#what i was trying to say was that I was trying to keep something stable when it was going downhill.

[ri-writes-if]

Hi! I just found your story and I love it, so I was reading all the asks 🤣 for the "save MC or the world" I wanted to ask, if after years (a century? Enough that their mind is "stable") that the ROs saved the world, while on a trip they see MC alive in the "country side", what do they do? Do they think they are immagining things, do they try to find MC? If they decide to look for them and they meet MC, what would they do if they find out that MC doesn't recognize/remember them (MC almost died and lost their memories)? MC now lives a quiet life with the one who saved/healed them (not clear if they are romantically or platonically involved with each other, but they are very very close). Do they try to get MC remember them, do they try to restart all from the start, do they leave MC there and go back?

The mentioned scenario

Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the story 💛

What a curious ask 👀

Vez knows it's you, but they want to make sure they're not mistaking someone else for you, so they'll come to talk to you. Upon realizing you don't remember them and figuring out you're not pretending, they hide their pain behind a smile and bid your goodbye. They'll arrange for someone to protect you, but they'll never go to you again, believing that they wasted all their chances with you when they sacrificed you. They don't deserve you, and you'll be better off finding happiness somewhere else. Better even if with someone else. If you ever has problems with something, they'll help you from the shadows, never revealing their involvement and identity. You still will be a part of their life, though you won't know about it.

Os doesn't believe it's you at first. Surely they're mistaken. They walk away, but the memory keeps pestering them, so they halt and run back to where they saw you. They don't know what to say to you, so they carefully observe you from afar before gathering courage to approach you. When they realize you don't remember them, they once again are thrown into utter confusion. Do they let you go? Do they try to remind you of them? But they sacrificed you. Would you want to be with them after all of that? They won't be able to decide at the moment, so they'll need time to think it over. Ultimately, they'll decide to let you go, but they last long. They want you in their life, in any way you can be, so they'll approach you again and try to befriend you. They won't let you come too close to them, however, because they don't want to hurt you again.

Laz thinks they're hallucinating, though they shouldn't. They're stable now. Which means you're real. Which is impossible. They follow you around, observing your behavior intently, like a hunter hunting its prey. They won't approach you at first—instead, they'll send someone to gather information about you. When they conclude it's really you, they'll come to you. It doesn't matter that you don't remember them. They'll crawl back into your life one way or another, no matter how much time it'll take. They know they shouldn't—you were hurt because of them—but they're too selfish to let you go. They won't pay much attention to your new friend; they're no threat to Laz or your relationship, and if they try to become one, well... :)

Ash cries. They break down right on the street, where they saw you. They're unwell, and they can't follow you because it's hard to breathe and their vision is darkening. Ash returns to the palace and tells everyone about this and asks Vez to send someone to find you, to gather information, because they don't know if it really was you or if they hallucinated. If it was you, then they'll come to find you, though they won't go alone—they're too scared. When they realize you don't remember them, they're shocked. They didn't think of this possibility at all. They thought you didn't want to come back to them, and if you said so, they would respect your decision, though it would break them all over again. But what do they do with this? They'll try to remind you of them and tell about your times together. If you allow them back into your life, they won't ask for much or try to get back with you. They'll let the nature take its course. As long as you're alive and happy and they can be near you, they're content.

(Let's pretend Az didn't go insane) Az comes right to you, asking you so many questions, babbling, barely making sense. I doubt you would understand them. Once you tell them you don't know them, they quieten, staring at you in surprise. They laugh, thinking you're joking with them, and say that this is a very cruel prank. When they realize you're not lying or joking, they take a step back and try to clear their thoughts. They'll calmly introduce themselves and explain that they knew you, and something bad happened, and they thought they lost you, but you're clearly alive, and they're very happy about it, and how have you been living so far? The barrage of words doesn't stop. Ultimately, they'll try to win you back, but they don't mind playing the long game and slowly gaining your trust. They did it once—they can do it again. They'll be very careful with your friend, try to get on their good side too, because they understand you might send them away if they offend your friend, and they won't allow that to happen. If your friend at any point shows romantic interest in you, well, Az knows how to play these games, and nothing will stop them from becoming the one you choose.

Thanks for the ask! The answer is kinda long, so sorry, lol... Hope you enjoy it 💛

[s0fter-sin]

rewatching s1 and in ep2 w*ndigo, dean makes a joke about not bringing provisions into the woods just to pull out a bag of peanut butter m&m’s and stick with me here, it’s why the later seasons’ “goofy dean” loses me

this moment is clearly a joke but if you think about it too much, it also makes some sense; a family size bag of peanut m&m’s is calorie dense and even the high sugar is good to keep you moving which they need on an overnight hunt. it also shows how due to their upbringing, they’ve had to eat lower quality food, things they always had access to that was cheap and also in bulk

what does dean eating ghost pepper jerky then tipping water on himself exist for other than to be a cringy joke? what does smelling old chinese food, testing to see if it's still good then shaking his head with cabbage hanging out his mouth when it isn't serve? it's just to make him look stupid and contrast sam's healthy/clean diet (and superiority but that’s another conversation) which has always existed but it used to be nuanced and natural

we see dean as a child give up the food he wanted to eat so sam could eat it. (“i’m sick of spaghetti-os,” “you’re the one who wanted them,” … “i want lucky charms!” “… there’s only enough for one bowl and i haven’t had any yet!” proceeds to give them to sam, 1x18) we know he hustled and stole food to ensure sam ate. (“so, what’d he take?” “get this- peanut butter and bread.” 9x07)

we also see throughout the early seasons dean teasing sam about his salad or healthy choice while he eats some form of burger or other fast food (or notably, cheerfully eating prison food that sam won’t touch, 2x19). it's typical sibling teasing but it also shows that it isn't new for sam to eat like that and for dean to know he eats like that

sam being picky isn't just a character trait they chose for him, it's a result of how dean raised him; he raised him to like and want healthy food and be food secure enough to reject food he didn't want

but dean eats anything he is given and seeks out unhealthy - cheap, plentiful, filling - food

he is the opposite of picky to the point of it being a consistent bit; they show him multiple times eating when it's socially frowned upon to do so eg. questioning a grieving victim when they're trying to be discreet (1x14, 2x15, 2x18)

a similar moment to the chinese food is in 4x19; dean wakes up in the car while sam brushes his teeth outside and is hungry. sam says there's a sandwich in the backseat, dean smells it and recoils bc it's an old tuna sandwich. the moment is funny on its own but it also exists as a comparison of their lives to adam's; he has a loving mother, goes to school and importantly, a steady stable childhood

it’s a joke with a purpose

it also supports dean's food insecurity; he wakes up and is immediately hungry, enough to complain about it and seek out food before anything else

dean is always hungry bc he never has access to nutritionally rich foods bc he got used to using the money he earned to buy sam's more expensive food. he got used to his cheaper, denser foods and grew up with (and continues to live with) intermittent access to said foods. think of how long it takes to drive from one state to another; how many hours it can take to see another town that offers food, if you arrive at a reasonable enough time for anything to be open. also think how they can’t keep any food beyond what fits in an esky; nothing that needs defrosting, nothing can be heated up. it’s bags and jars and take out for as long as they can trust it

then they get the bunker which has its own kitchen

dean even describes himself as "nesting" when he decorates his room, something he hasn't had since he was four years old, and he uses said kitchen to cook a burger from scratch that he is proud of. he is food secure for the first time in his life and it shows in how often he cooks for both himself and sam

so these moments where they have him acting goofy regarding food are no longer character driven and only exist as a joke which is why they come across as cringy and out of character compared to similar earlier moments

a lot of my issues with dean's characterisation started when they introduced the bunker. the argument can and is made that the reason these jokes happen is bc he feels safe in the bunker, that bc he now has a home he can relax and unmask but that still doesn't feel sufficient. they crank up these sillier moments for both of them, giving them a sort of playing house comedy vibe of two roommates with completely different personalities but it doesn't feel like an authentic progression. it feels forced; an attempt at humour for humour's sake

food stopped being an informed part of their characters and their trauma and instead became flanderised; sam is the judgy vegetarian health nut and dean is his borderline slovenly carnivore counterpart

[xiaosonlybeloved]

They'd Be Alright (Part 2) - Soukoku

featuring:- Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, briefly- ADA members

warnings:- angst, hurt/comfort, potential hopeful ending, manga spoilers (not rly, they were in the previous part)

a/n:- uhm. hello again. so like- i wrote this ages ago and uh forgot to post it my apologies- ngl i have NOT been getting time to write these days soooo yeah :') but i hope u like whatever little fluff i managed to scrounge up lol :3

wc:- 1.5k || part 1 || masterlists

“Hurry up.” A frazzled voice says. “I know where the medical rooms are, we need to get there ASAP.” Yosano threw a glance back at Chuuya, urgency in her movements.

From what Yosano had found out about Chuuya, he was an open man- as in, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Happiness, anger, sorrow.

And panic, fear. Something he normally never wore. Those were the emotions Yosano could see displayed across his face, as he held the motionless body of her coworker tightly in his arms. He gave a small nod in response to Yosano’s words as the only indication that he heard her, speeding up a bit to catch up to them. The doctor had to strain her ears to hear the mumbled words Chuuya spoke- “Hang in there, mackerel. We’ll save you, I promise.”

Yosano said nothing as they rapidly walked around the maze of the airport. She would do her utmost to save Dazai, because she couldn’t bear to let someone close to her die again. But she held her tongue, doing her best to keep a cool doctor’s mind, because she didn’t want to give Chuuya false hope.

She knew that someone who truly did not want to be saved, could not be saved. She could only hope with all her heart that Dazai did not fall into this category, even though a part of her told her it was futile, because throughout his life, Dazai’s greatest desire had been to escape it. But as a doctor, she had to try. She would never forgive herself if she didn’t.

******* “His heart has stopped.” She said tensely as she handled the medical equipment she was somewhat surprised to find there. “I’m trying to restart it to resuscitate him, but he’s not responding-” The door slams open. There’s two figures outside, catching their breath- Kunikida and Ranpo. They’d both been unconscious when they left, so Yosano chose to leave them in Fukuzawa’s care, who had stayed outside to keep an eye on the situation.

“Talk to him.” Ranpo says breathlessly, not used to the strenuous physical activity. Everyone else in the room blinks at him in surprise. “He’s not responding, right? Because he doesn’t see a reason to be saved, to continue living. So talk to him. Try to give him a reason to live. You’re the only one who can.” Ranpo explains as if it should have been obvious, looking at Chuuya at the end. Chuuya, paler than they’d ever seen him, who had practically crushed the stand he had kept a tight grip on since the time Yosano had begun her unsuccessful attempts to bring his former partner back to life.

… It could work. Yosano did know of cases where patients were unconscious and unresponding, but still able to hear, think. In those cases, it did help to have family members or close ones talking to the patient. But Dazai was clinically dead.

Her fingers froze at that thought. No. Dazai still had a chance. No matter how remotely small, it was there. And wasn’t that Yosano’s job? To turn that chance into reality. And she would do her best. She scanned the room. Kunikida, Ranpo, Chuuya and herself. Out of everyone, she rationally knew that Chuuya was the closest to Dazai. The two had always shared a kind of bond no one else had, even if they always denied it. They’d also known each other the longest, even if they counted out the four years since Dazai had defected. If Chuuya couldn’t convince Dazai to live on, then as a doctor Yosano knew that no one could.

Uncertainly, Yosano looks towards Chuuya. “It could work. That’s probably our best chance right now. Will you do it?” She spoke up, her voice thankfully stable.

“It’s not like I have a choice. If that’s the only way for this bastard to come back, then I’ll do it.” He said gruffly. Wisely, no one commented on the tone of his voice as he slumped into one of the hospital chairs, pulling it towards the bed so that he was closer to Dazai. Yosano handled the medical equipment, preparing to attempt to restart Dazai’s heart again.

“Don’t break your promises, mackerel. You promised me that I’d be the only one who’s allowed to kill you. You can’t break it.” He directed his words towards the unmoving body in front of him, a bitter smile on his face.

“You promised that your plan would work out, that everything would be fine at the end of it. That includes you too, you know? So you can’t go yet. I won’t let you. I’ll follow you to the ends of the world if that’s what it takes.”

Yosano nodded. This definitely had a chance of working. Somehow, she could feel Dazai’s body slowly becoming more responsive, if that was even possible. She felt terrible that Chuuya had to talk about this in front of an audience, when it should just have been him and Dazai, but the other two also deserved to be there if- when Dazai awoke, and well, Yosano doubted Chuuya knew how to operate all this complicated shit.

Gradually Chuuya’s tone softened as he hesitantly reached out for Dazai’s cold hand, rubbing it with his own in hopes of making them warmer. “And besides, I haven’t taken you to France, remember? We’d planned to spend your next birthday there. Also, don’t you want to see Atsushi and Akutagawa become better? Maybe we could even take out some gangs together, just the two of us, once you’re better. That could be fun.”

“Also, I learned a new crab recipe some time ago that I think you’d like. Oh, do you want to superglue fangs on Mori-san’s teeth? It’ll be good payback for when he did the same to me, and I think you’ll probably enjoy seeing him suffer. You know, I saw this adorable black cat once that looked like it had been burnt or something and it reminded me of you.”

He swallowed. “Oi, Dazai, I never told you, but I missed you, these past four years. You had such an unwavering presence around me, that constant promise of annoying me. I think that was probably the most constant, the most stable thing I had in my life. I had kind of hoped it would last forever. Although, of course, I’m only realising all this now, when you’re so far away from me, even though you’re right beside me physically.”

“Please come back Dazai? Don’t go somewhere I can’t follow.”

There was silence in the room as Chuuya stopped. He pressed his pale lips together, clutching the brunette’s hand tighter as he swallowed again, trying to get around the inconvenient lump in his throat to speak again.

And as if Chuuya was a miracle worker, the flatline on the heart monitor that Yosano was keeping an attentive eye on suddenly spiked again, repeatedly flashing red as multiple beeps sounded.

Yosano was the first to react, gasping as she immediately took over care of Dazai, ensuring that his heart, which had by a miracle restarted, didn’t stop again. She simultaneously spoke out loud to the room. “I’ll be able to stabilise him. But he still requires further medical care which can’t be provided with these limited resources. Get him a room in the best hospital Yokohama has, let them know we’ll be coming as soon as he has stabilised. We’ll take care of the cost later.” Kunikida nodded, taking charge as he hastily stepped out of the room to make phone calls. Ranpo left along with him. Chuuya, meanwhile, didn’t move. His eyes were wide as he still held on to Dazai’s hand. (It did feel a bit warmer after all.)

The next few minutes were a blur. The ambulance arrived and assisted Yosano in stabilising Dazai, although she still did most of the work. Neither Yosano nor Chuuya trusted these unknown people. They both accompanied Dazai in the ambulance, Yosano to make sure he got the correct treatment. Chuuya wouldn’t be moving from Dazai’s side till the time he awoke, no matter how long it took.

Chuuya’s hands were shaking. He kept repeating, ‘He’ll be alright, he’s alive,’ trying to convince himself of it. If Dazai didn’t wake up- No. He forbade his thoughts from going there. Dazai would wake up. He had always been stubborn like that, he wouldn’t let this keep him under for long. He trusted Dazai.

‘Please, God,’ he begged, a silent prayer. ‘Please let us be alright. Haven’t we already suffered enough, gone through enough? What more do you want? Haven’t you been plenty cruel to us?’

‘Please, let us have this chance.

Perhaps the gods would indeed be merciful this one time, to compensate for everything.

thanks for reading, and votes, reblogs and comments are really very appreciated <33 im also more active on my main if u wanna talk :3

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[rosicheeks]

i do not know if i ever sent this to you. i have posted it. i hope you like it Princess.

[medicinemane]

As always, if you wonder why I don't talk about certain current events but do others, a lot of it comes down to whether I think it's something that other people are talking about a lot

If it's something where I figure you're going to be well informed and need a break, I tend to keep it to a minimum on here cause you already know

If it's something I rarely see talked about, then I'm more likely to mention it

World's bad, we're all doing what we can, I know people have said to me before they appreciate me more keeping to cats and frogs and random stuff, so I mostly try to do that, but... in the end I just kinda share whatever my brain decides to share

Want to give my thought process though

[ventcode]

[maaarine]

Why are British teenage girls so unhappy? Here’s the answer (Caitlin Moran, The Times, Sep 13 2024)

"The report, by the Children’s Society, found that British 15-year-old girls are the most unhappy in Europe.

British girls aged 10-15 are “significantly less happy” with their life, appearance, family and school than the average boy — and their happiness is still declining.

Boys’ life satisfaction, meanwhile, remains broadly stable. (…)

But I still didn’t have an “aha!” moment about why this so disproportionately affects girls until… I talked to some teenage girls.

It was at a party, and I went to vape with them on the patio. Because I take my nicotine like children do.

“Duh — it’s the boys,” one said when I brought it up, as all the others agreed.

“The boys?” I asked.

My last book, What About Men?, had been all about how much boys struggle these days: their loneliness; their suicide rates. I’d spent the past year feeling very sympathetic towards boys.

“Yeah, well, who do you think they’re taking out their unhappiness on? It’s us,” another girl said.

“One boy at school used to draw a picture every day of how ugly I was,” a third girl said. “Every day for two years.”

“They’ve all got ‘Rate The Girls’ polls on their WhatsApps,” the first said. “They mark you down for weight gain, haircuts, what you say.”

“But then, if you’re hot, it’s just as bad, in a different way, because they’ll be talking about how they want to f*** you.”

The girls discussed coping techniques. Bad news: none of them worked.

“The only way you can stop them is if you become ‘one of the boys’ and hang out with them. But then,” the second girl said with a sigh, “all the other girls call you a slut. Because you’ve gone over to the boys’ side.”

“Surely it’s not all the boys?” I said. “There must be some nice boys?”

“Oh, yeah,” one girl said. “But they keep their heads down. Because… well, look.”

She showed me the Instagram account of her friend. Under every picture she posted of herself — smiling in a new dress; with her dog — dozens of anonymous accounts had replied with the most rank abuse.

“Fat.” “Slut.” “You gonna try and kill yourself again, for attention?”

“They’re all boys from her school,” she said. “And look, this one boy tried to defend her.”

I saw a series of messages from a brave teenage boy, posting things like, “You’re all big men, leaving these replies under anonymous accounts.”

As I could see, this boy immediately became a target too. Mainly accusations that he was “white knighting” this girl: “You wanna f*** her, bro?”

“So,” I asked, “you don’t think it’s social media pressure to be beautiful, or the economy, that’s making girls so sad?”

“Well, yeah, them too,” the first girl said. “But, Monday-Friday, 9-3, I’m not on social media. I’m not… in the economy. I’m just with these boys. And no one talks about how horrible they are.”

I thought about another recent report, showing a 30 per cent ideological gap between Gen Z men, who are increasingly conservative, and Gen Z women, who are increasingly progressive.

I thought about Andrew Tate, who has nine million mostly young male followers — and faces human trafficking charges, which he denies.

And I thought: maybe these girls are on to something. Maybe more people need to vape with teenage girls and ask them for the school gossip."

[steampoweredskeleton]

.

Ignore

[faggotisaacfloofs]

the person who helped today when I fell out of my wheelchair actually did a really great job, so I want to share in case other people wonder what to do. [Note: this is not universal, this is merely a suggestion from one person, every wheelchair user's needs are different! I am a person who uses a manual chair usually pushed by someone else who is also disabled.]

Scenario: you see someone in a wheelchair fall out of their chair, and you have the ability to help.

1. Approach and ask "are you okay?"*

2. Next question if they say no, are vague, or open to continuing conversation** is, "is there anything I can do to help?" Or "what can I do?"

If they say no to help, then that's the end, just leave and go do whatever you were doing!

If they ask for help or say they are mildly injured, ask "what would you like me to do?" And wait for an answer before doing anything! If they seem dazed or confused, they might have hit their head or had another medical event*, or they might just be like that due to regular disability. Be patient.

Do not touch the person unless they say to, or they are like, unconcious in the middle of the road, ya know?? Wheelchair users usually have conditions that mean being handled improperly can severely injure us, you could cause much more damage than the fall.

Some things they might need you to do:

Bring their wheelchair closer (mine went about 5 feet away after it dumped me)

engage the brakes of the wheelchair

hold wheelchair steady if it's an unsteady surface (mud, hill, ramp, wet, etc)

offer an arm for them to hold onto to get up (them grabbing you, not you grabbing them) or move another solid item closer for them to use (i.e. a chair) [only do this if you physically have the ability to!]

If the terrain is rough (i.e. a parking lot), they *might* ask you to push their chair to a more stable area once they are back in their chair

nothing

Something else

Do what they ask, NOT what you think would be helpful. If for some reason you have to do something (i.e. you can't stop oncoming traffic and need to get them out) ASAP, tell them what you plan to do

Keep in mind they might also be D/deaf, have a communication disability, be stunned after the fall, have a head injury, not trust other people, etc. Be patient and treat them as a person with autonomy and agency! They might need to just sit on the ground for a few minutes to recover before trying to get back in their chair. They might want everyone to leave them alone. They might ask you to call someone specific. Their chair might have broken and that can be extremely distressing. All of this is like if your legs spontaneously stop working when you're out and about!

A lot of wheelchair users (NOT ALL) have ways to get into their chair on their own once the chair is close enough and brakes engaged (but it's hard from the ground!). Here's what brakes look like on a lot of manual wheelchairs, in case they ask you to lock the brakes. They're levers on each side and pushing the lever pushes a bar against the wheel to hold it still.

ID: A manual wheelchair with the brake levels circled in red and labeled "user brake levers"

*There is also the possibility of course that a person fell out of their chair due to a seizure or other medical event, so that is why it is important to ask if they are okay. If you saw them hit their head, tell them so. If they had a medical event, follow protocol for that, I'm not gonna get into it here (thought I could).

**sometimes a person will be clear after the first question i.e. "I'm all good thanks" clearly means they do not need you to ask another question, you can just leave them alone. Keep walking and don't stare. A lot of the time people will be a bit banged up but be totally fine and able to manage on their own.

TLDR: Ask the wheelchair user if they're okay, then what they need, and then do exactly that, including leaving them alone. Thanks!

[weenie-kun]

yeah the main problem is even in school you get more breaks off than work and youre telling me i have to look forward to having even less free time. if i am unemployed i am not even motivated to look for work other than needing to keep a roof over my head because thinking of the  schedule already fills me with exhaustion and dread. it is like past a certain point during the workday unless i’m too busy to be alone with my thoughts i feel like i could start breaking things because my internal clock says my job here is done i go now SDFJSDF

anyway i want 4 hours and thats it

it is pretty nuts that once you realize you shouldnt be working the standard fulltime then you can never see it the same fjshf

i want more people to be paid more to work less and have more rest and less pressure and im not kidding. besides it accommodating less abled people everyone should have more time on their hands. i hate greed and money and capitalism

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[rosenclaws]

XXX.Com || Pornstar Worst!Logan Howlett smut

summary: Logan needs money and work is hard to find when you're from another universe, luckily he lands himself a job as an adult film actor. Lets just say, he's a natural.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI!!, 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, porn (obvi lol), jerking off, dirty talk, unprotected sex, cream pie, scratching, oral f!receiving, rough sex, fake professor x college student (its the porno they're filming), he calls you teach in the porno, reader has a stage name (sunshine), flirting.

a/n: This was inspired by the delicious pornstar logan fics by @bpmiranda I wanted to try my own twist on the trope but plz go check out their fics they are amazing!!

Coming from another universe had its fair share of problems. For one his other self was a very well known hero so people were constantly staring. The other issue was working. He needed money if he ever wanted to move out of this god forsaken place. He’s sick of seeing wade walk around naked at 8 in the morning.

He needs his space and to get that he needs money but getting a job with none of the required paperwork was hard. He had to settle for doing odd jobs that paid cash under the table. Those were fine but he needed something more stable.

When Wade suggested he turn to adult films he rolled his eyes at another attempt at shitty humor from his roommate but the more he thought about it the less it seemed like a joke. The money was good and hopefully they didn't ask too many questions. So fuck it. How he found the right place was a long story but he ended up getting hired pretty quickly.

As the director put it. He's sexy and big in more ways than one. To Logan's surprise they didn't seem to care much that he was from another universe but they did have to make sure he wasn't a total creep which he understood.

The first video he was assigned to was pretty basic. Just fucking a girls brains out or something. Whatever the hell people were in to these days, he didn't really care. As long as he got paid. He had to get used to the prying eyes of the cameras.

Still he said his lines, albeit it took him a couple takes to say them naturally. His gruff voice and rippling muscles skyrocketed him to the top. Despite being a rookie he attracted a lot of attention and even garnered a reputation within the studio. No one could deny the raw animal magnetism this man seemed to have.

"Logan! Good news, your next video is going to be a with one of the most popular stars in our studio." The directors over the top enthusiasm makes Logan's eyes roll but he grunts out a response.

"Her name is Sunshine. Look her up. Anyways be here tomorrow by nine." Sunshine? Logan chuckles to himself as he leaves the studio.

Fake names are not uncommon but he's yet to find one that sounds so...perky. Still his curiosity gets the better of him as he steals Wades laptop in the dead of night. Searching in the name and scanning the results. Logan works with many attractive people in this job but the moment he lays eyes on you something shifts.

You aren't just attractive, you're drop dead gorgeous. He clicks on a video and his cock tightens in his pants. The faces you make don't look over the top or rehearsed. They almost look real. But Logan can tell you're faking it.

Your moans are sweet but he can tell whoever this boy is that's got his cock in you isn't doing his job very well. Still ever the professional you are you make it work. He falls down a rabbit hole of video after video. Shutting the laptop as the clock reads two in the morning. His cock is hard and painful as he puts Wades laptop back on the counter.

Fuck he needs a shower.

The ice cold water hits his back but it's not helping. He wraps his hand around his cock. Keeping his noises to a minimum as he jerks himself off to the thought of you. He bites his lip as he thinks of every way he can make you scream tomorrow. Show you what it's like to be fucked by a real man.

The sinful thoughts that fill his head drive him over the edge. He slams his hand against the shower wall as he comes. The water running down his back as he catches his breath. You've already got him interested, he just hopes he can put on a real show tomorrow.

-

When Logan gets to the studio the director tells him the "plot" of this video. Plot being a very loose term here. He's supposed to be the failing college senior while you play the hot young professor. They hand him a white button up a size too small and some fake glasses. He laughs as they place the glasses onto his face.

"No one's going to fucking buy this." The buttons threaten to bust open as they start to fix his hair.

"I don't know, you look pretty convincing to me." He looks up to see you smiling at him.

Already dressed in your shoot clothes with your makeup and hair all done. He shamelessly looks you up and down, licking his lips as his eyes settle on your cleavage.

"I'm a little old to be playing a college student don't you think?" You shrug and walk closer to him. You take your hands and run them through his hair, trying to flatten the parts that stick up but they don't want to listen.

"Don't think any one is watching these for the realism Logan." You wink as you then move to fix his glasses.

He clenches his jaw as he tries to contain the raging boner. He shouldn't be hard yet but here he is. You're driving him crazy.

"Promise to go easy on you, don't want to scare my new favorite coworker." You tease. Your nails scratch along his jaw, just for a moment but it's enough to drive him wild.

"I'm your favorite already Sunshine?" Logan says with a grin.

"For now, don't prove me wrong when the cameras are on us." You walk away and Logan enjoys every second of it. Oh this is going to be fun.

-

"Come on teach, your class is the only one I'm failing. I need to get a C to graduate." Logan's massive frame towers over your desk. His lines come out much more flirty than its supposed to but you roll with it.

"You need a lot of extra credit to make up the missing assignments Mr. Howlett." You stand up and walk over to where he was standing.

Pushing on his chest to get him to sit. You smirk when you see the buttons on his shirt fighting for their life. You sit on top of the desk and pretend to think.

"I'll do anything you want. Anything" Logan growls, his hand resting on your thigh now. Slowing inching up your leg, stopping right at the hem of your pencil skirt. You place your heel onto his shoulder. Spreading your legs so that Logan and the camera can see your lack of panties.

"Well, lets see how bad you want it." You taunt.

Your voice is smooth as butter and it drives him nuts. Logan gets on his knees. Ripping your skirt apart with ease making you gasp. That wasn't in the script but fuck it made you wet. His muscles are bulging in that damn shirt and you want to see what's underneath in person. Sadly that was going to have to wait as he trails kisses up your legs. Wet and sloppy as his grip on your hips is ironclad.

The camera moves to capture Logan's face. Seeing the primal hunger in his eyes as he grabs the hem of your panties with his teeth, dragging them down. He stands up with them still in his mouth. You grab onto his shirt and rip it open. Raking your nails down his very toned chest. You grab your underwear out of his mouth and toss it to the side.

"Good boy." You purr as you push on his shoulders.

He gets back onto his knees and wastes no time diving into your cunt. You fall back onto the desk as Logan takes you apart with his tongue. Moans and whimpers fall from your lips with ease. There is no need to fake your pleasure with him between your legs.

He's hungry, ravenous. Logan can't get enough. He holds your legs apart, keeping you from closing them as he zeros in on your clit. He's ruthless. Refusing to give you a moment to breathe as he loses himself in your pussy.

"You taste sweeter than I imagined." He growls off script. If he wasn't bringing you to orgasm you'd wonder what he meant by that. You wonder if he watched your videos just like you had.

"Logan!" You moan as your legs start to shake under the intense pleasure.

"That's it teach, let me taste you come on." His dirty mouth makes your head spin.

Your eyes squeezing tight as he pushes you over the edge. You barely even notice the camera as it positions itself over Logan's shoulder. Logan resist the urge to break the damn thing as it gets in his way. He feels a push on his shoulder and he growls. Reluctantly he gets out of the way and uses his thumb to rub your clit.

"I have an idea teach," Logan purrs. He pulls you off the desk. Wrapping an arm around you and grinding his clothed cock against your thigh.

"For every orgasm I can pull out of you, you raise my grade by a letter." He breathes into your neck, inhaling your scent. You sigh as his hands start to grope and squeeze your breasts.

"What do you say?" He grins as he feels you squirm under his touch. He unbuttons your blouse and tosses it to the side. Mouth watering as he buries his face in your breasts.

"You better get to work then Mr. Howlett. You're at a D right now." You turn around and bend over the desk. His hands run along your body before he unbuckles his pants.

"I'll show you a D." He grumbles. You have to stifle a laugh at his words.

The camera moves to show your face as Logan slides his cock inside of you. He throws his head back in pleasure as he gets to feel your tight cunt. Now this is what he was waiting for.

"Come get a shot of this." He whispers to himself.

He drags his cock out slowly. He watches in awe as your cute pussy just sucks him up. Your hands are digging into the desk, clawing at the wood as Logan's massive cock pushes its way in. You knew he was big but to actually feel it in person. Fuck.

"That feel good? You like my big cock hm?" Logan's cocky tone makes you moan as he picks up his pace. He's pummeling your poor pussy with no mercy. Your moans are as real as they can get as you cry and whine with each thrust.

"Logan oh god!" Your eyes cross as his cock hits a sensitive spot.

No one's ever hit that before. You're falling apart. Your chest heaves as you try and catch your breath but your moans quiet down because of it. Logan doesn't like that one bit. You groan as you feel his hand grab your hair. He pulls you up so that your back is arched. His cock somehow pushing its way deeper.

"Come on baby, don't hide from me." He whispers in your ear. He wraps an arm around your chest to hold you up. Your nails dig into his arm to ground yourself.

"Feel so fucking good, jerked myself off last night to your videos." He mumbles so only you can hear. You don't understand how a man can have so much stamina. He doesn't even seem tired.

"So fucking close I can feel it baby. I can feel the way your cunt clenches around my fat cock. I can hear her pulsing for me." His eyes grow dark as he feels you start to lose it.

His rough fingers sliding down to play with your cunt. It's a filthy sight to watch. You've forgotten about the cameras and the crew. The only thing you can feel is Logan. He's taken over your mind, your senses.

"That's it pretty girl." He bites your shoulder and the pain mixes with pleasure.

"Fuck!" You wail as you come hard around his cock. Logan groans in pleasure and comes before he can really stop himself. Filling you up nice and full as you babble incoherently. You can barely get your lines out as you float between the real world and cloud nine.

"You got your C Mr. Howlett." You've never been this wrecked after a scene before but Logan has completely ruined you. You grin at the feeling of his cum seeping out of you.

"You know, I've always wanted an A." He's grinning like the devil as he thrusts his hips once more making you cry out.

He's still fucking hard. He really is every porn studios wet dream. Hot, sexy, can go for round after round. The director calls cut but Logan doesn't let go of you. You've got this dazed look in your eyes and he gently lays you down on the desk.

"You alright?" He grunts as he slips out of you. His cock still standing straight as someone brings him a robe. He grabs a towel from one of the PA's and gently wipes up your legs. You whine as the rough material brushes against your poor pussy.

"Sorry." You just smile in response. You haven't had a fuck this good in a long time. A crew member brings you a robe and you put it on.

"You really know how to use that thing. For a second I thought you were the seasoned professional." You joke as you try and get off the desk. You stumble and Logan is quick to catch you.

"What can I say Sunshine, you made it easy." He flirts. The director calls his name and he rolls his eyes.

"Don't keep him waiting Logan. I'll see you soon." Another crew member comes to help you as Logan lets you go.

Thankfully this was all you had for the week and you could go home and soak in a bath. Your poor legs are going to need it. After signing a few things and getting next weeks shoot list you can finally go home.

"Sunshine, hope I didn't fuck you too good." Logan says with a wink. He's waiting outside of the studio, a cigar in his mouth.

"I regret whatever I said before, your ego is going to get too big." You joke. He shrugs and puts out his cigar on the ground.

"You got any plans?" He asks. Your dressed in normal clothes now, nothing remotely revealing but Logan still thinks you look gorgeous.

"I could take you to lunch, if you're interested." He offers.

You haven't thought about dating since you started working in this industry. You didn't need a partner and it could be hard trying to find one who understood your job. But Logan flashes that handsome smile and for some reason you can't resist.

Maybe your working backwards here. He fucks you and then you go to lunch but hey, nothing about him is conventional anyways.

"Yeah, lunch sounds good."

Its just lunch, you tell yourself. It's only a meal with your hot coworker. If things were to go further though you wouldn't complain. Certainly not when he's as handsome as he is. You definitely wouldn't mind taking him back to your place and you're certainly okay when he promises he can go for more rounds away from the prying eyes of the camera. But for now it's just lunch. He pays and you give him your number.

Logan and you part ways and he prays he sees you again. Not just at work but outside of it too. You've got him hooked. The video gets uploaded and explodes in popularity. Praising how realistic it felt and how hot both of you were. He gets a call from the director, expecting another update on his next shoot.

"Great news man! Sunshine wants to do exclusive shoots with you. Oh this is going to make us so much money." He tunes out the rambling as his phone dings. A smirk appearing on his face when he sees a text with your name pop up.

Want to rehearse our next scene? my place 7pm <3

[chatonfils]

Starting off by saying I hate “mom Danny” bc it tends to be p transphobic and misgendering, so if anyone adds it to my post I’m blocking them.

Tim making his Kon clone baby, but the cloning chamber isn’t stable enough for the fetus. He’s desperately trying anything that he think might work, when he comes across Phantom. Phantom who has experience with stabilizing clones.

Danny had heard whispers through the grapevine (Ellie who’d joined the Teen Titans as Phantasm) that there was someone attempting to make clones. He’d only meant to snoop and see if it was a Vlad situation. If any clones had been made and needed liberating. What he found was a newly minted Red Robin crying over a red blinking message on a cloning chamber. He warbled a quiet “please, Kon, I don’t want to live without you.”

Danny quickly realizing this wasn’t an attempt to replace and destroy, but actually someone grieving, in probably an unhealthy way, but who was Danny to judge, he’d once replaced Sam and Tucker with robots for less. So he decided to help Red Robin out. Sure, he hadn’t dealt with kryptonian dna before, but he was at least 89% sure halfa dna was way more complicated. And Red Robin had already figured out ways around the dna shenanigans, it was just the stability that wasn’t going well. Honestly, he didn’t think it would be as easy as an ecto dejecto like it had been for Ellie. But his parents had a lot of inventions that they’d started making to help out ghosts, once they’d realized Danny was Phantom. Maybe telling Red Robin about ghost IVF wasn’t his most thought through plan.

“I think what might help is an incubator.” Phantom had suggested.

Tim could only gesture at the cloning chambers that had failed him thus far. They were essentially huge incubators.

Phantom awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I meant, like, a living incubator. Like a surrogate.”

“Where am I going to find someone that I not only trust to carry the baby, but also would volunteer?” Tim raised an eyebrow at him. Hell, had Tim had the equipment to do so, he would have carried the baby, everything else be damned. He just didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Phantom blushed green and looked away. “It might take a little tinkering with the embryos to work with the physiology, but…. I could carry the baby for you. I mean, I’m trans, and even if I wasn’t, ghosts are kind of malleable in a reproductive sense. And there are options for IVF in ghost science. And like, my own clone is like my little sister. I’m also a protection spirit, so I would protect the baby with my entire afterlife. And I’m kind of rambling so you should say something before I embarrass myself.”

“You would be willing to carry a baby for me?” Tim was shell shocked by the offer.

“I mean, yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not cloning him for a malicious reason. You’re just trying to bring back a piece of your friend because you love and miss him. Dedication that strong for someone who has left the living plain, is admirable. You realized early on that you wouldn’t be able to increase the speed in which the clone grew. You’ve been trying despite knowing that this clone will be a baby that’s going to be your child, and not just the friend you lost. And I wouldn’t mind giving up my body for a little bit so you can make your family.”

Tim certainly hadn’t meant to surge forward and kiss Phantom. “Thank you.” Tim pulled Phantom into a fierce hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

It took about a month for them to work out the kinks of making the baby safe for Danny’s body. In this time, Danny showing Red Robin his human form, and Tim revealing his own identity. It felt kind of wrong to keep his name from someone he intended to get pregnant with his child. Tim and Danny got close as they worked together on the baby. And there may have been a few more kisses shared between them. In the end, the baby ended up spliced with mostly Kon’s dna, some of Tim’s (to stabilize the kryptonian dna), and some of Danny’s (to keep the baby safe in the womb).

Once Danny was well and truly pregnant, he encouraged Tim to find Bruce. “I’ll keep the baby safe. You find your dad. If you need me for anything, I’m only a call away.” Tim hadn’t forgotten about Bruce, he’d just never thought it would take so long to set up cloning Kon. So much of his hurt and loneliness had fallen away in Danny’s presence, and Danny had let him hyper focus on making their baby.

“Probably terrible timing, but I’ve got to ask,” Tim swallowed nervously. “Be my boyfriend?”

Danny’s lopsided smile, thawed Tim’s nerves. “I think I could work with that. I hope you don’t mind kids though, I’m kind of pregnant.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “I’ll keep in touch while I’m away. Please keep me updated on the baby.”

Danny pulled him into a proper kiss, “I will.”

I’m mostly imagining Tim getting bump update photos and falling in love with his increasingly pregnant boyfriend, while he finds Bruce.

I’m also imagining after Bruce is back, Tim being like, “anyways gtg, my boyfriend is in his third trimester and I don’t want to miss the birth of our baby.” And peacing out before any bats could react, let alone stop him.

And also maybe when Kon comes back, there’s maybe a poly relationship started.

Also thinking about Tim getting Danny pregnant without the science.

Danny gets Dad, Tim gets Papa, and if Kon joins, he gets Poppy.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

LOGAN HOWLETT 18+ thoughts about late night sex in the kitchen of xavier’s mansion

[fem!reader, mdni]

last one for a bit (this might be a lie bc I have another wip )

It’s late, the school quiet. Everyone asleep for the night. 

Or so you thought. 

Your late night trip to the kitchen for water taking a detour when you see Logan at the island, a secretly bought beer clutched in hand. It’s dark, the kitchen dimly lit by the moon’s cast through the window. You didn’t see him at first, nor did you expect anyone else to be up at this hour – the silk, slinky robe you threw on all evidence of that.

The supposed, simple journey to fetch a drink after some alone time escalating into something else. Something like you were picturing during those thirty-some minutes in your room.

The trip downstairs turning into hushed, hasty sex against the counter – the force of his front against your back pushing you further into the worktop ahead. Your hands situated firmly on the edge, fingers digging into the wood as a means to keep stable. His hold around your middle just as tight – his grasp only further aiding your stability.

He fucks into you testingly, the waistband of his pyjamas tucked just under his cock. His clothing revealing only what it needs in the same way yours does; robe flowing freely, fabric covering all of you except the parts that raise and crumple and ruche with his touch. 

You lift a leg, resting your knee on the counter to make more space for him behind – the new positioning opening you up further. The deeper angle allowing more strangled, hoarse, strained noises to fill the space. His fucking never once faltering with your struggling sounds.

Your back arching away from him and head falling onto his shoulder as a means to feel him just that bit more.

“Keep it down,” he whispers behind your ear. “Don’t want them hearing too much,” he teases, referring to the whole school of gifted individuals.

He was getting under your skin, trying to shame you for your shared urges. But it only made it that much hotter – the thought of being caught making it all the more thrilling.

And he knew that, he could feel it. The unknowing tightening of you around his cock acting as a tell. Like one big giveaway.

“Afraid of how much you like it?” he says, voice low and quiet as he speaks into your ear. Like before, only this time he’s closer. Lips practically grazing at your lobe.

You nod, body reacting before your mind gets a second to fight it. And when he feels you mere moments away from giving up all sense of quiet —your climax in the midst— he places a hand over your mouth, palm large over the bottom half of your face. His other moving to grab a handful of tit, fingers pawing and kneading into the squidge through the thin fabric.

His mouth on the back of your neck, lips pressing the faintest of kisses into your skin. The act spurring you along.

And when you both reach your end, panting over the edge of the counter, you’re quick to pretend as if it never happened —like those dozen secret encounters before— making yourselves busy when you see Scott appear in the doorframe. 

Your uneasy, darting eyes and Logan's messy hair and discarded tank acting as yet another huge giveaway.

this is lowkey ass, sorry guys. forgive me😫🙏

had this idea all week and needed to put it into words before I do a comfort blurb. k cool bye x

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Negligence.

Pairing: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation of Nursle.

Word Count: 9.0k.

TW: Dub/Con - Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Kidnapping, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Lactation, Geto and Gojo Have Their Own Thing Going On That Is Entirely Separate From The Events of This Fic, and Age Gaps. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part One] [Part Two]

Suguru wouldn’t let you hold Himari.

You’d offered to as he led you out of Suguru’s apartment, reached for her instinctively as he gently urged you into the passenger seat of a familiar black car, but Suguru was in a fugue state – eyes glassy, voice softened and tempered, a glazed smile painted over his lips. He kept Himari pressed against his shoulder, and then, when she started to stir, in his lap, bouncing idly on his knee as he drove. It was dangerous – for Himari and for you. You were tempted to tell him that, to insist on holding the daughter that wasn’t supposed to belong to him, but then you remembered that he was a cult leader and a kidnapper and a murderer and you kept your mouth shut.

Instead, you kept your hands tucked between your thighs and your eyes focused on the passing landscape, on Tokyo as it dwindled from skyscrapers to rustic storefronts to backwoods. You thought of Megumi, first, surprisingly. Even if he didn’t spend the night with Satoru, he’d notice if you weren’t in class, tomorrow. He’d be worried.

You wondered if Nanako and Mimiko had been worried when they suddenly couldn’t find you in Suguru’s bedroom, where you’d spent the days following Himari’s birth recovering, when you stopped appearing at Suguru’s temple with a folder of worksheets and enough candy to keep two girls under ten engaged for a full ninety minutes. You wondered how Suguru explained your absence, if he bothered to explain it at all. You wondered how long they’d hold it against you.

It was getting dark by the time you left the city entirely. With the setting sun to your backs, Suguru slipped onto a deserted seaside road and, still in that gentle tone, broke the silence. “Was it different?” And then, as Himari sniffled, “With him, I mean. Different than it was for us.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was talking, another to recognize that you were supposed to answer. It was less that you were lost in thought and more that you were lost in the absence of it – your mind a vague, cloudy haze of static and fog and every other grey, disembodied, terrible thing that could seep its way into your consciousness and leave you entirely blank, entirely numb. It was all you could do to remember how to open your mouth, let alone piece an intelligent response together. “With Satoru?”

“Satoru,” Suguru repeated, almost disdainfully. “It took you months to call by my given name.”

You couldn’t deny that, although part of you was tempted to try. Because it was true. Because it had.

Because it was different – or, it had been, at least. Things had moved so quickly, with Satoru. He’d gone from a stranger to a stalker to something not totally unlike a partner in a handful of hours, and you’d watched it all from a distance, never fully able to shake that strange sense of liminality. He was rich, and stable, and he’d never suggested that you quit your job or attempted to lock you up in his mansion of an apartment, as trapped as you’d felt. He’d raped you, but you couldn’t say you believed Suguru wouldn’t have, had you not been so terrified of what would happen if you ever tried to remove any part of yourself from his control. You knew, rationally, that they had to be around the same age, that Satoru shared every quirk and every immaturity that’d once made you disgusted to so much consider Suguru in a romantic light, but it was different. When you first met Satoru, you’d seen him as a parent, a provider, a man who wanted to raise your daughter (albeit, with or without your consent). When you first met Suguru, you’d seen him as a boy who fell asleep in temple gardens and pretended not to be as scared as he really was, and if you were being entirely honest with yourself, you’d never really been able to stop seeing him that way.  

Suguru clicked his tongue. He still wanted an answer, but it was all you could do to shrug, to let your gaze drift back to the passing landscape. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t think I would’ve wanted to marry him either, if he’d asked me to.”

You heard Suguru shift, the engine rev. He started to say something, but a shrill, ear-piercing, howl of a cry cut him off. You didn’t need to check to know it was Himari, and to know why.

“She’s hungry.” You spoke without thinking, snapping toward your daughter. You’d been on your way to feed her when you found Suguru next to her cradle, meaning she was already more than an hour past due. Himari didn’t cry often, but when she did, it was usually for a good reason. Yet another trait that must’ve come from Suguru – had she taken more closely after you, she might not have done anything but cry.

Something crossed across Suguru’s expression; a flash of irritation, a spark of anger, but nothing more violent, nothing lasting. He cooled back into stoic neutrality as one of his hands fell away from the wheel and to the back of your daughter’s onesie – lifting her out of her lap and depositing her unceremoniously in your arms, his eyes never leaving the road. “Can you take care of it?”

It. You had to dig your teeth into the side of your tongue just to stop from saying something you’d regret, from telling him not to talk about your daughter like some unfeeling, inanimate object, not to talk about her at all. You were in a car with a murderer, and you couldn’t forget that just because of some misplaced, motherly paranoia.

Instead, you looked around for a jacket, a blanket, something to cover yourself with, and when you found the car utterly and entirely barren, you settled for turning away from him and struggling the sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder. You went through the motions mechanically, automatically – cooing and running your fingers through Himari’s soft hair as she latched on, little hands grasping the scrunched fabric of your dress as she practically fed herself. You preferred formula, especially with Satoru breathing down your neck, but you didn’t have much of a choice.

A minute passed in relative silence, Himari’s crying slowly fading back into her usual incoherent, but relatively cheerful babbling. Eventually, her little eyes fluttered shut, and you pulled her away, holding her against your shoulder as she fell asleep. When she’d gone quiet, Suguru glanced toward you out of the corner of his eye. You saw him stiffen, straighten, then felt the car veer off the road and come to an abrupt, jeering stop.

You held Himari that much closer as Suguru let himself out. He took his time – his fingertips brushing over the hood as he made his way to your side of the vehicle, opening your door and nodding to the side. “You can leave her on the seat. I promise, I’ll try to be fast.”

You clung to Himari, who shifted restlessly against you. “You really can’t leave newborns unattended, she might—”

“I’ll be fast.” That smile was back in full force, albeit cast in shadow by the quickly dimming light. “I’ve missed you.”

You didn’t want to, but he was using that tone, again – the one that meant he was already running out of patience. Leaving Himari tucked against the backrest, you let Suguru take your hand and pull you out of your seat. No sooner were you on your feet than the door was slammed shut behind you, then Suguru’s hands were on your waist, pinning you against the side of the car. The heat of the dark metal sapped into your back, your shoulders as Suguru’s mouth found its way to the side of your neck, the crook. “I’ve missed you,” he repeated, his voice airy, edging on desperation. “I thought something happened to you. You were gone, and I couldn’t find her, and I thought someone must’ve taken you, or—”

His voice cut out. He didn’t draw back, but one of his hands fell away from your waist, reappearing on the neckline of your dress. His movements were hasty, rushed, like he couldn’t tear the fabric off of your shoulders and down your chest quickly enough. You weren’t wearing a bra, but even if you had been, you doubt it would’ve been much more of a barrier. A chilled sea breeze washed over your exposed chest as Suguru’s mouth fell from your throat to your collarbone, and then to the curve of your breast, lingering. “Wanted to do this since you got pregnant,” he muttered, as something heavy and spiked dropped from your diaphragm to the pit of your stomach. “Held off for the baby, but she’s had more than enough time with you.”

For a brief moment, every intelligent part of your mind seemed to slow, stall, then stop altogether. You opened your mouth, ready to ask what he meant, but unfortunately, you weren’t given the chance to be so painfully oblivious.

Suguru’s lips latched onto your left nipple, and anything you might’ve said was replaced with a hitched whimper.

He was rougher than he really had to be, than his daughter had ever been. The only thing you could think to compare him to, deservedly, was Satoru; just as forceful, just as loud, just as sickeningly eager. The only difference was his tempo. Satoru had always been too giddy not to rush, eager to steal a kiss before you left for work or wake you up with a hand lodged between your thighs, but Suguru seemed content to act as if he had all the time in the world, as if you were somewhere more private than the shoulder of a public road. The flat of his tongue lulled over your nipple as he drank, his free hand coming up to paw at your other breast in almost meditative patterns. You tried to shut your eyes, to block out the wet sounds of his lips working against your skin, but as routine as it was supposed to be, there was little you could do not to hear an occasional, satisfied grunt, not to feel a certain amount of relief as the pressure you’d learned to ignore began to dissipate. His teeth grazed against your skin, and reflexively, your hand found the back of his head, nails biting into his scalp. Rather than pull away, Suguru seemed to purr – the noise deep and throaty, reverberating against you as he leaned that much closer, as he shifted and you felt something stiff press into your thigh. Don’t think about it, you forced yourself to chant in the back of your mind, trying to remember all the age-old coping mechanisms you’d used when you were with him, all the coping mechanisms you’d forgotten after realizing that they wouldn’t work on someone as unpredictable as Satoru. You couldn’t think about it. You couldn’t put a name to it. You couldn’t acknowledge that sucking on chest was in any way connected to the hard, pulsing cock pressing into your—

But you didn’t have a choice. Suguru gasped, his breath hitching, and then he was drawing away from you, his forehead resting against your collarbone as a hand fell to the waistband of his jeans, freeing his cock – already stiff, already leaking into his palm. “I missed you.” You’d lost track of how many times he’d repeated the same meaningless phrase, but this time, his voice shook, misery seeping out from each fractured syllable. You might’ve felt more pity, but any sympathy you might’ve been able to feel for him was quickly drowned out by the material of your skirt being gathered in handfuls at your waist, his cock finding its way between your plush thighs. His larger body kept yours in place as he rutted against you, his open mouth leaking drool and milk and all the other ungodly things you could imagine onto your chest. It was embarrassing, really – just how tightly you kept your eyes shut, like a child walking through their first haunted house. Like all the bad things in the world would go away just because you couldn’t see them. “For weeks, I couldn’t—I didn’t know where you were, I thought—”

His form jolted against yours. You felt it – a sudden, liquid heat against your thighs, a sudden tension where Suguru’s chest pressed into yours – at the same time you felt the first tear fall, searing your skin where it made contact. There was another, then yet another, before you finally realized what was happening.

Suguru was crying.

Huh.

He’d never done that, before.

Finally, you forced yourself to open your eyes. Rather than attempting to look at Suguru, to see if his shoulders were shaking as violently as it felt like they were, your gaze moved outward, first to the bay, then to the sky – as black as spilled ink, now that the last traces of light had faded. As black as Suguru’s eyes.

You carded your fingers through his hair as he cried silently into your shoulder, never making a sound. Minutes passed before he spoke again, but you let him be the one to break the silence. “I don’t get it.” You hummed, and he went on. “I don’t understand why you didn’t try to leave him, too.”

“I might’ve, eventually. If I’d had more time.”

“But you didn’t.” His blunt nails bit into your waist with enough force to sting, but you didn’t say anything. “I don’t understand why you didn’t.”

You didn’t try to answer.

~

Suguru stopped at a gas station to clean himself up. You stayed in the car, clutching Himari to your chest, attempting not to flinch as her tiny hands pulled at your hair and grabbed at your skirt – searching for something to do, to entertain herself with. The rest of the drive passed in relative silence. Suguru didn’t try to make conversation, and even if you’d wanted to, you wouldn’t know where to start.

Finally, Suguru turned down an unpaved backroad, and far too soon, you were in front of a house you recognized. The architecture was traditional, the design compact, but you could remember Suguru saying that he and the girls didn’t need much. Later on, when he decided you shouldn’t be allowed to wander any farther than his line of sight during your pregnancy, he’d played with the idea of a larger property – something that could accommodate a growing family. If he’d ever had any real plans, they must’ve been abandoned after you left.

“We’re only stopping by,” Suguru explained, as he moved to step out. You didn’t wait for him this time – shouldering the door open and pulling yourself to your feet before he could decide he needed to drag you out of the car himself. “There’s a nursery attached to the master bedroom. The girls can look after Himari while we’re gone.”

Your breathing hitched, then stopped altogether.

The girls.

You’d managed to forget you’d have to see them, tonight. Suguru would’ve been enough to handle on his own.

You tried to take a step back, more out of reflex than anything, but your legs were unsteady, unreliable. You stumbled, but before you could so much as start to fall, Suguru was by your side, one hand on your arm and the other underneath Himari. He started to say something, but you were faster, louder. “I—I can’t. They’ll be so—I knew you wouldn’t hurt them, but I shouldn’t have—”

“They’ll be just fine.” He wasn’t crying, anymore. Instead, he took on the inflection, the stature he’d worn when you first met him – when he’d been the level-headed priest and you’d been a distraught non-believe desperate for help. If you hadn’t known better, if you couldn’t still see the reddened skin around his eyes, you might’ve called his composure sadistic. “And they’ve been waiting for you all night. Wouldn’t it be cruel to disappoint them now?”

It'd be crueler to make them face the woman who’d married their father and abandoned them without a second thought, but you doubted Suguru would agree. He was already curling his arm around yours, already guiding you towards the rustic villa. Whatever daze was keeping you from losing your mind entirely must’ve worn-off sometime during the drive. It was all you could do to keep yourself on your feet as you edged closer, closer to the front door. You were walking down the unpaved driveway, then standing on the wooden porch, and then, Suguru was ushering you inside – taking Himari out of your arms as you passed over the threshold. You didn’t try to resist. He wouldn’t ask the girls to hurt her, not after how long he’d spent holding the idea of a new, adorably helpless little sister over their heads, and wherever he was going to do to you after this, you didn’t want Himari involved. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use her against you.

Suguru moved further into the villa, but you froze in the entryway. You could already hear the little, rushing footsteps, already picture the betrayal in their eyes, the questions they’d ask you and the answers you wouldn’t be able to give them. They’d hate you. They had to already hate you. You abandoned them, and they would know you abandoned them, and they would—

Two arms wrapping around your legs, the force of a smaller body crashing into yours. You glanced down and found Mimiko, clinging to your waist, her face buried in the material of your skirt. She wasn’t crying, but you could see her shoulders shaking, feel her nails digging into your thigh through the thin fabric. Reflexively, you reached down, resting a hand on top of her head and moving to nudge her away gently, to see if she needed help, but she only clung to you that much tighter.

Nanako was there, too, but she hadn’t latched onto you. Unlike her sister, she kept her distance, hands ringing the hem of her sweater as she stared pointedly at the floor. “Geto-sama told us what happened,” she explained, while Mimiko mumbled something incoherent and affirmative into your skirt. “He said that sorcerer – the white-haired one – took you and Himari away.” There was a pause, a quick glance in your direction. “He promised he wouldn’t let it happen again.”

Her eyes met yours, and suddenly, her nervous posture, the measured distance left between you and her – it made sense. You recognize the light in her eyes, or rather, the lack therefore.

It was the same shadow her father’s eyes took on, when he looked at you.

Whatever lie he’d told them, Nanako clearly didn’t believe it. Mimiko – sweet and loyal and prone to holding onto the things she loved like there was someone could come and take them away at any time – would’ve believed Suguru if he told her that world ended every time she closed her eyes, but Nanako was more pragmatic. She knew something was wrong. You doubted she would speak to you at all if she knew just how wrong, but still.

Swallowing your guilt, you lowered yourself to one knee and hugged Mimiko properly, squeezing her for one beat, then another, before letting her go entirely. Nanako was next. For all her reservations, she was running towards you as soon as you opened your arms to her, crashing into your chest and clinging to you twice as tightly as her sister had. “I’m sure he won’t,” you mumbled into her hair. And then, pulling back, “I know I was gone for a while, but it’s alright. The sorcerer Geto-sama told you about – he just wanted a little advice. He had two children he was raising all on his own, just like Geto. He heard all about how wonderful you two are, and wanted to know if I could stay and show him how to bring up the best kids in the world.” A kiss on either forehead, a thumb drawn over Mimiko’s cheeks to wipe away the tears she was frantically (and unsuccessfully) attempting to paw away on her own. “But, although I was very flattered, I told him that I had to go home. I knew you two would be fine, of course, but let’s face it – Geto wouldn’t last a day without me.”

It was your turn to pause, now, to lower your voice into something secretive. Mimiko was still sniffling, still determined to keep her face buried in her hands or your shoulder, but you made sure to meet Nanako’s eyes, to sound as sincere as you could – even if complete honesty was beyond you, at the moment. “Don’t tell Geto, but I missed you two most of all.”

Nanako looked like she wanted to say something. She almost did, too – tensing, opening her mouth, but she shut it again just as quickly, her eyes falling back to the ground in a sharp, violently narrow glare.

The pain was instant and beyond words. You wanted to pull her and Mimiko close again, to squeeze them tight and promise you wouldn’t leave them, not again, to apologize when you’d inevitably have to for the sake of a sister you hadn’t given them time to love. You wanted to—

You heard Suguru’s footsteps, felt his hand on your shoulder, and every thought you might’ve had that wasn’t devoted to your daughter’s well-being was gone.

Rather than embracing the girls, you drew back from them. Suguru pulled you gently to your feet, his hand falling from your shoulder to your elbow before wrapping around your wrist. “Keep an eye on your sister.” You could only be thankful there was still an ounce of warmth in his voice, as he addressed the girls. “(Y/n) and I have one more errand to run. We’re trusting you two to look after her, until we come back.”

You might’ve added something, made sure they both knew that you really had missed them, but Suguru was already drawing you towards the door – still ajar. The last thing you saw was Nanako taking Mimiko by the wrist before the door was slammed shut, and you were left entirely alone with Suguru.

~

Of all the places you expected him to take you, his temple hadn’t made the list.

His followers must’ve been sent away for the night, and the property’s attendants either dismissed or told to stay in their dorms. Every window was dark and shuttered, the gates locked and the doors bared. As you followed Suguru across the desolate courtyard and into the main shrine, you tried to think of places you would’ve wanted to be taken to, but came up empty. Part of you had been expecting the cheap, equally lifeless chain motels he’d shown a fondness for during your pregnancy, or worse, the hotel where you’d spent your first night together. Another, larger, quieter part had been able to imagine him driving into the deepest, darkest forest he could find and having his monstrous spirits tear you to shreds before you could so much as scream.

His ultimate destination was far from shocking, and yet, you still felt your heart drop into your stomach as he led you into his darkened sanctuary. As if in preparation, two tapered candles had been left burning in metal trays on either side of the screen door, and Suguru took one up as he passed by. You were left to linger in the doorway as, with a surprising meticulousness, he lit the candles scattered throughout the sanctuary, casting the open space in an ebbing golden glow. When he was finished, he collapsed onto his raised dais – perched on its edge, rather than laid across it. He almost looked out of place, without his usual costume, his usual posture. He almost looked his age.

You didn’t move. Running seemed impossible, but so did breaking the silence, doing anything to make yourself an active participant in Suguru’s bizarre ritual rather than a passive observer, a prop to be moved from place to place with little thought as to where you might want to be. A moment passed in silence, then another. Finally, he cracked. “Sit down.”

You didn’t move. “Are you going to kill me?”

He didn’t react. “All I asked you to do was sit down, love.”

“Are you going to kill Himari?”

He flinched into himself, going crooked. Something like hurt passed across his expression, as genuine as it was hypocritical.

He didn’t respond, but either out of pity or remorse or a lack of anything else to do, you found yourself closing the gap between you and him, setting yourself down on the edge of his platform. Immediately, his head fell onto your shoulder, his hand to your thigh, as if he was afraid you’d leave him again if he didn’t cling to you. “…I thought about breaking your legs,” he confessed, without prompting. “I was angry, when I realized you hadn’t been taken by force. I thought I’d be able to do it in Satoru’s apartment, leave enough blood to make him think I’d killed you, but—” There was a pause, a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. I guess I waited too long, lost the nerve or something.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” And then, when he shifted curiously beside you, “It would’ve scared the girls. They’re already having such a hard time.”

At that, Suguru melted entirely against you. There was an airy laugh, a small sigh, and you felt his hand on your hip, his thumb drawing loose patterns into your side. “So considerate,” he muttered, nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. “Maybe, one day, you’ll care about me like that, too.”

A knot formed in the back of your throat. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him – or, that you hadn’t, before he made it clear that the ways you were capable of caring for him weren’t enough. If you hadn’t felt anything for him, none of this would’ve ever happened. If he’d been satisfied to let you feel the same way about him that you felt about his daughters, it would never have gotten this bad. If you’d just laid back and let him fuck you the first time he’d asked, he would’ve lost interest in you months ago. You almost said so, too, tensed and opened your mouth and everything, but Suguru was moving before you had the chance to spit something out, his mouth crashing into yours with all the care and all the tenderness of a blunt object shattering bone. His teeth cut into your bottom lip, his body pressing into yours with enough force to throw you off balance, but his arms were already around your waist, keeping you upright. It was less that he slid off of the dais and more that he collapsed – dropping onto his knees at your feet, as little difference as it made in terms of height. He never let you stray very far, but tonight, he seemed determined never to leave more than a hair’s width of space between your body and his. His lips fell from your mouth to your neck, his hands finding their way to your hips. One darted for your neckline, but dropped back to your waist just as suddenly – all ten fingers soon burrowed into the plush of your waist.

“Your dress.” He wasn’t panting, wasn’t grinning, wasn’t laughing. His voice reverberated dully against the base of your throat, his pointed canines scraping over your skin as he spoke. “Take it off.”

You swallowed. Normally, he preferred to undress and re-dress you himself. You’d been scolded more than once for thinking you had any right to decide what you wore without his loving input, and when pressed, he claimed it was a show of love; proof of his dedication, his devotion.

This wasn’t about love, though, or dedication, or any other flowery word he’d ever used with you.

This was about control.

Your hands shook as you raised them to the back of your dress, finding the row of corset-type strings keeping the loose material in place. You fumbled with the knot for seconds, but Suguru was patient, willing to wait until the bodice fell away from your chest entirely, pooling at your midriff. You weren’t wearing a bra (again, an extremely difficult habit not to get into with a newborn at home), and one of Suguru’s hands came up, a scarred palm cupping your breast with enough force to bruise. You remembered, dimly, the time he’d spent pulled over by the side of the road earlier that day, but the memory was foggy, already so far away. You wouldn’t have been surprised if all of this seemed like one hazy, distant dream by tomorrow morning.

He detached from you suddenly, pulling away and kneeling on the sanctuary floor. Rather than relief, you only felt the world distort more violently around you; your pulse slowing and your vision burning as you clumsily pushed yourself to your feet, allowing your dress to fall away entirely. You moved to sit back down, but Suguru caught you before you could – his fist wrapping around your ankle, then skirting upward, settling gingerly against your thigh as his dark, soulless eyes raked over you. His stare caught on your panties, and his expression darkened. “I’m going to kill him.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant. The pair had been Satoru’s pick; not quite a gift, but something given to you, regardless. They matched his aesthetics – needlessly detailed, smothered in lace, cast a shade of light blue so pale, it bordered on ivory. With how expensive Satoru’s tastes tended to run, you were sure the set had cost a fortune, but the priceless fabric gave away without protest as Suguru slipped two fingers under the waistband and tore. The ruined article fell away before you could so much as process that he’d moved.

Suguru’s impressive patience waned quickly. In the same motion, he pushed himself to his feet and took you into his arms, carrying you against his chest onto the dais, then to the altar pressed against the far wall. The scrolls laid across it were sent to floor with a single movement of his arm, and in the blink of an eye, you were laid across the polished wood, Suguru on his knees between your open legs. Your mouth opened, but there was no time to protest, to call out before his face was buried between his thighs, tongue lapping over the length of your slit. Still, you grit your teeth, bracing yourself to sit up, to tell him to—

Oh.

He'd gotten his tongue pierced, sometime after you left.

He was shameless. A rounded, jeweled stud dragged over your pussy, circling your clit with no pattern or pace, no intention other than to taste you. Never content to leave you to your own devices, he kept his hands wrapped around your hips, pinning you to the surface of the altar as he tried to all-but swallow you whole. It was messy, and overzealous, and worst of all, it was good. It was a matter of seconds before a mixture of spit and arousal stained the inside of your thighs and dripped from his chin, less than a full minute before you had to concentrate just to keep yourself from squirming underneath him. Not that it would’ve mattered, if you had. Suguru had always been playful in bed, content to milk reactions out of you with measured precision and careful vigilance, but that had been when you at least attempted to present yourself as willing. Right now, anything you might’ve felt seemed secondary to Suguru’s pleasure; satisfied groans soon joining the slick, wet noise ricocheting off the walls of his sanctuary. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, crossed your arms over your face, but neither distraction helped to stifle the feeling of his lips latching onto your clit, suckling on it with all the care and all the delicacy of a butcher’s knife cutting into lifeless flesh. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes by the time he pulled away, but the pressure was immediately replaced by the bridge of his nose grinding harshly against the bundle of nerves, his tongue slipping past your entrance to curl against the most vulnerable parts of your cunt.

He let out another reverberating moan, and reflexively, your hand shot to the back of his head, your fingers soon tangled in his dark hair. One of his hands fell from your waist, and for a moment, you thought he was moving to pry away yours, that he didn’t want you touching him. But, fortunately or otherwise, his attention wasn’t on you. Instead, he reached for the elastic band holding his hair in place, pulling it out with enough force to snap the cheap plastic. You didn’t realize what he was trying to do until you felt him lean into your palm, his eyes fluttering shut as he melted into the semblance of your touch.

If you’d been capable of feeling anything more towards Suguru than you already did, you might’ve found the sight pitiful.

At the moment, though, you weren’t in a place to be quite so sentimental. It was all you could do to knot his hair around your fingers as you felt tight and hot form in your core, as your thighs threatened to snap shut around his head. You bit into the inside of your check with enough force to draw blood as Suguru moaned shamelessly, as he dragged you that much closer. It was too easy to forget to care whether or not he’d enjoyed it, too reflexive to gather his hair in your first and pull, to buck involuntarily into his mouth, to—

Suguru drew back suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. Thankfully, you caught yourself before you could feel disappointment, and after a few shallow breaths, found the strength to follow his stare away from you and towards the sanctuary door. Instantly, your heart stopped beating, the blood running cold in your veins.

Satoru stood in the doorway, cast in shadow save for his bright, piercing eyes. One of his hands was still wrapped around the doorframe, while the other hung limp at his side, cupping a small, pulsing ball of… light?

You didn’t have time to think about it. Suguru acted swiftly – pulling you into his arms and onto his lap, seating himself on the altar where you’d previously laid. “Drop it,” he said, his tone cold, cutting, not unlike an owner talking to his disobedient pet. He’d been short with you all night, but you couldn’t say he’d ever spoken to you quite like that. “Before you do something you’ll regret.”

The light dimmed before disappearing entirely, but Satoru didn’t move. He didn’t do anything, but you could feel it – a drop in the sanctuary’s temperature, a change in the air pressure, something deep and intrinsic that you didn’t want to be a part of. Reflexively, you tried to stand, to move, but Suguru held you tight, an arm barred over your midriff.

Despite everything, Satoru was the first to break the silence, albeit without doing anything to make that intangible tension any more bearable. “I should kill you.”

“You should.” Suguru’s fingertips dug into your side. “Those are your orders, aren’t they? Or are you going to put off delivering my head to the higher-ups for another three years?”

Whatever he was talking about, Satoru didn’t seem interested in acknowledging it. “You took my girls.”

“You fucked my wife.”

At that, something seemed to break. Suguru’s chest pressed into your back as Satoru’s eyes shut, as he sucked in a harsh breath and broke out into a fanged grin, the sharpest you’d ever seen him wear. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” He took a step forward, all hostility gone in favor of a sort of manic, unpredictable buzz. You didn’t know whether to be relieved that there was a slightly diminished chance you’d be caught in the middle of their fight to the death or terrified at the thought that they might want to do anything but tear out each others’ throats. “I fucked her after she left you. Bet you can’t stand it – knowing you’re not the only one who gets to run away.”

Suguru, for all his faults, didn’t flinch. He’d always had an even-temper at the worst of time. “What do you want, ‘toru?”

Satoru’s stare fell away from Suguru and onto you. His expression softened, taking on an almost apologetic lilt. Almost, but not quite.

“Not much,” he admitted, with a shrug. Even from a distance, even in the dark, you could tell his nonchalance was forced. “Just to say goodbye, make sure my pretty girl’s gonna be taken care of. Gotta wrap up loose ends, n’ all that.”

Suguru, for his part, seemed far from convinced. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, he only held you closer. “And why should I let you?”

“Because I love her?” And then, with another step toward the altar, “Because you know I could wipe this building off the face of the planet, if I wanted to.”  

Pragmatic as he was, Suguru seemed to consider it. The hand over your side flexed, a chin settling against the dip of your shoulder, and beneath you, his stiff cock pressed into your ass – either unaffected or worse, fueled on by Satoru’s interruption. You were still attempting not to dwell on the implications when Suguru responded, level-headed as always.

“If you try anything, I’ll kill the baby.”

The second before a car crash, the spark where two wires failed to connect. For the longest time, you couldn’t seem to process what he’d said or how it could’ve been so gut-wrenchingly terrible. Rather than pull away, you flattened yourself against him, glancing over your shoulder. You opened your mouth, but the ability to speak was suddenly beyond you, set deliberately out of your reach. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it, and yet, his expression was stoic, unchanging, the pinnacle of neutrality. There was no laugh from Satoru either, forced or otherwise. Still, he kept up his smile. As if Suguru hadn’t said anything of consequence. As if either of them had any right to so much as touch your daughter.

Satoru didn’t respond to the threat, nor did Suguru urge him to. Almost mechanically, Suguru’s arm fell away from your midriff, and with little more than a nudge to the back of your shoulder, you were on your feet, vulnerable and shaking on the center of the raised dais. You could still feel a mix of slick and saliva coating the inside of your thighs, and you had to swallow the urge to make a grab for your clothes, to put yourself through the humiliation of being forced to strip twice in one night.

 Thankfully, tragically, you were liberated from any illusion of free choice swiftly. Without protest from Suguru, Satoru stepped onto the dais and took you by the hand, either overlooking or failing to acknowledge the panic in your eyes in favor of intertwining his fingers with yours and squeezing gently, as if you could still believe he genuinely wanted to comfort you. Rather than pulling you into his arms, dragging you down to the floor, he looked to Suguru, cocking his head to the side. “Get up.”

Suguru’s lips quirked downward, but he obeyed, pushing himself to his feet. “How blasphemous.”

Now, he pulled you off of your feet. In a moment, you were in his arms, and the next, you were perched on the altar, your back pressed against the wall and your legs spread around Satoru’s waist. “Blasphemous,” Satoru echoed, his voice low but plainly audible in the silence of the sanctuary. “would be fucking the most beautiful woman in the world on the ground. That’s why I’m her favorite – ‘cause I’m so considerate.”

No part of you trusted Suguru. No part of you preferred Suguru to Satoru, or the other way around. No part of you thought that, unless your life or his pride was threatened, he’d ever lift a finger to help you, but you found yourself glancing toward him out of the corner of your eye, doing your best to silently communicate that you needed to get out of here. Instead of sympathy, jealousy, you only found an idle smirk, a glassy sheen over his eyes that you could only imagine you’d mirrored for most of the day. “You’re not the one she’s married to, idiot.”

There was a dip, a surprisingly fleeting kiss to your lips, then your jaw, then your throat. “But she would get with me if you were out of the picture, right?” The question was punctuated with a nip to your collarbone, a hand dropped low enough to cup your pussy. The heel of his palm ground into your clit as two fingers pushed into your soaked cunt, spreading apart and scissoring you open. You tried to bow your head, to keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut, but you were still sensitive from your ruined climax, still so painfully exposed, and there was nothing you could do to bite back the cracked whines and pitiful mewls that slipped through your pursed lips. It was far from verbal confirmation, but Satoru hummed, grinned against your chest as if you’d sung his praises. “I’d get you a nicer ring, nicer house, nicer honeymoon. Always make sure you’re good n’ taken care of while Suguru’s busy playing god.”

Suguru huffed, and Satoru fell into a steady pace, adding a third digit as he carelessly fucked his fingers into your cunt. You didn’t hear him move, but before you could brace yourself, Suguru was at your side, leaning onto the altar to cup your face and trace over your jaw with the pad of his thumb. “I take care of you, don’t I?” You opened your mouth reflexively, ready to tell him that you were sorry, that you didn’t want him to touch you, that you wanted this to stop, but he was faster than you, more malicious. His thumb was forced past your lips before you could make a sound, pressed against the flat of your tongue with just enough force for your jaw to ache in protest. “I can’t blame Satoru for not being able to see that, though. Not when you treat me so cruelly.”

Cruelly. You’d never been cruel – at least, no crueler than you absolutely needed to be to survive. You felt pins and needles prick at the corners of your eyes before you noticed your vision blurring, before tears were streaming down either side of your face in boiling tracks. Satoru purred in sympathy, falling low and nuzzling into the tender spot at the base of your throat, flicking his wrist and burying himself inside of you to the knuckle. “You don’t have to worry, I know he’s the mean one.”

He was whispering, but that didn’t matter. He was too close, too awful for each word not to be absolutely deafening, for each little movement of his hand not to leave your nails scraping against the smooth wood of the altar, searching for purchase you wouldn’t find. Time was moving too quickly, it had been since you arrived at the temple. You couldn’t scream, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t breathe before Satoru pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the side of your neck and you were coming undone around his fingers, your thighs locking around his arm and keeping his digits inside of you until you could remember how to suck in a gasping inhale, until the last of the aftershocks faded and you could bring yourself to open your eyes. It wasn’t until the warmth of Satoru’s mouth fell away from your neck that you noticed the strange, copper tinge spread over your tongue, that you registered the absence of Suguru’s hand against your jaw. When you thought to look in his direction, he was evaluating his own hand. A thin, red line formed a dotted ring around the base of his thumb. You must’ve bitten down, at some point.

You must’ve hurt him.

Fear drowned out any satisfaction there might’ve been. He mentioned deciding against breaking your legs, earlier; was there any chance he’d change his mind? Would Satoru be able to stop him, if he tried to hurt you? Would Satoru even want to stop him? Himari was still alone, still in danger, and you wouldn’t be able to get to her if you couldn’t walk. You wouldn’t be able to stop Suguru from—

Satoru reached out, his hand curling around Suguru’s wrist and dragging it down to his height. With Satoru’s guidance, Suguru’s thumb came to rest against his bottom lip, then slipped into Satoru’s mouth entirely, his lips soon sealed around its base. There was a second or two of stillness, a swallowing-type noise too loud to ignore despite your best attempts not to hear it, and then, Suguru was pulling away and Satoru’s lips were crashing into yours.

It was strange for Suguru to be so clumsy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be as surprised by Satoru’s lack of polish. It was all you could do to choke back a renewed sob as his mouth moved against yours, as his pointed teeth ghosted over your lips and grazed the underside of your tongue. He was all instinct, no logic, and when you tried to straighten, to leave enough room between you and him to catch your breath, he only seemed to want you closer. His hands were on your waist, then your arms, then your chest, never satisfied unless he could dig his claws into the most tender parts of you, and this time, when his canines grazed over your lips, he wasn’t satisfied to leave your connection at contact alone. He let out a shameless moan as he lapped at the puncture wound, warm blood leaking down your chin and pooling on your chest where it pressed into his. Again, you looked to Suguru for help, and again, you immediately wished you hadn’t bothered.

He wasn’t perched on the altar, anymore. No – he’d shifted, slinked, positioned himself behind Satoru where he was bent at the waist. He caught your eye as his arms snaked around Satoru’s midriff, as Satoru arched his back to better take advantage of the new contact. There was the distant, muffled sound of fabric rustling, a keening whine from Satoru, and then, Suguru’s hand was curled around Satoru’s stiff, leaking cock – pumping over the shaft while his dark eyes burned holes into yours. “Get it over with,” he muttered, the bitter sterility of his tone a sharp juxtaposition to the grin creeping across his expression. “Before I remember why I want you dead.”

Satoru didn’t have to be coaxed into compliance. No, he let himself be eased into place, let Suguru slot himself against his back as he carefully aligned Satoru’s flushed tip to your entrance. Even after he’d let go, his hands finding the edge of the altar on either side of you, Satoru failed to move on his own. You could feel him drifting from your lips to your throat, then lower – to the crook of your neck, a spot Suguru’d always favored. Vaguely, you were aware of his lips moving against your skin, of warm breath fanning over your chest and leaving frost wherever it’d touched. His voice was muffled by proximity, but whether or not you could hear him didn’t really matter. You would’ve recognized those three little words from a thousand miles away.

“I love you.”

If you’d been able to laugh, you would’ve.

At least Satoru didn’t expect you to say it back.

Suguru must’ve missed it – that, or he was beyond the point of caring. His teeth sunk into the nape of Satoru’s neck, and then, something hot and piercing was inside of you.

This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying out. A fractured moan tumbled past your lips as Satoru immediately fell into a brutal pace; all that teasing tenderness gone the moment your pussy was wrapped around his cock. Suguru didn’t pull away, but he didn’t help, either; straightening his back and gazing down at you with that same foggy, absent, pleased expression. It took you a moment to put a name to it; lovestruck, all glassy eyes and hollow smiles, any anger hidden behind a thick curtain of glazed-over satisfaction. He’d never looked away from you, but when you met his eyes, he seemed to soften even further, his shoulders dropping as he brought a hand to the small of Suguru’s back, spurring him on. “He’s always been this bad.”  Suguru let out a keening whine into your shoulder, and Suguru chuckled airily. “Like a dog in heat. You’d think be as desperate as one, too, but apparently, his standards are too high for him to do anything but act like a whore.”

You couldn’t take it – the way Satoru’s hips crashed into yours, how his pubic bone ground against your clit, the pure venom interlaced with Suguru’s velvet-soft tone. You knew that it was useless, childish, but you couldn’t swallow down the cracked sob that rose up from somewhere deep and unprotected in your chest, couldn’t hold back the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. Suguru’s smile widened, his sharpened teeth catching the dull candlelight, but Satoru was kind enough not to be so observant. His attention was dedicated entirely to fucking into you as quickly and as deeply as possible; his cock never less than half buried. You felt him twitch, and before you could hold yourself back, your hands were on his back, your nails embedded in pale skin and tearing upward every time he bottomed out and sent a new type of agony coursing through your system. “Stop, stop, I can’t—”

“You can.” Clipped, concise, dripping with stone-cold affection. You’d be surprised if you ever heard any warmth in Suguru’s voice again. “That is, unless you’d like to break two hearts on the same night.”

Your mouth was still open, but you couldn’t answer. Satoru groaned as he rutted into you, his pace growing that much more erratic, his hips grinding into yours. He pulled you into another deep, copper-tinged kiss as he pressed his body flush to yours, as you felt something thick and hot and soul-crushingly familiar flood into you. It might’ve been the sensitivity, or the overstimulation, or the herbal stench of incense left to burn for a minute too long finally taking its toll – it didn’t really matter, either way. No explanation could’ve dampened the feeling of your cunt clenching tight around him, could’ve prevented the utter desolation of cumming on Satoru’s cock.

It seemed to go on for the longest time – second after second of thoughtless, helpless pleasure, century after century of Satoru against you, edging on your climax with the occasional sharp movement from his hips, a hasty kiss pressed into the corner of your jaw. Finally, after a small eternity, the last of the aftershocks faded, unwanted bliss fading into a slow, pulsing ache settled deep into the deepest pit of your chest. You felt Satoru shift; not pulling away, but lifting himself up, bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he said, again, and then, more quietly, “I’m sorry.”

You wanted to say something, to call him a liar, to spit out every venomous and vitriolic and warranted thing you could ever say to either of them, but it was already too late. Something vital slid out of place, a poor signal finally losing connection entirely, and then, everything went dark.

~

Nine months later, you’d find yourself in Suguru’s temple again, albeit not his sanctuary. A brown-haired woman in a lab coat and several female attendants swarmed around you, pressing damp cloths to your forehead and constantly rearranging the thick quilts laid over your limp body. Dried tears formed defined tracks down your cheeks, and every part of you screamed for rest, for escape, for a quick and merciful death. It was all you could do to suck in a shuddering breath, to remind yourself that there were more important things in the world than your own well-being. Sleep could wait. This couldn’t.

Slowly, you managed to turn your head towards Suguru, standing at your bedside just as he had for the past six hours. Your vision was distorted, dimmed around the edges, but it would’ve been impossible to miss the small, white bundle in his arms, already beginning to move. You could practically taste the relief, only slightly soured by your own exhaustion. Loving Himari had been a miracle. It would’ve been a lie to say that you hadn’t expected yourself to be more callous, the second time part of you was ripped away and molded into the shape of a man you hated.

Your eyes flickered to Suguru’s expression, to those impossibly dark eyes, and instantly, your relief was replaced by pure, unadulterated dread. A smile played at the corner of his mouth, softened and careless, but… Oh, god.

You’d never seen so much death in his eyes.

“Suguru.” You hadn’t meant to say anything, and yet, your voice was clear – a little hoarse, but far stronger than you felt. Never looking away from the bundle, he hummed, and you went on. “Can I see…?”

“Him,” Suguru filled in, bouncing your newborn – your son, gently. “A healthy baby boy. It’s a shame, really – I chose names with another girl in-mind.”

Thankfully, he didn’t make you ask again. With no small amount of care, the bundle was placed gently onto your chest, Suguru’s hand remaining on your shoulder – as if only waiting for your limited strength to give out. It took you a long moment to brush the swaddling sheets to the swaddling blanket aside, little hands immediately reaching up to bat against your own, and another to register what you were looking at. It wasn’t hard to see why Suguru was so angry.

You stared down at your son, and eyes more blue than the clearest, brightest sky stared back at you.