unmedicated gooner alert @pinkaditty - Tumblr Blog

Jun 21

Visions Pt 2 (Yan!Perv!Subaru Kagami x Reader; Tokyo Debunker)

queueing this felt like pulling the trigger

a/n: well. here we are again. sorry again that this took so fucking long. i really. wanted it 2 be perfect. i don't know. it had 2 be perfect. even now i think i could've done better.

anyways. enjoy more crazy, unhinged, yandere, perverted subaru! my fav version of him! RAAAAAHHHH!! let me stop being a fucking downer everyone here is a pervert anyway, so. please, from the bottom of my heart, enjoy! also sorry for the delay, my bday was busier than expected so i couldn't make edits and had 2 revise it 4 other proofreaders.

summary: subaru wins, in a way. it's a hollow victory.

cw: i honestly think it's best u go in2 this without knowing as much as humanly possible bc. this fic is meant 2 be shocking and disturbing. however, i will give one warning: very blatant and somewhat graphic depictions of noncon. please proceed with caution. including this tag just in case: dead dove, do not eat.

WARNING: if u thought the last ending was crazy i guarantee you this one is worse.

A garden. That’s what he’s sure he looks like.

A garden of reds and blues and purples, spanning from behind his ears to between his thighs. From a single scratch of your teeth, his pale pallor would give rise to blooming red anemones, blue hydrangeas, and violet petunias. In a way, the two of you were matching, mutually littered by blooming oases of color born from curses alike. The only difference was that your flowers were real, vines snaking across the skin of your back, burrowing into your veins, blooming with anomalous reds and whites and purples, signaling an untimely death. His were mere bruises, placed at random on his skin, signaling both your temporary possession of him and the truth of who he was, the curse of desire he’d been born with.

He doesn’t think, in all his years, he’s quite been taken like this.

Subaru has experience. He is no blushing virgin. But, everything about this encounter was a stark contrast to any of the previous ones he’d had, before he began to abstain. The way your fingers run over his skin is so mind-numbingly gentle, and simultaneously, the way your nails pierce into his skin is so mind-meltingly gratifying. The visions that plagued him with every touch were nothing short of vulgar—even if you weren’t undressed and thinking of him. He would see your point of view of your interactions, and he’d watch as your eyes would hungrily rake over his form, hear the lascivious thoughts about him bouncing around your head, and feel the heat spread through your body if he so much as glanced your way—all while he was none the wiser. They were embarrassing visions, but satisfying. He could finally read your intentions, even if said intentions left him trembling and unable to form coherent sentences, sprawled out on your bed. He felt completely and utterly pliant underneath you, as though he were just a toy to be played with. He was a mere puppet on a string, pulled into position after position, stretching even his wits far past what he believed he could take - and then some.

He couldn’t be bothered to count how many times now that he’d been close, so close, just for you to pull it all away from him, smirking at him, daring him to protest.

“Come on,” you’d say, holding his chin ever so gently between your fingers and directing his gaze to meet yours. “Don’t pout. I’ll give you everything you want very soon.”

“Yes,” he’d reply, his voice weak, quiet, and stuttered; sometimes muffled by your lips or your breasts or your fingers or his own teeth biting down hard into his own lips to prevent him from crying out. “I’ll be good, Miss.”

“Good boy,” you’d reply. Every time you said that, he would want to come undone under you, further than he already has. He would feel the knots piling up in his groin, tightening, begging for release.

Eventually, after hours of leading him on what felt like a hopelessly dry journey full of denial, you give him everything he wanted. His thanks cannot come out in words, his throat too occupied spouting forth deep groans and salacious whines—rather, his thanks come out in fluids—saltwater tears and bitter cum flowing from him all at once. Your continued ministrations send him into overdrive - because of course, you wouldn’t stop now.

He’s seeing stars, his peak prolonged past what he thought possible. His whole body is shivering, his hands desperate to find something to cling to. The mix of pleasure and pain overwhelms him so terribly that he feels like he’s seconds away from imploding, his mind collapsing in on itself. When he manages to gather himself enough, he speaks through his pornographic moans, pleading with you to stop your movements and give his unwinding brain a moment to collect its spilling senses. He is more than aware that his begging falls on very deaf ears, but he does it anyway—knowing, only after a few hours, how you like to see him cry.

After all this, when you hurriedly press your lips against his as you ride out your own high, your walls squeezing around him and your nails digging into his scalp as you pull on his hair, he happily melts into you, almost forgetting for a moment that after this, he would have to make himself scarce. He decides he’s going to miss this - the feeling of your nails on his skin, the pain of the bruises you left behind, the pleasure of finally coming undone after years of holding it together. But he had a reputation to uphold, a promise to himself he needed to fulfill.

When the sun rises the following morning, the pungent smell of his arousal and the lingering taste of you on his tongue only serve to strengthen his resolve. He doesn’t bother waking you, and in moments, he’s dressed and headed for the door, ready to leave the previous night behind him. He doesn’t stop himself from giving you one pitying glance before he leaves, figuring it was the kinder thing to do.

Unfortunately for Subaru, you’re far more persistent than he thought you would be. He continues to have to find excuses to avoid you, citing that he was preoccupied or busy, or having Haku relay any messages of importance. He pretended to bury himself in a project, as most Hotarubi students do, hoping you’d recognize that he wanted this to go no further. The “project” technically wasn’t an excuse, especially since he was working on his own recovery. His voice was still rough from overuse, his skin was still covered in bruises and hickeys and your fingerprints, and he still had trouble walking in a straight line if his mind so much as wandered to an implication of that night. He constantly felt distracted, so much so that, if he even chose to go to class, he would end up staring aimlessly at the walls or through windows. He would try not to let his thoughts find their way to you, but they always did. Anyone who noticed thankfully chalked it up to his poor excuse of a project, but the balance was still disturbed. Things were still wrong. He couldn’t find his previous footing any longer. He has to resist the urge to knock on your door again and plead for some form of freedom.

It’s becoming frustrating to him. This was not the plan.

He was not supposed to flinch. He was not supposed to falter. He was not supposed to break. And yet, here he was. He flinched every time he heard your voice, trying his best to shoo off the memory of how your voice transformed into moans above him. He faltered every time you made eye contact with him, quickly glancing away and hoping you wouldn’t consider his silence impolite. There were more cracks forming in his facade than before, rapidly spreading throughout his body, threatening a nearly inevitable break. He was flinching. He was faltering. He was breaking. This was not at all appropriate, not in the slightest. He had thought that, from indulging once, his mind would finally be clear of it. But the bruises wouldn’t go away, clear evidence of his disobedience and ignorance and straying sight. The proof of his desires, littered over him in bright color, red and blue and purple. The ghost of the taste of you remained on his tongue, and the sounds you mutually made at your bodies entwining replay in his ears like a broken record. At night, he’d have to resist the urge to press on his bruises, attempting to reignite the pain and pleasure you’d so masterfully enacted on him then. He’d never been so far gone.

He was supposed to be good at resisting temptation. This was supposed to be a slip-up to remind him of his role to play and the rewards that come with discipline and self-control. And yet, his brain always seemed to stop at the same question: why did the indulgence feel so good? So liberating? If the indulgence was forbidden, by his own hand no less, how long had he deprived himself for the slightest bit of freedom to feel like heaven itself? Would it feel like that every time he gave in?

Indulgence had not been the cure-all he’d expected. How could he be such a fool? Of course, temptation was never to be followed. Desires were never to be fed. Indulgence was the opposite of control. There had to be a way to salvage this. There had to be.

Thankfully for Subaru, inspiration comes in all forms, and there were spaces open and secluded enough for him to practice his old performances. There was a small open studio in Hotarubi. It was occasionally used for painting, though when it was empty, the mirrored walls and railings served as a perfect place to dance, stretch, and clear his head. He enjoys how muscle memory takes over when he dances, the familiar stretch of his muscles comforting and limbering.

He's in a front stretch currently, feeling the satisfying burn in his inner thigh as he leans forward, clasping his left foot with both hands. He bends into the stretch, leaning his forehead on his knee.

Subaru isn't the sporty type. While he understands the importance of building endurance, he prefers to do so by increasing his core strength or engaging in stretching exercises. His flexibility was something he prided himself on. Though he didn't mind being out of practice every now and again, as he was now. It provided him with a much-needed refresher, and the stimulating burn in his muscles may prove to distract him from the desire that threatened to consume him.

He could also calm his mind and think while stretching. Approaching this with a clear head may be the better option, all things considered. Perhaps indulging had been a mistake. He still bore the bruises, and his failing to resist pressing on them persisted them into delaying their healing. Despite how he was aware that the blame was his to bear for failing to resist you, he still found bitterness towards you. You were beautifully tempting, but he shouldn't have attempted to turn you into a lesson for his own benefit. It'd only backfired, and now he was just bitter instead of persistently harboring and quelling his arduous desire. It would've been better to hold it all in.

His lesson wasn't learned fully, as he still felt bitter, but at least he knew to resist you.

He hears the door to the studio click open, and he perks up, looking in that direction. Sometimes, Lyca or Zenji and Haku would come by while he was stretching to keep him company, so he wasn't too alarmed by it.

His mood sours rather quickly when he sees you peering in, faux curious innocence plastered on your face. Since knowing you in more ways, he's gotten better at seeing through you.

He straightens up, sliding his leg around and switching to a seated position, resting his elbows on his knees. He does the best he can to shift his face into a guarded, but polite expression. "MC!" He nods at you politely. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"Sorry for interrupting," you step inside, nodding to him. "Haku told me where you were. I have something to ask you." Your smile is deceptively innocent, as is his.

He stands, rising to properly greet you. He takes note of how your eyes swish over his form, and he has to resist the urge to shrink into himself. Maybe he should have worn gym shorts over his ballet tights. He crosses an arm over his torso, holding his elbow for some semblance of comfort. "Go on, ask me anything." His face is in his ever benevolent smile. Of course, it's insincere, and he really doesn't want you to ask him anything, but since you're playing the innocence game, he can too.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

The bluntness of the question puts Subaru off a little, but your face remains in that mask of innocence, so he figures he'll play along. "Oh, my apologies, I didn't mean to make it seem that way!" A white lie. He was sure you knew it. "As I'm sure you've heard, I've been working on a project. It happens to take up the majority of my time." He does his best to sound and seem flustered, waving his hands in front of him and shaking his head. He even perfects his voice, trembling just slightly. Perfectly convincing, he was sure, but maybe not to you.

"Oh, right! A project!" Your eyes light up with curiosity as you take a step towards him. "What's the project about?"

He takes a step back. His anger spikes at your gall, though he manages to keep himself even with a deep breath and a reminder of where anger got him. He huffs a small laugh, putting on a friendly air. "I can't reveal that yet."

"Aww, come on," you say teasingly, and Subaru feels his smile twitch unseemingly. "Can't spare any details? Not even for the honor student?" You step towards him again, trying to close the distance.

He takes a larger step back, replacing the distance, and then some. For a minute, he's sure his ire is showing on his face clearly. He can feel his eyebrows quirk downwards minutely and his eyes lose all spark before he quickly covers it up with a whelmed smile. "Unfortunately not, MC—"

You interrupt him with a wider step towards him, forcing him against the mirrored wall and placing your hands on the railing on either side of him, boxing him in. "Not even when you were in my bed just a week ago—?"

"DON'T EVER MENTION THAT AGAIN, YOU FUCKING—" His teeth sink into his thumb, stopping himself. Slut. Whore. Skank. Tramp. Harlot. Bitch. Jezebel. He wonders which one he would have used if he hadn't managed to stop himself in time.

Despite your iron grip on the railing, his ghoul strength makes it easy to push your arm out of the way with ease, walking several steps away from you, keeping his teeth lodged into his thumb. When he begins to taste copper, he releases his thumb, wiping some of the blood from his lips.

After a few deep breaths, reminding himself of what happened the last time he lost himself, he turns to you, genuinely apologetic. He doesn't meet your gaze. "…I apologize. Forgive me for lashing out like that." And he does mean that. Losing his mind is never something he wants to do. The last time he'd failed to get a proper handle on his anger, it had cost him a fair bit of his reputation and self-respect. Indulgence. That was what led him here.

Indulgence in you.

When he raises his gaze to meet your own, he wishes he could say he's surprised to find you smiling placidly at him, perhaps a little shaken from his earlier outburst. "Don't apologize," you start, moving towards him again. You approach and speak slowly, as though soothing him. "I pushed you to react."

He wants to ask why, but he knows you're going to explain anyway. Despite himself, he allows you to back him up against the mirrored walls again, feeling the curve of his spine hit the railing again. He sighs, holding his hands to his chest, his thumb fully healed already. He has to resist the urge to bite it again in hopes it would distract him from you.

"I deserve your anger, don't I?" You close in on him, getting as close as you can without touching him. "I purposely ignored a significant boundary you've placed."

As true as that was, he didn't want to go down the path of justifying his own anger. You were undeserving of his outburst, even if he couldn't really be blamed for it. He finds himself shrinking away, pressing himself further into the railing.

Subaru forgets that you're persistent, but you never fail to remind him of that, especially when you go so far as to press your torso against his, peering up at him. Your gaze was knowing, and Subaru's reminded that just as he can read you, you can read him. "There's nothing wrong with being angry over that, right?"

His heart is beating so loudly he can feel it in his ears and throat. He feels color rise to his face all at once, starting in his ears and quickly spreading to his face. He takes shallow breaths, scared that inhaling too deeply will press his chest further into yours. He bites on his tongue, not stopping when he tastes copper again. He has to resist. Resist the urge to blame. To give in. To let his bitterness and anger and desire rule his actions. It infuriates him that you're right. There is nothing wrong with his anger. But not finding fault with his anger could lead to not finding fault in his other destructive emotions.

"Maybe your outburst was a bit much," you tease. He flinches as you press your chest against him further, rolling your lip between your teeth. He reaches behind him and grips the railing. His eyes flit between your eyes, your lips, and your chest pressed flush against his. He hardly dared to breathe any longer, fearing the way his body would react if he was stimulated any further. "…But, your anger is valid. It's a normal feeling."

Your words shouldn't be comforting to him in any way. He should condemn them, even though they were true. And yet, part of him feels slightly lighter at that. Even though this line of thinking could lead him to overindulgence, maybe you were right. Maybe it'd be okay to give himself some leeway, if only a little.

"Desire is also a valid feeling too, you know." Your words are slower now, hypnotic. Subaru finds himself watching your tongue move in your mouth as you pronounce the words, reigniting the memory of how that tongue felt on his body. He clenches his fists around the railing harder. He falls right back to where he was previously, reminding himself of the pleasures of control and the dangers of indulgence. Desire was to be controlled. Anger was to be controlled. Nevermind how good any of it felt, nevermind the way his bruises seem to light on fire when you're near, or how his mind seems to scramble like it did when he was underneath you, or how the memories of the sensations he felt that night replay themselves on him in real time. He could feel your teeth, your tongue, your hands, your lips, your chest… everything was replaying itself, over again, just from this.

"You've still got some blood on your lips, by the way…" He doesn't move as you inch closer, feeling his body light up with anticipation as you drag yourself higher up his body, tilting your chin closer to his. He sees your tongue peek out of the corner of your lips.

He knows better than to give in here. The entire reason he's here is to avoid you. But oh, every time he inhales, his chest presses against yours further; he can detect a strangely intoxicating floral scent, and the lust swimming in your gaze only draws him in further. Your breath just barely reaches his chin, and he fails to resist the heat spreading through his body, causing a stirring in his abdomen.

"…Where?" He encourages you, despite himself. His voice doesn't come out any higher than a whisper, but it seems to penetrate the silence in the studio. All that can be heard is your heavy breathing and his shallow breaths in response.

"Right… there…" You bring a finger to your lips, dragging the tip of your finger in a small circle to indicate where it was on his face. He exhales, clinging so hard to the railing he fears it may creak from his strength.

He remains unmoving as you draw closer still, his gaze flickering over your lips and your gaze, glued to his lips. He doesn't roll his lips between his teeth, or even purse them. Instead, he parts them, just slightly.

You move closer, your tongue slipping from between your lips. He hesitates, but doesn't decide soon enough.

He doesn't move, doesn't flinch, doesn't breathe. He stands completely still, staring, waiting.

He should push you away. He should yell at you again. He should remind you of the precarious positions you both held at this school, and how your recklessness threatened the balance. He should know better. He shouldn't give in.

But then he feels your tongue gently graze his bottom lip, and it all falls apart. He tries not to moan, instead letting out a throaty exhale. He savors the feeling of it dragging across the length of his lip and feels his body shudder. He clenches his thighs together, trying to keep from getting too excited.

When you pull back, tucking your tongue into your mouth, Subaru expects more. He knows you're not done. And he's proven right when you bring your finger to your lips again, pointing to a spot just below the corner of your lips. "Here, too…" Your voice is breathy, your eyes are lidded, and Subaru feels himself drawn in all over again.

He holds still, waiting as you lean in again, quicker this time. Your tongue drags along the corner of his lips, tracing the border as though lapping up the blood. Knowing what he wants, he parts his lips, wider this time. He can't tell if your tongue slipping inside is an accident or on purpose, but he doesn't care. He moves his tongue to join yours, pressing his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss.

He pulls you into him all at once, circling an arm around your shoulders and pressing his body flush against yours. His other hand reaches up to hold you by the back of your neck, his thumb pressing harshly into your jaw. The visions come pouring in all at once, and they're all exactly the same as they were before. It's a repeat of you yearning for him—all over again. He can feel his familiar bruises bloom with heat as you press against him, a sickening warmth spreading from his front to his spine. He allows himself to cling to you, as though his grasp slipping for a moment would ruin the trance. His eyes, feeling like lead, close heavily, focusing all his feeling to every point where your bodies connected—his thighs slotted against yours, his stomach and chest shifting in tandem with you, and his hands and lips pressing into your skin. It was all the same, like nothing had changed. If he kept his eyes closed, he could almost imagine he was back in your bed, arching his back and pressing himself against you with urgency, partially pleading to get it over with and partially enjoying the way you made him wait.

He leans away from you for a moment, catching his breath, admiring the string of saliva connecting your lower lips. He inhales deeply, trying to calm his heightened senses. Faintly, he smells flowers—light and sweet, deceptively charming. He shifts, pressing his nose into your neck, inhaling again. Your natural scent mingles with the faint scent of flowers. A shiver runs down his spine, feeling himself growing tense with need again. He lifts himself from your neck, hurriedly kissing you again, drowning himself in your feeling, your taste, your scent.

Your hands move from the railing and dig into his hips, and he groans, jerking them forward and grinding into you. The motion draws a soft moan from you. Though the noise is nearly swallowed by Subaru's louder gasps in comparison, the sound isn't any less tantalizing to him. He pushes his hips forward again, feeling his already hardened length stiffen further from the friction against your thigh. He feels you grind against him in response, pulling his hips closer to yours, separated only by thin layers of fabric.

Subaru gasps for air when you pull away again, trailing kisses down his neck instead. He whimpers, feeling your tongue trace gentle circles on the sensitive skin. He wraps his arms around you, his fingers curling into your blazer. He bites his lip to quiet himself, but he's unsuccessful—your soft, open-mouthed kisses drawing whimpers, groans, and whines alike from him. He felt like he was putty in your hands, perfectly compliant and pliable to whatever you desired. He hesitantly opens his eyes, blinking away tears from how overstimulated he was, when he sees his reflection in the mirror.

There he was, backed up against the wall, you pressed up against every inch of him. You were buried in his neck, your hands shifting his hips to your liking. His face was flushed a deep red, both from building heat and arousal. His hands were pulling desperately on your blazer, overwhelmed by the pleasure you kept subjecting him to. His expression was slack-jawed and comical, his eyes clouded with lust. And god, he hated it.

A sinking feeling settles into his abdomen. Suddenly, his reflection feels grotesque. His clouded expression changes, becoming one of fear before hardening into anger. He had fallen for it all over again. The feeling of you pressed against him at every inch shifted from intoxicating to disgusting. Your mouth on his neck feels violating. And the faint scent of flowers becomes nothing short of repulsive. He doesn't even bother trying to process his anger, acting on it before he can fall again.

He rips his hands from your blazer and pushes you away from him, almost forgetting to reel in his strength. As a result, you stumble backwards several paces, almost losing your balance. He turns away from you, steadying himself against the railing. He cradles his head in one hand, feeling a pounding headache coming on.

He'd done it again. He'd fallen for it again. He almost retches, feeling the taste of you swim in his mouth. He knew, somewhere in him, that he only had himself to blame, but his body rejects the idea, shivering. He swallows deeply, resisting the urge to vomit at the scent of flowers still in the air. Unable to accept the fault as his own, he turns back to you, anger flashing in his gaze.

You flinch at his sudden change in demeanor, already looking confused from when he'd pushed you away. "Subaru, what's—"

"Get out."

You tilt your head questioningly, frustration working its way into your expression. "What? Why—"

"Get out, MC." He repeats himself, holding a hand up in your general direction. He's not sure whether this is to protect himself from your allure or to feel like he could widen the distance between you, but he does it anyway. It's futile, but a comfort nonetheless.

You scoff, and Subaru feels his ire rise. "What's your problem?!" Your voice lifts in volume, your face contorting in anger. Subaru is sure his expression matches yours. "Why do you keep pushing me away? I haven't even—"

"Get out," Subaru snarls, the words dripping with disgust. He tries to ignore the bile in his throat that rises just from looking at you.

"Subaru—"

"GET OUT!" He shouts at the top of his lungs, chest heaving with the combined effort of reeling in his aggression and forcing himself to keep standing. The message must now be clear, because your face falls immediately, settling somewhere between annoyance, anger, and dejection.

You turn on your heel and march out of the studio. Subaru listens to the clack of your shoes on the wooden floor and rejoices at the sound of the door opening and slamming closed behind you. He collapses onto the floor, weakness in his legs from witnessing the visions catching up to him. He covers his mouth with one hand, swallowing over and over again to keep down his urge to vomit at the scent of flowers, still in the air.

This was beginning to feel like a cycle. Subaru could've sworn he'd repeated this, somewhere, at some point.

You were avoiding Subaru. This should feel unfamiliar, but he almost feels as though this is a path he's traversed before. The way you have begun to seem just out of reach—leaving moments before he enters a room, ending a conversation if he happens to be nearby, neglecting to wave at him when you cross paths—this has happened before, but in the opposite direction. He recognizes your actions as almost exact carbon copies of everything he did to avoid you.

To say he's pissed off isn't accurate, but annoyed doesn't cover enough ground. Doing this feels like going in circles. He could predict it already. He would find himself chasing, you would resist, he would find you, you would tease him, he would pin you down, and—

He bites down on his tongue harshly, wincing slightly, halting the depraved, violent fantasy that threatened to curve his trajectory.

No, actually. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't chase you to begin with. If he knew at all what was good for him, he would sit still and let this distance persist. It was better this way. This had to be the answer. He'd felt no regret when he pushed you away after staring at his abhorrent reflection with a level of disgust he'd never felt before. Your lips pressed sloppily into his neck, reigniting week-old bruises in just the right way, his fingers curled helplessly into your blazer, his eyes clouded over with lust—the image has bile rapidly rising to his throat. He swallows it down, thoughtlessly chewing at his gloved thumb, failing to flinch when the taste of copper leaks over his tongue.

"Hey, Suba, you're bleeding," Lyca warns, grabbing Subaru's sleeve and ripping his thumb away from his teeth. He shocks awake from his stupor, staring down at his ruined glove, bitten through, crimson blood oozing from a cut on his thumb. "What's up with you?" Lyca grumbles, wrapping his hand around Subaru's wrist, careful not to touch his skin.

The light rain of Hotarubi plips on his cheek, bringing Subaru back to reality. He was walking with Lyca to the secluded hut on the outskirts of the dorm. Bamboo and mist surrounded them on all sides. He'd been so far gone he hadn't noticed he was beginning to veer off the path, his footsteps heading for the exit instead. He was losing it; he knew it. If he couldn't even keep his cool around Lyca, how had he been acting around the other students? He shakes his wrist from Lyca's grasp, apologizing. "I'm sorry, Lyca." He rubs his wrist with his other hand, observing the cut on his thumb as it heals. "I've just been distracted."

Lyca hums absentmindedly in response, watching him carefully. "Is it that project you were working on?" He asks bluntly, looking at Subaru expectantly.

Subaru stiffens, swallowing thickly. He guesses, in a way, it could be considered a project. Though he's not sure what the finished product will be. "Ah… I suppose you could say that, yes."

From the look Lyca's giving him, Subaru knows he's unconvinced. Subaru hopelessly plasters a nervous smile on his face, hoping it's either convincing or conveys the message, 'Don't ask'. Lyca, as expected, does not pick up on it. "Why are you smilin' all weird? Is the project hard or something?"

Subaru grimaces, shaking his head. "No, it's—" He stops, considering his words. He's not sure what, but something presses him to be honest with Lyca. "…Kind of." He starts walking again, and Lyca follows, turning down the hidden path to the hut.

"What's making it hard?"

"Ideation," Subaru answers, the word slipping out before he could think about it. Lyca gives him a quizzical look, so he continues, "I would like for this project to…" He trails off, considering how to phrase this. Stay in line? Obey his vision? Go the right way? He should be the first one to know that art hardly ever turns out how you want it to. He himself was a project; one borne of his inherited ambition and perfectionism that had failed miserably and needed to be isolated to prevent further inflammation and, hopefully, be salvaged. It was why he was here, at Darkwick, practicing performances rather than back in the heart of Tokyo, feeling the pressure of a crowd under blinding lights and several layers of makeup to alter his masculine appearance.

He sighs, stopping in his tracks right before the entrance to the hut, unintentionally shrinking into himself, shyly crossing his arms over his body. He was usually in perfect control of his reactions, emotions, expressions, and the like. Impulse was a word in his dictionary, but it was usually used to describe the actions of others rather than himself. Even when he gave himself to you, he had complete control over the situation—he had set it up, he had carefully planned his words, he had intentionally served you a certain flavor of tea, he had even presented himself a certain way to elicit his desired response from you—it was all under his control. But now, you were being unpredictable, an undesirable outcome. He felt like he was no longer in control, like he once was—you incited his deepest desires, beckoning them forward, when he'd wanted them to stay sated after learning all there was to gain was the temporary bliss of an orgasm. You also incited his worst emotions, somehow able to pierce through his placid exterior to the tumultuous rage that lay within. It wasn't part of the plan. He felt as though it was all quickly spiraling out of control.

"…Suba?" Lyca's hesitant voice brings him back to reality again, and he nods quickly, grimacing at the way his head spins from the sudden movement.

"Right, yes. Um…" He hesitates, carefully piecing the sentence together before speaking it. "I… I would like for this project to stay under control."

Lyca kicks at the ground, scuffing up the dirt path and ruining his sneakers. "Is it not stayin' under control?"

"Not at all," Subaru allows his posture to sag with these words, displaying the stress it's put him under. "I'm working with…" He recoils at the thought of saying your name, and his lips waver before forcing out "…a partner. I would like for it to follow a plan, but my partner…" His mind flickers back to you. Memories of your insatiable insolence plague him. He swallows before he can retch out of disgust. "My partner isn't going along with the plan." He frowns, turning his gaze to the ground. "I'm not sure how to convince them… to obey the plan." Their insolence irks me, lingers on his tongue, but remains unsaid. He's almost certain the words would come out rancorous and terse, which would shatter his current demure image.

Lyca tilts his head, looking away from Subaru for a few moments. He soon turns back to Subaru, oblivious to the inner turmoil he's about to cause. "Then, you can just take back control, right?"

A jolt passes through Subaru. Lyca doesn't notice.

"I mean, it'd be easy," Lyca continues, placing a hand to his chin, thinking it over. "You're captain, right?" Lyca nods to himself, seemingly agreeing with his own train of thought. "And a ghoul. The humans are all scared of us." Lyca hesitates, a conflicted look passing over his face, before waving off his concerns and shrugging heedlessly. "I don't think they'd argue if you showed them who's boss."

Lyca phrased it callously, but Subaru understands what he means. He'd never thought of doing that before. Taking control from you. Technically, he could do that. He was stronger, he held more authority, and he could naturally command you if he desired. He just had to pull the strings the right way. But it was possible. It was possible. A wave of hope and euphoria passes through him before being replaced by a second wave of reminders.

You were still intentionally avoiding him. How could he lure you to him again? He clicks his tongue in annoyance, giving a tight smile when Lyca glances at him, confused. Humans were annoyingly fickle. Much to his dismay, he was no exception.

He wasn't even certain he wanted to reignite what had previously been. What was the point of chasing you again? It would make him feel desperate, especially when you hadn't shown any desperation capable of justifying or matching his own. Chasing you would be a hapless endeavor, unrewarding and unsatisfactory. He'd already seen his reflection and the disgust it wrought from him. A repeat would be nothing but torture.

He steps inside the hut after Lyca, stooping low to fit through the small door. His mood had been utterly soured by his revelation, so much so that he hardly felt like keeping up his persona. Still, trained for perfection, he carefully lowers himself to one side of the table, kneeling politely. Lyca haphazardly tumbles to the floor, stretching out his legs to the side of the table.

"Lyca," Subaru whispers before he can stop himself, tensing his jaw to force the question out, "how would you go about chasing something you can't catch?"

Lyca turns to him, frowning. "What? What is that s'posed to mean?"

Subaru shakes his head, a conflicted smile on his face. "Humor me, please."

"Uh…" Lyca swings his head away, tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling. "I dunno…" He puzzles over the question, tilting his head to one side. "I'd just keep goin' after it."

Subaru's gaze clouds over, memories of your relentless search for him resurfacing in his mind. His gloved hands curl into fists in his lap, feeling a flash of anger. Of course, Lyca would continue chasing it, even if he couldn't quite reach it. You acted similarly, continuing to pester Subaru even after his repeated dodging and avoidance. Worse, you'd managed to catch him and drive him further towards what felt like his own undoing.

He didn't want to chase you. That wasn't the way this project was supposed to go. He preferred to trap or cage you, as he'd done before, but breaking into your dorm was no longer an option. That would reflect poorly on his predictability. He had to bait you, somehow.

Subaru preferred setting something up and waiting for someone to fall for it. Luring someone. He wanted to lead you on, straight into his trap again, and help you realize that this was supposed to go a different way. He was always meant to be in control.

Perhaps that itself was the answer. Reciprocating your actions. Ignoring your presence. You were too arrogant in your own abilities not to notice that if he tried. He could simply do what he did before—avoid you. You would come crawling back to him… and everything would fall back into place, right as it was before.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thread snaps.

"Suba?" Lyca questions him, tilting his head close to the table. Subaru startles slightly, lifting his gaze. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Subaru answered hurriedly, waving Lyca off with a smile. "I'm fine," he repeats, a light mumble under his breath, clenching his jaw. He just had to make this work.

Subaru must be down on his luck.

Unfortunately, the plan he'd formed, heavily based in seeming uninterested, had failed him. He couldn't pretend to be uninterested now, not in front of other people. He had to maintain his facade.

Haku nudges him for the umpteenth time, the look on his face somewhere between concern and exasperation. Wordless communication passes through them for a moment before Subaru smiles sheepishly, hoping to alleviate Haku's concern. When Haku appears satisfied, he goes back to dressing himself in faux shyness, keeping his glass close to his face, watching the red liquid swirl.

One of the Hotarubi first years had attempted brewing anamolous wine as their first project, using tools from Mortkranken to perfect it. Subaru had received a bottle as a gift, along with pleas from the student to let him know how it tasted. Subaru, ever the upstanding house captain, agreed and thanked the student with grace. He'd initially planned not to have any and to pass it off to Haku instead, but when he finally found Haku, conveniently, he found you and Zenji, too. Haku wouldn't turn down a free drink, and you nodded enthusiastically, and now, Subaru couldn't take back the offer. So here you all were, and Subaru hoped the wine would swallow him instead of vice versa.

Zenji was deep into one of his melodious poems, strumming his biwa and reciting them in a deep, dramatic, booming voice. You were hanging on to his every word, halfway through your wine glass. Subaru doesn't think he's ever seen anyone so engrossed in one of Zenji's poems before, and wonders if the alcohol is playing a part in this. As his eyes trail back to his glass, however, he's quickly reminded that he has yet to take a single sip, and isn't sure if he wants to. Wine could be potent, and if he didn't play his cards right, he had more to risk if he ended up under the influence.

Just as he demurely puts his glass down, fixing his face into one of slight exasperation and about to cite a half-hearted lie so he could leave, you swing your arms wide open in shock at a twist in Zenji's poem, your glass accidentally colliding with his. It tips over, splashing its contents over Subaru's uniform, your glass shattering as it drops to the table. You turn to it in a panic, reaching for it, before hissing and pulling back, blood oozing from a cut in your palm. Haku immediately starts, setting his glass down and pulling your hand towards him. Subaru blinks a few times, gathering his bearings.

He's beginning to wonder if all the prior incidents were you using your clumsiness to your own advantage.

"Alright, princess," Haku voices, examining the cut on your hand, face pulled into a frown. Subaru can hardly hear him over Zenji's tutting. "That's enough for you."

You don't voice a reply, staring frustratedly down at the cut on your palm. Haku turns to Subaru, and he turns to him on autopilot, blinking confusedly. Haku raises a brow. "Are you alright?"

Subaru's not sure if he nods or continues staring, but whatever he does, Haku accepts it, nodding and turning back to you.

Ending up drenched in wine is really not how he wanted to spend today, but alas, fate has other plans. He sighs, rising to his feet, surveying the damage. You hurriedly stand to your feet, pulling your hand from Haku in the process. "I'm sorry!" Subaru stares, almost surprised at the genuineness of your apology. Your honesty felt foreign to him.

Before long, he shakes his head, smiling timidly. "It's alright." He's not sure how genuine his forgiveness is, but he doesn't bother considering it further. His eyes cast down to your palm instead. "Here, follow me," he smiles kindly, the picture of innocent intentions. "I'll walk you to Professor Nicolas." Maybe he could spend the entire walk there ignoring you. How cathartic that would be.

Haku shakes his head. "You don't need to do that." He gestures vaguely at Subaru, red wine staining the white of his collar. "I can take her. Shouldn't you get cleaned up?"

"No, it's fine." Subaru cuts Haku off, perhaps a little too quickly, eager to get this over with. "I won't be long, and I can wash the clothes when I get back." He looks up at them, putting on his best performance of selflessness. "I'm the one who brought the wine in the first place, so it's my responsibility." Hint of shyness in his voice, slight twinge of embarrassment, faint blush dusting his cheeks. It was perfect. He could applaud himself for how well he upheld his facade.

He turns to you again, a pitying smile on his face. "Shall we?" He doesn't wait for an answer, striding out of the room, confident you would follow him.

He's a decent number of steps away when he hears you catching up; your pace quickening to match his. He doesn't so much as turn back to acknowledge your presence, continuing on his way down the halls of Hotarubi. He feels tension building, and your gaze boring into him, but he ignores you easily, determined to lure you just as he'd done before, albeit unintentionally. But he should have been prepared, because you haven't even exited the main building before you tap him on the shoulder, singsong voice accompanying the fleeting touch.

"Subaru," you speak cloyingly, walking on his right side. "You can't ignore me forever."

He almost scoffs, but prevents himself from reacting, turning down a corner instead. He was wondering when your manipulative personality would rear its ugly head again, and here it was—ready to drag him right back into depravity.

He continues to ignore you, pretending not to feel your tapping or hear your voice. He could laugh at how easily it irks you, presenting in how your tapping becomes more insistent.

"Come on, Subaru," you tease him. He already knows you want a reaction out of him, and he refuses to give it. "At least be nice to your guest."

He doesn't see any reason to perform for you any longer, so why bother with that? As far as he was concerned, you didn't deserve an ounce of kindness from him. He ignores you still, nodding politely as a Hotarubi student passes to rub it in.

He thinks he's finally managed to subdue you when he doesn't hear anything from you for several moments, rejoicing in the silence as it finally settles in that he won't cave to your desires any longer. At least, he does until you appear in front of him, having quickened your pace to stand in front of him and block his way.

"Subaru," you aren't yelling, but he can hear the insistence in your voice. "You look up at him, smile betraying your intentions. "You can't ignore me forever."

Before he can step around you, you step out of his way, not to continue down the hall, but to slip into a narrow closet in Hotarubi's halls, demonstrating you wouldn't cooperate unless he followed you. He grinds his teeth in fury, having half a mind to continue down the hall without you and make his way to his room instead. But he knew you would follow him once you figured out his destination, and he didn't feel like leading you in circles around Hotarubi.

He turns to look at you, your teasing gaze seeming to gloat in how you know you've got him. He relents, anger twisting his expression as he steps towards you, disappearing into the closet with you as you pull him by his shoulder.

He shrugs your hand off of him once you're in the closet, immediately replacing the distance between you, blinking and adjusting his eyes to the low light. "I'm supposed to be taking you to Professor Nicolas." Even he knows his words are empty. They don't hold the conviction of a reminder. Rather, they thinly veil his growing anticipation, forcing his irritation to take center stage. He always felt conflicted when it came to you, but at some point, he'd stopped fighting it. He's not sure why.

"It's only a scratch," you say, a smile full of unsavory intentions spreading across your face. "I'd be more worried about the wine soaking your clothes."

"Then, why have you pulled me in here?" Subaru cuts to the chase, already tired of dancing around the topic. He turns back around to face you, honest confusion and exasperation coloring his expression. He'd stopped hiding his true feelings around you, too. It made no sense to even try when you could read him at a glance.

"Don't play coy."

"Don't dodge the question." Subaru flicks his fingers in a show of waving you off, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Please," he adds as an afterthought. He wasn't sure whether or not he was genuinely pleading with you for clarity, and he didn't really care. He frowns, the furrow between his brows deepening when you only smile in response. He presses his lips into a thin line, shifting his gaze away from you towards the floor. He could leave, right now, if he wanted to. But he knows that you know that he knows he doesn't want to, so why bother trying?

He levels his gaze with you again, recoiling internally at the wave of sickeningly sweet stench of flowers that hits his nose. His teeth dig into his bottom lip. He's not sure when, but something about you had become repulsive to him. As much as he felt like he craved your fingers over him again, something about imagining that brought bile to his mouth as much as it set his skin on fire. Your very presence infuriated him—but he knew to keep a cool head by now. Blowing up on you would set him back at square one. It didn't matter whether or not he was repulsed by you. He was realizing he couldn't get by anymore without some depraved encounter with you, if only to temporarily bring some quiet to his yearning mind, keeping it from replaying the events like a broken record.

It'd been too long. Far, far too long. And you were far too willing to indulge him now, but he wasn't going to question it.

You step towards him, and he steps back in tandem, keeping the gap until his back pressed against the wall of the closet, and he could go no further. He doesn't shrink back, simply watching you make your way towards him. He knew what you wanted. An insatiable appetite swims in your lascivious gaze, and he was certain that, despite his disgust, he mirrored your desires.

'Disgusting,' he thinks. 'You're disgusting.' He bites back the urge to say it, well aware of his own hypocrisy. If you were disgusting, then he was too, for craving you.

Your fingers press into his sternum, following a slow path up his chest, to his neck. "It's soaked," you whisper, hooded eyes landing on his throat. He swallows, a shiver running down his spine as your gaze watches the movement. You begin to press harder when you reach his collar.

He'd love to remind you that his being soaked in wine was your fault, but the words die on his lips when you hook your fingers underneath his tie, pressing your knuckles into his throat and pulling him towards you. He follows without much qualm, bending forward until your faces are a mere hair apart.

He swallows again, trying to force down the bile that threatens to ruin his anticipation. God, he felt sick, with no one else to blame for it but himself. He can feel your breath fanning across his lips. Every time he inhales, he feels your chest just slightly press into his. Your thigh was gently pushing his legs apart, guiding itself to his waiting arousal. It simultaneously tightens the knot in his abdomen and stokes his nausea. He wanted you so much that it made him sick.

Your eyes were still trained low on his neck, and he could feel you loosening his tie, prying at the buttons underneath. Common sense regarding time and place dimly strikes him, but he doesn't react to it. Right now, it didn't matter. He was too sick with desperate arousal to care.

"Aw," you hum, moving your face away from his and closer to his chest instead, studying the areas where the wine had soaked through to his skin. "It's all sticky…" You murmur. He sighs at the feeling of your breath on his exposed chest, closing his eyes, preparing to submit to whatever sensations you would put him through. It'd been far too long.

"It'd be a shame…" You slowly draw closer. Subaru feels his chest grow warm as he waits. "…If it all went to waste." You hum, feigning deliberation over what to do. He bites his tongue, suppressing the urge to plead with you to hurry up. His teeth dig into his lower lip, and his thighs clamp over yours, still shoved between his legs. You laugh, and the sound is as beautiful as it makes his ire spark. "What do you think?"

He's barely managed to hum out a shaky "Yes," before your lips are on his chest, tongue dragging at the sticky red residue. He moans, purely out of bliss, collapsing onto the wall behind him. Your hands snake around his waist and he curves into the touch, squeezing at your shoulders as you lap up the wine on his shoulder.

Here you were again, pressed flush against him, using lips and tongue to tease moans out of him all over again.

You're disgusting. He's disgusting. His grip on your shoulders tightens, desperate to push you away and regain some semblance of control or sanity. Your tongue on his neck alone shouldn't weaken his resolve this strongly, but he can't find it in himself to push hard enough.

Something between a confused moan and an angered growl sounds from his throat when you suddenly push away, wiping your lips, smirking at him mockingly. "But that's not what you want, right?" You hum, pulling yourself further away and stepping back. His bleary gaze finds yours, still reeling from the residual pleasure and shift in tone. "You don't want me."

Rage simmers within his abdomen, threatening to burst forth. Here you were again, acting as though this wasn't your fault. This was the opposite of what he had planned. He was to be the one trapping you, and yet here he was, back against the wall, dress shirt half-open, neckline drenched in wine, staring at you with nothing but antipathy.

You only giggle at his obvious contempt and shrug half-heartedly, rolling your eyes, continuing your backwards prance. "I guess you just don't fit."

'Liar,' burns on his tongue, but all that comes out is an exhale. There had to be a way to turn the tide in his favor; he was certain there was. He just had to—

'Then, you can just take back control, right?' Lyca's words echo in his brain, reminding him of their earlier discussion. He could take back control. A sinking feeling settles within him. He swallows thickly, noting the tightness of his throat at the thought. This had not gone the way he had wanted. None of it had. Originally, he'd wanted to trap you with his own feigned disinterest, making you feel just as conflicted and as misguided as he had, completely without direction. However, here he was, still conflicted and misguided, likely right where you wanted him. How abhorrent. Everything was falling apart, nothing was going according to plan—and it was your fault. It was all your fault.

He finds himself rapidly spiraling, digging up reasons to pin the blame on you. You'd been the one to touch him first, then proceeded to continue touching him, purposely, revealing more and more of yourself to him… Luring him. Bile begins to rise in his throat, a harsh burning threatening to tear him from the inside out. He should have realized it sooner, but no, he was too busy falling for it—the delicious depravity of it all.

A short, crazed laugh sounds from him before he can stop it, freedom and hopelessness washing over him all at once. "Of course…" He buries his face in his hands, feeling close to tears. Finally, it all made sense. Now, he just had to rectify it. "I've been such a fool…"

"Goodnight, Subaru." The finality of your voice startles him, and he lifts his head to gaze at you. Your visage was hazy, blurred by tears threatening to spill forth. "Sorry it didn't—"

In a flash, he's already across the room, standing before you, iron grip on your wrist, moments away from opening the door. When he looks at you, he's not sure what he's feeling, but he knows, for once, the smile on his face is far deeper than genuine. "No," he says, pulling your wrist away from the door, tightening his grip with every passing second. The fear in your gaze is truly something to savor. He shakily inhales, feeling himself begin to shiver with glee. "You don't get to do that to me anymore, MC."

He registers the panic in your expression, and it only spurs him on further. He lifts his hand to your chin, gently redirecting your gaze to his, and harshly gripping your chin so it stays in place. Finally. He had you trapped, and he knew you knew it. His grin widens, a deceptively soft, kind smile spreading across his face. "I'm sorry," he starts, beholding you with a unique softness, "and I really do mean that. But," his expression darkens, his smile shrinking. "I can't let you get away this time."

He carefully releases your jaw from his grip, noting the bruises already forming from his strength. He would control his strength, but where's the merit in that? He still wasn't done.

"Lie down," he orders, like it was the easiest thing in the world. He lets go of your wrist, bruises on your wrist forming in the shape of his fingerprints. You stand stock still, frozen like a deer in headlights. He notes your disobedience, but idly figures he should have expected this. He turns to face you fully, his face devoid of any kindness or leeway. "Lie down."

You shift your position, and Subaru sees it coming from a mile away. He grabs your hand before it can connect with his face, squeezing until you groan in pain. He sighs and shakes his head, voice full of false pity. "I should've known you would insist on making this harder than it needs to be." Your look of defiance is enough to break his facade right back into his haunting smile. "Very well."

He shoves you to the ground, and you don't have the time to think of moving away before he's kneeling over you, caging you in. He stares down at you impassively, as though you were something uninteresting, but he's sure you can read him like a book. Finally, he had you. He takes a moment to savor it, feeling his heartbeat pick up in his ears as he stares down at you. This was nothing short of depraved, violent, and perverse, but he wasn't going to stop. The idea of this made his skin crawl as much as it turned him on. Finally. No more excuses. No more running away. No more flipping the script. He would make sure this was inevitable and permanent.

His thoughts are rudely interrupted by a blow to his stomach, causing him to recoil. He tumbles backwards, groaning in pain, while you hastily shuffle away from him, limbs uncoordinated from shock. He spits and curses under his breath, thankful for his quick recovery. He watches you struggle for a moment, sighing to himself disappointedly. He should have known you wouldn't make this easy, and you should have known that you weren't going to be fast enough. He grabs your legs, pulling you back to him almost effortlessly. You don't cry out of shock, but you look up at him, and oh, it is the sweetest expression he's seen on your face in some time.

Here you are before him, completely demoralized. The look you're giving him is one he can only describe as pure defeat. From your pursed lips, he knows you're finally accepting it, but the look in your eyes is captivating—still holding some semblance of defiance. He smiles kindly, noting your stillness. He knows better, however, than to assume you've given up. He won't fall for that again.

He breathes shakily, feeling heat pool in his lower abdomen as he spreads your legs apart, reveling in the minimal resistance. As much as he would like to savor this moment, pinning you down is the priority. He pulls your thighs apart as far as they can go, noting the growing discomfort on your face with glee, before kneeling on your thighs, pressing all of his weight forward, and pinning you to the ground. Leaning over you, he takes your wrists and holds them above your head, pinning them firmly in place.

He swallows thickly, feeling heat crawl down his groin and up his neck. He surveys your body, eyes flitting from one spot to another—your tense expression, fiery eyes gleaming with defiance, your wrinkled blazer, dress shirt pulled askew underneath, your skirt—his teeth dig into his lower lip with anticipation. His eyes trail over your lifted skirt and panties, his tongue flicking over his lips in excitement. He slowly trails his free hand over the outline of your panties, twisted smile forming on his face.

He doesn't comment on how wet you already are, certain you feel shamed enough. He does, however, smile in satisfaction at how you squirm, feeling his fingers trace familiar patterns over the thin cloth barrier. He soon hooks his finger under the gusset, pulling it to the side, revealing your twitching core. A throaty exhale sounds from him, his gloved fingers prodding at you, watching you for your reaction. He remembers the exact pattern to rub your clit in, and presses his thumb into it, going in soft, gentle strokes. His face breaks into an eager smile as you arch your back, several jolts passing through you. Your teeth dig into your lip, desperate to keep quiet, but Subaru doesn't care, too caught up in enjoying the way your anger and defeat melt into pleasure. Your arousal seeps through his gloves, the warm liquid staining his fingers. He shivers, finally pulling back, observing his stained glove.

He thinks he's kept himself waiting long enough. He pulls the glove from his hand with his teeth, still holding down your wrists. He tosses his glove to the side, making direct eye contact with you as his hand snakes down to his belt buckle. "You could scream," he states simply, gazing at you, flushed cheeks the only thing betraying his neutral expression. "Why don't you?"

The clink and slide of his belt coming undone are the only sounds in the closet before you finally speak up, hints of trepidation betraying your discomfort. "Would you even let me if I tried?"

Subaru's face breaks into a smile in response, his eyes so deceptively kind. He hums contentedly, undoing his zipper and pulling down his boxers, sighing in pleasure as his length is freed, poking long and tall from his pants. "No," he answers, directing himself to your folds, sighing sweetly again as the tip makes contact with you, flinching at the onslaught of visions he was sure to experience. "I wouldn't have."

He sinks into you, and all at once, the visions come pouring in. He struggles, trying not to collapse on you, keeping his eyes shut tight as he sinks further in. A moan slips out of him once he bottoms out, laying himself into your chest and pressing his lips to your ear. He repositions his knees, the bone digging into your thighs as he starts thrusting, pistoning his hips back and forth at a nearly punishing pace, his free hand stroking your clit. You don't cry out, instead letting out a strangled gasp, to which he smiles, continuing his pace. You refuse to make much noise at all, keeping your moans deep in your throat, staying as silent as possible.

He sees it all, the visions refusing to fade. The dejection you'd felt after your encounter at the studio, the contempt you felt for him after, and the pleasure you'd felt in knowing you were driving him into a wall, each and every time. Unable to keep himself from making some noise, he muffles his moans just behind your jaw, mouthing lightly at the sensitive skin there. He can feel his strength begin to slip as a result of the visions, his thrusts becoming stuttered and erratic.

He tilts his head until his lips are by your ear again, swallowing his moans and whispering in your ear instead. "This could have been avoided." He hears your teeth grind in annoyance, bringing a soft smile to his face. He exhales on your ear, feeling you shiver in response. "All you had to do," he starts, lifting his free hand from your clit and gripping your jaw again, pushing his thumb past your lips and pressing down on your tongue, "was refrain from interfering."

'And yet, here you are,' Subaru thinks, lifting his head to catch your gaze, anger and the final bits of defiance still flaring through, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes. Your mouth was still open, tongue flat under Subaru's thumb, coated in remnants of your essence and your saliva. Small sounds escaped you with each driven thrust, your body jerking in unwanted pleasure. Here you both were. Your interference was inevitable; he should have known.

'And that is what makes this inevitable,' he thinks to himself, burying his face back into the crook of your neck, his hand releasing your jaw. He presses his lips into your neck, feeling his peak begin to approach. His thrusts grow more erratic, just as harsh but growing less coordinated. His free hand slides down to your clit again, thumbing it in gentle strokes, bringing you to the edge just as he was.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in your ear, voice shaking with arousal. He's breathing heavily, his words punctured by moans and uncontrollable whimpers. "But you've left me no choice. This had to be done." He speeds up his thrusting, muffling his moans into the crook of your neck as he nears his peak. He groans at the feeling of your twitching walls reaching a similar peak, keeping the steady pace of his thumb stroking your clit.

He pumps into you a few more times before he cums, his hips stuttering as his orgasm washes over him. His cum gushes into you, warm and sedating, his cock twitching as it forces the last drops out. His moans are muffled in your skin, his eyelashes fluttering against your ear. He feels you reach your peak soon after, clit trembling under his fingers as your walls clench around his length, sending one last spark of pleasure through him. He slows his thumb until his movements ease to a halt, letting himself catch his breath. His grip on your wrists was already slipping, and his knees were beginning to wobble, unable to hold himself up anymore.

Before any more of his strength can leave him, he hurriedly lifts himself off of you, releasing his grip on your wrists and slowly pulling himself out, collapsing backwards into a seated position.

The repeated visions finally cease, and his weakened state catches up with him. He stays seated, panting, his hands flat on the ground behind him in an effort to keep himself upright. He suddenly becomes aware of the uncomfortable feeling of sweat trapped under his collar, on his forehead, and between his shirt and blazer. His length, still twitching from aftershock, was sticky with his release and yours mixed together. His entire body was unusually warm, and he was sure his face and chest were visibly colored a deep red, even in the dim light of the closet. And yet, despite all these uncomfortable sensations, a wave of satisfaction passes through him, especially when he looks over to witness your twitching form, still leaking his release.

Finally, it was over. He closes his eyes, savoring his earned victory. He hardly stirs until he hears movement from you, finally lifting yourself up.

From the way you barely move your legs, he can tell they're weak from the aftermath. You slump over, shakily holding yourself up on your arms, eyes trained on the floor. A pang of guilt spreads through Subaru's stomach as he looks at you pityingly. Despite his guilt, he says nothing, turning away from you, instead focusing on the weakness in his limbs. Unable to hold himself up much longer, he leans forward, his arms resting in his lap instead.

Eventually, he'd have to leave the closet, but he couldn't see himself doing that while he was still so weak. A strong orgasm paired with multiple visions had completely drained him. Still, once his strength returns, he supposes he'll be alright.

Out of permeating guilt, he turns to look at you again, only to find you right next to him, staring at him. He startles before recognizing the anger flashing in your gaze. He exhales, the bitter side of the victory making itself known. Yet, as far as Subaru was concerned, he had nothing to say to you. He'd said everything he needed to you when he explained this was inevitable, so if you were waiting on an apology, you would be waiting a long time.

But, he supposes it was kinder to provide you with some semblance of closure. He turns to you, ready to don his best pitying smile, before you suddenly push him to the ground, keeping your hands on his shoulders.

He blinks up at you, dazed, unease creeping into his stomach. "MC…" He starts, hoping this isn't what he assumes it will be. He's never met anyone as completely unsatiable as you are. He puts on his best pathetically pleading voice, hoping you'll listen to reason. "I'm too weak from the visions. I couldn't—"

"Shut up!" You interrupt him, clapping a hand over his mouth. Subaru twitches, feeling himself become overwhelmed with your residual thoughts from the encounter. You climb on top of him, and for a moment, Subaru recognizes the wild look in your eyes as the one he'd had prior. "You—" You lean over him, vitriol hanging on to every syllable, "You are going to lie here and take it." Subaru feels the unease creeping into his stomach twist itself into fear. "Just like I did." He tries to reach for your hand and force it off of him, but he's unsuccessful, his grip too weak to do anything, his brain swimming as he witnesses what he did to you from your point of view.

The fear overwhelms him immediately, anger following suit. Helplessness, betrayal, and panic all seep into him, mirroring your emotions. Blinded by the visions, he watches himself from your point of view as he took you, his face barely visible in the low light, shrouded in darkness, his smiles more haunting than kind. He feels your rage boiling throughout the entirety of the encounter, your initial fear only fueling it. His vision swims, images of you and of your perception of him melding. He blinks repeatedly, swallowing thickly as the reality of the situation from your perspective dawns on him.

He gasps, and he's back, watching you mount him. His arms lay above his head, pinned down by you. He panics, lifting his knees to his chest to try and protect himself, but he's too late. He can hardly fight against you in this state, his mind still a jumbled mess between his own emotions, yours, his memories of the encounter, and your memories of it bleeding into each other.

He pants, his panic and fear rising in his abdomen. "Get off!" He stammers, trying futilely to pull his arms from your grasp or buck you off of him with his hips. Previously overwhelmed by visions, his arms shake when he tries to pull his wrists from your grasp, and his hips stutter and jerk under you. His fear escalates upon realizing he can't physically escape you. "W-Wait, MC—!" Panic and desperation color his tone, rapidly rising in volume. His panting turns into heaving as he finds himself squirming and shifting as much as he can to fight against the events.

He's not even sure his words are reaching you. The look on your face mirrors his prior, too far gone to interpret his pleas or cries for it to stop. You keep holding him down, reaching for his length, still sensitive and twitching with aftershock. He tries to twist himself out of your grasp, but he can't move—your full body weight seated just under his groin.

"Ugh!" He tries to stifle his moans, pain and pleasure coursing through him as you line him up with your fluttering heat. Despite himself, he watches with bated breath as you descend onto him, your heat engulfing him in mere moments. He whines, still feeling the intoxicating post-orgasmic bliss despite the pain from overstimulation and the fear from the act. "P-Please…" He begs, biting his tongue and groaning when you slowly lift your hips, setting a pace. "Mmngh, please don't do this…" His heels dig into the floor, desperate for at least some facade of stability among the instability in his mind. He lets out a low moan as you slide yourself back down, speeding up. "Ah! Oh, fuck, please—"

His pleading is brought to an immediate halt when you slap your hand over his mouth, muffling his words. Your nails dig into his cheek, forming crescent-shaped bruises in his skin. You whisper harshly to him in a low voice, not even acknowledging his begging. "Keep quiet! It's like you want to get caught."

Subaru whimpers, the horror of it all finally settling in. There was truly nothing he could do. Just as his actions against you were inevitable, so too was this. A sickening pit forms in his stomach, realizing all he can do is watch.

Thankfully, it doesn't seem you'll last long, not with how each bounce has your thighs shaking with effort. Not that Subaru would last long either, his sensitive cock twitching as your walls slide back and forth over his length all over again. His cries from overstimulation remain muffled by your hand, and he begins to get lightheaded from the intensive strain on his body and reduced oxygen getting to his brain. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ride it out, waiting until this violating ordeal is finished.

This was torture. His hands curl into softened fists, his body tensing as he feels himself drawing close for the second time, under much less favorable conditions. His eyes begin to burn, tears pricking at the edges, and a lump forms in his throat. He wishes his body wasn't responding the way it was; cock twitching and nipples pebbling and body flushing and sweating with heat and arousal. He wishes he hadn't fallen for your bait, expertly designed to string him along until he fell from grace. He wishes he weren't here, under you, participating in a losing battle, being forced to take it. He wishes he hadn't lost.

Shame ends up serving as the greatest reminder of why he shouldn't have fallen, coursing through him as he rapidly approaches his peak. His muffled whimpers and groans grow louder, and so do your quiet gasps and throaty exhales. He squeezes his thighs together, hands trembling, his breathing quickening and worsening his dizziness. When you finally reach yours, slamming your hips down on his and squeezing your walls against him, he cums, a loud moan sounding from his throat. He shivers, feeling himself pump and twitch inside you, his peak melting his brain a second time.

You ride out your orgasm, rolling your hips back and forth until you're satisfied, settling into stillness. The only sounds heard for a moment are your heavy breathing until you release Subaru's wrists and face. He immediately takes a deep inhale, coughing at the sudden influx of oxygen. He turns away the best he can with you still on top of him, hiding his face with his hands as his coughing slowly devolves into sobbing. It's only a few sobs, but it's mortifying nonetheless, feeling shameful as he keeps himself turned away, refusing to look at you.

He groans when you slide off of him, though he doesn't turn to look, instead turning his hips over to hide himself from you fully. He hurriedly wipes his eyes, peering at your stumbling form from the floor. You were standing shakily over him, most of your weight resting on the narrow closet wall.

A moment passes between you as he gazes at you, saying nothing. There is neither fondness nor disgust in your gaze, rather something he can't name, though he's sure he looks much the same. Neither understanding nor disagreement passes between you. It would be wrong to call it a compromise. Eventually, Subaru looks away.

There's a shorter stretch of silence until he finally hears slow footsteps, and watches you walk towards the closet door out of his peripheral. You spare him one final glance, to which he twitches, before opening the door. He notices the light catch on a thin trail of white sliding down your inner thigh before you step out, the door closing behind you.

He turns on his back, staring at the ceiling again. He would have to get up eventually.

well. there's that. god i have a headache everyone enjoy 4r im. on the brink of death.

the flowers i listed 4 subaru had a specific purpose btw: red anemones: forsaken love, expected love, anticipation; blue hydrangeas: regret, rejection; violet petunias: resentment, residual anger.

ANYWAYS please enjoy this i put my blood and tears in2 it. no sweat but i was certainly sweating while queuing.

anyways. sources for help with dealing with sa or violence:

Rainn

Wanna talk about it?

songs i listened 2 while writing this:

tongue - girlfriend of the year (you make me feel like im always in my mind, always in my mind, mind...)

colors - halsey (everything is blue and subaru is out of his mind.)

nervous - the neighbourhood (nervous? why? we knew we would end up here anyway.)

mind brand - maretu (in a way, haven't you branded each other's minds?)

taglist: @cupcakesmoothie @aayakashii @sunskosh @glamorousspoon @mmy-meow @dailyvahine @diluxama @madamedesalaunier @gulaaren-123 @otaku-explosion @maruayase @giigiselleee @genevathekitty @ox-ren-xo @justaclusterofnothing

i double checked the taglist but i could be wrong due to recent spring cleaning. let me know if i forgot you!!!!

want 2 join or be removed from the tkdb taglist? let me know!

divider credit to @/thecutestgrotto!

#minors dni #tkdb #tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #tdb #tokyo debunker mc #tkdb smut #tokyo debunker subaru #subaru kagami #subaru kagami x mc #subaru kagami x reader #tokyo debunker smut #subaru kagami x reader smut #subaru kagami x mc smut

Trending Blogs

Last Seen Blogs

unmedicated gooner alert