Synopsis: You are one of the few people in the world without a soulmate. When your friend finally meets hers, you give her the brightest smile, pretending not to feel that ache in your chest. But her soulmate is a bit strange, and you feel like you're the only one who notices.
(Warnings: yandere, dark content, manipulation, infidelity, rape/noncon, afab reader, tw selfharm(not done to mc))
Unmei was your best friend in the entire world.
You met her when you two were still learning to read and write. You were neighbors, classmates, practically attached at the hip. There was a running joke in the neighborhood that you two were sisters in a past life.
She was with you on the night of your 13th birthday, when not a single name scrawled itself in black ink on your wrist.
You’d cried for days. All you’d ever wanted was a soulmate. Finding out the universe decided you didn’t deserve one was heart crushing.
Back then, Unmei looked at her own soulmark with disgust.
“Well, if you don’t have one, then I don’t want a soulmate, either.” She’d declared with a large grin, wiping away your tears. “Besides, Geto Suguru is a stupid name, anyway.”
Even back then, you knew it was a joke. Not a promise. She just wanted you to cheer up. She wasn’t agreeing to be a spinster with you.
Still, when she called you with the news, something broke within you.
“-He’s great! He’s so great!” Her voice crackles through the phone. “I’ve never met someone so kind and gentle. And his face! He’s so handsome. It was love at first sight.”
She excitedly tells you how they met, how he’d tapped her shoulder in the library, asking if she knew where to find a book. She’d only seen a glimpse of his badge, his name, and then the rest was history.
The more she talks, the more you sink. You could almost imagine what she looked like as she spoke. Her cheeks would glow with a warm pink. There would be a sparkle in her eye that makes her look younger. It was so selfish of you to drown in misery when she’s so happy. She’s your closest friend. She deserves better than someone so jaded.
You’re glad she isn’t here in person. You don’t want her to see how bitter you feel.
You close the hole in your heart with cement and faux delight.
“He sounds great,” you hear yourself say.
“When can I meet him?”
❤︎
You’ve never seen someone so tall before.
He wasn’t dressed to stand out. The simple, black coat drapes perfectly against his lean figure. His hair is coiled into an elegant bun, showcasing his neck and black earrings. His face is sharp and edged with beauty.
Unmei tugs him over, looking at him with bright, glimmering eyes. Love. You can see the truth stamped right on her face.
She slides into the seat across from you. He mirrors her. The whispers and noises within the cafe hush their voices a bit.
And yet, you can hear his voice clearly. Low and gentle.
“Did I say it right?” Geto asks right after he says your name. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Unmei flushes.
You spot the expensive watch hanging off his wrist as he reaches over to shake your hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says.
“Change,” his purple eyes murmur, “the end of it all.”
The next hour passes with small talk and introductions. Unmei is the main talker, with Geto adding something in every so often. They work well together; you quietly observe, sipping on watered-down iced coffee. They fit. Pieces of a puzzle. Made for each other.
They are soulmates, after all.
“-It’s why I wanted you to meet him so bad,” Unmei tells you when you finally tune in again. “You two are so similar! It’d be nice to have all of us hang out sometime.”
“That would be nice.” Geto nods along before directing his gaze at you. “Perhaps you could bring your own soulmate, too.”
Your throat tightens. Unmei blanches. You can sense her about to redirect, but you figure it’s best if you bite the bullet now.
“I don’t have one.” You tell him, forcing your voice to sound light.
It takes a second for people to understand what you’re telling them–that you’re one of those. You wait for Geto to get that shameful look of pity everyone gets the moment you tell them. You’ve spent years like this, but it never stops stinging.
No pity. No sympathy.
He leans forward. His eyes sharpen.
“Really?”
You shrug, avoiding his gaze to sip on your coffee. You can still feel his eyes prickle on your skin even after Unmei changes the conversation.
Hours later, she texts you: sooo what’d you think????
You write exactly what she wants to hear.
He’s perfect for you:)
❤︎
Your second interaction with Geto happens without Unmei.
Some days, you liked to wander: turn your brain off, stroll through random shops, admiring the various knick-knacks you could never justify the price enough to purchase. Today, your feet led you into a small bookstore.
The door alerts to your presence with a cheery jingle. The man at the front spares you a lukewarm smile as you trek into his store. The smell of paper and ink greets your nose. It’s a cozy place. Quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling city just outside.
One of your favorite authors recently published a new book. You weren’t sure if this bookstore had it, but you told yourself it wouldn’t hurt to check. You scanned the rows and shelves, drifting around the store to see if you could spot it.
You were so distracted, you didn’t notice him until you quite literally walked into him.
Hands reach out to steady you. Firm but gentle. You look up as a bundle of apologies is ready to spill from your lips. They die once you look into sharp purple eyes.
Geto smiles when his hands release your shoulders.
“Careful there.”
You reanimate at his voice. You step back, mindful of how close he was.
“Sorry,” you tell him, “I–I didn’t see you.”
“I could tell.” His grin widens, and you sheepishly glance down.
“This is a very welcome coincidence,” he continues, “I didn’t know you liked literature as well.”
You helplessly shrug, trying not to show your discomfort. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Geto. He seemed like a nice person, but you were not ready at all for a one-on-one interaction with your friend’s new boyfriend.
“Yeah,” you say when the silence gets too long, “I was just here to see if I could find something in particular…” Just then, your eyes drift up.
You catch the title just then. It’s sitting quietly on the top shelf, leering at you. If only you’d found it sooner, it seems to goad at you; you wouldn’t be stuck in the most awkward situation in the world.
Geto catches your gaze. He glances up at the book.
“Is that the one?” He asks.
You nod. He reaches up and lifts it from its respective spot. You expect him to hand it over immediately, but he seems more interested in examining the cover.
“That sounds interesting.” He comments before handing it to you. “Would you recommend it?”
“I haven’t read it yet.” You admit. “But I’m a big fan of the author.”
He hums in acknowledgement. That’s when you notice his own stash of books he had tucked under his arm.
“You’re a horror fan?” You ask.
“Not particularly,” he admits. “I just wanted to branch out. My friend is a huge horror fan. These were mostly his recommendations.”
You nod. “Unmei also likes horror. The genre at least.” You blab on. “Back when we were in high school, she’d force me to watch all sorts of slasher movies, and then she’d get so scared she’d beg me to let her sleep over.”
On those days, you’d wake up to her snoring all over your pillows. Later, when you teased her about it, she’d laugh it off with red all over her face.
Those days were tinged with nostalgia–back when it was just you and Unmei.
You expect Geto to appreciate the snapshot of his soulmate’s past. That’s why he’s making small talk with you in the first place, right? To get to know her better.
Something flickers across his eyes. It was barely a moment before his face changed to deep sincerity, but you caught it.
Boredom.
You were stumped. How could someone be so blatantly uninterested in their soulmate? Or maybe it was you he couldn’t care less about? Or perhaps you just imagined it entirely?
You feel like you should confront him about it.
“Sorry,” you say instead, “ I need to head out now.”
“Of course.” He immediately steps aside to let you pass through the cramped shelves.
You expect that to be the end of it, but you can hear his footsteps behind you.
You almost considered abandoning your book entirely, just so you could escape the bookstore. Instead, you flash a tense smile at the cashier, who beams back.
“Find everything okay?” He asks.
“We did,” Geto tells him cheerily. He stands right next to you. You can almost feel the coat he wears brush against your shoulder.
Sometimes you wish you weren’t so nonconfrontational. Maybe you would’ve fought a bit more when Geto casually plucks the book from your loose grip, placing it on top of his own stack.
“All together, please.” He tells the cashier, before he turns to you. “I got it.”
“No, it’s fine.” You’re finally able to speak up. It’s too late. The man is already grabbing the bag and saying his regards to the worker behind the counter. He holds the door open for you.
You meekly thank him.
“I can pay you back.” You immediately say.
Geto shakes his head. “It’s fine. Think of it as a gift.” He hands your book into your twitching hands. “A token to the start of a good friendship.”
You had this bad habit of feeling indebted to someone if they paid for you, to the point where you would bend backwards for them if they asked.
Something tells you that being in that situation with Geto is a terrible idea.
You still accept, thanking him as sincerely as you can.
“That reminds me.” Geto continues, pulling out his phone. “We should exchange contacts. We do share a favorite person after all. It would be wise to keep in touch.” He tells you with a steady grin.
Your stomach flips. You don’t want to. You genuinely don’t want to.
But the book is heavy in your hands.
When Geto offers to walk you to the station, you finally gather the courage to decline. You thank him repeatedly for his kindness, slipping away before he can coax you into doing anything more.
He was nothing but polite to you
Kind even.
But there’s something so horribly wrong about Geto Suguru.
—
Geto and Unmei moved fast.
They became an official couple one week after they met. Two months later, Unmei moved into his place.
They moved fast, as most soulmates do. After all, if two people are destined to be together forever, why wait? Why not get the hard part over with first so you can enjoy forever more?
At least, that’s how you saw it.
The party was subdued but extremely upscale. Geto’s apartment was something else entirely. Luxurious floors with open spaces. When you looked outside the spotless glass, you could see the glimmering lights of the city far beneath your feet.
You felt like you could fall through the glass and crash into those lights. You’d shatter into a million pieces, twinkling like the stars above.
“Would you like another drink?” A voice asks.
You glance up. Nanami Kento’s eyes remain on you. You suddenly remember what you were doing.
You look down at your cup—just water. You were driving home tonight. “I’m fine, but thank you.”
Nanami nods, taking a swing of his own cup. The amber-colored liquid swirled around the glass.
Out of all of Geto’s friends, you think you liked Nanami the most. He was quiet, straightforward, polite, and a complete gentleman. He was one of you, you later found out—someone with un inked wrists. When Unmei dragged him across the room to ‘keep each other company’, you thought it was another one of her schemes.
Well, it definitely still was her scheme, but you didn’t mind it too much. Nanami was good company. He was much more preferable to Geto’s other friend. The tall one with blue eyes and white hair. The one that kept staring at you like he knew something you didn’t.
“So how do you know Geto?” You ask.
His lips thinned. You almost smile.
“Old classmates.” He tells you. “He, along with a couple of others, was in the grade above me.”
He seemed exhausted even thinking about it. You wonder how wild his upper-level students were.
“What about you and Unmei?” He asks after a bit.
You hide your smile behind your glass.
“We were practically raised together.” You start. “Attached at the hip, ever since we were kids.”
You two used to plan your weddings together. She wanted her kid to marry yours. Every day you were at each other’s houses. Every weekend was slumber parties and sleepovers.
When kids used to mock you for not having a name, she was the one who defended you. She was the one who chased off bullies and wiped away your tears.
She’s been in your life all your life. You can’t remember a time she wasn’t.
“Hm,” Nanami comments, “you two sound close.”
“We are,” you agree, even when you can taste the uncertainty on your tongue.
She stood a little way away. Unmei looked borderline unrecognizable from the one you knew just a few months ago. Her hair was pushed up from her face, a stark contrast to the looser hairstyles she used to prefer. Her dress was sleek and glamorous. She probably wore hundreds of dollars on her wrist. She blended right into the elite group she was currently laughing with.
Nanami keeps talking about something. You hum along, unable to take your eyes off of her. You keep watching until you can’t anymore.
Sometime later, you find yourself on the balcony. The murmur of the crowd has dwindled behind you. It’s cold, you didn’t bring a jacket. There are goosebumps littered across your arms, but you don’t want to go inside yet. You’re not sure if you can continue looking at Unmei as she changes into something you can’t reach anymore.
There it was again. That bitterness. The guilt washes it down all over again.
Footsteps. Someone takes their place right next to you. At first, you think it’s Nanami’s attempt to restart the conversation.
Geto leans over the railing, watching the city below.
“It’s a pretty view, isn’t it?” He asks, voice gentle and soft. “It’s a huge reason why I bought this place.”
You flex your fingers. The air suddenly gets colder.
“Yeah.” You give, listening to the muted sounds inside. “It’s beautiful.”
That’s the truth. The city lights twinkled and buzzed with life. Part of you wanted to sit there and count each one. You might be stuck there for years.
“It’s even more beautiful in the mornings,” Geto continues, “there’s a gentle fog that covers the city, and the horizon is this pale pink. I really hope you see it one day.”
You shift, a bit uncomfortable by the confession. You’re sure he doesn’t mean anything by it.
“You have a lovely home.” You finally say. “It’s very beautiful. I’m sure you're ecstatic to share this with Unmei.”
A genuine smile lifts your face as you think back to the times Unmei gushed about meeting her future soulmate. She’d planned everything: the house, the car, the dog. You’d sat there quietly, listening, just happy to be in her life.
“I bet you must have waited years to finally meet her.” You tell Geto as you admire the view. “You’re a very lucky man.”
You expect a laugh. You expect a bashful acceptance.
“I never wanted to meet my soulmate, initially.”
For the first time in the conversation, you truly look at Geto. He’s staring right back. His purple eyes are darker in the dim lighting. They’re almost a muddy brown.
“When I was younger, I had a grim opinion of soulmates.” His jaw tenses. You catch the movement. “The idea of having someone I was tied to by fate used to sicken me. It felt like control. It felt like something cosmic wrote out my future, and I was entirely helpless to it.”
You can’t pull your eyes away. Whatever you were hearing, no matter how jarring, felt honest. You were drawn to it–a bee to a flower.
“I think now, I’ve mostly changed my mind.” He shrugs. “The bond isn’t truly control. Rather, it’s a path, guiding us to something far more desirable.”
You blink. What could you say to that?
Thankfully, Geto doesn’t let you fluster for long. He steps ever so slightly closer. It’s already too close, but you can’t move. You’re stuck in your spot. Paralyzed.
“And, if anything.” He leans down, voice suddenly hushed. “I’d consider you the lucky one.”
“Me?”
He smiles. Amusement laces his lips. Long fingers reach for your arm. He slowly turns your hand, showing your blank, un-inked wrist.
“Yes,” he tells you, “this is truly lucky.”
You see it then. It flashes right across his purple eyes.
Jealousy.
It’s so hateful, it nearly makes you panic. You stumble back, out of his hold. The meeker part of you urges you to run. As far as you can. Run before–
“Are you alright?”
Concerned sincerity etches across Geto’s face as he reaches out to stabilize you. Hands press on your shoulders before they slip away.
You avert your gaze.
“I’m fine.” It’s too sharp. You force yourself to soften your tone. “I guess it’s a little chilly out.”
Geto barely wastes a moment. He slips off his jacket and settles it onto your shoulders before you can protest. His cologne clings to the leather. The smell of sandalwood and cinnamon.
“Keep it.” He stops you when you try to take it off. “Stay out here and enjoy the view a bit more. It’s truly breathtaking.”
You watch as he slips back inside, playing the perfect host to his guests. The air is still cold, but you can finally breathe again.
Later that night, Suguru gets on one knee and proposes.
Unmei says yes.
❤︎
There’s a way to reject the soul bond. You’ve seen it happen exactly once in your life.
You were fourteen, watching from the stairs as your mom comforted your next-door neighbor. She was one of the unlucky ones. Her soul bond was filled with nothing but rage and possession. You could see the evidence of it on the bruises on her soft skin. The swelling black eye.
She kept mumbling something of how sick she was to be tied to him. How she’d rather have no soulmate than one so vile. Your mother kept hushing her, insisting on calling the police, letting her stay the night.
She’s not listening. It’s like she’s in a trance as she rises on two shaky feet, drifting towards the kitchen. You find yourself following.
She pulls out a knife, and your mother screams when she digs into the ink on her own wrist.
She stopped bleeding before the ambulance arrived. There’s a gigantic smile on her face the entire time she’s talking to the paramedics.
You’ve never seen someone look so free before.
❤︎
Planning a wedding takes time and money. It’s a good thing that Geto is swimming in the latter.
The restaurant is upscale and practically swathed in elites. You feel very much out of place with your dress that probably wasn’t even worth the cheapest thing on the menu. Geto assured you plenty of times that this was his treat. Ever since the proposal, you’d been swamped in wedding preparations. This dinner was supposed to be a thank you.
Tonight is a celebration of two people.
You, the maid of honor.
And Gojo, the best man.
The two of you sat across from the engaged couple. Unmei was beaming the entire night. The ring was glistening on her finger. You’ve seen it all over her social media, not to mention the hours she spent gushing about how perfect the ring and the proposal was.
But you remembered she hated cluster rings. She used to call them tacky. And she’s told you her perfect proposal over and over again. She’s always wanted it somewhere outdoors, where they’re alone and surrounded by nature.
The complete opposite of how Suguru did it.
“I can barely sleep.” Unmei gushes to you while the two men continue their own conversation. “The wedding is still two months away, but I can barely sleep.”
You give her a comforting smile, taking another sip of your water. Dinner was already eaten, but you hadn’t tasted a single thing. It felt like cement sludge down your throat.
“I bet that’s normal,” you say, “It’s your day. You should be excited.”
“Most nights I just dream about flower arrangements.” She frowns before she sits up again. “Shit, the flowers. Please tell me you—“
“Don’t worry, I already booked the florist you were talking to,” you immediately coddle. “Everything is going to be perfect.”
She visibly relaxes, leaning back in her seat. “Only because you’re here.” She tells you. “I only got this far ‘cuz of you, y'know that?”
You smile. Her face brightens.
“Oh!” She exclaims. “Are you planning on bringing anyone? Someone special?”
The two men gradually quieted. You arch your brow.
“Probably not,” you say, “besides I’ll have a lot of stuff to do on the day of. I won’t have time for a date.”
“What about bringing Nanami?” She pipes up. “I’m sure he can entertain himself while you’re busy.”
Someone’s gaze stings your skin. You ignore it.
“Why would I bring him?”
She scoffs.
“Don’t act like that.” She chides. “I saw how into you he was at the party. Please tell me you got his number.”
You did. And you two text every now and then. Non-soulmates are rare, so even if you don’t end up in a relationship, it’s nice to keep in touch.
“Nanami?” Geto echoes, finally making it known that he was eavesdropping.
Unmei turns to him with a smile. “I introduced them a while ago. Aren’t they just perfect for each other?"
‘Is she saying that just because neither of us has soulmates?’ You try not to feel so harshly about it.
Geto smiles, but it lacks any warmth.
Gojo turns to you.
“I didn’t know you met Nanami?” He sports a wide grin. Almost like a sneer.
You shrug. “We talked for a bit sometime back.”
“I feel bad for you. I know I’m not supposed to talk crap about my juniors, but that guy is so boring.” He rolled his eyes. “He was even worse in high school, if you can believe that.”
“I didn’t think he was all that bad.” You counter.
“Ah, I get it.” Gojo nods. “You’re into the quiet, studious type of guy.”
You shift in your seat. “It’s nothing that dramatic.” You respond. “He was just really nice.”
“Hm.” Gojo takes a swing at his glass. “I guess I see wedding bells in your future, then.”
“Satoru.”
Geto’s voice is clipped. His eyes have shadows. Gojo puts his hands up in an ‘I surrender’ motion. There’s a lazy smile on his mouth. The atmosphere is so strained that even Unmei’s smile weakens. You take another sip of your water. You really wish you’d ordered something stronger. You had no idea tonight would be this tense.
Unmei quickly turns the conversation to something else. She brings up more wedding plans. The rest of the night is spent ignoring the elephant in the room.
Sometime after that, you and Gojo end up outside the restaurant, alone. Unmei and Geto are still sorting out the bill. You spot them lingering inside. Unmei is talking animatedly to a waitress. Geto is scrolling on his phone.
You don’t have much in common with Gojo, and you’re happy to keep the silence as the two of you wait. He, however, doesn’t seem to share your thoughts.
He leans over as you watch the engaged couple.
“So, how long do you think they’ll last?”
You glare up at him. He grins.
“That’s not funny.” You immediately rebuff. “Why would you say that?”
Satoru shrugs.
“C’mon, you can’t say you’re the tiniest bit doubtful they’ll stay together, right?”
You shake your head.
“They’re soulmates,” you respond. Their companionship was written in the stars from the start. They are a certainty. “It’s tradition.”
“Soulmates don’t always stay together,” Satoru says, “and Suguru isn’t one for tradition.”
You say nothing. Gojo only takes it as a sign to pester you further.
“Wanna make a bet with me?”
You narrow your eyes at him.
“I’ll bet all the money I have that they’ll break up right before the wedding.” He thinks for a moment. “Maybe on the day of: Suguru loves being dramatic.”
Your lips curl into a sneer.
“I thought you were supposed to be Geto’s friend?”
What kind of person bets their friend’s relationship will fail?
“I am his friend,” Gojo argues. “I’m only saying this ‘cuz I know him so well. No offense to your bestie, but she’s not his type.”
“No.” He tilts his head, studying you. “He prefers someone a bit more…docile.”
You shift, trying to hide your discomfort underneath his gaze.
“They’re coming out.” You watch as the couple shifts closer. “Please don’t tell them you’re betting they’ll break up.”
Gojo laughs.
“Aye, captain.”
❤︎
Unmei stumbles into your apartment at 1 am.
You’d forgotten you’d given her a spare key. When you woke up to muffled footsteps and murmurs, you thought someone was robbing you. The influx of emotions you felt as you rushed out with a baseball bat, only to discover your friend draped across your couch.
Your very drunk friend draped across your couch.
“Unmei?” You shake her shoulder.
She barely moves. You do it again. She finally groans.
“Hi.” She rasps out. Her throat is groggy with exhaustion and alcohol.
“How…” You try to find the proper words. “How did you get here? Did you drive?”
“Uber.” She murmurs. “Sorry…I…sorry. Didn’t–didn’t wanna go back. Didn’t wanna see him.”
Her words are stilted, but you think you’re starting to get the picture.
“Did you and Suguru get into a fight?” You ask gently.
She laughs. It sounds bitter.
“You have to talk, to fight.” She tells you, and you want to press her on that, but she’s talking again.
“Suguru’s sad you don’t like him.”
“What?” You lean closer so you can hear her properly.
“Suguru–” She snuggles deeper into your couch”--he’s sad you don’t like him. Why do you not like him?”
“I like him.” You try to smile. “Of course, I like him. Why wouldn’t I?”
Her eyes are open. The way she stares at you makes your defenses weaken.
“I don’t know, Mei.” You eventually respond. “He’s always rubbed me the wrong way. I…I just find him a little weird.”
You want to tell her about the strange quips Geto’s made. The stuff Gojo said at the restaurant still eats at you. You want to tell her all of those things.
Unmei doesn’t let you.
She sits up so fast, you’re almost worried for her. You’re about to tell her to be more careful, but then you notice the look in her eyes.
Spiteful.
It’s directed solely at you.
“Are you fucking joking right now?” She spits out. “My soulmate is going out of his way to be nice to you, but you’re calling him weird?”
You have to back up as she stumbles to her feet. Her words are slurred and hard to decipher, but the intent is as clear as day.
“He doesn’t even like you.” She rants. “Why would he? For fuck’s sake you don’t even have a soulmate, and now you’re calling mine weird? You’re jealous. You’ve always been jealous of me, and I’m so sick of doing charity work.”
You blink. It feels like your heart’s been torn in two.
“Unmei…?” It’s the only thing you can even think to say to someone who you thought loved you. Tears well in your eyes.
Unmei knows how sensitive you are about soulmates. She always knew. As bad as your fights got in the past, it’s the one line she hadn’t crossed.
Until now.
She realizes what she said. Unmei slumps almost immediately, fully breaking down.
“I’m sorry.” She blubbers. “I–I’m so sorry, I just.”
You push aside your feelings as you always have to accommodate hers. She buries her face in her hands. Her shoulders shake. When you wrap your arms around her shoulders, she easily leans into your warmth.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” She sobs. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” It’s not. “You’re having a bad day. Just sleep it off, okay? We can talk in the morning.”
She says nothing as you leave her on the couch. Minutes later, you return with a blanket, gently settling it over her still body.
“I saw him with another girl today.”
You freeze. Unmei stares blankly at the wall.
“He barely talks when we’re alone. He never talks. I don’t even know why I followed him, but I saw them together. They got into his car.” Her voice cracks. There’s a muted voice in the back of your head to comfort her.
You don’t move.
“I don’t know what they did. I…I just don’t know. That’s part of his job, right? Sometimes he takes his clients out to dinners and stuff.”
She looks up at you. “And–and everything’s so different when we’re alone. He’s so much warmer with you. Whenever we plan something, he’s always asking if you want to come along too. I just don’t get it.”
The apartment is quiet. Distinctly, you can hear a clock faintly ticking somewhere.
“Do you think he’s cheating?” You ask.
“Do you think he would?” Unmei asks right back.
You think of being honest. You think about telling her you genuinely don’t know. Then, you remember the anger in her voice just minutes prior. The hurt is still fresh on your mind. It’s instinct to cower and placate after you’ve been burned so harshly.
Just like always, you tell her exactly what she wants to hear.
“Of course, he’s nice to me.” You hear yourself say. “He probably feels bad for me.” Because you have no soulmate.
“Unmei, you don’t see the way he looks at you.” Does he ever look at her?
“He can’t stop talking about you.” You can’t remember a single conversation you and Geto had about her.
“He loves you. I’m sure of it.” Are you?
A shy smile creeps up on her face. You can feel yourself shatter.
“Really?” She asks.
You settle beside her, squeezing her fingers.
“Trust me.” Words feel like sand on your tongue. “You are going to make each other so happy.”
She’s smiling. You think you’re smiling too, but you’re not sure of anything anymore.
She closes her eyes again. You sit there for a few minutes. When you think she’s asleep, you get up to leave, but her voice stops you.
“I thought she was you.”
“You what?” You ask.
She nuzzles the blanket closer to her face.
“The girl. I thought she was you, but she wasn’t. She looked like you. It was the weirdest thing.”
You think she’s about to say more. She doesn’t.
The next day, Unmei acts as if nothing had happened. She’s laughing and talking during breakfast. You still think about what she said, hours after she left.
❤︎
The week before the wedding, you finally decide you no longer want to be friends with Unmei.
You don’t hate her, you could never hate her, but it’s clear you might’ve valued your friendship differently than she did.
You don’t think you want to boycott the wedding entirely. It’d taken months to plan. The money was already spent. You don’t want to ruin her big day.
But you don’t think you’ll be taking her calls as frequently. You don’t think you’ll drop everything for her anymore.
For now, you just want a bit of distance.
Now that you’ve decided to no longer prioritize her, your life is slowly becoming easier. Instead of doing everything yourself, you’re delegating tasks to the other bridesmaids. You actually make time for yourself instead of fizzing with nerves by the phone, wondering when she’ll call you to her side.
You can finally breathe again.
But old habits die hard.
I need you. Please come.
Unmei texting you in the middle of the night wasn’t a huge issue. But she never sends you this type of message. Formal, short, panicked.
You stare at the words, reading them over and over again. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this again.
But what if she needed you?
You’ve been to Suguru’s apartment a few times after the party. It was mostly to pick stuff up or help Unmei. There’s usually a lively atmosphere with warm lights.
Tonight, as you tap on the door, you can’t help but notice how cold the atmosphere feels.
He doesn’t leave you waiting. Geto opens the door with a pleasant smile on his face. His grin widens when he locks eyes with you.
“Come in.” Geto pulls the door back.
You hesitate, but eventually you step in. Not much has changed since your last visit. There are fresh flowers in a vase. Something’s cooking in the kitchen. Still, the apartment feels emptier, somehow.
“I wasn’t expecting you.” Geto smiles. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
You give an awkward smile, shifting your weight.
“I’m sorry, I won’t be here for long,” you tell him before shifting your gaze to the bedroom, “Is she in there?”
Geto tilts his head.
“Are you looking for Unmei?” He slowly asks.
When you nod, he shakes his head.
“She headed out for her bachelorette party hours ago.”
For a moment, you thought you misheard him.
“Her what?”
“Her bachelorette party. I’m so sorry, I assumed you were with her. It’s why I was surprised you showed up.” He admits sheepishly.
“Bachelorette party.” You repeat.
She told you she didn’t want a bachelorette party. She called it a cliché. And now, when you decide to put your feelings aside and reach out, you find out she left you in the fucking dust as she enjoys her night.
You were so fucking done with her.
“Right.” Your throat feels tight. “Ok, then…I should go.”
A firm hand on your shoulder stops you from walking out the door. Geto stares at you with an empathic frown on his face.
“You shouldn’t leave like this.” He urges.
You try to pull away. His grip barely budges.
“Geto, it’s fine–”
“You should eat something at least. It’d be rude to send you away after you’ve been such a good friend to my fiancé.”
That stung even though you know he didn’t mean it like that.
“Okay.” You relent. “Just for a bit.”
He smiles.
“Oh, and call me Suguru from now on.” He suggests. “I think we’re close enough to drop the formalities, right?”
Suguru manages to get you to sit at the dining table. It was already set for two. A little while later, he comes back with two plates and a bottle of wine.
The food smelled delicious, but it tasted like ash in your mouth. You couldn’t find it within yourself to enjoy it. Betrayal made everything taste like nothing.
You don’t consider yourself a drinker, but Geto manages to refill your glass twice throughout the night.
Eventually, Suguru acknowledges the elephant in the room.
“Did you two fight?”
That actually made you laugh. It’s harsh and bitter. You gulp down the last of your wine.
“No,” you say, “I just didn’t fall to her feet this one time.”
That’s all you were for her. Not a friend. Not a companion. You were just some pet she could keep at her side. Bark when she said bark. Sit when she said sit. Roll over when she said. She was treating you like a dog who forgot a trick or two. You feel so pathetic.
You’re so upset, you have to stand up. Suguru only watches you pace back and forth.
“I’ve put up with her bullshit for months, y’know?” You don’t think you’re talking to him at all. You’re just ranting. “Whatever she wanted, I got her. I’ve spent hundreds of hours planning her perfect day with her. And yet, the one time I give an opinion, she immediately blows up at me and–and says all this awful shit, and I have to forgive her.”
Suguru rises with you, blocking your path. You look up at him. He’s blurry from all the tears in your eyes.
“She’s stressed with the wedding,” he tries to console. “I’m sure she isn’t trying to do any harm.”
You shake your head. Somehow, you find yourself sitting on the sofa. Suguru’s joined you. You can still taste the wine on your tongue. You’re drunk. You’re erratic. You’ve stopped giving a fuck.
“What about the stress she’s putting me under?” You argue back. “I tried to be a good friend to her, and she constantly treats me like garbage. And it’s all because I don’t have a soulmate? When has that ever mattered for her?”
Unmei had always protected you from anyone who mocked you for being incomplete. Other. She was your shield.
You can still remember her voice ringing through your head. The hatred. You’ve always been jealous of me, and I’m so sick of doing charity work.
You bury your face in your hands.
“All I ever wanted to do was be there for her.” You sob into your fingers. “Why is she shutting me out like this?”
You wanted to go back to how things were months ago. Back when you had someone so close, it felt like having a sister. Back before–
Suguru gathers your limp form in his arms. The scent of sandalwood and cinnamon overwhelms your senses.
“You poor thing,” he coos, and you melt into his calming words because you’ve never felt more alone in your life. “It must have been so very hard on you.”
You don’t know how long you sit there, snuggled into his chest, crying your heart out. It feels like minutes pass before your tears stop flowing, and your breathing slows down.
He pulls you away from his chest. You follow. You’re still heartbroken, but now you’re embarrassed for crying on your best friend’s fiancé’s shoulder. You look up, opening your mouth to apologize.
Suguru’s lips meet yours.
It’s barely a brush. You feel his fingers caress your cheek before you pull back.
“What are you–” your voice dies in your throat “What–”
“You want to feel better, don’t you?” He asks, voice terrifyingly gentle. “I can help with that.”
Your mouth opens and closes like a fish. When he tries to touch you again, you jump up.
“I didn’t…I never…” Your mind is spinning. You don’t know what to say.
“She’s your soulmate.” It’s the only thing you can think to say. “How–how could you think of doing that to your…”
Suguru tilts his head.
“We both know how stubborn she can get.” He speaks slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. “Look at how much you do for her. You are constantly bending over backwards. Aren’t you tired of doing all this charity work? Don’t you want someone else to take care of you for a change?”
Something clicks in your mind.
Charity Work. Unmei’s words, but that didn’t sound like her at all.
It sounded more like something Geto Suguru would say.
“It’s you.” Something cold splashes across your spine. “You’ve been putting a wedge between Unmei and me for months.”
He’s tried separating you from her as soon as he walked into Unmei’s life. All this time, he was speaking cruelties into her ear about you, manipulating her, turning her against you.
And Unmei fell for it because she thought her soulmate could never hurt her.
Suguru stands up. His smile is gone. You’ve never seen him like this before. You’ve seen him upset, bored, amused. This is different.
Every emotion on his face is gone. It’s like he’s stone.
He calls your name. It’s a warning. You don’t heed it.
“No, no,” you hiss out, “I don’t know what sick game you’re playing, but I’d never break her heart like this, no matter how angry I am at her. I’m not like you.”
You start for the door. You needed to find Unmei. Fuck the petty fight. Fuck everything. You needed to find her and explain everything to her so that things could return to normal.
You never make it to the door.
There’s a harsh grip on your wrist. Before you can even struggle, you’re flung back against the couch. You collapse on top of the stiff pillows.
Suguru’s quick to cage you in. Within moments, he’s trapped you underneath him. A hand reaches up to trap both of your wrists. His body is right in between your legs, pressing himself right up to you.
You kick. You scream. A hand clamps down on your mouth.
Suguru waits patiently as your rebellion tapers out. You lie underneath him, panting and utterly defeated.
A tear trickles down your cheek. He wipes it away, adoration at his fingertips. It makes you sick.
“I really wanted our first time to be romantic.” He sighs, genuinely sounding disappointed. “I spent the entire day planning our little date. And then you had to get all hysterical.” He clicks his tongue.
“I think you’re spending a bit too much time with my fiancé, Dear.”
You flinch at his words. He grins.
“At the same time, I can’t say I’m not happy with how the night ended.” He releases your mouth. You prepare to yell again. “You can scream if you want to, dear. I’m sure you’d like the whole floor coming by to watch me fuck you. I don’t mind an audience.”
Horror rushes down your body.
“What do you mean?” Suguru says nothing, leaning back to release his tie. “Geto-Suguru,” you beg. “You can’t really mean that. You can’t do this. What about Unmei? What about your soulmate?”
“I thought I told you this already.” He wraps the tie securely around your wrist before considering you.
“Soulmates are paths, guiding us to our true destination.”
He presses his forehead to yours. You lay there, utterly helpless, staring into his purple eyes.
“Through her, I was able to find my true other half.” He confesses. “Someone that perfectly fits me.”
If he were another man, if he had another name, you might have fallen in love right there.
But this man has your friend’s name written on his wrist, and it makes you want to vanish into the Earth.
He rises back up with a grin.
“What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart.”
You’re shaking your head as he reaches down for your shirt. It’s pulled off of you within moments, revealing your bare flesh. Your skin trembles against his fingers as he explores the skin on your stomach, pushing his hand up until it reaches the bottom of your bra.
Your tits are exposed to the cold air as he grabs them. Curious. Exploring. Nausea builds in your stomach.
“You should relax, love.” He urges as his hand travels down. “You could make yourself sick from all that crying.”
He acts as if he cares for you, even when you know he couldn’t care less. You can feel his heat pressing up against your thigh. It’s a blunt foreshadowing of his true desires.
The silk against your wrists tightens every time you move. The wine isn’t helping either. You feel sluggish, almost feverish. You lie there, completely limp, watching as he picks at your pants. They don’t have much of a fight before he’s dragging them off your body completely, leaving you with just your cotton panties.
The cold settles on your bare thighs. A large hand settles on your upper leg. He squeezes. You jolt.
Suguru’s kissing you again. It’s harsher than the first time. More teeth, like he intends to swallow you whole. He squeezes your chin, keeping you in place so he can continue to devour you. For a moment, you debate biting his tongue off, before you quickly bat it away. The thought of him getting violent, even worse, terrifies you.
But how could he get worse?
He pulls away with a satisfied sigh. The hand on your thigh lifts to your clothed slit. You don’t realize you’re wet until his fingers slip underneath your panties.
There’s a slight hitch in his breathing.
“Is this for me?” You can practically taste the victory in his voice. “How sweet.”
A few moments later, your panties are torn away, too. Your legs are tangled with the thin cloth, leaving you utterly defenseless as he spreads your thighs apart.
“No,” you’re telling him. “Don’t–No, no–”
He hushes you with a quiet whisper, and then his mouth is on your pussy.
Your thighs immediately fall onto his shoulders as he ate you out. There was a rhythm to it. His tongue lapped at your slit before curling at your clit. Immediately, you reacted. Your thighs flexed, threatening to clamp over his head. Something hot coiled in your belly as he sucked on your pussy.
Your protests eventually gave way to sharp gasps and whines as he continued to tongue-fuck you. You think you’re still crying, but its interrupted by another toe-curling mewl. You don’t have the ability to hold them in. They force themselves past your lips and into the frigid air. You could feel Suguru smile against your clit. You’re so wet you’re probably dripping all over the couch, but you think Suguru couldn’t care less.
He lifts you up by the hips. You let out a yelp as he crams his tongue into your hole, drinking the entirety of you.
“That’s it.” His voice is muffled by your pussy. It’s slurred. Drunk. “Lemme’ hear you.”
You obey, helpless to do anything else. Your mind is swirling with self-hatred as you feel yourself approaching the edge. You can’t do anything to stop it. Your hips move by themselves. Your pussy clenches.
Your orgasm was a tiny hitch before you completely came apart. Suguru keeps you there, latched onto your clit like a man starved, until you finally come down from your high.
You lay there, panting, completely spent. Suguru rises from his spot in between your legs. He wipes at his face, never taking his eyes off of you.
The kiss he gives you is terrifyingly soft. Almost sweet. You can taste yourself on his tongue. He gently holds your chin like you’re the most delicate thing in the world.
If you closed your eyes, you could pretend it’s anyone else. Not Suguru. Not your friend’s fiancé. Not her soulmate.
But Suguru doesn’t care about you enough to let you have that fantasy.
“Look at me.”
His voice is too soft to be demanding, but the order is clear from his tone.
Slowly, your eyes drift back open.
Suguru stands over you as if this were his rightful place. You can see his cock, fully unfurled from his pants. The mushroom tip has a bead of glistening, white pre-cum as he slowly aligns it to your battered pussy.
You think the worst part is his eyes.
Soft. Gentle. He stares at you the way no one else has.
Love.
You want to cry again, but you think you’ve run out of tears.
His nonchalant demeanor is cracked. His pupils are flared with lust. He grunts when he slides his swollen tip across your folds. Pussy juice is smeared all over his cock as he does it again and again.
“I’ve waited so long for this.” He sighs, and you don’t think he’s talking to you. “No one is taking this away from me.”
Not even you.
You should be grateful he cares enough to be gentle. His cock is huge, big enough to split you at the seams if he wanted to. You still he lowers himself into your hole. Immediately, your walls flex, squeezing his cock.
Suguru growls and bits his lip. It’s clear whatever control he has left, he’s only holding it by a hair.
It’s almost a relief when he fully sheathes himself inside you. He nearly collapses, face ducking into the crook of your neck. Your toes curl when he hits a spongy spot inside of you that nearly makes you see stars.
“Fuck.” He hisses, voice sharp. “That’s it. That’s it. Just take it.”
It’s an unsteady pace. Brutal, almost mind-breaking as he continues to fuck himself into you. You can hear his ragged breathing in your ear as he drives himself deeper and deeper into your cunt. You can barely keep up with the motions. Your thighs shake with the momentum.
You think you’re saying something, and then your mind is wiped clean with another thrust. It’s an endless cycle of torturous pleasure.
“Suguru–I–I can’t.” You’re blabbering. “I can’t, I just can’t–”
“You can.” He urges back, fingers reaching down to rub your clit. You arch, back lifting up from the pillows. “I know you can, darling. Look at that. Look at you. Look at how well you take me.”
“This was how it was always meant to be.” You can’t decipher the tone of his words. Your mind is too preoccupied with the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock. “You were practically made for me.” A broken wail passes out from your lips. He laughs.
At this point, you think he’s too far gone to even know what he’s saying.
“I love you so much, darling.” He leans back into your neck, biting down on the flesh. “No one can take you away from me. You are all for me.”
At least, you hope that’s the case. You can’t bear to think his words have a semblance of intent.
Your mind goes white as you cum on his cock. Your eyes roll back, your back arches up like a bitch in heat as you fall off the edge. Your pussy milks him, clamping down hard as you ride your high.
There’s a moan in your ear before something hot pumps into your pussy, painting your insides with white. There’s so much, even with his dick still plugging your cunt, some still manages to leak out, dripping down your ass.
He takes a shaky breath, and then he’s kissing you again. That same delicate touch he loves to take after he breaks you. You can taste the festering love through his lips and tongue. You let him, too exhausted to fight back.
You think he’s saying something. You can’t hear him over the throbbing in your head. The tone he uses is soft as lips press against your temple.
And then, his cock slips out of your ragged cunt before slamming back in all over again.
❤︎
Mei<3 Missed Call(23)
‘Where are you’
‘Where are you’
‘Please dont do this to me’
‘I’m begging you’
‘I love you so much’
‘I’m sorry for everything I’ve done’
‘Plase don’t do this to me’
‘He’s my soulmate, why would you take him from me’
‘Please don’t do this to me’
…
‘You’re just a selfish slut. Take him then. See if I care.’
Ever since you woke up, all you could do was stare at Unmei’s texts. You’ve read them over and over.
The words never change. Each line cuts you deeper than before.
You’re no longer on the sofa. Sometime last night, Suguru must have moved you. You sit up on a luxurious king-sized bed with silk sheets. Your body is aching and sore. There are marks all over your body.
The man who made them sleeps peacefully right next to you.
You’re still naked. It hurts to move. All what you can do is read Unmei’s texts over and over as you wipe away the sharp tears trickling down your cheek.
The curtains of Suguru’s bedroom are open. It’s early morning. The beginnings of a sunrise creep over the horizon. Buildings are obscured by a light fog, and you can barely make out the outline of the city. The sky is illuminated with pinks and light oranges. It’s the prettiest sight you’ve ever seen.
You don’t notice he’s awake until Suguru’s muscled chest presses against your back. You flinch as his head settles into the crook of your neck. He inhales your scent.
“I told you, didn’t I?” He murmurs against your skin. “It’s a beautiful view. You’ll get to see this every day, from now on.”
You don’t bother batting him away. You just stare down at your phone. There’s no new message from Unmei. She blocked you hours ago.
Fingers pluck your phone from your loose grip. Suguru adjusts himself, wrapping an arm around your waist as he sifts through her panicked messages. He clicks his tongue.
“Never expected anything more from her.” He sighs before he tosses the phone in the mess of blankets. He kisses your neck. “She’ll probably come by today. Hopefully, she’ll move out without much of an issue.” He remarks casually. Dully. Complete disinterest.
Why? You want to ask him. Why you? Why would he–why would anyone–hate you enough to do this?
But then, you remember the look of love he gave you as he rammed his cock deeper. You don’t know how you’d be able to hold yourself together if you saw that again.
For the sake of your sanity, you ask:
“What did you tell her?”
Suguru’s fingers curl around your stomach. You can hear the slightest hint of irritation in his breath.
“Nothing.” He eventually confesses. You want to yell at him, call him a liar. You don’t get the chance.
“She must have felt the bond sever.”
You notice it, just then.
The wrappings on his wrist.
Your heart is pounding in your chest as you grab at it. Suguru lets you unravel his work, silently watching each layer of gauze drop away.
It’s ugly. The skin is raised and irritated. It will probably leave behind a scar.
Not a single trace of Unmei’s name is left on Suguru’s skin.
You want to scream, but your voice is frozen in your throat.
Sukuna liked to thing of himself as slightly progressive, everybody could do whatever they wanted as long as it didn't intervene with what he wanted to do. So why was he so upset at the prospect, the thought of you exercising that same liberty he wasn't against?
Because he saw you as property, and again, Sukuna wasn't too proud of that fact.
Under him, fucking you on a mating press that had your kneecaps hitting your tits, using your legs as earrings. Sukuna looked at you in the eye, and the guilt of what he was doing, of what he was about to do, hit him like a train.
"Can I tell you something?" He said, pace never faltering, the head of his cock hitting your cervix repeatedly, using it as a punching bag. The squelching sound of your overstuffed cunt was obscene, obscene and hypnotizing. You nodded, clinging to the last strands of sanity you had in that moment. "I poked a hole in the condom."
"What?" You had sobered up from your cockdrunkenness almost immediately, the pleasure, while not entirely, replaced with a deep feeling of unsettledness. Your eyes widened, and Sukuna pressed harder against you. Fucking you faster, rougher. And then, the realization hit you hard as well. You cannot fight this man, you cannot compete with his strenght or with the fact that he seems determined to fulfill the purpose his confession had left lingering in the air.
"I'm not stopping." He said, far too calm for you to like. You tried to squirm, but his cock pressing right against your g-spot rendered you useless once more, drunk with that hot, blinding pleasure and rigid with fear. And in turn, your cunt tightened around his shaft. Sukuna groaned, gritting his teeth at the sensation of your velvety walls clamping around him like a vice. He had to stop for a split second, stop and consider, ponder what he was about to do.
And then he pulled out. Slow, gentle. As if understanding what he was about to do. The fear, the panic stopped boiling in your brain, and you felt the calmness of rationality taking over Sukuna's brain take over your own. Taking the useless condom off, throwing it away.
But then he lined up against your entrance, and welcomed himself right inside your pussy with a rough thrust.
"I'll be a good husband," He was proposing, he was proposing while he violated you and your trust. And you couldn't stop moaning his name, clawing at his back as he made love to you sweet and tender. "I'll be so good to you. I'll be gentle, as gentle as I can be. You won't ever hurt or need," You tried and plead for him to stop, silenced by another thrust that made a new wave of moans and whimpers of his name fill the room. He could feel the familiar pressure building up, his balls tightening with the promise of inminent orgasm. And he smiled as he rubbed your clit, intending to rip away a wave of pleasure from you too. "All that I ask is that you give me a little boy that has your eyes, yes?"
He doesn't care for your answer. He's already filling you up when he asks the question.
imagine yuji being your adorable boyfriend, but one day while you're fucking, sukuna takes over.....
yuji pins your thighs to your chest, thrusting in and out of you so quickly you almost cannot breathe. perverted plapping fills the room with yuji's cock filling you up again and again.
"a-ahh, y-yuji, nghh-"
"f-feels good, yeah? m'gonna, gonna m-make you cum."
he speeds up impossibly, bed rocking into the wall over and over again. your eyes roll back and you clutch his shoulders, crying out and moaning as he fucks you.
unbeknownst to you, yuji changes. his grip gets a little firmer, his thrusts grow slower and harder, and most clearly the black markings on his body seem to shift and grow. you open your eyes when he growls, gasping when you find out sukuna is now here instead.
you try to pull back, holding in your moans as sukuna fucks you less like an energetic puppy, and more like a man.
"w-wait, sukuna, no-"
"shush mortal, don't act like i haven't seen you like this before. now be still and let me finish the job."
you lay down again, breathing as deep as you can as sukuna fucks you deep. his hands hold your hips apart and his gaze is on your connection, focused on the strings of wetness between you and how your pussy makes his cock glisten. he reaches deep into you, knowledgeable on angles yuji has not heard of.
you hold on your moans before you give up, whining and whimpering and begging incoherently.
"s-s, kunaaa, p-please, let me c-cummm."
he chuckles, brow raising as he looks into your eyes.
"such a dirty girl. back in my time, you would have been exorcised for this behavior." he leans closer and plants his hands next to your head, towering over you. "looks like i'll have fuck the crazy out of you."
his thrusts grow faster, hard and cruel. you let out erratic pants, hands wandering before finally landing on his shoulders. nails scraping his back, he growls.
"careful, woman! it is yuij who will suffer those marks, not me."
you seem to ignore him, so indulged in the pleasure as you feel your orgasm building up. whining desperately, you wrap your arms around him as you cum, pussy clenching hard around his cock, clamping. sukuna grunts, rolling his eyes but not pushing you off him.
he slowly pulls himself out and rests your legs on the bed, pulling up his yuji's pants and running a hand through his hair.
"go shower woman. yuji will be back in a few hours."
although you should be worried, sukuna left you feeling sooooo fucked out you'll probably be asleep until yuji returns. :)
after you both completed a really stressful maths test, of which he helped you cheat off his answers, gojo said you owed it to him to go to his house that night. and my god, it is huge.
tall double door entry, spiral staircase, marble floors. i mean, he even had a tennis court. but his parents were away for the night, allowing you two to chill out comfortably, alone.
he led you to the couch and told you to pick a movie while he got a few snacks. that, however, was an hour ago.
now, you're just trying not to wriggle too much. he had you sat on his lap, balls deep into your pussy as he watched the movie with ease. one arm wrapped around your hips and kept you in place, preventing any desperate movements. he ate the popcorn he made with a small smile on his face, as if pretending his dick isn't 8 inches deep in you.
he chuckles at a scene, causing his cock to hit even deeper inside you. you whine and close your eyes, head leaning back to rest on his shoulder.
"what's wrong? you don't like the movie?" of course he's going to play dumb. doesn't he know you can feel his dick twitching?
"satoru, can we, can we please just fuck now?"
"what do you mean? we are fucking, aren't we?"
"i, i need something, please.' you beg, tilting your head to look up at him. he contemplates your face for a moment before smiling even brighter.
"we can fuck after the movie."
you let out an exasperated whine, scrunching your face up in frustration. you attempt to shift your hips off him, get a little break from the way his cock fills you up entirely, but his arms quickly pull you back down. you shiver as he whispers in your ear.
"you want it to be your mouth instead, sweetheart? 'cause i'm getting real tired of your attitude. when the movie's over, then i will fuck you."
you take in a shaky breath as he leans back again, sighing with disappointment. you sniffle a little and lean back against him again, trying not to whimper at the new angle. he smiles and returns his eyes back to the movie, making sure to keep his cock practically locked inside you.
gojo facefucking you as opposed to keeping his cock in you? yeah, no thanks.
Synopsis: toji decides to take the next step after you steals you from the street
wc: 659
WARNINGS: general kidnapping themes, captivity, toji might actually like you? mentions of abuse
You had been trapped in Toji's apartment for four weeks and two days now. It was old and dingy and in some dodgy area where most nights were accompanied by shouts or gunshots.
He had taken you from right off the street. Walking home after your car broke down wasn't the best idea, but you were already halfway home and there was no one you could call.
After taking you home, Toji attached a heavy chain to your ankle. During the day, he connected it to the couch so you could wander about his small living room. Nighttime, however, meant you were trapped to the bed.
Whilst he hadn't outright raped you, he still liked to kiss you before he left and hold your body against his as he slept. He had mentioned he had a son, but that was it. Although it was he who kidnapped you, sometimes you couldn't help feeling a little bad for him.
It's approaching midnight when he finally returns home back to the apartment. Although you don't know exactly what he does, the rough state he's left in when he gets back, along with his bloodied shirts, suggest a business of violence and terror.
He shuts the door firmly behind him, eyes locking onto the back of your head where you sit on his rugged couch, pretending to be engaged in a film you found.
"Hey doll. You miss me?" He chuckles, making his way over to you. Your body tenses as his hands grab a hold of your shoulders, rubbing them firmly over the shirt (of his) that he forces you to wear. "What's this?"
"J-just some random movie." You respond. You still can't seem to shake the fear, the wobbliness in your voice.
"You like it?"
"It's fine."
"Hm, well. I brought some fried rice from that shop down the road, where you like to go sometimes." He mutters that last part, the tension hanging between you, knowing you will not even be leaving the building anytime soon. Toji straightens and wanders to the kitchen counter, unpacking the warm, steamy food from the take away bag.
You will yourself to move, rising off the couch to stand not next to him, but close enough.
"Mind getting some bowls out?"
You don't speak, only nodding as you listen to what he says. While Toji hasn't hurt you yet, he certainly looked the type. You wouldn't be surprised if he was on some registry for beating up women. The last thing you needed right now was a sore ass or even less freedom.
Toji piles a heap of rice into your bowl, and an even bigger one for himself. You swallow nervously. Eating had become a struggle due to the constant stress of your new living conditions, and Toji had caught on.
"C'mon, can't have ya dying on me." He sits himself at the bench, pulling out the stool next to him before he starts eating. You pull out the stool next to it, sitting one space away from him as you try to fill your stomach. The room is quiet before Toji's rough voice fills it.
"I bought somethin' for you today." He grumbles, pulling a small box out of his pocket. Handing the box to you, he watches for your reaction.
Your shaky hands grab it, fear rising within you. Opening it, you find a small, shiny ring. You nearly gasp, jaw dropping slightly at its beauty. There's simply no way Toji could have afforded this.
He must of stolen it.
"Here, let me help ya."
He grabs your left hand and the ring box, pulling it out and sliding it onto your ring finger. The fit is perfect, another terrifying fact. Toji smiles at it, and no doubt himself as well. You meet his gaze, but he simply returns to eating with a shit-eating grin on his face.
"If you're gonna be my wife, I'd better treat you like one."
tw - minor jjk 0 spoilers, heavily implied non/con, kidnapping, obsessive behavior, threats of violence, and delusional behavior.
Satoru had been distracted for the past three days.
Normally, you would be grateful for the time apart. A distraction meant Satoru had something else to occupy his time with. A distraction meant you weren’t Satoru’s sole source of entertainment. A distraction meant you could traverse his prison of a penthouse without fear of unwanted affection, could go hours at a time without hearing so much as a word in that honeyed voice, could luxuriate in the closest thing you’d had to freedom in years. But, this was different. There wasn’t something calling him away – a mission or a student or a fight. That wouldn’t been too easy.
This time, he’d brought something home.
And he wouldn’t tell you what it was.
You stood outside of the guest bedroom. The door was locked from the inside, but Satoru had mounted a talisman to stop whatever was stowing away from getting out. When you held your breath, you could make out a muffled conversation, but it was to rule out that Satoru had started talking to himself. You racked your mind for explanations, but came up empty. It could be one of his surprises, but Satoru wasn’t that patient. He could’ve gotten hurt, but you’d seen him walk off missing limbs in less time than it would’ve taken the average person to recover from a head cold. He might’ve decided to finally kill you, but probably not. Satoru didn’t like breaking his toys.
You inhaled, letting the pressure in your chest mount until it hurt to hold. Slowly, as if bracing for impact, you raised your fist to the wood.
The door swung open a fraction of a second before you could knock. Predictably, Satoru filled the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.
“Sugarplum,” he started. That wasn’t good. Satoru only got creative with his petnames after coming up with yet another way to make you suffer. “I was waiting for you to check on us.”
Your curiosity dried up in an instant. “Sorry, I was just—”
“Nope. Too late.” He grabbed your wrist before you could jerk away, tugging you over the threshold. “He’s been dying to meet you, too.”
For one blissful, unreal moment, you thought Satoru might’ve brought home a dog.
And then, you saw the man on Satoru’s bed, and all such hopes dissolved immediately.
He was in bad shape. Actually, you were being too nice – he looked like was at death’s door. His right arm was gone entirely, fresh scar tissue webbed across his side and chest. His right eye was in-tact, but milky and unfocused, and dark hair hung loose over his pale face. He was naked aside from the sheet pulled over his lap, and the bedroom reeked of blood and sweat and sex. It wasn’t hard to guess what Satoru had spent the last seventy-two hours doing.
Satoru dragged you to the mattress, falling onto the edge and hauling you into his lap. The strange man didn’t look up. You weren’t entirely sure he was breathing.
“You know how much I love you, right?” Satoru made no attempt to mask his delight.
That, at least, was true. Satoru made sure you were constantly, painfully aware of how much he loved you. “Right.”
“And you know that nothing’s ever gonna change that, right?”
“Where’s this going?”
“I just want to make sure you’re not going to be jealous when I introduce you to the first love of my life.” He looked toward the strange man. “This is Suguru. He’ll be staying with us from now on.”
You spared a glance toward Suguru. “Is he alright?”
Satoru’s smile turned sheepish. “He might’ve had a slight run-in with one of my students. Yuuta’s very promising.”
“I think he might need a doc—”
“He’ll be just fine, sweetheart.” Satoru kissed the top of your head. It reminded you a little of when he’d first taken you away, how he’d pinned you down and promised over and over again that everything would be alright. Satoru good at that – justifying things, if only to himself. Anything seemed on the table, so long as it was for the sake of love.
Your gaze moved back to Suguru. Satoru wouldn’t hurt you. Satoru had never hurt you. But, up until now, you’d been his only toy. He couldn’t risk breaking what he couldn’t replace.
And you suddenly felt very, very replaceable.
Satoru seemed to notice your attention drifting. Abruptly, you were pushed off of his lap and onto the bed. “And Suguru,” Satoru went on. “This is the newest love of my life. Your competition.”
It was supposed to be a joke, but something pointed and angular lodged itself in your throat. This was not a fight you had known to try to win. And, by the look of it, neither had Suguru.
You tried to edge back, to get away, but Satoru’s hands found your shoulders and you were trapped. Swallowing back your nerves, you dug your nails into your palms and soldiered on. “It’s nice to meet you, Suguru.”
His good eye snapped up, locking onto you. One moment, his expression was slack and break, and the next, he wore a malice carved so deep, you could only imagine that it’d always been there.
His tone was deathly sharp, his voice cold as ice.
“I’m going to kill you, leech.”
Satoru’s laugh was immediate and barking, chiming bells and bird song and nails on a chalkboard. Suguru didn’t make another sound.
It was all you could do to bite your tongue and hope Satoru would stay distracted by his new, shiny toy for just a little longer.
bully!gojo who asks you tell you you're his girlfriend.
you're at the library studying, focused on getting your mountain-load of homework. you had been here for a few hours already and it was dark outside with very few people still around.
looking over a question, you here the doors slide open. lifting your gaze, you tense when you see satoru.
you two hadn't spoken in a while as you had a few tests and he, being satoru gojo, was likely caught up with his friends, money, and whatever else he did that made everyone like him. you look back at your question, pretending to ignore him.
"silly girl, can't hide from me." he says, laughing softly as he sits in the chair next to you. "what's that?"
"i'm not done yet, satoru. please, let me finish this." you say, running your hand through your hair.
he makes a sound of dismissal, grabbing your worksheet and folding it into his pocket.
"i'll just copy my answers."
"b-but i need to understand-"
"then i'll teach you." he says firmly, hand tense against the table. you quieten as he leans back in his chair, sipping on some juice he brought. he positions the straw in front of your face.
"want some?"
"uh, no thank you."
"suit yourself." he sits in the silence comfortably while you shift in your seat. what does he want? normally he's pretty clear on if he wants to talk or make fun of you, but he's not doing, anything?
you finally build up the courage to speak.
"um, satoru. wh-what are you doing here?" his brows furrow and he looks at you, feigning hurt.
"what? i can't hang out with my girlfriend?"
um, what?
your jaw drops, you can't help it. did he just say girlfriend? since when?
"u-uh, what, what are you t-talking about?"
"i'm just supporting my girlfriend as she studies, like a good boyfriend does."
your face reddens, humiliation flowing through you. just another one of his stupid pranks likely, he's probably recording this so he can laugh about it to his friends later.
"n-no, you know we're not, together."
he turns his head to look at you, face completely serious this time. his smile and giggly facade drops and he leans in, making firm eye contact with you.
"i told you, you are my girlfriend. you're not that dumb honey, surely i don't need to explain it again."
you look at him dumbfounded, so confused at this apparent truth. he glances at your stuff spread across the table before he begins to pack it up, ignoring your protests. once he's done, he slings your bag over his back and stands up.
"w-wait, what are you-"
"c'mon, i'm driving you home." he says, already halfway out of the library. you quickly put on your jacket and follow him outside, spotting his flashy car immediately. he unlocks it and opens the passenger door for you, waiting patiently.
"satoru, if this is some kind of prank-"
you freeze when he suddenly leans in and kisses you, deeply. he keeps you there until he finally pulls away to whisper in your ear.
"you ask me any more stupid questions and i'll break your fucking laptop again."
swallowing nervously, you get into the car. he places your bag next to you before happily walking to the driver's side.
after a quick drive to your house, he helps you out of the car and walks you to your front door. after ringing the doorbell, your mother answers.
"oh, hello. y/n, who is this?" she asks.
"i'm satoru, ma'am. pleasure to meet you." he says with his brightest smile, offering his hand. "i'm y/n's boyfriend."
𝓨𝒖𝒕𝒂 was obsessed with you. not in the way you'd expect. not in the demanding, or the aggressive or even the outwardly possessive way. it was persistent. dedicated. and worst of all?
loving.
he never quite got over you after the breakup. a year after the shinjuku showdown. you said he changed. he insisted he grew.
“i miss my sweet boy,” you'd said.
“aren't I sweet?” he still smiled like it.
you shook your head. turned away. told him there was something else in his smile. something shifted. an innocence you mourned.
he never quite let you grieve his absence, though. your coffee would be on your desk in the morning. your favourite flowers delivered every other week. you'd find him on your doorstep with takeout and a smile. find him in your apartment cooking, cleaning, making your bed, making things easier for you.
“what're you doing here?” you confronted him. got up in his face. looked at him like he was an irritable nightmare.
and yuta? he just smiled. never a threat. never a warning. looking at you like you were the sweetest dream.
“we're friends, aren't we?” he tilted his head. “that's what you said we were.”
“yeah well—”
“friends take care of each other, don't they?” his head tilted. that flicker of innocence that you lost shimmered in his eyes. ached your heart. flared your mind. because he knew what he was doing.
this wasn't first, nor second year. okkotsu yuta knew how to get under your skin, and he did so with the same smile that stuttered your chest.
he was insistent. promising he'd wait for you. assuring that you just needed time. but then another year went by, then another, and another— and before you knew it? he was twenty three and still delivering your favourite flowers.
it was overwhelming. he claimed love should feel like that. said love should be something that you chased for.
what scared you the most? the way his cursed energy crackled whenever he said it. like it really was his curse onto you.
“you can't chase me forever, okkotsu.” you'd hissed, as he stood in your kitchen. using your ingredients. cooking you dinner.
he didn't even look up. “that's what you think.”
then he turned to you with a spoonful of soup and the flat of his hand brushing beneath your chin to raise it. just slightly. delicately.
he smiled. “now. . . say ah.”
he frustrated you. with his kind smile. with his shifted outlook on life. with the maturity he'd developed when you just weren't looking.
finding someone else was impossible.
going back to him felt like a sentence.
so when you'd snapped, who could blame you?
when you snatched his sword from his very sheath and swiped it through the air. bladed it to his throat. a threat, a shaky promise. with your trembling hands and your snarling lips.
he didn't flinch.
and that's what frustrated you more.
a special grade sorcerer like himself, what could you possibly do?
you saw it in his eyes. he asked the question without even uttering a word. a calm confidence that eased from him in the arch of his brow and the unfaltering look on his face.
he was sure of himself. and even worse: unafraid of death.
truly, not your sweet boy anymore.
no sweetness in the way he stepped closer. no sweetness in his shadow that loomed over you. in the paleness of his neck that pushed closer to his blade.
“you want to kill me?” he asked. drawled, simple. as if asking about the weather, and not his life that was held in hands he clearly still wanted to kiss.
his hand shifted. long fingers curling around the blade. tight. unflinching. he yanked it closer. shoved his neck further. till the steel bit into his skin. into his fingers.
and even while you shook. while you gaped and hesitance faltered your grip— he stood there.
staring into your eyes. into your very soul.
he spoke clear. crystal. calm.
“do it properly, then.”
his face pressed further. digging deeper into the blade if it only meant to be closer to you.
not a blink. not a breath.
just brutal. bloody. devotion.
“kill me,” he breathed. cold lips brushing yours. his own blood dripping from his fingers. “just make sure to curse me a little.”
“The first time my eyes grazed your form, I knew what it meant to be ardently in love.”
ryuguji ‘draken’ ken x fem!reader
┌─ “ ! „ tw. dubcon/noncon, intoxicated sex, forced cheating, one (1) mention of drugs, ken has many feelings :((
He’s not gonna say it. He’s not going to utter a word, so help him God, because if he does he’s not sure what’ll come out.
With a quick grunt he slides his hands under your ass, pulling you up tighter against him while you giggle so beautifully and arch your back to get closer. He wants to say it though, wants to tattoo the words on every spare stretch of skin and make you read it out for every one. “Haj’me,” you mumble eagerly, tugging a bit harder at the bottom of his shirt when he makes quick work of sucking a possessive, mean mark into the base of your throat.
“There is no one who’s more loyal than me! I’m tied to you, just like you are to me.”
Kazutora x Reader
TW: Yandere, Delusional Thoughts and Behavior, Stalking, Coercion, Dub-Con (but nothing explicit), Violence and Blood, Very Slight Manga Spoilers
You don’t know much about Kazutora’s past. Frankly, you’re not sure if you want to know.
Even as attractive as he is, as wholesome as he appears on the surface surrounded by puppies and kittens, you can see the stitches barely holding his broken pieces together, a gleam of something dark and chaotic hiding behind sandy eyes. It certainly isn’t a vote of confidence in his favor when Chifuyu (arguably Kazutora’s biggest advocate, although there’s certainly a strange tension between the two men at times) warily hovers around the two of you when he notices Kazutora’s growing interest in you.
You’re not naive. You know it’s a dangerous game you’re playing, acting coy, pretending you’re unaware of how Kazutora sneaks more and more glances your way, a predatory look not unlike the gaze of the animal tattooed on his neck in his eyes. But what can you do?
Times are hard. Money is always short. So you took the first job you could and admittedly, working in a pet store is like a childhood come true. No matter how bad the weather is or how rude customers are, all it takes is some alone time in the backroom giving pets and receiving friendly licks to make any negative feelings or thoughts dissipate.
Kazutora will get bored if you don’t play into his feelings. You just need to wait it out.
Maybe you should have taken the chance to learn more about him. Maybe then you’d know that it was already game over when Kazutora turned his attention to you.
But you didn’t, so here you are now, terrified and trembling, Kazutora’s body crushing you against the hard wall of the alley he had dragged you into after secretly following you home.
“There is no one who’s more loyal than me! I’m tied to you, just like you are to me.”
The words of a madman. Absolutely delusional insanity. You know there’s no reasoning with him and yet you have to try, pleading with him to release you, desperately explaining that you don’t return his feelings.
But then you freeze, mouth instantly silencing when you feel him go eerily still, a chilling look in his eyes.
“Are you going to betray me too?”
You don’t know what ‘too’ refers to. But you do know that you don’t want to be associated with those skeletons of his past. Not if you want to continue living.
Self-preservation has you shakily wrapping your arms around his neck in a mocking imitation of a lover’s embrace, has you nervously pressing your lips against his. Frightened and relieved tears leak from the corners of your eyes when you feel him relax, feel him return your embrace. You grit and bear it when his hold borders too tight, when he bites down on your lip enough for the taste of copper to permeate your senses.
But it’s a small price for your life and you plaster a smile on your face when he finally pulls away, willing yourself not to flinch when he licks and moans at the taste of your wound, fighting the revulsion and hysteria inside of you at the easy, lazy smile gracing his lips. A look better suited for a couple in love than for a man who had practically threatened to kill you.
Then again, you suppose the two of you are a couple in love now and you let him hold your hand, not even bothering to question how he knows exactly where you live and the passcode to your apartment.
tw. dubcon/noncon, yandere, bullying, age gap, power imbalance, implied stalking
wordcount. 1k
read part 1 here or see the valentine's masterlist
gojo satoru x reader
It’s been a while since you’ve left the countryside for Tokyo. It’s been even longer since you had the displeasure of being locked up in a room with the people who stood by while your life — well, you want to believe you can leave old grudges lie. It’s been half a decade, and people change. As you wade through the group of people, mostly old classmates and their partners, you regret coming alone.
Your cold hands play with the flute of champagne, before you look up again.
He’s yet to take his eyes off of you.
White hair and those blinding, paradise blue eyes… apart from maybe one extra line next to his eyes, he still looks the exact same. You’re very aware you do not. You made a purposeful effort to remove anything that made you you the second you left Tokyo. But it doesn’t really surprise you all that much to see that he still recognises you. Gojo’s might just be surprised to see that you came at all. If you were smarter, you wouldn’t have.
It’s been long enough that you could’ve ignored the invite. Could’ve pretended like you didn’t know the class of cheery misfits, that you never got it at all. But Yuuta had sounded apologetic, and maybe somewhere deep down you wanted to believe that everything had changed. That you’d arrive and you wouldn’t feel the same helplessness you felt. Maybe seeing one of your beloved friend’s memorial pictures would mend things, and you could let go of the strings still pulling you back.
Being that it isn’t just a reunion, but a memorial too; there’s very little music to fill the space. It leaves everything awfully raw and exposed. Your shift the glass from holding, to placing, to holding again. Flutter your nervous fingers along the stem, as you flip through the picturebooks they’ve left on the table, alongside the framed picture of her. Before she was Yuuta’s flame, she was your friend— came to Tokyo Jujutsu High on the same train as you. You flip through some of the yearbook until you find a picture that makes you swallow tighter.
It’s you and her, Makki, Panda, Inumaki. And of course Gojo, white hair hanging loosely over his shades, his arms around Yuuta’s shoulders. You remember the day it was taken. You remember the way you’d brushed away your spilled tears and had puffed your chest out like none of it had any effect on you, and how you’d watched Yuuta ignore you through the gap in the door. While Satoru embarrassed you, humiliated you, threatened to ruin you. The more vile stuff had come only later; but you can’t help but think that if anyone had said something, none of it would have happened in the first place.
You wouldn’t have had to hide like a rat under the floorboards.
His scent spooks you before he can even make his presence known, has you bumping into the table of entrées when you turn. Your eyes meet his through the tinted glass, but it doesn’t take away from the intensity that stares back. A tad bit too wide to be comforting, a little too wild to feel familiar. You’re pinned like a bug under his towering shape, and though he smiles, you don’t feel it. Gojo Satoru’s even more unsettling than you gave him credit for. Something about distance making the heart grow fonder. “Hardly believe my eyes,” he chuckles, “I didn’t hear you’d swing by. It’s been a few years…”
You nod back, certain the smile doesn’t reach. “I quit, you can’t expect me to come by every few weeks. You’re all busy, and I decided our line of work wasn’t for me, so…”
He chuckles at that, and runs long fingers through his hair. “Even though we’re so understaffed?”
“Because we’re understaffed. Too many familiar faces.” If he catches your underhanded dig, he doesn’t show it. But Gojo was always good at hiding whatever was bothering him. “It’s good to see Miwa, Inumaki and Makki again.” Your eyes flick over his shoulder to another familiar face standing among their circle, but can’t make yourself say a nice word about him either. A few years ago you would’ve added him to the list too. But here, you can’t call him a friend. “Panda and the staff too.”
“You look really different. Wouldn’t surprise me if the staff didn’t recognise you.” He eyes you down for a few moments, before taking your drink out of your hands and downing it. Not even a question, he just takes. Like he can still scare you into owning every part of you. “But I guess if anyone was going to quit, it would’ve been you or Yuuta. Must’ve been hard after the funeral.”
It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s managing to twist your fondness back onto you. However much it hurt, that wasn’t the straw. No, it’s always been Satoru. He’s the reason you left. He already knows this. You don’t expect the picture-perfect smile he’s giving you to slip any time soon. “It was. Especially because I didn’t really have any support.” You glare at him just barely, before picking your now empty glass back up. “Following your lead and all.” It doesn’t bring you the resolution you hoped it’d bring.
Even when you watch him chew his tongue for a response, or when his eyes sink down your chest to your hands clasped around the flute. To the glittering stone on your finger. For once, he raises his eyebrows too high, eyes searching. Maybe he expected the threat of violence to stop you for longer. “Got married in your time away?” He’s quick to school his expression back, and if it wasn’t for the forced jerk of his mouth corners, you could believe he’d actually be happy for you.
“Engaged,” you force out. It’s the truth. It’s just that as soon as it’s out, you wish it right back. There’s something wrong with his eyes. “It’s been good catching up.” You would add some false pleasantries after, but Gojo would just take it as an invitation. “I’m going to talk to Miwa, haven’t seen her in years.” A hand wraps around your shoulder when you try to slip past him, gripping too tight. With one long step he almost forced you into the wall. His smart tongue presses against his teeth, before he softens his grip and lets you go.
“You look beautiful, baby. Missed your pretty eyes staring up at me like that.” You turn over your shoulder to glance at him instinctively, just long enough to watch the Cheshire grin slip onto his lips. Before he winks, and strides past you back towards the group — stopping only to brush his mouth past the shell of your ear when he dips. “Can’t wait to catch up. It’s been a long five years, hasn’t it?”
for @iwaasfairy's Cherry Velvet organised crime collab shh it's only a few weeks late
Yakuza Okkotsu Yuuta x female reader
w.c. 4.2k
tw: yandere themes, extreme dubcon, attempted assault, non-character death, mentions of blood, arson, nsfw, smut, implied stalking, this one's a doozy i think
His is not the first dead body you’ve seen.
The glassy eyes, neck bent at an unnatural angle, even the blood pooling beneath the gash on the back of his head, you hadn’t bothered to check for a sluggish, thready pulse. The fact that he hadn’t so much as twitched in the twenty minutes you’ve sat staring at him further solidifies your assessment.
Deader than dead.
On your living room floor. Because you shoved him.
Mid-thirties with slicked back hair and a cheap looking designer suit, everything about him from the thick gold chain around his neck to the equally tacky watch on his wrist screamed wanna-be gangster, dime a dozen ‘round here. Thugs with their first taste of money and power thinking they rule the damn world when in reality they’re a step above the gutters, on a fast track to ending up face down in a dumpster with the next asshole in line sweeping in to take their place before their body’s even cold.
From your few brief and extremely unpleasant interactions with this particular asshole, you doubt anyone’s gonna miss him too much.
Unfortunately for you, that isn’t the saving grace it should be.
Your fingers drum anxiously against your thigh, your gaze flickering from the dead body on your floor to the message typed up on your phone, ready to send.
I need your help, it’s an emergency. Please.
The last part was added somewhat begrudgingly. Deleted. Typed again. Calling him would be easier and would probably get him here faster, but despite the looming inevitability of it, the thought of actually speaking to him makes you want to shrivel up inside. If your back wasn’t against the wall–
But it is.
There’s no point stomping your feet and bemoaning your lack of a choice. You have choices and none of them are any good. With this one, maybe you’ll make it out of this mess in one piece.
Send.
You exhale in a gust and exactly none of the tension holding your body captive eases.
The text is a hail Mary at best, one that hinges on too many variables. You haven’t laid eyes on the man for three years – for all you know he’s holed up in prison. Besotted with one of the sultry singers from Gojo’s classier joints or some idiot heiress. Dead. Alive and too entrenched in the festering rot of your leaving to bother lifting a finger to help.
You’d like to think that even if he still bore a grudge, Yuuta wouldn’t abandon you if you begged, but any faith you have in the man you knew is wishful thinking at best. Three years is an aching chasm between you.
The clock ticks. Your leg bounces.
Should you try Gojo if Yuuta doesn’t answer? Would it be worth the pound of flesh he’d delight in watching you carve for him?
Tears sting at your eyes and furiously you blink them back.
The corner of your coffee table shines with blood, more of it seeping into the fibres of the blush flatweave rug you’d salvaged at a flea market years ago – one of the few pieces of home you’d brought with you when you ran.
Your phone vibrates and you snap to attention, holding your breath. Beneath your message, a tiny red heart appears, and then–
Where?
The relief that hits you feels like a gut punch. You fold in on yourself, forehead resting on your arms, and shudder out another breath. Texting back your address takes a minute because your hand won’t stop shaking and the stupid thing keeps autocorrecting the wrong words, but eventually you manage.
This time, the reply comes through in seconds.
Be there soon x
—
The quiet knock at the door shatters your already fragile nerves.
Much like with the shaking text message, it takes a moment or two for your muscles to move how you will them, unfolding and rising to your feet.
The dead body lies between you and the door, you give it a wide berth, skirting around the walls to reach the doorway. Peering through the peephole, you’re relieved to see the familiar face of your ex-boyfriend smiling back at you.
Relieved and a little unnerved, if you’re being totally honest.
Yuuta smiles with boyish innocence, a sweet natured soul incapable of causing harm. The sort of guy who walks old ladies across the street and helps lost, crying kids find their parents. He smiles and you’re twenty years old again, thinking your roommate was so full of shit, because there was no way this guy with puppy-dog eyes who blushed and stammered through introducing himself could possibly run in the same circles as her girlfriend Maki did.
You can’t even call it an act. Yuuta was kind and gentle and sweet when he came home to you with blood flecked over his shirt, the acrid bite of gunpowder still clinging to the fingers he’d trace over your lips.
But it could flip like a switch. Never around you, not if he could help it. You’d be out, settled in Yuuta’s lap at one of their clubs or restaurants when Gojo would come calling. Your sweet boyfriend would extricate you with a kiss, promise not to be too long, and nine times out of ten, his driver would end up taking you back to the penthouse, playing dumb to your requests he drive you home instead.
Just once, you decided to follow.
Yuuta knocks again, calling out your name, and you – clutching the door handle – you hesitate. Your hand refuses to move.
The door isn’t locked. The dead asshole on your rug hadn’t seemed all that concerned with security when he’d shouldered his way into your apartment, kicking it shut behind him. You’re the one who begged Yuuta to come, but the sight of him on your doorstep sends you back to that night, and the startling absence of humanity in your sweet, kind, gentle boyfriend as he sliced another guy’s hand off with a fucking katana.
You invited him, and now he’s here.
To help.
Lesser evils, you remind yourself. Yuuta never laid a finger on you you didn’t want. Against your better instincts, perhaps, you crack the door. “Hi.”
A pathetically inadequate greeting considering the circumstances, but Yuuta breaks into a relieved laugh, pushing the door wider to swallow you up in a near crushing embrace. “Hi, baby.”
While you don’t return the hug, you can’t exactly rebuff him either. You end up in an awkward middle ground – nestled stiffly against his chest with your hands curled into loose fists, hanging by your side. Yuuta doesn’t care. You get the sense that your tiny apartment could spontaneously combust, dead body included, and it wouldn’t drag him away from this.
“You should’ve called me sooner,” he mumbles into your hair, making your stomach flip uncomfortably.
It would’ve been easier if he’d come to you cold, you think. Ridden to the rescue begrudgingly, because he thought he owed it to you – one last favour to put the flaming disaster of your relationship to bed. You could’ve swallowed snide jibes and frustration far easier than the intimacy he’s trying to inspire with the hugs and the pet names.
“I… need your help.”
Finally, Yuuta draws back. Hands on your hips, thumbs working smooth circles into the sliver of bare skin between your skirt and the bottom of your top. Gunmetal eyes appraise you, narrowing at the tear in the neckline of your shirt, the bruise blooming on your cheek. For the first time since stepping foot in your apartment, Yuuta sees you.
The tension inside the room ratchets, violence crackling in the air.
“Yuuta–”
“Who is he?” Yuuta’s voice is level, but there’s no mistaking the lethal edge behind his dead-eyed expression.
“One of Naoya’s underlings. I don’t know his name,” you admit in a small voice. Delivering threats and roughing up women didn’t usually require a formal introduction. “There’s probably an ID in his wallet if you’re up for frisking a dead guy.”
Yuuta doesn’t laugh. “And why the hell would one of Zen’in’s cockroaches be at your apartment in the first place?’
Yuuta hadn’t laughed, but there’s no holding back the strained, bitter chuckle that escapes you.
“I didn’t run to him if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not stupid; Naoya’s the last person I’d ever get into bed with.” Second last, actually. “It started with mum after she got sick. Dad couldn’t keep a job, he was drinking a lot, gambling too, I think. It got worse after she died. When I went back I thought I could help him, but–” but he wasn’t interested in seeing his tainted daughter, much less accepting your help. Ironic, considering that he was the one who ended up entangled with Naoya. “I didn’t know he owed the Zen’ins. Not until that asshole,” your chin juts towards the dead guy, “showed up at his funeral a couple of months back to tell me I needed to settle his debts.” You shrug, “I ran a few days later, came here. I didn’t think they’d follow me back to Tokyo.” A small part of you hoped that hiding within Gojo’s territory would’ve afforded you some level of protection from Naoya and his thugs.
And maybe that might’ve been the case, had you not picked a run-down dump at the very edges of it.
Yuuta’s quiet for a beat. “I heard about your dad. DUI, right?”
It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in, and your stomach sinks with it. It’s funny how you don’t realise you’re clinging to the last vestiges of hope ‘til they slip clean from your grasp entirely and you’re in freefall. You’re tired, so damn tired of this. All the fear and the paranoia, the running and hiding, scraping by through the skin of your fucking teeth and for what? What was the point of it all when you never truly walked away? When you’ve ended up right back where you started, only this time you knew better, and it’s entirely your own fault.
“You’ve been keeping tabs,” you surmise, closing your eyes.
The warm palm that cups your jaw has you flinching, but Yuuta is nothing but gentle when his lips brush your cheek. “C’mon, we should go. I’ll get someone to take care of this, you don’t have to worry about a thing, okay? I’ve got you.”
He takes your hand then, lacing his fingers with your own. You pause long enough to snatch up your purse and then he’s leading you from the apartment, the quiet thud of the door closing behind you echoing in your head.
The gleaming black SUV waiting out front looks shockingly out of place in this neighbourhood, as does the suited driver who smoothly exits the vehicle to open the door for you both to slide in. Yuuta’s the one to pull your seatbelt across your chest and buckle you in, a safety precaution he doesn’t bother with for himself. The moment he’s settled, though, he reaches across the seat to steal your hand once more. You let him.
The engine purrs to life beneath you, the rhythmic clicking of the indicator filling the empty space between you as the driver wordlessly pulls out onto the road. “Where are we going?” you ask.
If it’s the club, or any of Gojo’s businesses for that matter, you think you’ll burst into actual tears. There’s nothing left inside of you to deal with Yuuta’s boss, or the uncomfortable, knowing looks from Maki and the others. All you really want right now is a long, hot shower with a comfortable bed to crawl into after.
“Home,” he promises.
The words should bring some modicum of relief, but they don’t. You can’t feel much of anything right now, weighed down by exhaustion, grief. While Yuuta flicks out his phone and begins to type a one-handed message, you allow your head to fall against the window, closing your eyes as the streetlights spin past you in a blur.
Home.
—
Laid out on Yuuta’s bed, a silk camisole and short set, baby blue and edged in lace greet you when you emerge from the ensuite bathroom at his new apartment.
The clothes you’d come in with are long gone, unceremoniously shoved into a trash bag for Yuuta to get rid of while you showered off the night’s events. When he’d said he’d find you something to sleep in, you were expecting an oversized tee, maybe, not lace covered sleepwear.
Mindlessly you slip them on, exhaustion quashing the noise in your head, and drag yourself back to the living room where Yuuta waits, splayed on the couch, thumbing through his phone.
Unlike you, he’s still dressed in the suit he showed up in, although he’s shed the jacket and his shirt’s now unbuttoned to his sternum, allowing a glimpse of the sprawling traditional japanese tattoos inked across his chest. The knot in the pit stomach tightens when he glances up at your arrival and his jaw goes slack.
Yuuta never used to frighten you, but there’s a dark, fervid gleam in his eyes as he drinks you and the teensy little pyjamas down that makes you feel hunted.
You’d run if you could. If you thought it might actually save you from this.
“Feel better?” he rasps.
Soundlessly, you nod.
He swallows. Licks his lips and clears his throat. “Good. Do you uh, want a drink?”
What you want more than anything is to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. For this to be a nightmare you can shrug off in the morning. To wake up twenty years old again, before you ever heard the name Zen’in Maki roll off your roommate’s tongue.
In the absence of that, alcohol will suffice.
“Yeah, sure.”
Sitting yourself gingerly on the edge of the couch, you watch as he first fixes a whiskey for himself and then retrieves a new bottle of sake to pour a glass for you.
“Thanks.”
Sake should be sipped, but as Yuuta settles onto the couch – not in the seat he’d previously vacated, but with his thigh pressing up against yours, his arm stretched over the back of the couch behind you – you knock it back in two mouthfuls, shuddering at the warm burn of alcohol sliding down your throat.
“Easy, baby,” he says, taking the glass from your fingers and setting it down on the coffee table. “You just need to relax a bit, huh? You won’t sleep when you’re all wound up like this, let me take care of you.”
Like a pretty little doll, you’re shifted and easily repositioned on his lap, your back to his chest, knees hooked over his own spread thighs. “I missed you. Every day, I missed you.” He draws back a few locks of your towel dried hair to lay a kiss, petal-soft, on your thrumming pulse. “I’m glad you called me tonight.” He chuckles sheepishly, buries his grin by hiding it in the crook of your neck, “Thought I was dreaming at first, seeing your message. Felt like a dream anyway.”
Your breath shutters at the heavy palm that cups your breast and gives a slow, considering squeeze, the other trailing tortuously down the silk front of your camisole to your shorts.
Another kiss, this time on the curve of your jaw.
Your participation in this act isn’t required, merely your silent acquiescence. You don’t have to do anything.
Tomorrow when the dust is settled and the body in your living room gone, you’ll set about putting some boundaries – distance – in place. Helping you isn’t an act of benevolence no matter how sweetly Yuuta sighs, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your tiny, silk shorts. Sex is a given, the rest; cohabitation, enduring the whims of his boss, sinking any further into the rot of that lifestyle (your hands are bloodied enough), doesn’t have to be.
There needs to be separation, somehow. You cannot give him everything.
But it’s a problem for tomorrow, when the edges of your nerves are not quite so raw. For now, the noise in your head eddies, the tempest raging beneath your skin tuned out.
Why fight against the inevitable?
Yuuta’s touch doesn’t hurt.
Your head lolls back on his broad shoulder, a shift of your hips more easily allowing his hand access to the warmth of your pussy. Though you aren’t wet – how could you be? – it hardly matters. Yuuta’s in familiar territory. No one’s spent the hours learning every inch of you the way Yuuta has. No one ever held that zealotry.
And he forgets none of it.
The slow heat he draws out, working his fingers over your sex, quickly remedies the situation. He always pays good attention to your clit, and when his middle finger slides into you, the walls of your pussy grip and shudder while he groans at the sensation. The slick sound it makes when he draws back has you cringing, but if he hears it, feels it, he gives no indication.
There’s no hiding your little gasp when his ring finger joins, crooking up inside of you, all the while the heel of his palm grinds against your throbbing clit. You buck. Bite down on your bottom lip. He tweaks at your nipple, pebbled into a bud, and you jerk in his grasp.
Through his pants, his hardening cock twitches insistently against the cleft of your ass, reminding you, in case you’d at all forgotten, exactly where this is heading.
His mouth is on your neck again, teeth flirting with the idea of sinking into soft, delicate skin, marking you as his, offering yet another taste of you. His thumb strokes your thigh.
“Take them off– good girl,” Yuuta pants as you lift your hips obediently, his fingers still notched inside you, and tug at the silk shorts, letting them slide down your legs and fall gracelessly to the floor.
Slick dribbles down his fingers from your cunt. The way Yuuta moans your name and curses at the sight of it would be enough for shame to swallow you whole, if not for the liquid surge of heat that floods through you when those wickedly clever fingers of his find your g-spot.
“Yuuta!” you cry out–
–and whatever self control he’s left shatters into a thousand pieces.
You hear the hiss of his zipper and another curse – all the warning you’re given before he’s manhandling you once more, this time to turn you around on his lap. Twin flushes of colour burn high on his cheekbones, a glassy, feverish look in his eyes as familiar to you as it is foreign. As terrifying as it is visceral.
Your stomach swoops.
There’s a moment, a brief space in time you’re afforded to collect yourself, before his hips jerk upwards at the same time wet fingers sink into the plush of your middle and drag you down. Your breath’s robbed of you, knocked clean from your lungs at the sudden fullness within, his cock stretching you open and filling you deep.
“Fuck!” you gasp, your nails clawing at his back.
With your knees now settled onto the couch on either side of him, riding him would be easy if that’s what he wanted. He doesn’t. You could be a ragdoll, soft and pliable in his grip for the way he sets about bouncing you on his cock, only you’re meeting each punch of his hips with a roll of your own, chasing the delicious heat sparking from the friction against your clit. A hand splayed over your asscheek squeezes and urges you on. Yuuta leans forward to capture your lips in a sloppy, demanding kiss.
The sex is messy, jagged edges and discordance. Tenderness swiftly devolves into desperation.
You’re stretched around him, panting and sweaty, clinging to the fabric of his shirt, and it isn’t enough. There’s an edge of pain that creeps in, his treatment just a little too rough as he fights to fuck you deeper, to carve himself a place within you you can’t overwrite.
Your thighs shake. Yuuta’s grip flexes at the mere hint of rejection. Come morning you’ll be an artwork of mottled fingerprints, but you won’t shy away from him here.
The savage, needy noises that spill from him between kisses, the lewd squelching of his cock rabbiting into you from below, they feed the hot puddle of shame burning in your belly. And yet through the bite of his cock dragging through you, the roiling beneath your skin, hot pleasure snakes through your veins, undeniable. Inescapable.
You can’t remember the last release brought about by another person. Some drunken hookup, probably, a faceless one night stand that slipped from your mind the moment you crept out the door. You ache for this as much as you dread it.
He knows it, too.
“I need you,” Yuuta’s ragged plea becomes a chant. “I need you, I need you, fuck, I–”
Hips surging, the maddening angle of his length driving into you, and the silken heat of your own cunt fluttering and squeezing around every intrusion, it drives you both to a frantic crescendo. Pleasure spools in your gut, a sweet agony that winds tighter and tighter.
Your back arches, toes curling against his thighs. A soundless cry tears its way free as your orgasm crashes over you, blind pleasure rippling through you like the waves of an aftershock. You clamp down on Yuuta’s cock and his whole body shudders in turn, collapsing against your heaving chest as hot spurts of cum flood your quivering, aching pussy.
When Yuuta falls back to the cushions of the couch, he drags you with him. Beads of sweat slide down his tattooed chest, disappearing beneath his shirt he hadn’t bothered to shed. Yuuta doesn’t care about his disheveled state, much less your own, settling you back into his chest, cock still stuffed inside of you, to press a lingering kiss to your temple. “Feel better?”
“Yeah,” you lie. And then, after a beat, “Thank you for showing up tonight.”
Slow knuckles trail up and down the length of your spine as Yuuta leans forward to retrieve his forgotten glass of whiskey. “For you, I’ll always come running.”
—
Yuuta’s in the shower when you wake late in the morning.
He mentioned last night – or early today, you suppose – something about getting you clothes for the day. You can see a bundle of fabric waiting for you at the foot of the bed, what looks like a dress and some underwear, but you’re in no rush to rise and play dress up.
Not until the shower’s free at least. Your thighs are still tacky with his cum.
Besides, whatever plans Yuuta has for the day, first stop on your list is going back to your apartment. Even that thought sits unpleasantly; the desire nonexistent to return to the home you were assaulted in, to walk over the blank space on the floor where your favourite rug used to lie and remember the blood that spilled there.
You can’t stay here, though. You know that much.
Reaching blindly for the nightstand, you fumble for the phone Yuuta plugged in to charge last night. There’s no messages or missed calls, which is hardly surprising. The friendships were fleeting when you bounced from place to place and god knows your extended family won’t speak to you anymore.
There’s a news alert in your stack of useless app notifications and you almost, out of habit, swipe it away without a second thought, until your eye catches the headline.
Fourteen dead, three hospitalised in Tokyo apartment blaze.
Every drop of your blood turns to ice.
There’s probably hundreds of thousands of apartment blocks within the city. Millions, even. Your hand trembles as you click on the link to the article. The seconds that pass waiting for the story to load crawl, compounded by the off-kilter thudding of your heart.
It can’t be.
He wouldn’t, he–
The video at the top of the page begins to play; firefighters dousing the burnt out, smoldering husk of a building with huge hoses amidst flashing blue and red lights of emergency vehicles.
The same building you drove away from last night, after Yuuta promised he’d take care of things.
You watch in open mouthed horror as the video switches to the inside of a newsroom, the grim faced anchor speaking soundlessly as pictures of the victims flash on the screen. Hot tears spring to your eyes as you take them in, one after another, each new victim another knife twisting in your chest. When a photo of a mother and her two young boys appears, you clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle a choked sob.
Hot tears stream down your face, your whole body shaking like a leaf. You want to throw up. The sound of your heart pounding fills your ears, deafening you to all else.
And then–
You. An old picture; you in your graduation gown, beaming behind a gorgeous bouquet of peonies. Happy and carefree in a way you haven’t been for years.
A victim, burned up in the fire with all the others. Dead.
The phone drops from limp fingers at the same time the bathroom door cracks and Yuuta’s voice floats out.
