Chimamamda Ngozi Adiche, We Should All Be Feminists

Parasite

Sum: Nothing bad ever happens from a fling, right?

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Pregnancy/Implied Baby trapping, Non-con/Dub-con, Double Penetration, Power imbalance, mild gore (curses), Execution mentions, MDNI

WC: 3.5k

A/n: there will be another part eventually! Mwah!

You knew this was wrong - every part of it. You shouldn’t be here, ensnared between the two most dangerous sorcerers alive. You shouldn’t be gasping sweet moans into the mouth of the enemy, pressed between their feverish, toned bodies. And yet, here you were, lips crushed against Satoru’s, desperation tangible as he chased every breath you tried to take. Hungry. Starved. Intent on devouring you whole. His long, slender fingers found their way to the curve of your waist, dragging the blunt edge of his nails along the softness of your skin. His lips followed, trailing down the column of your neck, branding you with searing heat. Behind you, Suguru pressed closer, his warmth a slow, creeping heat licking up your spine, airy touches ghosting down your body. That voice - silken and intoxicating - curled into your ear, pulling a sigh from your lips before you could stop it.

“I missed you,” he murmured, those thick fingers of his flexing against your tender, pliant flesh. Then, with a teasing lilt, he added, “And you know… I don’t think I’ll let you leave this time.”

The same joke. The same dangerous hint of a smile in his words. He used to say it back when you’d slip into his dorm in the dead of night, when stolen kisses in dim hallways felt like secrets worth keeping. But that was then.

You felt Suguru’s hands glide up from your hips, pulling you from your thoughts, his soothing touch tracing idle patterns into your skin. There was an almost languid hunger in the way he moved - a need to claim, to memorize every curve, every tremor that rippled through you under his touch. Big, warm calloused palms, rough from training, grazed over your flesh, scorching everywhere they touched. Higher and higher, teasingly slow, until they reached their destination, cupping your breasts, kneading softly before his thumb flicked over your sensitive nub, coaxing a gasp from your lips.

His mouth was just as sinful, hot and insistent. Lips latched onto the nape of your neck, sucking a bruising mark into your skin - one you’d surely chastise him for later. 

Yet, in this moment, all you could focus on was the way you were sinking onto Satoru. The thick stretch of him stole your breath. God, you’d forgotten how full he made you feel - almost too much, the urge to say wait nearly slipping from your lips. But you couldn’t stop - not with Suguru pressing in behind you, trapping you between them, the weight of what was at stake pressing just as heavily against your skin.

How long had it been since the three of you planned this? A month? Two? If the higher-ups ever found out -

“You’re overthinking again,” Satoru whined, his voice breathy with need. He gazed up at you, those bright, lust-hazed eyes brimming with impatience. His grip on your hips tightened before he yanked you down, forcing his length deeper inside you. A sharp moan tore from your throat, body trembling as pleasure jolted through you.

“Can feel you dryin’ up,” Satoru murmured, his voice dipping into something teasing yet edged with need. “C’mon, pretty - focus on us.”

Suguru seemed to notice as well, one hand slipping away, trailing down to the small of your back. With a firm, gentle nudge as he guided you forward until your body melted against Satoru’s warm chest. Hazy and pliant, you let your lips find his in a slow, heated kiss, too lost in him to register the shift behind you.

At first, you barely noticed the second press of a velvety tip at your entrance, too caught up in the way Satoru’s fingers tangled in your hair, keeping you tethered to him, deepening the kiss. But when Suguru pushed forward, sinking in inch by inch, Satoru stilled, smiling against your lips as if savoring your reaction.

The stretch was dizzying, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat - one that Satoru eagerly swallowed, his tongue licking into your mouth to steal the sound. Behind you, Suguru let out a low, satisfied hum, his grip tightening as he cooed,

“It’s just a big stretch, Angel. You can handle it.”

The sinful reassurance dripped from Suguru’s lips that only made the overwhelming sensation all the more dizzying. Sounds you’d never made before were quickly swallowed by Satoru, his soft, glossy lips moving hungrily against yours as your mind slipped into a hazy, pleasure-drunk daze. It was too much - you felt too much.

You tried to speak, to push the word yellow against Satoru’s lips, but he was too lost in you to notice. Too absorbed in the way your body trembled between them, too caught up in his own pleasure to realize you were instinctively trying to move forward - to run - only for Suguru’s grip to turn cruel as he began pulling your hips back in place.

The first wave crashed through you, the lights from the room turning into blurring stars as you did your best to focus on anything but the overwhelming stretch, away from the pleasure being dragged out of you. As your maw went slack, drool spilling past your lips, your body greedily clenched around them both, walls closing in on their thick cocks that seemed to twitch as your cunt sang to their ears. Satoru sucked in a sharp breath beneath you, his grip on your waist faltering as he stilled.

“Fuck - ” a deep groan pushed outwards, his perfect face contorting into pleasure as his white brows furrowed, stuttering a few pleasure-laced breaths before heat flooded inside your body, swarming with your juices. White rings forming around their cocks as both your bodies tensed from the sensation, as your cunt wrung every last drop, sodden walls clenching down mercilessly. Satoru whined, high and breathy, shivering beneath you, but Suguru didn’t stop. Of course, he didn't, instead a soft moan left his lips as he pushed himself deeper, to witness the twitches in Satoru’s body from the overstimulation. 

Satoru had always been an early finisher. His hands however, remained bruising on your skin, fingers dragging down your back, leaving behind stinging scratches as his pale body twitched from the sensitivity as Suguru’s cock dragged against his. You yelped, the sharp sensation blending into the white-hot pleasure building inside you, your moans growing more desperate. You were close - so close.

Satoru pulled you tighter against his chest, cradling you as Suguru’s pace quickened, each thrust sending you spiraling higher, sending your mind spiraling higher as the words yellow to red formed on your lips, words that didn't have the chance to escape. As Satoru's mouth was already there, devouring, consuming, smothering every syllable before it could escape. His tongue swept into your mouth, swallowing every fractured breath and plea. The pleasure crested a blinding, suffocation sensation that sent your body shaking. a keen whine manages to break through your throat, ragged and breathless as tears prickle at your lashes. Hot and stinging. Slipping free in the spaces where neither of them was watching.

Satoru, ever the sweet talker, murmured soft breathless praises into your ear, his voice dripping with adoration. 

“That’s it, pretty,” he cooed, voice hazy as he felt Suguru’s cock twitch against his dragging a breathless, pitiful whine from his lips before continuing, “Just let go. We’ve got you.” 

You don’t remember much after that - after the gasp that tore from your lips, the slick warmth pooling between your thighs, after the small press of something making you feel impossibly fuller. Sleep had dragged you under far too quickly, faster than the aftercare, faster than the quiet murmurs and touches meant to tether you back to them.

When you awoke, the room was silent, save for the muffled hum of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tokyo’s skyline bled into the dim hotel walls, casting soft, shifting reflections across the room. The heat of their bodies had long since vanished, leaving behind only the ghost of them - cologne, sweat, and the unmistakable, sinful scent of last night.

You groggily pushed yourself up, muscles aching, the soreness wrapping itself around your limbs like a cruel embrace - a stark reminder of why you needed to keep your distance. A month should be enough. A month to shake off their hold, to regain some semblance of control. You didn’t envy the poor soul who ended up with them permanently.

Blinking against the remnants of sleep, your gaze landed on the nightstand. A neatly folded note sat there, the ink bold and familiar, the elegant scrawl unmistakably Suguru’s.

Hotel is paid for. I’ll have my assistant schedule our next meeting. Order some food. Please. Satoru turned off your alarm - you looked exhausted.

And beneath it, a final line, one that made something in your chest twist.

I hope this time you’ll consider saying yes.

Of course.

There it was.

Your eyes drifted lower, and sure enough, a small velvet box sat beside the note.

This had to be the fifth - no, the sixth - ring they’d given you.

The first had been simple: a thin silver band pressed into your palm the night Suguru defected. His bloodied hand - blood that wasn’t his - had cupped your cheek as he begged you to come with him. As he whispered that he couldn’t leave without you.

Instead, you had backed away.

You had stayed while they left.

You had chosen the world that they had rejected. A world focused on protecting the weak. A world that the strongest had abandoned.

And somehow, despite everything, you had ended up in this arrangement -  was it lust? Was it the ache of loneliness? Or was it something far along the lines of the intoxicating thrill of being wanted by the strongest?

You weren’t sure. However, you did the same thing you always did.

You left the ring untouched. You never even opened the box to see what elaborate choice they had made this time. It didn’t matter. It never mattered.

This was a fling. Nothing more. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. A day later, the Google invite arrived - subtle, inconspicuous, something that wouldn’t raise suspicion among the higher-ups. Two private addresses - never the same location, never the same time. Just a casual meeting of sorts.

You knew better. You knew exactly what would happen if the higher ups caught you with the enemy. And those two knew too - constantly reminding you in soft murmurs and teasing threats that you would be executed.

You tried not to think about it.

So, out of pure spite, you pressed the response button to their invite:

Maybe.

Not like they could contact you, anyway.

But when the end of the month arrived and your period didn’t, the world seemed to fracture beneath you. You counted the days again. And again. You told yourself it was nothing - stress, exhaustion, the toll of constant missions. You tried to believe it.

Still, when the next invitation came, you declined. No explanation. No excuses. Just Declined.

You were busy. Too busy. Missions, training, anything to keep yourself from spiraling. Anything to push the thought - the creeping, gnawing what if - out of your mind.

Anything to push them out of your mind. You didn't need them. This is where you draw the line. Where you hope to never cross paths again.

But that didn’t stop Suguru. He always had his ways of reminding you. Reminding you of his love. The curses came first, creeping from the shadows like nightmarish specters - grotesque things with gnarled, sinewy limbs and rotting flesh that peeled in thick, oozing sheets. Their twisted bodies slithered toward you, spines snapping and limbs jerking with unnatural movements, but it was their mouths - oh, their mouths - that haunted you most.

Petals.

Blood-red roses, blooming in grotesque mockery, spilled from their jagged maws, dripping with saliva and something darker. The scent of decay mixed with the sickly sweet perfume of crushed petals as they gurgled and snarled, teeth flashing between the soft, delicate flowers. Their fingers - long, clawed things  - reached for your flesh, desperate to tear, to consume, to remind you.

Suguru always was a cruel bastard.

But he never sent anything you couldn’t handle. Never anything that could truly harm you - only the most horrifying of his discarded creatures, his unwanted experiments, cast-offs he no longer had use for. They were love letters written in nightmare fuel, messages of devotion carved into the flesh of his creations, each one a whisper of don’t forget me.

And then another month passed.

Another invite.

Another decline. You had things to do, a family-mart to visit. The open bag sat beside you, its contents spilling haphazardly across the sink - water bottles, half-torn hydration drink wrappers, and an obscene number of pregnancy tests. The dim bathroom light flickered above, casting sickly yellow hues over the mess around you. Shadows stretched and twisted against the walls, warping your reflection in the mirror, making it seem as distorted as the thoughts racing through your head.

Your hands trembled violently as you stared down at the scattered tests, their tiny plastic frames stark against the floor. Five. Five identical windows, five glaring verdicts. Five quiet executions of your denial.

Double lines.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Your breath hitched, ragged and uneven, the walls pressing in tighter with every second. Your fingers curled as you grabbed another test, fumbling with frantic, clumsy hands. The packaging crinkled, tearing easily under your shaking grip. Your pulse pounded so loud, so deafening, that you barely heard the sob clawing its way out of your throat.

They have to be defective.

They had to be. Each and every single one of them.

Your vision blurred, hot tears streaking down your face as you fought to steady your hands. The plastic test felt too light, too fragile in your grip - like it was toying with you, waiting to deliver the final blow, waiting to write your execution for something you should have prevented. You uncapped the pathetic thing. Was it because you bought the cheap ones? You should go back and buy the fancy digital ones. Your mind raced as your stomach began twisting, breath began stuttering. The air felt thick, suffocating, heavy with the scent of cheap drugstore plastic and the artificial sweetness of cherry flavoring clinging to the back of your throat. You forced yourself to sit down, legs weak, heart hammering. One more time. Just one more.

One negative is all you were asking for.

You set the test aside, gaze locking onto the result window as if sheer willpower could bend fate. Seconds stretched into an eternity.

Blank.

Blank.

One line.

Two lines.

A strangled, broken laugh escaped you, the sound barely human. Your fingers curled around a hydration bottle, knuckles white as you wrenched it open, nearly crushing the plastic in your grip. You tipped it back in desperate, greedy gulps, the icy liquid searing its way down your throat - sharp enough to make you gasp, sharp enough to ground you in the reality you wanted so desperately to escape.

The tests stared back at you. You weren’t sure how it happened. Well you know how it happens, but you took precautions. You took your pill every single day. Same time. Same routine. Same - your breath caught in your throat.

Satoru turned off your alarm.

A slow, creeping dread slithered through your veins, colder than anything Suguru had ever sent your way.

You missed a day?

No.

You would’ve noticed.

You should have noticed.

…Right?

But the truth lay there before you, undeniable, etched into every test scattered around you. The parasite growing inside you, feeding off your body - their child. A shudder racked your spine, ice pooling in your veins. Your breath hitched, coming in short, uneven gasps as the weight of reality pressed against your chest like a crushing vice. Trembling fingers drifted to your stomach, ghosting over the bare skin as if the simple touch could ground you, could somehow make this feel less real.

But there was no escaping it.

No rewinding time.

No undoing the impossible.

For the first time in years, you were utterly, hopelessly lost.

Your gaze flickered toward your phone, the dim glow of the screen barely cutting through the suffocating darkness of your apartment. The silence pressed in, thick and smothering, tightening with every shallow breath.

A name.

A person you could call.

Your trembling fingers hovered over Satoru’s contact, the letters blurring through the haze of unshed tears.

Satoru - the one who used to press featherlight kisses against your cheek before missions, grinning like the world couldn’t touch you both. The one who would cup your face between his hands, his breath warm against your lips as he whispered the plan to sneak sweets into the dorms, as if it were some grand conspiracy the two of you shared. Sneak them in before Suguru could roll his eyes and scold you both.

Satoru, who left with Suguru.

Satoru, who had clung to you in one last, desperate embrace, his fingers digging into your uniform, his entire body trembling as he silently, wordlessly begged you to come with them.

Begged you to be under their protection.

But you stayed.

You hesitated. Your fingers twitched away from his name. You knew how it would go - he would answer immediately, voice laced with curiosity, amusement, with the confidence that he could fix whatever was wrong. And he would come for you. No hesitation. No delay.

And then there was Suguru.

Your thumb hovered over his contact, breath shuddering out in uneven gasps.

Suguru, who would let the call ring twice - never once, never three times - just long enough to feign indifference, to uphold the meticulously crafted illusion that he wasn’t waiting for you to reach out. That he wasn’t hoping.

But you knew better. You could already hear the smug smirk in his voice, the lazy amusement when he’d finally answer, when he’d ask if you got his flowers.

Not a chance.

And then - Shoko.

Shoko, who had left with them.

Shoko, who had always been your rock, who made those two make sense.

Shoko is a doctor; she would understand what to do, who to talk to, options to - no you couldn't. You should find another way, you should-

Your stomach dropped. Your fingers jerked away from the screen as if burned, but it was too late. The screen flashed. Your pounding, thundering heart had stopped and sank to the pits of your stomach where your parasite now resides.

You were already calling her.

A sharp inhale rattled through your chest, uneven, choked. A fresh wave of panic crashed over you, drowning you in its suffocating weight. Tears burned at the edges of your vision, hot and relentless, blurring the damning sight of the pregnancy tests littered across the bathroom floor. A tremor wracked your entire body, bile clawing its way up your throat, acidic and revolting, as the cold, inescapable truth settled like lead in your stomach.

This wasn’t just your problem.

This wasn’t something you could pretend didn’t exist.

If you carried this child - their child - the higher-ups would execute you both. No hesitation. No trial. No chance to beg. No hope for leniency.

The dial tone barely rang once before a voice sliced through the suffocating quiet.

"Yo." Shoko’s voice rang light, unbothered. However, in the background, a quiet shuffle. A soft scuffle.

Then a familiar, whining voice. "Lemme listen in - " Satoru. A shiver rolled through you, dread sinking its jagged claws deeper into your chest. They were together.

You couldn’t tell them.

You couldn't tell anyone.

Because, your family - your colleagues, the very people you swore loyalty to - would brand you a disgrace. A traitor. A whore who spread her legs for the enemy.

Because, the higher-ups would carve your execution date into stone.

Because -

"I might not let you go this time." Suguru’s voice slithered through your mind, smooth as silk, suffocating as a noose. Your throat constricted, something raw and primal clawing at your chest, your heart pounding so violently it hurt. Your grip on the phone was white-knuckled, shaking so hard you thought you might drop it.

And all you could say to Shoko was -

"Wrong number."

Before hanging up. Before glancing at the string of texts filtering through with Shoko's name attached to them. Texts you assumed weren't from Shoko. Your fingers pressed Block on the contact after seeing the last one. "I miss you" before tears spilled your eyes once more.

You weren’t sure what to do.

Who to speak to.

Who was safe.

Who wasn’t.

Your vision swam, the weight of it all crashing down like an tide, dragging you under.

Why did you stay?

Why did you return to their arms?

And why did a small part of you think it would be easier to just go to them.

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

toji makes the sluttiest expression when he fucks you. and you know it because he mostly fucks you in mating press. you see it upclose. his brows knit together, sweat on the forehead trickling it's way down to his jawline, teeth grinding to the point where it threatens to fall off when he grunts.

but in between all of those, there's a moment where you come so hard that your pussy starts swallowing him. that is exactly when he breaks. the grinding set of teeth fall apart and his mouth is left agape to leave out the most whore-ish moan, head thrown back with his eyes squeeze shut, he feels like he could cry the way your pussy pulses around his cock.

even in all those moments, he never loses his rhythm. they just get more intense, more sexual. more aggressive. almost as if he is punishing you for making him lose his usual tough guy composure and making him moan. he is a slut at heart but if someone ever says that out loud, they'll meet death. but you are exceptional. you are allowed. it kills him that you are his weakness. that won't stop him from making an absolute mess out of you and your sweet cunt. and for that, he'll beg like a dog to you. you know it and you take advantage of it. squeezing your pussy tight so he can lose it all. that's your man. no wait. that's your manwhore.

Genuinely feel the need to post this cause at this point it’s getting out of hand.

So during the events kinktober I’ve noticed that a lot of people have been hating on dark content blogs, going as far as to anonymously harass creators to the point that they’ve had to stop posting content.

And it’s perfectly fine if you don’t like those types of blogs, you’re not obligated to at all. But to go out of your way to harass someone for what they do, even when they’ve put warnings all over their blog about how their material contains something you might not like, is just plain wrong.

It’s not okay in any sense to consistently harass people when they’ve done nothing to provoke you. And it is very easy to just scroll past something if you don’t like it, there is no need to go into someone’s blog just to belittle them for something they put genuine time and effort into. Some of these blogs have spent days, weeks, or even months of careful planning making events and taking time out of their day to respond to small asks. Even warning viewers about potentially sensitive content. They don’t need people bombarding them with hate and rude comments every 5 minutes.

I’m not even a content creator myself! I have literally no idea how much work these people must put in to do what they do. All I know is that they do it because they want to, and if that’s what they want to do, then I have no business telling them they can’t.

Other than that, I wish all you writers and creators a wonderful day, and a happy kinktober! Keep up all the good work, and I look forward to what awesome stuff you guys come up with!

“My child is fine”

Your child has an obsession with multiple people and they’re not even real.

i would let this man bang me so hard with no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen door to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I grasp for air, scream and huff, upside down on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on the chair, being carried, against a wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in a car, on the motorcycle, in the bed of a trunk, in a trampoline, in a bounce house, inside a pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, having the most toe curling, toe clenching, back arching, legs shaking, fist clenching, muffled sounds, ear ringing, mouth drooling, nose drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, can't take it anymore, legs divorcing and breaking in half, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, fireworks, sheet gripping, knuckle cracking, jaw dropping, soul snatching, over stimulating, ovulating, vile, sloppy, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, Beasley, devilishly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, black hole cresting, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, body numbing, can't walk, head nodding, volcano erupting, sweat rolling. Voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, skin peeling, pussy popping, back cuts, heavenly, devils tango, and still worth it.

Gifs: daenerys-stormborn

okay so i was requestic a hedonistic drug dealer ran you are obsessed with

you dyed your hair to be his type, you let him inject drugs into your veins because you like him, you dress into clothes he likes and he still is indifferent/uses you

first time i requested it it sounded better i swear

❝𝙉𝙀𝙀𝘿.ᐟ❞

BONTEN!R. HAITANI + F. READER

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ; you do anything and everything for ran including his deals but when one goes wrong, you need him more than anything !!

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 ; smut, angst-ish??idk very toxic, toxic!ran, he's kind of a dealer idk, drugs obvi, murder, car sex, praise, degradation, unrequited love-ish, reader is actually crazy, chubby!reader implied, protected sex (surprisingly), daddy kink, sa(not by ran), reader wears skimpy clothing, skin color not mentioned

You don’t know exactly how you got involved with Ran or bonten in general. As the day passed, the origin of everything seemed to blur more in your mind but you could remember one detail from the night you met and another from the second time which surprisingly had a big part to play in your relationship with Ran Haitani. The one thing that remained in your mind was how the older haitani brother looked sitting on that velvet couch under the dim blue and purple lights. You thought he looked so handsome and couldn’t keep your eyes off him but maybe it wasn’t such a good idea when you were there with your boyfriend who was supposed to talk to the leader of Bonten.

When your boyfriend began to talk to ‘Mikey’, you and him were squeezed between two of his executives probably for safety or whatever but you were so flustered. Ran was the one on your side and you couldn’t look anywhere but your heels because you were already a bit frightened by the presence of Bonten members. The fact that you could see Ran staring at you with a mischievous smile out the side of your eye did not make you restless at all, it made you want to squeeze your legs tightly and rub them together. Good thing you had your hands in your lap so no one could tell that you did for a short moment.

You will never forget the look he gave you when you finally got the courage to look up at him. Hearts practically formed in your eyes when you made eye contact with him and Ran Haitani never left your thoughts even despite what he whispered to you. “You’re cute and all but I’m more into blondes.” His voice was laced in honey and dripping with sugar as his lips grazed against the shell of your ear.

It was ironic. Ran was into blondes but that’s exactly what your boyfriend hated. No matter what hairstyle you got, as long as it wasn’t blonde. But now that you knew you existed in the same world as Ran, it didn’t matter because every hairstyle from then on was colored blonde and you even dyed your hair blonde and you didn’t care if it ruined your hair (good thing it didn’t.).

When your boyfriend told you he had to have another meeting with them at their headquarters, you were ecstatic! Not that you let him know it…regardless, you went with him after a bunch of begging because you managed to convince him that going alone wouldn’t be the best idea considering where he was going. Your boyfriend wasn’t a really important gang leader either, he barely had members and was still ‘up-coming’ as he said so no one was there to protect him like the bonten executives were protecting Mikey.

In the end, there wasn’t a point in you coming because they separated you both but you couldn’t care less about that because once again, they had ran looking after you. Of course, others were around like his brother and Koko but they were on the sidelines observing the interaction between you and Ran. “This a nice color on you.” The man said taking a strand of your hair and running it between his ring-clad fingers, your eyes were trained on his fingers and how he twisted the hair around his finger.

Sitting there in your tight dress, you felt a bit flustered and awkward “Thank you…” You said shuffling in your seat on a crate. “You got it for me?” Ran asked looking at you in your eyes making you even more nervous. You didn’t know how to respond and just looked at him nervously while occasionally glancing away “I don’t know, just thought it was cute.” You said trying your best not to sound nervous but he could tell. You weren’t fooling anyone with that little pathetic act of yours.

Ran stood from his squatting position in front of you and stared down at you. He enjoyed how you looked at him, so lost like you were helpless and he was the only person who could actually help you. Not that he really wanted to but…you were cute. He glanced at Koko and Rindou who gestured him over before looking back at you “When you find out let me know. Depending on your answer, I might keep you around…unlike your boyfriend.” The multi-colored-haired man said with a small smile on his face that showed kindness but he meant much more than that. That’s if kindness was meant at all.

You were about to ask him what he meant until a loud gunshot was heard from one of the rooms over. It sounded suspiciously close to the room the pink-haired one had taken your boyfriend in and it made your breath pause and your eyes widen in shock. “Sorry about him by the way.” Ran finally said before walking away from you to join his brother and co-worker. The three of them observed you and how you didn’t move at all after Ran left, you just stared down probably wondering what the hell was going on.

“You sure she’s gonna stay silent?” Koko asked throwing his hair over his shoulder and Ran nodded as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants “Yeah, don’t even worry about her.” Ran said shrugging his shoulders carelessly while he took one last glance at you. His grin widened at the sight of you already staring at him.

After that, Ran kept you around. From the start, Ran knew you were fascinated with him but he didn’t really know how obsessed you were though, it didn’t take him long to figure it out.

You were at his feet for practically everything. Sometimes he didn’t even have to ask you to do things and you’d just do it anyway. You noticed he took a liking to certain dresses, outfits, and makeup and you always did those but it truly depended on how he felt because sometimes he’d prefer you in a long dress rather than a short one but you still made it your mission to satisfy him. Even if he could care less about your satisfaction.

Ran never seemed to care about you, only merely entertained by how you acted for him oh and fucking you. He really liked that along with your pretty face. Not so much of everything else…but it didn’t matter to you because he kept you around meaning he cared at least that much and you could get him to love you more. Maybe if you kept doing everything he asked, he’d love you back, that was your mindset and it persuaded you for everything that you did like doing drugs for Ran.

Bonten was involved in a bunch of things, drugs included and it was no secret to those who were involved in Bonten in the slightest that Ran and that pink-haired guy, Sanzu were the ones mainly in charge of that. So sometimes you’d walk in on Ran either dealing with them or doing them and you’d join him just sitting there quietly while he worked but there were a lot of times he’d grab you by your jaw and open your mouth.

He’d ask you if you could take this for him and you always did and sometimes Sanzu was there, sometimes he wasn’t but his presence did not disrupt your decision. The first time it happened, your words truly made Ran understand your intentions to be with him and that you never wanted to leave. “Yeah…don’t even ask, I’ll do whatever you want.” You said while your body was practically shaking from fear as Ran held your arm with a needle full of something he didn’t tell you. His tie was wrapped tightly around a higher point in your arm and he was grinning at you sickly. To this day, you don’t regret saying that. You’d say it again and again and again because it was the truth even if you didn’t like doing those things. In a way, you needed him so you would do whatever ran wanted you to do even if all he did was mistreat you.

Ran would make a fool out of you daily just for merely existing. When you two were alone, he’d trip you, ask you questions that he knew you didn’t know the answer to just to watch you sit there look stupid and this one, he’d do just out of curiosity. Sometimes he’d spill something on your shirt or you in general just to see what you’d do and each time, you’d apologize for ‘being in his way’. When you two were around others, it was even worse especially if it was Bonten members you were around. Ran would flip up your skirts, grab you through your clothes, bend you over, and even call you over for some stupid sex thing he, his brother, and Sanzu were talking about so he could ‘demonstrate’. Well, that’s if you had any time with all the things you were doing for other members of Bonten when Ran said he didn’t care what they made you do.

It didn’t matter what he did though because you still had heart eyes for him. It doesn’t matter how embarrassed you got by the things he did because you enjoyed it at least a bit and he didn’t stop because he knew that. 

“Ugh, you’re so mean to her.” Koko said as he stared down at you who scrambled to pick up the many papers (that were his) that had fallen from your hands when Ran tripped you. Not to mention, you also had a scrape on your knee from the fall “Why?” Koko asked once more looking up at the laughing men with a bored look. He hardly cared for you but he wondered why you were treated so badly and endured it.

I mean they were laughing at you but you still sat there picking up the papers, you even apologized when you realized Ran had tripped you. “She likes it, it’s fine.” Ran said swinging his hand as if he was physically brushing something away. Koko narrowed his eyes at that before looking back at you and sighing “Guess you can’t stop a dog from following its owner.” He started putting his hand on his hip and turning around “Just don’t trip her when she has a drink in her hand, if it spills on me I’ll kill you.” Koko said while he began to walk away, you already knew where to go once you finished picking up those papers so he wasn’t worried in the slightest.

That wasn’t the end of the list of things Ran would do to you either. There was more that you’d let him do and a lot of the rest involved drugs.

You’d let Ran inject you with things, give you things, and sometimes you would just do it on your own after asking him just to make him ‘proud’. And it did make him ‘amused’ per se because he’s dealt with a lot of girls that were desperate for him but never anyone so determined as you, it was a bit funny. Each time, tears brimmed in your pretty little eye when the needle dug into your flesh and into the vein but you’d hold them back so Ran wouldn’t laugh but he would anyway. It was just so hilarious how far you went to get him to love you! I mean, you even started to do his drug deals for him!

You’d walk into those deep alleyways in your cute little heels and cute hairstyle that he paid for to give some addict their weekly supply just for him as he waited in a car across the street. Fuck he loved that shit, it got him going and gave him a crazy amount of pleasure especially because he didn’t even have to ask you, you offered yourself to do it. Ran mentioned one day that Bonten’s been getting a lot more customers coming to him since that one night he had you by his side during all his deal and you offered to start doing it for him since it made him so much money.

It worked too. More girls were buying because it was a girl that was ‘selling’ and it seemed more trustworthy and guys just came because they were perverts for your short skirts and tight pants; sometimes they’d get a bit touchy but Ran never let it go too far. He’d step in when you looked back at the space his car was parked in for help, I mean, he can’t let his prettiest dog get hurt can he? Ran hoped he wouldn’t have to get out of the car this time. As much as you were good to use, you were such a pain sometimes.

The sound of your heels clicking against the wet ground of the alley filled your ears as you inched closer to the man in the deeper part of the dark area while holding your purse in both your hands “Uh, hi?” You said awkwardly flashing a sheepish smile his way. You hadn’t even been here for five minutes and you were already growing uncomfortable with how he was looking you up and down. You observed his stature and how he looked not only empty-handed but sleazy…Ran wouldn’t like that very much. “Don’t worry, I have the money.” He said in a gruff voice which made you relax just a tad bit and your smile became more kind than nervous.

“Okay good, I have it too.” You said looking down ready to get the sandwich baggie but before you could, you heard a laugh come from the other person. It sounded familiar and you didn’t like that at all, it sounded like Ran when he was up to no good like when he was checking you out but it was okay when it was Ran and this was not Ran. “Is it in that tiny purse?” The man said rubbing the stubble on his chin and you looked away awkwardly and then shook your head negatively.

He met your eyes again “Oh, I know where it is then.” Your body ran even colder than this alley made you at his words. You carefully took a step back but when you heard a splash, you looked down and grimaced at the sight of your heel in a small puddle of god knows what. Ran would be incredibly mad if you ruined these heels, they were so expensive. “Don’t run, I’m just playing a little guessing game…” He grabbed your hand and pulled you closer. He treated it like an accident when his hand grasped your chest but soon his look of fake shock turned to one of evil while you tried to pry his hands away.

Your head turned back to look at the expensive car that was parked across the street. You looked away when you saw that Ran began to reach for his gun, you didn’t see it but you already knew he groaned loudly in annoyance at having to get up. You felt bad for annoying him so much…

Only one more moment of struggle lasted until a gunshot was heard and the tight hold on your chest was no more “Jeez, I can’t trust you with anything, can I?” You heard Ran’s voice approaching as you stared at the now-dead man. No words left your mouth as Ran came into your line of gaze to kneel and take the money from the man’s pocket, it was not shock or anything, you just weren’t going to say anything. Anything you said would probably piss him off and you were still shaken up from everything that had just happened.

His lengthy arm draped over your shoulder as he led you out of the alley “Give it to me.” He said not even looking at you. You stumbled a bit as you took off your heel, took the sandwich baggie from the bottom, and handed it to your ‘boyfriend’ or whatever he said he was to you before popping the heel back on. “Hey, stop being so down. It’s a mood killer honestly.” Ran said shrugging his shoulders but when you didn’t apologize or say anything, he realized how upset you really were about it.

The tall man grabbed your jaw and made you turn to face him “Seriously, it’s a ugly look.” Ran said harshly as you tried to pull your face away from his hand. Tears formed in your eyes and it seemed to make him even more annoyed because he threw your face away from his palm with a scoff. “I’m sorry, really. I-I just didn’t think–” “No, it’s my fault really.” Ran interrupted you with an exhausted huff making you look at him wide-eyed.

“I know you can’t do anything right unless you have something in that little cunny,” Ran said with a slightly mocking tone but you didn’t say anything and only wrapped your arms around one of his arms. “Right?” He asked looking at you and you were quick to nod at his question eager to make him happy. “Yeah? Well, we better fix that so you don’t mess up any other drops.” You nodded as you nudged your head against his arm. You were just desperate for him to be happy, you didn’t want him to be upset because when he was upset, he pushed you away. You needed ran so you’d do anything to prevent that.

“Stay like that,” Ran told you pressing his hand on your head and forcing your face into the backseat as he thrusted harshly into your cunt until he couldn’t anymore. Your makeup smeared all over your face and the bouncy seats “B-But wanna see you…” You whined as your nails dug into the comfy seating, you were afraid that the long acrylics were going to break. You got them just for ran as always, he liked them long because he loved to see those red scratches on his back with little beads of blood forming in the middle but if so…why wasn’t he fucking you in a way that’d let you do that?

Ran only hummed in response as if he was thinking “If you can turn around yourself, sure.” Ran told you as he hissed at the feeling of your cushy cunt squeezing around him. You whined at his words not feeling the strength in your body to flip yourself over “If you’re just gonna whine then keep your face in there. You’re lucky I actually need you sober after this.” The Haitani man said rolling his eyes at your noises of complaint. 

“Sorry.” The words barely registered in your head as they slipped past your lips. You were too focused on trying to lift yourself with your noodle-like arms, your face burned with embarrassment as Ran laughed from behind you at your pathetic attempt. When you managed to flip yourself on your back, you saw he was grinning down at you but you couldn’t smile with how your lips were popped open in a ‘O’ from how snug he fit in your walls.

Your hands found their designated place on his shoulders “See? Once you get stuffed, doing things I ask ain’t so hard is it?” Ran said to you while relentlessly ramming inside of you making the car shake. Your body heated up with embarrassment when you realized that you were close to cumming.

“Hm?” Ran hummed as you wrapped your legs around his waist, the softness of your feet rubbed against his lower back as you were disinclined to let him go. You always did that when you were close to tipping off the edge, acting like he was yours and that he had to stay here with you until you let him go. So needy for his presence.

Acrylics dug into his flesh leaving red scratch marks along his shoulder blades “Wow, you’re already cumming? I haven’t even gotten close yet!” Ran teased whilst pressing down on your stomach making your back arch up from the seating with a groan leaving your lips. You squirmed under his palm taking your hands off him to push away his hand but he didn’t budge an inch and only leaned further down to you.

His lips barely brushed over your ear “Well guess what? You’re holding it ‘till I say so.” The purple-eyed man told you while backing away to look you in your glossed-over eyes. “You’re so mean.” Ran once again laughed at you. Out of all the things he’s done to you, this is the meanest? You’re a joke. “Hey now, I’m not neglecting you. Just gotta be fuckin’ patient.” Ran said closing his eyes and grinding his teeth at how you tightened around him just silently pleading for him to let you have your release.

Ran’s thrusts got harsher and faster as he was fishing for his own orgasm, no longer focused on yours. That’s if he even was in the first place. He bullied his cock against your g-spot while he threw his head back while his groans were overcome by your incredibly loud moans. This was probably one of the only times Ran actually didn’t find your constant babbling annoying, only when it was about how good he was making you feel. How you loved him so much and would do anything for him. Everything else that left your mouth was pointless and he never listened but this…oh he lived for this.

“Ran…” You weren’t sure if your moans were in the pleasure or the pain of your head constantly hitting the car door. It didn’t matter honestly because he wouldn’t care. “P-Please…” You pleaded breathlessly unsure if you’d be able to continue holding it. Ran peeked his eyes open to glance down at you before closing them once more as his fingers dug into the skin of your belly.

His purple strands of hair dangling in his face unkempt and unruly drove you crazy “If you don’t cum with me, you’re not at all.” Ran mumbled taking his hand away from you briefly to slick his hair back. You nodded rapidly waiting for the feeling of him cumming so you could. His slender cock twitched inside of you warning his release but before it came, he pulled out and came all on your bare stomach. A few of the white ropes landed on the tight dress that had been pushed up to your chest making you grumble about how dirty it looked now.

Your wide watery eyes gazed into his as tears spilled onto the apples of your cheeks and he breathed heavily. Ran sat back on the seats still facing you before his expression changed from out of breath to mischievous. 

His fingers went and grabbed at your hair before he pulled you forward to now sit on your hands and knees with your face even closer to his. Ran’s lips met you and you gladly allowed him access to your mouth immediately falling to his mercy as you always did but before the kiss could get even more heated, he pulled away. He barely gave you any time to allow questions to escape those swollen lips of yours before he shoved your head down, his cock immediately hitting the back of your throat.

“Uhn!” You choked while looking at him with teary eyes with your nose buried in his happy trail “What are you waiting for, slut?” The Bonten executive questioned and you didn’t respond and only began to take him further down your throat. Hollowing out your cheeks and sucking on his cock while your tears marked their place on his pelvis bone.

Ran leaned back with a groan “Fuck, princess.” Oh how you loved it when he called you that, it was a sign that he at least cared to give you a pet name that was not degrading you. Ran grinned at the feeling of his firearm under his fingertips, he quickly grabbed it from behind him and pointed at your head. You hadn’t even realized it until you felt the surprisingly warm metal against your sweaty forehead and your eyes grew large at the sight.

The gun was loaded and the safety was not on. He could shoot you in the head right here and it had you shaking but you kept taking him to not anger him “Oh relax, my finger ain’t even on the trigger.” Ran said with a malicious grin enjoying how it made you tremble “But it will be if you don’t hurry up and make me cum.” He said shrugging his shoulders carelessly. Of course, he wasn’t going to but Ran took pride in his ability to manipulate people so you believed him.

Eye contact was held as you tried even harder to get him to his release with your precious eyes begging him to spare your life. You suckled at his tip as you jerked him off with your other hand with hot streams of tears messing up your expensive makeup and Ran only moaned at the feeling soon not caring about the gun in his hand but you still did.

Despite your fear, you felt your core growing hot at the action. If it were any other person pointing that gun at your head after knowing your mistake during a drug deal, you would’ve pissed your pants knowing your life was going to end but it was Ran. Ran wouldn’t do that…even if he did, you wouldn’t mind as much as if it wasn’t him. If you were going to die, you wanted it to either be at the hands of the man you loved or with him even if he didn’t love you back.

You loved Ran so much and whatever he wanted, you’d go along with because, at the end of the day, you were just Ran’s chess piece that he could move how he pleased and use however he wanted. 

Without a warning, Ran’s cock sprayed another round of white all over you and your hand making you even more of a mess than before. The gun dropped from his hand and onto the floor of the car as he smiled at you with large breaths coming from his mouth but not a single word, not an apology, not a joke. Nothing. He was just thinking.

Despite all of your mistakes and faults, maybe there was reason to still keep you around. Your pussy was fucking amazing and you could do amazing things with your mouth plus you were at his beckoning for everything. Perhaps he’d share you with Sanzu and Rindou…maybe even Koko but would you want to? Wait, who is he kidding? You’d do it if he told you to just like anything else.

You moved closer to him with your lips puckered out in a small pout “Can I have a kiss?” Your words were low and needy as your [e/c] eyes gazed up at him through your wet eyelashes. Ran smiled and grabbed your face “When you go get me my fucking money.” He replied in the same tone you had before letting go of your face and looking away. And it was no surprise when you began to put your clothes back on to do what he told you.

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

I’ll be picking up bottles with you on New Year’s Day.

the mess we made

Character/s: black panther hybrid!Ran & Rindou Haitani

Warnings: f!reader, hybrid au, dubcon, reader is sort of a brat, double penetration/double vag (yes their dicks touched), threesome, unprotected sex, creampie, slight degradation, usage of 'mommy' once, breeding kink, and curse words. Minors don’t interact.

Note: this piece is for my hybrid collab "collard bones"! hope you enjoy it :)

Synopsis: Taking care of big cats is never an easy task.

✃WC: 1.4k

Spice level: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ out of 5

Lazy limpid violets watched in silence as you threw the useless credit card to the ground, the heel of your Louboutin pump hit the plastic multiple times as you stomped on it in anger.

How dare your father freeze it? Humiliating you by having the store clerk state out loud that it declined your purchase—you wished you could turn back time and drive up to his office instead to give him a piece of your mind. But you wouldn’t have found out until you were beaming with excitement and striding up to the cashier. Would’ve been nice to know ahead… That way, you could’ve sweet-talked the old man into doing otherwise!

“M-Miss, welcome home.”

Diverting your furious gaze to the help, you didn’t have to bark out your orders for her to leave, already frightened by your rare yet horrible temper—taking shelter in the kitchen.

Slamming the door shut to your bedroom, you failed to notice the two figures stalking behind you—waiting for you to notice them. Meanwhile, you kept groaning out of frustration, close to throwing the credit card out of the window and to the bustling roads down below. Lamenting its golden years, you sighed before setting the card down gently on the nightstand. Whatever, it’s not like your father did this for the first time. You could still convince him to unfreeze it tomorrow… or start sending him annoying texts until he does.

“I can’t believe he’d do this—who does he think he is?” Huffing at your phone’s screen displaying your father’s contact, your finger hovered above it, debating whether to call and scream at him or text him before doing the first option. “Years and years of never paying any mind to what I bought, then he pulls the rug underneath—what the hell made him do this? A new woman?!”

The fear and anxiety of your father finding a new lover to lavish with his millions were suddenly thrown out of your mind when a huge palm pushed you hard to have you fall on the mattress. Gasping at the surprising action, you glanced up to glare at whoever it was only to press your lips into a thin line at the two pairs of lavender irises narrowed down at you. Impatience radiated from their lithe forms as their sharp claws dug slightly into your flesh.

Right, how could you forget about these two?

Reaching out a hand, you nuzzled Ran’s perked ear with a small apologetic smile. “Hey, I didn’t know you two got back from your playdate… H-how was it?” An answer was what you sought after yet all you received was those very claws ripping your top apart, exposing the baby blue lace bra underneath that caused you to gasp in horror. All those days of having them put under training by professionals and they do this?! “What the fuck—that costs a lot—hey!”

“Making us wait, what a bad owner you are,” Rindou growled, assisting his older brother in haphazardly getting you out of your attire albeit your commands for them to stop. “What’s more important than us, huh?”

“Even ignoring us when you came in.” Clicking his tongue, Ran hooked his finger on your denim skirt, tugging it down. “What a bad, bad owner.”

Mentally mourning the torn top and denim skirt that was about to be the next victim, you couldn’t help but sigh at their words ringing with truth. You did ask for a puppyboy or maybe a catgirl would’ve been better than to have these two menaces. But, you were still to blame for biting more than you can chew. Begging your father to buy you a rare hybrid to boast to your friends in high school, you didn’t expect a huge cage to arrive the next day that contained black panther hybrids in it. What’s more, you merely asked for one. Instead, you got two naughty big cats ruining your room and chewing on things the first day they came.

Returning the younger one was what you had in mind. Rindou was seen as a runt the first time. Ran, on the other hand, was pretty tall and wasn’t much of a hassle to take care of, unlike his fussy brother. But, the previous caretakers made a specific note not to separate the two. Figuring the damage on your shoes was done, you decided to keep the brothers until they grew up into the magnificent hybrids they are today.

Exuding strength and agility, Rindou’s development was fascinating to watch as he grew. Ran was the same, yet instead of developing more muscle from all the running, his growth was more centered on his height. The two brothers then used it to their advantage to get their way—which occurs most of the time by pinning you down and overpowering you until submission.

Heats were the worst, leaving you squeezed dry on the mattress, hole oozing with fertile cum. Marks all over your skin that they lick in quiet apology once it was over.

Looking back, you could say they have improved from the rowdy duo they once were. Still, both brothers were always up to no good when boredom strikes and you ignore them—a dangerous thing to happen a few days before their heat comes again. Unfortunately for you, it is about to happen again.

“What a disgusting owner you are, drooling like a bitch in heat.” Rindou chuckled breathlessly into your ear, groaning at your warm walls clenching around his thick cock that was leaking with pre-cum earlier while tearing the last bit of clothing off of you. The leather collar around the younger brother’s neck was brushing against your nape whenever you sank back onto his girth, stifling your whimpers. “Such a dirty slut, don’t you agree brother?”

Your fingernails dug into Ran’s arms while the older brother teased your clit, drunk on the image of Rindou’s cock splitting your folds apart. Canines glinting when he smiles down at you in faux sympathy, finding enjoyment at your begging.

“I agree, fuck, but a good slut. Taking us real good.” Ran laughed lightly, pressing his palm on your stomach that had you widening your eyes at the pressure. The feeling of Rindou splitting your gummy walls, hitting that sweet spot over and over with every thrust already had you reeling. A bulge on your lower abdomen visible to the naked eye. “Gonna carry our cubs, huh? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Want to take us both? Have us cumming into that tight pussy—you like that, don’t you?”

“P-please! Ah—fuck—no more! It’ll be too much!” You sobbed, another orgasm about to wreck through your body whenever Rindou’s mushroom tip hit your cervix. A sadistic gleam in Ran’s violet hues knew you were fucked, his lips drowning your cacophonous moans while lining up his red tip against your entrance where Rindou was still buried inside deeply. “Shit, I c-can’t—”

“Oh, yes you can. You can take us both, I know you can.” Seeing you shake your head, he huffed. “Don’t be such a fucking brat,” Ran muttered, slowly sinking his tip in. The walls of your pussy stretch wider to accommodate both of them, resulting in you screaming into the air before Rindou muffled your mouth with his fingers. It was painful but damn good. Both rigid and fat cocks bullying their way into your spasming cunt that you were sure to pass out in the blinding bliss they had you experience. The agonizing and stinging pain of being stretched proved to be a distraction to Rindou’s sharp canines claiming your neck, close to drawing blood while Ran continued to fuck into your searing heat.

Rindou was the first to cum, filling your cunt with his hot seed. His older brother then followed after thrusting more into you, careful not to spill out more of Rindou’s semen before cumming straight into your womb. Tongue out and drool at the corner of your lips, you felt your soul about to leave your body as your whole form twitched and shivered in the wake of your climax.

“Such a good owner.” Rindou purred, running his fingers gently through your slightly sweaty hair. “You’ll give us cubs, won’t you? Be such a good mate—a good mommy.”

And as you lay there in their arms, unaware of the knocking on your bedroom door and the help peering in to inform you about the arrival of the brothers’ trainer, Ran and Rindou merely glared at her to go away. Promising bloodshed behind those vivid purple hues, sharp claws that would certainly strike to kill when provoked. You were then unsure whether you were truly behind the reigns in this relationship or you were made to be the chew toy all along.

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