TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Pet Play, Prolonged Captivity, Anal Play, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Blood, Controlling Behavior, and Dehumanization. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
[Part One] [Part Two] [Finale]
Satoru found his phone the next day. Underneath the stairs, the screen a web of hairline cracks, as if it’d fallen out of his pocket and through the steps while he was carrying you. Through your eyelashes, you watched him pick it up and glance towards you before shaking his head, dismissing the idea of a deliberate plot. That was the difference between him and Suguru, you guessed.
Suguru thought like an owner, always suspicious that his pets were on the verge of misbehaving. Satoru thought like a dog, always desperate to do whatever kept his pack happy and safe.
Your time in the basement was long, cold, and boring. With no windows, you tracked the time through Suguru’s visits. He’d come down twice a day to see that you were fed, communicating solely through one-word commands – sit, stay, down. ‘Speak’ had been thoroughly removed from his vocabulary. Satoru came to see you more sporadically. Always on his own and always in his puppy gear. Sometimes, he held you, keeping your body pinned under his as he rutted against your ass and lapped at your cheek. More often, he just sat at the bottom of the stairs and watched you, his eyes too wide and too bright. You didn’t look forward to seeing either of them.
Your empty nailbed had finished healing over by the time they came to see you together. Suguru entered first, his expression schooled and his pace measured, while Satoru followed on his heels, visibly giddy. He carried an armful of leather and faux fur. You couldn’t make out the details, but even your most optimistic guesses left your stomach in knots.
You kneeled on your makeshift bed – a single cushion wrapped in one of Satoru’s more abused blankets. Suguru stopped in front of you, jaw set and gaze steely.
“Are you ready to behave?”
You opened your mouth, but Satoru tapped his muzzle and you closed it just as quickly, nodding instead. Right. You’d almost forgotten.
Pets couldn’t talk.
Suguru sighed. With Satoru’s help, he lowered himself to the floor, coming to sit cross-legged in front of you. Satoru fell next to him, dropping his burden at your feet. Among the tangled mess, you were able to make out bits and pieces of familiar fetish gear, the tools of your suffering that you’d come to know and loathe. You were prepared for all of that. You’d expected it.
The issue, now, was that there was more.
Suguru wasn’t eager to show his hand, though, and you weren’t brave enough to paw through the collection without permission. It was all you could do to hold your breath as he delicately plucked a pair of fluffy, pink-padded mittens from the pile.
“Strip and show me your hands.”
You did as you were told. The only thing you were wearing was one of Satoru’s t-shirts, but still, you mourned its loss as you tugged it over your head and offered your hands to Suguru. His gaze lingered on your calloused nailbed for a moment, but not much longer. The mittens were slid over your hands in turn, each equipped with a leather strap at the wrist that kept you from clawing them off. He found your muzzle next, and you bowed your head so he could slide it over the lower half of your face. Immediately, its bulkiness irritated you. It was annoying – having something constantly in your peripheral, having to think about every little movement of your head. It made you feel slow, clumsy, stupid. But that was probably the point.
There were a few more pieces of miscellaneous gear. A pink leather harness, black thigh-highs with pads to match the mittens, a pair of fluffy ears on a too-tight headband. You watched the collection dwindle until only one object was left: a sleek black tail connected to a bulbed, silicone plug.
Your throat tightened as Suguru took it up, turning it over thoughtfully in his hand. “What do you think, ‘toru?”
Satoru’s answer was immediate and ecstatic. This was not the first time they’d discussed this. “Over your lap. She’s so cute on her stomach.”
“This is her punishment, not your reward.” And yet, he patted his thigh, spreading his legs that much wider to make room for you. “Here, kitty.”
You grit your teeth. This wasn’t what you’d braced for, but it was fine. You could live with this. Whatever it took to get out of this basement.
Whatever it took to get out of this house for good.
Reluctantly, you crawled into Suguru’s lap. With a hand placed between your shoulder blades, he forced your stomach down to his thighs and your chest to the bare concrete floor. You crossed your arms awkwardly underneath you, but your legs remained splayed out and useless. It was embarrassing, really, how much space you took up. Your body always seemed that much more noticeable when you wanted not to be seen.
“Good girl.” His fingers traced the length of your spine, pausing at the cleft of your ass. There was a moment of deliberation, then before you could prepare yourself, five nails drove themselves into tender flesh. With both hands, he separated your cheeks and hummed. The process was simultaneously mechanical and degrading. All the cruel, perverse undertones of a hook-up with a bad ex, paired with the clinical, evaluating air of a pap smear. “It’ll be a tight fit,” he assessed. “Satoru?”
There was a soft click of metal on metal, a flash of Satoru’s muzzle in your peripheral. You felt Satoru before you saw him. His body shuffling between your legs, his breath on your skin. Suguru let you go just in time for something hot and wet to lap over your hole – Satoru’s tongue, so long and so warm and so, so eager. His hand locked over your hips, keeping you in place as he circled your hole with the tip of his tongue once, twice, before pushing inside.
Your entire body jerked involuntarily. The sting was mild, the pain manageable, but that sense of strangeness, the feeling that you were doing something you weren’t supposed to – that was enough to make your body act on its own. Suguru caught you immediately, his palm pressing into the small of your back. “Be grateful,” he hissed, his tone as loving as it was venomous. “He’s the only reason I’m not shoving it in dry.”
You tried to hold still, but it was useless. Your outstretched legs twitched every time Satoru’s tongue curled or flicked, your entire body keening with every little breathy whimper or shameless moan he let out. The discomfort only grew as he forced himself deeper – a steady, throbbing pulse accompanied by the occasional shooting pain. Tears welled in the corners of your eyes despite your attempts to blink them away. Even worse, your cunt clenched around nothing, as if that would make the abuse easier to withstand. You could feel yourself starting to get wet, slick leaking onto the inside of your thighs. No. No, no, no, no, no. You didn’t feel good. This couldn’t be making you—
It was almost a mercy when Suguru took Satoru by the hair, dragging him away. Satoru whined, but straightened, his pout childishly exaggerated. Suguru only sighed, leaning over to peck his spit-stained lips. “Good puppy. Hold her down, won’t you?”
Spirits immediately raised, Satoru did as he was told. Two big hands took you by the waist as Suguru brought the metal bulb to your stretched hole. Digging your nails into the floor, it was all you could do not to cry out as he forced the plug into your ass in a single, fluid movement. Immediately, you hated it. It was too big. It left you too full.
Worst of all, Suguru liked it too much.
He hauled you upright, keeping you perched on his lap. Tears and panic blurred your vision, but you would’ve had to be blind not to recognize the grin plastered over his lips, would’ve had to be dead not to feel its harsh edges as he rested his lips against your forehead. “Good girl,” he said, again, nearly purring this time. “Very good girl. It’ll stay in for the next three days. Longer, if you acted up again.”
“Don’t forget her surprise!”
Suguru laughed. “Right, of course. Thank you, ‘toru.” His grin widened as he retrieved something from his pocket and brought it to your head, careful to keep it out of your line of sight. You didn’t bother to look. You knew what it was as soon as the cool leather wrapped around your neck, as soon as that tiny, jingling bell came to rest at the base of your that.
A brand-new collar for their brand-new house cat.
~
The misbehavior Suguru was looking forward to never materialized. From the second you stepped out of that cold, dark place, you were the perfect pet.
You didn’t talk. You didn’t touch your muzzle, your collar, your tail – no matter how tempting it seemed to pull the damn thing out and burn it. You didn’t climb on the furniture. When Satoru tried to mount you, you hissed and scratched and threw yourself into Suguru’s waiting arms. That never saved you from their unwanted affection, but it meant you got fucked the way you were supposed to. The way your owner wanted.
Suguru and Satoru spent the next three days in a state of pessimistic disbelief. Satoru watched you whenever he could, bright eyes wide and body rigid, constantly ready to pounce. Suguru was less vigilant, but more strict. He’d tug on your collar as he passed by, even if you weren’t doing anything. When he pet you, which he rarely did, he’d let his perfectly manicured nails dig just a little too far into your scalp, then chastise you for being so ungrateful when you whimpered. When it was time to remove your tail for good, he was cruel about it – taking minutes longer than he had to, smacking his palm against the curve of your ass every time you squirmed. “You should thank me,” he said, after it was finally over. “There are worse things I could do than treat you like what you are.”
You didn’t ask him what he meant, even though he clearly wanted you to. Pets couldn’t talk, after all.
Once the tail was gone, the mood in the villa lightened significantly. Suddenly, your good behavior was less of a standing threat and more of a game, something sturdy enough to be treated with a certain amount of levity. Satoru let his guard-dog act slip, if only long enough to smuggle you one of the expensive, elaborate desserts that seemed to magically restock themselves whenever Suguru turned his back. Suguru was more playful with his sadism, mixing his cruelty with the occasional kiss to your forehead or softened word of praise. Best of all, you were allowed to visit Suguru’s temple.
Meaning, you were allowed to see Kento.
He met you on the edge of the courtyard, where a covered porch looked over the immaculately groomed gardens. Suguru and Satoru were with their students, instructing two teenage boys as they sparred. Three more kids watched from the sidelines – a pair of twins and a girl with a bob. Occasionally, a member of the latter group would turn to stare at you, her gaze holding for a second too long before she broke off to whisper something to her friends.
You couldn’t hear what they were saying and it killed you. You were on the verge of retreating inside the main shrine, disobeying Suguru’s orders to stay within their line of sight and ruining your progress, by the time Kento appeared – slipping out of one of countless screen doors and setting himself down as if the two of you were old friends. As if this was normal.
As if the last time you’d spoken to him, it hadn’t been on a stolen cell phone, begging for his help.
You let him settle next to you, shrugging off the jacket of his pitch-black suit. After a moment, you opened your mouth, but Kento spoke before you managed to spit anything else.
“Keep your voice down,” he warned, his own barely above a whisper. “Gojo sees more than he should. Don’t give him a reason to look.”
You cringed, but nodded. Once Kento was sure you understood, he went on.
“Did they hurt you again?”
Subconsciously, you curled both hands into fists, hiding your missing nail. “Not like that,” you admitted. “But it’s unbearable, even when I do what they want. Suguru’s been so strict, and Satoru—He doesn’t even have to touch me to make me feel like I’ve been—” You cut yourself off, folding your arms over your chest. “I can’t take it. Another month and it’ll kill me, one way or another.”
“You would—” He paused, searching for the right phrase. “—make your own way out?”
“If I had to. I just—I don’t know how much longer I can live like that, Kento.” You pretended to catch yourself, straightening slightly. “I’m sorry. You prefer Nanami, right?”
There was a moment of hesitation, but only a moment. He gave you what you wanted quickly enough. “…Kento is fine.”
You allowed yourself a breathy laugh, the softest possible smile. When you looked back at Kento, you found his dull eyes still lingering on you, the faintest traces of pink in his washed-out complexion. The victory was bittersweet. No part of you believed he would help out of the kindness of his heart, but still. You’d been hoping there was more to him than the urge every man felt to tame the neighborhood stray.
He cleared his throat, turning back to the sparing match. You did the same. “I can’t fight them, if that’s what you expect me to do. Geto, maybe, but not Gojo, and you can’t get one without the other. Starting something physical would only get us both killed.”
“Oh.” It’d be a lie to say you weren’t a little disappointed. Ideally, Kento would hack your captors into bite-sized pieces while you watched and laughed. But, back-up plans existed for a reason. “What if… I could get them to give me to you?”
He pursed his lips, skeptical. “How?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just think about what comes next. I’ll find a way to make them leave us alone together, and then, you can get us out of here. We could leave Tokyo. We could leave Japan.” You sighed, wringing your hands in your lap. “All you’d have to do is buy the tickets.”
His expression didn’t change. “Where would we go?”
You tried to think of what Kento would want, but all you could seem to dredge up was Satoru’s panting in your ear, Suguru’s clipped commands. In the end, you could only seem to spit out what you actually wanted – the only thing you could imagine wanting, anymore. “Somewhere quiet.”
He let out a breath of a laugh. “Quiet and sunny.”
“And remote, too. With a great view.”
“A beach.”
Hope sparked bright and hot in your chest. There was no love in your heart for Kento, but there could be, one day. You could love anyone, be happy anywhere, so long as you got away from here.
Again, his eyes found you. You and Kento exchanged one more private, softened look, before he broke away, his expression hardening as he stood up. It didn’t take you long to see the catalyst behind his sudden coldness. The sparring match had ended. Both teenage boys were on the ground, one nursing a bloody nose while the other apologized profusely and the girl with the bob lectured them both. Suguru was approaching you, a twin on either side. Satoru trailed a few steps behind – partner second, loyal mutt first.
Suguru addressed Kento, first. “How chivalrous of you to keep our dear (Y/n) company, Nanami.”
He nodded. “I only wanted to make sure she was settling in. We have enough to worry about, considering the type of followers you attract.”
He hummed in acknowledgement, but his attention was already drifting, shifting back to the twins. They were older than you would’ve guessed, from a distance. Sixteen or seventeen, at least. Their faces were identical, but one was dressed in black, her dark hair cut severe and short, while the other didn’t seem quite so determined to fade into the background – wearing her bleach blonde ponytail high and placing herself in front of her sister. The mouthpiece and its shadow.
He turned to the twins, making a broad, sweeping gesture toward you. “What do you think?”
The blonde, the mouthpiece, blinked several times. “I still can’t believe it. A—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “A non-sorcerer.”
“Hush, Nanako. Don’t you remember what I’ve taught you?”
“Pity your lessers. They don’t know what they lack.” The mantra was effortless and unthinking. Still, she didn’t seem convinced. “You never said we had to love them.”
The shadow spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you love Geto-sensei and Gojo-sensei, ma’am?”
Suguru’s expression dropped. In the distance, Satoru bristled. It wasn’t a threat so much as an abruptly realized concern. They could punish you later on, but they couldn’t stop you now. Not for a few precious seconds, at least.
You let your head lilt to the side. Your smile was prim and delicate and perfect. “Not yet, no,” you started. “But I think I could. With time.”
The shadow was disappointed, the mouthpiece suspicious. You weren’t watching them, though, not really.
Satoru had never looked happier.
Suguru did a better job of disguising his unadulterated delight, but only by a narrow margin. He sighed, shaking his head, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “The girls say it’s been too long since their last shopping trip. You’ll see that the issue is corrected, won’t you, Nanami?”
Kento nodded. The twins were already wandering toward the temple’s gates, their father’s newest pet immediately forgotten with the introduction of a better way to pass the time, and he trailed after them, his hands in his pockets and his expression schooled. He was the picture of apathy, and yet, just as he was about to leave your line of sight, he glanced over his shoulder – his gaze catching on yours for a second, then another. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Hope bloomed in your chest, thick and warm and choking.
You were getting out of here.
~
You gave yourself a week to decide who would be an easier target, then another to choose what your angle was going to be. You told yourself that you were being smart, that it was better to be careful than spend another month trying to make up the goodwill you’d wasted, but in reality, you were just being a coward. There was nothing to think about. The path ahead was obvious.
You were only ever going to pick Satoru, and you were only ever going to make him look like a bad dog.
You waited until Suguru left the two of you home alone. It was a routine errand – one he ran often and on a strict schedule. Long gone were the days of smuggled compression shirts and sweatpants. Since your time in the basement, Satoru had become more dog than man. He never completely took off his puppy gear, no matter how long Suguru would be away for. The collar always stayed on. His muzzle, too. The punishment had been yours, not his, but you couldn’t help but linger on that second of resistance, the shield of invincibility he’d subconsciously raised around you. Satoru hadn’t done anything wrong, but he’d gotten close. And, clearly, he didn’t want to do it again.
You didn’t have to lure him in. As soon as Suguru was gone, Satoru sought you out. You let him find you on the oversized dog bed Suguru kept in his bedroom, the plush cushion soft as velvet beneath you. He circled you once, twice, before approaching with an open, panting mouth. Your stomach twisted. It was hard not to picture yourself that way, worn down and broken in, so willing to give up your humanity for mindless comfort.
As always, his body was too big, too heavy on top of yours. He draped himself over your back, hips rutting mindlessly against your ass. His face found its way to the crook of your neck, his muzzle knocking against your throat. Through the bars, his tongue ran over your skin, the metal bars and his touch leaving you too cold and too warm at the same time.
You swallowed dryly. Your voice was low and hoarse with neglect. “Satoru.”
Immediately, he raised his head and barked. You scowled.
“…I want to talk to you. Actually talk to you, if that’s alright.”
He laughed, nuzzling against you. “What do you wanna talk about, kitty?”
“Something. Anything.” With some effort, you rolled over. His chest pressed awkwardly into yours, bare skin against bare skin. “I miss what it used to be like, before you had to be Suguru’s guard dog all the time.” And then, draping your arms around his neck, “I miss being human with you.”
His smile twitched, but he didn’t pull away. You’d been expecting that – counting on it, really. When a cat scratched you, you didn’t give it space. You just held it by the scruff until it got tired of fighting back.
“What’s there to miss?”
“Cuddling in a real bed. Cooking together when Suguru wasn’t home.” You let your eyes drift downward, to his lips. “Being able to kiss you without that cage in the way.”
His eyes lit up. Part of you expected him to laugh, to tease you, to say that you only had to wait until Suguru came home if you wanted a kiss. Another part braced for admonishment, a lecture about what would happen if you broke another rule so quickly. Thankfully, neither faction was appeased. His voice was airy and thin, all hope without substance. “…you want to kiss me?”
No words. A quick nod, your nails scraped over his back, but nothing more explicit. It wasn’t as if your enthusiastic consent had ever been important to him before.
He brought a hand to his muzzle, then hesitated. “We shouldn’t.”
You pouted. “Please, ‘toru?”
His cock twitched against your thigh. Without a trace of reluctance, he slipped a thumb under the leather band holding his muzzle in place, snapping it in the same motion.
Yours was next. He tore the soft plastic over your head and let it fall. You couldn’t see where it landed. His lips were on yours, his tongue in your mouth. Despite your appeal to his humanity, his affection had only grown more animalistic. His nose knocked against yours, his spit quickly staining the corner of your mouth. You tried to reciprocate, but you really didn’t have to. You doubted he’d notice if you stopped breathing, at this point.
He pulled away hastily, mouth falling to the side of your neck. Teeth scraped over skin, finding purchase just below your jaw. A sudden, jolting pain raced down your throat as he sucked a bruise into tender flesh, too eager to remember not to leave a mark. He left another below it, then another, until he reached the curve of your throat and—
In the distance, you heard the front door open. Satoru went still above you.
Suguru was home early.
He tried to pull away, but you didn’t let him. You tangled your fingers in his hair, forcing his head downward as you jerked toward his mouth. His teeth, too sharp and too close, bit into you, breaking the skin. Blood flowed, free and hot. It hurt, and you savored it like a fine wine. Like the taste of freedom.
He managed to draw back just as Suguru stepped into the bedroom doorway. The scene was perfect, exactly what you would’ve wanted if given the ability to set the stage yourself. Suguru on the threshold, expression caught somewhere between joy, confusion, and anger; Satoru on all fours, your blood still dripping from his canines; and you pinned below him, helpless and bleeding and so, so scared.
Suguru moved first. You blinked, and Satoru was no longer on top of you. Rather, his body was limp against the floor on the opposite side of the room, the tile cracked underneath his skull. Suguru kneeled on top of him, a knee planted on either side of his head and a hand wrapped around his jaw.
His voice was cold, distant. He barely seemed to realize he was speaking aloud.
“Bad dog.”
There was a sound like the snapping of brittle wood, the noise of meat tearing off the bone. Suguru tossed something aside – pale and broken and lined with perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. You forced yourself to look away.
You were still bleeding. There was more of it than you thought there’d be – dripping down your chest, leaking out from under your palm as you pressed it to the twin puncture marks. You started to sit up, but even that wasn’t necessary. Suguru was already at your side, resting a hand on your back. As you were upright, he snaked an arm around your waist and hauled you against his chest, keeping you there as he stood. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he cursed, rubbing circles in the small of your back.
“You poor thing,” he cooed. “My poor thing. I’m sorry. He won’t hurt you again.”
You nodding, quick and frantic, against him. He let out a deep exhale, mumbling something about getting you patched up as he started for the door. As he carried you out of the bedroom, you caught one last look at Satoru. He was curled up where Suguru had left him, both hands plastered over his lower face. He’d already regenerated his lower jaw, but that wasn’t what you were worried about. He was repeating something to himself. You could just barely make it out.
“Bad dog. Bad dog. Bad dog. Bad—”
Suguru crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him and cutting the chant short. He smiled at you, so gentle it was nearly sickening, and you forced yourself to smile back.
~
The wound wasn’t deep. Suguru took long, careful minutes to wash away the blood and disinfect the puncture marks, as if you’d been bitten by an actual dog rather than a man pretending to be one. There was no order, no purring, no pet-talk at all. His smile was sweet, but not saccharine. When he spoke, his voice was low, but not threatening. He even left you alone, albeit only for a few minutes. It reminded you too much of the day you’d met, of the night you’d spent with him before he took you home to Satoru and everything went wrong. You kept your guard up. You couldn’t have guessed what he’d been planning to do to you, back then. You knew better, now.
When he was done, he carried you back to the bedroom and set you on the center of the mattress. You pretended to be grateful for the privilege – sniffling as you curled around one of his pillows. Satoru was gone.
He sat down next to you, petting over your hair. You leaned into his touch.
“My poor little kitten.” He sounded tired, but you couldn’t seem to dredge up much sympathy for his exhaustion. “Did I ever tell you why me and Satoru started doing this?”
You shook your head, letting out a wobbling meow. Suguru’s smile softened. “There’s no need for that, right now. We can talk to each other like—” He gestured dismissively. “Not quite like equals, but you get what I mean.”
It felt like a trap. It couldn’t be – he was giving you permission – but still, you opted to tread carefully. “You didn’t.”
“We had a rocky start to our relationship. We were both students at… at a very traditional school. They were pretty strict. They wanted us to throw away our lives for something that neither Satoru or I could have cared less about.” He pulled away, letting his hands fall into his lap. “I defected when we were seventeen. Satoru lasted a little longer, but it didn’t end well. He must’ve lost his temper. I heard he was in a meeting with the higher-ups and—” Suguru paused, laughed. “He showed up on my doorstep that night, covered in blood and sobbing. We decided, together, that it might be for the best if he didn’t make his own choices, anymore.”
His touch drifted higher, catching on the collar at the base of your throat. “This part came later,” he went on, a finger slipping between the leather and your skin. “Just something to make our arrangement more fun. To help Satoru remember why we’re doing this.”
You drew back. Suguru let you, only watching as you pressed yourself against the headboard. “Why are you telling me this?”
He sighed. “When Satoru thinks he’s in control of himself, bad things happen. I put something he wanted in front of him, and now, he’s pulling at his leash.”
Your heart skipped a beat. This was what you’d been waiting for. The fruition of weeks’ worth of waiting and plotting and being so, so good.
“What if…” You trailed off, swallowing your eagerness. “What if I left?”
Suguru’s softened gaze hardened in an instant. You shrank into yourself, holding up both hands. “Only for a while, I mean. With supervision. So Satoru can’t get distracted while you do for him what you did for me.” And then, after a deep breath, “While you show him how to be a good dog.”
His laugh was harsh and cruel. “What would I even do with you, pretty girl? It’s not like they make boarding kennels for pets like mine.”
You shrugged, feigning embarrassment. “I don’t know. I could stay at the temple, or, uh, I know your students were staying with Nanami, when I—”
“Nanami.” You flinched, but Suguru didn’t sound angry. If anything, his tone was contemplative. Like he was actually thinking about it. “He is very devoted to our cause.”
As far as they knew.
You pulled your legs into your chest, hiding your grin behind your knees. “It’d only be for a little while, right?”
“Of course, love.” He was already reaching for his phone. “Just until we all know who’s in charge.”
~
Kento’s car pulled into the villa’s driveway half an hour later. From the bedroom window, you watched Suguru greet him at the door before hastily ushering him inside. You screamed into a pillow, rolling onto your back and kicking wildly at the air. You could already feel the sun on your skin, smell salt in the air. You could already imagine the relief, the peace of being anywhere else in the world.
You counted out the minutes between Kento and Suguru disappearing into the villa and your inevitable escape. It took longer than you’d been expecting, but that made sense. There were details to sort out – how long you’d be gone, where you’d be taken, what Kento was allowed to do to you. None of it mattered, of course, but the pretext was important. Suguru wasn’t the type to trust something he didn’t believe was completely within his control. Hopefully, Kento realized that too.
You waited, ear pressed to the wall, until you heard footsteps coming down the hallway outside. By the time the door opened, you were perched on the foot of the bed, huddled and frightened, a fragile creature that needed to be taken out of a hostile environment for its own protection. Suguru slipped inside first, and then, surprisingly, Satoru – his collar connected to a short leash. He wasn’t wearing his muzzle, but a bone-shaped gag had been fastened around his head in its place. His pale eyes locked onto you as soon as he crossed the threshold. He never lagged more than a step behind Suguru, but he never looked away from you, either.
Kento trailed after them. Suguru’s call must’ve caught him off-guard. His hair was disheveled, and he was missing the jacket of his suit. And yet, to you, he couldn’t have looked more like a knight in shining armor.
You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned forward, biting back a smile as you opened your mouth and—
“Kento. Strip.”
—and immediately, anything you might’ve said died on your tongue. You looked to Suguru, first, as he fell into an armchair on the other side of the room, Satoru kneeling to sit at his feet, then back to Kento.
He wouldn’t. He didn’t have to listen. He couldn’t do this, not to you. And yet, impossibly, it was happening. You watched in horror as his button-up fell away, then his slacks, forming a disorderly pile on the bedroom floor. There was already a tent in his boxers, which were discarded with the same callous casualness. His cock stood, hard and leaking, against his lower stomach. You forced yourself to look upward, to search for any signs of strain or remorse in his expression, but your eyes caught on something long before you ever reached his face. There, at the base of his neck, sat a thick, leather collar. Identical to Satoru’s. Identical to yours.
“I don’t—” You cut yourself off, snapping back to Suguru. “I don’t understand. This isn’t supposed to—”
“Not now, kitty.” Suguru clicked his tongue. “Kento, can you show her what sounds she should be making?”
He turned to you, his pale eyes narrow and cool. Confusion coagulated into panic, and you made a brief, graceless attempt to shoot off the bed and make a run for it. Of course, Kento caught you before your feet ever touched the ground, two strong hands wrapping around your waist and shoving you back onto the mattress. He pinned you like that, thrashing and flailing, as he positioned himself between your open legs. There was no attempt at courtesy, no moment of meaningful hesitation, just his head dipping low enough to brush his lips against your navel, then lower – finding your clit. You’d gotten so used to going without clothes, you didn’t even process how exposed you were until you felt the wet heat of his mouth, the reverberation of his voice as he groaned into you. Somehow, that made it all a little worse.
Suguru liked to watch and Satoru liked to take his time, but Kento was cruelly efficient. As the flat of his tongue laved over your clit, his hand teased your cunt. With two fingers, he traced over your entrance, gathering what little arousal there was before plunging inside. Your body was too well-abused to need time to adjust, but even if it had been necessary, you doubted he would’ve given you the luxury. Wet, awful noises echoed off the bedroom walls as his fingers spread and curled inside of you. Your fists balled around the sheets, and when that failed to yield relief, found their way to your face – your arms crossing over your eyes. In what remained of your peripheral, you could make out Satoru, his eyes still on you and the bone-shaped gag swaying at his throat as his head bobbed rhythmically over Suguru’s lap.
Kento’s wrist flicked, a third finger thrusting into you as his mouth left your clit and drifted north. You felt him kiss the curve of your stomach, then the flat of your sternum, before latching onto one of your breasts. Sharp teeth grazed your nipple. You felt yourself clench around him on instinct – a fear reaction and nothing more. Not that Kento seemed to care. His touch only grew more invasive, a loose smile pressing into your skin as he forced himself knuckle-deep into your cunt.
The proximity, the heat, the dull, aching pressure – it was too much. Your back arched, your hips bucking jerkily into his hand. You managed to spit something out, a half-coherent ‘don’t, don’t, don’t’ before his teeth dug into the tender skin of your chest and you came with a wordless sob. At the same time, Suguru moaned and Satoru choked.
Kento nursed you through your climax, waiting until you went limp underneath him before pulling away. His mouth latched onto your collarbone, then your neck, before finally, dreadfully reaching yours. His kiss was gentler than Satoru’s, but no less hungry. You could still taste him for seconds after he drew back, nuzzling into your throat instead.
“I don’t understand,” you muttered, letting a half-finished thought resurface. “Why?”
His grin widened against your skin. He raised his head ever so slightly, seeking out Suguru, who nodded in return. Of course.
Pets couldn’t talk.
“They never would’ve let us go.” Any comfort his words might’ve granted you had been stripped away by the fact that he’d gotten Suguru’s permission to say them. His voice was dry and thin and so, so unmistakably happy. “At least, like this, we can be together. That’s a type of paradise, too.”
Something in your chest began to throb. “Not for me.”
Kento’s smile quirked. He opened his mouth, but Suguru was quick to cut in – smoothing over the wrinkle before it could form.
“Don’t listen to her, puppy.” He groaned as he stood, making his way toward the bed. He pressed a lingering kiss into the top of your head, then worked a hand underneath Kento’s chin. Suguru tilted his head back, leaning down to slot his lips against Kento’s. In return, Kento all-but melted into him.
“It feels so nice to stop thinking for yourself, doesn’t it?” Suguru went on, after resurfacing. Kento panted happily by way of agreement. “Think you can help our kitten turn off her brain?”
No answer was needed. Kento was already clambering to his knees and hauling you onto his lap, your hips pressing into his. He thrust and missed, whining pathetically into your shoulder. Suguru let out a breath of a laugh. “Give him a hand, ‘toru.”
You felt the mattress dip behind you. Satoru’s body, hard and angular, pressed into your back. His hands cupped your thighs, spreading them that much wider, giving Kento room to line up his leaking tip with your cunt. Your breath hitched as he sank into you, forcing your last shred of hope out as he filled you up.
In a daze, you turned to Satoru. Any amount of distance he might’ve been trying to keep you at was already forgotten, his chin resting on your shoulder and his arm wrapping around your waist. His eyes were so wide and so, so bright.
“Help me.” You made no effort to lower your voice. You didn’t care if Suguru heard. You didn’t care about anything, anymore. “Please.”
In response, he only grinned, opened his mouth, and licked a long, hot stripe up your cheek.
For the first time ever, he’d been careless when he got home.
Tired after work, not paying attention. But you’d noticed. You’d been waiting for it, after all… for the moment he’d slip up and let you strike.
Your pulse spiked and drowned out all other noise, letting you focus, but still…
You jumped the gun.
You should have been more patient, should have waited until he was farther away, but waiting was dangerous—a double-edged sword—as it risked his coming closer as well. And so you pounced—sprang up from the couch you’d been rotting in and ran for it.
You’d only barely made it out of the door for a quick taste of freedom before you’d been grabbed and pulled back.
And now you were here. Back in the bedroom, in the dark, under lock and key.
He stands with his back to you after closing the door—shoulders hunched, muscles strained—you can see the deep outlines even in the shadow. He seemed larger than usual—a beast—and yet he was so deadly quiet that, if you closed your eyes, you could pretend you were alone.
When he finally turns around, you’re immediate instinct is to make yourself smaller, and so you sit down, sinking into the bed like you’re ashamed, head down as he walks over—both of you breathing carefully through your nose.
He stops right before you—still silent, no harsh words of admonishment, no cruel names, no threats, no warnings, no nothing, as if waiting for it was part of the torture. Still, you catch his arms flexing—skin greyish in the soft moonlight, bright against the black of his T-shirt.
You imagine his hand around your neck, but despite your throat closing shut, the question burning in your head still manages to come through, “Are you gonna hurt me?”
His face is jaded when you dare lift your head to look up at him, eyes half-mast, lips in a straight line—no obvious anger, but you feel it still, lingering just beneath the surface, burning you when his hand ascends to cup your chin, despite it being gentle, just like his words, “Have I ever hurt you?”
You swallow a tremble, thinking about it and realizing that, despite the situation, despite being kidnapped and held hostage and taken against your will in the bed beneath you, he hasn’t actually ever laid a bruising hand on you. “M-no.” But still…
“Then what makes you think I will?” he asks, giving you pause again.
“I–” your eyes are shifty, but not from guilt. “I don’t know.”
It’s a quick answer—the type you give when you just don’t understand the question. After all, isn’t it natural to expect punishment when you’ve done something you’re not supposed to do? Not that you agree that freedom is something you aren’t allowed to strive for, but you’re not the one in charge of the situation, and seeing things from his perspective, it would only make sense for him to hold you accountable for breaking the rules, wouldn’t it?
“Is it ‘cause you think you deserve it?”
Goosebumps spring out across your skin at that. “What?” Sometimes you swear it’s as though he’s inside your head.
“For trying to leave me, that is,” he continues, steeled eyes never once blinking or looking away from yours, watching them swell and gloss over, soon to spill, but not yet—still too apprehensive to allow tears to distract you.
He can’t blame you. You really fucked up this time—he’s glad you seem to understand that too.
“You want me to punish you for it—so that you can feel better about it, right? You want me to punish you so that I might forgive you, and we can leave it behind us. Hm?” His other hand joins the former, both now holding each side of your face. Head bowed, just a short distance away, murmuring softly while smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks. “That’ what you want?”
Your fingers dig into the sheets, gripping them tightly, shaking your head in his hold. “No-no, that’s not–”
“Then why?” he cuts you off, still just as suavely.
It’s unnerving. Typically, he isn’t this calm—or he is, but not like this, not like he’s containing something.
You’d have liked to say something more clever, something that might spare you whatever this mood of his is, but given it’s your first time, you’re not sure what that would even be. And so you leave it up to him, spilling the truth, and nothing but, “Because I’m scared.”
His thumbs don’t stop their petting, big and gritty against the soft belly of your cheeks. “I’m not doing anything, am I?”
It’s a strange declaration. No, he’s not doing anything too far out of the ordinary, though—let’s not forget “You won’t let me leave…” You almost regret stating it, despite it being obvious, as if your act from earlier wasn’t a dead giveaway. “I-I want to leave.”
You don’t say it with much gusto. In fact, it only barely makes it out through your lips. Still, you can tell he heard you from the ever-so slight tug on his lips, turning the straight line into a grim one.
You feel it in his hands too, how they stiffen, thumbs stilling.
“I gotta say… it really sounds like you want me to hurt you,” he counterclaims, tone cold and flat, as though he didn’t just threaten you, but rather, as though he was feeling fed up with having to explain something really simple to someone who should already be well aware. “You sure that’s what you want?”
“Wah-no—” You try shaking your head again, but it doesn’t amount to much before he cuts you off again, this time by leaning in closer, less than a foot away.
“No?” His breath hits hot and steady upon your face. You squeeze your eyes shut when he gets too close, tears finally escaping their pools. “Then tell me again. What is it you want?”
“To stay—” You shiver, voice wet as you croak, “I want to stay–”
“Yeah?” he persists, lips ghosting yours, eyes eagerly awaiting yours to open again.
“Yes…” You sniffle, so pretty when looking up at him like that, aware of and accepting your place.
“Good. Glad we can both agree,” he hums, finally letting a smile cross his face as he guides your head back and sets his knee down next to your thigh, sinking into the mattress, caging you as he climbs, continuing, “You see, I don’t want to hurt you either. As long as you don’t make me, we can both continue doing what we want. Right?”
“Right...” you agree weakly, shuffling further in under his direction.
“That’s right. Good.” He lets go of your face, then reaches for the hem of his shirt, bunching it in his grip before pulling it up and off over his head, tossing it aside and revealing rows of strength determined to make you feel small.
“So then…” He fishes your legs up from beneath him, positioning himself between them so that they lie atop his lap, spread open by his torso. Hands on your hips, readying a grip around your panties as he leans in close.
Now that we've witnessed the Invincible War, I can't help but think of a scenario of "it turns out you're Mark's partner/unwilling darling in every single other universe and when the alternate Marks show up for the big battle, they all freak out at the sight of you because all of them have lost you in their own universes"
Like it's almost a Spiderverse scenario where you arrive on the scene and you find out you're dead in every other universe. Maybe you're the only version of yourself that has powers. Maybe you're the only version of yourself that DOESN'T have powers. Maybe you're the only version of yourself that has Mark as a good platonic friend and every other version of him became Nice Guy Incel From Hell that felt like you belonged with them and either drove you to suicide, lost you in an accident, or accidentally killed you themselves, or maybe you were even totally cool with him and someone else killed you or even something tragic like dying in childbirth
Oh, so there's an evil version of Mark that missed his mom so badly he was going to kidnap an alternate universe version of her to take home?? So you're telling me these guys would absolutely have enough screws loose to immediately call up Angstrom and say that taking you is now part of the deal then?
The versions of Mark who were raised on Viltrum or joined his father, the ones who pride themselves in their superiority and violence, being so impressed by this powerful majestic, strong, superpowered version of you, oh so ready and willing to straight up kill them to defend Earth. But on the flip side, these vicious versions of Mark who knew you as that stoic hero now seeing you powerless and vulnerable and scared and so, so easily hurt.
Some of them can't help but immediately freeze up at the sight of you and stare, unable to look away as they process that, yeah, that's really who they think it is. Some of them start crying and beeline for you immediately. Some of them just start freaking out and all but hyperventilating, "holy shit is this for real?! Am I dreaming right now?! Is that really you?!"
Can you imagine one of them grabbing you and saying some WILD shit like, "oh my god, I'm so so sorry, I didn't mean to kill you, you just kept screaming and crying and i-i freaked out and I didn't realize I was squeezing so hard, I didn't mean to snap your neck, I promise it'll NEVER happen again" like genuinely that shit would make me u-turn right the fuck out of that battle and have Mark and Cecil or whomever the fuck get to fight this crazed psycho who looks and sounds exactly like your good friend, but let's be real, the second you try to run you would have EVERY version of Mark immediately after your ass
Picture this: one of the evil Marks is so genuinely euphoric to see you again that he rushes up to you and hugs you so tightly it cracks one of your ribs and makes you cry out in pain. Suddenly he's jerking back, his face cycling through several emotions. He's still holding on to a wrist or your shoulders and he and any other Marks present suddenly realize, oh fuck you don't have any powers? Like imagine trying to pull yourself away with all of your strength and they can all tell it's doing absolutely nothing as the one holding you just murmurs, "wait, why are you so weak...?" with obvious fear and concern trickling into his voice
All of them instantly detouring their plans to start fighting over you. Another Mark knocks out the teeth of the one who just cracked your ribs. A Mark whose entire goal was to use Angstrom to find another you completely unable to stop himself from scooping you up off your feet, promising he's going to tell you somewhere safe and about to fly away with you before getting suckerpunched by another Mark with the exact same idea. One Mark flying up. "Oh sorry, this was your little date-night buddy? They were my SPOUSE"
On the flip side, you being a viltrumite hybrid yourself or some other mutant or superpowered individual that they're completely unused to and the ones who lust for battle getting the biggest adrenaline/endorphin rush of their lives as you're actually strong enough to knock them around. More masochistic Marks all but having their eyes roll back into their heads as you punch or kick or throw them. You being so strong that it takes at least 2 or 3 of them to completely pin you down
Something something "evil Marks having to team up to take you down and once you're finally subdued and are pinned down and helpless they basically run a train on you in the middle of the rubble of a burning city" something something
The good guys and you and your friends managing to win and drive the variants away and kill Angstrom and you ultimately find out "your" Mark is just as equally obsessive and mentally unstable as all the rest and he was just the best one at hiding it. He was happy juat pretending to be your "platonic friend" and looking after you but he was intending to play 4d chess and work his way into your heart. Now that your life and safety were threatened, it finally triggers him to drop off the deep end and start making more drastic moves. Ok, so Cecil wants him to work for the government again and lead the Guardians huh? Maybe he'll consider accepting IF the GDA helps him contain you and keep you safe and healthy. Maybe he'll consider IF Cecil basically signs off on you being a captive of Mark's that the government turns a blind eye to as long as he protects the planet. Maybe you try and fly away and find out YOU have a thingy in YOUR head and Cecil basically knocks you out of the sky because damn it, he's not going to let another however many millions of people die just so you can stay single, let alone risk finding out what Mark is going to do now that he's starting to lose it
Whether you're a human or a hero, you'll be fucked either way
TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Pet Play, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Semi-Public Humiliation, Blood, Controlling Behavior, and Dehumanization. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
You woke up the next morning groggier than you’d ever been before, praying that you’d open your eyes and miraculously find yourself in your own apartment, piled into your own bed, with a hangover painful enough to block out the strange, hyper-realistic dream you’d endured the night before. Predictably, you didn’t.
Less predictably, you found yourself in Satoru’s villa, piled onto Suguru’s bed, and entirely alone.
They must’ve untied you at some point, most likely shorty after you’d passed out with Suguru’s cock lodged deeply enough down your throat to cut off your airflow. The black cord hung limp from its post, and the sharp pain in your wrists had dulled into a red, angry throbbing. The rest of your body wasn’t so quick to recover. Your legs felt like tree roots, too heavy to lift and connected to you only by calcified tendons too stubborn to break. Your back and sides were bruised where Satoru had pawed and bitten, and you could feel the indents of Suguru’s fingertips around your throat, the weight of his palm against the back of your head. Your muzzle hung limp around your neck, which you were thankful for. You were sure it wasn’t as uncomfortable as Satoru’s, but already, you knew you wouldn’t be able to wear it for more than a couple minutes at a time. Whether or not you’d be forced to was something you didn’t want to think about, right now.
With no small amount of effort, you picked yourself up and swung your legs over the side of the mattress. You’d only just started to test the sole of your foot against the carpeting when something clambered against the bedroom door, knocking against the wood clumsily before shouldering it open and stepping inside.
It was Satoru. That wasn’t surprising on its own, but the fact that he was wearing clothes – real, non-puppy themed clothes – was. Just a pair of grey sweatpants and an oversized white shirt, sure, but clothes.
That, and the absence of his muzzle. Come to think of it, this was probably the first time you’d seen anything below his eyes.
Even if you’d thought to, you never would’ve pictured him wearing the expression he currently was. A big, lopsided grin stretched across his lips, a toothbrush hanging haphazardly from one side. In the light of day, it was hard to tell he was the same person who’d done the unspeakable to you last night – his eyes not quite as prying, his posture less rigid, his demeanor more akin to a kid at a sleepover who’d been waiting the better part of a morning for their guest to wake up. You might’ve been able to convince yourself last night was some sort of mix-up, that he and Suguru would apologize and offer some neatly wrapped, bow-topped excuse to explain it all away, if he hadn’t chosen that moment to open his mouth.
“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” he started, wiping foam off of his lips with the back of his hand. “Good thing Suguru’s already gone. He kept me locked up for days, the first time I took off my muzzle without permission.”
You blinked at him, a blank slate. Then, because the visual seemed to loop in your mind like some gruesome, prophetic vision, you asked, “…he’s going to lock me in a cage?”
Satoru’s smile turned sympathetic. The toothbrush was abandoned on the corner of a dresser as he closed the distance between you, hooking an arm around yours. “C’mon – we should get you cleaned up. See if we can wash off the shock.” He pulled you onto your feet, bracing you against his side. “Think you can walk on your own?”
You tried to take a step and crumpled immediately, collapsing into a heap of limbs and stupor and embarrassment. Satoru didn’t wait for you to push yourself up, looping an arm under your knees, another around back, and pulling you into his chest. The muzzle suddenly seemed like a mercy. Without it, his delight at your helplessness shone through clearly.
You could remember passing at least half a dozen bathrooms last night, but Satoru didn’t seem to be in a rush to put you down. With his fingertips burrowed into your skin and an ever-tightening grip, he wandered through the villa, taking you back to the first floor and into another wing entirely. Eventually, he seemed to find what he was looking for – a large, traditional bathing room almost entirely taken up by an in-ground stone basin. You were placed on a wooden stool while Satoru fussed with the facets, scalding-hot water slowly beginning to trickle into the tub.
As reluctant as you were to give Satoru credit, the heat and steam were sobering. Your eyes flickered from wall to wall, looking for weapons, escape routes, signs that you were supposed to be doing more than sitting here and letting this happen. You didn’t find any unattended razors, but there was a screen door near the basin – no lock visibly from where you currently sat. Dappled sunlight beat against the thin, yellowed paper, but knowing there was a way outside only raised more questions. Namely: If leaving was so easy, why was Satoru still here?
You turned to him. He was sitting on the tiled ledge, fingertips skimming the surface of the steadily rising water. More concerningly, he was already looking at you, blue eyes wide and aware. You wondered if you’d ever adjust to that – his eyes, the way he stared, how jarringly bright they seemed. It seemed impossible to imagine yourself getting used to having two twin floodlights constantly pointed in your direction.
“Afraid of a little water?” It took you a second to put together what he meant, that your lasting terror must’ve been apparently. You didn’t respond, but still, Satoru laughed. “That’s alright. That’s perfect. Just goes to show that you were always meant to be our little kitten.”
Sure. Whatever. The pet-talk was already turning into white noise – washing over you more ambivalently than it should’ve. You soldiered on, newly eager for a change of subject. “You keep trying to make it sound like you know me.”
Satoru hummed. “We do, baby. Wouldn’t have brought you home without doing our research.”
“How long?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”
You crossed your arms, suddenly aware of your own state of undress. “How long were you watching me?”
You weren’t sure you which you would’ve preferred – a quick answer, concise and telling in its reflexivity, or something more delayed, leaving room to doubt just how well they’d thought this through. He seemed to think, but not for very long, robbing you of the satisfaction of either. “Do you remember a few months ago, when your building got condemned?”
You nodded. You’d been told it was a maintenance issue; black mold, or faulty wiring, or something along those lines. It’d been sudden, but there were signs. You could still remember how tired you’d felt to the months leading up to your hasty eviction, the dark shroud of misery that’d seemed to spread itself over you and the other residents and, ironically, only start to lift the day you’d all been told to pack up and get out. That was over a year ago, now. Closer to two, really.
“Suguru stopped by with a few acolytes the night before, since places like that tend to be a breeding ground for cursed spirits. After a little fighting, he ended up in your apartment, and—” Satoru paused, grinning as he shook his head. “It was something about the way you looked, all pathetic and curled up. He says he thought about killing you for a while, but never got around to it. He told me about you a few weeks later.”
It might’ve been a kindness that you only understood half of what he said, your mind catching on words like acolyte and cursed spirit without the ability to assign a meaning to the phrase. But, even through your confusion, you could get to the bottom line. They’d been stalking you for years. Mostly Suguru, but Satoru had been in on it, too. And, to make it that much more nightmarish, you’d never noticed either one of them – not until they decided you were allowed to, at least. It was enough to leave you cold and unsteady, fighting not to shake where you sat. It was enough to leave you wondering why you’d ever thought a hot, normal guy would be interested in you, in the first place.
The water reached the basin’s rim, and without glancing down to check, Satoru cut it off. It took you a second to find your voice. The humidity in the air abruptly seemed overbearing, choking. “When do I get to go home?”
It was a deliberately pointed question – meant to counter his delusional affection with cold, jutting reality. Satoru only sighed, nodding to the screen door. “No one’s in your way.”
His tone was resigned, a little bored, but the sentiment gave you more hope than it should’ve. If there was hope— any hope at all – that Satoru was brought into this the same way you were, that he was on your side, then that increased your chances of getting out of here ten-fold. Suguru seemed to put a lot of trust in his lapdog, but there might’ve been a chance that you wouldn’t be bitten for stepping out of line.
Slowly, you staggered to your feet and struggled to the door, relying on anything within arm’s reach for support. It looked like someone had taken a knife to the barred handle, but you couldn’t make out what they might’ve been trying to carve – only a series of nonsensical kanji and outlandish symbols. You spared a glance back to Satoru, who nodded encouragingly. Like that helped.
Bracing yourself, you wrapped a fist around the handle a tried to pull.
…
You woke up minutes later, colder than you’d ever been before and cradled in Satoru’s arms. His lips were pressed into your temple, his nose buried in your hair. You could feel his breath fanning over your scalp. Absentmindedly, you realized he was smelling you.
~
They didn’t live in the villa. Suguru let that slip quickly, somewhere around the fourth time he found you hiding in one of the many unfurnished rooms. It’d been an anniversary present – although, from who and the anniversary of what, he never specified. They used it as a retreat, or in your case, a training facility. You’d be allowed to see their actual home once you’d proven you could be a good kitty.
You hated thinking about yourself in their terms – a captive, a kitten, a pet – but it would’ve been impossible not to. Satoru was capable of a sort of pseudo-normalcy when Suguru was out, wearing clothes and talking to you like something resembling a human being, but when Suguru was home, he conformed to his allotted role happily. The puppy gear was more of a uniform than your realized – the specific parts exchangeable, but each component necessary. He donned them pridefully, happily. You were expected to do the same.
You didn’t often meet Suguru’s expectations.
Satoru whined as you were pulled off of the living room floor (because animals weren’t allowed on the furniture without permission) and into Suguru’s lap. Your latest offense had been your most frequently repeated. The leather muzzle bit into the bridge of your nose and cut into the underside of your jaw, and your faux ears always seemed to be pricking at some part of your scalp, and yet, the collar always seemed to be what you gravitated towards, what you picked at, what your body wanted removed before anything else. Suguru clicked his tongue as he traced the jagged, red lines you’d raked into your throat, only dulled slightly by the fact that you’d been scratching through fabric. Trying to get it off would’ve been futile, with or without your hands trapped in paw-shaped mittens, but you couldn’t help it. There was something deep and primal inside of you that wanted it gone, and despite your better judgement, your conscious mind agreed.
“I’ve got half a mind to have you declawed.” The threat was dulled by an airy laugh, but his underlying agitation was clear. In his own, twisted way, you guessed that Suguru considered himself a good owner. Hence why evidence as to the contrary was usually so poorly received. “Care to explain yourself, princess?”
You swallowed back your nerves. “I honestly didn’t realize what I was doing, I’m just not used to—”
“Ah,” he cut in, hand falling to your thigh and squeezing. “That’s not right, either. Can you tell me the first thing pets aren’t supposed to do?”
You opened your mouth, but closed it just as quickly. Right. You were having time remembering that one.
Pets weren’t supposed to speak. Not without permission.
You hung your head silently, and Suguru took that as answer enough. “Good girl.” And then, his eyes falling back to your throat, “What do you think we should do with the poor thing, ‘toru?”
Satoru let out a keening bark, still on his knees at the foot of the couch. Suguru softened immediately. “Speak.”
“She’s been thinking too much, again. You should show her how to stop.”
Even behind the muzzle, you could hear his grin. Suguru mirrored the expression. “And how do you think I should make that happen?”
Another bark, shriller than the first, followed by the heady sounds of feigned panting. You sent Satoru a venomous look, and Suguru hummed. “You’re right.” He paused, lowering his voice, creating a pantomime of privacy between the two of you. “He thinks that, since you’re so intent on making yourself uncomfortable, we should do the same.”
Cold, sharp dread cut through your chest, accompanying a flood of memories of Satoru’s body on top of yours, the animal force of his hips against your ass as he did his best to make up for a natural canine breeding drive. They’d been surprisingly conservative with sex after that first night, limiting your exposure to a few minutes of unwanted touching during baths and having to hear the two of them go at it from halfway across the villa. You assumed it was a nicety, a means of letting you adjust. Suddenly, you were confronted with the idea that they’d only been waiting for a reason to blame you for your own violation.
It was almost a relief when Satoru didn’t pounce, when Suguru didn’t move to kiss you. Instead, he took you by the shoulder and forced you down, until your body was splayed awkwardly across his lap, your stomach pressed into his thighs. One hand rested on the small of your back whine the other fell to your ass, kneading shamelessly. Your face burnt with embarrassment and righteous anger. You couldn’t imagine how Satoru handled it – being treated less like a person, prideful and independent and deserving of respect, and more like an animal, happy to be touched in any ways its owner was willing to. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so terrible if, like Satoru, you’d never had any pride to begin with.
“We’ll start with twenty-five, since it’s your first real punishment. Count yourself lucky – Satoru’s first warning was a broken finger.” His tone was fond, distant, as if he was recalling a cherished memory. “I’ll need you to count for me. If you can’t, we’ll have to start over.”
You tempted to protest, to stiffen, to refuse to participate in your own degradation, but this was, admittedly, the preferred alternative to what you’d imagined. You could handle this. Even if it took every part of you not to react, you could handle this.
Or, that was what you thought, at least. Then, you heard metal clink against metal, felt leather crack against the unprotected skin of your ass, and immediately realized you’d been wrong. You couldn’t handle anything.
The noise that escaped you was wordless, base, instinctual; something between a scream and a gasp. The pain was surprisingly cutting, the blunt force of it relatively dull compared to the sharp, piercing sting. The belt came down again, deliberately angled towards space just below its previous target, and you managed to force something out. “Two!”
Suguru clicked his tongue. “Not just yet, sweetheart. Don’t you remember what I told you?”
You heard Satoru lumber closer, positioning himself below where your head laid. “You’re being too mean, Suguru.”
“I’m being strict. There’s a difference. That’s why so many kittens end up so poorly behaved.” He sighed, rubbing a few small, shallow circles into the column of your spine. “You’re going to have to keep me honest. We’re still on one.”
You dug your teeth into your bottom lip. You hated him. More than anything else, more than anyone else, you hated Geto Suguru. It was all you could think, all you could feel, and yet, when his belt came down on your ass, you whimpered out an obedient “O—One.”
By the fifth, you were sniffling.
By the fifteenth, you sobbed unabashedly into the couch cushions, your mechanical counting barely audible.
By the last strike, you’d gone limp and still across Suguru’s lap. Every part of your ass ached. If the bruising wasn’t already visible, it would be within the hour, long before the next time you’d have a chance to dress yourself. You could only hope Suguru would have the mercy not to rub salt in the wound.
Already, you knew that he wouldn’t.
“Ah, there she is – my perfect little kitten.” Suguru hooked a hand under your arm, pulling you upright and letting you straddle his lap. Immediately, you collapsed into his chest, eager to hide your face. He didn’t seem to mind. “You were so good. Satoru called me such ugly names, the first time his behavior had to be corrected.”
Satoru whined in mock hurt, and Suguru chuckled fondly. “How ‘bout we get you somewhere nice and cozy? I think you’ve earned a little rest.”
You opened your mouth, but closed it just as quickly. Silently, you nodded into his shoulder, and Suguru rewarded you with a lingering kiss to the top of your head.
You were taken to Suguru’s room, but rather than his bed, you were placed in Satoru’s – low-walled and velvet-lined, more fit for a dog than a person. Satoru crawled in after you, curling around your crumpled form. The last thing you felt before you shut your eyes was the warm, slick sensation of a tongue running over your cheek, lapping up the last of your drying tears.
~
As it turned out, Suguru wasn’t an animal trainer. Admittedly, you’d figured that out pretty early on – as soon as you realized the only real animal in his life was Satoru.
Still, ‘cult leader’ probably wouldn’t have been your second guess.
You sat in the furthest corner of the sanctuary, a small crowd filling the limited space. Some were wearing street clothes, their expressions bored but unquestioning, as If Suguru’s sermon was only a prelude to something more engaging. Others, most, were more invested – positioned on their knees, hands at their sides, their eyes focused intently on Suguru where he was reclined on his dais. Both he and Satoru – sitting alert and watchful at his side – were dressed for their roles, drenched in tradition garb from an era long-dead. The only anachronism was Satoru’s mask. It was the same shape as his muzzle, but the metal frame was barred, the edges sloped downward into something sharper, something more defined. Even from the other side of the room, you could see the set of his jaw, the thin line of his scowl. The association had to be intentional. You doubted there was anyone in the world who could look at Satoru and see anything but a guard dog.
You were aware of the intentionality of your seating, too. Across the room, separated from the mass of bodies, placed so temptingly close to the sanctuary door and so directly in Suguru’s line of sight. Occasionally, you’d catch a piece of his lecture, make out something about ‘taking pity on lesser beings’ and ‘practicing divinity through extermination’ before tuning him back you. What little Satoru had told you about invisible monsters and hyper-specific supernatural abilities lingered in the back of your mind, but at a distance – information you knew to be true, but just couldn’t bring yourself genuinely believe. It made sense, in a twisted kind of way. You weren’t sure how you’d ever looked at Suguru and recognized him as fully human.
You drummed your fingers against your knee. Running was tempting, but a bad idea. Even if Suguru was miraculously distracted, Satoru would notice, and you wouldn’t get more than a few steps past the door before he caught you. Still, they’d dressed you for the occasion, and even a single silken layer of your too-complex-for-comfort get-up would be more than enough to pay for cab fare back to the city, back to your apartment, back to friends and resources and the police. That was, if you still had an apartment. You’d already missed at least three months’ worth of rent, and you doubted your landlord would have much sympathy for—
“He’s always been so fucking full of himself.”
You straightened and shot to the side, immediately pulled back into reality. You hadn’t heard him sit down, but suddenly, there was a man at your side – blonde hair slicked back, his black suit tailored immaculately, his posture confident in a careless sort of way. It was hard to tell if he was well-groomed early 40s or a particularly rough late 20s, but either way, the lines carved deep into the grooves of his scowl and the dark circles under his muted eyes spoke to an age-old exhaustion. One directed at Suguru, no less.
“Should’ve seen him in high school. The god complex is new, but the rest of it comes naturally.” You shifted slightly, unsure whether or not you should respond. He didn’t seem to care. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he reached for something in his front pocket – a pack of cigarettes, maybe, or another cheap vice – before thinking better of it and checking his watch. “I’d say Gojo’s a saint for putting up with it, but—”
“He’s worse,” you finished, under your breath. “At home, at least.”
The stranger glanced at you, wearily. As if he’d only expected to talk to himself. “You’re the new addition.”
It wasn’t a question, but after a beat, you nodded. He slumped against the wall. “And you’re here against your will.”
A longer delay, this time, a more hesitant nod. He let out a prolonged breath and directed his attention towards the dais.
“I’m sorry,” he said, finally. “That’s unfair.”
You felt something tighten in the back of your throat. Your collar, hidden well underneath the layers of your ensemble, seemed just a little heavier. “Yeah.” And then, when you could manage it, “I know.”
Suguru gave his final statement, and there was a muted ripple of activity through the crowd – some bowing, some muttering prayers, some wordlessly moving to the side to wait for an undetermined encore. Satoru made it to you first; dropping to his knees and hauling you into his chest. His face was buried in the crook of your neck in a matter of seconds, and you did your best not to care that the blonde stranger’s gaze was still very much boring into you.
Satoru held onto you until, moving at only his own pace, Suguru found his way across the sanctuary. He helped you to your feet and nodded to the stranger by way of greeting. “Bring the kids home in one piece, Kento?”
“Nanami,” he corrected. “Yuuji, Nobara and the twins are in the courtyard now. Megumi left a few minutes ago – his sister tends to worry.”
Suguru hummed. As they exchanged logistics, Satoru propped his chin on your shoulder. “Our latest batch of students,” he explained, keeping his voice low and airy. You wondered if he was allowed to speak in public, how firmly Suguru held onto his rules. You wondered if there’d ever be another time when you didn’t have to think before opening your mouth. “And Suguru’s daughters. You’ll meet them eventually. Kento’s on babysitting duty, in the meantime.”
You couldn’t say you were looking forward to the prospect.
As their conversation began to taper, Kento’s eyes skirted in your direction, and Suguru followed his gaze. Kento’s features were indecipherable, all but entirely blank, but Suguru wasn’t so difficult to read. Anger flashed hot and fast across his expression, quickly settling into something more restrained, something more amused. With a note of levity, he called to you. “Why don’t you join us, dear?”
Immediately, Satoru pulled away, and you were left completely and entirely alone. It took more time than it should’ve to remember how to move your legs, even longer to actually find the will to step forward, but Suguru waited patiently, keeping his hands tucked into his sleeves until you were close enough to take hold of. With an arm wrapped tightly around your waist, he slotted your back against his chest, forcing you to face Kento. “You were quite friendly with my acolytes during the sermon.” You tried to close your eyes, to bow your head, but he caught your chin – keeping you upright an on exhibition. “Kento, here, especially.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“You misunderstand - it’s a good thing. The last thing I’d want is for you to feel out of place among our little family.” He paused, humming as he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth. “In fact, you really ought to show Kento how happy you are to meet him.”
Suguru dug his fingers into your waist. Kento reset his jaw. Satoru smiled widely from behind the bars of his muzzle.
“You should purr for him, love.”
Heat rose to your cheeks – equal parts fury and embarrassment. Kento, for his part, kept his poker face in-tact, nonreactive save for the slightest possible quirk of his lips. His nonchalance provided little comfort, though. An unwilling audience was still an audience. At least, at home, you were given the mercy of a private dehumanization.
“I…” You swallowed, dryly. “I don’t know if I can do that. Like, physically.”
Suguru’s grin broadened. “Try for me.”
The ‘or else’ was left implied.
And the worst part was, you listened. You tried to find it in your throat, first, to flex a muscle you’d never thought to use, but the most you could manage was a low, droning hum – nothing close to a rumble. Kento looked away, humiliated on your behalf, and you opened your mouth, prepared to reiterate that even if you’d wanted to embarrass yourself in front of half his congregation, your body wouldn’t let you. Suguru’s thumb was in your mouth as soon as your lips parted, though, pressing into the flat of your tongue and pinning it to the bottom of your mouth. “You can do better than that, love. For my sake.”
You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to, but Suguru’s hand curled tighter around your jaw and saliva pooled at the corners of your lips and you forced out a pitchy, half-strangled whine. It wasn’t anything like a purr, not really, but it seemed to satisfy Suguru. His hand had fallen to your hip in the blink of an eye, the edge in his voice softened back down to a cool, smooth timbre. “Ah, I suppose you do need more practice. We’ll have to work on it at home.” He looked to Kento. “Thank you for your unwavering dedication. I trust you’ll be in touch?”
Kento nodded, curtly. “Of course.”
And just like that, you were being ushered out of the sanctuary and into a more seclusive part of the temple, Satoru following close behind you. You tried to look over your shoulder, to see if Kento’s eyes were still following you, but Suguru’s hand found its way to the back of your neck, wordlessly warning you away from something so needlessly masochistic. You didn’t mind, though.
You could still feel his eyes burning into you, the sensation a touch warmer than it’d been a few minutes ago.
~
“Don’t you hate it?”
Satoru hummed, kneading absent-mindedly at your chest. Currently, the two of you were home alone, and he was engaging in his favorite leisure activity – laying on Suguru’s bed with you pinned to his chest, a human (or, human-ish, at least) body pillow to be squeezed at and cuddled as he faded in and out of sleep. His touch was probing, shifting constantly between your tits, stomach, and thighs, but not necessarily invasive. Despite everything, it was still difficult to see Satoru as anything more than an extension of Suguru, something only dangerous when ordered to be. It was hard to be wary of a weapon when not in the hands of the person who’d used it to hurt you, especially when that weapon was all you had in the way of company.
“What am I supposed to hate, now?”
“Having to share his attention. I mean, it was his idea to kidnap me, right? You don’t have to pretend you’re happy about it, if you’re not. I know you’re—” You recalled the sounds of stifled moaning through thin walls, the feeling of a mattress dipping under the weight of two bodies while you pretended to sleep, and swallowed down your nausea. “I know you two are pretty close.”
Satoru let out a breath of a laugh. “We love each other, princess, Like we both love you.”
“But you don’t.” Admittedly, your tactics were crude. Search until you found a sore spot. Skirt around the edges until it’d gone tender. Make him want to get rid of you. Satoru wouldn’t hurt you, not without Suguru’s permission, but you needed to make him want you gone. There had to be something you could say, something you could do, to give him a reason to carve you a way out and look the other way while you escaped. “Suguru just told you to put up with me. He gave you a new toy, and you’re not even really allowed to play with it – isn’t that unfair?”
“I promise, he didn’t have to tell me to do—”
“And aren’t you scared?”You cut in, feigning distress. “I don’t want to be here, Satoru. And, god forbid, he ever decides he likes me more—”
Satoru didn’t let you finish. His teeth dug into the crook of your neck, turning anything you might’ve gone on to say into an abrupt, high-pitched squeak. The bite was shallow, but it still stung as he pulled away, resting his forehead against the apex of your spine. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just—I know what you’re doing. And it hurts, y’know?”
“…it does?”
“Mhm.” He slotted himself against you, his hand falling from your chest to the hem of your borrowed shirt. “You’re nervous.” And then, his thumb slipping under the waistband of your panties, “You think we’ll get tired of you.”
A new fear, hot and visceral, struck through your chest, lodging itself somewhere between your lungs and your rib cage. While you fought for your ability to breathe, Satoru went on. “Suguru hasn’t told you about the day he let me meet you, has he? That figures. He always hated getting sentimental like that, ‘specially if it makes him look sappy.”
Your panties were tugged downward, to the plush of your thighs. Satoru nestled into your back as he traced over your slit with the pad of his thumb, his touch still heavy with that kind of lazy, pawing affection. You squirmed, and when that failed, did your best to speak through grit teeth. “I—I don’t think you’re supposed to be touching me without—”
“Suguru can find a way to live with it. He’s always liked having an excuse to punish me.” His thumb caught on your clit, pushing slow circles into the sensitive bud. “That’s what I thought he was trying to do, the first time he mentioned bringing you home. He’s always hated non-sorcerers, even after I got him to be a little nicer about it. Honey over vinegar n’ all.” Satoru paused, laughed. “Don’t take it personally, but it was a little like your boyfriend threatening to bring home one of those inflatable sex dolls. Just because of the whole ‘This is what I think you could be replaced with’ thing.”
His hand drew back, but only far enough to cup your sex properly. The heel of his palm ground against your clit as two of his fingers gathered the slick traitorously accumulating between your thighs. “He wouldn’t take me to your apartment, probably thought I’d try to suffocate you in your sleep. Wouldn’t stop bothering him about it, though, so we settled on something more public.”
It wouldn’t have been so agonizing if he’d just gone a little faster, moved with a little more urgency. Instead, he seemed to savor the way your restlessness slowly turned to blatant thrashing, how deeply you dug your nails into his forearm when you reflexively lashed out to try and pry his hand away. Suguru would’ve put you over his knee for that, if not worse. Satoru was different. In a way, Satoru was more sincere. Satoru knew that, even when a housecat bared its claws, the worst it could do was break the skin.
“Remember that florist gig you had, for a while? Just a couple of months – to give you a little extra funding for the sudden move. Not that you needed it. Suguru and I were always ready to take care of you.” He prodded two fingers inside of you and spread them apart. Miserably, you whined into the sheets. “He talked me into it – sitting at the café across the street, watching work for the better part of the day. I spent most of it imagining how to get rid of you without him noticing, but towards the end—”
Satoru cut himself off abruptly with a chiming laugh. You felt his fingers curl inside of you as he re-settled against you. “Suguru did this—this thing. He started touching me under the table, a little like how I’m touching you, and asked how I would feel about having something that couldn’t be taken away from me.”
There was another laugh, softer than the first, then a lingering kiss to the curve of you your shoulder. You made one last unabashed attempt to struggle, to kick, to get away from him, but Satoru only held you that much tighter, forcing another finger into your stuffed cunt.
“He probably meant it as a sex thing – thought I’d like bringing home someone I could be in-charge of. I don’t see it that way, though.”
He nuzzled into the nape of your neck. His breath was first, warm and stifling where it fanned over you, then his tongue – lapping over your back in short, slow swipes. If you’d been any less disgusted, you might’ve found it comforting.
“I think we were always supposed to share you,” he finished, his saliva still drying on your skin. “I think you made to be ours.”
His palm rocked against your clit, his fingers grinding against the sensitive walls of your pussy. It’d only take a few more seconds for you to cum, and a few more minutes for Suguru to come home and find Satoru with his head buried between your thighs and tears running down your cheeks. For your punishment, Satoru would have his arm broken (an injury that, as you’d learned quickly, he could walk off as quickly as the average person would a paper cut) and you’d have to spend bouncing on Suguru’s cock, thanking him for each climax he was generous enough to milk out of you.
~
Getting the collar off was trickier than you’d expected. The nail clippers, pilfered from a bathroom drawer while Satoru dragged you through his half-conscious morning routine, only dented the leather, and neither of them seemed to feel at-home enough in the villa to leave things as mundane as scissors or box-cutters laying around. In the end, you had to steal a knife from the block left unattended in well-stocked, but sparingly used kitchen – pressing the spine into your throat while sawing through your collar with the blade. It wasn’t the safest option, but it got the job done, and you managed to keep the damage limited to a small nick on the underside of your chin. You left the remains of your collar on the mat in front of the villa’s main door and waited.
Suguru wasn’t ecstatic, to say the least.
He found you in the living room, sprawled across the largest sofa you could find, wearing a hoodie that Satoru had made you promise to take off before he and Suguru got home. Satoru trailed behind him – a shadow with an inverted color palette. They must’ve come straight from the temple, or something to do with Suguru’s cult, at least. They were both still in their traditional get-ups, and Suguru was wearing the easy, narrow-eyed smile he only seemed to make use of during his sermons.
You had to hand it to him. Had it not been for how tightly his fist was curled around the strip of ruined leather in his hand, you wouldn’t have known he was angry at all.
“’toru,” he started, his tone light and melodic. “On the floor. Stomach-down. By the time I come back.”
He turned on his heel, slipping into another part of the villa, but Satoru lingered. He stared at you from the doorway for a second, then another, his eyes blank and his face unnaturally pale.
Then, you moved to stand, making a pitifully clumsy attempt to run, and he was on top of you.
It was strange – to see Satoru so quiet. He kept his lips sealed and his jaw locked as he pinned you to the floor, straddling your lower back and forcing your wrists against the tender spot between your shoulder blades. You could’ve tried to get away, but you didn’t. There was no world wherein you could overpower Satoru, and he knew that as well as you did.
Suguru took his time. Full minutes later, he returned, having replaced your collar with a pair of rusted-out pliers. It seemed wrong to see him carrying such a crude tool, like violist showing up to their recital with a sledgehammer rather than an instrument. You weren’t really in a place to comment, though.
“Princess.” He crouched in front of you, letting his head lull to the side. He cupped your chin, thumb running over the hairline scrape you’d inflicted onto yourself, before pulling away. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
You swallowed, thickly. “I didn’t want to, I just—I couldn’t wear it, anymore. It hurt my neck, and I couldn’t breathe, and—” Pausing, stiffening, digging your nails into your palms. “—and I’m not your fucking cat, you sociopath.”
Suguru sighed, his smile falling. He exchanged a glance with Satoru, expression unchanging, before looking back to you.
“I’ll be nice,” he said, finally. “Bad kittens can either get declawed, or defanged. Since you seem so unhappy with your current level of autonomy, I’ll let you choose.”
You balked. “I’m not playing your—”
“Satoru.” Apparently, you’d already run his patience thin. “Choose.”
You couldn’t decide whether it’d be better or worse, had his answer not been so deafeningly automatic. “Declawed. And just the index finger.”
“And why is that, puppy?”
“Because she doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’ll be more careful after she’s learned her lesson.”
Suguru hummed, his posture taking on a slacker note. After a beat, he nodded. “Give me a hand, then.”
This time, you did fight it – albeit, not very effectively. You did your best to wrench your arms from Satoru’s grip, and when that failed, to jerk away as he curled a hand around your left wrist and pressed it into the floor. Suguru moved to take your hand, but stopped barely a hair’s width short, his eyes flickering back to Satoru. “Sorry,” Satoru mumbled. There was a nearly imperceptible shift in the atmosphere – a change in the air pressure, a drop in the temperature – before he went on. “It’s a reflex.”
Suguru didn’t waste time. He spread his hand under yours, interlocking your fingers and holding you steady as he brought his pliers up to your fingertips. The nose of the lower hinge worked underneath your nail while the ribbed underside of its upper counterpart scratched against it, the texture alone enough to make you cringe. You shut your eyes and tried to distract yourself, but nothing you could’ve dredged up would’ve dulled the feeling of blunt metal digging into your nail-bed, of the jaws clenching around something so thin, something so suddenly fragile. There was a light pull, testing for grip, then the pain.
Burning, throbbing, blinding. The soreness of it was almost worse than the sting, your body protesting the jarring absence of something it hadn’t known to imagine life without. You’d expected the pain to be limited, isolated, but it spread quickly – infecting everything below your elbow with phantom pains and sympathy aches. You’d told yourself you’d stay quiet, that you couldn’t cry, but a scream tore past your lips involuntarily, the tears following shortly after. That was fine. That was good, actually. They should know that they’d hurt you. They should know why you’d never, ever be able to love them back.
Hot blood pooled in the space your nail had once filled, dripping down your finger and spilling onto Suguru’s skin. Rather than let you go, he pulled you closer, bringing your hand to his face and taking your mutilated finger into his mouth. His tongue ran over the empty nail-bed, enlightening you to a brand new type of agony. You were sobbing unabashedly by the time he pulled away, the crimson of your blood dotting the corner of his lips.
“Take her to the cellar.” He was talking to Satoru, not you. That was fair. You weren’t in a state to listen to much of anything, right now. “It seems like we all need a little time to think.”
There was no protest from Satoru, no resistance from you. It was all you could do to cradle your wounded hand against your chest as he gathered you up and held you against his chest. With no great sense of urgency, he navigated through empty rooms and endless hallways, up the natural incline of rustic architecture and down, down, down into a lightless, concrete abyss. Despite the size of the basement, it’d been left deliberately void, with only a bare mattress and a few thin sheets to fill the desolation. Two lengths of thick chain hung limp from the wall above it, each one punctuated by a metal shackle, but you didn’t have the strength to acknowledge them.
Satoru set you on the edge of the mattress. Rather than curl into yourself, you clung to him – refusing to let go even as he tried to pull away. “Please,” you begged, the sound of your own desperation catching you off-guard. “Please, I’ll be good, and I’ll wear my collar, and I’ll purr, and—”
His arms were wrapped around you, keeping you pressed against him. But, despite the gentle warmth of his embrace, his voice was cold as ice.
“Pets don’t talk.”
You let out a keening, miserable sob. Satoru didn’t crack, but he softened, sighing as he kissed the top of your head. The next time he drew back, you let him – falling onto your side and curling into the smallest possible ball. You stayed that way as you listened to him climb the cellar stairs, as the heaviest lock you’d ever heard slid into place. It was only when you were completely, entirely sure he was gone that you sat up and, after wiping away your tears as best you could, fished his phone out of your hoodie’s pocket – still warm from where it’d been trapped between your body and his.
You’d wanted Suguru’s, but Satoru had been the one to hold you down, to carry you, to let you cling to him for just a few seconds longer than he should’ve. Calling the police was a non-option, a fantasy you’d been childish to indulge. You’d seen more than a few officers at Suguru’s sermons, and asking anyone you knew, anyone you trusted for help would just be inviting lambs to the slaughter. You didn’t want to be the reason Satoru had fresh meat to tear from the bone.
It took you three minutes to guess his passcode (your birthday) and four more to find the name you were looking for in his contacts. The phone only rang twice, but he offered no greeting, leaving you to break the silence, your voice more unsteady than you would’ve liked.
For Valentine I paired up with @uvobreakmylegs to post an Illumi fic :D This is a long ass fic (which was also the working title of this one) and I'm surprised Tumblr lets me post this in one go. Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: A/B/O-setting in college, Yandere! Illumi x Reader, alpha! Illumi, beta! Reader, violence, classism, weird misogyny, non-con, blood, somnophilia, masturbation, 26k words
You sat on your bed with your back against the wall, typing away on your laptop. The small space you’d claimed on your bed was cluttered with textbooks, notebooks, and random bits of your life, all fighting for attention. You were supposed to be focusing on the upcoming group project, texting your classmate, but in a form of semi-productive procrastination, you’d decided to do some readings first, summarizing them in a separate document, trying to forget the bit of anxiety the assignment was already causing you.
The current readings were on the ‘dichotomy of social status in a post-transformative hegemony’ and to be fair you hadn’t really absorbed a single word in more than thirty minutes.
With a sigh you put away your laptop. You’d read the abstract before class tomorrow.
Closing your eyes you pushed away some stuff, slid down the wall until your shoulder reached the mattress and curled in on your side, snuggling into the bed for a bit.
…
You turned to your other side, facing the wall. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, counting to five and holding for seven seconds like you’d once seen someone explain in a yoga video.
…
With a frustrated exhale you sat back up. You were too stressed to take a nap, and the only thing that would probably work in calming your overactive mind down, would be to actually do a little work or procrastinate with something fun. The dorm had been mostly vacated when you’d made dinner in the dingy dorm kitchen (ramen with an egg to be fancy) so you probably couldn’t even bother anyone to distract you.
A little work it was.
But that left the group project, since you weren’t gonna read a single word more written by Prof. Reima et al. They’d had their shot.
So all you had to do was grab your phone and send a text to the name that’d been next to yours on the match-up sheet that was posted online earlier today. Just… a little….text.
With an embarrassing fuck yes you were happy no one was around to hear you found out you didn’t have his number and he wasn’t in the class group chat.
Though your happiness was short-lived, since now you were just stressed, with no idea what to do to fix it.
You just really didn’t want to talk to the stranger you’d been assigned.
You didn’t consider yourself awfully difficult to work with, and part of the exercise was of course to work with different people- with different personalities, and still make a good end-product. Nevertheless, you’d secretly hoped to be matched up with Mariah or Bianca, your dorm ‘neighbors’, knowing you could count on them not to procrastinate till the last minute or hand in shit work.
Not that you expected this person to be bad, per se, it was just…
You didn’t know him.
You’d seen him in class, right in the front. He had very long, beautiful black hair that made him stand out from the collection of bed-heads and hoodies up front. The seats next to his were always empty, and when you’d asked around as to why that was, people had confided in you it was because his scent was often strong enough to even unnerve the most confident alpha in class.
Not a problem for beta’s like you, but you tended to follow by example.
The only two words you’d shared with him was a while back when you’d dropped something and instead of picking it up, he’d merely informed you that you’d dropped your keys, even though he was standing next to them. You’d walked back, bent down to grab them and gave him an earnest ‘thank you’, since even if he was a bit weird or rude, at least you didn’t have to call a locksmith or commute back to the classroom to find them.
He had an awfully intense look about him, like a man who couldn’t be paid to smile, and despite being tall, handsome and meticulously groomed, there was something off about him that would dissuade even the bravest from approaching him (all except that red-head alpha from a year up that you’d seen walk with him a few times).
But then there was that little ‘A’ at the end of his name on the sheet—a single letter that carried more weight than it had any right to, making you clench your jaw in frustration before you’d even spoken a word to him. He was an alpha. And as a beta in college, you knew exactly what that usually meant.
Betas were rare enough that it was easy to feel out of place most of the time, caught in the social dynamics of a world that didn’t quite know what to do with you. Lacking the keen sense of scent that alphas and omegas relied on so heavily, you couldn’t pick up on intent or emotion in the same way. That made you clumsier, not out of carelessness but simply because you missed social cues others considered obvious.
It wasn’t your fault, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating when alphas in particular interpreted your missteps as a lack of social intelligence.
The worst part was the fact that you did have a scent. Everyone around could read you like a fucking book, while you had to scramble and try harder just to avoid all kinds of mistakes.
People could hate you, and you’d be none the wiser unless they’d say it out loud, but you couldn’t get even the slightest bit annoyed without someone next to you turning up their nose and knowing.
You couldn’t even consistently wear scent blockers, since they’d yet to be tested on beta’s and so the pharmacist wasn’t allowed to hand them to you. On important days, in the past, you’d stolen some from your uncle, but after getting a really bad fever after taking one too many, the medicine cupboard had been locked.
So. All in all, not the best hand to be dealt.
With omegas, it was easier. They were generally more forgiving, more open to communicating frustrations once they realized what you were, and their common desire to smooth over conflicts often meant you could find common ground without too much difficulty. But alphas? Alphas were different.
To them, a beta’s inability to respond in kind wasn’t just a gap; it was an absence. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the perception that you were perceived as somehow less to them. They found you annoying, since you couldn’t adapt yourself to what they wanted, and they always tended to get what they wanted.
Added onto the fact that you were biologically utterly useless to them, no heats or hormones that’d match up, and getting along was often a pipe dream.
You’d seen it happen over and over again: discussions where your input was brushed aside, decisions made without consulting you, and the ever-present condescension, always cloaked in well-meaning advice. Even when they weren’t trying to belittle you, the effect was the same. It was exhausting. So you’d learned to temper your expectations, to approach alphas with the wariness of someone who’d been burned before and to try and read body language and social settings like your life depended on it.
Still, it wouldn’t do to walk into this with prejudices, as long as you kept your expectations low to begin with. He seemed serious about school. It wouldn’t be like last time. It’d be fine. It’d be fine.
You checked how much of your grade was impacted by the assignment and cursed.
Well… off to find this ‘Illumi Zoldyck’ then.
After class, you followed Illumi out of class, calling his name once to grab his attention. He didn’t hear you and walked out, making you have to follow him through the hallway.
Not having seen him take a corner, you wandered around for a bit, before you saw him and that red-haired creep talk by the coffee machine. You wouldn’t have been so mean to Hisoka, if he hadn’t broken your friend Bianca’s heart, standing her up after she’d prepared to ask him out for weeks and then ignoring all her texts. You sure didn’t get what she saw in him, but decided that in some light, he could look pretty cool with his half-shaven up hair and piercings.
Before walking up to the both of them, you grabbed your body spray and coated your neck in it, worried your irritation at seeing Hisoka would be noticeable. After putting it away, you walked up to the both of them.
Illumi was saying something, but you couldn’t quite catch it yet.
“Hmm~ Fine. But make sure Chrollo is there.” Hisoka said, a sultry tint to his voice even when making simple plans. His eyes flickered to you and he tilted his face your way in a borderline predatory manner. Dear god, what was wrong with this dude? You tried not to look too nervous, but saw his lips curl up into a smile nevertheless. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, and I’ll give my precious spot over to your new admirer~”
Illumi’s face turned to you as your face scrunched up.
“What?” You said, not having expected that.
“Don’t have to look so mortified.” Hisoka said, walking past you and waving Illumi away. “He doesn’t bite~”
“Ignore him.” Illumi said, as if that wasn’t the weirdest thing to say about a friend ever. “Organisational structures, right?”
A part of you was surprised at his tone of voice. His face was entirely expressionless, but his voice sounded rather casually amused, as if to compensate for how stone-cold he seemed otherwise.
“Yes.” You shifted your weight, trying to ignore how Hisoka still hadn’t walked away but was standing directly behind you. You could smell him, which was impressive considering you generally didn’t smell a whole lot. The little bit that you caught was a horribly sweet scent that would’ve made you believe he was an omega if it just wasn’t so suffocating. Omega’s always smelled comforting, a discovery you’d made recently during a sleepover with Bianca, and this was like walking around a carnival while on really bad shrooms, so the furthest thing from comforting. “I wanted to ask when you wanted to meet to talk about it.”
“Ha ha…” Came the creepy off-putting laugh from behind you, followed by a slow inhale that made every hair on your body stand upright. You looked over your shoulder and took a step forward, kind of shocked by how close he’d been standing. Shifting gears, you held out your hand for the phone Illumi was holding.
This wasn’t much better, since now you were standing a little too close to Illumi. His scent, while lighter, was unfamiliar and odd in its own right, like a musky perfume that needed to settle a little to get rid of the rubbing alcohol smell. Damn. You understood those empty seats now, knowing that if your nose was even a little better you’d also not want to sit next to either of them.
Though it would’ve aided you a bit in navigating this odd social interaction. Scents were often described as a whole separate language in itself. A russian novel you’d once picked up for a literature class had dedicated three whole chapters to the minutiae of the intent behind scents during an exchange between an alpha and omega at a dinner.
All you got from smelling was an indication whether or not someone smelled nice or not.
Having a strong scent was usually considered a ‘good’ thing, especially if you could control it a little, which you still didn’t really understand. How was such a thing controllable, wasn’t it just basic bodily functions? Googling it didn’t help, as you didn’t understand the medical jargon and the only normal articles about it were just on how to increase scent strength in order to be seen as more dominant and successful.
You looked at Illumi’s face intently, finding absolutely no indication of any sort of emotion. Was he angry? Was he annoyed you’d interrupted his conversation with Hisoka? Why was he being so quiet?
You raised your hand a little further.
“I’ll give you my number, text me.” You said, eager to get out of this situation as soon as possible. Why did alpha’s have to be so weird? Even the so-called standard alpha had so many quirks that it made life quite unbearable for someone like you who didn’t like to be sniffed all the time, despite knowing it was technically normal. “I’m on campus every day next week for my thesis, so feel free to just pick a moment.”
Illumi handed you his phone, already open on the contact screen.
“Busy bee~” Hisoka murmured as you entered your contact information, his voice carrying some blatant mockery.
“Are you done?” you snapped, unable to stop yourself. Hisoka’s eyes twinkled with amusement, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to your planning.” He twirled on his heel, sauntering off with an exaggerated sway to his step.
The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as Hisoka finally disappeared around the corner, but the unease lingered. Illumi watched you silently for a moment.
“I’ll text you,” he said simply, as if nothing unusual had happened. “But I won’t meet you here. I’ll send you a location.”
“Hm? Why?” you asked, your tone sharper than intended, but you couldn’t help it. His demand caught you off guard and you were still on edge by that Hisoka figure.
Illumi raised a single, sharp eyebrow, as though your confusion was unwarranted and nodded towards the coffee machine. “The coffee here is horrible. I much prefer the café close to the business district.”
You stared at him, your lips parting in disbelief. Was he serious? You didn’t know which café he was referring to, but the business district was at least a thirty minute walk. You narrowed your eyes, trying to gauge if this was some kind of test.
“And pay ten times what the coffee costs here?” you asked, your voice edging toward incredulous.
His head tilted slightly, his lack of expression unchanged. “I’d prefer not,” you added, folding your arms in a defensive stance.
“Why?” he asked.
“It’s expensive,”
“It’s really not,” he replied without missing a beat. His tone was so matter-of-fact that you almost felt a flash of secondhand embarrassment for yourself.
You huffed a small laugh, half-joking to break the awkward tension. “I don’t mind, if you pay for my drink.”
“Low on funds, are we?”
Your laugh died in your throat. The way he said it made it feel less like a tease and more like a diagnosis. Fuck.
“...” You stared at him, words failing you for a moment. Then, very bravely and wisely deciding this conversation wasn’t worth pursuing any further, you shook your head and turned on your heel.
“Bye,” you said, the word clipped as you walked away, clutching your bag a little tighter.
As you put distance between you and Illumi, you couldn’t shake the feeling of having lost. You resisted the urge to glance over your shoulder, refusing to let him see how much he’d rattled you.
“You’re late.”
Illumi was seated at the corner table, wearing a dark red button-up that seemed like it was ironed just before you got in the café. He’d tied his hair in a very low-ponytail, and not for the first time you marveled at how pretty his hair was.
In comparison to how put-together he looked, you were wearing the same outfit you’d been wearing yesterday, only remembering that to be the case when you were three minutes away from the café. It was hot, and you felt sweaty.
You grabbed your phone. “You sent me the location twenty minutes ago. This was a thirty minute walk. The fact I made it in twenty-five should be impressive.”
“It isn’t.” He said, already sipping his drink.
“What? It is a thirty-minute walk.” You were already grabbing your phone to show him.
“No,” He said. “I mean it isn’t impressive.”
Your fingers stopped typing the address to show the route you’d taken. For a full ten seconds you stood there in silence before just sitting down and sinking into your seat. “So. The project.”
You’d promised yourself you’d be cooler this time, and you’d already failed. It wasn’t like you were keen to impress alpha’s, but this was just plain embarrassing.
For the first time since you’d met him, the edges of his lips inched upward.
The two of you settled into the task at hand, pulling out notes and reference materials. The café buzzed softly around you, the staff cleaning up empty tables and clinking cups creating a soothing backdrop. You worked in silence, focusing on the project with an intensity that kept your thoughts from wandering too far.
The two of you decided on a subject pretty quickly, and you both split up for a bit, trying to find sources and ideas online that would make for a good baseline to work from. Illumi sent you a reading he deemed pretty worthwhile, and so you tried to work out what it was implying so you could work ahead.
Illumi pointed out a specific section he wanted to use, his finger lightly tapping the screen as he indicated the passage. You nodded and set out to read it. The text, however, was dense and convoluted.
You squinted, your eyes scanning the same lines repeatedly, trying to wrestle meaning from the words. Frustration prickled at the edges of your mind, a tight knot forming in your chest. You bit your lip, determined not to show any signs of struggle. The last thing you wanted was to seem clueless in front of Illumi.
‘Within the nuanced framework of matrix organizational structures, as seen in fig 1., the dual-reporting lines and the interdependence between functional and project-based hierarchies create a lattice of authority and responsibility, indicating that in order for managers to navigate the intricate equilibrium between vertical accountability and-’
What the fuck did this mean.
He was waiting for you to respond to it.
You were being slow. You didn’t want him to know. You should just quickly think of something vague to say, and try to read it again. You opened your mouth, to reply something, anything, but nothing came out.
Illumi’s gaze lifted from his own work, his eyes settling on you with quiet intensity. His posture remained relaxed, one arm resting on the table, but his piercing gaze made you feel like he could see straight through you. “You’re confused,” he stated plainly.
It wasn’t a question. The bluntness of his observation made your face heat instantly. You could feel the warmth creeping up your neck. “What? No, I’m fine,” you mumbled, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your notebook. “I’m just... thinking.”
His eyes remained on you, unblinking. “Your scent says otherwise.”
You froze, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment. Of course, he could pick up on that. You were mortified, knowing he could sense every flicker of your emotions, even the ones you tried to suppress. Bianca and Mariah pretended not to notice, and your family knew better than to say it this bluntly.
“I—” You fumbled for words, glancing down at the laptop screen. “It’s just... this part is confusing, that’s all.”
Illumi tilted his head slightly. “Is it?”
The simplicity of his statement only made you feel more self-conscious. “I’m just-,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll get it in a minute.”
“You’re not majoring in business, are you?”
You exhaled sharply. “I’ll get it in a minute.”
He didn’t press further, simply nodding and returning to his work. But the heat in your cheeks lingered, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being utterly exposed. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus back on the task at hand. Even though the embarrassment lingered, you were determined not to let it derail the rest of the session.
You did grab your body spray again to lather your neck, a move which made both Illumi and the waitress crinkle their noses.
The rest of the meeting went better, and at one point he even nodded approvingly at something you’d written, which made you inwardly cheer. Your scent had probably betrayed you again despite the overdose of perfume you’d used, because his eyes flickered up at you again at that.
“Would meeting again tomorrow work for you?” Illumi said, pulling out his phone to check his agenda. “I want this done before the holidays.”
You hesitated. “Didn’t we just divide the parts?” Usually, one or two meetings were enough, with the rest of the communication handled online. You also had plans to watch a movie tonight, and squeezing in another session seemed excessive. “I won’t have a lot done by tomorrow.”
“I prefer to work on this exclusively like this,” Illumi said. “I don’t like waiting for replies when I’m working on projects.”
“Oh.” You could understand that, but you weren’t keen on trekking all the way to the café again. “That’s fine, but I don’t have time to commute all the way here tomorrow. Is meeting on campus okay?”
“No,” Came the immediate response. “You can take a cab to my place. This café is too noisy after all.”
You glanced around, noting the nearly empty space. His comment caught you off guard. “...No,” you said after a moment of stunned silence.
“Ah yes, low on funds,” he remarked, sitting so upright that it was hard to tell if he was even leaning against the backrest. “I’ll order the cab then.”
“You do realize you sound insane, right?” You were genuinely unsure. “Just come over to my place instead. No cabs, and it’s close to campus.”
“Fine.”
“And also—oh.” You’d been ready to argue further, but his swift agreement stopped you in your tracks. “Okay.”
“You’re going to meet him again?” Bianca said incredulously. “Didn’t you already meet up twice this week? How much effort are you putting in this thing?”
You shrugged. “It’s going pretty smoothly, and I could use a good grade. Would make up for that horrible excuse of an exam for Global Business.”
“Fair.” Mariah voiced.
“It’s not fair, it’s interfering with girl talk.” Bianca whined, lightly pawing at your sleeves. “I wanna choose the pictures for your dating profileeee~”
“Just because you have a boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to live your single life through me.” You laughed. “You can swipe for me on dating apps next time.”
“Ohhhhh~” Bianca immediately let go. “Deal.”
Mariah held up a hand in greeting, her eyes not having lifted off her book during the entire conversation. “Have fun.”
“Byee.”
You had expected him to sit across from you at your table, as he usually did, maintaining a comfortable distance. But today, he had chosen to sit next to you, his presence a steady, silent weight at your side. His long legs stretched out slightly under the table.
Your heart thudded a little louder than you liked. You tried to keep your focus on the text in front of you, eyes scanning the words, but his proximity made it difficult. The warmth radiating from him was subtle, yet unmistakable, and the occasional brush of his sleeve against your arm sent tiny jolts of awareness through you.
Illumi, as always, seemed entirely unaffected. His eyes moved steadily over the pages of his book, his expression serene, as if the world around him didn’t exist. His fingers, long and elegant, flipped the pages with quiet precision.
You, on the other hand, felt acutely aware of every little detail—the slight creak of the chair as you shifted, the way your knee almost bumped against his when you adjusted your position, the soft rustle of fabric as you reached for your notebook. If he smelled this flusteredness you were experiencing and made mention of it, you’d jump off a bridge.
It’d been three hours already, and the project was good and done for today, but despite having finished, instead of leaving when you’d said you’d finish some other tasks, Illumi had pulled out a book and started reading next to you.
Distracted from your work, you looked up at him. “Is it any good?”
“Depends on your taste.” He showed you the title. ‘A Bandit’s Secret’ the cover read. “It’s a little full of itself.”
“In what way?”
“It’s good, but the writer knows it a little too well.” He sighed and immediately you felt like he was annoyed you’d interrupted him. Had reading next to you not been a sign he wanted to spend more time here with you? Perhaps you’d read too much into it. “The day he’ll get the Pullitzer will feel like a deja vu with how often he must’ve imagined it already.”
You laughed at that, and Illumi looked at you with a neutral face. Oh, had he not intended that as a joke? Whoops.
Trying to not make more of a fool of yourself, you turned back to your laptop, managing to handle the returning silence for a total of three minutes before you cracked.
“Did I say something wrong?” Your voice broke the silence, soft but deliberate, as you leaned back in your chair.
Illumi shut his book completely this time with a snap. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know.” You hesitated, squinting at him as though searching for a crack in his stoic armor. “You don’t have an expressive face, and the conversation fell silent, so I worried you got angry at something I did.”
Some people got embarrassed when you straight up tried to ask what was wrong, or they’d twirl around the subject, annoyed you couldn’t just tell what was happening. Some people somehow couldn’t accept that their scent didn’t just carry across the message, despite knowing you physically couldn’t be able to tell even if you wanted to.
Despite that, you preferred outright asking and working things out before things got into a big deal. You’d been once named and shamed for weeks for readily accepting a ‘i’m fine’ from a girl in school, happily talking about your weekend, while everyone around could apparently tell she was grieving and depressed, making you seem like an asshole for just ignoring that and talking about yourself.They all understood but that didn’t mean they didn’t judge you.
Because of incidents like that, you’d come to prefer asking outright. It was cleaner, even if some people bristled at the directness.
“You did not say anything wrong,” Illumi said finally.
“Okay,” you replied, experiencing some silent relief, “but be sure to tell me if I do. I don’t like it when I go home oblivious and weeks later I find out someone’s mad at me.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Used to a lot. Not so much now in college, luckily.” You picked up your pen again, rolling it between your fingers. “I don’t hang around alpha’s a lot, or new people in general.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with me,” he said bluntly. “I’ll tell you if I feel you need to know something.”
That sounded like he might take some far-reaching liberties with what you needed to know, but fine. As long as the two of you could understand each other. You tilted your head, considering him, before nodding.
“Thanks,” you said, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I appreciate it.”
He didn’t open his book just yet. “Any plans for the weekend?”
A little surprised at his interest in something as menial as that, you recounted your plans, mentioning that you’d probably be spending it all with Bianca and Mariah, to make up for ditching them this evening.
“She’s gonna swipe for me on a dating app,.” Came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. That was a weird thing to tell him. Stop, stop, drop the subject. “it’s a whole thing. I think she has done more of the talking on those things than me.”
You didn’t drop the subject.
“Dating apps? What’s the use of that?”
Noooooo-
“...Dating?” You said slowly, pretty sure you were missing a point, before realizing what he probably meant. “Oh, you must not hear about it much, it’s mostly just beta’s trying to meet others like them. It’s not as simple to meet someone for people like me.” You pointed at your nose. “Can’t just tell if someone’s a good match.”
Why had you still not dropped the subject.
“So what’s it take instead?”
“Different for everyone, but most beta’s I know date a long time and decide like that.” You didn’t want to admit that in your lifetime you’d only spoken to a handful of beta’s, all people outside your age range. Your rural middle school once tried to make a hang-out group for beta’s, but you’d been the only girl, and hadn’t really been into playing call of duty, so it wasn’t a success. Still, it’d been a good initiative, since you still followed those guys on social media and they seemed to still be hanging out now and again. “Spending time together, dinners, that kind of thing. It’s very socially exhausting. I’ve tried a few times, but it’s frustrating seeing everyone else just know when we’re supposed to guess. Or at least, that’s how it seems for me.”
“Hm.” Illumi said, seeming to mull over your point. “I see.”
“So what’re your plans?” You said, eager to have the conversation shift away from your doomed love life. “Wait till some omega’s scent knocks you off your feet and go from there?”
“Something like that.” While you’d prattled on, it seemed Illumi was much better in dropping a subject, as he opened his book again. You were about to die from embarrassment at having overshared so much when he fixed you with a look. “Why are you embarrassed?”
You let your forehead hit the keys of your laptop. “...Nothing.”
Where are you?
You looked at your phone again, trying to remember if there’d been plans you’d forgotten. The assignment was over and done with, and if the work you’d seen other groups hand in was anything to go by, the two of you’d passed with flying colours. After checking your agenda and coming up empty, you decided to bite the bullet and just ask.
I’m back home for the holiday. Did we make plans?
You saw the text bubble pop up and disappear a few times.
I’m closeby. Can I pick you up at seven?
You blinked as you stared at the text. He was here? Up north? Had he also gone to visit family? A part of you that immediately wanted to text him a paragraph full of questions is silenced, knowing he’d only reply with ‘limit yourself to yes/no’ if you did that.
You thought to yourself for a bit. You’d gone home to spend time with family, but you’d been let loose today to do some social calls. Those would be done by seven, and curiosity as to what he was planning was kind of tipping the scales.
You walked to the kitchen, where your aunt stood pouring some tea for herself.
“Hey, a friend from uni is nearby and wants to meet up at seven, is that okay?”
She huffed. “Don’t have to ask me for permission. Who is it?”
“The weird alpha.”
“Ah.” Her eyebrows raised at that, and you could just tell she had some thoughts on the matter, but decided to drop them. “Well, don’t say no on my account, but if you need an out, be sure to call me and I’ll pretend to have given you a curfew.”
You scoffed. “I think I’m grown enough to just tell him to take me home.”
“...Are you?” She held out a cookie for you once you walked past her.
You stopped and genuinely considered it, taking the cookie she offered. “Probably.”
A few hours later, you stood outside the apartment complex, genuinely lost for words when a car stopped right in front of you. Not one with Illumi driving, mind you, but with a driver.
The car door swung open smoothly, almost silently, the kind of automated luxury that didn’t just suggest wealth but flaunted it. You hesitated for a split second, your eyebrows lifting in a mix of awe and unease. Steeling yourself, you climbed in, settling into the plush leather seat that practically enveloped you. Everything about the car—from the subtle hum of the air conditioning to the scent of new leather and faint cologne—spoke of extravagance.
Illumi was already seated next to you, his posture composed and rigid. His long black hair draped neatly over his shoulders, the sharp lines of his suit immaculate. His dark eyes flicked over you.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked.
You glanced down at yourself, picking at the hem of your oversized sweatshirt that proudly proclaimed Bowling Champion of ’78. The faded letters were slightly cracked, and the fabric smelled faintly of detergent and something musty.
Grinning, you leaned back against the seat. “I didn’t pack enough clothes, so I had to raid my old closet. Vintage, right?”
Illumi’s brow twitched ever so slightly. “Don’t look so happy about it,” he said, his voice sounding the same as usual, but his words carried the weight of disapproval. “You’re going to make a fool of yourself in the restaurant.”
“Oh, is that why you’re wearing a suit?” you shot back, your grin widening as you gestured vaguely at his tailored ensemble.
“Yes,” he replied, deadpan, as if the answer were obvious.
“Maybe you should’ve told me the dress code for the place then.” You snickered to yourself. “I-”
“Yes, yes, I’m paying, don’t worry about it.”
Wooow…
“Fuck, man. I was gonna say I would’ve dressed up nicer.” You felt the familiar twinge of irritation rise in your chest. Not for the first time spending time with Illumi, you felt utterly mortified, but you bit your tongue. You knew it was just… him. It wasn’t worth the fight, and honestly, you’d probably lose anyway. “What got you in this area?” you asked instead, changing the subject.
“Work,” Illumi said simply.
“Work?”
“I am helping with the family business.”
“What do they do?”
“...Business.” He said after a moment of deliberation. You sensed he didn’t want to talk about it, so you decided to change the subject, feeling proud of yourself for reading his reply so well.
“And you decided to bother your poor little classmate as soon as you were done?” you teased, leaning your head against the headrest.
“Am I? Bothering you?”
“No, just curious,” you admitted with a shrug, fiddling with the sleek panel of buttons along the car door. There were so many—each labeled with tiny, glowing symbols—that you didn’t even know what half of them did. The temptation to press them all was almost overwhelming.
“I was just surprised when you texted me.”
“I’ve texted you before,” Illumi said, and there was a faint trace of defensiveness in his tone.
“Yes, but never for something like this,” you countered, gesturing vaguely to the luxurious car and the promise of an equally extravagant meal. Then, realizing the conversation was veering into uncomfortable territory, you waved your own words away. “Never mind that. I appreciate the invite. Really.”
The car glided to a smooth stop. You glanced out the tinted window, half-expecting to see the restaurant, but instead, your door swung open with a soft hiss. You blinked, confused, as a woman in a sharp suit appeared in front of you. She moved with practiced efficiency, holding a neatly folded pile of clothes in her arms. Without so much as a word, she extended the bundle to you, her expression professionally neutral.
“Uh—” you started, but she was already stepping back, retreating to the sidewalk like a phantom. The door shut softly behind her, enclosing you and Illumi in the car once again.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” You said, looking lost at Illumi.
Illumi didn’t even look fazed. “Wear it,” he replied matter-of-factly. “The dress code is non-optional. You won’t get in looking like that.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it, glancing down at your sweatshirt again. Okay, fine. Point taken. But still—
“...And your driver just had an extra set of clothes, ready?”
“Good personnel doesn’t need to be asked,”
He looked at his phone as he said so, making you realize just how little he thought of the driver’s efforts, like it was completely normal for something like this to be arranged without giving even a single indication. Bianca had once vacuumed your room, just because she’d already been going at it, and you’d been grateful for an entire week. You hoped the driver was paid well, at the very least. Dental, even.
You blinked at him, genuinely stunned. “Damn,” You blinked, looking again at the clothes. “You’re really rich, aren’t you.”
“That bothers you?”
“Well. No? I guess?” You shrugged, trying to regain the casual tone you’d been holding onto earlier. But it wasn’t as easy this time. This whole situation—being whisked away in a luxury car, handed designer clothes like it was nothing—was excessive in a way that made you feel uncomfortably out of place.
You’d reckoned he was well-off, but this was something else entirely. This wasn’t just a cabin with a boat for the holidays, this was a rented-out ski lodge abroad type rich.
Your confidence wavered as you tried not to dwell on it. A beta from uni, dressed like a walking thrift store sale rack, picked up from a one-bedroom house shared with four people living in it. You’d never been self-conscious about it before, but suddenly felt judged.
You forced a laugh, clutching the clothes against your chest. “I am gonna google you when I get home though,” you joked, feeling like a joke yourself, clueless on how to deal with him.
“Get changed,” he said simply, his tone dismissive as he leaned back in his seat, his focus shifting to the window.
“What? Not in here.”
“Where else? The windows are tinted.”
“Yeah, but you’re still in here,” you shot back, flustered. Your hands tightened around the neatly folded pile of clothes in your lap. It wasn’t just that he was here; it was that he was Illumi. His mere presence was disconcerting enough without the added layer of stripping down in front of him and there was no way he was seeing your mismatched bra that had a little hole in the side of the lace.
“I don’t see the problem,”
Your face heated. “That’s uncomfortable,” you said firmly, trying not to sound as mortified as you felt. You couldn’t believe you had to explain this to him. Did the guy really not understand why changing in front of someone—even someone as seemingly indifferent as him—was awkward? It was kind of insulting that he probably saw you as so undesirable, being a beta, that he thought absolutely nothing of it.
For a moment, he just stared at you.
You stared right back, refusing to back down. No way were you giving in on this.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Illumi broke first. “Fine,” he said, with a faint trace of annoyance.
He pressed one of the buttons on the sleek console beside him. Without missing a beat, the car slowed and glided to the curb. You barely had time to blink before Illumi opened the door and stepped out.
“I’ll be up front,” he said over his shoulder, his voice muffled as he closed the door behind him.
Left alone in the backseat, surrounded by the anonymity of tinted windows, you looked at the clothes and realized you couldn’t really get out of this now.
“What am I doing…” you muttered, shaking your head as you surveyed your impromptu dressing room. With its sleek, (in your mind) futuristic luxury, the car didn’t make the situation any less ridiculous.
You unfolded the clothes carefully, inspecting them. The dress was a deep, dark red, the kind of shade that felt simultaneously elegant and intimidating. It was mid-length, form-fitting but not overly so, and surprisingly, it looked like it might actually fit you. Stockings were included—stockings, of all things—along with a low-cut grey fur coat that was absolutely ostentatious.
The pièce de résistance, however, was the jewelry. A small bag sat in the center of the pile, holding a few shiny silver pieces that looked like they’d cost more than your rent. You sighed deeply, shaking your head again as you held up a necklace to inspect it.
“This is insane,” you muttered to yourself.
Quickly, you started changing, feeling both grateful and mildly paranoid about the privacy the tinted windows provided. The dress slid on easily, hugging your figure without being suffocating. The stockings were more of a challenge—halfway through wrangling them on, you cursed loud enough for them probably to hear you in the front seat—but you managed.
Finally, you shrugged on the fur coat, its weight settling over your shoulders like a silent declaration of wealth you didn’t actually have. The jewelry was the last touch: earrings, a bracelet, and the necklace, which you fastened carefully around your neck.
Looking at your sweatshirt and pants, you folded them and placed them next to you with a little bit too much empathy for the discarded clothing.
You’d liked the shirt, at the very least.
“I look like a prostitute.” You said, looking at yourself in a reflective storefront while walking down the sidewalk. All you were missing was the bold red lipstick.
Illumi very seriously looked you over as he led the way. “Well. I am paying for dinner.”
You laughed loudly and slapped his shoulder. “Fuck off.”
The restaurant had been unlike anything you had ever experienced. Its grandeur had overwhelmed you from the moment you had stepped inside. The towering ceilings, gilded chandeliers, and the soft hum of a string quartet had all contributed to the sense that you didn’t belong there.
You were glad Illumi had insisted on changing clothes, since you were sure you’d be shot like a lame horse if you’d walked here in the bowling sweatshirt.
Still, you’d have felt more like yourself.
Beside you, Illumi had moved with his usual composed elegance, utterly unbothered by the extravagance surrounding him.
Your table had been positioned near a massive floor-to-ceiling window that showcased the glittering city skyline. The twinkling lights outside had reflected in the crystal glasses and polished silverware on the table.
When the waiter had handed you a leather-bound menu, you had trailed the spine, making too loud comments wondering if it was real leather, making a couple across from you giggle behind their wine glasses.
“Don’t mind them.” Illumi had said, surely because your discomfort was tangible in the air.
The words on the menu had been foreign. Each dish had sounded more elaborate than the last, and the descriptions had only added to your confusion. You had glanced at Illumi nervously, hoping for some kind of guidance, but couldn’t manage to make eye contact.
Before you had gathered the courage to ask for help, he had closed his menu and spoken to the waiter in his usual calm, measured tone. His words had been efficient, a series of dish names that you couldn’t repeat if he asked you to. When the waiter had turned to you for confirmation, you nodded wordlessly, trusting Illumi to have chosen something appropriate.
When the food arrived, it was a collection of dishes that not only looked beautiful, but tasted like the cook had poured his heart and soul into every last bite. You’d probably been a bit too loud in your enjoyment of the food, but the waiter had given you a happy looking smile, so at least someone seemed to appreciate you.
“Do you enjoy it?” he had asked, his voice cutting through your enjoyment of the dessert. You nodded, murmuring an agreement, seeing him clap his hands in joy, before adding on a robotic sounding “I’m glad.”
On the one hand, it was really nice to be given so much attention.
On the other, you still didn’t know why the fuck Illumi had invited you out to eat to a place so outrageous. Some type of classist guilt? A thanks for the good grade that was not even made public yet? It was fun, for sure, but why?
You couldn’t figure it out, and that feeling remained until you got home.
As the door clicked shut behind you, the smile you’d been wearing immediately slid off your face. Your shoulders slumped as you let out a long, exasperated sigh.
“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath.
“Language,” your aunt’s voice called from the living room, sharp and automatic. She appeared a moment later, a pair of reading glasses perched low on her nose and a book still in hand. She stopped when she saw you, her eyes widening as they took in your appearance.
“What are you wearing?!” she exclaimed, her hand coming up to adjust her glasses as if she needed to see you more clearly to make sense of it. “Where’s your sweatshirt?”
You glanced down at yourself, suddenly hyper aware of the extravagant outfit. For a second, you considered explaining, but your brain was too fried to come up with a coherent response.
“I think I left it in the car,” you blurted instead, your words disjointed as you tried to process the whirlwind of the night. “Sorry. I’ll, uh... I’ll ask for it back.”
Your aunt raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “But seriously, why are you dressed like that?”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stepped further into the house. “Illumi picked me up,” you said, trying to keep your voice casual. “Apparently, his plan for tonight was to go out to eat.”
Your aunt gave you a look, the kind of pointed, knowing look that only someone who had raised you could pull off. “And?”
“There was a dress code,” you continued, gesturing vaguely to the outfit. “They got me clothes within, like, three seconds, and I—” You trailed off, glancing down at yourself again. The whole evening still felt surreal, like you’d accidentally stepped into someone else’s life for a few hours. “It was fun, there were like ten courses but... what the fuck?”
Your aunt didn’t reply immediately or scold you for your swearing. Instead, she picked up her phone from the side table, sliding her reading glasses back into place with a deliberate air.
“What’s his last name?” she asked, her tone entirely too calm.
“Please don’t google him,” you said, exasperated despite having thought the same earlier the evening, holding out a hand as if that would somehow stop her.
“You come home looking like a movie star after meeting with a boy,” she said, wagging a finger in your direction. “I wanna know the details.”
“It’s not like that,” you said firmly, already anticipating where her mind was going.
Your aunt gave you another one of those looks, her eyebrows raising in mock skepticism.
“It’s not!” you repeated, dropping your hand to your side with a sigh. “He’s an alpha, remember.”
She tilted her head, her expression softening slightly. “And? That doesn’t mean you can’t have a perfectly nice time with him. You see new types of couples on tv every single day. I even saw two omega’s get married on the news last week.”
“It’s just... not like that,” you said again, though your voice lacked the same conviction this time. You rubbed at your temples, trying to figure out how to explain the situation without getting into the absurd details.
Your aunt hummed thoughtfully, clearly not convinced but thankfully choosing not to press the issue further. Instead, she set her phone down, crossing her arms as she studied you for a moment.
“Well, complicated or not,” she said finally, “you look amazing. Ridiculously overdressed for my living room, but amazing.”
You snorted, finally cracking a small smile. “Thanks, I guess.”
“And next time,” she added, her tone turning teasing, “maybe put on some lipstick before meeting this Illumi fellow, you know, just in case he’s taking you to the Oscars.”
“Noted,” you said dryly, though you couldn’t help but laugh a little, before holding up your hands to your face. “Nooooo- Don’t take pictures!”
“Put those hands down, I want to send this to your dad.” Your aunt snickered to herself. “He’ll get a laugh out of it.”
“Noooooooo-!”
After finally wrangling the stockings off—another heated and mildly humiliating struggle—you tossed them onto the pile of borrowed clothes on the floor with an exhausted sigh. You sat down heavily on your bed.
Your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand, and you picked it up, staring at the screen as if it might offer some answers to the swirling thoughts in your head. With more deliberation than was probably necessary, you opened the notes app and began drafting a text to Illumi.
You erased the first attempt. And the second. The third message sat on your screen for a while before you rolled your eyes at yourself and deleted that one too.
“What am I doing?” you muttered under your breath, rubbing a hand over your face.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you forced yourself to settle on something simple, neutral. No overthinking, no analyzing every word—just a straightforward message.
I had fun :) Thank you for inviting me!
Your thumb hovered over the send button for a fraction of a second longer than it should have, but you pressed it before you could talk yourself out of it. The message sent with a faint whoosh, and you immediately locked your phone, dropping it onto the bed beside you like it might combust.
Sliding under the covers, you pulled the blanket up to your chin, trying to let the comfort of your bed lull you into some semblance of relaxation. But even with your eyes closed, your thoughts refused to quiet down.
You reached for your phone again, checking it out of habit, but the screen was empty of new notifications. Of course, you thought. Illumi wasn’t exactly the type to send quick replies. You placed the phone face down on the nightstand this time, determined to let it go.
You closed your eyes again, but instead of the darkness bringing rest, it only conjured up vivid flashes of the evening.
It’d been fun.
You’d been awkward at first, but once you’d managed to get him to talk as well, the conversation went really really well. He’d explained all the dishes, let you have the cookie they gave with his coffee, and he’d actually laughed aloud at one of your jokes, which had made you so giddy, even the waitress seemed happy for you when she’d refilled your glass.
Though perhaps she was just good at her job, because you’d seen her smile even more brightly at the tip she’d been given.
The way Illumi had smiled at you, faint but real, his lips quirking just slightly at the edges as he watched you stumble through your thoughts. The teasing remarks the two of you had exchanged over the dinner table. How he’d caught you before you slammed into the pavement when you’d stumbled out the restaurant, a little tipsy after all the wine courses.
Your heart fluttered uncomfortably in your chest. When you’d gotten home, you could still catch his scent clinging to your skin and hair, and by the raised eyebrow your uncle had given you when he’d come home, so had the rest of the world.
What was it saying?
It was too embarrassing to ask your family that, but you needed to know so bad. Was it saying ‘I’m in love’ or was it saying ‘I’m just messing with her’. Could it even be that specific? Did he smell something about you tonight? Had you been accidentally screaming into his face that you were kinda…maybe… perhaps getting a little fond of him?
“Fuck,” you groaned, your eyes snapping open. You grabbed a pillow and pressed it over your face, muffling the sound of a frustrated scream.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Illumi was an alpha from a completely different world. A rich alpha like him would marry some socialite omega the second he was out of college. Not someone who was supposed to linger in your thoughts, who made you second-guess your damn texts.
Classist guilt.
Or gratitude for your hard work.
That’s all it was.
You tossed the pillow aside, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe you were just tired. Maybe this was all just a result of the weirdness of the night, some hormonal bullshit happening because you were deprived of romance your entire life.
Yeah, that’s all it is, you told yourself firmly, though the flicker of doubt, or hope, remained.
Your phone buzzed softly again. You glanced at it, your pulse quickening for a split second before you saw it was just a news alert.
“Of course,” you muttered, flopping back onto the bed with a groan. You turned over, determined to sleep this time.
But even as you closed your eyes again, the scent remained.
To your secret excitement, the dinner hadn’t been the last time you’d see Illumi that holiday, as when you very nervously invited him the next day to go to the movies (you knew you were being stupid and delusional, but you couldn’t stop yourself), he agreed. Annoyingly, he didn’t let you treat him to the tickets, and instead rented out an entire movie theatre, claiming he couldn’t stand hearing others speak during films.
(The two of you talked throughout the entire film.)
“Did you bring my sweatshirt, by the way?” You asked when the final scene had concluded.
“I didn’t bring it.” Illumi said. “I didn’t think you’d want it back.considering the new outfit.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you giggled, the sound playful as you leaned back in your seat. “Enjoy your new pillowcase.”
Illumi, who had been idly following the credits, froze mid-motion. His head snapped in your direction, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he stared at you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. It was as if you’d just said the most outlandish, unthinkable thing in the world.
You blinked at him, your smile faltering under the weight of his gaze. “What?” you murmured, your voice quieter now, unsure of what had caused such a reaction.
“How—” Illumi started. He paused, visibly gathering his thoughts, and blinked slowly before continuing. “Ah. You were making a joke.”
There was something about the way he said it—so serious—that you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “...Yes?”
“I didn’t realize.”
“No, I get that,” you said, your laughter subsiding as you studied him. He still seemed oddly tense, his shoulders stiff and his gaze lingering on you for just a beat too long. “Are you really using my sweatshirt as a pillowcase?”
“Of course not,” Illumi said, his reply clipped. His gaze shifted away for a moment, his fingers brushing idly over the sleeve of his perfectly pressed shirt, flicking away a rogue piece of popcorn. “I thought you’d said something else entirely.”
“What else could I have possibly meant by that?” you asked, your curiosity piqued despite yourself.
He settled on a vague, “It doesn’t matter.”
You raised an eyebrow, his evasiveness only making you more suspicious. Still, the idea of Illumi doing something as absurd as using your old sweatshirt as a pillowcase didn’t fit with the hyper-controlled, almost clinical image you had of him.
Though that image also didn’t fit with him wanting to spend more time with you, but you were taking that for granted.
“Okay,” you said, shrugging it off. There was no point in overthinking something so silly. He’d promised you to tell you things if you’d said something off, or done something wrong, so you were choosing to trust that he was just being embarrassed about misspeaking, in the most Illumi way possible.
Still, the image of him carefully tucking your sweatshirt over a pillow, of all things, was too funny to fully dismiss, especially since the thought tickled an utterly delusional part of yourself that liked the idea. You bit your lip to stifle another giggle, the thought lingering in the back of your mind as you went and grabbed your things.
It seemed that Illumi really liked your company, which was exciting.
You still weren’t sure whether you like liked him, or just had a itsy bitsy crush, but he wasn’t doing well in dissuading you from believing it was mutual from the way he sought your attention. The only thing holding you back from going all in was a bit of anxiety you still had surrounding the whole situation. It almost seemed too good to be true.
But until the other shoe dropped, Illumi had invited you to a party.
A party.
Oooohhh.
You’d been to your fair share of gatherings, hang-outs and get-togethers, but a party was a world apart. And if the things Illumi and you had done so far was any consolation, it’d be an entire thing of itself.
That thought lingered as you found yourself left to your own devices, standing a bit awkwardly near a graffiti-covered wall.
The party was set in an abandoned warehouse, its massive interior dimly lit by strings of mismatched fairy lights and the occasional flicker of neon strobes. The air buzzed with a low bassline that vibrated in your chest, the makeshift dance floor at the center already packed with a thrumming crowd.
To the sides, smaller corners offered a semblance of privacy, filled with groups leaning in close to talk over the noise. The smell of sweat, beer, and smoke hung in the air.
It wasn’t that you didn’t like dancing or mingling—far from it—but the unfamiliar faces of the place left you hesitant. You didn’t know anyone here except Illumi, and, as if to prove all your anxieties right, he’d vanished to find someone within three seconds of arriving, leaving you.
This brought back some annoying memories of similar events, and any sort of crush you had on Illumi was put on hold until you’d get an explanation. You didn’t like to be left alone, certainly not at events you would’ve otherwise never gone to. Were you supposed to just talk to some random people? What if you imposed on the wrong group?
You’d sink through the floor, but at the same time, standing here, not knowing what to do with yourself was also a hell in and of itself. You tugged at the bottom part of your dress, suddenly feeling like you’d overdressed a bit. Everyone looked a lot less birthday party and a lot more techno club in Berlin.
These events were hard without a group of girls to surround you.
To your utter elation, before you could grab your phone to check the time in an attempt to look like you were just waiting for someone instead of being a wallflower, a man with long white hair approached you. He was wearing a cool yellow coat that seemed reflective in the strobe light that sometimes turned on.
“Are you having fun?” he asked, his voice warm. “A friend of mine just pointed you out.”
“Huh? What for?”
He pointed at himself, puffing up his chest as if proud of it. “Beta.”
“Oh!” You immediately smiled widely, leaning forward a bit to catch his words better. “I haven’t actually met another since going to college! It’s nice to meet you.”
The two of you introduced yourselves and made some small talk. His name was Kastro and he was an art major, which was why you’d probably never met (beta’s couldn’t distinguish each other themselves, so others often made an effort to push them together. It could be awkward, but you appreciated the friend that had pointed him towards you).
“Are you having fun?” He asked, to which you nodded, since that was the case as of this moment. “Came here with anyone?”
“I don’t know if you know him.” You said, before realizing that made it sound like you had a boyfriend. “My friend Illumi invited me.”
“Illumi? Illumi Zoldyck?” He repeated. “Damn.”
You tilted your head slightly. “How so?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” He said, waving his own words away. “You hear things. Plus he hangs around with someone I can’t stand.”
“Hisoka?”
“...Yeah.”
“I also don’t like him.”
Kastro smiled widely and bumped your shoulder with his. “Match made in heaven, then.”
There was a flicker of excitement in your chest at his words, a small flutter that made your heart beat a little faster. It had been some time since someone had shown this kind of obvious interest in you (perhaps the first time even), and he was actually a beta. You did like Illumi, but you were still eighty percent sure he wasn’t into you like you wanted him to be. Just as you were about to respond, Kastro gave you a quick wink and excused himself, mentioning he was going to grab another drink-
for you both.
“Okay.” You said to an empty space as he walked off, your eyes following his yellow jacket.
As you saw him disappear in the crowds, you thought about it a little more. He’d been handsome, and seemed nice, but was this okay to do? Did you even want to be flirting right now? Before you could dwell on it too much, a familiar presence loomed behind you. Illumi’s voice, low and soft, brushed against your ear as he leaned over your shoulder.
“He’s not interested.” Illumi said. “Don’t bother.”
You swallowed hard, unsure what to say—or even how long he’d been standing there.
This was awkward.
Part of you felt caught, having sorta flirted with someone else, despite not actually being with Illumi at all. His bluntness in his delivery didn’t make it seem like he minded a whole lot. Okay, so that was another sign your interest in him wasn’t mutual. Perhaps.
“Oh… oh.” You said, deflating and before realizing how sad it would be to say, you let out an unsure sounding: “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Part of you wanted to repeat your ‘are you sure?’ but Illumi looked in the direction Kastro had left in with some distaste, so whatever scent he must’ve picked up must’ve been bad. Had Kastro even been a beta? Maybe he was an alpha pretending to be like you just to make fun of you? It wasn’t something you wanted to believe, but you trusted Illumi, so you’d ask him later, when you weren’t so prone to cry.
Well. That was a shame. You smiled at Illumi, grateful for the intervention.“Thanks. I might’ve made a fool of myself if you hadn’t said anything.”
“Why don’t you come meet some of my acquaintances.” He said, already grabbing your hand and leading you to a bunch of wooden pallets that served as seating spots for a group of people you’d seen in passing. With a bit of sourness in your mouth you realized Hisoka was there, talking to some black-haired man that if you remembered correctly you’d had a class with on ethics. Chrollo, if you had to guess.
A half-smile bloomed on your face as you let him lead you. “Most people call them friends, Illumi.”
Illumi scoffed. “They’re not.”
On the way to a lecture that you hadn’t really prepared all that well for, when rounding a corner, you bumped into a familiar person. Your face immediately dissolved into a cringe when you looked up at Hisoka.
He’d been at the party too, meandering through the crowd and turning up whenever it was most inconvenient. You’d stood outside talking to a woman called Pakunoda (a tall blonde woman with lean features majoring in psychology who’d been interested in your experiences) while she’d been smoking a cigarette and Hisoka had turned up out of nowhere, obviously listening in on the conversation.
When you’d addressed this, he’d just held up his hands in a peace symbol, mentioning that he was interested in the woman that was taking up so much of Illumi’s time.
You’d not had an answer for him, but luckily Pakunoda had, stubbing out her cigarette and mentioning needing to go to the toilet, pointedly looking at you to come and accompany her.
He still made you so uncomfortable, which wasn’t aided by the fact that he was looking down at you now with that god-awful closed-eyes smile.
“Don’t make that kind of face,” He said, sounding way too pleased with himself. “It almost looks like you dislike me.”
“Something tells me that’s what you’re going for.” You said bluntly.
“How cruel, and here I thought we’d be friends, now that you’ve gone and gotten so close with Illumi.” He sighed dramatically, still blocking your way. “Me and him have been such good friends for a while now, so I’d hate to put him in a difficult position. Can’t we start over?”
You should ask Illumi about Hisoka, you realized. The fact that they were even hanging out was kind of weird to you. By now you’d changed how you felt about Illumi completely, but Hisoka still gave you the creeps. It made you think less of Illumi, in some way, and in a weird twist, also about yourself, for even being considered friends-once-removed.
“What do you want?” You asked simply.
“Why must I want something? Can’t you see I’m merely trying to help a friend?” He brushed past your shoulder and you shivered. “Byee~”
Taking a deep breath, which freaked out a nearby omega who probably thought you were smelling her, you closed your eyes and tried to calm down. This day wasn’t going all too well so far. You rubbed the inside of your eyes and walked on, eager to forget this interaction had ever happened, despite knowing you’d grill Illumi on why the fuck he was hanging out with Hisoka almost as often as with you.
You’d agreed to meet Illumi near one of the quieter corners of campus, where the paths curved toward a secluded seating area bordered by neatly trimmed hedges. As you approached, you spotted him leaning against a low stone wall, a striking figure among the casual, lively crowd.
Illumi’s black slacks and fitted shirt were as impeccably tailored as ever. The sun caught the faint sheen of his dark hair, which fell in perfect curtains around his face. He didn’t seem out of place exactly—just untouched, like he existed in a world just slightly removed from everyone else’s.
You slowed your steps as you got closer, your heart giving a faint, involuntary flutter when his eyes shifted to meet yours. For a moment, he said nothing,then, he straightened, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“You’re late,” he remarked.
“By two minutes,” you replied, stopping a few steps away. “Don’t be dramatic. Do you want to walk with me for a sec? I left my coat in the lecture hall.”
“Two minutes, very impressive,” he said, wordlessly agreeing to accompany you as the two of you began walking toward the building together, his tone laced with dry amusement. “I’m sure it was at least a five-minute walk.”
You groaned. “Will you ever drop that?”
The lecture hall was conveniently close to the entrance, and you led the way through the double doors. The dimly lit hall was silent and empty, the air slightly cool compared to the bustling warmth outside. You noted how your footsteps echoed faintly against the walls, the lack of other students making the space feel oddly massive.
You’d barely taken a step inside when Illumi’s hand suddenly shot out, grabbing your arm firmly. The suddenness of it startled you, and your heart jumped as you instinctively looked down, expecting to see a loose cable or chair you might have tripped over. Finding nothing there, you turned back to him, frowning.
“...Illumi?” you asked cautiously.
His grip tightened, bordering on painful now, and you tugged at your arm, trying to pull free. It wasn’t until you met his gaze that confusion set over into worry. His previously good mood was gone, his eyes wide, his posture leaning slightly forward as though caught in some animalistic trance.
“Okay, seriously, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice edged with both confusion and concern.
Before you could pull away or demand an explanation, Illumi leaned in, and you felt—heard—him inhale sharply, his breath warm against your skin. You froze, staring at him incredulously, waiting for him to clarify what in the world was going on.
“You smell of Hisoka.” Illumi said in clipped tones, his pupils dilated and his mouth set in a grim line. “Explain.”
“Wow, are you alright?” You said, holding out your free hand in front of you in a gesture trying to calm him down. “He bumped into me on the way here.”
“Take off the shirt.” Illumi ordered. “I don’t want that scent on you.”
“I’m not wearing a tank-top underneath-”
“Can you for once just do as I tell you to instead of argue with me.” Illumi said, his voice still level but seething. “Take it off.”
Indignified, you took a step back, still unable to free your arm. “No, you can’t just-”
Before you could finish, Illumi closed the distance in a single, fluid motion. His long fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt, and with one decisive tug, he ripped it open, buttons scattering like metallic raindrops on the floor.
You staggered back, instinctively wrapping your free arm around yourself to cover your now-exposed torso. Heat flooded your cheeks as you stared at him, eyes wide, heart hammering in your chest. It was as if he’d slapped you.
His pupils, dark and blown wide, locked onto yours. "You're my beta," Illumi said, his voice low. "I don't want you smelling of another."
"Excuse me?!" Your voice cracked with indignation as you heard the buttons fall down the steps of the tilted lecture hall. "You can’t just—what the hell is wrong with you?"
"You reek of him," he said simply, as if that alone justified everything. The size of his pupils were massive, his normally dark eyes now feeling like you were staring into an abyss. "Do you understand what it means?"
"No! I don’t!" you shot back, hugging your arm tighter around yourself. "And you’re not explaining anything—you’re just acting like some kind of unhinged lunatic!"
For a moment, Illumi said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line. He finally let go of your arm- there was a red mark of where he’d held you-, and stepped back just enough to shrug off his own shirt, revealing lean muscle beneath. Without hesitation, he held it out to you. "Put this on."
You hesitated, glaring at him. "I’m not a goddamn doll for you to dress, Illumi."
"You’re not anyone else’s" he repeated, an edge creeping into his voice. "That means I don’t want you smelling like others. Hisoka knows that, and he bumped into you to be annoying."
"He bumped into me!" you nearly shouted. "And since when am I your beta? When did that happen? Do you even hear yourself right now?"
Illumi’s head tilted again, as if your words were a puzzle he didn’t quite understand. "You don't understand," he said, quieter this time. "Put on the shirt."
You stared at him, bewildered, torn between anger, embarrassment, and confusion. Against your better judgment, you grabbed the shirt from his hands and slipped it on, the fabric warm and faintly scented of him. You wanted to go home, and you preferred doing so clothed.
Also in your anger you realized that perhaps Illumi was close to a rut or something, and more protective of his friends.
(You thought you could remember reading about something like that, and it was too delusional to consider any other reason.)
In the end, he was right.
You didn’t understand.
Maybe Hisoka had really made a mess of things in some way, and Illumi truly was just protecting you from social death here by making sure that bad carnival trip scent didn’t stick to you.
When covered by other’s scents, people couldn’t often tell you were a beta, which made it really hard sometimes. It’d been a mean-spirited prank when you were younger, to quickly rub some weird scent onto you and watch you go through your day, wondering why everyone looked at you funny.
Number one reason you washed your neck in between classes, and carried around an absurd amount of perfume.
You believed this primarily because Hisoka genuinely freaked you out. The idea of him even brushing against you sent a shiver down your spine, and you definitely preferred not smelling like that absolute freakshow. And maybe, just maybe, instead of some weird flirting, this whole “my beta” thing was probably Illumi’s awkward way of officially accepting you as one of his inner circle. That thought was oddly reassuring.
Didn’t mean you weren’t still mad.
"Happy now?" you muttered, still fuming.
Illumi's eyes flickered over you, and quickly he stepped forward and rubbed the back of his hand on your neck, making you flinch and lean back again. Once he finished doing that, his posture relaxed ever so slightly. "Yes," he said simply. Then, as if nothing had happened and he wasn’t in a state of undress right now, he looked over the lecture hall, probably trying to spot your coat.
You stared at his back, seething. "We’re not done talking about this," you warned.
"No," Illumi said, his voice as cold as ever. "I guess not. Grab your coat"
His tone made it clear he thought the conversation was over for now. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as you glared daggers at him, but Illumi didn’t even look up. His calmness only fueled your frustration further.
"Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath, turning away to pick up the scattered remnants of your poor shirt.
Just as you’d settled onto your bed, laptop balanced on your knees and set to some show you’d been recommended, there was a sharp knock at the door.
You frowned, glancing at the time. It was late—too late for visitors. Cautiously, you padded to the door and opened it a crack.
Standing there was a delivery person holding a stack of neatly wrapped packages, a bouquet of colourful tulips peeking out from the top. "Delivery"
“Uh… okay.”
The delivery person smiled, clearly unaware of your internal confusion, and began handing over the items. “Okay, so there’s this box, this bag, and, uh, this little basket here…” They kept piling items into your arms until you were balancing an almost comedic mountain of packages.
“Wait, wait—hold on,” you said, struggling to maneuver everything. You managed to drop it all onto your desk in one ungainly heap before rushing back to sign for it. “Who sent this?”
The delivery person glanced at the return address on one of the packages. “Looks like it’s from… Zoldyck?”
Your jaw tightened. Of course it was.
“Sign here, please.”
“Yeah, okay.” You signed the little machine and waved off the delivery man. When the door closed, you placed your hands on your hips and looked over the pile of gifts. What was this?
You grabbed your phone and called Illumi.
He picked up after the third ring.
“Yes?”
“Why did you send me all these gifts, Illumi?” You asked, foregoing the usual greeting. “You really scared me the other day and I don’t want you to think you can just buy me off after doing stuff like that.”
“...” It was silent on his end for a while. “Apologizing would be useless here, since I stand by what I did.”
You made a high pitched noise of exasperation.
“But, perhaps,” Dear god he really had to force these words out, “I could’ve explained to you a bit better why I couldn’t let you smell like him.”
You looked at all the gifts and sneakily looked inside one of the bags, and with a tug at your heart you realized he’d gotten you merch for one of the movies you’d watched together in the cinema. That was sweet.
Wait no, you were angry.
“It’s not something I can accurately explain.” He continued. Well, you’d heard that one before. “Can you trust me when I say it was for the best?”
“Well… Okay.” You slowly said, feeling like you had no backbone. “But for the next time if something like this happens, you don’t need to buy me gifts or anything, we can just talk it out.”
“I like giving you gifts.” Came the earnest reply. “I won’t apologize for that either.”
And once again, you were blushing, endlessly grateful he wouldn’t be able to smell how flustered he made you. You were supposed to be angry… angry.
“Just… warn me next time.”
Cradling your own forehead, annoyed at your own stupidity, you suppressed a groan, knowing you’d already forgiven him completely.
You were fucked.
Dinner was supposed to be a casual affair—a chance to unwind and catch up with Mariah and Bianca, though the latter had gone into heat earlier this morning, so it’d be a week before you saw her again. The diner near campus, with its sticky menus and comforting smell of fried food, seemed like the perfect spot to gossip and reconnect, but the location had changed last minute to some uptight spot downtown, as you’d warned Mariah would happen.
Illumi had been invited, primarily because Mariah and Bianca had been dying to meet the mysterious guy you kept on disappearing with, though you weren’t entirely sure he’d show, despite having made a prepaid reservation. His response to being invited to dinner with you and Mariah had been a little lacklustre.
But, true to form, he arrived just as you and Mariah were settling into the table.
“Hope I’m not late,” he said, settling into the seat next to you. He glanced briefly at Mariah, then turned to you.
Mariah shifted slightly in her seat.
“Not at all,” you said, waving it off. “We just got here. Mariah, this is Illumi. Illumi, Mariah.”
“Good,” Illumi replied simply, already flagging down the waiter. You’d gotten used to his… slightly pretentious behaviour, but you were suddenly worried what Mariah would think. Would she think you were just hanging out with him because of his money, instead of despite it?
Dinner started easily enough—or so it seemed. After introductions had been made, you and Illumi fell into a rhythm. He had a knack for saying something just outrageous enough to spark a reaction, and despite yourself, you found it entertaining.
Mariah, though, was unusually quiet. She poked at her food, her fork dragging slow circles in her food. She nodded or hummed when you addressed her but barely looked up. You chalked it up to her being tired or maybe a little shy around Illumi, who wasn’t exactly the warmest presence.
Or maybe she hated the food.
You could understand that as well, knowing she’d expected being able to order pasta instead of whatever reduction was on your plate now.
“Mariah,” you said at one point, trying to loop her into the conversation, “you promised to tell me about your holiday, how was it?”
She hesitated, her fork pausing mid-air. “Oh, um, maybe another time,” she said, her laugh sounding thinner than usual.
“Oh? You sure?”
“Yes.”
You frowned slightly but didn’t press. “Okay,” you said with a shrug, turning back to Illumi, who looked faintly amused.
Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Mariah gripping her utensils a little too tightly, her knuckles pale against the metal. Was something wrong? Was she sick or close to a heat like Bianca or something? That felt like a bad question to say aloud at a dinner table, and you were sure Illumi would have had more of a reaction if that were the case.
You dove back into the conversation, assuming Mariah was just having an off night. She was polite enough, you thought, even if she wasn’t her usual chatty self.
As the evening wore on, you barely noticed the way Mariah’s shoulders remained rigid, or the way her eyes darted to Illumi every time he moved. To you, it seemed like a perfectly fine dinner—awkward at moments, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary. If there was something more beneath the surface, it didn’t quite register.
Finally, Mariah leaned over and touched your arm. “Hey, can you come with me to the bathroom for a sec?” she asked, her voice too light, too forced.
“Sure,” you said, sliding out of your seat. “Be right back,” you told Illumi, who gave a faint nod but didn’t seem particularly interested in your absence.
Once inside the tiny, dimly lit bathroom, Mariah spun around, her eyes wide.
“What the hell?” she hissed, her voice low but urgent.
“What?” you asked, genuinely confused. “What’s wrong?”
“That guy,” she said, glancing toward the door as if expecting him to materialize there. “Illumi. He’s—he’s dangerous.”
You frowned. “What?”
Mariah shook her head vehemently. “His scent—God, it’s like it’s screaming at me to get the hell away from him. I’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s not just strong; it’s like… like he could jump up from his chair at any point to kill me.”
“He’s never been violent-” You thought about the time he ripped off your shirt. “Well…”
“Be for real.” She leveled you with a stare. “That’s because it isn’t aimed at you.”
Her words gave you pause.
“Is it that bad?” you said, though unease pricked at the back of your mind.”A little bit of an exaggeration, maybe?”
Mariah grabbed your hands. “I’m not. I know you think he’s your friend or whatever, but there’s something off about him. I can feel it.”
You pulled your hands back gently, unsure what to say. Illumi was… well, Illumi. Sure, he could be unnerving, but you’d never felt truly unsafe around him. Then again, maybe you’d gotten used to his peculiarities in a way Mariah hadn’t. Or…
“So you think he’s just messing with me?” You asked softly, feeling hurt already by the idea, and sounding like a child in your own ears. “That he’s up to something?”
Mariah instantly softened and hugged you before letting a little space between you return. “No, honey, no, if that was the case I would’ve told you sooner, you know that. It’s not aimed at you, I promise. I can tell.” She seemed to struggle finding the words for what she wanted to say. “Doesn’t mean he isn’t terrifying me, but if it is just his… intensity, then I would say… perhaps… that he’s smelling like that because he doesn’t want me here. Did he know I was coming?”
“Yes, I think so?” You said. “I texted it.”
“Okay, well, figure that out.” Mariah said. “I’m gonna excuse myself in a bit, and you can ask what all that… cloud of hatred is about. I’m surprised the staff isn’t saying anything about it.”
“Hm.”
“Also…” she began sheepishly.
Immediately you knew what she was talking about. “Yeah I know, don’t worry about it, he refuses to go to cheap restaurants, but in turn he pays. I’ll make a scene if he says anything about it.”
“Please don’t.” Mariah said, more seriously than you’d expected. “Please.”
You nodded, but your mind was spinning as you followed her back to the booth. Illumi glanced up as you returned, his gaze flickering to Mariah for a fraction of a second before focusing on you.
“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice as calm as ever.
Mariah’s fingers curled tightly around her water glass, and you hesitated before answering. “Yeah,” you said, sliding back into your seat. “We’re good.”
“Man, I’m wiped. I think I’m gonna call it after this.” she said, her voice too bright and about three seconds after she’d sat down again. She grabbed her bag in one swift motion and slid out of her seat again. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow. I’ll see you later, okay?”
You frowned in faux surprise, mentally cursing her for not having more tact and at least pretending for another few minutes. “You sure? You didn’t even finish your drink.”
Mariah waved a hand dismissively, her eyes flicking briefly toward Illumi before darting away. “I’m good. Really. Nice meeting you,” she added..
Illumi didn’t look up from his glass of water. “Likewise,” he said flatly.
“Bye,” You said as she’d collected all her stuff. “See you tomorrow.”
Mariah lingered for a moment, as if debating whether to say more, then turned on her heel and hurried out of the diner.
You watched her go and looked like Illumi, trying to pretend it was also sudden for you. Even if your scent didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to be a genius to realize something happened after she immediately left after the both of you excused yourselves to the bathroom. “That’s a shame.”
“She was nervous,” Illumi said without looking up, tucking a few strands of ink-black hair behind his ear.
You turned back to him, feigning ignorance as you tried to fish for answers. “Nervous? Why would she be nervous?”
Illumi met your gaze then, his dark eyes cool and assessing. “Because she’s an omega,” he said simply.
You blinked. “And that means… what exactly?”
He leaned back, his posture relaxed, but his gaze unwavering. “Despite making up nearly half the population, they all expect to be treated with a certain… indulgence. Most of it is unspoken, communicated through scent. Since she’s unmated, she probably assumed I’d ignore you.”
You frowned. That didn’t sound anything like how Mariah had described it. “That doesn’t seem right.”
Illumi’s lips pressed into a thin line, his tone turning pointed. “Is it really so hard to believe that you’d be sidelined when alphas and omegas interact?”
It wasn’t.
But biology aside, Mariah hadn’t looked annoyed or jealous—she’d looked uncomfortable. Scared, even. You’d only known her for a year, but that was enough time to get a sense of someone, wasn’t it? Then again, you’d never gone to one of those mixers with her. You already knew you’d hate the whole experience, so maybe she really was different in that kind of setting.
“That’s… kind of harsh,” you said, leaning back in your seat. “You make it sound like she’s jealous. She’s not like that.”
“It’s not necessarily jealousy,” he said curtly. “But her reaction isn’t unusual.”
You blinked, caught off guard by how matter-of-fact he was. “Huh.”
“It’s not just a guess,” he added. “It’s a pattern. Even if she’s your friend, omegas don’t like being ignored or overshadowed. And I simply prefer your company.”
You hesitated. “I… don’t really know what to think about that.”
It was true that you spent most of your time around omegas, and this whole situation with Illumi was new. Thinking of Mariah in such a negative light didn’t sit right with you.
“I might be wrong,” he said.
“Could be, I can’t say.” Another tally for the growing list of frustrations your secondary gender was causing you. “Does that mean you only like hanging out with me because I don't expect you to fawn over me?”
“No.” Illumi said immediately.
“...Then what?”
“Hm.” He seemed to think about his phrasing. “If anything you should expect more from me.”
“Oh.” You said slowly, feeling stupid as you had no idea what he meant by that.
Illumi didn’t reply right away. When he finally spoke, his tone was softer but no less unsettling. “Does that idea bother you?”
You still hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, so you just winged it.
“Not really, I guess?” You looked at him. “Should it?”
He nodded. “That’s a good answer.”
You glanced at the door where Mariah had left, unsure what you’d say to her when you’d meet her again. Telling her Illumi seemed to consider her insulted by his lack of interest towards her seemed like a bad call, but you hadn’t ever been in a situation like this one before, so you couldn’t really tell whether or not what either was saying was correct.
Either Ilumi was, probably unintentionally, really scary, or Mariah was annoyed because your friend didn’t switch his attention to her.
The silence stretched for a moment, and your curiosity got the better of you. Since the topic was already out there, you figured you might as well ask. “Okay, since we’re on a similar topic, I wanted to ask you what you think I smell like?”
You’d asked Bianca once, and she’d blinked like it was a really weird question. Her answer had been vague, just telling you that your scent was very neutral.
Illumi did look up at your question, slightly surprised, but didn’t hesitate for even a second before leaning in slightly, his sharp nose barely an inch away from your shoulder as he inhaled.
You froze, your breath catching in your throat.
He straightened just as quickly. “Cold coffee,” he said matter-of-factly.
“What?” you blinked, startled.
“Cold coffee,” he repeated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Stale, bitter, with faint traces of something sweet.”
You stared at him, completely at a loss. “That’s… weirdly specific.”
“It’s accurate,” he replied.
“Well, okay. Didn’t know what I expected,” you said, still processing his blunt observation. “Is that a good thing? Stale and bitter doesn’t sound good.”
“It is good, don’t worry,” Illumi said, tilting his head slightly. “Coffee is dominant, but there’s something else beneath it.”
You frowned. “Something else? Like what?”
Illumi regarded you for a long moment, his gaze heavy. It must’ve been a trick of the light, since you swore you saw his pupils dilate. “I can’t place it. Yet.”
“Yet?” you echoed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny.
He didn’t answer.
You let out a breath and muttered, “Cold coffee, huh? Guess I’ll take that over, I don’t know, swamp water or something.”
Illumi’s lips curved faintly. “It suits you,” he said simply.
“Again,” you said, side-eyeing him with a faint smile of your own, “not sure if that’s a compliment. And can you, like, really read my emotions out of it? What I’m thinking?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted, his words frustratingly evasive.
“That’s unfair,” you whined.
“I like it.”
You stopped your own exasperation and smiled wider, raising an eyebrow. “You like knowing exactly what I think, while I’m forced to guess?”
“Yes.” His answer was immediate.
“That’s…” You trailed off, searching for the right word. Infuriating? Annoying? “Of course, you do.”
Illumi’s eyes didn’t leave you, and you had the distinct feeling that he was filing something away. Cataloging another one of your on-display emotions.
Meanwhile, you had nothing. No scent to read, no way to tell what was going on in his head, no way to even the playing field. You were left with only your gut—and he seemed entirely too aware of that fact.
“Must be nice,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.
“It is,” Illumi said, leaning on his fist with his elbow on the table.
Your cheeks warmed, though you weren’t sure if it was irritation or embarrassment. Maybe both.
Next to you, Illumi shifted, his hand brushing his glass again before returning to his lap. His focus hadn’t wavered, and though he said nothing more, you could feel the weight of his attention pressing down like a tangible thing.
You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze.
“Well, enjoy your unfair advantage,” you said, finally trying to break the moment, your voice light but tinged with dry humor.
“I will.”
A few days later, you and Mariah were sitting in your favorite coffee shop, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the air as you both huddled over steaming mugs, a smell that held new context for you now that you knew you apparently fit right in.
The tension from last week seemed to have faded, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that Mariah was still a little off whenever you brought up Illumi. You pushed the thought aside as she leaned back in her seat, her gaze flicking over to you with an almost suspicious look.
Surprisingly, she was the one to bring him up.
“You know,” Mariah said slowly, her voice quieter than usual, “you smell like him.”
You blinked, looking up from your coffee. “What? Like who?”
Mariah’s eyes narrowed as she studied you, wordlessly yelling at you who do you think. “Illumi. You reek of him.”
Your heart skipped a beat at the accusation, though you tried to keep your expression neutral. “I—I don’t reek of him. I don’t even—he was over at my place this morning so some must have stuck, that’s all,” you said quickly, trying to brush it off.
But Mariah wasn’t buying it. Her eyebrows shot up, and she leaned in, voice low and urgent. “Listen to me, okay? No one smells like that unless the alpha intends for it to happen. And I’m telling you, girl, that scent—his scent—is all over you.”
“You think Illumi is scenting me?”
“Of course he is. He’s marking you.”
You quickly glanced around, making sure no one was overhearing this ridiculous conversation. “What? No, no, that’s not what happened. He wasn’t marking me or whatever. He just—he was there to talk for a bit and—”
Mariah threw her hands up in exasperation, slapping her palm against your forehead in a light but hard thwack. “Are you seriously this oblivious?” she snapped, her eyes wide with disbelief. “He called you his beta, didn’t he?”
You blinked at her, rubbing your forehead where she’d hit you. “Yeah, he did. But that was just... I don’t know, some weird thing he said. Like, I’m his beta now or something. I didn’t take it seriously.”
Mariah stared at you, slack-jawed for a moment, as if you had just confessed to committing some terrible crime. “No, no, no. You don’t get it. When an alpha calls anyone theirs—especially a guy as serious as Illumi—it’s not a joke. Alpha’s don’t joke about stuff like that. He’s marking you.”
You stared at her, images of what ‘marking’ generally entailed in your romance novels popping up in your mind, a hot blush creeping up your neck. “I—Mariah, I swear, it wasn’t like that. He didn’t—he didn’t mark me, he just... he just came over and—”
“I don’t mean sex! Marking is more than that, it’s like a dog pissing on a fire hydrant, but with scents. Sure, being around someone is bound to have some intermingling in scent occur, but he’s clearly been rubbing his scent glands on everything he could get his hands on.” Mariah said pointing at your neck, bag and coat. “It’s in the way he marks his territory, and your scent is telling everyone with a working nose that you’re his.”
“But what does that mean?” You felt like a broken record, but you just couldn’t understand what she was saying.
“I know you probably don’t wanna hear it from me,” The omega said slowly. “but he’s into you. Carnally. Romantically. Sexually. Either which way.”
“That’s-” You looked up at the ceiling, so shocked to hear it so bluntly stated that you couldn’t really figure out what to say. Telling Mariah, who hated Illumi, that you’d been kinda into him for a while now and were kinda happy at hearing all this seemed like a bad call. Better to maybe save that for when you truly figured out what you felt about him instead of this back- and forth you felt currently. “So... what do I do now?”
Mariah threw her hands up. “Honestly, at this point, I don’t know. But you need to stop acting like this is some innocent thing. I don’t know why he’s doing this either, but we gotta call it like we see it, and this alpha apparently has a thing for beta’s.”
Your gaze drifted to your coffee, the bitter taste now suddenly too sharp on your tongue. Her words bothered you. Like she couldn’t fathom someone going to such (hypothetical) lengths for someone like you. Like you were less than, never enough.
Mariah’s sharp eyes softened as she looked at you one last time. “Just... pay attention, okay?” she said quietly. “Don’t let him drag you into something you’re not ready for. Marking is serious business, and for some reason, this guy just wants you.”
“For some reason?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, the bitterness in your voice evident.
Mariah backpedaled quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, no, no.” You held up a hand, feeling frustration bubble to the surface. “I know you think you’re helping, but all you’re doing is showing me how unlikely you find it that someone might actually like me.”
Her comment stung more than you wanted to admit. It wasn’t just Mariah’s words—it was your own insecurities coming to life. Deep down, you’d always wondered if you could ever be enough for someone. Enough for anyone, let alone someone like Illumi, who was handsome and nice in his own weird way despite being a snobbish prick fifty percent of the time.
Beta’s were rare, and there was no promise that you’d click with any one of them, while the rest of the population apparently found it unnatural to be romantically interested in someone like you.
And now, with Mariah voicing those doubts aloud, it felt like confirmation of every fear you’d tried to bury.
“I don’t mean it like that.” Mariah hurriedly said. “I really didn’t. It’s just… Alpha’s, and men in particular, are pretty basic. They follow their nose as much as they do their dicks, and Illumi is acting like you’re an omega, which you’re not. It’s weird that he’s doing this, and I want you to be safe from his freakish behaviour.”
"Freakish"? You repeated again. “Taking me out to dinner, paying attention to me, actually getting to know me instead of labelling me away as a faulty byproduct is freakish? I’m not a little kid, Mariah, and I really like him. I’m not going to quit seeing him just because you cannot fathom someone actually taking an interest in me without being some freak.”
“I didn’t mean—” Mariah winced, her voice lowering as she glanced around. “Get your scent under control, you’re filling the whole café.”
Your eyes flashed with hurt at her words.
“I’m gonna go,” you said quietly, standing up and grabbing your things. You sniffled, trying to hold back the sting of tears. “See you later.”
Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked out, the door’s bell jingling softly behind you as you stepped into the cool evening air.
A few nights later, you and Illumi had agreed to stay in and watch a movie at your place.
You hadn’t spoken to Mariah since the fight, and mornings in the communal kitchen were rather awkward. It was clear Bianca was taking Mariah’s side, since she’d also been rather short with you when you’d walked past her.
It meant you’d been rather lonely and were glad you still had Illumi.
Even ignoring the fight, she had been right about one thing. Everything you had reeked of him. The fact that you smelled like Illumi had since then been confirmed by multiple other sources, a young boy on the subway even asking you who you were and why you were smelling like his older brother.
(You’d been excited at that, having heard Illumi talk about his younger siblings multiple times, but the white-haired boy had just told you to ‘steer clear of that asshole’ which had made you confused once again. Was it just the kid going through puberty, or were you an idiot and was every sign in the universe telling you that this wasn’t a good idea?
You were leaning towards puberty.)
Since he’d arrived, you’d even caught him in the act. You’d showered beforehand, made sure to be so lathered in body butter that perfumes were clogging up every pore, and you’d deep-cleaned your house religiously. When Illumi entered, you’d immediately noticed a slight upturn of his nose. He didn’t respond with anger or disappointment, as part of you had expected, but you did notice him trail his hand over your couch and put his coat directly over yours at the hanging rack.
The gesture had seemed casual, but something about it made your skin prickle. The weight of his coat pressed firmly against yours, their scents mingling in a way you were now sure wasn’t accidental.
As you settled in on the couch, remote in hand, you glanced over at him.
"Illumi," you said, your voice steady despite the uncomfortable knot in your stomach, "we need to talk."
He glanced over at you, his eyebrow twitching slightly, but he didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.
You took a deep breath, deciding you weren’t going to back down. "About your scent."
His gaze shifted slightly, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You’re still bothered by not being able to read me?"
"No, it’s not that, I—" You hesitated. "I met up with Mariah and she made some comments, and I need to ask you about it. She said that all my stuff- and me- smells like you, and that such things don’t happen by accident, so I need to ask you why you have been marking me with your scent like that? You know, it's apparently kind of hard to ignore."
“That girl really dislikes me.”
“...Yeah.” You admitted, not wanting to get into the specifics. “But the point stands, are you really doing that?”
Illumi didn’t seem surprised by the question. He tilted his head ever so slightly, his dark eyes focusing on you. “It’s natural,” he said simply. “It’s in my nature to mark what’s mine.”
Your breath hitched, and you were fidgeting with your sleeves to avoid making eye contact. "Just to be, uhm, clear: what do you mean, ‘what’s yours’?"
Illumi looked at you, his expression blank but somehow expectant, like he wasn’t sure why you didn’t understand. "You’re my beta," he said matter-of-factly. "I’ve told you this before."
Your stomach twisted. “I—wait, no.” You shook your head, trying to process what he was saying. “We’re not dating. We’re not in a relationship or anything like that. So why are you—” You paused, trying to find the right words. “Why are you marking me like that?”
He blinked slowly, processing your confusion. "What did you think we were doing all this time?"
You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You suddenly felt like you were backpedaling. Of course you’d noticed possible romantic possibilities, you’d even gotten into a fight over the mere existence of the possibility, but this wasn’t an indication of liking you, this was a confession.
"I didn’t think it was like that," you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I thought we were just... friends. You know, hanging out, watching movies, talking. I didn’t realize you... thought we were dating." You huffed out in frustration. “Why would you think that? You know I can’t tell with stuff like this.”
“I thought I was being rather upfront.” Illumi tilted his head, as if he were considering your words for the first time. Then, with an almost imperceptible shift, he leaned a little closer. "Do you often have friends that buy you jewelry when they apologize to you?”
“I don’t have a lot of super rich friends who can do that, so no.” You said, flustered, unsure whether you should lean back or forward. “but we’ve never done anything romantic or—” You gestured vaguely, your cheeks warming. “—intimate. How was I supposed to know you felt differently?”
“Hm,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’ve got a point. I didn’t consider it like that.”
Your heart was pounding when he stood, his movements confident as he approached. You barely had time to react before he loomed over you.
“Illumi—” you began, but the words died in your throat when he leaned down, his face inches from yours.
He didn’t give you a chance to protest—or to think. His lips pressed against yours, firm and insistent, and the world tilted.
The kiss wasn’t gentle or hesitant. His hand moving to the back of your head with practiced ease, he made sure your first kiss with him was something that you’d never be able to forget. He guided you closer, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, leaving no room for doubt or misinterpretation.
Your thoughts short-circuited. This wasn’t what you had imagined—not during embarrassing daydreams or fleeting fantasies during lectures. It wasn’t tentative or awkward at all.
When he finally pulled away, your breath came shallow and uneven. Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You stared up at him, wide-eyed and speechless, unable to form a single coherent thought.
Illumi straightened, his dark eyes never leaving yours. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips, like he was testing the waters of your reaction.
“I know you want me to say things out loud,” he said, his voice casual and unhurried. “But now you understand, don’t you?”
The high-pitched ‘huh?’ that left your mouth didn’t convince him you’d understood, so he made sure to reiterate his point.
Okay.
So you were dating Illumi now.
It was a big change, though not a lot had changed between you and Illumi since you realized he’d already thought you’d been dating for weeks already. You, Bianca and Mariah still weren’t talking, and after getting confirmation by Illumi that both their scents were rather antagonistic towards you (he’d visited you and the two of you’d walked past them) you had to come to terms with the fact that you didn’t really have friends anymore.
No more late night talks, movie nights and coffee dates.
At least with them.
You did miss them both, really, but even if you wanted to make up, the fact that they still were really mad at you made you scared to approach them. Illumi assured you you didn’t need them, which made you feel a little bit better, and luckily he’d taken a while off work at the end of the semester to spend some time with you.
That was… nice.
No, it was more than nice. It was surprising. Sweet, even. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had cleared their schedule just to be with you.
After the first few days, your routine had completely changed. Instead of going home, you were picked up by Illumi’s car (you couldn’t get used to it) and brought to his apartment, where the two of you would hang out for the entire night or go out and do something fun.
The first kiss had opened up a dam, since Illumi now wouldn’t let you leave without at least kissing you once, preferably with things going a little further. You weren’t ready for sex yet and had made that very obvious when you’d started to cry when he’d tried and unclasp your bra, but after that he’d interrogated you (that was the word for it) and a list of activities had been made that you did feel comfortable with.
So no sex yet, but your entire neck was dotted red with hickeys.
Sometimes, though, the car wouldn’t take you to his apartment. Instead, it would whisk you away to one of Illumi’s surprises. These outings were always meticulously planned, and while you appreciated the effort, it was a lot to take in. Dinners at high-end restaurants (which you still didn’t really like), private gallery viewings (of artists you’d never heard of), even a helicopter ride once (you were kind of afraid of heights)—it was thoughtful, but overwhelming.
It made you feel like you needed to keep up, to repay him somehow.
You’d tried, once. You’d spent hours planning a surprise arcade date, something low-key and fun, the kind of thing you thought he’d never experienced. You’d saved up for it too, scraping together enough for the tickets and even a dinner reservation at a place you thought was cozy and nice. It had been a lot of work, but you were excited to surprise him, to show him you could contribute to the relationship too.
You’d been in the arcade hall for barely half an hour. He hadn’t shown any interest in the games you wanted to try, brushing off your suggestions and seeming uninterested in the bright-coloured collection of games. When you went to pay for some tickets, hoping to at least do that for him, his credit card was handed over before you even reached the counter, effectively undermining your effort.
To make matters worse, the dinner reservation you’d carefully planned had been canceled without so much as a discussion. Frustration bubbled over, and you couldn’t hold back your irritation any longer. Why wouldn’t he let you choose anything?
You’d put so much effort into finding a place you could afford that you thought he’d like, and it felt like he’d completely dismissed that. He hadn’t seemed to understand why you were upset, either, which had only made things worse.
Still, despite the bumps, he was giving you everything and it was hard to feel justified when your main grievance with him was that he gave too much.
It just felt like he wasn’t listening.
But if not being alone meant learning to stomach some well-intentioned over-gifting, perhaps that was just how it was. Or at least, that was the mantra you tried to hold onto, right up until the moment you found yourself standing in front of something you couldn’t stomach at all.
“What’s this?” you asked, your voice low and cautious, your eyes locked on the keys in your hand. They were heavy, the kind with an expensive fob that seemed engraved with actual gold.
Illumi gave you a steady look, his gaze never wavering. “Your new apartment.”
You blinked, trying to make sense of the words. “I can’t accept this,” you said finally, your grip tightening on the keys as though holding onto them too tightly might undo what was happening. “We’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks. I don’t even know if...” You trailed off, your thoughts too jumbled to finish the sentence.
“It’s already paid for,” he interrupted smoothly, cutting off your protest. His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, like he was explaining a math problem. “You don’t need to worry about rent or any of the financial hassle. College housing fees are too high for you, and you don’t need to stay there. It’s the best deal you’ll get.”
You stared at him, stunned into silence. The keys in your hand suddenly felt like they were burning your skin. How did we get here? you thought, the enormity of the gesture hitting you all at once. This wasn’t just overstepping a boundary; this was obliterating it.
“Illumi, I don’t— I don’t feel comfortable accepting this. This is... a lot. I’ve been fine in the dorms. I don’t need an apartment.”
Illumi seemed to be studying you, as though he was weighing your every word. “I’m well aware that you’re not financially independent,” he said, holding a condescension in his voice that made you bristle. “The dorms aren’t a permanent solution. I’ve paid for this place, and it’s better than anything you could afford on your own. It’s already done.”
You recoiled slightly. “I... I don’t want to be in debt to you,” you said, voice tight. “It feels wrong.”
Illumi’s lips twitched, a hint of something—disinterest, maybe amusement—flashing across his face. “You’re not in debt to me,” he replied. “It’s a gift. Consider it an upgrade before we eventually move in together.”
The pressure in your chest intensified as you glanced at the keys again. You wanted to argue, to push back, but what could you say? The offer was so one-sided. So easy for him. And yet it felt suffocating.
“I don’t want to owe you anything,” you said quietly, the words more to yourself than to him.
“You won’t owe me anything,” he said, his voice steady. “But it’s already done. The place is yours. As the person responsible for your wellbeing, I consider it to be my responsibility to make sure your place of living isn’t covered in black mould”
“Illumi, we’ve-” You didn’t know what to say. “We’ve been dating for like a month, that’s not enough time to be giving me stuff like this. I’m not your responsibility, not like that. You make it sound like we’re married or mated or something.”
“Not yet.” He said, patting your hair.
“I didn’t say that to sound enthusiastic, Illumi” You tried to give the keys back, but he wouldn’t take them. “This is going way too fast for me.”
The words hurt to say.
What if he ended things because of this? You’d have nothing.
But…
“I think...” you started hesitantly, the words tangling in your throat. “I think... Maybe some space might be good for both of us. Just to—”
You didn’t even know how to finish the sentence. It wasn’t that you wanted to break up, you liked him! More than you had ever expected to care about someone so quickly. But your life had been shifting so quickly since Illumi had entered it.
At first, it had been nice—wonderful, even. The way he had swept in and taken care of things you hadn’t even realized you needed help with. It was intoxicating, feeling so wanted, so thought of, so prioritized after a lifetime of being forgotten. But these days, you had no friends, and your day began and ended with whatever he had planned.
You’d already been lying awake some nights, wondering what would remain of your life once he would start working after school again. Would you even know what to do with yourself?
Every day seemed to revolve more and more around him: his plans, his routines, his way of doing things. And while you didn’t mind it in theory—how could you, when he was so thoughtful?—you missed having time to breathe. And it wasn’t like this would last. One of these days he’d find someone else with a sweet scent and he’d forget all about the weird girl he dated in college. You shouldn’t let it get to your head.
You felt selfish even thinking about it.
Still.
The words weighed heavy in your chest, and as you looked at him, you could only hope he’d understand. “Just to... I don’t know, adjust,” you finished weakly, your voice trailing off.
Illumi stepped forward and grabbed your arms, cutting off your words. His eyes, usually so blank, sharpened into something predatory. Before you could react, his face was inches from yours.
“Space,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. “Is that what you think we need?”
“...Just a little?” You whispered.
“Wrong answer.”
One of his hands was placed on the back of your head, keeping you in place as Illumi pushed your shirt down your shoulder in one swift motion, ripping the neckline. You dropped the fob on the ground, trying to step back.
He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck as he placed his teeth against your skin.
For a fleeting second, your body tensed, instinct screaming at you to move, to push him away—but before you could even process it, he bit down.
The sharp pain of his bite made you gasp, a strange mixture of heat and cold spreading through your skin. His teeth sunk deep, leaving a mark that burned. The sensation was overwhelming, dizzying. You wanted to pull away, to scream, but his grip tightened, strong and unyielding, holding you in place effortlessly.
Illumi pulled back just enough to look at you like a cat who’d gotten his prey, his eyes almost glowing with a dark satisfaction.
Your heart pounded erratically in your chest, each beat reverberating against the raw, burning mark on your neck. You could barely hear yourself over the rush of blood in your ears. You’d been holding your breath from the moment he’d held the back of your head.
“Fuck,” you breathed, the word slipping out before you could stop it. Your voice was shaky, barely audible, but it carried the weight of your disbelief.
The weight of the realization hit you like a tidal wave. He hadn’t just bitten you. That was a fucking mating bite.
“You—you bit me?!” you finally managed to choke out, your voice breaking. Panic and anger surged through you, but you couldn’t seem to make sense of either. Your fingers brushed over the tender skin of your neck, coming away slick with blood. “That’s a felony, Illumi! What the fuck?”
His gaze didn’t waver, his expression as casual as when you’d ask him the weather forecast. Slowly, deliberately, he raised a hand to his mouth and swiped his thumb across his lips, collecting a faint smear of your blood. His tongue flicked out, licking it clean.
“That’s how much space we need,” he said simply, as though that was enough explanation. “Now you’re well and marked.”
“No shit, you marked me,” you shot back, your voice rising. “You can’t just—just do that without asking! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Illumi tilted his head slightly, as though your outrage puzzled him. “You’re mine,” he said matter-of-factly, his tone calm, as though he were stating the obvious. “Now even if you get ideas about wanting space, your body will know better.”
“I won’t be able to get rid of this,” You realized as you felt the blood seeping down your shirt. A mating bite was serious business. If one wanted to get rid of it, the entire glands in the neck needed to be cut out, a very pricey and risky surgery that you had to fly overseas for to get. You’d never heard of a beta getting one, and had no idea what it’d do to you. “This- oh fuck.”
You pushed him away, immediately falling to the floor, trying to stop yourself from panicking.
“You once said that it’s difficult for beta’s to date, because they live in a world where they have to guess, while everyone else knows who’s a good fit.” Illumi continued as he leaned over your fallen figure, his black hair falling around his face, closing you off from the rest of the room. It was just him.
“Th-that’s-”
He just looked at you as you started to crawl away, staining his floor with blood.
“But I disagreed with that statement.”
You were slipping on your own blood. You couldn’t get away fast enough. He was going to get you.
“We don’t have to guess either, because I know. I can assure you you’ll be happy with me, so you don’t have to think about it for even a second.”
Despite your fear, a new part of you wanted to settle down into the floor, to roll on your back and open your arms and have him closer to you. It was like an invisible thread pulling you toward him, tugging at your very soul, but the sick feeling in your stomach snapped you out of it before the thoughts could gain hold.
You wanted to leave. You had to leave.
“I can tell what makes you happy, and you don’t need anyone else for that.”
The words were meant to be reassuring, if he were to be asked, but they only deepened the knot of anxiety in your chest. The reality of what had just happened was sinking in, and with it came a crushing sense of helplessness.
“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
“No,” Illumi agreed, his lips curving into a cruel mockery of a smile. “But you didn’t have to.”
He took a step towards you.
Summoning every ounce of strength you had, adrenaline gave you the energy you needed to wrench yourself up, your feet nearly slipping as you stumbled towards the door. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.
Despite thinking he’d chase you, you reached the elevator, Illumi remaining in the appartment. A random man coming home from work saw you sprint out when you’d reached the bottom floor, calling after you that you were bleeding, as if that was new information.
As soon as the cool night air hit you, the wound started hurting badly, and it felt like your body was being torn in two. It was a bodily reaction to you knowing Illumi was getting further and further away with each step you took.
Your skin crawled, a disgusting ache starting deep in your chest, gnawing at you with the weight of his presence so far away. The sickly, yearning feeling only intensified the further you got from him, and you fought every instinct to turn around and go back.
But you had to leave.
Mariah had been right. His little brother had been right. Everyone had been right.
Illumi was dangerous.
You walked quickly, heart pounding as you made your way to the street. The world felt off-kilter, as though the very air around you was thicker, heavier.
You only vaguely knew where you were going, but your feet kept going, despite your body feeling heavier and heavier with each step. You had been out of breath after the first hundred feet, but your body persisted, fueled by the fear that someone was chasing.
People tried to stop you as you ran, a group of very concerned women even trying to physically stop you from keeping on running. You managed to side-step them, and none gave chase, the few shouts following you drowned out by the heart beat drumming in your ears.
A cold sweat broke out across your skin as the bond gnawed at you from within. Every step you took away from him made the ache worse, the emptiness spreading through you, yet you needed to get away.
It was outside your college dorm that you heard someone call your name.
“Hey! What’s going on?”
You turned to see Mariah approaching, her face pale with concern. But as her eyes fell on you, she stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze locking onto your neck. The blood marked your skin, the bite mark standing out on your neck.
By now your entire shirt was soaked.
Mariah’s eyes widened in shock, and she hurried toward you, her face a mix of disbelief and fear. “What the hell happened to you?” Her voice shook, but she didn’t wait for you to respond. She reached out, pulling you away from the street, her hands trembling.
"Mariah, I—" you began, your voice shaking, but she cut you off.
“No, no, no!” she said, her tone growing frantic as she looked you over. “We need to call the police. Now.”
The reality of her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You blinked, confused, trying to make sense of the situation. “Mariah, what? I just need—”
“Because that,” she pointed at the bite mark on your neck, her voice trembling with panic, “is dangerous, you could get really sick. Did he just leave you here?!”
“I ran…”
“You ran?!” she said incredulously, pushing her hair out of her face. “For fucks’ sake. I’m calling the cops”
Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of her words crashing down on you.
“No,” you said quietly, shaking your head. “I just... I just need to get away from him. Put some alcohol on it and ride this out. I don’t need the police. I’ll be fine.”
But Mariah wasn’t having it. She grabbed her phone, dialing a number before you could protest. “No, you won’t be fine. Forget bloodloss, you just had a bucket full of hormones pumped into you and you’re completely unprepared. We have to get you to a good place. They have separate rooms at the police, if I remember correctly”
As Mariah spoke urgently into the phone, arranging for the authorities to meet you, you just sat on the steps, fighting the overwhelming desire to run all the way back. The pull was almost too much to resist, but luckily for you, the running had completely exhausted you, meaning that even if you didn’t resist, it wasn’t like you could stand up anymore.
When she was done calling, she sat next to you and sighed deeply. You looked up at her and felt like shit.
“I’m sorry, Mariah.” You said, tears prickling in the corner of your eyes. “I-I thought.. I really liked him. I’m sorry.”
She sat next to you and let you lean against her shoulder, while she kept pressure on your neck.
The fact that blood seeped into her hands didn’t seem to bother her.
“I know, sweetie. I’m sorry, too.”
The sterile, fluorescent lights of the police station flickered overhead, casting an eerie glow on the walls. The faint hum of distant conversation filled the air, but you were far too disoriented to pay it any mind. You sat slumped in a chair in the waiting room, your body trembling, feverish, and aching. The wound Illumi had placed on you still throbbed painfully.
Your mind was clouded, slipping in and out of coherence as the fever set in. You could barely keep your eyes open.
Half an hour ago, Mariah had left for a bit after they’d administered some medicine to you, which did little but further nauseate you, promising that as soon as a separate room was available they’d move you. She’d whispered that she’d try and file a report while you were recovering.
You didn’t deserve her, you realized, and you definitely would buy some stupid friendship bracelet once you got out of here.
The door to the waiting room opened, the sound of shoes clicking on the tile floor breaking through your delirium. You looked up, squinting through the haze in your mind, to see two men in sharp suits standing before you. One of them held a folder, the other a briefcase. They didn’t need to say anything; their presence was enough to send a ripple of unease through you.
One of the men held out a form in front of you. “Sign here,” he said flatly.
“Whassdis?” You slurred.
“Release papers.” The man said, pushing the pen in your hand. “We’re moving you to a different location. It’s better prepared to handle your situation.”
You stared at the paperwork for a moment, disoriented, unable to focus properly on the words on the page. The dizziness in your head made it impossible to read anything clearly, and the feverish haze only made it worse.
“Shouldn’t…” You began, trying to focus on moving your tongue correctly. “Mariah, my friend, she’s here-”
“We’ll make sure she gets informed.” The man said immediately. “Now sign, we need to move you as quickly as possible.”
You reached out with trembling hands, signing the papers, your signature almost illegible.
The men exchanged a quick glance before they closed the folder and stood up. One of them reached down to offer a hand to you, and without thinking, you took it. His grip was firm, steady, as though he was accustomed to leading people like you around.
“Try and walk, if it doesn’t work, say something and we’ll carry you,” he said, guiding you to your feet. Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you had no strength to protest.
They led you out of the station, past the rows of busy officers and the quiet buzz of the station. You barely registered the surroundings, your vision blurring as you were guided through the entrance. Outside, a familiar black car waited, sleek and polished under the dim streetlights. The door was already open, and the men ushered you toward it.
You felt a cold shiver run down your back. Something was terribly wrong. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, your body wouldn’t respond. Your eyes kept fluttering, struggling to stay open.
“I need to talk to Mariah,” you whispered, your voice weak. “Is she coming with us?”
No answer came. The man simply nudged you forward, and before you knew it, you were sliding into the back of the car, the door shutting behind you with a soft thud. The men climbed in on either side of you, trapping you between them. One of them pulled out a phone and began speaking quietly into it, while the other sat still, watching you.
The car moved. Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, the fever in your body making it impossible to process everything clearly.
And then, just as the car began to pick up speed, a distant shout pierced the fog in your mind.
"Hey! What the hell is going on?!"
You blinked in confusion, trying to focus through the haze. Through the rear window, you saw Mariah standing on the sidewalk, her face pale with shock and anger. She was waving her arms, running toward the car, her voice desperate.
“Stop! What are you doing?!” she yelled, looking around at pedestrians as you got further and further away from her. “Get the officers! They’re taking her! She’s—”
The car accelerated, and you couldn’t hear her anymore, her voice muffled by the sound of the engine roaring to life.
Mariah’s words lingered in your mind, but the fever had already taken over, drowning you in the confusion and ache of the bond. You wanted to reach out, to call for help, but everything felt so far away, like you were slipping through your own fingers. You couldn’t remember where you were going, who these men were, or even why you were so desperate to escape.
An indiscriminate amount of time later, the car came to a stop with a soft, muffled hiss of the brakes.
You were barely able to move, but the men guided you out, their grip on your arms gentle yet firm. You didn’t have the energy to focus on the details as you were led inside, up a quiet elevator, and down a pristine hallway to a door that clicked open with a soft, satisfying sound.
Inside was... familiar. It smelled of bleach. There was something off-putting about it, but your mind couldn’t piece everything together. Your limbs felt like lead, your head swimming as if you had just woken from a deep, feverish sleep. But you weren’t sure if you had actually been asleep or if this was the feverish haze you had slipped into.
You barely had time to process any of it before the men pushed you toward the couch, and you sank into it, weak and exhausted, realizing that you’d sat on this particular couch before.
You looked around and noticed a shimmer on the floor, as if it had been recently mopped. A sigh left your lips as you realized where you were, and what that entailed.
The men in black stepped away and left, the door closing softly behind them, leaving you in the dimly lit apartment with only the sounds of the faint hum of the city outside to fill the silence.
Then, his presence hit you.
Illumi entered the room, his footsteps silent. You felt the pull of him—stronger now, more undeniable than ever—and your stomach churned with discomfort as he moved toward you, standing close but not touching you.
“Better?” His voice was low, steady, like a soothing balm against the rawness of your confusion.
You couldn’t answer. Your throat was dry, and every movement felt like it took all the strength you had left. Your body ached, your neck still stinging from the bite he had left, and you could feel the mark throbbing. You wanted to be angry, to demand him to take you back home, but your body refused to cooperate, instead relaxing in the immediate relief you felt being near him.
Illumi knelt in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face as he inspected your condition. “You need rest,” he murmured happily, as if not even noticing the pain and discomfort you were in. “I’ll take care of you.”
His gaze never left you as he stood, moving across the room to fetch a glass of water. You were too dazed to protest, too weak to do anything but sit there, watching him with unfocused eyes. When he returned, he sat beside you, lifting your head slightly to offer you the glass.
"Drink," he commanded softly. You obeyed out of instinct, your lips numbly parting as the cool water slid down your parched throat.
"You'll need to take it slow," he said, his voice quieter now, almost tender, and it would’ve fooled you if he didn’t seem so damned smug. "But you’ll be taken care of."
You swallowed hard, the water offering momentary relief. This wasn’t right. None of this was right.
"Illumi," you whispered, the words scraping painfully against your dry throat, "What do you think you’re doing?"
His eyes narrowed slightly as if weighing your question. "What do you think I'm doing?" he asked, his voice deceptively light, as if the two of you were playing a game.
You opened your mouth to protest, to explain that you didn’t want any of this, but the words died on your tongue as you felt the room spinning in slow, dizzying circles.
Before you could say aloud that you were feeling sick, Illumi was there lifting you with ease (your blood seeping into his shirt) and carrying you to a bedroom. Even delusional, you recognized your fucking sweatshirt as his pillow case.
He put you down on the bed, the sheets cool against your skin as he tucked you in. You wanted to stand up, slap him and go back home, to your own space, your real friends. At the same time, your entire body cried in agony when he stopped cupping your skin, wiping away some sweat from your forehead.
You’d heard it described mating bites as a very intense experience, but none had mentioned how out of this world dizzying it all was.
Though you guessed most omega’s didn’t sprint a few miles after being bitten.
"You must be tired," Illumi murmured, his cool fingers brushing your hair back from your forehead. "Sleep."
That seemed like your only choice, you reckoned, though you were terrified of what you’d wake up to. Illumi had dragged you from a police station of all places, meaning he wasn’t even scared of law enforcement. There was also the massive issue of the bite on your shoulder, and how you’d probably either spend your life by his side, or in massive debt from having it removed.
You closed your eyes, not having the strength to even curl up on your side. You felt Illumi’s presence by your side, his soft breathing, and the way the sheets rustled as he-
What was he doing?
Opening your eyes as far as you could manage, a heavy weight called exhaustion pulling them shut at the first few attempts. You felt the warmth of his body join you under the sheets, before he sighed softly and pulled them off of the both of you completely. The chill you felt gave you the little bit of energy you needed to hold your eyes open for a little bit.
Illumi manhandled your legs, parting them and settling himself between them, wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Illumi…?” You said, the words sounding sleep drunk to your own ears. “Wh-tre you doing..?”
Illumi just looked down at you as if he was surprised you were interrupting him."Hm? Oh. There’s a reason mating bites are usually made during sex. The shock your body is going through right now, sex will help with that. I should’ve mentioned that.” He tapped the side of his head as if to say ‘whoops’. “I thought one of those whores that you kept around would’ve mentioned that.”
Despite the fact that you should’ve focused on the first half of that sentence, all you could say was: “Don’t- don’t say that. I love-”
“Shh…” Illumi placed a finger on your lips. “You don’t need friends like that anymore. They’ll just tell you the wrong things.”
Dear god, this man was insane.
How’d you missed it, or ignored it, until now was probably reason to see a therapist.
You felt his weight settle between your thighs, the hard length of him pressing insistently against your core. A whimper escaped your lips. Despite everything, you suddenly felt wide awake, the realization of what he was planning shocking your body out of its stupor.
“ Wait! Illumi-”
“You’re lucky I have such control over myself,” Illumi interrupted, his voice deceptively calm, though his body betrayed him. A faint tremor ran through him, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, and his eyes, though steady, burned with barely restrained fury. Tears welled at the corners of your eyes, but he remained focused, his breath measured, as though each word required effort to contain the storm within.
“When you ran off, I wanted nothing more than to stop you,” he continued, each syllable laced with tension. “To lock the doors and make sure you were fucked, to keep you from making yourself sick. Nice of me, isn’t it?” His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, his jaw tightening. “I stopped myself because I knew that if I acted on that urge, I’d probably hurt you. And your little stunt made me very... irritated.”
His shoulders rose and fell with controlled breaths, but his body still trembled slightly, shivering with anticipation as if holding back required every ounce of his willpower. “I’ve given you the most important gift of your life, and you acted like I was wrong to do so.”
While talking, he popped loose each and every button of his shirt.
You raised a hand, trying to cover your own face. He was scaring you, and base instincts were telling you that if you couldn’t see it, it wasn’t there.
He barely had to exert any effort to pry your hands back down, his hair making everything but him fall away in the background, falling around your face like a curtain. “I knew you just needed to run for a bit and lose some energy. and then when you were finally tuckered out, I’d bring you home.”
“You didn’t do-” You couldn’t finish your sentence, a sudden weight leaning against your clothed cunt making you momentarily freeze. When you regained yourself, you tried to spit it out with the same conviction, but it lacked bite when you felt so vulnerable. “You just sent someone.”
“Someone I control.” He hummed, leaning back to manhandle your limp body, shimmying your underwear down your legs, tossing it through the room. “And my deepest apologies for sending someone else, I just wasn’t sure whether or not you’d want to be fucked on the floor of a police station. I assumed this would be preferable.”
“But-” You started, when you were interrupted by Illumi shushing you, his so-called self-control fringing at the ends. He took a deep inhale and leveled you with two simple words.
“Shut up.”
And with that, he got back to his task.
Illumi had stripped off his shirt in an unhurried, efficient way. But he didn’t bother removing his pants fully, only shoving them down just enough to free himself, as though he had no patience for anything more.
His pupils were blown wide when his gaze fell on you again, dark pupils swallowing every trace of restraint. The fingers of his left hand wrapped around the base of his cock, guiding himself to where your body lay open, frozen—because despite the panicked thoughts coursing through your head, your body had already betrayed you.
The wetness pooling between your thighs was undeniable.
Illumi sighed, a pleased, contented sound as he pushed in, sinking himself inside inch by inch.
Your body clenched around the unfamiliar stretch, instinctively adjusting as he bottomed out. The sharp pressure of him inside you forced a whimper from your throat, but Illumi only exhaled again—settling in, indulging in the feeling of being fully sheathed inside you.
Then, he moved.
The steady, unrelenting rhythm of his hips rocked your body beneath him, dragging you up and down against the mattress with each thrust. The bed creaked violently in protest, the headboard slamming against the wall in a lewd, rhythmic percussion that filled the room.
But you remained still, unmoving, limbs slack where they had fallen.
Your mind had returned to being present, aware of everything, but your body felt like lead. If anything, you’d probably have preferred to be hazy and subdued right now, as that would make the feeling of your virginity being taken in such a manner a little more emotionally manageable.
All the years wondering what it felt like, imitating the feeling of a cock inside you with your fingers or some toy you’d discretely bought off the internet, and now you knew. Now you knew exactly how torturous each drag of his hips felt, how painful the pressure sometimes could be, and you wanted to say that it was bad, that you didn’t want it this way and that you wanted him off of you.
But you didn’t.
You blamed the bite, the hormones coursing through your veins, but you couldn’t do anything but inwardly exclaim that it felt so, so, so good.
Illumi’s fingers tightened around your hips, digging into the softness of your flesh hard enough to bruise, his grip a silent demand that you match his rhythm. When your body refused to act on its own, he forced it to, pulling you down to meet every thrust, dragging you deeper into the movement.
Leaning down, he pressed his mouth against your throat, his breath hot against your damaged skin. The bandage there was hastily applied, rough and uneven from Mariah’s quick work at the station. He nipped at the gauze first, his teeth grazing dangerously close to the wound beneath it. Then, without warning, his tongue flicked out, lapping at the dried blood crusted along the edges of the fabric.
Savoring it.
It didn’t take long for his pace to grow sharper, more urgent, his measured control unraveling strand by strand. His movements turned erratic, hungry, his fingers gripping your waist hard enough to make your bones ache beneath the pressure.
Then, with a guttural groan, his body tensed above you, shuddering as he spilled inside.
The warmth of it filled you, seeped into you, and though you wanted to recoil at the realization that he’d cum inside of you, to push him off, some quiet, instinct-bound part of you didn’t.
Some part of you, buried deep beneath layers of confusion, felt sated by it.
Illumi’s weight collapsed against you immediately after, heavy and suffocating, his breath slow and steady as it fanned against your skin.
“That’s better.” he murmured.
For a second you wondered if that had been all, the rise of your own pleasure not having come to any conclusion, but to equal part excitement and fear, you realized Illumi was nowhere near done. He showed no signs of stopping, even as his softening cock slipped out of you with a wet sound.
With irritation lacing his movements, he took your shirt off, snaking an arm behind your back to undo the clasps of your bra. Once both articles were thrown across the room, he took in the sight more than appreciatively.
A little more lazily than his initial fervor, he lowered his head, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp. His tongue swirled around the sensitive bud before sucking hard, pulling more of your breast into his mouth.
He made eye contact at one point, and you could do nothing but cover your eyes again, feeling much too embarrassed and agonized to witness something so lewd.
He let your minor resistance happen this time.
Illumi's other hand slid down your stomach, his fingers delving between your slick folds once more. He could feel how wet you still were, your body betraying your arousal. Two fingers pushed inside you without preamble, pumping in and out.
"You’re not on birth control, are you?" Illumi whispered around your nipple, his hot breath washing over your sensitive skin, and to your surprise, his voice sounded more like you were used to. Casual, cold and more than a little amused. He bit down harder, sending jolts of pained pleasure straight to your core. His fingers pumped faster, curling to hit that special spot inside you with each thrust. “I couldn’t find anything like that at your apartment.”
Your stomach twisted. He looked? Of course he had.
Illumi released your nipple with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your breast. He latched onto your other nipple, giving it the same treatment, his teeth and tongue teasing the hardened peak. His fingers never stopped their relentless assault on your dripping cunt, his thumb rubbing your clit at the same time, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of an unwanted peak.
“I’ve…” This didn’t feel like the moment to reiterate how being intimate hadn’t really been something you dabbled in, and how could you? Everyone had flirted and hooked up using a language you couldn’t understand. It was also hard to think when all you could focus on was the feeling building up between your legs. “That’s-”
“I know, I know,” Illumi murmured, his lips ghosting up the column of your throat. “You mentioned it the last time I tried to fuck you.”
“T-then why ask?” Your voice wavered, hands still covering your face, unable to meet his gaze. The weight of what was happening was too much. “You’re a horrible person.”
“Am I?” He said, sounding genuinely curious, curling his fingers inside you, making your lower body slightly raise off the bed, chasing the feeling. “I thought you liked me.”
Illumi could feel your walls fluttering around his invading fingers, your body tensing as your climax approached. But just as you were about to tumble over, he abruptly pulled his fingers out, leaving you teetering on the brink of ecstasy, denying your much-needed release.
A choked sound escaped your throat, somewhere between frustration and desperation, tears prickling at the edges of your vision. Illumi straightened, resting both hands on your thighs, watching your reaction with the same impassive curiosity as always.
The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words, the weight of your own helplessness pressing down like a vice.
Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as your body quivered beneath him, torn between resentment and need. The sudden emptiness left an ache that pulsed in time with your heartbeat, a cruel echo of what you should’ve been feeling right now.
Illumi tilted his head, observing you like a puzzle he was piecing together. “Interesting,” he mused, his thumbs pressing idly into the soft flesh of your thighs. “You want to be angry, but your scent is conveying disappointment.”
You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets. “That was—”
“Cruel?” he supplied, his tone devoid of remorse. “Yes, well, I’ve heard I’m a horrible man.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t trust your voice to betray the mix of frustration and something dangerously close to longing.
He only stared back.
Then, with a deliberate slowness, he trailed his fingers along your inner thigh, feather-light, ghosting over sensitive skin without offering relief. “Should I let you finish?” he asked, as if he were discussing something as mundane as whether or not to close a window. “Is that something you want?”
Your body still trembled from the cruel edge he had left you on, a sharp, unsatisfied ache pulsing between your legs. Your hands fisted the sheets, trying to steady yourself, to think past the fog of frustration and confusion.
Why?
Why was he doing this?
Mariah’s words resurfaced, and a sudden horrible confusion washed over you. All this, the bite, the sex, the longing, where had it come from? Why was he going so far? He’d bought you a house, committed a felony worth at least ten years in jail, and for what?
“There you go again.” He ran a thumb over the curve of your thigh, watching the way your skin reacted to his touch, the way your breath hitched despite yourself. “What are you thinking about?”
You flinched at the casual dismissal of your internal dilemma. “Why me?” The words slipped out before you could stop. The words hurt to say. “You could have had anyone—an omega, someone who—who would make sense.”
It felt like a betrayal to yourself to admit it but…
This didn’t make sense.
None of it did.
You weren’t compatible with him, a complete biological waste of space, despite all the longing you did to believe otherwise. You couldn’t be what he wanted, couldn’t feel the bond in the normal way, couldn’t take the knot you’d felt insistently press against your body when he fucked you. You weren’t….
Enough.
Not to warrant any of this.
Illumi’s expression didn’t change. “Sense?” he echoed, as if the concept itself was foreign to him.
Your throat tightened, and you could feel thousands of other voices joining you as you said something you’d promised yourself you’d never say. “ People don’t bond with betas.”
A long silence stretched between you. His fingers kept tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your skin, not in comfort, but in possession. Then, finally, he spoke. “And yet you dated me, thinking this?” He smiled, a little teasingly. “Wishful thinking?”
Your lower lip wobbled as you answered him. “I don’t know.”
“Shouldn’t you be ecstatic, then? I’m making your dreams come true.”
“I just don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to.” A tremor ran through you as Illumi’s fingers tightened against your hips, holding you in place beneath him. His touch wasn’t harsh, but it carried a quiet authority—an unspoken reminder of the claim he had already laid upon you. A claim you hadn’t asked for.
You never asked for the house, the extravagant dinners, the glittering parties, or the designer clothes. You never wanted the sleek cars or the empty luxury that came with them.
All you ever wanted was someone who saw you, who stayed because they chose to, not because they were caught up by some weird biological need to be with you, because that would never fucking happen.
Fucking monkey paws.
“You’re very tense,” he murmured, avoiding answering any of your questions.“Are you afraid of me?”
You stiffened.
There was no answer on your tongue, and even if there was, he wouldn’t have waited to hear it.
He already knew.
Instead, he moved, shifting his weight so that his body pressed flush against yours, his warmth seeping into every inch of you. His scent—sharp and full and probably filled with answers—coiled around your senses, and you hated the way your breath hitched in response.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” he continued. “Most people are.” His fingers trailed higher, brushing the underside of your ribs, slow, unhurried. “But you’re not, are you?”
Your pulse pounded against your skin.
He exhaled softly against your ear, and whatever words you had been about to say died in your throat. His touch was methodical, exploring, testing, as if he was still learning the reactions of your body, cataloging every flinch, every sharp intake of breath.
And he was.
His fingers dragged lower, his palm flattening against your stomach. “Though I guess you wouldn’t know,” he mused, as if fascinated by the way you trembled beneath him. “I would have to tell you.”
Your nails dug into the sheets. “Stop talking like that.”
His lips brushed against the hollow of your throat. “Like what?”
“Like—” You bit your lip, frustration and heat warring inside you. “Like I don’t have a choice. In any of this. I can still… I can still leave. Maybe not now, but tomorrow. I- I can get surgeries, or- or something like that.”
Illumi stilled.
"No." His voice was calm, final. "It’s just the stress talking, so I’ll forgive you. But understand this—" his fingers brushed the fresh bite on your neck, deliberate, possessive and you’d wish he stopped fucking touching you.. "I didn’t do this lightly. You might think it was impulsive because of how sudden it seemed, but it was always going to happen. Sooner or later." He studied your reaction. "I would have waited until you finally got over your ridiculous fear of sex, but you forced my hand—overreacting the way you did to my gift."
He tilted his head slightly, voice dipping into something almost curious. "I still don’t understand how you convinced yourself that we needed space of all things."
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.
He lowered both hands and moved up a bit. His fingers curled around your hips, guiding them with ease—positioning them. He lined up his cock again, the thick and long appendage once again hard and begging for attention, and your breath hitched at the pressure, the slow, deliberate stretch that forced your body to accommodate him.
Your fingers twisted into the sheets, knuckles white as you tried to steady yourself, to breathe through the overwhelming intrusion of him.
And then, finally, he moved.
A slow, calculated withdrawal before pushing back in, dragging a broken gasp from your lips. His rhythm was steady—deliberate—each roll of his hips measured and precise, as though he was testing how much you could take, how far before his knot would brush against your body, your body unable to take it. It wasn’t as hurried as the first time, where he’d barely taken a moment to breath in between thrusts.
“This,” He muttered as he bottomed out once again and leaned down to place his weight on top of your body, the push into the mattress heavy and suffocating. “Is all the space we need between us.”
Synopsis: The samurai has pride in keeping his prize safe (despite how terribly he’s doing it).
Warnings: yandere, fem reader, mentioned physical abuse.
3.4k words ... my first fic in a long while, big big big thank you to my beta reader who also came up with the synopsis lmfao
Under normal circumstances, there would be a back and forth before bath time.
Nobunaga’s working the third round of shampoo into your hair, grumbling under his breath when he still finds debris in your locks. Considerably less, given all the work he’s put in, but he still finds a stray leaf in your hair. He flicks it out of your head, brows furrowing. There isn’t any water in the tub, he’s just been rinsing you off over and over with the handheld showerhead.
It’s cold, and normally you’d be afforded the luxury of warm water. This time, Nobunaga was more interested in getting you clean rather than waiting for the water to heat up. You’ve been without clothes too many times in his presence to still feel overly embarrassed about it, though that doesn’t mean you’re comfortable about it. Nobunaga is crouched on the ground outside of the bathtub, washing you as if you were a labrador covered in mud. His sleeves still got water on them despite being rolled up to his elbows, and his hair is pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of the way. If he’s leered at you, you haven’t noticed. You’ve been desperate to avoid eye contact.
When he holds the showerhead up and over your body, the water runs down clearer than it did the last few times. There was dirt before, being washed away by the soap and pressure of the water. You and Nobunaga both internally cringed when the water ran red the first few times; you even moreso when the soap got into the cuts and scrapes littering your skin. He fussed over them, still does, you don’t expect anything less. Every cut he sees, he clicks his tongue and asks where it came from. “I don’t know” quickly becomes your default answer.
You wonder if he feels any bit vindicated, seeing you with blood and dirt under your nails, and twigs in your hair. All those “the outside world is too much for you” talks replay in your head, and your nails begin to dig into your palms out of frustration.
“Don’t do that.” Nobunaga says sternly, having caught the motion in his peripheral. You’re shaken out of your frustration, uncurling your hands. He’s perceptive enough to catch that, but not enough to realize that you want nothing to do with him? He furrows his brows a little more, his hands still in your hair and lathering it up with the shampoo. It smells like fruit, it smells girly. Juvenile, almost.
“I’m not doing anything.” Nobunaga doesn’t say anything to you, removing his hands from your hair and grabbing the showerhead again. He makes a point of angling it more towards your face, and you flinch when the cold water hits you like a hard smack. You shut your eyes as the shampoo suds roll off your head and your face. One of his hands returns to your head, tousling up your hair and rinsing the shampoo out of it. The near icy water doesn’t help with your shivering, and you don’t think you’re in any position to be asking for hot water.
“I’m not a dog, I can bathe myself.” You say, halfway under your breath. Nobunaga might have rolled his eyes, but to do that, he’d have to momentarily stop looking at you, something he isn’t keen on doing. “I didn’t say you were one.” He doesn't address your stewing emotions, no matter how clearly they’re scrawled across your face. You have half the mind not to respond with a snarky comment.
There’s a pit in your stomach. There’s been one for quite a while. You assumed it was anxiety, but now you think it could also be an ulcer. Sometimes it gets so great that you think there’s really something wrong with you. Sizzling, contorting, creeping its way up into your chest. You felt it most in the first two weeks, and it’s waxed and waned since then. It’s spiked considerably from the moment Nobunaga found you again to now. It isn’t helped by the fact that you were expecting some sort of punishment; a sick retribution from him for trying to leave, and it has yet to come.
…The fact that your escape lasted less than 6 hours probably has something to do with how he’s behaving. Oh, he’s annoyed, you didn’t need to be told. Though, you suppose he didn’t expend enough effort in finding you to truly be outraged. Nobunaga had found you in the woods behind the house, having yanked you out of the hollowed log you squirmed into. In the moment, it seemed like a good enough hiding spot, once you had the horrifying realization that he wasn’t that far behind you. For all the metaphorical and literal slaps on the wrist you got from him, you can’t be faulted for thinking he’d have more of a reaction to you trying to leave him.
In retrospect, it would have been smarter to travel alongside the road by the house and hitch hike. But wasn’t that too obvious? Nobunaga had been out of the house at the time of your escape, you didn’t know when he would come back. What would you say if the car he stole came driving down the road, and he saw you with your thumb out like a dumbass on the side of the asphalt? Plus, you thought you would’ve had a few days to make some distance. If you knew he’d be coming back tonight, you would’ve waited.
You’re pretty sure your previous comment wasn’t an invitation to conversation, yet Nobunaga begins talking anyway. “I can’t believe you, the one thing I told you not to do,” he chides. “and you didn’t even make it that far.” Nobunaga says it with a bit of humor, as if underneath his irritation, he finds this a little funny. Of course he does. Your hair feels like rubber with how much shampoo has been in it, and you despair internally when Nobunaga goes to put another dollop of it into your hair. “You’re lucky I found you before you got seriously hurt.” He scolds, roughy lathering the shampoo into your scalp one last time for good measure.
Despite it all, he’s still acting too flippant for your liking, you had expected him to… well, you aren’t sure. You’ve been on edge since before you even ran away, waiting for the eventual blow. Sure, he’s raised his voice at you and dragged you the whole way home, but you were still waiting for the worst of it. You thought he’d show his anger more, you did escape after all. The one thing he specifically forbade you to do.
(He also forbade you from locking doors and going near the stove without his supervision, but actually getting out of the house and making a break for it seemed more serious than any of the others).
You shut your eyes to keep shampoo from entering them, but it’s too late. They sting almost immediately and you let out a small hiss of pain. So much for tear free. Nobunaga leans closer, pausing in his lecturing. “Are you crying?” He asks in a less stern tone of voice. “No!” You say, but you doubt he believes you. After all, you are tearing up. You blink a few times, and there’s tears in your eyes, which are now red and irritated. Nobunaga brings his hand closer to wipe your tears away, and you flinch. He grabs your upper arm to keep you in place, and you tense up more than you knew possible.
“Are you sure?” He asks again, and you don’t like the way he’s saying it. He’s talking to you like you’re a kid who got caught in a lie. “You got shampoo in my eyes!” “Uh huh.” Nobunaga hums, disregarding your declaration and wiping your tears away with his free hand. Your eyes are really red, he thinks. Maybe a drop of shampoo did get in them, though he remains unconvinced that you aren’t at least a little regretful for trying to run away from him. You aren’t that heartless. You go to rub at your eyes, and Nobunaga grabs your wrist to stop you. You flinch again, and he clicks his tongue in irritation.
“Would you stop being difficult?” Nobunaga says, taking a firmer grasp of your wrist to emphasize his point. “I’m not being difficult.” “You are, you’re acting like I’m going to hit you.” “Are you?” You ask, and Nobunaga only looks at you like you’re challenging him. “Should I?”
You take a moment to respond. You can’t think of a smart answer, and although none of them feel outright wrong, none of them exactly feel right, either. “If I were you, I’d hit me.” It’s not a lie, if you were just half as deranged as Nobunaga, you probably would hit yourself. Nobunaga pauses for a moment, then laughs. As if it was some punchline to a joke. You aren’t as unsettled as you are relieved that he didn’t actually put his hands on you. At least he found it funny?
If you were him, you wouldn’t have deemed yourself worth the trouble. You would have gotten rid of yourself a long time ago, replaced yourself with another woman. One that looks similar enough to you, if appearances mattered. Yet everytime you would correct him, insist that you weren’t his girlfriend or anything of the sort, he’d wave you off and go on with whatever he was doing. You aren’t sure what he sees in you, it’s never stuck, no matter how many times he’s said it.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.” Nobunaga finally says. “I already said before, I don’t want to hurt you.” You want to roll your eyes. He’s the one who brought the topic up. Sure, it’s not like he ever punched you in the jaw or anything, but he has a knack for manhandling you every now and then. Nobunaga keeps on talking, not that you had a reply or anything further to add to the conversation. He’s back to being stern with you. “Don’t think you’re off the hook yet. I’m still mad at you. What you did was stupid.” “I know.” You mumble, avoiding his harsh glare.
“You’re not going to do it again.” He says, more firmly this time. With the same lack of energy, you reply “I won’t”. Nobunaga looks like he has more to say, but stays quiet. A distinct smell of smoke and burning food wafts through the hallway and into the bathroom. The food Nobunaga tossed into the oven an hour ago…
He curses under his breath, his eyes going from the hallway to you. “Stay here.” He says, rising to his feet and leaving you in the bathtub alone, still with shampoo in your hair. You take it that it’ll take him a while to salvage dinner, so you take it upon yourself to finish your bath. You make sure to twist the shower handle to warmer water before taking the showerhead to get the shampoo out of your hair and eyes. The pit in your stomach hasn’t gone away, and the prospect of charred food for dinner isn’t easening your pain. You hadn’t spent long enough outside to be that hungry for Nobunaga’s culinary prowess, or lack thereof.
-
There was zero chance of Nobunaga scrapping dinner to just order takeout. In fact, that chance most likely plummeted to the negatives given the stunt you pulled earlier in the day. Still, dinner wasn’t a total waste. You could eat around the burnt pieces of chicken, which were few and far between. The rice was stickier than you would’ve liked. You doubt Nobunaga would be letting you handle the cooking for a while, it’s practically a given that certain privileges would be rescinded. Temporarily, you hope, but rescinded nontheless.
At least the vegetables came out fine.
Nobunaga sits down at the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He looks over at you, laying flat on your back in bed with the blanket covering you. Your feet poke out from under the covers. Soft and warm, scratches on your soles. There’s a cut on the bottom of your left foot; it looks more like a thin slice of flesh was scraped clean off. Nobunaga can’t take his eyes off of it. He knows it’ll heal, but he can only run through all the different ways you garnered that injury.
He stares at your foot in his hand, brows furrowed. A sliver of him was impressed, perhaps a little endeared, that you were still clinging to this idea of not needing him. It was almost laughable, even more so given the state you were in when Nobunaga found you. Cold, exhausted, and hungry, you had somehow gotten two of your fingernails ripped off in the short time you were away from him. All that, and you had the gall to look at him as if he was somehow inconveniencing you by bringing you back home. You’d even tried to bite and scratch at him like some animal.
You really could be an ungrateful brat, sometimes. Maybe you were onto something about him hitting you.
If anything, he’s only more convinced of how pathetic you are. Endearingly so, but pathetic nonetheless. You deserve an achievement for managing to scratch yourself up so much in a few short hours without him, truth be told. Not that he enjoys seeing the cuts on your body, but he does consider himself a little bit smart for not letting you have shoes of any kind, even ones for inside the house. You probably would have gotten much farther if you weren’t out there with just some thin socks.
Nobunaga shifts a little closer, gingerly taking your left ankle and foot in his hands. The foot with the nasty cut on the bottom. He didn’t want you picking at it or even looking at it, so he’d made sure to bandage it properly. If you were awake, you’d jolt like a spooked animal and try to kick at him. Though he’d always known you as a light sleeper, you don’t even stir when Nobunaga touches you. That’s good, he thinks. You need the rest. All that scrambling in the forest probably took out all of your energy.
Even looking at your sleeping face now, it’s hard for the samurai to imagine that just hours ago you were shrieking at him to let you go, to not bring you back home. He’d spent almost an hour painstakingly removing every splinter of wood caught in your feet and hands; all while you were squirming and trying not to kick at him reflexively. Another hour was spent getting the rest of you cleaned up. It’s almost like you’d prefer being out in the cold than being kept warm and safe with him. It’s so preposterous, he could almost laugh at the thought.
…Though, he can’t pinpoint any other reason for you acting out. Unless that’s just what it was, misbehavior for the sake of it. Maybe you wanted more attention? That seemed plausible to Nobunaga. He can’t imagine that you’re thrilled when he leaves your side to go on Troupe missions. When he returned, it was always to you looking miserable, only cheering up now that he returned to you.
(It was because he had a tendency to lock up the television remote in his absence to keep you from watching something he didn’t want you seeing, and the fridge almost never seemed to be stocked with actual food before he left you in your lonesome. He still hadn’t connected the dots).
(...Though the prolonged lack of human interaction did do a number on you, as well).
He knows that to some degree, this is his fault. He’s been too lenient with you, too soft. Uvo had made a passing comment once that it’d do him some good to instill some fear into you. Just a little, to keep you from misbehaving. Nobunaga let you talk back and maintain some independence, and you turn around and try to run away from him.
He gave you an inch and you tried to take a mile. If your ploy was really to get more of his attention, then you’d succeeded. Nobunaga can’t imagine not keeping a closer eye on you for the coming months. That, and he’d finally get around to putting some bars on the windows. His gaze lingers on you, on your foot resting in his lap. He wonders if you know how lucky you are, that it’s him who’s keeping you safe and not any other Troupe member. Someone like Feitan surely would’ve killed you, or at least made you wish you were dead.
Nobunaga isn’t keen on taking a page out of Feitan’s book, though. He was generally averse to the idea of making you upset. He didn’t consider himself to be a bad man, one who hurts his woman. Sure, he’s killed more people than he can count and took great joy in it. He’s maimed women and children, and robbed people of all they had, all for the Spider. But that was different. It’s impersonal, and half of those people more or less deserved it anyway. Probably. Regardless, you escaping and making a run for it isn’t something he can brush under the rug, even if you totally failed.
A hot-head like Phinks, or even Uvo, would’ve broken your leg. Perhaps a bit excessive, you hadn’t made it far enough to warrant that in Nobunaga’s eyes. It’s like a part of you subconsciously didn’t want to go so far away. Like you wanted to be found. If you really hated him so much that you’d try to run away, surely you would’ve put some more effort into it.
He could always just break your ankle, maybe both. Crude, brutish, almost, but that would get the point across. It wouldn’t be hard by any means. A flick of the wrist and it’d be done. Maybe he could wake you up before he does it, make you squirm a little. Perhaps you’d feel a fraction of the panic Nobunaga felt when he couldn’t find you anywhere; when he realized you’d ran away from him.
The aftermath might be a little messy, but at least you wouldn’t be running away again. He could keep you like that for a few days, maybe you’d learn some appreciation then. It’d take Machi a while to get to his house anyway to fix you up properly. Maybe he wouldn’t even need her. You’d cry a lot, he’s sure.
“What are you doing?”
Your voice, tired and having lost it’s previous bite, draws Nobunaga out of his thoughts. You’re still laying flat in bed, looking at him with your foot in his lap. You tense up, and he doesn’t miss the brief change in expression. You’re uncomfortable, and the man chalks it up to you being ticklish or something along those likes. Not that you ever claimed to be, but you always shyed away from his touch, always bit the inside of your cheek when he got close. Tensed up when his fingers brushed up against your neck or shoulders. It was cute.
Nobunaga doesn’t answer you right away, his thumb idly rubbing the skin of your ankle. It’s almost a soothing gesture. “Nothing, go back to sleep.” You retract your foot, and he lets you. He circles the bed, coming to the other side and getting in with you. You tense up, feeling Nobunaga slide in right next to you. You don’t move away, not that you had a chance to. Nobunaga presses himself against you, his arms wrapping around you.
You wince, being overwhelmed with his scent. In your brief time away from him, you’d enjoyed the smell of dirt and grass, and the wind hitting your skin. All things you never thought about too much, now feeling like luxuries. Your head is pushed into the crook of his neck, and the rest of you is too sore to do much about it. You suppose, if anything, that being in a warm bed is better than crawling into a log and trying to pretend the ants don’t bother you.
“You know I love you, right?” It’s something you’ve heard from him more times than you care to admit. You don’t say anything, only humming in acknowledgment. That isn’t enough, you know by now that he always wants an answer when he says he loves you. It sounds all too sincere, which ironically is the reason you hate hearing it. When he doesn’t hear a response, Nobunaga pinches your upper arm. So, to soften the blow of whatever’s in store for you tomorrow, you tell him what he wants to hear.
Good girls should just stay home, lest something goes bump in the night.
cw: NSFW • Implied Murder • Implied Serial Killer • Consensual Non-Consent turned Non-Consensual • Noncon • Dubcon • Abuse • Fingering (F) • Oral (M) • Deep Throating • Rough Sex • Attempted Murder • Hair Pulling • Degradation/Slight Humiliation • Dacryphilia • Yandere Themes • Kidnapping • a little OOC • This story possessed me and basically wrote itself • Barely proof read tbh
wc: 7k+
Something must be wrong with you.
Or at least, that’s what you imagine the world would think if anyone knew what you were doing.
The room was dark aside from the blue glow of your computer screen. The black web browser with red lettering almost ominous as your eyes scanned the consent form again. It was a consent form just to access the full website, on the surface serving only as a dating type of situation for the BDSM community. Beneath it though were layers deeper than what the simple description actually provided. You only found out about it through a deep dive into multiple sub-threads of Reddit. It was a basket case of crazy, the majority of information or advice, but you managed to dig up one reliable looking source.
This website you were currently on. L@ce&R0pe.com happened to provide a wide variety of goodies, from sex toys to actual published books on shibari, there wasn’t much you couldn’t find. Except like all websites not swallowed up by the deep web, there was never any section like the one you wanted so desperately.
Except this one, because your mouse didn’t hesitate to shift and hover over the drop down section for MEET, where you could link up with real people for whatever your heart desired really. You trailed down to NEW FRIEND, and clicked. A new tab opened, this one themed differently than the main website. It was light blue and pink, almost like a baby shower, except the only thing on the page was a single drop down menu, and clicking it made your head ache. There were thousands of options, but thankfully it was organized alphabetically, so you could easily scroll mindlessly until you hit the C section.
You found what you wanted, clicking it as your chosen option and hitting GO.
The screen changed, this time it looked similar to a dating profile fillable. You worked quickly, efficiently even, as you typed all your information in.
Not your name or address, nothing silly like that. Just your measurements, your favorite foods or beverages, the color of your eyes, your hair color, your height, and even the style of your nails. It asked if you liked to brush your hair everyday, how often you showered, what shampoo or body wash you like. You answered them all, as invasive as they soon became, you never wavered. What brand of deodorant do you use? How often do you clip or file your nails? To what length? Do you shave your pubic area? How often? What style? How many sexual partners have you had? Where have you had sex? Which hole do you prefer? Are you a crier or a screamer? Does blood turn you on? Do you like physical or mental pain more? Have you ever been raped before?
They got more personal and physiological as you answered. You felt hot and stuffy despite the window being open and the cool autumn air blowing in. You kept answering even as your throat got tighter and unease nestled into your clavicle.
Do you want to know who your new friend will be?
This time you do hesitate. Knowing would make it feel safer. Knowing would give you some semblance of control. Knowing would be the smart choice.
You clicked “no” and submitted the form, sealing your fate as your hands shook and adrenaline pumped through your veins.
You set the date for October 31st. Now all you had to do was wait and show up.
A notification hit his phone, lighting up the screen as cigarette smoke billowed around him in the back alley. A quick glance was all he needed to unlock and fully see the entire screen. The leather of his jacket rubbed against the brick he leaned against.
Halloween was probably the best time for such fun, crime rates skyrocketing and parties being loud and wild really left a big gaping hole for any type of heinous activity to occur. He grinned as the information poured onto his screen. His dick already becoming painfully hard as he read all your supplied information. You liked breath play, having someone spit in your mouth, even being slapped around. He was always amazed by the lack of shortage for sick freaks like you, but then again, he was one of them too. Licking his top lip, tongue piercing flicking out to rub against his cupid’s bow, he clicked “ACCEPT” on the notification. He had all your information, the when and where, and your adorable little comment of “Please don’t degrade me.” What more could he ask for? His smile is sinister in the low light off the neon sign of the bar, casting a purplish hue on his skin as he chuckles and shoves his phone away. Flicking his cigarette butt onto the dirty ground, he cracked his neck and knuckles before going back inside to finish his beer and round of pool with his friends.
He’ll see you on Halloween. He might even dress up a little for the occasion.
It’s cold.
It’s nearly November so you hadn’t expected warm weather necessarily, but it seemed chillier than usual despite your fairly insulated dress.
You dressed up as an angel, the irony not lost on you at all but it felt fitting almost for the occasion. The pristine white looked off in your surroundings. It was nearly midnight, but despite that the sidewalk of the park was filled with a fairly regular crowd of people passing through, on to the next party or home to sleep off all the alcohol. Really, you weren’t too out of place, in your white stockings and black heeled boots, the fluffy ruffled white babydoll dress that barely covered your ass or tits and the wings which were strapped around your shoulders and jutted out behind you. On your head was a slim clip which was attached to a white shiny halo that seemed to float above you, only a thin wire keeping it up. You’d at first felt a little exposed passing children going home for the night after trick or treating, eyes of judgemental families which you ignored boring into you, but now it was time for the adults to have fun. You’d already passed a plethora of college students or older dressed even more scantily than you, making you feel better, safer, out in the park you’d chosen. You’d chosen 0300 as your designated meetup time, but specified you’d be early in case they wanted to start sooner. So here you stood, under a streetlamp that illuminated you in a yellow glow, making you seem even more angelic despite the ominous darkness surrounding you. You were busy playing on your phone, scrolling mindlessly and trying not to appear too excited. Or scared. You figured it was a combination of both, the arousal and fear bleeding into one very specific but unnamed emotion. Tapping your boot to a rhythm only you could hear, the night drew on and another hour passed. The droves of people passing didn’t dwindle, but it was always a group, never a single individual which you hoped was your new friend. It was almost 0130 when you felt watched, goosebumps rising on your skin as you realized someone must be looking at you. A quick glance around showed no one though, and after ten minutes your hope dissolved into disappointment. It seemed your friend wasn’t an early bird.
“Hey,” a raspy, deep voice speaking almost directly into your ear, startling you enough to elicit a yelp. You turned, eyes landing on a dark clothed chest and trailing up to a hooded face you could barely make out through a mess of blue hair. His lips look a bit chapped, a small scar decorating a corner, but his teeth are white and straight as he smiles a grin that causes shivers to shoot down your spine.
…maybe your friend was an early bird, just not as much as you.
You take a step back, stuttering stupidly due to your overactive nerves and the earlier shock of his sudden appearance. “H-hi…um,” the stranger tilts his head, eyes still not visible, dark hoodie baggy on his frame. He looks a bit thin, like he wouldn’t have a lot of strength, his jeans having some strange splattering of fake blood or something on them. You lick your lips, heart ready to leap from your chest but not quite ready for the events to unfold.
Or maybe you were very ready.
“You’ve been standing here for hours,” he comments nonchalantly, hands moving to shove inside the large inner pocket on his hoodie, “Aren’t ya tired of waiting for your boyfriend?” His question is a bit confusing, and when you glance around you, it dawns that there’s no one out right now. When had the crowds dwindled to nothing? “I don’t… have a boyfriend…” you had clearly stated that online too, so he already knew the answer to your relationship status. Was he just teasing? Keeping this as realistic as possible? It made you a bit pleased. You fiddled with the ends of your cute frilly dress, exposing a small portion of your skin and garter belt which kept your thigh high socks up. His eyes tracked the motion, lips pulling up even higher making his smile menacing. Dangerous. “That so?” He asks, but it doesn’t seem like he’s too interested in a reply as he steps closer, his beat up sneakers so silent on the ground it’s a little unnerving. Since he’s playing along so much, it feels wrong for you to not reciprocate.
“What do you think you’re doing, creep? Stay back,” You hope he’s not offended by the name, figuring it wasn’t too mean or odd of a thing to call him. Your firm stance and defiant gaze make him pause, head tilting again but he’s quick to recover and laugh. It’s less of a sexy and deep chuckle like you expected, and more pitched and giggly. It’s almost creepy to hear from a grown man. Like a child from a horror movie laughing. “Creep? Yeah? Guess I am, but you know what?” His head lifts, and since he’s more centered under the tall street lamp, when he looks straight at you, two red eyes flash. “I’m a lot fucking worse than your average dumbass creep,” you jolt when he lunges at you, hand outstretched to grab you. It’s instinctive how quickly you turn and run, adrenaline helping you shoot off into the park where no light but the moon shined down. This is what you wanted, you chant to yourself to stay level headed enough to not truly panic. This was staged and as safe as possible. He’s not actually going to hurt you. You’d be fine, albeit maybe a little sore tomorrow morning. You shut your mind off and focus on running, though your speed wasn’t great in such cheap and unstable boots, roots and random objects on the ground constantly tripping you up.
You looked like the dumb girl in the horror movies, tits practically out of your low cut revealing white dress, strapless white bra damn useless and more for show than any real support or push-up. You huffed, digging in your heels when you heard a few twigs snap behind you, feet carrying you faster as you realized he was gaining on you quickly. He didn’t shout and you didn’t scream. The chase was exhilarating, your mind becoming fuzzy as your lungs burned for more oxygen. You hadn’t planned a chase, really leaving it all up to fate and your new friend, but this was perfect.
Until fingers tangled tight in your hair and yanked you completely off your feet, your shoes and legs going out in front of you as you landed gracelessly on your ass. Then an intense burning in your scalp erupts, a hiss of pain and a whine escaping as you slide over cool damp foliage, senseless grumbling coming from the stranger as he drags you into a deeper more secluded section of the park, away from any and all prying eyes. Not like anyone gave a damn. “I-it hurts!” You feel childish for crying, tears pricking your eyes but the burn was worse than you imagined truly, soft hands coming up to try and pry his fingers off.
He has a grip of iron apparently, not the least bit phased as he sighs, hauling you up and tossing you in front of him. You land weirdly on your left shoulder, a shock of pain numbing your mind as you heave for air and roll over. When you open your eyes, you’re face to face with him. His hood pulled off, shoulder length blue hair now tied back and up into a little bun while some stray pieces frame his face and forehead. Your eyes adjust to the darkness as they take him in.
He’s young, maybe early twenties, with pale skin and dark bags hugging beneath his scarlet eyes. He’s got a beauty mark just below his lip on the right side, the scar you saw earlier on the other. He’s not hard on the eyes, cute even, but the strange air around him makes the close proximity fill you with anxiety. His eyebrows are thin and sparse, but he cocks one with a smirk. “Not gonna scream for help, crybaby?” The nickname makes you realize tears are streaming down your cheeks, you blink them away quickly, shaking your head and trying to find your words again. “I—uh, do you want me to?” Wouldn't screaming just make it more likely for someone to call the police? You figured a little noise was fine, but screaming seemed counter productive.
His eyes widened a bit, confusion painting his features as he crouched down more comfortably on his haunches to get a better look at you.
He’d been watching you since you got to the park. A single party in this sort of place always sticks out like a sore thumb. You looked more ready for a porno than a costume party, from behind the view of your ass indescribably arousing in your short little dress. It was both a slutty and innocent look you pulled off well, at least enough to make him riled up, cock twitching in agreement within his pants. He shamelessly rubbed it through his jeans, caressing the hardening length and letting you watch with glee. Your face made him snort, amusement evident as he chuckles and squints. “You like this, little freak?” You looked like you did, he notes. Your wide pretty eyes, still a little teary and red at the ends, showed your blown out pupils. You looked to be more star struck, not terrified like any normal girl chased through a park and dragged into a little corner between some trees to be out of sight. He watches you swallow hard, lips parting before closing as if you aren’t sure what to say to that question. “Fuck, you’re cute,” he grins, “a cute little slut who stood out at night all alone as if begging for someone to come along and do something nasty.” You release a tiny yelp as he meanly shoves you back, straddling your upper chest with his thighs as he hunches over you, looming ominously above with wild eyes screaming for chaos. “Good thing that I came along, huh? Make all your nasty little fantasies come true.” He watches you gasp as he presses his fingers against your lips, confusion evident on your face but you aren’t really putting up much of a fight as you open and let him slide two in. “Nasty fucking girl, look at you, when you don’t even fucking know me.” He chuckles, and while he’s teasing you mostly, he is amazed. You looked erotic as hell right now, little angel costume all wrinkled and a bit dirty from the earth below, pretty face a bit stained with mascara that had run a little from your earlier tears. You weren’t wearing the waterproof kind it seemed. Lips bitten and chewed on, plump and glossy from whatever glittery shit you swiped on them earlier now wrapped around his digits as he dug around in your warm wet mouth. “Suck on them, slut,” he orders, his smile dropping and face becoming more serious as you hurry to obey, a strange trepidation building in your gut. He groans as he feels your tongue wiggle and swirl, pumping his fingers a bit now and enjoying the little bleats you release when he chokes you a bit with them. “Wonder if you’re soaked down here~” he hums, leaning back a bit and yanking his fingers from your lips, wiping the excess saliva across your cheek and huffing a laugh as your features wrinkle in distaste. His hand moves behind him, easy access to your cunt due to the frilly dress hiked up almost around your waist, revealing cute soaked white cotton panties he growls at the sight of. “You really suck at putting up a fight, crybaby, but I think I heard somewhere that girls get wet when scared too…” those red eyes flick back to your own, "You scared?” He asks, almost softly. He watches you breathe, chest struggling a bit under his weight but your hands curled into the fabric of his hoodie, not pushing him away. “A little…?” Is your shaky response, and he wonders silently if you’re an idiot or just a pervert. You might be both, because when he lets his thumb dig into where your pussy lay poorly hidden, you moan for him and spread your legs wider. You make it even easier to search for his desired location, your swollen bundle of nerves. “O-oh—!” Your head falls back, little halo becoming a bit misshapen as it gets flattened to the ground, he tsks, fixing it with his free hand as he thumbs your little clit and watches you mewl and writhe beneath him, pleasure clearly visible on your face. Your hips buck and wiggle, body pinned beneath his and unable to get away or closer like you desperately want for more friction than he’s providing. “P-please,” you can’t help but beg, hoping your new friend is merciful enough to make you cum and not simply edge you all night.
It’s the pouty expression which makes him nearly feral, his grin spreading wide again as he keeps working his finger on your clit but his face closes the distance between your own. His lips just barely graze yours, and you are all too happy to part your lips and give him a sloppy kiss back, his own tongue finally slipping into your mouth where you suck. The smooth muscle in your mouth and the saliva dripping from it drive you wild, hands now dragging him closer and trying to make him do more for you. The heat spreads slowly however, his pace not changing, and despite his slim build he’s much stronger than you. You aren’t able to take any more than what is given, huffing in exasperation and groaning when he places more force before easing off. “S-stop teasing…” you whine against his lips, which were much softer than they look. He smirks, airy chuckle felt more than heard as he shakes with a silent laugh, “how can I not, you’re such a rare find, I plan to take my time with you.” He kisses you hard to silence whatever whines you planned to release to make him give you more. Instead he forces you into a slow building orgasm that leaves him having to pin your wrists above your head lest your clawing rip his skin open. He works you gently and cruelly into it, loving how you gasp and choke for him, eyes rolling back while you shake almost like you’re possessed and soak through your panties. “There you go, heh, normally I wouldn’t bother to take my time with whiny bitches, but you’re more obedient and sweet than I first assumed.” He whispers into your ear as you come down from the mind blowing high, body limp and pliant like dough now. The insult from him brings out a little whine of protest, teary eyes looking at him with almost something akin to betrayal.
“I-I don’t like being called mean names…I said so online too,” he pulls up finally, the chill of the night attacking full force on your now exposed cunt as he brings your panties up to his nose to inhale. His eyes narrow, almost into slits as he pulls them back and shoves them into his hoodie pocket. “Oh yeah? You post that shit on your social media or something? Sorry, I don’t really use those trash platforms. I have a Twitch stream though,” he acts like this is the time for a regular conversation, even as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, yanking them down his hips to pull his cock free. Your eyes go wide, mind a bit blank and missing something, in favor of looking at him pump his length lazily. A trail of blue curls like on his head travel from his navel to his groin where it spreads out a little, the color a bit darker as it goes lower. He’s not one to shave it seems, but your eyes focus on his cock, average in length but girthy with a tip that curves up almost perfectly. It looks like a cock someone would sell as a dildo at a sex store. It was pretty, admittedly, as a few pearls of pre-cum dotted the tip and spilled over as he slowly worked it above you. “Hungry?” He jokes, but when you nod he grits his teeth and bites back a moan, the night truly more unexpected than he thought. “Open up then, crybaby.” He thankfully didn’t call you a bitch again, crybaby the less of the evils and more acceptable of a petname for your preference as you open your lips and awkwardly lean your head forward. “No need to lean up,” he mumbles, shifting until his knees now rested by your shoulders, tip just in your mouth and his forearms on the earth above your head. He’s looking down at you, and you lay back down as he works his cock in your mouth. He’s going to fuck your mouth, you realize a bit late, the position so easy for him to hit balls deep in your throat and prevent you from running just from his weight alone. You’re pinned to earth, the scent of crisp autumn becoming mingled with the musky masculine odor the stranger had clinging to him. Something smelled of iron too, but it was fainter and didn’t bother you too much, not when he seemed determined to suffocate you with his cock. You jerk a little, teeth accidentally grazing his cock and his hiss of pain alerts you that you’ve hurt him. He pulls up and out of your mouth, glaring ferociously as he looks down at you with contemplation. “Sorry—! I’m not used—,” the words leaving you mouth go unfinished as you’re suddenly looking away and down, confusion wracking your mind before white hot pain erupts across your face and you cry out in agony.
He watches with a cool nonchalance as you whimper and cry, holding your inflamed cheek and looking at him with teary eyes filled with questions. The sight doesn’t help his hardness, your face swelling a bit from the force of the blow already, but it was still arousing how you cried for him so easily. “Don’t bite my fucking dick and I won’t hit you, clear?” He’s grabbing you roughly by the hair again, yanking you up and no longer in the mood for that awkward position as he stands and pulls you to your knees. This position at least gives him a good eye full of your tits, shaking from your little trembling as you’re made to look up at him. His angry reddened cock next to your injured cheek is a sight for him, his hand gripping his shaft and slapping you lightly on the cheek with it, his hand in your hair preventing you from turning away even as you whimper in pain. “Okay, we’ll try this again, crybaby. Open.” You do, even as tears run like waterfalls down your face, mascara smeared and making a pathetic sight for sore eyes of you, you let his cock enter your mouth once more.
Because you’ve never been more aroused.
Your stranger isn’t nice, pushing hard and deep into your throat immediately and gagging you. You’re careful with your teeth, jaw already burning and aching as he locks his arm and hand, strands of hair tearing out as he works his hips into your face at an uneven pace. “Stop fucking moving,” he growls, stepping even closer, blocking any and all exits and forcing you to take it. His cock didn’t seem so scary when he’d pulled it out, but in your throat it was a plug to your oxygen and felt too big for your poor mouth. It hurt, feeling him go too deep and leaving you coughing and sputtering and even still he wouldn’t pull out, groaning and pressing impossibly deep like he truly means to suffocate you. “You got a good little mouth pussy, crybaby. Fuck—take my cock, just like that.” He moans, watching as you struggle on his dick to breathe or swallow, slobber and tears coating his cock as he makes a mess of your pretty face. He doesn’t care that your eyes are starting to roll back, hands which had previously been clawing at his legs going limp at your sides. You acted more like a hole for him to fuck when you were limp like this, and it drove him wild as he grunted like an animal and rutted into your mouth like he held a grudge against you. Both hands dug into your hair, hands pulling you back onto his cock when his hips bucked you away. “Never fucked a—holy shit—ah, mouth so damn good before—, ah fuck, fuck,” he’s getting breathier as time ticks by, his own eyes rolling back as his balls draw up tight. “I’m going to cum, ready for me crybaby? Want it in your tummy or on your face?” He’s being condescending on purpose, but it’s a bit useless considering he’s rendered you nearly unconscious on his dick. He shrugs your lack of response off, pumping his cock down your throat until he sees stars and yanks himself free just before the first spurt misses and hits the grass below, he grips the base, pumping and shooting his next shot right onto your face. He yanks your head against his thigh, delirious face dazed and coughing softly as he finishes on your glitter and mascara run cheeks, using the tip to smear it well into your ruined makeup as he sneers at you from above.
“Hah…” he catches his breath, sucking in oxygen along with you as his gaze turns calculated.
“Wake up, I’m not done with you yet.” He’s more gentle now that he's cum at least once, tapping your uninjured cheek with two fingers as your eyes roll around before opening and looking at him.
He swears, your face making him hard again instantly, blood pooling to his groin at the messy sight of you in your white ruined angel costume. “You really are unlucky I was out tonight, I don’t think I’m gonna let you go.” His dead serious comment caused something cold to hit your veins, chills running through you as you gape in shock.
“W-what…?” He reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out what looked like a foot long serrated hunting blade. He snickers at the blank look of shock on your features.
“What’s wrong, crybaby? No tears for me right now?” You’re shaking, getting paler by the second as you realize no, it’s not a costume, and yes, there is still dried blood on the blade. There’s dried blood all over him, his spree tonight ridiculously fruitful and his body still high on the thrill. Imagine his luck finding you. “T-this wasn’t in my profile, wh-what are you doing?” Now you look alert, now you act like a regular civilian, he notes cooly. “I only con-consented to the sex and stuff, I said I didn’t like—like blades or blood play.” Your eyes are wide as saucers and you have a cold sweat now forming and dotting your skin, shaky like on too much caffeine as your body dumped chemicals to help you run.
His head tilts, a few more strands of hair coming loose from his tie as those red eyes watch you without any emotion in their depths.
“Ah~ I get it now. Are you some kind of freak who links up with people online for this kind of shit?” He laughs, eyes not matching the manic toothy grin. “Sorry to disappoint slut, I ain’t your tinder or whatever match. Did you do it anonymously?” He’s beyond amused, thrilled by the horror dawning on your face as reality sets in. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He sneers, but he’s joyful when you book it, heeled boots caked in mud as they dig into the ground and you take off for real. True intent to get away now because he’s not your new friend, he’s a real stranger and his energy is nothing but malevolent.
You’re going to die.
It’s a sick thought that twists inside you as you push the hardest you’ve ever, scream bubbling up and out as you cry for help now. “HELP! Please! Someone! Anyone!” It’s more broken and hoarse than you want, his earlier abuse to your throat having taken a number on your ability to vocalize.
It’s empty. This damn park is empty.
Not a soul around and you can’t hear him coming for you anymore, and it only makes the tears fall harder as you drive your body to a breaking point. If no one is around you can at least aim for your car, your phone will take too much time to look at and dial the police, you’d be too open and that would mean—
Something—someone—smashes into you, your body thrown sideways by the brute force and flung roughly to the ground where you roll several feet.
It hurts—!
Your body and mind scream as pain lights up your shoulder, a previously dull ache now hounding for your attention so much it left you lightheaded. You twisted your ankle too or maybe broke it, already so regretful for the evening and your life choices that your shoes hardly broke the bank. It all hurt, and yet you still tried to crawl to get away, still eager for another deep breath of air in your lungs even if it hurt to do that too.
“Hck, please, please—help—!,” you’re a sobbing pathetic mess, and he couldn’t be more turned on by the sight. He dusts himself off like he hadn’t tackled you like a linebacker for a major league football team, his lanky form sinewy with muscle and his agility nothing to scoff at. He swirls the enormous daunting blade with a whistle, smiling more genuinely as he strolls towards your shaking form crawling away.
“Where do you think you’re going, crybaby? I said I wasn’t done with you,” he lands a solid hit to your middle, dirty sneaker smearing mud on your cute little dress, looking less and less white as the night wears on. The blow is not hard enough to damage anything, he’s sure, but you act as if you’ve been disemboweled by how you howl and heave. He rolls his eyes at the dramatics, settling one foot between your shoulder blades and pressing down until you’re left immobilized.
Your vision is blurry, going in and out of focus as you try, and try, and try to get away, cute nail polish chipped and ruined as you claw at the dirt floor for leverage.
He admires your tenacity. “You think you can get away? That anyone is coming to save you?” He brushes a few stray hairs out of his face as he laughs, the urge to gut you strong as he savors your useless little struggle. “Crybaby, look around! No one is coming! I said look,” he grinds out, dropping to one knee while his other leg remains planted on your back, his hand gripping your hair and yanking your head up to see what he meant.
There’s a fence. A metal chain link fence, and it had a sign your vision was too blurry to read through your tears.
“You ran yourself straight into the worst possible area, this is sort of your game over,” He leans down to look at you, yanking your head back and forcing you into an uncomfortable arch. He raises up the blade, fully intending to slit your pretty throat and watch your eyes as the light fades, but you blubber out a sentence which halts him.
“Y-you didn’t finish! E-earlier, hck, earlier you didn’t finish—!” Your eyes squeeze closed in pain as he yanks your head to the side. Confusion burned in him, and curiosity kept you breathing for now.
“Didn’t finish what, crybaby? Fairly certain I finished all over your face, if I remember correctly.” He has a sharp edge in his tone, something metallic fills your mouth and you realize you’ve bitten through your tongue in your panic. A few drops spill past your lips, catching his attention.
“S-shouldn’t you also f-fuck me too? I-it’s why I came out tonight, wh-why I, ah, d-did this,” it’s a long shot by any means, and he’s no fool, but you did make a good point.
He was still hard.
“Smart little crybaby, aren’t you?” He mutters darkly, setting aside his blade in favor of smashing your face into the dirt, keeping your head down as he presses against your back and yanks your hips up. Your knees are skinned from the rough handling, socks torn open and stained with blood and dirt while his calloused hands slip beneath your dress. Your breath hitches. You needed to think of some way out of this, some kind of plan to escape or incapacitate him.
He’s busied himself with your still dripping cunt. Two fingers roughly filling your hole and uncaringly stretching your tight entrance. “You really are a freak, wet even though you’re going to die, crybaby.” He felt a bit strange as you whimper and mewl below, hand slowing as he tried to place the feeling.
He shrugs it off, instead easily yanking down his jeans which were still unbuttoned and pulling out his cock once more, stroking his shaft a few times before he lined himself up with your puffy lips. “Fuck—,” he swears, eyes seeing stars as he pushes just his tip past the tight ring of muscle at your entrance, mouth opening as licks his lips and stares down at you. “Never had pussy so good…” he giggles darkly, cracking his neck as he pushes each inch inside of you, stretching you out deliciously until you’re speared on his cock with his hips flush with your ass. “Who knew you’d be the best, crybaby.” He muses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips, your little dress flipped up and over your ass so he can watch it bounce as he leans back on his knees to fuck you deeper. You need to think straight but it’s difficult with how good your body feels, the pain from earlier seeming to go away with a numb buzz as he fills your pussy, hitting perfectly against a spot that has you arching harder for more.
You really are a freak like he says.
You can’t help relaxing further, eyes dumbly looking to the side where your head rests as he pounds into you from behind, the coil in your gut growing tighter by the minute.
The clouds blocking the moon seem to part just for you, the full moon’s light no longer blocked and illuminating the little patch of grass he’d tackled you into. Something gleams, in perfect reach too as your eyes widen.
His knife.
He’d already proven you can’t outrun him, but what if he was injured? There’s a major artery in the thigh, if you hit that, wouldn’t you be able to get away?
He yanks back roughly, moaning as he feels you squeeze even tighter around him, velvet walls massaging his dick while he tries to fuck himself as deep as possible inside of you.
It hit you despite all your intentions not to, because this wasn’t safe and he wants to end your life and everything is wrong, but your body doesn’t listen. You cum with a shaky cry, and with an awkward turn of your head you watch as his head goes back and he moans, eyes closed in bliss as you coat his cock in even more slick.
You’re louder than you intended to be, but your fingers close around the hilt nonetheless, trembling with the heavy weight in your grasp, you use every ounce of energy inside you to swing it back into his thigh.
“Cute,” you scream as he catches your wrist, hand clenching so tight you feel your bones grind together as the knife falls from your grip. He twists your arm around and pins your wrist behind your back, holding it in place while his other hand remains at your hip.
“So fucking cute, crybaby. Did you cum just to distract me or was that because you couldn’t help yourself?” He’s getting a high from this, from fucking you and turning you into nothing but a toy as he bounces you on his cock, hips still but arms pulling you back and forth with ease. Scarlet eyes drink you in with undisguised sick glee, and he’s finally able to place the feeling from earlier.
“A pretty little slut trying to get her rocks off and getting shown why she should’ve been a good girl and stayed home,” he grunts, releasing you and leaning over, pinning you with his weight and nearly knocking the air from your lungs how deeply he hits you inside from this angle. Dirt fills the underbelly of your nails, your fingers digging into the earth just for some semblance of stability.
You had none. It was a sick and horrifying realization. You have no control. You can do nothing to stop this. As deeply as it made your gut sink, another odd emotion rose to the surface.
A bubbly sensation that tore through you as your tears became less from fear and more from overstimulation.
His hips piston in and out of you, bullying your cervix in this position as he ruts into you like a hound, tongue hanging out of his mouth as he moans and grunts.
You break again, spasm and cinch down on his cock like a vice while you wail as if in mourning. Maybe you are, for yourself at least. “Oh fuck—! s’too much—, please, I can’t—, f-feels good, hah,” your nearly incoherent babbling sends him over the edge along with you, his own dull nails finally drawing blood as he holds you for dear life as he releases deep inside you, tip kissing right up against you womb as he cums. You can feel it too, his cock twitching inside as the night seems to still for a moment.
He holds you for a while. Breathing you in, nuzzling his face into your neck and licking you. He holds you until his cock fully softens and it hurt to be gripped so tightly inside your wet heat, regrettably pulling away.
He stands, putting his sticky limp cock away inside his underwear and pulling up his pants, looking down at your ruined figure that had slumped over to the side.
“Y’know, crybaby… you really resemble an angel now,” he smiles, red eyes almost glowing as the moon blankets his back and shadows his face. His hair seems almost white like this, your tired eyes note. You don’t move or even flinch as he grabs his knife and yanks your limp figure up by your hair. Even now you’re still crying, face lax despite the rivers flowing down your dirty swollen cheeks. You make no effort to stop him, having given up completely.
He crouches down again, mostly eye level now as he makes you look at him.
“You got any last words?” He’s being dead serious. He feels strange looking at the almost glazed over look in your eyes.
“W-what…” your voice is barely a whisper, but the night is so quiet he catches it, “what’s your…name?”
An unexpected question.
His eyes gleam, smile ravenous as he puts his lips against your ear and whispers it.
“Tomura, what’s your name, crybaby?” He asks, gently, almost like he’s actually interested.
You hoarsely whisper it, your last time ever saying it after tonight. He hums, like it pleases him, before he brings down the knife swiftly.
Your vision goes dark, the strike mercifully painless. Your last thoughts blur as you drift into soft nothingness.
He releases your hair, grabbing your limp figure up in his arms as he chuckles and sheaths his knife properly on his hip. “Dumb crybaby” his voice almost singing the words as he whistles and walks away, the park dead silent but even if someone had seen you in his arms, he could just play the good boyfriend taking his sweetheart home safely. It’s not entirely a lie either, his eyes glancing down at your unconscious form, pretty neck unmarred but a bruise would likely form on the back where he struck you tomorrow. Tomura had never felt compelled to allow a victim to live, but then again he’s never fucked a victim either, so you’re the first for a lot. He supposed it made you quite special, his legs carrying him in the direction of his car in the parking lot about a mile south. Obsession and possessiveness swirled in those red depths as they looked at your figure.
“Good girls should just stay home…” he continues his sardonic little tune, his smile gruesome and foreboding.
Vibrant blue orbs check his surroundings again, noting once again his friend was a no show. Rolling his eyes, he knew it was too good to be true. Your profile screamed inexperienced and cautious, despite you clicking that you’d like him to remain anonymous beforehand. It didn’t matter, he’d just go enjoy some sorority girl pussy instead, figuring at 0330 that most parties would be winding down. Drunk girls dressed like sluts were his second favorite.
Dabi clicks the notify option on his app, letting the website staff know you never showed up.
Though, he muses if something did happen, the police wouldn’t be notified until it was too late. Halloween weekend after all meant you could be missing for quite a while before anyone noticed.
Can we get Santi making his match ~Properly~ apologize after they gave in and resummoned him after banishing him?
[Ohhh I'm gonna hurt you good. Fem reader.]
TW: Manipulation; Brief but descriptive past gore; Struggling with trauma; Angst and abuse.
Ironic, isn't it?
You did it. You successfully banished a high-ranking demon from your life. Not just any high-ranker, one that claimed to be your "match". You had assumed that was just another appeal to emotions back then, a trick to wrap your around his pinkie further, but you've done a lot of research in order to successfully pull off what you did, and there's no lie to be found in those words.
Few humans can drive their matches away for good, very few. You have the scars to show for it, certainly. The ragged rifts on your limbs from when Santi had sunk his claws so very deep into your flesh, raking them down and tearing your muscles apart in the process. You have a bad eye. It's not blind, but it's definitely not as good as its twin. Lastly, of course, there's the dead and withered mark on your mons... Faded, but still there, still visible, still mocking you every single time you look at yourself in the mirror.
It's been years.
Yet you still scrub at it ruthlessly, hoping that it'll disappear little by little, like a grease stain. The nightmares remain, feeling it throb through your entire organism, glowing that hellish magenta, signaling the nearness of your personal castigator. Your unrequited pest that, much like a cockroach, refuses to die.
It's been years...
And he's still haunting you.
He's in Hell, probably in Lust if you had to guess, where he belongs- And he's still fucking up your life. Poetic, a true demon.
The exhaustion you felt the moment Santi successfully got phased back into the fires has stayed since. It dug roots into your soul, hugging it possessively, his parting gift to you- Numbness.
You reinvented your life.
New hairstyle, new fashion, new place to live, new interests, new friends. It felt like the only way to be free of the incubus was to become anyone but the person he claimed to have fallen in love with.
No matter what you did, what new hobby you took on or what personal goal you achieved, you never felt accomplished, never felt good. Psychologists treated your supposed chronic depression with every tactic they had, only succeeding in making you feel even more pathetic when every single one of them failed.
It was clear you were not in the mindset to begin any type of relationship, but... Your libido demanded it of you. It's unclear what changed your appetite. Was it the mark? Was it the constant sexual contact you had before? Or is it just that you can't satisfy yourself anymore? Maybe all.
You tried sex again once.
It was... A monumental disappointment.
Enough to make you swear it off, and live in a gross state of constant frustration, unsolvable no matter how much you pushed yourself into new spaces to attain new sensual experiences. Maybe, maybe you just had to try something different, right? Try a few kinks.
No, not even the almost shameful collection of toys you've amassed since Santi's been gone have done a single thing to relieve you properly. Every orgasm feels dull and requires too much effort.
You started hating yourself when the only thing that seemed to make you cum faster was thinking of him.
The image of your very own abuser above you, whispering sweet encouragements in your ear and moaning as he sunk his cock into you. The thought of his skin on yours was enough, it was effective- And the wave of pure self-hatred that rolled over you when you orgasmed crying his name was strong enough to make you break down into screaming tears, naked and soaked and humiliated.
You'd wake up in fetal position, throat hoarse, the crust of your own pleasure sticking to your thighs, numb as per usual.
It's been years, of this.
And today, you've given up.
It wasn't a spur of the moment decision, of course not. It was more of a slow spiral into hopelessness.
Is this misery going to be the rest of your life? This insupportable existence.
You'd rather never live another day than allow it to continue. And if, to fix it, you need Santi again... Then you need him again.
Is it weak of you, to do this? Maybe a stronger, more dignified person would choose death. But you've been worn down, you've never recovered, you're still on his fucking palm!
Were you ever truly free of Santi?
What does it matter, right? If you're still going back to him after all this.
Making a summoning circle is easier, certainly more so than cleverly hiding a banishment circle. Droplets of shame drip down your cheeks as you arrange it, as you come to terms with your defeat.
In spite of his rank, there's no need for a big offering. Santi will know it is you who's calling him, because of your blood. You're letting him know preemptively. An orgasm should suffice.
There's no need to think about his sigil, the very shape of it is embedded on your frontal lobe, a pesky cattle tag clipped onto your body. It's on your fucking cunt, the blasted thing.
There's a long moment of contemplation where you stare at the spacious circle in your living room. A brief streak of resilience has you wanting to put everything away, except your legs don't budge, stone-like.
Once more, your mind says no, but your body says yes.
Bile rises in your throat, yet if there's anything you've learned to do by now, it's swallowing.
There's an exhausted grimace in your complexion as you sink to your knees before the circle, pushing panties aside, and fall into your guiltiest pleasure. People use the term very loosely these days, you've noticed.
It should disgust you how easy it is, how quick you approached a peak, how the anticipation of feeling his hellishly delightful touch brought you that much closer, that much faster, that much wetter- You're a loser.
And maybe you deserve this. Whatever comes of this.
As soon as you orgasm, the circle pulses, your blood seems to sink into the demonic sigil, and a stillness follows, lulled by the hum of a portal waiting to manifest.
Torpid hues study it. Seconds pass. A minute maybe.
A hysteric little giggle escapes as you wonder if he'll deny you now. Reject you.
No. No, he wouldn't- That filthy piece of scum would suck the grime off your shoes sooner than reject you. Because that's all he is, a worthless fucking worm who should be grateful you're letting him see your face again.
Eventually, a rift cracks through the floor, widening, the symphony of Hell echoing out in a scream of triumph. A hand pushes through, as dark and large as you remember it, sinking into the first anchor it finds. Soon, a great body is pushed through.
Santi.
... Santi?
Your breath catches in your throat.
He looks... Off. Turned away from you, crouched in the circle, it's hard to put your finger on what's changed, but he feels different. His horns have grown bigger, sharper.
Motionless, you watch a thick tail twitch. He rises to a stand carefully, joints cracking when he rolls his neck. God, that's not his usual posture at all. And then, you get to see his face. Gaunt cheeks, a larger, darker mouth with unnatural teeth. Santi's charm had been, in large part, his ability to toe the line between handsome and monstrous, taking advantage of his inhuman abilities to impose and using his sightly features to cause a "scared but horny" effect. That line has been long eroded, if you had to guess.
What strikes you the most are the eyes.
His stare has changed completely. The demon looks... Horrifying. Where once there had been something sharp and seductively warm to hide the evil beneath, there's now a corrosive transparency oozing off him, an animal carelessness. The left eye is particularly dulled, having lost pigment, the pupil won't move, lodged in an upwards position as if midway through rolling back into his skull. The whisker on that eye is also damaged, it looks to have been cut.
Certainly, it wasn't just you that changed.
You both look like complete shit. Well, he looks like shit as much as a concubus can...
Still, once he's fully turned towards his summoner, Santi attempts to put on a familiar mask.
The result is a far cry from the past.
" Minx. "
The incubus nods, his gaze blazing into you, unreadable.
Your mind wars between fear and irritation. The nerve of this motherfucker, to immediately address you the same way he did when you were but his mindless cur! When he did unspeakable things to you in the name of love. This anger is tempered by the shock of his rougher tenor, by the simple fact that you hadn't heard Santi's voice in so long- It feels too real, it feels like he can hurt you just with it.
Returning the favor, you call him by something that'll make him feel vulnerable.
" Noph'ae. "
A slight wrinkle.
Success.
His chest inflates. You think Santi's about to start shouting at you, but he just exhales afterwards. This happens a few times before you realize he's smelling something.
" It's been a while since I've been to the surface. The smells are so different, the lights, you take it for granted until it's stolen from you. "
He stole a lot of things from you that you took for granted too.
When Santi's tongue snakes out, it becomes clear he's now just trying to catch whiff of your recent arousal. Whatever trace of it still wanders.
Surprisingly, all the incubus does afterwards is just... Sit down, in the middle of the circle, continuing to look you up and down, as placid as can be.
You hadn't expect this, needless to say. You assumed there would be anger, indignation, a vicious desire to maul you or demands to let him free. Mockery even. Not this. Not nothing.
Your attempts to stare him down and coax some kind of response -Not that you even know what you want to hear from him. An apology? A justification?- Are fruitless. He just stares back, and speaks when he pleases.
" I see life has treated you harshly. Pity. "
" Shut- " The anger lodged in your throat like a knot makes you choke. " Shut the fuck up. "
He does, waiting. A few seconds pass before you can gather enough calm to say anything.
" I hate you. "
Santi blinks slowly, the words having no effect on him. God knows you've screamed them a hundred times and they never amounted to anything. Why would they now?
Still, the fact that he seemingly won't react to them drives you mad enough to pull at your own hair in a small tantrum.
He smiles faintly at the show.
" Would it please you to hear me say the same? " Santi interrupts the pain, making you all but glare venomously at him.
" It would make you happier if I said I hate you too, right? After you banished me. That I only exist to make you hurt. That I answered your call just so I could wait for a moment to kill you. " He sighs. " That's what you want. "
" But that's not the truth. "
When Santi's expression softens, and he spends several moments openly observing you in an almost nostalgic manner, a pit of dread forms in your stomach.
You start shaking your head. " No. No, don't you fucking dare- "
" I love you. "
A shriek bursts out of you. " You piece of shit! You don't know what love is, you know fuck all about love, all you know is how to break someone down to nothing! "
New tears follow tracks already left behind. " You can't even apologize to me. You're just soulless, aren't you? "
" If ever there was someone I loved, it was you. " He taps the floor with his clawtips as he speaks. " I only wanted us to be. You felt it too, but you kept fighting it. I would never willingly let you take away the best feeling I had ever felt. It was my paradise. "
" It was my Hell. "
He frowns.
" Don't lie to yourself. "
Before you can bark anything else at the demon, he continues.
" It was 'your Hell', but here you are, calling for me again. " Silence. " Doesn't add up. "
There's so much you want to say. So much you want to shout at him. Too many ways to contest his arrogance, his shamelessness, too many ways you'd like to torture him. The rage fueling you, generating those fantasies, dies when you realize it's all pointless.
Santi won't ever believe he's wrong. He won't ever say what he did to you wasn't justified. You could probably kill him, he'd still think he was right all along.
It rips the small, sick joy you could attain from picturing him groveling for all his mistakes. Talking to Santi about this is like debating a brick wall. It's time to move on.
He reads the defeat on your face plainly, wisely deciding not to poke further.
" What happened to your eye? "
Th incubus tilts his head. " Concerned for me, love? " Again, he hardly allows you to inhale. " I felt that we should match. "
Confusion and anger is a very bad mix. " Is that your idea of a joke?! "
" No I... " Santi has the decency to look away, if even for a second. " I wanted to punish myself. It was never my intent to blind you. "
You huff, then make a broad gesture over your face. " And the rest? "
He lets the question hang for a while, then shrugs. " I've changed. Didn't you? "
As much as you want to deny it, squish it like a bug, reality is that he's been miserable too. It shows. This should make you happy, but all you can feel is a mysterious frustration.
Only in the ensuing silence do you begin to hear the gentle pitter patters of raindrops on the windows. A soothing sound, hushing the turmoil in your racing mind for a fraction of a heavenly beat.
" Will you break the circle, love? " Santi eventually concedes, leaning the least bit forward.
The fact that he's the first to address the matter of his summoning is a small victory for you, one that doesn't please you that much, though you still eat it up. It must be hard for him, seeing you after so long, yet not being able to touch. Must be torture. Good.
There's an avenue of power you'll always have over Santi, a double-edged sword actually, but he's more affected by this than you are. As his match, you are the incubus' most favored meal, and just being in front of him in nothing but your panties is likely chipping at his composure in fast swings.
Not that you are faring that much better, your current arousal may be buried under the scent of your orgasm, but it will fade soon, there'll be nothing to mask the want then. Even if he's endured some changes, the demon before you is still the one that made you reach paltforms of pleasure previously unfathomable to you. Even when you didn't want it, even when... The mark...
How can you still want him, even after all this time?
" No. "
The answer comes easily.
" How am I to offer my services then? "
" You're not touching me! " Of course he will, who are you even lying to anymore?
Santi rolls his neck, tail thumping idly while confusion writes itself on his complexion.
Wordlessly, you reach for the waistband of your underwear, removing it slowly. The cloth is aimlessly twirled around your index, then thrown half-heartedly into the circle.
Predictably, pathetically, Santi swipes it before the thing can even make contact with the ground, bringing it to his face instantly. The sound he emits is like a sobbed groan, he rubs himself on it like a house cat, breathing it in, drooling on the fucking thing as he appears to damn near drug himself on the scent of your pussy.
It's satisfying.
It feels powerful, in a depraved and unhealthy way.
Which is why you never expected him to turn to you with a look that gushed utter vitriol.
" Break this circle. " He demands, finally using a voice befitting of his rank and infernal authority.
It's always a shock when Santi does this. The demon so deliberately maintains his tone to a seductive lulling purr, that when his patience chips just enough to let the real beast slip, it thunders through your composure.
" N- No! Be silent! "
Even to yourself, you sound like a frightened bleating animal.
" Pathetic! " The incubus laughs, straightening, leaning those great horns forward just to have you watch when he hooks your panties in the left one. Like a prize. " You summon me out of desperation, then play footsie and cocktease like a coward- "
" Desperation?! " Your own anger rises like burning bile. " Typical of a fucking demon to think so highly of yourself! "
Santi pauses to look at you quietly, wordlessly and petulantly asking you if you're sure that's your answer. A challenge.
" I don't need you for anything! "
" Are you hearing yourself, Minx? Why am I here, then? " A dark finger wags. " Better yet, why did you summon me and not another concubus, hm? "
Wracking your brain for answers that are anything but the truth takes time, time Santi won't offer you.
" I'll tell you why. Because you made a hotheaded decision and you've been living with the consequences of it for all this time. And you can't take it anymore. "
White knuckled fists begin to quake.
" So you banished a high-ranker, ooh la la, quite the feat! " Sardonic clapping rings across the room. " But you don't know how to get that out, do you? "
When Santi points at the mark previously hidden by your panties, goosebumps cover you from head to toe.
" You don't know how to make your mind forget me, much less your needy, luscious little body. " That pointed index moves from your pelvis to your chest. " I rocked you to the very core! The same way you took me by the neck, woman. "
All you can do is gulp, and all he can do is watch the motion of your throat.
" And it's not so easy, shattering our bond, love. We have a beautiful thing, that you've tried to ruin. I still don't know why... But what I do know, is that you've put us both through torture, isn't that right? Or do you think you were the only one miserable all this time? "
For some reason, no matter how angry you are and how much you want to say, the words won't leave your mouth.
" Was it fun? Tell me, did you have a good time? " He's already laughing. " Was it nice to never feel relief, to crave pleasure you could never achieve on your own again? This isn't like smoker's withdrawal, it doesn't go away. Did any body you ever sampled after mine offer even a tenth of what you had? "
It feels like your airway is tightening.
" No. Of course not. You never got it through your skull that neither of us had a choice in this. There are some things in life we don't get to choose, right Minx? We're each other's matches, and we have real chemistry together. That scares the living soul out of you, doesn't it? That you'll always want me. "
A choked cough makes it past your lips. He's as close to you as he can get from within the carved, advanced circle. No salt here, Santi would bulldoze through it immediately.
" As much as I love you, my sweetest delight, you are selfish. More than me. Because you never stopped to put yourself in my shoes. I am just as much of a slave to you as you are to me, there's no denying that. "
The next words he throws at you lash welts into the very fabric of your being.
" Even worlds apart, with all the wards and circles and magical aid, you will still be mine. And I will still be yours. "
Hearing him say what you had recently come to realize makes you deflate in a way you can't even describe. It's the final nail on the coffin you had no idea you were inside of. The last embers of a flame before wind blows it away. He's silent while the waves of defeat wash over your figure.
Several seconds later, Santi resumes with a somewhat calmer lilt.
" We'll never be free of each other, not without the type of pain that would make you rather die than keep breathing. That's what I've been trying to tell you from the very start... So, why don't we start over? "
You hadn't realized that you had begun glaring at the floorboards in the middle of his speech, only now cautiously rising your gaze to the agitated demon trying to gather his own calm.
" After you apologize to me, naturally. "
Finally, your mouth opens. " A- Apologize? "
Santi huffs. " Well yes, love. None of this would have transpired if you had just listened to me all those years back. I rather think I deserve this much, don't you? "
You hate him. You hate him so much. But, most of all, you hate that he's right.
Your fate had already been decided long before you could begin to make a choice. You won't get rid of him, because just like Santi says, even when he's away, your body will torture you to find him again. And it doesn't stop, because you don't have the means to make it stop. He said it perfectly, which might mean he's been mulling over this conversation as many times as you have mentally imagined it.
You're just so tired. Even if every ounce of rage in your heart demands that you send him back into the fire and tough it out, even if it kills you- Another part of you craves rest, comfort, calm. It wants the normalcy and modicum of well-being you'd sometimes feel before.
It wants this to end, at any cost.
Maybe you do have to learn to live with him.
Because it's not a choice for you. For your health or mental stability.
Maybe if things are done just right, you can mold him into a more tolerable person, you can teach him to be more than he once was. It's disgusting that you have to fix Santi, but it's the only way, isn't it? That's the only way to make it work and spare yourself unnecessary torment.
And, to fix him, you first need to make amends.
" I'm... " It's as if your tongue won't move to form the rest of the sentence. It has to be forced. " I'm sorry, Santi. "
Perhaps the only thing that makes it sound sincere is the fact that you're already emotionally exhausted.
The demon hums. " Very nice, that's a start. " You quirk a brow. " But for a proper apology, you should break this circle. "
A denial almost slips off your tongue without thinking, making the demon's gaze harden. Realistically, there's no escaping this. You're going to have to let him out one way or another, might as well have it be a gesture of cooperation. For a better future.
Sighing, you reach behind the slightly shifted couch, knocking three glowing crystals out of the specific order they were previously in. These same crystals were the ones you used to create a circle not even a high-ranker like Santi can break through- They were incredibly expensive, and acquiring them without raising his suspicion proved to be one of the most anxious episodes of your entire life.
Instantly, the glow that once contained Santi and limited the summoning rift's width fades away, leaving only hasty chicken scratch markings on the ground. He looks mildly bewildered that you actually followed through, but the expression wipes itself away quickly.
There's barely enough time for you to turn before Santi's all but prowling after you, a massive body colliding with yours while restless hands instantly dart everywhere.
He seems to want to do everything at once. In his desperate longing, the incubus crushes you against him, palms grabbing the globes of your ass then squishing the fat of your sides as he buries his face into your neck and snarls hard enough to make you quiver like a leaf in the wind. One second he's rubbing your legs luridly, the next he's rolling your tits and trying to lock his teeth around your neck. It's too much too fast, but exactly what your body had been craving for endless time. It wanted his attention, wanted his soothing- Your whines fall somewhere between frustrated and inconsolable, largely drowned out by his vaguely intimidating calls of delight.
Beastly in his want, Santi licks your jaw to a humid, tingling mess before forcibly crashing his lips unto yours, easily weaseling his tongue inside. Traces of your own arousal linger, but are otherwise negligible compared to the euphoria of his kiss. It's just as powerfully addictive as it was the very first time he selfishly stole the gesture.
And, if there's one good thing about Santi's irresistible nature, it's that his pheromones and fluids won't allow you to feel guilt for enjoying this. What a wonderful excuse, to let yourself sink into the experience bereft of all shame.
You can't hope to halt the noise of animal pleasure that rips itself out your throat, something he moans for, happily receiving and encouraging it. Santi's fevered hand eventually snakes downward and palms the faded mark still clinging to you, before reaching further and offering you just the briefest feathered brush against your clitoris. He soaks his digits in your generous wetness to make the motions even more fluid, the teasing very quickly has you shifting your hips in between heated kisses and breathless panting.
No matter how much you wordlessly beg him to indulge what you'd both been deprived of for far too long, Santi doesn't cave. In fact, he growls warningly whenever you try to buck, claws digging into your meat so you can't rock yourself on him.
" None will ever compare. " He finally parts, mouth as coated in your drool as yours is in his. There's a dreamy look in those tired eyes. " I wracked the Rings looking for someone that could satisfy me, and I went mad along the way Minx, but it was okay. "
A force on your shoulders takes you by surprise, the ensuing impact of bare knees on wooden tiles sobers you up gradually. Quiet clicks follow when Santi takes a few steps back.
" Because I knew you'd call for me again. "
What a nice way to say he knew you'd come crawling right back like a bitch in heat...
As you kneel there in disheveled confusion, Santi merely beckons you forward with a deceitfully warm smile.
It's obvious he wants you to crawl, but you still try to play dumb and raise a leg.
" Stand and I will be much meaner to that pretty face, love. "
A threat that instantly stills you.
" I'm not discouraging you, by all means, I miss those times where I could feel you try to breathe through your nose but you were so flush to me you couldn't... "
His words alone evoke a myriad of images, flashes of his teeth twisting into pleased grimaces and the oxygen-deprived skip of your heartbeat while spots danced around the edges of your sight. Memories that feel all too vivid now.
Crawling towards Santi is far from the most embarrassing thing you've done, so it's hardly worth antagonizing him about it.
The monster's own anticipation betrays him and he steps forward to close the last bit of distance between you, expression somewhere between manic and endlessly adoring when he whispers.
" Now, show me you're sorry. "
You know what to do to get the incubus revved up, not that he needs much assistance, seeing as he's practically bursting out his slit.
Keeping eye contact, a reverent kiss to that overheated sheath and a tongue flirting with the edge is all it takes for him to groan, holding your head to the side so you can watch his cock slide out, already throbbing from repressed arousal. Fortunately, nothing's changed on this end. He's still just as mouth-watering as you remember him from all those years ago.
Before you can wrap your lips around him, Santi grabs a soft hold of your hair.
" Tell me about the people you've bedded after me. "
You frown. " I only... Only had sex once. "
The demon tilts his head, mind seemingly shattered by that. " Once? "
After your nod, he nudges you slightly. You get the pleasure of seeing him inhale sharply at the first feel of your warmth around him, a shaky sigh following while he waits for you to worship him properly.
" You poor thing, was it truly that bad? "
There's no answer to be had aside from your slight gag when you attempt to take a little too much of him too soon. Santi pauses just to buck and make you gag again, the gross sound turning him on. He triggers the reflex until your face is flushed and there's strings of drool hitting the floor.
" Ssh sh, that's perfect, just the way I love it. " He murmurs praises when you pull away to cough hard.
" What did you do then, to make it bearable? " Santi appears to forge his own answer. " Did you spend your days fucking yourself to the thought of me? "
Instead of thinking about his words, you just focus on pleasuring the monster, bobbing on him effectively enough to disrupt his train of thought a few times. He makes a guttural sound when you audibly pop your lips and pulses madly.
" Hhn- Did you ever regret it then? In those moments where you were just so close but nothing would get you there... And you knew you banished the only one that could help. "
When you fail to pick up the pace accordingly, Santi rolls his own hips into your now stationary face, occasionally choking you deliberately, but also pausing to simply let himself rest on on your tongue. He intends to languish every moment of this.
" Because I thought of you when nothing and no one could make me cum. I thought of every sound you made and every inch of your stupidly gorgeous skin. " His tone intensifies with his speed, words chopped into tight breaths. " I hope. You crawled. The walls. "
Almost.
" I hope- You screamed. My name. "
You did.
" And I hope. " He pants. " In the end. You cried. "
You... did.
Santi's getting close, you already know all his tells, down to what muscles he twitches he's nearing an orgasm. Part of being his match is knowing his body well, though not as well as a demon of carnality can read yours.
Instead of wanting to sink as far into your throat as he can, Santi offers mercy to your creaking jaw when he merely has you suck him hard around the most sensitive spot, curling forward slightly in his mounting pleasure.
" That means you learned something from this. So you won't have to cry anymore. "
When his jaw becomes slack, the first rush of sizzling ecstasy hits your tongue, a taste imprinted deep into your brain, like sweet liquor enabling a spiral into total debauchery. You know, somewhere in what's left of your rational mind, that ingesting his fluids will only make you more restless- But this is exactly what you wanted.
You want that hit. The high. The relief. Is it really a spiral when it feels so good?
The incubus refuses to indulge your greedy wish, pulling you off his length so he can make a mess of your already less than composed visage. You hardly have the mind to care about the flashes of warmth as he paints you all pretty, simply smiling contentedly. Santi finds it endearing enough to coo.
" There, my lovely little Minx, aren't things better already? " His claws swipe gently over your cheeks and chin, entering your mouth with another offer of poisonous sweetness you can't decline. He lets you clean him at your own sluggish pace, spare hand pumping a slick but by no means spent cock to the sight.
The rest of it is rubbed across your lips like some preverse gloss.
" I love you so much. " He swoons. " Say it back to me. "
You barely heard his request, too busy hypnotized by his eyes. Even damaged, they're still the eyes of the most captivating creature to ever exist, for your cum-drunk brain.
" I... Mm... " You swallow, every inch of your throat feels sticky. There's something dripping down your neck.
He leans down to mouth the words for guidance, but all you do is try to reach his lips for another kiss, causing the incubus to laugh and shake his head.
" Come one, darling. Three words, I want to hear them from my one and only. "
Although his tone is so sickly sweet it borders on sardonic, you're able to focus enough to at least heed the request.
" ... I love you. "
" I love you, Santi. " He corrects quietly, yet sternly.
" I- " The lustful fog only ever allows you seconds to think clearly. " I love you, Santi? " "
He makes a face that reads something among the lines of 'good enough', grinning in an all too familiar way.
" Then hold on. "
It's a while before you realize he's not telling you to wait. Santi has curved his head just enough that you have access to his horns, and though you give him a slightly puzzled look, all he does is chuff impatiently. Your panties still hang off his horn, you imagine he'd like to keep them on for as long as he can get away with it.
As soon as you have decent purchase on those thick handles, large hands swipe you up by the ass, making you clap onto his thighs. Santi bounces you a bit more until he can stand a little straighter, with you effectively anchored onto him by the horns. Instinct has you quickly crossing your legs around his midsection. He's holding you up as if you weigh less than feathers.
The demon rumbles from the depths of his chest, a feral and drooling Cheshire beam.
" First order of business, my love, is fixing the gift I so kindly offered. "
He uses one hand to smooth over the residual mark and tuts, the distaste written all over his face. Said hand helps him adjust and, in what felt like a blink, he's hilted inside you.
Both of you quiver and call out in tandem.
Your own orgasm is triggered immediately, the cry of an addict reaching delirious heights, your vision darkens for the briefest second as you can only groan senselessly and milk Santi with a grip that might have made him burst if he hadn't only moments ago. Instead, he merely huffs and rasps curses in a tongue you don't grasp.
He drags you off his length deliciously, every ridge bumping its way out, then shoves you back down with intentional force, cockhead kissing spots that have you nearly dizzy. Each disorienting thrust has you struggling to get enough air in your lungs, toes curling hard enough to tease a cramp while your arms fight to keep holding on and your legs don't know where to shift- Not that Santi allows you to squirm much.
" Lords- " He has to loll his tongue out for a second, teeth glistening and chest heaving. " I could die buried in you. Did you miss this, Minx? "
As if you had the wits to answer him right now, grinding your teeth from overstimulation. He laughs when your body freezes every now and then, unable to accompany so much mounted pleasure.
" Save your voice, and save your tears, because when I fuck you full of cum, you're going to feel every inch of that mark blaze to life again. "
And he's right, the sparks are already burning you...
I had this idea ages ago of a mid-Yorknew arc fic and finally managed to finish it :D hope you all like some of my home-made Uvogin content.
WARNINGS: Yandere! Uvogin, fem! reader, excessive violence, murder, description of wounds, needles mentioned, non-con, home invasion, 9.8k words
There was someone in the distance.
He'd noticed the footsteps a few seconds ago, the pitter patter turning more hurried once the person in question noticed him on the floor. There was not a lot of other noise around, his own labored breathing the loudest thing by far, even if only for himself. Every inhale felt like a gunshot went off by his head, every exhale muddled by the blood bubbling in his mouth.
It was probably a mafia goon, if he had to guess, or the chain user had realized his mistake in leaving so quickly and had come back to finish him off. Neither option was great, but Uvo found it beat waiting to die in the desert heat. He would never beg, but the mercy would be slightly appreciated nonetheless. It wasn’t anything he’d ever bothered with, so he couldn’t outright expect it.
As the footsteps drew near, Uvo remarked on something. The sound didn’t match those of heavy set boots pressing down on sand as he would've expected some random goon to sound like, nor the lithe steps the chain user had. It sounded hurried and oddly soft. An unknown third option, but the chain users insistence on doing this in the dessert made the odds of it being someone else rather slight.
And then a young woman bent over him, her mouth agape and her eyes wide and horrified, one of her hands covering her eyes for the sand blowing across her face. Like this, Uvogin could only focus on the earrings dangling through her hair, the bright sunflower themed jewelry noticeable enough to draw his attention and keep it. The metal flower reflected the light right into his eyes.
As she noticed he was still alive, her panicked expression turned to one of immense relief.
It wasn't a sight he'd anticipated to see before bleeding out: a face overcome with affection for a stranger, smiling as bright as the sun as her entire countenance bathed in the relief of his survival.
"You're alive!" She mumbled to herself. “What a relief.”
Uvogin tried to scoff, but found himself only gargling up a clot of blood.
The happiness that had formed on his finders’ face didn’t last long, quickly turning to all out disgust and shock as she looked at the blood dripping down his chin, the bruises trailing from his neck to the tips of his toes, the large gash in his chest. Quickly, her hands started looking for her phone, patting down her pants before coming to the realization that she didn’t have it with her.
Slightly entertained on his deathbed, Uvogin just watched her sprint back from where she came from, the loud slap of a door indicating there was a vehicle just out of his sight. He’d clearly missed the sound of the engine, which really spoke on what kind of fucked up state he was in currently.
Dying was kind of boring, if one could stand the pain, and Uvogin could stand quite a bit more than this. It was just unlucky most of his organs had gotten punctured, his heart receiving the worst of it, being squeezed so harshly by the chain that had been wrapped around it. He was pretty proud of his body's capabilities, but taking a hit like that right in his heart while he was forced into a state of zetsu and still living to breathe afterward was a miracle.
It had been agonizing, and for a second Uvo had believed himself to be dead, but a few minutes later he’d woken up, in the worst state he’d ever been in, sure, but not dead. He wouldn’t consider himself lucky, though. A quick death would’ve been marginally easier to stomach than this full-body discomfort, and he had little faith in the woman being of any use.
Still, he could allow himself a little pipe dream. What did it matter anyway? If he survived, the chain bastard would die, and there’d be no dead spiders on this mission. He’d always been optimistic, and this sounded pretty good to him. Might as well try to survive now there was a small chance of it working out.
And so he summoned the few drops of nen that had returned after the forced Zetsu had ended, and tried to minimize the bleeding. Like this, it’d probably take an hour longer to die, if he had the endurance to keep up his nen to the end. Probably not, so he’d aim for a good forty-five minutes.
By the time the woman returned, she was already on the phone, animatedly calling an emergency service. Internally, Uvo groaned. That didn’t make his chances higher. Any Yorknew hospital would rat him out or overdose him in order to collect the money on his bounty. The odds that she was contacting a doctor without any affiliation to legal networks was nihil.
Pity.
If he could get her to spot his own phone and call Machi, that would be ideal, but with the way her eyes seemed to look everywhere but at Uvo’s thumb trying to point at his pocket, that wouldn’t work.
Whatever the emergency services were saying, it wasn’t to her liking, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as the responder reacted to her description of his state. If he believed her assessment, he was ‘bleeding from every orifice’ and ‘near-death’. She repeated his state of being again, voice louder and every word articulated expressly.
It didn’t seem to do the trick.
"You- goddamnit! He can go on my health insurance can't he? Just come here and-" Still, this was pretty funny, seeing her nearly scream into the receiver for his sake. "Written consen- He's puking up blood, miss, I don't think paperwork is possible right- Well if the ambulance can't come in the desert anyway, why'd you waste my fucking time with the insurance issue. Good day."
Cursing loudly, she harshly pocketed her phone, huffing out in frustration.
“This city is a goddamn joke,” She mumbled to herself. “Written consent for receiving life saving care, how stupid can you be? Who’d say no to being helped?”
People who couldn’t afford it, Uvo thought.
The second she turned back to him, her face changed from unbearably angry to just worried. She sat down next to him on her knees and Uvo was pretty sure that he could still kill her in this condition. He’d just need to force his arm to move one last time and hit her face, breaking her neck in one fell swoop.
She sniffled, and with a side-eye, Uvogin noticed she was crying a little bit, when she noticed how he was still watching her, she tried to seem a little more hopeful.
“Hey, uhm, you’ll be okay!” She lied, maybe more to herself than to Uvo. “It’ll be fine, I’ll find a way.”
Having never been the type to be able to deal with crying women, Uvo immediately looked another way, foregoing his plans to eviscerate just one last person. What difference did it make? Death would just come faster, and the small chance of her saving his life would be ruined.
"I called an ambulance, but they don't drive as far as this, so I'll have to bring you by car to the hospital." She blinked furiously while she bent over him, the sand probably irritating her eyes, which teared up even faster. "Can you stand?"
A blob of blood ran down his chin, and if he could've, he would've laughed.
She frowned and another big tear ran down her cheek, making Uvogin try to focus on the few stars in the sky, hoping it’d stop the discomfort and slight embarrassment of having a woman cry for him on his deathbed. "No, of course not." Despite his insistence not to look at her anymore, he immediately watched her again as she looked over her shoulder. "I- uhm... There's a crane on my car. I could perhaps... lift you up? That'd work? I think?"
Why’d her car have a crane? That seemed like a pretty unorthodox object to have in Yorknew. Despite the new idea, Uvo still preferred the ending in which she called Machi, so after taking a few deep breaths, he moved his arm and patted his shorts, his muscles screaming in agony as he forced them to move.
Hopefully having grabbed her attention this time, his thumb once again pressed against his left pocket, and to some miracle, she had followed his movements this time and noticed. Humming in understanding, she slowly moved toward his pocket. Digging around, she eventually found it and fished out his telephone, making a noise of victory as she did so.
“Okay, okay.” Quickly she turned on his cellphone, realizing that there was a lock on it, luckily he didn’t have to spell this one out for her, her hand very quickly grabbing his thumb to unlock it through his finger print. The only reason he allowed such a stupid feature on his phone, something that could be used against him by any passer-by with access to his finger prints, was that pressing the small numbers with his thumbs frustrated the hell out of him.
After his phone had been locked for 12 hours after too many failed attempts, he’d just relented and accepted he might cause a massive leak of information one day.
“Ma--hi” He forced out, his entire throat feeling ruptured as he spoke.
“Mahi?” She looked through his contacts, and Uvogin hoped she wouldn’t be smart enough to check the gallery of photos, memory serving him well and stating that there was enough incriminating evidence and gore in there to traumatize a normal person for life, or at least enough to make someone leave him here to die. There were also a few dick pics, though he couldn’t quite remember why he’d taken them. Probably in a drunken mood. “Okay, I see them. It’s probably Machi. I’ll call, you just try to relax. Don’t fall asleep, though. I’ve heard that’s bad”
Pfft.
She held the phone against her head, smiling comfortingly at him as she heard the tone repeat itself, her hand placed on his arm and thumb drawing lazy circles. This was good. Even if he died now, his corpse could hold some clues for the boss to figure out. Chrollo could probably deduct the chain bastard's entire ability from his injuries. It wouldn’t be wasted.
She looked up at the evening sky, sniffling once to try and get rid of some snot that had collected on her upper lip during her crying. The tone stopped and clicked.
“Hello?”
“...Hello? Who is this? How did you get this phone?”
Uvo’s left eardrum had burst, but his right was still working fine, so he could hear the conversation clearly. The sound of Machi’s voice was pretty welcome, and he closed his eyes for a moment, deliberating what was happening.
To be honest, he kinda hated this.
If he’d died by the chain user’s hands, his death would’ve been a blast. His heart crushed by some loser with a thing for revenge? That was fine. Bleeding out next to a crying woman wearing sunflower earrings and a puffy summer dress was a little less cool in comparison. It wasn’t like Uvo had wanted to die in a blaze of glory, but this seemed anti-climactic at best.
Maybe this was the motivation he needed to survive. This was too boring a way to die. He could do better than this.
To his own surprise, he felt a little more nen join the battle to keep his blood from soaking the cold sand. The heat left this place so quickly, he thought, the heat on his skin when he was disposing of the mafia’s little army just a faint memory now.
“I was asked to call you.” Breezing over the questions Machi had asked her, she probably realized she couldn’t really explain it succinctly anyway. “I found the owner of this phone in the desert, badly injured. I’ve already called an ambulance, but they won’t drive out here, so I don’t really know what to do.”
“Stay calm.” Machi immediately commanded, probably already realizing the lucky break Uvogin had gotten. “Does the injured man have brown hair and black skin?” A different voice mentioned something, and Uvo vaguely recognized the cadence of Phinks telling Machi to ask if he was big as fuck. Even luckier. She was at the hideout, meaning no time would be lost in more phone calls. “Ah, yes, and is he about eight feet tall?”
As if the woman needed to check if that was right, her eyes flew over him again, before nodding.
“Yes.”
“How badly injured is he?”
“...I worry he might die any minute now.” Did he look that bad? Apparently so. “His entire stomach has caved in, his arms are broken, there’s bone sticking out of his shoulder and there’s an actual hole in his chest.”
It was silent on the other side for a while.
“He’s also spitting up a lot of blood.” She added, as if the description she’d given hadn’t been enough to warrant worry. “And covered in bruises.”
“...And you’re sure he isn’t dead?”
Uvo and the woman made eye contact.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Okay. first describe where exactly you are.” Machi instructed, always the professional. “I’ll come as quickly as possible. As soon as I know where you two are, I’ll instruct you on how to keep him alive.”
In the back, Uvo could hear Franklin mumble a ‘Fuckin’ idiot.’
“Right, okay.” The woman looked around, looking for any landmarks she could identify the area with, before realizing an easier option. “Wait. This telephone can’t send through locations, but mine can. Gimme a moment.”
Relief that his body would be found was immense, and he nearly lost control of the nen keeping his blood inside his body. He closed his eyes to focus, trying his hardest not to fall asleep. He heard the woman give some noises of affirmation to Machi, returning to the car, before coming back with some blankets, covering his body and retaining some warmth.
Time passed, the woman softly speaking to him, which helped in keeping awake, though he couldn’t really understand a word of what she was saying, if she was saying anything at all. Perhaps she was just nervously brabbling.
He wasn’t sure exactly how lucid he was anymore, but it felt like mere seconds had passed before he felt a familiar nen next to him. He didn’t open his eyes, but did feel needle and thread fashion quick fixes to some wounds he’d gathered, the pain still immense but the bleeding halted somewhat. Machi’s stitches wouldn’t fix everything, but it’d give him some more time.
She’d make him pay for this, he thought with some humor, though he had no idea where he’d get the money. The last time she’d re-attached his leg, he’d needed to rob three different banks just to get enough cash (banks didn’t carry what they used to), and even then she’d grumbled about having to receive it in plain bank notes.
Last time he’d brought Nobunaga with him to rob the banks, which was always a bad idea- they tended to get distracted quick when working together outside of troupe business- so it’d been a complete dud, meaning he’d need to do the next personal heist completely solo if he wanted to get Machi off his back quickly. They’d been on some far-off island and Uvogin had needed to fight off more security than he’d anticipated while Nobu spent all that time flirting with a front-office employee of the bank.
Large hands lifted him from the ground, and the second he was moved, consciousness nearly faded completely, a dizzy feeling numbing every thought popping up. With just a little bit of his mind still there, he could hear the woman state her goodbyes.
If that had been the last he’d see of her, her face would’ve left his memory without question. Within a week she’d only be a vague memory, a funny story to reflect on when he was on death’s door again. when the mere happenstance of bleeding out on the floor was a nostalgic event.
For now, though, he was alive, and he trusted the troupe well enough to know they’d make sure he’d last through the next few hours. He’d damn well make sure he’d do so, it wasn’t his style to leave people hanging after making a fuss. There were underground nen-healers everywhere, and certainly a city as scummy as Yorknew would have a few healers the troupe could get to save him. He’d have to suffer through several lectures, probably from Shalnark, about never going off on his own again, but it’d be fine.
He’d be back in business before long.
“Should we bring the girl?” Franklin questioned, wiping down his hands on the sand after he’d carried Uvogin inside the car, the amount of blood soaking down his arms ruining his shirt completely. “Could be worthwhile to figure out what went down.”
“...I don’t think she’s affiliated with the mafia, and Pakunoda will be able to check Uvogin for the chain user's identity.” Machi said, plunging her needles back into her pin cushion, walking toward the car immediately after. Looking over her shoulder, she followed the woman as she got into her car, preparing to go home. “She had a pretty good alibi.”
“I swear to god one of these days your hunch is going to be wrong.”
Following their lead, the woman that found Uvo also stepped into her car, readying several things and checking her mirrors before starting it. The hum of the engine interrupted the otherwise silent desert night,
“I guess.” The woman drove off, sending both Machi and Franklin a small wave, a sea of sand thrown into the air by the propulsion of the vehicle. The headlights cut through the darkness, briefly illuminating the figures left behind. Machi shrugged as she stepped into their own car, brushing some sand off the seat before sitting down. “I’ve written down her name and address, so we’ll see.”
The second time Uvogin saw the woman, he was in full get-up, his hair tied back and clunky shades covering his eyes. He didn't like evening wear, hated the way even the slightest flex would make the buttons pop off like bullets, though it made for a pretty nice party trick at the end of the night. Always managed to make Shizuku laugh and Nobunaga cringe, the perfect combination. It was while scouting the surroundings and waiting for the signal to go inside and ambush the Nostrade company that he suddenly spotted her.
“That’s her,” he mumbled, slapping Shalnark's shoulder to point at the new arrival. “The chick from the desert.”
“What? The guardian angel? What’s she doing here?” Shalnark said, scanning the crowd with a skeptical look.
“I have no idea.”
“If this is an elaborate set-up, this has to be the most clumsy execution ever,” Shalnark mused. “If the idea was to gain your trust by saving you, why would she show up here of all places?”
“Machi said her alibi checked out,” Uvogin replied, feeling that was enough to prove her innocence.
“Do you know what it was?”
“No.”
“Could she possibly be a manipulator?”
“No way,” Uvogin dismissed the idea. “Or she’d have to be top level at hiding her nen, but that’s quite unlikely. I’ll trust Machi.”
“Hmm. Sure, but should we just ignore her now?” Shalnark glanced at Uvogin.
“Nah. I’ll talk to her. See what’s up.” Uvogin squared his shoulders, the fabric of his suit straining with the motion, and began to make his way through the crowd toward her,
“Going off on your own again?” Shalnark said, a slightly judgemental tone lacing his words.. Uvo waved his hands dismissively. “I see nearly dying hasn’t changed you a bit.”
“You’re here aren’t you?” Uvogin grumbled, already over the mothering he’d received by some of the troupe members. The troupe never got too chummy, for obvious reasons, but they’d all already believed him to be dead, making his return a bit more dramatic. The only one who backed off easily had been Franklin, both because he wasn’t the most emotional of the troupe and because Uvo had seen him pocket some cutesy cat collectible from the treasure stash. They’d made eye contact and quickly Franklin had started minding his own business, because even if everyone knew he’d picked that up for someone else, Phinks wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it. It’d been a lucky break, since Uvogin wouldn’t have been able to handle even a shred more of that fucking sympathy. Even Feitan had peeked around the corner when he’d been sleeping to check on him. Feitan. It kind of hurt his pride. “Just because I lost once-”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” It seemed even Shalnark had grown tired of this conversation, even though they both knew it’d come up a few more times, probably today.
“Hey.”
She looked up from her phone, which Uvogin could see was leading her to a nearby address. When she noticed him, she first frowned with complete confusion before lighting up, immediately recognizing him despite his new clothes. Well, he guessed she didn’t meet a lot of people that looked like him. Quickly putting her phone away, she left herself completely open as he approached.
A quick chop against the neck, a squeeze to her face, a flick of his wrist. If she did anything suspicious, he’d take her out and hide her body in the bushes nearby for now. Luckily, she’d been far away enough from the entrance to avoid the cameras.
“Oh. Oh! You’re okay!” In his entire life, Uvo wondered if he’d ever seen anyone as seemingly elated to see him alive. Even Nobunaga had only punched his shoulder this time, warning him to stop kidding around. The woman that had saved him, however, already seemed close to tears a second time. “I’m so happy! I was really worried you wouldn’t have made it through the night. You were in pretty bad shape.”
“Yeah, well.” He didn’t really know what to say to that. “I had a good doctor.”
“I’m very glad.” “What are you doing here? Isn’t it a bit soon to be out of bed?”
The nen-healer that had been found had been a bitch to arrange. Uvo always marveled over the stupid ways some would fashion their abilities, and this one was no exception. In order for him to have been healed, the healer needed to knit a mini-version of him and set the doll aflame when it was done. Phinks had even grumbled that the healer hadn’t even been good at the craft. Why make an ability like that? “Nah, I’m fine. What are you doing here?”
Ignoring the fact he’d just not answered her question before rebutting, the woman just smiled. “Work. It’s a family business, so I work odd hours.”
Work? Here? Family business? Was she mafia after all? No, that didn’t make any sense. Machi said she’d had a good alibi. It wouldn’t make any sense for her to so openly admit to being part of a criminal organization. It wasn’t like he went out into the world screaming his membership of the Phantom Troupe, though the tattoo made it pretty obvious some times.
“You keep busy then.” He said to buy himself some time to think. Even if she was mafia, she would probably not admit to it easily. That wouldn’t be a problem, since the majorly important line of question was something else entirely, like why she was here. “Can I ask you how you found me two days ago?”
“Huh? Oh yeah, that was also work. I went looking for an air balloon.”
"Air balloon?" Uvo remembered the trip from the auction house to the desert well, the telephone conversation with the boss fresh on his mind. "Why were you looking for something like that?"
“Yesterday, one went past the lease and I went to pick it up. That’s how I found you!” She immediately admitted, telling the truth for as far Uvo could tell, and he was a pretty good judge. “It's my uncle's business, I just do some admin work and pick up the balloons when the time runs out and it hasn't been returned."
"You're kidding." For a second, Uvogin was overcome with an incredulous feeling. He’d been saved because the boss had been too cheap to actually buy an air balloon? If this was the truth, that would be outright hilarious. "How did you even know something like that was there?"
"There's a little tracker in the basket." She seemed to look at his shoulder a lot, probably since a bone had been sticking out just two days ago. If she was skeptical of his quick recovery, at least she didn’t say anything about it yet. "A lot of people try to steal them... "
Well. That was what happened.
He was lucky she didn’t drive much farther, since she’d have seen the massive piles of dead mafia goons rotting in the sun. Probably would’ve made her a bit more suspicious to the random stranger she was helping. “Did you end up finding it?”
“Nah, I only knew the general location since the tracking chip broke somewhere along the way, and I gave up after I found you.” Shifting her weight back and forth between her left leg and right, she smiled again. “The order was made by someone living around here, but it seems a bit busy right now, so I might just come back tomorrow.”
That was indeed a good alibi, he decided, though second guessing Machi was always a bad gamble.
The knowledge that she was innocent at least solved one riddle, though there was still the question of what to do with her. She knew, at least vaguely, who he was, and it would be bad if she started blathering to other people what had happened. She probably didn’t even know his name, but she’d gone through his phone, so she might remember plenty of others. Killing her and hiding the body now would also not be ideal, since that’d just increase the risk of a corpse being found before the auction. The ‘killing of most of the security’ had already put the remaining mafia on high alert, but they didn’t need to know that the troupe was already inside right now waiting for the chain-user asshole..
So getting her out of here would be best, at least for now.
“You know this place is off-limits right now?”
“Huh? They just let me in, though?” She tilted her head, genuinely perplexed.
He could see it happening, guards just letting her slip past out of a certainty she wasn’t a threat. Everyone was on the lookout for the Phantom Troupe, and somehow she’d managed to dress even more harmless today. Who even wore cardigans anymore? Her pastel-colored cardigan and simple jeans made her look like she belonged at a library, not in the middle of a high-stakes auction swarming with dangerous individuals.
“The auction is about to take place,” Uvogin stated.
“Oooh.” She placed her hands on her sides and looked around, at the cars blazing past and the overwhelming amount of people dressed in suits and evening gowns. “That explains the fuss.”
Any Yorknew citizen would know this place wasn’t exactly safe, so she’d probably get out of here by now, having been told what was going on, but Uvogin didn’t find her casual browsing of the people very convincing of that fact. Immediately, he decided that this was the perfect opportunity to pay the favor back.
He could be nice.
“I owe you, so let me just say this:” He bent over a bit, looming over the smaller woman, who looked up at him with wide eyes, confused at his sudden proximity but ultimately unalarmed. He could see the reflection of the auction building's lights in her eyes, the confusion and curiosity mingling there. “This place will get pretty dangerous soon, so I’d get out of here if I were you.”
She blinked, absorbing his words. “Dangerous how?”
“Let’s just say things could get messy. You don’t want to be caught up in it.”
Deciding to up the ante a bit, since this woman clearly was still completely clueless to the warning he’d given her, his hand snapped forward to her shoulder to keep her in place. That seemed to startle her.
He could’ve killed her back in the desert, could kill her now or let her die at the hands of the chaos that would soon unfold. She didn’t see her place in the world, nor did she see his.
“What’s your name?”
She told him, although she seemed a tad uncomfortable doing so.
He repeated her name. “You can leave and live another day, or you stay and I make sure your death is painless. I’ve got some friends who’d take it slow with a dumb bitch like you, so trust me when I say it’d be a mercy.”
Finally, There it was, that glimmer of fear in her eyes, the balling of her fists, the unblinking, trembling eyes meeting his. Suddenly, Uvogin thought of the hypothetical situation of her asking people around here for help after his threat. That’d be bad, if they thought to question her. Internally, he sighed. It would’ve been easier to kill her after all.
Well, he could always bluff his way out. Doubling down on his threat, he grinned wildly and squeezed her shoulder a little bit tighter, before letting go and nudging her back to the exit. “And I wouldn’t recommend asking anyone round here for help. They’re on pretty high alert, so an intruder like you would probably be either killed or captured immediately. Just go back the way you came, and you might even make it home in one piece.”
Her eyes watered, and for a second Uvo thought she’d cry again, but instead she stepped back and with a slightly nervous readjusting of her purse, she just nodded and turned to leave, squeaking out a very nervous “Bye.”
Uvo fixed his posture and waved, smiling ear-to-ear. “Bye.”
As she flinched in response, Uvogin could only huff out a laugh, immediately turning back to the hotel where the auction would be held. Hopefully that’d be that. If all went well, tonight would be fun, he could just feel it. He’d get his goddamn revenge on the chain bastard, and he’d get to kill even more of those mafia nobodies.
What an evening.
The third time he saw her, it’d been a lot less coincidental.
The heist was over, the mafia defeated, and the chain bastard, or Kurapika as he turned out to be called, had been murdered, the few aces up his sleeve useless as the troupe had figured out his weakness. They’d just used a few decoys, nen-using scum that posed as Phantom Troupe members, tricking him to use his powers on them. The idiot had fallen for the bait, not having realized Uvo had survived, and cleaning up the rest had been easy.
After the mission, a lot of spiders lingered, not having anything time-pressing to do anyway. Phinks and Feitan had left to play a game they’d found, and after a short while a few other members had joined. Uvo had no interest in it, though he was close to bored enough to do it regardless. Lounging around the hide-out for days on end had never been his strong suit.
The facilities in the hide-out were the worst of all, and following the example of Pakunoda and Shalnark, Uvogin tended to go out to a nearby hotel or apartment building to clean up and get some fresh air.
He’d been showering and had, without much lust already on his mind, just decided to jerk off. It was hard finding some private time in those hide-outs, most members' ears' good enough to tell anything that was happening within the building. Hard to cum in peace when Feitan would open the door halfway and throw his sword through the room out of annoyance. Uvogin was a lot of things, but not exactly quiet.
And then a face popped up into his head.
He’d promptly quit fucking his fist, looking at the tiled wall with furrowed brows, before letting his face split into an amused grin, his hand quickly resuming the previous tempo. She’d helped him quite a bit, huh? Finding him, crying for him while getting help, doing whatever she was capable of to save his life. In turn, he’d made sure she left the auction building, saving her life, as he’d rarely done before.
He didn’t owe her anything anymore.
Nothing stopping him from doing whatever he wanted.
He could find her, scare her a little, see that clueless face twist into confused expressions as he pushed her buttons, lift her up the wall and feel her heartbeat quicken. If anything, it was the right call, since she had witnessed something that wasn’t meant to be seen by her. She knew some members’ names, and had even spotted him at the auction site. It was a security risk, if anything, to just let her be.
Worst of all, she’d looked at him while he’d been dying like he was weak. The fact that he’d even needed her help filled him with frustration.
How dare she have looked at him like that.
The look she’d given him at the auction had, in comparison, been much better. That furrow of her brow, those bright eyes screaming of betrayal and confusion, the slight parting of those soft lips that were just begging to be kissed and bruised.
A spurt of pre-cum shot from his dick, dripping down the floor and into the drain, his arm against the wall to support himself as he bent over and continued to jerk off aggressively.
It was something to do, at the very least.
When he got out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he immediately called Machi. When he asked for the name and address of his new prey, his fellow spider had suspiciously asked what he needed it for, before dropping her line of questioning immediately, probably dreading the answer. Uvo just chuckled at the speed with which she’d sniffed out his intention. it seemed her instincts worked even over something as menial as this.
Didn’t matter, she’d given him the address.
A cat greeted him when he broke into her house.
Just like its owner, it was quick to trust and overly affectionate, following him as he walked through her study, headbutting his shin when he stopped in front of a wall of polaroids. Depicted in the photographs was an insight into her life: the people she considered important enough to hang on a wall, sights that had made an impression. A few shots were clearly made from the sky, once again making him reflect on the fact that he was alive due to a fluke.
A single shot caught his attention the most, a selfie of her laughing brightly. She was wearing some sort of face paint, some flowers by each eye, either done by herself or someone else for an occasion. It was a cheerful shot, bright light and a background of green indicating it had been nice weather. The smiling face on the polaroid screamed of innocence, and Uvogin truly felt like the villain he played when all it made him feel was an urge to ruin it.
The cat meowed to gain his attention, before suddenly moving away into a different room, a response to the noise of the front door opening.
Uvogin closed his eyes and smiled.
What timing.
He walked to the door of the study, and opened it without attempting to be quiet. No need for such precautions. He was here because she’d caught his eye and he needed to fuck her, and he was not one to hide his intentions.
Despite his assumption at being seen immediately from downstairs, this was not the case. She was not paying attention, despite him standing right atop her stairs. She placed down her coat, put some bags of groceries on the ground and hummed to herself while she ascended the stairs. When she came close enough to spot him (he’d again made no move to hide himself), she startled greatly with a cry, nearly falling backward but gripping the railing just in time.
“Huh? Wait, you? What are you doing here?” She grabbed the railing of the stairs tightly, clearly spooked by her near fall. She looked back over her shoulder, giving him way too many openings. “How- how did you get in?”
“Busted through the window in the study.” He admitted honestly, appreciatively looking her over. It seemed she did have other outfits outside the persona she had shown him, the short skirt she was wearing right now much more to his tastes. “Not gonna apologize for it, so don’t bring it up.”
“The study? How- I mean, I- uhm,” She seemed at a loss as to what to say, probably never having dealt with home invasion before. “What are you doing here?”
"Needed a place to stay for a bit, and since you were so hospitable before, I was sure you’d find a place in your heart to let me stay for a while." Uvo’s voice echoed through the dimly lit hallway, his rough demeanor at odds with the cozy ambiance of the house. At her blank expression, he barked out a laugh that seemed to bounce off the walls. "Or do you have something to say to that?"
Her eyes widened, and for a second, he saw that same worry sparkling in her eyes that he'd noticed the last time they met. “Is someone—someone chasing you? Like… you’re in danger and you came here to hide?”
His shoulders dropped a tad as he rubbed his eyelids, trying to stave off the impatience gnawing at him. “Dear god, woman. Did the auction not clue you in? I’m the bad guy. You’re the one in danger here, not me.”
“I’m in…danger?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.
“Well, yeah, statistically.” Uvo lowered his hand and looked at her properly, wondering how such a naive person had survived this world for so long. Yorknew wasn’t even that good of a place to live, if the sheer volume of mafia goons he’d had to kill was any indication, and she’d still managed to keep this innocence for so long. The space around them was filled with little trinkets and family photos, showcasing the life she’d led up until this point. Whoever she surrounded herself with, they had clearly coddled her from the very start. “Strange man breaks into your house while you’re a woman living alone? It’s not looking good for you. Or do you come from a place where it is normal for guys to break through windows?”
“I just thought—I’d prefer it if you—” She didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to. Her gaze turned oddly calculating, a glimmer of resolve hardening her features. “But I’m assuming this is not something I have a choice in?”
“Not really.” He shrugged and took a step back to lean against the wall, the tension between them thickening the air. “You can either be okay with me being here, or dead, whichever you prefer.”
She nodded slowly, her movements measured, before closing the distance a bit further, getting her to the top of the stairs. “Then I am okay with it... I think.” Her voice wavered, betraying her fear.
He stepped forward, pleased she’d come closer instead of doing something as stupid as running. Not that this choice would do her much good, but at least it was easier for him. For a second he wondered if there was something upstairs she was trying to reach, and vaguely remembered the landline he’d seen in the study. Ah. Well, not that she’d get that far.“Good choice.”
“I can just get my laptop if that’s what you’re—” she began.
He didn’t want to deign that comment with an answer and leaned forward to kiss her, a twisted smirk playing on his lips.
She leaned back, avoiding his approaching face, and lost her balance. He didn’t reach out to grab her as she fell back, instead watching as she rolled down the staircase with a cry, the sound echoing through the house. Moving away from him when he’d tried to kiss her was to be expected, but it still pissed him off a little.
Perhaps he was being unfair, but the sight of her crumpled at the bottom of the stairs stirred something within him—irritation, perhaps, or maybe just a flicker of disappointment that she hadn't simply submitted.
“Wow, way to hurt a man’s feelings.” He said, knowing he’d have her make up for it later.
“Ow...” She just bemoaned instead, the stairs having been steep enough to probably fracture something at the very least. “That hurts.”
“Sorry, but I’m not as kind as you.” He said, slowly descending as he watched her heave at the bottom of the stairs. When he reached her, she’d regained the ability to try and push herself up, but a light tap to her elbow made sure she instead immediately fell prone again. “If you get injured, I’m not calling anyone.”
The parallel was cathartic, he thought as he loomed over her, a mix of panic and pain swirling around her eyes. If he’d even looked half as pathetic, he’d have wanted her to wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze the last bit of life out of him instead of calling Machi. Though, he had to admit, he probably didn’t play her role all that well either, especially after he squatted next to her and pinched the leg he’d seen her fall on, just to hear her cry out once more.
Whether it was an attempt to restore some of his pride or because he got off on it, he didn’t know for sure, but it was probably a mix of both.
This was better, he reckoned as she looked up at him pleadingly, way better.
“So, here’s the deal.” He said, intrigued as he watched her try and squirm away from him. “You saved my life, I saved yours, so we’re perfectly even right now. That said, ever since you appeared, something’s been bothering me.”
She didn’t respond, which was a good call in his book.
“You see, you were acting awfully familiar back when I was incapacitated.” He grabbed her by her face and lifted her up until they saw eye-to-eye, the woman convulsing in panic as he made his move. She clawed at his arm and whimpered pathetically. “Do you act that way with every man you come across?”
He let his eyes once again trail down to her skirt, which had hiked up to show the underside of her ass. “Must be, if you’re dressing like that.”
Uvogin knew he was being a little childish, but the indignation shining through her expression made it all worth it. Fear, anger, it didn’t matter. As long as she didn’t look at him like he was weak again. He could stand anything but that. “So whaddaya say? Will you be good when I fuck you?”
She paled as his words sank in, some noises of panic leaving her mouth once he stood up and took her with him to the living room. There was a large couch, but Uvo was an even larger man who didn’t like being cramped while enjoying himself, so he just kicked the coffee table next to it into a wall and placed her down on the soft rug. The sound of the coffee table crushing into the wall made her yelp once again, and he hoped it’d make her realize how stupid it was to try and fight back.
Just as he reached forward to grab her top and rip it off, she held up her hands into his face.
“Wait! Wait-wait-wait,” She repeated with a shrill voice. He stopped for a second, raising his eyebrows to see what she had to say. He doubted it was anything urgent, since she was probably just stalling, but he decided found the wait to be arousing in its own way, her pathetic sniffles while she looked around for any kind of way out kinda cute. She opened her mouth, closed it again, before finally finding her voice. “Should you be... doing this in your state? You nearly died, didn’t you? Aren’t there like... stitches?”
“Ha! Well, if you’re so concerned about that,” He lifted her up by her waist and set her on top of him as he sat down on the rug. grinning ear to ear as her legs squeezed around his waist. “why don’t you go ahead and do the work then. Doctor’s orders, apparently.”
“I- I just fell down the stairs, I-uhm.” She looked down, before visibly recoiling at the sight of his erection bulging through his shorts, instead choosing the ceiling as a safe space to stare. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can.” He encouraged. “If anything, isn’t that better for you? That way you can control exactly how fast it’ll all go down. I’m not sure whether you caught my drift, but I’m not exactly a gentle lover, so if you want things slow, you’re gonna have to do it yourself, sweetheart.”
“No, I mean-”
“I know what you mean, I’m just telling you it ain’t gonna happen.” Uvogin interrupted. “Now either you’re gonna ride me, or I will take things into my own hands. What’s it gonna be.”
Her hands curled into fists, her mouth opening and closing multiple times again. If he’d been any less into her, he might’ve grown impatient, but seeing her agonize over the ordeal was a show in its own right. No need to hurry it along.
She took a deep, shaky breath.
“I’ll do it.”
“Good girl.” He praised with the same grin spread across his face. He placed his hands behind his head and laid down, eager to see how she’d go about it. It took her three or four tries to will her hands fully towards his shorts, losing her nerve everytime she hitched her fingers just below the waistband. Heat radiated off her skin, and he could nearly see the steam exiting her ears as the mortification set in.
He didn’t help her as she realized that his shorts were tight, and would need more than just some gentle nudging to come off. She looked up at him, and the sight of her rising chest and nearly crying face was borderline obscene. He felt himself twitch as she very nervously began to speak again. “Uhm… the shorts… I can’t get them off?”
“Not a very promising start.” He said teasingly. “Can’t even get my pants off? How about I’ll help you out with that once you’re undressed yourself?”
He’d clap himself on his shoulder for that sentence, seeing as the reaction was ever so sweet. Her entire body straightened, a clear shiver rolling over her spine as she realized she had to go ahead and get naked for him now. She swallowed, before looking down and slowly taking off her top. She threw it somewhere across the living room, and he would’ve commended her on doing so quicker than he’d anticipated, if her lip hadn’t started wobbling as she reached behind to undo her bra clasps.
Ohhhh~
Could she be making this any harder?
“I’ll say this for your sake.” He said, a little breathlessly as her tits came into full view. “I’d hurry up if I were you, because if you go any slower than this I won’t hold back.”
“I’m trying.” She huffed, upset.
“Don’t talk. Makin’ it worse.” He reached forward and grabbed her face. Pulling it toward his own, the surprised noise she made was another moment in which he had to physically hold himself back. “Can you try being a little less hot right now?”
That seemed to burst her out of her anxiety. With her cheeks bunched up in his grip, her expression turned angry. “I’m crying, shaking and sweating. Sorry if me being upset at you forcing sex on me is too goddamn hot for you, asshole.”
Immediately after she finished speaking, her eyes widened, as if she couldn’t believe she’d said it.
“Ohh?” Uvogin let go and sat up, now looming over the little thing who was already regretting every choice she’d made until this point in life. His grin got wider, and he knew he looked as villainous as he felt. Excitement thrummed through his body as he deliberated how he’d respond to her words. “Anything else to add to that?”
With her mouth tightly pursed and her gaze very pointedly away from him, she shook her head.
“No, don’t get shy now.” He regretted not bringing his cellphone, knowing that if he’d photographed her right now, the picture would be a treasure for the rest of his life. He placed his hands on her thighs and squeezed slightly. “I like the whole pathetic display, I truly do, but if you wanna act all brave, I have no problem with that either.”
“...Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re completely right, it’s just a very stupid thing to say to a man who is deciding how to fuck you tonight.” He grabbed her chin and made her look forward again, repeating the motion twice when she immediately tried looking away again. “But I think I still want you to ride me. I think seeing that little bit of fight in you die out when you realize how good my cock will feel inside you is still the best play. But,” He squeezed her thigh so tightly she yelped in pain, and once again the bulge mere inches away from her clothed cunt twitched painfully. “If you decide to say something like that again, I have no problem with throwing you on the floor and showing you exactly what I get off to.”
She crossed her arms in front of herself, probably in an attempt to calm herself, but Uvo just appreciated the way her tits looked all bunched together. He could be patient, he had to be, but come hell or high water those breasts would be purple with hickeys in the morning. He wanted her to look at herself in the mirror tomorrow and see the proof of his actions all across her body.
He wanted her to wince when she stood up, and wobble about before realizing that even if she showered, combed her hair and brushed her teeth, the taste and feel of him wouldn’t disappear for a second. Not for a long, long while.
The thought made his patience run out a little again, and despite having said he’d wait for her to finish undressing, he hurried up and tore off the little skirt and panties hiding her cunt, the ripped fabric joining the new pile of clothing. He also pushed down his own shorts, letting his rock-hard cock jump up into view. It ached, and it took a lot of willpower not to lift her up and set her down on his dick, but he needed to see her lift herself up to push him in. He needed the image. It’d haunt him if he didn’t get to see.
“Well? C’mon.”
She frowned as she stared at his dick, and her disgruntled look could only be classified as cute in his book. Suddenly, the frown deepened and she suddenly looked a bit bashful as she blinked and turned her gaze up to look at him.
“Uhm… Shouldn’t…you, or we I guess, uhmm-” His impatience at her stalling was apparently quite apparent while she spoke, because she swallowed at seeing his heavy gaze on her. Still, he was curious what excuse she’d thought of this time, so he didn’t interrupt. If it was possible to grow even more embarrassed, she somehow managed, her eyes wide and her skin burning on his. “Use a condom?”
“Eh?” He raised an eyebrow. “What for?”
‘Well, uhm, I don’t wanna get pregnant?” If anything, that question had the opposite effect on Uvogin, who now looked down at her imagining just what that would look like. “And like…safety?”
He shrugged, the words being right on the tip of his tongue that he’d gotten himself fixed years ago due to not wanting kids and hating the feel of latex, before thinking better of it. He knew it’d be fine, but there was no reason for her to know that. Moreso, the mere idea that she was imagining him knocking her up was kind of doing it for him.
“How selfish of you.” He said. “And what if I do want to knock you up? Fill you up with a baby so you have a little souvenir of me? I think pregnancy would suit you, especially since those tits would fill up even more nicely.”
“Huh? That’s-” She seemed horrified at his response. “You’re horrible.”
“Don’t care, don’t care.” He leaned down to her ear and let one of his hands leave her thighs, instead wrapping around her ass to nudge her a tad forward, so she was a mere inch away from his cock, which had been angrily bobbing against her stomach for a while now. “Now, I won’t ask a single fucking time more.” It was a lie. He’d command it endlessly. He wasn’t switching gears now, too infested in the idea of her lowering herself onto his cock. “So get to it.”
After a soft bite to her earlobe, he let himself fall back again, putting his hands back behind his head.
Taking a deep breath, she steadied and raised herself. As she hovered right above his dick, her breath turned more erratic in her panic, and it took a lot before she squeezed her eyes shut and reached between her legs for his cock. Uvo knew he was massive, but the sight of his dick rubbing between her folds made even him doubt it would fit. Eh, it would. He’d get it to.
A drop of cum rolled off his cock and stained her hands as she held him and the squeak of surprise she made as she felt it only made more drops follow the first one’s lead.
“Do I really-” She stopped talking.
The answer was obvious.
Yes.
Yesyesyesyes.
After multiple unsuccessful attempts at pushing him in, she took another deep breath and finally managed to get him in the right place. He felt his tip disappear in a warm, soft cunt, saw the pained embarrassment on her face and resisted the urge to thrust up. He let out a long groan, the first bit of satisfaction after so much waiting. It only made him hunger for more. It’d be so easy, so so easy. He was already holding her thighs, he could just keep her in place and move his hips so his cock would slide in all the way. She’d yelp and cry and he’d get to laugh in her face.
Not yet… Not yet.
Having foregone any preparations made it much more difficult to lower herself onto him without significant pain, and while normally Uvogin would’ve opted to pull out just so he could stretch her out with his fingers and get a taste so she’d be ready, he’d already been patient for too long and wouldn’t stop now even if the police bust down the doors to her apartment. The world could crash, the house could be set on fire, but he’d have her.
“That’s it… That’s it.” He encouraged as she very slowly lowered herself, her hands at one point on his chest to steady herself. “Good girl.”
“Don’t say that.” She said breathlessly.
“Why? You don’t want my approval?” He laughed, wide eyes following the slow way her cunt sucked in his cock. Just a bit more, a little more. “Or are you scared you’ll grow to like me if I say shit like that.”
She was nearly halfway, the brunt of his dick being clamped by her warm cunt, and it was close to torture to not thrust up and finally get to filling her up. Sweat beaded down her forehead as she looked up at him in defiance. “I liked you when you were silent and bleeding out.”
Well.
So far for that plan.
With a roar, he grabbed her hips and pulled her down violently, sheathing himself inside her with one brutal thrust. She cried out in pain, her body folding forward in response to his action. Uvo raised her up again and brought her down, making sure the thrusts were as deep as could be. She felt warm, tight, and the noises she made.
“You little bitch.” He said, laughing loudly as he finally finally finally fucked her properly. “You wanted me to take over that bad?”
Her back arched as he hit her womb, his fingers making delicious dark bruises where they were digging into her skin. The first time he’d seen her popped into his mind as he used her, the sunflower earrings and bright beautiful smile, and he couldn’t believe he’d once thought himself capable of forgetting her. Such a sweet creature was begging to be ruined.
How he’d not immediately seen how fucking perfect she was for this was beyond him.
“Please- stop, that hurts-”
“I know.” He said, eyes burning with lust as he knew he would have her in every corner of this room before daybreak. He’d take every innocence she had left and corrupt it, fill her up with his cum from every hole she had, and he’d make her kiss him and profess her love for him in the same breath, all because he knew it’d kill her to do so. “Regret saving me yet?”
Even if she wanted to say anything, she couldn’t anymore, as she had to bite her own bottom lip just to silence her own whimpers and moans as he jackhammered away at her pussy. Uvo chuckled at the sight.
“You really should’ve let me die.” He taunted, merciless in his continued thrusting, the betrayal and tears in her eyes warming his very soul. “No good deed goes unpunished, huh?”
the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.
women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.
what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.
i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.
fuck, man. write better material.
a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.
god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.
this is something i have struggled to explain to radfems - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.
we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.
i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -
Pairing: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).
A Continuation of Nursle.
Word Count: 9.0k.
TW: Dub/Con - Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Kidnapping, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Lactation, Geto and Gojo Have Their Own Thing Going On That Is Entirely Separate From The Events of This Fic, and Age Gaps. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
[Part One] [Part Two]
Suguru wouldn’t let you hold Himari.
You’d offered to as he led you out of Suguru’s apartment, reached for her instinctively as he gently urged you into the passenger seat of a familiar black car, but Suguru was in a fugue state – eyes glassy, voice softened and tempered, a glazed smile painted over his lips. He kept Himari pressed against his shoulder, and then, when she started to stir, in his lap, bouncing idly on his knee as he drove. It was dangerous – for Himari and for you. You were tempted to tell him that, to insist on holding the daughter that wasn’t supposed to belong to him, but then you remembered that he was a cult leader and a kidnapper and a murderer and you kept your mouth shut.
Instead, you kept your hands tucked between your thighs and your eyes focused on the passing landscape, on Tokyo as it dwindled from skyscrapers to rustic storefronts to backwoods. You thought of Megumi, first, surprisingly. Even if he didn’t spend the night with Satoru, he’d notice if you weren’t in class, tomorrow. He’d be worried.
You wondered if Nanako and Mimiko had been worried when they suddenly couldn’t find you in Suguru’s bedroom, where you’d spent the days following Himari’s birth recovering, when you stopped appearing at Suguru’s temple with a folder of worksheets and enough candy to keep two girls under ten engaged for a full ninety minutes. You wondered how Suguru explained your absence, if he bothered to explain it at all. You wondered how long they’d hold it against you.
It was getting dark by the time you left the city entirely. With the setting sun to your backs, Suguru slipped onto a deserted seaside road and, still in that gentle tone, broke the silence. “Was it different?” And then, as Himari sniffled, “With him, I mean. Different than it was for us.”
It took you a moment to realize that he was talking, another to recognize that you were supposed to answer. It was less that you were lost in thought and more that you were lost in the absence of it – your mind a vague, cloudy haze of static and fog and every other grey, disembodied, terrible thing that could seep its way into your consciousness and leave you entirely blank, entirely numb. It was all you could do to remember how to open your mouth, let alone piece an intelligent response together. “With Satoru?”
“Satoru,” Suguru repeated, almost disdainfully. “It took you months to call by my given name.”
You couldn’t deny that, although part of you was tempted to try. Because it was true. Because it had.
Because it was different – or, it had been, at least. Things had moved so quickly, with Satoru. He’d gone from a stranger to a stalker to something not totally unlike a partner in a handful of hours, and you’d watched it all from a distance, never fully able to shake that strange sense of liminality. He was rich, and stable, and he’d never suggested that you quit your job or attempted to lock you up in his mansion of an apartment, as trapped as you’d felt. He’d raped you, but you couldn’t say you believed Suguru wouldn’t have, had you not been so terrified of what would happen if you ever tried to remove any part of yourself from his control. You knew, rationally, that they had to be around the same age, that Satoru shared every quirk and every immaturity that’d once made you disgusted to so much consider Suguru in a romantic light, but it was different. When you first met Satoru, you’d seen him as a parent, a provider, a man who wanted to raise your daughter (albeit, with or without your consent). When you first met Suguru, you’d seen him as a boy who fell asleep in temple gardens and pretended not to be as scared as he really was, and if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you’d never really been able to stop seeing him that way.
Suguru clicked his tongue. He still wanted an answer, but it was all you could do to shrug, to let your gaze drift back to the passing landscape. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t think I would’ve wanted to marry him either, if he’d asked me to.”
You heard Suguru shift, the engine rev. He started to say something, but a shrill, ear-piercing, howl of a cry cut him off. You didn’t need to check to know it was Himari, and to know why.
“She’s hungry.” You spoke without thinking, snapping toward your daughter. You’d been on your way to feed her when you found Suguru next to her cradle, meaning she was already more than an hour past due. Himari didn’t cry often, but when she did, it was usually for a good reason. Yet another trait that must’ve come from Suguru – had she taken more closely after you, she might not have done anything but cry.
Something crossed across Suguru’s expression; a flash of irritation, a spark of anger, but nothing more violent, nothing lasting. He cooled back into stoic neutrality as one of his hands fell away from the wheel and to the back of your daughter’s onesie – lifting her out of her lap and depositing her unceremoniously in your arms, his eyes never leaving the road. “Can you take care of it?”
It. You had to dig your teeth into the side of your tongue just to stop from saying something you’d regret, from telling him not to talk about your daughter like some unfeeling, inanimate object, not to talk about her at all. You were in a car with a murderer, and you couldn’t forget that just because of some misplaced, motherly paranoia.
Instead, you looked around for a jacket, a blanket, something to cover yourself with, and when you found the car utterly and entirely barren, you settled for turning away from him and struggling the sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder. You went through the motions mechanically, automatically – cooing and running your fingers through Himari’s soft hair as she latched on, little hands grasping the scrunched fabric of your dress as she practically fed herself. You preferred formula, especially with Satoru breathing down your neck, but you didn’t have much of a choice.
A minute passed in relative silence, Himari’s crying slowly fading back into her usual incoherent, but relatively cheerful babbling. Eventually, her little eyes fluttered shut, and you pulled her away, holding her against your shoulder as she fell asleep. When she’d gone quiet, Suguru glanced toward you out of the corner of his eye. You saw him stiffen, straighten, then felt the car veer off the road and come to an abrupt, jeering stop.
You held Himari that much closer as Suguru let himself out. He took his time – his fingertips brushing over the hood as he made his way to your side of the vehicle, opening your door and nodding to the side. “You can leave her on the seat. I promise, I’ll try to be fast.”
You clung to Himari, who shifted restlessly against you. “You really can’t leave newborns unattended, she might—”
“I’ll be fast.” That smile was back in full force, albeit cast in shadow by the quickly dimming light. “I’ve missed you.”
You didn’t want to, but he was using that tone, again – the one that meant he was already running out of patience. Leaving Himari tucked against the backrest, you let Suguru take your hand and pull you out of your seat. No sooner were you on your feet than the door was slammed shut behind you, then Suguru’s hands were on your waist, pinning you against the side of the car. The heat of the dark metal sapped into your back, your shoulders as Suguru’s mouth found its way to the side of your neck, the crook. “I’ve missed you,” he repeated, his voice airy, edging on desperation. “I thought something happened to you. You were gone, and I couldn’t find her, and I thought someone must’ve taken you, or—”
His voice cut out. He didn’t draw back, but one of his hands fell away from your waist, reappearing on the neckline of your dress. His movements were hasty, rushed, like he couldn’t tear the fabric off of your shoulders and down your chest quickly enough. You weren’t wearing a bra, but even if you had been, you doubt it would’ve been much more of a barrier. A chilled sea breeze washed over your exposed chest as Suguru’s mouth fell from your throat to your collarbone, and then to the curve of your breast, lingering. “Wanted to do this since you got pregnant,” he muttered, as something heavy and spiked dropped from your diaphragm to the pit of your stomach. “Held off for the baby, but she’s had more than enough time with you.”
For a brief moment, every intelligent part of your mind seemed to slow, stall, then stop altogether. You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, but unfortunately, you weren’t given the chance to be so painfully oblivious.
Suguru’s lips latched onto your left nipple, and anything you might’ve said was replaced with a hitched whimper.
He was rougher than he really had to be, than his daughter had ever been. The only thing you could think to compare him to, deservedly, was Satoru; just as forceful, just as loud, just as sickeningly eager. The only difference was his tempo. Satoru had always been too giddy not to rush, eager to steal a kiss before you left for work or wake you up with a hand lodged between your thighs, but Suguru seemed content to act as if he had all the time in the world, as if you were somewhere more private than the shoulder of a public road. The flat of his tongue lulled over your nipple as he drank, his free hand coming up to paw at your other breast in almost meditative patterns. You tried to shut your eyes, to block out the wet sounds of his lips working against your skin, but as routine as it was supposed to be, there was little you could do not to hear an occasional, satisfied grunt, not to feel a certain amount of relief as the pressure you’d learned to ignore began to dissipate. His teeth grazed against your skin, and reflexively, your hand found the back of his head, nails biting into his scalp. Rather than pull away, Suguru seemed to purr – the noise deep and throaty, reverberating against you as he leaned that much closer, as he shifted and you felt something stiff press into your thigh. Don’t think about it, you forced yourself to chant in the back of your mind, trying to remember all the age-old coping mechanisms you’d used when you were with him, all the coping mechanisms you’d forgotten after realizing that they wouldn’t work on someone as unpredictable as Satoru. You couldn’t think about it. You couldn’t put a name to it. You couldn’t acknowledge that sucking on chest was in any way connected to the hard, pulsing cock pressing into your—
But you didn’t have a choice. Suguru gasped, his breath hitching, and then he was drawing away from you, his forehead resting against your collarbone as a hand fell to the waistband of his jeans, freeing his cock – already stiff, already leaking into his palm. “I missed you.” You’d lost track of how many times he’d repeated the same meaningless phrase, but this time, his voice shook, misery seeping out from each fractured syllable. You might’ve felt more pity, but any sympathy you might’ve been able to feel for him was quickly drowned out by the material of your skirt being gathered in handfuls at your waist, his cock finding its way between your plush thighs. His larger body kept yours in place as he rutted against you, his open mouth leaking drool and milk and all the other ungodly things you could imagine onto your chest. It was embarrassing, really – just how tightly you kept your eyes shut, like a child walking through their first haunted house. Like all the bad things in the world would go away just because you couldn’t see them. “For weeks, I couldn’t—I didn’t know where you were, I thought—”
His form jolted against yours. You felt it – a sudden, liquid heat against your thighs, a sudden tension where Suguru’s chest pressed into yours – at the same time you felt the first tear fall, searing your skin where it made contact. There was another, then yet another, before you finally realized what was happening.
Suguru was crying.
Huh.
He’d never done that, before.
Finally, you forced yourself to open your eyes. Rather than attempting to look at Suguru, to see if his shoulders were shaking as violently as it felt like they were, your gaze moved outward, first to the bay, then to the sky – as black as spilled ink, now that the last traces of light had faded. As black as Suguru’s eyes.
You carded your fingers through his hair as he cried silently into your shoulder, never making a sound. Minutes passed before he spoke again, but you let him be the one to break the silence. “I don’t get it.” You hummed, and he went on. “I don’t understand why you didn’t try to leave him, too.”
“I might’ve, eventually. If I’d had more time.”
“But you didn’t.” His blunt nails bit into your waist with enough force to sting, but you didn’t say anything. “I don’t understand why you didn’t.”
You didn’t try to answer.
~
Suguru stopped at a gas station to clean himself up. You stayed in the car, clutching Himari to your chest, attempting not to flinch as her tiny hands pulled at your hair and grabbed at your skirt – searching for something to do, to entertain herself with. The rest of the drive passed in relative silence. Suguru didn’t try to make conversation, and even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn’t know where to start.
Finally, Suguru turned down an unpaved backroad, and far too soon, you were in front of a house you recognized. The architecture was traditional, the design compact, but you could remember Suguru saying that he and the girls didn’t need much. Later on, when he decided you shouldn’t be allowed to wander any farther than his line of sight during your pregnancy, he’d played with the idea of a larger property – something that could accommodate a growing family. If he’d ever had any real plans, they must’ve been abandoned after you left.
“We’re only stopping by,” Suguru explained, as he moved to step out. You didn’t wait for him this time – shouldering the door open and pulling yourself to your feet before he could decide he needed to drag you out of the car himself. “There’s a nursery attached to the master bedroom. The girls can look after Himari while we’re gone.”
Your breathing hitched, then stopped altogether.
The girls.
You’d managed to forget you’d have to see them, tonight. Suguru would’ve been enough to handle on his own.
You tried to take a step back, more out of reflex than anything, but your legs were unsteady, unreliable. You stumbled, but before you could so much as start to fall, Suguru was by your side, one hand on your arm and the other underneath Himari. He started to say something, but you were faster, louder. “I—I can’t. They’ll be so—I knew you wouldn’t hurt them, but I shouldn’t have—”
“They’ll be just fine.” He wasn’t crying, anymore. Instead, he took on the inflection, the stature he’d worn when you first met him – when he’d been the level-headed priest and you’d been a distraught non-believe desperate for help. If you hadn’t known better, if you couldn’t still see the reddened skin around his eyes, you might’ve called his composure sadistic. “And they’ve been waiting for you all night. Wouldn’t it be cruel to disappoint them now?”
It'd be crueler to make them face the woman who’d married their father and abandoned them without a second thought, but you doubted Suguru would agree. He was already curling his arm around yours, already guiding you towards the rustic villa. Whatever daze was keeping you from losing your mind entirely must’ve worn-off sometime during the drive. It was all you could do to keep yourself on your feet as you edged closer, closer to the front door. You were walking down the unpaved driveway, then standing on the wooden porch, and then, Suguru was ushering you inside – taking Himari out of your arms as you passed over the threshold. You didn’t try to resist. He wouldn’t ask the girls to hurt her, not after how long he’d spent holding the idea of a new, adorably helpless little sister over their heads, and wherever he was going to do to you after this, you didn’t want Himari involved. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use her against you.
Suguru moved further into the villa, but you froze in the entryway. You could already hear the little, rushing footsteps, already picture the betrayal in their eyes, the questions they’d ask you and the answers you wouldn’t be able to give them. They’d hate you. They had to already hate you. You abandoned them, and they would know you abandoned them, and they would—
Two arms wrapping around your legs, the force of a smaller body crashing into yours. You glanced down and found Mimiko, clinging to your waist, her face buried in the material of your skirt. She wasn’t crying, but you could see her shoulders shaking, feel her nails digging into your thigh through the thin fabric. Reflexively, you reached down, resting a hand on top of her head and moving to nudge her away gently, to see if she needed help, but she only clung to you that much tighter.
Nanako was there, too, but she hadn’t latched onto you. Unlike her sister, she kept her distance, hands ringing the hem of her sweater as she stared pointedly at the floor. “Geto-sama told us what happened,” she explained, while Mimiko mumbled something incoherent and affirmative into your skirt. “He said that sorcerer – the white-haired one – took you and Himari away.” There was a pause, a quick glance in your direction. “He promised he wouldn’t let it happen again.”
Her eyes met yours, and suddenly, her nervous posture, the measured distance left between you and her – it made sense. You recognize the light in her eyes, or rather, the lack therefore.
It was the same shadow her father’s eyes took on, when he looked at you.
Whatever lie he’d told them, Nanako clearly didn’t believe it. Mimiko – sweet and loyal and prone to holding onto the things she loved like there was someone could come and take them away at any time – would’ve believed Suguru if he told her that world ended every time she closed her eyes, but Nanako was more pragmatic. She knew something was wrong. You doubted she would speak to you at all if she knew just how wrong, but still.
Swallowing your guilt, you lowered yourself to one knee and hugged Mimiko properly, squeezing her for one beat, then another, before letting her go entirely. Nanako was next. For all her reservations, she was running towards you as soon as you opened your arms to her, crashing into your chest and clinging to you twice as tightly as her sister had. “I’m sure he won’t,” you mumbled into her hair. And then, pulling back, “I know I was gone for a while, but it’s alright. The sorcerer Geto-sama told you about – he just wanted a little advice. He had two children he was raising all on his own, just like Geto. He heard all about how wonderful you two are, and wanted to know if I could stay and show him how to bring up the best kids in the world.” A kiss on either forehead, a thumb drawn over Mimiko’s cheeks to wipe away the tears she was frantically (and unsuccessfully) attempting to paw away on her own. “But, although I was very flattered, I told him that I had to go home. I knew you two would be fine, of course, but let’s face it – Geto wouldn’t last a day without me.”
It was your turn to pause, now, to lower your voice into something secretive. Mimiko was still sniffling, still determined to keep her face buried in her hands or your shoulder, but you made sure to meet Nanako’s eyes, to sound as sincere as you could – even if complete honesty was beyond you, at the moment. “Don’t tell Geto, but I missed you two most of all.”
Nanako looked like she wanted to say something. She almost did, too – tensing, opening her mouth, but she shut it again just as quickly, her eyes falling back to the ground in a sharp, violently narrow glare.
The pain was instant and beyond words. You wanted to pull her and Mimiko close again, to squeeze them tight and promise you wouldn’t leave them, not again, to apologize when you’d inevitably have to for the sake of a sister you hadn’t given them time to love. You wanted to—
You heard Suguru’s footsteps, felt his hand on your shoulder, and every thought you might’ve had that wasn’t devoted to your daughter’s well-being was gone.
Rather than embracing the girls, you drew back from them. Suguru pulled you gently to your feet, his hand falling from your shoulder to your elbow before wrapping around your wrist. “Keep an eye on your sister.” You could only be thankful there was still an ounce of warmth in his voice, as he addressed the girls. “(Y/n) and I have one more errand to run. We’re trusting you two to look after her, until we come back.”
You might’ve added something, made sure they both knew that you really had missed them, but Suguru was already drawing you towards the door – still ajar. The last thing you saw was Nanako taking Mimiko by the wrist before the door was slammed shut, and you were left entirely alone with Suguru.
~
Of all the places you expected him to take you, his temple hadn’t made the list.
His followers must’ve been sent away for the night, and the property’s attendants either dismissed or told to stay in their dorms. Every window was dark and shuttered, the gates locked and the doors bared. As you followed Suguru across the desolate courtyard and into the main shrine, you tried to think of places you would’ve wanted to be taken to, but came up empty. Part of you had been expecting the cheap, equally lifeless chain motels he’d shown a fondness for during your pregnancy, or worse, the hotel where you’d spent your first night together. Another, larger, quieter part had been able to imagine him driving into the deepest, darkest forest he could find and having his monstrous spirits tear you to shreds before you could so much as scream.
His ultimate destination was far from shocking, and yet, you still felt your heart drop into your stomach as he led you into his darkened sanctuary. As if in preparation, two tapered candles had been left burning in metal trays on either side of the screen door, and Suguru took one up as he passed by. You were left to linger in the doorway as, with a surprising meticulousness, he lit the candles scattered throughout the sanctuary, casting the open space in an ebbing golden glow. When he was finished, he collapsed onto his raised dais – perched on its edge, rather than laid across it. He almost looked out of place, without his usual costume, his usual posture. He almost looked his age.
You didn’t move. Running seemed impossible, but so did breaking the silence, doing anything to make yourself an active participant in Suguru’s bizarre ritual rather than a passive observer, a prop to be moved from place to place with little thought as to where you might want to be. A moment passed in silence, then another. Finally, he cracked. “Sit down.”
You didn’t move. “Are you going to kill me?”
He didn’t react. “All I asked you to do was sit down, love.”
“Are you going to kill Himari?”
He flinched into himself, going crooked. Something like hurt passed across his expression, as genuine as it was hypocritical.
He didn’t respond, but either out of pity or remorse or a lack of anything else to do, you found yourself closing the gap between you and him, setting yourself down on the edge of his platform. Immediately, his head fell onto your shoulder, his hand to your thigh, as if he was afraid you’d leave him again if he didn’t cling to you. “…I thought about breaking your legs,” he confessed, without prompting. “I was angry, when I realized you hadn’t been taken by force. I thought I’d be able to do it in Satoru’s apartment, leave enough blood to make him think I’d killed you, but—” There was a pause, a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. I guess I waited too long, lost the nerve or something.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” And then, when he shifted curiously beside you, “It would’ve scared the girls. They’re already having such a hard time.”
At that, Suguru melted entirely against you. There was an airy laugh, a small sigh, and you felt his hand on your hip, his thumb drawing loose patterns into your side. “So considerate,” he muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “Maybe, one day, you’ll care about me like that, too.”
A knot formed in the back of your throat. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him – or, that you hadn’t, before he made it clear that the ways you were capable of caring for him weren’t enough. If you hadn’t felt anything for him, none of this would’ve ever happened. If he’d been satisfied to let you feel the same way about him that you felt about his daughters, it would never have gotten this bad. If you’d just laid back and let him fuck you the first time he’d asked, he would’ve lost interest in you months ago. You almost said so, too, tensed and opened your mouth and everything, but Suguru was moving before you had the chance to spit something out, his mouth crashing into yours with all the care and all the tenderness of a blunt object shattering bone. His teeth cut into your bottom lip, his body pressing into yours with enough force to throw you off balance, but his arms were already around your waist, keeping you upright. It was less that he slid off of the dais and more that he collapsed – dropping onto his knees at your feet, as little difference as it made in terms of height. He never let you stray very far, but tonight, he seemed determined never to leave more than a hair’s width of space between your body and his. His lips fell from your mouth to your neck, his hands finding their way to your hips. One darted for your neckline, but dropped back to your waist just as suddenly – all ten fingers soon burrowed into the plush of your waist.
“Your dress.” He wasn’t panting, wasn’t grinning, wasn’t laughing. His voice reverberated dully against the base of your throat, his pointed canines scraping over your skin as he spoke. “Take it off.”
You swallowed. Normally, he preferred to undress and re-dress you himself. You’d been scolded more than once for thinking you had any right to decide what you wore without his loving input, and when pressed, he claimed it was a show of love; proof of his dedication, his devotion.
This wasn’t about love, though, or dedication, or any other flowery word he’d ever used with you.
This was about control.
Your hands shook as you raised them to the back of your dress, finding the row of corset-type strings keeping the loose material in place. You fumbled with the knot for seconds, but Suguru was patient, willing to wait until the bodice fell away from your chest entirely, pooling at your midriff. You weren’t wearing a bra (again, an extremely difficult habit not to get into with a newborn at home), and one of Suguru’s hands came up, a scarred palm cupping your breast with enough force to bruise. You remembered, dimly, the time he’d spent pulled over by the side of the road earlier that day, but the memory was foggy, already so far away. You wouldn’t have been surprised if all of this seemed like one hazy, distant dream by tomorrow morning.
He detached from you suddenly, pulling away and kneeling on the sanctuary floor. Rather than relief, you only felt the world distort more violently around you; your pulse slowing and your vision burning as you clumsily pushed yourself to your feet, allowing your dress to fall away entirely. You moved to sit back down, but Suguru caught you before you could – his fist wrapping around your ankle, then skirting upward, settling gingerly against your thigh as his dark, soulless eyes raked over you. His stare caught on your panties, and his expression darkened. “I’m going to kill him.”
You didn’t have to ask what he meant. The pair had been Satoru’s pick; not quite a gift, but something given to you, regardless. They matched his aesthetics – needlessly detailed, smothered in lace, cast a shade of light blue so pale, it bordered on ivory. With how expensive Satoru’s tastes tended to run, you were sure the set had cost a fortune, but the priceless fabric gave away without protest as Suguru slipped two fingers under the waistband and tore. The ruined article fell away before you could so much as process that he’d moved.
Suguru’s impressive patience waned quickly. In the same motion, he pushed himself to his feet and took you into his arms, carrying you against his chest onto the dais, then to the altar pressed against the far wall. The scrolls laid across it were sent to floor with a single movement of his arm, and in the blink of an eye, you were laid across the polished wood, Suguru on his knees between your open legs. Your mouth opened, but there was no time to protest, to call out before his face was buried between his thighs, tongue lapping over the length of your slit. Still, you grit your teeth, bracing yourself to sit up, to tell him to—
Oh.
He'd gotten his tongue pierced, sometime after you left.
He was shameless. A rounded, jeweled stud dragged over your pussy, circling your clit with no pattern or pace, no intention other than to taste you. Never content to leave you to your own devices, he kept his hands wrapped around your hips, pinning you to the surface of the altar as he tried to all-but swallow you whole. It was messy, and overzealous, and worst of all, it was good. It was a matter of seconds before a mixture of spit and arousal stained the inside of your thighs and dripped from his chin, less than a full minute before you had to concentrate just to keep yourself from squirming underneath him. Not that it would’ve mattered, if you had. Suguru had always been playful in bed, content to milk reactions out of you with measured precision and careful vigilance, but that had been when you at least attempted to present yourself as willing. Right now, anything you might’ve felt seemed secondary to Suguru’s pleasure; satisfied groans soon joining the slick, wet noise ricocheting off the walls of his sanctuary. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, crossed your arms over your face, but neither distraction helped to stifle the feeling of his lips latching onto your clit, suckling on it with all the care and all the delicacy of a butcher’s knife cutting into lifeless flesh. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes by the time he pulled away, but the pressure was immediately replaced by the bridge of his nose grinding harshly against the bundle of nerves, his tongue slipping past your entrance to curl against the most vulnerable parts of your cunt.
He let out another reverberating moan, and reflexively, your hand shot to the back of his head, your fingers soon tangled in his dark hair. One of his hands fell from your waist, and for a moment, you thought he was moving to pry away yours, that he didn’t want you touching him. But, fortunately or otherwise, his attention wasn’t on you. Instead, he reached for the elastic band holding his hair in place, pulling it out with enough force to snap the cheap plastic. You didn’t realize what he was trying to do until you felt him lean into your palm, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the semblance of your touch.
If you’d been capable of feeling anything more towards Suguru than you already did, you might’ve found the sight pitiful.
At the moment, though, you weren’t in a place to be quite so sentimental. It was all you could do to knot his hair around your fingers as you felt tight and hot form in your core, as your thighs threatened to snap shut around his head. You bit into the inside of your check with enough force to draw blood as Suguru moaned shamelessly, as he dragged you that much closer. It was too easy to forget to care whether or not he’d enjoyed it, too reflexive to gather his hair in your first and pull, to buck involuntarily into his mouth, to—
Suguru drew back suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. Thankfully, you caught yourself before you could feel disappointment, and after a few shallow breaths, found the strength to follow his stare away from you and towards the sanctuary door. Instantly, your heart stopped beating, the blood running cold in your veins.
Satoru stood in the doorway, cast in shadow save for his bright, piercing eyes. One of his hands was still wrapped around the doorframe, while the other hung limp at his side, cupping a small, pulsing ball of… light?
You didn’t have time to think about it. Suguru acted swiftly – pulling you into his arms and onto his lap, seating himself on the altar where you’d previously laid. “Drop it,” he said, his tone cold, cutting, not unlike an owner talking to his disobedient pet. He’d been short with you all night, but you couldn’t say he’d ever spoken to you quite like that. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”
The light dimmed before disappearing entirely, but Satoru didn’t move. He didn’t do anything, but you could feel it – a drop in the sanctuary’s temperature, a change in the air pressure, something deep and intrinsic that you didn’t want to be a part of. Reflexively, you tried to stand, to move, but Suguru held you tight, an arm barred over your midriff.
Despite everything, Satoru was the first to break the silence, albeit without doing anything to make that intangible tension any more bearable. “I should kill you.”
“You should.” Suguru’s fingertips dug into your side. “Those are your orders, aren’t they? Or are you going to put off delivering my head to the higher-ups for another three years?”
Whatever he was talking about, Satoru didn’t seem interested in acknowledging it. “You took my girls.”
“You fucked my wife.”
At that, something seemed to break. Suguru’s chest pressed into your back as Satoru’s eyes shut, as he sucked in a harsh breath and broke out into a fanged grin, the sharpest you’d ever seen him wear. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He took a step forward, all hostility gone in favor of a sort of manic, unpredictable buzz. You didn’t know whether to be relieved that there was a slightly diminished chance you’d be caught in the middle of their fight to the death or terrified at the thought that they might want to do anything but tear out each others’ throats. “I fucked her after she left you. Bet you can’t stand it – knowing you’re not the only one who gets to run away.”
Suguru, for all his faults, didn’t flinch. He’d always had an even-temper at the worst of time. “What do you want, ‘toru?”
Satoru’s stare fell away from Suguru and onto you. His expression softened, taking on an almost apologetic lilt. Almost, but not quite.
“Not much,” he admitted, with a shrug. Even from a distance, even in the dark, you could tell his nonchalance was forced. “Just to say goodbye, make sure my pretty girl’s gonna be taken care of. Gotta wrap up loose ends, n’ all that.”
Suguru, for his part, seemed far from convinced. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, he only held you closer. “And why should I let you?”
“Because I love her?” And then, with another step toward the altar, “Because you know I could wipe this building off the face of the planet, if I wanted to.”
Pragmatic as he was, Suguru seemed to consider it. The hand over your side flexed, a chin settling against the dip of your shoulder, and beneath you, his stiff cock pressed into your ass – either unaffected or worse, fueled on by Satoru’s interruption. You were still attempting not to dwell on the implications when Suguru responded, level-headed as always.
“If you try anything, I’ll kill the baby.”
The second before a car crash, the spark where two wires failed to connect. For the longest time, you couldn’t seem to process what he’d said or how it could’ve been so gut-wrenchingly terrible. Rather than pull away, you flattened yourself against him, glancing over your shoulder. You opened your mouth, but the ability to speak was suddenly beyond you, set deliberately out of your reach. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it, and yet, his expression was stoic, unchanging, the pinnacle of neutrality. There was no laugh from Satoru either, forced or otherwise. Still, he kept up his smile. As if Suguru hadn’t said anything of consequence. As if either of them had any right to so much as touch your daughter.
Satoru didn’t respond to the threat, nor did Suguru urge him to. Almost mechanically, Suguru’s arm fell away from your midriff, and with little more than a nudge to the back of your shoulder, you were on your feet, vulnerable and shaking on the center of the raised dais. You could still feel a mix of slick and saliva coating the inside of your thighs, and you had to swallow the urge to make a grab for your clothes, to put yourself through the humiliation of being forced to strip twice in one night.
Thankfully, tragically, you were liberated from any illusion of free choice swiftly. Without protest from Suguru, Satoru stepped onto the dais and took you by the hand, either overlooking or failing to acknowledge the panic in your eyes in favor of intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing gently, as if you could still believe he genuinely wanted to comfort you. Rather than pulling you into his arms, dragging you down to the floor, he looked to Suguru, cocking his head to the side. “Get up.”
Suguru’s lips quirked downward, but he obeyed, pushing himself to his feet. “How blasphemous.”
Now, he pulled you off of your feet. In a moment, you were in his arms, and the next, you were perched on the altar, your back pressed against the wall and your legs spread around Satoru’s waist. “Blasphemous,” Satoru echoed, his voice low but plainly audible in the silence of the sanctuary. “would be fucking the most beautiful woman in the world on the ground. That’s why I’m her favorite – ‘cause I’m so considerate.”
No part of you trusted Suguru. No part of you preferred Suguru to Satoru, or the other way around. No part of you thought that, unless your life or his pride was threatened, he’d ever lift a finger to help you, but you found yourself glancing toward him out of the corner of your eye, doing your best to silently communicate that you needed to get out of here. Instead of sympathy, jealousy, you only found an idle smirk, a glassy sheen over his eyes that you could only imagine you’d mirrored for most of the day. “You’re not the one she’s married to, idiot.”
There was a dip, a surprisingly fleeting kiss to your lips, then your jaw, then your throat. “But she would get with me if you were out of the picture, right?” The question was punctuated with a nip to your collarbone, a hand dropped low enough to cup your pussy. The heel of his palm ground into your clit as two fingers pushed into your soaked cunt, spreading apart and scissoring you open. You tried to bow your head, to keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut, but you were still sensitive from your ruined climax, still so painfully exposed, and there was nothing you could do to bite back the cracked whines and pitiful mewls that slipped through your pursed lips. It was far from verbal confirmation, but Satoru hummed, grinned against your chest as if you’d sung his praises. “I’d get you a nicer ring, nicer house, nicer honeymoon. Always make sure you’re good n’ taken care of while Suguru’s busy playing god.”
Suguru huffed, and Satoru fell into a steady pace, adding a third digit as he carelessly fucked his fingers into your cunt. You didn’t hear him move, but before you could brace yourself, Suguru was at your side, leaning onto the altar to cup your face and trace over your jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I take care of you, don’t I?” You opened your mouth reflexively, ready to tell him that you were sorry, that you didn’t want him to touch you, that you wanted this to stop, but he was faster than you, more malicious. His thumb was forced past your lips before you could make a sound, pressed against the flat of your tongue with just enough force for your jaw to ache in protest. “I can’t blame Satoru for not being able to see that, though. Not when you treat me so cruelly.”
Cruelly. You’d never been cruel – at least, no crueler than you absolutely needed to be to survive. You felt pins and needles prick at the corners of your eyes before you noticed your vision blurring, before tears were streaming down either side of your face in boiling tracks. Satoru purred in sympathy, falling low and nuzzling into the tender spot at the base of your throat, flicking his wrist and burying himself inside of you to the knuckle. “You don’t have to worry, I know he’s the mean one.”
He was whispering, but that didn’t matter. He was too close, too awful for each word not to be absolutely deafening, for each little movement of his hand not to leave your nails scraping against the smooth wood of the altar, searching for purchase you wouldn’t find. Time was moving too quickly, it had been since you arrived at the temple. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t breathe before Satoru pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck and you were coming undone around his fingers, your thighs locking around his arm and keeping his digits inside of you until you could remember how to suck in a gasping inhale, until the last of the aftershocks faded and you could bring yourself to open your eyes. It wasn’t until the warmth of Satoru’s mouth fell away from your neck that you noticed the strange, copper tinge spread over your tongue, that you registered the absence of Suguru’s hand against your jaw. When you thought to look in his direction, he was evaluating his own hand. A thin, red line formed a dotted ring around the base of his thumb. You must’ve bitten down, at some point.
You must’ve hurt him.
Fear drowned out any satisfaction there might’ve been. He mentioned deciding against breaking your legs, earlier; was there any chance he’d change his mind? Would Satoru be able to stop him, if he tried to hurt you? Would Satoru even want to stop him? Himari was still alone, still in danger, and you wouldn’t be able to get to her if you couldn’t walk. You wouldn’t be able to stop Suguru from—
Satoru reached out, his hand curling around Suguru’s wrist and dragging it down to his height. With Satoru’s guidance, Suguru’s thumb came to rest against his bottom lip, then slipped into Satoru’s mouth entirely, his lips soon sealed around its base. There was a second or two of stillness, a swallowing-type noise too loud to ignore despite your best attempts not to hear it, and then, Suguru was pulling away and Satoru’s lips were crashing into yours.
It was strange for Suguru to be so clumsy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be as surprised by Satoru’s lack of polish. It was all you could do to choke back a renewed sob as his mouth moved against yours, as his pointed teeth ghosted over your lips and grazed the underside of your tongue. He was all instinct, no logic, and when you tried to straighten, to leave enough room between you and him to catch your breath, he only seemed to want you closer. His hands were on your waist, then your arms, then your chest, never satisfied unless he could dig his claws into the most tender parts of you, and this time, when his canines grazed over your lips, he wasn’t satisfied to leave your connection at contact alone. He let out a shameless moan as he lapped at the puncture wound, warm blood leaking down your chin and pooling on your chest where it pressed into his. Again, you looked to Suguru for help, and again, you immediately wished you hadn’t bothered.
He wasn’t perched on the altar, anymore. No – he’d shifted, slinked, positioned himself behind Satoru where he was bent at the waist. He caught your eye as his arms snaked around Satoru’s midriff, as Satoru arched his back to better take advantage of the new contact. There was the distant, muffled sound of fabric rustling, a keening whine from Satoru, and then, Suguru’s hand was curled around Satoru’s stiff, leaking cock – pumping over the shaft while his dark eyes burned holes into yours. “Get it over with,” he muttered, the bitter sterility of his tone a sharp juxtaposition to the grin creeping across his expression. “Before I remember why I want you dead.”
Satoru didn’t have to be coaxed into compliance. No, he let himself be eased into place, let Suguru slot himself against his back as he carefully aligned Satoru’s flushed tip to your entrance. Even after he’d let go, his hands finding the edge of the altar on either side of you, Satoru failed to move on his own. You could feel him drifting from your lips to your throat, then lower – to the crook of your neck, a spot Suguru’d always favored. Vaguely, you were aware of his lips moving against your skin, of warm breath fanning over your chest and leaving frost wherever it’d touched. His voice was muffled by proximity, but whether or not you could hear him didn’t really matter. You would’ve recognized those three little words from a thousand miles away.
“I love you.”
If you’d been able to laugh, you would’ve.
At least Satoru didn’t expect you to say it back.
Suguru must’ve missed it – that, or he was beyond the point of caring. His teeth sunk into the nape of Satoru’s neck, and then, something hot and piercing was inside of you.
This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out. A fractured moan tumbled past your lips as Satoru immediately fell into a brutal pace; all that teasing tenderness gone the moment your pussy was wrapped around his cock. Suguru didn’t pull away, but he didn’t help, either; straightening his back and gazing down at you with that same foggy, absent, pleased expression. It took you a moment to put a name to it; lovestruck, all glassy eyes and hollow smiles, any anger hidden behind a thick curtain of glazed-over satisfaction. He’d never looked away from you, but when you met his eyes, he seemed to soften even further, his shoulders dropping as he brought a hand to the small of Suguru’s back, spurring him on. “He’s always been this bad.” Suguru let out a keening whine into your shoulder, and Suguru chuckled airily. “Like a dog in heat. You’d think be as desperate as one, too, but apparently, his standards are too high for him to do anything but act like a whore.”
You couldn’t take it – the way Satoru’s hips crashed into yours, how his pubic bone ground against your clit, the pure venom interlaced with Suguru’s velvet-soft tone. You knew that it was useless, childish, but you couldn’t swallow down the cracked sob that rose up from somewhere deep and unprotected in your chest, couldn’t hold back the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. Suguru’s smile widened, his sharpened teeth catching the dull candlelight, but Satoru was kind enough not to be so observant. His attention was dedicated entirely to fucking into you as quickly and as deeply as possible; his cock never less than half buried. You felt him twitch, and before you could hold yourself back, your hands were on his back, your nails embedded in pale skin and tearing upward every time he bottomed out and sent a new type of agony coursing through your system. “Stop, stop, I can’t—”
“You can.” Clipped, concise, dripping with stone-cold affection. You’d be surprised if you ever heard any warmth in Suguru’s voice again. “That is, unless you’d like to break two hearts on the same night.”
Your mouth was still open, but you couldn’t answer. Satoru groaned as he rutted into you, his pace growing that much more erratic, his hips grinding into yours. He pulled you into another deep, copper-tinged kiss as he pressed his body flush to yours, as you felt something thick and hot and soul-crushingly familiar flood into you. It might’ve been the sensitivity, or the overstimulation, or the herbal stench of incense left to burn for a minute too long finally taking its toll – it didn’t really matter, either way. No explanation could’ve dampened the feeling of your cunt clenching tight around him, could’ve prevented the utter desolation of cumming on Satoru’s cock.
It seemed to go on for the longest time – second after second of thoughtless, helpless pleasure, century after century of Satoru against you, edging on your climax with the occasional sharp movement from his hips, a hasty kiss pressed into the corner of your jaw. Finally, after a small eternity, the last of the aftershocks faded, unwanted bliss fading into a slow, pulsing ache settled deep into the deepest pit of your chest. You felt Satoru shift; not pulling away, but lifting himself up, bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he said, again, and then, more quietly, “I’m sorry.”
You wanted to say something, to call him a liar, to spit out every venomous and vitriolic and warranted thing you could ever say to either of them, but it was already too late. Something vital slid out of place, a poor signal finally losing connection entirely, and then, everything went dark.
~
Nine months later, you’d find yourself in Suguru’s temple again, albeit not his sanctuary. A brown-haired woman in a lab coat and several female attendants swarmed around you, pressing damp cloths to your forehead and constantly rearranging the thick quilts laid over your limp body. Dried tears formed defined tracks down your cheeks, and every part of you screamed for rest, for escape, for a quick and merciful death. It was all you could do to suck in a shuddering breath, to remind yourself that there were more important things in the world than your own well-being. Sleep could wait. This couldn’t.
Slowly, you managed to turn your head towards Suguru, standing at your bedside just as he had for the past six hours. Your vision was distorted, dimmed around the edges, but it would’ve been impossible to miss the small, white bundle in his arms, already beginning to move. You could practically taste the relief, only slightly soured by your own exhaustion. Loving Himari had been a miracle. It would’ve been a lie to say that you hadn’t expected yourself to be more callous, the second time part of you was ripped away and molded into the shape of a man you hated.
Your eyes flickered to Suguru’s expression, to those impossibly dark eyes, and instantly, your relief was replaced by pure, unadulterated dread. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, softened and careless, but… Oh, god.
You’d never seen so much death in his eyes.
“Suguru.” You hadn’t meant to say anything, and yet, your voice was clear – a little hoarse, but far stronger than you felt. Never looking away from the bundle, he hummed, and you went on. “Can I see…?”
“Him,” Suguru filled in, bouncing your newborn – your son, gently. “A healthy baby boy. It’s a shame, really – I chose names with another girl in-mind.”
Thankfully, he didn’t make you ask again. With no small amount of care, the bundle was placed gently onto your chest, Suguru’s hand remaining on your shoulder – as if only waiting for your limited strength to give out. It took you a long moment to brush the swaddling sheets to the swaddling blanket aside, little hands immediately reaching up to bat against your own, and another to register what you were looking at. It wasn’t hard to see why Suguru was so angry.
You stared down at your son, and eyes more blue than the clearest, brightest sky stared back at you.
when internet people are like “i love gothic literature but i hate anything that discusses incest, sexual violence, oppression, misogyny, abuse, torture, gore, murder, or death”
no actually me and everyone else who’s ever watched crimson peak were brainwashed by guillermo del toro into believing that incest and violence are cool and awesome. sorry
origamiaround
areudirty
dailybridgerton
ellievsbear
izzy806
jacobvanloon
germansingergirl
kianamaiart
