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Hysteria

Sum: Divorced, betrayed, and end up in a mental hospital? Definitely not on your 2025 bingo card.

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

WC: 9.7k (I sincerely apologize)

TW: Yandere Behaviors, SatoSugu smoochies, Medical AU, Masturbation, Noncon touching, Piss (nonsexual), Infantalization, Mental Hospital, False Medical Accusation, Medical malpractice, Electroshock therapy, Humilation, Reader is...really going through it. MDNI. ANGST. Dead dove do not eat

A/n: 💖 anon, thank you for giving the yummy idea. Dw there will be another medical au with the fears, but somehow satosugu and psych wards just...fueled me....

Grippy socks and a whole lot of rage.

You thundered through the cold hallways, those stupid grips on the bottom of your pale pink socks slapping against the soulless tile as you stormed toward the front desk—navigating the corridors with ease, with practice.

"Missus Geto!"

The nurse’s voice cut through the air, concern etched into every syllable. You barely heard her over the pounding in your ears, over the sound of your ragged breath. The two nurses in sterile white uniforms flanking you moved in closer.

"What the hell is the meaning of this?"

You tried to sound calm. Like you weren’t unhinged. Because you aren’t.

So why the hell are they treating you like you are?

Your fingers dug into the white desk, nails pressing so hard against the surface that it felt like your nails might leave a mark.

Your gaze flickered to the back wall, where pristine frames displayed crisp, professional lettering.

Geto Suguru.

Gojo Satoru.

The two main doctors.

One of them your ex-husband.

The other, someone you once considered a friend.

Let’s backtrack, shall we?

Suguru had always been gentle. Not in the way that people could be when they tried to be, not in the way that was practiced. No, he was gentle in the way that flowers turned toward the sun, effortlessly, instinctively.

His hands always ran warm, fingertips tracing absentminded circles against your skin whenever he held you. He kissed you like it was second nature like the act itself was woven into his being. Slow, lingering, like he had all the time in the world to savor you.

"You always rush," he would murmur against your lips, hands cupping your face, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. "Take a breath, angel."

And you would.

Because in his arms, the world didn’t just slow—it stilled. It curled around the two of you, safe, untouched, like a sanctuary built for no one else. He memorized you with the precision of a surgeon and the devotion of a poet, every habit, every breath, every fleeting hesitation. Your friends envied it. Your parents bragged about it.

"A doctor in the family!" they’d say, pride swelling in their voices.

Suguru would only chuckle, his arm draped securely around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you. Then, in the quiet of an evening, when the world faded away, he’d murmur little truths about you, the ones only he had noticed.

"She chews her lip when she’s thinking too hard," he’d tease, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "She likes her tea sweet, but not too sweet. And she counts her steps when she’s anxious—"

"Suguru!" you’d huff, pushing at his chest, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you.

And he’d only smile, soft and knowing, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "What? I like knowing you."

He was perfect. Too perfect.

Every fight ended the same way—him, impossibly composed, those stormy violet eyes locked onto you with patience that never cracked.

"Angel, sit with me."

"Suguru, I don’t—"

"Please."

And you would.

Because he had a way of making the world go silent, of smothering your fire with the weight of his gentleness. He never yelled, never lashed out, never met your frustration with his own. Instead, he’d gather you in his arms, press his lips to your temple, and whisper—

"Tell me what’s wrong."

You hated that. Hated the way he never let the fight breathe, never let it burn. Hated that he never raised his voice, never let you see the cracks, never showed you anything but unwavering, unshakable devotion.

You wanted him to break. Just once.

Instead, he ran his fingers through your hair, pressed featherlight kisses against your hairline, held you until your breathing slowed, until your words lost their edges and softened into something he could soothe, something he could fix.

"See?" he’d murmur. "We can figure this out. Together."

And maybe that was love.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Maybe it was why, one morning before your shift at the ER, you left the divorce papers on his desk, your hands trembling as you placed the pen beside them.

Maybe it was why, as you stepped over the threshold of the home you built together, your heart felt like it was tearing itself apart.

Because love shouldn’t feel like suffocation.

Even if the arms around you were warm. Even if the kisses were soft.

Even if walking away made you wonder if, maybe—just maybe—you had just made the biggest mistake of your life.

“You don’t find a man like that in every lifetime, Y/N.”

Your mother’s voice crackled through the phone, sharp and impatient, as you yanked your scrubs over your head, the fabric stiff from too many late-night washes.

“Seriously, how many overnight shifts have you been working? You married a doctor! You should settle down, have some babies—not stay up all night playing nurse.”

You clenched your jaw.

Yes. You - a nurse married a doctor.

And somehow, everyone always forgot that nurses saved lives, too.

You huffed, shoving your hands into your pockets, double-checking for the essentials, pen light, trauma shears, and your stash of caffeine for the night.

"I’m not playing nurse, Mother," you muttered, stuffing your phone between your shoulder and ear.

"Then what is it, sweetheart?" she pried, and you could already hear the sigh she was holding back.

Something just feels… wrong.

But you didn’t say that.

Because it didn’t matter.

And just like you expected, she brushed your worries aside, swept them under the rug the way mothers always did. A moment later, your phone pinged, and there it was—her latest unsolicited solution, wrapped in a clickbait headline.

"How to Save Your Marriage!" straight from some old Cosmopolitan article.

You rolled your eyes.

At least it wasn’t like the one she sent last week.

"How to Spice Up the Bedroom."

Where she—repeatedly—asked if your sex life was still healthy.

You stopped replying after that.

Not because your sex life was bad.

It wasn’t.

Suguru was… well.

He was a man built for worship—his, yours, it didn’t matter.

Everything about him had been crafted to please, down to the way he touched you—deliberate, devout, like it was a privilege, like he had all the time in the world to learn what made you tremble, what made you fall apart beneath him.

He made you feel cherished.

Until you started pulling away.

At first, it was small. His arms encircled your waist as you washed dishes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, the warm inhale before his teeth grazed your skin-

And then the series of kisses, slow and soft, trailing down the column of your neck, down, down, down—

Until you were stepping away.

Another meek smile.

Another I’m just tired.

Because you were.

Three back-to-back night shifts in the ER, too many patients flatlining on the table, your body running on caffeine fumes and pure adrenaline.

And Suguru?

He never got angry. Never snapped, never accused, never let frustration seep into his voice.

"Don’t worry, angel," he’d murmur instead, pressing a final kiss to your temple. "That’s okay."

So patient. So perfectly understanding.

And yet, it wasn’t like you stopped thinking about him.

You didn’t need porn, never did. Not when you had him burned into your mind.

Those pretty violet eyes, the way they darkened when he was between your thighs. The slow, reverent way he kissed up your inner thighs before spreading you open with those thick fingers, working you apart with precise precision.

Every orgasm coaxed from your body with intent, with devotion—like he had some kind of personal investment in unraveling you.

And now, alone in bed, aching, needing, your fingers weren’t enough.

They weren’t his.

They weren’t thick enough, long enough, couldn’t reach that soft, plushy spot deep inside, couldn’t curl just right.

And yet, even back then, you never went to him for it.

Never let yourself ask for what you needed.

And maybe that was the problem.

Maybe it wasn’t about sex at all.

But still—

You refused to tell your mother about the lack of intimacy.

That night, you ended up at Satoru’s place.

Because of course you did.

Satoru had always been a close friend—yours and Suguru’s. And it had never been weird.

Not really.

With Satoru, it was always the little things. The things that didn’t carry weight. The casual venting about insufferable patients, the late-night hospital gossip, the stolen moments of laughter between shifts when you needed them most. He was the kind of person who could pull you out of your own head without even trying, the kind who would let you curl up on his couch without asking questions, shove a glass of expensive sake into your hands when your fingers wouldn’t stop shaking.

He always listened.

He always let you in.

Always took care of you in that easy way only he could.

And it was never weird.

Well—

Except for that one time.

Too many margaritas.

Too much sun.

The three of you sprawled across warm sand in Mexico, waves licking the shore, salt clinging to your skin. Satoru, grinning around the rim of his cocktail, his cheeks tinged pink from the alcohol. "Dare you to kiss me," he’d said, nudging Suguru’s knee with his own, teasing.

And, to your utter shock.

Suguru did.

Suguru’s fingers twisted into Satoru’s shirt, yanking him closer. Satoru melted into it, like he had been waiting. Like they had done this before.

And not just a peck. It was firm. Rough.

Your stomach flipped.

Suguru had never kissed you like that.

Never held you like that.

And maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the way Satoru’s smug little smirk lingered a little too long after they finally pulled away, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Couldn’t stop wanting it.

Later that night, back in your hotel room, the thoughts had gnawed at you, restless, relentless. You had stepped into the shower beside Suguru, letting the warm water cascade over both of you, watching the way his hands moved over your skin, slow, methodical, worshipful.

"Why don’t you ever kiss me like that?"

Suguru had blinked, his fingers pausing against your ribs. "Like what?"

"Rough." You had half-teased, half-tested.

Suguru’s hands resumed their path, gliding over your hips with the same gentle touch he always had.

"I can’t be like that with you," he murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek, then another, then another. "I can’t hurt the love of my life."

Your cheeks burned under the steam, but still -

"What if I want you to?"

A slow inhale, his lips barely grazing your jawline.

"I have patients who need that," he whispered, that same soft patience laced into his voice. His fingertips traced slow, intricate designs into your skin, like he was carving the words into you.

"Those needs are built by people who haven’t been loved properly like you have," he continued, his lips barely touching your temple. "I would rather you remain pure and loved."

Pure.

Loved.

And that was the end of it.

Suguru never brought it up again.

And if you did, he would smooth it over, remind you of his devotion. That he loved you. That he was afraid of going too far. That he couldn’t be rough with you, not in the way he had been with Satoru, not in the way that made your breath hitch and your stomach twist with something you couldn’t name.

Because you were his angel.

His soft thing.

His exception.

And so, when Satoru had opened the door for you, when he pulled you inside with that easy grin, when he draped a blanket over your lap and shoved takeout into your hands.

It was almost enough to forget.

"It’s what Suguru would want," he had said with a wink.

No questions. No judgment.

The couch—his couch, the one he never actually used—was yours for the night.

The hospital had a reputation for running its doctors into the ground anyway. Neither of you were strangers to sleepless nights.

"But—"

"Stay as long as you’d like," Satoru hummed as he unwrapped his container, the scent of soy sauce and fried rice filling the space.

He dragged the word out, his smirk sharpening. "I am gonna have to tell Suguru you’re here. You do know that, right?"

Your shoulders tensed, but you only sighed, sinking deeper into the chair.

"I figured."

Satoru grinned. "We could invite -"

"Nope."

You cut him off before he could even finish, shoving a spoonful of rice into your mouth, eyes locked pointedly on the little red takeout box in your hands, letting the oil seep into the edges of the conversation.

Satoru pouted dramatically, flopping into the chair across from you.

And this—this was what you liked about him.

The moment you told him no, he backed off.

Maybe it was because he was terrible with emotions. Maybe it was because he turned everything into a joke.

But he never pushed.

Until he didn’t.

Satoru was a good friend. Someone who always had your back.

It happened later that night.

The bathroom was dim, the overhead light buzzing softly, casting a sterile glow over the sink. The quiet felt too heavy, pressing in around you, making your own breath sound too loud. Your fingers fumbled with the cap of a prescription bottle, muscles sluggish, exhaustion weighing on you like a physical thing. Just Tylenol. Nothing dangerous. Just something to dull the relentless pounding behind your eyes, to take the edge off, to help you sleep - not forever, just enough.

"Stupid child-proof caps," you muttered, twisting, shaking, trying to pry it open. Your grip slipped, frustration bubbling up as you tried again, more forceful this time.

Then the door swung open.

At the worst possible moment.

The cap finally popped free, and before you could stop it, small, white pills spilled into your palm just as Satoru stepped inside.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air in the room shifted, thickening with suffocatuon. His usual lazy smirk was nowhere to be seen, replaced by something eerily still. His gaze dropped - to the bottle in your grip, to the pills in your hand, to the exhaustion carved into the planes of your face. You watched the realization flicker across his features, slow, deliberate, something you couldn’t quite place.

Then, before you could react, before you could explain, his hand was already in his pocket.

Your stomach dropped.

"Satoru - " Your voice cracked, uneven, clawing its way out of your throat. "No. No, this isn’t - this isn’t what it looks like."

You stepped forward, reaching for his wrist, but he stepped back. Just out of reach. Watching. Assessing. Already deciding.

"Yeah, it’s Gojo Satoru," he said smoothly, effortlessly - like he was ordering fucking takeout. "I need an emergency psych evaluation."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Your fingers trembled, cold washing over you as you took another step toward him. "Satoru - stop! Listen to me!"

But that was the problem.

"I didn’t realize it was this bad," he sighed, almost soft, his lips curling into a pitying smile.

He was listening. Too closely. Watching the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands curled into fists like you were trying to hold yourself together. You had seen that look before, in the ER, when he assessed patients when he made decisions for them. Decisions they never got to take back.

The walls felt like they were closing in. The room tilted.

Then came the hands on your arms—firm, practiced, final. Voices murmuring in the background. You tried to fight, but the moment was already slipping away.

You were escorted out of his apartment.

Stuffed into the back of a black-tinted vehicle. Flagged by two men in sterile white coats.

Driven past empty streets and dimly lit signs, past any chance of turning back.

Led through cold, sterile hallways, past locked doors and hushed voices.

Which led you here.

Standing at the front desk of a place you didn’t belong.

Wearing stupid pink grippy socks.

Your hands shook at your sides, your pulse hammering in your ears, a deep, aching numbness settling into your bones. You hadn’t expected Satoru to betray you. Hadn’t expected him to smile so softly as he handed you over, hadn’t expected the way his hand lingered on your back, firm, reassuring, as if he thought he was helping.

Surrounded by people who didn’t believe you.

And you sure as hell hadn’t expected to be locked away in the so-called presidential suite of the mental hospital - reserved for the rich and famous.

Or, in your case, the pitifully well-connected.

The walls were a soft pastel pink, littered with bunny and flower decals, the kind that practically screamed, "Everything is sunshine and rainbows!"

Except it wasn’t.

It didn’t help that fresh flowers sat on your nightstand, always roses. Suguru’s favorite gesture. Romantic, thoughtful. Except he’d gone the extra step—meticulously removing every thorn. So you couldn’t even shove them down Satoru’s throat if you wanted to for dragging you to this place.

Instead, you were stuck with a locked door. No bathroom. A sad excuse for a sippy cup of water. And a plush, inviting bed you were now restrained to after your roster status conveniently changed from stable to unstable.

You nearly jumped at the sound of the door unlocking.

In walked him.

Suguru. Your beloved ex-husband.

He stepped inside with that same effortless grace, his lab coat crisp, sleeves pushed just slightly to his elbows, revealing the same steady hands that once traced every inch of your skin. The scent of clean linen and something faintly musky—his scent—lingered as he moved. His dark hair was neatly tied back, a few stray strands framing his face in a way that made your stomach lurch.

"Miss Geto," he greeted, voice smooth—velvety, like he was speaking to a lover rather than a patient.

Something inside you cracked.

"Don't," you snapped, harsher than intended like the word had torn its way through your throat baring your teeth. "Let me go."

Then, without hesitation, he pulled up a chair and settled across from you, as if this was just another late-night conversation over tea at the kitchen table. The same easy grace, the same quiet patience. Clipboard in hand, pen scratching against the paper in slow, measured strokes, like he was making note of the way your chest rose and fell just a little too fast, the way your fingers twitched against the thin hospital blanket.

Like he still knew you better than anyone.

"You’re my patient," he mused, his voice dangerously calm. "Who attempted suicide."

"I did nothing of the sort," you spat, the words flowing out too fast, too sharp.

Suguru barely lifted his gaze, still focused on his notes. Reading out loud what you had told the nursing staff when you were admitted.

"The bottle spilled. An innocent mistake anyone can make. Even a professional like yourself."

That finally got him to look up. He smiled.

Suguru’s smile was infuriatingly soft like he was humoring a particularly stubborn child. He set the clipboard down, fingers interlacing as he leaned forward slightly, as if trying to make you feel heard, as if he actually believed this was some kind of productive conversation.

"An innocent mistake," he repeated, tilting his head. "Is that what you’d like to call it?"

You clenched your jaw. "It’s the truth."

Suguru exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, a slow, measured disappointment. "Y/N, you know I can’t just take your word for it."

"Why not?" you snapped, your voice sharp, desperate, cracking at the edges despite your best efforts. "I am telling you what happened."

His gaze softened - not in pity, not in understanding, but in something far worse.

"Because I know you," he said simply, like that was supposed to mean something, like that was supposed to be enough. "I know how you get when something is wrong. And I know you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t something wrong."

Your nails dug into the soft fabric of the restraints wrapped around your wrists.

"Something is wrong," you hissed, venom laced in every syllable. "My so-called best friend had me committed based on a bullshit assumption, and my ex-husband—who should be the last person with a say in my well-being—is now sitting here acting like he gets to play God with my life."

Suguru didn’t flinch.

Didn’t waver.

If anything, his patience deepened.

"Satoru was worried about you," he murmured, his voice smooth, steady, controlled. "We both are. How do you think I felt hearing that my wife attempted suicide?"

You barked out a laugh - sharp, bitter, ugly.

"Worried?" The word burned as it left your throat. "No. Satoru was being his usual overdramatic self, and you -"

Your breath hitched. The words sat on your tongue, heavy, rancid, tasting worse than bile.

"You’re just enjoying this, aren’t you?"

Suguru blinked. His expression didn’t shift, didn’t flicker.

Unreadable.

Untouchable.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the sterile hum of the hospital.

"You get to keep me here." The rage trembled beneath your skin, a wildfire barely contained. "Control me. Make me talk to you. Because you hated that I left."

"Hated that I didn’t need you."

And then, you gestured - jerked against the restraints just enough for them to bite into your skin, to make a point, creating angry markings against your skin.

"And now, look! Here I am. All wrapped up and delivered straight to you."

A long silence stretched between you.

The weight of his gaze settled over you, suffocating, crushing.

Then—

Suguru reached for his clipboard, flipping through a few pages, slow, cautious.

"You think I want to control you?" he mused, barely glancing up, attempting to avoid your gaze. "Think I wasn’t worried when I got the call?"

There was something almost amused in the way he said it.

You bared your teeth, chest rising and falling too fast, anger crackling under your skin like a live fire.

"Don’t you?"

Suguru sighed, rubbing at his temple, slow and methodical, before finally looking at you.

You stared at him, waiting.

Waiting for the punchline.

Waiting for him to drop the act—for his mask of careful patience to crack and show something real, something human.

You inhaled sharply, exhaled in small, uneven breaths, the air in the room too thick, too sterile.

Suguru just watched you.

He let a few beats pass, like he was waiting for you to finish, like he was giving you time—as if this was just another tantrum that needed to run its course.

And then—

He smiled.

"I need a urine sample," he murmured, voice smooth, as if the past few minutes hadn’t happened, as if your rage, your desperation, was nothing more than an inconvenience.

You scoffed, shifting against the restraints. "Fine. Take me to the bathroom." You turned your head away, expecting the click of the buckles being undone any second now.

It never came.

"That’s not how things work here, angel," Suguru mused, his voice a slow, deliberate test—poking, prodding, waiting for your reaction.

Your hands curled into fists. "Angel." That pet name he used to say with love. That pet name that now sounded like a leash tightening around your throat.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Suguru," you started, voice level, "hospital protocol states that urine samples are to be taken in the restroom. In private. At most, a guard may be present. You know this."

Suguru simply shook his head, looking almost gladden at your attempt to argue. "This isn’t your ER," he reminded you smoothly, tilting his head. "This is my hospital. And here, we take precautions. We have to ensure you don’t harm yourself… or tamper with the sample."

Your breath hitched, another furrow of the brows. "Tamper -"

"Don’t worry," Suguru cut you off, still unbearably calm, like this was just another mundane part of his day. "I’ll be completely professional."

You stared at him, anger burning so hot in your chest it felt suffocating.

Dick.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" you hissed.

Suguru didn’t react. Just leaned back in his chair, the cup still held between his fingers, watching you with that same unreadable patience.

"Come on, angel," he murmured, almost teasing now. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You hated him.

Not in the way you hated Satoru for his dramatics, or your mother for her unsolicited marriage advice.

No.

You hated Suguru in the kind of way that made your skin itch, that made your blood run cold with fury. The kind of hatred reserved for someone who knew you inside and out—who knew exactly what would break you, and took his sweet time doing it.

“I want Shoko present then,” you huffed, chin tilted up, clinging onto whatever scraps of control you had left. “A different doctor.”

Suguru barely reacted. Just tilted his head, twirling the specimen container lazily between his fingers. "She just finished her shift. She cannot legally return for 72 hours."

Bullshit.

"Mei Mei," you shot back immediately.

"Busy handling more special cases," Suguru countered smoothly, not missing a beat. "More aggressive ones."

Of course. Of course.

You knew exactly what he was doing. Boxing you in, narrowing your choices, giving you just enough illusion of control to make you feel like you weren’t completely powerless.

And then, he dropped the final option. The only option.

"If you want a different doctor," he sighed, so patronizing, so patient, "then you may request Satoru."

Your lips parted, rage curling on your tongue, ready to tell him exactly where to shove that offer—

But then something cold and spiteful took over.

"Fine," you bit out, keeping your glare locked onto his. "Call him."

You weren’t expecting much - maybe a slight twitch of his jaw, a roll of his eyes, anything that would prove you’d gotten to him, even just a little.

But no.

Suguru only smiled. Soft. Unbothered. Always one step ahead.

"Alright, angel," he murmured, standing with a slow, practiced ease. "I’ll go grab him. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable."

Like he was indulging you.

Like he was being the bigger person.

Like he was waiting for you to realize how ridiculous you were being and apologize.

You squeezed the specimen cup so tightly in your hands you thought it might crack. Your nails dug into the plastic, jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. Satoru just stood there, completely at ease, watching you like he had all the time in the world.

His grin was unbearable. The casual way he leaned against the door, arms crossed, like this was fun for him. Like he wasn’t standing in front of someone who was actively fighting off the urge to snap.

"Need me to hold the cup?" he teased, tilting his head, voice all sugar and mockery.

You blinked at him, your mind blank for a moment—so full of rage that it looped back into emptiness. A white-hot static filled your ears. Your hands itched, ached to throw the cup at his face, to shatter the glass of the observation mirror behind him, to break something—anything—

But you just swallowed, holding your ground.

"You’re not going to turn around?" you asked, voice deceptively calm, but you could hear the crack in it.

Satoru shook his head, all easy amusement, that soft white hair swaying with the motion. "What if you’re using someone else’s—"

The pressure in your chest reached a peak, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped.

"How the hell would I get someone else’s urine, Satoru?"

It came out sharper than you intended, more raw, more exhausted. You saw the moment he caught onto it - saw the way his smirk deepened, how his fingers twitched at the thrill of getting under your skin.

You hated that.

You hated him.

You gripped the cup harder. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, arms shook with the effort of keeping yourself together. The room was too small. The air was too thick. Everything felt wrong.

"So snappy," he murmured, like he was pleased. Like this was all some game or prank that you were just waiting for the camera crew to come in and tell you "get pranked!"

Except it wasn't. You were still hovering over a drain embedded in the pale blue floor trying to pee.

Throw it at him. The thought came unbidden, cold and quiet. Just throw it. Wipe that smirk off his face. Give him something real to laugh about.

Your fingers twitched.

No.

No, because that’s exactly what he wanted. That’s exactly what Suguru wanted. To watch you spiral. To document it. To mark it down in that damn file.

Satoru pushed off the wall, stretching, rolling his neck. "Relax, princess," he said, ever the smug bastard. "Just following protocol. Who knows? Maybe you planned this."

Your vision blurred at the edges.

You wanted to scream.

Maybe you planned this. Slow and mocking rang through your ears.

You wanted to hit him.

You wanted to rip your way out of this room, out of this fucking hospital, out of your own skin -

But you didn’t.

You stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, your hands gripping the specimen cup like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to yourself. To your sanity.

Because if you gave in—if you screamed, if you threw something, if you lost control—

So instead, you swallowed the fire in your throat, stuffed the rage down where it burned deep in your gut, and forced your lips into a sickly sweet smile.

Then they’d win.

"Then I guess you’ll just have to watch me pee," you whispered, voice deceptively soft.

You wanted to see his smirk falter, just for a second.

It didn’t.

Satoru crouched down to your level, resting his chin on his hand like this was the most interesting thing in the world. His bright blue eyes shimmered with amusement, waiting, watching.

"You know…" he started, tone light, teasing as if he weren’t watching you at your most humiliated. "I was really worried about you."

You refused to look at him, your grip on the cup tightening, your focus locked on the pristine blue of his scrubs.

"Yeah?" you muttered, voice flat.

"Mhmm." His hum vibrated with something smug. "The nurses - " he dragged the word out playfully like he was gossiping at brunch, " - think you planned this. That you missed Suguru so much, you just had to get yourself locked up in his hospital…"

Your hands trembled slightly, the sheer rage threatening to make the cup slip.

Satoru noticed. Of course he did.

Then you noticed it.

The tent in his pants.

Your stomach twisted, nausea curling in your throat, but before you could process it, his gloved fingers brushed your cheek, guiding your face toward him. His blue eyes dazzled- a trap disguised as something beautiful.

"Don’t worry," he went on, casual, sweet, like you were just two friends catching up over coffee. "It’ll only be a couple more days until you get to leave. Maybe…" he trailed off for dramatic effect, grinning as if he was pitching you something fun, "we can go home all together."

"But I know better," he murmured, his breath tickling your skin. "You’re a good girl, aren’t you?"

What the hell was he playing at? And before you could stop him, before your brain could even process it—

His lips pressed against your forehead. Soft. Chaste.

Mocking.

The cup slipped from your hands.

It hit the tile with a sharp clatter, the urine spilling onto the floor, and swirling down the small drain.

Satoru stayed close, close enough to feel his smile against your skin.

Then he pulled back, taking in the mess with a soft whistle.

"Oops," he cooed, lips twitching in amusement. "Butterfingers."

You stared at him, nails digging into your palm, pressing hard enough that you should have drawn blood—would have, if Suguru hadn’t meticulously trimmed and filed them down.

To the point where they couldn’t even leave a mark. Couldn’t harm anyone. Something about it being protocol.

Satoru’s grin widened, his teeth practically sparkling. Bright blue eyes brightening. "Guess we’ll have to try again! The second time’s the charm, right?"

The sound of the slap cracked through the sterile air like a gunshot.

Your palm stung, the heat of the impact lingering on your skin, but it was nothing compared to the way Satoru’s head had barely turned with the force of it.

That grin.

It didn’t falter.

Didn’t waver.

His face remained tilted to the side for just a second, the red mark of your palm blooming on his cheek. But when he slowly turned back to you - his lips stretched into something wicked.

You could’ve sworn the red on his face wasn’t just from your slap.

But a blush.

"Ohhh," Satoru exhaled, his grin widening. His tongue swiped over the inside of his cheek like he was tasting the sting. "Now that’s the fire I missed. Though you didn’t wash your hands, princess."

Your stomach dropped.

The heat in his eyes wasn’t just amusement.

He liked that.

"That felt good, didn’t it?" he mused, tilting his head, gaze never leaving yours. "You wanna do it again?"

Your whole body locked up, muscles coiled so tightly they ached. The rational part of you screamed don’t react—don’t give him what he wants. But the rest of you—the part that was sick with rage, humiliation, helplessness—wanted to slap him again. Wanted to make him hurt.

Satoru saw it. Felt it.

And he loved it.

He leaned in ever so slightly, voice dropping lower, playful yet taunting. "Come on, sugar. Let it out."

You curled your fingers into fists, so close to giving in—

And then the door clicked open.

Suguru stepped in, clipboard in hand, dark eyes flicking between the two of you, taking in the charged atmosphere with a knowing hum.

Satoru, still grinning, straightened up, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Well," he drawled, stretching lazily, "unfortunately, we still need that sample."

Suguru raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"

"Nah." Satoru waved a hand dismissively, glancing down at you once more, his smirk never once faltering. "We were just bonding."

"I see," Suguru murmured, not even looking at you as he jotted something down on the clipboard. His eyes flicked to the urine spill on the floor, and then back to Satoru, as if this was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. "I’ll call someone to clean up your mess, angel. We can just wait until you have to go again, won’t we? Need you hydrated for your blood test anyway."

You weren’t sure what you were feeling.

Fury?

Dread?

Humiliation?

Some horrible concoction of all three, swirling in your chest, making it impossible to breathe.

Satoru let out a soft, amused hum beside you, still rubbing at his cheek as if savoring the sting.

Suguru’s pen paused. "Did she slap you, Satoru?"

The words were deceptively gentle. His gaze drifted to his best friend’s pale skin, now tinged pink, his expression unreadable.

Satoru, ever the little shit, grinned. "She sure did!" He shot you a wink. "She’s still got that fight in her, huh?"

Suguru exhaled slowly, tapping the clipboard with the end of his pen before leveling you with the most patronizing look you had ever seen. There was no cruelty in his expression, no outright malice. As if he had already decided what you were before, you even opened your mouth.

"Suppose we have to add aggression to your chart, then…"

Your stomach twisted again, you were about to speak out, defend yourself -

"Have to keep you away from the other patients and nurses," he continued, his voice calm, like he was making a note about the weather instead of your freedom. His pen moved smoothly over the page, unbothered, effortless. "Don’t want any more staff getting hurt."

Your pulse pounded against your ribs, the sharp pressure of your heartbeat making your vision blur for a moment. "I am not aggressive." The words came out too fast, too desperate, as if sheer force could make them true in his mind.

Suguru didn’t even glance up from his notes. "Of course not, angel." His voice carried the same devoted softness it always had, the same infuriating patience.

The sound of his pen moving against the clipboard might as well have been the click of a lock.

They were rewriting you right in front of your eyes, shaping you into something else—someone else. Piece by piece, erasing what didn’t fit, twisting reality into something they could control.

A violent patient.

An unstable patient.

A liability.

Your hands trembled against your lap, fingers curling into fists so tightly that your nails pressed into your skin. You could feel the warmth of Suguru’s gaze on you, watching, waiting. You wanted to fight back, to rip the clipboard from his hands, to make him listen. But you already knew how that would end. Another note in the file. Another checkmark on their list. Another reason for them to keep you here.

Days passed, though they bled together, time warping under the weight of routine. You spent most of it trapped in the common room, though there was nothing common about it. There were no other patients. No quiet conversations or hushed laughter in the corners. No sounds of therapy sessions or shuffling feet down the halls. Just you. Just him.

Satoru sat across from you, long legs stretched out beneath the too-small plastic table, posture relaxed as if this was just another lazy afternoon. His hand moved methodically over a coloring page, crayons scattered across the table in a mess of childish hues.

"Don’t you have other patients?" you asked, your voice tight, the question slipping out before you could stop it. Your fingers curled around a yellow crayon, grip stiff, too firm.

Satoru didn’t look up. Instead, he kept humming to himself, dragging slow strokes of purple wax over the page, his movements too steady, too deliberate. "I'm going to color my flowers purple." He flipped the page toward you with a smug little grin. "What color are you going to do yours?"

Satoru noticed. His grin grew, slow and satisfied, as if your irritation was more entertaining than the coloring itself. "Need me to help you out there, princess?" he teased, leaning forward slightly. "See, you have to—"

Your paper sat untouched. Blank. Couldn’t bring yourself to play along.

"Satoru."

The crayon in your hand snapped before you even realized you were gripping it too hard. A jagged, broken edge crumbled onto the table, wax flecks scattering across the surface.

The hum of casual amusement in the room vanished.

Satoru stilled. His lips parted slightly, and for the first time, his sharp, blue eyes locked onto you with something heavier than teasing amusement.

Satoru chuckled. It was quiet at first, low, controlled, but then it spilled out in full, bright and infuriating, his lips stretching into something too wide, too pleased.

"I asked you a question," you said, your voice shaking - not from fear, but from the sheer, unbearable restraint it took not to hurl the broken crayon at his smug, unbothered face.

"You really don’t like playing house with me, huh?" he mused, tapping the broken crayon piece with his finger as if it fascinated him. "Come on, princess, lighten up. You’re making it seem like you don’t enjoy my company. We used to be so close before all of this."

Your jaw tightened, frustration grinding in your chest. This was a game to him. A performance. You were the only one who hadn’t seen the script.

"Answer the damn question."

Satoru tilted his head as if weighing his answer, as if he was letting you believe you had any say in how this conversation would go. Then, with a lazy stretch, he sighed, tone dramatically put-upon, like he was humoring you.

"Not really," he admitted. "No one else here really needs me the way you do."

The words crawled under your skin like something sick and wrong, twisting deep in your gut before you could shove them away.

"The way you do."

Like you were needy.

Like you wanted this.

Like this was all for you.

The slow, creeping horror curled through your veins, tightening around your ribs, but you forced it down, pushed past it. You gritted your teeth, fingers digging into your palms. "I don’t need you."

Satoru’s smirk widened, stretching just a little too far, as if he could see the fraying edges of your composure and was thrilled by it. You were going to snap. You wanted to slap him again, wanted to claw at his stupid, smug, self-satisfied face, wanted to do something—anything—to wipe that look off of him.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you forced yourself to move slowly, deliberately, picking up the ridiculous sippy cup they had given you, the plastic cool and smooth against your trembling fingers. You took a sip, the artificial sweetness coating your tongue, the taste almost childish in its simplicity. The act of swallowing felt too thick, like your throat didn’t quite want to obey. Just as carefully, you set the cup back down on the tiny plastic table, making sure not to let it shake in your grip.

You had to be calm.

You weren’t insane.

You weren’t crazy.

You weren’t violent.

But the air was too thick, the walls pressing in, the stupid, unfinished coloring page in front of you mocking in its blankness. The pressure inside your chest swelled, wrapping around your ribs like a tightening coil. Your vision blurred at the edges, hot and unwelcome, and you clenched your fists in your lap, willing it away, forcing it down.

Satoru noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"Aww, princess," he murmured, his voice honey-sweet, mocking in its gentleness, and before you could react, before you could pull away, he was pulling you in. Strong arms wrapped around you, warm, suffocating. The scent of him—clean linen, faint cologne, something unmistakably Satoru—invaded your senses, pressing in on all sides.

"Hey, it’s okay to cry," he cooed, his lips ghosting over your forehead before pressing a kiss there, his voice a soothing lull—deceptively soft. "This is a safe space."

Safe.

The word reverberated in your skull, clashing violently with the truth. This wasn’t safe. This was a cage. A well-kept, carefully controlled cage, but a cage nonetheless. And yet—your body betrayed you.

Because wasn’t this what you were supposed to do? Accept comfort? Let yourself be held? Be good?

"See?" he murmured, fingers stroking through your hair with slow, measured precision. "That’s my good girl."

You nodded weakly against his chest, your body folding into his hold, and the tears finally spilled over - silent, hot, humiliating. His arms tightened around you in response, as if he had been waiting for this, as if he had known you would break.

It was just a matter of when.

The words sent a violent shudder through you, something deep and instinctive recoiling at the way he said it. Like you belonged to him.

Satoru pulled back slightly, just enough to brush a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, still smiling, still so unshaken, so pleased.

"I’ll bring you some better clothes," he promised, as if he was doing you a favor, like he was some benevolent god. "Something warm, something comfortable."

You swallowed down the thick lump in your throat, nodding again. Maybe—maybe if you played along, maybe if you did what they wanted, they would let you go.

"I don’t think coloring is your strong suit," Satoru mused, his tone light, teasing, trying to smother the moment before had never happened. "We can make paper stars instead! I’ll keep them in my office. Maybe we can make some for Suguru too! Oh, he’d love that! Still has your wedding photo hung up."

Words that landed like a slap, sharp and visceral. Your wedding photo. Still up. Still there. Like nothing had changed. As if those papers you left had no meaning.

The weight of it all bore down on you, and you almost didn’t notice the way Satoru’s hand moved lower.

A slow, trailing touch.

Fingers ghosting beneath the hem of your hospital gown.

Warm against your bare skin.

Your body froze. Every muscle locked up in an instant, but your mind felt numb, sluggish, as if refusing to acknowledge what was happening.

"I just want to make sure you’re okay, princess," Satoru whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Can you show me that you’re okay?"

His fingers pressed just a little firmer, a test, waiting for you to comply. A slight spread of your thighs as his fingers continued their quest.

You weren’t sure what scared you more. The way your body stopped resisting or the way this felt inevitable.

Was it fear?

Resignation?

Were you just enduring, waiting for the moment this would finally be over, so you could go home?

The door clicked open.

Suguru, thankfully, walked in, his dark eyes sweeping over the scene like he already knew what had transpired.

Satoru removed his hand, but the touch lingered, seared into your skin like a brand.

"Ready?" Suguru smiled, that soft, practiced kind, like this was just another routine check-in, like he wasn’t about to upend your entire world again. Wasn't going to drug you back into compliance, wasn't going to hush and calm you when he drew blood for testing.

"You’ve been doing so well the past couple of days—taking your meds, following the schedule—that after this one little test, the head of operations agreed we can move to home treatment…"

He let the words settle, let them sink in before delivering the final blow—

"Since it’s already convenient that we live together."

Your fingers clenched against the table, a cold weight dropping in your stomach.

"We’re divorced," you said slowly, carefully, as if daring him to acknowledge it.

Suguru’s warm, easy smile didn’t falter.

"Mmm, not what your file says," he hummed, stepping closer, his gaze flicking to Satoru’s drawing.

"You didn’t make me one, angel?" His voice was light, almost teasing, but the undercurrent of expectation was there.

"I would’ve hung it up."

Something snapped inside you.

You weren’t sure what.

But you had never wanted to flip a stupid kiddy table more in your entire life.

"Where the hell is Shoko?" The words tore from your throat, sharp and raw. "I want her as my doctor - that is my right."

Suguru blinked at you, his expression shifting—just slightly. Not quite hurt. Not quite anything.

Almost like he had expected this.

"Or the nurses?" you continued, voice rising, trembling with fury. "I want Nanami to be my watch instead of this blue-eyed freak."

You saw it.

The way Satoru flinched. The brief flicker of hurt that crossed his face - so quick, so momentary, but you caught it.

And your heart twisted and cracked.

Because you knew.

You’d always known what that word meant to him.

But you couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t let yourself care.

Because they weren’t listening.

Suguru turned to Satoru, his voice dipping into something colder.

"I think we need to up the dosage."

Then, back to you - his expression unreadable, his tone soft, patronizing.

"I didn’t know you had so much anger in you, angel."

He reached for your face, fingers moving to cup your cheek—

And you smacked his hand away.

The sharp sound echoed in the small room.

Suguru stilled.

He could file down your nails.

He could restrain your hands.

He could drug you into compliance.

For a moment, Suguru was still.

But he could not—would not—control your fire.

Processing.

His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surface—something dark, something off. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you could feel it, like the quiet shifting of tectonic plates before a catastrophic quake.

Then, under his breath, barely more than a whisper, he uttered a single word.

"Tainted."

It landed like an irreversible diagnosis, a label seared into your skin, a fact that had always been true, whether you knew it or not.

"I have to fix it."

The words were hollow. Void of real emotion. Spoken like an afterthought. A duty.

If anyone here was crazy, it wasn’t you.

"Let’s go."

His voice was measured, slow, as if testing the words, as if feeling them out himself, ensuring they fit within whatever logic governed his mind.

"We can deal with this later."

And just like that, it was decided. He turned away, moving with the same unshakable certainty as before.

Instead, dread curled in your stomach like sickness, spreading through your limbs in slow, creeping waves. Your pulse stuttered as Satoru took your hand, his fingers lacing through yours. The warmth of his palm was comfortable in a sense.

You should have felt relief.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t flash that smug grin. Didn’t tease you. Didn’t say a damn thing.

Just walked.

Silent.

Head bowed, guiding you forward like a silent accomplice.

The hallway stretched before you, sterile and pale blue, the kind of color that was meant to be calming but only made your skin feel dirty, wrong. You knew these halls now—the group therapy rooms, the medication table, the office staff area, the standard rooms where the normal patients were kept.

But this wasn’t that.

This was deeper.

The air shifted. The temperature felt colder.

Your fingers tightened around Satoru’s. "What’s the last test?" you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady.

His skin was clammy.

Cold sweat.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, something softer than usual. Something wrong. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against the back of your hand—soothing, intimate.

Like an apology.

Suguru didn’t look back.

Didn’t seem to care that Satoru was holding onto you, didn’t seem to mind that the hands he used to hold were now intertwined with someone else’s.

He just walked.

And then—

Unbothered.

The door.

Something different.

Suguru reached into his pocket, pulling out a key. Not one from his usual keychain.

Something meant only for this room.

A cold prickle ran down your spine as the small hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. The air felt heavier, charged, the silence pressing in. Something wasn't quite right.

Where were the nurses?

The ones who usually hovered, who handed out little paper cups of sedatives, who whispered among themselves when they thought you weren’t listening?

The ones Satoru always gossiped with?

Gone.

The hallway was silent.

The key turned in the lock.

A slow, deliberate click.

The door creaked open, revealing a room stark and clinical, stripped of anything human.

Centered in the middle, like an altar, stood a medical table.

Satoru squeezed your hand. Tighter. Like he was preparing you.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, the walls pressing in, your breath coming too fast, too shallow. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the room itself was shrinking. And then—your gaze fell to the cart beside the table.

The electrodes. The wires. The leather restraints.

No—

The word stuck in your throat, thick and suffocating, choking you before you could even say it aloud. A wave of nausea rolled through you, cold and sharp. Your knees buckled, your body reacting before your mind could fully catch up. Every nerve screamed at you to run.

But Satoru didn’t let go.

"No," you gasped, collapsing to the floor, forcing yourself into dead weight. You pushed back, twisted, resisted—anything to keep from being dragged inside.

Satoru’s grip only tightened.

He was stronger.

"No - no, please!" The words broke from you, frantic, raw, barely holding shape. You kicked out, your body writhing in desperation, fighting against the inevitable. But Satoru just kept pulling, his hands steady, his strength sustained.

Your nails dug into his arm, clawing, desperate to hurt, to leave a mark, to stop this—

But there were no scratches.

Suguru had trimmed your nails.

"Protocol," he had said.

A sob wrenched itself from your throat, broken and shattered.

"Angel."

Suguru’s voice was soft. Warm. Loving. Like he was about to kiss you goodnight.

But he wasn’t.

Because this wasn’t a goodnight kiss.

This was electroshock therapy.

Something traditional.

Something brutal.

Something meant to fix you.

And the worst part? Satoru still wouldn’t let go.

Satoru flinched. Just for a second.

You screamed. Raw, guttural—desperate. It wasn’t just fear. It was betrayal.

The long fingers of his intertwined with yours twitched ever so slightly, like he wanted to let go, like he wanted to change his mind—

But he didn’t.

His grip remained firm, unyielding. A tether holding you down, delivering you to the inevitable.

"Shhh, princess," he murmured, his voice unbearably gentle, a cruel mockery of comfort. His free hand rose, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face with a touch too tender, too familiar.

Like he wasn’t dragging you to the table.

Like he wasn’t helping Suguru break you.

"Don’t make this harder on yourself," he whispered, his thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles against your temple, his expression unreadable.

But his eyes—

His eyes were glassy.

Like he was trying not to cry.

Your stomach turned violently. Your body twisted, fought, bucked wildly against their hold, legs kicking at the linoleum, heels scraping, fingers grasping at anything—

"Please—please, Satoru, I’ll take the meds, I’ll do whatever you want, just—just don’t let him—"

The words cracked, fractured, shattered in your throat, weak and pleading in a way that made you sick.

The weight of Suguru’s hands came next.

Steady. Unyielding. Final.

Like iron shackles pressing into your shoulders, pinning you in place.

"Angel," he sighed, exhaustion bleeding into his voice, like you were being difficult. Like this wasn’t the most terrifying moment of your life.

"You know this is for your own good."

Something inside you snapped.

"You don’t get to decide that!" you sobbed, thrashing so violently that, for just a second, you nearly knocked him off balance.

Nearly.

But Suguru had always been stronger.

They both had.

Your knees buckled, their hands dragging you across the floor, inching you closer—closer—

To the altar.

To your undoing.

Your screams felt smaller in the sterile, hollow air.

"NO—PLEASE!"

Suguru tilted his head, his violet eyes still so soft.

"Why do you always have to fight us, angel?"

His voice wavered—just barely.

Not an insult.

Not an accusation.

A plea.

Like he was asking why you wouldn’t just let him love you.

Why you wouldn’t just let him keep you safe.

A sob ripped through you as you felt it—the cool, sterile touch of metal against your back.

The restraints came next.

"No, no—Suguru, please—"

Your voice broke on his name.

For just a fraction of a second, his hands paused.

His expression flickered.

His fingers twitched.

Like he remembered something.

Something important.

Something about you.

The way you used to lay beside him on quiet Sunday mornings, tracing absentminded circles into his chest. The way you’d whisper I love you against his shoulder before rolling out of bed, before rushing to work, before leaving him behind.

The way you used to trust him.

And now—

Now you were afraid of him.

His lips parted, just barely.

For a second, you thought he might stop.

That maybe—just maybe—you had gotten through to him.

That maybe he would undo the straps. Take you home. Hold you the way he used to. Tell you he didn’t mean it.

That this wasn’t necessary.

That he loved you.

But then his jaw set.

And his hands kept going.

"This is necessary to keep you pure," he whispered, like he was reassuring himself, not you.

The restraints tightened around your wrists.

"Suguru, don’t do this," you whispered, voice pleading, voice breaking.

No response.

Just the final, deafening click of the straps locking into place.

Satoru let go of your hand.

The absence of his touch felt colder than the room itself.

"You’re scaring her," he muttered, voice tight, like this was hurting him, too.

Suguru didn’t respond.

His expression had smoothed into something distant.

His hand shook—just slightly—as he reached for the electrodes.

"NO—DON’T—PLEASE—"

Satoru sighed, rubbing at his temple, shaking his head like this was all just so exhausting.

Then he leaned down, brushing his fingers over your forehead in something almost affectionate.

"Shhh, princess," he whispered.

"It’s just a little reset." As he placed the clothed gag in your mouth.

Suguru’s hands were steady as he placed the electrodes against your temple, securing them into place with slow, deliberate precision.

His fingers lingered.

For just a second.

Like this was the last time he’d hold you.

Like he didn’t want to let go.

"You’ll feel so much better after this," he murmured, voice softer than before. Like he was convincing himself. Like he was telling himself this was right. That this was love.

Like he was hoping it was.

"This is mercy, angel."

"This is love."

Satoru pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

And Suguru flipped the switch.

Pain detonated behind your eyes, blinding, white-hot, like lightning through your skull, like static in your veins - erasing, ripping, rewiring.

Your body jerked, your spine arching off the table, muscles seizing, breath vanishing.

Through the haze of agony, you thought you heard something.

A voice. Maybe Suguru’s. Maybe Satoru’s.

Maybe both.

"Shhh, angel."

"It’s okay."

Everything went black.

"We love you."

Thank you for reading! <3

965 notes View Post

gojosbunnygirl

3 years ago

late night thoughts ft. haitani brothers & sanzu h. (bimbo edition!)

haitani brothers x fem!reader x sanzu haruchiyo

warnings: fem!reader, poly, bimbo!reader, kanto manji!bonten trio, possessive behavior + jealousy, lowkey manipulation and gaslighting, manhandling, exhibitionism, cockwarming, facefucking, degradation, hair pulling, mirror sex (ish), thigh riding, voyeurism (?), slight humiliation, masturbation (m)--all characters 18+ ofc

wordcount: 3.5k

They all knew better. As much as the men of Kanto Manji loved to leer, imaginations going wild as you passed through the base in short skirts and low-cut shirts, they all knew better than to act on any of the carnal impulses that stir on your arrival at base. They knew who you belonged to--and the last one that had tried their hand at you was still comatose in the hospital.

But you were just… so fucking dumb, and you were oblivious to how possessive your three boyfriends were >:( Those poor men tried so hard to steer clear of you, they tried so fucking hard to hide how wound up they got whenever you were around but you were just clueless--bounding right toward the first person that made eye contact with you like a happy puppy, thinking that all they wanted to do was talk but were too nervous to approach you.

And these poor, poor men because what were they supposed to do? They know damn fucking well that talking to you would end up with them inevitably getting beaten half to death by Haitani Ran’s baton because how dare they think themselves good enough to talk to his girl, but walking away from you and making you upset would draw Sanzu Haruchiyo’s ire because how dare they upset his pretty little princess. It really was a lose-lose situation, and all they could do was hope and pray that they weren’t the unfortunate soul you decided to approach.

“And it was just so sad, you know?” pouting, you leaned in close to the man you were talking to, unaware of the concerned looks being sent his way by some of the others in the room, unaware of the growing horror pooling in the man’s gut as you blissfully chatted on about how you saw a dead animal on the side of the road on the way here. “Like, who would just leave it there, right? At least bury it somewhere, I-”

“What’s going on here?”

Ignorant to the way the man you had been talking to stiffened like a board, you spun around, delighted at the sight of not one, but both of the Haitani brothers standing behind you. Giggling, you threw your arms around Rindou, who was closest, burying your face into the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around your waist, easily lifting you up off the floor.

“Rin!” you said gleefully, legs tightening around his waist, skirt riding up dangerously causing all of the other men in the room to avert their eyes--well, except the poor guy who you had been talking to, right in front of you and far too close to move his gaze before catching an eyeful. Ran cocked his head to the side, an unkind smile tugging at his lips as considered the man.

“Pretty girl,” Ran complained, voice teasing but sharp gaze never leaving the other man, “am I chopped liver?”

“No, no,” you said, making no move to detach yourself from Rindou as he shared a look with his brother over your shoulder, “‘m sorry, Ran.”

“I’m sure you are, pretty,” Ran murmured and you giggled, lifting your head from Rindou’s neck to prop your chin up on his shoulder, Ran shifted, standing behind his brother so he could lean down and give you a brief kiss on the lips, “You go with Rindou, I’ll meet up with you guys in a minute.”

Pouting as he pulled away, you looked up at him, “Why aren’t you coming with us?” you asked, oblivious to the dark look in his eyes as he smiled at you and patted your head.

“Just got a lil something to take care of, doll, promise I’ll be right there,” you nodded, tilting your head up as you beckoned Ran to lean down for one more kiss.

He did as you wanted, of course, Haitani Ran was good at a lot of things--denying you anything was most certainly not one of them.

On the topic of being spoiled--god is Sanzu the biggest offender and he sees absolutely no wrong with it because of course his pretty princess should be given everything she wants >:(

Sanzu Haruchiyo has you sitting pretty on his lap every time he gets the chance, fingers dancing along your sides, lips gliding across your bare neck, cock filling you up--and no one dares whisper or even look twice when they see you trembling on his lap in the middle of base, face hidden in his neck, arms shaking around his shoulders, skirt hiked up suspiciously high because they know the Kanto Manji vice president had a temper that was especially short when it came to you.

But Sanzu Haruchiyo could also be mean, having you cockwarm him for hours on end, refusing to let you get yourself off because you were so, so pretty dumb and crying on his cock, begging him to please just move because you’ve been so good for him, haven’t you?

“Haru,” your voice was so soft and weak in his ear and it was like music to him, really. He already knew what you were going to ask, and his scars twitched up in amusement as he pressed his lips against your marked up neck again, reveling in how your body shuddered underneath his touch, “Haru, will you please let me cum?”

And it was so tempting, it really was, cause your cunt hugged him so fuckin’ tight, you were dripping onto his white pants and he wanted to do nothing more than bend you over the meeting table and fuck you right in front of all of the other Kanto Manji higher ups. But he wouldn’t because he knew that Hanma Shuji and Madarame Shion had their eyes on you too often already and there was no way he was going to give them more ammunition by letting them hear how pretty you sounded cumming for him.

“Haru, been good, been so long,” he could feel your nails clawing at the back of his jacket, could feel your tears and makeup staining the skin of his neck but all he did was smooth a hand over your back, rubbing soothing circles over your skin, “Please, Haru, please, please please-”

You tried to rock your hips against his, he grimaced, jaw clenching and hands flying to your waist to keep you still. A hiss of breath escaped his lips as he felt your walls flutter around him, squeezing him so tight it nearly had his eyes rolling back. Next to him, he threw Ran a filthy glare as the older Haitani snorted. You knew better than to push the limits with him or Rindou--the two of them had put you in your place more than once, but Sanzu just didn’t have the same sort of self-control that they had when it came to you and knowingly or not, you took advantage of that.

But he was not going to let Hanma Shuji or Madarame Shion have the pleasure of watching and listening to you cum around his cock.

His grip tightened around your waist to the point he was sure it must’ve been bruising your skin but instead of stilling, which he knew you knew he wanted you to do--you weren’t that stupid--you tried to move again. Temper and restraint peaking, he leaned forward, lips brushing your ear, “Keep fuckin’ testing me, princess, I won’t let you cum for a week.”

And fuck, as much as he loved the silly, dazed grin on your face when he gave you everything you wanted--he couldn’t hold back the slow smirk that crawled onto his face when noticed the genuine nervousness that spread across your expression at his words.

Cute, he noted, brushing your hair out of your face, wiping away the sweat starting to bead at your forehead. Maybe, he decided, not giving you what you want all the time would be worth it.

And Rindou. Rindou’s just so fuckin’ mean. He makes fun of you all the time for being so dumb, rolling his eyes and telling you should know better than to believe Sanzu’s shit by now, getting pissy when he has to repeat himself for the second, third, fourth, fifth time because you were too distracted by his brother’s fingers teasing up your skirt; too busy ignoring him for Ran’s flirtations as usual.

“Get the fuck up,” Rindou spat, watching as your pretty smile faltered, looking up from where you were leaning in close to his brother, running your fingers through his hair. You didn’t move, Rindou darted forward, hand curling around the collar of your shirt and yanking you right off of the couch.

“Rin!” you gasped.

“Rindou,” Ran warned, voice low, Rindou only glared at his brother--as if he would ever actually hurt you, he was always careful not to grab you too harshly or jerk you around too sharply. You stumbled onto your feet and right into him, eyes wide and pretty as you looked up at him, hands balanced on his chest.

“Get on your fuckin’ knees,” he said, heat rising to his lower abdomen when you dropped to your knees for him almost instantly--dumb as rocks, yeah, but at least you were an obedient little whore. For him, at least.

His hand curled itself around your hair, gripping it tight. He watched you wince as your eyes met his, still wide, tears pricking at them. He forcibly turned your head to the side, making you look at yourself in the mirror on the opposite wall, “Look at you, dropping to your knees just ‘cause I asked. You really are just a cock-hungry whore, aren’t you?”

You shook your head, tears spilling from your eyes as you looked at him through the mirror. His grip on your hair tightened, “Said look at yourself, not me,” your eyes darted back to the reflection of yourself immediately, “How are you gonna see yourself and say you’re not just a fuckin’ slut? Isn’t that why you’re fuckin’ around with me, Ran and Sanzu--just can’t get enough with only one of us.”

You shook your head again and he forced turned your head back so that you were looking up at him, “‘s not true,” you sniffled, lips trembling, “Rin, I love you guys, ‘m not-”

He brushed his thumb over over your cheek, wiping away some of the tears streaming down your cheeks, and of course he knew you actually loved them but it was just too fucking fun to make you stress over it.

“Can prove it! ‘can prove it, Rin!” and he tilted his head to the side, waiting for you to continue. He watched as your eyes flickered down to his already half-hard cock and Rindou almost laughed. Convincing him by doing the very same thing he was ‘accusing’ you of using them for, you’re fuckin’ precious.

But Rindou was never one to turn down a good blowjob so he just nodded his chin at you, go ahead, and watched in amusement as you fumbled with his belt. Sharing a brief look with Ran, who seemed just as entertained by your choice of convincing him, he looked back down at you after you managed to free his cock from his pants.

He tapped your cheek with two fingers, you looked up at him, “Hands behind your back and open wide.”

One hand finding its way back to your hair and the other guiding his cock to your mouth, he inhaled sharply as your tongue darted out to lick the precum beading at his slit. His grip tightened, you winced again.

“Sit there pretty for me,” he said and you nodded, keeping your mouth open wide as he pushed his cock into your mouth, jaw clenching at the feeling of your warm mouth surrounding him, watching as your brows furrowed briefly as you tried to adjust to his size before he went any deeper.

He did not give you the chance.

He groaned as he pushed your head down fully on his cock, feeling you gag around the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing around him. Oh fuck, he thought, eyes trained down on you, watching as you kept your hands behind your back even as your every instinct told you to push yourself off of his cock so you could breathe.

“Good girl,” he murmured, drawing his hips back briefly before snapping them back against your mouth, fucking your throat at a steady pace, watching you choke and gag all over him, drool spilling over the corners of your mouth and down your chin, tears streaming down your face.

You were a fucking mess and Rindou was sure you’d never looked prettier.

You never knew what to expect with Ran, for better or for worse. He was always the most charming of your three boyfriends, he always had you giggling silly and blushing, but it was a matter of whether or not it was a nice charming or a mean charming. Charming in a way that had you stuttering and stumbling over your words, blushing like a fool or charming in a way that still had you blushing but also had tears stinging your eyes because there was a cruel undertone that even you couldn’t miss. It gave you whiplash, really.

“My pretty girl,” Ran cooed, running the back of his finger across your cheek, the cool metal of his ring making you shiver, “always all dolled up for us, aren’t you?”

Ran waited for you to nod before speaking again, “Are you sure it’s just for us?” he asked after a moment, voice cold as ice, and you blinked, reeling at the sudden change of tone, “I’m not sure if it is, I see the way you strut around base for all of the other fuckers here. Saw you cozying up to Hanma Shuji earlier too--while me, Rin and Sanzu were busy talking to Mikey and Kokonoi.”

“Huh?” was all you could say, staring at Ran blankly as he tilted his head to the side, lavender eyes sharp. You shifted on his lap nervously, eyes looking anywhere but at his face. His hand darted out to grab you by the chin, grip painful as he forced you to look at him. You swallowed, watching as his loose hair fell into his face, barely resisting the urge to brush it away, “I was just saying hi, Ran, he offered to wait with me until you’re done.”

His thin smile was cruel, “Oh, did he?” Ran drawled and you nodded hesitantly, feeling distinctly as if you had made a mistake, “and him waiting with you involved you feeling him up?”

What-

“What?” you gasped, “Ran, I-”

“Yes you did,” it was Rindou that spoke, and you turned to look at the younger Haitani in disbelief. Desperately, you looked at Sanzu for help but found no support as he watched you coolly. Why were they ganging up on you?! They never ganged up on you! They were always arguing with each other.

“I tripped,” you said, flustered, and you had, you had been walking with Hanma toward where Sanzu had told you to meet them and you tripped over an uneven plank in the flooring, Hanma had caught you from crashing painfully into the ground.

“You tripped,” Ran mocked, “I bet you did.”

“I did,” you said, shifting again in his lap and inhaling sharply as his leg bounced up, unintentionally grinding against your clit. His eyes sharpened in on you and you pressed your lips together, praying that missed it or that he let it go if he happened to notice, but you should’ve known better.

Haitani Ran does not miss anything, nor does he let anything go.

“Oh?” he murmured, fingers ghosting your thighs, “What’s this? Our pretty girl is needy?”

You shivered as his long fingers drifted across your inner thighs, whimpering as they brushed over your clothed cunt, “So wet already,” he clicked his tongue sharply, “and you expect us to believe it’s for us when we haven’t even touched you. Did Hanma Shuji make this wet, pretty girl? You’re sitting here on my lap still thinking of him?”

“No!” you protested immediately, “Ran-”

“Prove it,” he said, voice icy and you stared at him once again, unsure of how he wanted you to prove it. His gaze darted down to his leg, you followed it before looking back up in confusion, “If you’re this wet for us,” he cooed, “you should have no problem getting yourself off by riding my thigh, right?”

Your mouth dried up, eyes nervously shooting toward Sanzu and Rindou, both of whom were watching the two of you. You were no stranger to exhibitionism, Sanzu had you cockwarming him during nearly every Kanto Manji meeting at this point, but the thought of them watching you get yourself by rubbing yourself on his thigh had embarrassment swelling through your stomach.

“Ran-” you began but cut yourself off as he raised his eyebrows, leaning back in the couch before pointedly looking down at his leg again.

Go on, he told you.

Lips trembling, you rocked your hips lightly against his thigh. Ran’s eyes remained on you, unimpressed. You gasped as his hands curled around your hips, grinding you down so hard against his thigh that it had your back arching and hands shooting toward his shoulders to find some sort of leverage.

“Ran!” you cried out but he didn’t continue, instead hooking one arm around the back of the couch and the other working at the zipper of his pants.

“Keep going,” he told you, “and maybe I’ll let you cum on my cock after you finish on my thigh once.”

Tears spilled over your cheeks as you heard Rindou make a comment about you looking like a desperate whore but you couldn’t take your eyes off of where Ran’s long fingers were running up and down his pretty, pretty cock. You could feel your cunt aching empty as you rolled your hips against his thigh again, half-sobbing as he bounced his leg up lightly, putting more pressure on your clit.

A high-pitched moan escaped your lips as Ran bounced his leg in time with the strokes of his fist around his cock, head thrown back and lips parted, “Ra-an, Ran! Wan’ you to fill me up, Ran, want you in me,” you cried loudly, nails digging into his black jacket, “Ran, ‘lease fill me up, wan’ your cock.”

“Pretty girl,” Ran laughed, voice catching and a shameless moan slipping past his lips as he squeezed the base of his cock lightly, “You don’t deserve my cock yet, you know what to do if you want it.”

And this time you did sob, tears blurring your eyes as you continued to helplessly rock your hips against Ran’s thigh, grinding down as hard as you could in a futile attempt to push yourself over the edge but how the fuck were you supposed to make yourself cum just from grinding against his clothed thigh when you could see him fucking his fist with his cock? When you could see what exactly you were missing out on? You were too empty, too empty, how were you supposed to cum without being stuffed full after them constantly spoiling you with their cocks?

“I ca-ant,” you clawed at his jacket, “Need to be filled n-”

“If you make me help you, won’t fuck you for two weeks, will make sure Rindou and Sanzu don’t either--you'll get real used to getting off on our thigh then,” Ran threatened and a broken moan of his name left your lips as his free hand shot forward to grab your neck, forcing you to look at him. “Hurry the fuck up and cum.”

The words in combination with one last rock of your hips and one particularly hard bounce of his leg had your vision going white and your body tensing and your nails raking down his clothed chest as you came all over his thigh. Distantly, you heard Rindou and Sanzu murmuring to one another but your mind went black as Ran helped you ride out your high, grinding his leg up into you and holding your hips down against him with his free hand.

“There you go,” you barely heard him over the blood roaring in your ears, words barely registering as your mind went near-blank from the intensity of your orgasm, “That’s it, pretty girl, knew you could do it for me.”

His voice was warmer as you slumped limp into his chest, breath heavy and body shaking. He rubbed gentle circles onto your back, “Don’t tap out on me yet, pretty girl,” he chuckled, “you’ve got quite the night ahead of you, you know?”

They are bullies >:( but they love you dearly, and god help anyone else that tries to bully you because they can and will fuck them up beyond recognition.

---

taglist: @spookygeto @kennyb0y @devinsdaydreams @mortuary-ossuary @portfolio-of-dreams @sugusshi @sano-obsessed @wakasasucker @aces-high @haitanihime @bontens-cum-slut @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @crackheadwithtoes @zuuki @daiserenade @hanmascult @kisekihany @4leafcloverwithawhitecraneforyou @hollypastl @imkumichan @obsessiontoanime @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @marism @prettyiolanthe @whydohumansss @rinsie @blvebcrry @givinggoodvibes @nina-and-the-mirror-realm @rozcdust @chifuyuslilkitten

Deadly Affairs: Bonten! Manjiro ‘Mikey’ Sano x Bonten Reader (+ Bonten)

Chapter 1: Genesis

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ [series summary]: you’ve seen this story multiple times, where the girl does everything to end up as the wife of the king. In any other timeline, you would have done the same. This time is different. You don’t want to marry the king. You want to be him.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ [chapter summary]: your destiny starts on your 23rd birthday, at the back of Manjiro Sano’s car, with the loss of your virginity

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ [content warning]: DARK CONTENT, NSFW, DUBCON, bonten timeline, fem reader, power imbalance, age-gap relationship, sexual harrassment/abuse, sexism and misogyny, implied torture, flashing, alcohol/drug use, slight manipulation, drunk sex, public sex, fingering (f. recieving), virginity loss (reader), unprotected sex piv, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, slut shaming.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ [r-18+] [not suitable for 17 and under]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ [wc]: 4.5k

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ [masterlist] [chapter2] [taglist]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➞ [notes]: I will no longer be using the series colours on each chapter, since tumblr keeps glitching. Sorry guys :(

BONTEN, one of the most dangerous organizations that has ever arisen from Japan and possibly, the world. Led by men born from the era of brutality, Japan had never seen such a business successful with covering the tracks of organized crime as much as BONTEN has.

Despite the brutal murders, torture chambers, human and drug trafficking and even bodies found with teeth missing and finger prints skinned off, the police could never completely trace it back to BONTEN. They knew it would have something to do with such a deadly corporation, but as far as the higher ups and Japan's government were concerned, they were just business men with the usual ethical issues.

Anyone who tries to dig in too deep will face Bonten's hammer of judgment.

It's the life you've grown accustomed to for a while ever since Kokonoi had picked you up from the street.

Poverty made you sell your morals to the devil in the designers before you could regret it; Bonten sponsored your university course in accounting, trained you how to use a gun and taught you how important you were to them. Inappropriate touches and comments on your appearance by your fellow workmates and your superiors, you knew that no one would give you the time of the day to care about your accusations.

Besides, you've seen prostitutes that went missing after complaining so much about bonten members being rough with them.

"When is my flight for Makarti scheduled?"

You break out of your thoughts and raise your head to meet the dark eyes of the man sitting in front of you with his head down, Hajime Kokonoi, the man who took you out of the gutters to become his personal assistant who helped with calculations, estimates and other errands.

"It's supposed to be by twelve," you say, preparing yourself for his complaint as you explain the situation. "But your private jet needs a few maintenance checks before it's ready for your flight, so I had to shift it to two pm."

You waited for him to say anything to berate you for not doing the maintenance checks yesterday like he told you to, but instead he kept his head on the work he was doing and brushed it off, making you sigh in relief internally. "That's good, I have some meetings to attend to anyways, so I can avoid having extra work when I return. Also, you've gotten my suits from the dry cleaners?"

"Yes sir."

"And you've sent a message to Mochizuki and Kakucho about the change in flight times?"

"Yes sir."

The room falls silent, save for the noise coming from Kokonoi's fingers typing away on his laptop. You tap your feet lightly, waiting for either his next question or for him to dismiss you until he raises his head to look at you with confusion and annoyance written all over his features.

"Yes?" He stops typing to pay complete attention to you. "What are you still doing here?"

"Sorry sir."

You immediately stand up from the chair with your bag and scramble for the door in haste, adjusting your dress that had ridden up to your thigh. The last thing you wanted was for him to scold you again with disapproving eyes glaring down on you.

Hajime Kokonoi was very hard to please and easy to anger, you could never tell when his switch would flip and you don't like being around whenever it did.

You don't see the way Kokonoi's eyes rest on the curve of your ass strained against the office skirt you had worn today, before looking down your legs as you struggled to open his large office doors

"Wait."

You stop halfway, leaving the door half-open as you turn to the man sitting some feet away from you. Kokonoi rests his angular jaw on his intertwined fingers before clearing his throat. "I just remembered that you would be joining Mikey and Sanzu for a meeting tonight."

You feel the blood in your veins turn cold as you process Kokonoi's words, your fingers curl around the door handle tighter than before, anchoring you to the ground and keeping you from stumbling at the news. Kokonoi doesn't miss the way your face turns sour at the news he had broken, and frankly, he can't exactly blame you for your reaction. The top two executives are frightening, even more brutal than he himself was, especially when it came to you.

"I'm giving you the rest of the day off to prepare." He goes back to his laptop screen and keeps working on the audit he was doing before. The world of the yakuza cares for no man, and if you despise someone, either you kill them or you stick to them like glue. "Someone will come get you by 7pm so be ready by then. You can go now."

The room goes quiet again. Kokonoi can feel your questioning glare asking him why he would break his promise of not letting those men come near you, again.

"Yes sir."

You stomp out of the room angrily and the door slams shut after you, leaving Kokonoi all by himself to keep doing his work. He had to admit, the head on top of your shoulders wasn't just for decoration, you actually do know how to use it.

You knew better than to ask him questions.

────────────୨ৎ───────────

THE noise from the club was deafening the moment you stepped into the place.

Once upon a time, Ran had told you he and his brother used to rule this place with an iron fist, before finding a much smarter way to make everyone submit to them. Now, practically all the clubs littered around Japan, including this one Manjiro Sano had decided to be the venue of the meeting, belong to them in Bonten's name.

Dressed in a sequined two piece cream top and skirt paired with heels, you certainly turned heads with your looks. You could hear whispers of men and women asking about who you were, seeing as you walked up to the V.I.P area with an air of confidence, somewhere only known Bonten members, business partners of Bonten or unlucky women foolish enough to entertain any executive were allowed to enter.

As expected, the guards in charge stopped you in your tracks. You could practically feel the predatory gazes of the men aimed at your choice of clothes, oozing lust, before flickering into disapproval at how you were dressed.

"V.I.Ps only."

His tone was condescending for someone that just stared at you like a piece of meat, although it was nothing new to you when it came to the men in Bonten. You don't pay mind to his attitude, instead lifting up your skirt partially to reveal the Bonten tattoo on your inner thigh. You could see his eyes practically entranced by the flesh of your thighs and the panties peeking through the skirt, greedily absorbing the details of every inch of skin as you lowered your skirt down.

You blame Kokonoi for letting you go through with that idea. Flashing people to reveal your tattoo isn't exactly ideal for you.

"Can I go in now?" You say and without waiting for them to finish, you push past them and got into the entrance to the V.I.P lounge.

IF you had a nickel for everytime Kokonoi lied to you about something, you would be extremely wealthy by now.

You could see the collection of wine bottles distributed across the tables, each to every individual's taste. Smoke billowed around the area, mixing with the scent of weed and alcohol. Voluptuous women were strewn on their laps, sides and even at their feet, smiling and pouring drinks, talking loudly or laughing at something they said.

This is not a meeting. This was a private party and you want nothing to do with it.

Haruchiyo, Bonten's number 2, is the first person to notice you awkwardly standing there and staring at the rest of them in horror and shock. His lips break out in a smile aimed at you, calling your name loudly and garnering everybody's attention, including Manjiro Sano who looked tired and bored, despite the woman who was sitting on his lap and feeding him. "The birthday girl is here, come sit down."

'Birthday girl? Does this look like a party I would like to attend?'

You mindlessly walked towards the space Haruchiyo had made between him and Manjiro, and sat there stiffly. You notice Haruchiyo hasn't touched his drinks at all, as if he was waiting for you to see this madness while he was sober. Electricity runs down your spine as he leaned so close to your ears, lips brushing it lightly to whisper;

"So, do you like it? Boss said I could plan it however I wanted since Kokonoi wasn't around."

'You shouldn't have.' The voice in your head is dry, sarcastic even, but you know better than to trigger him on his good days. Even if the urge to slap him across the face is creeping along the surface, you decided to keep things to yourself.

You glance briefly at Manjiro who was following (or trying to) a conversation the chatty escort he had hired had started. Your gazes meet briefly and you shyly avert your eyes away back to your lap.

Of course it was him that gave Haruchiyo the reins to host this party. Who else could do something like this?

You sigh weakly and turn to Haruchiyo, who was still waiting for your answer with a huge expectant grin on his lips. It wasn't like you could tell him the truth about how this party felt like it was for the men of Bonten and not for you.

"It's um…" you forced a smile at him before you continued lying. "... nice. Thank you sir."

A sigh of relief escapes your lips when his grin widens. You feel his arm drape over your shoulders, drawing you closer to his body. He dips his head into the crook of your neck, hot breath dancing along your body as he whispers in your ear again.

"Anything for you princess."

You sit frozen when he pulls away from you and goes back to the escort he was chatting with as if he didn't just make your heart race. You didn't get to think about it for long when a wine glass is put right in front of your face. Manjiro does not look at you as he shakes the wine glass in your face and you take it from him, trying to ignore the electricity running through your fingertips that brushed his.

"Thank you sir."

"Try to relax." His voice is low enough for only you to hear him speak. Your body grows hotter when he turns his gaze completely on your body, slowly scanning your attire for the evening before focusing on your face again. "We're not punishing you this time."

You nod quickly, making a huge effort to keep the glass in your shaking hands. Being so close to Manjiro Sano and Haruchiyo Sanzu proved to be more difficult than it should have been. Was it the fear that had been instilled into you by these men themselves?

Or was it the fact that you were surrounded by the constant reminders of your twisted sexual fantasies?

"A toast, to the birthday girl!" Ran's loud voice brings you out of your thoughts and you absentmindedly raise your glass up into the air. Whatever it is you feel about them doesn't matter, you couldn't afford to get anymore involved with Bonten beyond office contact.

"To life and a fatter ass!"

You don't notice Manjiro watching your facial expression morph into a scowl before hiding it with a fake laugh and repeating. "To life and a fatter ass."

────────────୨ৎ───────────

"YOU didn't like the party.

You don't say anything in response, with the light hum of the car's engine serving as the only sound in the vehicle and opting to look out of the window instead, watching the cars drive past yours. Of course you absolutely hated everything tonight; hell even your sour facial expression couldn’t be hidden by your usual fake laughter and flirty words. Manjiro Sano had noticed and offered to take you home early when you said you were tired.

You don’t feel bad for cutting his time short despite him having little time to be frivolous. It’s his fault anyways for setting up a disaster like this in the first place without even being considerate enough to assume you wouldn’t want it and you don’t owe him any gratitude for a job terribly done.

He sighs after a while, now looking out of his own window to distract himself from the way your skirt rode up to reveal the flesh of your thighs. "I'm sure Sanzu tried his best given how he ... is."

Something in you snaps at that moment and you face him with annoyance in your eyes. You were just about done with the way he kept digging the knife deeper into your gut. "I had plans for the evening Mr. Sano." You put it bluntly, not caring if he took offense to your words or just ignored you completely. "I did not ask for anything. I'm beginning to think you do this to make me miserable."

Your frown only deepens when you hear him chuckle quietly before turning around to face you with a curious look written all over his face. Somehow, seeing you upset made you cuter in his eyes; You always looked so vulnerable in times like these, whether you're walking on eggshells around him or outright being ungrateful to him. Maybe it's the alcohol giving you an extra boost to speak your mind, and he'll allow it for now because he wants to hear what you have to say.

But it won't go unpunished.

"What were the plans you had for this evening?"

Manjiro doesn't miss the way your face contorts slightly into an uncomfortable smile. It's not like he didn't know anyways, he had overheard your discussion with Ran’s assistant about what you wanted to do about two weeks ago and it was what made him call Haruchiyo to plan the most disastrous party ever to stop you from going ahead with your plan.

"It's nothing, never min-"

"I know you wanted to hook up with some idiot you met on a dating app, don't play coy with me."

You swallowed hard at his harsh tone, flickering your eyes anywhere but his face. The ridiculous last minute party made sense now that he had ripped the band aid off. Manjiro must have heard of your plans to hook up with someone you had met, since Kokonoi never let you even breathe in peace or left you alone whenever you wanted to do something.

"Today was my only chance and you ruined it." Your voice cracks slightly as you hiss at him. It was frustrating honestly, the one time you had to yourself without Bonten breathing down your neck, they found a way to make you even more miserable. "I have needs too for god's sake! I have a life outside being your lackey-"

"So you were going to let some lowlife stick his dick into you because you can't keep your legs shut."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

You try to reply to him again but no words come to your head. You can only close your mouth and look at your lap; it's unbelievable that he was berating you for wanting some form of intimacy in your life after being so pent up and going through so much shit. "So what do you expect me to do Mr. Sano?" Your voice is bitter but you didn't care any more at this point. "Ask Kokonoi to fuck me? Or should I go to Ran or Haruchiyo? Or…"

A smile makes its way to your face the moment an idea pops into your mind. You raised your head sharply towards him and jabbed a finger into his chest to buttress your point.

"Or should I ask you to do it? To corrupt and taint me?"

"Stop that."

"Do you want to fuck me, Mr. Sano? Is that why you hate seeing me with those low-lives? Is that it?"

"Don't start something you know you can't finish, (name)" it's a stern warning and you know Manjiro Sano isn't just being petty as usual. He was actually getting riled up from your constant taunting, which only served as entertainment with you because when was the last time you saw Mikey ever react to anything? "Or else."

But you don't listen to him. Even though you know from past experience that angering your volatile boss could end up with a bullet embedded in your brain, you push yourself closer to his body until you were flush against him, watching him stiffen as you lowered your lips next to his ear and rested your hand on his muscular thigh. It's obvious you're not thinking straight since you've had a couple of drinks and he's trying to keep that in mind, especially when you begin to trace a line towards his crotch area.

"Or else what, Mr. Sano?"

It happened so fast you could barely comprehend how he had you on your back to the seat with his body hovering over yours. Bleach blond bangs frame his face, highlighting the once empty, soulless eyes into darkened gazes full of lust and greed, hot breath hitting your face. A strong pale veiny hand pins your arms above your head, his knees separating your thighs, your jaw in a bruising grip of his other hand.

"S-sir-"

"A bit too late for that." He cuts you short, before turning his head to the driver of the vehicle. "Stop the car, now."

Your heart thuds loudly against your chest as the driver pulls the car into a dark corner hidden from the streetlights, coming to a stop. Manjiro does not ease up his grip, nor does he stop gazing into your soul as he tells the driver to "get out" in less than polite terms. You can hear the door of the car open and close quietly, along with the faint flicker of a lighter as the man walks away from the car.

With the two of you alone, Manjiro doesn't hesitate to crash your lips against each other in a messy kiss. Your boss wins the battle of dominance almost immediately with the sheer force he uses to force your mouth open with his hand so that he could explore your mouth. Your moans are silenced with each bruising kiss from him, his teeth grazing your lips before his tongue swipes over the marked place, engulfing your mouth with his until your lungs burn for air.

Moans of "sir" escaped your lips in sync with every wet kiss he placed on your face and cheek. Manjiro moves his lips from your lips, to your jaw and then settles onto your neck. The feeling of his teeth grazing your neck has you mewling and leaning into his touch. His hand leaves your jaw and quickly makes its way to your skirt, hiking it up a bit to reveal your panties and the Bonten tattoo on the plush of your inner thigh.

Manjiro pulls away from your neck and you let out an annoyed whine, already craving for his mouth on your neck again. His eyes sizes up the lace panties you had worn, a wet patch forming on it and he begins to trace a finger up and down your slit, teasing you through your panties. You let out a soft "hngh" from your lips as he moves to your clothed clit, rubbing tight circles, sending waves of electricity all over your lower region.

"Don't think I'm going easy on you." He mutters whilst pushing your soaked panties aside to reveal your bare cunt. A soft whine escapes your lips as two of his fingers start entering into your tight pussy, forcing its way into your walls until you accommodate the intrusion. "As soon as I'm done stretching out this cunt, I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

You don't get to reply as his fingers begin to move at a pace that has your body trembling.

His fingers curled into you, pumping them in and out of your pussy. A loud moan escapes your lips when his fingers brush that spot, making your eyes roll back and pussy pulse around his fingers. "You like that?" He whispers close to your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin, not letting up his rough finger fucking, curling his fingers even the more that has your legs shaking and the coil in your belly tightening. "Of course you do. You like it so much, look at how you're clenching on my fingers like a needy slut." His tone is mocking and yet, it only seemed to add fire to the flame.

Your body spasms in his hold, breathing fast as a violent orgasm rips through you until it becomes a dull throbbing and your head hangs while trying to catch your breath. Manjiro pulls away from your cunt and kneels upright. You peek through your lashes, watching him impatiently unbuckle his belt with one hand and toss it aside on the floor, followed by him working down the zipper and buttons of his pants, tugging it to his knees along with his boxers to reveal his thick, veiny cock springs free of its confines, drops of pre leaking from it.

He takes his dick in his free hand and smears the tip with pre before lining it up with your hole. A quiet groan escapes your lips as he rubs his length against your glistening pussy gathering all the slick, your heavy breathing matching his own. His grip on your hands above your head tightens, keeping you in place as he positions his tip in front of your entrance.

The pain when he pushes his tip into you is almost unbearable.

Your eyes snapped shut in response and you bit your lip to keep yourself from screaming as he slowly inched into you. "It'll be much easier for the both of us if you relax." He hisses at you, before reaching for your clit and circling it gently, trying to distract you from the pain. "Breathe."

His words were like a mantra and you found yourself taking in a deep breath and letting it out, trying your hardest to relax. Slowly, the pain from being stretched out gave way to feeling so full for the first time until he was buried at the hilt. A groan escapes Manjiro's lips; the feeling of your velvety walls around his hard cock was divine and if he didn't have any ounce of self control he would have cum immediately. His hips experimental rolls against yours and the loud "Manjiro" you let out had his brain short circuiting.

Everything is a blur after that.

His pace is fast, angling himself to your g-spot and abusing it, the whole car shaking with the power of his thrusts. His finger plays with your clit, despite you screaming "too much sir, too much!" in between moans and trying to squirm away from his brutal ministrations.

"Don't run away now, (name), I'm just doing what you want. Look at how well you're doing for a virgin." He says in between pants, thrusting into you even faster. He doesn't miss the whimper escaping your lips as his tip abuses your g-spot repeatedly- in fact it only encourages him to keep up the pace. "You're so obedient, I like this version of you. Might make you my personal slut- shit-"

His balls tighten at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him at that sentence. Seeing him staring down at you condescendingly as he fucks into you hard is shamefully arousing, and your mouth can't help letting out loud moans of pleasure when his fat tip prods against your cunt.

The noises of skin slapping skin from the intensity of his thrusts in the car is obscene and noisy, you're sure the guard standing outside is well aware of what is going on.

He lets go of your clit briefly to put your leg on his bony shoulder, bringing you even closer to him and presses a hot, messy kiss on your lips, his tongue playing with yours again. You answer his kiss with another weak moan, the coil in your belly tighten once again with the urge to snap.

"You look so fucked out, it's pathetic" he laughs against your lips and moves his head to the crook of your neck. His grip tightens on your hand as he holds your trembling body in place. "I would have mistakened you for a slut if you weren't so fucking tight." His hips stutter, before regaining his pace again. He spits out darkly; "Since you're so cock hungry, maybe you should be our personal slut, huh? Bonten's cumrag?"

Maybe it's the alcohol coupled with the intense feeling of pleasure that has your mind completely dumb for him. Maybe it's because he's the one in control of everything as he rolls his hips into you, bringing you closer and closer to edge, his dark eyes clouded with lust and greed peering into yours that had you saying "yes, yes yes yes-" until your second orgasm washes over you, more intensely than the first and knocks you out completely soon after.

He falls over the edge too, pumping loads and loads of cum into you as he bucks into you with a few more thrusts, more than anything he's produced before until he's spent completely. He pulls himself away from your cunt immediately and sits on his heels, dark eyes watching cum leak out of your abused hole and pool down your cunt with interest. Manjiro's eyes flicker up to your face and realized you have passed out.

'It must have been too intense for you, huh.'

He releases your hands above your head, taking note of the fingerprint bruises on his hand and reaches for your bag to take out your wipes. He cleans the cum and specks of blood outside your cunt and tries to dab off the stain on the chair as well before tugging your skirt down and adjusting his pants. Wounding down the window of the car, Manjiro signs the driver outside to come in and he obeys immediately, putting out his cigarette on the concrete wall.

A sigh escapes his lips, in sync with the car engine revving up again. Manjiro's eyes flicker down to your sleeping figure that he's maneuvered to his lap and trails his gaze down to the marks littered all over your jaw and neck. Deft fingers circle around the swelling skin, still lost in thought about how pretty you look with his markings.

Something in him is selfish when it comes to you. He’s never been outright with his affections, but there’s just something about you that makes him want to have you in his cage, trapped with him. Perhaps it’s why he let Koko take you in all those years ago and why you haven’t died yet despite your misdeeds. Maybe it’s because he sees himself in you; the pain and the loss, the madness that you’ve buried deep down in your heart.

But for now, he’ll settle with whatever you both have. As long as you stayed with him. And as long as you stayed loyal to Bonten.

"Take us to my house."

Forever. Even in death.

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special thanks to: @officiallyjaehyuns @haikyuusboringassmanager @cockonoi @rindou24689 @short-cxke @kokoch4n3l @genawi @getonite @reiners-milkbiddies @gh0stgirl333 @kawaiikoalagarden @raven-nevra @ilovetwodmen @kodzubaby @straightfromheaven @manchie55 @tenjikusstuff4 @hapikiou @Lovelyartistz @lik0

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