Love Blooms And Rots

I’m Kat, 28, She/her, age in bio please or you’ll be blocked, on AO3 as LovelyWrites, my main is LovelyKatBlogs

[lovelyrots]

𝕎𝕖𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖! 𝕀’𝕞 𝕂𝕒𝕥, 𝕒𝕘𝕖 28, 𝕤𝕙𝕖/𝕙𝕖𝕣

𝔸𝕟𝕪 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝕠𝕣 𝕒𝕘𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕕. 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕟𝕤𝕗𝕨 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥.

𝔸𝕤𝕜𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕤𝕠 𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕔𝕜 𝕞𝕪 𝕣𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 18 𝕠𝕣 𝕠𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕣

ℝ𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤 | 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕤 | 𝔸𝕆3 | 𝕄𝕪 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝔹𝕝𝕠𝕘

𝕄𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜 -

𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕪

𝕆𝕡𝕚𝕦𝕞 𝔹𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕

𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕄𝕖 ℕ𝕠𝕥

𝔹𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕀𝕟 𝕊𝕙𝕠𝕨

[lovelyrots]

Opium Blood

Sequel to A Certain Addiction

yandere Vampire Aizawa x fem!Reader

Word Count- 8.1k

Content Warnings - yandere, referenced/implied noncon and past noncon, blood (mild), drugging, Stockholm syndrome, delirium, and hallucinations

A/N: I have nothing to say besides, Happy Halloween! Now, I'll just disappear for another year while I write my own cosmic horror book /hj

Your eyes struggle to stay open as you read the same line over and over, your mind refusing to focus on the book in your hands and instead wishing for sleep. You didn’t want to sleep, this is the only time you’re left alone; no thirsting vampiric bastard around means you can finally try to feel like yourself again.

Yet you can’t fight the urge to just curl up on the bed and sleep. Drift off into the darkness of sleep, away from Shota Aizawa and his lusts.

You’re not sure when exactly he returns from his daily trips out of the lonely house—though mansion would be a better way to describe the needlessly large abode. You’ve only met one other being during your captivity here, a young man that Shota introduced to you as his pupil and adoptive son.

The fang that poked out between his lips was all you needed to know about Hitoshi, you’ve felt one vampire’s poison more than enough times to know that he would be nothing but trouble also.

After failing to read the same line again, you finally decide to stop fighting the need to sleep and set your book down on the coffee table in front of you before laying against the plush cushions of the sofa. Your eyes have just closed when you feel a hand creeping along your back and hold in a groan.

“Please not now, I don’t feel good.” You manage to mumble out just as his freezing hand makes it to your throat, feeling around for your pulse. “Probably because you haven’t touched your drink. You’re becoming anemic, and yet you refuse to drink or eat anything that’ll help you.”

Like a child.

You know that’s what he’s thinking, even if he doesn’t say it. Even though it’s his fault you’re anemic, the constellation of bite marks along your thighs from his latest blood craze were proof of that.

“Just try and drink something.” Then his touch is gone and you open your eyes about to talk back, but you were completely alone. Nothing in the room was moved and the door was still shut. “Shota?” You call out, expecting him to be just outside the door, but you’re met with complete silence. You slowly sit up, the walls seeming to move in the corners of your eyes, and call out once more.

When you got no answer still, you rise to your cold feet and stumble to the door, clutching at the wall to keep from falling over. “Shota? Are you there?” Tentatively, you grab the handle and turn it- expecting the door to be locked anyway- but you softly gasp as the door gives and you nearly trip as you back up.

“I must be dreaming again. He’s never left it unlocked.” You can't help but stare off into the dark hall, half expecting him to grow out of the shadows and drag you to bed. When nothing lunges out at you, you take a tentative step into the hall. Then another and another until you're looking down a set of stairs overlooking the front door.

Is he watching? Waiting for you to try and escape to fulfill some weird predator kink? Or is this simply a dream and the second you open that door, will you just wake up stuck in that bedroom still?

Your hand lingers on the banister, fingers trembling as they brush the cold wood. The scent of aged lacquer and something iron-sweet lingers faintly in the air, like a whisper of him. The house groans somewhere above you, an old pipe or a settling beam—but in this silence, every sound feels deliberate. Alive.

You descend the steps with careful, almost reverent hesitation. Each one creaks beneath your bare feet like it’s betraying you. Telling him.

The front door looms ahead, tall and pale in the moonlight filtering through the stained-glass window above. You stare at the ornate brass lock. Unlatched. Another impossibility. The last time you tried to touch it, your wrist had been broken. Clean. Precise. Tenderly reset by the same hands that shattered it.

Your throat tightens.

You inch closer, head swimming. Whether it’s the anemia or the dread, you don’t know. The edges of your vision pulse in and out like blinking lights, and for a second the hallway sways around you. A whisper. Your name. Maybe.

You whip around, heart rattling in your ribs, but there's no one there. Just the dark curve of the stairs behind you and the open door upstairs like a yawning throat.

It’s too quiet.

He never leaves it quiet.

You turn back to the door, every instinct screaming at you to run, to leap for it and tear it open with your last ounce of strength. But your body doesn’t obey. You just stand there, trembling, sweating, and swaying like a reed in wind that isn’t there.

And then the scent hits you.

That same biting sweetness. A breath of blood and earth and cold silk sheets.

He's here.

You spin again, stumbling, catching yourself on the back of a chair. Your breath wheezes out of you in panic as your eyes scan the shadows pooling in the corners of the foyer, under the archways, at the base of the stairs.

Nothing.

No one.

But it feels like him.

Your fingers grip the edge of the table beside you as the world tips again. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will it away—but when you open them, your vision tunnels and there he is.

At the top of the stairs.

Not a sound. Not a word.

His eyes glow faintly in the dark, narrowed. Watching. You can’t move.

He doesn’t need to speak. That stare is enough. Possessive. Disappointed. Curious. The silence stretches until it hurts, like a scream trapped between your ribs. "You got this far," he murmurs, finally. His voice doesn’t echo, it folds into the space like velvet, warm and suffocating. "But you didn’t open it. Why?"

You can’t answer.

He begins to descend. Slowly. Deliberately. Barefoot. His loose shirt hangs open, and even in the dark you can see the faint sheen of your blood dried at his collarbone. "I thought you wanted to leave," he says, steps creaking one by one beneath him. "Isn’t that what you dream about? Running. Screaming. Dying in the sunlight like it’ll cleanse you of me."

He’s almost at the bottom now. You step back instinctively. He tilts his head. "So why are you still here, Y/N?" He knows why. He knows what he’s done to you. What he’s made you into. Something between a lover and livestock. A cherished doll. An addict. "I…" Your voice breaks. Your lips are dry and cracked, tongue heavy. "I didn’t think… it was real."

Aizawa reaches the last step and stops. His silhouette looms tall, lean, monstrous in its elegance. He studies you in silence, gaze flicking from your trembling legs to your clenched fists.

"That’s because it’s not."

You blink and the door is gone. Not just closed—gone. A wall now, like it had never been there to begin with. You choke on a sob as your knees threaten to give. "No," you whisper. "No, I saw it. I touched it-" "You’re delirious." He crosses the last bit of space between you, his hand coming up to cup your jaw. Cold. Firm. Not cruel. Just final. "I should feed you. But you’ve been so stubborn." Your pulse jumps beneath his fingers. He smiles faintly, like it amuses him. Or saddens him. Maybe both.

"You think if you starve yourself, I’ll let you die." His thumb brushes your lower lip. "But I won’t. I’ll just fix you again. And again. Until you learn." You want to scream. To hit him. To claw your way out of this gilded hell. But your strength left days ago. Weeks ago, maybe. All that's left is the trembling shell of you. “I left it unlocked on purpose,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your temple. “I wanted to see if you still remembered what fear feels like.”

You don’t cry. You’ve already forgotten how.

He guides you gently back toward the stairs, arm wrapped around your waist, murmuring soft things you can’t hear over the ringing in your ears. You don’t resist. You never really did. Upstairs, the bed is waiting. Still warm.

Still stained.

The sheets smell like him.

Always.

Even when they’re washed. Even when the room is aired out, candles lit and curtains drawn wide, there’s no masking it. The scent lives in the fibers, in the mattress, in the bloodied threads of your being. You lie still, back to the cold pillow, as he arranges you how he wants.

One leg stretched out towards him, fresh bruises waiting to bloom along it, one leg hanging over the bed. Arms at your sides.

Like a corpse waiting for final rites.

Aizawa tucks the blanket around you. It’s soft. Heavy. A false kindness. He brushes hair from your face and kisses your forehead like he’s tucking in a child. "Sleep now. You're shaking."

You are. Trembling so hard your teeth click together. Not from fear anymore, but from exhaustion. Blood loss. Maybe even withdrawal. Your limbs feel hollow, filled with nothing but cold syrup. You don’t speak. You don’t even blink when the syringe prick at your arm presses in and your veins flood with warm, humming calm.

"Something mild," he murmurs, thumb stroking your inner elbow. "Just enough to keep you quiet for a while." Your lips part, but nothing comes out. He disappears into the dark again. Not gone. Never gone. Just…unseen.

The room tilts. You stare at the ceiling. It moves. Not in a way you can describe. Just...pulses. Like it breathes. The chandelier above you sways gently, though there's no draft, no tremor. Each crystal sparkles differently. You count them. Lose track. Count again.

Fifty-seven.

Fifty-seven.

Fifty-seven.

Your eyes drift closed, and you’re falling. But the bed holds you in place. You dream in the split second between heartbeats, a rustling of feathers in the walls. A pair of red eyes behind the mirror. The wet sound of blood dripping under the floorboards.

You're not asleep. You know that. You can’t be. But everything around you moves like molasses. Too slow. Too thick. You blink. The room is darker than it was before.

You blink again. He's sitting at the edge of the bed. Or is it the chair? His outline flickers. "Shota?" you whisper.

No answer.

You stare at him. His silhouette doesn’t move. But his hair floats slightly, like it's underwater. You know that isn’t possible. You know it. But knowing doesn't matter anymore. He speaks without opening his mouth.

"You're mine."

Your ears ring. Pressure builds in your head like you’re underwater, and someone’s pressing down on your chest, gently, rhythmically. A lullaby in your bones.

You lie still. Too heavy to move. Too light to feel real. Your head drifts to the side like it's being guided, not by you, but by the softness of the pillow pulling you down. The mirror across the room stares back, its dark surface swallowing the faint candleglow like a silent mouth.

At first, it’s empty.

Just you; paler than you feel, slack, eyes hollow and glassy. Body sinking into the mattress like it's claiming you. Then he appears. Not in the room.

Only in the glass.

Aizawa stands behind your reflection, tall and unmoving, head bowed slightly as if studying you. His hair rises and shifts in slow, unnatural currents, drifting around him like strands suspended underwater.

He is silent.

The air does not change. The mattress does not dip. There is no sound of footsteps or breath or clothes rustling.

He simply is.

Your breath locks in your throat. The quiet swells, thick and suffocating. Your pulse thuds weakly at your neck, a sluggish, fragile flutter, and in the mirror his hand lifts, fingers stretching toward your throat.

Your real throat tingles before his reflection touches you. A phantom chill, spreading under your skin. No pressure yet, just the sensation of being claimed by proximity alone. Of something cold and ancient remembering the shape of you. The hand in the reflection rests on your neck, thumb hovering over your pulse. In the room, nothing touches you.

And yet you feel heat gather there. Not warmth—hunger disguised as tenderness. You try to swallow. Your throat trembles. The mirror‑Aizawa leans closer, face near your hair. You see the dark sweep of his lashes, the way his lips part just enough to breathe you in, the devotion in the gesture so intense it borders worship, or starvation. Your scalp prickles. Your limbs tingle, like your nerves aren't sure whether to collapse or bolt.

You do neither. You can’t.

His mouth moves near your ear in the reflection. His breath misting the space between image and skin. You swear you feel it, a cold whisper sliding down your neck like silk dragged across exposed nerves. No sound leaves his lips. But meaning bleeds into your bones anyway.

Mine.

The chandelier hums above you. A long, syrup‑slow vibration.

You blink—once, twice—and his reflection is suddenly closer, cheek to yours, his hair brushing your shoulder as if he’s leaning over you from a height that doesn’t exist in this reality.

You try to lift your hand, to touch your own throat, to prove there’s nothing there. Your fingers twitch and fail.

You don't own your body right now. Not enough blood left in you to command it. Not enough self left in you to believe you ever did.

In the mirror, his nose trails down the side of your jaw. Almost tender. Almost gentle. The way someone would handle a fragile thing they intend to keep — not because they care about it, but because losing it would inconvenience them.

You feel the impression of lips at your temple. Not cold. Not warm. Just there.

The touch is so light it could be memory or sedative or hallucination or something worse — something real beneath reality. You inhale sharply, a broken startled sound, and the reflection pauses, as if savoring it. As if your fear is a flavor.

Then he looks at you through the mirror. Directly into your eyes. Not your reflection's eyes. Yours.

The connection punches through your consciousness like a nail hammered into soft wood.

Your vision blurs. Your body sinks deeper. The room breathes again—slow, patient, certain.

Your lips tremble around a whisper that barely exists.

“…Shota?”

The reflection smiles, slow and soft, with no warmth and no cruelty, only inevitability. And then he is gone.

Just the mattress beneath you. The ceiling above. The dark pressing in around the edges.

Alone.

Except you never really are here. That's the worst part.

Something presses the sheets down near your shoulder, the weight of a hand that isn’t visible. A sigh brushes your ear. It sounds like silk tearing.

Sleep pulls at you in long threads, tugging you downward. Your limbs riot between floating and sinking. Your thoughts scatter like moths trying to flee a wild flame.

You stare at the ceiling, unblinking, breath shallow and spaced out like you’re forgetting how to do it. A voice curls in the back of your mind, not quite his, not quite yours, soft and certain:

'You won’t leave. You never will.'

And somewhere across the room, in the mirror’s dark surface, something shifts.

Watching.

Waiting.

Patient.

The ceiling pulses to a beat you can’t place.

Not at first.

It’s too far off. Like it’s coming through a wall, or from outside—filtered, muffled, distorted by distance and time. Then it hits you.

A song.

Faint. Echoing. The bassline thumps low and slow like a heartbeat. Synth shimmer spiraling up and around you, familiar and wrong.

It was playing the night you vanished.

The last song you tried dancing to. The last time your body was your own.

The lights had been flashing—blue, violet, red. Neon bleeding across sweat-slick skin and glittered lips. Your friend had gone to dance with some guy. You were laughing, weren't you? You remember laughing.

And then—

The song ends abruptly in your head, like a record scratch.

Now the only light is the faint blue LED from the corner speaker he installed. Modern. Bluetooth. Always playing something quiet, curated. He likes silence but not total silence, he says it makes you twitch.

But tonight, it’s static.

The kind that sneaks in during a dead channel. Not loud. Just enough to feel like someone is listening on the other side. You blink up at the ceiling again, and it isn’t plaster anymore. It’s flickering LED panels. Cold and white. Hospital-bright.

No, fluorescent.

Like in gas stations at 2 a.m. You squint. It shifts back. Now it's wood-beamed.

Now it's stars.

Now it's him.

His face, just above you, wide and flat across the entire ceiling, hair falling like wires, eyes black as dead screens.

You shut your eyes.

The song returns. Louder now. You can hear the lyrics but they’re warped, dragging like audio played backward. You try to hum it under your breath. Your tongue is thick. Too dry. The taste in your mouth is electric, like cheap vodka and blood.

You open your eyes again. The ceiling is gone. Just darkness.

And then—

A hand slides over your ankle.

You jolt. A breath jerks through your lungs like a glitch. Your head rolls toward the foot of the bed, vision pixelating around the edges.

He’s there.

Not in a shadow, not in a dream, not behind a screen. Aizawa, crouched at the edge of the bed, sweatshirt sleeves pushed up to the elbows, collar loose around his neck like it's been tugged at and washed a thousand times. His eyes glow faintly in the blue LED wash, glassy and liquid like cracked phone screens.

"Still awake," he murmurs. You can’t answer. You’ve forgotten how. He slides up the bed beside you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, the smell of cold skin and something faintly chemical clinging to him, like ozone after a storm. Or iron.

“You’ve been dehydrated for days,” he says, reaching for something off the nightstand. You hear the soft mechanical whir of a mini-fridge drawer opening nearby.

A water bottle clicks. Not plastic. One of the metal ones. Always chilled. He lifts your head with practiced ease, uncaps the bottle, holds it to your lips.

You drink, because you always have.

The water tastes faintly of something herbal. You know it's spiked. It always is. Whatever blend he uses makes your limbs feel like warm rubber. Pliable. Slow. He watches you drink, expression unreadable.

"Good girl."

He says it without irony. Without affection. Just certainty.

The bottle is gone, but the weight of him stays.

“You tried the door,” he says quietly. “Did you think the lock would be mechanical? Cute.” You don’t reply. You can’t. Your throat tightens. He leans in, face close, breath like mint and blood. “There’s no key anymore. Just me.” His fingers brush your cheek. Then slide under your jaw. Tilt your face toward him. "You remember the song, don’t you?"

You blink.

He smiles, soft and nostalgic. “I remember watching you. You were glowing. Laughing. You looked right at me across the room and smiled like you knew me.”

"I didn't."

"You do now."

The lights flicker again. In the corner of your eye, the speaker changes color. Pulsing red. A beat starts up. Faint. Just like before. The bass low enough to vibrate the bed frame. He presses his forehead to yours.

“You’ve been sick without me,” he whispers. “They all get sick when they try to resist. But I can fix it. You don’t have to fight anymore.” You feel your head nod.

Just once.

Not because you agree, but because you’re tired. And he’s still the only real thing in the room. Isn't he?

He slides in beside you fully now, arms wrapping around you from behind. His shirt smells like rain and your own dried blood. His breath moves slow and steady against the back of your neck.

Your phone is still on the nightstand.

Dead.

He keeps it charged sometimes. When he wants you to scroll. To see how long you’ve been gone. To remember what you’ve lost.

But tonight, the screen glows without a sound.

A text notification blinks on.

An unknown number.

[1:31 AM] are you still there?

Your breath catches.

But by the time you blink again, the screen is black.

And his voice curls around your ear like a wire, tightening.

"Sleep. No one’s looking anymore."

And this time, you don’t hear the music fade.

You just feel the bed swallowing you whole.

The next time you wake, it's quiet. Not the kind of silence that soothes. The kind that listens. The kind that waits.

The room is dim, lit only by a soft amber glow from the wall sconce—one of those faux-antique Edison bulbs he insists on using. You’ve forgotten how it feels to see sunlight. Your sense of time has eroded, rotted, dissolved into the same dust that clings to the corners of this house. You feel okay.

That’s the worst part.

No pain. No nausea. No buzzing in your ears. No heartbeat pounding behind your eyes. Just stillness. Your body doesn't ache the way it should. No throbbing from the bites. No burning in your throat. Even your limbs feel less like lead.

He's done something, again.

You blink slowly, head sinking deeper into the pillow. You’re dressed in one of those oversized cotton t-shirts he puts you in when you’re too weak to bathe yourself. You hate that you recognize them by feel alone. You sit up, gingerly, and notice the tray on the bedside table.

Steel. Simple. Hospital-clean.

One white ceramic mug. Steam curling gently upward.

One glass tumbler, filled with a dark, viscous red blend.

One pill, pale blue, resting in a small porcelain dish.

One folded note.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the note, thumb brushing the faint imprint of his handwriting.

“Drink slowly. Take the pill after. I’ll be home soon. Don’t stand too fast. You’re still healing. —S.”

You stare at the note until the ink starts to blur.

Healing. You don't even remember breaking.

The mug smells like honey and clove. Tea. The same blend he fed you the first week, when you still flinched at his voice. The first thing you kept down after the venom subsided. You sip it. Carefully. And wait for the walls to breathe again.

They don’t. Not yet.

The second drink, the red one, goes down thick and slow. It’s not human. You know that. He’s said before that when you’re too weak to give, he mixes synthetic with just enough of his blood to stabilize you.

But you taste yourself in it anyway.

You take the pill.

And wait.

The minutes crawl by, slow as molasses bleeding down glass. You stare at your knees. The way the shirt pools around your thighs. The faint bite marks and bruises peeking out from under the hem. Every mark on your skin has his name burned into it, even if he never says it out loud.

Your hand lifts to your neck. A bandage. Fresh.

You don’t remember the last time he fed. But it doesn’t matter. He always feeds when you sleep. Always cleans the wound. Always kisses it when he thinks you won’t remember.

You lie back. Stare at the ceiling again.

Still quiet.

Still wrong.

Then, soft footsteps.

Not real. Not loud. But real enough.

Your stomach tightens. Breath catching. But it’s him. You know it’s him.

And when the door opens, your body relaxes against your will. Like it’s been trained to. Like it’s safer to. Aizawa enters with his usual stillness. Hoodie off, sleeves rolled, dark shirt loose. No coat tonight. No scent of the outside world. Just cold skin, clean breath, and that ever-present shadow under his eyes.

"You're awake," he says simply, voice low and rough from disuse. "Good. You drank everything?" You nod. "Stood up yet?" You shake your head. "Don’t. Not until tomorrow."

He crosses the room, silent as always. Sits beside you on the edge of the bed, eyes scanning you like a checklist. He reaches out, fingers ghosting over your wrist, then your jaw, then the bandage.

You flinch.

He pauses.

“I didn’t take much this time.” You don’t respond. Your silence is safe now. Expected. He watches you for a moment, then sighs. Quiet. Not frustrated. Just…tired. But not in the way humans get tired. His hand moves to your head. Fingers combing gently through your hair.

“You looked peaceful when you slept,” he murmurs. “Like you weren’t trying to leave anymore.” Your eyes prick with tears you didn’t mean to summon.

He notices.

“I don’t want to scare you. I never did.” His voice softens. “But I won’t let you go, either. That hasn’t changed.” He leans in, pressing his lips to your temple. You close your eyes.

This is safer. This is easier. This is what you deserve. This is what he needs.

You let your body melt under the weight of him. His hand drifts to your back, warm where it shouldn't be. Comforting in a way it shouldn’t be.

“I could take more tonight,” he says softly. “But I won’t. You’ve been good.” Your throat tightens.

“Thank you,” you whisper, barely audible. He smiles into your hair. There’s no lock on the door tonight, but there doesn’t need to be.

You wake again to warmth.

Filtered sunlight leaks through the sheer curtains; too soft to be natural, too perfect to be accidental. He likes to make the mornings look real, sometimes. Gentle, sterile, kind. Like this is a house, not a cage.

Soft piano hums from a speaker in the corner. No lyrics. No beat. Just chords echoing faintly through the high ceilings. Someone once told you piano was a vampire’s favorite; timeless, undemanding, melancholic.

You sit up, slower this time.

No pain.

No dizziness.

You feel…clear.

But you know better than to trust it.

The bedroom door is already open. That means he wants you to walk out. That means today, he wants to play house. You rise. The t-shirt falls past your thighs. Still warm from sleep. You slide your feet into the black slippers he left at the edge of the bed and pad out into the hall.

The house is too quiet. Still, it hums beneath the silence like a breathing thing. The lights come on in response to your steps, low and golden. The same antique-style ones he prefers, even in a house full of wireless controls. Downstairs smells like cinnamon and coffee and something else; sweet, red, faintly metallic.

The kitchen is alive.

Modern. Sleek. Dark counters, polished appliances. A pot of tea steaming on the stove top. A plate of sliced apples on the counter, fanned out with surgical precision. Another glass of your usual mix, waiting beside it.

He stands at the sink, facing away from you.

Hair tied back. Hoodie on. Mug in hand.

You don’t speak. You don’t move. He speaks first, like always.

"Morning." His voice is calm. No edge. No tension. “You’re doing better today.” You nod, though he isn’t looking. He finally turns, and there’s that expression again, gentle concern, but sharp beneath the surface. “I thought you’d like to sit in the sunroom today. Vitamin D therapy. Artificial, but effective.” He gestures to the hallway.

You obey.

The sunroom is warm. Lit by a full-spectrum lamp masked behind faux skylights. The air is freshened. The furniture too plush. There’s a white blanket draped over the chair you always sit in, and as soon as you enter, the bluetooth speaker in the corner shifts to something new—

A low throb of bass. A whisper of synth. That song.

Your stomach lurches.

You turn toward him, heart kicking once.

His gaze sharpens.

“What is it?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

You stare at the speaker like it’s about to split open.

And the room begins to change.

You blink, and the chair is velvet. Purple. Sticky with spilled drinks.

You blink again, and you’re back at the club.

It smells like sweat and alcohol and too much perfume. Music warps around your ears, strobing in and out like a dying radio station. Bodies sway. Lights flash red-blue-red. You taste cherry lip gloss on your tongue. Someone’s laughter rings just behind you.

You look down, your outfit is different.

Short dress. Stamped wristband. Purse strap digging into your shoulder.

Your feet move without permission. Back toward the bar. You see him before you know it’s him. Not dressed like the others. No glam. No eyes begging to be seen. Just a black coat. Messy hair. Eyes fixed on you like he never stopped looking.

You try to turn away—

—but someone catches your wrist.

Another man.

Young.

Lavender hair. Tired eyes. A crooked smile.

“I wouldn’t,” he says quietly, though the music blasts around you. “He gets… possessive.” You stare at the boy. He doesn’t let go. “You don’t remember this part,” he adds, voice low. “But I do.”

You blink—

—and the club dissolves like fog.

You’re back in the sunroom.

Back in the chair.

The blanket is over your lap. The tea is warm in your hands.

Across from you, Hitoshi sits with one leg crossed over the other, sipping from a dark mug.

His eyes glint faintly in the synthetic light.

“Hi, kitten,” he says, same tired smile. “Been a while.”

You freeze.

He shouldn’t be here. You glance toward the door. Aizawa stands at the edge of the room, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching. Not angry.

Just measuring.

“She’s lucid,” Hitoshi says, not looking away from you. “Sort of. I didn’t push.” "You always push," Aizawa says quietly.

“She’s strong.”

“She’s fragile.”

“She’s both,” Hitoshi says, tilting his head. “Isn’t that what you like?” You stare at Hitoshi. You remember him from the club. Just once. A flash of him beside Aizawa. Laughing. Watching.

"Why are you here?" you whisper, voice raw. He smiles wider. Not unkind. Not kind. “To see what you’ve become.”

A pause.

“To see how far you’ve sunk.”“Enough,” Aizawa’s voice cuts in, gentle, but firm.

Hitoshi doesn’t flinch. He rises from the chair, sets his mug down on the side table, stretching languidly like a cat in the sun. “She’s almost ready,” he says softly. “You should feed again soon. Dreams are getting harder to contain.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“I know you will.”

Hitoshi leans down, closer to you. His breath fans your cheek. “If you ever want out, really want out…” he murmurs, so soft Aizawa might not hear. “Don’t scream. Don’t run. Just open a window.”

You blink.

He's gone, the chair is empty, and the second mug is gone. You look at Aizawa. He’s watching you. Quiet. Still. Calculating.

“Was he really here?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer and you realize not just your tea has gone cold.

You don’t remember walking back upstairs.

But you’re lying on the bed again, back against soft sheets, blanket pulled to your hips, the world pressed in close around you like cotton in your ears. Aizawa sits beside you, unmoving. Watching you in that way he does; quiet, steady, patient, as though you’re something fragile he’s afraid to breathe wrong on. Or something precious enough to handle like glass.

Your pulse flutters in your throat, uneven. He notices.

“You’re drifting,” he murmurs, voice low, steady. “Your levels are dropping again.” Your mouth tastes like metal and tea. Your fingertips feel numb. The edges of the room soften, unfocusing like watercolor bleeding at the edges.

“I’m not—” The words stick. Your tongue feels too heavy. “I’m fine.” He brushes a strand of hair back from your cheek, fingers cool. “You always say that when you’re about to faint.” You try to push yourself up—like a stubborn thing—but he guides you gently back down with a palm across your collarbone, pressure steady, unhurried. It isn't force. It doesn’t need to be. “I don’t want you passing out again,” he says. “Not before I take care of you.”

A caretaker. A captor. The same hand. The same voice.

He shifts closer, knee against the mattress, one hand tilting your chin with practiced ease. His patience feels sharper than aggression ever did. He doesn't need violence. Not anymore. “You’re too quiet tonight,” he murmurs. “I can hear your heart thinking louder than your voice.” Your chest rises, shaky. “I don’t…want to dream again.” A flicker crosses his eyes. Almost regret. Almost hunger. Impossible to tell.

“You won’t,” he lies gently. Or maybe he believes it. Maybe that’s worse. He cups the back of your neck, thumb under your jaw to steady your pulse.

“Breathe.”

You do. Because the alternative is drowning in air.

He bends to your throat, hair falling like a dark curtain around your face. The brush of his breath sends a tremor down your spine, too cold for warmth, too soft for threat, too intimate for comfort. Your fingers curl weakly in the sheets.

He pauses, lips hovering just above your skin. His voice is shaped against your pulse.

“You don’t have to be afraid.” A truth slips out before you can stop it, thin and trembling, “I don’t know how not to be.” Something in his expression breaks. Barely. A crack, small, dangerous.

Then his teeth find your skin.

Not the savage tear of the alley. Not the dizzying frenzy of his hungrier nights. But slow. Deliberate. As though he’s drinking something sacred.

The pain hits sharp, then softens into warmth that spreads through your veins like heat pooling in snow. Your breath catches, a quiet, involuntary sound, and your hand twitches toward him, then falls. He drinks just long enough for the world to blur.

Your thoughts melt, quiet as falling ash. The blanket under your fingers feels distant, unreal. Your heartbeat stutters, then steadies only because his rhythm forces it to. When he finally pulls back, your body feels hollowed and humming, weightless and heavy at once. He licks the punctures closed carefully, a ritual sealing, and rests his forehead against your temple. “There,” he whispers. “Back with me.”

You aren’t sure if he means your body or your mind.

Maybe both.

You blink slowly, the room swaying, and then—

The mirror across the room glitches.

A shimmer. A ripple through the glass, subtle at first, like heat off pavement in summer. Then sharper. Wrong.

For a heartbeat you see something else inside it: Not the room and not the bed.

A long hallway lined with doors stretching into darkness.

You blink. It flickers. Aizawa follows your gaze.

His expression shifts: not worry, not fear. Irritation. Something territorial, ancient, primal.

“Look at me,” he says quietly. You try. But your eyes drag back to the mirror, helpless, as though it's pulling your gaze like gravity. The hallway inside it pulses, one of the doors slowly…creaking open—

Then a sound.

A soft click.

Across the room, the bedroom door is ajar.

He goes still. So do you.

It wasn’t open before.

Your breath shivers in your chest. “Shota…?” His jaw clenches, a rare flash of real emotion cracking through the calm. “You need to stay in bed,” he says, voice low, throat tight, control fraying at the edges. “Do not move.” He rises in one smooth motion, turning toward the door. And as he does, something in the mirror turns too.

But not him.

Not you.

Something else.

Watching from that impossible hallway.

Breathing with you. Or instead of you.

Your pulse spikes. Aizawa steps toward the door. And the house exhales. The light flickers. Your vision swims. The mirror hums, low and electric.

And the door—the real one—begins to open wider.

Slow. Deliberate. As if inviting.

As if something on the other side is deciding whether to step through.

Your fingers grip the sheets, shaking. His voice reaches you, calm and sharp as a blade: “Close your eyes.”

You do. But the darkness feels like falling instead of safety.

You wake with the taste of metal on your tongue.

Not the sharp taste of blood. The dull taste of a coin held too long between teeth.

Old. Heavy. Burned into memory. Your fingers twitch at the sheets.

The room is normal. Too normal. Like someone repainted reality overnight and hoped you wouldn’t notice the brush strokes. Aizawa isn’t here.

Not sitting in the corner. Not in the hall. Not perched like a shadow on the edge of your consciousness. Just emptiness.

Which feels louder.

You push yourself up slowly. Your limbs obey, but there’s a haze to the motion, like you’re piloting yourself from far away.

The bandage at your neck pulses. Your blood moves strangely. Heavy. Slow. Thick as syrup.

The memory of that hallway clings to your vision. Not the visuals, the feeling. Like standing at the base of a stairwell in a building that doesn’t exist anymore. Knowing you’ve walked it before without remembering how your feet moved.

You swallow, throat dry and beneath your breath, softer than pulse, quieter than thought—a whisper.

Your own voice, but not.

Not out. Not yet.

Your skin tightens. You look toward the mirror.

Nothing unusual.

But your reflection lingers a heartbeat too long before blinking with you. Subtle. Almost normal.

But wrong.

You don’t call for Aizawa. You don’t want to. You need a thought that is yours. Even if it hurts. You swing your legs off the bed and stand. You expect dizziness. A collapse. A hand catching your elbow from nowhere, too cold and too sure. Instead, nothing.

You feel…stable. Or suspended.

You take three steps toward the dresser. Your vision flickers.

For just a second, instead of the bedroom mirror, you see: Metal walls. A soft humming. Lights flickering overhead in sickly blue pulses. A narrow room, no windows, too bright, too sterile to breathe in.

Your stomach drops.

No. Not here. Not the club and not the alley. Somewhere else.

You blink and it’s gone.

The whisper comes again, this time closer, like breath against your ear:

He didn’t find you first.

Your heart stutters. Your hand lifts without permission, fingers brushing your neck. The puncture throbs under your touch, heat curling inward like a secret burrowing into bone.

A flash hits you.

Not sight.

Sensation.

Familiar hands holding your face. Not Aizawa’s. Cool, but not as cold. Voice low, coaxing, unfamiliar but comforting.

“Wake up. You’re almost ready. Don’t forget who I am.”

Your breath catches. The room sharpens around you like shards dragged into focus. The wallpaper breathes. Shadows pulse. The air tastes like ozone and dust and memory.

The voice in your mind, your voice, but not, presses harder.

You met someone before him.

You shake your head, barely a tremor. “No—I—I didn’t. I would remember.” A laugh. Soft. Your cadence. Your breath pattern. But with someone else’s certainty.

You did. You just weren’t supposed to.

Pressure wraps around your ribs, gentle but inescapable. Like a seatbelt tightening after a crash. Your knees weaken, hitting the edge of the bed. You don’t fall. A hand steadies your shoulder.

Not phantom. Not imagined. Not gentle.

You jerk your head up, Hitoshi stands beside you. Real. Present. Too close. Expression unreadable. Eyes tired. Hands soft but unyielding where they rest on you. “Breathe,” he murmurs. “Before you tear through the wrong memory.” Your pulse spikes. “You—are you actually–?” “Yes.”

His gaze flicks toward the mirror. Just once. Something hardens in his expression. “He’s furious,” Hitoshi says simply. “Not at you. At…an interference.” Your lip trembles. “Was that you?” He meets your stare. “Would I talk to you in your own voice?”

He lets the question hang like fog.

You swallow. “…who was it?” Hitoshi sighs, like he’s tired of dragging truth through mud, like he's done this countless times. “You don’t remember yet,” he says. “And he’ll rip the world in half before he lets you remember.”

Your breath shakes. Your head throbs. Your bones feel too filled with someone else’s pulse.

“What’s behind that door?” you whisper. He watches you like someone watching a fire spread through a locked room. “You,” he says softly. “Before you were his.”

Your stomach twists.

A wave of dizziness hits, not weakness. Recognition. Something sharp pressing through anesthesia. Your own voice rises from the back of your skull again:

Not dead. Not gone. Waiting.

Your fingertips go numb. Hitoshi squeezes your shoulder once. “Be careful who you wake up,” he murmurs. “There are parts of you he hasn't broken. Yet.” The bedroom door creaks.

Footsteps.

Time collapses back into stillness.

Aizawa is back.

And every particle in the room shifts like the air itself tenses at his presence. Hitoshi lets go of you before Aizawa appears in the doorway. Hands fall to his sides, face carefully blank. Shadow again. Aizawa's gaze flicks between you two, expression unreadable, but dark around the edges.

“You’re up early,” he says to you. You nod. Too fast. Too stiff. Hitoshi offers a lazy shrug. “She started to wander. I put her back.”

It’s a lie. A shield. A provocation.

You don’t know.

Aizawa watches you another moment. You feel his attention like cold fingers along your spine. “You should rest,” he says softly. Your voice tries to form the right answer.

But the whisper inside you beats it to your lips:"I already did. And I woke up wrong."

Aizawa’s eyes narrow; sharp, possessive, ancient. Hitoshi’s jaw twitches. The house holds its breath.

And your reflection moves a half‑second late again.

Time drifts sideways.

Aizawa speaks to Hitoshi in another room; low, controlled, words shaped like steel. Their voices blur into the walls, like the house absorbs arguments instead of reflecting them. You sit on the bed again, blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Your body hums with leftover warmth from his touch, but your mind feels frostbitten.

Your vision pulses once, twice-and the world glitches.

Not violently. Softly. Like a curtain slipping.

For a heartbeat, you see lights—bright, white, humming. A corridor. Doors with labels. A beeping sound like a medical monitor. A hallway not of stone, or dream, but institutional.

Memory sterilized.

Controlled.

Then it’s gone. You blink hard. And something cold touches your ankle. You flinch and look down.

A key, resting on the bed beside your foot.

Not antique. Not gothic. A simple, modern apartment key. Silver. Worn. Familiar.

Your breath cracks open. You know that weight. That shape. The faint scratch near the bow from the time it scraped your front door lock because your hands were shaking after…after…

After something you still can’t fully pull into place.

Your fingers shake as you pick it up. Your pulse stutters. You can hear the city again-distant, muffled, neon bleeding through closed eyelids: Sirens. Taxi horns. Bass from a club.

Memory snaps like a rubber band. You’re holding the key to your apartment. Your real apartment. The one two floors above the ramen shop. The one where your shoes were lined by the door. The one with the cheap fairy‑lights and half‑dead plants and your jacket still on the chair because you never hung it up after…after what?

Your breath trembles. Your vision tightens.

You had a life.

The thought hits like a blade. You squeeze the key until metal bites your palm. The pain is yours. It anchors you.

Footsteps.

A shadow crosses the doorway.

Aizawa stands there, eyes half‑lidded, unreadable, but with a rigidity in his posture you’ve learned to feel before you see. His gaze falls to your hand. To the glint of silver. Everything in the air goes still.

He doesn't speak at first.

Just steps inside. Quiet. Fluid. The door closes behind him without a sound—or maybe he never touched it. Maybe the house obeys him like a loyal beast. “Where did you find that?” His voice is soft. Too soft.

You say nothing.

He moves closer, slow, careful, like approaching a startled animal. Or a bomb he made with his own hands and isn’t sure how to defuse. “Give it to me,” he murmurs, hand extending, palm open. Your fingers clench tighter around the key. It burns in your grip. Something in his expression fractures. Not anger. Fear. Ancient and raw. Quickly smoothed, but you saw it. He kneels; not imposing, not towering, but level with you. A trick. A comfort. A claim disguised as patience.

“You don’t need that anymore,” he says softly. “You’re safe here.” You swallow. “This…isn’t real,” you whisper. His jaw flexes. Barely. “It’s real because you’re here.” Your throat tightens. “I lived somewhere else.” He doesn’t deny it, just looks at you with an ache so intense it curdles.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “For a while.” The key grows colder in your hand, as though remembering things you still can’t reach. “You keep trying to leave,” he continues, voice steady, calm, heartbreakingly gentle. “And every time, you break. You starve. You shatter.” Your heart knocks painfully.

“Because you keep wiping me,” you breathe. The truth tastes metallic. “You erase me.” He closes his eyes. Pain crosses his face like a shadow. “I only take the pieces that hurt you.”

You laugh—thin, shaking, almost hysterical.

“You take all of it.”

Silence.

You see it now. Every time you woke with a blank mind, every time you forgot faces, streets, songs, your own phone lock code. Every time the fear felt familiar before you remembered why. Every time the pain had a name but no memory.

Hitoshi’s voice echoes in your head: There are parts of you he didn’t break. Yet.

“And still,” Aizawa whispers, opening his eyes again, “you always remember me.” You meet his gaze, hollow. “No,” you say. “I never stay.”

His eyes darken, not with rage, but inevitability. Hunger, laced with reverence. “You will.” He reaches for you, gently, not like a captor, but like a man too deep in withdrawal to be patient anymore. His hand trembles. You feel it this time.

“Please,” he murmurs. “Don’t fight it again. Don’t burn me out.”

Your throat tightens.

Because now you see it clearly: He’s not just addicted to your blood. He’s addicted to what it does to him. The way it calms him. Anchors him. The way you taste when you're forgetting. When you're broken just enough.

The sweetness of surrender. The ache of resistance. The euphoria of the fight.

You are his opium.

And he is yours.

Because there’s comfort in the ritual.

He drains you.

He stitches you back together.

He wipes the slate clean.

You wake up reaching for him, because he’s the only one there. You always end up right back where he needs you.

Back in his arms. Back in this bed. Back at this point in time.

Another dose. Another high. Another crash.

This isn’t love. This is maintenance.

And tonight, you feel it settling in again. The sedative lull of his voice, the warmth blooming through your veins, the steady hand at the back of your neck. You’re slipping.

And he exhales like a dying man given breath. Like the first hit after too long without. “I can’t be without you,” he murmurs into your hair. “You don’t know what I become.” His fingers curl into your spine. Gentle. Possessive. Needing. “I’ll lose myself.”

You already did.

But you nod.

Because that’s how the cycle starts again. Darkness.

Then—

A speaker hums softly in the corner. Warm morning light streams through curtains. A tray sits beside the bed.

Tea. A blood mix. A small pale pill. A folded note.

Your eyes flutter open.

Your heart feels heavy, like something was buried in it.

You reach for the mug without thinking.

Sip. Swallow. Feel the numbness return.

Aizawa appears in the doorway, calm, tired, devoted. “Good morning,” he says. “You’re safe.” You nod, sleepy. You don’t know why your palm aches. You don’t know why you woke up whispering a name that wasn’t his. You don’t know why you feel so warm, so slow, so floaty.

But you smile. You stay. Because you always do. Until you don’t.

But even then, you'll always come back.

And every time he drinks from you, his eyes close like a man being saved from eternal damnation.

Because your blood is more than life to him.

It’s ecstasy. It’s absolution. It’s opium.

[lovelyrots]

Forget Me Not | Part 2

Part 1

cw- angstttt, death of Suguru mentioned, death mentioned (it's JJK nothing but death there), arranged marriage

The silence stretches long enough that it makes your skin prickle.

You turn slowly on the stool, facing him where he stands just a few feet away, bathed in the soft yellow light from the hallway. He looks so much older like this — not because of age, but because he’s not wearing the usual mask. No grin, no stupid joke to chase the tension out of the air. Just quiet. Just tired.

His words still ring in your ears.

“Do you ever wish you had never met me?”

“I don’t think the thought has ever crossed my mind,” you say, and you mean it. But it’s not the answer he wanted. You see it in the way his shoulders shift, in the way his eyes search your face like he’s trying to decide if that was a mercy or a wound.

Your voice is steady when you add, “If I hadn’t met you…I wouldn’t have met him either.”

You don’t have to say Suguru’s name. You never do. You never have had to.

He closes his eyes, jaw tightening just slightly. Not enough for most people to notice. But you notice. “I had a crush on him back in school,” you say quietly. “I didn’t realize it right away, but…yeah. I did.”

He doesn’t move. You keep going.

“He was kind. I mean, you were too…in your own way. But he made it feel easy. He listened. He asked questions and actually wanted to hear the answer. And I think, maybe, in another life, if things had gone differently-” You cut yourself off, sighing. “I don’t know. It’s stupid now.”

“It’s not,” he says, voice low and firm. “It’s not stupid.” You glance at him. His eyes are open now, but distant. Like he’s not fully here. Like he’s somewhere else, years ago, maybe.

“I always thought I’d get the chance to ask him why,” you say. “Why he left. Why he didn’t say goodbye.” He breathes in slow. Then he finally says it.

“I saw him again.”

You freeze. You weren’t ready for that. “What?”

“I saw him again,” he repeats. His voice is calm, but not detached. Like he’s trying not to crack it open too fast. “After everything. He wasn’t the same. But he wasn’t a curse either.”

You stare at him, heart in your throat. “So he was alive.” “For a while.”

You almost whisper, “And then you-”“I didn’t kill him,” he interrupts softly. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” You wait.

“He was already dying,” Satoru says. “His body was barely holding together. He was in pain. Bleeding. We both knew what was coming. And he looked at me…and he asked.” Your chest tightens. “Asked what?” “To end it,” he says. “To stop the suffering.”

It hits you like a punch to the gut.

“I didn’t want to,” he adds quickly. “God, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to let him go, even then. But I couldn’t leave him like that. And I couldn’t let anyone else be the one to do it.” You press your hand to your mouth, suddenly dizzy. Satoru steps closer, but not too close. He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t try to force anything.

“I should have told you,” he says. “I just…you were already carrying so much. I didn’t know if you could take that too.” You don’t know whether you want to scream or cry. Maybe both.

“You should have let me decide that,” you manage, voice shaking. “I know,” he murmurs. You sit down on the edge of the bed, trying to steady your breathing. “I kept waiting for news. I thought maybe…he was out there. Maybe he just didn’t want to see me again. That would’ve been easier than knowing he was-” You stop, because saying it out loud makes it worse. “I still love him,” you whisper, and you don’t regret it. Satoru doesn’t look surprised. He just nods.

“I figured.”

You look up at him, expecting anger. Bitterness. Resentment. You find none of it.

“I just wanted to protect what little I had left,” he says. “After I lost him, and Yu, and everything else…I thought if I could bring you back, even like this, then maybe it would mean something. That something could still be saved.”

“But we’re not those kids anymore,” you say. “No,” he agrees quietly. “We’re not.” You’re both quiet for a while, sitting in the half-lit room, breathing through a grief that’s too big to speak around.

He breaks the silence first.

“You remember those flower beds behind the training hall?” he asks, almost like he’s afraid to sound stupid. “Yeah,” you say, unsure where he’s going with this. “I found one still growing something,” he says. “Forget-me-nots. They came back this year.” You blink. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I guess it felt like some kind of sign.” You almost laugh. “You? Believing in signs?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he says with a ghost of a smile. “But maybe it’s not about signs. Maybe it’s just about remembering.” You look down at your hands. “Do you still want this?” you ask. “The wedding. The life together. The whole thing.”

His voice is quiet, but steady.“I don’t want the life they tried to force on us. But I want something. Something real. Even if it’s small. Even if we have to build it from scratch. Even if it doesn’t look like what we thought we wanted.” You meet his eyes. “And if I can never love you the way I loved him?”

He swallows. “Then I’ll still stay,” he says. “Because you’re not a replacement for what I lost. And I don’t want to be one for you either.” Something cracks loose in your chest, and you finally let yourself breathe again. Maybe this isn’t healing. Maybe it’s just honesty.

But it’s a start.

[lovelyrots]

Hi omg I love your yuri/lesbian work! I was wondering if you could do a fantasy yandere (fem reader) with Uraraka. Smut and fluff please. Thank you so much you’re divine!

omg, I'm so sorry it took me so long to finally finish this, but at 7.5k words, at least it's a good long read. Happy Halloween and I hope you and everyone else enjoy this little tale

The Dance of the Flowers

Elf!Ochaco Uraraka x Human! Royal! fem!Reader/Y/N

Content warnings - some yandere vibes, small notes of an abusive and horrible father

As a small child, you were always fascinated by the stories your mother told you. Stories of the fae, of dragons, and of seafolk that seemed so fantastical that all thoughts of your studies and lessons would be pushed to the back of your little mind.

She also told you tales of love, tales of heroes, and tales of monsters and villains that always seemed to bear a striking resemblance to your father, the king. Even as a young child, you had known the cruelty behind your father's actions and words. As you aged, you learned of the truth behind your parents' marriage; your father was obsessed with your mother and waged a war against her kingdom to take her as a prize for the bloodshed he unleashed on the much smaller kingdom.

She never willingly gave him a moment more of her than she could deign to. Even in those childish stories, the villain would be defeated with a mere arrow to the heart or with the power of light or something or other. However, the attention to the gallant princes and beautiful elvish queens of distant lands kept your rapt attention. The rules about fae etiquette were quickly becoming a very thankful detail you had somehow remembered from those stories.

It was thanks to those very stories that you were now attempting to escape your fate. You were just shy of your nineteenth birthday, a fact your father gleefully reminded you, and your betrothal to the crown prince of another realm was just announced. Much to your shock and horror.

Your father had been graced—or he'd argue cursed—with six daughters. Six daughters to be wed off for land, power, or to try to garner a 'good match for heirs,' and your life was no different than that of cattle being sold off just as it reached maturity. You, however, refused to be wed to some explosive-headed barbarian prince and took off under the cover of night.

You knew from your mother's tales that the safest place for a human to seek shelter from their kind was in the faelands, granted the fae let them stay, that is. If you sought refuge in any town or village, then you're sure your father would send his hounds after you still, but the lands of the fickle and sometimes impish fae? Only a madman would dare cross the fae. The food you had wrapped away in your pack was your entrance fee to the faelands, but your adherence to their rules and etiquette would be what kept you free while there.

You could hear the distant clopping of hooves and shouts of the hunting party that had tracked you down, but you couldn't stop, not when you were so close to your goal. The ring was just in the clearing ahead. You had followed all the markers—pink moss growing at the base of certain trees leading towards the ring that would act as the gateway to the faelands. You pushed yourself; your legs were aching, and your lungs were burning from hours of being chased from the city to the outskirts of the nearest village, but you could finally be free if you could just hold out a little bit longer.

You burst through the blackberry bushes and stumble into the clearing, limbs aching and uncooperative as you try to stand, but you stop as you spot a ring of white mushrooms just a couple of feet ahead, with some small globes of light fluttering above the ring.

"It's real…" You breathe out in amazement before the sound of the hunting party behind you spurs you into action, even as your body protests each movement. You don't make it far before a hand viciously grabs onto your hair and drags you to a halt. Tears gather from the pain, and your own hands latch onto the far larger and rougher one, tugging at your hair.

"Finally caught ya, spoiled little shit." The man who captured you taunts you, laughing as if this were some innocent game and you were just some petulant child who simply wandered off. "Remember what the missive said, 'do not physically harm her or damage her image,' or do you want to be refused payment?" The other man asks as his horse saunters into the clearing. The man currently pulling at your hair loosens his grip to instead grab onto your arm and start to drag you towards his horse while you start thrashing around and trying to whack him.

"Think we'll get 'nough to visit that blue-blood brothel? I 'eard they've got some fancy slags if ya got the coin." The man turns to his companion but is thrown from you as roots and vines burst from underneath, knocking him down while the other man's horse startles and bucks its rider off before galloping off into the woods. You seize this bizarre chance and turn back to the ring but stop to stare at the figures now standing in the center of it.

Three women stood in the center, surrounded by a display of golden shimmering light, and the wildflowers beneath them seemed to grow and become more vibrant. "Get down!" One of them, the brunette dressed in dark pink, yells at you as she nocks an arrow, ready to fire as soon as you drop to the ground. You hear the arrow whiz over you and the pained cry from one of the men before you look up and decide you'd probably be safer with these women than the men hired to drag you back to your father. "Are you okay?" The tallest of the three asked as you entered the ring, her hands reaching out to steady you while the woman next to her raised her hands, and a wall of tree bark seemed to encase all of you, only to then recede and reveal a completely different location.

"Dear? Are you okay? Tsu, Ochaco, we should get her to a healer; she might be in shock." You, somewhat, shake out of your stupor and turn your attention back to the woman holding you up. "I'm okay, just…where are we? What just happened? Is this the faeland?" Questions just continue to fire out of you as your eyes jump from the woman holding you to the greenette next to her to the bolt of yellow light racing towards your little group.

"Take a deep breath, first off! Second, are you okay? Did those men hurt you?" The brunette steps closer, and you then notice her ears poking out from her hair—an elf? A real, living elf?! You did it, you really made it to the faelands! You take an excited breath of air in and feel exhilaration flood your system; you actually escaped your father. There's no way he can find you now, right?

"Thank you! Thank you all so much! No, I'm not hurt, thanks to you!" You can feel tears, not of pain or fear this time, gathering and threatening to fall, but you refuse to shed a tear on what has been the most liberating day of your life yet. "Oh! I nearly forgot!" You exclaim as you take a step back and dig in your satchel for the food you had carefully stowed away; as you offer it towards the three women, you bow your head and take a steadying breath.

"Please accept this gift of mine for your rescue and in exchange for my entrance to your realm." You recite the words your mother often told you to say if you found yourself seeking shelter with the fae, your hammering heart blocking out nearly every other sound, until the muffled snickering catches your attention and you glance up. The tallest of the three is trying to hide a smile, the frog-like woman is blankly staring at you like you've suddenly grown a second head, and the one in pink is shaking and barely muffling her giggles and snickering.

You hesitate before fully standing again and feel your cheeks warm as you stammer out, "I—If it's not enough, then please allow me to offer my help for the time I can stay!" The tallest steps forward, a barely contained smile on her face, and gently lowers your raised arms. "Dear, I don't know what you've been told about the fae or magic, but you don't have to offer us food or servitude. We just happened to get there and saw you were in trouble. Now, I believe introductions are in order." She steps back before gesturing at herself and then the other two. "I'm Momo Yaoyorozu, but please just call me Momo, this is Tsu, and this is Ochaco."

"Yo! Girls, why'd you come back so quick? I barely got back to the village and-who's this?" That bright yellow flash appeared before you could open your mouth to respond. But as soon as the light died down, a young man with bright blonde hair stood just beside Momo. He waved and you hesitated before waving back and opening your mouth, again, to introduce yourself. "I'm Y/N, and once again, thank you for rescuing me." You bow your head, still feeling like it's the least you could do. "Hey, name's Denki, or you can call me Kami, whatever sways your branches. So, is anyone going to tell me why we have yet another new face in the village? And can she stay with me?" A thin vine burst out of the ground to smack the back of his head and retreated back into the earth before anyone answered, and while two of the girls before you laughed at him whining, Ochaco stood with her arms crossed and a small pout.

"What was that for?!" He shot up into the air, shrinking as he flew into her face, and the sound of a tinkling bell echoed while a small yellow orb angrily shook and flounced about in front of her. "Every time a pretty girl has moved to the village, you're always one of the firsts to try and get her to stay with you. You even tried to get Momo and her wife to stay with you!" You just stared as the brunette argued with the tinkling ball of light before Momo guided you towards the nearby dirt path, with Tsu watching the pair go back and forth. "Don't pay them any mind. Kaminari just acts like a bit of a flirt and Ochaco doesn't really care for that side of him. Let's get you set up at the inn and give you a bit of space, one of us can come around tomorrow to take you to the village leader and I'm sure you'll be able to figure the rest out for yourself." Her hand lightly rests at the small of your back, guiding you along and pointing out different buildings or areas as they came up.

Each building looked as if they had sprung up out of the ground, vines wrapped around the edges and seas of wild flowers nestled along the walls of each building. Everywhere you looked, you could see nature and magic at work, yet it felt as seamless and natural as the towns of stone and iron you had traveled through to get here.

"So, if this isn't the fae world, then where are we?" You had asked, more curious of where you've ended up than anything. Momo doesn't say anything for a moment, her gaze straying towards a black cat darting away just up ahead, but she turns her head back to you before you can say anything. "Somewhere much more free than any of the four kingdoms. Technically, we're in the Golden Valley, but our little village here-" the rest of her words went in one ear and out the other.

The Golden Valley was something of a 'No Man's Land' between the four Kingdoms; uncrossable terrain kept the Valley protected from outside forces while magic was used to keep out those with heartless intentions, or that was the claim. Your tutors didn't quite know themselves what kept some from crossing into the territory, even by accident, and what allowed others to. You thought you'd have to either climb the towering Zuspian Mountains or sail across the freezing Pale Sea to have a chance of entering the territory, but it was as simple as this?

You hadn't even noticed you stopped walking beside Momo, your mind busy and your gaze pointed down at your mud coated boots, and flinched when someone tried to put their hand on your shoulder. You whirl around and see Ochaco standing there, her hand still in the air above where your shoulder was and her brows were furrowed as she stared at you. Slowly, she brought her hand back down to her side and tilted her head, watching you for a moment before offering a small smile. "You okay? You looked a bit lost in there." She gently taps the side of her head and waits for your answer.

You nod, voice caught in your throat, and look around for your impromptu guide before noticing she was nowhere to be found. "I guess I didn't realize I was stuck in my thoughts. Um," you look back to her, "sorry, but do you think you could show me to the inn? That's where she said I could probably find a room to stay until tomorrow." She hums before crossing her arms, a frown tugging at her lips. "That might not be possible right now. There's a village festival in a couple days so most of the empty rooms at the inn might already be filled." You practically deflated upon hearing that, wondering where you'd be able to spend the night, let alone where you could stay after seeing the village's leader tomorrow. "If you're okay with it, I have a spare room at my cottage that you could use. I might need some help cleaning it up and moving a few things, but it'd be free for you!" She started rambling and turning as pink as her tunic, with the tips of her elven ears even turning a shade away from a deep red.

You blinked twice before quickly nodding your head and grabbed her hands, words of gratitude flowing out from your lips, while her face slowly changes from pink to red to match her ears. "I would be so grateful! I can most definitely help with cleaning and whatever else you may need!"

Two days had passed, and you had started to make yourself at home in Ochaco's cottage, at least until you could afford to live on your own. The village leader had heard your story and granted you permission to stay and had even gave you a list of places within or near the village where you could try to start working. For such a grouchy looking man, he sure seemed to be kind at heart, maybe he's just tired or overworked. Either way, he at least was giving you a chance to settle in and make a life for yourself here.

Life in the village was…entirely different than you imagined. You thought there'd be only fae and other magical creatures here but you saw all walks of life buzzing around. Humans, elves, dwarves, pixies, halflings, and you even met a couple of dragons. Nearly everyone seemed friendly with each other, and most were friendly to a newcomer like you even. Ochaco had introduced you to most of her friends and couple of the regular travelers that come for the festival every year.

Today you were supposed to help her and Momo set up their tent for the festival, the two were planning on selling some lotions and tinctures the two had been making for the last couple of weeks. You had watched Ochaco last night make a few and were in awe the whole time. She was so focused, even when you asked what this or that did, she never wavered or made a mistake, not that you'd know if she did anyway. She explained what most of the things she'd made did; lotions to soothe burns or cuts and potions that gave a boost of energy and a few that supposedly could change hair or eye colors.

"Y/N, can you help me get these crates onto the wagon?" Ochaco called out from her workroom, arms heavy with three crates crammed full of glass bottles and small jars, each carefully decorated to show what each item is for. You pack your notes and map away and head out to take one of the crates from her and head out to the nearly packed wagon just outside. "Isn't this a bit much? What do you do with what's left over?" You look to her as she arranges the stacks of crates against each other and tie some rope around them to keep them from moving. "This is nothing compared to last year. With so many travelers coming to the village for the festival, we almost have nothing left over but a few bottles that we either keep for ourselves or trade them with some of the other vendors for stuff. One year I had half a crate of energy restorers left over and traded it for a couple baskets of fresh fruit from one of the orchard owners!" She lights up at the memory and recounts how juicy and sweet the fruit was, and how they tasted even better since they were practically free.

"Ooh, and if we have a lot of dye left over then we let anyone have some for the flower dance on the last night! A lot of people will use them to instantly dye their clothes or hair so they can match whatever flower their dance partner gave them." She notices your confusion and smiles at you before hopping down from the wagon and giving a twirl. "The Dance of Blooms is a celebration on the final night to have a last night of fun for everyone. Usually, someone will ask another to be their partner for the night and they'll give them a flower to pin on their outfit or wear in their hair and show up later with a matching flower." She turns to you with a rosy blush and excitement in her eyes, "There's even a story about someone from the Golden Court offering their partner a super rare flower that was said to tie two souls together so they'd always be able to find each other again in any lifetime." Your brows furrowed, but you didn't say anything as she rambled about how sweet the gesture is and how so many couples in the villages and across the valley had met their life partners through the celebratory dance.

"Well, that's enough from me, I guess we should get the last couple of crates loaded up." She sighs and the two of you work together, almost, seamlessly as you get four more stacks of crates onto the wagon and tied down. It's a short trip to the fairgrounds, a wide open field already decorated in bright colorful flowers and handmade decor hung from towering poles and tents for the vendors. A large dirt circle sits in the middle of the fairgrounds with a raised stage in front of it, likely where the dance on the final night of the festival will take place.

It's barely noon yet the grounds are packed with vendors, decorators, and other volunteers getting ready for the evening when the festival officially starts. Ochaco and you are practically joined at the hip as you slowly shuffle towards the space the duo have their tent set up at. Instead of Momo greeting you two when you arrive, a small black cat sits on the table, already loaded with colorful bottles. "That's Momo's familiar, Jirou. Is Momo back at home?" She calls out as you get closer and to your surprise the cat shifts into a black formless blob that turns humanoid before reappearing as a, mostly, human-looking woman who nods and leans against the table.

"The lovebirds are back at it again, so I got sent ahead while they go at it like rabbits." She explains while Ochaco blushes bright red and you feel your cheeks warm. Jirou was…quite blunt. But she also was very helpful; she helped you two unload the wagon and finish setting up and storing everything without much complaint.

As the evening came forward and the air grew cooler, waves of people came from the village center, among them was Momo running like the devil was behind her. "I'm so sorry I'm late!" She shouted as she neared, face flushed and out of breath from the run over. "It's okay-""Have fun?" Ochaco and Jirou spoke at the same time, the former blushing as the latter's words came out. "Thanks for covering for me, Jirou, but you can leave now." The familiar shrugs and disappears in a poof of smoke, leaving the three of you among the growing crowd. "Sorry about her, I hope she wasn't too much trouble. I'll take the first couple of hours running the booth if you two want to go check out the festival for a bit." She offers, and you don't have a chance to say anything before you're being dragged away towards the other booths.

Ochaco and you looked at vendors selling handmade jewelry and clothing, baked goods, locally made art pieces, and a few games that had been set up. It was perhaps the most fun you've had in your life. Just running around with someone you could call a friend, not a single care about your father or the kingdom floating about. Every compliment or praise from the different villagers during your tries at the games made your cheeks warm, the laughter and carefree atmosphere entranced you, the way Ochaco included you in conversations with her friends she came across made you feel something you never had the chance to while living in your father's castle. You felt like you were finally in a place you belonged, with others that were kind and thoughtful.

You thought you'd finally found somewhere to call home.

She had never been to a festival, let alone out on her own. Ochaco could tell, from the way Y/N grew flustered when she’d win a game or got close to it, how she paused at every stall with eyes wide and mouth parted in awe, as though she were stepping through the painted pages of a storybook.

Even the simplest things fascinated her. The hanging ribbons swaying with the breeze. The warm smell of fried dough and candied fruit. The way petals rained from the rafters when dancers spun too fast beneath the garlands. It was all new to her, and Ochaco could feel that wonder like heat on her skin, something warm and fragile that made her hands itch to protect it.

She smiled, of course. She always did. Laughed easily, played the part of the cheerful local, soft-voiced and bright-eyed. Most didn’t look further than her easy grin or the bounce in her step. They never noticed how her eyes lingered a little too long, or how her fingers twitched slightly when something, or someone, got too close to what was hers.

She hadn’t told Ochaco her story, not in full. She never had to. Ochaco had pieced it together in the same way she learned the flow of potion recipes, or the weight of herbs in her palm. Quietly. Precisely. She noticed the tension in Y/N’s shoulders when she heard the clink of armor or the snap of reins. She caught how her hand would hover near her chest when someone raised their voice, even if it was in laughter.

Ochaco knew pain when she saw it. But, more than that, she knew how to be patient.

She smiled and gave Y/N space. She listened. She let her be the one to step closer, the one to ask questions. She played the kind helper, the gentle guide, and watched every reaction like a sparrowhawk behind glass.

And now here they were, walking through the festival together like old friends, or perhaps something more. The air was thick with magic, lanterns swaying above them like floating stars. Laughter and music spilled around them, but Ochaco heard little of it.

Y/N’s voice was the only thing that stood out.

She stopped at a glassblower’s stall, eyes catching on a delicate hairpin, the end of it shaped like a peony. “This one looks like the ones in your garden,” she said softly, entranced by the beauty of the accessory, and Ochaco’s chest tightened.

She stepped in without hesitation. “Would you like it?” she asked, voice as light as ever. “I’ll get it for you.”

Y/N blinked. “No, no, it’s okay. I was just looking.”

Ochaco had already handed over the coin. The transaction was fast. Efficient. She picked out the hair pin and tucked it gently behind the girl’s ear, letting her fingers graze warm skin before pulling back.

“It suits you,” she said with a smile, sweet as honey.

Y/N laughed, soft and uncertain. She looked down, as if unsure how to handle affection offered so openly. Ochaco watched her, taking in every detail. The shy glance. The unsure hands. The way she didn’t pull away.

She was still learning what it meant to be seen.

She was still deciding who she’d trust to keep looking.

They wandered from stall to stall after that. The world felt quieter somehow. Smaller. Ochaco only noticed the way the firelight curled around Y/N’s hair, the way the girl leaned ever so slightly in when she laughed, the way her lips parted when she tasted sugar-spun fruit for the first time. Then they passed the flower vendor. The woman was handing out bundled blooms—moonflower, iris, soulbound rose—and already the quiet exchanges had begun. Eyes met. Flowers were passed. One to another. A private language, blooming in the open.

Y/N watched with quiet interest, tilting her head as the vendor passed out bundles of carefully bound blooms to lovers. There was a soft smile on her face, the kind she often wore when trying to appear at ease, even if her hands were knotted loosely in front of her and her posture a touch too careful.

“I think it’s a beautiful tradition,” she said, her voice light and measured, like someone trying not to reveal too much. Her gaze lingered on the flowers longer than her words did. “Though I doubt anyone would give me one.”

The laugh that followed was almost airy, practiced, like she’d told herself it didn’t matter. But her eyes flicked away from the display too quickly, and her shoulders held that barely-there stiffness Ochaco had come to recognize.

It wasn’t embarrassment. It was a quiet fear of hoping for something she’d already convinced herself she didn’t deserve.

“You should go to the dance,” Ochaco said, voice suggestive and sweet. Y/N looked surprised. “Me? Why?”

“Because someone might give you a flower,” she said, each word deliberate and honeyed, “and you might realize you’re already theirs.”

Y/N laughed, nervous again. “I literally don't know anyone here enough for that and, besides, I don’t really know what to do with things like that. I-um-I’ve never had much experience.”

Ochaco smiled, still warm. Still sweet. But her eyes didn’t soften.

“Then maybe it’s time someone showed you.”

She didn’t say more. There was no need.

By the time the lanterns dimmed and the laughter turned drowsy, Ochaco lingered. She stayed behind, long after most had wandered off, offering to help one of the villagers with packing up the last few crates of spiced wine and leftover garlands. It gave her time. It gave her silence. And she didn’t want to return just yet.

By the time she started walking home, the lanterns along the village path had burned low, their light flickering gently through the trees. The air had cooled, not cold, but enough to make the skin of her arms prickle beneath her sleeves.

She knew Y/N would be asleep by now.

She pictured her curled up on the cushions near the hearth, worn out from sun and sweets and the strange joy of being free. Maybe she had meant to wait up. Maybe she had even started a book she didn’t finish before drifting off, the half-buttoned cloak still slipping from her shoulders. Ochaco imagined her hair tousled by the wind, her lips parted slightly in sleep, a trace of sugar on her breath from the candied pear she hadn’t stopped talking about.

Ochaco could see it clearly, even if she hadn’t been there to watch.

She didn’t need to be.

Y/N had already begun to move through her world in a rhythm she could follow without effort. Her steps, her expressions, the soft ways she tried to seem confident when her eyes betrayed the ache of needing comfort. Ochaco had memorized the subtle shifts. The pauses. The quiet tells of a girl still learning to be unafraid.

She didn’t open the front door. Instead, she took the side path, past the trellis and the moss-stained fence. Her boots barely made a sound on the stone as she turned toward the back of the cottage, where the glass of the greenhouse shimmered faintly under the moonlight.

The scent hit her as soon as she stepped inside. Warm, earthy, a little overgrown. The kind of scent that clung to the lungs and stayed with you even after the air turned cold. It calmed most people.

It sharpened her focus.

She passed the violets, soft and sleepy. The pale lilies, closed for the night. The garlenbells still swaying from the earlier breeze.

And then, at the far wall, she saw it.

A single rose in bloom. Coral-pink and glowing softly in the warm light of the lantern she finally lit. It looked harmless. Bright. Common.

Just another flower in a valley full of them.

But not this one.

Her fingers brushed along the stem, careful but unhesitating. The petals were still full, velvet-smooth, with just the faintest streak of gold threading the edge. This one had bloomed slower than the others. It had waited.

Ochaco plucked it and cradled it in her palm as she walked back into the cottage. The rest of the house was quiet, the kind of quiet that came with a sleeping presence. She didn’t peek in on her. She didn’t have to. The gentle weight in the air was enough.

She set the rose down on her worktable and reached for the glass press she had cleaned that morning. Her hands moved without pause, placing the bloom on the smooth surface, adjusting its angle, flattening it just enough to hold its shape. The frame clicked shut around the edges, not with force, but with intention. She traced the wax seal next, murmuring softly as the edges set.

Not to preserve it. Not entirely.

She didn’t need the flower to last forever.

She only needed it to be perfect. Still. Unchanging. Exactly as she wanted it to be.

The kind of gift no one would question. The kind no one would recognize for what it truly was.

Just a simple flower, framed with care.

Nothing more.

The final day of the festival began like the others, all color and song and shifting movement, but Ochaco moved through it differently now.

She was stationed at the booth she shared with Momo, arranging bottles by hue and aligning labels in perfect rows. Her hands moved quickly, but her eyes kept wandering across the crowd. She smiled as customers approached, offered soft greetings and clever suggestions for which salve would fix a burn or which tonic might cure traveler's fatigue. Her voice was as bright as the perfectly placed ribbons in her hair.

None of it showed.

Not the pressure behind her temples. Not the quiet urgency curling beneath her smile. Not the ache of knowing that tonight had to be perfect.

“You’re doing it again,” Momo said without looking up from a box of tinctures, her tone soft but knowing.

“Doing what?” Ochaco blinked innocently, placing another jar on the shelf.

“Counting the time by how often Y/N walks past our stall.”

Ochaco paused for half a second before laughing lightly, brushing her fingers over her apron. “That’s not fair. She’s just…curious about everything. It’s her first festival.”

Momo hummed, a little sound that wasn’t quite agreement but not disagreement.

They didn’t say anything else for a while, but Ochaco felt the weight of her friend’s attention even without seeing it. Momo didn’t press. She rarely did. But there was something about the way she glanced at the sealed frame sitting beneath the tablecloth, tucked behind the supply crate.

She knows.

Of course she does.

Momo was one of the few who would understand. She had once told Ochaco, in a quiet voice over tea and storm light, that some hearts didn’t open without help. That sometimes, love had to be shaped gently, coaxed into bloom. Ochaco hadn’t asked questions. She didn’t need to.

She had simply listened, and remembered.

Now, as she handed a bundle of healing herbs to a passing traveler, she smiled again, soft and unbothered. “You should take a break,” Momo said, her voice casual. “You’ve been restless since sunrise. I can hold the stall for a while.”

Ochaco didn’t argue.

She thanked her, slipped behind the curtain, and stepped into the sunlight, the sealed flower frame pressed carefully between her hands. She walked slowly at first.

The coral-rose frame nestled against her chest, held carefully beneath her cloak to protect it from the breeze and the curious eyes of passing villagers. Music danced ahead of her, carried through the field like warm water, laced with strings and soft percussion. The crowd had begun to shift, forming in natural clusters along the edges of the flower-ringed circle in the center of the festival grounds.

Some were still wandering from stall to stall, holding hands, balancing wine cups and fresh fruit in their arms. Others had already begun choosing their flowers. Small tokens pinned behind ears, tied into sleeves, or offered wordlessly between blushing hands.

She saw Y/N before Y/N saw her.

She stood near the edge of the gathering crowd, a borrowed shawl tucked around her shoulders and a soft braid in her hair. She wasn’t hiding. Not quite. But she wasn’t stepping forward either. Her smile flickered every time someone brushed too close. She laughed when a passing girl offered her a snack and waved her off without waiting for an answer.

Ochaco felt something settle in her chest. Not satisfaction. Something quieter. Like certainty.

She walked the rest of the way without hesitation.

“Hey,” she said, voice light as she approached. “You’re not hiding, are you?”

Y/N turned, caught off guard for a moment. “No, I was just…watching.”

“Everyone’s pairing up,” Ochaco said gently, stepping beside her. “It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“A little,” Y/N admitted, smiling, but not quite meeting her eyes.

Ochaco looked at her for a long moment. She didn’t speak again right away. The wind pulled gently at the hem of her cloak, rustling the fabric between them.

Then, without a word, she pulled out the small frame.

A single rose.

Coral pink, delicate and pressed in a glass pane, framed in smooth wood with a soft golden edge. Not extravagant. Not loud. The kind of thing anyone could carry in their hands and not think twice about, until they looked closer.

She held it out.“For you,” Ochaco said. Y/N stared at it, blinking, then looked up with wide, unsure eyes. “What is this?” Ochaco smiled, soft and warm. “It’s a flower. For the Dance.”

“I thought most people just… got them from the vendors,” Y/N said slowly, looking down at it again. “This is—this is beautiful.”

“I picked it from my garden,” Ochaco replied. “Pressed it myself. I thought it would suit you.”

She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to. Her fingers brushed Y/N’s when she passed it into her hands, warm against the coolness of the glass. Ochaco watched as Y/N studied the flower, her brows slightly drawn, her lips parting to say something before thinking better of it.

A blush faintly growing in her cheeks.

“I don’t have one for you,” Y/N said quietly, almost guilty. “You don’t have to,” Ochaco replied. “You only need to wear this. I’ll meet you in the circle tonight.”

She smiled again, then turned and walked away, back into the sea of color and laughter.

Y/N was left holding the flower in her hands.

She stood still, even after Ochaco disappeared into the crowd.

The glass was smooth beneath her fingers, still faintly warm from Ochaco’s touch. It had weight to it, more than she expected. Not just in her hands, but in her chest, where something unfamiliar was beginning to settle. It was small. Simple. Lovely.

She should have felt happy. Touched, even. Someone had gone through so much trouble to make something like this for her. She hadn’t expected to be given anything at all, much less something so carefully made. But something in her chest fluttered, not in the sweet way the storybooks described.

She turned the frame over in her hands, studying the way the coral petals sat frozen in perfect stillness. Each one laid flat, symmetrical, untouched. It hadn’t just been chosen, it had been prepared. Caught between glass. Meant to be held, but never changed. It wasn’t fear. She didn’t feel afraid. Not of Ochaco.

But her throat felt tight anyway.

The music nearby was picking up, cheerful and bright. Lanterns swayed above the flower-ring, glowing soft and golden. People were gathering. Offering flowers, exchanging laughter, tying stems into braids or sleeves or belts.

No one was paying attention to her, not really.

No one but her.

Ochaco hadn’t asked her to dance. She hadn’t stumbled or hesitated. She hadn’t looked uncertain, not even for a moment. She hadn’t asked if Y/N wanted this.

She had simply known.

Y/N looked down again at the rose behind the glass, bright coral and blooming still. Her fingers curled just a little tighter around the frame.

She wasn’t sure if she was smiling anymore.

The circle had already begun to fill.

Soft music wove through the clearing, slower now, winding around the low hum of conversation and the rustle of flowers passed from hand to hand. Candles floated above the field like stars held just above the earth, their flames flickering in rhythm with the beat of the drums.

Y/N stood at the edge for a long time, still holding the flower frame in both hands. She had watched others enter, some alone, some in pairs. Some slipped flowers behind one another’s ears with shaking fingers. Others laughed too loudly, trying to cover their nerves with noise.

No one noticed her approach.

The grass bent gently beneath her steps. Her breath caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat. The weight of the frame shifted slightly with each movement, a subtle reminder that she could still turn back. Yet she didn’t.

Ochaco was waiting.

She stood near the center with her back to the entrance. Her hair had been pulled into a loose braid, small white blossoms threaded throughout. The fabric of her dress shimmered slightly as it moved with her, catching the lantern light just enough to make her visible, though not enough to draw attention. She didn't turn to look for Y/N. She didn’t need to.

She simply waited, her hands folded and her head tilted toward the music.

Y/N stepped into the ring and crossed the distance in silence. She wasn’t sure what her face looked like in that moment. She only knew how loud her heartbeat had become, faster than the drums, louder than the hum of the crowd. Ochaco turned just as she reached her.

Their eyes met.

And for a moment, everything else slipped away.

The sounds, the crowd, the light—they all softened at the edges. Ochaco’s expression was calm and gentle, but in her eyes there was something deeper. It was steady and unshakable, something that remained fixed even as she smiled. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Ochaco said. Y/N swallowed before replying. “I didn’t know if I would.”

“Are you glad you did?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze dropped to the flower frame, still gently held between her palms. Then, with care, she passed it back to Ochaco. Her fingers brushed lightly against hers during the exchange.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice low. “But I’m here.”

Ochaco accepted the frame without looking down at it. There was no need.

Instead, she stepped in closer and reached into her sleeve. Her fingers drew out a second flower, nearly identical to the one in the frame. It was coral-pink and full, still alive, still warm from her touch. This one had not been preserved. It had been kept waiting.

With no hesitation, she tucked the bloom behind Y/N’s ear. Her fingers lingered there for a moment, gentle and deliberate. The warmth of her skin remained after her hand lowered.

Then she leaned in, her breath soft beside Y/N’s ear, and spoke in a quiet voice meant only for her.

“Now everyone will know.”

The music swelled around them. Ochaco reached for her hand.

Y/N allowed herself to be led into the dance, their steps falling into the rhythm with effortless grace. All around them, petals shifted underfoot. The ring pulsed with light and motion, yet none of it touched her the way Ochaco did.

At first, it felt like any other dance. They moved together, their steps gentle and fluid. The others spun past them, twirling between flowers and laughter. Ochaco’s hand in hers was light, never forceful. Her presence seemed to guide more than command. Y/N followed without resistance.

But something had changed.

She noticed it first in the way her wrist felt—like something soft had been wrapped around it, not tightly, but firmly enough to be noticed. A ribbon, perhaps. Or the suggestion of one. Then another sensation curled beneath her sternum, a pressure that was neither painful nor obvious, but present nonetheless.

She glanced around, searching for something to explain it. Yet the dancers laughed and twirled without pause. No one else reacted as she did.

Ochaco was still watching her.

The feeling deepened. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t frighten her. Still, she felt as though something unseen had begun to wrap around her, not to trap her, but to mark her. Silk, not rope. A caress, not a snare. The idea of pulling away didn’t occur to her. The moment never offered that choice. Her breath caught, and she opened her mouth to say something. A question. A comment. A laugh. But the words didn’t come. They stayed beneath her tongue, hushed by the weight that pressed gently across her chest.

Ochaco stepped closer.

She moved her hand to Y/N’s waist and led her through a turn. Her fingers were firm and sure, resting with quiet confidence. Y/N followed the motion without needing to think. “I told you,” Ochaco said, her voice brushing softly across her cheek, “you only had to wear it.”

A shiver moved through Y/N, though the air was still warm.

She thought again of silk. She imagined it wrapping across her arms and throat, not choking, not binding, just closing in—slowly, softly, without resistance.

“I feel strange,” she admitted, barely more than a whisper. “It’s just the dance,” Ochaco replied. “It always feels different once you’re inside the circle.”

The music continued to pull them forward, but Y/N no longer felt like she was dancing. She felt as though she had stepped into something already in motion, something larger than her, something that had been waiting.

The final notes approached.

Around them, the other dancers slowed. Hands met hands, cheeks brushed shoulders, and soft laughter echoed like wind through tall grass. Some kissed. Some clung to one another, reluctant to let go.

Y/N remained still. Ochaco had not released her.

Her hand remained at the back of Y/N’s neck, a touch so gentle it should have felt comforting. But there was weight in it too. Like a ribbon tied too perfectly to be undone by accident.

They stood together, the world dimming just slightly around them as the crowd began to part.

Ochaco’s expression didn’t change. Her smile was soft. Her gaze, unshakable. She looked not like someone hoping, but like someone waiting for what she already knew would come.

And when she spoke, her voice carried no trace of doubt.

“I’m so glad you danced with me.”

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Yandere kidnappers who live completely normal lives.

Contains- prolonged kidnapping, non con, abuse, starvation, infidelity, fem reader

Who keeps you chained up once you wake in a basement or attic, head throbbing from the sudden abduction. Who's keeping you gagged because he doesn't want to risk anyone finding out about his little indulgence, least of all his family, but you don't learn about them until later.

For now, you're at his mercy. He's a good teacher, firm. You learn quickly that food and water only come if you've been a good girl for him. That misbehaviour only grants you a sharp smack to the face and dogbowls of cereal. He lays out the rules on your first night. The gag doesn't leave your mouth until he's sure you're not gonna try anything. If you do, then it's getting shoved back in until your hunger makes you behave. You're not to fight back or talk back, if you act like a bitch you get treated like a bitch. If you act like a good girl then you're treated like a good girl, you turn out to be a quick learner.

The first week is brutal, you have the bravery to try to fight him off. That bravery doesn't last when you've been fucked into the dusty stone floor and pass out from an empty stomach. After that you learn, learn to not bite his fingers as he feeds you and then you get to keep the gag off. Learn to not fight when he begins to peel off your clothes and then he will bring you new ones from high end boutiques you can't pronounce the names of. Learn to act like a girlfriend who loves him, not a victim trapped in the cellar. You don't know at what point it becomes normal to expect his appearance with a flutter of joy in your stomach. Or when you stopped shaking when he stares at your bare body like appraising a painting.

He doesn't tell you about himself, that's left for you to figure out, slowly you do. Picking together the voices you hear above you, belonging to two young children, oblivious to your existence underneath their feet. There's a third voice, his wife. One night you ask him, why does he keep you if he has her. By this time you've graduated from the gags and binds, he's given you a revolving collection of nightwear, like you're some blushing honeymooning bride and not imprisoned in a deranged office workers basement. He only just looked at you incredulously as though the answer was the most obvious thing on earth.

“I love you, that's why I keep you here where I can look after you.” he sighs “my wife is nothing to me but an obligation at this point.”

It was the first time you learnt anything from him, slowly he reveals more information as the weeks go by. You have an obsession almost, with his upstairs family, there's a grate in the corner- perhaps an air vent which lets you listen in sometimes to their kitchen. You've begun to predict what food he brings you based on the smell of what's cooking above you. Soon he comes to you, the food fresh and warm. You wonder about his wife, his obligation who cooks the meals you eat and washes the plates you dirty once he brings them back. Does she even know of her husband's secret? Eventually you grow curious or foolish enough to ask.

“She suspects, but she'll never know where you are.” You never know if he means she suspects an affair, or your imprisonment. You once overheard one of the children say they think the house might be haunted because they hear a wailing sometimes in the kitchen. You're thankful no one takes the children in this house seriously. He talks to you about them sometimes, speaking of the shenanigans they get up to at school, how distant he feels sometimes from them. As if he doesn't know how to be a parent to them. One night you hear him, you're half asleep worn out from being his stress toy as always. It's a whisper, a flutter of his fingers tucking the warm blanket over your spent frame

“You'd be a lovely wife if she only wasn't in the way.”

He never brings it up again and you try to pretend that he never said it. You know he'd never do anything, ultimately he was a coward to hide you in his own home than to find any other kind of secure space. He's too much of a coward to ever hurt her even if he doesn't shy from using force on you when he deems it necessary. You start to wonder if maybe he's rough with her like he is with you, a shared monster in both your beds, but every interaction you make out between the two is devoid of any emotion, other than resentment at the other for ruining their lives with children. This woman is not your ally no matter how much you hope for one, perhaps it's best to believe that she truly doesn't know of your existence, the alternative means that she knows but doesn't care. You're just the other woman.

The worst times are after they fight. There's no gentleness in him when he pins you face down on the mattress and hits you if you so much as make a sound. On the days she screams for him to do something, to show emotion he is volatile to you only. When she clatters in the kitchen throwing dishes on the floor you end up going hungry, maybe if he's kind he gives you an attempt at a sandwich, you don't ask for anything more. You curse her existence quietly from beneath her feet, blaming her for not leaving him. With every bad day you become more angry, not at him for the violence he forces onto you, but at her for angering him enough to make him take it out on you.It's easy to think of her as your enemy when you don't even know her face.

The best times are those odd weekends where she takes the kids far to her parents home. He takes you out from the basement and into the house properly, and you can play at being his younger mistress as you get fucked in their bed and sit in her chair. Once you dressed up in her jewellery and her makeup, looking at yourself in the mirror like you could barely recognise your face after months of not seeing your own reflection. When he came in the room unannounced and saw you his disgust was apparent saying you look like a cheap whore and to wipe her muck off your face. Standing over you like a warden as you quietly did as told, holding your thought-that if you looked like a cheap whore it's only because he made you one- firmly behind closed teeth. Afterwards when your face was bare and sickly looking again he softened, saying if you really wanted some girly stuff then he would buy you something nice. You held enough hope to think he'd take you out but that quietly died in your throat when he took his phone out that night and told you to pick anything you wanted. Not even flinching at the price in the shopping cart as you lay there with his cum still dripping down your thighs. Knowing that in the morning you're going back downstairs way before the others return to their home, before his wife will discover her pearls are missing and there's a stranger's hair lying on her pillow.

You wished he'd get divorced, if not for the children's sake, then at least yours. Maybe captivity would be marginally better if you did get to have more things for yourself than cement walls.

[lovelyrots]

Forced Matrimony

Ch 18 - Drowning In Bright Abyss

Forced Matrimony Masterlist

Cw - references to past noncon/dubcon, pregnancy, non-canon divergence, misogyny

It happened so slow, yet so quick. One moment, Izuku was overjoyed and buzzing with life, the next, he was kneeling on the ground, his love in his arms and his heart in his throat. He couldn't hear anything going on around him, couldn't think of anything, only that she must have gone into shock and fainted, and that he has to let her go. His arms tightened around her, he could feel the nurse and doctor trying to pry him off of her, but he couldn't. It was like some primal, instinctual part of his brain or heart was telling him that only he could keep her safe. That if he let her be taken from him, he may never get her back.

"Izuku, she has to be checked over! Let her go before something worse happens!" The doctor–no, Mariko, Iida's wife– yelled, finally getting to him. He looks up at her, seeing the panic and worry in her face, or is that just what he's feeling? He glances back down for a second before standing and allowing himself to be lead to the nearest ambulance that had arrived at some point during the commotion. He couldn't let anyone else handle her, couldn't get his brain and arms to allow it. So, instead he held her as much as he could.

During the ride to the closest hospital, he held her hand, thumb worrying over where their proof as soulmates was as he watched over her, numb. He didn't realize they had arrived until the paramedics were starting to wheel her out, and he startled and tried to follow their every step before being stopped by an older nurse just as they disappeared through a pair of doors. "Sir, just take a seat. They'll take care of her." She tells him as she tries to usher him towards a waiting area, as if he can just ignore the sinking feeling in his gut, as if he can ignore the way his body is feeling like it's about to short-circuit while Y/N is out of his sight. "Just sit here, I'll come for you when you can see her."

Izuku watched those doors, waiting for someone to come out, waiting for you to walk through, just waiting for something, for what felt like hours but a quick glance at the nearest clock showed it had only been a few minutes. His fingers twitched, his hands felt like ants were crawling over them, his foot incessantly tapped out an unknown rhythm, and his heart still had yet to calm down. It echoed like a drum in his head, drowning out all the noise of the waiting room, making him deaf to the approaching footsteps, until a hand came to rest on his shoulder and he turned his head to look up. His eyes widened at the duo standing behind him: Katsuki and Aizawa in their hero gear. "You need to come with us, Midoriya." His mouth opened, but no sound came out. What was going on? Why were they here?

"Izuku," Katsuki called out to him, he looked grim, like he was in pain, "let's go, don't make this harder than it has to be." Izuku looked back to the doors you had been wheeled through, still no sign of anyone coming his way, before shaking his head. "I can't, Y/N is back there. She needs me, I can't just leave her to go do hero work. Not now-" He starts to ramble, but Katsuki scoffs and moves closer. "Just come outside with us, it's not hero-related. Or do I have to drag your ass out?" "Why?"

The two stared each other down, challenging the other to act, but the older of the three stepped closer and leaned down to Izuku's level. "We're here as a favor to you, giving you the option to walk out on your own, or would you rather headlines tomorrow read 'Symbol of Peace dragged out in cuffs'?"

His head swiveled again at the sound of the doors opening, only to see a nurse calmly walking out, and he struggles to breathe past the ache building in his chest as he stands on shaky legs. The whole walk towards the doors leading out, he kept watching…waiting…hoping for some news that you'll be okay.

Soft beeping and papers shuffling were the first sounds you heard as your eyes started to open and you took in your surroundings. The room was moderately dark, a few monitors and a single lamp were the only sources of light, and you turned your head to see a man with slate grey hair in scrubs sitting in one of the chairs next to your bed. He glances up at you and checks his watch before moving the chair closer and helping you sit up.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, we're just having to wait for the right moment and then we can get you to the safe house." You nod, hands reflexively cradling your soft belly. "Do you know if…" you trail off, not wanting to finish the thought, you can barely stomach the idea of having his child but you can't help the seed of worry niggling at the back of your mind. "If you're worried about the pregnancy, don't. Nothing's wrong with you, either of you, and we can go over your options when we get you somewhere secure. Until then, just focus on the here and now." A sigh of, maybe, relief leaves you and you lean back against the pillow.

"My sister's on her way, there's a change of clothes and a wig in the bathroom. Get changed when you're ready and I'll escort you down when she gets here. But, before all of that, let me see your hands please." He holds out one of his gloved hands, palm up, waiting for you and you watch as he gently turns over one hand before taking the other and examining them. "Where was your soulmate mark?" "It's on the back of my-" you cut yourself off as you turn your hand over and start to point at what now is just bare skin. No sunburst imagery or a mark of any kind. "It was right there, how-" He holds up a hand and reaches for the stack of papers he'd sat aside when you woke up. "You might remember those vials you received? It seems my little experiment worked, you can't feel any phantom sensations there, right?" Even with a mask over his face, you can tell he's smiling when you shake your head, too stunned to speak.

"Good. Look over these papers until you're ready. They're your new identity and the story you'll be going with. Come next month, you'll be just another civilian that was unfortunate enough to be held hostage by a pro-hero with too much power and delusions of finding his soulmate."

He stands with a groan before moving over to the door and watches the hall through the sliver available through the blinds while you shuffle through the stack of papers he left in your hands. Whoever his sister is, or whoever she knows, they've created a whole new life and copied and pasted your face onto it. You almost want to pinch yourself.

You're given only a few more minutes before he tells you to go get ready, something you rush through but pause when your eyes catch sight of your bare hand. No brand, no mark that you never wanted, no tie to Izuku Midoriya.

----------

Four Months Later

Sae Nakamoto stands before the current Hero Public Safety Commission members, led by the former hero-turned celebrity Hawks, and can feel the molten glare aimed at her from the cuffed and gagged former symbol of peace, Izuku Midoriya.

"Ms. Nakamoto, we've gathered today to hear you and your case against Izuku Midoriya, also known as Deku, as well as that of your clients before we allow this to go to trial and sent before an appointed judge. For the record, who all do you represent today?" One of the board members rattles off, all form and decorum even when the prized hero with billions in promos and merch sits chained up like a beast, staring at her like she'll drop dead if he imagines it enough.

"That's correct, sir. I'm here to represent all those that were harmed by the actions caused directly and indirectly by Mr. Midoriya. Namely; Hitoshi Shinso, who was framed for several conspiracy plots and false collaborations with notorious villains and terrorists which ruined his reputation within the community but also jeopardized numerous undercover investigations and missions coordinated with Mr. Shinso or the information gathered by him. I also represent a civilian that had been kidnapped by Mr. Midoriya, had suffered numerous instances of assault at his hands, and still suffers with the mental anguish from his actions." With each word spoken, the bound former hero grew more and more irritated. Thrashing this way and that, muffled yelling growing louder in volume until Sae had finished speaking.

"We've already dropped our charges against Mr. Shinso and reinstated his status as a hero, Ms. Nakamoto. If this is purely to have the previous statements on record before a civil suit, then please hold that information until then." Her cherry painted lips quirked down, annoyance brewing under her carefully structured mask, before another member spoke up. "Ms. Nakamoto, we don't have any information of this supposed civilian in the paperwork submitted, how are we to know if this is accurate or simply a petty way to seek retribution against Deku?" Sae has to hold back a sigh, of course these pricks want to confirm her other client is real and drag her out.

"I assure you, esteemed members of the commission, that my client and her accusations are real, but out of respect for her and her desire for privacy until the trial, I would rather not have her paraded out here and have to share more space with the man that on numerous occasions assaulted her." "If we removed Mr. Midoriya, would your client be prepared to come before us and tell us her side?" Hawks, now known simply as Keigo Takami, spoke up for once.

Sae paused. Then nodded, and just like that, the seemingly raving man was dragged out of the room.

"Allow me to go call her in."

After nearly ten minutes had passed, Sae had started to walk in, this time at a much slower pace than when she had briskly rushed out to the hall. And behind her was a young woman, pale in the face like she'd rather be anywhere but the current room, with wide eyes that darting across every inch of the room, landing on every face she could see. Yet, even as her face screams that she's afraid, the arms wrapped protectively around her belly give an air of fierce protectiveness.

Sae turns and murmurs something to the woman before she visibly relaxes, arms slackening and the swell of a potential baby bump is noticed by more than a few members of the commission present. "Ms. Nakamoto, this is the client you mentioned?" Both women turn and Sae steps closer to the other woman, almost acting as a shield of sorts. "That is correct, sir."

"Would you please state your name for the record, Ms?" The woman looks to Sae before stepping forward, her voice shaky but loud enough for the room to hear.

"My name is Y/N, sir. And I'm begging you all to please allow this to go to court, and do more than just revoke Izu–" the woman winced, before clearing her throat and speaking again, "Deku's status as a hero."

The members of the commission whispered among themselves, their eyes flickering over the young woman, some lingering on her softly swollen belly. One of them, an older woman, speaks up first, disdain ringing loud and clear from her voice. "What proof do you have to corroborate your story, and further more, why should we believe you and strip the nation of a great hero who's come to its rescue, time and time again?"

'She doesn't believe you. None of them believe you. They'll let him go and believe every lie he tells them. You'll be right back where you were and never be able to leave him again.'

While the she felt herself drowning in her thoughts, nearly everyone else in the room had erupted into arguments between themselves. Members of the commission shouted at each other, some calling for her to be removed and others calling for those to remove themselves, while Sae calmly stated each and every piece of evidence and testimony she had submitted and the relevance of each item.

It was pandemonium. It was constant noise. It was just a slice of what life would be like for the woman, even if she didn't know it just yet.

----------

A Month Later

"Good Morning Japan! Today is the day we finally get our first glimpse at the people involved in this huge case against Deku!" "That's right, Ryuji! Some sources are saying that this all started over a lover's spat gone wrong, while some are claiming the woman at the center of this wanted to seduce the hero!" "You know, I've heard from a friend over at HPSC that she's pregnant, you think it's actually Deku's?" You flinch as the tv is abruptly turned off, your reflections staring back at you.

You sitting on the couch in a pretty blue sundress and coat, Shinso behind you in a suit and a creaking remote in hand, your attorney Sae sitting by the door in some designer grey and blue pantsuit. Just about everything you were offered to wear was blue, something about it being seen as a 'truthful' colour or something. As if a simple colour would make someone believe you over their own preconceived notions and delusions.

"Those people have nothing better to do? Why not report on some actual news? Bunch of vultures." Shinso mutters, walking around to settle onto the end of the couch, leaving space for you back away if you wanted to. "Izuku Midoriya was the nation's symbol of peace, both publicly and through All Might's own declamation. A case of this magnitude involving him, as the villain in it no less, is bound to have all eyes, ears, and gossiping mouths on it. Just don't look at any tabloids if that news segment ruffled your feathers, they're even more bloodthirsty." Sae pipes up and spares the two of you a glance before she's back to looking over her notes.

Without the sound of the tv, the silence feels stifling, almost like each ticking of the clock on the wall is akin to a tub starting to overflow. Somehow the silence feels like you're clawing for air, like you're being held underwater, like the room is growing colder and oppressive with each breath you're struggling to take in.

You stand, starting to pace in front of the tv, feeling nervous, or is that fear? Is it some looming ominous feeling in your gut that this is all going to blow up in your face? He's going to be there. He's going to be there, staring at you, only at you, and waiting, isn't he? You don't have a snowball's chance in hell of winning this case, in front of a jury no less! You aren't safe here, you can't go out there.

"Hey, look at me." Shinso gently grabs you by the biceps and makes you stop your frantic pacing before tilting your face to look directly at him. "You're safe: no matter what happens out there, you'll be safe from now on. He doesn't have any claim over you any more and he no longer has any way of finding you again. You just need to hang on for three days, then it's all over. Got it?" You nod, still struggling to breathe as he just holds you, waiting for you to calm down.

You don't get long though before a heavy knock interrupts your little moment. "That'll be Shota, c'mon you two. They won't wait for us forever." Sae stands, pulling her bag onto her shoulder and looking over at you, her gaze softening. "You're sure you can make it through this? Last chance to back out."

You exhale, try to ground yourself, and turn to her. You may be absolutely terrified of what will come of the trial after all's said and done, but this is your best shot at making sure he can't come after you, Shin, or anyone else again. He took so much away from you, he doesn't get to take the rest of your life away too.

"I'm ready."

A/N: AHHHHHH we're so close to the end, next chapter will likely be the last chapter. It'll be a quick jumping through the trial and an epilogue of sorts and then...it's over. Don't expect a quick update with that last one, since I'm going to be focusing on some other wips I've been neglecting in favor of this series, but it will be out before Christmas, I'll say that at least!

[yanderedrabbles]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐲

Thinking about the yandere prodigy at your magic academy — the brilliant student who everyone knows but who no one really talks to — and how easy it is for him to take what he wants from you without anyone ever realising what he’s done. Tags: somno, implied noncon, kidnapping, 2.6k words

You’re an average sorcerer in just about every sense of the word. You do your homework most days of the week, and you force yourself to study as much as you can. But magic isn’t really a passion for you — not the way it is for him — and that means that neither you nor your friends notice the telltale signs of his spells all over your dorm room.

Spells that listen in on your conversations, spells that show him exactly what you’re doing at any given moment, spells that put you into a dark and dreamless sleep. 

The first time he uses a sleeping spell on you, he tells himself it’s for your own good. It’s the middle of exam season and it’s clear that you’re pushing yourself too hard. A night of rest will do you good, and what’s the harm in that? He watches through his scrying mirror as you drift off at your desk, your face as still as deep water. The bells toll midnight and you don’t stir at all. Maybe that’s when the idea takes root in his mind. 

It isn’t a fully fledged idea at first. Maybe just an inkling of what he could do to you if he really wanted to. And as night stretches into morning, that urge gets a little stronger.

What you don’t know can’t hurt you, right? Magic is a dangerous thing — shouldn’t the stronger sorcerer triumph over the weak? Hasn’t that always been the way of the world?

You run into him in the hall the next day. You’ve never really been sure what to think of him. He’s handsome in the way statues are, beautiful but distant. And you know for a fact that his magic far outpaces yours. 

“Intimidated” is a good word for the way he makes you feel; "unnerved" might be another. You give him a quick smile, maybe even ask if he’s been doing okay with exams. You laugh and tell him that someone must have cast a spell on you last night, because you haven’t slept that well in weeks. He just takes it all in with the same expression of polite disinterest, and when you tell him to enjoy the rest of his day, he just nods. You chalk it up to the fact that he operates on a different level than you do. 

When you walk away, he tilts his head and decides that he’s waited long enough. You’re far too much of an airhead for your own good. Anyone with even the most basic empath spell in their arsenal can tell how he feels about you. If you can look him in the eye and wish him a good day without realising he's half-mad craving you, then maybe you have it coming. 

When you fall asleep that night, your dreams are as black and fathomless as pitch. He slips quietly into the shadows of your room and watches you. He isn’t sure what it is about you that draws him in. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re one of the few people with the nerve to talk to him, or maybe he just likes the look of you. Either way, when midnight comes, he leans down and brushes a hand up your thigh.

Your skin is warmer than his, and deep inside him some animal thing stirs.

So this is what those stupid boys in class are always going on about.

He doesn’t kiss you, even though he’s been thinking of your lips since the moment he started falling for you. Instead, he drops his head and drags his tongue up your inner thigh. 

“You have no idea the power you really hold,” he mutters against your skin. 

And that’s true, in it’s own way. He’s on track to be one of the strongest magic users of your generation, and somehow you’re on his mind constantly. Without meaning to be and without realising it, you’ve become his one weakness.

Maybe that’s part of the reason he’s in your room. Maybe tasting you will finally get you out of his mind.

It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.

Your cunt is humid hot, and when he drags his tongue across your clit the salty taste of you is enough to make him dizzy. He nips at your inner thigh, careful not to bruise. What might you sound like, if you were awake enough to feel his touch?

He isn’t stupid enough to lift the spell, but for a long moment he’s sorely tempted.

“Soon,” he promises you quietly, “I’ll have you — every bit of you — soon.”

He doesn’t fuck you, not that first night. Instead, he slips first one finger and then another inside you. Feeling the heat and suck of your core. 

The fact that he's actually inside you is heady. His heart is going so fast he can feel it in his throat, and his fingertips buzz with a current even stronger than magic. The girl he's always wanted, splayed out with his fingers in her cunt. He can feel his mouth watering for a taste of you. 

“You’ll be better off with me at your side,” he says, as he eases his fingers out of you. Your slick looks pearly white in the moonlight and he brings it to his tongue slowly, reverently. “I’ll be good to you. I’ll learn to love, just for you.”

Anyone who knew him wouldn’t have recognised the desperation in his voice. He's always so perfectly poised, so coldly out of reach. People call him a one in a million talent, say he has the raw power you see every hundred years. And yet here he is, drooling over you like a mutt.

When he leaves your room, the dim grey of dawn outlines the towers and spires of the academy. You wake up late for class and in your rush to get ready you don’t notice the wetness on your bedsheets or feel the slight ache in your clit.

You spend the day as you always do. Eating lunch on the lawn with your friends, being cordial with your professors, smiling at the boys who stop to talk to you. You don’t notice him watching you, and there’s only a slight flutter in your gut when you get ready for bed. 

He fucks you that night. 

He can’t help himself. You’ve been a poison in his mind all day — the taste of you never leaving his tongue — and stronger men than him have given into lesser temptations.

He forces himself to go slow, but all the same, he doesn’t last very long. Your cunt pulses around him, and the heat alone makes every sensible thought bleed right out of his head. He buries his face in your hair when he comes. 

“Sorceres used to steal their lovers away,” he rasps, “And maybe I ought to do the same.”

That morning, there’s a rose waiting for you outside your door.

You go about the rest of the day with a dreamy look on your face, and more than once he catches you looking around like you’re trying to figure out who your secret admirer is. There’s a cocky sense of satisfaction in his chest whenever he sees you smiling. 

There’s homework to be done, and assignments that are due, but he finds himself thinking about you whenever he can. Would you like it better in this position or that? Would you take it fast or slow? Do you know how to kiss?

He knows it’s a weakness. The strongest sorcerers are always mired in intrigue and power struggles, and he can see exactly how you might be used against him. Better to keep you a secret. Better that no one knows the power you hold over him.

But he can’t keep himself away. 

You’re so tempting, so helpless. And though he might be the strongest student in decades, he’s still a man.

Your lips start to taste salty when you wake up, and you find more roses at your door. Soon you’ve built yourself a bouquet. Every time he sees it, he feels a rush of possessive pride

I’ve fucked her that many times already. She doesn’t know it, but she’s all mine to do with as I please.

But nothing lasts forever. As graduation draws closer, he listens in as you discuss plans with your friends. You talk about visiting home, apprenticing with a well-known sorcerer from your kingdom, maybe even meeting someone special.

A life entirely without him in it.

No. No, that won’t do at all. Who do you think you are? He’s the best, he’s the brightest. Kings and Lords are falling over themselves to welcome him at court, and you want to have your own life? Fuck that. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know about his feelings, that you don’t realise how many times he’s finished inside you. You’re his.

You don’t get to leave him behind. You don’t get any choice at all.

On the night of your graduation, the academy throws a massive ball. All of their magic and wealth on full display. You look resplendent in a midnight gown, and when he sees you, all he can think is that it’s the perfect dress for a sorcerer's consort. 

Most of his evening is taken up by introductions and accolades. It’s not surprising to anyone how much his magic has developed, and there’s even talk of further study in ancient texts. He smiles and he answers the questions thrown at him, but everyone he meets walks away with the disconcerting feeling that there’s something icy about him. Talking to him is like talking to the edge of a blade.

When the party winds down and most people are too drunk to remember more than their names, he comes to find you. You’re alone for once, leaning against a balcony with your hair loose and a flute of wine forgotten at your elbow.

You’re pleasantly drunk, and when you see him your smile is soft and sweet. You congratulate him on his achievements, wish him the best of luck with his future endeavours. But all he can focus on is your lips and the way the wine has tinted them a pretty pink.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks when you finally finish speaking.

You tilt your head, your pupils dark and wide.

“Of course.”

He leans towards you, a spell already hovering at his fingertips. His lips brush your hair.

“I’ve been the one leaving you roses every morning.” 

He pulls back in time to see your reaction — the surprise, the hint of disbelief, and then the rush of pleasure. You’re still smiling up at him when he casts his spell.

You’ve never used a translocation spell before, and when your feet touch the ground it’s only his arm around your waist that keeps you from stumbling. You don’t recognise the room you’re in. There’s a fire crackling in a behemoth fireplace, and the circular walls are lined with rows of books. The stone floor is ancient — you can see runes shimmering across the bricks. 

“Careful, love. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

You don’t like the dark edge to his voice, and when you finally make out his face in the firelight you like his smile even less.

“Where did you bring me?”

He squeezes your hip and only then do you realise how close he’s holding you.

“An old place, hidden by magic from most of the world.”

“What kind of magic is this? I don’t recognise these runes.”

He tilts his head, and doesn’t bother hiding the condescending edge to his voice. “You wouldn’t know how to read them if you tried, lover. This magic pre-dates the academy, pre-dates most of the books in the library.”

You don’t bother asking how he knows about it. All you know is that the magic here has an oily, heavy feel to it that twists your stomach. You try to step away from him but he doesn’t let you go. 

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Because this is where you belong. Safe and hidden, where no one can ever use you against me.”

He isn’t making any sense. Why would you be a vulnerability? You barely know him. You try to step away again, but he sighs and pulls you against his chest. 

“Don't be difficult. I've waited too long to be patient now.”

“What—”

He kisses you. 

There's no softness to it at all. He presses his lips against yours with the same demanding determination he has for everything else in life. When you don't open your mouth for his tongue, he pinches your hip hard enough that you gasp. 

You always assumed he was too high and mighty to think about love or even lust. But the way he kisses you makes that cold veneer of his seem paper thin. Here's a man burning up with want, too far gone to hide it. 

He forces you backwards until you feel the edge of a heavy oak desk pressing against your lower back. 

“Do you want to know another secret, lover?” he asks.

He hooks his hands under your thighs and lifts you onto the desk in one smooth move. Your chest is heaving. 

No, no more of his secrets. No more of him at all. You're breathless half from the kiss and half from panic. 

“Tonight isn't the first time I've tasted you,” he continues. 

He grabs your jaw and tilts your face away from him, and then presses the bridge of his nose against your cheek. 

“I've been having you for months. I've been inside you so many times I've almost lost count.”

His other hand climbs up your thigh. You can feel the heat of his touch through the silk of your gown. 

You feel sick. Violated. 

“But tonight is different,” he coos, so sickly sweet you want to vomit. “Because tonight you finally know exactly how I feel about you.”

He drops his head to your neck and drags his teeth across your skin. 

“You can't do this,” you manage. “It isn't right. It isn’t fair.”

“Fair? Lover, I have my curses and my spells. And they far out weigh yours. There’s nothing fair about either love or magic. Haven't you realised that yet?” 

He pulls back long enough to look in your eyes. You can feel his magic taking root in the air around you and the sheer weight of it staggers you. 

This is how strong he really is? All those years at the academy and half his power was hidden. It would be easier to fight the sun than to counter him. 

What must it be like to be him? Maybe if you had as much power, you too would take what you wanted, whenever you wanted it. 

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“Lover,” he says kindly (or as kindly as he can manage), “I will have you tonight. And I'll have you for the rest of your life, too. You can make it easy, or you can make it hard.”

The prodigy sorcerer, the strongest mage in the realm, doesn't wait long for your answer. 

He kisses you again, his fingers thrumming with magic. 

“You will love me. It's only a matter of time.”

[lovelyrots]

Forced Matrimony

Chapter 17 - Dancing on Glass

Forced Matrimony Masterlist

CW - Drugging, references of past non con/dub con, medically-induced coma-like state, clinic/hospital setting, pregnancy

It's the first of December, two weeks after that disaster of a party, and you're sitting outside. You still can't believe it.

You're actually sitting outside, by yourself, in the middle of the day. A whole week of being able to sit outside, whenever you want, still hasn't desensitized you to the awe you feel at being outside alone. Granted, it's just a massive gated backyard that is otherwise blocked off by hedges and trees, but being able to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on your skin again? This is something you didn't realize you could miss so much.

You know Izuku sits right by the window so he can watch you; you get goosebumps and feel him worrying the skin over your shared soulmate mark, but he hasn't rushed you inside or tried to force you to go back inside aside from when you wanted to sit out in the middle of a thunderstorm, and overall he's been…better? Better than he was when he first brought you here, at least.

He listens when you ask him to stop something or when you tell him you don't feel well. He doesn't hover over your shoulder, he doesn't push you to do much besides get out of bed once a day, and he lets you just be. It almost feels like a dream, or a delusion, where you could see yourself enjoying being here, with him.

You might miss this, but therapy will fix that. You just have to keep waiting; just three more days and you'll finally be free. Out of the country and far away from everything here, if you can just survive one more day.

~One Week Ago~

You waited, listening for the sound of the door shutting and the beeping of the alarm system going off before you set your book down and, as casually as you could manage, went back up to the bedroom. You didn't know how long it would take him to run to the store and try to find all the things you asked for, but you also didn't know if he was just waiting outside the front door, waiting for you to run around, looking for things, acting like you were planning something. So you had to be careful; you had to take your time, but not too much of it.

You close the door behind you and look at the books on the desk, eyes drawn to the navy blue cover, but you trail your fingers across each book, looking like you're deciding on which one to pick, before you stop at the blue one and bring it close to your chest. You turn to the one empty corner of the room and press your back against it until you are seated, easily staring out into the expanse of the room and able to easily watch the door. Then, you finally open the book and feel a punch to the gut.

Inside sits a phone, an older and somewhat basic phone, a charger for said phone, and a note. 'Only turn on when alone, keep hidden, and only text when safe.'

You immediately turn the phone on and wait for it to finish booting up before a series of messages comes through. You finally feel a sense of hope daring to bubble up your throat, but you swallow it down and try to focus on the messages instead.

Sit out when you can, and watch the fence line to the east. Act like you're adjusting to being there. Watch for fireflies. Let them come to you; they will bring a gift.

On the 3rd, ask him to take you to Mariko Iida's clinic. Tell him you feel sick or that something hurts. When you arrive and you're alone, you'll be given something to induce a coma-like state and be held for 'observation' at the nearest hospital. Once there, wait for a man by the name of Hideki to retrieve you.

Don't make any impulsive decisions or changes to this plan. Don't let him find this phone. Don't get hurt. Remember as much as you can.

The only other thing to come through was a picture of whoever this 'Hideki' is, presumably so you know who to wait for, and a screenshot of an article that has your eyebrows rising.

Rising star attorney Sae Nakamoto declared missing! Are villains to blame or torn apart soulmates?

The country's top opponent to decades-old laws regarding soulmate disputes and ownership has seemingly vanished and had her home and office ransacked, according to local law enforcement. Has the brazen attorney offended one too many lovers, or is something else at hand here?

Cold, steely eyes stare back at you, or rather at the person who took the photo, and you can't find a reason why this was sent. If this attorney could have helped you, that's a little hard to do if she's gone missing, isn't it?

Either way, you have a plan. You have a mystery person willing to put all of this together and get you away from Izuku. You just have to bide your time and wait.

You turn your head at the sound of glass breaking and spot Izuku, and at his feet is a plate, or two maybe, of food that's now scattered across the dining room. Then the barely audible sound of buzzing gets your attention, and you see the smallest group of fireflies coming towards you with a black package being carried on top of the group. You glance back towards Izuku and see he's still preoccupied before you turn back to the group and grab whatever is on them before they scatter up into the evening sky.

Thick, soft wool, no larger than your hand, is wrapped around a set of vials and a small card. You examine the vials first, mesmerized by the swirling orange and red liquid within. There could only be maybe a sip's worth of whatever this is, but you're not sure why you'd be given two vials. You glance again over your shoulder and wave back at Izuku as he waves at you and sheepishly smiles as he brings his phone up to his ear, probably calling for takeout again, before you read the note.

Drink one vial and slip the other into his drink. It'll mix better with any kind of alcohol, but you both need to drink it within two hours of each other. Any later and they won't work after. Don't expect any changes within 24 hours.

That's all the note says, and that's all the time you get outside before you hear the door slide open before Izuku calls you in, saying something about how you'll catch a cold if you sit outside for too long. You sigh and slip the vials and note into your bra before standing and pretending to stretch, trying to nonchalantly make sure nothing will fall out or seem suspicious. You turn towards him and cross your arms across your chest, murmuring something about getting a blanket from the living room as you pass him.

Thoughts, both of the creative and destructive variety, swirl through your mind. Should you do this at dinner? Should you try to sneak it into a bottle of sake or wine? Should you wait till morning and put it in his coffee? Wait, that wouldn't work; he only drinks coffee when he's working, and he's said before that he took time off from work. Then maybe you could convince him to drink some tea with you? What if he notices the taste is off? What if he catches you?

You wrap a blanket around you as you settle onto the couch and reach for the remote, just as Izuku walks into the living room and sits beside you, arm wrapping around your shoulders to bring you closer to him. You don't fight it; you just bring your arms in closer to your chest. "You know, for being the top hero or whatever, you're kind of a klutz." He freezes beside you and you glance up at him; his face is turning pink like strawberry ice cream and his whole body is just screaming out for you to forget seeing every instance of him being clumsy, which at this point is far too many. Your lips quirk up at how flustered he's gotten from one tiny comment.

"I, well, outside of work I just—it's more like my coordination turns off. Trust me, I don't like breaking dishes just because I bump into a table or the counter." He sulks as you start to snort and snicker, trying to keep from laughing at him. He's about to open his mouth to say something when the doorbell calls out, gaining his attention. "That has to be the food, do you want to grab a couple drinks while I get that?" He's already standing up and heading towards the door, but his suggestion catches you off guard.

He can't possibly know, can he?

No, you're sure that he has no idea. You carefully get up, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders as you make your way into the kitchen, the barest sound of Izuku talking to the delivery guy heard from this side of the house. You look between the bottles of wine, sake, and the soft drinks kept in the fridge before deciding that the liquid in the vials would be better hidden in a red wine than the others and grab two glasses before looking over your shoulder. "I feel like wine tonight, is that okay with you?"

"That might be a bad idea. Remember the sake incident?" He calls out and you nearly groan as you, just barely, remember how you downed nearly a whole bottle of sake in an hour by yourself and, you vaguely recall, cried and whined to him about how you're always alone in the house. Cut to the morning after and you were naked and covered in hickeys and dealing with a nasty hangover. Maybe the wine was a bad idea after all.

You sigh and grab a couple of soft drinks from the fridge, opening both and pouring the vial's contents into them before swirling them a few times as you head into the living room. You pass Izuku his and take a seat on the floor in front of the coffee table, trying to put a modicum of distance between you two, just in case he notices something off with the drink. You should be able to duck under the table and run for the stairs if that happens. "So what did you get from The Flying Chicken this time?" You ask him as you open the bag and take out five to-go boxes, each nearly as heavy as a dictionary.

"A little of everything we liked last time, but they had a deal going on so I got a little extra." You watch him take a sip and pass him one of the boxes of fried chicken and vegetables to pick at. He doesn't react as he takes the box and you feel that web of anxiety uncoil just the slightest bit as you pick at some noodles, not feeling particularly hungry.

It's quiet as the two of you eat, though it's mostly him eating, and just the random reality show you put on keeps it from being silent, but you can feel his stare on you. "Are you feeling okay? You've hardly touched anything, and you said you felt sick at lunch." He leans forward, setting aside a container of beef in some sauce that has your stomach recoiling at the smell. You turn your head away and pretend you're simply fixing the blanket that had slipped off your shoulder and you turn back to him with a, hopefully, unwavering smile. "Yeah, I'm just not really hungry. I think I'll just finish my drink and go to bed." You turn away from him as he continues to stare at you before sighing and leaning back into the couch. "If you don't feel well in the morning, just let me know." You hum and nod before chugging the rest of your drink down and getting up to throw it away, but not before he asks you to throw his empty can away too.

The sun has just started to peek out over the horizon when you hurry out of bed and to the bathroom, and the small portion of last night's dinner coming back up just as you make it to the toilet. You can hear some a shuffling of the sheets before you feel Izuku rubbing your back and trying to help keep your hair out of your face. You gasp and struggle for air while your throat burns and you continue to feel sick to your stomach. "Let me get you some water, I'll be right back." He helps you sit against the cool tiled wall before running down to the kitchen. You just kept your eyes closed and tried to keep breathing, even if every breath hurt at the moment.

Before you even know it, Izuku's back and holding a cool glass of water to your lips, a worried look on his face, but there's just something in his eyes that looks…off. You shrug it off and downed half of the glass before you weakly pushed his arm away, still breathing heavily but at least you were feeling slightly better already. "You're not running a fever, so that's good at least. Think you can stand?" He's already trying to help you up and when your legs are too weak to hold you up, he lifts you into his arms and carries you over to the bed. "Stay put, I'll be right back. I just need to make a quick call, but if you start to feel worse or need anything, just call me." He leans down to press a quick kiss to your forehead before going out into the hallway, phone in hand.

While you were always going to pretend to be sick, you didn't think you'd actually end up spending your early morning leaning over the toilet until you felt breathless and dizzy. This wasn't the first morning where you've randomly felt sick either, but that just has to be from anxiety or something, right?

Just as that last thought whizzes through your mind, Izuku comes back, quiet but calm. He sits on the edge of the bed before he gently entwines your hands and looks at you. "I called Mariko, asked her if she could see you as soon as possible, and she agreed, but she said we'd have to go to her clinic closer to the city. Are you going to be okay with that? With being around so many people, I mean." You swallow down the lump in your throat and just nod, not trusting your voice just yet. Even if this isn't how you were planning it, you're still following the plan set before you.

"Alright, she said the clinic won't be open for another couple of hours so just get some rest for now. I'll wake you up in a bit so you can get ready." Slowly, as if he didn't want to let go of your hand, he starts to stand and walk out the bedroom door, closing it gently behind him.

Now you just have to wait a few more hours.

The more populated and condensed the area gets, the more your stomach feels like you swallowed a lead ball at some point. You can't let yourself get overwhelmed though, if you chicken out then you probably won't get another chance like this. "Are you nervous? She said she shouldn't have any other patients at this time, and it's just her and two nurses there, so no need to be worried about being around too many people. And I'll be there the whole time, so if you start to feel uncomfortable, just let me know and I'll get you home." He rambles on, but you stopped listening as the car passed a man and woman.

You didn't care about the man in scrubs, but the short silver hair and sharp-featured face of the woman is what caught your attention. You swear that was the same face from the photo you were sent, but the car moved too fast past them for you to get a good look, but you could've sworn that was her. You were so distracted that you didn't even notice Izuku pulling into the parking lot of a very upscale looking clinic. He parked as close as he could to the doors and sat in the car for a moment, breathing deeply before looking at you and then getting out and escorting you inside.

Inside was an empty lobby, a child's play area tucked away to one side of the large room, a reception desk to the right of you and in front of a set of dark doors that likely lead deeper into the clinic, and magazines of nearly every genre on the coffee tables spread around. "Hi, I can get you checked in. If I can just get your name then I'll have you fill out some paperwork." A peppy nurse receptionist calls out as she steps into the room.

Instead of allowing you to say anything, Izuku took it upon himself to tell her who you were, or the 'sanitized' version, and that you needed to see Mariko immediately. "I understand, sir, but since she's a walk-in and a new patient, she has to fill out some paperwork first. If you'd like, I can go ahead and show you to an exam room to wait in, but she first has to fill this out." She's very calm for someone that's pretty much telling a pseudo-celebrity he has to wait and let you fill out paperwork like a normal civilian. And he's looking every bit like an annoyed kid that's trying not let it show. You decide to cut in and take the offered clipboard and pen before trying to drag Izuku over to a nearby couch. "We'll be just fine here, but thank you." She just nods, offers a smile and types something on her computer.

Even as you try to focus on filling out the forms and recalling if any of your family had a history of this or that, you can't help but notice Izuku's face inching closer and closer, yet he won't just give up on being sneaky and wants to pretend he's just casually looking over your shoulder. "Can I help you?" You finally turn your head to look at him and flinch when you see how he's practically crowding against you. "Why didn't you fill out that section?" You look at the part he's pointing at and sigh before looking away. "Because I don't remember the exact date I last had my period. Because some jerk doesn't let me have anything that tells me what day of the week it is." You mutter, both embarrassed and a little afraid. You have the sinking feeling that it's late, but you also don't know for sure and it could just be an issue with your hormones or stress or any number of things and the idea that you could be pregnant…you're not ready to deal with that. Not now, and maybe not ever.

"Mrs. Midoriya? Dr. Iida will see you now." Another nurse called out, but you were confused, maybe not confused but something akin to it. You stood up anyway, but as you reached the nurse to hand her the clipboard you started to hesitate as Izuku grabbed your hand. "Everything okay?" "She's just nervous, she's been nervous about being around other people for a while now, ever since-" "Sir, I was asking her." She interrupted Izuku's little ramble before it could really start up. "I, well, we're not married, so I'm not a Midoriya or anything." You barely mumble out and you see her eyes narrow as Izuku steps partially in front of you. "We're not married yet, but we are soulmates! See?" He lifts your entwined hands to show the matching sunburst marks. "That may be so, but it's our policy that patients only allow a parent or guardian or something they choose to come into the exam rooms with them. Soulmates, married, or not." She stares him down before taking a step to the right and looking at you. "Do you want him to come back here with you?"

You open your mouth, about to say no, but then you look at Izuku and feel your breath catch as he intensely stares at you, almost telling you to say it's fine or else. You end up shaking your head and rip your wrist away before he could keep you rooted to his side. "Sir, you can wait out here and if she happens to change her mind then we'll call you." The nurse says as she gently guides you through the doors and down the hall until you're standing in an exam room with Mariko already inside. "Hey there, I hope you've been alright since we last met. Izuku told me you weren't feeling well this morning?" She takes the paperwork from the nurse and shuts the door behind her as you sit on the examine table. "No, I felt sick to my stomach and then like I couldn't breath and I was dizzy." She nods and hums as you explain and asks some questions. Things like if your appetite has changed or your sleep patterns, if you've felt like this before, so on and so on.

"I want to run a few quick tests before I give you something, just to make sure of a suspicion I have, then we'll get you taken care of." "Wait, do you think I could be, you know, pregnant?" Your heart starts to race, because why else would you start feeling sick without any other reason? She looks off to the side and sighs, almost like she doesn't want to say the next few words, but she forces them out anyway. "It's a possibility, but we just have to rule out some things before anything else happens. I'll be right back, so just sit tight."

The heavy clunk of the door feels like it reverberates through the room as the idea settles with you. Maybe it's some kind of reaction to stress, and everything will be fine. This won't mess with you being free, you won't let it.

After nearly an hour of waiting, giving bodily fluids for tests, and more waiting, Mariko finally came back in the room with a paper cup and a frown. Your heart sinks and your mind starts to race. "We have to have a very important discussion. So, good news: you're not sick or dying so there's that. But, the possible bad news is that it appears that you're pregnant. I would rather wait another week or two and do some more tests to be sure, but we're on a bit of a time limit. Did you open the blue book?" She repeats her question when you stare down at the ground, somewhat lost in your head, but you nod and try to keep from spiraling.

"Good, I need you to take these pills after I walk out of here. You'll start to feel extremely tired and numb pretty quick, but you'll be awake in a couple hours so no need to panic. We're going to use the news as a cover and send you off to the nearest hospital, my brother Hideki will be the attending physician around the time you'll wake up. He'll let you know what to do. " As she's explaining, she shakes out two white and pink pills into your hand and offers you a bottle of water. You stare down at the pills in your hand and feel your heart clawing it's way up your throat as you swallow them down with a couple gulps of water as soon as she walks out the door.

Only moments later does the door open and Izuku eagerly takes your hands as he brings one of the chairs in the corner closer to you and looks at Mariko. "Well, we ran some tests and the only thing that came back that was noteworthy was that it appears you two are expecting!" She's good at acting chipper and excited, just minutes ago she told you the news with all the severity of a death sentence. "What? That's great news! Isn't this great news, Bunny?" There's the numbness and exhaustion she was talking about, you can feel your limbs suddenly feel like lead and before you know it, you're collapsing into Izuku's arms and only the faintest sounds make it to your rapidly fading consciousness.

[lovelyrots]

Is there gonna be a chapter 17 for Forced Matrimony ?? I had fallen in love with the story forever ago and just been hiding the the shadow s waiting.

Hiiii, I know it's been pretty quiet around this blog, especially in regards to FM, but I do have some news. I should have chapter 17 out sometime next week, or this weekend if nothing hectic happens at my work. I also have a request for someone almost finished so that'll be out too soon.

I've been busy with life (work, family, and adjusting to a new country and language) so writing has taken a bit of a backseat in my life. But I've been getting back to my WIPs and writing in general so hopefully you'll all be seeing more consistent things from me in time.

Thank you, Nonnie, you can come out of the shadows soon!

[lovelyrots]

Forget Me Not | Part 1

Part 2

Satoru Gojo x fem Reader

Content Warnings—Arranged marriage, some angst, dysfunctional and misogynistic families, self-doubt, some self-hate

Your ears perk up as you hear the sound of the door opening, the squeak of the hinges letting you know your fiancé is home. “Welcome home!” You call out behind you as you set your book down and turn to face him.

“I wasn’t sure when you’d be home, or at all, so I left dinner in the fridge for you. I also got some sweets from this new bakery that opened downtown!” You smile at him as he shuffles into the living room. “Thanks, I’ll eat in a bit.” He flops onto the couch and lets his long arms hang off the back of the couch.

“Long day?” He hums and shifts so that his head is in your lap. “Just a day. You remember how things were.” You nod and carefully remove his blindfold, gently enough that he doesn’t protest when you start running your fingers through his soft white hair.

“The only thing I remember is that one mission I had with you and Suguru. You know, the one where you nearly left me to die.” You laugh despite your words, already knowing what’s coming next. “I didn’t leave you to die; you said you’d be fine and to go on. And you were!” He opens an eye to look up at you, daring you to say otherwise.

“Maybe, but my point stands. After that mission, I was stuck at school until my parents forced me to come home.” Your smile turns bitter as you remember those days spent yelling and demanding they let you go back. “Hey, don’t think about them. Because of them, I got a beautiful fiancé who always keeps delicious sweets in the house.” He tries to cheer you up with honeyed words and a kiss to the cheek.

That sweet kiss on the cheek is enough to keep your mind in the present, past arguments and screaming matches tossed to the recesses of your mind while the gorgeous man before you whines like a toddler about his ward-turned-student bullying him.

This was your life now: waking up in your bed alone, tending to a mostly empty house and estate, going to a bakery hoping to kill the hours between when your fiancé might be home, and looking at things for the wedding. It was a life others may kill for, but not you.

The restlessness that envelopes you when you hear through the grapevine how the sorcerer world is and who’s gotten stronger—you almost can’t take it. The cherry on top? When you’re alone, your memories haunt you. Days spent with your friends, back when you were all alive and together, come barreling into the forefront of your mind and taunt you with what you once had.

Maybe if you had been just a little bit stronger back then, you could have been with them longer. “Hey! I know that face; stop that.” Satoru snaps you out of your train of depressing thoughts as he sits up. “Thinking on ‘what ifs' or ‘maybe ifs' won’t change anything. Trust me.” He’s right, you know he is. It just doesn’t help that your mind has little else to do but torture you.

“Yeah, you’re right. Unfortunately.” You let out a sigh and watch him stretch before he gets up and languidly strolls into the kitchen. “Since Megumi is turning 15 soon, are we throwing him a party? I mean, you only turn 15 once!” You smile and turn to watch him freeze in place. “You didn’t forget, did you? I mean, your favorite student’s birthday is pretty special.” You tease while he starts shakily laughing and refuses to look at you.

“Of course not, I always remember my students’ birthdays. And I love them all equally, I’ll have you know.” He crosses his arms and pouts at you, making you laugh before you both delve into possible plans for a party.

It took you both a while to get used to being around each other in a more domestic sense, and the pressure from your families to hurry the wedding along didn’t help. But you can confidently say that you like being with Satoru—much more than when you were both in school—and you think you could even be happy as his wife.

While you have no way of knowing what’s going through that mind of his, you at least hope that Satoru doesn’t resent this relationship. That he doesn’t completely resent being stuck with you.

“Hey~hellooo? Earth to space cadet?” You snap out of your thoughts as he waves a hand in front of your face. “Sorry, I guess my head was in the clouds.” You try to laugh it off but you know by the slight frown on his face that he doesn’t buy it.

“Did my mother come by again? I’ve told her to let us plan this thing on our own, but she just never seems to listen.” He chuckles and looks your way when you stay quiet, eyes downcast and a frown tugging at your lips.

Words aren’t needed as he settles next to you and pulls you close, letting you choose whether to break this silence or simmer in it with him there to comfort you. But you can't just sit here, not while his mere presence is a constant reminder of your failures.

“It’s late, and you’ve got an early morning—don’t forget your promise to take Nobara and Yuji downtown—and I’ve got to meet the caterer and check in with the planner.” You hurry to get up the stairs as your eyes start to burn from holding back tears. You feel like such a stupid child, wanting to cry over things you can’t change or know about. Not anymore, at least.

You go through your nightly routine without much thought, too busy digging up those old memories from when you were all together. Suguru and Satoru poking fun at Utahime, Shoko and Nanami having to be the moms of the group, and your best friend Yu trying to act ‘cool’ in front of the two biggest dorks you’ve ever met. If you were just a little stronger, or a little faster, then maybe you all could’ve had more time together…

Oh, who are you kidding? You were barely a Grade 2 sorcerer by the time you were pulled out. Nanami became a higher-ranked sorcerer; hell, even Utahime did. All you could have done was be a warm body to hold some curse back until someone stronger came along.

You don't even notice when you stop fussing with your hair and just stare at the ring sitting heavily on your finger. You've adjusted well to its weight—you still remember those early days when you couldn't stand to wear it. Not because of the person you were now betrothed to, but because you never had a choice. Nothing was done with your will in mind; you were just a bargaining chip for your family to pawn off while elevating their status, while the Gojo clan gained a broodmare for their future clan leader with a strong reversed cursed technique.

"I can get you something else if you hate it so much." You jump and look up at Satoru's out-of-place grim expression through the mirror. "No, no, it's fine. I was just lost in thought, that's all!" You wave your hands and try to aim a carefree smile at him—to no success. He just stands there, watching you with this dark and contemplative look on his face. "Satoru? Is everything okay?" Finally, he snaps out of it and gives you a small, barely there smile. The expression almost feels alien coming from him: you're used to the big grins, the lazy smiles, and the occasional pout when you won't share something sweet with him.

But this ghost of a smile? You don't have fond memories of that expression.

It reminds you of the night he told you of your impending nuptials—not even your parents had the decency to tell you. It reminds you of the night he came home, recounting how his students were safe and some disaster was averted, yet his eyes were distant and glassy, like he had his heart torn to shreds just hours ago. This empty smile he gives you whenever you ask how everyone is and who is still alive and breathing.

You might even dare to say that you're scared of this smile—not because of its wearer, but because nothing good follows it. And the words that leave him give you ample reason.

"Do you ever wish you had never met me?"

[lovelyrots]

Best In Show

A sequel to Pretty Girl (K22)

Wolf-Dog Hybrid!Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Puppy hybrid! Reader

Content Warnings - Noncon->Dubcon, mentions of blood and minor wounds (bites, scratches), breeding, drugging (not Reader)

Even when you seem to be the best hybrid at the contest, there’s always a big bad wolf to put you in your place. If only you hadn’t caught his eye, then you’d be at home with a new collection of trophies and pretty ribbons instead of a litter of puppies.

You tremble as the trailer you’ve been packed into with all your travel blankets and plush cushions suddenly swerves and sends you into one of your mounds of blankets. You were so excited when Rumi said you’d be leaving for a special contest, that you didn’t notice her locking the trailer door as soon as you got in.

You thought maybe her or Keigo would be riding with you or at least let you ride in the car with them, you even learned your lesson last time to not try and jump out of the window!

It feels like you’ve been stuck inside this trailer forever, being tossed from one side to another with only your plush pillows and blankets protecting you from any harm.

The trailer gives one last jerk before coming to a stop and you look up at the door as you shake and whimper, hoping this ride was over. “Hey pretty girl! Tch, Rumi! She’s gonna stress-shed! You’ve gotta strap her in or she gets scared!” He yells behind him as you bolt to him and practically climb on top of him to get out of the metal contraption.

“We were running late! Besides, someone was too busy doing his hair to help me get her stuff packed and get her inside the trailer. Now get her leash on so we can check in, you remember the rules for this place. Hybrids can’t be out of guest rooms without an owner and leash on, no exceptions.” She boredly repeats the same rule that you’ve heard countless times by now, it was practically the same every time you left for a contest.

“Yeah, yeah. I get why some of them have to follow that, but our sweet girl? She’s so harmless she’d roll over for a fly.” Keigo rubs the top of your head before scratching behind one of your ears and you practically melt in his arms, earning an eye roll from your other owner. “I know she’s a very sweet pup that can do no wrong in your eyes, but the Hybrid Kennel Association doesn’t know that. Now hurry up, the sooner we’re checked in then the sooner you can pamper her in our suite.” She orders and Keigo lets out a sigh before bringing your pink leash out of his pocket and clipping it to your collar.

“C’mon girl, let’s get inside. Once we get up to our room, how about a nice bubble bath? Then maybe a good brushing and lotion time, sound good?” You excitedly nod and follow him up to the door where Rumi is waiting with three bags on her arm. “I swear, you spoil that dog.” Now it’s Keigo’s turn to roll his eyes at her as he leads you into the large building.

Your nose is assaulted with all kinds of smells, of other people and other hybrids. Your ears are the next sense to be hit, barking and rambunctious chatter making you whip your head around to look at anyone or anything that made so much as a peep. “Like you’re any better. You’ve been stressing about making sure she eats right and that her fur is shiny enough. Not to mention the new ribbons I saw you pack.” That earned him a punch hard enough to make you turn your attention back to them, until Rumi took your leash from him and led you away.

“Hi, room for Usagiyama.” As she deals with the man at the front desk you take another look around at the few hybrids you see, each with their leash attached and a couple with muzzles or other protective gear on.

A small group of cat hybrids are ignoring each other in one corner while a pair of bird hybrids are grooming each other, at least until their owners notice and pull them apart, and in the furthest corner sits a large dog, or maybe wolf, hybrid. He towered over a good portion of the furniture around him, while a small dual colored pup tries to run around him before tiring out.

“If you need anything, please feel free to call us. Oh, and a word of advice, don’t let your pet wonder outside alone.” The front desk clerk slides a set of keycards towards your owners, and you can’t help but listen in. “Why? Have there been poachers or something?” Rumi leans closer to him and her grip on your leash slackens.

“There’s nothing official but there have been some sightings of an unregistered wolf in the nearby forest. We’re advising all owners to keep their pets inside or with them while outside, just as a precaution.” Keigo takes a step closer to you, as if some beast would burst out of thin air at you. “Thanks for the advice. Let’s go, you two.” Rumi commands as you trot behind her while Keigo is left to carry the majority of the bags. Just the ‘essentials’ as Rumi likes to say.

“Uh, you don’t think we should just leave? An untrained wolf is spotted in the woods and you still want to go through with this?” Keigo asks her once she comes to a stop at what’s likely the suite for you three. “No way. I saw Yu Takeyama outside, there’s no way in hell I’m letting her win. Our girl is going to wipe the floor with that pompous airhead’s mutt!” “I was really hoping you didn’t see her.” Keigo mutters as he trails in after you, groaning as he sets the bags down.

“First we need to bathe our gorgeous, perfect puppy,” she coos as she kneels down to rub behind your ear and take your leash off, “then a thorough brushing and pre-styling, top it off with a small bit of coconut oil in the morning and that blue ribbon in Grooming will be the first of our trophies!” She thrusts a closed fist in the air and starts rambling about the different ribbons and prizes you’ll be in the running for.

“C’mere sweet girl, Rumi is going to be like this for a while.” Keigo guides you into the en-suite bathroom, a fraction of the size of the bathroom back home, with a bag slung over his shoulder full of your unscented soaps and lotions. He wordlessly commands you to sit by the tub while he gets the water started, occasionally checking the temperature while he digs out every bottle deemed necessary.

“While we’re here, I don’t want you going outside without one of us, is that clear?” He looks at you sharply, the intensity was enough to have you nod along. “Yes, sir.” He sighs and looks back to the water before undoing your usual collar and helping you into the bath, while humming something quietly as you settle.

“Why does Rumi hate Yu?” The question slips from your lips as confusion marrs your face. “She doesn’t, well, not really. Those two are friends when they’re not competing, but when it comes to competitions or bets, that’s a different story altogether.” He explains as he tilts your head back and carefully pours some water, making sure to avoid your ears for now.

Keigo gently lathers your body in a soap with just a hint of lavender, strong enough for you to smell it but not enough for a judge to notice, and rinses it off. Ever since your first bath with Keigo, he’s always used lavender scented soaps or creams. It helps you sleep through some of your nightmares, but you think maybe he likes it too.

“I hate that I can’t use your normal stuff on you, and right before bed too. This unscented crap doesn’t even help add shine to your fur.” He complains lightly as he pulls out a pack of wipes to clean your ears out. You automatically shrink in on yourself, your ears flatten and your plush tail curls closer to yourself. “It’s okay, princess, I just need to make sure they’re clean. It won’t hurt, you know that.” He tries to soothe you as he pulls out two wipes and scoots closer to you.

“I’ll be really quick and I won’t do it again tonight, just be still for a few seconds, princess.” He whispers, and just as he said, was done in just a few seconds.

After that you had dried off and had lotion rubbed all over, your hair had been somewhat styled, and to top it off you had your claws trimmed and shaped.

“Look at my gorgeous girl~ so clean and beautiful! So ready to beat all those mutts tomorrow!” Rumi was brushing your tail and lavishing you in praise, when a piercing howl made you jump and start shaking. Keigo was quick to rush to the window and look out for the source of the noise while Rumi took you into her arms and gently rocked you back and forth, giving you gentle assurance that you were safe.

“I know you said it’s going to be fine to let her compete, but I’m really not liking how close that sounded.” He looks over his shoulder at Rumi, a concerned frown highlighting how worried he was. “You heard what that concierge said, as long as she’s not outside alone then she’ll be fine. It’s three categories over three days and then one final day crowning the winners, everything will be fine.” She consoles you both; her logic soothing Keigo’s worries and her gentle tone and touch soothing you.

“If you say so.” Keigo turns back to the window as another howl rings out, longer and seemingly closer than before.

——————

You were high on praise at this point! Two days of being poked and prodded, your skin and hair being rubbed and combed through, your manners and etiquette all being put to the test led to you going home with at least two shiny new ribbons. If you did good today too, then you’d have a new trophy for Rumi to display and who knows how much she’ll spoil you then!

“Who’s a perfect girl? You are!” Rumi gushed as you all but floated next to her, head feeling light and fuzzy with all the praise and rush of adrenaline from meeting so many people in such a short time. “One last day and then the worst of it is all over, then you can have lavender baths and your iced treats again.” Keigo leans down to carefully pet you, making sure not to ruin any of Rumi’s hard work.

“Excuse me, Ms. Usagiyama and Mr. Takami?” A man approaches you three just as you’re about to head to the same theater area as the days before. “I’m terribly sorry but we tried to reach you this morning, there’s been a change of venue for today’s category. It appears that the alleged wolf has fled the area, so the chairman wanted today’s exhibition to be done outside.” The older man bows as he finishes, and stands ready to lead you all out.

“You’re sure that it’s safe?” Keigo keeps Rumi from moving as he stares the man down. “Yes, the wolf was chased away from the nearby area and is being hunted by local rangers.” You look up to your owners and let out a whine, wanting to move already, and they both sigh before letting the man lead you outside.

“We’ve already moved everything for your convenience, and are allowing all trainers thirty minutes before the final round begins to finish grooming or styling.” You’re led to a low table covered with a pink blanket, your name monogrammed on the side, and left alone with your owners. Rumi inspects you and adjusts the tiniest detail while Keigo scans the tree line, staying as close as he can without knocking into you or Rumi.

“I don’t like this, not one bit.” “Same here, Kei, but you know the guy that runs these things. He’s all into ‘appreciating nature in its fullest form’, besides, if something does happen, we can just sue them.” Rumi counters as she steps back and looks you over. “Perfect. As always.” She nods to herself before scanning the crowd.

“None of these mutts can even hold a candle to our pretty girl.” She mutters as a pair of hybrids bolt from their owners, kicking up dirt and causing a ruckus. “Just be glad there aren’t any Todoroki dogs competing. We always came in second when one of them were showing.” Keigo’s comment irks Rumi enough to turn her icy glare onto him. “Yeah, well it’s unfair for the chairman of the organization to put his own pets in. Of course they’ll have the best coats and be the best behaved, he has the money to make it happen.”

You smile as the two start bickering, forgetting the chaos and noise of the crowd until a whistle is blown. “Trainers, please step away from your animals while today’s final judgements are made.” Someone calls out and you watch Rumi and Keigo huff before stepping away, though staying close to get to you should anything happen.

“Hm, Usagiyama’s pup looks well kept. Perfectly groomed, well-fed but not overfed, perfect size for her listed breed.” An older man’s voice comments while you keep your eyes focused ahead of you, just as you’ve been trained to.

You tense up as gloved hands pull your white bodysuit to the side, exposing your quivering sex. “Healthy coloring and lubricant production.” You clench your eyes shut and practice the breathing techniques Rumi taught you as fingers continue to prod and stroke your sensitive flesh.

“Very nice, Ms Usagiyama?” You exhale as the man finally steps away, and practically have to stop yourself from completely dropping onto the table. “After the announcement, I’d like to speak with you about another matter.” Afterwards, you see a man in a gaudy red suit walk over to another hybrid and quickly run through the same examination you just suffered through.

“I really hope he doesn’t want to fuck her.” “Keigo!” You swivel your head to look at the two as Rumi smacks his arm. “Ow! What?! Tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing!” He quietly yells, trying not to draw attention from anyone else. “Just because I was thinking it, doesn’t mean I was going to say anything.” Keigo leans closer, just staring at her.

“You’re hoping you can price gouge him if he wants her as a breeder, aren’t you?” This accusation makes Rumi look away as she mumbles half-baked lies and excuses. “Knew it. You know she wouldn’t be able to compete then, right? It’d be against the rules of bias and association, since she’d be a breeder to the chairman’s dogs.”

That statement makes Rumi freeze up, like she hadn’t thought of that, before she visibly deflates. “Fuck, are you serious? I thought I’d be able to negotiate for enough that we could take a nice vacation and still have some leftover for that new bow and collar set.” She pouts as Keigo shakes his head at her, before a piercing howl breaks through the quiet hum of the crowd.

“What was that?!” “I thought the wolf was gone?!” “My precious can’t stay out here if a wolf is here!” There are screams and yells all around you as everyone scrambles to get back inside. You leap down and look for Rumi and Keigo in the madness, but can’t find them and quickly become disoriented in the mob of people fleeing.

You manage to break through the stream of people and press yourself against a table, hiding partially underneath with your tail tucked between your legs as you start to shake. “Rumi…Keigo…” you whimper out as swathes of feet and paws rush by until no one else seems to be outside. “Come out, little one. It’s just you and me.” You yelp as the table covering you is knocked over, revealing a shaggy, half mange scarred skin-half white furred wolf or very very large dog hybrid looming over you with crazed blue eyes staring down at you.

“P-please, don’t eat me.” You manage to whimper out in between panicking breaths. “Aw, is the little puppy scared of the big bad wolf? Afraid I’m gonna bite ya and ruin that pretty little neck?” He leans closer and groans as he smells you, with a shudder running through his body. “You must be one of those dumb bitches that can’t speak. I’ll make sure you’re screaming tonight when I get ya back ho-“ a giant red figure barrels into the wolf.

“Get inside! NOW!” The scarred face of the wolf-dog you’ve seen in the lobby turns to you and snarls as he holds the younger creature down, with a bit of a struggle. “So she’s your new mate huh? I definitely want her now, you old geezer.” You hear the wolf cackle as you finally bolt away and to the nearest door, not looking back until you barrel into the chest of one of your owners, you don’t care who it is so long as you’re not being chased by that wolf.

“Shh, you’re okay baby. You’re safe now and Daddy is so sorry you were left alone.” Two pairs of arms encircle you and rub along your back or head while whispering apologies and calming words as frenzied whispers echo around you.

————

Keigo was angrily throwing things into suitcases and bags, trying not to wake you but quickly losing control of his rage. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone outside, I just knew it.” He mutters as he stuffs his own things back into his duffel bag and zips it up. “Keigo.” Rumi tries to get his attention but he ignores her as he piles the packed luggage by the door, ready to leave once the sun is up in the morning.

“Keigo Takami.” “What?!” He finally snaps and looks at her, trembling and breathing heavily. “She’s okay, we’re leaving tomorrow, and I already promised you that I wouldn’t put her through another competition for the rest of the year. Please, just calm down.” She nearly begs, a rarity for /the/ Rumi Usagiyama, and is about to reach for him when the door to their room is knocked on.

Rumi sighs and goes to open the door, revealing the chairman and one of his hybrids. “Ms Usagiyama and Mr Takami, I hope you’ll excuse this intrusion. There is something I wish to speak with you about.” “I’m sorry, Mr Tsukuba but for obvious reasons this just isn’t the best time.” Rumi tries to remain polite, but even she can hear just how tired she is from today’s events.

“It’s about what happened today. May we please come in?” Rumi looks back to her partner, slouched on the couch with his head down, before letting the pair in. “Thank you, how is your pup doing?” “She’s finally gotten some sleep. Poor thing wouldn’t let go of Keigo until she was asleep.” Tsukuba shakes his head and looks down, a deep frown showing just how ashamed he is that something so harrowing had happened.

“I truly am sorry, I was told that there was only one wolf and the area was clear of any other creatures that posed a threat. In fact, that’s why both Enji and myself are here.” The tall dog, or possibly wolf-dog, steps forward and briefly looks at his owner before clearing his throat. “The one that attacked was my first pup, Touya. He ran away years ago, but I have no doubt that was him.” “I don’t see how that information is needed, our Y/N is traumatized because of your mutt. So get to why you two are here.” Keigo finally speaks up, standing and glaring at the pair.

“Seeing the condition Touya was in, we’d like to capture him so he can be rehabilitated. That being said, he’s evaded all the traps that were set and-“ “Get the fuck out.” Keigo snarls, his mind connecting the dots long before the chairman could get to the point. “Keigo!” “No! I’m not letting you use her as bait to get your mutt back so just get out!” He storms over, held back by Rumi, as he lets his rage be known-consequences be damned!

Enji takes a half-step, snarling and growling, before Tsukuba pulls him back. “I simply wanted to update you on our efforts to trap him, and ask that you please wait until morning to leave. I’ve hired extra security to keep everyone safe as you all leave, but they won’t arrive until tomorrow. Thank you for your time, and have a pleasant rest of your evening.” With that, the chairman and his dog leave. It’s not enough to calm Keigo though, the fiery rage bubbling in his chest.

He has to get out, just get some air before he says or does something. “Where are you going? Keigo, You should stay here.” Rumi tries to grab his hand, but he pulls away from her as he starts to walk out the door. “I just need a minute, I’m going down to the gym. I’ll be back.” He doesn’t spare her a glance as he storms out.

“The nerve of that old bastard, wanting to use her like that.” He mutters as he nears the steel door to the hotel’s gym, before something hits the back of his neck and the pristine carpet meets his face.

He tries to move, speak, just a finger, but his body all but shuts down and refuses to move. “A shame we couldn’t come to a peaceful resolution, young man. I sincerely hope you’ll forgive me for borrowing your pup, don’t worry though, you’ll have her back before sunrise.” Keigo couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to glare at the expensive shoes that stepped into his line of vision, and all too soon, they shut even as his heart hammered in his chest and burned with fury once more.

—

Rumi paced the length of the living room, her thoughts racing between anger and fear. She, of course, was angry that the chairman had even allowed the event to be held outside but, even more than that, he tried to show up and ask that they allow him to use their pup as bait.

She also was worried, seeing Keigo get that upset and the way he stormed off just made the pit of worry in her stomach grow.

The knocking at the door breaks her from her thoughts and she hurries over, opening it without thinking-or just thinking that Keigo just forgot his keycard. “Keigo-“ She’s cut off as a mask is shoved into her face and she’s pressed against the wall. “Stop! Y/N! Keigo…help.” She starts trailing off as her eyes grow heavy and her limbs feel like lead.

“She’s just about gone, take her and put her with the other one, Natsuo.” Tired eyes struggle to lift up and take in the white furred hybrid holding her up, a frown on his face as he obediently listens to the barked orders of the hybrid she saw just hours ago.

“Wh-what are…you doing?” She manages to get out before she’s carried out and down to the elevator, a terrified shriek being the only thing she hears before the doors shut.

——

Your ears twitch as you wake, hearing someone pacing outside of your room. You look around, noticing that Keigo wasn’t with you and neither was Rumi. Your ears flatten and you start to shake as you hear the slam of the front door then whispers before heavy footsteps make their way to your room.

“I know you’re in there, little pup. It’s in your best interest to come out on your own.” The hybrid that saved you earlier calls out to you through the door, and your body seizes up.

The hybrid that saved you was larger than the wolf, and you’re sure he’s much faster than you too. There was no chance of running away, and you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to hide from such an apex hybrid. He essentially had you trapped with no way out, aside from following him.

You let out a low, frightened whine as your claws dig into the bedding and your shoulders grow heavy with tension. Your body was taut and ready to try and run if you saw the chance, your heart was hammering away and your head grew fuzzy as your eyes were locked on the door.

You drop off the bed and bolt through the space under the giant hybrid the second he opens the door, just barely dodging his hands as they brush against the back of your tail. You let out a yelp and try to escape through the open front door, shrieking in terror as a heavy weight drops on top of you and wrestles you to the ground. “Stop moving, mutt.” The older hybrid growls as he holds you still, even as you try to blindly reach back and scratch him.

“I said, stop. If you want to see your owners again, stop.” He snarls into your flattened ear before a large clawed hand wraps around your collared neck. Even as you struggle to breathe and break from the panic engulfing you, your base instincts make you halt any movement. “You’re going to come with me, quietly, and you’ll sit and wait for commands like a good contest bitch. Then you’ll get to go home with your owners, got it?”

You whimper but nod anyway, anything to keep him from driving those sharp claws into your neck. He lets out a warning growl as he stands with you and practically drags you out of the room and down to the metal doors at the end of the hall. “I won’t let that whelp actually harm you, he’s done enough damage.” He says, as the doors open he all but pushes you in before boxing you in and pressing a button, the chime of the doors closing and shake of the box letting you know you’re stuck with him.

“Why? Where’s Keigo and Rumi?” You whimper out and slowly fall to your knees, adrenaline leaving you exhausted and filled with fear at what’s to come. “He already showed an interest in you, and until he comes out of wherever he’s hiding, you’re going to sit outside. I’ll be nearby, so will your owners and a group of other wolfhounds so quit your whimpering.” There’s another chime as the doors open and he grabs you by the bicep, dragging you to your feet, and leads you down a series of halls until you see the very same doors you went through just earlier that day.

He all but slams the door open and drags you over to what seems to be a clear area, but as you’re dragged closer you can make out a clear cage—just small enough for you to be able to sit up in. You’re shoved in and left alone as he marches away, concealed in the dark until you’re blinded by the sudden onslaught of lights all aimed at you.

You can’t see anything beyond the walls of light blinding you, it’s all shadows to you but you can hear the slightest shuffle of feet against the grass and the sound of something hitting the ground twice.

“Rumi, Keigo? Are you there?” You whisper out, afraid to speak too loud or that beast from earlier would show up. Only the crickets and cicadas greet your call.

Involuntarily, you let out a whine and whip your head back and forth in an effort to keep track of any possible movement. You don’t know how long you sat there, whimpering and imagining things moving in the shadows, but as your eyes grow heavy and you curl up with your knees tucked to your chest, you can just barely hear the sound of twigs snapping.

Your eyes fully open as you sit up again and look around for any change in the woods before you. There, in the distance, you can just make out the haunting glow of blue eyes staring back at you.

Suddenly, the cage feels too small and the world too quiet as those eyes move closer, and closer until you can just make out the face of the wolf that attacked you earlier. Blue eyes that seem to glow in the dark of the woods, scarred taut skin that holds a deranged grin aimed at you. White fur sprouts wildly from him, at least where there isn’t scarred skin, and you can barely see a large hand with sharp claws digging into the earth—ready to pounce on the sacrifice left for the beast.

You scoot back in your tiny cell until your back meets the cool glass as you watch him stalk closer, “S-stay away!” You attempt to growl at him as you curl up, trying to keep space between the two of you even with the help of the closed cage door. “Aw, such a cute little growl. You almost sounded serious.” He whispers as he grips onto the door to the cell and pulls it, the creaking of the hinges sends your heart racing like never before.

“I can almost hear your heart, you must be so scared of the big” he gives a tug to the door and the hinges bend, “bad,” you shriek as the door gives way and his paw snatches your ankle, “wolf.” He pulls you out to him, rocks and the earth scraping against your back until he has you under him.

Your chest aches as you struggle to breathe, fear freezing your veins and gripping your heart until you can’t focus on anything but the way he drags his tongue over his teeth as he stares down at you. How he stares down at you, ready to sink his teeth in and tear you in two. Time seems to move slowly as he raises a paw, razor sharp claws ready to cut you open, but then a white blur barrels into the wolf above you and you gasp for air as growls ring out to your right.

On shaky paws, you struggle to sit up and see another wolfhound struggling to restrain the wolf that had you pinned just seconds ago. You watch for a few seconds as the two fight before you snap out of your paralysis and end up bolting into the woods, only thinking of getting as far from danger as possible.

Short and shallow breaths puff out as you dash through the forest, wincing each time a stray branch or thorny bush cuts into you or tears at the white bodysuit still clinging to your body, but you can’t stop, not until you find somewhere safe to hide until morning.

At least, that’s what your instincts tell you. Hide, run, hide, run, hide, RUN, HIDE!

Your jumbled thoughts race through as you frantically look around, no hiding places in sight. Until your feet catch on a stray root, and you’re forced to stop moving, that is. That’s when you see the dead, nearly hollow, tree leaning against another fallen tree.

If it wasn't for your fall, you’d never have seen the opening past the curtain of leaves hanging off the bottom. You carefully crawl into the empty crevice, trying not to disturb anything until you’re sure you couldn’t be seen by anyone. You could only hope that the hybrid that dragged you out here caught that wolf, and that when morning came, your owners would come looking for you and take you home, where it’s safe and warm.

They’d dote on you and protect you, just like they did when they brought you home from the shelter. They’d treat you like glass and if you were lucky, you’d never have to leave home again.

Such thoughts unknowingly let a whimper slide out of you as you sat curled in your hiding spot, the ache of home and Rumi and Keigo too much for your gentle heart to bear. You bit your lip and shook your head, shaking away the thought, and focused once again on listening for any sounds. You had to be aware of the tiniest noise, if he found you again, then you may not get another chance to run.

Your ears twitch as you hear something, too soft to be footsteps but too heavy to be anything else. You don’t hear anything but the slightest scuffle of something brushing against the earth. You hear it move past you, then it’s behind your spot, then it moves past you one more time. You hold your breath until you’re sure you don’t hear the noise again, it’s been quiet since the wolf showed up, almost like the forest was afraid of him.

Still, you only exhale once you’ve covered your face and muffled any potential noise. You’re tempted to leave your little hiding spot, the ache in your legs only tempting you more, but the fear of being found makes you stay still. Your brow scrunches up as you hear something, but before you can start to listen there’s a crack in the wood right above your head. Black, sharpened claws pull at the dead wood before your stomach drops and your face crumbles.

He found you

You scramble to escape through the bottom as he tears at the decayed wood. You even manage to sprint past him before he growls, and you’re tackled into the dirt. Clawed hands hold you down while his legs and hips keep yours pinned down, unable to do much more than squirm in place. “Good little mate, you made things fun for once. Most contest bitches just roll over and show their belly, but you made me chase you. I might even go to the trouble of keeping you and our pups now.” You yip as he lightly bites your shoulder, deep enough to feel the sting but nothing more.

“No! Get off! Rumi! Keigo!” You defiantly yell and manage to get a hand free, blindly clawing at him. Your hand catches him for a second, long enough to make him lean back and snarl at you while you try to drag yourself out from under him. “You want to play dirty, Princess? Fine.” You choke on a yelp, the sound stuck in your throat as you’re roughly pulled back into place and the bottom of your bodysuit is ripped apart, exposing your cunt.

Once more, you try to reach back and scratch him, but this time, he grabs your paws and holds them behind your back as he shoves two of his clawed fingers into your unprepared hole. The rough intrusion has you crying out and freezing up at the same time, trying to adjust to the sudden change.

“That hurt, you know?” He nips at your ear as he roughly pumps his fingers into your quickly lubricating cunt. “If you wanted it rough, then you should’ve just said so, Princess. No need to scratch my pretty face.” He chuckles while you start shaking below him, knees threatening to knock together as he starts swiping at your clit.

"Such a pretty thing, all soft and dumb." You try not to whimper as he nips at your collarbone, and a low growl leaves him at the sound. "You want to learn a new trick, hm?" You shake your head and close your eyes, trying to pretend he's not affecting you, even as your pussy weeps for him with every twitch of his fingers.

You obviously don't fool him, but he doesn't take offense, just removes his claws from your dripping cunt and watches your hips try to chase his retreating hand as you fail to stifle a whimper "Aw, did you like that? C'mon, speak, and I'll give you a treat." He taunts you, and you nearly give in before shaking your head and try to move away from him. He doesn't let you, though, and you end up just wiggling around in the dirt before he drops his whole body on top of you, forcing you to be still under his weight.

Now that you're forced to lie still, with every movement restricted by the much larger wolf-hybrid on top, you can feel something hot and thick rubbing against you, just slow enough that you wouldn't have felt it if you were still able to struggle against him. A whimper claws its way out of you as something catches before steadily filling your waiting cunt.

Language seems to have been thrown out of the realm of possibility with each pull of his hips as the two of you soon devolved into a pair of grunting, moaning, and growling dogs.

"Filthy...show dog...knock you up...give you something real." He growled into your bare shoulder before yanking your hips up and forcing your head down into the dirt. His thrusts grew harsher with each passing moment while your mind grew hazy, and your core tightened as you desperately bucked your hips.

Drool and mud began to cover your cheek as your eyes involuntarily rolled back after a harsh thrust hit something that had your toes curling and your brain short-circuting. "There it is..." You hear the wolf-hybrid mutter as he nuzzles against your neck, sharpened teeth scraping against the delicate skin.

Distantly, you could hear something familiar that tugged at some corner of your mind; a voice, maybe? Why did it sound so familiar? Was that your name they were calling?

You cry out as he suddenly dug his fans into the side of your neck, his hips pistoning into you, forcing his knot against your cunt until the of you were locked together. Your eyes rolled back and your mouth left gaping as your body seemed to ignite.

Just as your mind started to shut off, fiery lighting racing through your body as you felt something filling you, something bright caught your lingering attention. It was all too much for you, though.

The chase, the fight, and the intense fucking had worn you down and left you on the brink of pure exhaustion like you've never known before. You couldn't help but go limp under the hybrid, your mate since he claimed you, and let yourself drift off.

--------------------

"Did we really have to bring him back with us?" Keigo glares at the newest edition to the house, for now, as he leans closer to Rumi. "Unless you wanted our pup and their puppies to become feral things in the woods, then yes. He's a lot calmer than he first was, so what's your deal?" She shoves at his shoulder and looks over at Dabi-or Touya, as he used to be called- as he suddenly rises and looks towards the door as the doctor walks out.

"Well, congratulations are in order. Your pup is, in fact, carrying a litter, I'd estimate she's roughly four weeks along and will need lots of rest. Most couplings with larger hybrid species leave their mate nearly always exhausted, so just make sure she eats and drinks water from time to time." Rumi stood to thank the doctor and walk her out as Keigo and Dabi glared at each other.

The sound of a quiet whine broke their staring contest as the former didn't hesitate to enter the closed room, throwing a look over his shoulder just before the door shut.

"I knew we shouldn't have put her in that competition. Damn it." Keigo muttered with a sigh before standing and looking towards the shut door, a frown tugging at his face.

[lovelyrots]

Rent

Toji Fushiguro x Milf!Reader

You’ve had your eye on the newest tenant of your husband’s apartment complex since you bumped into him coming out of your husband’s office. When he’s two weeks late on his rent though, the task of getting him to pay gets pushed onto your shoulders by your cowardly husband. Toji is more than happy to provide payment another way though…

Content Warnings - cheating/infidelity, eventual smut, gambling

You sigh and look at the divorce papers in your hand before shoving them into your glove box and fixing your hair again. You hated that you were still married to your husband, but he was such a great father to your three kids that you felt it was better to stay with him for now.

He was spineless and that spark of romance in him had died out after your third pregnancy, but the kids loved him and he made sure they knew he loved them as well and he’s been able to provide for your family well enough with the apartment complexes he owns. You just couldn’t deal with being the one he always cried to when tenants were late anymore.

Honestly, you sometimes felt more like an employee than his wife. You’ve had to go to tenants and shake them down for their rent on more than one occasion, and you were sick of it.

“Just until Ryoma is in with high school. Four more years, then I’ll leave him.” You tell yourself, trying to convince yourself that the kids are more important than your loveless, sexless marriage to a coward.

With another sigh and quick check of your makeup, you get out of your car and enter the apartment building that your husband is supposed to be at for the day. Your ears are immediately greeted with the shrill shriek of your youngest son before he barrels into your legs as soon as you’re inside. “Hey Takumi, how’s my little man?” You coo and pick him up, listening to him ramble on about his day with his daddy. From watering the flowers growing outside to greeting the tenants that came in, he explained and probably exaggerated every little detail he could recall.

“Ah, Takumi! Sorry dear, he got away from me while I was on the phone with a potential tenant.” Your husband comes running down the hall where his office is and tries to reach for you, but you take a step back and set Takumi down (narrowly avoiding his touch) before leaning against the wall. “I figured, but it’s okay. Has he had anything to eat yet?” You want to roll your eyes so bad as your husband stutters and rambles about how the two of them were so busy that he forgot to feed his son anything.

Typical.

“Well he can eat the lunch I packed in the car, I guess. Do you need me to do anything before we head out?” Thankfully, he doesn’t and you’re almost on the way out, just gathering your son’s things from the office, and then you can slip out and go home. “So uh, how’d the doctor visit go?” You hold in a groan as your husband hovers near the door. “Great, I’m in perfect health for a woman in her thirties.” You lie, well half-lie. You had gone to see a doctor, and you were in great health, but you were keeping the consultation regarding getting your tubes tied to yourself.

“Oh, that’s great! Uh, anything else?” You finish repacking your son’s bag and are about to feed your husband some lie when you both hear the front door open and your son greeting the newcomer. “Ah, sorry, that must be Mr Fushiguro.” You finally get to roll your eyes as he scuttles off to meet whoever came and leave the office with your son’s things, just about smacking into the wall of muscle right outside.

“I’m so…sorry.” You trail off as you look up at the man before you, noticing the scar running through the corner of his lips and the amused green eyes staring back at you. “You must be Mrs Kayama. Is this how you always meet your tenants?” He leans against the wall, effectively trapping you in the doorway of your husband’s office.

You let your eyes rake over him before snapping back to his face. “You’d be the first, sorry again about that. I take it, you’re Mr Fushiguro?” The barely there smirk grows and he leans closer. “Call me Toji, for now.” He practically purrs, at least until your son came running down the hall yelling for you. “Mama! Mama! Kagura and Ryoma are here!” He practically barrels through the small gap between you two and looks up at you.

“Well, it was nice meeting you Toji, but it looks like it’s time for me to leave.” You started to tell him as you carefully picked your son up and looked back to the man before you. “I do hope you have a pleasant stay, though.” You stare at him just a little longer before swiftly moving down the hall, a small spring in your heeled step.

“Who was that, Mama?” Takumi whispers as he stares over your shoulder at the newest tenet. “That was Mr Fushiguro, he’s a new neighbor here.” “Oh. Is that worm on him real?” You almost stop in your tracks at that, brows furrowed and lips pursed. “What worm, sweetie?” You follow his little finger pointing over your shoulder back to where the man is leaning against the doorway, but you don’t see anything that could be mistaken for a worm anywhere near him.

“There’s nothing there sweetie, just a nice new neighbor. C’mon, let’s go get your siblings and you in the car and head home.” He pouts and keeps looking over your shoulder, only looking away when your other children came running to you and started talking about their school day.

Four months later and you were sitting in the stands of a race track, just killing the little bit of time you got for yourself. Your mother had the kids today, a welcome reprieve as of late, and your husband stayed at home while you chose to go out and get some fresh air, and ended up here.

You didn’t often gamble, choosing instead to hoard the small weekly withdrawals in a secret account, but every now and then you’d find your way here and place a small bet on a random horse and then just watch the rest of the races. You were content with losing, and you often put away whatever you would win.

“I didn’t take you for a gambler, Mrs. Kayama.” Your head snaps to your right and you find your gaze drawn to Toji, your husband’s newest tenet, stretched out across his seat. “The same could be said for you, Toji.” The corner of his lip lifts, just a fraction, and he lets his arm fall against the back of your seat, fingers ghosting over your shoulder.

“Who’ve you got?” A breathy chuckle escapes as you lean back, eyes on the horses waiting before the race. “Tsukasa, I think. Honestly, I just picked the first name I saw.” He hums before leaning closer. “Tsukasa won its last race, I’m sure it’ll win this one, too.” A shiver runs down your body as he whispers into your ear.

“You seem pretty confident, Toji. Care to make a bet?” Something glimmers in his eyes as you fully turn towards him. “Whoever wins takes the loser home.”

[lovelyrots]

Hi everyone, it's been a while and there has been nothing from me. I'm sorry. I can't write anymore. I write as a hobby, something for fun, something to occupy my mind between work and family, but with the US election results and a recent traumatic event, I just don't have the mental or emotionally capacity to write anymore.

My partner and I are going to try and get moved to their home country before the end of January, and until then, I don't think I can find an ounce of inspiration to write anything. I'm so tired from everything and just disappointed in my country. I'll keep this blog up, but you may not see anything from me for a long while, if ever.

Take care of yourselves, and I'm sorry.

[arjengelly]

What’s up with the League of Villains wearing their pants like this 🤣

[moodyvoid]

They’re sluts, your honor.

[hunajan]

3. Hidden

Acnologia x F!Reader SMUT Series

Warnings:+18 MINORS DNI! Smut, fear, threatening atmosphere, Acnologia pressures reader to have sex and eventually reader agrees so dubcon just to be sure, penetration, creampie

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Hiro Mashima

Synopsis: A lucky occasion grants you an opportunity to escape from the island and 5 months have passed. Unfortunately for you though, Acnologia is searching for you as he’s not about to let you go that easily.

Word count: 3.7k

Part 2

Carefully watching your steps while walking through the dark woods, you tried to make sure no one followed you. It was quiet, albeit moss and twigs were crunching under your feet.

As soon as you reached the end of the forest, a small, modest cottage came into sight. It was standing on the edge of a cliff with the most beautiful view to the ocean behind.

While the sounds of waves splashed in the air, you took one last glance around to make sure you were alone before unlocking the door and sneaking in.

Placing your shoulder bag on the dinner table, you lit up some candles as the night was setting in. A heavy sigh passed your lips and you sat down by the dinner table, relieved to survive another day and be back at home.

It’s been 5 months since you escaped from Acnologia.

For the last months with him you had no other choice, but to obey his commands and watch from beside as he carried out his horrible plans. It made you hate yourself as you were too weak, too helpless before him and his might. 

But for once, luck had taken your side as he happened to be absent the day a huge flying ship crossed the island. It belonged to a joyful bunch of nice wizards, who were more than happy to help you back to the continent. 

When they had been reasonably curious about how you ended up on the island, you had fabricated a plausible lie, fearing that it’d be dangerous for them to know the truth. 

After your ways parted, you sought yourself a secluded place near a city and started a new life. You provided medical care to the people just like in Bosco and it had earned you a place in the community. In fact, you were an excellent healer because of what Acnologia put you through.

But it has also cost you your freedom. After fully recovering Acnologia’s arm, he seemed to find your skills rather crucial to him, which meant he could be searching for you. You had to remain in a constant state of alert and look over your shoulder. 

You were scared that he’d find you, yet if that was ever to happen, he would have to kill you. No matter how much he’d threaten you, you would never help him hurt other people. 

Resting your elbow on the dinner table, you hang your head while tears gathered in your eyes as the most twisted part was that you missed him.

He was cruel and violent. But in rare cases you did notice a glimpse of a human in him, so you knew that he wasn’t entirely evil. Though part of you feared and even despised him, you missed his touch and the way he pressed his forehead against yours. It was a mess of mixed feelings, which even you yourself were unable to understand. 

Sobbing the way your life turned out, your sad eyes were captivated by beams of moonlight piercing through the window. Getting up, you walked by it and looked outside. 

It was a beautiful night. The sea was calm and the sand on the beach had remained untouched. Silverish blue of the crescent moon was casting its light all over and as you gazed up at it, you wondered where Acnologia was. 

Whenever you had such longing feelings, they’d be soon replaced with guilt so with tears still streaming down your face, you decided to go to sleep. 

***

Sun was already setting as you closed the door of a grateful client. Lifting the hood of your cloak over your head, you started heading home. Streetlights were flickering on as you walked down the paved street with lively noises flooding around as people were crowding up in pubs and restaurants. 

As usual, you were lost in your own thoughts, which were nothing more than what to have for dinner. 

“A dragon?! Where?!“

Your eyes widened and you turned to look at the direction where you heard the word from. A few guys were having a rather tipsy conversation at an outdoor pub. 

“Yeah, my brother claimed that there was a dragon seen near Enca.“

“Bullshit, dragons don’t exist anymore,“ the other one said mockingly.

“But there were actually a few dragons seen in Tartaros over six months ago.“

“No, no, he saw this one just two days ago!“

You weren’t gonna eavesdrop anymore as this was a reason enough for you to pack your life and leave this town immediately. If these guys weren’t talking bullshit and it was in fact Acnologia, he could already be here. You’d have to hurry home as soon as possible. 

***

When you reached the border of the forest, a strange feeling stopped you. It consumed your gut and like a frightened deer, you stood perfectly still before the darkening woods. 

This familiar scene you came across almost everyday, suddenly felt like the mouth of a beast. The branches of the trees were like pitch black arms, desperately reaching for the blood red light of a setting sun. Something was warning you not to go forward.

You shrugged it off as a trick of your mind and stepped on the path through the woods.

When you finally arrived home, you unlocked the door and for the first time without glancing over your shoulder. Entering hastily, you pulled down your hood and didn’t bother to shut the door since you were too much in a hurry to open the drawer and start picking up necessities. 

That’s when the door suddenly slammed shut and you felt it. The familiar, malevolent presence, powerful enough to destroy continents. 

Your body froze to the spot while your heart pounded against your ribcage. The overwhelming fear felt like air being pulled out of your lungs and your throat was slowly being crushed. 

He was here.

Tears were forming in your eyes and your chest was heaving. Knowing you had no other choice but to face him, you slowly turned around. 

He was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed and with a grim look on his face. His eyes were serious and his seemingly calm appearance was screaming with rage. You swallowed and that crushing feeling in your throat got worse. He was terrifying.

“Acnol-ogia..“ You stuttered, unable to stop yourself from shivering. 

He didn’t respond with anything other than that blood-freezing glare and as he started walking towards you, you instinctively tried to back away, but the dresser was right behind you.

You brought your arms over your chest in fear and with tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. He invaded your personal space, large hands grabbing your waist and hoisting you up on top of the dresser. 

"Explain," his deep voice demanded as he crossed his arms again.

You swallowed and stared up at him helplessly. After escaping, you promised yourself that you’d never again just stand by and watch him destroy lives. This was the time to stay true to yourself and hold onto that promise. 

“I-I don’t want to..help you hurt anyone,” you mumbled quietly.

His dark expression didn’t falter and although you were trembling and terrified beyond reason, you kept looking into his deep blue eyes. Then unexpectedly his lips twisted into that of his trademark grin.

“Look at you, standing your ground,“ he said mockingly, almost like pitying you.

“What makes you think you have a choice?“ He asked.

“..I-I’m not gonna do what you want,“ you insisted a little incoherently, this time with more determination in your voice. 

It was a mistake. His dismissive grin widened a little, almost like taking your words as a challenge. He stepped closer and set himself between your legs. 

“You really wanna see which one of us gets what they want?“ He asked with a low voice and placed his hands on your thighs. You cringed at his touch that was clearly meant as a threat. 

Though there were also other feelings stirring awake, something forbidden which you hadn’t anticipated. But regardless, you couldn’t let him know. 

So while he waited for an answer you didn’t have, you looked up at him with an insecure defiance on your face that appeared as nothing more than a pout to him.

“That's what I thought,” he smirked. 

You tried not to react and at least seem confident, but then his eyes darkened, changing into a hungry look that you were all too familiar with. 

“I’ve been searching for you for 5 months,“ he pointed out and brought his hand up to where the button of your cloak was. Using one hand, he opened it and the fabric slid off of your shoulders. 

“Now that I finally have you to myself again, I’ll continue to use you the ways I see fit,“ he said, his words stealing your breath away as you understood what he was referring to.

“Take off your clothes.“

You swallowed at his command which you secretly wanted to obey. But if you’d let yourself sink into his arms now, you might never get the courage to stand up to him again. You hesitated, not knowing which one of the screaming voices in your head you should listen to before one of them made its way past your lips.

“..N-no.“ 

“What?” He asked.

“..No,” you said louder without actually knowing what you were doing. 

For the first time in 7 years you were brave enough to tell him no. Though the displeasure on Acnologia’s features implied that it wasn’t going to be that easy. He grabbed your waist and lifted you down from the dresser.

“Take off your fucking clothes,” he commanded with a more serious tone.

“No..!“ You insisted.

He glared at you and it seemed that your stubbornness was an obstacle he hadn’t anticipated. But truthfully, it didn’t matter. He didn’t really need to do anything to make you bend to his will.

He sneered, showing you that arrogant grin of his before grasping a chunk of hair from the back of your head. Your little squeal didn’t stop him and with his eyes locked on yours, he moved his hand under your dress.

“N-no, stop..!” You whimpered, but he pushed aside your panties and thrusted two fingers inside you. His grin widened, revealing his sharp teeth and at that moment you knew that your credibility was gone. Pulling his fingers out, he showed you the soaked digits.

“What’s this?” He asked in an aroused voice. 

You swallowed and tried to divert your embarrassed attention elsewhere, but he yanked your hair again and forced you to look at him. 

“You wanna get fucked, don’t you?” 

Disappointed in yourself, you couldn’t mumble a word at first, but when he pressed you harder against the dresser, you whimpered as his hand sneaked under your dress again. He pulled down your panties while looking at you with dark lust in his eyes.

“P-please..Don’t,“ you whined.

“Give in to me already. I know you want this,” he said.

But even when your panties fell to your ankles, there was still doubt within your beautiful eyes as you looked up at him.

“Give up this ridiculous resistance. You can’t fight me.”

Deep down you knew he was right, so you shut your eyes and already hated yourself for what you were about to say.

“..Fine..” You mumbled.

“What was that?” He asked, his tormenting smirk making you grit your teeth.

“Fine..!”

His lips crashed on yours and in mere seconds his strong hands tore off the dress from your body. You squealed in his mouth for his sudden impatience and as he effortlessly lifted you up, you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

He turned around and placed you on the dinner table. Your lips were still attached, tongues rubbing against one another in a messy kiss as he hastily pulled down his pants while you untied his cape.

Parting away from each other, you spread your legs on each side of him while he grabbed his aching cock and lined it with your tight entrance. 

Dragging the tip between your wet folds, he gathered your slick before slowly pushing past your walls. You moaned as the head of his cock sank inside you with ease. 

He grunted in relief for the way your inner lips wrapped around his cock so tightly and obediently. Slowly, he moved his hips back and forth, at first with a gentle pace. Closing his eyes, he momentarily leaned his head back.

“Ahh..I missed this cunt,” he groaned in pleasure. Your pussy was so warm and wet, pleasuring him so well that he needed to pick up the pace. 

You closed your eyes and threw your head back, moaning in bliss as his cock kept hitting that sweet spot inside you. Grabbing a handful of your hair, he leaned in to capture your lips, kissing you passionately while devouring your cute little mewls. 

Soon his hips started slamming against yours harder, mercilessly. The sheer force caused the table to rattle, making it difficult for your feeble hands to support your figure. Your moans grew louder, but they were muffled by his rough kisses.

When he pulled away from your lips, he shoved you down on your back. Demanding hands gripping your thighs, he began pounding into you ruthlessly. Your brows furrowed and you arched your back, allowing him deeper inside you. 

He panted and watched how your breasts bounced back and forth in sync with his thrusts. Noting the despairing look on your beautiful face, he showed you a rather smug smirk.

“I knew you’d warm up to me,” he said.

Your cheeks heated up, but you didn’t want to be left speechless, “You.. Give me..no choice..Mmh!” You stuttered between moans. 

He chuckled mockingly, “You don’t seem that reluctant to me,“ His strong hands lifted you up and draped your legs around his waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he moved you up and down on his cock. You shut your eyes, feeling pleasure build up in your lower belly. Your walls clenched unsteadily for the nearing orgasm, which didn’t go unnoticed by Acnologia.

“See? Your little pussy is squeezing my cock so fucking well, I know you enjoy this,“ he grinned.

You couldn’t reply as your body shivered for the approaching bliss. ’Just a few more thrusts and I’ll cum..!’ You thought, gritting your teeth and clinging onto him.

As he thrusted deep into you, you cried out, your pussy pulsing around his throbbing cock and sending waves of pleasure through your body. 

“Good girl..” He grunted, obviously smug about making you cum. 

The aftermath of your orgasm was numbing your body, but you held onto Acnologia as he continued fucking you. When he noticed your fatigue, he carried you to the bed and laid you down on the soft sheets.

Your eyes were hazy as you looked up at him, your arms loosening their hold and sliding onto his broad shoulders. He adjusted his position and started thrusting into you again. Your lips fell open as you moaned, your eyes shut tight as he began ramming into you faster. Squelching sounds echoed across the walls and the sheets underneath were getting messy with your slick.

Your hands caressed his muscular back, nails scratching the surface of his skin and you bit his shoulder in pleasure. He was panting in your ear, hot breath fanning against the shell of it. 

“Nnh..I’m gonna cum..!” He growled, his hips slamming against yours at an impossible, brutal pace. You lifted your legs up on his sides and held onto him as he finally with a last, violent thrust shoved himself deep inside you. Shooting his hot load in steady spurts into the depths of your sensitive pussy, he grunted loudly while filling you up. 

A thin sheen of sweat covered your bodies and you panted, your chest heaving as you were tired.

When Acnologia pulled his spent cock out of you, his sperm leaked down your abused hole. You tried closing your legs, feeling embarrassed as the sight must’ve been lewd. But as Acnologia laid down beside you, he pulled you into his arms to rest.

***

Lying together in a weary silence, your index finger trailed patterns on his firm chest. 

“You alright?” He asked plainly. You stopped and looked up at him while nodding slowly, “Mmm.. I am,” you mumbled. 

His deep blue eyes never showed much emotion, that’s why you hadn’t anticipated him to pull you in for a kiss. Closing your eyes, you let yourself sink into it, relieved that he didn’t seem so angry anymore. 

As you parted, a small grin made its way on his lips, “Clearly you’re still the same submissive girl I know,” he mentioned. 

Your lips pursed a little, but instead of responding, you got up and picked up his cape from the floor. Wrapping it around yourself, you walked to the kitchen counter to pour yourself a glass of water. 

“I’m still certain of not coming back with you,” you said quietly.

You heard him get up and advance you, his heavy steps making you nervous. Since your back was turned at him, you couldn’t see his expression, but you knew he wasn’t exactly pleased by what you just said. Your smaller body was tense and your hand gripped at the fabric around you as you felt the heat of his body radiating behind you. 

“Why don’t you turn around and say that again,” he suggested, his tone implying that he was wearing a smirk, knowing you were scared to do so. 

Placing the glass on the counter, you inhaled a shuddering breath before turning around to face him. As you met his sharp gaze, a tiny knot of fear appeared in your throat and you tried to swallow it without him seeing your fear. 

“I’m serious..” You whispered with a barely audible voice. 

His stare was intense and it made you clench the cape tighter around your body, not knowing what he was gonna do. As a response, he grinned and lifted you up on the counter. 

“You truly get cute when you try to defy me,” he said while placing his hands on both sides of you, “We both know how this’ll end.”

Your trembling hands kept squeezing his cape persistently, “I-I’m not gonna help you destroy any more lives–”

“Here’s the deal, sweetheart. Either you come with me, or I’ll burn this country to the ground and every single human with it,” he said without blinking. 

You stared at him in disbelief, unable to wrap your mind around what he just said. A sick feeling crept into your stomach. You couldn’t have that. All those innocent, lovely people would die. Tears were starting to form in your eyes while trying to comprehend his horrible threat.

“So there really isn’t any other option..?” You asked weakly with a tear rolling down your cheek. 

“No. As long as you do as I say, I’ll leave this town be,” he said, crossing his arms.

You swallowed and looked down, your mind a mess from the impossible choice. But suddenly you realized how used to that you were with him. 

For the past 7 years he had forced you into situations where you had to learn how to think clearly and ignore your emotions. Being familiar with these feelings, you found a way of coping so with a deep breath, you decided to approach the unimaginable through logic. 

“You’re still gonna cause destruction to the whole world. So this city will most likely perish anyway. That means everyone might still get hurt, despite what I decide,” you said. He blinked, lifting his chin up for not having expected you to stay calm.

You swallowed and decided to try to negotiate with him.

“I-I still want to live here, in this town.. So if you promise that you won’t hurt any innocent people, I won’t try to run away,” you suggested quietly, fearing what he might answer. 

For over 400 years his intention was to kill every dragon alive, but now he also wanted the remaining dragon slayers dead before bringing destruction to the world. You could only imagine he doesn’t appreciate anyone getting in the way of what he wants. 

You waited anxiously for his reply, expecting it to be a strict no, but instead of anger, he showed you a smirk. 

“Perhaps I misjudged you. You’re a brave girl for standing up to me,” He said. 

Hearing him praise you was unusual and it confused you, but you remained quiet and waited for him to answer. He was quiet for another moment, probably considering whether to compromise with you or not and after what seemed like forever, he ended the silence. 

“Fine. I’ll promise to only kill the remaining dragon slayers. No one else gets hurt,” he said and although you were reluctant to let him kill anyone, you’d have to accept the fact that this was probably the best deal you could get out of him. 

“How do I know that you’ll keep your word?” You asked, feeling like you were pushing your luck. 

“You don’t.”

Thinking for a second, you came into a conclusion that this really was the best offer you could get.

“So.. It’s a deal?” You asked coyly.

“Deal,” He agreed and kissed you. 

Feeling him move the fabric, you hummed into the kiss as he placed his hands on your naked waist. When you parted, he pressed his forehead against yours.

“It’s been a long time since anyone had the guts to defy me,” he mumbled, his husky voice sounding aroused and it sent shivers down your spine. His hands were still on your waist as he looked down at you.

“So unless you’re ready for a second round, I suggest you get yourself back to bed,” he said.

Your cheeks heated up and you smiled at him shyly, “And if I’m ready for a second round..?” You asked in which he grinned before pressing his lips against yours again.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, stalking

gn reader

There’s something very off about your roommate… something eerie that makes you keep your distance.

You can’t describe exactly what it was about the boy except that you felt it from the second you shook his hand. The way he introduced himself… you don’t know… you had this unshakable feeling as though he already knew you from somewhere.

It’s a weird thought to have of someone you’d only just met. You knew you were probably just being paranoid. It was your first time sharing your space with someone other than family, so it might very well just have been you being apprehensive.

Not that you’d ever let it show, though. You didn’t want things between the two of you to be awkward when you’d be living together for the next three years of getting your degree.

You just needed to get used to him, is what you told yourself. 

So you laughed at his jokes and listened to his brags with a polite smile as though nothing was wrong, even when he continued being strange. 

For starters, he had almost nothing to unpack – as though he only planned to stay about a month or two. Everything seemed newly bought as well – unused and sterile, like a movie set.

You don’t know… maybe he was a minimalist even though he didn’t seem the type.

It shouldn't really have made your skin crawl the way it did. But whether it made sense or not, you couldn’t shake the discomfort – walking around in a constant wariness of him. 

Everything about him seemed like a half-assed theatre act.

You’d see him in the lecture hall, walking from here to there, buying strawberry milk from the vending machines. His textbooks remained piled on his desk in your shared dorm room – but you’d never seen any one of them open. And when curiosity and suspicion made you flip up one of his notebooks, you found it was all blank except for a few shitty doodles on the first page. You never see him cram for exams or writing any papers. You don’t think you’ve ever even seen him pull a laptop out of his bag.

It’s like he isn't a student at all…

And something about the rest of his performance just rubs you the wrong way.

It’s as though he’s practiced all his facial expressions in the mirror – as though he’s studied social cues and body language in a human behavior manual instead of having learned them naturally. It makes you uneasy – how his smile is always a bit too wide and a bit too stiff to be genuine and how all his words are like dialogue off a script.

Somehow, it feels as though he’s wearing a second skin – hiding something… something that’s not quite right on the inside.

It grosses you out when he tries flirting with you. But you do your best to hide it. Brushing him off by changing the topic, inviting other friends when he asks to eat lunch together, laughing off his attempts as though he’s making jokes – always excusing yourself when you end up alone with him for too long. 

You try to avoid him as much as you can. Pretending to study when you’re in the dorm together – and otherwise going to bed early.

He tells you he’ll see you at the party later when you leave to pregame with some friends. You can only muster a smile and a curt “Sure.” before leaving. 

As for seeing each other later – you hope you don’t.

But of course you do. You can’t seem to escape him. Everywhere you go, he follows.

It doesn’t help that all your friends think he’s so hot, immediately calling him over, gushing over him as though he’s some type of celebrity. They don’t understand your reservation – if they were you, they’d have fucked him the first night of moving in together.

It’s not like you don’t find him attractive as well. You admit he is ridiculously handsome, and if the circumstances were different, you’d say you lucked out being assigned the same dorm room as him. 

But as it were – he gives you the same feeling as spotting a spider.

He’s got his arm slung around your shoulder as the two of you walk back together. 

He had a little bit too much to drink… And despite your thoughts about him, even you didn’t have the heart to say no when he was practically hanging off of you – cheeks dusted pink with his mothlike lashes droopy, drunkenly mumbling while blinking up at you with those awfully bright eyes, asking you to take him home and tuck him in.

“Ugh...” You sigh.

It’s a struggle carrying the nearly two-meter-tall boy, almost having to drag him down the hallway before stopping short at your door. He’s drooling on your shoulder with murmurs of sleep as you search for the key – not exactly sober yourself.

When inside, his bigger body presses you against the closed door – his face buried in the grove of your neck with slurred words.

“Dude.” You state with a grimace – as if saying his name was too much of a burden – sighing as you haul him off with the same exasperation of a parent putting an unruly child to bed. 

Ducking beneath his arm, you leave him kissing the door – thinking to yourself how you really should put him to bed before he can embarrass himself any further.

You open your mouth to tell him when his temper finally makes him grab your arm a little harder than intended. 

“This isn't how this is supposed to go.” 

You flinch instinctively, and his grip tightens in return. “Hey?”

You can’t see his face with the way he’s got his head bowed. But you don’t like the snuff growl that passes under his breath as he utters the next words.

“Why are you so difficult?”

You do more than flinch this time, yanking yourself out of his harsh grip before he can apologize for it – taking on a deliberate offensive stance. 

With your feet squared and your hands up to keep him at a distance, you look ready to try fending him off.

Something about it seems premeditated – something in the wary way you eye him. You don’t even look all that surprised – as if you had suspected this side of him existed all along and had only been waiting for it to surface.

Oddly, t feels like something you’ve kept secret from him – as though you’ve acted comfortable all this time when, in reality, you’ve been clutching your mental pearls.

He realizes then why you haven’t returned his affection – why all you’ve ever given him is cold-hearted rejection…

Of course. It’s obvious now – so obvious it’s funny. Even though he’s been the one parading around like someone else, it feels as though you’ve been doing the exact same thing around him – hiding your discomfort behind a sweet smile – hiding it so well that not even his keen eyes have picked up on it…

But it’s clear now….

You’ve both been playing a game of pretend – just a pair of perfect strangers – who've now shared their hand. Leaving you both feeling naked – raw out in the cold – just waiting for the next move.

“I guess the gig is up, huh?” He rasps, fingers twitching at his sides – looking ready to pounce.

You couldn’t defend why you'd kept the pepper spray in the drawer of your nightstand – but you were glad you had. Rushing for it, hands shaking as you pulled the handle and grabbed the bottle – twisting around and spraying it right in the face of your roommate.

He cries out from the attack, clutching his face with both hands – staggering back with a series of gruff curse words.

Still, he guards the door – preventing your escape.

The groaning turns to croaks instead, and you think he might be crying. It’s tough to see through the hands covering his eyes – but when he looks back up again, despite the red burns left by your pepper spray on his puffy teary cheeks, he’s got a smile on his face. 

He’s not crying – he’s laughing – as the hand covering his face slowly drags down the crazed expression – over crazed eyes, bloodshot and wet, staring at you through the gaps between his fingers.

The look alone is enough to give you goosebumps.

But when you try to make a run for it, he grabs you again – and this time, you’re not able to shake him off. It feels as though the tight grip splinters your skin as he pulls you back – shoving you down against your bed.

“Can’t say it hasn’t been fun, roomie. But I’m not completely satisfied yet.”

He’s on top of you before you get a kick in – pinning your wrists above your head as he leans over you – bright eyes gleaming with that sickness you’d almost convinced yourself you’d been imagining. You opt to shout, but he’s soon got his other hand clasped tight over the bottom half of your face before you get a sound out.

“You were supposed to fall in love with me, you know?” His voice is airy as though he’s confessing – but also on the brink of laughter as though he’s telling a joke in class. “That’s how it goes in the movies.”

You swallow beneath his hand – eyes peeled, heart beating so hard it hurts.

His eyes wander – roaming your neck and chest. It’s awfully quiet before he speaks again. “But I suppose we can act out a different plot line...” 

You whimper at his suggestive tone – already feeling the weight of his intentions bearing down on you, crushing you free of air. 

“I like romcoms, but horror stories have their charm, too...”

You shudder beneath the warmth of his breath, screaming into his palm once his warm lips mouth your throat, sucking on the tender skin with tongue and teeth in between words.

“An unfortunate college student finds themself moving into the same dorm as their unhinged stalker…”

There’s a thrill in his tone – something crazed and terrifying as he goes on.

“The two play a psychological game of endurance, trying to balance college and privacy while sharing the same space...”

Something hard and gross steadily ruts against your thigh. His voice gets thicker – breath hotter on your neck. The kisses turn sloppy. Tears burn your cheeks.

“Everything seems to lead up to a party held before Spring break, a fateful night on which their endurance finally runs out.”

He groans, and you sob.

“A rejected kiss, a can of pepper spray, a shared bed. What happens next?”

JJK – Gojo, Yuta

BNHA – Hawks, Denki, Kirishima

HQ – Miya twins

CSM – Yoshida

BLLK - Nagi

[envy-of-the-apple]

Exception

Dark!Geto Suguru x reader

5.8 wc

Synopsis: You never bothered with Suguru's crush on you, knowing it would fade. After meeting him again years later, you make the horrible discovery that his feelings for you have only festered.

(Warnings: yandere, dark content, murder of a side character, slight gore, violence, rape/noncon, vaginal fingering, piv sex, unsafe sex)

When you were in your first year of college, you got a part-time job at a nearby cafe. 

It was easy work. Make coffee. Bake some pastries. Attend to the customers. Nothing too unmanageable. It was an insignificant part of your life. 

Then, Gojo and Geto came along.

 

Insufferably annoying. Especially, the loud one. They always caused a havoc in the cafe, often to the point where the manager had to physically kick them out. It was a turbulent two weeks, until one day you promised them if they kept it down, you'd let them try a few of your experimental pastries. 

Really, it was your own damn fault. They started coming every day after that, mostly to bother you. The only reason management hadn't outright banned them was probably because Gojo made 50% of their entire revenue. 

You warmed up to them eventually. Your fake smiles turned into more amused ones because of their antics. Once or twice, they'd get a good laugh out of you. You've heard rumors of a private, religious highschool nearby. You always assumed they were a byproduct of that. 

Eventually, Gojo becomes Satoru. Geto becomes Suguru. Nice kids, if not a bit overzealous. Despite refusing to hang out with them after work, you had to admit, you grew a bit attached to them. You found yourself asking about their day, hiding sweets for the two of them, sometimes you'd even let them steal a croissant or two. 

You bet the reason they hung around you was because, to them, you were some cool college student. Secretly, you found it a little flattering. Some days, their friendship was the highlight of your shift. It's clear Satoru is always the instigator, always looking like he's about to bounce off the walls (you have told him to lay off the sugar), it's not like Suguru was any better. He tried to act like he was the more refined part of the friendship. He often fails, at least in your eyes. 

It becomes pretty apparent that Suguru had a crush on you. You're not sure when exactly you started to notice the bashful looks, the slight flush on his cheeks whenever you accidentally brush his hand, the fact that he visits far more often (even though Satoru has the sweet-tooth) but you can't unsee it now. It doesn't help that Satoru looks downright giddy whenever his friend talks to you, barely controlling his giggles in the background. His reaction and Suguru's irritation often start a few skirmishes right outside the cafe doors. You've told them multiple times to take their fights in the alley at least. They never listened. 

For his sake, you don't acknowledge it, already knowing what it is. A schoolyard crush. Harmless, it'll pass. Eventually, when you're a distant memory to them, Satoru will tease him about it and Suguru will give a playful elbow nudge. Much to your relief, Suguru doesn't pull you to the side and confess. He's refined, in that way, never giving too much until you have the evidence and clues yourself. 

It continued like that for months. And then, something changed. 

They stopped coming around as much. Daily visits turned weekly. Weekly turned to every so often. Their energy felt off too. Satoru seemed the same as always, if not a bit more mellowed out. It was Suguru you mainly worried for. Each time he returned, he looked worse and worse. Darker circles. Eyes filled with exhaustion. 

You pull him aside eventually, asking if anything is going on, asking if he's okay, asking if he wants to talk. As sincerely as you can, you tell him that you're here for him. He at least attempts to smile at that. When you press, he shakes his head. 

"It's nothing," you both know he's lying, "it's just....it's nice to see that there is one exception." 

A little while after that, they stop coming entirely. You notice, but you aren't able to focus on it. School gets harder, you're cutting back your work to focus on it. You don't even recognize Satoru at first when he walks in nearly a year later. 

He's different. So much taller. Despite being a few years younger than you...he doesn't feel like a kid anymore. An easygoing smile is pulled on his face when he sees you, giving a lazy wave. You return it, though a bit hesitant. He talks to you as though no time has passed at all, asking what you made for him this time. He talks fast. His voice is too laid back. Too casual. Like he's avoiding something. You think you know what. 

"Where's Suguru?" you ask when you glance behind Satoru for the third time, "I haven't seen him around lately." 

He freezes, like he's been dreading that question ever since he came in. Finally, he shrugs, making a noncommital hum. His sunglasses obscure his eyes but it isn't enough to hide how cold he suddenly turned. Satoru seems to realize that too. His answer is pulled by reluctance. 

"We don't talk anymore." He doesn't say anything more. You don't need him to.

When he pulls out his wallet, you tell him it's on the house. He looks at you then. His mouth opens, searching for the right words. He waits too long. His mask slips back into place. 

Gojo grins at you, painfully fake. 

"Take care of yourself, will ya?" 

You never see him again after that. You know it's your fault. 

You think about them every so often when you can, Suguru especially. He rests in the back of your mind like an old piece of furniture you can't bring yourself to throw out. Suguru sometimes haunts your dreams with his darkened eyes and the pure brokenness on his face. For some reason, you think you failed him somehow. You felt like you could have done more. Maybe, if you'd tried harder to reach out, things would have been different. Two boys wouldn't be utterly heartbroken. 

Years pass by. You quit working at the cafe. You graduate college. You move cities. You get a job. Eventually, you settle into a nice apartment. You forget all about your days in that quaint little restaurant, your attention hogged by a couple of annoying high schoolers. You don't think about Satoru for years. You don't think about Suguru for years. 

Until one day, when he calls your name in the street. 

He was bigger now, towering over you with broad shoulders. His hair was longer, darker too, less of a green, more black. He's ditched his school uniform, trading it for a more casual outfit. It's his face that makes you hesitate before you use your voice, that same smile, physically at least. He looks the same, but then he doesn't. 

"...Suguru?" It's a question because you're still not sure. 

He smiles wider. 

"Long time, huh?" 

Somehow, your reunion culminates in a restaurant. You still feel out of it, somehow, like you're watching yourself in an out-of-body experience. Between the food and him, you're not sure if you can even believe it. 

He tells you he heads a temple now. A pious man. You shouldn't be surprised, considering his education, but you never knew he was so invested in religion. The two of you converse about other meaningless things. The conversation becomes less stilted. More sincere. You learned your lesson from last time. You don't bring up Satoru unless he does. 

Much to your disappointment, he doesn't. 

Compared to yours, his life is so crazy. Not just with the temple. Suguru tells you he's a father now too. Adopted two little girls. He's barely 22. You can barely hold your disbelief, shaking your head as you take another sip of your coffee. 

"In any case," you say when the conversation draws to a lull, "I'm just really glad you're happy, Suguru. You deserve it." 

When Suguru gives you a questioning look, you continue. 

"The last time we saw each other, you looked miserable." 

 His eyes widen in realization before a laugh bubbles out of his throat. Deep, rich like chocolate. 

"Back then, I was going through a lot." He sighs. "I was figuring out what I wanted. It...it was a tough time for me." 

You nod along, hoping you aren't forcing him to pry. However, the Suguru you're faced with now doesn't seem like that type of person anymore. He won't give if you press. He talks on his own terms. You never once thought of him as a pushover, but he's less open now. Perhaps it's because he's no longer a child. 

Suguru smiles then, a little more sincere than his first. 

"You know...I've always wanted to thank you." 

You tilt your head. "What for?" 

He plays with his empty cup like he's searching for the answer himself. "You gave me hope when no one else did. Everyone was so quick to tell me if I was wrong or right."

He leans back on his chair, eyes drifting towards the ceiling, "Other humans, they're always so enraptured by their own lives. You were the only person who reached out. At least, who cared enough to." 

The guilt from years ago slipped back into your throat. So he had been suffering. You should have done more. He was just a kid. They both had been. You could have done something. Maybe you could have saved a little more.

His hand finds yours on the table. They're rough, calloused. You can feel the scars. He squeezes your fingers. 

"Thank you," he murmurs, "For being an exception." 

You squeeze back. 

It's a tumultuous friendship, at first. It's much like a burn. Sensitive, it hurts at first. The wound is too fresh. Eventually, dead skin and memories fade away. You find yourself texting him. Once a week. Maybe a little more, if you get brave enough. 

Once, he sends you a picture of a white cat lounging in a sunbeam.

looks like Satoru, he types. 

(You stare at the caption for a long longer than necessary.)

It does, you send back.

You visit his temple once. He invited you, actually. A free tour, he had joked. It was beautiful. A large expansive garden filled with all types of flowers. The courtyard felt like it stretched for miles. That was just the outskirts of the temple. The building was something else entirely. A large ceiling. Expansive walls. White pillars that keep going higher and higher and higher. 

You notice his followers are everywhere. Most carry the same smile on their face. Bright, happy, cheery, but too strained. Like it's a job for them. It feels weird to say, but he fits nicely here. You think that because this wasn't the place you thought Suguru would end up. He dons the traditional clothing perfectly. Like they were made for him. They probably were, considering how high his reputation was. 

If he hadn't had the same face, the same hair color. You wouldn't have recognized him at all. He's managed to replace every single thing in his life with something new. It doesn't go unnoticed by you that you're the only thing he keeps from the past. A momento of sorts. You're a keepsake, for him. You don't mind the symbolism. You've always been easily flattered. 

You just failed to realize that not all of his feelings had changed. 

It was in front of your house. After, yet another visit to the temple (much at Suguru's insistence), he'd offered to walk you home. You would have declined if it wasn't so dark out. In the end, you accept his offer. 

"The girls have come to like you," Suguru says after a lull of pleasant silence. When you glance at him, you find his eyes on you. 

"Have they?" you prod. 

In all honestly, you didn't think they liked you at all at first. You don't have that much experience with young children, but you found it odd how unnerved Nanako and Mimiko seemed to get around you, practically hiding behind their father's figure, peeking out with untrusting eyes. Suguru had to gently coax them out with soft words, insisting that you were a close friend of his, you were 'different'. 

"Yes, they talk about you all the time," he continues, rolling his eyes in affection, "Mimiko especially gets very animated." 

Your heart skips a beat at his answer. You never felt one way or the other about children, but it felt nice when two little girls felt so highly about you. Those two especially. 

"It must be from all the sweets I bribed them with," you say, jokingly, "Please tell me I didn't cause them any stomach aches." 

He laughs, light and pretty. 

"It's not that," he responds, "it's because of you, mostly. You're different from the others."

You smile, but it's half-hearted, an attempt more than anything. It takes you a while for you to work up for the question. For some reason, you feel a bit nervous, like you're stepping on something you shouldn't be. 

"Different," you start, "you keep saying that. What does that mean? What am I different from?" 

He stops, just at the entrance of your flat. Suguru's fingers drum on his pants. You stare at him. He stares right back. 

"You are different, in so many different ways," he says, though it feels as though he's speaking to himself, rather than you. 

He takes a step forward. Tiny, he barely even moved. And yet, the distance between the two of you has vanished completely. 

"You've always been. Different from everyone else. The only one." You can't tell if he cut himself off, or if there was truly nothing else to say. 

It was barely a kiss. His lips brushed against yours, barely touching. Soft, like he cherished you the most out of all his possessions. The gentleness of it all is enough for you to freeze. 

Then his hand curls around your waist, and you jolt back into your body. 

You splay your hands on his chest, pushing him away until you have enough momentum to step back. His loose hold on you falls away. You can't look at him, even when you can feel his stare burn into you. 

"Suguru," you say, because you're mind is still running to catch up to your heart, "I-we-" 

Your name being called stops your babbling. You don't think he saw, god you hoped he hadn't. When you look over, he's smiling, so you don't think he did. He was never one to hide his feelings. Still, you step away from Suguru, ignoring how stiff the man had become. 

"Hey," you say, mostly out of relief because you couldn't deal with this anymore. When he wraps you into a hug and a chaste kiss, you wordlessly accept. Suguru's gaze on your back only gets stronger. 

"Who's this?" he asks, gesturing at Suguru. Your smile falters as you glance at Suguru. His face was blank. He wasn't even smiling anymore as he continued to stare at your man. 

"A friend," you say before Suguru can make this already worse, "and he was just leaving." 

"Oh," he says, before smiling down at you. Delightfully oblivious. 

"We'll talk later, okay Suguru?" You send Suguru a hurried smile before dragging him into your shared flat. 

You lock the door behind you. He says something just then, you laugh, trying so hard not to sense Suguru's presence through the door. You don't think he leaves. Not for a good long while. 

You don't speak to Suguru, after that. 

You wince whenever you see his name through your contact list now, as though even seeing a remnant of him is painful. You don't go to the temple anymore. Your communication with the girls turns nonexistent. 

Suguru hasn't said anything to you either. The line has grown dead both ways. 

You feel guilty, even though you know it wasn't your fault, you still can't help but wonder if you could have done something different. Did you do something that made him think you were interested? You probably had, knowing how unaware you could be, sometimes. You couldn't help but feel ecstatic when the two of you reconnected again. You'd been so excited for Suguru, happy for him because he'd finally found his way. You didn't know he still liked you after all these years. It was a schoolyard crush, at least, it was supposed to be.

Looking back, you didn't think you'd even told Suguru that you were already seeing someone. One blunder after a blunder. 

It must have been embarrassing for him, you can't help but think. Even when he was younger, Suguru had always held onto his pride dearly. You don't know if your friendship could ever be the same after this, but you'd like to extend the olive branch. If he'd take it. 

You tell your boyfriend about the incident eventually. You know it's not your fault, but you still feel like it is. He takes it well, once you explain, looking at you sweetly. 

"I could tell something was going on between you and him," he says, "but thanks for telling me." 

"You aren't mad?" you ask, half-afraid of the answer. 

"At you? Course not. Him, however"- he made a swing motion with his fist "-he does something like that again and I'll punch his lights out." 

You laugh, knowing it's a joke, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He beams. 

It takes a week of radio silence to forget about the mishap. You're humming a song you've forgotten the lyrics to when you arrive at your apartment. Your boyfriend said that he was coming home early tonight. You'd planned something quiet for the evening. A movie, cheap drinks. 

"Welcome home." Suguru grins. You freeze. 

He sits on the couch, splayed out like he belonged there. He's not wearing his priest garment, now garbed with a simple shirt and jeans. It takes a minute for you to figure out what you're looking at. Slowly, you close the door behind you. 

"Hey," you say, hoping your tone doesn't indicate just off-put by this encounter you are.

Suguru doesn't seem to mind your reluctance. 

"He let me in." Suguru points to somewhere behind you. Oh, your boyfriend is probably in the bathroom. "He was such a nice man. You were very lucky." 

"Thank you," you find yourself saying, "I am." 

His smile grows bigger, and you wonder if there's a joke you aren't let in on. Like he's saying something that's going right above your head. 

When you take a glance behind you, your partner is nowhere to be seen. It makes you wonder if you should say something to Suguru right now. Mend the bridge that's shattered between you. Currently, he seemed to be in a good mood. 

"Suguru," you start, taking a tiny step forward. You twiddle with your fingers. 

"Listen, I'm really sorry for how things went the last time we met. I just-" He hushes you, putting a finger to his lips. 

"You shouldn't air out your affairs in front of him like that," he tells you, "you might hurt his feelings." 

What? You look behind you again. Nothing. 

Suguru laughs. It sounds off. Wordlessly, he points behind you again but angles his finger a tiny bit higher. You follow his direction. 

Immediately, you wish you hadn't. 

He's in pieces, scattered all over the ceiling. A hand is above the door, a leg is above the kitchen. It's like his appendages were chopped before being glued onto the ceiling. There's no blood, just body parts. 

The worst part was that he was still alive. His head was still attached to his torso, the only part of him that was still intact. His mouth was open, his eyes were wide, and it took you a second that he was trying to tell you something. Repeating a word over and over. 

Run. 

Your hand covers your mouth as you continue to stare up at him. What was left of him. You think your knees are threatening to give before Suguru's holding you up. You can feel him lead you towards the couch, sitting you down in the plush mattress. He curls an arm around you, letting out a sigh.

"I meant what I said." Suguru adjusts your hair. "He was such a nice man, for a monkey anyway."

It doesn't occur to you that Suguru had done this until he speaks. You'd known Suguru said he performed exorcisms in his temple. You didn't-you couldn't-

"You?" you can barely push the wavering words out, "you-how-Suguru-" 

He hushes you, drawing you closer to his body. You're completely dwarfed by him as he rests his head on your neck, breathing in your scent. You are barely coherent, sucking in air as your voice dissolves into sobs. 

"I would have liked it if things hadn't turned out this way," he sighs, "but I don't believe it would have turned out any differently." 

His tone is almost pitying. 

"You may be the exception, but you are still one of them. Unaware of the true hierarchy." Suguru hums. 

"That's alright. It wasn't your fault. You were simply born this way," he continues, "I don't mind teaching you." 

You wiggle, trying your hardest to get out of his grip. Suguru only clicks his tongue. A harsh grip on your waist is enough to still you. You can't understand what's going on, maybe you never will, but you know one thing. You let a monster back into your life. Geto Suguru was not the same person you knew when you were younger. 

Or perhaps, he was always this way. He was just better at hiding it, back then. 

"I'm sorry," you finally let out, "Suguru, I'm-I'm so so sorry. I'll do whatever-whatever you want. Anything just please please please-" 

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for him," Suguru doesn't sound too apologetic, "though, I could put him out of his pain. Would you like that?" 

You didn't need him to elaborate. Suguru would kill him. Or perhaps he was already dead. His moving eyes, his twitching lips, were all just muscle memory. The last of his brain synapses. There was no science, no magic, that could bring him back from this. 

And maybe, that tiny selfish part of you wanted to stop seeing his mangled body. 

You nod and you can feel Suguru's grin. He snaps his fingers. The thing disappears, vanishes into mist. 

"All gone!" Suguru declares. "There. Isn't that better?" 

You wince when he touches your face, brushing away the tears. You're too scared to do anything more. You don't fight when he kisses your neck. You don't fight when he kisses your jaw. You don't fight when he kisses your lips. 

It's with the same gentleness as the last time he'd kissed you, right outside of your apartment. Soft, warm, loving. 

You start sobbing then. Ugly, heaving, heartbroken. He takes it in stride, humming as he pushes your body down until your back is pressed on the couch. His lips brush your damp cheek. 

"There's no need to be afraid." Through your tears, you can see him smiling down at you. "The worst has passed. I'll take care of you from now on." 

The worst part about all of this is how honest he sounds. Like he truly believes he's doing this for your good. It makes you wonder who the delusional one is. Him or you. 

He's tuts in sympathy as you lay there, shivering underneath him.

"You must be so confused, poor thing." He tilts his head, the back of his fingers stroking your cheeks. "I should explain, shouldn't I? Unfortunately, I'm more interested in other things right now."

You must look horrible, but Suguru doesn't seem to mind, bending down, melding your lips with his. He sighs, like he'd waited eons for this. You stiffen when you feel his hands play with the band of your skirt. As if he can feel your beginnings of struggle, he pulls back, staring you down. Brown, almost black, eyes peer down at you. There's a hint of a warning curling on his lip. 

You still immediately. If he could do that, what could he do to you?

"None of that," he chides, and yet he's so painfully gentle about it, "be good." 

What was he? How did he do this? How could he? You want to ask them all but you can only get one out when you lift your head, getting your voice to work. 

"Why?" 

You don't know what you're asking. He clearly does. Another soft smile. You wish you could tear it off his face. 

"You were always the exception, even back then," He says quietly into the stale air of the apartment. His eyes drift and you wonder if he's remembering the you all those years ago, secretly passing pastries to him and Satoru, giggling at jokes only a highschooler could make. "The only one of the humans who didn't utterly disgust me." 

Fingers reach for the hem of your skirt, pushing it up your bare legs. 

"And it's natural, isn't it? To protect the exceptions, the rarities of the world," he says, "To keep them away from the impure." 

You start crying again. He patiently hushes you, kissing away your tears. This time, you don't bother putting up a fight. You just squeeze your eyes closed, flinching when he reaches to your inner thighs, feeling the cotton of your panties. His breath hitches. So does yours. 

He bypasses the cloth with two dexterous fingers. When he touches the skin, you flinch, trying to squeeze your thighs closed. It doesn't help. Suguru leans forward, you can feel his breath on your cheek as you shiver underneath him. He finds your clit, teasing it with a calloused thumb. You think you're mouthing it, even when you can't bring yourself to say it. Don't touch me don't touch me don't touch me. 

He doesn't listen. You don't know if he heard it or not. It didn't matter, either way. It wasn’t like he was planning to stop.

Despite how much you don’t want this, your body doesn’t listen. His touch is gentle, soothing on your pussy despite the horrors you’ve seen him do. It doesn’t take long for your cunt to adjust, dripping.

There’s a satisfied sigh above you and you know Suguru had felt it too.

One finger pushes into you. You gasp, curling your back, unprepared but Suguru’s giving a pleasant hum, easing you into it. Despite how humiliating this entire situation is, your one reprieve is being able to bury your head into his neck, keeping yourself there as he continues to have his way with your body. You can feel him kiss the crown of your head, an action that completely juxtapositions another finger entering your wet hole.

He’s gentle, but not slow. He fingerfucks you with earnestness, curling his fingers when your walls tighten around him. Your crying is interrupted by the reluctant moans and gasps every time he presses deeper into you, finding a spot that has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. You bit your lip, keeping the noises inward. He tuts at that.

“Don’t be shy,” he coos in your ear, “it’s okay to enjoy it. I want you to.”

As if to highlight his words, he gives another particularly intense push, you wince when you can hear the wet squelch of his fingers.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Suguru asks, “I could always be this nice with you.” You let out a squeak when his thumb presses against your clit, unable to keep it in. Suguru gives a breathy laugh.

His other hand starts to explore, reaching up to your button-up, flicking them off with a single-experienced hand. The bra you wore is barely seductive, but Suguru’s tracing the ends of it anyway, touching the fabric just by your skin before pushing the undergarment down.

Whether it’s from the air or his fingers fucking your pussy, your tits are already sensitive. You let out a breathy whine when Suguru grips on of them too hard, squeezing the fat in his large hands.

“So sweet for me.” You can hear the smile on his lips.

Everything becomes too much, and before you can think, your hand is shooting down, grabbing onto his wrist, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Your other is pushing against his shoulder. He barely seemed to even notice, holding you down with his weight, thrusting in his fingers all the way to the knuckle.

“Suguru I-” It’s supposed to be another plea for him to stop, but your weak voice calling out his name only seems to excite him further. His thumb dances on your swollen clit, his fingers never relenting until he’s pushing you higher and higher until you fall.

White hot electric pleasure snaps within you, forcing your body to jolt, as you curl up from the sofa. You think he’s saying something, words of comfort as though he could be any crueler, but you’re not listening. You came so hard you almost forget where you are, who you’re with. You can feel Suguru watching until you fall against the cushion again, utterly spent. Your grip slackens against his wrist, before falling away completely.

“See? Didn’t I say I’ll take care of you?” You don't even have the energy to glare at him.

He’s giving another laugh, kissing your cheek before he’s leaning back. His fingers slip out of you, and then there’s a sucking sound. You can’t help it, blinking open your eyes. Suguru stares back at you, eyes half-mast, a pink tongue flicking out to lick at his fingers before he puts them in his mouth completely, swallowing down the evidence of your orgasm. A lewd moan escapes him, muffled. You once again wished you hadn’t looked.

You’re already expecting it, but you still flinch when you hear the zipper loud and clear. He moves his jeans low enough to pull out his cock. He’s already hard, a bead of precum right at the tip as he gives a few cursory pumps. He’s big, you blearily realize. Despite the mind-numbing orgasm he’d just given you, you doubt it’d be enough to even take him.

“It won’t fit,” you find yourself whispering.

Suguru just hums in acknowledgement, giving you a knowing look as he finishes tugging off your panties. The fabric slides off your shaking leg before dropping onto the carpeted floor.

It’s too late for a fight, but you’re rising anyway, pressing your hands against the cushions, trying to create some space. Suguru is quick to shut it down again, leaning back into you as he palms himself some more.

“You’ll be alright,” he assures but it doesn’t help the panic the fear in your soul, “I cherish you too much to break you.”

With little effort, he spreads your thighs. His cock rubs against you once, twice, before entering your throbbing pussy.

Already it’s too much. He’s thick, stretching out your walls, threatening to rip you in half. You close your eyes again, squeezing them shut as the pain starts to edge a little too close to bloody. Helpless, your hand finds his shoulder, not pushing but digging your nails into his shirt. He purrs when you grip him tighter, moving until he’s seated fully into you.

He stays like that, keeping himself there as your walls squeeze him tighter. It’s almost a relief that it ended, but now, he’s taken everything.

“Look at me.”

His voice is rough, almost a rasp, an order. You find yourself obeying. Through your tears, you blink up at him, finding his gaze.

He stares down at you, a look of satisfaction in his eyes and you don’t think you are yours anymore.

He pulls back, your cunt tries to suck him back in, but he drags his cock out anyway until only his head is barely inside.

“Perfect,” Suguru murmurs as though it’s a secret not even you should hear, “absolutely perfect.”

You cry out when he pushes back in. It’s a gentle pace, slow and steady like he’s easing you into it. He’s being kind, you finally realize, a thought that makes your skin crawl. It’s so much worse than if he had been nasty. Harsh and biting with thrusts that would make your body sore and weak afterwards. If he was abusive, not caring about you, just his own pleasure. You wish Suguru was being mean, being cruel. At least then, you wouldn’t like it.

Despite the unexpected size, your body is adjusting. Pain ripples into reluctant pleasure, numbing your mind as his hips meet yours. It gets even worse when Suguru leans down, biting and sucking at your tits, enough for there to leave a mark. Something that will bruise and remind you of what he did.

“You don’t know how long I wanted this,” he’s saying somewhere above you but your head is swimming and you can’t focus where you want to, “how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

Suguru sits up again, grabbing one of your legs, hiking your hips up so his cock can go that much deeper inside of you. You babble something that you yourself can’t decipher. Suguru’s lips curl into another painfully soft smile.

“Ever since highschool,” he’s confessing like he’s a sinner and you’re his God but you know that isn’t true because what sort of god would be humiliated like this? “Remember that apron you wore?”

His hand reaches over, spreading over your pussy, stretching the fatty part of your cunt so he can have a better view of him disappearing inside of you.

“I always wondered what you’d look like wearing nothing but that on, spread out on the counter for me.”

He flicks your clit, and for the second time that day, you can feel yourself crashing. As though he can sense it, his thrusts shorten, grinding against your pussy and there’s a hand catching your chin, forcing you to look.

Suguru’s smile is gone, replaced by a snarl that promises to eat you alive. His eyes are blown wide, and he’s gritting his teeth, barely holding control by a hair.

“Come for me.”

You’re too far gone to do anything but listen.

You stutter in his grasp, arching your back, cumming with a breathy whine. It’s like a tide, pushing you out into sea, refusing to take you in. Unconsciously, the leg he holds tightens around his waist as you pulse around his cock.

He follows after, barely holding himself together, not when your cunt is milking him for all its’ worth. There’s a few particularly harsh thrusts before something warm and sticky fills your battered pussy before he's falling into you, pressing your body against the soft cushions.

You lay there, panting with him on top of you. Slowly, you come back to yourself, feeling your arms your legs. Your brain resets, and you’re suddenly remembering that you have a murderer’s cock inside of you.

Suguru’s face is buried in your neck. He gives a shaky kiss to your jaw; another on the corner of your lips. You can only stare at the ceiling, where the remnants of a body used to be.

"You know, the girls have always wanted a mother," Suguru's saying into your skin.

"I'm sure they will be very pleased with my choice."