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— spoiled

After Sae has endured a long day of press interviews, he’s pent up, tired and just wants to go home. But you dressed up all pretty for him today, and you’re desperate for his attention.

Only @saexy could get me to write for Itoshi Sae. Header art is by them and they graciously allowed me to use it in this depravity, please check it out and give them a follow💕

Pairing: Itoshi Sae x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, semi-public sex, piss (Sae pisses inside you), creampie, dirty talk, slight degradation (slut).

Word Count: 2.2k.

Sae would call you spoiled, no matter how much you tried to disagree with him. Rolling your eyes at him whenever he’d comment on it, as though you’d just asked him to buy you a new pair of shoes or the cute plushie you’d seen at the store last weekend (there was no point asking when he’d already bought it for you anyway, he thinks) — but Sae thinks you’re spoiled in far more than just wealth. 

You’re spoiled enough that you get to see every single part of him. Even the sides he tries so hard to conceal and keep from everyone, especially his family. Breaking down the walls to the fortress he built around his heart that he swore was impenetrable until he met you. 

And perhaps that’s why he indulges you so much. Allowing you to climb onto his lap after a long, arduous day of press interviews and meetings as you settle on either side of his muscular thighs. Pressing cherry-stained kisses against the corner of his lips as he tries to ignore the incessant throb in his pelvis in favour of you. 

“You can’t wait until we get home?” He raises a brow, placing his phone face down on the arm of the sofa as he gives you his attention. 

He’d just text his driver to bring the car around, hoping to get home as quickly as possible to take this suit off, relieve the aching throb in his bladder from back-to-back interviews and climb into the shower. And perhaps if he’s lucky round off his evening with your pretty lips around his cock—

“You’ve ignored me all day today.” You accuse, as though it’s his fault he’s neglected you for work, “There was barely even any reason for me to come.”

“Don’t start.” He growls, his Adam’s apple bobs as he feels your lips curl into a sultry grin against his cheek. His rough palms grip your hips as you deliberately grind yourself down on his soft cock as a raspy groan rumbles a the back of his throat, “I told you that you could stay at home, didn’t I?” 

“It’s like sometimes you don’t even want me.” You pout, and Sae has to resist the urge to roll his eyes because it couldn’t be further from the truth. Another one of your elaborate fibs that you like to throw at him whenever you want some attention because you’re the only one he will ever want. 

“Don't give me that shit,” He scoffs, giving your ass a playful spank that causes you to grind yourself down against him, “How could I ever want anyone else?”

Sae feels his cock buck to life beneath you. The warmth radiating through your panties engulfs him as his head lolls back against the couch, the constant throb from his bladder now replaced with desire as he feels his pelvis pulse when your lips meet his in a sultry kiss. 

It’s mind-numbing the way your mouth seems to slot against his so perfectly, tilting your head to the side as you move together languidly. Your tongue strokes against the seam of his lips as they part for entrance and you delve deeper, brushing against his canines before he marches your movements. Stroking his tongue against every single crevice as though he’s trying to consume you whole, pouring every ounce of emotion into the kiss as he purposefully presses you down on his prominent bulge.

There isn’t time for this, not when the car is on its way. Wondering whether he’d be able to satiate you enough with his fingers before you both had to go downstairs. Or at the very least alleviate the tension enough to satiate you until you were settled in the back of the car, the blacked out windows offering enough privacy to offer you a moments reprieve.

It’s as though you choose for him, pressing yourself against his clothed cock with more urgency as you hold yourself against him. Peppering sticky kisses against the column of his throat as your teeth drag against his milky skin, grazing his pulse point as he feels the restraint he holds inside him slowly begin to crumble. 

“You’re terrible, baby.” He groans, his warm palms splayed against your bare thighs as they slip beneath the hem of your dress. Pushing the fabric up to bunch around your waist as his thumbs dip into the apex of your thighs, dangerously close to your soft folds as he teases the hem of your panties. 

“I’m terrible? When you’re the one that’s neglected me all day,” You pout, before breaking off into a moan as Sae’s thumbs stroke against your outer labia. 

You gasp at the sensation, your lips parted in bliss as Sae takes the opportunity to stroke his tongue against your lips, tasting the saccharine hint of cherry from your gloss as he watches through half-lidded eyes as you continue to grind yourself against him. 

But it isn’t enough. Unsatisfied as he pulls your panties to the side, groaning deep in his chest when he drags two knuckles through your slit to feel how drenched you are already. Your slick webs against his fingers as he pushes sharp precise circles against your clit, enough to have you writhing above him as your hands reach down to fiddle with the expensive silver buckle of his belt. 

It doesn’t take much to have his heavy cock sheathed inside your drenched hole, heaving a contented sigh as he bottoms out inside you. The warmth surrounding him is just enough to have Sae feeling comfortable as the tension in his bladder begins to ease and is replaced by fierce electricity that shoots through his veins as you begin to bounce yourself on his length. Slender fingers smooth along your sides, palming your bouncing breasts through the pretty sundress you’re wearing before pulling the straps down to settle around your elbows. Exposing your tits to his gaze as he hums in satisfaction, pressing lingering kisses against the naked skin as his tongue slips out to flick against your taut nipples. 

You move as though you’re using him for your pleasure, and you are — not that Sae minds. The corner of his lip curls into the slightest hint of a smile as he watches you try to get yourself off, rolling your hips so his cock drags against that velvety spot inside you that’ll have you seeing stars as your lips part in a near constant whine. 

“You’re always so fucking noisy,” Sae tuts, and yet does not attempt to silence you as he spreads his thighs further apart, “Do you want someone to hear?”

“Am not.” You scrunch your nose in irritation, biting down on your kiss-bruised bottom lip in a feeble attempt to silence yourself, but it was barely worth the effort.

“Listen to yourself.” He sneers, rough fingers dip into the plush of your ass as he holds you tight. Spreading your cheeks as he palms them beneath his hands before he starts a rough pace, selfishly using you for his own pleasure as he moves you how he pleases, “Couldn’t even wait five minutes before you were jumping on my cock.” 

“Sae, please.” You whined breathlessly, your head falling forward as he fucks himself into you. 

“That desperate for me to treat you like a slut, is that it?” He grunts, “My pretty slut.”

His cockhead bumps your cervix with each forward thrust, his veiny cock catching against the ridges of your inner walls as you find yourself soaring towards your orgasm. The telltale throb begins to ebb in your pelvis as your clit cries out for attention, sliding your hand down between your connected bodies as you begin to press sloppy circles against the sensitive nub as Sae’s eyes follow your movements to watch—

“That’s it, baby.” He grunts, “You get yours.”

It’s all too much as you feel yourself nearing your release, pearly tears begin to bead in your lashes blurring your vision as you desperately try to blink them away. Your moans came out as debased pants as he kept his rough pace as the coil inside you snapped abruptly, forcing you into your climax as you cried out his name in pleasure.

“Oh, fuck,” He groans as he feels your tight cunt clench around him as you greedily vie to milk him of his release, burying your face in the apex of his neck as you breathe in the scent of his aftershave. Teeth grazing his clavicle as he gives a few more sloppy thrusts before he feels his own orgasm surge through him like a tsunami, crashing into him in harsh waves as his thighs begin to shudder. 

“Fuck, shit.” He snarls under his breath as you feel white ropes of heady cum begin to coat your inner walls, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he forces you to take all he’s got to give as he empties his balls inside you, “Take it—”

Your chest is heaving, and you think he’s finished filling you with all his potent spunk until you feel it— an unfamiliar warmth begins to spread inside you as your palms immediately shift to press against his chest, trying to pull yourself off his still painfully hard cock to no avail. The fierce grip he maintains on your hips keeps you flush against his pelvis as he fills you to the brim with a warm stream of piss that creates a flood inside you, his pubes tickle your clit as you let out an airy whine at the feeling. His cock works as a dam to keep you full as his hips continue to rock into you sloppily, the back of his skull pressed against the couch as he exhales through clenched teeth. 

“Wait, Sae—” You try to call out to stop him, to escape the sensation but it’s futile. 

He’s completely lost to the euphoria as his face contorts in bliss, revealing the whites of his eyes as the persistent ache in his bladder dissipates and is replaced by smouldering pleasure. Embarrassment begins to swirl inside your tummy at the debauched sight of him, your stretched walls continue to throb around his cock as some of his piss escapes around the base of his cock and soaks his pelvis and slacks. The lewd squelch is shameful as he gives a few more messy ruts, filling the room with the crude noise as you feel the heat burn against your cheeks and the wetness presses against your inner thighs. 

It’s disgusting, depraved, you should be mortified— and yet your clit throbs with desire at the immoral sight. Your hips shift as you reach down to tug the hem of your dress up to take in the sight of him, his piss soaked into his grey Calvin’s as the fabric sticks to his skin. Positive it’s slathered all the way down to the leather couch beneath you as your cunt continues to pulse around him with want, already feeling the familiar heat beginning to build again in your pelvis as you roll your hips into him for some slight relief. 

“Don’t you dare.” He grunts, tightening his grip on your hips to stop you from moving after he was the one to force a mixture of piss and cum into your innocent hole. 

“Sae, I can’t believe you pissed in me.” You whined, feeling the moisture begin to soak into your panties as more of it leaked out of you. Cooling against the fabric as you shift your hips above him, both your eyes on where your bodies are connected as you watch more begin to escape your ruined hole. 

“It’s your fault.” He grumbles, as though you were the one to press down on his bladder. 

“You didn’t tell me you needed to pee!” You pout childishly, jutting out your bottom lip.

“I didn’t get a chance before you jumped me,” He rolled his eyes, his tongue jutting out to wet his lips as his chest continued to heave in his post-orgasmic haze.

“You make it sound like you didn’t want it.” You murmur, squealing when his softening cock begins to slip out of your stretched hole and you feel the final dregs of his piss dribble out of you. 

Sae ignores you, instead his eyes are focused on the mess between your thighs as he drags two fingers through it. Feeling the warmth of his piss and cum mixed with your slick as he watches your body respond intently, throwing your head back with a sharp gasp. 

“You make it sound like you didn’t want this.” He counters, mimicking your tone as he spreads your folds between his index and middle finger to tap your clit. 

“I have to walk home like this,” You gasp at the contact, “That’s so embarrassing.” 

No, he thinks, what was embarrassing is just how easily you had him submitting to you. 

“You act as though I'm going to parade you through the streets like this," He deadpans with half-lidded eyes, feeling the damp back of your dress where it sits against his thighs, "You're only going to go downstairs and get into my car.”

“That still means someone could see,” You whine, your nose scrunched adorably as he had to resist the urge to kiss you.

“Yeah yeah, and who's problem is that?”

His, he thinks as he groans internally. Praying to whatever God was up there looking down on him that there wouldn’t be any paparazzi outside that would catch him in piss-soaked slacks on the walk to his chauffeur. 

And if there was Sae was certain it would be all over social media by morning, and Shidou would never let him hear the end of it.

i miss you. i crave your touch, my sweet angel. i swear once i have you in my arms again im never letting you leave me again. no matter if it scares you or not. ♡

Dark star★🫶🏻

‘s okay

wc: 1k+

ran haitani x puppy! girl reader

summary: it’s bath day and you’re starting to think ran is more excited than you

ran’s puppy! girl looks forward to her bath time once a week. he always runs it for them in the big tub with the jets.

it always excited you, you get to lay with ran while you let him rub and scrub your body to get clean, behind your ears and your back. oh and the bubbles, how could i forget about the bubbles ran blows on your nose to mess with you.

every time you’re about to get out he tells you that you have to make sure you cleaned everywhere.

after you think over all the major parts, your face, your underarms, ears, back, and-

your ears perk up when you realize what this means, tongue lolling out and panting out of excitement

he smirks when he sees it connect in that precious little brain of yours, leaning in to nip at your neck, catching a whiff of the lavender and rose from the bath. he angles your body toward the jets positioning you over and over till he feels your body spasms a bit, making sure that pretty bundle of nerves is feeling the motion of the water.

“right there puppy? feel good?”

eyes going wide and whining immediately ensue after. despite the life ran’s been able to provide you with, you still were learning words to place within your vocabulary.

“f-feel good,” you thrash your tail around, “ feel good, please” you say feeling the band in your tummy begin to build from the intensity of the jet, the direct stream to clit action made your back arch, leaning into any skin your head could find purchase in, lapping at his inner arm as your way of saying thank you, and a plea for more.

ran was stern with you, sometimes you’d thought he hated you even. but he always made the tickles in your tummy go away, he would always talk so sweetly in your ear, you didn’t quite understand everything but whenever he had you in the tub, back pressed along his chest, stroking your tail or would begin to rub up and down on your tummy you didn’t need to speak, ‘specially when it felt so good. it was the only time trying to remember words was difficult for you.

“ p..pee, gunna pee ran” you said with a sense of urgency lifting your back off of his chest.

he laughs, you can feel the reverberations from it on your back, face heated, you lean your head back onto his shoulder, looking to him with fright in your eyes. last time you made a mess ran made you go outside…. and you hate being outside by yourself

the left side of his cheek tugs upwards, pulling you back against his chest slowly encasing you in his arms, running butterfly kisses along your shoulder blade, a slight smirk being hidden behind your closed eyes. only sound reverberating off the walls being the sound of the water jets and the pants escaping your mouth.

“gunna cum puppy?” he’d ask in a mocking tone, cooing in your ear. “ ‘s okay, you can let go” his hands finding their way down to your tummy pushing down near your bladder. “we’re in the tub i’ll just make you clean again baby.” he kisses the side of your face, making your cheeks feel even hotter aside from the slight embarrassment that you weren’t quite sure why you were feeling.

“c-cum, tickle ran,” you murmured , “feel good in tummy” your tail sending water everywhere outside the tub.

ran couldn’t even find himself to be mad, he had to make sure his baby’s puppy cunt didn’t need attention before bed, that’s how he gets you too sleep through the night, every night without fail

the speed in which you begin to thrash your tail is always his tell tell sign you’re about to let go. every time he gets you to cum it’s an experience in of itself really. sometimes you whine a lot and continuously lapping at any skin he let you find purchase in. sometimes he sees you biting at your lip and arching your back. but today felt different too, he see your tail started to slow down and he noticed you scooting you both forwards and lifting your legs over the edges of the tub, you didn’t even ask, you just needed more pressure, you thought you’d die if you couldn’t get the tightness in your tummy to go away in those very moments.

your legs were shaking he could see in his peripheral, he leans down to the opening of your ear and calls you his “pretty puppy” licking your earlobe while placing soft touches along your stomach feeling both aroused and tickle ish both firing different neurons in your head all at once which went right towards your sore battered chubby little cunt.

you curl your toes one last time and ran sees your mouth begin to part, cutest little “oh” coming onto your face he could probably keep this image of you inside his head forever, at least he’d only hoped he could. your tail and legs beginning to work in tandem with one another thrashing and shaking, you’re so close, you’re right there.

you feel ran grab you from underneath your thighs and spreading them more placing your pussy flush against the jet, “hurt, n-no too much , please” you throw your head from side to side as a plea , you were entirely too sensitive and you were sure you couldn’t take it, “it’s okay baby” he said in a tone so soft and soo smooth you weren’t sure what your tipping point was going to be. you feel your eyes begin to roll back, feeling like you’ve lost all access to the air in your lungs, your vision begins to blur before fading to black and a smile tugging on the ends of your face. “a-ah ran r-r” is all you could muster in high pitched squeals before you passed out.

“good girl” he says placing a chaste kiss on your forehead despite him knowing you’re now likely sleep, he still praises you. you, perhaps still unconsciously hearing him bc the slight wag in your tail didn’t go unnoticed.

@LUNARSAP 2022. holds ALL copyright towards works, excluding characters. Please do not copy, modify, plagiarize, or repost any of the contents of this list. Do not recommend works on any social media platform unless given explicit permission.

---

frat boy harry really existed, that era was surreal

Hysteria

Sum: Divorced, betrayed, and end up in a mental hospital? Definitely not on your 2025 bingo card.

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

WC: 9.7k (I sincerely apologize)

TW: Yandere Behaviors, SatoSugu smoochies, Medical AU, Masturbation, Noncon touching, Piss (nonsexual), Infantalization, Mental Hospital, False Medical Accusation, Medical malpractice, Electroshock therapy, Humilation, Reader is...really going through it. MDNI. ANGST. Dead dove do not eat

A/n: 💖 anon, thank you for giving the yummy idea. Dw there will be another medical au with the fears, but somehow satosugu and psych wards just...fueled me....

Grippy socks and a whole lot of rage.

You thundered through the cold hallways, those stupid grips on the bottom of your pale pink socks slapping against the soulless tile as you stormed toward the front desk—navigating the corridors with ease, with practice.

"Missus Geto!"

The nurse’s voice cut through the air, concern etched into every syllable. You barely heard her over the pounding in your ears, over the sound of your ragged breath. The two nurses in sterile white uniforms flanking you moved in closer.

"What the hell is the meaning of this?"

You tried to sound calm. Like you weren’t unhinged. Because you aren’t.

So why the hell are they treating you like you are?

Your fingers dug into the white desk, nails pressing so hard against the surface that it felt like your nails might leave a mark.

Your gaze flickered to the back wall, where pristine frames displayed crisp, professional lettering.

Geto Suguru.

Gojo Satoru.

The two main doctors.

One of them your ex-husband.

The other, someone you once considered a friend.

Let’s backtrack, shall we?

Suguru had always been gentle. Not in the way that people could be when they tried to be, not in the way that was practiced. No, he was gentle in the way that flowers turned toward the sun, effortlessly, instinctively.

His hands always ran warm, fingertips tracing absentminded circles against your skin whenever he held you. He kissed you like it was second nature like the act itself was woven into his being. Slow, lingering, like he had all the time in the world to savor you.

"You always rush," he would murmur against your lips, hands cupping your face, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. "Take a breath, angel."

And you would.

Because in his arms, the world didn’t just slow—it stilled. It curled around the two of you, safe, untouched, like a sanctuary built for no one else. He memorized you with the precision of a surgeon and the devotion of a poet, every habit, every breath, every fleeting hesitation. Your friends envied it. Your parents bragged about it.

"A doctor in the family!" they’d say, pride swelling in their voices.

Suguru would only chuckle, his arm draped securely around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you. Then, in the quiet of an evening, when the world faded away, he’d murmur little truths about you, the ones only he had noticed.

"She chews her lip when she’s thinking too hard," he’d tease, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "She likes her tea sweet, but not too sweet. And she counts her steps when she’s anxious—"

"Suguru!" you’d huff, pushing at his chest, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you.

And he’d only smile, soft and knowing, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "What? I like knowing you."

He was perfect. Too perfect.

Every fight ended the same way—him, impossibly composed, those stormy violet eyes locked onto you with patience that never cracked.

"Angel, sit with me."

"Suguru, I don’t—"

"Please."

And you would.

Because he had a way of making the world go silent, of smothering your fire with the weight of his gentleness. He never yelled, never lashed out, never met your frustration with his own. Instead, he’d gather you in his arms, press his lips to your temple, and whisper—

"Tell me what’s wrong."

You hated that. Hated the way he never let the fight breathe, never let it burn. Hated that he never raised his voice, never let you see the cracks, never showed you anything but unwavering, unshakable devotion.

You wanted him to break. Just once.

Instead, he ran his fingers through your hair, pressed featherlight kisses against your hairline, held you until your breathing slowed, until your words lost their edges and softened into something he could soothe, something he could fix.

"See?" he’d murmur. "We can figure this out. Together."

And maybe that was love.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

Maybe it was why, one morning before your shift at the ER, you left the divorce papers on his desk, your hands trembling as you placed the pen beside them.

Maybe it was why, as you stepped over the threshold of the home you built together, your heart felt like it was tearing itself apart.

Because love shouldn’t feel like suffocation.

Even if the arms around you were warm. Even if the kisses were soft.

Even if walking away made you wonder if, maybe—just maybe—you had just made the biggest mistake of your life.

“You don’t find a man like that in every lifetime, Y/N.”

Your mother’s voice crackled through the phone, sharp and impatient, as you yanked your scrubs over your head, the fabric stiff from too many late-night washes.

“Seriously, how many overnight shifts have you been working? You married a doctor! You should settle down, have some babies—not stay up all night playing nurse.”

You clenched your jaw.

Yes. You - a nurse married a doctor.

And somehow, everyone always forgot that nurses saved lives, too.

You huffed, shoving your hands into your pockets, double-checking for the essentials, pen light, trauma shears, and your stash of caffeine for the night.

"I’m not playing nurse, Mother," you muttered, stuffing your phone between your shoulder and ear.

"Then what is it, sweetheart?" she pried, and you could already hear the sigh she was holding back.

Something just feels… wrong.

But you didn’t say that.

Because it didn’t matter.

And just like you expected, she brushed your worries aside, swept them under the rug the way mothers always did. A moment later, your phone pinged, and there it was—her latest unsolicited solution, wrapped in a clickbait headline.

"How to Save Your Marriage!" straight from some old Cosmopolitan article.

You rolled your eyes.

At least it wasn’t like the one she sent last week.

"How to Spice Up the Bedroom."

Where she—repeatedly—asked if your sex life was still healthy.

You stopped replying after that.

Not because your sex life was bad.

It wasn’t.

Suguru was… well.

He was a man built for worship—his, yours, it didn’t matter.

Everything about him had been crafted to please, down to the way he touched you—deliberate, devout, like it was a privilege, like he had all the time in the world to learn what made you tremble, what made you fall apart beneath him.

He made you feel cherished.

Until you started pulling away.

At first, it was small. His arms encircled your waist as you washed dishes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, the warm inhale before his teeth grazed your skin-

And then the series of kisses, slow and soft, trailing down the column of your neck, down, down, down—

Until you were stepping away.

Another meek smile.

Another I’m just tired.

Because you were.

Three back-to-back night shifts in the ER, too many patients flatlining on the table, your body running on caffeine fumes and pure adrenaline.

And Suguru?

He never got angry. Never snapped, never accused, never let frustration seep into his voice.

"Don’t worry, angel," he’d murmur instead, pressing a final kiss to your temple. "That’s okay."

So patient. So perfectly understanding.

And yet, it wasn’t like you stopped thinking about him.

You didn’t need porn, never did. Not when you had him burned into your mind.

Those pretty violet eyes, the way they darkened when he was between your thighs. The slow, reverent way he kissed up your inner thighs before spreading you open with those thick fingers, working you apart with precise precision.

Every orgasm coaxed from your body with intent, with devotion—like he had some kind of personal investment in unraveling you.

And now, alone in bed, aching, needing, your fingers weren’t enough.

They weren’t his.

They weren’t thick enough, long enough, couldn’t reach that soft, plushy spot deep inside, couldn’t curl just right.

And yet, even back then, you never went to him for it.

Never let yourself ask for what you needed.

And maybe that was the problem.

Maybe it wasn’t about sex at all.

But still—

You refused to tell your mother about the lack of intimacy.

That night, you ended up at Satoru’s place.

Because of course you did.

Satoru had always been a close friend—yours and Suguru’s. And it had never been weird.

Not really.

With Satoru, it was always the little things. The things that didn’t carry weight. The casual venting about insufferable patients, the late-night hospital gossip, the stolen moments of laughter between shifts when you needed them most. He was the kind of person who could pull you out of your own head without even trying, the kind who would let you curl up on his couch without asking questions, shove a glass of expensive sake into your hands when your fingers wouldn’t stop shaking.

He always listened.

He always let you in.

Always took care of you in that easy way only he could.

And it was never weird.

Well—

Except for that one time.

Too many margaritas.

Too much sun.

The three of you sprawled across warm sand in Mexico, waves licking the shore, salt clinging to your skin. Satoru, grinning around the rim of his cocktail, his cheeks tinged pink from the alcohol. "Dare you to kiss me," he’d said, nudging Suguru’s knee with his own, teasing.

And, to your utter shock.

Suguru did.

Suguru’s fingers twisted into Satoru’s shirt, yanking him closer. Satoru melted into it, like he had been waiting. Like they had done this before.

And not just a peck. It was firm. Rough.

Your stomach flipped.

Suguru had never kissed you like that.

Never held you like that.

And maybe it was the tequila, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the way Satoru’s smug little smirk lingered a little too long after they finally pulled away, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Couldn’t stop wanting it.

Later that night, back in your hotel room, the thoughts had gnawed at you, restless, relentless. You had stepped into the shower beside Suguru, letting the warm water cascade over both of you, watching the way his hands moved over your skin, slow, methodical, worshipful.

"Why don’t you ever kiss me like that?"

Suguru had blinked, his fingers pausing against your ribs. "Like what?"

"Rough." You had half-teased, half-tested.

Suguru’s hands resumed their path, gliding over your hips with the same gentle touch he always had.

"I can’t be like that with you," he murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheek, then another, then another. "I can’t hurt the love of my life."

Your cheeks burned under the steam, but still -

"What if I want you to?"

A slow inhale, his lips barely grazing your jawline.

"I have patients who need that," he whispered, that same soft patience laced into his voice. His fingertips traced slow, intricate designs into your skin, like he was carving the words into you.

"Those needs are built by people who haven’t been loved properly like you have," he continued, his lips barely touching your temple. "I would rather you remain pure and loved."

Pure.

Loved.

And that was the end of it.

Suguru never brought it up again.

And if you did, he would smooth it over, remind you of his devotion. That he loved you. That he was afraid of going too far. That he couldn’t be rough with you, not in the way he had been with Satoru, not in the way that made your breath hitch and your stomach twist with something you couldn’t name.

Because you were his angel.

His soft thing.

His exception.

And so, when Satoru had opened the door for you, when he pulled you inside with that easy grin, when he draped a blanket over your lap and shoved takeout into your hands.

It was almost enough to forget.

"It’s what Suguru would want," he had said with a wink.

No questions. No judgment.

The couch—his couch, the one he never actually used—was yours for the night.

The hospital had a reputation for running its doctors into the ground anyway. Neither of you were strangers to sleepless nights.

"But—"

"Stay as long as you’d like," Satoru hummed as he unwrapped his container, the scent of soy sauce and fried rice filling the space.

He dragged the word out, his smirk sharpening. "I am gonna have to tell Suguru you’re here. You do know that, right?"

Your shoulders tensed, but you only sighed, sinking deeper into the chair.

"I figured."

Satoru grinned. "We could invite -"

"Nope."

You cut him off before he could even finish, shoving a spoonful of rice into your mouth, eyes locked pointedly on the little red takeout box in your hands, letting the oil seep into the edges of the conversation.

Satoru pouted dramatically, flopping into the chair across from you.

And this—this was what you liked about him.

The moment you told him no, he backed off.

Maybe it was because he was terrible with emotions. Maybe it was because he turned everything into a joke.

But he never pushed.

Until he didn’t.

Satoru was a good friend. Someone who always had your back.

It happened later that night.

The bathroom was dim, the overhead light buzzing softly, casting a sterile glow over the sink. The quiet felt too heavy, pressing in around you, making your own breath sound too loud. Your fingers fumbled with the cap of a prescription bottle, muscles sluggish, exhaustion weighing on you like a physical thing. Just Tylenol. Nothing dangerous. Just something to dull the relentless pounding behind your eyes, to take the edge off, to help you sleep - not forever, just enough.

"Stupid child-proof caps," you muttered, twisting, shaking, trying to pry it open. Your grip slipped, frustration bubbling up as you tried again, more forceful this time.

Then the door swung open.

At the worst possible moment.

The cap finally popped free, and before you could stop it, small, white pills spilled into your palm just as Satoru stepped inside.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air in the room shifted, thickening with suffocatuon. His usual lazy smirk was nowhere to be seen, replaced by something eerily still. His gaze dropped - to the bottle in your grip, to the pills in your hand, to the exhaustion carved into the planes of your face. You watched the realization flicker across his features, slow, deliberate, something you couldn’t quite place.

Then, before you could react, before you could explain, his hand was already in his pocket.

Your stomach dropped.

"Satoru - " Your voice cracked, uneven, clawing its way out of your throat. "No. No, this isn’t - this isn’t what it looks like."

You stepped forward, reaching for his wrist, but he stepped back. Just out of reach. Watching. Assessing. Already deciding.

"Yeah, it’s Gojo Satoru," he said smoothly, effortlessly - like he was ordering fucking takeout. "I need an emergency psych evaluation."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Your fingers trembled, cold washing over you as you took another step toward him. "Satoru - stop! Listen to me!"

But that was the problem.

"I didn’t realize it was this bad," he sighed, almost soft, his lips curling into a pitying smile.

He was listening. Too closely. Watching the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands curled into fists like you were trying to hold yourself together. You had seen that look before, in the ER, when he assessed patients when he made decisions for them. Decisions they never got to take back.

The walls felt like they were closing in. The room tilted.

Then came the hands on your arms—firm, practiced, final. Voices murmuring in the background. You tried to fight, but the moment was already slipping away.

You were escorted out of his apartment.

Stuffed into the back of a black-tinted vehicle. Flagged by two men in sterile white coats.

Driven past empty streets and dimly lit signs, past any chance of turning back.

Led through cold, sterile hallways, past locked doors and hushed voices.

Which led you here.

Standing at the front desk of a place you didn’t belong.

Wearing stupid pink grippy socks.

Your hands shook at your sides, your pulse hammering in your ears, a deep, aching numbness settling into your bones. You hadn’t expected Satoru to betray you. Hadn’t expected him to smile so softly as he handed you over, hadn’t expected the way his hand lingered on your back, firm, reassuring, as if he thought he was helping.

Surrounded by people who didn’t believe you.

And you sure as hell hadn’t expected to be locked away in the so-called presidential suite of the mental hospital - reserved for the rich and famous.

Or, in your case, the pitifully well-connected.

The walls were a soft pastel pink, littered with bunny and flower decals, the kind that practically screamed, "Everything is sunshine and rainbows!" 

Except it wasn’t.

It didn’t help that fresh flowers sat on your nightstand, always roses. Suguru’s favorite gesture. Romantic, thoughtful. Except he’d gone the extra step—meticulously removing every thorn. So you couldn’t even shove them down Satoru’s throat if you wanted to for dragging you to this place. 

Instead, you were stuck with a locked door. No bathroom. A sad excuse for a sippy cup of water. And a plush, inviting bed you were now restrained to after your roster status conveniently changed from stable to unstable.

You nearly jumped at the sound of the door unlocking.

In walked him.

Suguru. Your beloved ex-husband. 

He stepped inside with that same effortless grace, his lab coat crisp, sleeves pushed just slightly to his elbows, revealing the same steady hands that once traced every inch of your skin. The scent of clean linen and something faintly musky—his scent—lingered as he moved. His dark hair was neatly tied back, a few stray strands framing his face in a way that made your stomach lurch.

"Miss Geto," he greeted, voice smooth—velvety, like he was speaking to a lover rather than a patient.

Something inside you cracked. 

"Don't," you snapped, harsher than intended like the word had torn its way through your throat baring your teeth. "Let me go."

Then, without hesitation, he pulled up a chair and settled across from you, as if this was just another late-night conversation over tea at the kitchen table. The same easy grace, the same quiet patience. Clipboard in hand, pen scratching against the paper in slow, measured strokes, like he was making note of the way your chest rose and fell just a little too fast, the way your fingers twitched against the thin hospital blanket.

Like he still knew you better than anyone.

"You’re my patient," he mused, his voice dangerously calm. "Who attempted suicide."

"I did nothing of the sort," you spat, the words flowing out too fast, too sharp. 

Suguru barely lifted his gaze, still focused on his notes. Reading out loud what you had told the nursing staff when you were admitted. 

"The bottle spilled. An innocent mistake anyone can make. Even a professional like yourself."

That finally got him to look up. He smiled.

Suguru’s smile was infuriatingly soft like he was humoring a particularly stubborn child. He set the clipboard down, fingers interlacing as he leaned forward slightly, as if trying to make you feel heard, as if he actually believed this was some kind of productive conversation.

"An innocent mistake," he repeated, tilting his head. "Is that what you’d like to call it?"

You clenched your jaw. "It’s the truth."

Suguru exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, a slow, measured disappointment. "Y/N, you know I can’t just take your word for it."

"Why not?" you snapped, your voice sharp, desperate, cracking at the edges despite your best efforts. "I am telling you what happened."

His gaze softened - not in pity, not in understanding, but in something far worse.

"Because I know you," he said simply, like that was supposed to mean something, like that was supposed to be enough. "I know how you get when something is wrong. And I know you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t something wrong."

Your nails dug into the soft fabric of the restraints wrapped around your wrists.

"Something is wrong," you hissed, venom laced in every syllable. "My so-called best friend had me committed based on a bullshit assumption, and my ex-husband—who should be the last person with a say in my well-being—is now sitting here acting like he gets to play God with my life."

Suguru didn’t flinch.

Didn’t waver.

If anything, his patience deepened.

"Satoru was worried about you," he murmured, his voice smooth, steady, controlled. "We both are. How do you think I felt hearing that my wife attempted suicide?"

You barked out a laugh - sharp, bitter, ugly.

"Worried?" The word burned as it left your throat. "No. Satoru was being his usual overdramatic self, and you -"

Your breath hitched. The words sat on your tongue, heavy, rancid, tasting worse than bile.

"You’re just enjoying this, aren’t you?"

Suguru blinked. His expression didn’t shift, didn’t flicker.

Unreadable.

Untouchable.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the sterile hum of the hospital.

"You get to keep me here." The rage trembled beneath your skin, a wildfire barely contained. "Control me. Make me talk to you. Because you hated that I left."

"Hated that I didn’t need you."

And then, you gestured - jerked against the restraints just enough for them to bite into your skin, to make a point, creating angry markings against your skin.

"And now, look! Here I am. All wrapped up and delivered straight to you."

A long silence stretched between you.

The weight of his gaze settled over you, suffocating, crushing.

Then—

Suguru reached for his clipboard, flipping through a few pages, slow, cautious.

"You think I want to control you?" he mused, barely glancing up, attempting to avoid your gaze. "Think I wasn’t worried when I got the call?"

There was something almost amused in the way he said it.

You bared your teeth, chest rising and falling too fast, anger crackling under your skin like a live fire.

"Don’t you?"

Suguru sighed, rubbing at his temple, slow and methodical, before finally looking at you.

You stared at him, waiting.

Waiting for the punchline.

Waiting for him to drop the act—for his mask of careful patience to crack and show something real, something human.

You inhaled sharply, exhaled in small, uneven breaths, the air in the room too thick, too sterile.

Suguru just watched you.

He let a few beats pass, like he was waiting for you to finish, like he was giving you time—as if this was just another tantrum that needed to run its course.

And then—

He smiled.

"I need a urine sample," he murmured, voice smooth, as if the past few minutes hadn’t happened, as if your rage, your desperation, was nothing more than an inconvenience.

You scoffed, shifting against the restraints. "Fine. Take me to the bathroom." You turned your head away, expecting the click of the buckles being undone any second now.

It never came.

"That’s not how things work here, angel," Suguru mused, his voice a slow, deliberate test—poking, prodding, waiting for your reaction.

Your hands curled into fists. "Angel." That pet name he used to say with love. That pet name that now sounded like a leash tightening around your throat.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Suguru," you started, voice level, "hospital protocol states that urine samples are to be taken in the restroom. In private. At most, a guard may be present. You know this."

Suguru simply shook his head, looking almost gladden at your attempt to argue. "This isn’t your ER," he reminded you smoothly, tilting his head. "This is my hospital. And here, we take precautions. We have to ensure you don’t harm yourself… or tamper with the sample."

Your breath hitched, another furrow of the brows. "Tamper -"

"Don’t worry," Suguru cut you off, still unbearably calm, like this was just another mundane part of his day. "I’ll be completely professional."

You stared at him, anger burning so hot in your chest it felt suffocating.

Dick.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" you hissed.

Suguru didn’t react. Just leaned back in his chair, the cup still held between his fingers, watching you with that same unreadable patience.

"Come on, angel," he murmured, almost teasing now. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way." 

You hated him.

Not in the way you hated Satoru for his dramatics, or your mother for her unsolicited marriage advice.

No.

You hated Suguru in the kind of way that made your skin itch, that made your blood run cold with fury. The kind of hatred reserved for someone who knew you inside and out—who knew exactly what would break you, and took his sweet time doing it.

“I want Shoko present then,” you huffed, chin tilted up, clinging onto whatever scraps of control you had left. “A different doctor.”

Suguru barely reacted. Just tilted his head, twirling the specimen container lazily between his fingers. "She just finished her shift. She cannot legally return for 72 hours."

Bullshit.

"Mei Mei," you shot back immediately.

"Busy handling more special cases," Suguru countered smoothly, not missing a beat. "More aggressive ones."

Of course. Of course.

You knew exactly what he was doing. Boxing you in, narrowing your choices, giving you just enough illusion of control to make you feel like you weren’t completely powerless.

And then, he dropped the final option. The only option.

"If you want a different doctor," he sighed, so patronizing, so patient, "then you may request Satoru."

Your lips parted, rage curling on your tongue, ready to tell him exactly where to shove that offer—

But then something cold and spiteful took over.

"Fine," you bit out, keeping your glare locked onto his. "Call him."

You weren’t expecting much - maybe a slight twitch of his jaw, a roll of his eyes, anything that would prove you’d gotten to him, even just a little.

But no.

Suguru only smiled. Soft. Unbothered. Always one step ahead.

"Alright, angel," he murmured, standing with a slow, practiced ease. "I’ll go grab him. Whatever makes you feel more comfortable."

Like he was indulging you.

Like he was being the bigger person.

Like he was waiting for you to realize how ridiculous you were being and apologize.

You squeezed the specimen cup so tightly in your hands you thought it might crack. Your nails dug into the plastic, jaw clenched so hard your teeth ached. Satoru just stood there, completely at ease, watching you like he had all the time in the world.

His grin was unbearable. The casual way he leaned against the door, arms crossed, like this was fun for him. Like he wasn’t standing in front of someone who was actively fighting off the urge to snap.

"Need me to hold the cup?" he teased, tilting his head, voice all sugar and mockery.

You blinked at him, your mind blank for a moment—so full of rage that it looped back into emptiness. A white-hot static filled your ears. Your hands itched, ached to throw the cup at his face, to shatter the glass of the observation mirror behind him, to break something—anything—

But you just swallowed, holding your ground.

"You’re not going to turn around?" you asked, voice deceptively calm, but you could hear the crack in it.

Satoru shook his head, all easy amusement, that soft white hair swaying with the motion. "What if you’re using someone else’s—"

The pressure in your chest reached a peak, and before you could stop yourself, you snapped.

"How the hell would I get someone else’s urine, Satoru?"

It came out sharper than you intended, more raw, more exhausted. You saw the moment he caught onto it - saw the way his smirk deepened, how his fingers twitched at the thrill of getting under your skin.

You hated that.

You hated him.

You gripped the cup harder. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, arms shook with the effort of keeping yourself together. The room was too small. The air was too thick. Everything felt wrong.

"So snappy," he murmured, like he was pleased. Like this was all some game or prank that you were just waiting for the camera crew to come in and tell you "get pranked!"

Except it wasn't. You were still hovering over a drain embedded in the pale blue floor trying to pee.

Throw it at him. The thought came unbidden, cold and quiet. Just throw it. Wipe that smirk off his face. Give him something real to laugh about.

Your fingers twitched.

No.

No, because that’s exactly what he wanted. That’s exactly what Suguru wanted. To watch you spiral. To document it. To mark it down in that damn file.

Satoru pushed off the wall, stretching, rolling his neck. "Relax, princess," he said, ever the smug bastard. "Just following protocol. Who knows? Maybe you planned this."

Your vision blurred at the edges.

You wanted to scream.

Maybe you planned this. Slow and mocking rang through your ears. 

You wanted to hit him.

You wanted to rip your way out of this room, out of this fucking hospital, out of your own skin -

But you didn’t.

You stood there, chest rising and falling too fast, your hands gripping the specimen cup like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to yourself. To your sanity. 

Because if you gave in—if you screamed, if you threw something, if you lost control—

So instead, you swallowed the fire in your throat, stuffed the rage down where it burned deep in your gut, and forced your lips into a sickly sweet smile.

Then they’d win.

"Then I guess you’ll just have to watch me pee," you whispered, voice deceptively soft.

You wanted to see his smirk falter, just for a second.

It didn’t.

Satoru crouched down to your level, resting his chin on his hand like this was the most interesting thing in the world. His bright blue eyes shimmered with amusement, waiting, watching.

"You know…" he started, tone light, teasing as if he weren’t watching you at your most humiliated. "I was really worried about you."

You refused to look at him, your grip on the cup tightening, your focus locked on the pristine blue of his scrubs.

"Yeah?" you muttered, voice flat.

"Mhmm." His hum vibrated with something smug. "The nurses - " he dragged the word out playfully like he was gossiping at brunch, " - think you planned this. That you missed Suguru so much, you just had to get yourself locked up in his hospital…"

Your hands trembled slightly, the sheer rage threatening to make the cup slip.

Satoru noticed. Of course he did.

Then you noticed it.

The tent in his pants.

Your stomach twisted, nausea curling in your throat, but before you could process it, his gloved fingers brushed your cheek, guiding your face toward him. His blue eyes dazzled- a trap disguised as something beautiful.

"Don’t worry," he went on, casual, sweet, like you were just two friends catching up over coffee. "It’ll only be a couple more days until you get to leave. Maybe…" he trailed off for dramatic effect, grinning as if he was pitching you something fun, "we can go home all together."

"But I know better," he murmured, his breath tickling your skin. "You’re a good girl, aren’t you?"

What the hell was he playing at? And before you could stop him, before your brain could even process it—

His lips pressed against your forehead. Soft. Chaste.

Mocking.

The cup slipped from your hands.

It hit the tile with a sharp clatter, the urine spilling onto the floor, and swirling down the small drain.

Satoru stayed close, close enough to feel his smile against your skin.

Then he pulled back, taking in the mess with a soft whistle.

"Oops," he cooed, lips twitching in amusement. "Butterfingers."

You stared at him, nails digging into your palm, pressing hard enough that you should have drawn blood—would have, if Suguru hadn’t meticulously trimmed and filed them down.

To the point where they couldn’t even leave a mark. Couldn’t harm anyone. Something about it being protocol. 

Satoru’s grin widened, his teeth practically sparkling. Bright blue eyes brightening. "Guess we’ll have to try again! The second time’s the charm, right?"

The sound of the slap cracked through the sterile air like a gunshot.

Your palm stung, the heat of the impact lingering on your skin, but it was nothing compared to the way Satoru’s head had barely turned with the force of it.

That grin.

It didn’t falter.

Didn’t waver.

His face remained tilted to the side for just a second, the red mark of your palm blooming on his cheek. But when he slowly turned back to you - his lips stretched into something wicked.

You could’ve sworn the red on his face wasn’t just from your slap.

But a blush.

"Ohhh," Satoru exhaled, his grin widening. His tongue swiped over the inside of his cheek like he was tasting the sting. "Now that’s the fire I missed. Though you didn’t wash your hands, princess."

Your stomach dropped.

The heat in his eyes wasn’t just amusement.

He liked that.

"That felt good, didn’t it?" he mused, tilting his head, gaze never leaving yours. "You wanna do it again?"

Your whole body locked up, muscles coiled so tightly they ached. The rational part of you screamed don’t react—don’t give him what he wants. But the rest of you—the part that was sick with rage, humiliation, helplessness—wanted to slap him again. Wanted to make him hurt.

Satoru saw it. Felt it.

And he loved it.

He leaned in ever so slightly, voice dropping lower, playful yet taunting. "Come on, sugar. Let it out."

You curled your fingers into fists, so close to giving in—

And then the door clicked open.

Suguru stepped in, clipboard in hand, dark eyes flicking between the two of you, taking in the charged atmosphere with a knowing hum.

Satoru, still grinning, straightened up, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Well," he drawled, stretching lazily, "unfortunately, we still need that sample."

Suguru raised an eyebrow. "Trouble?"

"Nah." Satoru waved a hand dismissively, glancing down at you once more, his smirk never once faltering. "We were just bonding."

"I see," Suguru murmured, not even looking at you as he jotted something down on the clipboard. His eyes flicked to the urine spill on the floor, and then back to Satoru, as if this was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. "I’ll call someone to clean up your mess, angel. We can just wait until you have to go again, won’t we? Need you hydrated for your blood test anyway."

You weren’t sure what you were feeling.

Fury?

Dread?

Humiliation?

Some horrible concoction of all three, swirling in your chest, making it impossible to breathe.

Satoru let out a soft, amused hum beside you, still rubbing at his cheek as if savoring the sting.

Suguru’s pen paused. "Did she slap you, Satoru?"

The words were deceptively gentle. His gaze drifted to his best friend’s pale skin, now tinged pink, his expression unreadable.

Satoru, ever the little shit, grinned. "She sure did!" He shot you a wink. "She’s still got that fight in her, huh?"

Suguru exhaled slowly, tapping the clipboard with the end of his pen before leveling you with the most patronizing look you had ever seen. There was no cruelty in his expression, no outright malice. As if he had already decided what you were before, you even opened your mouth.

"Suppose we have to add aggression to your chart, then…"

Your stomach twisted again, you were about to speak out, defend yourself -

"Have to keep you away from the other patients and nurses," he continued, his voice calm, like he was making a note about the weather instead of your freedom. His pen moved smoothly over the page, unbothered, effortless. "Don’t want any more staff getting hurt."

Your pulse pounded against your ribs, the sharp pressure of your heartbeat making your vision blur for a moment. "I am not aggressive." The words came out too fast, too desperate, as if sheer force could make them true in his mind.

Suguru didn’t even glance up from his notes. "Of course not, angel." His voice carried the same devoted softness it always had, the same infuriating patience.

The sound of his pen moving against the clipboard might as well have been the click of a lock.

They were rewriting you right in front of your eyes, shaping you into something else—someone else. Piece by piece, erasing what didn’t fit, twisting reality into something they could control.

A violent patient.

An unstable patient.

A liability.

Your hands trembled against your lap, fingers curling into fists so tightly that your nails pressed into your skin. You could feel the warmth of Suguru’s gaze on you, watching, waiting. You wanted to fight back, to rip the clipboard from his hands, to make him listen. But you already knew how that would end. Another note in the file. Another checkmark on their list. Another reason for them to keep you here.

Days passed, though they bled together, time warping under the weight of routine. You spent most of it trapped in the common room, though there was nothing common about it. There were no other patients. No quiet conversations or hushed laughter in the corners. No sounds of therapy sessions or shuffling feet down the halls. Just you. Just him.

Satoru sat across from you, long legs stretched out beneath the too-small plastic table, posture relaxed as if this was just another lazy afternoon. His hand moved methodically over a coloring page, crayons scattered across the table in a mess of childish hues.

"Don’t you have other patients?" you asked, your voice tight, the question slipping out before you could stop it. Your fingers curled around a yellow crayon, grip stiff, too firm.

Satoru didn’t look up. Instead, he kept humming to himself, dragging slow strokes of purple wax over the page, his movements too steady, too deliberate. "I'm going to color my flowers purple." He flipped the page toward you with a smug little grin. "What color are you going to do yours?"

Satoru noticed. His grin grew, slow and satisfied, as if your irritation was more entertaining than the coloring itself. "Need me to help you out there, princess?" he teased, leaning forward slightly. "See, you have to—"

Your paper sat untouched. Blank. Couldn’t bring yourself to play along.

"Satoru."

The crayon in your hand snapped before you even realized you were gripping it too hard. A jagged, broken edge crumbled onto the table, wax flecks scattering across the surface.

The hum of casual amusement in the room vanished.

Satoru stilled. His lips parted slightly, and for the first time, his sharp, blue eyes locked onto you with something heavier than teasing amusement.

Satoru chuckled. It was quiet at first, low, controlled, but then it spilled out in full, bright and infuriating, his lips stretching into something too wide, too pleased.

"I asked you a question," you said, your voice shaking - not from fear, but from the sheer, unbearable restraint it took not to hurl the broken crayon at his smug, unbothered face.

"You really don’t like playing house with me, huh?" he mused, tapping the broken crayon piece with his finger as if it fascinated him. "Come on, princess, lighten up. You’re making it seem like you don’t enjoy my company. We used to be so close before all of this."

Your jaw tightened, frustration grinding in your chest. This was a game to him. A performance. You were the only one who hadn’t seen the script.

"Answer the damn question."

Satoru tilted his head as if weighing his answer, as if he was letting you believe you had any say in how this conversation would go. Then, with a lazy stretch, he sighed, tone dramatically put-upon, like he was humoring you.

"Not really," he admitted. "No one else here really needs me the way you do."

The words crawled under your skin like something sick and wrong, twisting deep in your gut before you could shove them away.

"The way you do."

Like you were needy.

Like you wanted this.

Like this was all for you.

The slow, creeping horror curled through your veins, tightening around your ribs, but you forced it down, pushed past it. You gritted your teeth, fingers digging into your palms. "I don’t need you."

Satoru’s smirk widened, stretching just a little too far, as if he could see the fraying edges of your composure and was thrilled by it. You were going to snap. You wanted to slap him again, wanted to claw at his stupid, smug, self-satisfied face, wanted to do something—anything—to wipe that look off of him.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you forced yourself to move slowly, deliberately, picking up the ridiculous sippy cup they had given you, the plastic cool and smooth against your trembling fingers. You took a sip, the artificial sweetness coating your tongue, the taste almost childish in its simplicity. The act of swallowing felt too thick, like your throat didn’t quite want to obey. Just as carefully, you set the cup back down on the tiny plastic table, making sure not to let it shake in your grip.

You had to be calm.

You weren’t insane.

You weren’t crazy.

You weren’t violent.

But the air was too thick, the walls pressing in, the stupid, unfinished coloring page in front of you mocking in its blankness. The pressure inside your chest swelled, wrapping around your ribs like a tightening coil. Your vision blurred at the edges, hot and unwelcome, and you clenched your fists in your lap, willing it away, forcing it down.

Satoru noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"Aww, princess," he murmured, his voice honey-sweet, mocking in its gentleness, and before you could react, before you could pull away, he was pulling you in. Strong arms wrapped around you, warm, suffocating. The scent of him—clean linen, faint cologne, something unmistakably Satoru—invaded your senses, pressing in on all sides.

"Hey, it’s okay to cry," he cooed, his lips ghosting over your forehead before pressing a kiss there, his voice a soothing lull—deceptively soft. "This is a safe space."

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

The word reverberated in your skull, clashing violently with the truth. This wasn’t safe. This was a cage. A well-kept, carefully controlled cage, but a cage nonetheless. And yet—your body betrayed you.

Because wasn’t this what you were supposed to do? Accept comfort? Let yourself be held? Be good?

"See?" he murmured, fingers stroking through your hair with slow, measured precision. "That’s my good girl."

You nodded weakly against his chest, your body folding into his hold, and the tears finally spilled over - silent, hot, humiliating. His arms tightened around you in response, as if he had been waiting for this, as if he had known you would break.

It was just a matter of when.

The words sent a violent shudder through you, something deep and instinctive recoiling at the way he said it. Like you belonged to him.

Satoru pulled back slightly, just enough to brush a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, still smiling, still so unshaken, so pleased.

"I’ll bring you some better clothes," he promised, as if he was doing you a favor, like he was some benevolent god. "Something warm, something comfortable."

You swallowed down the thick lump in your throat, nodding again. Maybe—maybe if you played along, maybe if you did what they wanted, they would let you go.

"I don’t think coloring is your strong suit," Satoru mused, his tone light, teasing, trying to smother the moment before had never happened. "We can make paper stars instead! I’ll keep them in my office. Maybe we can make some for Suguru too! Oh, he’d love that! Still has your wedding photo hung up."

Words that landed like a slap, sharp and visceral. Your wedding photo. Still up. Still there. Like nothing had changed. As if those papers you left had no meaning.

The weight of it all bore down on you, and you almost didn’t notice the way Satoru’s hand moved lower.

A slow, trailing touch.

Fingers ghosting beneath the hem of your hospital gown.

Warm against your bare skin.

Your body froze. Every muscle locked up in an instant, but your mind felt numb, sluggish, as if refusing to acknowledge what was happening.

"I just want to make sure you’re okay, princess," Satoru whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Can you show me that you’re okay?"

His fingers pressed just a little firmer, a test, waiting for you to comply. A slight spread of your thighs as his fingers continued their quest.

You weren’t sure what scared you more. The way your body stopped resisting or the way this felt inevitable.

Was it fear?

Resignation?

Were you just enduring, waiting for the moment this would finally be over, so you could go home?

The door clicked open.

Suguru, thankfully, walked in, his dark eyes sweeping over the scene like he already knew what had transpired.

Satoru removed his hand, but the touch lingered, seared into your skin like a brand.

"Ready?" Suguru smiled, that soft, practiced kind, like this was just another routine check-in, like he wasn’t about to upend your entire world again. Wasn't going to drug you back into compliance, wasn't going to hush and calm you when he drew blood for testing.

"You’ve been doing so well the past couple of days—taking your meds, following the schedule—that after this one little test, the head of operations agreed we can move to home treatment…"

He let the words settle, let them sink in before delivering the final blow—

"Since it’s already convenient that we live together."

Your fingers clenched against the table, a cold weight dropping in your stomach.

"We’re divorced," you said slowly, carefully, as if daring him to acknowledge it.

Suguru’s warm, easy smile didn’t falter.

"Mmm, not what your file says," he hummed, stepping closer, his gaze flicking to Satoru’s drawing.

"You didn’t make me one, angel?" His voice was light, almost teasing, but the undercurrent of expectation was there.

"I would’ve hung it up."

Something snapped inside you.

You weren’t sure what.

But you had never wanted to flip a stupid kiddy table more in your entire life.

"Where the hell is Shoko?" The words tore from your throat, sharp and raw. "I want her as my doctor - that is my right."

Suguru blinked at you, his expression shifting—just slightly. Not quite hurt. Not quite anything.

Almost like he had expected this.

"Or the nurses?" you continued, voice rising, trembling with fury. "I want Nanami to be my watch instead of this blue-eyed freak."

You saw it.

The way Satoru flinched. The brief flicker of hurt that crossed his face - so quick, so momentary, but you caught it.

And your heart twisted and cracked.

Because you knew.

You’d always known what that word meant to him.

But you couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t let yourself care.

Because they weren’t listening.

Suguru turned to Satoru, his voice dipping into something colder.

"I think we need to up the dosage."

Then, back to you - his expression unreadable, his tone soft, patronizing.

"I didn’t know you had so much anger in you, angel."

He reached for your face, fingers moving to cup your cheek—

And you smacked his hand away.

The sharp sound echoed in the small room.

Suguru stilled.

He could file down your nails.

He could restrain your hands.

He could drug you into compliance.

For a moment, Suguru was still.

But he could not—would not—control your fire.

Processing.

His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered beneath the surface—something dark, something off. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but you could feel it, like the quiet shifting of tectonic plates before a catastrophic quake.

Then, under his breath, barely more than a whisper, he uttered a single word.

"Tainted."

It landed like an irreversible diagnosis, a label seared into your skin, a fact that had always been true, whether you knew it or not.

"I have to fix it."

The words were hollow. Void of real emotion. Spoken like an afterthought. A duty.

If anyone here was crazy, it wasn’t you.

"Let’s go."

His voice was measured, slow, as if testing the words, as if feeling them out himself, ensuring they fit within whatever logic governed his mind.

"We can deal with this later."

And just like that, it was decided. He turned away, moving with the same unshakable certainty as before.

Instead, dread curled in your stomach like sickness, spreading through your limbs in slow, creeping waves. Your pulse stuttered as Satoru took your hand, his fingers lacing through yours. The warmth of his palm was comfortable in a sense.

You should have felt relief.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t flash that smug grin. Didn’t tease you. Didn’t say a damn thing.

Just walked.

Silent.

Head bowed, guiding you forward like a silent accomplice.

The hallway stretched before you, sterile and pale blue, the kind of color that was meant to be calming but only made your skin feel dirty, wrong. You knew these halls now—the group therapy rooms, the medication table, the office staff area, the standard rooms where the normal patients were kept.

But this wasn’t that.

This was deeper.

The air shifted. The temperature felt colder.

Your fingers tightened around Satoru’s. "What’s the last test?" you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady.

His skin was clammy.

Cold sweat.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, something softer than usual. Something wrong. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against the back of your hand—soothing, intimate.

Like an apology.

Suguru didn’t look back.

Didn’t seem to care that Satoru was holding onto you, didn’t seem to mind that the hands he used to hold were now intertwined with someone else’s.

He just walked.

And then—

Unbothered.

The door.

Something different.

Suguru reached into his pocket, pulling out a key. Not one from his usual keychain.

Something meant only for this room.

A cold prickle ran down your spine as the small hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. The air felt heavier, charged, the silence pressing in. Something wasn't quite right.

Where were the nurses?

The ones who usually hovered, who handed out little paper cups of sedatives, who whispered among themselves when they thought you weren’t listening?

The ones Satoru always gossiped with?

Gone.

The hallway was silent.

The key turned in the lock.

A slow, deliberate click.

The door creaked open, revealing a room stark and clinical, stripped of anything human.

Centered in the middle, like an altar, stood a medical table.

Satoru squeezed your hand. Tighter. Like he was preparing you.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, the walls pressing in, your breath coming too fast, too shallow. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the room itself was shrinking. And then—your gaze fell to the cart beside the table.

The electrodes. The wires. The leather restraints.

No—

The word stuck in your throat, thick and suffocating, choking you before you could even say it aloud. A wave of nausea rolled through you, cold and sharp. Your knees buckled, your body reacting before your mind could fully catch up. Every nerve screamed at you to run.

But Satoru didn’t let go.

"No," you gasped, collapsing to the floor, forcing yourself into dead weight. You pushed back, twisted, resisted—anything to keep from being dragged inside.

Satoru’s grip only tightened.

He was stronger.

"No - no, please!" The words broke from you, frantic, raw, barely holding shape. You kicked out, your body writhing in desperation, fighting against the inevitable. But Satoru just kept pulling, his hands steady, his strength sustained.

Your nails dug into his arm, clawing, desperate to hurt, to leave a mark, to stop this—

But there were no scratches.

Suguru had trimmed your nails.

"Protocol," he had said.

A sob wrenched itself from your throat, broken and shattered.

"Angel."

Suguru’s voice was soft. Warm. Loving. Like he was about to kiss you goodnight.

But he wasn’t.

Because this wasn’t a goodnight kiss.

This was electroshock therapy.

Something traditional.

Something brutal.

Something meant to fix you.

And the worst part? Satoru still wouldn’t let go.

Satoru flinched. Just for a second.

You screamed. Raw, guttural—desperate. It wasn’t just fear. It was betrayal.

The long fingers of his intertwined with yours twitched ever so slightly, like he wanted to let go, like he wanted to change his mind—

But he didn’t.

His grip remained firm, unyielding. A tether holding you down, delivering you to the inevitable.

"Shhh, princess," he murmured, his voice unbearably gentle, a cruel mockery of comfort. His free hand rose, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face with a touch too tender, too familiar.

Like he wasn’t dragging you to the table.

Like he wasn’t helping Suguru break you.

"Don’t make this harder on yourself," he whispered, his thumb stroking slow, deliberate circles against your temple, his expression unreadable.

But his eyes—

His eyes were glassy.

Like he was trying not to cry.

Your stomach turned violently. Your body twisted, fought, bucked wildly against their hold, legs kicking at the linoleum, heels scraping, fingers grasping at anything—

"Please—please, Satoru, I’ll take the meds, I’ll do whatever you want, just—just don’t let him—"

The words cracked, fractured, shattered in your throat, weak and pleading in a way that made you sick.

The weight of Suguru’s hands came next.

Steady. Unyielding. Final.

Like iron shackles pressing into your shoulders, pinning you in place.

"Angel," he sighed, exhaustion bleeding into his voice, like you were being difficult. Like this wasn’t the most terrifying moment of your life.

"You know this is for your own good."

Something inside you snapped.

"You don’t get to decide that!" you sobbed, thrashing so violently that, for just a second, you nearly knocked him off balance.

Nearly.

But Suguru had always been stronger.

They both had.

Your knees buckled, their hands dragging you across the floor, inching you closer—closer—

To the altar.

To your undoing.

Your screams felt smaller in the sterile, hollow air.

"NO—PLEASE!"

Suguru tilted his head, his violet eyes still so soft.

"Why do you always have to fight us, angel?"

His voice wavered—just barely.

Not an insult.

Not an accusation.

A plea.

Like he was asking why you wouldn’t just let him love you.

Why you wouldn’t just let him keep you safe.

A sob ripped through you as you felt it—the cool, sterile touch of metal against your back.

The restraints came next.

"No, no—Suguru, please—"

Your voice broke on his name.

For just a fraction of a second, his hands paused.

His expression flickered.

His fingers twitched.

Like he remembered something.

Something important.

Something about you.

The way you used to lay beside him on quiet Sunday mornings, tracing absentminded circles into his chest. The way you’d whisper I love you against his shoulder before rolling out of bed, before rushing to work, before leaving him behind.

The way you used to trust him.

And now—

Now you were afraid of him.

His lips parted, just barely.

For a second, you thought he might stop.

That maybe—just maybe—you had gotten through to him.

That maybe he would undo the straps. Take you home. Hold you the way he used to. Tell you he didn’t mean it.

That this wasn’t necessary.

That he loved you.

But then his jaw set.

And his hands kept going.

"This is necessary to keep you pure," he whispered, like he was reassuring himself, not you.

The restraints tightened around your wrists.

"Suguru, don’t do this," you whispered, voice pleading, voice breaking.

No response.

Just the final, deafening click of the straps locking into place.

Satoru let go of your hand.

The absence of his touch felt colder than the room itself.

"You’re scaring her," he muttered, voice tight, like this was hurting him, too.

Suguru didn’t respond.

His expression had smoothed into something distant.

His hand shook—just slightly—as he reached for the electrodes.

"NO—DON’T—PLEASE—"

Satoru sighed, rubbing at his temple, shaking his head like this was all just so exhausting.

Then he leaned down, brushing his fingers over your forehead in something almost affectionate.

"Shhh, princess," he whispered.

"It’s just a little reset." As he placed the clothed gag in your mouth.

Suguru’s hands were steady as he placed the electrodes against your temple, securing them into place with slow, deliberate precision.

His fingers lingered.

For just a second.

Like this was the last time he’d hold you.

Like he didn’t want to let go.

"You’ll feel so much better after this," he murmured, voice softer than before. Like he was convincing himself. Like he was telling himself this was right. That this was love.

Like he was hoping it was.

"This is mercy, angel."

"This is love."

Satoru pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

And Suguru flipped the switch.

Pain detonated behind your eyes, blinding, white-hot, like lightning through your skull, like static in your veins - erasing, ripping, rewiring.

Your body jerked, your spine arching off the table, muscles seizing, breath vanishing.

Through the haze of agony, you thought you heard something.

A voice. Maybe Suguru’s. Maybe Satoru’s.

Maybe both.

"Shhh, angel."

"It’s okay."

Everything went black.

"We love you."

Thank you for reading! <3

WHITE RABBIT | H. KOKONOI

syn. sometimes shopping a sale isn’t always the most convenient, especially when bunny!koko is the subject in question

cw. fem!reader, hybrid!au, voyeurism, exhibitionism, panty thief koko

wc. 900

an. my submission for @manjiroscum hybrid collab event!!!

flipping through pamphlets on bunnies, you're likely to find words like innocent, timid, and sweet. but as you stared into the glass at the only bunny hybrid left in the shop, those were the last words that came to your mind.

instead, the shop owner stood beside you with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot as she listed off all the reasons this one in particular, had been returned.

"bratty" she started, humming as she looked at his tag again. "destructive" you squinted to get a closer look. "annoying.. tch" she clicked her tongue as you looked in on the hybrid sitting in the corner of his cage, beady eyes staring back at you with inquisition as you read his name out from his sale tag. koko. "oh.." the owner started again "and it says here he humps.... everything.." you perked up, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

"I'll take him." you sang, removing the tag and handing it to her with the cash in your pocket.

and just like that, you had yourself your very own bunny boy— one with perky black and white ears that sat straight up, and the cutest tail you had ever seen.

however, despite the shop owner's warnings, nobody could have prepared you for the misbehaviour koko exhibited. at all hours of the day he was always into something he wasn't supposed to be in, tearing apart the room and leaving a mess behind. even when he was relaxing on the couch with his legs outstretched on the whole length couch leaving little space for you, his head in your lap was always trying to bury his face between your thighs. he just couldn't sit still. it was especially embarrassing when guests were over, and his friskiness was put on display for all to see.

"koko" you yelled, snatching a throw pillow out from under him where h had rutted his cock into the balled up stuffing. "we have guests over" you widened your eyes and motioned your head to your friend inui, who blushed with embarrassment and turned his head. koko only pinned his ears back and snickered, taking the pillow back to prove he could be on his best behaviour.

but like any bunny, koko's attention span was short. even as his head rested in your lap as always, and your hands stroked his hair that fell beside his silky ears, he couldn't help but dig his face between your legs, mouth desperate to taste you in front of your guest. "he's a little shy" you spoke through squirms, trying your very best to hide what was happening in fear of looking like a bad owner. but koko was hungry, and his teeth nibbled your clit pulling a shriek from your lips while his tongue made up for the pain.

"koko! go somewhere else if you can't behave!" you pulled his head from under your skirt, readjusting yourself and shooing him away to the bedroom. he scampered away, left alone to his own devices while you resumed conversation with inui alone. but it wasn't long before his beady eyes peered from behind the door, and you watched as he dragged a mouthful of what looked like your dirty laundry into the living room for inui to see. as he came into the light, you realized his mouth was stuffed with your panties, completely soaked with drool as he sucked on them with pride. your face grew hot as embarrassment took over, hiding your face as you tried snatching the garments from his mouth without ruining them.

inui watched as you wrestled koko— watched as koko's cock grew harder and stiffer, redder and angrier the more you dominated him in strength. he watched with curiosity as you pulled your soaked panties from his mouth, throwing them to the floor beside you and inui couldn't help but feel his own cock throb with desire as koko rutted his hips up against you while you scolded him.

"sorry" you panted, sitting back onto koko's cock and he whined in frustration. "I told you I got him half price right?" inui nodded, swallowing a knot in his throat as he forced his gaze away from your ass that you pressed against your hybrid's cock. "cause they said he was a brat— and he is" you shifted, watching the way koko winced and whined for more contact. "wanna pet him?"

inui stammered on his words, licking his lips and moving his hands to cover his cock that was hard in his pants. "s-sure.. I guess"

you lifted your hips, encouraging koko to get up and be social for once and he flashed you a look of menace as he climbed onto the couch beside inui, and placed his head in his lap with a smirk that never left his lips.

and as inui got more comfortable, koko couldn't help but fall into his own patterns as he buried his head in a frenzie against inui's cock, nibbling desperately at the zipper of his tight pants as inui panicked to hide his arousal.

"I think he likes you" you hummed, watching as koko finally found comfort in your friend's cock down his throat— ears pinned back and tail twitching with his own arousal as he dug his hips into the couch and his cum seeped into the cushions.

maybe he was a good bunny after all.

tags: @wakaslut @manjiroscum @01-20-1992 @tirzamisu @maytey @keisaint @haruphilia @miytsuya @champagnej @lovemegood @tofu-and-aesthetic @ravenina14 @kokonoienjoyer @dilf-city @z-na @souyatr @icecreamranwich @toyomitsus @saitaso @chieeeeeee @lalalemon101 @wakasa-wifey @roppongiperfume @nanaminshousewife @iz-ana @blueparadis @miuuako @crybabylisa @zitabob @bxnten @minoozi @whosarlet @kazusplaything @s-nzu @zuuki @thevoidwriting @k-ryuuguji @thekillingtimethekillingmoon @chronic-claire-universe @poena-et-peccatum @dukina @dessceased @chifuyuslilkitten @justhere @sofiakujo @4g0j0 @sloth-fox

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The affect he has on people

ᨳ Oh brother!

stepbro!rindou x stepsis!reader x stepbro!ran

summary: your stepbro’s are so mean to you and your mother does nothing to stop them! Instead, she decides to leave you all alone, so that you could all “bond” in peace!

content + warnings: fem!reader, dubcon, pseudo-incest, non consensual recording, panty stealing, fingering, male masturbation, vaginal penetration, threesomes, creampie, anal, overstimulation, blackmailing, dark content.

tagging: @ambrodias

wc: 1.6k

You hated them! You absolutely hated them so much. Ever since your mother had married their father your life has been absolute hell! By them, you mean your new stepbrothers, Ran and Rindou! They were the absolute worse, constantly teasing you and stealing your stuff. You weren’t stupid, you noticed your underwear and even a few of bras have been going missing - and you knew those perverted freaks probably took them! You weren’t blind either, you were fully aware of the lecherous looks Rindou would give you when he thought you weren’t looking. 

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