Dark Content - Blog Posts

I'm rewatching Hannibal and an AU came to me… unexpectedly.

(Togachako) Hero x Serial killer!AU (feat. pro hero!Deku and Dynamight) ~☆

tw: bad English, lots of rambling, toxic relationship, we're not romanticizing tgck so proceed with caution (and after reading the disclaimer, please), any tw you can associate with Himiko Toga is here (nothing graphic though), overanalysing stuff, amateur psychology and all, dark content in general

Ochako has been unsure what she wants to do after finally starting her hero career, so she basically tries anything she can reach.

Working in the sea with Tsu, galas and interviews with Yaomomo, traveling with Deku (I feel he'd want to spend the rest of his power to see the world and his lots and lots of friends overseas). This time she finds herself getting into the world of quirk-related investigations under the tutelage of Katsuki whose solved criminal case count rapidly approaches the one of Endeavor (his character arc calls to me to be continued after Endeavor's path, please don't pay attention haha).

And with all that, she still tries to save face, knowing that she could've stopped this particular deranged story with just a word.

Why? Well, maybe she knows that no person in the world can leave DNA of people long dead and flaunt bloody confessions on the walls at the same time. No person who's not Himiko Toga.

The traps are set, the cycle starts its turn…

The very start:

° Himiko has genuine fun taunting Ochako with killing civilians while wearing her face

° She thinks she'll give Ochako the "freedom of expressing love" in a way she assumes Ochako wants but can't afford

° Himiko doesn't hide the fact she kills for Ochako and with Ochako's name on her lips

° Himiko torments her victims being transformed into whoever strikes her fancy, but the final strike is always performed so the last thing the poor prey sees is soulful, most gorgeous brown eyes in the world

° Himiko steals blood from the organization Ochako donors for (it's her way of coping with the trauma left by the Final Battle)

° Knowing the traces of her DNA are left at the crime scene even if she certainly didn't leave them there slowly corrodes Ochako's mental defenses

° She starts dreaming and hallucinating about killing those people herself until she can't tell reality from these images

° At one point she sees herself killing people wearing Himiko's face

° Himiko certainly uses it to her advantage. Who'd know when she gets into Ochako's apartment to whisper about all the ways she torments people from the shadowed corners?

° Guilt-tripping Ochako into justifying her actions too

As the madness progresses:

° Ochako can't draw the line between herself and Himiko anymore

° They complete each other in no way that is socially acceptable, but it feels right

° Ochako still tries to convince herself she's a good person and now this applies to Himiko as well because Himiko is "her" now too

° It's like they're drowning and melting into each other, minds a mingled mess of issues and fears, clinging, warping, breaking...

° Ochako's hands are bloody and Himiko hugs her from behind, cooing sweet nothings into her ear as they stare down at the newest "masterpiece" together

° Clay, warm hands and shaking fingers

° Ochako feels phantom touches on her skin all the time

° Himiko is being all giddy and "affectionate" with her victims, calling them "cute little presents" which she leaves for Ochako

The final stages:

° Ochako has a dream of killing Izuku. She fantasizes about it a lot later. There are tons of guilt and self-loathing, but she feels it would be the right thing to do. Become a way to "thank" Himiko by showing her effort isn't one-sided. She somehow knows it'd end the vicious cycle, but she just can't

° The Devil and Stockholm Syndrome (it's kinda questionable, I know, so we're taking it with a grain of salt)

° Dissociation

° Devil's advocate

° Cases named after astronomical phenomena

° Christmas, and Ochaco finds a bunch of vials filled with blood, all wrapped in a pretty thick red ribbon with a pompous bow on top. It's the legacy they've created together

Note:

I don't see the two as a healthy romantic relationship (I don't say you can't, it's just my opinion), so this scenario is relatively close to what I'd call realistic. Ochako who sees herself as a good person in any case (even if she's just too selfish to confront herself deep inside) and Himiko who takes the role of the bad part where Ochako can't.

Psychobabble (I'm no professional, it's more about how I feel than anything):

I based this whole AU on the traits I found in original manga and just extrapolated/exaggerated them into whatever this is now

Ochako loses feeling of what differs saving others and saving oneself and chooses to save "herself" (aka Himiko) in the end

Ochako is outright childish. She can't let the mask of a "hero" slip only because it's her shield against the world. She's torn apart by the ideas society put in her head, she can't imagine the concepts of "protect the weak" and "everyone is valid" existing together

In the end, she just resorts to the Friend or Foe (mine/anyone else) worldview so it's easier to process. Of course, what is "hers" is always considered as right and justified

Her empathy for Himiko has gotten to the point where it starts to consume her. She projects herself, her fears and motivations on Himiko, and it only makes things worse

Although, her empathy is quite selective. She can't empathize with the families of those who are killed by Toga. She thinks she can, but it comes from the guilt brewing inside her (it's still focused on self), not actual ability to put herself in others' place

Ochako feels she can be "like Deku", that she can save and forgive "bad people" like him. She finds comfort in such thoughts and hides behind them so she doesn't need to acknowledge the drastic differences in the situations

About the character archetypes:

For Ochako I can't figure out just one, but if I name the type it'd be "Not Bad But Confused" probably. Issues come from the fact her personality is too adaptive, and her worldview has shifted severely and continues to do so. In this situation, her way of coping happened to be finding an anchor in the wrong person, it happens to people all the time in real life too after all

Himiko shows as a symbolic "Devil", her presence is more phantom/ephemeral. Yes, she poisons Ochako's thoughts greatly, but the most work is done by Ochako and her own insecurities

Deku is similar to her, more of a symbol than a character. He's needed more as a deity-like/almost religious presence. Kinda ironic that his original character is heavily under the Hero Myth's (not sure how it's called in English, sorry) influence which is connected to the Bible in some ways

Katsuki stands out a bit as he's clearly the "workaholic cop" (workaholic hero in our case), no more than that as per his role. He's here so Ochako can value herself as "above his way of thinking". Side by side she clearly comes out as more "understanding" and sympathetic (NOT EMPATHETIC, don't confuse the terms!). Well, he's the person to bring her back to earth. A stoic one without a prominent character arc (it's often considered bad, but a flat arc can also be fine when handled properly)

Dividers are created by me.

If you're willing to take this AU under your wing or do something inspired by it, please credit me (you can tag me too)

my lovelies @dailytogachako @bigclownshoes @luxkycharmz you asked me to tag you, I hope I didn't forget anyone...

The Sun Eats the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping, pregnancy kink(?))

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

WC: 9.4k

𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓𖤓

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Fimo," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

Hell to Pay (Part 1)

In which you call upon a demonic being who seems happy to do your bidding in exchange for a little companionship…

General Tags: +18 (Minors DNI), EXTREMELY DUBIOUS CONSENT, DARK CONTENT, Hawks x Reader, Takami Keigo x Reader, Female Reader, Fallen Angel!Hawks, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Mild to Moderate Angst, Mentions of Heavy Drinking, Reader Has Poor Self Esteem, Reader is a People Pleaser, Reader has an Ex-Boyfriend (but he’s kinda shitty), Hawks is a lil mean    

Part 1 Tags: Mentions of Death, Mild Blood, Implications of Emotional Manipulation 

Part 2 Tags: Sex as Payment, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Biting

Part II 

Also available on my AO3!

AN: uuh so that halloween fic….it’s ok if its 24 days late right???? 😂

PLEASE READ BEFORE DIVING INTO THE FIC!!

Many elements in this fic are taken from Dante’s Inferno and Paradise Lost, so please just bear that in mind before delving in!

There is also VERY DUBIOUS CONSENT – reader does agree in the end, but it’s not without some hesitation, so please do not read this if that makes you uncomfortable! In addition to the above tags, if descriptions of emotional manipulation, self-deprecation, sickness and severe headaches make you uncomfortable, then this fic will not be fun for you!    

I left the reader’s intentions for the summoning ambiguous because I thought that would be easier/more inclusive if that makes sense???

HUGE THANK YOU to @keilemlucent for beta reading! 💕💕💕  

Hell to Pay (Part 1)

Thirteen candles, three tubs of salt, ten tubes of paint and a clumsy hand wound.

What has your life come to? You’re probably not even doing this right. There must be some more in-depth method to a summoning, because this all seems too textbook.

Thirteen candles; twelve placed in a circle at each point of a clock so the demon can find the way out of Hell, and the thirteenth in your hand so the demon can find you.

A ring of salt around the twelve candles to keep it trapped. Hopefully a breeze doesn’t disrupt the circle mid-ritual…

Ten tubes of red paint to draw the pentagram, each symbol and image copied straight from the book you’d ordered.

And a hand wound to get the blood needed to entice the demon to come out. You would smack yourself across the face if it didn’t hurt so much. Because the concept of summoning a demon is so incredibly ridiculous – and the fact that you’re sitting before a scene that looks like it’s come straight from some cheaply made horror flick – that you want to scream.

But it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? You’ve had a pretty bad week. Even if this doesn’t work, it’s nice to fantasise about summoning the worst Hell has to offer and setting them loose as a collective fuck you to the world.

Keep reading

Fun Sized

Dark!Fairy!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: You save a tiny fairy. Gojo Satoru decides that you and him belong together, regardless of how little he is and how little you think of him. 

(Warnings: Yandere, not many warnings in this one ngl)

The fae are a dangerous bunch. You've heard more than enough stories to be spooked. Sirens will sing beautiful songs before dragging you into the depths. Dragons will burn you to a crisp before a second's thought. Nagas would make sure you were alive until the very end as they feast on your organs. Centaurs would use their powerful legs to stomp yours to mere twigs. Driders would suck your blood until there's nothing left but a husk of your body. 

You've never heard anything about fairies. They didn't live in your region. Their lands were high in the mountains, where humans rarely traveled. Also, they were so tiny, according to the books. The biggest seemed to be barely the size of your hand. They were harmless, you concluded. Harmless to humans. Harmless to you. 

He had been harmless. At first, you thought it was a cluster of leaves in the stream, but as the current drew it closer, you noticed tiny arms and a tiny face. He was unconscious; you didn't even know if the poor thing was alive. 

The Fae are a dangerous bunch, but saving one tiny fairy couldn't hurt, right? 

Your guest quickly proved to be a bigger hassle than you initially thought. 

When you brought him to your cottage, he laid in a basket of warm linen, asleep for hours near the warm fireplace. The blueberry pie was still hot when you turned around and caught him staring at you. 

It was silent for a while, and then you said: 

"Do you like sweets?" 

That's how your tentative friendship with the other kind started. Gojo Satoru (you later learned his name) was a boisterous thing. He did in fact like sweets, which helped bribe his friendship. You're surprised that he ate so much despite his stature. Did all faires have black holes for stomachs? 

He healed up rather quickly. At first, you were afraid that his wings had crumbled due to the prolonged exposure to water. But after stuffing himself full of the blueberry syrup, he smiled widely before flitting out your window. 

You thought that would be the end of it, but then he just came coming back. 

Apparently, your baking skills left an impact on the small creature. He didn't visit often, but when he did, you would always make sure you had something. Whether it be cookies, brownies, or that blueberry pie he was so fond of. Anything was good enough for Gojo's taste palette. 

"In the fae lands," Gojo said when you prodded, "sweets are too sweet. Yours is just enough."  You weren't too sure what he meant by that, but you took it as a compliment. You were sure the fae wasn't something who'd give praises so easily. 

It's not like you were upset at providing food for your tiny friend. Quite the contrary. You loved it when Gojo visited. You found him fascinating, the way he could fly miles and miles above your head. How tiny he was. The amount of times you had to hold yourself back from squishing him between your fingers because of how cute he was scared you. 

And you hoped you were fascinating enough to entertain Gojo. You had to be; you don't know why else he'd keep coming back. Even after gobbling down your cooking, he'd lounge around your home, entertaining you with his stories. You learned of the other magical creatures he was in contact with, the students he taught, and how fond he was of them. You don't know why he was so open about sharing his personal life with you, in the stories fae hated humanity, but you would never complain. 

It doesn't click as to why Gojo's so invested in you until he comes out and says it himself. 

"Instead of me coming back and forth like this, why don't you just come live with me?" He says, "I would cut down my flying time by a lot." 

You stare at him in amusement, sure he's joking. "I'm not sure how I'd fit in your house." You tease. "I'd probably crush all your furniture." 

"I can make my house bigger." He announces. "Don't worry 'bout it, just say yes." 

You stare at him, slowly realizing that he isn't as amused. He's still smiling, but there's no joke. 

"No," you finally say, "I'm not doing that." 

He cocks his head surprised as though he's never had someone reject him before. 

"What?" He asks, "Why not?"

"Well." You clear your throat. "For one, I'm human, and you're a fairie. I don't think Fae would appreciate a human wandering around in their lands." 

"Who cares about all that?" Gojo waves his hands around. "You'll be with me, anyways. It'd be fine." 

"I don't get why you're so fixated on the human realm." His mouth turns into a sneer. "It's all so boring. Nothing ever happens. And our magic is much more advanced than yours." It's true. You can't disagree with that. Satoru didn't wear clothes made out of leaves or vines, unlike the common fairy stereotype. His clothing looked much more advanced compared to your loose cotton dresses. A black shirt with intricate buttons and long sleeves. Along with black trousers. You wonder what material could make his suit so shiny. 

You laugh at his disgust. At that time, you saw Gojo as a tiny child clutching their mother's skirts, a cute puppy. You hadn't yet taken Gojo Satoru as the threat he was. 

"It's because I am human." You say, not offended by his remarks. "So I like being near other humans." 

He groans as though your logic makes no sense. "Yuji and the others ask about you all the time, though. They've been dying to meet you." 

"You talk to your students about the giant that cooks for you? I'm flattered." 

"You're dodging," he warns. You roll your eyes. 

"Satoru, I'm not coming to live with you. It'd be too much of a hassle." You finally say. "Besides, you're not my type." 

"I'm everyone's type." He argues. 

"Not mine." You smile, and then you make your first blunder. 

"I like my men a little taller." 

He stiffens, and you know you said the wrong thing. Your smile fades as does the cheery energy in your cottage. He says nothing, but he's zipping out your window before you can apologize. 

He doesn't return for the longest time. You count the weeks. Guilt weighs on your shoulders, heavy and burdensome. Every day you bake something even tastier than the day before. Not even that is enough to coax him back. 

You think you've lost him forever, when he returns on one sweltering summer evening. 

"Hi." You blink. He's watching you, sitting idly on the window, kicking his tiny feet. 

"Hi." He smiles. 

You're happy enough to grab him with one fist and hugging him to your chest, but as always, you stop yourself. Instead, a shy smile rests on your face. 

"I'm sorry," you say, "I really am...will you accept an apology pie?" 

He grins wider, and you relax. 

He eats, and you're grateful. Something you once cherished in your life has finally come back to you. You might not return Gojo's feelings, but you still care for him. You'd rather die than ever hurt him again. 

"No, you're right." Gojo surprisingly concedes when you apologize for the third time. "We're too different. It'd never work out. Not as the way you are, right now." 

You nod, grateful he's so understanding. "Exactly." 

He's finishing up when he announces he brought you a gift. 

"I've been working on it for the past few weeks," he cheerily says. "It took a while, but it's finally safe for human consumption." 

He takes out a tiny glass bottle filled with something swirling and blue. When he asks you to bring a glass of water, you acquiesce. To your astonishment, when the elixer is poured, the entire water becomes a swirling mass of a color comparable to none other than galaxies. You're so mesmerized by the color, it's enough to stump your voice. 

"For you!" He declares. "You've always been cooking for me; thought I might return the favor, just this once." 

"What is it?" You ask, amazed by the color. You admire the glance, unaware of the glint in Gojo's eye. 

"It's kinda like the wine you have in the mortal realms, but a little less poignant." He gives when you glance at him. "Go on, tell me what you think?" 

You're too trusting, and so you make your second blunder. 

Once you start, you can't seem to stop. The taste is otherworldly, addicting. You drink and drink, not wasting a single drop. You're breathing heavily once the cup detaches from your lips. 

"Amazing." You say before looking at him. His eyes are too wide, but you're too distracted by the taste still on your tongue. "Seriously, what was that? Can I make it here?" 

He scratches the back of his head. "Not really, the ingredients are pretty hard to find." He shrugs. "Besides, it's supposed to be a one-time use." 

Your eyebrows twist, and then the world sinks. 

You're falling. You think you are. You don't really know. Everything feels like it's stretching. The walls of your tiny little cottage get higher and higher and higher. The floor gets more and more warped. You're sinking, sinking through the air. When you scream, nothing comes out. You feel like you're choking because you can't breathe, and then your vision grows black. 

The next time you open your eyes. It's still dark, and to your horror, you realize you're buried underneath something. 

You panic, clawing and tearing your way out. The material gives away easily. It's fabric. Cotton. But there was so much, an undying ocean of fabric. You lift yourself up from the pile and that's when you realize you're completely naked. 

The mountain of cotton you just climbed to the top of was your old dress. 

Everything was gigantic—the table, the chairs. The windows seemed endless. The ceiling looked miles above you, and you know what happened, but your brain can't formulate it because it can't be—it just can't be.

There's a flutter of wings. You always thought he was so quiet before. Now, he's all you can hear. Immediately, you wrap your body with the cloth. It's hard to keep still; your body is buzzing with nerves and you still can't understand. You have to force yourself to look at him.

You don't know why you expected shock, guilt, something other than the pure manic glee on his face. Satoru towers above you, head tilted. He bends down, cupping your trembling face in his hand because he's big enough to do that now. 

"Just when I thought you couldn't get any more adorable." He coos. 

You can see him now. His skin isn't pale, it's borderline translucent. His canines are sharp and pointy. And his eyes. Oh God you've never seen eyes so terrifying before—an endless mass of blue, threatening to swallow you whole. 

He wasn't a cute little fairy. He was anything but that. 

"Gojo..." You start, heart squeezing. "What did you do.." 

You know. He knows. That's why he ignores your question entirely. 

"I'm surprised it worked." He says, mainly talking to himself. "Shoko said it might be a dud, and she was so sure of it, that I mostly believed her." 

"But now look at you!" He roughly pinches your cheek. "You're the perfect size now." 

"Stop." You blubber, pushing his hand off of you. "Don't touch me. Change me back. Change me back." 

He frowns. "Why would I do that? You being human-sized was always such a hassle. Lumbering around. Way too loud. Don't get me wrong, I adore you either way." He proclaims like it's something benevolent. "But this has its charm."

He leans forward, and you scuddle backward in fear. His grin widens. 

"So, am I tall enough for you, now?" 

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

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I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

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A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

Hello<3

My name is Alice, in this blog I intend to write Yandere content/material/imagines, so you can place your requests. 🦴🍖

I have no limitations on what I write so feel free to request whatever you want.

English is not my first language so I apologize for any grammatical errors I may have D:

Bye❗

Ruptured Amethyst; Splintered Tanzanite

Dark!Satosugu x reader - Yakuza Au

Synopsis: In hopes of paying off your debt, you start working for two dangerous men. Soon, you realize they want more than money.

Word count: 9.2k

(Warnings: dark content, sexual coercion, dubcon, noncon, oral sex, piv sex, threesomes, gun, blood, violence) Ageless blogs will be blocked. Minors DNI

In this job, you quickly learned that it's better to just keep your head down. 

Do what you were called for and leave. Do nothing but sit on your computer and look at numbers. Stepping out of your makeshift boundaries led to nothing but trouble.

It worked perfectly like that for the first few weeks you were brought here. The other workers never bothered you, and it took you a moment to realize they were in the same boat as you were: owing a debt. You wouldn’t quite say things were peaceful; every so often, one of Geto’s men would hurl someone through a table, but things were manageable.

And then Gojo came back.

You hadn’t met Gojo, yet. He was overseas on a business trip when Geto brought you in. You hadn’t met him, but you’d heard enough to make you want to stay away from him. Ijichi had told you enough stories to make you want to sink into the floor altogether. You just had until the end of the year until your debt was paid. It was the beginning of September, right now. Surely, you could avoid him until then, right?

“Ah, you’re the one Suguru was talking about.”

It was your fault. It was entirely your fault. Ijichi had begged you to stay after work for a bit longer and desperate to pay the debt off, you had agreed. No one else was supposed to be in the office besides you and him.

But Gojo didn’t follow other people’s rules. It'd take you a while before you fully understand that.

You could do nothing but stand there, wobbling in your heels as Gojo loomed over you. His sunglasses were tilted, cresting over his nose as he scrutinized you. You clutched the laptop closer to your chest, as though it’d save you somehow.

Gojo didn’t look dangerous. If you had seen him on the street, you would have assumed he was a model. Tall, long hands, pretty features. Gojo doesn’t look dangerous. Gojo is dangerous. He doesn’t need the gun (casually on his side, right in your line of sight) to prove it.

You say nothing. You don’t know what to say. So far, you’ve only dealt with Geto. Geto with his fake smiles and soft words of thinly veiled threats. As intimidating as Geto was, you felt safe enough with him to answer his questions. Speak when spoken to.

Gojo was uncharted territory. Should you speak? Should you greet him? Should you get on your hands and knees? Gojo was new. You had to deal with something new, alone.

You opt to stay silent, hoping that’s the best move. It’s not. Above you, Gojo’s clicking his tongue. He leans down, stooping his head low to get a better view of your face. You stare at him until it gets too much and you’re turning away. He likes that even less, grabbing you by the chin so you’re facing him again.

“You mute or somethin’?” He asks, tilting your head like he’s assessing you.

“No,” you finally murmur. It was a question, correct? He won’t get mad if you answer his questions.

He doesn’t seem mad. But he doesn’t seem happy, either. If anything, he looks a little disappointed.

“I really don’t get it,” he’s talking, but it’s more like he’s saying his thoughts out loud, “Suguru would not shut up about you. Thought I was gonna see something more exciting. You’re so...”

He trails off as though even describing you would be a waste. The thought that Geto speaks about you to his partners scares you, but you’re wise enough not to pry. Instead, you wait. Waiting often works. You’ve been cornered by Geto’s men (before they knew he was the one who brought you), most just want to intimidate you, they get a kick out of fear. When you give them what they want, they usually leave you alone.

Gojo doesn’t leave, even when you’re sure your horror is printed on your face. Obvious to even the blind. Instead, he leans back, eyes trailing down your outfit. Despite how most of the stuff done here was off the record, Geto still prioritized a professional workplace. You were expected to put on a clean blouse and skirt every day.

You yelp when Gojo tugs on the fabric of your skirt, bunching the material on your thighs. Forgetting where you are, who you’re with, you grab his wrist.

“Don’t be like that,” Gojo chides as though you were being the unreasonable one, “I just wanna look. Seriously, what was that guy going on and on about—”

“Satoru.”

Geto’s voice stops the both of you. He’s leaning against the wall, watching the two of you with a less than impressed look. You’re relieved when he’s more focused on Gojo than you.

“Sugu!” Gojo cheers, a complete 180 from his past demeanor. He lets you go and you sink against the wall in relief. “I’m home!”

“I can see that,” Geto retorts, but there’s an odd fondness laced in his tone that you’d never heard before.

The kiss they shared was violent. Tongue and teeth and messy. Gojo reached up, scrunching Geto’s hair, dragging him closer. Respectfully, you glanced away. You don’t yet leave. You know better than that, especially now that Geto is here.

“How many times have I told you to stop harassing our employees?” Geto sighs, once he’s pulled away. His tone is filled with exasperation, as though he were talking to a child.

“I didn’t do anythin’,” Gojo responds. When you finally turn back, Geto is shaking his head.

He smiles at you.

“Apologies, my dear,” he states, “you can leave. Remember to tell Ijichi you’re going.”

You eagerly nod before scurrying away. You can hear Gojo scoff, another murmur from Geto. You couldn’t care less what they’re saying, more than happy to grab your things, bid Ijichi goodbye, and leave.

Keep your head down, and don’t ever bother with what they are doing.

⟡

Technically, you weren’t in debt, your father was.

He had close ties to the underground. You weren’t sure of the details, you were so young when your mother left with you in tow. She was always stingy with the details, but she never failed to remind you that your father was a stupid man who worked with dangerous ones. She passed away right after you graduated from college. You’d mourned her.

Now, a part of you felt grateful she passed just before she saw your life fall apart.

They came in the middle of April. You remember that day purely because of the flower blossoms littering the sidewalk, the first sign of blooming spring.

There were three other men besides Geto that day, and you hadn’t known his name back then—just the man with long, pretty hair. They were all waiting for you, loitering right beside your home. When you hesitated, slowed to a stop, the man with long hair smiled at you. Geto calls your name. When you don’t respond, his smile widened.

“That is who you are, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you nervously said, “sorry, but—but who are you all?”

He introduces himself. The other three don’t bother. You don’t yet realize that they’re only henchmen, mere puppets for Geto.

“Apologies, but this is a rather sensitive subject. Can we talk someplace private?”

You don’t want to let these men into your home, but his soft words and intimidating company coax you into agreeing. You lead them up the steps, praying to God that you were wrong about this—whoever they were. When you unlock the door, only Geto follows you. The rest wait outside. You don’t know if that’s better or worse.

He seats himself right on the sofa. It’s your apartment, and yet his mere presence makes you feel like he’s the owner. You loiter next to the door, twiddling your thumbs.

“Would you like tea?”

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you a polite one?”

It was more for you than for him—scurrying to the kitchen, away from his searing purple eyes. It’s a reprieve to start the burner, pour water into the pot. You take as much time as you can, but eventually, you have to come out.

Geto says nothing when you place the cups down. He takes it, humming at the taste. You don’t touch your cup.

His tone is soft. His words aren’t.

Your father did far worse than work with dangerous men. He’d stolen from them. He was already dealt with, his punishment had sent him careening off the Earth far sooner than your mother. Still, the topic of the missing money was still there.

Something that had fallen onto you, his next of kin.

You were already crying once Geto finished. Your body is wracked with sobs. You can barely suck in a breath.

“Please—please,” you’re already saying, “he—we—I swear we never received any sort of money from him.”

He takes your hand within his own, curling his fingers around them. Coming from anyone else, it would have been a nice gesture.

“I’m aware,” Geto comforts, “we know you haven’t been in contact with your father for more than a decade.”

His fingers are warm. They trace your cheek as he gently wipes away your tears.

“But in this line of business, family matters, no matter how estranged, my Dear.”

You look at him through your tears. He’s beautiful. Long black hair. If you touched it, you bet it would feel like silk within your fingers.

It’s his eyes that truly suck you in. Purple. It’s a rare eye color, you’ve never seen someone with purple eyes until now. They resemble amethyst, unpolished, but still just as beautiful.

“My partner would have much less...humane ways of dealing with this situation,” Geto continues, “but I think you could be far more useful warm rather than cold, do you agree?” You shrivel in your spot, already having an inkling to what he’s saying. It’s not like you haven’t already figured out where this was going. You’ve heard the stories of what dangerous men do to those who’ve wronged them—to the vulnerable girls who accidentally trip and fall into their trap, forced to work in brothels and debase themselves all for the sake of keeping them rich.

He laughs right then. It’s rich, deep, startling you out of your misery.

"Come now, it's the 21st century."

Geto smiles. Fake. Unsafe. 

"Women are worth far more than just their bodies." 

It turns out that even the Yakuza had paperwork.

It was a menial deskjob, on the surface, at least. If you don’t think too hard about who you’re working for, it could be a regular office. It’s not like any of the work you are provided with is illegal, but you doubt you’d put it down on your resume.

Your education had saved you. Ironic that it was your father who instilled your desire to learn.

If you don’t think too hard about it, your new ‘job’ wasn’t horrible. As notorious as they were, your new employers weren’t downright cruel. You still got paid. You had a contract. Things could honestly be a whole lot worse.

It was still very hard to get used to, especially in the beginning.

Something you learned very quickly was that the men around here did not like it when women had an attitude. You were far too meek to have one, but the other few women who worked with you became your teachers, showing you exactly what the men would do if you didn’t stay in line. You were more than happy to listen, and even then, your eagerness to learn didn’t help. In order for the lesson to truly sink in, you needed trial and error. 

You stepped out of line exactly once. And then you never did it again.

It had been an accident. You’d forgotten that Geto had an important meeting that day. You knocked on his door, shuffling some documents in your hand. It was muscle memory to just go in because he’s never said anything but come in before.

They’d all stared at you, eyes lingering up and down your body. One of them grins. Immediately, you look at Geto. Horrified. Ready to grovel at his feet if need be.

His eyes flashed dangerously. Purple turned into sharp magenta knives. Geto tilted his head.

“Come here, dear.”

You take one step. Another. Then another. The way they look at you makes your stomach twist and sink but Geto only looks at you expectantly. When you linger at his side, his lips quirk.

His grip on your waist is gentle as he guides you into his lap. Your cheeks burn, but you don’t dare move, not even when the men start laughing at the free show. Geto only curls a hand on your waist, keeping you in place as he leans back again.

“Continue, gentlemen.”

The rest of the meeting continues with you on Geto’s lap. You don’t look at any of them, hands balled into fists at your sides. You feel naked. The air within the room is stifling. You refuse to look anywhere else but the floor.

The conversation goes back to business. Despite the compromising situation, he put you in, Geto’s hands don’t wander. He's content to keep his fingers on your waist until the room filters out and everyone leaves.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Geto.” You murmur, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

He doesn’t answer, at least not to that. He just sighs, sinking into his seat. Still, Geto doesn’t let you get up. Not yet. He waits until you’re looking at him, still smiling that fake smile.

This had been a punishment. The next time you made a mistake, you doubt you’d be let off so easily.

“Learn quickly, my dear.”

You nod. You apologize again. When Geto finally lets you go, you are quick to stumble away, pushing your way out the door. Purple eyes follow you out. You don’t think they stop looking until you’re out of the room, curled into your desk, steadying your heartbeat.

You stepped out of line exactly once. You never did it again.

Despite being under Geto, technically, Ijichi is your direct superior. You thanked the Gods for it. Ijichi was the only person here you were certain didn’t have blood on his hands. He was in a similar situation as you were; stuck working off a debt that he didn’t owe. You two bonded on your shared misery. He was the one reprieve you had in your new life.

Unfortunately, now that Gojo was back, Ijichi was far busier. It gave you little time with him. You suppose you were always welcome to join them, but considering your first encounter with Gojo, you’d much rather not.

It’s not like you hadn’t had similar encounters before Gojo's arrival. In the very beginning, one of Geto’s men tried something remarkably similar. You can still remember his hand on your hip, his other hand slowly unbuttoning your shirt while other men stood to the side laughing.

It hadn’t lasted long.

You didn’t realize he was shot until he was already on the ground, twitching in pure agony. He screamed and cried louder than you had. Blood was already dripping to the floor.

Geto had already tucked away the gun, striding away as though nothing happened. He didn’t say anything, the incident was never mentioned. Even to you, his statement rang loud and clear.

You were off-limits.

Clearly, Gojo didn’t care about the unspoken rule.

So far, Ijichi hasn’t acknowledged him. If anything, your superior is hunched behind his computer, typing away, rarely taking his eyes off-screen. You admired his concentration, but it was hard for you to follow suit, considering that Gojo had taken a seat right next to you.

His stare is impossible to ignore. You can feel it even as you desperately try to focus on the screen in front of you. As if he can tell you’re intimidated by his mere presence, he leans over, shoulder pressing against your own. You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

“Watcha’ workin’ on?” He asks as though he can’t already see.

Still, you falter. “Um—”

“Um’” he repeats, “that’s all you’ve been sayin’. Hey, Ijichi—” The man in question jolts up, eyes already panicked.

“Your assistant always this jumpy, or is your personality just that infectious?”

“Sir, uh—” Ijichi starts before getting cut off by a tsk.

“See? Again,” Gojo sighs, “I see why you two get along so well.”

You and Ijichi exchange glances, unsure what to do. When Gojo says nothing more, you decide it’s okay to resume work again, typing away.

Childhood friends, Ijichi told you back when you were still morbidly curious. Gojo had come from a lineage of powerful businessmen. Geto had more or less worked his way up. They became partners somewhere along that time.

It’s hard to imagine them as friends or as anything more. They’re so different. Geto is so controlled, measured with every response he takes. Gojo is more like dynamite, ready to go off at any moment.

You suppose the only similarity is how unreadable they are. To this day, you can’t tell whether Gojo dislikes you or not. Every action you take seems only to disappoint him, yet he constantly hovers around you.

It takes another minute for you to be on the keyboard before Gojo decides he doesn’t like you working peacefully. The chair creaks under his weight as he shifts closer. His head rests against your shoulder. With his new position, you can feel his breath on your collarbone as an arm casually wraps around your shoulders. You don’t dare react, but you send Ijichi a panicked look. He looks sympathetic, but he doesn’t move to help you. You can’t find it in yourself to fault him for his inactions.

“You never answered me, by the way.” He murmurs, quiet enough that only you can hear.

You respond as diligently as you can, making sure you use as few word fillers as possible. It’s clear Gojo doesn’t like that. Or rather, he doesn’t like the nervousness your voice exudes but you doubt you could fix it, especially with his presence around.

“Sounds boring.” Gojo interrupts your rambles. “You don’t do anything else more entertaining?”

“No, sir,” you reply, “I’m only in charge of paperwork.”

Despite the other co-workers you have, you are still an anomaly. Everyone here has had an experience holding a gun—even Ijichi. It’s clear Geto ‘hiring’ you was a change in pattern, something you would always be grateful for. If he hadn't, you wouldn’t want to know what was in store for you.

That’s probably why Gojo was so curious about you. However, considering how close they were, you were now wondering why Geto hadn’t explained it.

“How long have you been working here—hey,look at me when you’re talking.”

You turn, and for the first time, you willingly face Gojo Satoru. His sunglasses are tilted down, and you can see his eyes now. They are blue, so painfully blue, like an ocean, curled up tightly within his eyes. Glittering tanzanite stares back at you—beautiful gemstones that glisten beneath the fluorescent light.

Gojo tilts his head, and you remember that he asked you a question.

“Three weeks, Sir.”

He doesn’t seem all that pleased with your answer. You wonder if you should have lied instead. He’s embarrassingly close, and the position he’s forced you into doesn’t help.

“That quick, huh?” Gojo murmurs, and he sounds a little impressed, “how many times have you and Suguru fucked?”

You gape at him, horrified at even the insinuation. It takes a while for you to even find your voice. 

“I—we’ve never. Never.”

Gojo narrows his eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me. C’mon, I'm just curious.”

It feels even worse that Gojo's question isn't even unreasonable. Geto has always treated you differently. Softer. Kinder, if you wanted to be charitable. It isn't a stretch to assume you've been doing favors for the man, in this line of work, it must be a normal occurrence. Yet, you haven't. Apart from that one blunder weeks ago, Geto has never touched you inappropriately. 

Still, you shake your head rapidly, feeling heat flush in your cheeks. Being cornered and interrogated like this is humiliating, especially in front of everyone. Ijichi is nice enough to look away while you’re being humiliated, but you know he’s listening. You know everyone’s listening.

Thankfully, Geto intervenes.

“You.” A sigh of exasperation. “Get off.”

Gojo rolls his eyes, but you almost cry in relief when he pushes away and stands up.

“We were bonding,” Gojo argues, though, like everything he says, it sounds like a tease.

Geto’s murmuring something else, and it’s clear that this interaction between them is normal. It's almost a repetition of what happened last time. Both times, you’d been the commonality.

Gojo leaves eventually, shooed away by his partner. The office finally grows quiet when the white-haired man disappears to God knows where. You feel like you can breathe again, but Geto still has not left.

When you look, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, and you’re strangely reminded of a stressed mother. Finally, he lets out a breath, opening his eyes and staring down at you.

“I apologize for his behavior, my dear,” he says. There’s a hand on your shoulder, mirroring the touch Gojo gave you.

“He’s excitable, like a dog.” You don’t think that part was for you, though you don’t think you could ever even fathom comparing the terrifying anomaly that is Gojo to a mutt. You don’t respond. Geto squeezes your shoulder.

“Come to me if Satoru goes too far. I always take care of my people, don't I?”

He doesn’t leave until you give a nod. His hand finally retracts, allowing you to sink into your seat. You watch him until his figure disappears from view.

“I’m taking a break,” you say, not even a minute later.

Ijichi gives a nod as you push yourself up away from the computer. You spend your break the way you usually do: tucked inside the bathroom, trying to wonder how your life turned out this way.

⟡

Sometimes, you accompany Geto on his trips.

You don’t want to, but it’s not like you can reject his ‘requests.’ It’s part of the job, whether or not you can refuse is up to Geto’s whims.

The trips aren’t too bad. Most of the time, it’s a meeting with other dangerous men. You mainly just sit in a corner, peering down at the ground, trying your best not to be noticed. It works, most of the time. The few perks of this new life is how seldom the people of the underground want to associate with you, especially when you're with Geto. His presence is everywhere, a blanket of protection bestowed only to you. These days, you feel safe even when walking home alone at night.  

The trips aren't too bad, but Gojo's insistence on tagging along changed even that. 

You should be sitting up front. There's a perfectly vacate passenger seat, right beside Ijichi, the least dangerous man in the vehicle. Gojo had practically dragged you into the car with him, holding you hostage. Geto slid into the seat beside you, effectively trapping you between the two men. 

Despite your attempts to keep your body to yourself, every other minute, your thighs brush against theirs. It's a miserable affair, but neither comment on your breach of personal space. They're both too invested in their own little worlds. Geto peers peacefully out the window, enjoying the city life pass by. Gojo is glued to his phone, tapping away every so often. 

It's tempting to sneak a peek at them in their natural states, relaxed, unbothered. You don't stare for too long. 

Every so often, their worlds will collide. Geto will point out a cat. Gojo would reach over you, showing Geto something funny on his phone. Unfortunately, Gojo catches your lingering eyes.

"Wanna see?" He doesn't bother to hear your response, shoving his phone in your face. 

It's a cat video, of all things. You almost wanted to laugh at how normal it is, but you're too intimidated to do anything but give a strained smile, more designed to please. You expected something darker. More blood. More screams. On the screen, the orange kitten lightly bats at a ball of yarn.

"Got a cat?" Gojo asks, tucking away his phone. 

"No, Mr. Gojo." 

He tsks, but before your blood can freeze, he says, "I told you: It's Satoru." 

He's been insistent about it these past few days: Satoru. Satoru. Call me Satoru, as though you'd even dare. Beside you, Geto rumbles out his disapproval. 

"Don't be childish, Satoru." He chides.

The car rolls to a stop eventually. The relief in your lungs expands. Ijichi gets out first, followed by Geto. Before you can move, a hand grabs you by the chin, halting your movements. 

"You're not leaving this car until you say it, pretty thing," Gojo tells you. "C'mon. Sa-to-ru." 

Behind you, Geto sighs, but he doesn't move to stop him. Right, Geto promised he'd step in only when Gojo goes too far. Clearly, this is within his bounds. 

You wilt under the hardened tanzanite. 

"Satoru." You mutter. 

Satisfied, Gojo releases his hold on you, hopping out the car, humming a happy tune. 

Geto holds his hand out to you. You'd be an idiot not to take it.

"Bear with him today, dear," he tells you when you step out in the pavement, "he's in a mood." 

Amythyst sears into you. You can only nod. 

Even then, Geto doesn't release you. He gently maneuvers your arm until your elbow is interlocked with his. He takes his time, walking into the building, mindful of your heels. Ijichi and Gojo are already ahead. Gojo takes a look behind him, spots the two of you, scoffs, but doesn't do much more. 

It's another thing you don't know how to feel about. The two have always instigated less than friendly gestures toward you. Yet, neither of the two have expressed any kind of jealousy. You know they are clearly lovers, yet the way they allow their significant other to behave with you makes you feel a bit nauseous. 

 Most likely, they see you as a pet. Not even a threat to their relationship. It makes sense. In their eyes, you're probably a scared gazelle in the middle of a lion's den. Cute. Something to play with. 

There's another theory in your head that you're pushing away.

You follow the same procedure you've always followed. You stay still and silent, like a doll, right beside Geto. Strange men come up to him, greeting him with smug smiles. They barely give you a glance. That's good. It means they know you're one of Geto's. 

Gojo being there changes the dynamic. He's more serious, in this setting. You sit right next to Geto's side, listening as Gojo talks. They both do that a lot. Talking. Negotiating. Scheming. You're a bit disappointed in yourself at how easy it is to let the words swirl around until there's nothing left to understand. It's easy to ignore them now. The horrors they partake in. The horrors you are indirectly part of. 

Are you allowed to be innocent now that you work under these people? You've never pulled the trigger yourself, but is that an excuse? Morally speaking, you're the same as the men you are terrified of. 

How laughable. You came to that conclusion right when they were discussing the price of narcotics. 

Sometime later, you find yourself alone, roaming down an unfamiliar hall. It's foolish to be out without Geto or Gojo or even Ijichi, but Geto had an errand he wanted you to run. Now that it was complete, you needed to return back to him. 

Except, you had no clue where he was. 

You were lost. You should have known this would happen. Why didn't you pay more attention to where you were going? This wasn't any old building. Dangerous men lurked around, even the weaker ones carried guns and weapons. 

It was only a matter of time before one of them caught you. 

"Hey. You." 

You were considered one of Geto's, but without him in sight, you were nothing. You knew that. It's why you cower immediately. 

"I'm busy," you speak quickly, "My boss, Mr. Geto, he's—" 

His hand is rough and scared and filthy on your skin. You are basically thrown against the wall, cornered against this stranger. He smiles. His teeth are yellowed and filled with tarter and plaque. 

"C'mon, there's no need to rush. 'Just wanna have some fun. How much?" Disgust rolls off your tongue, but you don't have the courage to reveal it. 

"I'm not like that," you mutter, "I'm not for sale." 

But, aren't you? You've sold yourself to Geto, haven't you? Underneath his thumb, his whims. What makes you so much different from a hooker?

"Sure." And then there's a shift in his eyes. His face scrunches up, like he's just tasted something sour. 

"Hold on...you're—you're that bastard's kid, aren't you?" 

He says your last name, the name your father gave you with so much spite that you nearly flinch. In that moment, you realized that your father had messed with a lot more people than just Geto. 

"Yeah yeah, you're a spitting fucking image!" He gripes you harsher. "Your daddy fucked me over while you're sitting over here nice and pretty? What the fuck?" 

He's dead. He's dead and you hadn't spoken to him in over a decade, but his ghost still wants to punish you for being his kin. And this man is his executioner. 

You're expecting something violent. Something that hurt more than his hand's squeezing your bicep. Perhaps he was, perhaps he would. Unfortunately, for him, Gojo interupted his plans. 

You didn't even know that it was him, at first, on the floor, on top of the man. Gojo, despite his hungry smile, eager eyes, was always so angelic. He isn't supposed to be using his hands. He isn't supposed to inflict violence, not by himself. 

He's punching him. The man isn't a man anymore, reduced to a mere punching back. Gojo doesn't stop until he breaks skin. He doesn't stop until you can hear a distinct crack. 

Satoru doesn't stop until Suguru tells him to. 

"Don't kill him." Geto warns. "It'd breach the agreement." 

You can feel his presence, always silent, never revealing himself until he wants to be known. So unlike Gojo, who is hungry for even a second of attention. More than happy to spill blood over it.

Gojo grits his teeth, as though he's debating to even listen. He stands up eventually, chest heaving. His knuckles are caked in blood. It's not his. His glasses are off. His eyes are blown wide open like he's just hit the greatest high of his life. Geto calmly hands him a clean towel. You don’t want to know how many times this situation has repeated.

"Who gives a shit." Gojo bites out, his eyes , trailing to you, and you flinch away. He looks like a wild animal, growling and spitting. You don’t want to be next on his plate. Geto steps in front of you, barricading you from his sight.

The man on the ground had recovered enough to pathetically crawl away. It such a stark change to how he was just a few minutes ago, when he was lording over you, drunk off of his power. 

Gojo steps on his calf. The broken thing gives a strangled scream. It only makes Gojo’s manic grin wider.

"Let him go. You made your point," Geto says, "calm down." 

Firey blue eyes. Bright and violent. You don’t know how Suguru is able to withstand the intensity. Even you’re wilting when it’s not even directed towards you.

"Calm down?” Satoru asks. “You want me to calm down? Did you see what that bastard was gonna do to our—" 

"Satoru." You've never heard Geto use this tone before. "Not here. Not now." 

A silent battle warred between them. Tanzanite bore into amethyst. Which gem would rupture first, splinter into defeat? 

Eventually, Gojo looks away, cursing. He glares down at you, as though he were blaming your weakness of all things. In a way, he’s not wrong to.

"I'll wait outside." 

And then he's gone, striding down the corridor. Geto watches him go, before glancing down at you. 

"Did he hurt you?" He asks. 

You're not supposed to lie to him. You nod. 

Geto pulls on your sleeves until he can see the imprints. Light bruising, nothing too horrible. You'll survive. Geto looks less than pleased. He glances down at the remnants of the man, the imprints of blood on the floor. You pitied the person who'd have to clean it up. 

"I apologize, dear." He sighs. "I should have kept an eye on you." 

He stares at the blood some more. Then, he smiles. 

"Perhaps, it's better if I just let things run its course, this time." 

You blink at him. He ignores your silent question. Instead, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, gently leading you outside. The car is already running. This time, Geto silently ushers you into the passenger seat. You take it immediately. Gojo hadn't taken his eyes off of you. You're grateful for any barrier. 

This time, the car ride was silent. You don't relish in it. If anything, it just feels like the calm before the storm.

⟡

Soon, what Geto was talking about became apparent. 

The man who had nearly been killed by Gojo had talked. You don't know what your father did to these men, perhaps you never will, but they didn't let you forget his crimes. If they couldn't get to him, then clearly, his kid was the next best option. You know it was them. It would be no one else. 

Someone broke into your apartment one weekend. Everything was ruined. The TV was shattered and broken. Your mattress was tossed onto the floor. Every plate, cup, and bowl was smashed onto the floor. They took nothing, but they broke everything. 

You hadn't been home that night. Ijichi needed more work from you. If you had, if you had come home that night, alone, locked the door, slept in that bed, then what would have—

Geto finds you on the stairs of your apartment, curled into a ball. You watch with bloodshot eyes as he observes the damage, clicking his tongue. He doesn't look particularly shocked.

You do nothing when you feel his hand on your shoulder, brushing against the sleeves, a feign of sympathy. You don't even care to ask how he came even though you never called him. Geto has a keen sense for you. 

"It'll get worse." His voice comes. Soft, and sure. 

Yeah, you knew that. You'd been naive, following after Geto with wide eyes. You thought that if he was untouchable, then so were you. 

He speaks about an enemy group, people with debts with your father, just as he did. Of course, he knows who did this to you. You’d be more surprised if he didn’t.

You don’t care. His words go in one ear and out the other. The reasons don’t matter. Your home is still destroyed. It’s no longer yours.

"They got my phone, too," you mention to your discarded cell phone. "My emails, messages." 

You're trapped, with nowhere else to turn. All the doors are shut and bolted, and only one remains open. 

You turn to the devil. 

"Can you...help?" 

The angler fish uses its darkened habitat to its advantage. Hundreds of miles beneath the water's surface, it produces its own light as an olfactory bulb. It's an excellent predator, swinging its bio lantern around in the dark sea, the only light around for miles. 

Geto tilts his head, a smile on perfect pink lips. 

"You want my protection? It's a steep price, darling." 

You feel like an empty well, forced to give and give until you're all dried up. Who could be so greedy? Who could be so willing to take?

"I've given you everything." It's barely a whisper. "What else do I have left to offer?" 

He doesn't say anything to that, not at first. Geto kneels in front of you, a slender hand lifting your head up by the chin. Fingers trail down to your neck. Not choking, just holding. His thumb lightly presses into your throat. 

"Not everything," Suguru says quietly. 

He's right. You hadn't given him everything. So far, you have always been one of Geto's people. You were Geto's employee. You were indebted to him, but you weren't conquered by him. 

Not yet. 

He's kneeling in front of you, holding your soul in his hands and demanding for your heart. In a way, you find it a bit funny. You just don’t have the will to laugh anymore.

He's smiling again when he can tell you're finally starting to understand. "We couldn't have been that subtle, were we? Satoru never failed to express, at the very least." 

No, they never tried to hide it. Even in the beginning, when you first met Suguru, you saw the hunger. You just tried to ignore it. You tried to keep your head in the sand, hoping it would pass. It makes you wonder if you had just agreed on that very night, led him into your bed, and bared it, would things have been different? 

"I can leave. We can pretend this never happened," he coos, "it's all up to you, sweetheart." 

He's making it seem like you had a choice. In a way, you did. You're choosing between two monsters. A known and an unknown. It takes longer than you'd like to figure out which one scares you more. 

You take the bait. The angler fish siezes its prey. 

"One night?" You're trying not to beg but it's coming out anyway. "Just—just one night?" 

Geto leans forward, pressing a kiss on your forehead. It’s not an answer.

⟡

Despite the many months you've worked with him, you've never been to his home before. 

It's not a house. A villa maybe. The property stretches itself stretches for miles. Filthy rich. Bleeding gold. 

Geto—

("Suguru," he corrected you in the car, "considering this isn't really business, anymore.") 

—had ushered you throw a double-door entrance. You couldn't even admire the architecture. Not when Gojo was already standing there. His eyes were hidden away, tucked underneath his glasses, but you still felt his stare. And all too wide smile stretched on his lips. He greeted Suguru with a kiss. For the first time, you looked down at their hands. 

Matching rings. 

You felt sick. 

'It's all up to you, sweetheart' Suguru's voice rings through your head all through a dinner that's really nothing but a flimsy padding for the rest of the night. Food was served, wine was poured, all in a bid to ease you into it. As of right now, it's still your 'choice'. You know, without a doubt, if you backed out now, they'd let you go without a fuss. Suguru or Satoru themselves might drive you home. You'd crawl into bed without a scratch.

But you don't. You stare at your plate, picking at it when they ask questions. Satoru's in such a good mood he offers to feed you. 

It's mostly because it doesn't feel real yet. You feel like you're watching yourself go through the movements. Eat. Speak when spoken to. Smile when prompted. Empty. 

You only come back when you're standing in their room, and the door locks with a click. 

The window blinds are drawn, but there's no light to seep in. The moon is already out. You wonder how many hours you've already spent here. 

You take another step towards the bed. Then, you turn around. 

Satoru and Suguru stare right back. You feel their heavy gazes immediately, flicking your eyes down to your feet, playing with your sleeves. 

Satoru laughs, perceiving the terror as shyness, or maybe he doesn't care. He steps forward first. 

"Don't be like that." He lightly chastises you, tucking one arm around your waist. "We'll be nice. Promise, baby. We're gonna be so so good for you." 

He finds your lips, then. Satoru kisses like the sun, all fire and passion. Sinking into you, wanting to melt. It's impossible to turn away and ignore his presence. He gropes at your chest, your waist, trying to feel all of you at once. When he finally lets go, you feel dizzy. 

Suguru's kisses ground you, makes remember where you are, who you're with. He's like the Earth you're crashing back into from your high. You hurdle through the atmosphere as his hands grasp at your throat. He never squeezes, but it's more than enough to sober you. 

"You smell so nice, baby," Satoru says from his place at your neck. You flinch when teeth sink into your sink, but you don't complain. 

"That's creepy, Satoru." Suguru chastizes him.

Serpentine eyes stare into yours. You don’t get the chance to hide before you feel his breath on your cheek. Suguru tugs at the hem of your dress.

“Take this off.” He whispers into your skin. “And get on the bed for us, sweetheart.”

This is the lesser monster. It’s a mantra you repeat in your head as you pliantly nod, hesitantly gripping the fabric of your dress. It’s horrifically easy to take it off and let it drop by your feet. You can’t bear to look at them anymore.

The soft duvet sinks under your weight. It looks expensive. Silky pillows. On either side is a nightstand covered with trinkets and personal items. You spot one of Suguru’s shirts on the floor, and it takes you a second to realize this is their room, not an impersonal guest room they use to fuck the less fortunate.

They stop paying attention to you. Satoru moans loudly into Suguru’s mouth. Suguru fiddles with the buttons on Satoru’s shirt, close to ripping it off entirely. Satoru palms at the tent in his pants as he unbuckles his pants. Suguru loosens his tie. They’re so violent with each other. Dread soaks through your palms, and you curl even further within yourself. You prayed this was all they wanted from you—someone to just watch, someone less interactive.

It’s not. When they pull away, their lips are swollen. Satoru leers at you, licking at his busted lip. You can’t seem to cry anymore.

They’re both half-naked. You can see the tattoos spread on Suguru’s hand, crawling up to his shoulder. Another peeks just behind Satoru’s neck. You only get a glimpse before he’s on top of you, eager for a continuation.

“Shit, you’re so soft.” He hisses as he squeezes your bra-covered breast. It doesn’t stay on for long. You wince when his fingers trace over your sensitive tits.

Your hands squeeze into fists, because you choose this, choose them. Satoru’s more than happy to sink into your breasts. His warm tongue swirls around a nipple before fully taking it in his mouth.

“Like a baby,” Suguru says. Satoru scoffs, tossing him an impressed look.

“Shut up.” Satoru releases your breast with a wet-sounding pop. They’ll be marks there tomorrow.

His fingers trail down your breasts, your ribs, your stomach. They linger on the band of your panties.

You can’t help it. It’s instinct.

He freezes when your fingers snap around his wrist. There’s no strength behind your grip, he pauses more out of surprise than anything.

His eyes, filled with hardened tanzanite, shoot up to yours. You think, if they’d be anyone else’s, you would have envied them.

He doesn’t say anything. Neither does Suguru. The silence is crushing.

“Sorry.” You feel pathetic apologizing, but it’s outweighed by the fear. “I—I’m sorry. I was just—”

“It’s okay, dear,” Suguru coos. “Satoru just scared you, hm? He’s such an idiot, isn’t he?” He violently smacks Satoru on the head. You flinch at the sound. Satoru just whines, rubbing at his temple.

“Mean.” Satoru childishly says, but he’s slower now, rolling down the hem of your panties.

Suguru is quick to distract you. He’s busy with his own bottoms before he’s taking you by the chin.

His cock is already leaking precum. He’s big, and you don’t think you’ll be able to do want he wants. Suguru smiles down at you, he doesn’t need to say anything. You’re swallowing down your self-hatred before opening your mouth.

You take him in just when Satoru buries his face between your thighs. The two of you have very different reacts. Satoru just hums, finding your clit to lick. You gasp, your legs jolting as you accidentally take Suguru even deeper.

He’s nice enough to let you go at your own pace. There’s a hand on your head, petting you, easing you through the process. Even then, your mouth is stretched uncomfortably wide. Tears prick at your eyes. Suguru’s face gets blurry. You don’t think you want to look anymore.

Below you, Satoru is enjoying his meal. He’s slobbering on your pussy, eating you out like it’s his last meal. His hot tongue finds his way into your sopping hole. You squeeze your eyes, a muffled whine comes from your mouth. The only loss of control Suguru shows was how he ever-so-slightly gripped your head.

By then, you’re unintentionally squeezing Satoru’s head in between your thighs. It’s so much. Pleasure tingles up your spine as Satoru continues to worship your pussy. His nose grinds into your clit and, for a moment, you’re wondering how he’s even breathing.

Suguru’s close. You can feel it every time his balls slap your chin. He’s speaking now, words stilted and heavy. It’s the only hint you get that he’s only holding his control by his teeth. That thought scares you. At any moment he’d snap, choking you with his cock, let you suffocate while he fills your dying mouth with his cum.

“Good,” he’s hissing out, “so good—good for me. C’mon, baby, take it.”

Satoru’s hand squeezes your ass, urging you to arch off the bed. You come like that, pressing your thighs around Satoru’s head, moaning around Suguru’s dick.

Suguru barely gives a grunt before something salty fills your mouth. You have to swallow it down. It burns your throat.

The air tastes sweet by the time Suguru’s cock leaves your mouth. You’re sucking in deep breaths, breasts heaving. Incidentally, you hadn’t suffocated Satoru. He’s kissing his way up your body. A trickle of Suguru’s cum had escaped your lips. His tongue presses against your chin before he pushes it back into your mouth. You can taste your tangy essence on his lips.

“Gotta’ swallow it all,” Satoru says with a teasing lilt, “he gets mad when it’s wasted.”

You can only nod. He gives you another wet kiss before he pulls away.

They switch places, Suguru moving over until he’s between your thighs. His large cock lays on your cunt. He’s still hard, his cock twitches when he angles his hips down, letting the head run over your leaking slit.

“The only reason he's going first is ‘cuz he’s been pining for you for months.” Satoru murmurs into your ear. Strangely enough, Suguru doesn’t comment. Your brain can’t work fast enough to comprehend what that means.

You hold your breath just as he presses himself inside. You’re almost grateful Satoru took the time to prepare you. His salivia, and your stretched walls make it easier for Suguru to bury his length inside you.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You hiss. Satoru feels enough sympathy to coo at you, kissing your neck, trying to distract you from the pain. It doesn't help, not even when Suguru presses light circles into your clit, easing his way through.

Suguru’s giving a harsh laugh when he’s fully seated inside, his hips meeting yours.

“Feel good, hm?” Satoru goads, reaching up to nibble on Suguru’s ear.

“Shit, so tight—fuck.”

Your hips twitch and you’re clenching down on him. Suguru doubles over, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, darling.” Scarred hands grasp your neck. “I’m going to ruin you, aren’t I?”

Your bottom lip wobbles. He’s eyeing you like a piece of meat. A gazelle in the lion’s den. To them, to men like them, you suppose you’re nothing more.

“Suguru.” You whisper because your voice is failing you. “You-you promised you’d be nice.”

Silence. And he’s laughing so hard his shoulders shake. They both are.

“We did promise that, didn’t we?” Suguru glances at Satoru. “Next time, then.”

He pulls his cock out of you slowly, dragging his head through your cunt. He’s so slow and deliberate that you think it’d feel better if he just went ahead and fucked you already.

And he was, technically. His hips rolled back into you, his cock disappearing inside your wet pussy with each thrust. It’s so much that you’re willingly arching your back, trying to do anything to alleviate the intensity.

Beside you, Satoru is pulling out his cock, his eyes never leaving the lewd sight of Suguru fucking himself into you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he’s cursing under his breath, fisting his cocl in one hand, “so fuckin’ hot.”

Suguru growls, grabbing Satoru’s stiff cock, crudely pumping his hand up and down. His movement are getting more erratic losing his pace, his patience. You’re at your end too, almost crying when someone squeezes your sensitive tits.

“How does it feel, darling?” Suguru asks with a ragged breath. His eyes are blown, you don’t even think he’s looking at you, anymore.

When you don't give an answer fast enough, Suguru snaps his hips punishingly in response. You give a sharp wail.

“I said.” Suguru hisses through his teeth. “Tell me how it feels.”

You can barely suck in a breath. You’re losing oxygen too fast.

But you’ll die if he keeps doing this.

“Good.” You tell the truth. “It—it feels good, Suguru.”

He grins, serpentine. You’ve lost a game you didn’t even know you were playing. His fingers descend on your clit.

“That’s my perfect darling.”

You sob when your walls clench around his cock, milking him dry. Your orgasm triggers his own. He curses, and something is spilled into your used cunt. Out the corner of your eye, Suguru and Satoru are kissing, going together like rabid dogs. Satoru shudders, and then all three of you are a panting mess.

You take in deep breaths, barely caring when Suguru lets out an exhausted laugh, collapsing into your chest. He licks at your sweaty skin. You just sink your head further into the pillows

It was over. It was finally over.

“You got it everywhere.” Suguru suddenly says, disgusted. He wipes Satoru’s cum off your stomach.

Satoru just snorts.

“I didn’t have a hole to dump it all in.” He snarks back. “Twice, by the way. So selfish, Sugu.”

“Quit whining.” Suguru groans. “You have your chance now, don’t you?”

What? Exhaustion blinks away.

Suguru stays by your side. Gojo is the one moving, rising from the blankets. He places his hands on either side of your hips, spreading your legs.

Geto catches your panic, easily catching you before you can even do anything. He hushes you while Satoru settles himself between your thighs, his cock pressing right at your slit.

“The night’s still young, dear.” He sounds almost sympathetic. “Be good for just a bit longer.”

By the time they’re finally done with you, it’d been hours. You can’t count how many positions they put you in, how many times your holes were filled by their cocks or their fingers or their mouths. You’re barely coherent by the time Suguru is tucking you under the soft duvet.

You feel sore and used and dirty. His soft words, filled with praises, just make you feel worse. Despite how exhausted you feel, you’re just waiting until they finally get bored of seeing your body and kick you out.

You’ll call a cab home. You’ll cry yourself to sleep. You’ll be okay.

They’re taking a while to get to that part. They’re mumbling soft words too each other, it sounds too intimate to be something you should be overhearing. Satoru’s at your back, hands curling around your waist, another brushing Suguru’s mussed hair. You can feel his soft breath at the nape of your neck.

Suguru’s eyes are on you. Amethyst watches you intently.

"Satoru,” he finally says, “go uphold our end of the deal." 

Gojo groans, annoyed. He snuggles closer to you. "Why me? You go do it." 

An adoring smile crinkles on Suguru’s lips. It makes him look younger.

"Because I don't trust you alone with this one for the night. Go."

“Ass.”

He sighs, but Gojo sits up, letting the covers shift off his naked body. 

"Stay right here for me, baby, 'kay?" He leans over, pressing a delicate kiss on your hairline. Despite everything that happened tonight, this was the most intimate thing he'd done to you. It's too...loving.

When Satoru leaves, you wait for a few moments. Suguru had yet to tell you to go. It probably meant that he didn’t want to waste his breath dismissing you. You take the hint, rising from the bed.

His fingers snap around you wrist just as your feet touch the floor.

“Where are you going?” His voice doesn’t sound accusatory, but you flinch anyway.

A wobbly smile makes its way across your face, you hope it comes across as submissive. Weren’t you done? The deal was made, that meant you could leave now, right?

"I—I need to go home?" Suguru gives a doting smile, as though you said something adoringly naive. He barely pulls on your hand, gently leading you back under the covers.

You follow because the gun glints by the nightstand. 

“Is that the best idea right now, dear?” He asks, “Who knows if those men have come back? I’d hate to see them find their target, wouldn’t you?”

He draws you into his chest. Your head is tucked underneath his chin.

“And besides, Satoru will be disappointed if you left without saying goodbye. It’d be horrible to deal with one of his tantrums so late at night.”

He buries his face into your hair, inhaling your scent.

“Why don’t you leave in the morning? I’ll be sure to drive you back myself. By then, I’m sure Satoru will have made the proper arrangements. Don’t tell him I told you this, but—” Suguru drops his voice as though he’s scared someone might overhear”—he tends to be more efficient when you’re in the picture.”

You don’t know what he means by that, and you don’t think you want to know. Still, you lift your head, finding the courage to stare at him.

His eyes are such a beautiful color. Glittering purple in the moonlight. You’d stare at them all night if you could.

“I can leave in the morning?”

Suguru hums, kissing your forehead.

It’s not an answer.

is it so bad?

ft. the haitani brothers

notes. i’m so sorry if you’re seeing this a second time. had to do a reupload. saw violet’s pervert collab and immediately thought of stepbro! ran n rin. i was originally going to end this fic before it got explicit but then i got horny. that is how the porn came to be. blocking ppl that don’t reach the age requirement below or have no age indicator on their blog. i’m serious. don’t test me. i will block every single one of you mfs

wc. 8.5k

cw. dark content. 18+ MDNI & ageless/blank blogs! stepcest, dubcon, coercion, praise, oral, overstimulation, masturbation (m), penetrative sex, loss of virginity, brief mentions of domestic abuse, depictions of a panic attack, creepy n gross behavior, gaslighting, fem! reader plus you’re shorter than both of them

summary. your mom got remarried and she’s happily in love with her new husband, and you’re happy with your new stepdad who’s nice and treats you like a daughter, but the pair of older brothers you got doesn’t sit well with you

tagging. @iz-ana bc you said you were excited about this :’) @priestesstoru i had fun writing this violet! thank you for hosting a wonderful collab bby!! @bxnten here you are cat! @thetempleofnyx n @festive bc they beta read yet another mess. @cherrykamado @tokyoredlightdistrict

you remember the day your dad left, remember how it destroyed your mom and reduced her to the empty husk of a vibrant woman she used to be.

they were arguing, so loudly that you could hear them from upstairs, and it left you trembling in fear underneath the blankets.

wanting your mom’s comfort, you mustered up the courage to leave their bedroom and head downstairs, peeking your head around the corner to see them in each other’s faces yelling up a storm. she told you to go to your room and you didn’t listen, of course, because you were too scared to be alone, and then your dad slammed his fists on the dining table and picked something up.

the memory turns fuzzy after that, scene wiped clean from your mind to a blank slate, a blank page, a completely white background.

when he left, he took with him your childhood experience of growing up with a father figure and two happily married parents.

what he took from your mom was her entire heart, held it in his hands, stole it from her just to squeeze it in her face, until it stopped beating and shriveled up into itself, and he knew that would do the job. knew her heart was too soft for the roughness of his hands.

she loved him dearly, and when she loves, she can’t help but to give all of herself until there’s nothing left.

seeing the way she was discarded by someone she loved and who was supposed to love her back just as much, you guess that’s why you grew up a little cynical and callous.

she broke down after that incident, and as a result of shock and heartbreak, entered a depressive episode.

you also think that’s why you matured much faster than other kids your age. with her out of commission, it was up to you to take care of her, so from a young age, you learned how to do all those menial chores that kept the house running.

if you didn’t do that, no one else would have helped.

people have their fair share of difficulties trying to navigate through life, trying to survive. so although the adults at school and around your neighborhood saw how you struggled, how you were always alone, and how your mother never left the house, they didn’t do a thing, and you couldn’t blame them, to an extent.

it would have been nice if they offered any small aid they could provide.

you taught yourself things like cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, financing the money that was left, and if you needed help, you would ask the neighbors, like how to use coupons at the store to save money and how to work the laundry machine. sometimes they’d be nice enough to give you the leftovers of their dinner.

it didn’t matter that your family was barely scraping by or that you had more burdens on your shoulders because your mother never left. she was still with you, didn’t abandon or hand you over to someone else, and that’s the thing you’re most grateful for.

because she’s the only family you have left.

giving her the space she needed but pushing for the betterment of her health when it was neglected, weeks went by like that, and you got better at doing the chores with each passing day. the bandaids on your hands lessened, your sloppy knife work got better, your knowledge on  seasonings, flavors  and what mixed together nicely, got better too, the best items to buy on sale, what time is the best to go.

then one day, three months after he left, she took a look at herself in the mirror, walked out of her room and saw you standing on a stool to cook your own food, bare of meat or eggs, only rice and veggies and seasonings.

something in her broke a second time as her face fell, and she cried, rushed over to turn off the stove and embrace you, apologizing for being a bad mother and for taking away precious time from your childhood. you patted her back and eased her worries, said how happy you were that she was back again, hugging her tightly.

soon enough, she snapped out of that rut, got a job, and worked hard on supporting you both after your dad cut off contact.

that’s why you’re happy she found someone again.

you like your mom’s new boyfriend. he sounds like a nice person, and from the few times you’ve seen them together, they’re so in love.

he’s kind to her and a gentleman, in every sense of the word. pulls her chair out before she sits down, opens the door for her, holds her purse, shopping bags, and hands, even kisses the back gently. he looks at her like she’s the only person in the world, talks about her like she’s his soulmate, and your mom gushes about him like she’s the one still in high school, not you.

they met during your senior year, about two months before you graduated, when you were focused on quadratics, the sengoku period, physics, and english compositional phrases.

your mom brought up a man she met at a coffee shop who she clicked instantly with. rambled about his brown eyes, black hair, how nice he smelled, how nice he was, how his smile reveals  a dimple in his right cheek, and how they keep bumping into each other throughout the city. be it the mall, a clothing store, a restaurant, the grocery store, or a café.

she looked the happiest you last saw her.

a month of their fated encounters, she would call them this, and he asked her out. thus began weeks of dates where they’d stay out until 10 before he drove her home and walked her right up to the front door.

before he left, he would linger because of her whining about wanting to spend more time together.

you would hear them during your study nights, giggling at the entrance of your house, saying their goodbyes but not yet separating until an hour later, a loud smooch on the lips to show that he was making his way out.

speaking of chance meetings, you had one yourself with a troublesome pair of boys at the convenience store about three streets down.

you were shopping for snacks, candy, and coffee when you bumped into someone turning a corner and dropped all of your stuff. crouching down to pick it all up, you accidentally touched the hand of whoever you knocked into, and the drop of your stomach at the contact—his hands are so cold—made you jolt back.

purple eyes stared at you. hauntingly dull before an impish sheen overtook them and he smiled, eyes brightening instantly. “are you okay? i’m sorry about bumping into you.”

you didn’t like that, how his eyes shined after being so dull didn’t sit right in your gut. it almost felt like he had something to hide, like something evil and vile was simmering behind those bright eyes of his.

clearing your throat, you told him it wasn’t a problem and went back to picking up what dropped from your basket.

on the final item, your hand reached out to a bag of chips that flew near a pair of white sneakers.

another set of eyes, more chilling than the last, landed on you. goosebumps rose as the hairs on your nape stood on end, and you realized quickly what type of people you bumped into.

when you looked up, dark, murky, completely void eyes stared back at you, and you shivered because that didn’t look like they belonged to a teenager, lavender irises and dark pupils that appeared ominous and daunting, dead yet haughty.

if eyes are the window to the soul, then you think the two boys there were fucked up.

his feet didn’t move but he glanced to where your hand was reaching for the chip bag before bouncing back to you, downturned edge of his lips prominent in a frown.

his eyes spoke for himself. what are you waiting for? clean up your mess.

that chilling glare caused more shivers to wrack your spine. he looked at you like you were beneath him, like you were a bug he stepped on, like he was looking past your flesh and skin, bones and tissues to see what laid at the center.

you dropped your gaze so quick to hastily grab the foil bag. just as you got up, your basket was handed back to you by the boy from earlier. “here you are. sorry again about bumping into you.”

“oh, it’s no problem! thank you for picking up my stuff.” you bowed your head in gratitude and he did the same while the other boy next to him never stopped his glaring.

the kinder boy smiled a little wider. “you’re welcome! see you next time,” and they both left the store with drinks in hand.

you stared a moment at the door because what did he mean ‘next time?’ did they frequent this convenience store? if so, you probably shouldn’t come here anymore. you definitely don’t want to meet them again.

the second boy was unnerving, but you think the first boy was just as scary, even if he did come off polite. he reminded you of those oni festival masks with the big smile, set of sharp teeth, and horns.

kind people who almost come off teasing like him aren’t up to any good. the little nice act, mask, facade, whatever it is they have going on, is nothing but a cheap sham.

they’re actually the meanest in a group of bullies.

but anyways, shaking off the eerie feeling you got from them, you tried hurrying home. it was nearing ten and you needed to see your mom home, wanted to make sure that she came back safe.

you made your way to the cashier, but a hand on your shoulder stopped you in place.

you jumped a little at the harsh touch and turned around, coming face to face with the manager. “are those boys your friends? they left my store without paying, and that was alcohol they had in their hands. are you all old enough to drink?”

yeah, they’re definitely no good, and you are absolutely never returning to this convenience store again. you shouldn’t have ditched the one closest to your house for a relaxing night stroll in the first place. how stupid of you, and now you got yourself in this mess.

it isn’t until a week later that you find out what the taller boy meant.

your mom told you that she and her boyfriend, sakuya, are thinking of getting married, which lead you all to this restaurant you’re at now, her and you kneeled on one side of the low table while him and his two sons, the two boys from the convenience store, are on the other side.

“these are my sons ran and rindou.” he points to the shorter one with blonde hair that falls just past his shoulders. “rindou here is the youngest.” then he brings his hand to rindou’s hair and ruffles it, laughing joyfully like rindou doesn’t look like he’s close to killing the poor man.

ran gives you a smile and a wave, props his head on his hands and asks you what your name is. you give it to him.

what is he doing? why is he acting like you haven’t met before, especially after what they subjected you to back at the convenience store?

you were taken to the police station for underage drinking. after an hour long interrogation of whether or not you really knew the boys, even though you’ve said a thousand times already that you didn’t, and a phone call to your mom that had her in hysterics, you finally came home around midnight.

with hours left before school, you couldn’t afford to pull an all nighter so your homework assignments were rushed for at least a few hours of sleep.

you barely got a passable grade.

however, watching sakuya with a closer eye, seeing the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing he needs, you rule that he really is the nice person your mom said he was. they usually drive around town doing whatever when they go on dates, and he doesn’t really spend any time in your house. your interactions mostly consist of greetings and farewells, so you couldn’t deem him worthy before.

dinner passes with light conversation from rindou who mostly ate in silence, ran who talked your ear off, and your mom mostly talking to their dad.

after that day, sakuya started hanging around the house more and his two sons would join him so all of you could have dinner together.

you moved into their house after the remarriage.

so again, you love your mom’s boyfriend. really, you do. but his sons. they’re horrible people. you don’t know how a man like that raised the atrocities that are ran and rindou.

they pull at your hair, say mean things, and annoy you when you don’t do what they want. so much so that you almost cry in frustration most times because they won’t leave you the fuck alone, and every time you bring their behavior up to your mom, ran turns into an angel, turns into a good big brother and treats you nicely. rindou trails after him and follows his lead, then you’re the one who’s too nervous and anxious of the change.

“it’s okay, baby. you’re family now.”

you cried in the bathroom after they exchanged their vows because while that’s a seal of their marriage, it’s also a seal to your fate with the brothers, who you’re stuck with now, legally and metaphorically.

and to prove this fact, ran and rindou were waiting outside the door for you. said that you’re being too bitter, and to be happier for your parents.

when you graduate high school, you get ushered to applying for the college ran and rindou attend. your mom says that it gives her relief knowing that you’ll be kept safe with your new older brothers by your side, and you nearly screamed at her obliviousness.

you don’t like ran and rindou at all.

sometimes, you feel like there’s something more to their teasing. like how ran pushed you, close to tears, into calling him “ran-nii,” and the tight grip of his hand, the dilation of his pupils, when you finally did. how rindou’s eyes finally lit up and sparkled, looked alive, when they both made you cry. how rindou got nicer after you called him “rin-nii” and asked for help against ran.

another thing you don’t like about them is how creepy they are. ever since you moved in, you’ve noticed a few of your things go missing. some panties and bras, your favorite perfume bottles or lotions. you’ve caught a whiff of your perfume in ran’s room, seen your underwear laying on rindou’s bed, peeking out from under his blanket, your missing lotion bottle on his dresser and used, all when you walked past their rooms, door ajar.

when you try to bring up your missing bottles of perfume and lotion to your parents, they laugh and say that it just means ran and rindou love you that much as their little sister.

“they think it smells nice and just want to borrow it, honey.”

when you brought up the situation with your underwear, a search through their rooms turned up nothing, but a search through yours showed that all your missing underwear was in your dresser, misplaced in your socks drawer.

“baby, you know it’s wrong to accuse people of serious things like that. panty and bra thieves, which you know isn’t true? that could ruin their reputation if it reached people outside of our home.”

you know, but your underwear really was missing and you honestly did see it in their rooms. when you looked up from where you were sitting at ran and rindou, menacing grins were etched on their faces.

oh, they really did steal my underwear. they’re just fucking messing with me. that thought had your jaw tightening and teeth grinding in anger. and your hatred , but mostly fear, of them only grew from there.

they walk you to school everyday, when you finally get accepted—they chose your classes and made sure it fit with their schedules. ran is a senior and rindou is a junior, and you’re a freshman who makes a name for herself as ‘the haitani brothers’ little sister.’

they drag you to their hang out spots, parties, study sessions, and lunch, everything that they have a hand in at school, their precious baby sister has to go with them. their friends and every guy on campus knows not to mess with you or even come near you, knows not to lay a hand on you either. the girls who like them approach you often to get their numbers, or try to make you play matchmaker, but ran and rindou always drag you away before you can agree.

they know that you’d gladly get them girlfriends if it means they’d leave you alone.

there are some days you’re free of them, such as days where your friends are free to hang out, when you have group projects or assignments, and when ran and rindou have their own internships and projects.

you can’t be left alone anymore, lest ran and rindou bug you if you are.

your parents love seeing you three together, thinks ran and rindou are being good big brothers and that you’re all bonding. furthermore, your parents have more time for each other. their dad looks the happiest and most clueless but occasionally, your mom looks at you in confusion, and she analyzes your reactions.

if you’re both so close, why do you constantly flinch in their presence? why do you look so distraught and scared of being dragged around by them? why do you often lock yourself in your room like something bad will happen if you don’t? you didn’t use to do that before, and why does her stomach feel heavy whenever she sees you left alone with them?

(a mother’s instincts can never be wrong.)

but all of those questions slip her mind when she feels the warm hands at  her sides  pulling her in for a hug, and she melts into the touch, forgetting  about your problems all together when sakuya kisses her.

your pleading eyes get overlooked when he whisks her away to their shared room.

ran and rindou’s father is nice and kind, really he is, but god is he stupid. how can you live with two monsters and not get cold feet? not get a sharper sense of trouble? an instinctual ping of “you feel like something bad is gonna happen?”

how can you not check in on your sons and see the lies that they spin, the little horns on their heads, the brewing storm of violence and destruction in their eyes?

you’re glad that you lock your door every night without fail and that you hid the spare key to your room. you’re glad that your mom never decided to make a master key. you can sleep soundly and safe at night because you can hear the floor creaking, your doorknob rattling, and footsteps outside your door, a silhouette lurking underneath.

no, make that two.

ran is shameless. makes you freeze up in fear sometimes. he isn’t afraid to touch you or get close enough to groping you in public, underneath tables and in quiet places where it’s just the three of you.

when you end up in these situations  with them, you always make sure to turn it in your favor. someone forgot their stuff in the room? you ask what class they have next and walk out with them. when ran and rindou’s friends ask the three of you to eat lunch with them, you agree quickly and follow after them. the few friends you were able to make guide you out of their grasp when they want to hang out.

these fortunate disruptions have kept ran and rindou at bay, preventing them from getting bold enough to do more outside of your house, as your parents’ presence restrain them there.

but everything comes crashing down when your parents leave for a trip.

“are you sure that you don’t want to come with us? this could be our first family vacation.” your mom asks, putting on her straw sun hat and looking over her appearance in the mirror next to the front door where your step dad is loading their stuff into the car.

“we’re okay! you and dad should take the time to have a vacation just by yourselves. consider this your honeymoon!” ran exclaims.

your mom laughs. “alright then. take care of your sister you two. she gets lonely without me and when she’s by herself for too long, but she’s too stubborn to seek others out.”

she smiles fondly at you and pecks your cheek, the way she used to when it was just you and her, before the new addition, and you nearly cry, remembering the peaceful days without ran and rindou.

watching her walk away, leaving you alone with the brothers, you decide to abandon your previous inhibitions. if you went with them, there’d be countless times you’ll probably end up third wheeling them, but you don’t care.

you don’t think you can survive here, with them, by yourself.

opening your mouth, the words “i want to go too” are on the tip of your tongue, but rindou pinches you on the arm, right beside you, and your mouth shuts close as you suppress a yelp of pain.

missing your chance, you watch in anguish as she walks out the door, hand in sakuya’s, and shuts it behind her.

she’s gone. off to kyoto. you almost seeth in rage, mouth twisted into a snarl, but the pang of sadness in your heart makes the little hiccup of a sob leave your mouth instead, and tears dot along your eyes.

you can see how you’re slowly starting to lose your mom to your stepdad, and that is a depressing thought that has been weighing on your mind for the past month.

the house is quiet for a minute, neither of you moving. ran breaks the silence. “well then. that’s that.”

he takes your hand in his and starts tugging you towards the living room, rindou pushing you forwards from the back, but a knock at the door interrupts him.

ran clicks his tongue and frowns. you shiver at the look of annoyance on his face. very rarely do you see anything but a smile on his face, and now that you have seen it, you think he looks just as intimidating as rindou. there’s a vast difference in ran’s bubbly facade to his lax face, and if you’re being honest, you’d gladly prefer his smile anytime over his frowning face.

letting go of your hand, he walks to the door. when he opens it, you see a mop of brown hair skimming past his shoulders.

“hi ran! is your sister in?” it’s your friend, who came just in time to pick you up.

you texted her earlier asking if she wanted to hang out for the week, and if she wanted to have a sleepover too, as it is summer break. you and her can have the whole week to yourselves, which she agreed to.

with this, you hope you can avoid ran and rindou.

now there’s no one to stop them from doing what they want if you stayed home, and you think you know what it is that they want, the lingering touches and stares at your lips, chest, waist, and legs have told you enough.

if you want to remain safe and out of their clutches, then you need to spend as much time out of the house as you can.

ran opens his mouth, but his words don’t come out in time. “chiyu! come in!”

you walk past rindou and pull her inside. “me and chiyu are hanging out today, and i’m also spending the night at her house.”

looking at ran and rindou, you say this not as a question or to ask for permission, but as a notice.

you’re going to leave this house one way or another, you refuse to be confined and made vulnerable to them, and ran knows this, knows he can’t really do anything about it so he smiles again and tells you to go ahead. rindou says nothing on the matter, assuming that he has no problems with it.

when you take chiyu’s hand and turn your back to walk up the stairs, ran’s smile drops and rindou stares holes into the back of your head. you got yourself out of this one, but your luck is going to run out soon, they’ll make sure of that.

closing your door and locking it, you remove a duffel bag from your closet and start filling it with packed clothes, underwear, bras, and your toothbrush.

“your brothers always look so fine whenever i see them.”

your lips twist into a disgusted frown at that. “they’re really not.”

chiyu lays on your bed and takes out her phone. “alright then. whatever you say.” she turns back to you. “wait, why are you packing so many clothes?”

“oh, i was wondering if i could stay at your house for the whole week. it’s boring here without my mom and my brothers are annoying.” your voice sounds strained. chiyu wonders why but she doesn’t ask, doesn’t think much on why you hate ran and rindou so much.

“but won’t they tell your parents about it?”

you turn to her and the gentle, fond gleam of your eyes melts her heart a little. “what? you don’t want to spend the whole week with me? they take up so much of my time for these stupid ‘bonding’ activities, and i haven’t been able to hang out with you much.”

your voice is faint, as is the sad downturn of your smile, when you say, “i miss you, chiyu.”

her cheeks turn red and she pouts, turning back around to bury her head in her arms. clicking her tongue, she says softly, “alright. i got it.”

she scrolls through her feed in the meantime, kicking her feet back and forth in the air.

a beat of silence washes over your room as you pack. chiyu breaks the quiet at times when she giggles at something funny she found before showing you, taps into a video with sound, or when her keyboard clacks at a text she writes.

it’s relaxing not having ran and rindou breathing down your neck. the few days you get to yourself are sparse.

when you’re done, you zip up the bag and hoist it on your shoulder, grabbing chiyu’s hand to walk out together.

the days go by quick as you spend the majority of it with her and a few other friends. you watch movies with them, visit the beach, go to one of the summer festivals hosted this week, light up fireworks at night, eat at cafes and restaurants, have barbecues, and so much more.

you feel the burdens of your heart disintegrate into dust with each genuine laugh you give, with each smile you make, the big turn of your lips that make your teeth peek out. cheeky and gleeful. something you haven’t felt in a long time.

it feels good to be happy again.

chiyu’s parents were a little worried at first on whether the brothers would be okay with you sleeping over the entire week. they had no objections to your stay. however, a simple phone call to ran erased their worries, and like that you were set.

if you needed to come home to get something, you made sure to bring chiyu or one of your other friends over, so you wouldn’t be left alone with them, even for a second.

you might be a bit too paranoid, but you don’t care. better safe than sorry because you know all hell will break loose when you stay overnight at your house with just the three of you.

and you’re right, so right.

the tiny beats of your heart hurt your chest. you feel like it’ll explode into a million pieces if it goes any faster.

chiyu announces that she has to go visit her grandparents for the remainder of the week. numerous calls to your other friends inform you that they’ll all be out of their houses on a family trip. you debated on asking chiyu if you could come along for the visit but refrained from asking since she’s already let you stay over.

three days. just three days. can you even last that long fending for yourself?

“mhmm?”

ran pokes his head out from the kitchen when he hears the door lock turning and opening, seeing you step inside. “now what’s this? i thought you were gonna spend the whole week away.”

the glare you send him is deadly but ran has no problems with it. “change of plans.”

he thinks you look like a cute little chihuahua barking up a tree. “do you want to eat dinner together then?”

you haul your duffel bag up the stairs. “no thanks. i already ate and i’m full for the day.”

you’re actually not. your stomach grumbled as soon as you reached your room, but it’s okay. you ate breakfast at chiyu’s house before you left, and there’s a drawer full of snacks in your nightstand, a mini refrigerator that you begged your parents to buy, all so you can hunker down in your room for a situation like this.

the rest of the day goes by smoothly. you spend most of it going back and forth between your phone and your laptop watching shows, scrolling through your feed, going on youtube.

when it comes time to brush your teeth, you get a little nervous. you ran out of whitening strips, and your retainer went missing, so you had no alternative way to clean your teeth before going to sleep, which lead you to the bathroom.

fortunately, the door was right in front of your room, which made it easy for a quick and safe return, lest the shadows close on your heels overtook you.

once you locked the door again, a knock came before you could even reach the bed, and rindou’s low monotone voice flooded the other side. “we’re watching a movie. you wanna join?”

“no thanks.”

he dropped the conversation after that, walking back downstairs. rindou doesn’t try to convince or persuade you into doing things like ran does. he knows that when you say no, you mean it. you’re a little stubborn, but he guesses the reason why you’re so adamant on refusing them is because you hate them.

around five hours later, when the house is quiet and ran and rindou retired to their rooms long ago, after laying in bed on your phone, you get drowsy.

neon red numbers reading 12:00 beam at you.

it’s late and you should go to sleep. you need to wake up early for breakfast before they wake up. pulling the covers over your shoulder and putting your phone down, you close your eyes, but your peace doesn’t last long, because the doorknob jiggles again tonight but this time, you hear the lock tinkling and shifting.

you sit up, the slow beats of your heart intensifying as you realize that they’re going to pick your lock and force their way inside.

you jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing in your veins, helping the gears in your brain turn. you open the window. you might be on the second floor but it’s not much of a jump. the balcony stretches out beyond the front door and there’s a pipe next to it that you can climb down.

should you fall, there’s a thick bush beneath, but that’s not what you’re gonna do.

leaving the window wide open, you turn back around and tiptoe to the closet, opening the door a crack, making sure there’s no creak of the old wood, and climb inside. moving old blankets and stacked clothes to the side, you wiggle your way to the back and push the blankets and clothes in front of you to act as cover.

the lock clicks and the door swings open.

footsteps shuffle inside and walk to the window. you hold your breath as another pair of feet walk to the closet. the door swings open and all is quiet as either ran or rindou look inside.

a beat passes before you hear the window shut, the closet too, and their footsteps recede to the door. the room is silent once again. ran and rindou’s breath resonating throughout the empty space while you breathed slowly and quietly.

you can’t slip up, and you can’t relax yet. they’re still inside.

finally, your door opens and shuts, and the footsteps slowly disappear, but you’re too scared to leave, so you wait five minutes, slowly catching your breath, letting your body relax from its tight coil.

when your heart slows down, you start making your way out. pushing storage aside, you slowly move to the entrance. careful not to let any thuds, creaks, or scratches ring out.

since they’re gone, you can probably leave from the window now. the front door is too risky. they might even be searching all over the house.

if you grab the money in your nightstand drawer, you can rent a hotel room. you don’t want to enter the police station, they’ll just take you back home. hotels can be expensive though, so you’ll search for cheap rooms around the area on your phone. good thing your mom and stepdad gave you extra money for the three of you that you kept for yourself. ran and rindou don’t deserve it anyway. they can rot in hell for all—

the door creaks open once again.

“ah. there you are.”

the blood in your veins freeze over, and your body roots itself to the spot, paralyzed in fear. shakily, you bring your head up. two pairs of eyes watch you, waiting for your next move. panic erupts in your heart, growing with each tandem beat that echoes in your ears. the lump in your throat feels suffocating, and you almost feel like choking up.

ran and rindou are right there, and there is nowhere for you to run.

a shuddered breath leaves your mouth, and your heart plummets, small droplets of tears dot along your waterline, and ran reaches for you. that is when your body finally responds, fight or flight instincts kicked in. you jump back from the revolting touch, trying to scramble your way into the depths of the closet again.

don’t touch me. it’s a simple wish, a simple demand, an absolute right, but ran doesn’t care. he ignores you in favor of grabbing your forearm to stop your struggling and pull you out, or at least tries. because you push back with the same, if not more, force with all of your might.

your body scuffles against the floor of the closet and you think for a second that maybe you can fight them off. a baseball bat rests next to you on one side and an umbrella is on the other. grabbing any of these two items will give you a weapon to fight with and a higher chance of survival, but then rindou grabs your other arm just as you start to reach for the bat, and he pulls.

their strength is greater than yours, and the three of you come tumbling down.

you land on rindou.

raising your elbow, you try to smash that down into his ribs, break them and hopefully puncture a lung or stab into his heart, but ran catches you, loops his arms so he can hook yours onto them behind you.

during your struggling, you thrashed around and hit your cheek against ran’s head, and his grip loosened as you both bent over in pain.

the room is mostly silent, save for your breathing and groans, but something clicks in the deep recesses of your mind when you take in the situation with a calmer head, talking yourself down and holding your bruising cheek, you remember something.

the day your dad left, after he picked up the glass vase on the table, he threw it to the side, and it shattered, which scared your mom because you happened to be standing in that exact same spot. a shard of glass flew off the wall and cut your cheek. warm blood seeped down your cheek like tears, and some plopped onto the floor.

then the rest of the memory plays out like a movie.

how your mom ran over to wipe the blood off herself with just her shirt, squeezing you tight and crying into your hair, how your dad took a glance at you, and the disgusted look in his eyes. the same one rindou gave you back at the convenience store.

that explains why his eyes creep you out so much. there’s a strong hate that swims in them. it’s enough to pierce right through you, right to your soul, and it stabs into you with the intent to harm.

your breathing gets a little heavier. it doesn’t help that ran and rindou won’t let you go.

wheezing and heaving breaths are leaving your mouth now. your head feels light, like your blood isn’t circulating there, and no matter how deep of a breath you take, you feel like you can’t breathe. your ears are starting to ring and you curl up into yourself, if only to get some space away from the two of them, if only to hide from everything.

ran’s groans of pain fall silent, then you feel him hug you from behind but it only makes you flinch, and rindou cages you between him and ran from the front. you’re sandwiched between the both of them as ran rubs your shoulder.

“hey. it’s okay. breathe with me. in and out, just like that.” ran talks softly, and rindou’s grip on your biceps is tight, like he’s trying to ground you, let you know that he’s there through the overturned gears of your head that’s narrowing your vision and perception.

you follow ran’s example and take deep breathes. blood starts pumping to your heart again and everything goes back to normal, the fog in your head disappears with each circulation, your anxiety eases, and you slouch down into rindou’s chest, ran slouching into you.

the rough beats of rindou’s heart pound against your forehead, and you find comfort in that somehow.

ran wraps his arms around your waist.

the calmness of the moment encourages you to ask one last time, “why can’t you leave me alone?” to see if they’ll listen to you, or if they’ll ignore you and go through with what they planned.

“we can’t help that. just love our baby sister too much.” ran kisses the spot between your right shoulder and nape.

the soft touch of his lips tickle you a little. you’re sensitive around the neck and shoulders, so you twitch in his hold, clutching your hands onto rindou’s shirt.

“does that feel good?”

you hum your protest and shake your head, but ran does it again in an open mouthed kiss and a moan slips past your lips.

that makes you freeze dead in your tracks, ran doing the same. his growing erection presses against your lower back through his sweatpants, and rindou’s presses against your ankle.

“huh. i guess it feels good then.”

“no, it doesn’t. stop doing that.” you grit through your teeth.

ran does it a third time, biting you, and you tense up as your pussy squelches, slick starting to pool in your panties.

“i don’t think she feels the same way as you.” ran chuckles before pulling away. him and rindou lock eyes, and rindou pulls away from you too.

they lift you up and carry you to the bed.

“no! stop!” wriggling your wrists out of their grip to no avail, you end up in front of rindou, your back to his chest, and ran in front of you.

rindou brings his arms up, wrapping them around you, locking yours underneath his. he lays you on his chest as ran lowers to his knees and spreads your legs open.

he keeps his grip tight when you struggle to close your legs again. “now, there’s no need for that. relax for me, or i can’t make you feel good.”

“i don’t want to feel good. i don’t like this. don’t do this.” when he ignores you, pulling your underwear down your thighs, you settle for begging.

“please, ran-nii.”

that just made things worse.

ran looks up at you with a dark tint to his eyes and gives you a soft kiss on your lips before ripping your panties off entirely, pushing your legs apart for him to dive straight into your cunt.

your breath hitched, legs twitching when he dragged his tongue across your slit, tip licking circles into your clit before he sunk his tongue inside you.

he’s not listening anymore, so you plead your case to the brother behind you. “rindou, don’t let him do this to me.”

rindou gave a hum, contemplating your request in his head before opening his mouth. “ask me a little more nicely, and i might help you.”

your heart nearly sank to your stomach at the implications of his words. you know what makes him nicer, makes him a little happier, makes him swoon and soften his heart enough so he’s willing to help.

your voice breaks as you ask him again, more nicely like he told you. “r-rin-nii, please tell ran-nii to stop. he’s scaring me.”

rindou’s breath hitches and you can hear the heavy beating of his heart behind you. he rests his chin on your shoulder and nuzzles his cheek next to yours. “he’s scaring you?” he coos. “don’t worry about ran nii-chan. i’ll kick him if he starts hurting you.”

“oh fuck. that’s a good one rin.” ran exclaims below you, eyes peeking above your thighs where he rubs soft patterns, other hand starting to pull his sweatpants down. “call me that next time. ran nii-chan.”

sobs bubble up your throat, and you start screaming and kicking. “no! i don’t want this. get off of me! i’m gonna tell our parents everything about the disgusting things you do.”

the both of them turn quiet.

you’ve been putting off telling the whole truth for the greater good of your mother. she’d be heartbroken if she found out that the two brothers who were supposed to be taking care of you are actually the ones you need protection from the most, and even if she ends up breaking up with sakuya, you think she would be happier to have your pain stop.

hopefully she still loves you that much.

or maybe, they can get ran and rindou arrested instead and your family gets reduced to three. you’d actually like that a lot better. the three of you would be happier without them in the picture.

“do you really want that to happen?” ran breaks the heavy silence. “what would your mother say, after finally finding another man who makes her happy? when her previous one was a piece of shit who cheated on her.”

your brows furrow. “they had their differences and divorced because they didn’t love each other anymore, not because he cheated.”

that’s what your mom told you.

ran’s eyes shine in amusement and his smile gets a little taunting. “oh. she didn’t tell you, did she?”

your lip starts trembling. you don’t like where this conversation is going. “tell me what?”

“i see. your mom doesn’t really trust you.”

your heart starts racing again. “what are you talking about?”

the silence is thick as you wait for his response, wait on bated breath for his explanation, but rindou’s lazy drawl next to your ear jolts you out of your panic. “your shitty dad cheated on her. fucked other women. you know, stuff like that.”

the tears break from your eyes and they fall in fat droplets.

when ran tries to push his way inside, your pussy clenches on his dick and stops him from moving any further.

“you haven’t done it with a man before, have you?” his eyes curve into crescents, in time with the quirk of his lips when he smiles. “don’t worry. your nii-chan will take good care of you.”

he slowly pushes inside, inch by inch, pausing when you clench on him too tight. he catches the gloopy drops of pre sliding down his shaft and lathers his fingers in it before he’s rubbing tiny circles into your clit. the friction of his thumb causes your legs to twitch harder, continuing his breach when you loosen up and doing the same thing again when you tighten up.

finally, after a few minutes of this process, ran bottoms out and groans, hips shaking and desperate to start pistoning inside your tight cunt, but he stops himself, for you.

the fingers on your clit don’t stop circling and when it hardens to a point where it starts sticking out of its little hood, he spits on it to create more lube.

rindou’s erection twitches at your back, and his breathing on your ear got heavier.

he tugs his joggers and briefs down, the fat tip of his girthy cock nudging against an ass cheek, too heavy to stand upright, and a drop of pre falls on you, which starts a chain reaction.

pre leaks from rindou’s cockslit like a running faucet. it’s endless and gooey, and rindou moans when he strokes his dick to your ass cheek.

meanwhile ran starts a steady pace on your pussy, dick hitting into your sweet spot at each thrust. his pace pushes you back onto rindou, your ass cheek rubbing heavily against his erection.

but when ran continues playing with your clit again, timed with his rough thrusts, the band of pleasure flaring in your stomach snaps and you gush around his cock.

he keeps going still, riding out your high and then some before cumming inside you.

ran slouches down on your other shoulder not obstructed by rindou, who stopped stroking his cock, but you can tell that he’s still aroused by how it throbs against you.

ran pulls out of your dripping pussy when he catches his breath. fat, white globs of cum splatter onto your bedsheets, and they switch spots, rindou lifting you up by your hips to turn you around to him.

he clicks his tongue. “ why’d you come inside ran. don’t wanna fuck her with your nasty cum in the way.”

ran chuckles behind you, arms wrapped around your body just like rindou was, but his chin is resting on your head.

rindou shoves three fingers inside without warning and you tense up, cunt tightening again. he scoops a pool of ran’s cum in his fingers and brings it to your panting mouth that shuts close immediately.

“come on, do it for rin-nii. wanna fuck you right without ran’s cum still inside.” you shake your head.

ran’s hand is on your jaw in a split second and he digs his fingers into the hollow of your cheeks, effectively squishing them and opening your mouth in a tiny pout. rindou takes that chance to push the thumb of his other hand inside, hooking it onto your cheek to enlarge the tiny gap, and he pushes the fingers holding ran’s cum inside your mouth.

you almost gag at the slimy texture. it’s a little bitter but how it slides around on your tongue disgusts you more than the taste. rindou pinches your nose closed and your throat tightens up, having no choice but to swallow it.

it takes more than one gulp to down the whole thing in your mouth like swallowing peanut butter, and when it’s done, you heave a deep breath.

“oh, look at her. she’s all fucked out.”

rindou strokes his cock before pushing the fat tip inside and your pussy stretches to accommodate his size.  he’s thicke than ran, so there’s a little pain but he bottoms out soon and nudges against your spongy walls that turned sensitive after ran’s turn. some cum gushes out of you, sticking to rindou’s shaft, dropping to the base of his dick, where a ring of white starts to pool.

“we’re not done with you yet.” ran coos above you, arm tightening in their hold. “try to keep up with us.”

—

throughout the rest of the week, you spend most of that time at home at ran and rindou’s insistence. they cook dinner with you, go grocery shopping, watch movies, play video games during the mornings and afternoons, but at night they fuck you for hours on end like animals in heat, and on the final day before your parents come back,  you realize something as the three of you lay in your bed ready to sleep, ran and rindou squished to your side, treating you like a body pillow as they wrap their arms around you and entangle their legs.

if this is how things are going to be from now on, after finally accepting their love, maybe it would be nice to let this continue. your mom’s too busy with her new husband to care about you anymore, and you’ve been so lonely without her company.

maybe loving ran and rindou as your big brothers isn’t so bad after all. they’re nice when you listen to them, and they make you feel good. they spoil and pamper you, and it’s nice to have someone care about you.

it feels nice to have someone’s full attention without working tirelessly for it, and it’s not like they’ll stop anytime soon after the first hit

as rindou’s slumbering breaths on your neck guide you into following his, and ran’s steady heartbeat calming your erratic one down, you fall asleep quite peacefully.

your parents come home the next day, around the evening because of their delayed flight.

“hi baby! we’re back.” she gives your head a smooch and goes to the living room to put down her purse. ran and rindou step outside to help their dad with the baggage and gifts.

your mom takes a look at your beaming face and glowing skin. “how was bonding with your brothers? did you have fun, baby.”

you take a moment to reflect on the previous days before your smile widens. “mhmm!”

rindou’s cum starts to dribble out of your pussy just as ran’s cum does the same from your ass—yeah, you’ve come to terms with them.

Genuinely feel the need to post this cause at this point it’s getting out of hand.

So during the events kinktober I’ve noticed that a lot of people have been hating on dark content blogs, going as far as to anonymously harass creators to the point that they’ve had to stop posting content.

And it’s perfectly fine if you don’t like those types of blogs, you’re not obligated to at all. But to go out of your way to harass someone for what they do, even when they’ve put warnings all over their blog about how their material contains something you might not like, is just plain wrong.

It’s not okay in any sense to consistently harass people when they’ve done nothing to provoke you. And it is very easy to just scroll past something if you don’t like it, there is no need to go into someone’s blog just to belittle them for something they put genuine time and effort into. Some of these blogs have spent days, weeks, or even months of careful planning making events and taking time out of their day to respond to small asks. Even warning viewers about potentially sensitive content. They don’t need people bombarding them with hate and rude comments every 5 minutes.

I’m not even a content creator myself! I have literally no idea how much work these people must put in to do what they do. All I know is that they do it because they want to, and if that’s what they want to do, then I have no business telling them they can’t.

Other than that, I wish all you writers and creators a wonderful day, and a happy kinktober! Keep up all the good work, and I look forward to what awesome stuff you guys come up with!

OMG OMG OMG THIS IS SO GOOD I ADORE IT 🩵🩵🩵🩵 AAAAHHHH!!!

May I request some feral yandere Gojo? Just of any kind, maybe some head cannons?

By the way, I love your writing! 🩵

Yandere Gojo Satoru

Gojo's obsession with you goes beyond just wanting to be close to you—he feels an overwhelming need to possess you completely. He can't stand the thought of anyone else getting too close, and any potential threat (even if it's just a harmless friend) becomes a target for his unyielding "protection."

He is incredibly clever, and he’s not above using his charm to manipulate situations in his favor. If he suspects someone is interested in you, he’ll find ways to make that person look bad, whether it's revealing a secret or using his powers to make their life more difficult.

While Gojo may not outright lock you away, he’ll subtly control your schedule, where you go, and who you talk to. He'll make it seem like everything is "for your own good," ensuring you're only ever in his presence or at places he deems "safe." You won’t even realize how isolated you're becoming, as he’ll smooth everything over with his perfect smile and easygoing demeanor.

As you know, his love language is obsessive physical affection. He touches you constantly—holding your small hand, putting his arm around your thin waist, or pulling you into his lap when no one is around. He says things like, "You're mine, right?" or "Don't forget who keeps you safe, baby," and it’s clear he’s staking his claim on you in subtle but undeniable ways.

His calm exterior cracks when he sees you talking to someone else for too long, especially if that person is another man or someone who's too close to you. His jealousy manifests as a coldness in his eyes, and if he doesn't directly confront the person, he'll find ways to make sure you know that you belong to him and him alone. Anyone who dares to challenge his position will regret it.

While Gojo will never admit it, his love for you is an obsession—he is unable to separate his feelings of love from his need for control. In his mind, no one could ever love you the way he does, and no one could ever keep you safe like he can. Anyone who tries to get too close will quickly see the darker, possessive side of Gojo.

He loves playing mind games with you, testing you in different ways that seem harmless at first but grow more intense over time. He’ll say things like, "Do you ever think about leaving me?" or "You know you’ll never be happy without me, right?" He enjoys watching your cute reactions and feeding his ego, all while tightening his grip on your emotions.

He genuinely believes that you are the only person who could truly understand him. He convinces himself that no one else could ever love him as much as you do—or as much as he loves you. This leads to an almost delusional sense of entitlement where he views you as his personal salvation, the only person who see him as a human, not a tool.

After a while, he will definitely kidnap you.

His attitude towards you won't change after you've been kidnapped. He will not take any security measures in case you run away because he thinks you are too weak to run away from him.

But let's say you ran away from him; will be severely punished. Why are you running away from him? He loves you, he protects you, so why? As a punishment he can break your legs or throw you into a dark room and leave you there alone for hours.

Until you realize you're nothing without him.