Maybe Life Is Just About Waiting Till Taylor Swift Drops Another Record

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

---

Best thing I‘ve ever read I‘m DYING

house of cards

ft. bully!mikey x reader

+ mikey has built quite the reputation for himself, you can't help but be tempted to make it all tumble down.

cw. dark content, college au, afab!fem!reader, noncon filming and pictures taken, slapping, dom!mikey, toxic mikey, name calling, degradation, objectification (?), writing on skin, he rubs his dick on ur face um yeah, unprotected sex against reader's will, mentions of STIs tho mikey's clean, one mention of piss, death threat, slight overstimulation, bullying.

an. 18+, minors dni. i love mean mikey yup yup make me cry ilysm. this is a drabble okay ?? :) smile and nod or else. 1,8k, not proofread. please lmk if i missed any tags.

The door swings open like a gale of wind attempting to wreak havoc in your dorm. Not a storm, no—Manjiro Sano. You look over your shoulder before plunging back into the comfort of your bed.

"Most people knock, you know." Boots thunder against your cheap hardwood floors, icy and nimble fingers harshly grabbing at your jaw as he leans over the bed in all his mad glory.

"Is that so?" His words drip of venom and the abyss hides itself in his charcoal eyes and midnight hair. "Most dogs behave, you know." You gulp—you didn't think he'd be this mad.

"Are ya gonna explain yourself," You yelp as he pulls your hair and drags you off the bed. "You sneaky little bitch?" He shoves you down on your knees while he plops himself comfortably where you were lying just a second ago. "I didn't—I didn't do anything-" Your head turns abruptly and your cheek stings. Tears well up in your eyes and a sob escapes you. "Wrong."

Mikey lets out a deep sigh and runs his fingers through his hair. "I don't think you understand the situation you're in, sweetheart." His silence speaks volumes, filling in blanks you wish you couldn't read. "Confess to your filthy little sins and maybe I won't make your life a livin' hell." It's terrifying, the way his lips tug into a wicked smile, not a single speck of benevolence in his vicious eyes.

"I might have.. said some things.." His eyebrow quirks up, lithe fingers pointing down at his jeans. "Do I need to help you with every fuckin' sentence? Spit it out already, mutt." You fumble with his belt and the metal clings clearly in your mind. Pulling down his zipper, you gaze up at him—regret washes over you the second his orbs meet yours.

"I told Senju to," You clear your throat when your shaky hands press against the wet patch of fabric, Mikey's cock twitching despite his cold demeanor. "-told her to spread some rumors about you.. They weren't anything serious! Just a little funny-" "Funny?" Mikey clicks his tongue.

"Spreadin' a rumor 'bout me having more STI's than letters in my name is funny?" You don't know what demon possessed you to snort when you were one foot in the grave already, but Satan's never liked you that well. "Oh? You're a brave one, aren't ya?" If he wanted you to answer, he doesn't let you when he shoves your face into the soaked fabric of his boxers.

"Wasn't just one lie you blubbered with that useless mouth of yours," His pupils dilate and the faintest of moans slip out between his plush lips when your tongue wets his underwear and laps at the precum dripping through. "Seems like I can't get it up either, huh?" They're all blatant lies, that much is evident when his cock springs up when you pull the fabric down—it blushes red at the tip and leaks down the sides of his length.

"What'cha even good for if you can't get my dick hard?" You ogle at him with big puppy eyes. It's already hard, you fucker. His dick bounces against your chin, vein pulsating against the flesh.

Mikey presses the tip against your face, admiring the way his cock drools down your skin. Bored by the current flow of the ongoing event, he wraps his fingers around your throat before pulling you towards the bed. His hand tightens its hold before he roughly throws you onto the mattress.

Cold fingers dip underneath your clothing and they make haste sliding each attire off your skin. Barely a few seconds pass with your bare body exposed to the air before he rubs his leaking slit around your entrance. "Wh-what are you doing? Put on a condom already."

"Nah, don't feel like it." He circles your pulsating clit with a hand wrapped around his shaft and a perverse glint in his eyes. "I mean, sharing's caring, yea? If the rumors you poured your heart 'n soul into are lies, then ya have nothing to worry 'bout!" A devilish smile with pitch-black orbs bore into you.

His hand snakes up your body till Mikey has his palm covering your mouth. Eyes drip of obsidian when he impales himself inside you with one deep and painful thrust. You gasp and drool into his hand, being completely at the Devil's mercy. "But lyin' ain't cute, sweetheart."

Rasping against your walls, Mikey's length pistons inside you with fervor and no care of your incessant whining. Legs thrown over his shoulders, his abs flex with each roll of his hips. Mikey's always been a piece of shit—there's not a single person on campus who hasn't heard his name at least once.

Notorious for seeking out trouble and adding fuel to the fire which is his insanity, any person in their right mind would walk the other way when seeing him. Unfortunately for you, he simply came running to you—itching to make you his new victim for his continuous bullying and pestering.

There's nothing he enjoys more than others suffering as a result of his foul actions. Taking your underwear before class, spitting on you when he sees you in the library—hell, one time he fucking peed inside you after fucking you in the public bathroom. There's no escaping his atrocities; one word and he could change the trajectory of your life for the worse.

Is it really that surprising that you wanted to get back at him just once? Though it's clear as day to you now—once is one too many when it comes to Mikey and his limited patience.

You wish you could bring yourself to walk away, but there's no hiding the slick that runs down your thighs every time he drags his fat cock out of your clenching hole. Shame floods your veins and your cheeks heat up at the sheer loudness of each squelch of his balls against your skin.

"This pussy's fuckin' mine, got it?" A paroxysm of pleasure strikes like lightning through your veins, nodding along in a frenzy. His hands dig into the flesh of your hips, tongue darting out to lick his lip. "If I see ya with someone else I'll fuckin' beat them to death," Clenching around him like a vice, your velvet walls quiver when his mushroom tips kisses against your deepest spot.

"Cunt's got my name on it, but my cock will never be yours." He snickers. You can't bring yourself to say anything back, the heat spreading in your abdomen about to burst, fingernails digging into the palms of your hands and eyes shutting close. "'M gonna-gonna cum—Mikey!" Fingers dip down to squeeze at your nipples with a haze of lust swirling in his eyes. "Look at me when you cum on my cock, slut." Your eyes roll back into your skull and your back arches into his body.

"Cunt's so sloppy, got an expiration date on this shit?" The filthiest and most gutwrenching words spill out of his lips, yet his violent pace turns erratic and a gurgled moan slithers out of his throat when he pinches your clit and you cream all over his cock.

His calloused hand grabs your left leg, squishing the flesh when he presses it close to your chest. "The only dick fuckin' into you is mine, sweetheart." Harsh and deep rams of his shaft into your trembling cunt has you sobbing from overstimulation.

"How 'bout we start a new fuckin' rumor?" Your eyes cross when he flickers at your clit and you jolt against Mikey's clenching muscles. "..Huh?" He chuckles at you despite never halting the continuous 'pap, pap, pap' against your skin. "'This bitch y/n is such a cockhungry whore, throwing herself at Mikey just to be his personal cumdump'," He delivers a sharp thrust, burying himself deeper in your pulsating walls, fat balls hanging low and full of seed ready to blow in your tight cunt. "How's that for some drama?" He snickers at your dazed look. "You got the look already, don'cha?"

There's some rustling on the other side of the bed, but you don't catch it with the way his cock throbs inside of you, kissing that one spot that has you going stupid. "Yeah, that's the shit—squeeze my cock jus' like that," Mikey throws his head back, reluctant to cum anywhere but deep in your womb, but you don't deserve that.

He pulls out with a hiss, cock coated in slick and cum as he tugs and drags on his length with his lips tucked between his teeth. A guttural groan runs throw him as he sprays white seed out of his throbbing tip all over your tits and dripping onto your stomach and bare pussy. A blinding light coats your body and a 'click' resonates throughout the room.

"Ain't ya lucky—you're one photogenic little cocksleeve." Mikey presses his chest against your and bites your bottom lip till it bleeds and you whimper when he licks over it with a nasty grin on his face. "Got a pen or somethin' 'round here?" You're not coherent enough to understand the words tumbling out of his lips, let alone answer him.

You hear him rummage through your room with a light hum and delicate footsteps. "Ah, found one!" Like a giddy little kid, he jumps back into the bed, hands quick to fondle your tits and press against every inch of your skin.

"Don't move." You jerk when the tip of a pen digs into your skin, gasping into Mikey's arm. "I said," His eyes roll and he grips both your hands and push them into the mattress above your head. "Don't fuckin' move."

You trash and shake under his gaze, eyes hung low and focused on your ink-stained skin. "It tickles..!" His tongue darts out in concentration. "Almosttt done.." Mikey sits back on his heels and puts the top back on the pen, chuckling at his work.

"Now, just smile one last time." Your head lolls to your side in confusion, but a lazy tug on your lips will have to suffice. "No, no, no. Smile. Gimme that dumb grin you had when I drilled my cock in ya." Maybe it's the nefarious tint to his grin that has you obeying, a flash blinding your eyes before you can think to decline. When a video and pictures leak and flood social media like a plague, you gasp in horror at the blurry images—it's unmistakenly you.

A lewd video of the invincible Mikey ramming into your pussy and hole sucking him back in with each thrust circulates throughout campus and spreads like wildfire. By the time the original video has been taken down, it's been shared too many times to have any hope of ever disappearing.

Though, the image of your cute little grin with "Mikey's jizz jar" written in bold, blue letters on your lower stomach, right above your pussy—it's his favorite.

---

sweethearts in photo booths (1920s-1960s)

Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

Chapter 2: Shots Fired

series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. and now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

chapter summary: Izana Kurokawa demands your attention and he doesn’t take no for an answer. Not even when his demands are outrageous.

cw: DARK CONTENT, MISOGYNY, NSFW, r*pe mention, religious guilt, depictions of PTSD and CPTSD, emotional incest, incestuous assault (NOT THE SANOS), abandoment issues, violence, revenge porn, depression, filming without consent, drugging, domestic (physical and sexual) abuse, victim blaming, blackmailing, depictions of rape culture, manipulation, gaslighting, noncon, dry humping, mind break, psychological and sexual torture, use of firearms, attempted su*cides

r-18+ (not suitable for 17 and under)

wc: 11.6k

[masterlist] [chapter 1] [chapter 3] [taglist]

a/n: likes are nice, comments and reblogs with comments are superior, anons are also superior too and would make me update faster cause it means people like what i write. this chapter takes an entirely different turn from the old story, some scenes are similar but the context is different. i host polls after this so stay tuned.

 YOU haven’t been able to stay asleep for the past few days.

It’s easy to fall asleep after a hard and stressful day at school and your part-time job. Your limbs ache from all the walking and lugging a bookbag far heavier than what you could handle -since all your e-textbooks were on your (now destroyed) laptop and phones were not allowed during lectures. And working from 5pm until 9pm at a restaurant, serving food to rude, overbearing customers only to be paid in pieces was another added stress in itself.

Not to mention, studying until the words are bleary and just looking at a book hurts your eyes.

But then, in all your dreams, everything you’ve pushed to the back of your memory is at the forefront. Your dream starts typically, your normal school day, waking up, dressing in your cute little blue crop sweater and jean skirt with socks. You go to classes, and then you see Mikey’s car waiting for Emma.

Things take a different turn. He’s the one getting out of the car to meet you. It’s like a siren call, him holding out his hand for you to take despite someone screaming for you to stop. You try to reject him, try to run away like the voice said but you end up getting trapped. This time, he’s not using his hands. He’s fully sheathed inside you, robbing you of the thing you hold so dear while you kick, bite and claw at him until you wake up screaming, sweat soaked all over your sheets.

You consistently dream of being violently raped by Manjiro Sano.

The next few hours until sunrise were equally horrible. You’re quietly sobbing into your pillows, praying to God to forgive you for letting Mikey touch you in the first place, assuming your reason for having such dreams was God’s divine judgement for your grievous sin. You’ve lost count on how many Bible verses you stay up reading until your eyes are bleary and the sun comes up.

No matter how much you pray and how many times you recite psalms 127 before you sleep, you can never escape Mikey in the world of dreams. He’s a virus that has invaded your thoughts, corrupting every dream you had and twisted them into nightmares.

You don’t know how long you can hold on being this sleep deprived. It’s been impairing your school life, trying to find a way to stay awake during classes only for you to fall asleep and miss the rest of it. Even when you got notes from the person next to you, reading them was always difficult because your eyes hurt so much.

Work was even more taxing and stressful, rush week adding more stress than you could ever imagine. You found yourself spacing out more than usual when you were supposed to be taking orders. You were unable to keep up with the fast paced environment, your body feeling like a ton of bricks with every moment you make. Your eyes were heavy lidded, tired from forcing them open throughout the day.

You were so, so tired-

“Hello! Are you sleeping on me young lady?” A voice snapped at you.

Your eyes shot open and immediately you stood back straight. You must have been dozing off while taking the older lady’s order -the very thing you’ve been trying to avoid all day long. “No, not at all Ms-” you started to explain. “-I was just … what was your order aga-”

You flinched when the woman angrily slammed her fist on the table, shutting you up instantly! “So you were sleeping on the job! What kind of establishment allows this?” She screamed, attracting the attention of customers around. “I need to speak to your manager. NOW!”

You instantly began to panic at the mention of your manager. If he heard any of this, he was definitely going to fire you. You cannot afford to lose this job right now, with all your school expenses and saving up money for next session’s tuition.

“No mam!” you begged, keeping your voice even as you tried to reason with her. “Th-there’s no need for that! Please! Let me take your order and I’ll-” you racked your brain for an excuse, knowing fully well your establishment does not offer free meals. “- I’ll pay for your meal! On me-”

“So you’re trying to imply I’m poor?” She interrupted you again, her tempo even higher than before. “You disrespectful little wretch! How dare you? GET ME YOUR MANAGER RIGHT NOW!”

You started begging the older woman, trying to calm her down and de-escalate the situation, but each plea only fuelled her rage. By now, every customer, every employee and just anyone in that place watched you grovel and beg this woman to calm down, some people even videoing your altercation. Your body was trembling as she screeched in your ears, calling you all sorts of names while you relentlessly apologised to her.

“What is going on here?”

You winced at the sound of your manager’s voice emerging from the backrooms. You stood stiffly as he walked to your side, using his shoulder to nudge you out of the way. “Is there something wrong Ms.?” He asked the lady. “What happened?”

“This little wretch!” She practically screeched at you, her finger wagging straight at your hung face. “She was sleeping while I was ordering! And when I pointed it out to her calmly, she called me a hag!”

Your eyes snapped open. You can tolerate people yelling at you, but lying is out of the question. “I did not call you anything! That’s a lie-”

“You be quiet!” Your manager yelled at you, silencing you. He turned to face the woman again, apologising profusely for your so called rude behaviour. “I promise you mam, she will be dealt with accordingly. Your order is in the house, please take that as a token of our humble apology and forgive us.”

You stood there in shock as the woman smirked satisfactorily at her now free meal. “Well, you better get rid of her!” She snarked, eyes scanning you up and down, plopping back down on her seat. “Or you’ll lose me as a patron.”

“Of course mam.” He said sweetly before switching his countenance towards you into a more irritated one. “You, come with me.”

You lowered your head once again in disappointment as you started following your manager towards the back rooms, your head lowered in shame as the eyes followed your every move to your damnation waiting for you in the manager’s office.

Your skin crawled as you felt his penetrating gaze on you, as if judging you. “You know how many complaints I have received this week just from you, (name)? How many orders you’ve messed up?”

You shook your head no in response, not trusting yourself to say anything reasonable at this point. He eyes you up and down again before scoffing at you rudely. “I only let you stay here because you said you were desperate for a job. But apparently, you’re not even bothered enough to keep it.” He spat out. “Unfortunately for you, this is the end of the road for you here. Change out of your uniform and leave.”

“But s-”

“I said you’re FIRED. GET OUT.”

You sighed weakly, obeying your now ex-manager’s order and leaving the office. You ignored the eyes of everyone watching you exchange the too tight black jeans and green top uniform back to your white bohemian skirt and light blue top with your white jacket. Calmly, you packed your school bag and everything you owned with you and slung it over your shoulder, replacing the uniform back to the locker, dropping the key on top.

No one said goodbye to you as you left through the back door.

  IZANA knows it's creepy to be waiting for Emma just outside her college, but it's not like he has a choice when she keeps ignoring any method he uses to contact her.

Mindlessly, he fiddled with his lighter with his back on the wall of the English department building and an unlit cigarette between his lips. Purple eyes scanned the people leaving the building one by one, hoping to find a mop of golden hair amongst the students. His hopes rose with each blond he saw, only for him to deflate when he realised they weren't her.

A few minutes passed and still no sign of Emma. Deciding that he didn’t want to stand around and gape, Izana lifted his lighter towards his cigarette, flicking the light twice and bringing the warm flame to his lips. Breathing in the familiar scent of nicotine, smoke filled his lungs as he tucked the lighter back in his pockets. His free hand took the cigarette from his lips and he exhaled, releasing plumes of smoke from his lips.

His smoking habit had gotten worse within the past week. Izana couldn’t help it, reaching for a light anytime he saw his gifts in the dustbin. Emma hasn’t been this angry at him before. Usually a new plushie was enough to wash his sins clean, no matter how grevious they were. Now, not even the most expensive shoes she’s been eyeing for months could satiate her anger.

All because of you.

Izana knows his little sister like the back of his hand. Like how she loved sleeping with plushies because it comforted her whenever their mother brought her gambling friends into the house and they were loud. Or how he picked up a guitar to learn multiple barbie songs because their mother had destroyed Emma’s CD that he bought with his money to punish her. He knew she liked warm tea during her periods and gentle back rubs to ease her pain. He’s not the best person to be around, with how fucked over he was by life until Shinichiro gave him purpose but he loved his sister a lot and everything he did was to protect her. Life hardened him, made him so jaded that the only thin thread connecting him to his humanity was Emma and he’d do anything to protect his humanity.

Only to watch it slip through his fingers.

First it was Mikey’s stupid friend, Ken Ryugi, who waltzed his way into Emma’s life. Izana didn’t like him one bit- didn’t like how Emma would bite her lip, waiting for him to reply and cry herself to sleep when he didn’t. Her heart was soft, fragile and that brute tore it apart by telling her he wasn’t interested in a relationship yet.

The only reason Ken wasn’t in an unmarked, shallow grave in the middle of nowhere was simply because Mikey was involved.

Now it is you, taking the space in her life that belonged to him and Mikey. You’re pushing both of them out of the equation, threatening their position in their sister’s life and everything they know.

Izana wonders how someone so insignificant was so important to Emma that she was willing to cut communications with her own brothers. It baffles him beyond understanding and at the same time enrages him that she could trust you so easily. That she was willing to turn against him in your name.

He took more puffs, skimming throughout the campus for any sight of her. It didn’t matter how he felt about it, as Kisaki had convinced him to ask Emma and you to go shopping, just to get back into Emma's good graces again. Apparently doing a nice gesture publicly for you would convince their sister to give them another chance again.

Especially because Izana had been the biggest opposition to their friendship.

“But Mikey was a little shit about them too.” he grumbles underneath his breath, cigarette in hand. “Why do I have to be the one to apologise? And why did Mikey get an out while I’m doing all the heavy lift-”

His thoughts were cut short the second he caught sight of a familiar blonde hair bouncing in the wind and stood up straight, tossing the cigarette to the floor and crushing it underneath his black shoes, before rushing to catch up to his little sister.

Izana pushed through the throng of people, violently shoving anyone that got in his way until he finally fell in step with her, slowing down to match her pace. Without wasting time, his hand curled around the girl’s wrist, stopping her in her tracks instantly and earning a shocked gasp escaped her lips.

“Get off me - Izana?”

Her free hand was fast to hit him, but her head was faster in turning around, only to recognize it was just Izana. Her hand stopped inches away from the smirking male’s face, the tension leaving her body and relief taking its place. It doesn’t last long, though as irritation suddenly crawls on her face, instantly displeased at his actions. “What the hell? I’ve told you to stop doing that.” she hissed at him.

A mischievous grin made its way to his face at Emma’s irritation. She always had a pout whenever she was angry at him and it made look even more adorable.

“Were you scared?” He teased, pulling Emma closer to him until she was practically smushed at his side, despite the glare she gave him in response. “You know no one would dare touch you.”

“Get off me. Your breath stinks like nicotine, I thought you said you quit smoking that shit.”

Ignoring Emma’s last question, he decided to change the topic. “Your lapdog isn't here with you?” he asked. Usually, you would be hovering behind her like a damn pest, so you not being around her was rather strange. 

Emma is quick to shove him off lightly, putting some distance between the two of them, clearly still mad at him. "(Name)'s not feeling well, so she didn't come to class today. I'm on my way to get her medicine."

Oh, that's a surprise.

But with you out of the way, Izana could finally have Emma all to himself for today and hang out with his beloved sister. Maybe even make up for the party thing without apologising to you. Without you here, it’s likely Emma isn’t as mad at the whole situation and is playing it up to make you feel like you have someone on your side.

He knows you’re not going to protest if Emma says she’s in talking terms with her brothers again. It’s a win-win situation and he doesn’t have to grovel or ask for forgiveness for some joke that went wrong.

"So that means we can hang out?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't have to keep pretending you're still mad at me now that she isn't here." He spews the 'she' with so much venom it could kill, before switching up with a sick grin, his hand stretched out. "We can go to Vivienne Westwood and get that Saturn necklace you like, what do you say?"

His words hung in the air as Emma trailed her pointed glare from his hand, back to his cheerful visage. She crossed her arms in response slowly, her yellow eyes burning holes into his face as her lips curled into a sick sneer.

“Are you insane?”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me Izana! I just told you (name)'s ill and you're asking me to go with you to shop at Vivienne westwood? Are you nuts?”

Emma’s voice was loud enough to garner wandering eyes of other by-standers, watching the event go down. Izana kept his composure, despite his bubbling irritation beneath the surface of his skin, with a smile -albeit stiffer than before. ‘She’s just being emotional’ Izana whispered to himself, still trying to be rational. ‘Just take it easy with her’

“Oh come on, should I care about her-"

"You should be begging her to forgive you for what you did to her that night!"

"You can't still be mad at me for that shit that happened two weeks ago. And besides, it's not my fault she couldn't take a joke” his words were smooth, buttery, flowing out of his lips like it was the truth, digging his own grave. “I didn’t know your friend was that sensitive-”

“Are you listening to the bullshit coming from your mouth?” Emma roared, her voice echoing throughout the entirety of the department, her face red with fury. Izana had never seen his own beloved sister ever look at him with such disgust in her eyes, her teeth gnashing against each other and hands at her side, clenching against each other. “Is that what you think a joke sounds like?”

“Calm the fuck dow-”

“No wonder you’re fucking single, you’re such a piece of shit to anyone that isn’t Shinichiro!” Emma screamed, interrupting Izana once again, her temper fiery enough to burn a hole on the ground she stood with how heated she was. “How does anyone even stand you for so long? You’re unbearable!”

“Excuse m-”

He doesn’t like where the conversation is going, with how furious Emma was right now. He tried to raise a comforting hand to Emma’s shoulder to ease her tension but she was quick to smack it away from her hard, stinging his fingers a little.

“You’re so unpleasant, how do you even have any friends? How do they tolerate you? To think (name) wanted me to forgive you! Thank god you aren’t my fucking brother, I can’t imagine being anything like you!”

The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

It was as if the world froze over for Izana. He stood there, wide eyed, his heart beating loudly in his chest as all the voices around him faded into the background. His hand extended weakly at his side, mouth drying up as a lump formed in his throat. 

“I-I-i" she starts to stutter. It’s obvious that she can recognize what she had just said as he blankly stared at her. "I didn't mean i-”

He doesn’t let her finish, turning on his heel and walking away as fast as possible. People were quick to clear out of his way, not wanting to be his target of aggression. Emma followed behind, instantly, shouting his name at the top of her lungs followed with strings of apologies.

“Izana, wait please-” she screamed from the crowd of people, tears streaming from her yellow eyes. He continued to ignore her as he hopped on his bike, sliding in the key and revving up the engine before she could reach him.

Izana zoomed away, turning Emma’s cries into background noise, her words repeating in his head.

“I didn’t mean it! I’M SORRY-”

YOU don't know which was worse, the feeling of helplessness that came with the reality of your life crashing before your very eyes or the splitting headache you've developed after crying in your room for a week straight. Laying on your bed all day, huddled up in a blanket and sobbing uncontrollably was unhealthy, but it was all you found the strength to do these days. 

In all your years of being alive, you've never felt this pathetic. Not when you would be pushed outside in the pouring rain if you made a mistake in making dinner, or had been beaten with a belt in front of Yuzhua and Hakkai because you failed your catechism test. You could protect yourself from your brothers when they got violent. You could run and hide when your dad was really angry and wanted to take it out on you.

Unfortunately, no one told you what to do when your life is falling apart.

Ever since that day, you couldn't find the strength to go to class or do anything for that matter. It was like your entire energy was sucked out of you, leaving your body an empty husk with nothing left to give. 

You only have yourself to blame.

You drag the blankets closer to your body, sniffling a bit. The worst part of all of this is that after this month, if you don’t find a job that pays you quickly, you are going to be broke. It’s times like this that makes you regret leaving your family. You know it’s wishful thinking, but you wonder if you would be forgiven assuming you return home in tears and repentant of your sin of disobedience like the prodigal son in the bible. Life is too hard to live in the outside world without the help and guidance of a parent. You miss your old life, with your own bed and guaranteed food, as long as you did as you were told. You miss how sometimes your parents took you and your siblings to eat out after church.

You miss your mother. You want to go back to her. Life is hard, and dealing with being jobless with nowhere to turn to is harder. You could ask Emma, but she’s already taking care of you and there was no way you would bother your friend about your money problems.

"Hey babes, I got the medicine for you."

Emma's soft voice rouses you out of your self-pity session. The wood creaks underneath her heels as she walks to your bed and takes a seat besides you, the mattress dipping underneath her weight. The scent of her Vivienne Westwood wafting through your nostrils fills you with a sense of warmth, familiarity and at the same time, dread.

You feel guilty. Perhaps it's because you don't know how to tell Emma what exactly is wrong with you. It's easier to give her the half-truth that you caught a stomach bug than say everything. If you even as much as hinted that Manjiro had something to do with the real reason you were a sobbing mess on your bed, you're sure she would overreact and fight with her brothers again.

But still, not telling her meant you were keeping secrets from her. Something you both promised not to ever do as you two became best-friends.

‘It’s for her own good.’ you try to justify it. ‘It’s better I keep my mouth shut.’

Pushing that thought at the back of your mind, you roll over to her direction, pulling down your blanket just a little bit to see her properly. Your heart drops at the sadness etched onto Emma’s face, a forlorn look in her eyes. You hated seeing her down, yet all you’ve been doing for the past few months since you came into her life was causing her pain. You know how it feels to lose family, no matter how bad they were to you and Emma is no different.

“Hey”

Your voice is hoarse from your constant crying, but Emma doesn’t mention it as she reaches a hand to caress your face. “You look better than yesterday. You up to eat?”

You nodded briefly, realising how hungry you were. You’ve barely had an appetite to eat anything, so your rations had been smaller and compact until you regained it back bit by bit, thanks to Emma’s constant care. Pushing yourself up, you sit up and yawn, quickly covering your mouth the moment a bad stench emanates from it. Emma’s face quickly grows sour as well, probably smelling it too.

“You haven’t showered.”

“Uhhh-”

You knew there was no excuse for that one as Emma put the food and medicine away before yanking you off the bed while talking about how gross you were for not showering throughout today. “You’re a girl (name), don’t do this to yourself, c’mon-”

“But-” you start to whine, trying to defend yourself. “I was tired-”

“Nope!” she retorted, pushing you towards the bathroom. “No excuses! I swear you’re acting like Mikey when he’s in one of his moods-”

The room falls silent at her words, the cheerful aura dropping the second Emma realises what she’s said, a wave of guilt washing over her face as she lets go of your hands.

“Fuck- I’m sorry (name)...”

Your heart aches at how heartbroken she sounds right now and shatters even further at the fact that everything, every problem they were experiencing right now was all your fault. You saw it deep in Mikey’s eyes how much pain and suffering your presence in their family had caused, and how his anger reflected that action towards you. You’ve been so entrenched in your own problems that you forgot the mess you made in their family.

“Emma, you miss them don’t you?”

‘It’s not too late.’ You mutter to yourself, your heart in your throat as you steel your resolve. You couldn’t let her make that mistake you made by leaving your family aside. You don’t want Emma to be like you.

“(Name), please don’t-”

“You can’t keep ignoring them forever.” You cut her short, speaking directly to her now. “You can’t keep ignoring Draken either too. You’re miserable.”

“I’m fin-”

“Emma no.” You snap at her, finally having enough of her stubbornness as anger swells up in you. “I see how sad you look everytime you look at your pictures with your big brothers and Draken. Do you think that it’s healthy to keep ignoring them like this?”

“You were the one they hurt, you shouldn’t feel bad for them-”

“It doesn’t matter! I don’t matter!” You yell desperately, now pulling away from her grasp in an attempt to put your foot down. “They are the ones who matter a lot. Those are you family members! People who love you and have protected you for years! Just talk it out with them! They miss you for god’s sake!”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t matter?” Emma roars back at you, suddenly enraged by your outburst. You nearly stumble back at how angry she sounded, fear creeping into your skin as your verbal claws retract. “You matter to me! You mean the world to me as any of them do! You’re my best friend and I love you and if they don’t understand that then there is nothing to make up for!”

By the time she was done yelling, her breathing was heavy and her eyes so intense you couldn’t even stare at her. Your eyes quickly flickered to your feet instead; scared of seeing the disappointment on her face and terrified of her anger. You didn’t like it when Emma yelled, it reminded you of your mother getting angry at you, something you hated doing to her.

Eventually, she took a deep breath and took a step closer to you, her hand intertwined with yours. “Come on, I’ll help you shower.”

You silently follow behind her, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

  PERHAPS Izana should be angry at Emma.

It would be justified after the words she said from her mouth, but he can’t because he knows the truth. Emma was just angry as well and she didn’t mean any of the words she had said to hurt him. She said them because of you, however and he realises that every fight they’ve had is over your presence in her life.

Which meant that the true culprit was you.

People may believe in love at first sight, but from the first day Izana set his eyes on you, he could only feel hatred towards you. You were just there, sitting awkwardly while Emma tried to involve you in their conversation and it irked him.

At first, Izana thought it was the fact that the both of you were clashing personalities that made him feel that way, but then you keep getting in his way and ruining things for him. He hates everything about you - the way you picked your finger when you were nervous. Your bright smile you gave to only Emma and how easy it was for her to like you. Just your mere presence in general was enough to set him off because of how simple it was for you to be close to Emma while you barely knew her. It felt like he was losing his only sister to a stranger, and now the Emma who stands in front of him is a mere mockery of his real sister.

And that’s the frustrating part. He can’t do anything to hurt you. He’s smart enough to know that if he does, Emma would never forgive him.

“... Kurokawa, are you here with us?”

Izana snaps back to reality as Kisaki taps the table three times to get his attention. ‘I might have spaced out.’ He thinks to himself before facing the entirety of the table; Tetta Kisaki, the rather shrewd and ruthless dealer sitting, his equally irritating lap dog Shuji Hanma and the little shit that he called his younger brother, Mikey.

Speaking of Mikey, ever since that day he made that phone call and revealed his brand new plan of accepting you into their friend group, he’s been very quiet. Even throughout today’s meeting, he hasn’t said a word, aside from mentioning that Draken was going to be absent and asking where Kakucho was before the meeting began.

And knowing his brother, a quiet Mikey is a suspicious Mikey.

Now that Izana thinks about it, he’s noticed that Mikey, who was on his side initially had suddenly switched to trying to apologise to you. Which was weird, considering how egocentric Mikey could be on the topic of apologising. Izana has his suspicions, but then again Mikey is unpredictable due to his rather dark impulses, so he couldn’t really say anything yet, until Kakucho came back from his task.

Izana cleared his throat and faced Kisaki again, deciding to be as honest as possible. After all, it’s their fault that he’s in this mess, might as well remind them. “Just thinking about how Emma practically called me a bastard and I’m supposed to be okay with it.” He said nonchalantly and the air in the room shifted into an uncomfortable silence for the upteenth time this week ever since that unfortunate day. It isn’t surprising to anyone as to why though, Izana’s complicated relationship with the Sano’s is a sore topic that no one ever dared to bring up.

From Kisaki’s tight lipped expression, Izana is sure that the younger male is picking his words carefully in his head. Even Hanma who would have laughed or said something to intentionally piss off Izana remains silent. Eventually, Kisaki lets out a resigned sigh. “The audit would be done another time.” He states in a cool tone, putting his laptop aside before facing the two brothers. “It’s obvious we’re not gonna do anything useful until you resolve this issue with Emma and her friend.”

“Really?” The white haired male mocks, causing Kisaki to shift in his place, an irritated frown creasing his face. “would you like to hear my pla-”

“We’re not going to kill a civilian and draw attention to ourselves, Izana. I’ve already told you what to do.” Kisaki snapped back, his yellow eyes darting from Izana to Mikey, before narrowing in irritation. “Both of you. Just apologise to (name), it’s not that hard. You don’t even have to mean it, the girl won’t even know the difference-”

“Ah yes, cause that went well the last time.”

“And whose fault is that? I clearly told you to say “I’m sorry” and all you did was make things worse!”

“I’m just brutally honest.” Izana spits back. “And you can’t blame me because I tried, compared to Mikey who sits on his damn ass and has done nothing-”

“I wasn’t the one who called her a cheap hooker!” Mikey interjects defensively, sitting upright after staying quiet from the start of this meeting, finally saying something.

“Oh, so you can speak.” Izana retorts back, his voice cold. Mikey is so good at shifting blame onto others for actions he has a hand in, especially when he knows it would reflect badly on him. Unfortunately, Izana has been in this game longer than his little brother. “I thought you had gone mute with the way you don’t want to talk about the issue beyond pushing me to apologise to her.”

“You don’t make it any easier with how you talk to people.” Mikey hisses back, his tempo rising with each word, but Izana can hear the slight shake in his voice, almost as if he’s hiding something. “How am I supposed to do anything if you keep saying shit like you’re glad (name)’s gone?”

(Name)?

The entire room falls silent at Mikey’s sudden outburst, or rather what Mikey had just said. No one says a word as they all stare at Mikey in shock, eye wide and mouth hanging open like he’d grown two heads. There’s a glimmer of confusion in the dark eyed male before the realisation of his mistake washes over him, his facial expression changing into a mixture of guilt and pure terror.

As if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

It’s unmistaken. Izana knows his brother is hiding something and it has to do with you. “You’ve never,” he starts slowly, never taking his eyes off Mikey, gauging his facial expression. “called her by her name. You only call girls who you had something to do with by their name.”

“I-”

“You fucked her, didn’t you.” it’s a statement, not a question. Mikey grows pale and it's more of a sure answer than anything else at all.

“I didn’t do anything bad… she’s still a virgin-”

“What.” Kisaki, interjecting as well, cuts him off, his voice cold. “Did. You. Do?”

Mikey is silent. It’s brief and doesn’t last long as he finally seals his fate with a quiet voice. “It’s not my fucking fault, she wore a short skirt and she was asking for it-”

At the side, Kisaki crumples back onto the dining table seat, his head in his hands muttering a quiet “Oh fuck, I should have stayed with Osanai.” as he shakes in disbelief. Hanma just sits there, clearly perturbed, not knowing how to react but at the same time, not really interested.

“Glad to know I’m not the only screw up.” Izana scoffs as well. Despite how cheery his voice sounded, the furious look on his face says a different story altogether. “Since apparently you’re just as stupid as I am.”

Mikey runs a hand through his golden locs, frustration evident on his features. No one has ever seen him look so frantic, like a little kid who broke something and is trying to hide it. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Sure she said no at first but I knew she wanted it when she relaxed in my touch-”

“That’s not what Emma’s gonna think, you idiot!” Izana barks at him angrily, his temper finally off the rails. “You practically threw away your entire plan before it even started! All for what? Mediocre pussy you could get from some other girl? And you know how Shin is about this shit. If Emma finds out and tells him, we’re screwed!”

There’s a mixture of emotions swirling in Izana right now. The urge to punch Mikey was strong, for daring to not only lie to his face, but also making him look like a fool to cover his ass.

Then again, he knows it’s really not Mikey’s fault but yours. You must have done something to make Mikey hurt you because he knows his little brother doesn’t hurt girls. You have this effect of turning people into worse versions of themselves, making them disgusting, evil and hateful.

You turned Emma against them and now you made Mikey’s dark impulses come out.

It’s you that’s the problem.

“So what anyone find out? They won’t believe her” Mikey snarls back, irritated. “She can’t blame me, I told her to fucking leave but she didn’t listen! She was practically begging me to fuck her-”

“ENOUGH!”

Kisaki’s voice is loud enough to silence the two brothers, ending their argument instantly as they breathe heavily from their prior screaming match. Izana slumps back on his seat as Kisaki sits up straight, eyes narrowed. Mikey does the same as Izana, his jaw tightly clenched as he crosses his arms on his chest, feet crossed. The younger male clears his throat, and starts to rationalise the situation.

“It’s obvious that we’re going to switch gears since this happened. We all have a curated reputation that we need to protect so that people don’t nose into our business.” He turns to Mikey who is still glaring hard at Izana. “Your brother has a point, you fucked up our plan by not telling anyone what you did-”

“You judging me too, Kisaki?”

“Can you stop being defensive for once Mikey and just listen!” Kisaki scolds, just about done with everyone making things more difficult for him. “I don’t care what you did to her, whatever affection or lust you have for her is a you problem. I just want this situation to be in our favour.”

The statement makes Izana scoff in dismal fashion, but he decides to ask out of curiosity regardless. “And how do you intend to turn this situation around? Cause right now she has leverage over us and any careless move can put us in a tougher spot than we can handle.”

Kisaki turns his attention fully towards Izana again, a knowing look on his face as he asks. “Is Kakucho done searching Mikey’s car?”

‘How did he know?’ Izana blinks, but then catches Hanma smirking and doesn’t bother to ask his impending questions. Kisaki always had a nasty and suspicious habit of continuously tailing him specifically, and usually it doesn’t go over Izana’s radar when it happens, apart from this instance. Which meant someone was being a rat in his group.

He’ll deal with that later.

Mikey raised a brow in confusion as well, opening his mouth to protest the invasion of his privacy when Izana’s phone suddenly rings. He picks it up, attempting to step out to answer it when Kisaki raises his hand to stop him.

“Answer it here.” Kisaki said, ignoring the way Izana looks at him like he has two heads. “and put it on speaker.”

He had no reason to comply, but he wanted to see where Kisaki was going with whatever plan he had. With a wry smile, Izana put the phone down on the table and slid the answer button, putting it on a loudspeaker.

“Did you find anything Kakucho?”

Ever loyal, Kakucho clears his throat and starts to speak, his voice sounding strained over the phone, as if he’s struggling with something. “Yes boss.” He answers, a twinge of nervousness coating his tone. “There’s a dash cam on the mirror and a spy cam underneath the compartment facing the passenger’s seat…”

Mikey grumbles under his breath something about fucking Kakucho up if anything ends up spoilt or missing in his car but Kisaki holds his hand up to his lips and shushes him. Izana continues once he’s sure his brother is done complaining. “And did you confirm the anonymous tip that we got?”

He can hear Kakucho shift uncomfortably, the silence on the other side of the phone drawn out until he finally says. “Boss, it’s too … I don’t think we should use this against her.” He tries to reason. “I think we’re going too far-”

“Perfect.” Kisaki chimes in, now looking at Izana with a satisfied smile. Kakucho is about to ask why Kisaki was there but Izana cuts him off instead. “Bring it back. I’ll explain once you come to the house.”

“Okay boss.”

The phone line dies and Kisaki, fairly confident in his plan, looks at Izana once again. “I’m sure you know where I’m going, right?”

Izana may think Kisaki is a pathetic brat who just happened to be smart, but right now, it’s like the both of them are connected and in tune with their thoughts. The tanned male stretches his lips into a smile, one full of malice and at the same time, glee, his eyes light with mirth when he realises what Kisaki was thinking.

Finally a plan he could follow along with.

“Alright, I’m all ears.”

THE walk back to your dorm was quiet.

By the time you managed to catch a bus after spending the entire day looking for a job and getting back to campus, it was already late in the night. Save for only the street lamps that were beginning to dim, everywhere else was darker than usual.

You had read that there was going to be a lunar eclipse tonight between the hours of 10pm - 00am. The time boldly written on the bus’ digital clock before you got down was 10:45pm, so you already assumed it was the cause of the unnatural darkness tonight.

A long time ago before the world weighed you down, things like this would have made you excited. You loved watching the stars when you were young, trying to check on the papers your father bought to see if there was any space news available. You remember borrowing your immediate elder brother’s binoculars as a makeshift telescope, trying to piece out the stars in the sky or see if you would catch a glimpse of the comet that was said to pass through that week.

Unfortunately, you were young and foolish. Wanting to impress your father, you told him all about your book of constellations that you drew up, detailing the first star that appeared every evening, down to your crazy childish theories about aliens and space.

“Can you show me the book?” your father asked calmly. You should have known it was dangerous for your father to be this calm, but you were too blinded by excitement to think and you gave him the book, a bright smile on your face.

Your smile fell as his large hands ripped your book into shreds, before telling you: “Women don’t dream.”

Maybe that was the day you realised the love you craved from your father will never be given to you. You were so young and impressionable, all you wanted was for him to be proud of you, like he was with his sons. Now, you can’t even look at the stars, the memory leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and you try to shake it off as you continue on the path.

You wondered what grievous sin you’ve committed to be so down on your luck like this. Today had been one disappointment to another

You passed by Emma’s dorm building, a sigh escaping your lips. She told you that Draken wanted to take her out for dinner tonight, which shocked you because friends with benefits - according to what Emma herself told you- don’t go on dates or do lovey dovey stuff with each other, to avoid complicated feelings from budding.

Then again, their relationship is based on the fact that they both have feelings for each other, but Draken was not interested in a relationship.

It was already complicated before it began but at least she's taking your advice and talking to them again.

Your eyes darted up to her window, hoping her lights were on. Whenever she was alone, Emma hated sleeping in the dark. She said it reminded her of the times her mother would lock her and Izana in a dark room whenever she brought her customers in. Anytime she was in a darkened room, she told you she could still hear the sound of her mother moaning and a man grunting. Izana would try his best to distract her, playing games or even stealing an earphone and plugging it to his own so that she would listen to music instead of what was going on.

A frown graced your lips when you saw two bodies from the curtain, one tall figure you recognize as Draken and Emma’s smaller dainty figure perched on him, kissing. You quickly averted your eyes and walked faster, ignoring the unfamiliar pang in your chest. Maybe you’re jealous because you needed your friend’s comfort right now and she wasn’t available. You felt greedy for this, after spending a week with her, you should let her be free.

‘She has her own life to live. And I have mine’ you muttered to yourself as you trudged along the path, slowly dragging your feet. ‘I have to stop being so dependent on her.’

Eventually, your thoughts drift back to your reoccurring dream. Losing your job made you realise that if you didn’t do anything about it, your tiredness would eventually catch up to you and ruin everything else you’ve worked for. With an important test scheduled for tomorrow, you knew you could not afford to take another loss this week. You had to power through your sleep tonight, even if it traumatised you.

‘Maybe I should pretend that I like it. Pretend it’s okay and enjoy it so that I won’t have to wake up.’ You shook your head, cursing as you drew closer to your own dorm building. ‘Oh God, how far I’ve fallen. Look at me trying to enjoy a disgraceful act-’

You paused in your tracks at the sound of a leaf crushing. You quickly turned around, trying to ascertain who could be lurking there behind the bushes. Your palms started sweating, your nerves firing at the thought of being watched.

Silence.

You decided to continue walking, assuming that maybe you were hearing things and there wasn’t anything at all. Nighttime always had a way of making you nervous, especially with all the horrible stories you heard about innocent women being attacked around these times. Besides, looking around for whatever may be lurking was a dumb idea.

You should just get out of here.

Eventually, you make it to your dorm house in record time, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. ‘Maybe I’m being paranoid. But at least I’m safe now.’ You think to yourself as you push the door open, closing it behind you.

Weary from the day’s stress, your body starts to give up on you but you push through, trying your best to just make it to your room. You’re sure you would just collapse on your bed the second you got there and forget about anything else.

You finally make it to your room, about to rummage your bag for the keys when you notice the door was unlocked. ‘Oh? Ami must have come back rather early, since I barely saw her until 2am?’

But as you reach for the handle, a feeling of dread washes over you, the same one you felt when you were outside. ‘I really need to let this go. There’s no harm waiting for me. It’s just my room.’ You mutter to yourself. Your overthinking has cost you a lot, from your job to your academics and right now, you really need it to stop. Pushing whatever feeling was keeping you away, you walked into the darkened room.

The first thing that greeted you was the stench of some kind of smoke -weed, the kind that Ami liked to use whenever she was in the room. You always hated the smell and you recall telling her to leave the windows open whenever she wanted to smoke. Coughing, you quickly covered your nose and mouth with one hand and reached to turn on the light with another. “Ami, how many times have I told you to open the window whenever you smoke? You know I don’t like the smell-”

Your blood turns to ice the moment light floods the room, your mouth dry as you stare at the man perched on your reading chair, a leg crossed over the other, the weed blunt hanging between his tanned hands. His lips are stretched into a sick grin, showing all his teeth, purple eyes shining with an odd mirth as he glances at you up and down.

Izana Kurokawa.

‘Run’

You don’t need to be told twice, quickly discarding your bag and running towards the direction of the door, only to hit someone hard, standing tall in your way. You look up fearfully to see mismatched eyes, a scar running down his face and flinch backwards in reflex. It’s as if he gazes at you with pity, but quickly switches to a blank stare as he stands between you and the door.

You know him from hanging around Emma a lot in the Tenjiku frat house, Kakucho. He’s always around Izana and only loyal to him for some reason that you don’t know. He doesn’t listen to anyone else, not even Mikey. You realise that he might have been the one that was following you when you were walking home.

Begging him to let you pass would be futile.

“Don’t worry, I’m just here to have a little chat with you. I’m not going to hurt you.” His tone is calm, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. If Mikey could hurt you without any remorse, then there’s nothing stopping Izana from doing worse to you. “And as much as your backside is as interesting as your face, I prefer talking to someone who is looking at me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The words fly out from your mouth before you even think of a more appropriate response but it doesn’t seem to give him any form of reaction other than a dry laugh.

“Ungrateful bitch. I could have sent my boys to do this for me instead, but I decided to talk to you.” He scoffed. “I don’t care. Turn around.”

Reluctantly you slowly turn to face him again, your body trembling as your fear filled eyes lock with his. Your heart drops to your stomach when you hear heavy footsteps walk out of the door, shutting it behind you, locks turning and trapping you with Izana.

‘Oh God oh God oh God.’

Your fear doesn’t go unnoticed by the white haired man, and he only chuckles at how stiff you were. Between the two brothers, you know Izana thrives in fear, using it to his advantage and it’s not unfounded. Notwithstanding his backing from Black dragons, Izana had taken Tenjiku from a down and out frat house, to a den of crime that holds power, trickling right into the administration of the university. Even his men know better than to ever get themselves in his bad books, because no one can ever escape him, no matter how much you try to run.

It was only a matter of time until he would make you pay for causing him problems, but you didn’t think he’d come by himself. You felt stupid for thinking he wouldn’t care about you or he’d forget how angry he was at you and leave you alone, especially with Emma still not on speaking terms with them.

He motions with his bunt for you to come closer to him and you comply, taking careful steps until you’re standing right in front of him. He eyes you again with a tepid frown. “When you meet a king, you don’t stand before him, you kneel.”

Kneel. You want to assume he’s not serious but you know better than to question him and go down on your knees, focusing your gaze firmly on your lap. It’s humiliating the way he has you at his mercy, without even moving an inch but it’s better to be compliant than to aggravate him even further by being disobedient.

You’ve learned the hard way what could happen if you resist.

From the corner of your eyes, you watch as Izana puts out his weed blunt on your reading table, before reaching behind his waistband. Your mouth grows dry the second you catch the sight of a gun, your heart pounding against your chest as he presses the barrel to your head.

‘Oh god.’ You gasp as he presses it further against your head, until you’re sure it would leave an indent. ‘He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me…’

“That’s odd,” He murmurs. “Usually, other people would be begging for their lives when met with a gun to their head, but you’re quiet. If not for the way your hands are trembling, I’d think you weren’t scared.”

This time, with a gun pointed at your head, you’re careful with your words. “Y-you said you won’t hurt me.” Your voice shakes with fear but you continue. You know men like Izana, he reminds you of your older brother who ruled the house outside your family with fear and control. Sometimes, when you were able to stroke his ego, he’d go easy on you. Maybe that would work on Izana too. “That you want to talk.”

“And what if I changed my mind? Pulled the trigger? That’ll make my life easier, yeah? I won’t have to fight for my sister’s love and affection with you.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you hear the safety go off and watch as his finger curls around the trigger. ‘Oh God, he’s going to kill me. He’ll shoot me dead.’ Tears pricking your eyes. ‘I-i have to say something- I don’t want to die-’

“I-i trust you not to do it.” You reply, your lips trembling as you struggle not to think of your head scattered into pieces on the floor if he chooses to kill you. “You’re a man of your words.”

There’s another complete silence that engulfs the entire room, until you hear a click that makes you flinch for a split second, waiting for the bullet that would end it all. Instead, it’s him putting the safety back on, and chuckling at your reaction.

“You trust me? How foolish.” He laughs, tracing the gun from your head down to underneath your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You’ve only read about people with empty eyes in stories, but seeing it in person was so terrifying. “Is that why you ended up with Mikey in his car?”

All the blood rushes from your head to the tip of your toes. “H-how do you kn-”

“I have eyes and ears in this school, (name).” You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve heard him call you by your name and despite being in a life or death situation, you couldn’t control the shiver that ran through your spine. “Not to mention, I have the video evidence of you moaning like a slut just from being fingered-”

“T-that is not what happened!” You suddenly cried out, trying to explain your own side of the story. Of all the people who know your dirty and shameful secret, Izana is the worst person, with how much he hates you. “It was a mistake! I tried to tell him I didn’t want it but I couldn’t-”

“Ah ah -” Izana cuts you off, tilting your chin higher with the gun. “Don’t lie to me. That skirt you wore was too short. You were practically sending him an invitation to fuck you.”

“No! I wasn’t trying to do anything, I just wanted to talk-”

“Really? Cause I watched the full video, you were practically pushing your thighs together, trying to get his attention-”

“No, no I- didn’t… I pushed him off the first time-”

“You were dangling your thighs like a piece of meat for him to fuck and then acted like you didn’t want it until he was knuckles deep inside you. The way you were moaning didn’t sound like a girl being assaulted. You sounded like you wanted it.”

“That’s not true-” your lips start to tremble at his words, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want to be assaulted, you just wanted to talk to him about the Emma issue and you wanted to apologise. “That’s not true-”

“Oh but it is.” He said firmly, now leaning in closer to your face until there’s barely any inches between the two of you. “If you truly wanted to talk you would have been more modest. We warned you that outfits like those are an invitation, but you decided we insulted you and turned our sister against us.”

“No-” your voice is small, trying to defend yourself but even you are beginning to doubt your own credibility with how he keeps twisting the narrative around until you begin to actually believe him.

‘No! Don’t let him make you think you’re in the wrong! You know what happened!’

“He even told you to leave but you refused to. Like you were baiting him to just do something bad to you so that you can tell everyone how bad Mikey is and make yourself get more sympathy points. 'Oh look, the Sano brothers struck again!' That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“That’s not true! I would never do that to Mikey!” You don’t realise your tempo had suddenly gotten high or that tears had started to drip down your face, but Izana did. He doesn’t point it out, staying quiet as you start to shout at him. “I didn’t tell anyone because it would cause problems and I would never bait him into hurting me. I just wanted to make up with him because I felt that I overreacted at the party I swear! And then he assaulted me in the car -”

“But if he “assaulted” you, why didn’t you tell anyone? If that’s what truly-”

“Because I love him!”

Oh no. The words flew out of your mouth before you could even stop yourself from saying them. But before you could correct yourself, Izana hammers another nail into the coffin with his next words.

“The same way your big brother loved you, right?”

You feel weak. You’ve never told anyone that before, not even Emma. It’s a part of you that you chose to keep buried at the bottom of your heart, pretending it never existed.

“Please, Izana, pleas-”

“Did I ever tell you that I know you?” He suddenly snapped, his voice menacing. “I’ve known you from the second you stepped foot in this school. I know your sob story -the one you tell everyone, how your parents’ kicked you out for not marrying an older man. How you were homeless, living in shelters as you worked up money to go to college until you made something for yourself-”

He paused, now leaning further into your face until you smell the marijuana on his breath, his dark eyes peering at you. “But no one knows the true story. That your parents didn’t kick you out, you left.” You start to shake as he tells you the story of how your semi-peaceful life went downhill.

“Izana please stop-”

“It was your eighteenth birthday and you never quite got along with your brothers, especially the oldest one, Michael was it? Seems like you have a thing for Michael’s or rather the other way around.”

“Stop it, please-”

“So Michael and your other brothers told you that if you wanted them to like you that you’d let their college friends talk to you. You went along with it, hung around your brothers and their friends and everything was fine, until you felt tired after drinking some juice that Michael gave you-”

You hate this. You don’t even know how he found out about this part of your life, or how long he’s been holding it until he could use it but you need the story to end now, you don’t want to relieve your trauma. “You’ve made your point. I lied about running away because I was scared. Please, please-”

“Shhh,” He pushes the gun to your lips until your pleas are muffled noises. “don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt someone while they’re telling a story? As I was saying, Michael offered to carry you to your room, because you felt so tired, you couldn’t move. And oh, you poor, dumb fool. You had no idea what was going to happen that night to you as your big bro took you to his room-”

You suddenly burst into tears and without thinking, shoved the gun out from your mouth to beg him. “Stop it! Stop! I get it! I won’t tell anyone what happened between me and Mikey. Please don’t finish that story!”

Izana stops and you sigh, still not out of the woods yet, but at least you’re sure he won’t say anything else-

A scream rips from your throat as you feel his veiny palms drag you by your hair violently, to the bed. You feel like a ragdoll as he throws you onto the bee, before climbing on top of you right after. “Izana stop! STOP I-”

Your voice catches in your throat the second he switches off the safety of the gun and points it towards your window, pressing the trigger twice. You scream as the bullets pierce through the window, shattering the glass completely, and clamp a hand over your mouth when he points the gun back at you, his eyes narrowed in anger.

“Please, please, please-”

“You don’t want to hear the truth, fine. I’ll show you what your brother did to you instead, but if you as much as piss me off one more fucking time, I’ll shoot you.”

You freeze in place as he starts to lift up your long skirt with one hand until he exposes your panties. You hear him fumble with his belt buckle, having kept the gun out of your reach behind him and he pulls his black jeans enough to only expose his half-mast clothed dick.

He was getting off on imagining you being assaulted. You feel sick.

You blank out as your legs are spread apart, by his two hands, and he pushes his entire weight on you, until his crotch is pressed into yours. Shame fills you as he starts to grind against your clothed pussy, the stimulation having an undesired effect on your clit and you turn your head just not to look at him.

With each roll of his hips, you feel his thick length rub against your poor nub, wetness leaking through your panties and staining his boxers. Izana smirks at your distress, growing fully hard at how wet you’ve become from just him humping you. He leans down to your ear, hot breath hitting your neck and starts to taunt you “It’s a shame your father caught him before he could continue. He could have seen how slutty his sister was.”

You try to keep your mouth shut, tears rolling down your cheeks as he gets himself off but he wants to hear you and raises your hips higher until you're flush against his aching cock. He bucks his hips into yours at a faster pace now, targeting your clit with each thrust, coupled with his warm breath ticking your skin. The wetness has made the cotton of your panties thin, making you feel his movements until you can't stop your moans mixed with tears from spilling out of your lips.

“Iza-na please s-stop-”

He only chuckles in response to your misery. There’s just something so satisfying to him about seeing you, the girl who made Emma call him a fucking bastard beg him for mercy. Unfortunately for you, it isn’t enough for him to make you relive your trauma, no, he wants to make you really, really hurt.

“You wouldn’t have been begging me to stop if you had just let me finish my story.” He whispers against your skin, rocking his hips slower now, in circular motions. “Or maybe you hate hearing the truth about being the problem. You should have been less prettier, less provocative-”

Your skin crawls at his words and you want to protest but you lack the ability to keep yourself and your thoughts composed as he is doing right now. “It’s your fault this kind of thing keeps happening to you. You keep making men the worst versions of themselves. Your brother, for example, was a good Christian boy until you hit puberty and all of a sudden, he couldn’t keep his hands off his dick when you’re around. Mikey had never, ever forced a girl to do something with him, he didn’t need to.”

You feel ill. You didn’t mean for the incident with your brother to happen, you had no idea he felt that way, with how he violently beat you whenever you did something wrong. You didn’t know Mikey looked at you that way either, you thought he hated you. How were you meant to know anything?

Yet, it’s still your fault. Just you, only you.

“You’re not protesting it.” He articulates with timed thrusts. Your thighs are trembling underneath his grip, meaning you’re close, but your mind is not here, it's soaking up, his every confession of how he feels. “So you know what you do to everyone. Even your father, who was a good man, always got angry with you. But despite your faults, and despite what you did to your brother he wanted to keep you and offered for you to help your brother by marrying that old man and you know what you did? You ran.”

‘I ran. I ran away like a coward.’

Your mind is numb, your body feels overwhelmed, electricity running up your body as Izana guides your hips up and down his clothed shaft, tethering you to the edge, relishing every last whimper and moan you let out. “You ran away from a family that you were given for free, I would kill to have lived with my family, no matter how shit they were. Last I heard, your brother brings girls that look like you home. Because you didn’t stay in your lane to fix your family. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“So-rry.” It comes out of your mouth before you realise it. Maybe you should be sorry for the things you have done. For making them do all those horrific things to you. “I’m sorry” you sob, choking on your words as you repeat it over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry-”

You’re still babbling when you finally twitch in his hands, cumming all over his boxers with a quiet yelp until you can’t anymore. You’re still out of it when he pulls out his dick from his confines briefly, jerking it off and to cum all over your panties and thighs not too long after.

When you come to it eventually, he dresses properly and leaves you with his twisted handiwork. The feeling of humiliation and dirtiness hangs over your head. You feel so much shame and humiliation, like there’s dirt underneath your skin that no amount of washing would make you clean. All those things Izana said to you, the memory of your own brother assaulting you and having to relive it again feels too heavy to bear, to live with.

You’re not sure you want to live in a world where Izana has all this information about you.

Something drops on your lap and you see it’s the gun that he had threatened you with earlier. “A quick bullet to the head can do the trick. You’re guaranteed to die. If you’re dead, no one will ever know what we discussed here.” He says nonchalantly, walking past you and knocks thrice on the door before turning around to face you again. “Or if you hate me so much now, you can shoot me right here” he points at the heart. “And your secrets die with me. Not even your precious Mikey knows this.”

You realise it’s one of his sick mind games, the kind an unfair god plays for his own amusement, but at this point, you don’t care. You just want an out of this world, of being blamed for things you can’t control. Everything is your fault and if you die, maybe things will go back to normal.

And you’ll never have to face Izana again.

The door opens as you begin to pick up the gun, and Kakucho attempts to run towards you, possibly to protect Izana, only for the white haired man to shove him backwards. The two men watch, one with pure horror and one with pure amusement as you slowly press the barrel of the gun to your temple, tears rolling down your eyes.

“WAIT DON’T-”

You press the trigger before he could finish his sentence.

Bonus:

“You should have seen her face when she realised there was no bullet in the gun. Kept begging me to give her one so that she could die.”

The laughter between Izana and the rest of Tenjiku sounded like roaring in Kakucho’s ears. He and Mochizuki were the only ones who didn’t find what Izana did to you funny. He hated when Izana did things like this to innocent people like you. It was agonising to hear you cry and beg him every step of the way, even to the point of apologising for things that aren’t even your fault.

Kakucho had raised some concerns about leaving you alone in the room, as you could hurt yourself, which would be detrimental to them as they still need you alive to further manipulate things to their favour. Eventually, they decided to take you back to Tenjiku’s house and lock you in Izana’s bedroom.

Still not ideal, but it’s protected.

“Bet she cries pretty, yeah?” Ran asks, after the laughter died down. “She looks like someone who cries a lot, boss.”

“Her crying face is the prettiest I’ve ever seen, but her cumming face is better. I’ve got pictures to prove it-”

“I can’t deal with this shit anymore. I’m off to bed” Mochizuki groans, pushing himself up to leave. Kakucho couldn’t blame him, the atmosphere was toxic, laughing at your suffering for no reason. The last time he left you, you were hugging your knees to your chest, crying. He feels like a piece of shit for stalking you and then trapping you in the room with Izana of all people.

But he did it anyway, so he can’t act like he’s a saint.  He was an accomplice.

“Can you check on (name) before you go to your room?” Kakucho all but pleads. He isn’t sure he could face you after what he did to you. Mochi nods and walks away.

He thinks about the first time he met you. He could only watch from afar, admiring the way you smiled, how quiet you were compared to everyone else. You were in your own world. Izana never liked you, all Kakucho knows is that Izana hates you for throwing away the thing he valued the most, your family. But you never knew that and it hurt him to see you be punished for a crime you do not know of.

It didn’t help that you were pretty, so while you were Izana’s “type” quiet, obedient, something he could break, Izana also struggled with his hatred for you. Perhaps if you were never friend’s with Emma, he would have avoided you -

“FUCK, STOP, DON’T JUMP!”

Mochizuki’s scream cut through the entire house, interrupting the discussion. The executives instantly stood up and ran in the direction of Izana’s room, where the noise came from only to be greeted by a rather gruesome sight.

You used Izana’s Egyptian silk bed sheets to hang yourself.

Mochizuki had already rushed to your unconscious body, holding you up so that you don’t cut off your air flow and Kakucho found himself untying it from the ceiling fan as quickly as possible and the makeshift noose from your neck too.

Everything felt like a fever dream, a bad one he couldn’t wake up from as Rindou started CPR on you, with Kisaki on the phone, yelling for an ambulance while Izana counted for Rindou.

“She’s breathing again, it wasn’t too long she was suspended. She’ll live... right?”

A terrible nightmare.

special thanks to: (please turn on your mentions in 'settings' before filling the form.): @officiallyjaehyuns @haikyuusboringassmanager @ilybbg @merrymerrykiss @cockonoi @Rindou24689 @short-cxke @kokoch4n3l @GenAwi @ryuguji-sana @nuyoo @reiners-milkbiddies @kiwixpi @gh0stgirl333 @brisssaaa009 @fushiqruo @kawaiikoalagarden @damidamimongalam @raven-nevra @ilovetwodmen @kodzubaby @straightfromheaven @manchie55 @pikibee @tomeyano @matchamilktea-05 @tenjikusstuff4 @m0onz1 @hapikiou @rainnyzz @Lovelyartistz @lik0 @maraya-007 @thisismarisaaa @reeyy0-2 @littlemisspropaganda @cherie026

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃!

request: when their child says its first word with tokrev dads !!

ft. mikey, kazutora, wakasa, ran, rindou, sanzu

tw. fem!reader, fluff, children, domestic things

an. been missing my tokrev dads <3

TOKYO REVENGERS DAD SERIES

𖦹 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐘

mikey groans when the alarm blasts through his room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he shuffles closer to a smaller warm body beside him. blonde locks splayed across their tiny face and he can’t help smiling at his little creation.

“when did you get in here?” mikey whispers, smiling as his son looks up at him, bleak eyes mirroring his own crinkle before fluttering back close. your hand slithers from under the covers, wrapping around your husband's waist, “he always gets in the bed when you leave” you mumble, pressing a kiss on the back of mikey’s head.

mikey gathers his son in his arms, holding him close as the toddler wiggles in his grasps “i’ll stay a little longer just for you.” mikey’s chest throbs as his son wraps his arms around his chest, struggling to hold on with the little strength he has but he just doesn’t want his dad to go anywhere.

“forever?” his son squeaks and mikey freezes, slowly guiding his face down to meet him, “y-yeah” mikey stammers and the bed shakes as you jolt up from the bed, “his first word!” you squeal, toppling over your husband to squeeze your son into a hug.

mikey’s cheeks streak tears, silently crying as you hold your son into the air, smiling as he repeats his first word over and over, you turn to mikey—tears forming in the lids, “forever, i’ll be here forever for him and you” mikey smiles, features softening even more when his son grins back.

𖦹 𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀

golden irises watch carefully as his son chomps on his afternoon snack, gently cutting more pieces to place in front of his child, your body lingers over kazutora as you hand your son a bottle filled with milk.

you begin to turn back but not before a larger palms grips at your hips, “gimme a kiss, pretty” kazutora flashes a grin, squeezing at the flesh and you bend over to peck his lips, “i love you” you mumble through his mouth causing kazutora smile to grow wider.

“i love you more, angel” kazutora deepens the kiss but the shrill squeal of his son makes him pull away quickly, “what is it?” kazutora coos, his son clapping his hands together and gurgling incoherent noises.

“yeah? you think mommy should stay home today too?” kazutora laughs, pulling you on his lap and your hand coming up to wrap around his neck and the other wiping the drool from your son’s mouth.

“love” your son babbles, “love you” he adds, grinning at both you and kazutora mouth hung open—you’re left speechless as kazutora claps his hands together, leaning a hand over to ruffles at his son's hair, “i love you more buddy” kazutora grins and his son squeals louder.

“think you can stay home now to celebrate his first word?” kazutora smirks at you and you roll your eyes back, “only because i love you” you mumble and kazutora laughs causing his son to bounce back with the same amusing sound.

𖦹 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐒𝐀

your husband has spent the last hour coaching his bouncing daughter to say her first word, giving her unlimited kisses and cuddles, sugary sweets but alas nothing worked.

“come on princess, say daddy” wakasa coos, picking her up to straddle her squirming body on his hip, she shakes her head throwing the chocolatey cookie in her mouth, wakasa sighs walking her over to you.

“hey mommy, want this?” wakasa holds his toddler out to you, smiling when her violet hues light up seeing you, “i see what you’ve been doing” you grunt, grabbing her and wiping her stained cheeks from the crumbs slathered on them.

“just want to hear her first word” he grumbles, slouching his shoulders as wakasa heads over to the living room, “mommy” his daughter giggles, pinching your cheeks—wakasa stops in his tracks, craning his head back in your direction.

“seriously?!” wakasa whines, stomping back over to you and picking his daughter back in his arms, “daddy, say daddy princess” wakasa begs, lip quivering when his daughter squeals back ‘mommy’—wakasa sighs in defeat but pulls his smile back when she grabs his cheeks, “i can’t be mad at you angel, i know how much mommy loves you.”

you walk behind wakasa, wrapping your arms around his waist pressing your face into his back, “she’ll say it one day, just give her sometime” you mumble, and wakasa pulls his daughter into a tight hug, “daddy” she grumbles through his shirt and you can almost feel the tremble of your husbands back as he softly cries at her second word.

𖦹 𝐑𝐀𝐍

ran has his daughter placed between his legs, watching a children's show in the background while his hands undo her braids. “you know angel, when i was your age i had my brother to torture instead of watching brainwashing shows” ran begins, looking over towards you on the opposite side of the couch.

“it gets pretty lonely being an only child, doesn’t it?” ran adds, smiling when you toss a pillow at him, ran dodges it easily, bending down to press a kiss on top of his daughters head, “she’s a handful already” you snort, watching your daughter’s body struggle to stand and jump into her father’s arms.

“but she’s all mine” ran chuckles, swaying her little body in his hands and smothering her cheeks with kisses, your cheeks burns from the smile engraving on your lips listening to your daughter squeal and babble when ran continues the assault of affection on her.

her little head pokes through an opening on his hold, pointing a chubby finger in your direction, “mine” she yells, giggling when ran scoffs loudly. “mine?” he questions, heaving her body in the air and bouncing his daughter into mid flight.

“mine, mine, mine” his daughter mocks, flashing a toothy grin when ran lowers her to dust kisses on her face, “mommy is mine, all mine” ran coos, even after all the years you’ve spent with ran he still managed to make your cheeks burn hot and body feel flustered.

“her first word” you say softly, climbing over to lay your head on his shoulder and pushing back black strands of hair on your daughters face, “i don’t care if she’s our baby, i am not sharing you” ran winks, wincing when you reach over to pinch his cheeks.

𖦹 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

it’s the gut wrenching sight of his small child curled up against his side, snot dried on his nose and a wheezing noise rising from his chest. rindou wasn’t used to taking care of his son without your help but since the cold had caused you to be terribly sick as well—rindou thought he could manage.

rindou watched in pain as his son gripped his shirt harder, sniffling when he tried to shift, “daddy has to get up” rindou whispers, noticing his son flutter his eyes open and bore the same hues right into him.

“stay” his son whimpers, clutching harder against the fabric till his tiny hands turn a darker color and rindou can’t help but get choked up at the sight—added to the sounds of his son’s first words, rindou is crippling with emotions.

“i’m here, i’ll always be here” rindou croaks, cuddling up closer to his son, humming softly as he rocks him back to sleep. you smile from a distance, watching your husband delicately as ever soothe his sick child.

“you’re going to get sick being that close to him” you gently walk towards rindou and he tilts his head back to look at you, “i don’t care my boy needs me and i’m not going anywhere” rindou smiles, already feeling a chill run down his spine but he truly doesn’t care—rindou knows he needs to be right here for his child regardless of the cold stifling in his chest.

𖦹 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔

the first outing with his little girl and sanzu decides on bringing her to his place of work, showing off her uncanny turquoise eyes to his colleagues and a mocking laugh to have them feeling uneasy about how much she’s just like him.

“look princess, that’s ran” he tilts her towards the taller man, her face burying in his chest when ran walks closer examining the small child clinging to sanzu. “jesus sanzu, she’s the spitting image of you” ran laughs, ruffling her hair and sanzu pulls his child away.

“hey, no touching what’s mine. already had to explain that to you about my wife” sanzu growls, smoothing his daughter's locks back to her perfect pigtails. the younger haitani joins in on the gawking, smirking as sanzu coos at his daughter when she starts making a gurgle noise.

“daddy” she looks up at sanzu, his eyes grow in size with a gasp leaving his chest when she squeals again, “daddy!” sanzu struggles to hold her when she starts bouncing in his arms, babbling the name over and over.

“are you crying?” ran taunts, looking over at sanzu as tears roll down his cheeks, “y-yeah, my baby—that’s her first word” sanzu chokes, quickly stepping away from the brothers to fumble around for his phone.

“we gotta tell mommy what you said angel, she’s going to be so proud of you” sanzu grins, his daughter mirroring the same cheeky smile and clapping her hands together—it’s an odd sight from the outside, watching someone like sanzu glow as he calls you bragging about how perfect his daughter is.

---

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.

Safe.

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

Don't kill yourself, please.

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. ۫ ꣑ৎ . satoru gojo is needy and rlly likes to cum inside!!

18+ MDNI

satoru gojo is one needy, pussy drunk, fuck. he’s quite literally the ceo of not being able to shut the fuck up—especially during sex.

“babyyyyy” he whines into the glistening skin of your neck, prodding your swollen, fucked out pussy with his cock. 

this is the fourth time satoru’s pushing into you tonight, whining and muttering in your ear about how it’s just not enough. for you, one round with satoru is all it takes to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and your breathing to quicken into shallow, shaky gasps. but for him? four times? baby, this is just the start.

“s-satoru—” you gasp at the sweet stretch, feeling him fully slide in his lengthy cock. “fuck baby—s-so tight” he stutters against your skin, placing soft, wet kisses along the stretch of your neck. he’s got you trapped in his favorite position—missionary—legs pushed back, hips locked in place with nowhere to escape.

“ ‘toru please s’ too much, n-no more” you whimper pathetically—nails desperately digging into his back, as he starts moving his hips, pushing himself in n out. 

“hah baby— feel s’good—gonna fuck you s-stupid on my cock” there he goes again, drunkenly slurring his words in your ear, ignoring your stupid pleas while he mercilessly overstimulates you with his cock.

“mmm ‘toru” the moan escapes your parted lips, your shaky breath ghosting over the now red, scratched up skin of his back.

“shh—shhh baby, take it, c’mon, take it for me” he groans, pairing each word with a deep, pleading thrust. and of course you will. how could you be so heartless and deny him like that?

“g-gonna let me cum in you baby?” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his warm breath sending a warm tingle of pleasure down your spine. 

“d-didn’t you already—”

“please baby cmon—fuck you feel s-so fucking good, let me just one m-more time” he cuts you off, mumbling against your skin and fucking you at the most deliciously agonizing pace. 

too fucked out to reply, you close your eyes, giving him a light, approving nod. no matter how much you deny it, in reality, you’d do anything satoru asks.

“mm yeahhh— good girl” he replies, coating your tight wet walls in his cum, ‘just one more time’.