Hello! I would love to request fluff&comfort Iwaizumi+reader (long established relationship, like, he knows everything about his so) who comforts his so who has depression/ptsd relapse🙂↕️ thank you so much in advance!
thank you for requesting him, it’s been so long!!
iwaizumi’s eyes drifted from the page of his romance novel to your bedroom door for the dozenth time that minute. he stared, but like every other time he’d stollen a glance at the slab of wood, you remained silent on the other side.
it was too quiet.
typically when iwaizumi came over, you would crowd him and insist on cooking together. after eating across from one another, you’d curl into his side on the couch and fall asleep ten minutes into the movie you insisted on watching.
the sun had already set, and yet there was no sign of you or your boundless energy.
iwaizumi’s nail slipped under the page he’d been stuck on all day. he didn’t like the quiet one bit.
he sat up, dropping the book to the side before shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. he was two steps away from your door when he lightly pressed it open with a socked toe, peeking his spikey head in.
and there you were, curled up in a little ball on top of your comforter. there was a blanket pulled loosely over your shoulders, but he could see that you were still in your pajamas. with the introduction of light from the open door, iwa could see the slight gleam of oil in your hair.
you hummed sleepily at his presence. “oh, haji. i didn’t know you were here.”
iwaizumi didn’t like how dry your voice came out, like the words were scraping your throat.
humming back, iwa stepped into your room and closed the door with his elbow. no words were spoken as he carefully crawled over you, wrapping himself around you and tucking your head beneath his jaw.
he felt you stiffen slightly at first, but you didn’t put up a fight as you melted against him. “‘s nice.”
“yeah?”
you nodded, but iwaizumi wouldn’t let himself be fooled. he nuzzled his cheek against your head and pulled you impossibly closer. “you’re warm.”
“hmm.”
“sick?”
he didn’t get a second reply out of you. “hm?”
nothing came from your mouth except a shaky breath and you began to tremble between his arms. immediately, iwaizumi began rubbing your arm as if to warm you up. “what’s on your mind, baby?”
a sniffle. “i’m tired of feeling nothing. i wanna feel like myself again. ‘s not fair.”
iwaizumi caressed your scalp, dragging long fingers through your hair before sighing. it didn’t feel right to use his typical tough love in this situation. instead, he said, “then i’ll help you. how about i stay and cook for you?”
“i’d like that…” you whimpered, and iwaizumi covered your crown in kisses.
“perfect. now, you can sit out there with me and taste-test everything i make. deal?”
finally, he got to see the ghost of your beautiful smile. “deal.”
Synopsis:You could almost admire how delicate he made his voice. If you were anyone else, you may have given in, completely and utterly lulled by his sweet words. But you know Suguru. You can hear the thrum of bloodlust and violence that simmers between his soft words. It’s why you remain pliant in his grasp.
(Warnings: yandere, dark content, manipulation, forced relationships, dubcon/noncon, younger man/older woman, suguru is early 20s, mc is mid/late twenties)
You help Suguru in the mornings.
You’re less of an aide and more of a charm he likes to keep around. His morning routine is a regimen rather than anything else. Very rarely do you see him stray from it. You sit beside him as he lounges in the bath. He chooses soaps that bubble up in the water, filling the air with delicate scents that cling to his skin hours later. After you watch him dress in his robes, fully transforming into the priest his followers praise. His form slips underneath layers of traditional clothing. It makes him look older, and you often wonder if that’s the point.
After he settles, you fix his hair.
The bristles are soft to the touch, but you’re gentle as you comb over his strands. You delicately trace over his scalp, separating his hair into different sections as you go. You’re always so careful with his hair, even when you know he can handle worse–he has handled worse. You see the evidence at night when his face is settled into the crook of your neck, his scar-littered body ragged with shaky breaths. You know he won’t flinch or even grimace if you were to yank on his scalp. Still, you keep your touch light, because it’s the only part of him that’s still soft.
You think he appreciates that, maybe that’s why he sits in front of you, head tilted in a way that makes it easier for you. He keeps his eyes closed, allowing you to work without his piercing gaze sifting through your skin. He’s often so still you might’ve thought he was dead if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
You like this part of the morning. There’s no monotone chants of his followers, no drones of sermons. The twins aren’t awake yet, much preferring to sleep until the sun is higher in the sky.
You use this time to let your brain wander, and your gaze drifts outside the window. Patches of flowers swayed just outside, dancing to the rhythm of the wind.
“You’ve been out there a lot, recently.”
Your eyes travel back to Suguru. His face is tilted upwards. His eyes are open. Sharp purple.
“The girls like the garden.” You admit, continuing with his hair. “I make sure they don’t pick any flowers. They like to chase around the butterflies.”
“They can take the flowers,” Suguru tells you. “I can always have more planted.”
“They’re too pretty to be plucked.” You respond, bunching his hair up in that signature bun. “Besides, the butterflies might not return if they do.”
He seems satisfied with your answer and leaves it at that. A short while later, you’ve finished with his hair. Not a strand out of place, just as he likes it. You expect him to rise from his chair and stride outside the bedroom with you behind him as always.
Instead, there’s a delicate grip on your wrist. You’re gently guided into his lap. You reluctantly settle into his hold. His face buries into your neck. You can smell the scented oils you applied to his hair. Scarred fingers dance around the edge of your clothes, grazing at the skin just underneath.
You frown. “Suguru.”
He hums, pulling down the elastic that covers your skin.
“We–we still need to–” Your breath hitches when he sinks his teeth into your neck, licking at the flesh.
“The sermon–” The rest of your words disappear into a gasp when a single finger works itself into your pussy.
You’re still sore from last night, but that’s never stopped him. He’s more than content to drive his finger deeper into your cunt as you writhe on his lap. His thumb rolls your clit like his own personal toy.
“It can wait.” He hushes your protests. “Nothing in this temple moves without me anyway.”
His words are the only truth you know. Nothing breathes without Suguru’s explicit acknowledgement. Despite his soft demeanor and gentle tones, the thing he craves most of all is control.
“Yes, but the girls–”
He interrupts your ramblings with his lips. Gentle, but all-encompassing. He curls his fingers into you, touching a spongy spot at just the right angle. You spill moan after moan into his mouth.
“Relax, dear,” he coos when he pulls away.
You shut your eyes, collapsing into his chest as he works. It’s so quiet you can hear the slick sounds of your hole creaming around his fingers. Your body is so quick to accept him these days, as opposed to the fight you used to put up, even when you accepted your new life with Geto Suguru. You can’t tell if you should feel relieved or pathetic.
“Let me take care of what’s mine just once more.”
As you come around his fingers, you know it won’t be the last time.
⚘
Nanako and Mimiko are happier in the temple.
In the village, even before your exile, their eyes were always so dull. You thought it had more to do with their father–the man who abandoned you three long before they were even born. They never acted like proper children. They never played, barely even laughed.
And then, their powers awakened.
Curse technique, Suguru later told you.
“We’re never gonna find her.” Nanako pouts.
You squeeze your daughter’s tiny hand in reassurance. Nanako was always the more impatient of your two children–constantly hoping from one emotion to the next. Even now, as the two of you poke around the temple grounds, searching for her sister, she is quick to state her thoughts as though they were certain.
“We’ve barely looked.” You smile. “Let’s try a couple more minutes before we give up.”
She frowns, but she trails behind you regardless, continuing the search.
“I just don’t get why you always find me first.” She mumbles.
“You were giggling so loudly, I could hear you across the courtyard.” You affectionately reach out to pinch her cheek. “You think I don’t have ears?”
She looks away as her ears turn red.
You spot a brown blob huddled in a corner. Immediately, you hush your daughter’s chattering, silently pointing out her sister.
Nanako grins. You let her go, watching as she slowly advances on her sister.
“Found you!”
Mimiko nearly jumps as Nanako pounces on her. They immediately burst into giggles. A part of you wants to chastise them for rolling on the grass, but you can’t bring yourself to.
“Now you have to find us.” Nanako very seriously tells her sister.
Mimiko frowns. “But I wanna hide again.”
“You were the last one found. That makes you seeker.” Nanako argues back.
“I’ll be seeker again.” You relent, as you have the last three times they’ve had this argument.
Both girls are happy with your compromise. They’re so much brighter now, you think to yourself as you observe them in the light. The smiles almost make their faces glow with childish innocence. Their clothes are always clean, their bellies are always full, and it’s all because of this place.
Nanako looks behind you. Her eyes light up.
Only one person in the world makes her do that. You try not to let your smile drop as she rushes past you.
“You’re back!” She chirps when she’s snuggled in Suguru’s hold.
When Mimiko joins her sister in the hug, he lifts them easily from the ground. They both giggle, kicking their feet as Suguru holds them. You could barely carry them after they became toddlers. Suguru, on the other hand, hardly staggers.
They gush to him for a few minutes. He lowers his voice as he answers their questions. He’s good with them, you think to yourself. Suguru is gentle, patient, nurturing, and fatherly.
Your smile gets more painted by the minute.
His eyes meet yours when he sets the girls back on their feet.
“Why don’t you both head inside?” He dismisses the girls with a nod to you.
They’re quick to obey, always eager to impress him.
“Yes, Geto-sama!” They both happily chirp before turning heel and scurrying away.
Everyone calls him that: his attendants, his followers, and your daughters. You don’t know anyone who calls him by his given name.
Except for you.
You’re not sure why he allows it. Maybe it’s for the girl’s sake, more than it is for yours. So they can see some semblance of equality between you two. Kindness.
A sham. A farce.
You watch them until they disappear inside the temple, until it’s just you and Suguru underneath the sunny sky.
“They get bigger by the day.” He finally comments.
You nod. Your daughters are finally going to bed with their bellies full, their hunger sated. No longer are their cheeks hollow. They look like proper, healthy children now.
It’s all because of him.
“You were gone for a while.” You say because the silence feels heavy.
He turns, smiling against porcelain skin.
“Did you miss me?”
You smile back, thinking of two tiny sets of feet chasing eachother on wooden floors.
“I don’t travel for exorcisms anymore, not since high school.” The way he says it makes it sound like forever ago, but you doubt that his high school days were all that far behind him.
“It was a nice place. Close to the ocean.”
You’re saying it before you can think to shut your mouth.
“The girls have never been to the ocean.”
All they ever knew was the village and then the temple. You never had the opportunity to take them anywhere before everything happened.
When you were younger, you had grand dreams of traveling. You wanted to go everywhere. You wanted to see every country in the world.
You wonder when those dreams left you.
He shifts, and you’re back in the temple–right next to Suguru.
“We should take them there.” He says in a tone that’s oddly wistful. “I have a feeling they’d like the beach.”
Every so often, he’d show a side of himself that’s oddly open. Vulnerable. Soft. As though you could reach out and press your hand straight into his skin, right up to his heart.
Your fingers twitch. You keep them right at your side.
“I think so too.” You respond.
A hand brushes against your chin. You let him tilt your head at just the right angle so his lips can melt into yours.
It’s a soft kiss, but you feel the possession and control lingering at the edge of his tongue. His grip tightens–like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he were to let you go.
Maybe he’s right to feel fear.
But then you remember the smiles on your daughter's face. You remember the way they play with each other. You remember the way sunshine looks on their skin, the sparkle in their eyes. You remember how they go to bed with bellies full and hunger sated.
It becomes easier to stay after that.
⚘
Very rarely does Suguru call you to his private sittings. He prefers to spend his off-hours with you and the girls, when the temple settles down.
Today, he specifically requested you, so you go.
You trail behind an attendant, weaving through the temple halls. She’s yet another follower of the Buddhist temple, loyal to the master himself. Often, you wonder what these people thought of you and your daughters. You wonder what role you play in their eyes. A concubine, perhaps? You bet some raised eyebrows on why the head priest chose someone who was more than half a decade older than him, but you doubted anyone would be bold enough to challenge Suguru.
She pulls on large hickory doors. You quietly pass inside.
He’d already committed a massacre.
From the rumpled suit and tie, you could only assume the puddle had once been a man. Perhaps he’d been a follower just as loyal as the attendant who led you here. That didn’t matter to Suguru. Very rarely does he value loyalty over true material worth.
After two years, you’d grown accustomed to the gore and rot he’d occasionally display. As long as you don’t directly look at it, it’s almost easy to pretend nothing was there. These days, you’re happy he doesn’t show these sights to Nanako and Mimiko.
Suguru sprawls across the dais like the god he thinks himself to be. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, forehead wrinkled in clear exasperation.
“They’re getting more brash by the day.” You can hear him mutter to himself. “What else could I expect from these pests?”
Suguru glances up at the sound of your footsteps. He immediately brightens, urging you forward.
Your hand touches his, and he leads you into his lap. He sighs in content as his large body dwarfs yours, as though he intended on using you as a stuffed animal from the start. You feel his face press into the nape of your neck, and you wonder if that’s his favorite part of you.
“You’re the only part of this I can ever find tolerable.” He murmurs into your skin, before he raises his voice to the lingering attendant. “Clean that up.”
That. Not a person, rather, what was left of that person.
You have a clear view of the bloodbath now. Crimson red leaks over the floors, into the carpet. It might take the attendants hours to clean up.
You stare at the mess and wonder how long you have until that becomes you.
Your daughters were the sole reason you still breathed. They were young, still attached to you. He may have found it too cruel to kill their only parent in front of them so gruesomely.
You’re not stupid enough to think Suguru’s affections would be enough to put off your eventual execution. You’re not even sure he had affections, or that you were some oddly shaped creature he’d found amusing enough to lie in his bed. The affection, the amusement, and the tolerance would fade eventually. He’s made it very clear what he felt about your kind, the ones who can’t see grueling monsters crawling around at night. You doubted he felt enough to make you an exception.
If Suguru killed you, you don’t think you’d mind. You’d die knowing your girls were well cared for and loved. It’s all a parent could hope for, really.
A short while later, the mess is all cleaned up, and the servants are crowding back out of the room. You hadn’t moved from your spot in Suguru’s arms.
You only come back when there’s a click of footsteps– the signal of another client. You start to get up, until Suguru’s arms cinch tighter around you.
It’s not exactly forceful. If you truly wanted to, you could have broken his grip entirely.
You still. He hums with satisfaction.
“Stay,” he murmurs into your skin as the next client sits down for his own set of pleas. “Keep me company.”
You could almost admire how delicate he made his voice. If you were anyone else, you may have given in, completely and utterly lulled by his sweet words. But you know Suguru. You can hear the thrum of bloodlust and violence that simmers between his soft words.
It’s why you remain pliant in his grasp.
⚘
Sometimes, you dream of the day you met Suguru.
It was a week after the girls were taken from you. Back then, you didn’t understand the terms “sorcerer” or “cursed energy”. Back then, you were living alone with two young children, barely getting by in a village that seemed to despise you for simply existing without a husband to stand by your side. They never wondered where he went, never blamed him for his own selfish desires. That all went to you.
And when villagers began to disappear, they decided to blame your daughters.
You were at fault as well, for birthing them. No matter how much you kicked and screamed, you couldn’t fight off the men who dragged your sobbing daughters away, uncaring how harsh their grip was on their soft skin.
‘The exorcist will deal with them.’ The village chief promised before you were barricaded in your own cell. ‘Then, we will deal with you.’
You sobbed for days. You thought it would be the last time you saw your children. You thought your last memories of them would be of their tears as they begged you to save them.
The fire started on the fifth day of captivity.
You watched from your tiny cell window as the flames grew and grew. You heard blood-curdling screams as people ran, only to mysteriously collapse on the pavement.
You could only explain it as a parade of burning death.
You heard the whispers hours later when everything had settled. Children’s voices. Your children.
You sobbed all over again as Nanako and Mimiko’s voices called out to you. Back then, you hadn’t questioned how two young girls were able to escape from an angry horde of villagers. You don’t question how they were able to enter the cell so easily, even though it took two whole men to close off. All you cared about was how perfectly they fit in your arms as you held them. They were smaller, starved. You mouthed apologies upon apologies into their hair, peppering their tear-streaked faces in kisses.
“How did you escape?” You finally managed to ask them.
Nanako answered. She was always more outspoken compared to her sister. Yet, you’re taken aback at her wide smile as she points behind her.
“Geto-sama saved us.” She chirped before snuggling back into your embrace.
To this day, you’re not sure how you didn’t see him before your daughter pointed him out. He didn’t bother to obscure himself. He stood still and silent as you watched him. His clothes are dark, almost outlining him against the background.
You opened your mouth, prepared to thank him.
But his eyes made you stop. It matched the death you saw right outside your prison.
“Where’s the village chief?” You asked instead, clutching onto the girls. The stench of blood drifted through the air.
His lips quirked. It held far too much humor for your liking.
“Gone.” It’s all that can be said. “They’re all gone.”
“Would you like to join them?”
You slowly shook your head.
His smile widened, and he lowered his hand.
As soon as you took it, you knew you sealed your fate for the rest of your life.
You wake up with a jolt. Your breathing is slightly ragged. The bedroom is dark, barely lit by the streetlights just outside. You see shadows of trees brushing over the window.
As delicately as you can, you shift to look in his direction.
Suguru was always a light sleeper. If you left the bed to sit by the windowsill, he’d know in minutes. The nights you couldn’t sleep, you still stayed pliant in bed, uneasy to even risk the chance of waking him.
Tonight, Suguru doesn’t move. His eyes are closed. His breaths are slow and calm. A hand drapes across your waist, keeping you from straying too far as you continue to study him.
He’s bare under the blankets. You are, too. The only thing that covers you is the marks he likes to leave on your skin. They’ve become semi-permanent. The moment one fades, he leaves another.
He’s covered by marks, too. Not by the marks you left, you doubted you could ever pierce his skin. You see silver scars flecked across his thick forearms, trailing all the way up his chest and stomach.
He’s so beautiful, you could never deny that of him. His face is angled and arched. His long lashes almost rest right on his cheekbones. He always covers himself up in traditional robes and fake smiles. It’s rare, even for you, to see him like this.
It makes him look younger. It makes him look his own age.
In another life, you wouldn’t have looked twice at Suguru. You would’ve written him off as a kid who dreams too big, idealizes far too much. In another life, you wouldn’t be here, tucked into his side when you’re almost thirty and he’s barely in his twenties.
But, in this life, where your daughters are finally happy, where you’re slowly starting to realize they love him more than they ever loved you…
You don’t think you’d mind if Suguru killed you. Perhaps, if you requested it, he would give you a peaceful death: a death where you could close your eyes and know your children were safe before disappearing off the Earth forever.
A single black lock falls against his forehead. You reach up to brush it away, tucking it behind his ears.
His features slightly scrunch in mild irritation. He unconsciously shifts, rolling his body further into your space. Both of his arms loop around your body, tugging you into his broad, scarred chest. You lie limp as his head sinks into your neck. His breaths are even. His face relaxes.
You’d laugh if you weren’t so sure you’d cry.
Even in his sleep, Suguru refused to let you go.
⚘
Whenever you can, you sleep in your daughter’s room.
It reminds you of your home in the village–the one that’s now reduced to mere rubble. It was tiny, but it was home. The three of you used to cuddle in a small cot, but you none of you minded. You never thought of it as a luxury before Suguru brought you into his temple.
He never said it out loud, but it was clear where he expected you to lie at night.
So, on the nights he’s left, you huddle in bed with Nana and Mimi.
The girls are barely able to keep their giggling to a hush, no matter how hard you try to coddle them to keep their voices down. You can’t blame them. It’d been a while since the last sleepover. They are far too excited to settle, not even when you try to console them with a story.
Your stories are less like stories and more like dreams of a better future. Before the temple, you would crowd them under the blanket, whispering the wildest fantasies you could think of: a big house, all the candy two little girls could possibly want. The girls used to beg you to add a dog into your stories– a dog that they could run around the backyard with and play fetch. Each time, they’d tell you a different type of dog: a small white dog with spots, a big brown one with shaggy fur. Ever since they could babble, they always wanted a dog.
The twins don’t talk about dogs these days. Suguru isn’t too fond of those animals.
They don't urge you to talk about your dream-like futures either. To them, this is their dream. You tell them different stories now.
“Don’t wanna!” Nanako whines when you stop her from snuggling into the warm blankets. “It’s so cold.”
“That’s because you didn’t give me enough time to dry your hair.” You chide. “Just a few more minutes.”
She pouts and whines the entire way through, but at least she lets you finish blow-drying her hair. Her other twin is already dressed for bed, nestled into her cocoon of blankets, waiting for you and her sister to join her.
It’s almost a relief to sink into bed after chasing two children around all day. Your body is close to giving out as you tuck yourself underneath the covers–Nanako and Mimiko snuggled under either arm. They yawn, clearly tuckered out by the excitement they had that day.
They’re school-aged. By now, you would’ve enrolled them in the local village school. In a different life, they would grow up whining about ugly school uniforms and hanging out with friends their age.
When you asked Suguru about their education, he waved off your worries. With a snap of his fingers, tutors arrived at the temple. The twins receive the quality of education only reserved for the elites in Japan.
It’s not enough, but you say nothing more. You should be happy. The girls are happy. Suguru protects them–loves them. It should be enough for you.
Nanako is the first to fall asleep. Mimiko is slow to follow. You glance down in the darkness, watching as your daughter’s lip curls downward.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, nudging her with your arm.
She shakes her head, nuzzling closer into your side.
“I miss Geto-sama,” she admits.
Suguru would return in just a few days, but you can see the hole he’s left in their hearts grow. You reach over, brushing away hair from Mimiko’s temple, urging her to sleep. You can’t fault their attachment to Suguru. They never knew their true father. They are children. Anything that resembled paternal love, they were quick to latch on to.
“He’ll be back soon.” You try to comfort her. “I’m sure he misses you just as much.”
“Where did he go?” Nanako asks. She was still awake, peering up at you with wide eyes.
He’d told you earlier that day, fingers touching your skin as he complained about another trip he had no desire to complete. As much as Suguru adores running the temple, you can see the toll it takes on him. Feet never rest until he drops. His painted smile stays on until he’s behind closed doors. Errands pile up and up.
“He had to visit a client far away.” You tell your daughters. “If you go to bed now, I’m sure he’ll come back sooner.” A white lie, something normal parents do to placate their whining children.
Nanako’s face drops.
“He went out to collect a curse?” She reads through your words easily. You don’t respond.
Her face twists before she’s snuggling back into your side.
Her next words make your skin crawl.
“I hate those pests.” She hisses with her eyes closed. “They keep taking him away from us.”
“I wish they’d all disappear off Earth.” Mimiko responds. “I wish they’d all die.”
It gets harder to swallow.
“Girls.” You say in the most commanding voice you can muster, but it comes out weak. “You…you shouldn’t talk like that about people.”
Nanako frowns harder. “But all the non-sorcerers do is cause problems for sorcerers. Shouldn’t that mean they should die, then?”
You feel your breath quicken. You clutch onto them tighter. Your smile feels painful. You can feel your skin pull itself apart to maintain a semblance of friendliness.
“But aren’t I a non-sorcerer?” You ask.
The twins are sweet, loving girls. If they knew they hurt your feelings, they’d backtrack and apologize. You could use that opportunity to teach them that no matter how bad some non-sorcerers are, it doesn’t mean they’re all like that.
Mimiko gives you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen from her.
“It’s okay.” She tells you sweetly. “You can’t help but be the way you are.”
Her eyes share the same adoration and condescension as Suguru’s.
You numbly tell them goodnight. They chirp it right back. Hours later, you’re stuck in that same bed, staring up at the ceiling as your girls peacefully snore beside you.
Protection. Safety. That’s all you ever did this for. You slept beside Suguru, letting him degrade you, pull you around like a prized poodle so you could stay by the twins’ side. Yet, as you lie there, you can’t help but ask yourself that same question over and over again:
Were you protecting the twins, or just yourself?
⚘
Leaving the temple was laughingly easy.
You didn’t have much of a plan. Suguru would not be back for a couple more days. You had to leave, and you had to leave now.
You barely packed– there wasn’t much to take. You barely scrounged up some hidden-away money before grabbing your daughter’s hands and fleeing.
You half-expected to be stopped at the gates. A swarm of attendants would descend on you, pulling you away from your daughters. You would be locked in a dungeon below the temple for as long as Suguru desires. Or, he decides he no longer needs you, and you’ll breathe your last breath.
Even after you left the grounds, you waited for this to turn out to be a trick. Nothing happens, not even as you and the twins board a bus, leaving the temple completely behind. They sit beside the window, watching the road blur by as you wait and wait.
Nothing. At first, you wonder if Suguru even cared that you left.
Slowly, it becomes clear he didn’t think you would.
Even before, you never tried to leave. Your girls were happy with Suguru. You liked watching them be happy. For the past year, you were content with bottling up your misery so the twins could be at peace.
You had no desire to leave until now.
“When will we get there?” Nanako suddenly asked.
Her voice and eyes are filled with excitement. Earlier, you’d kept your voice in a hush, telling them to follow you and not make a sound. A surprise trip was all you told them. It’s all the information children need to soften their tones and let you lead them out of their home.
“Soon.” You respond, urging her back to the window. “We’ll be there soon.”
You didn’t tell your daughters that you had no clue what you were doing. You didn't’t tell your daughters you were just as lost as they were. You didn’t tell your daughters anything like that because, for once, you wanted to be a proper parent and protect them.
“Are we meeting Geto-sama?” Nanako asks next. You simply smile and pat her head.
The bus drops you at the outskirts of the city. Desperate, you decide not to complain. The motel you reluctantly pad into was cramped and stuffy. You had enough money to pay for one night–enough time to get your bearings.
The girls’ grow more reluctant by the second. They sit atop a lumpy mattress. You can’t blame them. For nearly two years, they’ve enjoyed lavish beds and everything they could possibly want.
“Where are we going?” Nanako asks. The frown cuts deeper into her face.
You feel your lips curve up. It’s just as hollow as the other times you’ve consoled them.
“You’ll see soon.” You tell her, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. You repeat the same action with Nanako.
When it all gets too much, you slip away. You start the TV so they can have some entertainment while you’re gone. You repeatedly tell them not to open the door unless they are sure it’s you. And then, you leave.
You barely make it past the door before you finally break down. You clutch your sides as you sink to the floor. It’s the hardest you’ve cried in years.
You always knew you were pathetic, but you finally recognize just how low you’ve sunk.
Scraps.
For all your life, you’ve lived off scraps. Slivers of pity or sympathy or anything people would toss your way. You did the same back in the village, too fearful to leave, no matter how badly you were treated. With Suguru, you repeated the same cycle, no matter how much he sank his fingers into your daughter, feeding them lies and propaganda so they can turn just as rotten as him.
Looking back, you don’t fault Suguru for being so disgusted by your kind, not after all that you did.
In the village, you used to do odd jobs here and there. Your skills may be rusty, but you are adaptable. You would survive.
You and the twins could start over in a different city. It would be rough, especially on the girls. You know how much they’d miss Suguru, but things will get better. In a new place, far away from his hold, they’ll start to let go of their resentment of non-sorcerers. You could finally send them to a proper school. They could wear proper school uniforms and make lifelong friendships.
They could have the life they were supposed to have. They could live as normal girls.
An hour later, three train tickets sit pliantly in your grip. You hadn’t given much thought to the destination. It didn’t matter where you went. The struggle to maintain would be the same.
The sun shines directly overhead as you step back into the hotel. In proper lighting, it looked even more unkept than earlier. You step over cracked pavement, avoiding the gaze of the burly man who hung just below the staircase.
It’s a relief to get to your room and see your daughters again. Mimiko greets you first, wrapping her tiny arms in the tightest hug she could manage. You smile as you pat her head.
Her hair is up.
You didn’t do that for her.
He perches himself on the edge of the bed. Nanako sits on the floor right beneath him with an eager smile. He braids her hair, the same as he did for her sister.
“Look!” Mimiko twirls when she escapes your grasp. “Isn’t it pretty?”
She wants you to compliment her newest hairstyle, but you can’t even speak a word. The tickets crinkle in your hands as you stare at Suguru. Your fight dies before it even has a chance to grow.
“Yes,” Suguru answers for you, “it’s very pretty.”
He hasn’t looked at you once since you entered his trap. He takes his time, idly brushing at Nanako’s hair with a soft smile on his face. A short while later, Nanako bursts out with a hairstyle that perfectly matches her sister's. The two girls trot to the mirror together, gushing about their new look, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.
Suguru rises from his seat. He no longer wears his traditional temple outfit. Today, he wears a plain white button-up shirt and grey pants. You think it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him dressed so casually in public. He looks less like a cult leader and more akin to a college student during finals week.
He looks like a normal person. He looks like someone he could have been.
You think you preferred his sham-of-a-priest outfit.
When Suguru finally meets your gaze, his eyes are blank. Stone. You can’t tell what he’s thinking as he smiles down on you. You think you would’ve preferred something more violent. You think dealing with fiery anger would be better compared to numbness.
Worldlessly, he extends his hand.
You place the tickets in his waiting fingers. He rips them to scraps before tossing them onto the floor.
“Ready?” He asks the girls.
They obediently grab either of his hands as he leads them out of the room. You meekly trail behind. Nanako excitedly chatters about the sights she saw while on the bus ride. Mimiko nods along, putting in her own opinion as Suguru idly listens.
A sleek black car waits right at the parking lot. Suguru urges your daughters in the backseat. You stay put, unsure if he even deems you worthy to sit in his car at the moment. You half-expect him to push you into the trunk.
He opens the passenger door for you. Strangely, the moment feels more final than anything he’s ever done before.
The car is far less tumultuous than the bus. It easily slides on the road, gradually picking up speed as Suguru drives back to the temple. The cool air of the AC brushes over your skin– a juxtaposition to the warm outside weather. You stare outside the window, watching the sights of people, cars, and buildings pass by in a blur.
You count the seconds in your head.
Then, you count the minutes.
After five, you anxiously turn in Suguru’s direction. He hasn’t dropped that look of stone as he hums a tune you can’t recognize.
“Suguru,” you start, “I’m–”
A hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on your thigh. It’s barely a touch, but the intention is clear. Your voice tapers off.
You say nothing, but Suguru doesn’t retract his hand. It stays on your thigh, and you can practically feel it singe through your clothes, burning your skin.
The anxiety is so high that you almost miss that he was taking you in the opposite direction from the temple.
You turn to him again. This time, he doesn’t let you speak.
There’s a firm squeeze on the top of your thigh. His smile widens large enough to show teeth.
“Relax,” he eases. “You promised the girls a surprise trip, remember?”
⚘
The beach house stood stark against the cloudless sky. It was modernized, a terracotta roof hung over white walls and spotless windows. Just behind it, a beautiful beach sprawled across the horizon. White sand covered the ground as glittering blue waves crashed onto the sand beds.
The twins practically bounced off the walls as they scurried inside. They peeked into each vacant room, running up and down the stairs as Suguru explained that they should pick their rooms for the night before going down to the beach. The next morning, the four of you would be back at the temple.
You don’t even think they heard them. They were already enamoured by the water, slipping out the door and onto the beach before you could stop them. Part of you wanted to chase after them, but you knew better. You could already see an attendant waiting right by the ocean. You wouldn’t be necessary. Suguru made sure of that.
Still, you can’t pull your eyes away from the window. Nanako and Mimiko are smiling from ear to ear as they kick at the waves. They aren’t even wearing the proper swimwear, but they hardly seem to care as they wade deeper and deeper into the open water. You watch as they splash each other. Nanako gives chase when Mimiko flees. They roll around on the sand like overexcited puppies.
You want to be there with them. Maybe you can show them how to build a sand castle before they squish it down with their feet. Maybe you can teach them that there are more ways to be children.
Maybe if you grovel enough, Suguru will grant you that moment before he kills you.
You’ve repeated it over and over again in your head. It’s a never-ending loop within your thoughts. You will not mind if Suguru kills you. You will not mind if Suguru kills you. You will not mind if Suguru kills you.
And yet, as you stand by the crystal window, watching your daughters live, you can’t stop shaking your hands.
“Have they eaten anything?”
Suguru’s soft voice cuts through the tense air. You hold your wince in, keeping your eyes trained on your daughters.
“Not since breakfast.” You admit. Maybe he’s trying to show you yet again how poor a caretaker you were. You could never know with him.
Suguru sighs in relief.
“That’s good,” he says, “I planned a big lunch. It would be unfortunate if the girls had a poor appetite.”
You do not know what he’s doing. You aren’t sure if that’s the point. Maybe he’s waiting for you to make your move first.
You clench your hands into fists.
“I’m sorry.” You let out a shaky breath before sucking in more air. “I’m so sorry–”
“Have I ever hit you?”
He feels closer. Your throat goes dry. It takes you seconds to gather your thoughts and answer.
“No.” You tell him in a weak voice.
He takes another step forward. You can feel him right at your back, ever so slightly pressing you further into the glass.
“Have I ever hurt you?” Not in any way that mattered to him. “Have I ever yelled at you? Berated you?” You never gave him that chance.
“No.” You repeat.
“And yet, you ran from me.” A hand curls at your waist, barely edging on painful. “I gave you so much, but you ran, and you took my daughters with you–”
“They aren’t yours.”
You think this is the first time you’ve ever interrupted him. Your first and last.
The hand at your waist barely urges you to turn before you obey. You slowly face him. It burns to look into his eyes. That fake smile has completely withered away from his lips. His eyes search yours, and you can’t tell if he found what he was looking for or not.
“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” You finally ask.
He doesn’t move. You push forward.
“Why?” The words feel like sandpaper in your throat. “I–I’m useless to you. You’ve made that clear before. Nana and Mimi, they…in a few years, they’ll get over it.” With how much he’s brainwashed them, they might even understand. “So why am I still alive?”
His jaw clenches. You trace the movement and think this might be it: here and now. You’ve seen that look before, back at the temple, when his followers would come to him, littered with curses; he grew more disgusted with them by the day.
The last time you’d ever see your daughters would be a scene of them happy, carefree, safe.
“I should.” He tells you, voice stiff. “I should kill you. I almost went through with it and then…”
You’ve never met someone with purple eyes until he strode into your life. Most days, they’re dull, almost maroon, as he busies himself with the temple and absorbing curses. The shadows hide their true color. Today, as sunlight shines through the window, you see a kaleidoscope of colors within his eyes: mauve, lilac, iris, lo–
His mouth crashes into yours. There’s nothing gentle or controlled about it. It lingers on near desperation as his lips find your own. Suguru’s hands tighten on your body as his weight presses you against the window. When you try to move, he barely gives you an inch, grasping your jaw, keeping you in place as he kisses you.
You gasp, fingers instinctively reaching down to grab his forearm. You’re sure your nails are digging into his flesh; it has to hurt, but he barely seems to register the feeling as he pulls apart your clothes. His hands were practically erratic as he pinched and pulled at your nipples at just the right moment to make you whine into his mouth.
His eyes were the worst part: wide and completely blown out. Suguru is usually so controlled and measured with his emotions, but in this moment, you can see everything on his tensed-up face. There’s hatred, disgust, and anger. You could handle that. If that’s why he was doing this, you think you’d be fine.
But the obsession, the adoration, the love that swirls within his eyes. So much love. It makes you sick.
His lips fall away from yours as his head drops to your neck. A part of you was grateful for it. You couldn’t bear looking into his eyes a second more.
Like always, Suguru has a way of making you regret your relief.
There’s a harsh tug on your wrist. You barely fight as he pulls you through the living room and into an unnamed bedroom. The room is sparse, clearly meant for a temporary visit. There’s barely a desk and a queen-sized bed–lined with bedsheets far too domestic for this situation. The door shuts with a blistering thud that rattles the entire floor.
You’ve been in this situation so many times before; it should be relieving that he’s chosen the normal route. But today feels different. You felt it the moment he kissed you. You’ve never seen Suguru like this. It’s unknown territory.
Suguru leaves you as he sits on the bed. His eyes are shadowed, almost hollow.
“Strip.”
You almost flinch at the crude language. He’s never once spoken like that before. Suguru’s words were always floral-like. He made sure to douse the chains with honey–adding just enough sweetness to cover the scent of iron.
Today, the chains cut into your skin as they pull. You move to obey.
It’s painfully quiet. You can feel the heat of his gaze on your skin as you peel off your shirt, then everything else. You’re not stupid enough to think he’d be satisfied with you in your underwear. His impatience lingers in the air.
He distracts himself with his own clothing. They join yours in the pile right at the foot of the bed. He always wears baggy shirts, and his traditional garb effectively hides his muscular figure. Now, you can see him in his entirety as he beckons you closer.
He’s gentler now as he pulls you towards him. It’s not any better. His lips meld against yours as you’re positioned into his lap, bare chest pressed against yours. You can feel his thick cock bob between his muscular thighs. You expect him to flip you onto your back, but he’s more than content to keep you seated.
You wonder if it’s another one of his faux kindnesses. Like the way he allows only you to speak his given name. Like the way he talks so softly, despite the bloodlust thrumming just behind his throat. Like the way he currently looks up at you, giving the illusion that you have any control in this situation, before he grabs your hips and sinks his cock into your pussy.
It’s almost embarrassing how ready you are. Your wet cunt greedily sucks him in as he bounces you on his cock. Sometimes, you can close your eyes and pretend it isn’t Suguru fucking you into oblivion. Sometimes, he’s kind enough to allow that.
Not this time.
“I should’ve killed you.” He repeats into your skin as his fingers reach down to your clit. He curls them in a way that makes you whine. You can feel his smile on your neck, fangs digging into your skin. Even to your frazzled brain, you could sense the hostility dripping from his teeth.
His pace is unrelenting, almost cruel, if you didn’t know all too well that he could be worse. Instinctively, you reach out, digging nails into his shoulders. He barely acknowledges, leaning into you as he finds the right angle to go even further.
“There were so many times…I–I almost did it.” His words are less put together, less like he’s talking and more like he’s spitting them out. “The first night I fucked you–” His words end in a sharp hiss as your pussy squeezes him.
“I should’ve done it, then. I knew I should’ve killed you as soon as I was done ruining this cunt for anyone else.”
Listening to his vile words, dread pools into your belly. You don’t think you’ve ever fought him before. The earlier versions of you knew better.
You push away at his chest. He’s quick to intervene, hand grabbing your chin so he can keep you in place as he digs his cock into your sobbing cunt.
“Stop.” You plead to deaf ears. “Stop it. Suguru–”
“I thought about killing you in your sleep.” He continues. His hand slaps your clit, and your back arches. He gives a dry laugh. “I w—wanted it to be kind. Even then, I knew I was too attached.”
You’re shaking your head even when you don’t understand why. His lips crash into yours all over again, barely pulling back before he can speak more horrible things.
“When I heard you left, I thought about it.” His voice is nothing more than a sneer and you hate how you feel something coil in your belly—the beginnings of you tipping over the edge. “Then I thought about breaking your legs. Tying you to the bed. I thought about never letting you see anyone other than me again. Death was too lenient a punishment because I—“
He snaps his jaw shut like he can’t even bear saying it. The question remained in the air. Why aren’t you dead? Why aren’t you dead? Why aren’t you dead?
He only realized the answer today.
You’re only moments away from breaking apart completely when he forces you to look into his wide and desperate eyes.
His words take on a different tone then. Almost sobering.
“You’re the only one who’ll ever see me like this.” He hisses, but it’s watered down by the weight of his oncoming orgasm.
“Be more grateful.”
Your eyes roll back as you cum on his cock. Your orgasm washes over you like a wave, fizzling all the way to the tips of your toes as your pussy spasms over his dick, pulsing around him. He doesn’t fare much better, sinking his cock deep inside your walls as he cums. Your abused hole fills to the brim of his climax as he thrusts weakly into your womb, milking every last drop.
The high fades eventually and you collapse on top of him. Suguru is quick to accommodate, adjusting you so your head rests on his chest. The only sounds left are your ragged breaths and his satisfied hums as he holds you. You can barely keep your eyes open, nearly falling asleep on his warm skin as his softened cock slips out of your battered pussy.
A short while later, he’s tilting backward, softly dropping you on the pillows. You blearily watch as he surveys your exhausted figure. He props his head with his hand.
“How’s that for make-up sex?” That same soft lilt is back in his voice. So is that smile. It’s barely a relief.
He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, Suguru leans over the bed, plucking something from the pile of clothes. He takes your hand in his, briefly obscuring your fingers with his own.
“I thought about waiting for the right moment.” His tone seeps into something more sheepish. “But I don’t think I can wait anymore.”
You can only stare at the ring he slipped onto your finger. It oddly suits him more than it would ever suit you. It’s simple, yet the craftsmanship shines against your skin. A large diamond sits in the center, leering at you.
You tilt your fingers toward the light, watching the ring glisten.
You feel him sink into your side. An arm wraps around your waist.
“You’re right, the girls aren’t my blood.” He says it so casually, but his nonchalant acknowledgement of the truth makes your blood curdle.
There’s a kiss at the edge of your shoulder. You feel him smile with teeth.
unfollowed someone for announcing "we will be pirating!" regarding the new harry potter hbo show, because no we won't be. even if you don't support that hag financially, i can't have a harry potter fan in my circles. fucks up my chakras.
I am once again begging people to realize that AI checker doesn’t work. it’s never worked. it’s notoriously known to have flagged human-made works as AI and AI-generated works as human-made. and by feeding it people’s works, you are feeding more works to AI, because apparently the machine itself is AI.
the only thing AI checker does is harm genuine artists and people in general too.
If you ever wonder why authors get annoyed at certain kinds of reviews, particularly those about updating, just imagine your mother saying the same thing about your room.
“You updated!” = “You cleaned your room!”: Pleasantly surprised. This one’s okay.
“You finally updated” = “You finally cleaned your room” Wow, thanks a lot mom. See if I clean it again if you’re going to be so passive-aggressive about it.
“Please update.” = “Please clean your room.” I literally just did.
“When are you going to update?” = “When are you going to clean your room?” Oh my fucking god, mom, let it go.
And when you get it from a dozen different people, over and over and over again, it’s like your mother continuously nagging you about chores that either don’t need to be done or that you just did, like, an hour ago.
anyway the thing about fanfic is that it's not essentially bad or good; it's essentially amateur. some people are absolutely out there writing award-worthy prose (some fic writers ARE award-winning writers IRL!), but that's not the point. the point is that we're all telling campfire stories. it's a community, and it's a way to spend some more time in the worlds and stories that we love.
Ok extra context from your friendly neighborhood Master's Degree holding archivist:
Archives are "curated" according to what's called a "collection policy". That means a policy that dictates what you collect; usually along a theme. For example at the university I used to work at the collection policy was to collect archival material pertaining to the local area and its history/important figures. At the historic home I currently work at, the collection policy covers materials pertaining to the person who lived at the house.
AO3 collects fan works and original writing. That's it. That's how they "curate". They don't allow a copy paste of published works (for legal reasons) and they don't allow commissioned works (for legal reasons) . Everything else that falls under fan works and original writing is part of their collection policy. Everything. That's how archives work.
Enjin: He's the type that tries not to lose his cool because he's a complete monster when he does. He knows he gets hot-headed and loses control; he's punched walls and tabletops before and he never wants to be that way with you. When you see him gritting his teeth and holding Umbreaker's handle so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, you know he's close to snapping. So you quickly tiptoe (why is he so damn tall?) and peck his lips. Reaction instant. It's like letting air out of a balloon. He was all big, puffed up, and intimidating, and now he's back to his usual goofy self, anger vanishing with each passing second. He grins and will probably say something cheesy like "Aw babe! Why'd you have to go and do that?" while embarrassedly rubbing the back of his neck at how quickly he changed.
Zodyl: Prefers not to be around people when he's mad. Quiet, broody, seething is his way of doing things, so he's more than a little annoyed when you walk into his space. Hadn't he told you to leave him alone? He ignores you, hoping you'll get the message and leave on your own, but you stand your ground and come around to face him. He sighs in irritation, patience almost snapping as he gets ready to tell you leave...and is stunned into silence when you kiss his lips. It was short and sweet, nothing special, but just like that, his anger was draining out of him like water from an uncorked bathtub. He's amazed at the efficiency. Where had you learned this? In any case, you are now expected to be around whenever he's mad. The faster he calms down, the more he can plot.
Gris: I feel like Gris is one of those people who never gets mad. It's hard to piss him off, and he's always about finding solutions and compromising. So when he's mad, it's because something has truly gotten under his skin and he can't stop thinking about it. He's also one of those people who can pretend everything is all right, even when others are around, his smile so genuine that no one notices his actual mood. But you notice. You tug him aside to the empty hallway and ask about it. He'll deny it, not wanting to worry you, and you surprise him by kissing him, telling him to come find you when he wants to talk. Now he's staring at your back, wondering what he was mad about in the first place.
Tamsy: He's dangerous when he's mad. There's no telling what sinister ideas are brewing in his head when he's mad. Is he plotting revenge? Someone's death? Thinking of torturing the person who made him mad? It's a risky mood, and most people go out of their way to avoid him when he's mad. You're scared too, but that's your man, you don't want him to be like this. You approach him quietly, tell him you know he doesn't want to talk about it, and he doesn't have to. Taking a bold chance, you cup his chin, surprising him, and kiss his mouth. When you leave, he's trying his hardest to resume his angry thoughts, but now they're getting all mixed up with your soft lips and...was that strawberry-scented lip balm? Who knows? Angry strawberries are certainly harder to stay mad at.
Zanka: He gets into a mood when he's pissed. Full on rant mode, yapping his frustrations loudly and with a sense of injustice. And you get it, you really do, but how long is he going to keep repeating the same things over and over? You listened the first few times, but now you're tired and need a break. When he starts back at the beginning, you seize your chance, grabbing the front of his clothes and giving him a quick kiss. When you break the kiss, he's looking at you with those wide eyes like he's discovered Atlantis, mouth hanging slightly open as he tries to make sense of what just happened. Satisfied with the silence, you walk away, and Zanka stares, wondering how an argument ends with a kiss.
