normally keeps in piles for your convenience.
The kitchen is empty, too, you notice – the silverware drawer is completely empty, and there are no cups or mugs of any sort in any of the cupboards. It’s unnerving, and immediately you’re getting goosebumps all over your body, the air feeling prickly and cold, as if there’s something lurking that you don’t know about. Biting your lip, you make your way to the table, gingerly sitting down and trying not to jostle the bandages too much – the bandages that had been changed, you distantly notice.
A few minutes later, Enji joins you in the kitchen, his expression not exactly jovial, but not particularly hostile. He greets you as he normally does, before placing the mug you now notice is in his hand under sink. The sound of rushing water gets your mouth watering, not having realized how thirsty you were until this moment.
Wide eyes watch him turn towards you, making his way to your seated figure with slow, heavy steps that get your heart thudding in his chest. He stops right next to you, before telling you to open your mouth. Hesitantly, you do as he says, jerking slightly when his fingertips – always unnaturally warm – cup your chip and bring the cup up to your lips, the water cold as you’re forced to drink it.
Enji watches with neutral eyes, though you see the corner of his lip curl up slightly as you drink the entire glass, the pacing of the water flow nearly too much and nearly choking you. Soon it’s gone, and Enji uses his thumb to wipe at the corner of your lips.
Since yesterday’s little spectacle has shown me that you can’t be trusted with basic household supplies, let me know if you require another drink, if you’d like to brush your teeth, or if you’d like to wash your hair. You obviously can’t do it alone, so I will be joining you. Now, go lay down on the couch. I need to change your wrappings again.
You’re dumbfounded, watching him keep the mug in his grasp as he heads towards the living room. And though the threat seems too extreme, Enji means it – you only last a few hours before you reluctantly ask for another drink, your throat too dry and sore to go without it.
And that night, when you shamefully ask him for your toothbrush, you’re not particularly pleased to find out that he’ll be the one brushing your teeth, using his very own toothbrush to get the job done, just to make sure you don’t even think about trying to choke yourself with the brush.
(And when you finally have to shower, well, Enji’s face turns bright red when you ask, rushing to his feet much too quickly, grasping your hand and practically pulling you to the bathroom before applying all sorts of soaps and scents to the bath he draws for you. His breath is hitched as he turns around so you can change in privacy, but don’t be surprised to see him sneaking glances at your bare body beneath the water’s bubbly surface. Don’t be surprised when later that night you hear a suspiciously rhythmic thumping sound and muffled groans through the wall that your bedrooms share, the faintest wet, squelching noise accompanying them.)
And, roughly a week later when you wake up to the cups and mugs back in the cupboard and your shampoo back in the shower, you’ll decide against hurting yourself anytime soon. It’s not worth it – not if that’s how you’ll be treated; forced to ask permission for your basic needs.
And Enji couldn’t be more pleased – now you’ll think twice about using that fork again, or anything else for that matter.
(And he can still force you into using his toothbrush – under the guise of furthering your bond and intimacy, of course. And because he’ll use it after you, savoring the feeling of the bristles against his tongue like some sort of drug.)
OVERALL DANGER:
7/10
Enji isn’t necessarily dangerous, but rather inevitable.
He’s a determined man, driven by motivation for his goals, no matter the methods he uses to get there. And once he sets his sights on you, deciding that he wants you, that he loves you, you’re certainly no different – he will have you, and there’s not a single thing you can do about it. He’s a force to be reckoned with, and really, what sway do you have?
He’s a professional hero, known in the public sphere responsible for saving more lives than you could ever hope to, and who are you? You’re just a pretty face, a woman who happened to have the exact set of traits and physical appearance that Enji finds desirable – you have no real way to combat him, and who would believe you, anyway? Enji is the new symbol of peace – as far as the Commission is concerned, he can have whatever the hell he wants, and if that one thing is some civilian, then you can kiss your freedom goodbye.
But really, all things considered, Enji isn’t too terrible – he’s trying desperately to right his wrongs, to love you in a way that prioritizes your happiness and is just better, and although you’re certainly not happy being trapped by his side, he can at least pretend like this is better.
He wants you to be his pretty little thing, to be his housewife and treat him like your devoted, loving husband. He wants you to greet him with a kiss on the lips when he comes home from work, helping him out of his jacket and asking about his day, then lead him into the clean kitchen where you’ve got dinner waiting for him, then join him in the shower and then the bed, letting his hands wander to where they please, then fall asleep on his chest, letting him feel like he’s protecting you even in his sleep.
Is that really so much to ask for? Enji thinks not – besides, isn’t that the dream for you?
All you have to do is let him take care of you, to spoil you with flowers and chocolates and jewelry and all sorts of things that make women swoon. You’ll be spoiled rotten, treated like a goddess, and all you have to do is let Enji make all the decisions for you, to let him take control of your life and your future – it’s better this way, he promises.
This way, you’ll be properly cared for, kept safe and secure and comfortable by his side. You may not see it yet, but Enji is sure this is really what you want – you’ll come around eventually, he’s sure of it.
And if you don’t? Well, at least he’s not a monster, right?
you're the reason (i got a weakness) | miya atsumu
wc: 2.9k
summary: it’s not that atsumu doesn't like you dressing up like this—in fact, he loves it. just not when you're fighting. not when he can't even call you "baby".
contains: post-timeskip atsumu, arguments and atsumu feeling really sorry, flashbacks, uses the nickname “baby” & “my love”, reader is described as “pretty” and wears heels, hurt/comfort.
a/n: atsumu isn’t a sucky boyfriend he just gets carried away sometimes. song inspo: can you blame me? - kehlani, lucky daye.
part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: making yourself look good to feel good (your partner has something to say to you)
sponsored by @itskilau and @tasoyoru for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!
“Bab—”
Atsumu lingers by your bathroom door, eyes drooping lower and sadder than they ever have. The steam makes the bleached strands of his hair cling to his forehead, his thick eyebrows now damp and flattened.
You sigh, the big, heavy, and deep kind, shoulders dropping as you clasp the lock of your necklace.
He stares.
That’s his job. You always ask him to do it the moment you step out of the shower.
His lip trembles, eyes watery.
“Not now, Atsumu.”
You walk past him as you adjust the towel around your chest, your arm brushing against his. It’s a small thing, a sensation ingrained so deeply into the past two years you’ve been together, but he feels it like it’s the first time you ever touched him—and in a way, it is. Since yesterday, at least.
The silence that trails after you is so deafeningly still, he thinks he can hear his heart breaking.
“Atsumu,” your voice rings.
Who the hell is “Atsumu”?
He’s not supposed to be “Atsumu” to you. He’s “Tsum.” He’s “baby.” He’s “my love.”
Anything but “Atsumu.”
When you close the door of your walk-in closet to change, the metaphorical volleyball of hope floating right into the palm of his hand misses and drops straight to the floor.
It started with volleyball, as all things with Atsumu do.
You’d met him at the rise of his career, just a few years of him being pro. You were friends first, but if you ask anyone around Atsumu, they’d tell you you were never just a friend to him; he’d invited you to all his games and practice matches, spent a bit more time in the locker rooms before going out for dinner with you and the rest of the team.
Osamu has the receipts of all the extra orders of onigiri Atsumu started adding to his regular weekly subscription since meeting you.
Your first ‘date’ was Atsumu treading the very fine line between teaching you how to play volleyball and teaching himself self-control. Keeping an eye on the ball is hard enough, what more when he has to resist staring at you in very cute volleyball shorts too?
As MSBY’s success skyrocketed, so did Atsumu’s—brand deals left and right, solo work trips during off seasons, commercials; the whole thing. When Atsumu wasn’t training, he was either traveling or attending events and photoshoots. Always on-the-go. Moving.
And he knew you understood, knew you knew him and his tendencies to overwork; knew him, and his habit of getting stuck inside his own world. You’d driven to late practices with bento boxes to share, and you’d packed his gym bag more than a few times, brought in extra clothes without him having to say a word.
You’ve managed his lifestyle better than anyone could.
But, Atsumu has a bad habit of promising more than he should, of serving white lies just as easily as he does volleyballs behind the service line.
“Won’t take long, baby. Swear it,” he holds on to the wall by your door, slipping his feet inside his dress shoes. “Pick ya up at 6:00?”
He’d winked at you then, kissed you between your eyebrows and nose before sneaking one more right at that spot underneath your ear.
What he’d give to be able to do that right now.
“Okay,” you giggle, swatting his chest as you nod, “better hurry then, you might be late.”
When Atsumu remembers that moment, the way you’d agreed so doubtlessly, he hates himself even more. You trusted him, have trusted him so wholeheartedly this entire time, so maybe you’re right—
“Would it hurt for you to just be honest?”
—Atsumu has no excuse standing you up on the date he promised you weeks ago all because he lost track of time in some brand event, listening to a potential collaboration on volleyball shoes. Atsumu has no excuse agreeing to “some drinks” right after just to meet the executives of the company.
There are meetings for those things, ones that can be scheduled and agreed upon. Ones that don’t compromise or add on to the already long list of missed dates with you.
“I know you’re busy and I understand,” you sigh, turning the knob of the kitchen stove as you heat up the kettle, “you know I do.”
He stands before you a quarter past 11:00 p.m., cologne long faded and the smell of alcohol spilled on his sleeve. The kitchen island stands like a net on the court, the ball being sent over to his side.
“Baby, I—”
He passes it back.
You turn from the stove, face fresh and hair tied into a messy low bun as you look at him—how could he have ever stood this–you–up?
You take the ball, “Can I finish what I have to say first?”
He nods. The kettle begins whizzing.
“I’m happy and so, so proud that you have all these opportunities,” you reach for the cupboard above head to grab a mug. The box of tea bags sits to your right, a mix of Lemon Balm and Chamomile that Atsumu swears keeps his anxieties at bay during the night. “But at least tell me if you can’t make it.”
You tear open a tea packet, dangling it inside the mug. The kettle whistles, and he feels the onset of a spike.
“Please don’t keep my hopes up every time.”
You turn back towards the stove, turning the burner off as you pour in the steaming water inside the mug.
“Baby, I swear, they just–they started talkin’ ‘bout these shoes, ‘n I thought t’was cool, ‘n the execs–they said the execs’d be there in the afterparty, and—” he breathes, “won’t happen next time, baby. ‘M so—”
“Can I really believe you next time?”
You approach the kitchen island slowly, holding the piping hot mug carefully as you set it down in front of him.
Atsumu stood you up on your date, and you still made him tea.
You hold his stare for a brief moment before you walk away, sadness and disappointment all-in-one.
It is now that Atsumu knows, he’s fucked up.
The ball lands on his side of the court.
And so, he’s spent this entire day trying to make it up to you—breakfast in the morning, right before training (which he absolutely tanked because all he could think about was how sad you looked the night before); flowers that he brought home after lunch time, just to find the apartment empty. It’s only after a full text thread and three missed calls to your phone that he finally gets a response.
“Nail appointment. Going out tonight,” is your reply (using speech-to-text too, he suspects, with how formal it sounds).
Which is fine and dandy to him; you should do everything that makes you feel better after he practically took you for granted. It’s just—he hasn’t even said sorry yet, can’t even call you “baby”, can’t even touch you even though he really, really, really wants to.
And now, with you closing the door on him while you’re changing—there’s nothing else he can do, really, but to walk away and give you some space.
He shifts his feet, dragging them lightly against the wooden floors of your bedroom.
The moment he hears the door of your walk-in closet slide open, he hurriedly sits down on the edge of your bed, acting as if he wasn’t just anxiously pacing, waiting for you to come out.
He feels like shit, if he’s being honest—like how he does when he misses a serve; if not, worse.
You look good. Make-up done to only emphasize the features he loves (which is your entire face, really), and your outfit perfectly accentuating the dips and curves of your body.
He follows you as you exit the room, tailing after you like a lost puppy. When you stop by your entryway, all he can do is watch as you bend down to put on the straps of your heels. And it sucks, because if you weren’t fighting, Atsumu would be right by your feet, crouched low so that you wouldn’t have to.
It’s pathetic and a little helpless of him to just stand and stare in the middle of your living room. He should say something at least, but, you just look so good, and his throat feels dry; his heart all achy and stomach twisty.
He doesn’t want to be away from you.
And it’s not that he doesn’t like you going out looking like this—he loves it. But as soon as you step out the door with a soft “don’t wait up for me” mumbled from your glossed lips, Atsumu can only taste bitter regret at the fact that he wishes he were coming with you.
He couldn’t even give you a goodbye kiss.
The blond groans, pulling at his hair as he rests his elbows down on the kitchen counter.
“Don’t wait up for me,” you said. As if he can even sleep without you around.
.
.
.
The hours go by but they feel like days. Atsumu’s done every possible thing he can do in this apartment and it still hasn’t breached 11:00 p.m.. He’s cleaned down the kitchen (twice!) and arranged the food inside the fridge like those ‘stock up my fridge with me’ tiktoks he’s seen on Sakusa’s phone. The clothes on his side of the closet have been arranged by color and length, with all the ones in his dresser refolded, Marie Kondo style. He’s also pretty sure he’s scrubbed the bathroom down enough that you can probably see your reflection on the tiles of the damn thing. The laundry baskets for both your clothes are now empty, and he’s changed the bedsheets too and—
He’s still restless. The numbers on the clock taunt him, moving up agonizingly slowly. He can’t stop looking at the time, itching for you to come home.
Atsumu is sorry, so so so incredibly so, because you’re right―he hasn’t been fair to you at all, and he needs you to know that he knows it, too.
His eyes go over the clock again, only a minute having passed since the last time he checked it.
Is this how you felt? Every time you waited for him to come home for a date he promised you?
He squeezes his eyes; it hurts him just thinking about it.
That’s it, he decides, grabbing his phone and wallet as he walks out the door.
.
.
.
Atsumu doesn’t check your location often (maybe only a few times). It’s not a trust thing, he swears; it’s just for when he wants to make sure you’re somewhere safe, or in a place he can reach you should you need him there.
And, you clearly don’t need him right now, but, Atsumu is a little selfish, he admits.
Sitting at home with all his regret feels worse than seeking you out to beg for your forgiveness, whether you want him to or not.
He’s barely dressed for the venue as he steps inside the bar, a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt with those fashionable Birkenstock clogs on. A few people seem to recognize him, tilting their heads and murmuring among themselves as he walks through door, but none of them approach him, thankfully, except for a server asking if he needs assistance.
His eyes scan the tables first, searching for any semblance of the outfit he’d seen you leave in earlier. The dim lights make it increasingly difficult for him to look for your properly as he squints his eyes some more, narrowing his vision to the people at the front bar this time. It’s after the fourth person he dismisses that he feels himself getting desperate, nearly turning towards the server beside him to ask for help.
Until he spots you—tucked in the corner of the front bar, sitting on the barstool with your legs crossed as you swirl around your drink.
You look bored, and a little sad, chin resting in your hand as you lean your elbow on the table.
He frowns, thanking the server on the side as he makes his way to you slowly. You barely notice him as you bring out your phone, tapping on the screen as you stare at it almost longingly―a photo of you and him some time ago after one of his games. He knows it well, can still remember that day so clearly: when he became a PR nightmare because he couldn’t help but announce your relationship by kissing you in front of everybody.
It makes his chest hurt.
Then, you swipe it open, and he’s close enough now to be able to catch a glimpse of what’s on your screen: your text thread with him, his last message being, “Did you make it safely?”
(You pout, eyes pricking with tears. You didn’t reply to him then because you weren’t ready to fully talk to him yet, still upset and disappointed.
It was easy to make yourself feel better by dressing up and stepping out of the apartment earlier, the promise of good drinks and good company awaiting your arrival; you couldn’t think about how you felt if you were busying yourself with others. But now that all of those feelings have died down and most of your friends have started chatting up other people they’ve found, it’s beginning to hit you all at once just how much you still prefer Atsumu’s company more than anything else.
Your fingers hover over your text box, typing and deleting. Typing and deleting.)
He’s two stools away from you now, and he can barely contain it―
“Baby,” his voice trembles, unsteady.
Recognition fills you as you turn to the sound, half-confused at whether you’re hearing things; whether―
(“Tsum,” you mutter, eyes catching a pair of familiar warm brown staring back at you. His bottom lip quivers, the embodiment of a dam starting to crack, vibrating.
Your emotions are a mess, your breath on hold as you feel tears welling up in your lashline too. You still feel upset, still a little sad, and a tiny bit disappointed, but what coats them all is a sense of relief because—)
―he’s here, standing in front of you like he just rolled out of the house with barely enough time to get dressed (which, you’re sure is exactly how things went), and you’re sliding off the bar stool in the prettiest outfit, looking like the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
“‘M so sorry,” he breathes out, stepping closer as he grabs your hand, “Don’t ever wanna make y’feel like that again.” His knee gives way as he starts sinking to the floor, “I won’t do that anymore―”
“Tsum,” you try to call his attention.
He’ll beg for your forgiveness whether you like it or not.
(The interaction is causing nearby tables to look, murmurs and whispers in your periphery as you catch vague sentences here and there. He still is a public figure, after all.)
But Atsumu is unaware, looking at you and you alone as he pleads, “No, please hear me out first. I promise I’ll tell ‘em they can speak ‘ta―”
“Tsum,” you squeeze his hand, whispering more firmly as you try to pull him up.
“Baby, please. Gimme the chance ‘ta show ya that I―”
(You look around and notice even more eyes on the two of you, fond looks on their faces as they prepare their phones for what seems like something momentous. Then it hits you, how this looks―)
“Tsum, please stand up,” you tug at his hand strongly, urging him to stand. His eyebrows furrow as he obliges, only comprehending why when you explain it to him softly, “people were starting to think you were about to propose.”
He pauses for a moment, a slight, “Oh,” as he ponders on it. “Well, if that’s what’ll prove it t’ya, then—”
You roll your eyes, the corners of your lips curling slightly as you hit his shin with your foot and squeeze his hand again, “Don’t joke about things like that.”
Well, it’s not the first time it’s crossed his mind, if he’s being honest.
He sighs, sitting on the stool beside you as he rubs his thumb over your hand again, bringing it close to his lips to kiss softly.
“‘M really sorry, baby,” he mumbles against your skin before moving your hand over his heart. “Don’t ever want ya feelin’ like this again.”
“I know,” you give him a small smile, patting down some of the strands of his hair that stick out, “you didn’t have to come out here though, you know. I was about to go home soon, anyway.”
“Can ya blame me? Seein’ ya off like that?” he grips your hand tighter as his voice softens. “Y’re too pretty to be sad,” he plays with your fingers, intertwining them with his.
You hit his shin again, feeling shy. You always do when Atsumu likes to sweet-talk you.
“Do ya forgive me?” he asks after some time, as you take the last few sips of your drink.
You hum, looking him in the eyes as you nod, pouting, “I don’t like being mad at you, you know.” He lights up, beaming, but you add on, “We still have to talk about it properly, though. Later, when we get back.”
He nods in agreement, holding your hand as you slide off the barstool, guiding you out of the bar and into the car.
.
.
.
(You both do talk about it properly, and the next time Atsumu promises you a date, he blocks it out of all of his calendars, sending the date to his manager even, just to be extra sure.)
a/n: this has been such a long time coming, i'm sorry to those who waited! i hope you enjoyed even though this simmered with me for way too long 😭 i love writing atsumu a little lovesick but i also think he deserves someone who is equally as in deep as he is 🥺
thank you notes: to 🍧 anon for helping me figure out "what would make you mad at atsumu?" and to @ceroseis and @mieiri for always listening to my shenanigans pre-writing!
comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
Lover
Simon Riley x Wife!Reader
I cannot stop thinking about Ghost and being a cute domestic wife for him
Tw: Intense gender roles, kinda stalker Simon, smut if you squint
(Note: I am not a tradwife nor do I condone forcing gender roles and societal pressures onto anyone, I just wanna be a cutesy wife for Simon Riley)
Simon prefers you call him Simon over Ghost. He thinks that since he's literally married to you, there's no reason for you to call him by his call sign. Calling him Simon is much more intimate for him and he likes separating you from everything he endures as Ghost. He just wants to be your Simon.
He knows he's gone for long periods of time. Time you spend not talking to him or doing couple things. He makes up for it, though, by doing anything you want when he's at home. If you're tired of planning, he's got you. Simon has a whole list of random things to suggest when you just want to be taken care of without worry.
He LOVES spoiling you. In his line of work, he gets down and dirty. He loves knowing you don't have to do anything of the sort (unless you want to). He pays for your nails to keep them pretty, unlike his dirty, battered ones. He will get you monthly subscriptions to whatever you want, beauty boxes, gaming passes, entertainment, etc. All luxuries he can't experience while at work. Simon knowing you're the opposite of him, clean, spoiled, safe, is enough to keep him working forever. Giving you everything he can't have. His love isn't all monetary, but a lot of it is when he's away.
Simon loves watching you. He gets major anxiety about you when he's away. To help with this, he installed security cameras in and around the house. When he gets the luxury of a WiFi signal, he'll check in on you. If you happen to see a little green light flash on while eating, relaxing, cooking, or any other mundane task, you'll offer him a smile and a wave. Sometimes you'll blow him a kiss (or give him a private show).
We all know Simon is physically fit, but that doesn't mean he has any type of expectation for you. He loves whatever you have to offer him, as long as you're in good mental and physical health (remember, being physically healthy comes in different shapes and sizes!) Simon is completely enamored with you. He believes he was blessed to be the only man on earth to be married to a real goddess. He would build a statue of you by hand (if he wasn't so bad at any type of art). If you want to go to the gym, he'll buy you the best membership he can. If you don't, he'll buy you something else that occupies your time.
Simon loves feeding into your hobbies, whatever they may be. Coming home and seeing something new you created or hearing about something you've learned makes his day 10x brighter.
You love cooking for him. It took a lot to break down his walls and food is one of them. He appreciates the time and effort it takes to plan and execute a meal as well as the skill needed to cook as well as you do. The best brands and foods for his wife only! Nothing makes him feel more full of you and your love than when he's eating something you've made for him, other than when he praises you and you get a little twinkle in your eyes and a smile on your face.
You also happen to love keeping the house nice for him. You clean fairly often, though it's not hard to keep up after one person (and any pets you may have). You like knowing he's trusted you with one of his largest assets, his home. It gives you a sense of power knowing you're the only person who controls what kind of house he comes home to. Messy, clean, minimal, tacky, bright, dark, etc. Simon appreciates anything and everything you do for the house. Knowing you've gotten everything taken care of and decorated in a way you both like is like heaven to him and lifts a huge weight off his shoulders. He loves smelling a clean house after smelling nothing but dirt, blood, gun powder, and stinky men for days. (He couldn't care less if the house was a cardboard box, as long as you were there and you still loved him.)
If you want to work, go to school, learn a trade, or be a stay at home, he supports you. You don't even have to explain yourself to him, Simon trusts you so much that even if you were to say "I don't know" he would hear trumpets because an angel just spoke to him.
Nsfw: Despite what people may think, Simon typically isn't a dom. He spend a majority of his time directing people and being an authoritative figure at work. That isn't even mentioning how tolling it can be knowing you took a life and the physical exhaustion his work takes. He likes being taken care of, however you see fit. Sometimes he'll be a dom, but only if he's been away from work and needs to let off some steam.
The sweetest ever. Cuddles, words of affirmation, snacks, whatever you need. He feels as though his sole purpose since he met you is to make you feel like nothing less than a deity. Sometimes he'll get insecure over his ability to take care of you or not being around, but one kiss from you, perfect you, and the perfect life you maintain for you both and it fades away.
Overall, Simon Riley is the hottest, most doting husband to exist, ever.
Title: Going Live.
Pairing: Yandere!Nanami x Reader (JJK)
Word Count: 7.6k.
TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Camgirl!Reader, Kidnapping, Physical Intimidation, Long-Term Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Delusional Behavior, Slight Exhibitionism, and Panic Attacks + Disassociation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
You were a lot of things to Nanami Kento – his world, his light, his love – but above all else, you were the reason he looked forward to getting home.
Calling it ‘infatuation’ would’ve been a disservice to the depth of his feelings for you. It’d been love at first sight; instant and wholehearted, a shackle snapped shut around his neck that he had no will or desire to escape. His eyes were on his watch as soon as he crossed the threshold, his coat shrugged off and abandoned along with his tie in the doorway. He didn’t bother turning on lights or taking off his shoes, doing anything to make his empty apartment seem more lived-in, his focus solely dedicated to reaching his home office with as few disruptions as was possible, with Gojo and the higher-ups still attempting to contact him about the curse he’d finished exorcising less than an hour prior. They could wait. You wouldn’t.
He was smiling by the time he collapsed into the leather-cushioned chair, his laptop still on his desk from the night before – the last time he got to see you. The motions were automatic, practiced to the point of reflexivity. One hand glided over the keyboard while the other found his phone, silencing it in the same motion as he tossed it haphazardly onto the desk, out of his view. He checked his watch one more time; 6:59. Good. He was early.
His grin brightened, as did his laptop. Your stream flickered to life a second later and with it, your smiling face. The relief was instant, pure warmth accompanying it. The bittersweet tinge – as subtle as it was prodding – came only a moment later, but Nanami did his best to ignore it.
You were the sole reason Nanami Kento looked forward to getting home. The center of his world, the sole light in his otherwise bleak life. The person he loved more than anything, more than everything.
It was only a shame, then, that you had no idea he existed.
One of his favorite things about you had always been your meticulousness. For tonight’s show, you were splayed out across the foot of a queen-sized bed, surrounded by pastel pink satin sheets and a fleece comforter of the same shade, a matching dormant hitachi vibrator (Nanami’s favorite and, guessing from how often it made an appearance in your shows, yours too) nestled between your thighs. Your outfit was aesthetically pleasing – a set of lacey, baby blue lingerie with white, knee socks – but paired with your set up, casual enough to give the impression that you hadn’t realized the camera you were posing in front of was actually on, as if you weren’t entirely prepared to be seen by a thousand or so strangers just yet. The fact that you didn’t start talking right away, only humming as you idly toyed with your hair, only added to the nonchalance of it all. You would make a good actress, if you ever decided to pursue something more, for lack of a more applicable phrase, legitimate.
Nanami’s attention drifted from you to your chat, slowly starting to fill with impatient viewers. Despite himself, he felt his absentminded smile waver, an irk of irritation momentarily tainting his bliss. He knew you weren’t entirely real, that he didn’t have any right to be possessive over a performer, but he loved you. It would’ve been difficult for anyone to watch someone they loved be exposed to so many prying eyes.
user34333: fuck she’s hot
hotbox420: looking good y/n!!!
lostandconfused: why does she still have her clothes on?
The only silver lining was how oblivious you seemed to it. Another minute passed before you straightened, yawning slightly as you pushed yourself up, legs hanging over the foot of your bed. “Welcome home,” you started, with a quick stretch and a playful wave towards the camera. “Everyone’s already put the kids to bed, right? I’ve got a very special surprise I want to bring out a little later, so nobody’s allowed to leave early.”
Your tone was light, melodic, saccharine. Already, Nanami could feel his cock beginning to harden against his thigh, straining at the material of his pants. You were always mobile during your shows, prone to flitting from one position to another, but tonight, you almost seemed antsy as you pulled your legs back onto the mattress, tucking your knees underneath you and bowing your head, your neutral smile taking on a shy undertone. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” you admitted, speaking quickly enough for the words to blend together. Then, with more composure, “Who wants to get us started?”
Nanami’s hand was already on his keyboard, waiting for your cue. Somehow, he was still too late.
blueeyeswhitedragon sent 150 credits!
blueeyeswhitedragon: Bra first, pretty please.
You giggled as you raised your hands, leaning forward to give the camera a better view of your chest as you undid the clasp at the nape of your neck. Nanami’s breath hitched as the thin fabric fell away, revealing the soft curves of your breasts and your pretty, perfect nipples – already hard, already enough to make saliva pool underneath his tongue. The lower clasp was next, undone with more effort and more bouncing than what seemed absolutely necessary, but Nanami couldn’t complain, not when he was struggling to undo the fly of his dress pants without ever looking away from you. There was another giggle as the article fell away entirely, then a third as you cupped your chest with both hands, groping gently. “I used to be so shy about taking my top off on camera…” You trailed off, batting your eyes. “But, you guys think I’m pretty, right?”
Your requested affirmations flooded the chat in an instant. Nanami grinned, slumping back in his chair. He could compliment any part of you earnestly, but aside from donations, he rarely let himself participate in your chat. Speaking to you so openly, being one of a dozen people whose username you’d glance over in a second – that wasn’t what he wanted. Anonymous adoration wasn’t the shape his affection took.
Eventually, you collapsed back onto your bed. “Okay, okay, that’s enough,” you went on, as Nanami wrapped a fist around the base of his cock. “What next?”
There was another offer – 300 credits for your panties, 400 if you took them off with your back to the camera. You obliged, bent at the waist, inching the silken fabric down your thighs at an almost sadistic pace. After you finished, you seemed ready to move onto the main show, but another donation cropped up in your chat.
user34232 sent 75 credits!
user34232: for the socks pls
That, as far as Nanami could tell, seemed to catch you genuinely off-guard. He could see you blushing as you leaned towards the camera – or, he supposed, the laptop you had positioned underneath it, as if you’d misread something. “…my socks?”
Nanami stifled a grown, tightening his hold. With his free hand, he reached for the keyboard,
n. kento sent 200 credits!
n. kento: Don’t take them off.
You played your part perfectly, sighing as you let your head lull to the side. All it took was you batting your eye lashes while letting out the sweetest murmur of “Well, I don’t know if that’s fair, but…” for your chat to dissolve into a bidding war, donations ranging from five credits to five hundred. If you were making any earnest attempt to keep track of which side was winning, you clearly had no motivation to call it too early on – pulling your legs onto your bed and kicking your feet out playfully towards the camera. “Some of you guys ask for such weird stuff,” you went on, rolling your left ankle. “If someone doesn’t tell me what to do soon, I think I’m just going to have to change into another outfit.”
Nanami let out a breath of a chuckle, only half aware he was typing.
n. kento sent 1,750 credits!
n. kento: You look beautiful. Keep them on.
You laughed, and this time, Nanami chose to believe it was sincere. “I get it! We’ll move on.” You were already leaning back, rolling onto your stomach, giving your viewers a perfect view of your ass as you reached for something off-screen. “Normally I’d ask for a suggestion,” you said, as you brought what you’d retrieved back into frame – a pale pink rabbit vibrator, the penetrative half of the forked wand ribbed. “But I have something I’m kind of looking forward to. I promise, I’ll try to get past the boring stuff quickly.”
You thought too little of yourself. Arousal drooled from Nanami’s flushed tip as you positioned yourself on the edge of the mattress, legs spread wide and slick, glistening pussy fully on display. You were already wet, but he knew you would be. It was something you joked about often – how sensitive you were, how something as minor as a wet dream would have you soaking through your panties. Normally, he would’ve figured you were just playing it up for the sake of your viewers, but it was hard to deny the evidence in front of him.
A whimper slipped past your parted lips as you eased the head of the toy past your entrance, stretching yourself out on its bulbed tip. Now, now, he started to move his hand, pumping his fist over the length of his shaft in short, slow strokes, matching your tempo as you rocked your toy into your pussy. A dull hum fills the room as your thumb finds the switch built into the handle’s underside, and your expression immediately goes from dazed to pained, your tongue peaking out from between your lips and your eyes fluttering shut as your hips bucked against the vibrator. “It—It feels—” Your thighs threaten to twitch shut, but you hold them open, determined to give your audience the best possible view of your pussy clenching around your toy. “I really—I wanna get some bondage gear soon, so that I can—”
Whatever you might’ve said was replaced by a bubbling moan, and just like that, Nanami was fucking his fist without restraint. He knew how pathetic it was, but it would’ve been impossible not to imagine it was his cock sinking into your dripping cunt rather than an inanimate toy, not to wish it was your pussy clamping down around his length rather than his own fist. He wondered what you smelled like, if you wore perfume, what it would be like to have his face buried between your thighs. He was aware, vaguely, that your chat was the most active it’d been all night, people trying to catch your attention with donations and tips and compliments, but they didn’t matter. They weren’t watching you, not really, not the same way Nanami was. He knew you, well enough to know that you couldn’t think once something had been stuffed inside of your cunt. He loved you, enough to wish he was the one making your mind go so euphorically blank.
There was more moaning, more failed attempts to speak, but you didn’t let yourself cum. You were visibly trembling by the time you switched the toy off, and it took agonizing seconds to ease the wand out of your disappointed pussy – seconds Nanami watched with rapt devotion. More out of sympathy than anything else, he lets go of his cock entirely, gritting his teeth and attempting to ignore the pulsing ache forming in the pit of his stomach. What was next was better. What was next was worth waiting for.
You took a few panting breaths, your voice still airy by the time you managed to speak. “I have a—” You paused, grinned. Nanami smiled too. “I have a surprise for all of you, tonight. I think I mentioned that already, but— oh, right.” You perked up, playing excited. “We have to move to the floor, for this next part.”
You slipped off-screen, and a second later, the camera shifted to follow you – falling onto a corner of your room less staged than your bed, but just as pristine. Abstract, pastel tapestries obscured the walls, but the dark floorboards were left bare. On one side, most of a dog kennel was visible, decorated with string lights and clearly meant for one of your more niche shows, and on the other, he could make out the bottom corner of a poster – not for anything kinky, or sensual, or in any way suggestive, but an underground band, a local band. You probably hadn’t realized it was in the shot, let alone meant for it to be. You were usually more careful about giving away anything even remotely personal, but Nanami couldn’t be mad.
After all, it’d been that poster that’d let him find you.
He could still remember the first time he ever saw you – actually saw you, not through a screen, but in person. After he knew that you lived in the same city as him (the same district, even), it’d only taken a few more days to find your name, your age, your address. Still, he put off visiting you for weeks, telling himself that it didn’t matter, that you wouldn’t recognize him, that you wouldn’t want to see him. And, in the end, you hadn’t seen him at all – you hadn’t needed to.
That night, he’d watched your show from the rooftop of the building opposite of yours, straining to see you through a bedroom window left carelessly open. Even now, the guilt was almost tangibly agonizing, the shame practically unbearable.
Almost as unbearable as the temptation to go back.
But, that part would come soon enough. You were on screen, again, holding something he recognized.
“I have some exciting news,” you chirped, as you kneeled on the floor, holding a pitch-black dildo, a suction cup attached to the base. Despite its color, Nanami could make out defined veins running down the silicone shaft, a noticeable girth to the base. A perfect mirror of the cock currently pulsing for attention in his lap.
He felt himself grinning, as you went on. “I got my first real fan gift!” You held up the toy to your cheek, like a child showing off their first stuffed animal, before planting it on the floor between your thighs. “It’s so big, too,” you said, showing off its size, where the blunt tip rested well above your navel. “Everyone say thank you, Daddy Kento!”
Your chat was instantly flooded with predictable responses, but Nanami couldn’t look away from you. You were enjoying yourself, clearly. You must’ve thought you were so smart, renting out a P. O. box, going on and on about how grateful you were to your dedicated fans when he reached out to ask if you accepted physical donations, and you were smart. It was only a shame that Nanami loved you enough to look past all of your attempts to keep him away.
As you began to move onto your knees, he allowed himself one more intervention.
n. kento sent 3,000 credits!
n. kento: Take it to the hilt.
It was cruder than he usually cared to be, but as your eyes flickered towards your monitor, your lips quirked into a slight smile. You didn’t respond verbally, but you nodded, and sunk down onto his cock.
Immediately, his hand wasn’t enough, but he tried to make do – matching your agonizingly slow pace, imagining what it would feel like to have you lower yourself down onto his real cock, rather than a cheap imitation. Trails of iridescent slick dripped down the dark silicone, your camera positioned strategically to catch every bounce of your breasts as your breathing hitched, to provide the optimal view of your pussy stretching around the tip, then the head, then the shaft as you lowered yourself slowly. “It—It’s so big,” you repeated, bringing a hand up to your stomach while the other remained on the floor, keeping you stable. “I mean, I knew it would be, but—fuck—” Another inch, Nanami’s fist moving over the same part of his cock. You let out an airy laugh. “Just be thankful I’m so tough.”
“I am,” Nanami muttered, his voice echoing off the bare walls of his office. “You’re perfect.”
“I really wanna cum on this one, too – to, like, christen it, or something. Been keeping myself pent up all day for it.” With a pitchy keen, you brought yourself a few inches higher, then dropped. Your free hand shot away from your stomach and back to the floor as you continued to bounce on the toy’s length, getting just a little deeper each time. “Welcome it to family, y’know? Maybe make it a regular, for you sadists out there.”
Nanami stiffened at the thought of you fucking yourself on a replica of his cock in front of thousands of people twice a week; drooling and panting as you told your viewers how big he was, how good he felt inside of you. With his restraint brought to its limits, he fucked his fist carelessly, his attention fixed on the steady movements of your hips as you rode his toy. Your eyes didn’t flutter closed, this time – they clenched shut, and you couldn’t seem to keep your voice under control, little mewls and half-conscious whines bubbling up from your chest as you struggled to take that much more of him with every thrust. When you did manage to speak, your voice was uneven, whiney, so sweet it made him want to dig his teeth into something and tear. “I’m so close,” and then, as you brought yourself back down, so close to bottoming out, “I wanna cum!”
“You will,” Nanami whispered. He knew you couldn’t hear him, but it was true – you would, and if he’d been able to, he would’ve made you. He would’ve let you fuck yourself on his cock whenever you asked, would’ve woken you up every morning coming undone on his tongue and made sure you fell asleep with his cock buried inside of you. If you were with him, you’d never have to think again, never have to feel anything but pleasure – any time you wanted it, every time you wanted it. He’d make sure—
You didn’t moan as you reached the toy’s base, you screamed. One of your hands moved to the space between your thighs, two fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit as you nursed yourself through your orgasm. Nanami didn’t stand a chance, still chasing his fantasies as he spilled over his hand; searing hot cum pooling on his lap, soaking into the material of his shirt, spilling onto his desk. He didn’t stop moving his hand, though, not until you went limp – bending at the waist, bracing yourself on the floor. Finally, you managed to raise your head, flashing that brilliant smile towards the camera. Of course, Nanami smiled back.
In a daze, he watched you ease yourself off of the toy and wrap up your stream, so familiar from your script that he would’ve been able to recite it with confidence. Even after you signed off, the screen going black, he didn’t move, only letting his head roll to the side with a shallow sigh.
It was pathetic, just how much he loved you. It was painful, being so far from someone who made him feel so irrationally happy.
He could only count the days until he wouldn’t have to limit himself to only watching from a distance any longer.
~
There was a man in your apartment.
A man you didn’t want to be in your apartment, just to be clear. You’d heard the front door open, seen a bulky silhouette moving through your living room, and now, you were listening to him riffle through your bedroom as you hid in the en suite bathroom – crouched in the smallest corner you could find with both hands locked over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound of your own breathing. The door was locked, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t want to find out how much a thin sheet of wood would do to protect you. You didn’t want to give him a reason to acknowledge you at all.
As far as you could tell, there was only one intruder. You could only hear one pair of muffled footsteps, with second-long gaps between every little movement. The air caught in your throat as you heard him edge closer, closer, then pause. There was a dull clack, the sound of metal clashing against plastic, and you relaxed, sighing into your palms. Your filming equipment. It was expensive, but nothing you couldn’t replace. If you were lucky, he’d take what he could carry and leave.
And that was what he seemed to be doing, too – more rustling interrupted every so often by a few moments of heart-wrenching silence. Soon enough, you heard the intruder start to move again, his footsteps edging closer to the bathroom door as he moved to leave your bedroom entirely, and—
“(Y/n)?”
Fuck.
You didn’t say anything, holding your breath and digging your nails into your cheeks, willing yourself not to move, not to think. You didn’t make a sound, you couldn’t have, and yet he kept talking.
“I know you’re in there. Please, come out.”
He couldn’t know. He couldn’t know. You’d kept the lights off, and you hadn’t moved in minutes, and—
He tried the knob, and something cracked deep inside of your chest. There was an airy sigh, then a dull thud, like he was leaning against the door frame. “Please,” he repeated, sounding more exasperated than angry. “I don’t want to scare you.”
“Y-you can take whatever you want,” you stuttered, your voice unsteady, just a touch louder than it really had to be. That was fine. You didn’t have to pretend to be brave, so long as you made it out of this alive and uninjured. “I won’t call the police – I can’t call the police, I left my phone in the kitchen. You can take it, too. I… I don’t have a lot of cash, but my camera, it should be worth—”
“I don’t want your camera, love.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he sounded wistful. “Come out, or I’ll break down the door.”
Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to you that he could.
It took a second to pry your hands off of your face, and another to push yourself to your feet – your legs shaking as you struggled to stand. Almost mechanically, you moved towards the door; unlocking it in the same motion as you pulled it open. Light from your bedroom spilled into the entryway, revealing—
God.
He was taller than you’d expected him to be.
Six feet at least, with a build to match. The sleeves of his dress-shirt were rolled up to his elbow, showing off arms so muscular, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d planned to tear your door off its hinges with his bare hands. He had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, visibly full, but you could still see your equipment standing untouched behind him, and you couldn’t imagine anything else he would’ve wanted to take. His blonde hair was swept back, out of his eyes, and he was holding a butcher’s knife in his right hand, the blade wrapped in leopard-spotted fabric. Surprisingly, though, his weapon wasn’t what concerned you the most.
He was smiling. No, actually, that wasn’t right.
He was beaming.
“(Y/n),” he said, again. You didn’t let yourself wonder why he knew your name. “I—I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself earlier. I might’ve gotten a little carried away – I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
“…it’s okay,” you managed, your voice barely audible. “Are you going to kill me?”
His expression dropped. “No. Of course not.” And then, after a brief lapse, “I’d never hurt you. I…” You saw his right hand flex around the grip of his knife, and thought you might black out. “I’m a fan.”
Instantly, you felt the blood freeze in your veins.
Fuck. Fuck.
You knew you should’ve gone into accounting.
“I… You’re a fan?” You tried to smile, but it might’ve come across more pained than relieved. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to meeting people who’ve caught my stream. Should I know what to call you?”
And just like that, his grin was back, any momentary tension assayed. You wished he would’ve put down the knife, too, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Kento,” he said, and for the first time, you noticed the pink hue creeping over his cheeks. “Nanami Kento.”
You grit your teeth as you struggled to place him. After a second, it came to you.
Kento. Right. The dildo guy.
Somehow, knowledge provided little comfort. Still, you soldiered on. “It’s really nice to meet you, Nanami.” You clasped your hands behind your back, rocking gently on your heels. “I—I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting any guests. If you want to step out for a couple minutes, I can change into something more comfortable, and show you how appreciative I am for your—”
“I’m not an idiot.” He cut you off, still grinning. “You’re coming with me.”
You didn’t let your smile waver, either. “And, if I didn’t want to go with you…?”
“I’m afraid this isn’t about what you want, anymore.”
You meant to say something – opened your mouth and everything – but nothing came out. Your heart tightened in your chest, a not inconsiderable portion of your mind screaming for you to run, run, run. And yet, when he took you by the wrist in a feather-light hold, leading you through your own apartment and out into the hall, it was all you could do to smile and follow after him.
~
The first thirty minutes of the car ride passed in silence. Nanami – because you couldn’t stand to keep thinking of him as ‘that guy who bought you a dildo shaped like his own dick and paid you thousands of dollars to ride it live on stream’ – kept his knife in his lap, his hand falling away from the wheel and onto its hilt whenever you so much as took a deep breath. Eventually, your eyes fell to the clock built into his dashboard, and you broke through your paralysis with a nervous laugh.
“It’s a little funny,” you started, for lack of anything else to do. “I’d actually normally be getting ready for my stream, around now.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him swallow, his jaw tensing. “I know.”
Great. Okay. Whatever. “I don’t mind, y’know,” you managed, before you could let yourself fully consider what you were going to say. “If it means we don’t have to go through with the whole kidnapping thing, I really wouldn’t mind sleeping with you – you can even take pictures, if you’d like that, or record, whichever you’d prefer.”
“That’s not what I—”
“I haven’t tried a lot of hardcore stuff, but I wouldn’t mind if that’s what you’re into. We don’t even have to go back to my apartment, you could just pull over, and—”
“That’s not what I’m interested in.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone left no room for protest. “I’m not going to… I’m not going to just fuck you once and leave you by the side of the road. I’m doing this for your sake.”
As if you’d willingly climbed into a maniac’s car. “I… I’m not following, Kento.”
“It’s for your own protection. Once I thought to look, it took me hours to find out everything about you.” He spared you a quick glance, that same uncanny smile. One of his hands left the wheel and, rather than moving to his knife, found your knee, squeezing gently. It took everything you had not to scream. “Imagine what someone could do with that kind of information. They could blackmail you, if they found your full name, or track you down if they pieced together your address. It’d be a miracle if they were only a stalker. It just wasn’t safe to let you keep going on that way.”
“Yeah,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. “They could even break into my apartment and abduct me at knifepoint.”
His gaze narrowed, but his smile only softened. Neither of you spoke for the rest of the journey.
After far too long and not nearly long enough, you reached your destination: a housing complex, leagues nicer (and more expensive) than your own rundown building. Calling them apartments would’ve been a disservice; they were more similar to free-standing condos, or miniature villas slotted just outside of the city’s more metropolitan districts. Without a word, you let him guide you into a relatively generic home, its only notable feature being the absolute lack of evidence of meaningful life within it. You wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a rental, leased exclusively to give him someplace to do… well, whatever he planned to do to you. It’d be more off-putting to know that someone actually lived someplace so vacant.
He led you through the empty halls and up a flight of stairs, keeping you in front of him and in his line of sight at all times. Finally, you reached the door he seemed to be looking for and, with a nod by way of instruction, let yourself inside.
Before you stood, puzzlingly, your own bedroom.
Or – the parts of it you could make out on camera, at least. The bed was the same size, the same model, made with the same sheets and littered with the same pillows, but the floor was covered in a harsh white carpeting, the surrounding walls soundproofed with suffocating black foam. Camera equipment identical to your own had been set-up at the foot of your bed, but an unfamiliar silver laptop replaced your own sticker-covered monstrosity. You didn’t see any chains, whips, or shock collars, which was good. You still didn’t know what the fuck was going on, which was bad.
Confused, you turned to Nanami as he crossed the threshold and rather conservatively, shut and locked the door. “There are clothes on the bed,” he explained, with a tone that made it difficult to tell whether or not he knew how weird this was. “A script, too. Memorize as much as you can.”
So he still expected you to stream. Or, that was what you hoped, at least – considering the only alternative was that he was planning to make an extremely elaborate snuff film. “I’m not used to using scripts.”
“You’ll manage.”
You didn’t bother trying to argue, only moving towards the bed and attempting to forget he was there entirely.
The ‘clothes’ he’d left for you turned out to be lingerie – the nice stuff, too, white and lacey and bridal with a babydoll cut. You glanced over his script (which, disturbingly, didn’t exactly not sound like you) as you got dressed and fixed your hair, doing the best you could without any of your usual supplies. You wouldn’t be able to reapply your make-up, but you’d put some on earlier, and—
You almost laughed at yourself, stifling a chuckle.
You’d been kidnapped, and you were worried about your make-up. If you got out of this alive, you swore, you’d never touch foundation or a ring light or a camera ever again.
He didn’t have to tell you when it was time – you would’ve known by instinct alone. With Namami watching from an armchair pushed against the opposite wall, you clambered onto the bed and took your usual position, kneeling in center frame. He’d never asked for your credentials, and yet, when you glanced towards the laptop positioned just underneath the main camera, you found that your own profile was already pulled up, a miniature timer in the corner of the screen counting down the seconds until you went live.
As it reached thirty seconds ‘till, it occurred to you that you were in a soundproof room alone with the man who’d kidnapped you and was currently holding you hostage, and that no one could’ve possibly known where you were or, more importantly, who you’d been taken by.
As it reached fifteen, you realized you were being held captive and being forced to wear bridal lingerie that your kidnapped must’ve picked out with the occasion in mind.
As it reached five, for the first time that day, you thought you might actually start to cry.
And, as it reached zero, you put on your biggest, brightest smile and hoped beyond hope that you’d stop thinking entirely, eventually.
“Welcome home!” Skipping over your normal grace period only felt right. You didn’t think you’d be able to survive sitting in silent, motionless suspension for another second, let alone a full minute. “Sorry if I seem a little nervous tonight – to tell the truth, I kind of am. I’ve got a major announcement, and I just can’t put it off any longer.”
Reflexively, your attention drifted first to your own feed – you looked perfect, as always – then to your chat, moving quickly despite your sudden start. You caught a few of the longer messages in your peripheral.
secretary.lover: Is it just me, or does she seem kind scared lmao?
blueeyeswhitedragon: yeahhh i thought her room looked kinda weird too lol
justheretowatch: fuck ur pretty
rapidfire: let me guess, another fake dick?
“I know I probably should’ve given you guys more of a warning,” you went on, fighting the temptation to break, to yell for them to call the police, to give up entirely and make a run for it. “But…”
You forced yourself to laugh, to beam, to clap your hands together in front of your chest like a schoolgirl – excited to tell her friends that she’d gone through with her first ever confession. “I’m getting married!”
You didn’t have a ring to show off, but you tried your best to preen regardless, to not let any amount of fear or discomfort or hesitation show on your shining expression. After a show delay, congratulations and well-wishes filled your chat (some genuine, others more reluctant), and you did your best to go on without letting the sizable knot slowly gaining mass in the back of your throat smother your voice entirely. “This is going to be my last stream – for a while, at least, until we get settled in. And…”
You tried to remember what’d been listed next in Nanami’s script, but your conscious mind was bogged down by a thick layer of buzzing static, your sense of improvisation dulled by a heavy dose of anxiety. Your eyes flickered to where Nanami was sitting behind your equipment, only to find that the chair he’d formerly occupied empty. You didn’t have time to panic before the edge of the mattress dipped under a new weight, and you remembered what you were supposed to say. “My husband actually wanted to cameo on my send-off show. I was a little hesitant—” Another dip in the mattress, this one much closer than the last. “—but he insisted. I thought you all deserved a chance to meet him, too.”
As soon as you finished, you felt a large hand on your shoulder, a sudden presence at your back. Your gaze fell back to your feed, your own image now accompanied by that of your captor – on his knees behind you, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip, the framing positioned so that his head was cut off just above the mouth. The lower half of his face was covered with a black surgical mask, and you had to stop yourself from frowning. You hadn’t expected him to be stupid enough to show his face on camera, but still.
Your heart dropped into your stomach as you felt his hand fall away from your shoulder, slipping underneath the lace camisole of your babydoll. You tried not to move, not to flinch, but you couldn’t stop yourself from jerking forward as you felt his hand slip under your bralette, the angular ridges of his knuckles visible through the thin silk. Despite everything he’d said about not hurting you, about doing this for your protection, he made no attempt to be gentle – the calloused pads of his fingers pressing into the curve of your breast with enough force to bruise. You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sincere reaction. If you wanted to go home, you had to put up with this. He’d never said anything about pretending to enjoy it.
(In the back of your mind, you knew he hadn’t said anything about letting you go home, either. Still, you didn’t let yourself dwell on such discontinuities).
You should’ve known better than to think he’d attempt to follow the normal flow of your stream, and yet, it still caught you off-guard when his unoccupied hand found its way to the waistband of your panties, then to your clothed sex. You weren’t overly sensitive, despite how you might’ve acted in front of your viewers, but you were still on edge, still panicked, and while the adrenaline being held at knifepoint might’ve sparked was beginning to fade, having your kidnapper grope you on camera was enough to bring on a fresh wave. Reflexively, you pressed your back into his broad chest as his thumb traced over the length of your slit, pausing only momentarily to press into your clit with a dull, oppressive sort of pressure, biting down on your bottom lips to stop anything vulnerable and pathetic from escaping. If Nanami was affected by your stoicism, it wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling the flimsy material to the side entirely and slipping two fingers into you, your now-slick cunt providing humiliatingly easy access. In the same motion, the heel of his palm pressed into your clit, the friction immediately too harsh, too much. It would’ve been too much if he wasn’t touching you at all. It would’ve been too much if he was still sitting alone in his dark, empty house – getting off to the idea of degrading someone he claimed to care about so publicly.
It didn’t help that you were wet. Not dripping, sure, but wet enough for there to be an audible, slick clicking-type noise as he pumped his digits into you, never taking the pressure off of your clit. You could feel his cock pressed into your ass, already hard, already too familiar not to be nauseating, but he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move past your exhibition; his pace measured and experimental, his fingers prone to spreading apart and curling inside of you. To distract yourself, you moved your attention back to your chat, trying to pick out the longer messages between donation notifications.
user84343: girl i call dibs when you’re done with him
hotbox420: no seriously y/n are you okay???
bunnygirl69: still can’t believe you’re leaving us for him </3 can’t say i don’t see why tho ToT
absolutely.soaked: Blink twice if you’re in danger lmaoooo
“G-guys, I’m totally—” Your breath hitched as he forced another finger into you, the stretch now a touch past ignorable. His other hand kneaded at your chest, blunt nails scraping against tender flesh, and momentarily, you wondered if it really would’ve been so bad to take your chances and let him kill you right away. “I’m totally fine, I’m just—” His nails bit into your skin by way of warning, and you allowed yourself a single, stilted moan. “I’m just so happy that I finally get to—to—”
You didn’t know what you were supposed to say, but it didn’t matter. Nanami’s hand dropped from your chest to your side, his arm locking over your midriff and hauling you that much closer. You couldn’t stop yourself this time – whimpering as the tempo of his fingers sped up, as tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes. You glanced around the bedroom, searching for anything familiar, anything you could use to stabilize yourself, anything that you could start to find comforting. Instead, your eyes landed on the duffle bag he’d carried out of your apartment, the zipper now partially undone. You couldn’t see much, but you could make out the handle of a pink hitachi. It wasn’t difficult to guess what the rest of the bag’s contents looked like, what he’d spent so long riffling through your possessions to find.
It wouldn’t been pointless to try and hold back the crooked, ebbing sob that leaked past your lips. This time, when you turned to face your camera, it was with tears just beginning to spill and absolute terror written across your expression. “Call the police,” you managed to spit out, making no attempt to be subtle. “I—I don’t actually know this man, and this isn’t my apartment, and—“
It happened too quickly – like he’d been expecting you to do something so obviously short-sighted. You processed that he was pulling out of your cunt as you felt his fingers entangle themselves in your hair, and then your face was being shoved against the mattress, your body folding over itself as he forced you down. You tried to yell, tried to scream, but your voice was muffled by your own fucking comforter as you heard fabric shifting behind you, as you felt something warm and stiff and leaking align with your entrance. You refused to put a name to it, but that didn’t help. Nothing would’ve helped.
His palm pressed into the back of your head, his body slotting against yours as he leaned down, lowering his head so that he could speak directly into your ear. “I’m doing this for your own good,” he whispered, his voice muffled but still painfully audible. “I’m doing this because I love you.”
You didn’t have a chance to response. He was already inside of you – his cock filling you to your breaking point.
You weren’t sure if your viewers could hear you, but you hoped they could. It would’ve been a pity to sob so loudly for the sole entertainment of the sick, sick man currently rutting into you, grinding into your cunt from behind with a kind of animalistic desperation – all desire and no control. It was a struggle to stay on your knees, not to go entirely limp underneath him, but you doubted it would’ve made a difference if you hadn’t, that he wouldn’t have fucked your limp body just as enthusiastically. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could just barely see the monitor – the miniature image of Nanami’s body moving on top of yours, his blond hair still obscuring the other half of his face, and then next to it, your chat. If you’d been thinking more clearly, you wouldn’t have let yourself look, wouldn’t have let yourself fully acknowledge that there were still thousands of people watching you, but you weren’t thinking at all, and you would’ve given anything for someone to say something that made you forget where you were, just for a second.
sniper727: so the bitch likes it rough? hot
callmeanonymous: FINALLY!!! I’ve been waiting for some cnc rp for actual years.
blueeyeswhitedragon: hey i think i might work with that guy
hotbox420: yeah no i’m calling the cops.
Predictably, your efforts were grotesquely unsuccessful.
Nanami didn’t seem as bothered. The weight on the back of your head disappeared as his hands found your hips, pulling up as he straightened his back. For anyone else, it might’ve been an awkward position – holding up your uncooperative form while bouncing you on his cock – but no amount of unpleasant technicalities could’ve stopped him from burying himself to hilt with every stroke, keeping you in a constant state of mind-numbing fullness. You tried to talk, again, to call for help, but fractured mewls and pathetic whines drowned out whatever you might’ve said, and even those were put to an end as Nanami took you by the jaw, turning you to face him as his lips crashed into your – his mask either pulled down or discarded entirely, you couldn’t be bothered to check. The kiss itself was messy, rough, brutal, his tongue raking over yours as you sobbed unabashedly into his mouth – your connection only growing more chaotic as his hand once again found your clit and ground two fingers into the sensitive bundle of nerves. You knew what he wanted. You knew what he was trying to do.
And you couldn’t do anything to stop him.
With a ragged sob, you came undone around his cock, any strength you might’ve once had flooding out of your body and dripping down his shaft. Nanami groaned into your mouth, drawing back just far enough to bury his face in your neck and mouth meaningless nothings into your throat as he chased his own climax. He thrusted into you again once, twice, and then you felt pure heat pour into you – a new kind of torture that rendered you entirely senseless. You didn’t try to scream, again.
You were distantly aware of him moving, shifting, pulling something out of his pocket as he muttered a mix of ‘you did so well’s and ‘I love you’s into your skin. When you did finally manage to raise your head, you didn’t think to look toward the remote in his hand or your tattered lingerie or the cum slowly leaking out of your entrance. Rather, your attention landed on the same thing it always did during your streams – your monitor.
You’d never know why, but for whatever reason, you could feel your heart break in your chest as you realized that the screen had already gone black.
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.
-
jarofer liked this · 2 weeks ago -
deadleesstuff liked this · 2 weeks ago -
lmaogottazayn liked this · 2 weeks ago -
enim5aj liked this · 2 weeks ago -
soph2030 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
yuri-oxo liked this · 2 weeks ago -
nyccluvrr liked this · 2 weeks ago -
bassistrock liked this · 2 weeks ago -
deepreviewfun liked this · 2 weeks ago -
tubareads liked this · 2 weeks ago -
vixonal liked this · 2 weeks ago -
ilovechanyeol16 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
raidensblade69 reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
brrreign reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
thedivinefemne liked this · 2 weeks ago -
dii0ax liked this · 2 weeks ago -
lotussthrill liked this · 2 weeks ago -
hiccupberries liked this · 2 weeks ago -
brrreign liked this · 2 weeks ago
-
loveydoveythot liked this · 2 weeks ago -
ermbehindyou liked this · 2 weeks ago -
lilfury529-blog liked this · 2 weeks ago -
uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty liked this · 3 weeks ago -
rosybluefandoms liked this · 3 weeks ago -
astridnaut liked this · 3 weeks ago -
fairy-bread0 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
harkla liked this · 3 weeks ago -
criistaii liked this · 3 weeks ago -
rheindell liked this · 3 weeks ago -
sanzus-scars liked this · 3 weeks ago -
cxiiv0 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
letmesleep567 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
eqqrice liked this · 3 weeks ago -
19catspiledontopofeachother liked this · 3 weeks ago -
irlbrainfart liked this · 3 weeks ago -
aevine liked this · 3 weeks ago -
aviesnapkindoodles liked this · 3 weeks ago -
a-girl-with-thoughts liked this · 3 weeks ago -
angrykoala99 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
froforget liked this · 3 weeks ago -
iamtoriasworld liked this · 3 weeks ago -
soapykiku liked this · 3 weeks ago -
mel2fine reblogged this · 3 weeks ago -
mel2fine liked this · 3 weeks ago
-
dearzyne liked this · 3 weeks ago -
pwnkch liked this · 3 weeks ago -
emochosoluvr liked this · 3 weeks ago -
prtty-pink-angel reblogged this · 3 weeks ago -
vampzys liked this · 3 weeks ago
