🧇

☾ My Hero Academia ✧

✦ Movie Night ~ Bakugou x reader x Midoriya (completed) (18+)

Your weekly movie nights with your roommates was supposed to be simple. Until you accidentally make out with one… and then the other.

✧ Chapter One ✧ Chapter Two ✧ Chapter Three

─────

✦ Jackets ~ Denki x reader (completed)

Denki notices a lot of things about you, but the most obvious is you're always wearing a a jacket regardless of the weather.

✧ One shot

───── ☾⋆☆⋆☽ ─────

☾ Haikyuu!! ✧

✦ Safety ~ Tsukishima x reader (completed) (18+)

After seeing you ex situationship at a party you decide to just say fuck him and sleep with someone else. Strangely enough, you do fuck him.

✧ One shot

───── ☾⋆☆⋆☽ ─────

☾ Persona series ✧

✦ Kill me Romantically ~ Adachi x reader (Read warnings!) (completed) (18+)

You fell in love with Adachi and he fell in love with owning you.

✧ Chapter 1 ✧ Chapter 2 ✧ Chapter 3 ✧ Chapter 4 ✧ Chapter 5 ✧ Chapter 6 ✧ Chapter 7 ✧ Chapter 8 ✧ Chapter 9 ✧ Chapter 10

─────

✦ Sneaky Motives ~ Yu x Yosuke x reader (completed) (18+)

Your high school friends, Yu and Yosuke, invite you to spend a few nights back in Inaba with them. What you don’t realize is that the two boys have a sneaky motive for wanting to see you.

✧ One shot

─────

✦ Sweet Medicine ~ Yandere!Akechi x reader (completed) (18+)

Akechi locks you away for your own good, then he drugs you so you can learn how much you need him. It's only because he loves you… he just wants what’s best for you after all.

✧ One shot

───── ☾⋆☆⋆☽ ─────

☾ Genshin Impact ✧

✦ Comforting Ruby ~ Diluc x Alcoholic!Reader (unfinished)

In the aftermath of a wild night at Angel's Share, you awaken to fragmented memories and an expensive ruby ring: one that is not yours. Fearful of the consequences, you take it upon yourself to uncover the events from the previous night and return the ring.

✧ Chapter 1

───── ☾⋆☆⋆☽ ─────

☾ Drabbles of any series lol ✧

✦ Not Because of your Ass ~ Dabi x reader (18+)

"A jacket?" He asked with a playful smile. "What're you trying to hide under there?"

It was a joke. Making people laugh was second nature, and he figured a little teasing would break the ice. Instead, your expression hardened. Your brows knitted together, your cheeks flushing an irritated red.

"I'm hiding any skin from perverts like you." Your words came out quick, without hesitation.

Everyone burst into laughter. Even Bakugou, who never laughed at Denki’s jokes, had to lean against the wall. Denki felt heat crawl across his own cheeks.

"Huh? Pervert? It was a joke!"

"Sure.” 

"I wasn't even looking at you like that!"

"Mhm." You rolled your eyes which only aggravated him further.

"You literally just met me!"

"And I'm unimpressed."

Another round of laughter erupted from the group and Mina happily threw an arm around her new best friend. Denki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. Great. First impressions ruined and he had to be the butt of every joke that night.

He decided, right then and there, that you were impossible. Who reacts like that over a small comment? You decided, right then and there, that Denki Kaminari was obnoxious and needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut.

You kept the opinion throughout the year. Denki, however, started noticing things. Small things that for some reason or the other made him quite… interested. 

Like the way you climbed stairs. It was weird, just like your jacket-obsession. 

You never planted your whole foot on each step. While walking up them, you balanced on the tip of your toes, your heels hanging just over the edge. Going down, you balanced on your heel, toes hanging off the step.

It was somewhat dangerous. One day you’re going to slip and fall. 

"Trying to fall for me?” Denki called from behind you one day, as everyone was heading up some steps.

In his eyes, it was his way of warning you.

"I'd have to hit my head first." You countered, quick as a whip like always, and you continued to walk that way the rest of the night.

He also noticed you always insisted on paying whenever the group went out. Not just for Mina or Jirou, who you were the closest too, but for everyone. Even him, the one person you made painfully clear you couldn't stand.

"Buying my dinner?" Denki teased as you handed over your card. "Trying to butter me up?"

"I can't stand the thought of owing a dunce like you anything." You retorted.

He noticed your hair was always falling into your face and you never brushed it away. It hid your expressions, making you impossible to read. It’s so unfair. How is he supposed to know what you’re thinking?

What were you thinking about anyway? He wants to know. 

You read him like a book, for once, he wants to read you. Look in your eyes for more than a few seconds. He wished you'd tuck your hair behind your ear just once. 

Maybe then he'd finally understand more about you. If he could understand you, then maybe he’d finally say something to you that wouldn't be met with a snarky comeback. 

Not that he cares. He’s gotten so used to your attitude it sometimes brings a smile to his face. 

You didn’t talk to anybody else like that. Only him. He’s kinda special, huh?

It was around spring break when he saw someone in a hoodie walking across campus.

His eyes lit up. He really only gets to see you when the friend group gets together, so this was one of the few moments he can get the jump on you. A mischievous smile spread across his face as he hurried after the familiar silhouette, already thinking of some smug remark that would make you groan.

"Seriously? It's hot enough to–"

A stranger turned around. Not you. She didn’t have your sharp eyes he’s so used to glaring at him, nor the two familiar lines between your eyebrows whenever he came around.

"...Oh, sorry…” He mumbled a quick apology before awkwardly turning on his heel and walking away, frowning so much he was practically scowling.

Seriously… Who else wears a jacket in weather like this? It was weird seeing someone else do it. 

It was… your thing.

Sheesh.

He got all excited for nothing.

A few days later, Denki found himself killing time in the courtyard between classes when he spotted a girl in a jacket hurrying across the grass toward the staircase that led to the long-abandoned garden tucked behind campus.

His first instinct was to follow, but apparently, other girls besides you wore jackets in hot-as-balls weather. He shoved his hands into his pockets and watched from where he stood, suppressing the urge to call out after you. Probably wasn't you. 

The girl reached the stairs and started down them. Not with her whole foot, just the balls of her feet, her toes hanging over the edge of each step.

The corner of his mouth curled into a grin instinctively.

"There you are." He murmured to himself, pushing himself off the bench and hurrying after you.

He slipped through the rusted gate and into the abandoned garden. Wild grass swallowed the stone path, weeds overtook everything they could reach, including the benches that no one had bothered to sit on in months.

The familiar black jacket came into view first, then you, sitting on one of those forgotten benches. He can’t help but smile, careful to keep his footsteps quiet.

Were you a fan of nature? He never noticed. He’ll make sure to rectify that.

Leaning over the back of the bench, he speaks. "Practicing your green thu–"

The joke died in his throat before he could even finish.

When you looked up, hair still hung over your face like always, but it didn’t hide your tears. Hide your glassy and wet eyes. Hide how sad you looked. Thick tears streamed relentlessly down your cheeks, one after another, until they dripped from your jaw and soaked into the sleeves of your jacket.

Denki froze and his body refused to move, even though he knew he had to do something. 

Say something. 

It felt as though someone pressed a switch and turned him to stone.

You only looked at him for two and a half seconds before your gaze dropped. Your hair fell like a curtain between the two of you, hiding your face as usual. With one sleeve, you hurriedly scrubbed at your eyes.

"Geez, Kaminari. You scared me." Your voice carried none of the cracks he expected after seeing you crying. "Stalker much?"

Words got caught somewhere in his throat, leaving only an uncomfortable dryness behind. He found himself leaning forward instead, trying to catch even the smallest glimpse past the shield of your hair.

A thought struck him. Did your face give away what your voice hid? Maybe that was why you always let your hair fall over your face. 

Denki bites into his lip. 

Were you… sad a lot?

"Sorry…" He says hardly above a whisper. "I saw you crossing the courtyard and… Uh, it’s not important."

He rubbed the back of his neck. What if this wasn’t your first time? Running off and hiding to cry. 

He should have noticed.

"...Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine." You answered a little too quickly.

"But you were cry–” Before he could finish, you stood so abruptly the bench creaked beneath you.

"...Those videos of dogs crying at their owners' graves really get me, y'know?" You turned on your heel before he could get a better look. Your hair shifted just enough for him to catch your red eyes. "I've gotta run."

A small wave over your shoulder. "I'll see you later."

Denki watched you disappear through the rusted gate. What you said was an excuse and a terrible one at that, but he wasn’t going to call you a liar.

Later that night, you bailed on bowling with nothing more than a text claiming you weren't feeling well. Before he could talk himself out of it, he found himself standing outside your apartment with a case of beer tucked under one arm and a bottle of wine stuffed into his backpack.

Truthfully, he has no idea what people bring to someone who'd obviously been crying earlier. Alcohol is supposed to be the uniting force of college students, so he figured it was a safe bet.

He knocked and a few moments later the door swung open. You blinked at him for a few moments before speaking.

"Showing up at my apartment without asking?" You say flatly. "That's another point toward proving you're a stalker."

The usual jab and bored expression made something in his chest warm. It was so much better than tears. 

His attention snaps onto your jacket. It wasn't the oversized black zip-up you always wore. This one had a softer texture. A dark velvet color with sleeves long enough to swallow your hands.

Does she have inside jackets, he wonders. Does anyone else know that or is it special between you two?

"...You gonna keep staring or…?" You lift a brow, edging him to say something.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah." He holds up the beer with a sheepish grin. "Peace offering?"

You looked at the case with open disgust. "Beer? That's the most disgusting way to drink."

"Whoa, whoa." Grinning now, he unzips his backpack and triumphantly reveals the bottle of wine. "I came prepared."

A small hum escapes you and after what felt like an eternity, you usher him inside. 

Your apartment is somewhat cluttered. Stacks of books and manga occupy nearly every flat surface in the living room. A sink full of dishes waits patiently to be washed and a mountain of laundry claims the couch as its own.

 You notice that he was looking at it all and your shoulders tense. "Oh, hold on."

Before he can assure you it isn’t a big deal, you hurry over to the couch, scoop the entire pile of laundry into your arms, and disappear into your bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you.

Denki rubs the back of his neck, gaze drifting towards the bedroom door.

He wonders what it looks like.

People's rooms always say a lot about them, don't they? Posters on the walls, favorite books on the nightstand, little trinkets they collected over the years...

He wondered what it smells like in there…

He smacks a hand against his own forehead. Pervert. 

You step out from your bedroom a moment later, offering him a sheepish smile and gesturing toward the couch for him to sit. While he settles onto the cushions, you disappear into the kitchen and return with two wine glasses.

He hands you the bottle and you pour yourself a glass, while Denki cracks open his beer and takes a long drink.

Liquid courage. He was going to need every drop. 

Truthfully, he didn’t expect to make it this far. Half of him had been convinced you'd slam the door in his face the second you saw him. The other half had spent the entire walk over trying to think of what he was actually going to say if you let him in.

Because… You'd been crying.

He was worried about you and he wasn't sure he had the right to be.

You made it abundantly clear that the feeling wasn't mutual. If anything, you tolerated him because Mina insisted on inviting both of you to everything.

“So… what’s with the surprise visit?” You speak, swirling the glass of wine and avoiding eye contact.

...Oh, fuck. He can’t answer that.

It was because he likes you.

It was because he couldn’t stop thinking of those tears. That seeing you cry made his stomach twist itself into tight knots. 

He likes you.

"You didn't come bowling with us." Denki says with a shrug, sinking farther into the couch. "Mina said you weren't feeling well, so..."

He rubs the back of his neck. "...Y'know. I figured I'd check on you."

A quiet giggle escapes you, it catches him completely off guard, but he loves the sound.

"So…" You say, finally looking up at him. "You knew that was a lousy excuse?"

"Maybe."

You smile into your wine. "Because of earlier today, right?"

Relief washed over him. You brought it up first. He’s been anxious to bring it himself.

"...Maybe." He admits through a smile.

Another soft laugh.

"I just..." He scratches at his cheek. "I dunno. I thought maybe I could help."

You lift your glass, eyeing the bottle he brought. "With alcohol?"

He looks at the beer in his own hand before snorting. "I couldn’t just show up empty handed!"

"How thoughtful of you."

"I really came because..." He pauses, searching for the right words. "I thought I could just... listen. If you wanted." He lifts his beer. “Or at least give you a fun night. No jokes from me. I pinky promise.”

You laugh again. “You’re so lucky I’m a wine person.”

“I sure as hell am.”

It’s quiet for a few moments. By the time you finished your first glass of wine, Denki had already worked through two beers and opened a third.

His nerves dulled with each sip, unfortunately, his racing heart didn’t get the memo.

"I just had a bad day." You say, voice barely above a murmur as you pour yourself another glass.

Denki meets your eyes. "Oh?"

A hundred questions crowded his mind. 

What happened?

Did someone make you cry?

Can I fix it?

Would you even let me try?

"...Do you want to talk about it?" He asks instead.

You shake your head, taking another sip. "There's nothing to tell. Just a bad day"

Denki nods and doesn’t push.

"You know..." He rolls the beer bottle between his palms. "The nice thing about bad days is they have to end eventually."

You glance at him and hum. “...Now that I won’t argue with.”

The rest of the night was… Perfect. Or at least Denki thought so.

The two of you talked about classes, complained about writing papers, and laughed about karaoke night two weeks ago. Specifically how Sero had been suspiciously good at singing.

There were no sarcastic remarks. No need to get the last word. You two just had fun like usual friends.

"Wow." Denki whistles, picking up one of the old magazines scattered across your coffee table. "Talk about nostalgia."

He slings his backpack over one shoulder.

"Shonen Jump. My mom used to bribe me with these if I got good grades."

A smile tugs at your lips. "Mine too."

"Guess we have more in common than we thought." Denki chuckles. "Mina would be so proud."

You laugh as you gather the rest of the beer cans he didn’t drink, handing them to him one by one so he could shove them into his bag.

When he reaches for the table to put the magazine back on the table, you stop him. "You can keep that."

He blinks, unsure what you mean.

"What?"

"The magazine."

He frowns. "No, it's yours."

You shrug like it was nothing. "I've got plenty."

His eyes dropped to the worn cover. "...This has one of the early Dragon Ball chapters."

"I know."

"Those aren't exactly easy to replace."

Another shrug. "I figured you'd appreciate it more than I do."

Denki looks between you and the magazine.

"...Are you sure?"

"Positive."

You take it from his hands before he can protest again and tuck it neatly into the front pocket of his backpack.

"There. Now let me walk you down, you’re drunker than I am and if you fall down the stairs and crack your head open, everyone is going to think I pushed you, and I can’t bear that burden."

He laughs and opens the front door. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told." You respond, following him out.

The two of you head toward the staircase, walking side by side in comfortable silence.

Without meaning to, Denki's gaze drifts downward. Your hands peek out from the sleeves of your oversized jacket.

Empty.

He wonders what it would feel like to hold one. The thought hit him so suddenly he almost trips over his own feet. If he told you he wants to hold your hand, you'd probably call him a creep. 

Heat climbs up the back of his neck and he quickly snaps his attention forward and forces himself to keep it there.

"Will you be okay walking back?" You ask.

He snorts. "Pssh. I've gotten back to my dorm black-out drunk before. I'll survive."

You frown. "Okay, but still. Be alert. It's dark, an–"

Your foot lands on the very edge of the next step, just like it always did. Except this time it slips. 

Denki watches your balance disappear in an instant. Your body pitches forward, head first.

Everything after that happened on instinct.

"Whoa!"

He lunges, hand catching the back of your jacket, his fist twisting desperately into the fabric before you can hit the stairs. The force yanks him forward with you and Denki wraps both arms around you, twisting his body on pure reflex.

Then, only a second later, his shoulder slams into the concrete. Pain explodes down his arm as momentum carries the two of you tumbling together until you skid to a stop at the bottom of the staircase.

Denki sucks in a sharp, pained breath as he forces himself upright.

"Fuck..."

His shoulder screams in protest, but he barely notices. His eyes are already searching for you.

"Fuck. Are you okay?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you push yourself off him so quickly it’s almost clumsy, stumbling to your feet before wrapping your arms tightly around yourself.

"Are you okay?" He asks again.

"Yeah." Your hair slips back into place, hiding your face. "I'm fine."

Something about your voice makes him pause. You seem almost… irritated.

Denki frowns. Maybe you’re just shaken up.

"Hey..." He stands, rubbing his sore shoulder. "I've actually been meaning to tell you this for a while."

You aren’t looking at him.

"The way you walk down stairs..." He gestures toward the steps behind you. "It's dangerous. You always walk on the very edge. You should really use your whole foot."

"I said I'm fine." Your voice comes faster this time.

"I know, but you almost cracked your head open."

"I said I'm fine, Kaminari."

There it was again. That edge of irritation, even though he’s just worried about you. His own nerves, already frayed from the fall and still buzzing with adrenaline, snap tighter.

He just threw himself down a flight of concrete stairs to keep you from getting hurt.

Why were you acting like he did something wrong?

"Don't get an attitude." He scoffs, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. "You could've been seriou–"

You whip your head toward him and the force moves your hair out of your face. He can see the deep crease between your brows. The fury burning behind your eyes.

"And if you hadn't played the fucking hero..." You snap, your voice trembling. "Maybe I would've finally cracked my fucking skull open and been put out of my goddamn misery."

Denki flinches. The pain in his shoulder is nothing compared to the icy chill running down his spine. His throat dries and for several seconds, he can only stare at you.

"Why..." His voice cracks. "Why would you say something like that?"

The anger disappears from your face. Instantly. As if you just realized what you said.

Your hand flies to your mouth and you turn away from him, wrapping your arms even tighter around yourself.

"God...Sorry. That was a horrible joke." A laugh slips from your lips, but it doesn't sound real. Not with the way your shoulders shook. "I'm sorry, I-I’m just tired. S-sorry. Goodnight."

Before he can say anything, before he can even process what he was supposed to say, You’re gone. You’re already moving. Up the stairs. The same way you always did, not using your whole foot.

Denki stands there, frozen. He can’t move, he can only try to understand what just happened.

You two were laughing. You were smiling. You were talking about manga and karaoke and stupid college assignments. Everything was fine.

He thought everything was fine.

His gaze drops to his bag. Slowly, almost without realizing it, he unzips it. The Shonen Jump magazine is still inside. He pulls it out carefully, checking the corners, the worn pages, making sure it didn’t bend when you two fell.

It was fine. The magazine was fine.

Good. 

He didn’t really care about the magazine itself, no, he cares because he thought it meant something. He saw it as a sign that things between you two were finally going to be different. The thought makes his stomach twist. He bites down on his lip. It doesn’t make sense.

His fingers tightens around the magazine. "Why would she even give this to me if..."

Then everything connects in an instant. 

The jacket. Always covering yourself.

The dangerous way you walked up and down stairs. 

The irritation that you didn’t fall on your head.

The way you looked off into the distance sometimes, like you were somewhere else.

And the magazine. Something that should have been meaningful to you, and somehow you gave it away like it didn’t matter.

Denki stops breathing.

No.

No, no, no.

His heart slams against his chest. His thoughts collide faster than he can catch them, crashing into his skull until it hurts.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t–

Next thing he knows, he’s running. Up the stairs. Every breath comes out sharp and uneven as he reaches your door and slams his fist against the wood. 

The door remains closed and he starts to knock more violently. 

“Hey!” He all but yells, no concern for your neighbors.

The door swings open and there you are

Eyes swollen and red, every muscle in your body looks tense, as though you were holding yourself together by sheer force.

“K-Kaminari?” Your voice teeters somewhere between irritation and despondent. “You’re… being loud.”

Before you can say another word, Denki steps past you and into the apartment.

“Did you forget something?” You ask, hurriedly shutting the door behind him. “I-I can grab it. You didn’t have to–”

“I need to talk to you.” Denki interrupts.

You turn back toward him, your arms instinctively wrapping around yourself again.

“I’m sorry, okay?” You blurt out. “I was an asshole. I made a stupid joke–”

“Why do you always wear a jacket?”

“Huh?”

“Why do you always wear a jacket?” He repeats the question with a quiet plea.

You swallow nothing. “I don’t understand what this is about.” 

His eyes search yours, catching the shimmer of fresh tears collecting along your waterline.

“Why do you walk down stairs like that?”

You look away.

“I…”

“You know it’s dangerous. It’s like you want an excuse to get hurt.”

Your lips part, but no words come. He takes one cautious step closer.

“All these little things…” Denki sucks in a breath, his heart slamming against his ribcage. “I just… please tell me I’m wrong.”

Every part of him begs him not to ask. If he says the words out loud, they become real. But if there was even the slightest chance you were hurting, his own discomfort doesn’t matter.

“…Do you hurt yourself? …on purpose?”

The air in the room grows heavy and your entire expression drops. As if the words punched you square in the chest and knocked the words out of you.

You chomp down on your lip in an effort to suppress the horror spilling out of you. In your wide eyes, in the way you shrink yourself, and the tears spilling down your red cheeks. 

You didn’t have to answer. He knew he was right from the mortification taking you over. 

“It's okay. It’s okay, you don’t have to answer me.” He tries to reassure, panic settling in his chest. “I just need to make sure you know I’m here for you. That… that I want to help you.”

“I’m sorry.” You whimper, bringing a hand to your face. 

“Fuck, no. No, don’t apologize.” Denki gasps, taking a cautious step forward. “I’m being a jerk. I-I don’t know how the right approach to this–  I’m just–“

You glance up at him and he melts.

“I’m just worried and scared and that’s a dick move because you must be more worried and scared and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m n-not going t-to burden y-you with my problems–“

“Stop, don’t ever say that. Don’t ever.” Denki takes another step forward, practically right in front of you. He crouches down so he can meet your downcast gaze. “You could never be a burden.”

“I’m a weak person.” You choke out, shame burning through you. “Okay? Y-you’re right… I cut every time I can’t handle something…”

You sob. “Please don’t tell anyone… I thought I was hiding it. I thought I was doing better.”

Each word lands like a physical blow. Something in Denki fractures. No matter how well she was hiding it, he should have noticed.

What’s the point of always thinking about you if he can’t see when you’re in pain?

“How can I help?”

You shake your head, eyes glossy. “You don’t have to. I’m going to stop– …I’m trying to stop.”

“I want to help.” His voice is low. “You’re an awesome person. I need you to see that too.”

He searches for the right words, the right suggestion to help you get through this. Anything that might keep you from hurting yourself again.

“What if you call me? Anytime the urge hits. Call me and I’ll come over. No questions asked, no matter what time.”

“K-Kaminari…”

“And if you’re okay with it, you can tell me what sets it off. I’ll do my best to steer clear, and I’ll keep the others in line when we’re all hanging out. I won’t tell them if you don’t want me to, I swear.”

Your breathing starts to even out, but the fear doesn’t leave your face. You fiddle with the zipper of your jacket, rolling the pull tab between your fingers.

“Why would you do all that for me?”

The question hits him hard. Heat floods his chest, waves of intense emotions he can’t name crash into his skull.

Because he likes you.

He likes you.

“You’re my friend.” He answers. “And knowing you’re hurting like this… I can’t just stand by.” 

He stands, then reaches for your free hand. You don’t pull away. 

“I get that you don’t want anyone else to know. But you still need someone. A real support system.”

He offers a small, careful smile. One that carries everything he’s not ready to say out loud.

“I’m asking you to please let me be that person.”

It’s quiet for several moments. Your eyes dart from him, to the floor, to the wall. Your fingers shift from the zipper pull to the hem of your jacket, but you never let go of his hand.

“…Can… c-can you stay over tonight?” You finally manage. “I’m in a bad headspace.”

Denki doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Of course. I’ll stay.”

It’s in that moment he finally puts a name to the emotion he couldn’t name.

It’s anger. Not at you, it could never be at you, but at whatever has been hurting you all this time. Whatever made you start turning that pain inward.

He forces the anger down. It won’t help you right now.

What will help is him staying. Being there for you.

“How is saying your ass is fat not romantic?”

“Daaaaabi.” You shift from beside him to straddle his lap. 

The second you’re on top of him he gives up the phone, both hands settling on the curve of your ass and tugging you closer. A pleased little smirk appears.

“For real, tell me about the moment you knew you were in love with me.” Before he can answer you press a finger to his lips. “And do not say it was the first time you saw my ass, because that is not true.”

“How do you know that’s not true?”

“Because you were checking me out for weeks, but that didn’t make you less of an asshole.”

Dabi scoffs, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “So? Maybe I was playing hard to get.”

You giggle and purposely roll your hips the way you know drives him crazy. “No way. You started being weirdly nice to me, then you asked me to be your girlfriend, and now you’re the sweetest boy ever.”

“That’s a load of bullshit and I hate when you call me that.”

“It’s a compliment and you will accept it and tell me the moment you fell in love with me.”

He cocks a brow at you. You roll your eyes.

“Alright. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.” You shrug. “But I’m not doing that thing with my tongue anymore until you do.”

Dabi’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’d really give the ‘sweetest boy ever’ an ultimatum? That’s not very nice, baby.”

You smile and lean in, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He almost melts right then and there. He can feel the front of his pants growing tighter and from the mischievous glint in your eyes he’s certain you can tell.

“I never said I was nice. So what’s it gonna be, sweetie?”

Dabi groans. This mushy shit has never been his strong suit. Why couldn’t you just accept his first answer? It wasn’t exactly a lie. You had just joined the League and he walked in on you leaning over the bar talking to Kurogiri. Those tight little shorts… even without knowing who the hell you were, he knew they had to keep you around for the view alone.

Sure, that was lust, not love. But what’s one without the other?

“Fine, fine...” He mutters. You lean back, eyes bright with excitement.

“It was actually the time we were out on a job and you got sprayed with all that water. I could see your nipples through your shirt and–”

You instantly jump off his lap and start walking toward the door.

“Baby, c’mon!”

“Nope! You lost the privilege of me straddling you and wrapping my tongue around your you-know-what!”

“You have nipple piercings! How the fuck was I supposed to not fall in love in that moment?!”

“Go suck your own cock tonight!”

Dabi groans again and sits up to go after you.

Seriously. Why is that not an acceptable answer?

Do you really expect him to tell you the truth? That one night when he woke up thirsty and headed to the kitchen, he found you carefully scooping a spider into your hands so you could put it safely out the window. 

That your quiet kindness toward something so small and pointless made his heart stutter and he wanted to chase after you harder than anything else.

He couldn’t say that. It’d make him look like a pussy and you’d never let the “sweetest boy” shit die.

You’ve always been the softest one out of all of them. In spite of being a villain, in spite of the way the world looked at you.

The tray settles onto the nightstand with a soft clink. You sit up on the bed with a scowl, turning your head away from the food.

“Really…” He murmurs, smoothing a wrinkle from his glove. “I don’t understand what you’re hoping to accomplish.”

The first three days after he locked you in this room, you threw the food he brought. At him. At the walls. At anything within reach while you screamed that he was crazy.

Akechi never screamed back. He would simply clean the mess and leave you alone with your decaying thoughts.

On the fourth day, you stopped throwing things. Not because you accepted your situation, but because hunger made even anger exhausting.

“Are you trying to punish me? Or yourself?”

You don’t answer. His sigh is full of disappointment.

“Neither seems particularly productive. Do I need to spoon-feed you again?” He asks calmly.

On the fifth day, he held your jaw open and forced the food down your throat while you begged him to stop. Begged him to let you go home. Afterward, he dabbed a napkin across your face to clean away the tears. As though he did you a kindness.

Today is the sixth day. On the sixth day, you begrudgingly pick up the sandwich and take a small bite.

Then another and another. Before you realize it, you’re scarfing it down. You’re so hungry. There's no energy left to defy basic human needs, even if your kidnapper is the one providing them.

“Was that so difficult?” He scoffs, bringing a chair by the bed to sit. “You’ve spent nearly a week making yourself miserable for no sound reason.”

He reaches for the nightstand and offers you a cup.

“Drink.”

You bite back an insult and snatch the cup from his hand. The aggressive motion is pathetic, really. Childish. Somehow it feels like resistance, even if you’re doing exactly what he told you to do.

The water is pleasantly cold as it slides down your throat. Sweet, too.

You feel sick. It’s only been a handful of days since Akechi turned you into his caged pet, and you’re already finding yourself thinking something as bland as water is sweet.

“Fuck you.” You spit.

Akechi merely blinks, used to your verbal onslaughts by now, and it angers you further. You throw the cup. As hard as you can. It whistles by his head and slams into the door, shattering on impact.

The door remains closed. It’s always closed. Locked. No matter how many times you’ve hurled yourself against it. No matter how many bruises you’ve painted across your arms and shoulders trying to force it open.

“Again with the theatrics?” Akechi sighs, narrowing his eyes at you as if you’re being dramatic.

Rage detonates inside you and your fist goes flying toward his jaw before you can think better of it.

The chair crashes to the floor. One hand catches your wrist, while the other closes around your throat. The mattress sinks beneath his weight as he forces you back against it.

Oh fuck, it hurts.

“I already told you that you can scream and break whatever you wish, but hitting me won’t be tolerated.” He says in a tone that suggests he’s lecturing a stubborn child rather than restraining someone against their will.

You choke and gasp for air. His gaze drifts to the bruises around your neck. To the fading fingerprints he left there the last time you tried to attack him.

“I have to punish you or you’ll refuse to learn.”

His grip loosens enough to let air into your lungs. Not enough to let you escape.

“I don’t enjoy this, you know.”

Your wrist screams when you try to wrench it free and the pain draws tears to your eyes. His thumb brushes against your skin.

“Do you want me to hurt you? Is that it?” He asks quietly.

You can’t read his expression. The crease between his brows suggests irritation. The downturn of his mouth suggests disappointment. His eyes look almost hurt.

“I want to go home.” The hatred in your voice is impossible to hide.

The hand holding your wrist releases, only to seize your throat along with his other hand. Pain explodes through your neck and you let out a dry sob.

“Home?” Akechi repeats. “You still insist on thinking you have one outside me?”

His fingers tighten and your vision blurs around the edges. Instinctively, your hands claw at his wrist, but to no avail as Akechi drags you upright onto your knees.

“I’m your home. I’m all you have.” His tone is one with absolute certainty.

You suck in short, strained breaths. Trying to take in any air you can. Desperate pants fill the room. It’s not enough.

“You lost your job trying to please that vagrant boyfriend of yours and he still cheated on you. Is he your home? Or are you referring to the apartment you were evicted from?” His voice shakes, with fury.

Akechi’s eyes lock onto yours as if they were demanding an answer, but all you can do is gasp.

“You came to me for help. Me. I took you in and this is how you repay me? By trying to leave me? I saved you.”

His face moves dangerously close to yours. Close enough that you should feel his breath, but you don’t. The lack of oxygen makes everything feel distant and your arms fall limply to your sides.

His shoulders shakes, a bitter laugh slipping out.

“Would you rather I treated you the way he did? Should I disappear for days at a time? Sleep with other women and spend your money on them? You didn’t leave him. Is that how I get you to stay with me?”

The pressure around your throat increases and darkness creeps into the edges of your vision. For a moment, you don't know which is worse; His sick delusions or his hands around your throat.

“Do you hate yourself so much that you don't want to be with me because I love you?” For the first time, something wounded bleeds into his voice.

“You have no one besides me, but you’re so determined to destroy yourself that you refuse to accept it. I won’t allow this. I have to protect you against yourself.”

His words make memories resurface, reminding you of how you ended up in this situation.

Your boyfriend asking for a loan. You handing over the money without hesitation. Learning what it had actually been used for. A girl who wasn’t you.

You stayed with him because he begged for forgiveness. That doesn’t mean you’re attracted to mistreatment. It doesn’t mean you need protecting from yourself. It just means you didn’t want to be alone.

You remember missing work because he needed your car. Losing your job because of it. Giving him rent money to pay the landlord, only to find out he spent every cent at a strip club as you were getting evicted.

He didn’t answer your calls. You were on the street, phone about to die, so you called your friend.

Akechi was supposed to be your friend. You didn’t know how he felt about you. How deluded he is.

Akechi releases you. Immediately, you collapse against the bed. Your arms shake as you catch yourself before you can crumple entirely. A violent coughing fit tears through you. You drag in breath after breath to make up for the burning in your lungs.

Air. You’re so grateful for air.

“I do not want to hurt you, even if you desire it. I'm a good guy.” His voice sounds reasonable, despite the irony of what he’s saying. All he’s done these past six days is hurt you.

He reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is sickeningly gentle, but you don’t dare to stop him. His gaze softens into something affectionate each time he steals these little touches.

“I love you. I have always loved you.” His thumb brushes against your damp cheek. “It pains me to see you like this. If you acknowledge that you need me, I can make you happy.”

The way he can shift so effortlessly from one extreme to the other terrifies you most. One moment, you're afraid he's going to kill you. The next, you're afraid he's so hopelessly obsessed with the fantasy he's built around you that he'll never kill you.

That you'll spend years trapped here instead. Years in this awful fucking room.

He must not want to be alone either. He has a sick fucking way of showing it.

“Y-you're psychotic. I never should of a-asked to stay with you.” You spit, voice strained.

You’re so dizzy. No matter how much oxygen you take in, it’s as if your breaths can’t settle. He did strangle you longer than the other times, so perhaps you need more time to recover.

“I-I’ll never need you… nor want you.” You choke out.

But you’re hot too. Heat surges through your veins in waves. It can’t be from the struggle or crying, it was coming from deep in your stomach. Your pulse hammers against your ribs, refusing to calm.

Is the room tilting or are you crying again? You want to say more, it’s your only sense of control here, but your throat is suddenly dry.

“Disappointing, but expected.” He sighs, low and disappointed. “It’s still early. You’ll get over this little tantrum soon enough. It’s difficult for someone like you to see that this is for your own good.”

His fingers slip from your hair as he turns to retrieve the chair he knocked over earlier. The sight of his back sparked a half-formed impulse to attack, but the thought melts into your burning body.

He turns to face you again. His expression calm, but his eyes narrowed into something dangerous.

“You’re a slow learner. It’s cute… but I really should stop enabling it. It’s not good for either of us.”

You try to scramble back as he takes a single step forward, but your body is suddenly working against you. Sluggish and unresponsive. He catches your wrist with terrifying ease and yanks you back down onto the mattress.

Cold metal clicks around both wrists before you can even scream. You jerk violently against the cuffs, the chain rattling against the bedframe, but the struggle doesn’t feel real.

Did… did you pass out from the strangulation? Is this a dream?

God. You’re floating. Your nerves are live wires. A horrified sob tears from your throat and a bead of sweat slides down your temple, mixing with your tears.

If you’re not sleeping there’s something wrong with you.

Your body burns from the inside out. A deep, aching throb pulses in your core… No. That isn’t happening. You wouldn’t be feeling this sick, humiliating need here. Not with him.

You blink several times, trying to snap out of it. Something happened to you.

Akechi hovers beside you, studying your flushed face with quiet fascination. “There you go… I was starting to wonder when the dose takes effect.”

…He did something to you.

“What did y-you do?” The words came out heavy on your tongue like rocks.

Akechi’s smile eeriely.

“I simply put something in your water. Something to help showcase how much you need me in a way you’ll certainly learn from.”

Blood pounds in your temples. A spike of pure fear cut through you only to be instantly swallowed by the molten heat flooding downward, pooling between your legs. Your cunt throbs violently, aching with a need so intense it makes your stomach twist.

You squeeze your eyes shut, desperately trying to will yourself back to before this nightmare began. Before you called Akechi, sobbing about losing your apartment and having nowhere else to go.

No. Before that. Before you ever met him.

Back when he was just another customer whose lunch you delivered to his office. Before his orders became a regular occurrence. Before seeing him nearly every day, exchanging numbers, becoming friends.

It fails. You’re still here, nerves sizzling, so you press your thighs together hard. Your thighs twitch as you chase even the slightest relief from the fiery waves melting you from the inside.

You want to scream at him. Psychotic. Delusional. Monster. But all that escapes is a pathetic whine. It’s starting to hurt.

“Ah… You must be in so much pain.” His voice drips with mock sympathy. One hand clamps down over your cuffed wrists, stilling your frantic tugging.

Only then did you notice the raw skin where you’d been rubbing them bloody against the metal.

“T-take it off…” You beg.

“Why? So you can touch yourself?” Akechi tilts his head, eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “I can’t do that. I’m trying to teach you.”

Go die you sick fuck, you think over and over again.

“You stayed with a cheating bastard. You let a dead-end job bleed you dry, only to lose it for such a stupid reason. You always chain yourself to bad situations because it’s familiar… even when it’s hurting you. These cuffs? They’re just the truth I made visible for you.”

“You l-locked me up and dr-drugged me.” You hiss, as if describing reality to your delusional captor will somehow convince him to stop this.

Akechi shrugs.

“Society already accepts involuntary hospitalization when someone poses a danger to themselves. I'm simply applying the same principle. You tried to leave me. You continue to reject a good life with me.”

He tilts his head with a curious look.

“What could be more dangerous than repeatedly choosing misery over happiness? I just want to protect you.”

His fingers trail the raw skin almost tenderly. The heat inside you pulses harder, almost cruel. Pleasure hovers just out of reach, but no matter how much you rub your thighs together or hump the bed, it’s not enough.

Akechi’s fingers drag lightly down your arm, sending more devastating need to where it aches painfully.

“So if you finally stop struggling… if you let me keep you and take care… I’ll give you everything you need. I’ll make the pain go away. I’ll make you feel so good. Forever. That’s not something you can manage on your own, understand?”

In one rough motion, Akechi hooks his fingers under the hem of your pants and underwear, yanking them down your legs in a single swift pull. You barely have the strength to even twitch in protest.

He grips your knees and forces them apart with terrifying ease. A sharp gasp tears from your throat as cool air hits your pussy. Tears continue to spill down your flushed cheeks. Part of you hates how exposed you are to this psychopath. Another part is to focused on mourning the tiny scrap of relief you lost, the pressure of your own thighs rubbing together.

“You’re as beautiful down here as I remember.” Akechi murmurs, his voice almost reverent.

The memory slams into you like a semi-truck.

That night. The worst night of your life. One that now hurts far more than anything your cheating ex had ever done to you.

Akechi had come the moment you called, picking you up without hesitation. He was so kind. He told you to stay as long as you needed, insisting you relax after so much stress. He listened for hours while you poured out every ugly detail of your pain. He wiped your tears. He held your hand through the worst of it.

That lonely night when the emptiness in your chest felt unbearable, you had gone to his room. You had crawled into his bed and used him to try and fill the hollow ache inside you. It hadn’t even made you feel better. It only left you feeling dirty and guilty.

That single selfish moment had sealed your fate. Maybe if you had never slept with him, he never would have locked you up. Maybe you would still be free.

No. You can’t think about it. You can’t blame yourself.

Not now.

Not while your cunt clenches painfully around nothing, aching for the very person destroying you to touch you like he did back then.

“...Akechi….” His name slips out breathless. The sound of it softens his gaze instantly, flooding his eyes with dark adoration.

You met his eyes with your own pitiful, tear-stained ones. You can’t hold on much longer. Liquid fire courses through your bloodstream, burning away every trace of resistance.

Your pussy throbs painfully, dripping and empty.

“Please… T-take it off. Please.” The begging tastes like ash, but you can’t stop it. Your body won’t let you.

“So you can touch yourself?” Akechi repeats the question from earlier.

The coil of need in your gut twists viciously, snapping any remaining pride

“God, yes. Yes, okay? It hurts. I n-need to t-touch myself.”

“It can’t do that. The cuffs represent your truth. Taking them away defeats the point of the lesson.” He says softly.

His gloved hand slides up your inner thigh, stopping just short of your pussy, pulsing desperately for anything to extinguish the fire in your core.

“Don’t… don’t do this t-to me… make it stop.” You whine shamelessly, shaking your head.

“I can take care of you, if you ask nicely. Isn't that what I’ve been saying this whole time?” Akechi murmurs, cocking his head.

His thumb starts to rub slow circles against your oversensitive thigh. You shiver, the implication crystal clear.He didn’t want you to beg for the cuffs to come off. He doesn’t even want you to beg for him to make you cum around his cock.

This isn’t about sex.

He wants you to admit you needed him. To hand over complete control so he can justify keeping you like this forever. And once he fucks you like this, desperate and needy for him, the possession would only sink its teeth in deeper.

This won’t end with tonight.

But there's nothing you can do to stop it.

“...P-please t-take care o-of me.” You whimper.

Because the line between the drug and your own broken desires have melted into one.

“Ah.” Akechi’s smile sharpens with triumph as he presses his thumb firmly against your swollen clit. “Are you saying you need me to take care of you?”

You howl, waves of euphoric pleasure crashing through your body. Your mind fractures. Every rational thought shatters into shards, leaving only one raw, overwhelming need. End this burning ache devouring you from the inside.

“I… I need you. I need you, okay? Make it stop. Please m-make it stop.”

Akechi lets out a low, dry laugh and slowly peels off his gloves. “Of course, my darling.”

Two long fingers push inside you without warning. Your velvet walls clench around them desperately, almost painfully tight. The sudden friction tears a sob from your throat as hot tears spill down your cheeks.

Finally.

“This is what happens when you listen to me.” He hums. “I make you feel good.”

His thumb circles your clit with merciless precision. You howl, hips jerking violently, holding nothing back.

“You just aren’t capable on your own.” His tongue traces his bottom lip as he watches his fingers disappear into your dripping cunt, slick sounds filling the room with every deep thrust.

“You have such poor judgment. You aren’t financially responsible. You always choose what hurts you.”

You hate every word. You hate how true they are. But your body doesn’t care. You roll your hips shamelessly, fucking yourself on his fingers, chasing the pleasure like a lifeline.

He adds a third finger with a pleased groan. You take it greedily, riding his hand harder. The cuffs rattle against the bed frame and there’s a slight sting in your wrist.

It’s not your fault. It’s the drug. It’s just the drug.

“You agree now, right? You need me to be happy. Now that I’ve made it obvious through… physical means.” His voice is almost conversational, even though he’s admitting he’s forced you into this.

His fingers suddenly still deep inside you. You groan in frustration, hips twitching. No. You can’t lose the sensation. Not after you threw away every shred of dignity just for his touch.

“Don’t– don’t stop.”

Cheeks burn with fresh tears, you try to wiggle against him, seeking any friction. He holds perfectly still, watching you with dark eyes.

“Tell me you agree.” He orders, voice dangerously low.

You swallow hard, but no words come. Your body trembles. Shame burns hotter than the drug itself as you find yourself giving a weak, frantic nod. Akechi’s fingers curl sharply inside you, pressing against that spongy spot deep within. White-hot pleasure punches through your naval.

You need more. You need more. It’s not your fault.

“Say it.”

The words tear out of you in a broken, sobbing rush.

“Fuck!! Okay, okay! I need you to take care of me! I’ll say whatever you want, just…! Please let me cum!”

The moment the words leave your mouth, something inside you shatters forever. An overwhelming amount of hate for yourself builds within. You can’t stand how pathetic you sound, how easily you folded for him. Tears keep pouring down your face as your hips keep rolling against his hand, chasing the pleasure like a whore.

“Your moans are so beautiful. I’ve wanted to hear them since the moment I first met you.” Akechi murmurs, slowly pulling his fingers out of your dripping pussy.

You gasp as the thick head of his cock presses against your glistening folds. He drags his shaft up and down your slit with agonizing slowness, coating himself in your slick, teasing your swollen clit with every pass.

“I had to keep my distance back then.” He continues, even though you aren’t sure you’re listening. “You weren’t mine yet. But the second you asked to stay with me… I knew. I knew you’d end up with me. Mine.”

A burst of fireworks explodes inside you as he begins pushing into your tight walls. He enters you slowly, inch by inch, letting out a shaky hiss of pleasure while he watches your walls stretch and grip his thickness greedily.

The deeper he sinks, the more your mind blurs at the edges. When he finally buries himself to the hilt, your eyes roll back, high-pitched whines and cries filling the room.

“Oh…” Akechi groans. He leans down until his chest presses flush against yours.

“This is heaven. You’re my heaven.” He whispers, voice dripping with dark adoration.

He rocks his hip forward in a rough, steady pace, sending your body into overdrive. Your pussy clenches welcomingly around him and he hisses, savoring your wet walls.

Your skin is feverishly hot. Heart pounding like caught prey, but your cunt sparkles with pleasure. Maybe if you focus on the sensation and ignore who's inflicting it, you won’t feel so disgusting right now.

But Akechi makes it impossible to ignore.

“Remember how sweetly you came onto me? So lonely, so needy… You kissed me like you’d die without me and I was the happiest I’ve ever been.” He murmurs into your skin.

Your mind screams at you. This is wrong. You don’t want to hear this. It’s humiliating how much you’re moaning right now. How good it feels to be stretched by his thickness. The pain in your wrist is long forgotten, replaced by electricity frying your nerves.

“We made love so romantically, didn’t we? You were more modest then. Shy even. Stifling moans, trying to cover your chest with the blanket.” He continues speaking over your involuntary whines.

Akechi drags his tongue slowly up the side of your neck, savoring the way you tremble beneath him. A low, mocking chuckle vibrates against your skin. He snaps his hips forward sharply, burying himself with a wet smack against your ass. His cock presses deep, dragging perfectly against that syrupy spot inside you.

“Everything was perfect.” He says. “Until you let those self-destructive impulses take over.”

Another brutal thrust and you’re seeing stars.

His voice lowers with venom. “All that nonsense the next morning… How sorry you were for ‘using’ me to fill an emotional hole. How you never should have come into my bed. How you’d simply find other arrangements.”

Heat floods your veins like liquid fire. Your toes curl as another devastating moan rips from your chest.

“P-please…” You sob, shaking your head.

You don’t want to remember. You don’t want to remember the moment you tried to leave. It’s why he locked you in here. It’s why you ended up drugged, drooling and desperate for him to keep pounding you.

Akechi’s fingers dig into your hips, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust.

“Look at you now… so messy. Nothing like the shy, modest girl from our first time. I much prefer you like this, darling. So honest. Practically sobbing around my cock because it feels too good to deny.” He groans softly, clearly enjoying the way your walls flutter around him

No. It’s not you. It’s the drug. Just the drug. That’s why you’re about to cum.

The fire in your veins. The overwhelming stretch of his cock splitting you open. It drowns everything rational out. You’re disappearing. You’re breaking. This was his goal. He’s breaking you.

A vicious coil tightens deep in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter until it snaps. You scream as your orgasm crashes through you. Your walls vibrate hard around his cock, throbbing wildly as the release overtakes you. Your back arches off the mattress, wrists straining uselessly against the cuffs, body convulsing in waves of ecstasy.

But Akechi doesn’t stop.

He keeps fucking you straight through your orgasm, relentless, dragging out every brutal aftershock just so he could keep hearing your broken cries. Every deep thrust pushes you further under.

Akechi’s cock pulses hard inside you. His rhythm slows and a guttural groan fills the air. Hot ropes of cum flood your pussy, pulse after pulse. His release pushes you deeper into the haze than your own.

You feel so full.

“I can make you feel this good every single day. Not just physically. Emotionally. Financially. I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted… and in return, you’ll give me everything.” Akechi growls against your ear, hips still twitching as he empties himself.

Only with that promise, did he pull out. Akechi sits above you, cock still glistening with your combined fluids. His eyes drop to your ruined pussy, watching his cum leak out of you in pearly strands.

You can’t focus. You don’t even notice the cuffs are off until you feel your arms fall above your head. Your mind has gone blank, completely empty except for one humiliating truth.

You needed this. He forced you to need this and he’ll do it again. Anything to convince you of his delusion; that you’re incapable and can only depend on him. That trying to leave him is the same as committing suicide.

That wasn’t sex. It was a showcase of his power over you. You lost everything you had left. Your pride, your autonomy, your future.

Soft lips press a deceptively gentle kiss against your forehead. You blink slowly, trying to clear the cloud in your mind. Akechi’s eyes locked onto yours. Hungry, and utterly possessive as a smile curves his lips.

“You’re awfully sweaty and I doubt letting my cum sit inside you like that is good either.” He tilts his head, waiting.

You’re too exhausted to move, let alone drag yourself to the shower. He knows that. You both know that. The silence thickens with the weight of an expectation he has held for six long days.

He has finally shattered your will to resist those expectations. He took everything from you, so isn’t it okay to take what he will give you?

You swallow, throat raw. Your voice comes out like a whisper.“…Can you take care of it?”

Akechi’s entire face lights up with a radiance, brighter than anything you had ever seen from him before. Without hesitation, he scoops you into his arms, cradling you flush against his chest like a precious doll.

“Of course, darling. I’ll bathe you. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

He carries you across the room toward the en-suite bathroom, his hold gentle yet inescapable.

“Afterward, why don’t we watch a film? Your pick. I’ll order some sweets to go with it. Whatever you want. I’ll prepare a proper dinner too. A sandwich isn’t nearly enough to replenish your energy.”

You aren’t listening. You don’t care anymore. Closing your eyes, you let your head rest against his shoulder.

You lift it anyway, purely out of principle. He leans back further into the wall like that’ll help. “Mercy! I take it back!”

After a beat, you sigh and slip your shoe back on.

“Remind me why we invited him again?” You ask Mina, who’s sprawled across the bed beside you.

“To get a guy’s perspective on your situation,” She replies, shaking her head. “…And unfortunately, Kirishima was busy, so we had to settle.”

“Ah. Right.”

Kaminari snickers, rubbing the back of his neck. “If I was your roommate, maybe you wouldn’t be so mean to me. Maybe you’d let me finger you on th–”

A shoe whizzes across the room and smacks the blond square in the face, but it wasn’t you who threw it.

“Come on! This is serious!” Mina snaps, sitting upright before immediately wrapping a supportive arm around your shoulders. 

“Our high school friends are trapped in an intense, dramatic love triangle!”

“I wouldn’t call it intense–”

“Nothing this interesting ever happens in real life,” Mina cuts in excitedly. “It’s like a soap opera. And she chose us to help guide the plot.”

“Honestly, I just wanted to vent a littl–”

“It is our duty!” Mina declares, pointing dramatically into the air. “To push her toward the ending that brings her the most happiness.”

You stare at both of them and laugh. “I should probably head back home.”

“But I just got here!” Kaminari complains.

Mina immediately smacks the back of his head. “Be considerate! She has two bachelors awaiting.”

“Ow!”

You can’t help but smile as you glance down at your phone. It’s already past six, and several unread texts from your roommates sit waiting on the screen. 

“Thank you both for listening to my woes.” You say, slipping your phone back into your pocket. “But don’t worry. We’ll be able to talk it out once I get home.”

The words sound confident enough, so you ignore the doubt blooming in your chest. 

Mina hops off the bed and hurries over before you can make your escape. She takes both of your hands in hers and fixes you with a determined stare.

“Look, girl, your feelings are completely valid.” Her expression softens. “And as much as I love the idea of having two boyfriends–”

“Shocking.” Kaminari mutters.

“–if that’s not something you’re comfortable with, don’t force yourself into it.” Mina squeezes your hands. “Stay true to what you want. Not what they want. Not what sounds easiest. What makes you happy.”

Your smile falters. That’s the problem. It’s not the idea of having both that makes you uncomfortable. You want both. Spending time with Bakugou and Midoriya is special. They’re your favorite people. 

That’s the entire reason you started movie night in the first place. Who knew it would lead to this?

The possibility of having both of them feels so terrifying somehow. You can’t shake this paranoia that it will splinter the trio indefinitely. Losing one of them is a nightmare you refuse to face.

Unable to explain those feelings, you settle for squeezing Mina’s hands back. 

“Thank you, Mina. I really appreciate you letting me hang out here for a bit.”

“Anytime.”

“I’ll walk you down.” Kaminari announces, pushing himself off the floor. Then he points accusingly at Mina. “But I still expect access to that liquor cabinet you promised me.”

“I promised you one drink.”

“You said I could help myself!”

“I absolutely did not!”

Kaminari and Mina continue bickering until her front door shuts behind you.

The two of you take the stairs instead of the elevator. It’s only two floors, and the quiet gives your buzzing thoughts room to breathe.

“You didn’t have to walk me out. It’s not that dark. I would’ve been fine.”

“Oh, I know.” He places a hand against his chest. “It’s just impossible for me not to be a gentleman and escort a lady.”

You laugh and walk side by side through the parking lot until you reach your car.

“Take it easy tonight. And don’t get so drunk you call Shinso thinking he’s Jiro again.”

“What if I call Jiro thinking she’s Shinso?” He shoots back with a grin.

You roll your eyes. “Goodnight, Kaminari.”

You turn and reach for the handle. Before you can open the door, Kaminari’s hand comes down on it, holding it shut. You glance back at him. His grin is gone, replaced with something much more… serious.

“Hey.” His voice is lower now. “I agree with everything Mina said and all that, but I kinda think you’re looking at this from the wrong angle.”

You let out a small laugh, waiting for the punchline. It never comes. Kaminari’s expression remains steady.

Your stomach tightens. “What do you mean?”

“Now I wasn’t there. But based on everything you said, I didn’t get the impression you don’t want two boyfriends. Nor did it seem like Deku or Bakubro were super jealous or mad about seeing you with the other.”

You blink a few times, surprised at how insightful Kaminari is trying, succeeding, to be.

“Think about it.” Kaminari holds up two fingers in the shape of a V. “Mina keeps calling this a love triangle, but she means more of a love V, right?.”

He taps the point where his fingers meet. “This is you.”

Then he taps the tips of his fingers. “And these are Bakugou and Deku. They're connected to you because they both like you.”

You stare at his hand for a moment.

“This.” He wiggles the V. “is what you're worried about. They both want you. You want both of them. And you're terrified that eventually they're going to get jealous, start fighting, and then…”

He folds one finger down. “You lose one.”

Your stomach sinks. Slowly, you nod.

“Right. But I doubt that’ll ever happen.” Kaminari lets the moment sit before tilting his head. 

“Have you ever stopped to consider that they might like each other too?”

You blink some more. A grin spreads across his face. Using his other hand, he places a finger across the top of the V, turning it into a triangle.

“There.” He presents his hands like a masterpiece. “Now it's a proper love triangle. Everyone is connected to everyone. No jealousy. Quite the happy ending, no?”

You stare at the shape. Then at him. Then back at the shape.

“Kaminari… are you suggesting that…” you trail off.

You recall how fondly Midoriya spoke about Bakugou last night. A small detail you hadn’t thought much about at the time. Then you remember what Bakugou said before he left. A much bigger detail. One slapping you in the face.

He’d said he should fuck both you and Midoriya.

At the time, you’d brushed it off as Bakugou being Bakugou. He was just reaching for the most outrageous, reaction-provoking thing he could think of instead of simply threatening to punch one of the two of you.

“Have you seen those two?” Kaminari’s voice cuts through your thoughts. 

“They spend basically every waking moment together. If one isn’t with you, they're with the other. Half their conversations are arguments and the other half are weirdly codependent.”

“…But I live with them. And we’ve been friends forever, I would’ve noticed by now.”

“Like how you noticed they liked you?” Kaminari cocks an eyebrow.

Oh. Right. You somehow missed the fact that both of your roommates had feelings for you for months. You hadn’t figured it out until one of them had you riding his fingers on the couch and the other had his head buried between your thighs in the kitchen. 

It was pretty clear at that point. In hindsight, there may have been signs before that.

Kaminari pats your shoulder, letting go of the car door. 

“Look, all I’m saying is when you get home, take your sweet time opening the door.”

A grin spreads across his face as he pulls your car door open, stepping aside with an exaggerated flourish.

“Because with how things are going, you’re next up to walk in on them getting freaky.” 

You roll your eyes at him, stepping into the car. “Goodnight, Kaminari.”

You slam the car door in his face, but you can still hear his laughter as he heads back toward Mina’s apartment building. Shaking your head, you throw the car into reverse and pull out of your parking spot.

The drive home gives you far too much time to think about what Kaminari said. And unfortunately, the more you think about it, the less ridiculous it sounds.

They cook together all the time. Eat together. Work out together. Study together. Hell, they practically come as a set if you aren’t there to complete the trio.

You think of that one time Bakugou spent ten minutes squeezing Midoriya’s biceps under the excuse that he was “tracking muscle growth.”

Or the way Midoriya always seemed absurdly proud whenever Bakugou complimented him. Which was rare, but somehow made it worse.

Or how neither of them ever seemed bothered by the amount of time the other spent around you. Despite you being unaware of it until this morning, they'd already been talking about their feelings for you together, hadn't they?

If jealousy was going to be a problem… Shouldn't it have happened by now?

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel. When you finally pull into your apartment complex and park, a horrifying realization settles over you. You’re actually an overthinking, paranoid idiot.

You let out a long groan as the elevator carries you up to the fifth floor.

Once you get to the door, you pull out your keys. Then stop. Slowly, your gaze drifts to the fob in your hand as Kaminari’s words echo through your head.

With a sigh, you press the fob against the electric lock. The familiar beep echoes through the hallway. The very same beep that has become the soundtrack to two of the most humiliating moments of your life.

You wait for a moment. No frantic footsteps. No shouting. No suspicious crashes from somewhere deeper in the apartment.

A good sign. Carefully, you crack the door open. 

“H-hey guys, I’m home.” You announce and begin easing your way inside, opening the door one agonizing inch at a time while keeping your eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

A little extreme? Maybe, but after getting walked in on twice in less than twenty-four hours, you’ve developed a healthy respect for the dangers lurking behind apartment doors.

Thankfully, there’s no one in the living room or kitchen, so you step inside and silently curse Kaminari. You toss your keys onto the table by the door and head for the hallway.

Music drifts from Bakugou’s room. Midoriya’s door is cracked open, so you push it wider and peek inside.

“Hey, I really want to–”

Empty. Huh. You could've sworn his car was in its assigned spot. With a shrug, you back out and make your way to Bakugou’s room instead. 

You need to talk to one of them. You've avoided this long enough.

You raise a hand and push the door open. “Hey, I really want to–”

The rest of the sentence dies in your throat. For a second, your brain simply refuses to process what it's seeing.

Bakugou is sitting on the edge of his bed. A thick erection springing out of his pants with Midoriya’s fingers wrapped around the base. Midoriya’s face is buried in the crook of Bakugou’s neck. Both of them have the same guilty, deer-in-headlights expression you imagine you wore earlier that morning and last night.

Bakugou immediately pushes Midoriya off him and starts tucking himself back into his pants, yelling a string of curses at you. Midoriya makes a strangled sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. 

You slam a hand over your eyes and immediately shout. “I didn’t see anything!”

“Of course you fucking did!” Bakugou snaps back.

“I didn’t see anything!” You repeat louder, as if saying it enough times will somehow rewind the last five seconds of your life.

Somehow, despite having an advance notice, you still managed to walk directly into the exact situation Kaminari predicted. Maybe you’d been too caught up in your own catastrophes to think about the obvious. 

At this point, the two were probably smart enough to move it somewhere private.

Which, unfortunately for you, didn’t seem to occur to you before you barged in without knocking.

Heat floods your entire body. This is mortifying. Getting walked in on was horrible enough, but walking in on someone else? Now all three of you understand both sides of the humiliation.

The original reason you came in here evaporates completely. You spin on your heel, fully intending to flee the scene forever, only for a warm hand to gently catch your wrist.

You don’t even have to look to know it’s Midoriya. Still, you lower your hand from your face anyway.

“I’m happy you’re home.” Midoriya says as he releases you, cheeks pink. “But a knock would’ve been appreciated."

“My door was shut for a damn reason.” Bakugou gruffs.

He reaches for his phone beside him and taps the screen. The music filling the room immediately cuts off, leaving the silence painfully clear.

“I’m sorry.” You rush out. “God. When I didn’t see anything in the living room or kitchen, I assumed everything was fine and didn’t even consider–”

Bakugou’s eyes narrow instantly, two sharp lines crease between his brows. “So you came home expecting to catch us fucking?” 

“Well… yeah, that’s exactly what happened.” You wave your hands around in a gesture.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, so you redirect your attention to the more reasonable roommate.

“How long have you two been together?” You ask bluntly.

The scene you’d just walked in on definitely had the energy of two people who’d already been fooling around for a while. Midoriya still looked dazed, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, while Bakugou was already back to his usual loud and defensive self.

“We aren’t together!” Bakugou snaps immediately.

Midoriya lets out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s his war cry.”

A pillow goes flying at his head. Midoriya ducks effortlessly, and it smacks against the wall before dropping to the floor.

“Shut up!” Bakugou growls. “We just jack each other off a couple times a week. That’s it.”

“…Okaaay.” You nod slowly, trying to process that. “Let me rephrase. How long have you two been physical with each other?”

“About a month?” Midoriya answers.

“First time was that night you went out for ‘girl night’.” Bakugou adds, with aggressive air quotes.

Last month, Jirou had invited everyone out for a musical theatre karaoke night at some bar near campus. While you were drunkenly screaming “The Music of the Night” at the top of your lungs, your two roommates had apparently been… sword-fighting. Literally.

“…Was it on the couch?” You joke, trying to ease the tension.

Both of them suddenly go very quiet and avoid eye contact.

You stare at them. “Wait. You’ve been doing it on the couch every time I wasn’t home?!”

“No!” Bakugou barks, face turning red. “This time we were trying to make it to my bed before you barged in like a dumbass!”

Midoriya scratches his cheek, looking mildly guilty. “Well… there was also that one time in the kitchen.”

You let out a stunned scoff. They’d already fucked in the exact same spots they’d first had you. All this time you’d been quietly panicking about eventually having to choose between them, when in reality they would pick each other–

A warm, reassuring hand settles on your shoulder, gently grounding you before your thoughts can spiral any further.

“You were wearing that black dress you bought after we passed our first semester finals,” Midoriya says softly, his voice full of fond recollection. “The one with the deep V-neck?”

“And the thigh slit.” Bakugou adds, like that particular detail was far more important.

You nod slowly. Something warm blooms in your chest. They remembered exactly what you’d been wearing that night.

Midoriya’s cheeks flush a soft pink. “You looked… really beautiful. It had an effect on us. One we couldn’t exactly hide.”

His eyes flick downward meaningfully. Your mouth forms a quiet oh as understanding hits.

“You know how the rest goes.” Bakugou clicks his tongue, glancing away. “Shit just fucking happened.”

Heat rushes through your body. 

You could keep denying these feelings you have. You could spiral again about how this might be a mistake, how it could ruin everything, but you’ve spent the last twenty-four hours doing exactly that, and you’re tired of it already.

Before your brain can talk you out of it, the words spill out.

“Can I join?”

Midoriya's expression freezes and Bakugou shoots upright so fast it's almost alarming, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

Midoriya turns to Bakugou. The two of them simply stare at each other for a moment. Midoriya's gaze drops and your eyes follow automatically, to the hardness of Bakugou through his pants, and realization hits almost immediately. 

Oh. Interesting. It seems you're not the only one who's been getting edged.

Bakugou lets out a low grunt, and Midoriya instantly jerks his attention back up, cheeks darkening. 

“Okay.” You say to knock them out of their shocked daze. Your pulse pounds so loudly in your ears you're surprised they can't hear it. 

“I wanted to have a conversation about... the last twenty-four hours.”

You gesture vaguely between the three of you. Bakugou snorts, but you ignore him. 

“So let me just say, I'm done pretending I don't know what I want. I'm done talking myself out of it. I’m done acting like this is a mistake, or something that'll go away if we ignore it long enough.”

Your hands curl at your sides. The invisible weight against your shoulders lifting.

“I'm just going to say it, I want both of you. Can I join you two this time instead of accidentally interrupting it?”

Neither of them speaks for a few moments, until Midoriya lets out a stunned chuckle.

“Kacchan.” Midoriya says, hunger flickering through his eyes. “She's serious.”

“She is serious.” Bakugou repeats, finally finding his voice. 

He points sharply between the two of you, eyes narrowing. “You two, get over here.”

Despite the command, the corners of his mouth twitch upward. Those words send your body into overdrive. The knot of anxiety in your chest begins to loosen and your nerves buzz with anticipation.

You step closer until you’re between Bakugou’s knees. Heart hammering as his intense gaze locks onto you. The desire in those eyes makes your skin ignite and burn. Midoriya presses his body flush against your back and buries his face into the crook of your neck. 

You want to rip his and your shirt off so you can feel his chest against you, but you stay still. Excitement crackles through you. What are they going to do to you after yearning for so long? Your core aches at the thought and you have to bite your lip to suppress a needy whine. 

Bakugou’s calloused fingers brush over the skin of your stomach. One hand slides beneath the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough for him to lean forward and press a slow kiss right below your belly button. 

From behind, Midoriya trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck to your shoulder, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin. You whimper as he nibs at the soft flesh.

“You sure you can handle two at once?” Midoriya murmurs against your skin.

You feel shivers spreading down to your naval. “Mm, yes.”

Their mouths move over your body with ravenous hunger, leaving wet heat everywhere they touch. The sensation is mind-numbing, making your thoughts melt into pure need. How could you deny yourself this for even a moment? It’s so good. Too good.

“Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good. That’s Deku’s favorite position, ya know? He loves to kiss and bite from behind.” Bakugou chuckles, voice low.

“I love feeling you against me.” Midoriya admits breathlessly, grinding his erection against your ass.

You let your head fall back against Midoriya’s shoulder with a shaky moan. His reaction is instant. His fingers gently tilt your chin up, and his lips crash down onto yours. You kiss him back just as desperately, catching his bottom lip between yours.

A sharp gasp vibrates in the deep kiss when Bakugou suddenly yanks your pants down your legs in one rough motion. With a wicked smirk, he hooks two fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulls the fabric taut, and lets it snap back against your skin.

“Deku already got to taste both your lips. It’s my turn to eat your pussy.” Bakugou growls.

Midoriya sucks one more spot on your shoulder, letting go with a wet pop and a loud whimper from you. Carefully, he places his hand against your waist to guide you.

“Lay on your back for us, love.” Midoriya whispers against your ear.

Your heart pounds wildly as you obey, lying back against the sheets. Midoriya kneels behind you, placing your head comfortably on his firm thighs. 

Meanwhile, Bakugou settles between your spread legs, his broad shoulders pushing your thighs further apart as he stares down at your clothed cunt with hungry eyes.

“Kacchan is incredible with his tongue.” Midoriya murmurs sweetly, brushing his fingers through your hair.

“Oh? You weren’t too bad yourself.” You giggle softly, turning your attention back to the blushing blonde. “Hurry and take my panties off.”

“Shut the hell up! So fucking embarrassing…” Bakugou snaps at both of you, but there’s no real anger there.

In one swift motion, just like your pants, he rips your panties down your legs and tosses them aside. You gasp once Bakugou’s hot, wet muscle drags slowly up your slit. Ending with a messy, open-mouthed kiss right over your clit. 

He uses his thumbs to spread your pussy lips apart, exposing you completely. A low, appreciative whistle escapes him.

“Fuck… so wet already, baby.” He mutters, voice thick with lust. His thumb presses firmly against your clit, rubbing slow circles. 

“Who got you this soaked? Me or Deku? Answer me.”

“B-Both…” You whimper, hips already twitching. “Who t-turns you on more? Midoriya or m-me?”

Midoriya laughs above you, his thumbs drawing a soothing rhythm against your scalp. “She’s feisty like you, isn’t she Kacchan?”

“For now.” Bakugou scoffs, a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips. He presses down harder on your clit, making you gasp. “Try to keep that attitude when you’re creaming on both our cocks all night.”

Bakugou slides his hands against your inner thighs and pushes your legs wider, nearly folding you open. It’s embarrassing, but being this exposed turns your blood into lava. Both your roommates can see everything.

Without warning, he flattens his tongue against your clit and licks a broad, firm stripe from your entrance all the way up.

You cry out as he plunges his tongue inside you, thrusting deep. His pace is relentless, nothing like Midoriya’s gentleness from this morning. 

Every groan that vibrates from his chest sends sparks shooting up your spine. His nose keeps bumping against your clit with every stroke, pushing you higher. You gasp and whimper, fingers clenching at the sheets.

Your head is still in Midoriya’s lap and you can feel how hard he is. His cock straining against his pants, twitching every time you moan. He’s watching intently as Bakugou devours your cunt, enjoying the show, but you want him to be a part of it.

You desperately try to shift your weight so you can reach for Midoriya’s clothed cock, but Bakugou’s strong fingers dig harder into the soft flesh of your thighs, pinning you firmly in place. 

A sharp slap lands directly on your swollen clit. You cry out, the sting electrifying your nerves. Bakugou leans in and presses a deceptively gentle kiss to the bundle of nerves. 

“Focus on me.” Bakugou growls against your soaked cunt.

“Don’t be so rough with her!” Midoriya scolds with concern.

“She likes it. Don’t you, baby?” He nips at your inner thigh, possessive and mean. “You get the best of both worlds with us. Deku will be gentle and sweet with this pretty body… and I’ll discipline it.”

Pleasure is still frying your veins, making it impossible to form words. Instead, you whimper and roll your hips desperately, chasing his mouth.

“I can be rough or gentle, whatever she wants.” Midoriya adds defensively.

Bakugou lets out a low arrogant laugh and dives back in. His tongue thrusts deep inside you with filthy strokes, devouring you in the most perfect way.

Midoriya leans closer, his voice dropping into that gentle, soothing register you love. 

“You’re so sweet.” He whispers, brushing damp strands of hair from your sweaty forehead. 

“Don’t worry about touching me right now. I’ll have my turn soon enough.” A soft smile tugs at his lips. “For now… I’m very much enjoying the view of our pretty girl.”

The heat in your belly grows molten, turning into liquid fire as Bakugou attaches his lips to your swollen clit and sucks. Your toes curl tight, your thighs begin to shake, and your vision whites out as the orgasm rips through you like lightning. 

For a few blissful seconds, you feel completely weightless. Floating in pure, pulsing pleasure, but before you can even catch your breath, strong hands are guiding you.

Midroiya helps lift you up onto your knees. Bakugou moves in front of you, off the bed. Behind you, Midoriya presses close, his chest warm against your back and his erection nudging teasingly against your ass.

You’re perfectly sandwiched between them.

“If you want more, ask nicely.” Bakugou tugs teasingly at the hem of your shirt. 

“Oh, please. Don’t stop now… Midoriya? I want you to finger me. Please?” You whimper, the word barely more than a breath.

A wicked, amused smirk spreads across Bakugou’s face. “She’s fucking begging, Deku. Help our girl out.”

Midoriya’s warm hand slides between your thighs from behind, his fingers gliding through your slick folds. At the same time, Bakugou yanks your shirt up and over your head, leaving you completely bare between them.

“I’ve got you, love,” Midoriya whispers tenderly against your bare back, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your spine. 

Two thick fingers slowly push inside you, stretching your inner walls. You arch your back, pushing your ass toward Midoriya to give him a better angle. His thick fingers start to pump into you at a steady rhythm, stroking that spongy spot inside. 

Pleasure coils tight at the base of your spine, sending electricity racing up your vertebrae.

Bakugou’s rough hands find your breasts, cupping and squeezing them before he catches one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He rolls it slowly, then pinches. Hard. You hiss at the sharp sting, but it melts into liquid heat that shoots straight down to your cunt, making your walls flutter around Midoriya’s fingers.

“You really do like it rough, huh?” Midoriya murmurs like he’s talking to himself. His voice has a hungry edge to it now. 

“Want me to go faster, love?”

Before you can answer, he puts another finger in and thrusts deeper, curling them just right while his other hand slides around your thigh. His fingertips find your swollen clit and start rubbing tight, slick circles.

A broken howl rips from your throat. The faster he fucks you with his fingers, the louder you get. Moans spill out of you as your body rocks between them. 

Bakugou keeps teasing your nipples, pinching and tugging at them. Your vision blurs with tears at the overwhelming pleasure. 

Hands are everywhere. Stroking each sensitive spot they can find. You’re losing yourself to it.

Bakugou seizes your chin in a firm grip, forcing your gaze up to his. You must look drunk. You’re flushed, panting, lips parted on a moan.

“Messy girl.” Bakugou grunts, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. He frees his cock from his pants and taps the leaking tip against your lips. “Suck my cock.”

Midoriya’s fingers still inside you, but his thumb keeps rubbing your sensitive clit. 

“I want to fuck you at the same time. Is that okay? Can we have you together?” Midoriya presses a sloppy kiss under your ear, lightly biting your earlobe.

“Oh god. Can’t get enough. Please use me.” You nod frantically between broken moans.

“We made her drunk off pleasure.” Bakugou rolls his cock against your mouth, spreading precum. His voice rough with anticipation. “Hey. Open your fucking mouth.” 

The musky, intoxicating scent of him fills your senses as you part your lips obediently. Bakugou guides the head of his cock past your lips. He pushes in gradually, letting you adjust

Midoriya slowly withdraws his fingers, leaving you achingly empty. Then, you feel the blunt, heavy press of Midoriya’s cock against your soaked entrance. 

You gasp around Bakugou as Midoriya sinks into you in one long, smooth thrust, stretching your walls until he’s buried to the hilt. The fullness is overwhelming. Both your throat and pussy are stuffed with cock.

“Fuck. Just like that.” Bakugou groans, eyes filled with satisfaction as he watches your lips stretch around him. 

He holds your head steady, hips rocking forward with controlled thrusts, slowly fucking deeper into your constricted throat. It’s harder to breathe and tears start to puddle at your waterline. Still, you hollow your cheeks the best you can. 

Midoriya’s hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you back onto his cock until his hips are right against your ass. Pearls of sweat form a halo across his forehead. His cock drags across your welcoming walls deliciously.

“So tight.” He breathes against your back, voice reverent and possessive. “Taking both of us so well.”

You’re completely trapped between them. Bakugou owning your mouth, Midoriya owning your pussy. Every thrust from behind forces you further onto Bakugou’s cock. You’re not just being fucked, you’re being used by both of them in perfect, devastating sync.

It makes you wonder if double-penetrating you was something they talked about often. They’re too good at this.

Bakugou smirks at you, thumb stroking your stretched lips. “You’re our little toy in the middle, baby. You’re making us feel so fucking good.”

“She’s clenching so hard around me, Kacchan. I think she likes this a lot.” He grinds deep, rolling his hips so his cock presses against that syrupy spot deep inside you.

Bakugou pulls his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his velvet tip. He slaps his slick erection against your cheek with a dry laugh.

“Fuck… hurry up and cum, Deku. I need to fuck her now.” Bakugou barks, his voice rough with impatience as he strokes his slick shaft.

The wet sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. Pleasure crashes through you like a hurricane, fierce and unstoppable. Your eyes roll back, limbs turning weak and boneless.

“Don’t rush me. Gonna make her cum. Her pussy is fluttering so beautifully, she’s close.” Midoriya pants, holding back a whine.

“Tch. Then stop playing nice and wreck that pussy.” Bakugou snarls.

You whimper and sob uncontrollably as Midoriya suddenly drives into you harder from behind, his hips snapping forward with punishing force. Tears fall down your cheeks. His heavy balls slap rhythmically against your soaked cunt, and his fingers dig bruisingly into your ass, spreading you open wider for him.

Midoriya shifts closer, his groans growing deeper, then muffled. You flutter your eyes up just in time to see Bakugou leaning over your back, pulling Midoriya into a messy, aggressive kiss right above you.

The wet sounds of their tongues sliding together, combined with Midoriya’s cock stretching you open sends you spiraling. 

“Mmm fuck– ‘m gonna!!” You cry out, drooling shamelessly down your chin. 

The orgasm hits you like a tsunami. Your whole body trembles, wave after wave of blinding pleasure bolting through you. You sob and shake between them, tears spilling down your cheeks while your vision whites out.

“So beautiful, love. I’ve dreamed of these moans.” Midoriya whines, fucking you through every pulse of your orgasm, hips stuttering as his own climax crashes over him. 

His loud moans fill the entire room as he buries himself deep and fills you with hot, thick ropes of cum. You’re still sobbing from the overwhelming sensation when Midoriya finally pulls out, panting hard. 

Bakugou scoops you up into his strong arms, pulling you flush against his chest. Midoriya's cum drips messily down your thighs.

“You okay?” Bakugou murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

You hum, leaning into his warmth. Your legs are still trembling, but you love how used you feel. 

He kisses the tear-streaked path on your cheek, voice dropping. “Good. Because I’m not nearly done with you yet. I’m gonna fuck you now, baby.”

You nod eagerly, even though your pussy is already sore and sensitive from Midoriya. The ache only makes you crave more.

Bakugou lays you down on your back, spreading your legs wide as he gets on his knees between them. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open while he lines up his cock against your cum-slick entrance.

“I like this view, we’ll get to watch her tits bounce nicely like this.” Midoriya coos from behind Bakugou, wrapping his arms around his waist.

You cry out as Bakugou pushes in, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, possessive thrust. The stretch burns in the best way, sending fire racing to your stomach. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, driving even deeper as he starts snapping his hips. Rough and relentless.

You’re already so overstimulated, every brutal thrust pushing you deeper into that helpless haze. Your body burns like molten lava, nerves fried and twitching as your tits bounce painfully with every savage impact. Your voice cracks and fractures into a pathetic string of weak moans and desperate little mewls, unable to hold back even if you wanted to.

“Kacchan, c’mere.” Midoriya whispers, voice low and seductive.

Bakugou turns his head with a heated glare. Midoriya smiles softly before pulling him into another hungry kiss. You watch them. Tongues sliding, low groans vibrating between them, all while Bakugou never stops fucking you.

Watching them kiss turns you on more. Maybe one day they’ll let you watch them fuck eachother.

“We finally have her.” Midoriya murmurs against Bakugou’s skin. His eyes are still locked on you with raw affection and lust. 

“I know. She’s gonna be stuffed full of one of us every fucking night from now on. We won’t be able to keep our hands off her.” Bakugou hisses, voice thick with pleasure. 

“I-I… I don’t know if I’ll be able to take it…” You whimper, dizzy and overwhelmed. 

Bakugou’s lips curl into a feral smirk. “You’re taking it right now, the hell do you mean?” 

“Kacchan, she’s going to be so sore tomorrow. Not every night.” Midoriya murmurs against his shoulder, though he watches you in awe.

He presses slow, open-mouthed kisses along Bakugou’s skin, sucking dark hickeys into his neck while one hand roams possessively down his chest.

“S’okay…” You whine. “Midoriya and Bakugou will t-take care of me.”

Bakugou groans raggedly. You can feel his cock pulsing inside you, his rhythm growing erratic and sloppy as Midoriya continues marking him. The added stimulation is clearly pushing him to the edge.

“Fuck. Gonna fill you up.” Bakugou rasps, voice strained like he’s barely holding on. 

Midoriya sinks his teeth into the sensitive spot where Bakugou’s neck meets his shoulder and sucks hard. That’s all it takes. Bakugou buries himself deep with a high-pitched moan, cumming hard inside you. Thick spurts of cum flood your pussy, pushing you over the edge for the third time that night.

Your back arches off the bed as another devastating orgasm rips through you, robbing you of what little energy you had left. A harsh sob tears from your throat while your walls clamp down around him, milking every last drop. 

Bakugou keeps shallowly thrusting through both of your orgasms, savoring every twitch and flutter. He finally pulls out and you immediately feel the warm rush of his cum dripping down your thighs.

Exhausted, you and Bakugou collapse onto the bed in a sweaty, tangled heap.

Soft footsteps pad around the room before the mattress dips. Midoriya leans over you gently, a warm, damp cloth in his hand as he carefully cleans between your thighs. The tender gesture somehow makes you blush harder than anything else that happened tonight.

“Come lay with us.” You say, reaching for him.

“You did so good for us, let me clean you up.” Midoriya hums softly, his voice full of affection as he wipes away the messy mix of all three of you. 

He finishes cleaning you, then glances toward the bathroom. “How about a shower? Kacchan, you too–”

Midoriya stops mid-sentence. You turn your head and find Bakugou seemingly sleeping beside you, breathing slow and steady. Midoriya shakes his head with a fond smile. 

“It’s fine.” You whisper, patting the space beside you. “Come lay with us.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Midoriya climbs into bed and curls up against your other side, sandwiching you perfectly between their warm bodies. A strong arm drapes over you, holding you close.

After a moment of comfortable silence, you let out a tired huff. Now that you aren’t getting your brains fucked out, you can think clearly.

“I can’t believe I spent all that time lecturing you two about how fucking your roommate was a terrible idea… And that what we did was a mistake, only to find out you two had already been messing around! One of you should have told me!” 

Midoriya leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. “If you’d known, you would’ve been curious about how it started.”

He presses his lips against your cheek next. 

“How were we supposed to admit to you that we got so turned on just talking about you that we had to help each other out? We couldn’t say anything. Not until we knew who you wanted.”

He hums, twirling a piece of your hair. “I’m so happy it was both of us, love.”

“Well… when you put it like that…” You sigh, trailing off as Midoriya drops your hair to rub patient circles along your arm.

A heavy, but warm feeling settles in your chest. You’d wanted them for so long, but you’d spent so much effort suppressing it, denying it, and convincing yourself it would ruin everything. All that fear, all that anxiety… for nothing. 

It was always going to be the three of you.

“I can’t help but feel embarrassed.” You admit quietly, shaking your head. “I was so oblivious to everything. God… I should’ve talked to Kaminari way sooner.”

A beat of comfortable silence passes before Midoriya pupils suddenly blow.

“Wait… what? When did you talk to Kaminari?” He perks up instantly, lifting his head to look at you. His voice is climbing in volume and you blink at the sudden shift.

“Oh, um… I went over to Mina’s earlier. We invited him over to talk. He was actually kinda insightful" You answer truthfully, not thinking much of it.

Midoriya sits up on his elbow. “I’m insightful too! Why talk to him?”

His voice is loud enough now that the mattress shifts beside you. Bakugou lets out a grumpy groan as he stirs awake from his short slumber. 

You shoot Midoriya with a confused look. There was no need to get loud.

“Hah?” Bakugou's voice raspy with sleep. “Shut the hell up…”

Midoriya doesn’t miss a beat. He leans over you, pointing dramatically. “Kacchan. She just said she was with Kaminari earlier today.”

Bakugou’s eyes snap open. “The fuck? Why?”

You swallow and attempt to descalate. “I went to Mina for advice and she said we needed a guy's perspective! No big deal!”

Bakugou pushes himself up on one elbow, scowling. “You went to Dunce Face for advice? No fucking fair, we we’re waiting all day for you to come home.”

“And she said he was insightful, Kacchan.” Midoriya tattles, causing a horrified gasp from Bakugou.

“I was spiraling!” You defend yourself, a laugh breaking through. “I thought I was going to ruin everything by wanting both of you!”

You can’t help it. You cover your face with both hands as your two roommates stare at you with matching expressions of pure jealousy. Nothing like the ugly, destructive kind you’d been terrified of. 

They aren’t jealous of each other, but jealous together, and it makes you feel kinda… special.

Midoriya’s pouts. “So your solution was to go to Kaminari?”

“It was to go to Mina!” You counter, but they don’t seem to acknowledge it.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, suddenly wide awake. “Should’ve just come to us. Always come to us.”

“You two are cute when you’re jealous.” You laugh again and pull them both closer, letting their bodies wrap around you once more. 

You press a kiss to Midoriya’s jaw and turn to press on Bakugou's shoulder. 

“It’s always going to be the three of us. No need to worry.” You yawn, letting your eyes flutter shut.

Bakugou grunts in agreement and buries his face against your neck. Midoriya hums contentedly, nuzzling into your other side.

Because, apparently, it didn’t occur to you that the living room is a shared space and your roommate could walk in at any given moment.

So stupid.

You groan and push yourself upright, pressing your fingers to your temples as if that might physically shove the memories back out of your brain.

Your phone. You need it.

You turn on the lights and squint around your room, scanning the floor, your bed, your desk. Nothing, it’s not here.

Last time you had it was on the couch. Right. You must have left it out there.

Your gaze drifts to the half-empty, no, almost empty, vodka bottle on the floor beside you, a thin layer still pooling at the bottom.

Great. Fantastic. Perfect decision-making all around.

You drag yourself to the door and press your ear against it. There’s the faint sound of shuffling footsteps and humming. You chew on your lip. Only Midoriya hums while he cooks.

You pull back slowly, staring at the door like it might attack you.

The plan you carefully formulated last night, before you got drunk all alone, had been simple: text Bakugou, figure out what the hell he said after he chased after Midoriya, and use that information to prepare before facing Midoriya.

But you can’t get your phone without running into Midoriya, so that’s not happening. You could just stay in here until he leaves. Or transfer schools and move out.

Very tempting.

You exhale slowly, dragging a hand down your face.

No.

You need to suck it up and face this. He’s your best friend, and he deserves an explanation. An apology.

But every time your hand reaches for the doorknob, your resolve crumbles before you can turn it. What are you even going to say? You don’t know. Begging for forgiveness, and maybe offering to replace the couch, feels like a good place to start.

Midoriya has always been so kind to you and you repay him by almost cumming on the shared couch. Worst roommate ever. You don’t think you’ll ever hate yourself more than you do right now.

You blink several times, then finally force yourself forward. The door opens and you step out of your room.

Midoriya stands at the stove, his back to you, quietly going through the motions like nothing happened. He’s probably meal prepping for the week. He usually sets some aside for Bakugou too, since they’re both protein junkies, and you find yourself wondering if that’s one of the things you just ruined.

Your throat tightens and you swallow nothing. “Hey.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, and your eyes meet. His expression flickers, something quick, hard to place, before it smooths over.

“…Good morning,” he says, giving a small nod before turning back to the stove.

You didn’t expect anything enthusiastic, but the practiced indifference lands harder than you thought it would. You hover there, awkward and unsure, before finally pushing the words out.

“We should talk.”

“There’s… really no need,” he replies, voice just a little too tight. He keeps his back to you, focused on whatever he’s cooking. “I’m sure what you want to say, Kacchan already said it last ni–”

“It was impulsive,” you blurt out anyway, the words tumbling over each other. “I– I never would’ve done that if I knew you were coming back early.”

The second it leaves your mouth, you realize how that sounds. Midoriya turns to face you, brows pulling together slightly.

Damn it, you’re screwing this up already.

“N-no, that’s not what I meant–” You lift a hand, pointing uselessly as if that might help organize your thoughts. “I’m–I’m trying to work up to the huge apology I owe you, and I’m completely messing it up because I’m still so mortified over what happened, and you’re my best friend, and I’m so, so sorry. Like really, really sorry. Super–”

Warmth settles on your shoulders. It takes a second to register that it’s him.

His hands are gentle, thumbs brushing slow, grounding circles into your skin. When you look up at his green orbs, he’s smiling. Soft, reassuring, the kind of look that always manages to calm you down.

God. It’s not just Bakugou’s eyes that you’re weak too. Bakugou’s intensity might unravel you, but Midoriya anchors you.

“Slow down,” he says quietly. “I’m not angry with you. So you don’t have to be this nervous, okay?”

Your lungs finally give in, releasing a breath you didn’t even realize you’d been holding.

“You and Bakugou are my best friends,” you manage, your voice cracking despite your effort to steady it. Your gaze drops to the floor, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t want to ruin anything.”

You already might have.

“Hey… it’s okay,” he murmurs, softer now, like he’s trying to keep you from spiraling.

His hands give your shoulders one last squeeze before he steps back. You watch him move, turning the stove down to a simmer, grabbing a glass, filling it with water like this is just another normal Sunday morning. He hands it to you and you take it, fingers curling tightly around the glass as you lean against the counter.

“Are you really not upset with us?” you ask, searching his face. “You don’t have to hold back. We messed up. I’ll talk to Bakugou. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. Nothing has to change.”

Midoriya’s smile stays in place, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Kacchan might not agree with that.” he says carefully.

Your grip tightens around the glass.

“…What did he say to you last night?”

Midoriya glances up toward the ceiling, like he’s replaying it.

“…A lot of the same things, I guess,” he admits. “That it was impulsive. He… apologized, in his own way, for me walking in on it.”

He hesitates and his jaw twitches.

“But he also made it pretty clear…” Midoriya exhales quietly, a faint flush creeping across his cheeks, “…that if it were up to him, it wouldn’t be the last time.”

Silence crashes down around you. Your fingers tighten around the glass so hard it almost hurts. Your eyes widen, your jaw going slack. Fucking Bakugou. What the hell was he thinking? What the hell were you thinking? This is going to make everything so awkward and tense.

“I’ll kill him,” you mutter, lifting the glass and taking a much-needed gulp of water.

“Don’t,” Midoriya says weakly. “There’s no point in getting mad at him for being honest,” he continues, voice quieter now. “If I… got to be that close to you, I don’t think I’d want it to be a one-time thing either.”

The words don’t register at first. When they do, you choke.

Water goes down the wrong pipe as you sputter, coughing hard as it spills down your chin and onto your shirt. The force of it makes you wobble, the glass tipping in your hand and sloshing more water over the rim onto you before it slips from your fingers.

It clatters against the counter, wobbling before tipping onto its side. You barely notice. Not the growing puddle spreading across the countertop. Not the way your shirt clings damply to your skin.

Because.

Did he just say?

“…what?” you rasp, staring at him.

Midoriya’s lips part like he’s about to answer, but nothing comes out. He just stands there. Still as a statue. Eyes wide, unfocused, like he’s stuck somewhere fighting between two different emotions. A flush spreads across his cheeks, deepening by the second, his gaze fixed downward.

“Midoriya,” you press. “What did you just say?”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Still doesn’t look up at your face.

“…You need to change,” he murmurs, voice strained in a way you’ve never heard from him before. “Or I’m going to have to excuse myself.”

Your brows knit together, confusion flickering through you. Until you follow his gaze.

Oh. Your shirt is all wet. Every line of your body outlined in a way that leaves very little to the imagination. After all, like Bakugou pointed out before he admitted you make him hard, you never wear bras at home. Your nipples are tight. Midoriya can see everything and, from the way he’s struggling to look away, he must like it. 

Heat rushes between your legs and when you look back up he’s still staring.

Those soft green eyes that usually ground you feel different now. Sharper. There’s an intensity in them that reminds you, vividly of last night. Of Bakugou. Of the way he looked at you right before everything spiraled.

Midoriya blinks again, like he’s trying to pull himself together. Like he knows he shouldn’t be looking, but can’t quite make himself stop. The air between you shifts into something heavy and charged. All too familiar. 

How the fuck is this happening again?

“Bakugou said something to me last night,” you say, your voice softer now, like speaking too loudly might break whatever this is.

Midoriya’s gaze flickers, but he doesn’t look away. You shift your weight onto one foot.

A sharp breath leaves him, almost a hiss, at the way your body is angled and your stomach tightens at the reaction.

“He said…” You hesitate, knowing you should be walking away, changing your shirt, putting distance between you before this turns into something else.

But you don’t. Fuck. Why are you letting this happen again?

Because of the way he’s looking at you. Gentle, careful Midoriya is staring at you like he’s barely holding himself back and you love it.

“…‘We’ve been trying not to touch you for weeks.’”

The words hang between you. You swallow. You shouldn’t be saying this.

“…Was he talking about you?” you ask softly.

Midoriya’s throat bobs as he swallows. His jaw tightens, and he pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I need to g-go,” he blurts, voice uneven, gaze dropping to the floor.

Before you can respond, he steps around you, almost clumsy in his urgency, and heads for his room, abandoning the stove entirely.

You stand there, leaning back against the counter, holding your breath as you watch him go.

Watch him walk away. From this. You didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Not the water. Not the popcorn last night. Not… this tension between you and your roommates.

But somehow every accident keeps pulling the three of you closer. Intimately close.

You’ve told yourself over and over that it’s wrong. That it’s a line you shouldn’t have crossed. That letting Bakugou touch you was a mistake. And Midoriya’s self-control, something you clearly lack, is stopping the mistake from happening again.

So why does the disappointment sit so heavy in your chest?

He makes it halfway across the living room before he stops. His shoulders go rigid. His gaze drifts toward the couch. Something unreadable flickers across his face.

Then he exhales. Long and heavy. Like he’s losing an argument with himself.

He turns. And before you can process it, he’s back in front of you.

“...Fuck it.,” he mutters, almost to himself. But his hands come to your hips anyway, hesitant at first, then firmer, like he’s bracing himself.

His eyes meet yours, and whatever restraint was there before has melted into a deep need.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this…” His voice drops. “But I want to make you feel good too, if you’ll have me.”

The pads of his fingers trail slowly across your skin, and it sends a spark straight through you. Heat coiling low, spreading down before you can stop it.

You can’t look away. His eyes, wide and aching, lock onto yours like you’re the only thing grounding him. Like you’re the only thing he needs. It makes your thoughts stutter, electricity humming through your veins, short-circuiting every bit of logic still trying to hold on.

This is a bad idea. A worse one than last night. 

Getting with both roommates could cause friendship-ending level tension. And yet the way he looks at you pulls something loose in your chest. Memories flicker through your mind, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

Late nights spent studying, his quiet patience guiding you through things you didn’t understand.

The way he made you soup when you were sick, hovering until you finished every last bite.

Letting you cry into his shoulder over something as small as a dog dying in the movie, while Bakugou laughed from across the room.

Midoriya has always taken care of you. And the realization hits you, heavy and undeniable. You want him to. More than you should.

Your hands find his and guide them higher towards your breast, still wet from the water.

A silent answer. Unspoken permission. Midoriya inhales sharply, like that small movement steals what little control he had left and then he’s closing the distance.

His lips crash into yours. There’s nothing hesitant about it.

It’s not soft, not the way you would have expected from him, but it’s not rough either. It’s something else entirely. Overwhelming. Like he’s pouring everything he’s kept buried into the kiss. Every quiet glance, every restrained touch, every moment he chose not to act.

It all comes through at once.

He paws your breasts. His hand, calloused and warm, drags up from your stomach over the soft flesh. A breathy whimper slips out, and he responds instantly, a thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple.

Midoriya lowers his hand to your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on hard enough. One hand steadies at your waist, firm and unyielding, while the other finds its way up to your hair, guiding you, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss.

A low growl escapes him. Barely there, but you feel it more than hear it, the vibration sending a shiver straight through you. And you melt. Completely.

Every thought, every warning, every reason this is a bad idea is gone. All you can feel is him. Sweet Midoriya.  The electricity between you two. The closeness. The way he holds you like his treasure. It feels too good. Way too good. Your mind scrambles to make sense of it, clinging to the same question that haunted you the night before; How can something so wrong feel this right?

“Can I take this off?” he asks, fingers catching lightly on the hem of your damp shirt.

“Y-yeah,” you breathe, heat rushing to your face.

But as he starts to lift it, your gaze drifts to the stove. The pot still quietly simmering.

Reality crashes back in.

You’re in the kitchen. A shared space. With Midoriya. About to let him fondle and ogle your tits as much as he wants. The very morning after he walked in on you and Bakugou, doing something not all that different, in a shared space as well.

Your hands shoot out, grabbing his wrists.

“Stop!”

He freezes instantly, hands lifting away like he’s been burned.

“I’m sorry!” he blurts, panic flashing across his face. “We don’t have to do anything. I wasn’t trying to pressure you, I swear–”

“No, no, it’s not that,” you rush, shaking your head. “It’s not you.”

You hesitate, biting down on your lip, trying to force the words out right.

“I want this,” you admit quietly. “I do. Even if it’s a bad idea… I still want it. I felt the same way with Bakugou last night and then you walked in, and everything got weird and awkward and…”

You gesture vaguely between the two of you.

“And now we’re about to do the exact same thing all over again. I’m going to make the same mistake and lose my two best friends.”

There’s a pause. Midoriya’s expression softens, something gentle but firm settling into his features as he lowers his hands.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he says quietly, his fingers slipping into yours in a gentle hold. “And… you’re not going to lose Kacchan. Or me.”

You sniffle.

The way he holds your hands so carefully, anchoring you, makes your chest ache.

He doesn’t understand. The two of them are already so competitive. It’s only a matter of time before that turns into something worse. They’ll fight over you. You’re all too close for things to be casual. They’ll expect you to choose.

And when you can’t you’ll lose both of them.

“It was me Kacchan was talking about,” Midoriya adds, his thumb brushing soft circles against your skin.

“What?” you ask, your thoughts lagging behind, too distracted by the steady warmth of his gaze. 

“We… talk about you,” he admits, a small and shy smile tugging at his lips. “The first time was, um, four days before we moved in together. It just sort of… happened.”

He glances off to the side briefly, like he’s replaying it.

“We were talking about how to split responsibilities, and then it turned into… other things. And somehow we ended up mentioning your Instagram post. The one where you were wearing–”

“Whoa, wait,” you cut in, brows furrowing. “Four days before move-in? That was months ago. Bakugou said weeks.”

Midoriya flushes, the pink spreading quickly across his cheeks. His grip tightens just a little, like he’s bracing himself.

“W-well… it’s just–” he stumbles slightly, exhaling through his nose. “It didn’t really stop after that.”

A pause.

“If anything, it got harder to ignore and escalated into… vulgar topics."

His gaze flickers back to you, more serious now.

“You trust us,” he says. “You’re comfortable around us… and that’s a good thing. It really is.”

Another pause.

“But… Kacchan and I are still…” he swallows, correcting himself, “we’re still guys. And sometimes it’s… difficult not to notice how beautiful the girl we’re living with is.”

Electricity buzzes beneath your skin, threatening to break into something overwhelming when he lifts his hand to cup your cheek. His thumb moves in slow, absent circles against your skin again.

It steadies you. He knows that. And the realization hits, you’re not fooling him. He knows you’re about to cry.

“T-that’s my p-point,” you choke out, leaning into his touch despite yourself. “You both want me, and I want both of you, so none of us are going to end up happy.”

“That’s not true.”

“Midoriya, yes it is.” You huff, frustration bleeding into your voice. He just doesn’t get it. “I c-can’t choose between you two. I won’t.”

“You don’t have to.”

You blink.

“You don’t have to choose. Pick both.” he repeats, softer this time, but more certain.

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to put space between you.

“No,” you swallow nothing. “No, that’s not how this works.”

Midoriya’s hand lingers at your cheek, but he doesn’t try to pull you back in.

“It’ll fall apart,” you continue, voice strained. “You can say that now, but eventually someone’s going to get jealous. That’s just… how it is.”

His brows knit together slightly, as if he isn’t quite convinced.

“You ran out last night,” you press. “You didn’t stay and talk it through. You left. You couldn’t even look at us.”

“That wasn’t–” he starts, then pauses. He takes a sharp inhale through his nose. “That wasn’t jealousy.”

You scoff. “Midoriya–”

“I walked in on something private,” he interrupts firmly. “Something I wasn’t supposed to see. Of course I left. That was about respecting you and Kacchan.” 

He hesitates for just a fraction, then adds in an unsure tone. 

“Sure, I may have been a little jealous that he got you first, but not because he was with you. I want Kacchan happy just as much as I want you happy.”

Your arms cross over yourself, like you’re bracing.

“Okay, but what if it was the other way around?” you challenge. “What if Bakugou walked in on this? You really think he wouldn’t lose his mind?”

Midoriya’s expression shifts. For a second, it looks almost like a smile, but it’s strained, like he’s trying not to react too strongly and failing.

“Oh, he would,” he admits quietly. “He definitely would.”

His eyes flick away from your face. Down. You already know he’s looking at your tits under your wet shirt. It may have air dried a bit, but it still hugs your curves.

“…Look at you, sweetheart, we lose our minds daily.”

His ears go faintly red as he realizes what he just said, but he holds his intense gaze. But you aren’t looking at yourself, you’re looking at him. At the tent in his jeans.

Your breath catches, thoughts turning heavy and tangled in your mind. The ache low in your stomach is overwhelming now, wearing down your resistance. You still have enough sense left to cling to one thing.

“…Is Bakugou at the gym?”

It’s part of his routine to spend Sunday mornings there before running whatever errands he’s been avoiding all week.

Midoriya doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches around you, arm brushing lightly against your waist as he grabs something off the counter. His phone.

Your brows knit together as he taps at the screen, then lifts it to his ear. Ringing fills the kitchen. Your eyes widen instantly. Midoriya glances at you and lifts a finger to his lips. The call connects after a few rings.

“What?” Bakugou answers gruffly.

“Hey. Are you still out?”

“Why the hell do you wanna know?”

“Can you stop by the supermarket and grab more eggs?” Midoriya asks casually. “I’m meal prepping and didn’t realize we’re out.”

A lie. There are plenty of eggs in the fridge. And somehow, that sends another wave of heat through you. Midoriya is lying for this. For you.

Your gaze flicks toward him, heart pounding as he leans lazily against the counter, looking far calmer than he has any right to. The slight pink dusting his ears gives him away. The anticipation curling in your stomach must be eating at him just as badly.

“Sure.” Bakugou’s tone is flat, which, for him, is practically enthusiastic customer service. “Has she talked to you yet? I texted her and she didn’t answer.”

“Nope,” Midoriya answers a little too quickly and immediately clears his throat. “Okay, thanks. Bye.”

He hangs up before Bakugou can question it further. His lips twitch into an awkward little smile and one brow lifts. 

“That’s at least thirty minutes.”

Molten lava burns low in your core, spreading outward in currents, and you lean into it before realizing Midoriya is finally pulling your damp shirt over your head.

Cool air kisses your skin.

His breath catches.

“Thirty minutes of privacy,” he murmurs, eyes drifting over your breast like he’s forgotten how to blink. “…I-is this okay? Can I?”

His hands hover for only a moment before his palm brushes over your nipple. It’s almost reverent despite the way his fingers tremble as he fondles your tits. 

The touch pulls a soft sound from your throat, and his entire expression falters like he’s hanging onto every reaction you give him. Your cunt pulses. It’s more than okay. And you’re tired of pretending you don’t want this as badly as you wanted Bakugou.

“Please, Midoriya. I need you.”

Privacy. Then afterward, all three of you can sit down and figure this mess out.

Privacy.

“Midoriya,” you whine softly as his lips brush your neck again, warm and lingering. “We need to move to my room. Or yours. Ah. We’re in the open.”

He kisses the underside of your breast before pulling back just enough to look at you. His brows pinch upward slightly, green eyes impossibly soft like a puppy.

“But every time we’re on the couch,” he says quietly, something hungry underneath, “you’ll think about Kacchan.”.

You yelp as his hands suddenly grip your waist and lift you effortlessly onto the counter. A startled laugh bubbles out of you.

He steps between your legs immediately, gaze fixed on you with a kind of shy intensity that makes your pulse flutter wildly. His shoulders are tight, cheeks flushed bright pink, like he still can’t fully believe he’s allowed to touch you like this.

But the longer he looks at you, the bolder he gets. Like every second near you chips away at his restraint.

“…If you want me to,” he says softly, “I’ll carry you to my room right now.”

His eyes flick briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

“But if you give me fifteen minutes…” His voice drops lower, roughened by want. “…I’ll make sure you never walk into this kitchen without thinking about me.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as Midoriya’s fingers inch higher up your thighs. Higher, you want to beg. Instead, you clutch desperately at his sleeve. He knows you’re not going to stop him. Both of you do. The realization hangs heavy in the air, making your pulse pound even harder as his touch lingers, patient, like he’s savoring every second he’s got to have you like this.

He slips your pajama shorts down and lets them fall away, forgotten somewhere on the floor along with your abandoned shirt. You eagerly wait for your panties to go next, but instead, Midoriya slows. His lips find your skin again, lingering along the sensitive line of your inner thigh in slow, open-mouthed kisses that make your legs tremble. 

“You’re…” Voice rougher than usual, unsteady in a way that makes your heart stutter. “…breathtaking.

You spread your legs further and give him a full view of your soaked panties. A shaky sound slips from him.

“You’re edible, love.” He settles in between your legs. His face is right in front of what’s aching most. 

God. Your mind is mush. When is he going to stop kissing you and tongue-fuck you? Your underwear is damp. Damper than your shirt.

A hot breath against your clothed cunt sends currents straight through your entire body, electricity blooming low in your core and radiating outward until your thoughts feel completely uncontrollable. 

You want his tongue inside you. Now. Midoriya is hovering at your pussy, so close it’s disorienting. He presses his thumb against your clothed clit, dragging slow and tight circles over the growing wet patch. The nub buzzes with an addicting sensation that you can’t stop whimpering.

“That’s alright. Be as loud as you need. I got you.” He praises, placing a sloppy kiss against your entrance. “You’re being so perfect for me.”

It’s embarrassing how much his glossy gaze on your pussy affects you. His green eyes stay locked on you as he drags your panties to the side. Completely captivated, completely consumed by your glistening folds.

Your head throws back as he swipes his tongue up the slit. Small moans break past your lips as he plays with different speeds and intensities. Lapping at your cunt like a starved man. Each and every reaction you give him fuels him more. Like your pleasure is becoming his.

Electrifying pleasure cascades down your spine and goes straight to your soaking cunt. 

“Oh. Oh god.” You moan, fingers curling into his mop of green hair, as if anchoring yourself before you slip entirely into the white-hot haze building between you.

“I prefer if you say my name.” 

Midoriya moves his hand to the underside of your thigh to spread your legs wider. His tongue sinks into your pussy, your velvet walls clenching around the wet muscle. The tip of his nose bumps into the sensitive bud making the sensations all the more intense.

“Mi-Midoriya.” You whimper.

“Good girl.” He muses in between your legs before attaching his lips to your puffy clit and sucking. “You’re our good girl.”

Every shaky moan you let out, every lewd and wet sound, means something to him beyond desire. He’s lapping at your pussy with such overwhelming devotion that it makes your chest ache. The edges of your vision darken slightly, losing yourself to his mouth. You buck your hips into his face.

He’s utterly, hopelessly dedicated, as if making you feel good is enough to undo him completely. You grip his green locks tighter in one hand, but the other slides up to your tit to play with your nipple. 

It’s so much at once. Your cunt is fluttering and stars overtake your vision. You won’t last much longer.

Midoriya groans into your pussy, pulling back for a split second, just enough to take you in.

The sight of you like this. Breathless, sweat coated skin, glossy eyes. You’re completely undone by his tongue. He dives right back in, devouring your pussy as if your arousal was a drug. He needs to see you like this again. And again. 

“...you’re going to look absolutely radiant with our cocks inside you.” He mumbles, applying circular pressure to your hardened nub as he licks up your folds. 

You don’t hear him. Or maybe you did, but you can’t focus on anything except the white hot pressure building in your core. 

“Midoriya I–” You throw your head back and arch your back. “I’m going to cum–”

That sharp beep cuts through the room. 

Deafening. 

The front door swings open. Bakugou steps through, eyes on his phone initially before they lift to see the two of you. His expression scrunches instantly and your heart stutters hard against your ribcage.

The angle you’re in. Completely naked. Midoriya against your heat. Just like last night, there’s no way of hiding what is clearly happening. Midoriya is already scrambling up and away from between your legs, face burning red as he moves to put space between you, like that alone can undo the last few seconds.

Bakugou stares for a beat longer than necessary.

Then his jaw clicks.

“…Are you fucking serious?” Bakugou scoffs.

Oh god. There’s no way this is happening again. You must be hallucinating. You have to be. Please let it be that.

Midoriya’s arms settle gently at your shoulders as he carefully guides you down from the counter, pulling you out of the open space like he’s trying to shield you from the spotlight you’re suddenly trapped in.

“Kacchan, you don’t have the eggs..!” Midoriya blurts, wiping off the arousal coating his mouth. 

“I wanted to shower first after my workout,” Bakugou growls, waving a hand like the entire situation is beneath him. “You two extras didn’t think to use a damn room?”

His eyes narrow, sharp as ever, and he jabs a finger into the air between you.

“I’m going to go get your eggs,” he continues, already turning toward the door, “and when I get back, I should fuck the shit out of both of you.”

His voice is rough. Threatening on the surface, but the faint pink dusting his ears gives him away. He’s not nearly as mad as he’s pretending to be.

The door shuts behind Bakugou with a hard click. Silence hangs for half a second too long. Midoriya lets out a breath so tense it almost sounds like relief.

“See?” he says quickly, turning back to you with an awkward smile as you put your shorts back on alongside your slightly-damp shirt. “He’s not mad.”

You stare at him. Stunned.

“…Midoriya,” you say slowly, “he literally just threatened to fuck the shit out of us.”

His smile wavers.

“But he didn’t threaten to beat us… haha,” he rushes to explain, rubbing the back of his neck. 

You blink. “That is not comforting.”

Midoriya hesitates, then glances toward the door like it’s calling to him.

“I should… probably go after him,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Make sure he’s okay. And… maybe explain. Or help him calm down. ”

He looks back at you. “…He’s not mad,” he repeats, a little softer this time. “He’s just… like me, frustrated he missed out on a chance to touch you..”

You press a hand to your face.

“We should have moved to your room–.” you cut yourself off with a groan. “No. We should have stopped. This was a mistake.”

It was a mistake letting him eat your pussy. It was a mistake letting him strip you. It was a mistake wanting to be with both your roommates so badly, you keep letting them touch you right where the other one can walk in!

“…It might be a complicated situation,” he corrects gently. “But I don’t think it’s a mistake.”

And before you can even respond, he’s already moving toward the door.

“…I’ll be right back,” he adds. “I just need to make sure Kacchan doesn’t, um… implode.” 

You don’t watch him walk out the door, but you hear it open and shut again.

You close your eyes and the memories come flooding. Last night. This morning. The heat of it, the passion and intimacy, the way both of them felt like they pulled you in too easily. Like something in you had been waiting for it all along.

As much as you keep telling yourself it was a mistake, as much as you try to drag yourself back toward normal, you can’t shake it.

The way it felt. How good it felt. Nothing can measure up to Bakugou’s fingers. Midoriya’s tongue. Would you be able to handle their heat swelling inside you? The thought alone makes your core pulse.

You shouldn’t want this. You know you shouldn’t. But you do. You need them.

The thought lands hard, dizzying, impossible to smooth over. Because it’s not just impulse anymore. It’s not just heat or curiosity or bad timing.

It’s want.

When they come back, you’ll be on the couch. You’ll talk. You’ll figure it out like adults are supposed to. Midoriya said Bakugou wasn’t even that mad. And he said he’d fuck both of you. Doesn’t that mean he thinks of Midoriya as much as he thinks of Bakugou? As much as you think of them?

Your thoughts snag as all these emotions overwhelm you.

No, there’s no way you can handle a talk between the two of them. Not right now. Not like this. All you want to do is run away for a little bit.

So you do.

You’re in your room before you even realize you’ve moved. Changing. Rushing. Thinking too fast to slow down. You grab a spare phone charger and shove it into your purse, then finally find your phone wedged between the couch cushions.

And then you’re gone. Out the door. Into your car. Engine on before your thoughts can catch up.

You’ll be back before tonight and figure this out. It’s just that staying feels impossible right now.

The drive starts before you’ve fully decided where you’re going. A friend. Somewhere that isn’t here. Your phone is dead. It doesn’t matter.

Bakugou scoffs. “Yeah, I fucking know that. But a third of apartment 5-37 is missing.”

You keep your eyes glued to the TV, refusing to acknowledge whatever nasty look he’s definitely throwing your way.

“Okay, as you already know, he has a good reason.” You counter. “And as the executive officer of movie night, I approved his absence.”

Midoriya has a massive exam on Monday worth, like, a ridiculous percentage of his grade. There was no way you were going to drag him away from the one night his entire study group could meet at the library. You offered to wait, but he very logically pointed out that Bakugou would be unbearable if kept awake any later.

“And who decided you get ultimate authority over movie night attendance?” 

You finally glance over. He’s glaring, the crease between his brows deepening, but there’s a flicker of amusement there, too. He’s always like this, but tonight he seems to be in an extra foul mood.

He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be. He wouldn’t have stopped by the store after class to grab extra microwave popcorn if that were the case. Not when he already knew it’d just be the two of you tonight. So this argumentative attitude is simply for the purpose of getting under your skin. 

And it works.

“I decided.” You say evenly, “four months ago, when you and Midoriya were yelling at each other so loudly during my virtual advisor meeting that she asked if everything was okay at home.”

He rolls his eyes.

“And then…” You continue, unable to stop yourself, “she gave me resources for domestic violence hotlines.”

“Don’t bring up that stupid story again–”

“It was embarrassing, Bakugou. Embarrassing.”

“It was months ago and you still bring it up all the damn time!”

You wave him off. “I’m not arguing with you on movie night.”

“Fine. Then hurry up and put something on.” He grumbles, already shoveling popcorn into his mouth.

You open Netflix, scroll to the movie section, and click into the rom-com category. The reaction is immediate. A loud, irritated groan.

You snap your head toward him, already regretting that whole not arguing promise.

“We watched one of those stupid romantic comedies last week.” He says, clicking his tongue like you’ve personally offended him.

Which is completely unfair. That had been Midoriya’s pick.

“Then why don’t you pick something.” You shoot back, stretching across the couch to drop the remote into his lap and stealing the popcorn bowl from his hands in the same motion. “I’ll hold this.”

You curl back into the corner on your side of the couch satisfied. A perfect compromise. Honestly, you could probably negotiate world peace after being friends-to-roommates with Bakugou and Midoriya for so long.

His brows shoot up then snap down into a sharp scowl. “Huh? Hell no. I bought and made that popcorn. I’m holding it.”

Oh my god. 

He is going to single-handedly ruin movie night. And move night is never ruined. Leave it to Bakugou to want to be the first.

He shifts onto one knee, reaching for the bowl, but unlike him, you were ready. You pull it tight against your stomach, knees drawn up to shield it. No chance to grab it now. The look you give him makes that very clear.

“Just pick a movie.” You say flatly.

He lets out a sardonic laugh and then he’s moving. Bakugou stands and closes the distance in one stride, looming over you at the couch 

“I will. When you give me the damn popcorn back.” He says flatly.

“Are you four years old? It doesn’t matter who holds the popcorn.” You shoot back.

Bakugou’s jaw tightens, a vein in his neck bulging. His face scrunches as he grinds his teeth and then, in the next second, he’s bending down, closing the distance so abruptly it steals the air from your lungs.

He’s so close. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.

Something tight coils low in your stomach when your eyes meet his. He’s glaring, sure, but he’s right there, and suddenly you’re very aware you’re alone with him.

Heat creeps up your neck and beats in your chest.

It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that your loud, insufferable roommate is, objectively, a very attractive guy. You’ve known him long enough that his personality usually overshadows everything else. 

But up close like this… His features are sharp, almost unfairly so, like an artist spent decades carving him. His eyes, especially. The shade is intense and striking. It’s hard to look away.

 If you let yourself think about it too long, you might start noticing other things. Like the way his shirts fit. Or how often you just happen to pass through the living room when he’s lifting weights.

Which is exactly why you don’t think about it. Because he’s your friend. Your roommate. And you definitely, absolutely do not see him like that.

It’s just. He’s really close. It almost feels… intimate. It’s only been a few seconds, but then his hands slide over yours–

Holy shit. 

He’s grabbing the bowl and yanking it right out of your lap.

The heat building in your chest transforms into anger and before you can think better of it, you yank the bowl back. Bad idea. The force sends it flying over the back of the couch, popcorn scattering everywhere.

And worse, it causes Bakugou to stumble. You barely have time to react before he loses his footing completely.

You yelp as he comes crashing down on top of you.

“Fuck!” he snaps, catching himself on the armrest you were laying against just in time, his palms planted on either side of you to keep his full weight off.

Your breath hitches. Your face is inches from his chest. Close enough that your brain just… stops working for a second. You glance up, and he’s already glaring down at you.

“Now look what you did.” He bites out. “You made a huge mess.”

He starts to push himself up, shifting onto his knees, clearly trying to get off you. “I’m not clean–”

Something firm presses hard between your legs and the sudden friction makes your eyes snap wide and a moan slip out.

For a split second, neither of you moves. In that second, you realize that it was his knee. Digging into your clothed cunt. As he was shifting his knees that one was between your legs.

The realization hits all at once, hot and mortifying, and the air between you goes completely still. 

Bakugou’s face seems to turn entirely red and his eyebrows are hitting his hairline. You slap your hand over your mouth and can’t bear to face him as he slowly rises off of you. 

“…the fuck was that sound?” he asks, cutting straight through the silence. Instead of putting distance between you, he drops down onto the couch beside you.

Too close. It’s making you hot in places you don’t want to mention.

You can see the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers curl into a tight fist, the subtle tension in his jaw. And something shifts. Something unfamiliar flickers across his expression.

…is he nervous?

No. There’s no way. You have to be projecting or something.

“I-I was just startled.” You manage, the stutter betraying you despite your best effort to sound normal. Casual. As if you hadn’t just–

Nope. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about how just a bit of friction from his goddamn knee felt good. Not thinking about the pool of need behind her naval. Nope.

You clear your throat quickly, forcing your gaze away from him. Looking at him right now is a terrible idea. He’s a visual reminder of things you absolutely shouldn't focus on. Especially not things like his hands. Rough with calluses. Thick fingers. 

You need to stop thinking right now before your mind goes to a territory you can never leave. 

“I’m going to grab the broom and clean up the popcorn–” you say, standing abruptly, more of an attempt to escape than intention.

You don’t make it a step. Bakugou’s hand snaps out, fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you back down. Your breath catches. 

You look at him. His expression shifted. The sharp scowl has softened into something smoother, but his eyes are still intense. They always are.There’s something else there now, too. Something urgent and unsure.

“That…” His voice comes out rough, like it’s dragged over gravel. “That’s not a sound you make when you’re startled for fucks sake.”

You bite down on your lower lip, trying and failing to come up with something, anything, to say. But he’s eye-fucking you and every coherent thought melts together. It’s impossible to think.

“Okay, maybe I moaned a little when your knee pressed against my– …down there.” You blurt, words tumbling out faster than you can control. “But it doesn’t have to mean anything weird, and we can just forget it happened, and I’ll stop bringing up the stupid advisor story–”

You would’ve kept talking. But Bakugou cuts you off, pulling you back down onto the couch beside him. Your thighs press together, skin against skin, and he doesn’t move away.  Shit. He’s still looking at you like that.

Bakugou’s eyes have always been a weakness of yours and right now, they’re locked onto you like he’s trying to figure you out. Or maybe like he already has.

His hand settles against your upper thigh atop your hand. 

“…My knee rubbing against your pussy felt good?” he asks quietly. His voice is lower now. It sends a cold shiver down your spine.

You suck in a breath, eyes widening. Is he… is he also attracted to you..? No. Maybe. You don’t know what’s happening, but you do know this is dangerous territory. It’s one thing to think about fucking your sexy roommate, it’s another thing to actually do it.

There are consequences. There are lines. What would Midoriya think? It could ruin your trio and you won’t let that happen, no matter how unbelievably turned on you are right now.

“You need to drop it, Bakugou.” You plead.

He doesn’t. His fingers tighten slightly against your hand, only enough to sting, enough to make your breath hitch. It feels good.

“Did it feel good?” He presses.

The question hangs between you, heavy and impossible to ignore. And you should lie. You know you should. The heat in his gaze deepens, and something in you gives way before you can stop it.

“...yes.” You admit, barely above a whisper.

Something in his expression shifts. His throat moves as he swallows, gaze dipping for just a second before snapping back to yours.

“My fingers would do a lot better.” He mutters.

He might as well have dragged his tongue all over your body with how wet that makes you.

Bakugou leans in slowly like he’s giving you time to stop him. Time to pull away. To say no. You should. This isn’t a good idea. But your body is buzzing, every nerve lit up and crackling, short-circuiting any rational thought before it can take hold.

You don’t move and squeeze his hand. That’s all the permission he needs.

His lips brush your collarbone first. Soft and experimental before trailing higher. The touch is warm, lingering, and it leaves you breathless in its wake.

Then your neck. Your breath catches as he presses closer, each touch sending a sharp, dizzying heat through you. You let out a small, unsteady sound before you can stop it, your thighs pressing together instinctively as you try to suppress the ache in between your legs.

It doesn’t help.

His hand comes up, cupping your cheek, tilting your head just enough for him to drag his lips along the shell of your ear. It’s intimate. Soft in a way that doesn’t match him at all. 

Just minutes ago, he’d been barely tolerating you. You don’t understand how this is happening. You pull back, breath uneven, needing clarity before this goes further

“What are we doing?”

Bakugou’s brow lifts, like the answer should be obvious. “What’s it look like?” he mutters. “I’m making out with you.”

The bluntness of it makes your chest tighten.

“You don’t want to?” he adds, sharper now.

“It’s not that…” you trail off, trying to find the right words. “Bakugou, we live together.”

“So?”

“It’s not just some random hookup.” You continue. “We wake up tomorrow and you’re still… you’re right there. Across the hall.”

“So?” he repeats, impatience creeping in, a vein in his neck starting to show.

You exhale, frustrated. “Damn it, Bakugou. We were just arguing. Whatever this is.” You gesture weakly between you, “It could make things worse.”

His jaw tightens. For a second, he doesn’t say anything and then he clicks his tongue, leaning back in like your words mean nothing to him at all.

His lips find your neck again, right over that same sensitive spot, like he memorized it already.

“Bakugou.” your voice breaks, betraying you instantly. You’re so easy with him it’s embarrassing.

“I was pissed.” He mutters against your skin,. “You think I wanted to sit with you, alone, for two hours watching a movie. Pretending I didn’t notice you?”

He shifts closer, crowding into your space like he has every right to be there.

“You in that stupid little pajama set… so revealing, and you never wear bras at home.” he continues, his tone bleeding into something heavier. “Acting like I wasn’t losing my mind over it. Like my dick wasn’t stiffening at the sight of your ass in those shorts.”

Heat floods your face. 

“We’ve been trying not to touch you for weeks.” He adds, more quietly now, like it’s being dragged out of him. “And then you go and put on some cheesy romance shit like that’s not gonna make it worse.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. He said we. Who is we? You must have misheard him. The pulse in your ears roar and his muscles are tensing as he talks and it’s quite distracting.

“And then.” He huffs, almost incredulous, “you take the popcorn bowl like I didn’t have a reason for holding it in the first place.”

The implication settles between you and your gaze immediately shoots down to the huge tent in his pajama pants. 

Your body has a mind of its own. Your hand drops between you two and you rub the ridges of his cock against his pajama pants. It’s thick and hard and your mouth might water.

Bakugou groans and pulls off of you. You miss his lips against your throat. A sneer tugs at his mouth as he watches you practically drool over his cock.

“Touch me.” Is all he has to say for the concept of consequences and healthy roommate boundaries to wither and die within you.

His hands find their way under your shirt, warm against your skin, fingers tightening around your waist as he pulls you flush against him. He makes it clear how little space he’s willing to leave between you.

You stroke the base of his erection, his thickness knocking the wind out of you. You want it inside you. Hands find his hair without thinking, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you tug him closer. Your lips brush against his before you press in fully, a silent plea for more.

He responds instantly.

The moment he deepens the kiss, your breath falters, your hands shifting to brace against his chest as everything else seems to melt away. The solid warmth of him, the way his tongue wrestles with yours, it’s overwhelming in the best way.

You lean into it and tug at the hem of his shirt. You want to see his body. Up close. Not just stolen glances from his at home work outs. He breaks the kiss, a string of salvia connecting you two, and tugs his shirt off. 

“You’re beautiful.”

The words slip out more intimate than you expect. Your fingers trace lightly over his chest, following the firm lines of muscle beneath your touch. He’s tense. Every inch of him is drawn tight and it makes it harder to look away.

You don’t think you’ve ever really looked at him like this before. Not like this.

“Let me see you too.” He murmurs

A finger hooks through the waistband of your shorts and yanks them down. You yelp. Then again, when he does the same thing to your panties. Leaving your soaking pussy bare against the cold air.

Quickly, and with ease, he lifts you onto his lap. You can feel his erection pressing into your back. Need aches all over and your pussy clenches around nothing. Heat spreads, slow and heavy, sinking deep into your chest, your stomach. Lower. Never in your life have you ever been so turned on and the flood between your legs serves as proof.

“I need to fucking touch you.” He growls.

The sweet sensation of his touch erupts in shockwaves all over your body. His lips attach to your throat, open mouth and wet. Sucking on your pulse. It’s going to leave a bruise you’ll have no idea how to explain later, but right now, you don’t care. 

His mouth finds your throat. Hot and insistent, and you whimper as he leaves wet kisses up to your jaw. He tilts his head and sucks on your pulse and your thoughts scatter completely. It’s going to leave a bruise. 

“Bakugou, please… it’ll leave a mark.”

You cry when his teeth sink into your neck. It stings and your cunt pulses. Are you a masochist? Or is it just anything Bakugou does to you causes a flood in you? You don’t care either way as long as he does it again.

“Need proof I kissed you like this, or I’m calling bullshit on my own memory.” He says plainly.

Your lips curl and you don’t stop him from nibbling at your throat. The sweet sensation of his touch sends a sharp, overwhelming rush through your entire body, like every nerve has been set alight at once. You shiver beneath him, breath catching as he leans in closer.

One hand roughly fondles your tit, rolling the nipple between his thumbs and finger. Your nipples tighten to peaks. The other slithers down and strokes your glistening folds. You grind against his fingers as they slide down, over your entrance, begging to be filled, but he spreads your arousal up to your puffy clit instead.

He drags tight circles around your clit and you tremble.

“You’re so fucking wet.” he growls, and your stomach flips, alive with restless wings.

You shake, barely holding back a cry as heat and electricity twist and coil deep inside you. If you’re any louder, your neighbors might hear you. Bakugou moves his lips back to yours, swallowing your sobs of pleasure.

More. You want more. 

Leaning into his embrace, you roll your hips and grind your ass against the underside of his cock. From the way he groans into the kiss, you can tell how badly he wants more too.

He pulls back and smirks at you, but doesn’t stop his fingers from dancing on your clit. Your legs shake when he dips two fingers inside, then he pinches your sensitive nipple and you crumble. 

“Bakugou…” You moan his name and he stops man-handling your breast to take your chin into his grasp, tilting it back so he can see your face. “Please– oh.”

His eyes are always so beautiful.

“You’re doing fucking perfect, princess.” His eyes bore into you. “You can take it.”

The digits pump in and out of you at a delicious pace that blurs your vision. Your tight walls clench around him, welcoming. He curls them, hitting a particular spongy spot and you throw your head back against his chest.

Are you drooling? You think you might be. Normally, you’d be embarrassed to drool in front of him but right now, embarrassment feels a little irrelevant, since he’s the one causing it by finger fucking you into next week.

Oh god. Next week is another movie night. Move night is ruined. If you ever sit down to watch a movie with Bakugou again, all you’ll be able to think about is fucking good his fingers made you feel and you’re so close that you’re about to cum.

Oh god.

Next week is another movie night.

Movie night is ruined.

If you ever sit down on that couch with Bakugou again, you won’t be able to think about anything else but his fingers inside you. Not the movie, not Midoriya, just how good he made you feel and how badly you want to do this again.

Heat bubbles in your core and you know you’re about to come.

As if to push you closer to your orgasm, he says, “Yeah? Fingers feel better than a damn knee, huh?”

His breath is warm against the shell of your ear, sending a bolt down your spine. Your eyes sting, tears brimming, your core aches with how much you want this. 

How much you want to cum around his fingers, so he can bend you over and stretch your pussy with something thicker. 

How much you want to do this again and again and how you don’t even care that fucking your roommate is a bad idea. It feels impossible, like something this good shouldn’t be wrong. Like it shouldn’t come with consequences. He feels like a drug, and one time was all it took to get you hooked.

“Gonna cum.” You whimper.

Bakugou kisses your temple. “I fucking know you are.”

He sinks his fingers deeper until his knuckles prevent him from going further, his palm crashing down onto your clit with each thrust. Tears fall from your eyes and white hot pleasure boils in your nerves, threatening to erupt. His fingers are filling you up so roughly, tearing cry after cry from your throat.

Bakugou loves hearing you moan. He keeps mumbling about how fucking sweet you sound. Or, maybe he’s saying how sweet you taste? The pulse in your ears is too loud and any thought melts into liquid heat.

Sweet nothings fall from your lips as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Fire takes life in every nerve. Your velvet walls tremble around his fingers and he can tell how close you are. Your vision blurs with tears and you fully embrace the building pleasure–

The sharp beep cuts through the room. The front door. Right, your stupid electric lock. You all have to use fobs instead of traditional keys.

Oh.

Oh fuck no.

“Guys, I rushed home.” Midoriya calls as the door swings open. “I can still catch half the movie at lea–”

Time stops.

You need to move. You need to get off Bakugou’s lap. Grab your shorts, wherever the hell they ended up. Cover yourself. Say something. Do anything.

You should actually run. Preferably out the window. Immediately.

But you can’t. You’re frozen. Completely, utterly frozen, eyes wide as you watch Midoriya’s words die in his throat.

His mouth falls open. His eyes pop out of his head like a fish. And then, slowly, horrifically, his gaze drags over the scene in front of him.

The flushed skin. The disheveled and lack of clothes. The very obvious position you’re in.

At least you didn’t throw your hands up like you just got caught committing a crime.

Bakugou, unfortunately, did, which only put the arousal coating his fingers on display. Midoriya’s face scrunches and you know he sees it. You want to fucking die

“-eaaast…” Midoriya finishes weakly, voice cracking. His entire face turns bright red, like he might actually combust on the spot. “And I am. Leaving.”

He pivots so fast it’s almost impressive and bolts straight back out the door. He doesn’t even close it.

The sheer mortification pins you in place, like your body just… stopped cooperating altogether. You can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t even begin to process what just happened.

“Shit.” Bakugou curses, shoving himself out from under you.

That snaps you back. What just happened was the consequences of fucking your roommate.

You scramble, spotting your panties half-way beneath a pillow and yanking them on as fast as humanly possible. “Oh my god, oh my god. This was a terrible idea, I told you this was a terrible idea!”

Bakugou snorts, grabbing his shirt. Not to put it on, but to wipe your arousal off his fingers, like that’s somehow the priority right now.

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “Not taking it to a room? We’re fucking idiots.”

You shoot him a look, but he’s already moving. Still half-dressed, with a wet spot on his pajama bottoms, he heads straight for the door.

“Deku!” he shouts, storming out after him. At least this time, he remembers to slam the door shut behind him.

For a few moments, you just sit there. Blinking. Trying to remember how to breathe.

Your thoughts scramble, tripping over each other and crashing into your skull. Panic, disbelief, it eats at you, but underneath all of it, something else lingers.

You squeeze your eyes shut. It was a bad idea and you two got caught in the middle of it. Midoriya saw. Everything is ruined. You’ve probably just detonated whatever fragile balance the three of you had, and for what?

For a stupid, impulsive moment on the couch.

You should regret it. You should. But you don’t. Because it was perfect, every second of it. Your pussy still aches, clenching around nothing as it begs for Bakugou’s fingers to come back and finish making you cum.

Your stomach twists. You press your lips together, like you can physically stop the unsatisfied need but it’s already there. 

God. This is wrong. You need to apologize to Midoriya, tell Bakugou this can never happen again. You need to go after them too. Fix it. Explain something, anything.

But when you finally stand, your body betrays you. It takes you to the kitchen. You rise onto your toes, grabbing the half-empty bottle of vodka, then a shot glass. Instead of facing the consequences bravely, you step over the popcorn, retreat to your room and shut the door behind you.

No chaser. You pour the shot with a slightly unsteady hand. Maybe the burn will be worse than the embarrassment clawing at your chest.

Maybe it’ll drown out the memory of how good it felt.

The hallway is quiet as he makes his way toward the dining hall, the kind of empty that feels almost peaceful if you don’t think too hard about it. He turns sharply at the corner, stepping out from his section of the block–

And stops.

An officer is already there, standing directly in his path. “Ah. Inmate.”

The tone is distant. Flat in that practiced way all correctional officers seem to have, like they’ve long since decided none of the men here qualify as people anymore. Not that the opinion is entirely undeserved.

“I was just heading to your cell.”

Adachi raises an eyebrow. “I’m not going to fuck up the eggs again if that’s what this is about.”

Last week, he dropped the bag of powdered eggs. Which meant no eggs that morning. Or the next. Or, really, most of the week.

“No,” the officer replies bluntly. “I don’t get paid to care about whether you’re a risk to breakfast.”

Adachi’s face scrunches before he can stop it. He’s used to the digs. Anyone with even a shred of authority in here takes them where they can get them. It’s just how things work. Still, that doesn’t explain why this guy was heading to his cell this early.

He shouldn’t be in trouble. Adachi’s been a model prisoner. Ever since he got defeated by those annoying high school kids in the TV world, confessed to the murders of Mayumi Yamano and Saki Konishi… and, of course, the kidnapping of you, he’s been on his best behavior behind bars. Seriously. No kills since. And no kidnappings!

“What do I owe the pleasure of your company, then?” Adachi forces a thin smile. No point in getting on the man’s bad side.

“You have a visitor. Follow me.”

Adachi flinches, gone as quickly as it comes as he smooths his expression back into practiced neutrality. 

A visitor? That has to be a joke. Visiting hours aren’t until noon. And even if they were, no one comes to see him.

Not since Dojima showed up three years ago.

He can still picture it clearly. Dojima standing across from him, voice tight with restrained anger as he talked about regret. About how he let Adachi into his home. Trusted him. Let him near you. He made a point of saying he’d finally found a way to forgive himself for his part in your kidnapping… in how long it took to find you.

And then he told Adachi, and emphasized he wanted to personally tell this to his face, that he hoped he suffered as much as you suffered for the rest of his life. That he rotted in hell.

Adachi should have expected that.

Dojima cared about you. Anyone with eyes could see that. He’d pushed your case harder than anyone else, even when the rest of the department had already written you off as just another runaway.

Still. The dull ache that settled in his chest afterward had lingered for weeks.

“There must be a mistake. Visiting hours aren’t for anoth—”

“Are you questioning my ability to remember a schedule, inmate?” The officer steps closer. Not because he needs to, but because he can. It’s an assertion of authority.

Adachi clicks his tongue, irritation flickering across his face. “What I’m trying to say is, I don’t have anyone who would visi–”

“You do today.” The officer cuts him off sharply. “So, as I ordered, follow me.”

He turns on his heel without waiting, already expecting compliance. Adachi watches him for a second before falling into step behind him. Funny. He can remember a time when he was the one giving orders like that, like it wasn’t even a question whether they’d be followed.

Now he’s the one who doesn’t have a choice but to obey. 

“Can I ask who my visitor is supposed to be?”

“You can.” He shrugs, “I don’t have to answer.”

Adachi has a bad feeling about this.

Is he being set up? It wouldn’t be the first time something like that’s happened in a place like this. And the prison isn’t exactly lacking in officers willing to look the other way or worse, help set it up for the right price.

A fake visitor. A quiet hallway. An incident no one looks too closely at. Oh god. Who the fuck did he piss off? This is definitely a set up of some sort.

“This way,” the officer orders, taking a left at the split in the hall.

Adachi’s gaze flicks to the right. The dining hall. Where he’s supposed to be. So much for breakfast duty.

They stop at one of the secured doors. The officer swipes his badge and the locks click open, both doors swinging inward with a heavy, mechanical groan. Adachi steps through and immediately notices something’s wrong.

They don’t turn toward the visitation room, The officer just keeps walking. Adachi slows for half a second before following again, something cold slipping down his spine. 

“We walked past the visiting room,” he says, voice casual, like he’s only making an observation.

“You have an excellent skill for stating the obvious,” the officer replies, not even glancing back.

Adachi’s eyes narrow slightly. “It’s not obvious where you’re taking me.”

This time, the officer stops. Another door.

Before scanning his badge, he glances down both ends of the hallway as if he’s making sure no one’s watching. Then he swipes. The lock clicks. The door opens. And without another word, since a conversation with tough guy isn’t getting him any information, Adachi follows him inside.

He leads Adachi down another stretch of hallway, passing a series of identical doors before stopping at one near the end. There’s a small window set into it, but Adachi can’t see anything through it with the officer blocking the view.

The officer knocks twice. Then twice again. His gaze shifts toward the window, like he’s waiting for permission.

The silence stretches just long enough for his mind to start working against him. Running through outcomes, angles, exits. None of them good. He should have risked running back to the dining hall.

The officer gives a small nod and he opens the door, gesturing inside.

Adachi’s throat tightens. There’s no real choice here.

He steps forward anyway, forcing one foot in front of the other. As he passes the officer, he spares him one last look, burning the man’s face into his memory. If this turns into what he thinks it will, he wants to remember exactly who led him here.

He steps into the room. Small and bare. A single table in the middle with two chairs. An interrogation room maybe? A woman sits facing the door. Large, blocky sunglasses obscure most of her face. He immediately recoils. Who the hell wears sunglasses indoors?

Then his thoughts stall.

His jaw slackens, mouth parting slightly before he can stop it. His body reacts before his mind can catch up, something sharp and disorienting cutting through him.

She looks like you.

No. There's differences. Healthier. Brighter. Your skin holds a glow he’s never seen before, your lips full, your hair soft with a kind of life that spells out you’re doing well for yourself. It’s wishful thinking. This can’t be you. 

Then you reach up, sliding the sunglasses off and setting them on the table. And there’s no room for doubt anymore. He would recognize your eyes anywhere.

He’s seen them wide with fear. Watched them blur with tears. Felt them cling to him, desperate, begging. He's even seen them soften. Seeing them look at him like his love for you was something you needed to survive. 

Time itself stops. Adachi forgets how to breathe. He forgets how to think. And as the two of you silently gaze upon each other, it’s clear he’s forgotten how to speak, and he wonders if you did too. 

The sound of the door closing snaps the knowledge back into him.

He whips around to face the door. The officer didn’t come inside. He can see him outside the window. Standing. Watching. But, he left the two of you alone in the room.

“…He’s not,” Adachi inhales sharply through his nose, glancing back at you, “coming in here?”

It was more of a comment to himself, not what he wanted his first words to you in half a decade to be, but you tilt your head, a faint sneer tugging at your lips.

“I asked for privacy,” you say lightly, “but he won’t hesitate to come in and handle things if you act… inappropriately.”

Adachi almost laughs. Inappropriately? Do you really think he’s going to hurt you in this place? No. You don’t. He can tell because there's no fear in you right now. What’s happening here is simple caution. An intelligent move to assert control. 

He studies you more carefully. You’ve changed. There’s a steadiness to you now, something grounded, assured in a way that feels completely foreign on you. It’s almost disorienting. 

You gesture toward the empty chair. Adachi takes it without argument. No point in looming over you like an idiot the entire time.

“…What are you doing here?” 

That was the first thing he actually wanted to say to you. Also how are you here? Also how did you get a cop to let you visit a prisoner outside normal hours and the normal room? But he figured, since you’re already here, the how wasn’t as important as the why.

You lace your fingers together, resting your chin lazily on top of them.

“You asked me the same thing in the TV world, it’s so repetitive. Aren’t you happy to see me? Plus, how is it any fun if I just tell you?” Your lips curve, “You were a detective. Why don’t you guess?”

Adachi blinks. Repetitive? No fun? God, you sound like him.

“Detectives use evidence,” he replies flatly. “Facts and information. I don’t have anything on you from the last five years.” A slight pause. “So it would be impossible to guess.”

Not that he didn’t think about you in those years. He did. More than he should have. Time in prison would pass as he wondered if you still drew. If you moved somewhere far away. If you managed to build something resembling a normal life, maybe even with someone else.

He hopes not.

The thought twists something ugly in his chest. The idea of you belonging to someone else, of someone else hearing the sweet sounds you made gasping around his cock, it’s enough to make his jaw tighten. 

He knew sleeping with you was a mistake. The moment he crossed that line, it stopped being a game he could walk away from. And now, locked away for life, all that’s left for him is an eternity of yearning.

And yet, here you are. Sitting across from him. Giggling. Like he’s fun to watch. Like he didn’t spend months breaking you down piece by piece.

“Fine, fine,” you say, smiling even though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You get three questions about my life. I’ll answer them honestly. Then you can make your guess.”

Adachi exhales slowly. This is so stupid. Pointless and a waste of time. He has half a mind to flip the table over, slam his fists against the door, demand they drag him back to his cell.

But he doesn’t. Because that would be impulsive. A cheap attempt to regain control in a situation where it was completely stripped of him. And worse, it would mean giving whatever this is up, and the days he spent longing to see you again can’t be in vain.

So he leans back slightly instead, forcing himself to think. If he wants to understand why you’re here, he needs to fill in the gap between then and now. Start broad, then narrow.

“…Where have you lived,” he asks, voice steady, “over the past five years?”

You don’t hesitate to answer. With details.

“First year and maybe two or three months I was an in-patient at a Psychiatric Hospital out in the country. Once they approved me to leave, I went back to live with my parents who moved to Kyoto for a fresh start. I stayed there for around two years. Then I started to work and I've been bouncing from place to place across the country. I came back to inaba a month ago.”

The air in the room feels colder all of a sudden. The thin fabric of Adachi’s prison uniform does nothing to stop the chill as it prickles across his skin, goosebumps trailing down his arms. Of course, after everything he did to you, being institutionalized wasn’t surprising. It clearly didn’t work very well if you’re visiting him.

“…How was inpatient?”

Something flickers across your face quickly, almost imperceptible, before it vanishes completely.

“You’re trying to get into my head, huh?” you hum, a faint edge creeping into your voice. “Interesting question.”

There’s something off about your tone.

“Bluntly? It was awful.” You shrug lightly. “I hated it more than the basement. The first six months, I was basically sedated the entire time. They labeled me an ‘especially aggressive case’,” your jaw twitch faintly, "especially after I bit one of the therapists. In my defense she was asking for it.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “Does that make you sad? You always liked me meek.”

Adachi’s throat tightens. For once, he doesn’t have anything ready to say. But you don’t give him the chance to find it.

“I realized something, though,” you continue, almost thoughtfully. “Lying there, drugged out of my mind, stuck in a padded room with nothing to do but think…”

Your eyes glaze slightly, not distant, but… entertained. As if you’re happy to tell him about how little the psychiatrist helped you heal and move on. 

“That I was never getting out of there unless I borrowed a step from your playbook.”

Adachi feels something shift in his chest.

“I bet you want to ask what I did,” you giggle, the sound igniting fire beneath his skin. “But you’ve only got one question left.”

A pause.

“I’ll be nice,” you add. “I’ll count this as part of your second.”

Then your expression drops. Not gradually. Not naturally. One second you’re smiling, the next your face is completely blank. It’s like someone flipped a switch. He’s unable to read you which is entirely unnatural.

“I learned how to pretend,” you say flatly. “Tell them exactly what they wanted to hear. Mirror their expectations. Be whatever version of me made them feel comfortable.”

Adachi watches you more carefully now. Time was bound to change you, he expected that, but not like this. Not this… emptiness. This detachment from everything. Whatever the hospital did, it didn’t make you better. If anything, it carved something darker into you.

“After enough ‘progress,’ they transferred me to an outpatient program and released me to my parents.” Your voice remains level. “Funny thing is, even as an adult, I was required to stay with my ‘support system.’”

A faint scoff. “So I kept pretending. Nodding along. Attending therapy and group work. Acting grateful.” A slight tilt of your head. “I hated it.” A beat. “But I did enjoy the financial benefits. I mean, who’s going to say no to their daughter after she was rescued from a kidnapping? Especially when they’ve got guilt and money to throw at the problem. ”

And just as abruptly as it disappeared, your expression shifts again. The smile returns. Easy. Playful. Empty eyes. Adachi can see it for what it is now. 

A mask. A carefully, well-fitted mask.

“What’s your next question? It’s your last one, so make it count.”

Adachi stares at you.

He remembers what you said to him that last night in the TV world. How you told him he had seeped into you, carved himself into your very being. That the outside world would try to strip those parts away and that you wouldn’t survive it.

Now, watching you sit across from him like this, composed and calculated, wearing that same hollow kind of smile, he realizes you were completely right. Something tight coils in his chest. His heart starts pounding harder, slamming against his ribs as the realization settles in. After everything, you’re still his.

Not in the same way. But still shaped by him. Still carrying him. And if that’s true, then there’s only one reason you’d come here. He shifts slightly in his seat, eyes narrowing as his focus sharpens. Now he wants to know the how.

“How did you manage,” His gaze drifts over you, taking in the details. Your clothes, the way you carry yourself, the obvious signs of comfort, “to coordinate with an officer on the inside to illegally bring me here?”. 

The obvious answer is money, but something about this doesn’t feel that simple. Something about you doesn’t feel that simple anymore.

Your hands come together in a soft clap, your face lighting up with delight.

“Oh, I’m so happy you asked.”

You lean down, reaching beside your chair into a purse he hadn’t even noticed before. You pull out a plain manila folder and place it carefully on the table, sliding it across until it stops right in front of him. 

Adachi hesitates before opening the folder. Once he opens it his breath catches and a wave of nostalgia bursts behind his chest.

There's two printed illustrations, illustrations of your drawings. It’s been years since he’s last seen your work, and yes there are stark differences and the improvement is obvious, but the style is unmistakable. It hosts your own unique flare he’d always recognize.

Your art used to cover the walls of his favorite place. Back then, he was the only one who ever saw it. Even now, knowing that’s no longer true, something in him tightens with satisfaction at the thought that you never stopped.

Damn. He knew he shouldn’t have fucked you. Now he’s getting sentimental.

He slides the pages apart, giving himself room to actually look.

The first drawing; A wooden backdrop. A thin girl crouched unnaturally low, her neck bent at an angle that feels wrong just to look at. Her hands press against the edges of the frame, like she’s trying to force herself out, like she’s trapped inside it.

The space is too small.

Her skin is torn with shallow cuts, but instead of blood, a thick black substance leaks from them, pooling in unnatural streaks. Her eyes are wide. Bloodshot, the pupils reduced to thin slits. They don’t just look outward. They pierce as if they’re staring straight through the paper and into whoever’s looking.

Adachi’s jaw tightens as he shifts to the second.

A staircase, soaked in dark, dried blood. White feathers are scattered across each step. Soft, almost holy in contrast. At the top a door. Slightly open. Nothing behind it. Just a void. At the bottom of the stairs lies a small girl, curled on a thin blanket. A halo rests above her head, but where wings should be, there’s only bone. Bare, fragile structures, stripped clean.

Adachi feels something gross. A slow, creeping chill crawling up the back of his neck. Something twists in his stomach.

These are so fucking disturbing.

“‘Stuck,’” you say, tapping the first drawing, “is what got me discovered.”

Your finger drifts to the second.

“‘Dreams,’ is what started my career.”

Adachi’s mouth parts slightly.

“Pow! Er! Ful!” You clap the air with each syllable, sharp and bright, completely unfazed by his reaction. “That’s what everyone says when they see my work.”

You lean back with a small shrug.

“Not because of the art itself, though. It’s the story they like.” A faint, mocking edge creeps into your voice. “The broken girl who overcame something horrific.”

Your hands fall loosely at your sides.

“When my work gets featured, when I release something new, the first thing people ask is, ‘What inspired this?’” A soft scoff. “They don’t care about the content of my piece. They want more juicy details of the abuse that made it possible. My work is ‘powerful’ because it disturbs people. That's what pulls them in. Makes them want more. Like a trainwreck. You can’t look away.”

You wave your hand dismissively and sink back into your seat, posture loose.

“Sorry, sorry,” you mutter, though the frown tugging at your lips says you don’t mean it. “I’m rambling.”

Your fingers drum once against the armrest before you continue.

“What I’m trying to say is… in my line of work, you meet people. Important people. The kind who know other important people. And sometimes… they owe you.”

You tilt your head, watching him.

“And then suddenly I’m donating an original piece to the warden’s little nonprofit,” you add, voice lilting with amusement, “and in return, I get a list of officers who are very willing to bend the rules if the price is right. Maybe even look the other way.”

“Funny, right?” Sarcasm drips from your tongue like poison. “Who knew cops were so corrupt?”

Adachi presses his teeth into his lip, holding something back.

“I answered all three questions,” you remind him, leaning forward slightly now. “So?” your head tilts, a mirror of something he used to do, “why do you think I’m here?”

He inhales slowly through his nose, eyes locked onto yours as if looking away would break something fragile, and dangerous, between you.

For years, you were a ghost he couldn’t quite exorcise. A memory he returned to during restless nights, when there was nothing else to occupy his mind. He’d imagined this moment before, seeing you again, but never like this. Never with you sitting across from him. Real. Changed into this.

He thought he’d feel something clean. Relief. Maybe happiness. That familiar, ugly urge to hurt you curling back to life. Instead, what settles in his chest is murkier.

Concern. It twists tight enough to make his ribs ache, and worse, he can’t tell if it's for him or you.

“…Any attempt to treat you failed,” he says at last, voice measured. “But you learned how to make it look like it didn’t.”

His gaze flickers briefly to the drawings on the table, then back to you.

“You were put back into a world that still doesn’t fit you. Left alone in it.” A pause. “So you held onto the one thing that connected you to a world that did. Your art. You turned it into something. A career. Something that gives you access to resources, connections.” His jaw tightens slightly. “Enough to orchestrate this.”

Your gaze doesn’t waver as he speaks, just holds him there, suspended.

“Why are you here?” His eyes narrow just a fraction. “It’s the same reason you came back before. You don’t know how to exist without me.”

Time seems to warp around the two of you. Your stare softens. The sharpness dulls into something warmer, something almost tender. A faint flush spreads across your cheeks, and that small smile begins to form.

Then you stand. Leaning over the table, one arm stretching toward him.

Adachi’s entire body locks. Muscles drawn tight, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

Are you going to kiss him?

With the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only person in the world who could ever understand you, you must be–

His head jerks violently to the side as something sharp collides with his cheek. Pain blooms hot against his skin, but it barely registers. Not compared to the shock.

For a moment, everything is blank.

Then you’re pulling away from him, dropping into your seat like nothing happened, shaking out your hand with a quiet hiss. “God–” you mutter under your breath, rubbing your palm. “That hurt more than I thought…”

Adachi just stares. Eyes wide. Mouth parted.

You hit him?

…You hit him.

You talked, kept talking, circling, dragging it out, just to hit him.

Rage detonates.

It floods his veins so fast it makes him dizzy, vision tunneling red as he surges to his feet. His chair screeches violently against the floor, fist already drawing back on instinct

He’s going to remind yo–

A shape moves. Close. Too close. His head snaps to the side. The officer has his gun raised and pointed directly at him.

The man is shouting, but it barely cuts through the roaring in Adachi’s ears. His pulse pounds so loudly it drowns everything else out, a violent rhythm behind his eyes. The door. When did it open?

His fist trembles midair. For a split second, it looks like he might still swing. Then his fingers slowly uncurl. The tension bleeds out of his hand, his arm lowering just enough to show restraint. His other hand follows, opening, as his chest heaves with each ragged breath.

It takes everything in him to stop, but he can’t get shot. 

“…Oh,” you say, almost lazily.

You’re watching him like this is entertaining. Like this is a show. Like how he used to toy with you.

You tilt your head, expression unreadable save for the faint curl of your lips.

“Did you think I was joking?” you ask, steel underneath your expression now. “When I said you’d be handled if you acted inappropriately? Sit the fuck down.”

Adachi’s gaze snaps to the officer. The weapon lowers only after he sits, tension still coiled in his shoulders. The officer gives a short nod in your direction before stepping out, lingering just beyond the window like a shadow that refuses to leave.

Silence settles.

“Was I wrong?” Adachi asks at last. Holding something violent just beneath the surface. He doesn’t look away from you. He doesn’t dare.

You click your tongue.

“No,” you admit, almost casually. “You’re right. I don’t know how to exist without you. But this?” You gesture lazily between the two of you. “It isn’t the same. It never will be. Our dynamic has changed. You can’t recreate it. We can’t ever go back to our basement.”

Your shoulders sink and something blurs in your eyes.

“I just need us to be a love story. I need your love and I can only get that through you owning me. But you don’t anymore. You can’t.” Your eyes flick down his uniform, then back up, something cruel sparking behind them. “Because look at you.”

Your voice is starting to make him sick.

“You’re the prisoner now.”

The words hang there. Then a smile cracks your face open.

“And me?” you continue, leaning forward slightly. “I’m the one full of anger and hate now,” you say, something ominous in your tone. “The one who can’t get rid of it. The one who… can’t fight the urge to hurt people.”

Your eyes lock onto his. And there’s no mistaking it. You mean him.

“But I have power. I have resources. I did all this so I could see you again.” Your fingers tap once against the table. “Just like you did for me, and now, I’m going to teach you how to be unable to exist without me. I can continue our love story as long as I fulfill the role that started us.”

Adachi opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes, his thoughts stall out, leaving him frozen in stunned silence. 

“I should get going,” you say. “I’m feeling generous today.I’ll give you some time to process this new development in our relationship. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Make sure you’re up early. I had the warden move you to breakfast duty… indefinitely.”

You slide your sunglasses back on and stand, purse in hand. Your steps are unhurried as you circle to his side.

Adachi doesn’t move. He sits rigid in the chair, eyes wide, body locked, like something hollowed out and left behind. Your hand comes down gently on his shoulder. You lean in, close enough that your breath brushes his ear.

“And I wouldn’t go telling anyone about our little visits,” you murmur. “If someone notices your cheek or any other bruise… just lie. Okay?”

Your voice lowers, shifts into something colder.

“I have people on the inside too.” Your fingers press slightly into his shoulder. “I’d hate to give them a reason to teach you a lesson.”

He doesn’t react.

Can’t.

All Adachi can do is breathe, slow, uneven inhales as his thoughts crash into each other, too loud, too fast to make sense of. To process this. To process you.

You lean in further and press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You know,” you whisper, almost thoughtfully, “when I look at my artwork… I don’t feel disturbed. It actually calms me.”

Your hand tightens.

“I’m looking forward to when you feel the same way.”

Then you shove.

The chair screeches as it tips, and Adachi hits the ground hard, palms scraping against the floor as he catches himself too late.

You step back, smoothing your clothes like nothing happened.

Adachi shrugs out of his suit jacket, draping it aside to reveal the same white button-up he always wears, sleeves creased and somewhat damp from sweat. As he loosens his tie your gaze drifts downward and that’s when you notice it. A strange shape pressing subtly against his beltline, something that hadn’t registered to you before, likely hidden beneath the clean lines of his jacket.

For a moment, you can’t speak. The air drains from your lungs and your thoughts stalling in stunned silence. He cocks an eyebrow at you, perhaps already aware of what caught your attention, and with his tie already removed and dropped carelessly onto the ground, you force the words out while you can.

“…Adachi,” you murmur, barely above a whisper, “is that… a gun?”

He scoffs like you’ve asked the dumbest question imaginable. “What? Detectives carry guns. Try to keep up.”

He draws the gun from its holster in one smooth motion and tilts it upward, finger resting lazily along the guard instead of the trigger. The smile he gives you is thin and crooked, more entertained than threatening. And you would know the difference.

“...I… I’ve never seen one in person.” You speak quietly.

The hot feeling behind your naval battles against the icy chill washing over your veins. 

Adachi tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle piece that suddenly doesn’t fit. “Oh,” he says lightly, eyes narrowing with interest. “You’re scared?” The realization hits him a second later, and he actually leans back, barking out a laugh. “No way. Seriously?” He wipes at the corner of his eye like you’ve just delivered the punchline of a joke. “That’s hilarious.”

He lowers the gun slightly but doesn’t put it away.

“You weren’t scared when you threw away your cozy little life,” he continues, voice slipping into that taunting cadence he favors. “Family, friends, all that crap. You marched right into a world full of monsters to stick by the guy who kidnapped you. Hurt you.” His smile sharpens. “Didn’t seem too concerned about ‘danger’ back then.”

His gaze flicks meaningfully to the weapon, then back to your face.

“But this?” he hums. “This is what does it? A standard-issue handgun?” A quiet, almost delighted exhale leaves him. “Man… you really are something else.”

There’s no real cruelty in his tone, not like when you were in the basement. Now it’s just fascinating. Like he’s watching an experiment react in an unexpected way.

“And here I thought you weren’t afraid of me anymore.”

Suddenly he kneels down in front of the bed and, with his gun-less hand, yanks your hips forward enough so that your heels rest on top of his shoulders. A blush erupts across your cheeks despite the tension all over your body.

“Oh, this is going to be so exciting, for both of us.”

You almost scream when the cold metal presses against your inner thigh, but the sound dies in your throat, swallowed by the sheer force of fear flooding your body. The chill of it seeps into your skin, familiar and intimate, and instinct has you scrambling back, only for nails to bite into your flesh, a hand clamping down hard enough to hold you in place.

You go dead still.

“Nuh-uh, uh. No moving.” His voice is stripped of anything soft. The gun presses more firmly against you. “You wouldn’t want my finger to slip onto the trigger, would you?”

You gulp and shake your head to reinforce you definitely did not want him to pull the trigger. Sure, you’re so far gone that you don’t mind dying at his hands anymore, but a shot to your thigh would be tortuous and a slow death.

“I didn’t think so.” 

Adachi then proceeds to pull your panties down, tapping the gun against your leg to force you to bend in just the right way so he can get them all the way down your leg. He presses his thumb against your exposed clit, forcing you to tremble in that way he unabashedly loves, and lets out a low whistle that makes heat crawl up your neck in sharp humiliation.

“You must enjoy being scared.” He said before swiping the length of your cunt with his tongue and your breath became stuck in your through. “You’re so wet.”

“A… Adachi, please.” You pathetically muster out, the sensation of pleasure and the cold metal against your skin mixing into an undistinguishable feeling that blurs into something dizzying and leaves you melting under it.

He continues to lap at your pussy and stars burst behind your eyes. You curl your toes trying to ground yourself, but it seems to be an impossible task. Whimpers flow out of your mouth like a waterfall. They only intensify when his lips wrap around your plump clit and sucks.

Your back arches as he slides the wet muscle inside you, his nose bumping against your clit in rough, deliberate motions. Cries tear from your throat before you can stop them, and you’re not sure what’s more humiliating; the moans themselves, or the way the lewd noises your pussy makes as he sucks and licks echoes through the creepy room he brought you into.

The rough, filmiform texture of his tongue against your insides seems to make you crazy. Or, more crazy, because only an insane person would put themselves back into a situation where they get tongue fucked by a man who gets off on your terror. In your defense, he never brought a gun into your basement.

Adachi stops and sits back up, still holding your legs up against his body. You’re at a lost if you should feel unsatisfied he stopped eating your pussy or happy that his gun is no longer so close to it, but as you take in his expression, it becomes painfully clear that the only thing you should be feeling around a sadistic man like him is fear.

A slow smile spreads across Adachi’s face. His eyes seem to sparkle quietly, like he’s just stumbled onto a particularly entertaining thought. His head tilts slightly as he studies you and you can practically see the moment the idea forms. Whatever he’s thinking about, it makes the corner of his mouth twitch higher.

“Do you want me to fuck you with my cock,” His smile only widens as he slowly lifts the gun, angling it upward until it’s pointed at the ceiling., “Or the gun?”

You're certain his words reach straight through your ribcage and punch holes in your lungs. Your eyes widen, lips trembling as you struggle to find a response to something so absurd it almost feels unreal. Surely he can’t be serious.

No.

Adachi, as you’ve learned, as you’ve come to accept, is always serious when it comes to your fear. Because that’s something he loves so much about you: when you’re nothing more than a doll, forced to bend beneath every one of his sadistic urges.

And god, how desperately you need that love. Something hot burns deep in your core. Your body responds to him so beautifully, even when you don’t understand why or how. Even when it makes you feel sick.

“You.” The word barely escapes you, more breath than voice. “...I want you t-to fuck me with your cock.”

Adachi hums thoughtfully, lips pursing as his eyes drift upward like he’s giving your answer serious consideration. “Hmm… I don’t know. You don’t sound excited,” he says after a moment, the words drawn out in mock deliberation.

Then his tongue clicks softly against his teeth. The gun tilts back toward you. “It seems to me like you actually think the gun would be more fun?”

For a moment, the ice flooding your veins wins. You can do nothing but lie there against the bed, eyes stretched wide enough to ache, breath caught uselessly in your punctured lungs while terror drives your heart into a frantic, pounding rhythm.

But then you see the familiar shine in his eyes. That awful glint of amusement like he’s watching something fascinating unfold rather than the fear he’s causing. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, barely restrained, as if he’s savoring the moment he’s creating.

And you understand. He wants you to beg. By now, that should come as naturally as breathing, and you feel like a fool for not doing it in the first place.

“Please. Please, I don’t want the gun. I want you. O-oh God…” Your voice shakes so badly the words nearly fall apart before they reach him. You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. “Please. I came back, didn’t I? I came back for you.”

Your chest heaves as you force the rest out.

“T-the gun is terrifying, but it’s just a tool.” Your eyes lock onto his. “You’re the one who haunts me. You’re the one I can’t escape.” Your voice drops into something smaller, almost pleading. “So p-please… if you’re going to cross the last line to ruin me, do it with your body. I want you to fuck me with your cock.”

His eyes burn into your skin as he stares down at you and you can’t tell what he’s thinking, can’t tell if you’ve pleased him or just made things worse for yourself. The silence stretches so long it feels suffocating, every second tightening the knot in your chest.

Then, at last, he moves after what feels like an eternity, casually setting the gun down beside him. “Get on your back and spread your legs then.”

As you did what you were told, Adachi pulls his belt out of his pants loops and begins to kick his pants, alongside his boxers, over to the side in a careless pile. Your throat tightens when you notice the belt is still in his hand. The sight of it drags memories to the surface. How easily he wrapped it around your throat, tugging you forward like the property you were. The property you are. 

The humiliation of it burns sweetly. And knowing that if he had told you to bark like a bitch on a leash, to degrade yourself further, you would have done it. You would still do it now. Which is why your legs are spread so far that your dripping cunt is on display.

You can’t see it, obviously, but you can feel how turned on you are. Judging by the way Adachi’s eyes sharpen that unmistakable, predatory hunger, you can tell he’s noticed too. You’re not as relieved as you hoped you would be when he throws the belt into the pile as well, because with that look, you’re certain he’s going to fuck you rough enough that a belt around your throat will seem tame.

Every nerve in you electrifies at the thought. Fear apparently does turn you on.

He braces one hand beside your head, leaning over you, his gaze dragging slowly over your body like he’s inspecting his favorite thing he owns. Then his fingers hook under the hem of your shirt. For a moment he yanks hard enough that you think the fabric might tear, but instead it slides up and over your head, the motion rough and impatient before he tosses it carelessly aside like all the other clothes.

Your nipples are hard and inviting. Adachi can’t help himself from cupping one so tight it's almost painful. Whimpers escape your lips and your pussy pulsates at the improved view of his erection, his hand moving up and down lazily against his shaft. It’s intimidating. You’ve never had his cock inside you before.

His hands slide down your waist and tighten on your hips, inching you closer to his pelvis. You gasp when you feel his tip right against your folds. He rubs his thickness against your gleefully, as if he knows the anticipation of him fucking you is driving you insane.

“Doll, you’re so fucking wet.” He hisses, “You’ve always responded well to my tongue.”

You want to deny it. You wish you were capable of resisting the hold Adachi has over you, but you just can’t. The months he spent breaking you down and shaping you into his obedient girl, who desires the terror and pain he inflicts, worked too well. Your body proves it, betraying you with every shiver of pleasure that followed the fear of that gun. Even while your mind screams that this is wrong, that none of this should feel the way it does, your heart remains trapped firmly in his grasp, and resisting it is no longer an option underneath him.

Your eyes round into giant sauces as he starts to push his long awaited dick into you. He drives himself past the tight rings of your pussy. Your walls clamp painfully around his girth. It’s not like anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s too much. 

It hurts!

A cry tears from your throat as you’re stretched wider than you’ve ever been. 

You attempt to yank yourself away on pure instinct and Adachi pushes the back of your thighs up into your chest, holding you down. You whine pathetically. This new angle allows him to hit a spongy spot inside you even rougher than before, and when he hears how louder your whimpers are getting, he starts to angle his thrusts to hit it perfectly.

Air feels scarce and stars dance around the edge of your vision.

“Hold still,” He coos, his tone husky.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You tangle your fingers against the bedding so tight your knuckles go pale. Your back arches and floods of whines that don’t even sound like you anymore fill the air. All to force yourself to stay still as you endure the invasion of your cunt.

He’s so big. It’s not like you didn’t know this. You still remember the awful feeling of your throat constricting around his dick the first few times you gave him a blow job. You were so scared of the possibility his throat-fucking would cause you to pass out. 

Yes, you knew this, but you severely underestimated how tight your cunt is. It’s your first time.

After a few more agonizing seconds, he manages to completely fill you up with his length. The plush walls of your pussy wrapping around his cock beautifully. The tip of his cock fights to kiss your cervix. And you swear, he’s tearing your body in half. 

Pain forces tears to sting your eyes until they spill down your cheeks.

“Goddamn… It’s so– fuck, I can barely fit.” He inhales sharply and takes a moment to adjust to your tightness. Relief floods you. This will give you time to adjust to his thickness.  It’s not natural to be this full.

“Is this your first time?” He gruffs.

You open your eyes and meet his rough gaze, darkness and intent beneath flushed cheeks. He must be watching every expression you make as you whimper and sob as he fucks you. It’s a shame. You want to watch him too.

“Yes… everything we did,” You wince at the memories, “was a first time.” 

“I should be gentle then.” He cocks his head to the side mockingly. 

You want to say yes. To please have mercy on you. There’s no point, because both of you know that things between the two of you have and will never be gentle. The temperature warring in your body feels unstable. You’re hot all over, but his look brings icy chills down your spine

He pulls out to the tip, and then slams his entire length back inside of you. Shockwaves scatter throughout your entire body. Your entire body jolts from the sheer force of it. You basically moan when his balls slap against your cunt once he’s perfectly tucked inside you.

Then he does it again. In a rough, quick pace. Onslaughts of harsh and deep thrusts cause you to throw your head back and sob. It hurts. You have to brace yourself each time his hips slap against your ass checks. You want to beg him to stop. Though, he might like that, and you consider it for just a moment because he might cum quicker. 

Will he stop if he cums? You don’t know. 

He leans down, his pace slowing by a bit, and yet he slides in and out of you with a speed that leaves your core melting from fire. Your pussy trembles, your entire body on the cusp of bursting. 

His breath is scorching hot against the shell of your ear.  “Now we’re bonded forever.”

“For-Forever..?” Your insides tighten around him at those words and you whimper. 

In one swift motion, he spins you onto your stomach. He tugs you down to the edge of the bed so that your feet are flat against the flooring and you have to place your hands against the bed to hold yourself up. 

Adachi laughs at you, placing his tip against your entrance, “You’re mine. I’ve taught you to love pain, how pleasurable fear is, and now I’ll teach you to love my cock.” His hand smacks one of your ass cheeks.

He’s right. You’re bonded forever. He can teach you. “Please don’t leave me– Oh god.” 

He slams himself back inside. The sting from his thickness stretching you is back, but you’re able to take it better. As if your pussy is finally adjusting to his size. The emotions swelling in your chest grow too large to contain, crashing through your mind until thinking becomes impossible, until you can’t properly process anything at all. And in that hazy, almost merciful blur, the pain begins to twist into something else. Something frighteningly breathtaking.

“Yes doll, I am your god.”

His cock moves dangerously inside you. Stuffing you with himself, then torturously emptying you to the tip, and with a quick thrust, he fills you back up. The moans spilling from you are so loud, you don’t notice Adachi’s low groans. You can feel the soft, wet walls of your cunt conform around him, greedily sucking him with each stroke.

He’s going to make your pussy the perfect place for his cock.

“Addiciting,” you hear him mutter and you agree. 

One of his hands cups your ass check, and once his chest pushes up against your back, his other one goes to cup your tits. While his thrusts slow, his cock still slides deep enough to have your eyes rolling back. He takes your nipple between his finger and thumb, rolling it. Groans fill your ears and you notice how close he is to your face now

His teeth sink into your neck and a dam bursts in your core. The pain melts into the pleasure making everything in you hotter. Your stomach tightens, pussy clenches, and you already know the feeling of an orgasm, but this is so much more euphoric. Your brain is mush. Poseidon himself must be behind your naval because you swear a tsunami of blinding pleasure is about to hit–

Then he stops moving. 

He releases his hold on your tits and ass. He stands back up straight and the warmth from his chest disappears, leaving your back feeling cold against the air. A whimper falls from your lips at the sudden loss of that sweet friction. The loss of his touch against your most sensitive bits.

You glance back at him, trying to read something beneath the mask he’s pulled over himself. His brows are drawn tight, his lips pressed into a restrained line, and his yellow eyes are fixed past you toward the door instead of on you. Whatever he’s thinking is locked away behind that practiced expression you know well.

You blink.

Grey eyes, you correct yourself. Adachi’s eyes are grey. They’ve always been grey. You don’t know why that’s the second time you’ve made that mistake, and the thought slips away before you can question it further, your mind too fogged to chase something as small as you seeing things.

His jaw twitches, a brief hitch in his otherwise composed expression, before those grey eyes fall back to you. The corner of his mouth lifts into a smile, but it doesn’t touch the careful restraint in his gaze.

“I’ll hurry,” he says, his voice oddly light.

“Why?” You ask, unsure why he would say such a thing. Unsure why he stopped.

“Because,” You let out a half gasp, half moan as he shifts you onto your side without pulling out of you, your leg sliding up against his chest with an instinctive rhythm. He presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to your ankle, “I want to make good on my promise to put my babies in you.”

He holds your leg tight against his chest, keeping you still as he bucks his hips in an addictive, smooth motion, hitting the spot he knows makes your eyes roll and your moans louder. You bite your lip, the taste of copper subtle against your tongue. It’s scary how good this is all starting to feel.

You lock your gaze on his. His eyes are sharp and unyielding, while yours are half-lidded, glassy, and trembling from the storm within you. Something flutters tightly in your chest. He continues to drive into you deliciously and your head slumps against the bedding.

Memories of the night he threatened to put babies in you explode through your mind, erupting like a volcano. Back then it terrified you. The fear was so absolute it hollowed you out, drove you into a spiral so deep that you started to plan for your death before it could ever happen.

It’s strange to think about now. Look at you.

Despite being rescued, despite surviving the boundless cruelty he inflicted, you came back. You walked right back to him willingly. Because the alternative; the pitiful looks, the endless questions, the apologies and promises to “make things better,” a life surrounded by people who would never truly understand who you are after all this, was worse. Their kindness felt unbearable. Their comfort felt fake. Every soft word only reminded you how broken, stained, and incomplete you had become.

Adachi has carved himself into too many parts of you, pieces you can’t cut out or heal over no matter how badly you might want to. It makes you unlovable. And so the truth settles heavily in your chest: you would rather die by his hand than live inside the suffocating lie everyone else calls safety.

“I’m scared,” You desperately mew. “...I-i can’t… oh, please, we can’t… do that!”

His thrusts aren’t as rough as before, no, but the pace is sweet and consistent and floods your nervous system. It’s hard to talk.

“Can’t have a ba-baby.” You finish, Adachi watching your tits bounce alongside his thrusts.

His nails dig into your ankle, the sharp pain electrifying each nerve in your body. Fuck. You think your blood has turned into lava. You want more. You want to wake up the next day like you’re in the basement. Teeth marks and bruises scattering your flesh. Endless time with Adachi.

“I just want to cum in you, doll.” His fingers brush against your puffy clit and you gasp. “I have always wanted to cum in you.”

You yelp, your entire body shaking as he drags circles around your clit. You shamelessly watch him pet your cunt all while stuffing your pussy with his pulsating cock. Each time he pulls his cock out you can see it glisten with your juices. 

Your walls are tight around him and, god, your insides are just so soft he can’t help but be rough. He wants to break you more. The more broken you are, the more you need him.

He hisses and his nails tear the flesh at your ankle, causing you to cry out in pain, and his head flies back as ropes of hot cum fill you up. Your eyes roll back as vibrations rumble you to the very core. Your insides feel so warm.

He doesn’t stop from rubbing your swollen clit, sending shocks of pleasure to your already worn out nerves. His hand tangles into your hair and snaps your head back. You can’t see him from this angle, but you can absolutely feel the cum dripping down your thighs. Maybe it's a mix of both of your juices. You can hear his panting intensify.

“Who owns you?” He roars, his pace against your clit quickening.

“You do.” You whimper. 

“We’re bonded.” He whispers this time.

“F-forever.” Is all you can manage to squeeze out. You can’t stop your moans for very long.

Your legs are trembling and the edge of your vision is starting to darken. Oh. From the painful sting of his scratch, to your sore and wet pussy, to the friction against your sensitive bub, it’s all too much. It’s making you dizzy. It all feels so good, so wrong, and so perfect.

Your eyes squeeze shut as that  tsunami wave finally crashes through you. You practically scream and your body begins to convulse from the aftershock of the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

You can’t breathe. At least not correctly, and it doesn’t even bother you that Adachi has already stood up to retrieve his clothes from the floor.

You lie limp on the bed, body heavy and unresponsive, while he perches at the edge like he owns the space. Fully dressed. You don’t even notice he has your clothes until he begins dressing you back into the scrubs you ran off in. They’re just as scratchy as before. Shirt first, panties second, then pants. Lastly, fabric slides over your feet. Weird. You didn’t even have socks to begin with.

“I’m so tired…” you murmur softly, a small, half-pleased smile tugging at your lips as he nudges you gently back down so you can lie flat.

“Fucking that rough has that effect,” he says, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your head with one hand while the other stays hidden behind his back. “You’re going to need to rest.”

“We can’t,” you hum quietly, soaking in the moment. You’re bonded to him forever. That means you’ll be loved forever. That means… somehow, everything is going to be okay again. “We need to get going. Someone will find us here.”

You try to push yourself up, but some invisible weight holds you down. You blink, confused, before realization hits. The hand that tucked your hair is now planted firmly on your shoulder, pressing you into the mattress. You can’t move. Not an inch.

“Yeah.” His eyelids droop, heavy with shadow, and the darkness there makes you flinch. “Someone is about to.”

“What do you mean?” you gasp, straining against him. “Why are you holding me down?”

“Because fun games always end,” he says, voice flat, almost cruelly ignoring your first question, “and you’ve already proven it’s impossible for you to believe otherwise.”

Then the hand that had been hidden rises, and your stomach drops as a familiar glint of metal catches the light. Your breath stutters, your chest tightening until your heart feels like it’s tearing at your ribs. The gun. He’s holding it. He’s holding it while keeping you pinned.

Your eyes widen, unblinking. “You’re going to kill me?”

His face doesn’t shift. Not a twitch. Not a hint. Only the cold, precise way he brings the barrel right in front of your face. You hold your breath because that’s all you can do. Because you chose this. You came back. You walked into the hands of the man who broke you. You willingly stepped into a world where he could do anything and get away with it.

Earlier, you begged him to end you if he was going to abandon you anyway. And now… he’s going to do it. He just wanted a good fuck first. Holy shit. You’re actually going to die at his hands. He may have loved hurting you, but you must be too broken, it isn’t fun if you aren’t going to truly resist. Now that he took everything from you, were you no fun? Useless?

You’ve always thought you would die at his hands, and it was coming true. The danger is real. Every beat of your heart screams it. Every shiver in your limbs tells you it’s over. And you… you’re going to let him kill you because there's nothing else you can do if he doesn’t want you.

The tip of the gun presses against your forehead and you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself. 

He speaks in that easy-going, fake tone you haven’t heard since before he kidnapped you. “Make sure to thank Narukami for coming all this way to find you.”

Your eyes snap open again. “What do you mean, thank Yu fo—”

Adachi suddenly jerks the gun upward, the barrel pointed harmlessly toward the ceiling, but the motion is only a feint. In the same breath he swings his arm down and drives the heavy metal grip into your skull. The impact is brutal. A white flash detonates behind your eyes and a scream rips from your throat before you can stop it. Pain explodes outward, sharp and blinding, like lightning tearing through your head. Your body jerks violently against the mattress, instinct forcing you to thrash, but his grip only tightens.

Then he hits you again.

The second blow lands harder, the blunt edge slamming into the side of your head with a sickening crack that makes your ears ring. Your vision fractures, the room tilting sideways as dark spots bloom across your sight. The scream that escapes you this time is barely human.

Everything throbs. Your skull. Your teeth. Your pulse hammering wildly in your ears.

And then a third strike.

The gun crashes into you again, brutal and merciless, sending a shockwave of pain through your entire body. Your vision collapses in on itself, the world shrinking to a dim, wavering tunnel. Everything goes black.

It's just like the night you first met the real Adachi. Is this his way of being romantic?

-

Your awareness returns slowly, like you’re being dragged upward through thick water and need to learn how to breathe again. The first thing you notice is the sound. A steady beep… beep… beep somewhere near your head. The air smells familiar and sterile, thick with antiseptic. Something heavy presses against your skull, a dull ache pulsing behind your eyes every time your heart beats.

You try to move. A quiet groan slips out of you before you even realize you made a sound. The beeping quickens slightly and a chair scrapes sharply against the floor.

Your eyelids feel impossibly heavy, but you force them open anyway. The ceiling above you is bright, white panels washed in harsh hospital light. It takes a few seconds before your vision stops swimming, but you already know you’re back in the hospital.

When you can see clearly again, two shapes lean into view.

Your mother is the first one you recognize. Her face looks different. Hollowed out, her eyes red and swollen like she hasn’t slept in days. When she sees your eyes open, her hand flies to her mouth.

“Oh my God,” she chokes. “She’s awake, dear, she’s awake!”

Your father is right beside her. He’s standing stiffly, like he doesn’t know what to do with his body. His hair looks disheveled, his tie crooked, like he hasn’t cared about how he’s perceived, which is not like him at all.

How long have you been out? You try to remember what happened last. Didn’t you get out of the hospital? Yeah. You did. Through the TV, and after that–

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, voice cracking. “Easy. Don’t try to move just yet. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

After that you got lost in the TV world, but Adachi found you. He found you, then took you to that room. Where the two of you– Where you thought the two of you bonded. Forever. Your eyes begin to burn as tears gloss them.

Your mother leans closer to the bed, trembling hands hovering just above your cheek like she’s afraid to touch you too hard.

“Are you in pain?” Your mother blurts the question out, then immediately exhales in frustration at herself. “Of course you are. I'm sorry.” She turns sharply toward your father. “Dear, get the doctor right now. With all that swelling she must be in agony.”

The concern in her voice feels wrong. Unfamiliar. Your head throbs as your gaze drifts between them. “I’m not in pain,” you mutter hoarsely, “and I don’t want another fucking doctor.”

That’s a lie. You are in pain, but it’s dull, something you can tolerate. What you can’t tolerate is the thought of another doctor hovering over you, asking questions. You still feel hazy. Fogged out. Is this a dream? You almost hope it is.

Your eyes drop to your arm and you notice the IV needle pushed into your right hand, tape securing the line to your skin. The sight of it makes something twitch in your chest. You lift your left hand to rip it out, you don’t want it in for another second. You need to get up. Get out of this bed. Figure out what’s going on.

What happened to Adachi. Yu must know. Adachi said his name right before he–

It doesn’t matter.

“Yu,” you rasp, struggling to sit up. “I–I need to talk to h–”

A sharp metallic clink cuts through the room. Your arm stops moving. You frown and try again, but your hand only lifts a few inches before something yanks it back. The blanket slips from your arms as you move, sliding down your torso.

And then you see them. Steel cuffs. Locked tightly around your wrists, chained to the rails of the hospital bed. Your breath catches. You jerk your right arm instinctively, but it’s the same, another cuff holding you in place. A panicked gasp escapes you as the metal rattles violently against the frame when you pull.

“It’s okay, my sweet girl. It’s okay.” Your father places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently like it’s supposed to calm you. “You aren’t in trouble. They’re there to protect you.”

“Please let me out. What’s going on?” Your voice comes out thin and frantic. Your eyes dart wildly around the room. No TV. No strange fog outside the window. Just blank hospital walls, a couple of plastic chairs, and a small pile of half-open bags stuffed with clothes and hygiene products. Evidence that someone has been staying here. Waiting. Watching.

You must have been out for days.

“Dear, go get the doctor.” Your mother’s voice lowers, sharp with quiet annoyance, like she doesn’t want to repeat herself again.

“Please tell me what’s going on!!” The scream rips out of you before you can stop it. Your body jerks violently against the cuffs, metal clanging against the bedframe. The heart monitor beside you starts beeping faster, louder.

Your father rushes out the door. Seconds later he returns with a tall man in a white coat and two others trailing behind him.

You don’t stop screaming. You can’t. Your body feels like it’s spiraling out of your control. Confusion claws through your chest. Terror. And underneath it all–

Adachi.

If you’re here… if the TV is gone… do they know? Did they find him? Did Yu tell them? Is he already in jail?

The questions spin faster and faster until your thoughts feel like they’re tearing themselves apart.

“Sedate her. Now.” The doctor’s voice cuts through the room, cold and immediate. One of the nurses moves quickly to a cart, grabbing a vial and drawing liquid into a syringe.

“We’re going to get you all the help you need,” your mother whispers, leaning close despite your thrashing. Her hand moves through your hair in slow strokes. Adachi used to do that. Back when it was just the two of you in the basement.

“Can’t you take those off her now?” she asks desperately, glancing at the cuffs.

“No, she’s a flight risk!” your father snaps before the doctor can answer.

“It’s not her fault,” she snaps back. “It’s this hospital's fault for not monitoring her appropriately!! Why should they put these awful things on her after everything she’s been through?!”

The nurse steps forward, pushing your mother gently aside. The needle slides into the port of your IV and cold liquid floods into the line. You don’t scream at her to stop. You can’t think of anything else to say.

“Please tell me what’s going on!!” you repeat over and over, your voice cracking, the words tumbling out in desperate loops.

But no one answers, and you feel your muscles loosening so completely they might as well belong to someone else. Your head sinks deeper into the pillow as a heavy calm spreads through your body, dulling every nerve. Your eyelids grow heavier with each blink, each one lingering a little longer than the last.

But you don’t let yourself slip under. Not yet.

The doctor’s voice blends with your parents, their words stretching and warping like sound heard through deep water. It’s hard to follow. Hard to hold onto anything long enough to understand it.

You only catch fragments. Something about you being a danger to yourself. Statistics on kidnapping victims. Stockholm syndrome. A psychological facility somewhere out in the country.

You blink again, uncertain if you’ll be able to open your eyes after this one. Just as they start to close for good, you feel the cool touch of your mother’s hand against your cheek. Your eyelids drag open.

Her gaze meets yours, sad, distant, and exhausted.

“Mom,” you whisper, your breathing slow and steady now.

“Baby.” She smiles weakly, her thumb brushing your cheek. “We’re here now. The rest of our lives… we’ll dedicate them to making sure you come out of this okay.”

Your father steps up beside her. You catch the quick motion of him wiping at his eyes before he composes himself. “I’m sorry this all…” His voice tightens and he clears his throat, trying to push through it. “We’ll make sure you get the care you need. We are going to be by your side during all of it.”

“…Yu…”

“Yes, your friends too,” your father says quickly, misunderstanding. His hand joins your mother’s, stroking your hair in slow passes. “Once you get settled in, they can visit.”

Settled in. They can visit. The care you need. They’re going to send you to that psych ward.

Your eyelids drift shut again before you can stop them. It takes everything you have left to force them open. Not yet. Not when they’re already planning to send you away somewhere you’ll never escape from.

“…Need to talk…” Your head shifts a few centimeters side to side, a weak attempt to shake their hands away. It doesn’t work. “…to Yu.”

The hesitation between them is immediate. Their eyes flicker toward each other, uncertain, as if they’re unsure how to respond. Your mom smiles weakly. “You need to get your strength up first. Get some sleep.”

Fine. You’ll have to ask them.

“…Adachi?” Is all you can manage, but the sentiment gets across.

Your mother stands up so abruptly it startles your father. She turns away from you immediately, one hand flying to her mouth while the other wraps around her ribs. Her shoulders shake as she tries to smother the sound of her crying.

Your father’s reaction is different. His face turns dark red, anger flooding into his expression so fast it almost looks painful. His jaw tightens until the muscles twitch.

“That motherfucker,” he snarls, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose, “is going to rot in prison for the rest of his life.”

Your entire world crumbles at these words.

“He admitted to everything. Dojima promised you wouldn’t have to go to court.” Your father’s voice cracks with rage. “Over my dead fucking body will I let you relive what he did to you.”

Ah. So he got caught. Yu must have went into the TV world soon after your disappearance was known, and found you. Bloody. Unconscious. Dragged you back out of that world. Maybe Adachi could sense he was coming. That would explain how he was able to find you out there. And why he said those last words to you.

Did Adachi turn himself in right then and there?

No. He wouldn’t. He must have tried to end it all, the world, everything. Just like he planned. And he failed. Your friends stopped him. They caught the bad guy. They made him confess. Justice. That was the goal when you joined the investigation team before all of this.

And now… You’re alone. Without Adachi you will be alone for the rest of your life.

With the last strength you have, you wiggle your wrists just enough to make the cuffs shift.

Clink.

The soft rattle of metal fills the quiet room.

Your eyes close again as a small giggle slips from your lips. Even without seeing them, you know your parents must be staring at you strangely.

They don’t understand. The sound reminds you of the cuffs around your ankles. Of the basement. Of Adachi.

You wish he had shot you straight through the forehead instead. Instead of leaving you here alone in a world that will spend the rest of your life trying to tear him out of you. And you’re certain he knew you’d hate that he left you to rescue.

Just like the night at his apartment, you’re walking straight toward danger. The difference is that this time, you know exactly what you’re walking towards and you accept it anyway. 

You’re sick. Sick in a way that’s sunk into your veins, poisoning your blood, your muscles, every organ that keeps you alive. It makes you filthy. You’re disgusting.

They’ve noticed you're gone by now. They have to have. Cops and nurses scrambling, trying to figure out how you slipped past them when everyone was supposed to be watching you. And Yu, Yu will know exactly where you went. He’ll gather everyone. He’ll come looking for you. Even after everything you said, he’ll still be worried about your safety.

You have to get to Adachi first.

Dull pain creeps up through the soles of your feet, and your mouth pulls into a smile That’s right. You aren’t wearing shoes. There are no sharp rocks here like in the woods, nothing that truly hurts, but the sensation is familiar. Grounded. Another quiet sign pointing you back toward the man who conquered you.

You want to unpack, to understand why you’re abandoning safety, abandoning people who are trying to help you heal, for the abuser who ruined you. Maybe it’s because you don’t know how to exist anymore without the shape of his cruelty. Because you don’t know how to be anyone else except a pitiful victim.

You hate him. You hate what he did. But the hatred doesn’t stop your feet from moving.

You shake your head violently, like you can shake the thoughts away even though you can’t. They’re slowing you down. You don’t understand why you’re doing this and it doesn’t matter. Understanding can come later. All you need to do is keep moving forward.

The fog stretches endlessly ahead, and you walk into it anyway, toward nothing, toward the possibility of shadows attacking you, towards the possibility of finding him. You cling to the thin, humiliating hope that you’ll feel right again once you’re with him again. 

A noise breaks through the silence and your head snaps toward it. You freeze, breath trapped in your throat. You squint into the fog and see something shift. A shape, half-formed and unmistakably inhuman, moves through the haze.

You break out into a run.

Your heart slams violently against your ribs, the sound of it almost drowning out the slap of bare feet against the ground. Each step sends fire ripping through your calves and thighs. 

You grit your teeth. A shadow. It has to be a shadow.

The idea of fighting never even surfaces. You’re weak. Pathetic. Stupid. Even with a Persona, even if you tried, it wouldn’t make a difference. There is no point in fighting. This world is crawling with them. You might survive one, maybe two, but eventually you’d be overwhelmed and killed.

…Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe that’s exactly what a sick girl like you deserves. A disgusting girl who will never be able to go back to who she was before. Someone who flinches at safety and runs head first into harm like your suffering is meant to be.

You keep running until your body betrays you. Your feet tangle, pitching you forward, and suddenly the ground is rushing up to meet you. You hit hard, hands thrown out instinctively. Skin scrapes raw against the ground, a sharp sting blooming across your palms.

You stay there. On all fours. Breathing ragged.

For a moment, you hesitate to move. Not because you can’t, but because everything inside you feels too loud. Too much. Once again, you acted without thinking. Once again, you made a reckless choice with no real plan, driven by impulse and rot and desperation, and now you’ve stranded yourself in a nightmare you can’t navigate.

Your eyes burn.

How were you supposed to find Adachi here? The thought feels laughable now. This place is endless. Directionless. You failed the moment you stepped inside. You always fail. Heat builds behind your eyes until it spills over, tears breaking free and streaking down your face unchecked. You squeeze your eyes shut, shoulders trembling.

You should just stop running. Just let the shadows find you.

They’d tear you apart and it would be clean. Final. You wouldn’t have to feel sick or confused anymore. You wouldn’t have to keep dragging this broken thing you’ve become forward. You just want it all to stop.

At least then it would all be over. You close your eyes and allow whatever comes next. If there’s an afterlife, you can only hope it’s kinder than the life you were given here.

Something clamps onto your shoulder.

Fear detonates in your skull, bashing around so violently it makes you dizzy. Accepting to die is easy, but doesn’t mean the instinct to survive has vanished completely. For you, there will always be room for fear.

Then you’re suddenly yanked upward and your eyes fly open as a solid, warm weight steadies you midair. Hands against your shoulder, holding you upright. Your breath catches. Yellow eyes stare back at you. 

No. No, they’re grey. Dull. Familiar.

“…Adachi?” The name slips out in a whisper as your body locks, every muscle turning to stone.

He doesn’t answer.

For several seconds, he doesn’t move at all. Something shifts across his face. Too fast to name, too layered to separate. His brow creases, the frown between his eyes carving deeper, sharper, until it feels like it’s cutting into you. It’s a look you know intimately. One that strips you down to nothing without ever touching you.

There’s no mistaking it. Only one person ever looked at you like that.

“Adachi,” you breathe again, your body finally remembering how to function. You lift an arm, fingers trembling as they reach for him while his hand still grips your shoulder. “I was looking for you. But you found me first. Wow.”

“No.”

The word lands heavy, packed with something vast and final. He releases your shoulder and  slips neatly out of your reach. You stumble a bit, but manage to stay standing.

“In no version of reality,” he says flatly, “would you be looking for me in a place like this.”

You don’t have time to respond before both his hands snap around your wrist, yanking you back into him. Your breath stutters as his presence invades into your space again, his breath hot against your face and it’s suffocating. His glare burns straight through you. You whimper when the pressure shifts against your injured hand, your thumb throbbing sharply in protest and you’re more than aware he likely did it on purpose.

“You’re here with Narukami, I bet.” He clicks his tongue, irritation bleeding openly into his expression. “Figures. Are you the bait? It suits you.”

“No! I was looking for you…!” Your eyes flick wildly around the red-and-yellow haze, searching for any trace of the shadows you fled from, but there’s nothing. “I’m alone. That’s why you found me alone, be-because I’m always alone, Adachi, I’m telling the truth.”

He’s unreadable.

The tension in his brow eases, the wrinkles smoothing as he deliberately inhales through his nose, then exhales, slow and controlled, like he’s reining something in. You have no idea what’s going on in his head. You never did.

That sickness, anger and hatred, still seeps through you, poisoning every thought. But standing here, looking at the man who captured you, your body doesn’t recoil the way it should. 

“…I-I think a shadow was chasing me,” you stammer. “A-and I can’t fight, so I ran, but then I fell…” Your eyes lift back to his. “I’m scared they’re still around. Let’s go somewhere els–”

“Shadows won’t attack me.”

He cuts you off sharply, his grip tightening again. “I saw you. You just fell over and gave up.” His mouth twists. “You’re as pathetic as ever. Even in this world, I have to bust my ass taking care of you.”

Ah. Pathetic. The word clears the air, makes it breathable again. Normal.

He steps back, releasing you, but he doesn’t give up his dominance. He looms, absolute and unchallenged. If you tried to run, you know he’d catch you easily. Drag you down just like he did in the woods.

“Hospital scrubs. Bare feet…” His voice drops as his eyes rake over you. “So those brats did look at the file.” His gaze snaps back to your face. “Then what the fuck are you doing here if they had you snuggled up in a hospital?”

“...I was– Yu told me you escaped through a TV. I told you, I was looking for you.”

Hearing the words again fractures his expression. His jaw tightens, teeth grinding audibly as he slowly shakes his head.

“Don’t say shit like that. Don’t–” He cuts himself off, dragging in a long, exasperated breath through his nose. “You weren’t supposed to see me again. It was over, you were rescued and I was found out. End of story.”

He turns on his heel, muttering something under his breath about destroying this boring world, but you don’t care what he’s saying. You only see him disappearing into the fog.

Panic claws up your throat.

“W-wait!” You stumble forward, scrambling after him. “I can’t stay there– you can’t let them take me back there!!”

“Really? I can’t?” The revulsion curdles into something far uglier. He lets out a short, hollow laugh. More breath than sound. “Are you stupid? I knew you were, but this level of stupidity is… Well, insane.”

You flinch. You know it instantly, you’ve broken the role he assigned you by searching him out on your own.

“Tell me,” he continues, voice low and sharp. “Why are you really here? Don’t tell me you miss me hitting you.” His mouth twitches, something almost amused flashing across his face. “Oh, that’s it, isn’t it? Near the end you did get pretty meek, hm?” His gaze drags over you, slow and invasive. “Should I call you doll again?”

Tears sting your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not now. Not when you have to explain yourself to your abuser when you barely understand it yourself.

“...I can’t stay there. Not with the way they look at me.” You swallow hard, shame bleeding into every word. “They look at me with so much pity. So much hope that now that I’m free, that I’ll be okay now that I’m out. But I’ll never be okay again. Never.”

You reach out and grab his arm, terrified that if you don’t, he’ll turn and walk away. Leave you here alone. Shockingly, he doesn’t pull back.

“It’s like you crawled into the core of me,” you continue, voice shaking but relentless. “Like you sank into every part of who I am. I don’t know where I end and you begin anymore. All those months, torturing me, grooming me, it worked.” Your grip tightens. “You soaked yourself into my thoughts, my mind, my heartbeat.”

You laugh weakly, broken. “And everyone out there wants to rip you out of me. But I won’t survive that. I can feel it. It would tear everything out of me.”

Your voice drops to a raw whisper.

“You tainted me. I’ll never be clean.” A breath shudders out of you. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

You look up at him, desperate.

“So you can’t leave me here. You can’t leave me out there either.” You weakly shake your head, eyes wide. “...I’d rather you kill me.”

His other hand slides over yours, rough fingers closing around it. Not pulling you away, not letting you go. He looks down his nose at you, and this time, you don’t look away. You stay there, trapped in his gaze, the air between you stretched thin for several long seconds.

Then he scoffs. A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth.

“This is the second time you’ve wanted me to kill you,” he says, tilting his head. “It’s getting repetitive.”

His grip loosens just enough to slide up your arm. Slowly as if he’s enjoying the sensation of touching you once more. His thumb traces the sharp line of your cheekbone, lingering at your jaw.

“I am going to,” he continues, tone light, conversational. “turn the world into a world of shadows. And honestly?” He huffs a breath through his nose. “Watching your little group scramble to stop it might be the most entertaining part.”

He cups your cheek roughly, forcing your face into his palm. It feels… normal. As if this is where you were always meant to be. Contained, directed, owned by his hands.

“Well, before I knew you would show up.”

“Turn… the world into shadows?” you whisper. “I don’t understand. Is that why there’s so much fog outsi–”

“It’s not for you to understand.” His nails dig into your cheek, sharp enough to make you whimper. “You were supposed to stay put.” His voice lowers. “I would’ve finished my work. Created salvation for everyone, including you, from your miserable life."

His gaze drags over you, slow and familiar.

“A much more desirable existence, hm? Destroying a world of inequity and suffering.” he murmurs. “I know it is.” His smile widens just a fraction. “Because here you are, begging for death all over again.”

You don’t break eye contact as you slowly inhale and exhale, taking in everything he’s saying. You are not begging for death. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be a broken victim who will never heal, who will always be a burden. And the one person who wanted you that way turns around and leaves.

If he was leaving you now, why give up the file?

If he was going to end the world. turn everyone, including you, into a mindless shadow, why didn’t he just let you starve to death, alone in that basement?

He must see it on your face. The questions stacking, the doubt clawing its way up because his mouth twists and cracks his face open.

“Don’t tell me…” he murmurs. “You miss our time together, doll? I wasn’t serious when I said it earlier, but, god, look at you. You look as if you need me to hurt you to stay alive.”

Ah. Doll. The name that bonds you together.

Your eyes burn. You place your hand over his, unconcerned with how his nails could tear into your skin. You can handle pain. You like it. It grounds you, keeps you anchored in your body. You hate that about yourself, but it’s true.

“I hate you,” you spit. “You ruined me, only to turn around and drag the whole world down with you. Was torturing me not enough? Are you telling me that the entire time you were fucking me, you were planning to destroy everything?” Your voice cracks, then hardens. “Wasn’t I your outlet? Was I not enough? I hate you.”

His lips part, surprise flickering across his face, but you don’t let him speak.

“I hate you. And I hate my parents. And I hate my friends.” The words tumble faster now, frantic, unfiltered. “I even told him. I told Yu how much I hate him, how I hope he feels sick when he looks in the mirror even though I know he never stopped looking for me. Even though I know you lied about them not caring. I hate them and I don’t even understand why.”

He tries to pull his hand away. You don’t let him. You press it harder into your cheek, reckless, daring him to hit you.

“I hate the world because of you,” you gasp. “I don’t care if you want to destroy it and it’s all your fault. I don’t care. But you don’t get to do this, you don’t get to bond yourself to me and then run the second you’re caught–”

The impact comes without warning.

Something hard slams into your ribs and you’re airborne for a split second before the ground rips the breath from your lungs. You hit hard, a broken sound tearing out of your throat. Your vision swims. Even braced for it, the blow leaves you dizzy.

When the world steadies, you see his shoulders shaking.

He looks at you like something rotten. Like a mistake he brushed against by accident.

“I did not fuck you,” he snaps. “I did not bond us.” His voice is sharp, almost offended. “I made damn sure of that.”

Adachi was unraveling. You could see it in the twitch of his jaw, the way his breath stutters in through his nose and leaves too fast, too sharp. It shouldn’t surprise you, nothing about him should, but it does, because you were certain he loved you.

Loved having you.

Is there a difference anymore?

The way his eyes almost bulge at the word bond tells you everything. Whatever you thought existed between you, between an owner and his possession, he’s rejecting it with something close to disgust.

And it makes you unravel right along with him.

Sure, he’s right. He didn’t fuck you. But you were absolutely bonded. In a sick, warped, unbearable way. You hate it. You hate yourself for it. You hate what you became under his hands. But hating it doesn’t erase it. You are what you are because of him.

You push yourself up off the ground, arms shaking as you rise. Your brows draw lower and lower until you’re glaring back at him, matching his fury with your own. Pain radiates from your side, but it barely registers.

“The second you took me,” you snap, “and killed every innocent part of me, we were bonded. You broke my soul. You violated my body. You’re in my bloodstream, for god’s sake.”

“I didn’t fuck you.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Your voice cracks, then rises. “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, you still moleste–”

He’s on you before the words finish leaving your mouth.

Hands slam down on your shoulders, forcing you flat against the ground as his full weight crashes into you. You scream as the air is driven out of your lungs. He shakes you hard, violently, like he’s trying to rattle the thought out of your skull. His eyes twitch, wild and unhinged.

“It does matter, you stupid bitch,” he snarls. “You’re out in the real world for a day, maybe two, and you’re already talking back, already forgot the fear. Already forgot the lessons I beat into you.”

He leans closer, breath hot, teeth bared.

“You could’ve gotten better,” he says flatly. “Given time, you would’ve grown out of this. Gone off to a big city. Met some guy. Built the neat little life you kept thinking you wanted.” A humorless huff. “You would’ve moved on. People always do. That's why it matters that I didn't fuck you. If I had, it would've been permanent, my stains on you would have been permanent.”

He’s wrong. He has to be lying. There's no way, after everything he did to you, after everything he said to you, does he truly think he hasn’t poisoned your entire essence.

“So explain it to me,” he hisses. “How the hell are we bonded then, huh?”

This anger is different. It’s defensive. Not the cruelty you know so well, but something feral, like you struck a nerve you weren’t supposed to touch. Like he can’t accept the idea of being connected with someone, even if that’s his own victim.

Aren’t you different?

He killed his first two victims, Mayumi Yamano and Saki Konishi. He could have done the same to you. He should have, by every precedent he set. He had the chance the night you went to his apartment alone, when he beat you unconscious and left you crumpled on the floor.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he went to the trouble of hiding you, keeping you as he dragged you all the way to that cabin, far from Inaba, far from anyone who might stumble across you by accident. He came back. Again and again. He brought you a blanket when you were sick. He gave you a hobby so you wouldn’t go mad staring at concrete walls. He promised to bring you food from outside once you started behaving and now…

Now he’s acting as if none of that happened. As if he didn’t break your bone for attempting to leave him back when you escaped. As if he didn’t say over again that you’re his, his, his. 

“…Aren’t you going to turn the world into shadows?” you whisper. “If that’s the plan, then why would you think I’d have time to heal? To move on from us? It doesn’t make sense. You’re ly—”

The back of his hand cracks across your cheek.

Your head snaps to the side. The sting blooms hot and immediate, sharp against your skin. You aren't sure what burns more. The slap or the hollow drop in your chest. He refuses to entertain the premise entirely. He'd rather talk about a grand plan to end the world then use the opportunity you're giving him. By showing up alone, with no one knowing where you are, you are giving him the same option to take you like he did at the apartment so long ago.

It’s beyond you why your instinct is to force your arms up, trying to claw at his chest, to get him off you by any means necessary. It must be the rejection. The fabric of his jacket dulls your nails, useless against him, and he reacts instantly, shoving your shoulders back into the ground and straddling you fully, one knee planted hard on either side of your hips.

“Fuck you!” You lash out, thrashing with everything you have left. 

“Shut up with that whining,” he snaps. 

“I wish you’d killed me,” you spit. “If you were just going to abandon me in the end, I wish you would have just fucking killed me.”

He flinches. It’s small, but it’s there. Something raw cracks across his face before he forces it away. He swallows dryly, and for just a second, the weight pinning you down wavers.

“…Fun games always end, doll.” He leans closer. “Our basement wasn’t going to be forever.”

He’s close enough now that you can see everything, every line, every twitch. His brows lift slightly, his eyes softening in a way that shouldn’t exist alongside that familiar dullness. That emptiness you’ve stared into for months.

Not just in him. In yourself too.

You hadn’t thought about it like this before, but in some warped, irreversible way, he’s turned you into him. You hate the world now. You hate how it grinds people down, how pain is handed out indiscriminately, even to good people. Good people like you, who never deserved what was done to you.

And yet here you are, spreading that pain forward.

You said those things to Yu because you wanted to hurt him. Because hurting someone else felt easier than sitting with how much you despise yourself.

Does Adachi hate himself too?

When he first met you, did he see it? A lonely girl wrapped in a mask, pretending she was normal. Pretending the bonds she had were real, were enough. Just like him, always performing, always surrounded by people, and yet completely untouched.

No one ever saw the real him. No one except you.

So he denies it. Denies the bond. Denies you. Because admitting it would mean vulnerability, and Adachi can’t survive that. He’s too detached, too hollowed out, clinging to control because connection would tear him open. You two were never supposed to exist outside the basement.

Our basement.

And now he’s exposed and that has to be why he wants the world to become shadows.

“…I think I’m just like you,” you whisper.

He scoffs. As if the idea itself offends him, like a weak girl daring to compare herself to a man who can drown the world in shadows.

“I hate the world,” you say anyway. “I hated it before you took me. I pretended and pretended and pretended, but nothing ever changed.” Your voice shakes, but you don’t stop. “My parents don’t love me. I never really felt close to Yu, or Dojima, or even Nanako, no matter how many dinners we shared. It was all fake.”

You swallow. “I don’t care if you want to end the world. I don’t care that you’re a killer.”

A soft, broken laugh slips out of you. God. You’re sick.

“You’re wrong,” you continue, quieter now. “Your stains are permanent. I’ll always belong to you. Completely.”

For reasons you don’t understand, you smile as you say it. The words feel steadier than the doctors’ empty reassurances, steadier than the cops’ talk of healing. This isn’t hope, it’s truth. Your truth.

“You’re a kidnapper, and I’m an artist,” you say. “That was supposed to be ours. Forever. And if it’s really over… then there’s nowhere left for me.”

You lift your gaze to him, eyes bright with something dangerously close to peace.

“So if you’re going to try to turn the world into shadows,” you say, “why don’t you kill me now, so I can spend eternity drawing things just for you to look at when we both meet in hell.” In this agonizing moment, all you can focus on is the bow of his lips. Those lips have been all over you. Pressed against your skin with rough open-mouth kisses, or bites. They’ve left faded yellow crescents and pale scars across your shoulders, your arms, your thighs. Out there, they earned you nothing but pity. Horror. You could see it in every single person. The doctors, the cops, Yu. Your body tells a story no one wants to hear. It’s something too ugly.

But here, with him, the story represents something entirely different. Here, he would find them beautiful. He would find you beautiful. If he kills you, you can die beautiful.

Your gaze never leaves his mouth until it crashes into yours. Adachi kisses you from above. The kiss is rough, almost punishing, but not quite. Your eyes fly open, stars bursting behind them numbing your mind. It feels like he’s hungry, like he’s starving for something he refuses to name.

It’s desperate. Consuming. As if he needed to use your body as much as your body needed to be used. To feel alive. To feel like you’re exactly in the place you were meant to be. The kiss builds, and builds, dizzying, and your eyelids flutter shut as you surrender yourself over to him entirely. His hands haul you off the ground, pulling you against his chest, arms locking around your waist to keep you there. He’s warm, or maybe you’re just cold, but being so close against him makes it impossible to tell. 

You go pliant in his hold and his tongue slithers inside your mouth without any protest.

It feels like being snapped back into your rightful place.

You’re Adachi’s doll again.

“Come with me,” Adachi’s voice is enough to reshape your sanity. “Not here, out in the open.” 

And just like that, the weight crushing you into place disappears.

His hand closes around your wrist, the one in the cast from your thumb. You notice the way his eyes linger there a second too long before you push yourself upright. His jaw clenches and you’re almost certain he’s remembering breaking your thumb, more importantly, why. You stand facing each other. Breathless.

Everything inside you is boiling. Too tangled to understand the complex mix of emotions that led you here. Anger. Relief. Devotion. Shame. You can’t articulate any of it. You don’t even know where one feeling ends and the next begins.

You hope he feels it too. You hope, as he thinks about your failure to escape, he remembers how he repeated mine, mine, mine to himself. That at one point you were his favorite obsession, his favorite possession, and that he doesn’t have to leave you.

Then he moves. Abruptly, he turns and starts walking, dragging you with him. Leading is too gentle a word. He pulls, and you follow, as usual.

The world around you blurs into red and yellow haze. You don’t have to think about it; the shifting terrain, the shadows that might still be lurking. You don’t have to dwell on the possibility of Yu appearing through the fog with everyone at his side, catching you like this, willingly stepping back toward the monster who broke you. You don’t have to confront the truth that you might never be anything other than this.

With him, there is no decision to make. It’s all his. You listen. You obey.

After a long stretch of silence, he leads you into a building that feels wrong the moment you cross into it. You step into a bedroom and your stomach twists.

The walls are smeared with something that looks like paint at first glance, thick and uneven, dragged across the plaster in violent strokes. Posters hang crooked, their edges torn and curling, scratched through as if someone tried to erase the faces on them. The bed sits in the center like an altar, sheets rumpled and gray with neglect. And above it a noose hangs from the ceiling beam, swaying, and you gulp.

Adachi’s eyes snap to you, and the look sears. You can’t read him.

Minutes ago he was telling you that you were never supposed to see him again, insisting there was never a bond or anything between you. Then he kisses you, gripping your wrist as he steers you somewhere private. 

He pats his palm against the mattress. It isn’t a suggestion, so you sit.

The corner of his mouth lifts every so slightly. That familiar flicker of amusement lights his eyes. Approval. He likes your obedience. 

Good.

Adachi enjoying your obedience is normal. That part makes sense. You expected the smirk, the quiet thrill he gets from watching you fold under the slightest pressure or from the harsh smack from his palm. You expected the praise disguised as mockery. What you didn’t expect was his sudden disinterest in your pain. His insistence that your time together wouldn’t permanently scar you, or that you had been “rescued”. That the game was over. That you weren’t connected.

Worst of all, that you weren’t connected, bonded, simply because he never truly fucked you–

Oh.

…that must be why he didn’t want to be in the open.

Goosebumps crawl over your arms and legs like an untreatable rash while heat simmers beneath your skin, leaving you feverish and unsteady; it’s awful, but still feels safer than the world outside. Where nothing makes sense and everyone looks at you like you’re supposed to be whole again. You can endure pain. You can endure humiliation. Those things have rules, ones Adachi taught you over months. 

What you can’t endure is the expectations, the way they’d see the cracks and wait for you to heal into someone better than this. You won’t ever feel better. You’re reshaped, and he’s the only one who doesn’t ask you to be anything more.

“It’s funny, you know…” Adachi tilts his head, studying you like you’re something mildly interesting again. “Seeing you all cleaned up like this. Scrubs, neat little bandages, that cast and everything. You almost look official. Saved, and yet, you came back to me.”

His hand drifts lazily along your thigh, absentminded, like he’s petting something that belongs to him. You stay still. His touch has an ability to entrance you.

“They rushed you to the hospital, right?” he asks lightly, as if he’s making small talk with an old friend.

“Yes.”

“Mm. Didn’t even let you go home first?”

“No.”

A quiet chuckle slips from him, not surprised in the slightest. “Figures. Whole big production over you.” His thumb presses slightly over an old bite wound. Does he remember every spot he hurt your body? 

“Lemme guess… didn’t get to see your parents either?”

Your eyes burn before you can stop them, tears blurring the room. The anticipation coils tight in your chest; every slow stroke of his hand feels sharper now, like it’s leaving a mark beneath the fabric. 

“…No,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I–I don’t want to see them.”

Adachi hums softly, almost pleased. “Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning closer, his tone turning deceptively gentle. “Didn’t think so. After all this?” A faint smirk tugs at his lips. “They wouldn’t get it. They’d just look at you like you’re broken and a burden.”

A few of his fingers hook under the hem of your pants. Your breath catches. He notices, of course. 

“I mean… that’s what you said, right?” he continues lightly. “That’s why you came looking for me here.” He leans in closer, close enough that the air feels thinner. 

You feel the warmth of his breath against the nape of your neck, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what it does to you. His presence crowds out everything else. Something twists low in your stomach, tight and dizzying, a slow spiral that makes it hard to tell whether you’re afraid or relieved.

With little effort he drags your pants down, down, down, until they puddle at your feet and the memory of being in nothing but a sweatshirt floods you. It’s normal for him to do this. This is normal.

He presses a quick peck against your throat. “I can also assume them leaving Inaba played a part too. Am I right?”

Your eyes widen, momentarily forgetting he was stripping you. “You know about that?”

“Of course I do,” Adachi snickers, like it’s ridiculous you’d think otherwise. “They went crying to Dojima weeks ago. Total mess. Could barely focus on work.” He tilts his head, watching your reaction more than listening to his own words. “Blamed themselves, you know. Convinced this was all some big parental failure. That you ran away because they weren’t good enough parents.”

His fingers brush a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it carefully behind your ear.

“They kept going on about how it was too hard to stay here knowing you were missing,” he continued lightly. “Said they were thinking about heading to Tokyo. Clear their heads. Have a break from everything. Told us to keep them updated if anything came up.”

His voice dips, slipping into that familiar taunting softness he enjoys.

“Honestly,” Adachi continues with a lazy shrug, “it sounded to me like they just picked the first big city they could imagine their precious daughter running off to. Tokyo, of course. New life, bright lights, dramatic reunion.” He huffs a quiet laugh. “Pretty desperate, if you ask me.”

His thumb lingers near your jaw.

“Funny, right? All that guilt… all that self-blame.” His eyes narrow slightly. “And not once did it occur to them that maybe it wasn’t your choice to disappear. Pity.”

A faint smile curves his lips.

“Does it make you happy? To hear that the parents you were so certain didn’t love you fell apart after you were gone? That they wanted to find you so badly.”

You suck in a sharp breath, your gaze dropping to your bare legs as if they might offer an answer. Your eyes squeeze shut, lashes pressing tight, as though the darkness will help you understand how you feel after hearing Adachi’s words.

You dig. Deep into the part of yourself you buried, where every unanswered phone call still echoes. Where breakfasts eaten alone hardened you. Where you taught yourself not to expect any good mornings or good nights. That insecurity, the small, festering certainty that you were secondary to work, was what you locked away.

Now it clashes violently with what he’s telling you. That they went to Tokyo looking for you. That your disappearance unraveled them. That they couldn’t concentrate on the one thing they always chose over you.

The memory of the hospital call rings through your head with brutal clarity. Your mother’s sobs were loud, unrestrained. Your father’s voice cracked in a way you had never heard before. Apologies spilled over each other. Promises to come back immediately. To fix this. To make everything okay. To do better.

You search yourself for something. Relief, maybe, but there is nothing. No swelling in your chest. No satisfaction at finally being wanted. Not even anger and hatred, which is what consumed you when it came to your friends.

Just a hollow, airless quiet.

Your eyes open slowly, and pale skin fills your vision, mapped with scars that catch the light differently than the rest of you. Your breath falters. Only then does your heart tremble. Only then do you feel like more than a shell someone hollowed out. Only then do you feel like everything is normal and you need more of it.

“No.” You huff softly, though it lacks heat, and glance back up to find he hasn’t looked away once. “I don’t care about all that anymore. I… I don’t care that they prioritized everything else over me, so I don’t really care if they want to fix it either.”

The words feel strange in your mouth. You lean into him ever so slightly, barely a shift of weight, but enough. Enough for him to feel it. His gaze doesn’t waver; if anything, it sharpens, quiet interest flickering beneath the surface.

“...After all,” you murmur, your voice steadier now, “what you did was so much worse.”

There’s no accusation in it. Just a fact. A beat of silence stretches between you, taut as wire.

“And yet,” he says lightly, the faintest hint of amusement in his tone, “here you are.”

Your throat tightens and eyes start to burn, but you don’t pull away.

“And yet,” you echo, “here I am.”

The thought makes you sick, but it won’t go away. It never does. Because he is the only constant in a world reduced to concrete walls and a locked door. The only person that talks to you, touches you, who proves you still exist to someone.

It’s disgusting. You know it is. You hate him, you hate this place, you hate what he’s done to you, but hate doesn’t do anything for you in this isolation. It simply twists into something sickeningly needy.

After all the torment and pain you’ve endured, and will continue to endure at Adachi’s will, you want him to love you. Not because you forgive him. Not because you chose this. But because if he doesn’t, then you will never have love and you will always be alone.

You need him because you need love.

The sound of footsteps cuts through the silence.

Footsteps serve the same purpose as a knock on a door or a message on a phone. A quiet signal that someone is there. For you, they are Adachi’s voice before he even speaks. They mean he’s home. They mean you won’t be alone much longer.

What did he bring to eat? Oh, you hope he brought something decent, as he put it, from the outside. Is it pathetic to be excited? Of course it is. You’ve always been pathetic since… well, since you were brought here. You can’t help but wonder what he brought. Fried rice? Oh, if it’s rice you hope he’ll share lots.

You shuffle as fast as the cuffs allow, a hurried waddle, clearing the little table and dragging it into the open space. If you prepare the table in advance, maybe he’ll be pleased. Maybe he’ll see how good you’re trying to be. Maybe he’ll bring food from the outside more often.

More footsteps.

More… footsteps…?

Oh god… There’s multiple footsteps.

Your heart stutters. That’s not right. There’s a rhythm you’ve learned, the tempo of Adachi returning to you. A communication just for the two of you. But this isn’t it. This is a crowd. This is unfamiliar and wrong. Your breath gets trapped in your chest as the realization crawls up your spine.

Whoever is upstairs… It can’t be Adachi.

Your body grows heavy, and you drop to the floor unexpectedly. It’s as if the bones in your legs dissolved entirely. You’re completely frozen in place. If someone other than Adachi is upstairs… What does that mean for you? What are you supposed to do? How are you supposed to be a good doll for him when someone invaded your prison?

“No one will save you.”, That truth was carved into your very being, the reason you stopped fighting, the reason you let yourself succumb to the role of Adachi’s doll.

So what is this?

The footsteps multiply, pounding over one another, tangled with sharp bursts of shouting.

If this had happened weeks ago, you’d be clawing at the door by now. Hoarse-throated and screaming for help. Back then, the only thing that kept you going was the hope someone would come help you.

But that girl, the one who still believed in rescue, doesn’t exist anymore. Adachi killed her until the only thing left was something quiet and obedient. And this version of you, this numb, hollow girl with a broken thumb, doesn’t know how to process the icy chill crawling down her spine that comes with hearing people other than her captor.

It’s almost as if your thumb throbs on purpose to remind you that this isn’t salvation, it’s a mistake. The chance of rescue is terrifying in a way you don’t understand. It can only end with Adachi finding you again and breaking something else. Hurting you further. Disappointing the only person who will love how broken you are.

There’s no escape for you because no one will love you beyond these walls. You’re ruined. He ruined you.

Your teeth chatter so violently it feels like your bones might shatter from the vibration. No. Go away. If someone’s here, you’re the one who’s going to pay for it. He’ll never stay the night again, never take the cuffs off, and you’ll spend the rest of your life eating stale rice crackers alone in the dark.

No one is coming to save you. You know that now. You’ve accepted it. You’re his, and that’s just how it is. So go away. Whoever they are, please, just go away before they ruin everything. Ruin the only thing you have left to cling onto.

The footsteps grow closer despite your inner pleas. Your gaze jerks to the door, the one you were never meant to cross again. A dark, motionless boundary. A void. Then it starts to rattle. Hard. The wood shudders under the assault, each slam rattling straight through the floor. The hinges shriek under the pressure. Someone is throwing themselves at the door with everything they have.

Shouts burst through the cracks, ragged and urgent, but you can’t understand what they’re saying. You crush your palms over your ears, digging your nails into your scalp as if pressure alone could hold you together. Your eyes clamp shut.

If they get to you… if you’re stupid enough to let them… Adachi will be angry. And his anger will surely hurt more than anything on the other side of that door.

Your body starts pulling away on instinct, that familiar drifting that makes everything safer. Numb the senses, let yourself evaporate until you don’t exist. Draw your knees to your chest. Curl in tight. Fold down until you’re as small as you can be. If you can become nothing, then nothing can be done to you.

For a moment, the world muffles. You sink. You almost slip under.

Then reality drags you back.

A deafening crack, wood splitting, slices through the room like a razor. The sound is too loud and your eyes snap open. The door is broken. Silhouettes pour into your room, the prison Adachi said was your sanctuary, your isolated world with him crumbles as it fills with people.

And there’s no disappearing now.

The bodies halt the moment they see you. Four, maybe five. They whisper among themselves and you can only stare with wide, stunned eyes. Their faces won’t resolve. They’re nothing but blank shadows, blotted silhouettes, and you blink and blink again, desperate to force the world into focus.

Maybe after everything Adachi has done, you’ve forgotten how to see anyone who isn’t him.

One shadow steps forward, lifting an arm slowly, painfully slowly. Like it knows you’re glass. You scoot back, spine stiff, your breath thin and fast as you try to understand what’s happening.

“It’s okay. We’re here to help you.” The voice is steady, grounded, and the shadows begin to ripple, smearing, then sharpening into human features. Worried brows. Tight mouths. The silhouette in front of you even hunches down, folding himself smaller, trying to look less threatening. “We’re police officers.”

“No one is going to hurt you. We’re here to get you home.” A second voice, higher and softer. Almost gentle.

Your mouth feels full of sand. You shake your head, tiny, panicked motions. You can’t fall for this. You know better. This has to be a test, a trick, a way to see if you’re foolish enough to betray the rules again.

“…You need to leave.” Because no one will rescue you. This isn’t real.

“We’re here to hel–”

“You need to leave!” you yell, voice cracking under the weight of terror. Adachi was a police officer too. “Before he comes back. I… I’m going to get in so much trouble if you don’t leave!”

The silhouettes freeze, exchanging looks. They don’t stop these sick words of encouragement. That you’re safe now. Everything is going to be okay. That they’re going to take you home. It’s nauseating. They don’t understand this is your home. They’re trying to tempt you back into the world that, as Adachi put it, is unforgiving and shitty.

Their tones are gentle, but they feel like blades pressing against your skin. You can’t make yourself believe a single word. Rescue isn’t real. Rescue is something Adachi told you would never come and he was always right.

“Don’t– don’t touch me!” you scream when one of them inches closer, hands lifted in a harmless gesture. “Don’t touch me!” Your voice shreds into something raw.

The room erupts, the shadows raising their hands, backing up, trying to steady you with soft assurances, trying so hard not to frighten you further. You begin to sob. You’re confused and scared. You can’t think clearly with the thundering of your own heartbeat and the echo of Adachi’s warnings, looping like a brand burned into your mind.

Then there's a new sound.

Heavy footsteps again, but these aren’t like the ones from earlier. Those had been scattered, moving from room to room like they were unsure. These footsteps are different. Deliberate and driven. There’s intent in every step, a purpose that slices through the chaos around you.

A body rushes down the stairs, ragged with panic and hope, shouting your name and your entire world jerks. You know that voice.

Your head snaps toward the doorway as he makes his way through the other silhouettes, no shadow, no blur, no distortion. Just him. Real silver hair. Real sharp eyes. Yu Narukami falls to his knees in front of you, his hands hovering in the air like he’s afraid to touch you, and his lip quivers.

“You’re here,” he chokes out. “You’re actually here, thank god.”

For a moment, you wonder if you’ve finally snapped. You must be delusional. If that’s the case, you hope Adachi comes home soon, just to shatter it before you fall completely into the fantasy.

Slowly, you raise your hand and touch his cheek.

Warm. Real.

“Yu?” Your voice cracks. “Is… is that really you?”

“Yes.”

He must have taken your touch as permission, because the next thing you know, he’s pulling you into his arms tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip even an inch. There’s a kind of love in it, a warmth you can barely remember feeling, something you once knew but lost somewhere in your capture.

He buries his face in your shoulder to stifle his own tears, while a dark-blue-haired androgynous person hovers anxiously nearby, insisting Yu give you space. You recognize the boy’s face faintly, maybe a classmate or someone you passed in the halls once, but it doesn’t matter.

You let Yu hold you. You let him whisper that you’re safe now. That he never stopped searching. That Adachi will never get near you again.

Those promises settle in your chest. The racing heartbeat rattling your ribs begins to slow. You let him take your hand, let him wrap his jacket around your waist to hide the bruises and scars on your thighs, let him vow he’ll find you clean clothes the moment you’re out of this sick place.

You comply silently as the officers pull out tools to force the cuffs off your ankles, you let Yu cover your ears when the sound scares you. You allow Yu and his friend to guide you up the stairs, through that void of a door you were certain would be the last thing you ever saw. You look back once, just once, at the room where you were sure you would die.

You keep listening, keep obeying, as they lead you through the woods toward the cluster of police cars. You sit in the back seat like they tell you to, accepting their promises that everything is going to be okay now. You even manage a soft thank you as Yu’s friend tells you he’ll contact your parents, let them know you’re going to be okay now.

Not because you really wanted to leave. But because Yu being here, promising Adachi won’t hurt you, could only mean Adachi had been caught, and if he was caught, he wasn’t coming back.

So… what was the point in staying?

Even with Yu right in front of you, even with safety finally wrapped around you like a blanket you can’t feel, you still can’t find a reason, any reason, why someone as ruined and broken as you deserves to leave that place at all.

–

“She’s sticking to her guns. No visitors, unless yer mom or dad.” The officer stationed in your room speaks through the cracked door.

“That’s quite alright,” the voice on the other side replies calmly. You recognize it. “I’m not visiting. I’m a detective, and I’d like to speak with the victim.”

The officer lets out a frustrated huff, clearly irritated that babysitting duty has fallen to him. “I don’t think you’re on the case anymore, Detective Princ—”

“…It’s fine.” Your voice cuts cleanly through the space, silencing both of them.

The officer shoots you a confused, faintly annoyed look . He knows that this isn’t the first time detectives have stopped by to ask their questions. Not about whether you were taken. That much is obvious. What they want to know is everything else; the kidnapping, the days you were kept, and more importantly, your time imprisoned in that room.

What happened to you in the months you were missing.

The officers already went through here hours ago, right after you were brought in. After the medical examination. After the antiseptic and gauze and quiet murmurs between doctors as they cataloged the damage still etched into your body. bruises layered over older wounds, teeth marks already yellowing at the edges, a thumb that never healed the way it should have.

The questions hadn’t even started with the police. It started with the doctors.

How old are these bite marks? Does this one hurt? What happened to your thumb? How long ago? What could you eat? What exactly happened to you?

A careful lie followed each question. It’s not your fault. We just need to understand.

Everyone needed answers, especially the several detectives and cops that came to speak to you. Clipped. Repetitive. Relentless.

How long ago do you think it's been since you were taken? Were you restrained the whole time? Can you remember who took you? Did your captor make you do things? What did he do to you?

You stayed silent whenever you could. When you couldn’t, you offered the bare minimum; “I don’t know,” “I don’t remember.” Because you couldn’t tell them what he did to you. You wouldn’t.

Maybe it isn’t just that you don’t want to talk. Maybe it’s that you’re still not allowed to. Even here, supposedly safe, the basement still lives in your head. Adachi’s rules linger. You’re not sure defiance is an option.

And if they’re so desperate to know, why can’t they just ask him? Let him admit it. You’re out here. Surely he’s in their custody.

But the more questions they ask, the less you trust the idea. Why do they want you to confirm who kidnapped you? Can’t they see what he did just by looking at you? You won’t do it. You can’t. Why answer their questions when no one answers yours.

So they’ve tucked you away in a quiet room at the back of the ward, assigned a “bodyguard” who understands, just as you do, that he's here to make sure you don’t run off or hurt yourself, at the suggestion of one of the multiple shrinks they sent your way.

At least, that’s what you overheard the cops murmuring, low and careful, like they already knew you were purposely being difficult in questioning and didn’t plan to force anything out of a victim of a horrific crime without the help of some mental health professional.

“Well.” The detective with muted blue-gray hair cut short and neat, blunt bangs framing observant eyes, steps into the room without hesitation. “Please feel free to take a break,” they add calmly. “I can stay as long as needed. I’m sure you’re tired of standing all day.”

The officer hesitates, clearly unwilling to take direction from someone so much younger. His jaw tightens. Then he grunts in reluctant agreement. Moments later, he’s gone. Down the hallway and out of sight. You suppose a break is hard to refuse.

Those observant eyes turn back to you, studying your face with quiet intensity, as though trying to read meaning from your stillness.

It’s not that you want to talk to this… child, who somehow is a detective, somehow a friend of Yu’s, but the glimpse you got of their pitiful expression at the door, hiding what you believe are whines to speak to you behind a professional tone, made you feel as if they’d supply more information.

Maybe some that would answer the questions burning in your throat.

How did you find me? Where is Adachi? …Can you speak with him at all?

“I appreciate you allowing me to come speak with you.”

You turn your head away, your gaze drifting back to the same spot you’ve been staring at since they brought you in. A comforting object is in the corner of the room and you need it to ground yourself as a sense of discomfort bubbles in your belly at that word. Appreciate. It's gross to direct such a word to you.

“Please don’t.”

A pause. “Hm?”

“Please don’t appreciate it.” You draw in a shallow breath, shifting beneath the thin hospital blanket. “It’s only because when I was overwhelmed in that stuffy cop car on the way back, you didn’t bombard me with questions or empty reassurances like everyone else. You took the time to contact my parents, since clearly I wasn’t in a state to... I assume you did that to try and do something actually helpful for me.”

That isn’t entirely a lie. Something you learned during your time with Adachi was that sometimes, a carefully placed truth, one that appeals to the person you need something from, can get you what you want faster than directly asking them.

The young detective lips part to speak, but you keep going.

“Though it’s funny, isn’t it?” You take a moment to swallow nothing. “They were across the country.” A bitter edge creeps in. “I mean… if it were your kid who went missing for… what did the officer say it was? Six months?” You feel queasy the more you speak. “Don’t you think you’d want to stay home. Just in case she came back?”

You shake your head ever so slightly and turn to face them. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter.”

Their expression was carefully professional, but even you can see the uncertainty flickering beneath it. Now you’ve gained more pity.

“I’m sure I don’t need to introduce myself,” For some reason, your heart is suddenly slamming against your ribs. “You’re young to be a detective. Is that actually true?”

“…Yes.” The hesitation is brief. “I’m Naoto Shirogane. Please, call me Naoto.”

“Ah.” You bite your lip, trying to slow your breathing. “You’re very polite. Is that because you represent law enforcement,” you tilt your head slightly, “or because you’re representing Yu, since I’ve been refusing visitors?"

Naoto’s eyes widened just barely.

“You’re friends with Yu,” you continue, your tone quieter now. “Right? Is that why you were there when they found me? Or maybe, it’s the opposite, and that’s why Yu was there. It’s good to have friends in high places.”

Something moves across Naoto’s face, easing the tension there, and somehow that gentleness unsettles you more than their professionalism ever did.

“You are very intelligent. I’m not surprised, Yu has always talked so highly of you.”

You sucked in a harsh breath. Intelligent. An adjective used to describe brilliant, charming people. People like Naoto, who is clearly younger than you and already has an established career. Or people like Yu, who inspires everyone around him.

“Running off just to last a couple minutes? Stupid girl. You were never getting away from me.”

The words from your captor repeat in your head and it grounds you. Your heart settles and you feel like the air around you is fresher somehow. He’s right. The correct adjective for someone like you is stupid.

“Well, I don’t think you’ve come here to ask me about evidence or timelines.” Your gaze flicks briefly to the door, then back. “You don’t have that hungry-for-answers look the others had when talking to me. It’s only reasonable to assume you’re for Yu’s sake, because I’m sure he’s tried to come by, and you can just… flash a badge and get access, hm?”

You laugh dryly, turning your head back to that spot in the room. It helped avoid the overwhelming attention from cops, psychologists, all types of doctors.

The silence stretches.

“Sorry,” you add after a beat. “Was that too blunt?” A shaky exhale slips out. “I guess it’s obvious my social skills took a hit. I haven’t spoken to real people in months.”

Your nail presses into the inside of your forearm through the blanket. The dull sting steadies you.

“Except for,” you murmur, “I think you know who.”

“…You’re correct. About most of it.” Naoto says after a moment, like they’re choosing each word carefully. The practiced edge of professionalism melts and they seem more genuine. This must be the side Yu sees.

“I’m not going to ask you the same questions again,” they continue. “I know you’ve already been asked several questions, in multiple ways, by a lot of people.” A pause. “And I don’t want anything from you that might make this harder than it already is.”

Their hands shift at their side. “If at any point you want me to leave, I will. Immediately.”

Another beat passes.

“And… yes,” they say, quieter now. “I’m here because of Yu.” The admission seems to cost them something. “He’s been worried about you for a long time. Long before we ever properly met.” Naoto hesitates, then pushes on anyway. “But he doesn’t know I’m here. I just…”

You’re glad you aren’t looking directly at them, not with the way your eyes sting with heat.

“Even if that means overstepping my position, I wanted to apologize to you,” Naoto continues carefully, “and to urge you to speak to your friends, if and when you’re able, of course.”

“…Apologize?”

Your head lifts slightly, but your gaze stays unfocused. Bleach-white walls blur together, your tears warping them until they look too much like concrete. Just like the ones you learned to stare at for hours.

You look down instead.

“I came to this town to assist the local police with the serial murder case,” Naoto says. “But your disappearance… I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t being treated as connected.”

“Because it looked like I ran away.”

“The local police supported that conclusion,” they admit. “But the evidence didn’t align.”

“...Are you saying you thought I was dead?”

“No.” The denial comes sharp, immediate. Then softer. “Not permanently. I considered it, briefly. But there was no crime scene. No body like the others. Nothing that made sense.”

They inhale, steadying themselves.

“I couldn’t reconcile it until Yu insisted you were alive. That something had happened to you.” A pause. “He wouldn’t explain. He just… knew. Yosuke, Chie, Yukiko, even Rise and Kanji who never met you, they all believed it because Yu was so strongly certain”

Naoto’s voice lowers, becoming more confidential.

“They all told me I was wrong.” Their eyes flick toward you. “It didn’t make sense. Not until I understood the case fully.”

They lean in just slightly, as if afraid someone might overhear. “Not until I understood the TV world. Something the other officers will never understand. That’s why, and I’m sure you’ve noticed due to how smart you are, they’re so confused about your case.”

You nod, slow and measured. “So your theory, or Yu’s, or whoever’s, was that I was still there?” Your voice stays even. “That the culprit took me back into the TV world?”

Naoto sinks into the chair, shoulders caving in as they bury their face in their hands.

“We didn’t know,” they say, muffled. “Teddie couldn’t sense you. Rise couldn’t find you. There was nothing.” Their fingers curl tighter. “But all of us knew that something terrible had happened, and that we had to find you. Rather that was in the real world or the TV world. We had to find the culprit as soon as possible.”

Their hands tense, veins standing out as their grip tightens. “But I didn’t.” When they look up, their voice wavers. “I didn’t solve it soon enough. I didn’t find you. And for months, you suffered because of my failure.” A sharp breath. “I had to apologize to you. I needed you to hear it.”

They hesitate, then continue. “I need you to know that your friends never stopped looking for you. Not for a moment. There is still so much love waiting for you and I’m asking you, and I know it isn’t my place at all but… please give them the chance to show you.”

Naoto’s shoulders remain squared, but the tension holding them upright has thinned enough that you can see what’s underneath. Raw emotion. Self-blame. Their hands stay clasped in their lap, knuckles pale where their fingers curl too tightly into fists.

The careful composure they walked in with hasn’t vanished so much as slipped, folding into regret so intense it’s suffocating. Someone who hasn’t slept properly, knowing that while they were still chasing answers in the TV world, you were somewhere else entirely. Someone who has replayed every missed detail, every wrong assumption, and hating themselves all the same.

It reminds you of yourself. Of who you were, months ago, before you learned how to become Adachi’s doll. They look like they’re waiting. To be judged. To be forgiven. To be dismissed.

And you want to fucking kill them for it.

Because they aren’t here for you. They’re here for their guilt, for what they deem is their failure. For Yu, because even while your body was being violated and broken, he was still out there making friends. Saving people who weren’t you.

They’re doing this for the friends who kept living while you begged in the dark for them to come find you. To save you. By the time you were found, it was already too late. You had become completely and utterly Adachi’s property. He had conquered you, mind and body, and dragging you out of that godforsaken basement hadn’t undone it. Nothing could undo it.

“Okay.”

You bite back the hateful, poisonous words clawing at your throat. Not yet. You have to keep the mask in place, the one that says you’re willing to listen to the empty reassurances and hollow promises that trail you ever since leaving that cabin.

That’s the real reason you refused to see your friends. You weren’t sure you could stop yourself if you did.

“Then,” you say evenly, “on my behalf… will you bring Yu here?”

But now you aren’t too sure you need to keep masking.

Naoto’s face brightens, just a little. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll bring him first thing tomorrow–”

“Right now,” you interrupt. “Please. Bring him here right now.”

Naoto hesitates. “It’s late, and I’m not sure I can leave the door unguarded until the other officer returns–”

“Please.”

You force the words to come out soft. Pleading even. It’s a powerful thing against empathetic people, being a pitiful victim and all.

“My parents’ train arrives first thing tomorrow morning,” you continue, eyes fixed on the blanket. “And I already know the doctors want to speak with them about…” You trail off, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. “Relocating me somewhere that,” You lift your fingers, air quotes mocking, “better fits my needs.”

Something in your expression must shift. Whatever resolve Naoto had left melts away.

“…Okay,” they say finally. “Yes. I can do that.” They straighten, already moving. “I’ll ask one of the nurses to keep an eye on the door, and I’ll call him right away.”

You force a polite smile as the detective hurries to comply, and the thought makes your stomach turn. The satisfaction, the way they rush to please you, it reminds you uncomfortably of how Adachi looked after he snapped your thumb when you tried to run.

Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe it’s comparing apples to oranges. They want to please you because you’re a victim who the justice system failed. You wanted to please your captor because he owned you.

And somehow, the difference doesn’t make you feel any better.

While the nurse begrudgingly agrees to Naoto’s request and stations herself in the hall with a cracked door instead of the room, likely citing some hollow justification that the original officer will return soon enough and she has too much work to leave the nurse station. You understand. She didn’t sign up to deal with the fall out of your stupid decisions which led to your capture. Neither did the officer who was happy to run off and take a break.

You're left alone for the first time since rescue. You carefully breathe in, and with the opportunity in front of you, you sink your jagged, uneven nails into the soft flesh of your forearm, scratching at it as hard as you can. The pain stings so familiarly and you welcome it gladly.

It’s not deep and there's only a small amount of blood trickling out, but with it comes a calm and a learned stillness that follows as your body settles the way it was taught to.

–

It didn’t take as long as you had thought for Yu to hurry through the door. By then, the officer had returned, relieving the overworked nurse. Still, he stepped out into the hall without complaint, giving the two of you the room. His readiness to leave only strengthens your assumption that he wanted nothing to do with a babysitting gig.

“Hi,” you greet him.

“...Hi.” The wrinkles across his forehead soften, his expression unsteady. He looks… astonished.

“Hi. I’m sorry, I, uh, I’m not sure what to say other than I’m so happy to see you, and… and I hope Naoto didn’t make you uncomfortable in any way, and… hi.”

He looks so alive, so present, and jealousy twists in your chest right beneath your ribs.

“I want to talk.” You avert your gaze, avoiding his earnest eyes. “To a friend, I guess. And while–” You swallow, the motion dry, as if your body rejects even referring to the friend he made while you were gone. “While your detective friend talked plenty, I have questions I don’t feel comfortable asking them.”

Yu’s expression shifts instantly. His eyebrows draw together with hesitation and a shadow of uncertainty darkens around him. It is as if he is unsure, worried about what type of questions you could have, if he could answer them. Then he catches your eye and smooths it out, softening his face into the gentleness he thinks you need.

“Please. Sit with me, won’t you?”

He listens immediately. Yu moves to the chair beside your bed with compliance and respect. The power of being a victim, even once more, asserts itself. People rush to accommodate the smallest things you ask for, especially the ones wracked with self guilt.

“I’m happy to be here with you,” he blurts out nervously. “We– we all tried to visit before. B‑but I understand you wanted space. We’re more than willing to accommodate you however possible.”

Beneath the blanket, you roll your thumb against the angry red scratch from earlier. The pain is still dull.

“Your friend went on and on,” you say flatly, “about how none of you ever stopped looking for me.”

He perks up immediately, relief and urgency tangling together. “Yes. Yes, absolutely. We never believed you would just run away. Not after everything we went through together. Not after the TV world.” His gaze drifts upward, unfocused. “I… I knew something bad had happened.”

His eyes gloss over and his voice trembles. “I was scared for you.”

The unfairness of it lands harder than any blow from Adachi. Is he really going to cry? That isn’t fair. If anyone should be breaking down, it should be you.

“I never gave up hope we’d find you,” he rushes on. “Not once. And I’m so sorry, so sorry, it took so long–”

Something in you shifts. Not loudly. Your mask slips, the smallest fracture, but it’s enough.

“Like I said, your friend already covered all that,” you cut in. Your tone surprises even you, low and dark. “I don’t need to hear it over and over again.”

It catches him off guard. His mouth closes, the words dying there, as if he’s suddenly afraid to speak at all, afraid that anything he says might agitate you further.

You decide not to give him the mercy of careful phrasing. You don’t have the energy anymore.

“How did you find me?”

The question lands heavy. The room stills around it. Yu’s hesitation is immediate, written plainly across his face.

“Naoto,” the name leaves your mouth like poison, “didn’t just go on about how hard you all tried to look for me. Or how sorry everyone is that something so awful happened to me. Blah, blah, blah.” Your brows knit as you glare at him, and he doesn’t look away. He looks stunned. “They apologized for failing to find me. For not solving my case, specifically."

You sit up, leaning closer, uncaring if his eyes catch the fresh scratch along your arm.

“So how,” you press, voice sharp and cutting, “did you and all those cops find me in the middle of nowhere?”

His throat bobs when he swallows.

“If you all failed,” you continue, quieter now, more dangerous, “then why didn’t Adachi come back for me? Where is he right now?”

The color drains from his face. Something breaks in his expression. Not just shock, but a creeping realization that whatever version of events he’s been carrying, whatever horror he thought he understood, was incomplete. What you went through is worse then he could imagine.

“I can tell you know, the way the cops dance around it, that they haven’t spoken to him. That they want me to tell them the details of my fucking capture and solve it for them. But I won’t. I don’t want to, I want to–”

Talk to Adachi. You want to see Adachi and you can’t explain why.

“I want to know why you promised me Adachi would never hurt me again, like you’re aware of who exactly hurt me when the fucking police officers aren’t so certain.”

Silence stretches and you want to claw at his throat until he chokes out an answer.

“He told us where you were.” The words spill out of him, desperate and raw, like a confession he never wanted to make.

“After we figured it out, with Namatame and–” His hands come up to cover his face as he folds forward in the chair, shoulders caving in. “It shouldn’t be your burden anymore. How are you supposed to heal if you’re still worrying about the fog? About the TV world?”

A slow, glacial understanding that freezes your body. You don’t understand what Yu means about the fog. About Namatame. How any of that connects to Adachi telling them where you were. However, you start to understand why you’ve been so angry since you left the basement. Why you feel hollow and restless and wrong. Why you wake up with this sick feeling of missing the man who destroyed you.

It’s because everyone wants you to heal. To fix yourself. To become the girl you were before.

The girl who was miserable and lonely even with friends. The girl who learned how to wear a mask so well that no one noticed your issues were still present. The girl who smiled after awakening her Persona, who proved she was better now, stronger, and useful. Tolerable.

Your misery didn’t make anyone uncomfortable back then. No one felt responsible for it. No one had to sit with it or had any blame in it.

That girl is dead. She’s dead because Adachi didn’t want her.

He didn’t need you to be manageable. Or palatable. He didn’t want you to pretend. He didn’t flinch at your despair, no, he leaned into it. Fed it. Loved it. Wrapped himself around your pain until it stopped feeling like something separate from you.

And now you don’t know where you end and he begins. You can’t rid yourself of him. And because of that, you can’t meet the expectations everyone out here has for you. Outside in the real world, where you no longer belong.

“…How am I supposed to heal,” you ask quietly, desperate for information “if I don’t even know what’s going on?”

Yu’s shoulders tense immediately. He nods, stiff and uncomfortable, like each movement costs him something. “Okay,” he says, drawing in a shaky breath. “Okay… I’ll try.”

He hesitates, then continues. “We figured out that the person throwing people into the TVs was Namatame when he took Na–” He interrupts himself, as talking about this is difficult for him. “... We stopped him is all that matters.”

Your stomach twists.

“But there wasn’t any evidence in the real world. Everything only made sense inside the TV world. He was going to get away with everything, so everybody confronted him, here actually, at this hospital.” Yu speaks softly, carefully.

“Something was off. He believed the Midnight Channel showed people in danger, and that putting them into the TV would save them from being murdered. See, he genuinely believed he was helping. He denied killing Mayumi, Saki, and being involved with you.”

Your fingers curl into the blanket.

“And then,” Yu continues, swallowing, “There were these letters on top of it. Warnings. Taunts. Someone who knew about the TV world, but they weren’t from Namatame, they couldn’t be… It was all off. Someone must have used him to fuel their own agenda.”

He taps his temple absently, like he’s replaying it all. “The real culprit had to have access to the case. To Mayumi, Saki, and you. To information the rest of us didn’t have.”

“And the only person who fit,” Yu says, “was Adachi.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

“Because Adachi was the true culprit all along.” Your voice sharpens, fractures. “I don’t understand how Namatame could… What do you mean he thought he was saving– no, I don’t care. I don’t care.”

You lift your head, eyes burning.

“What you’re saying,” you press, “is that you all figured out it was Adachi. The whole time. Right?”

“Yes. And we confronted him. We needed to know what happened to you.” The color drains from Yu’s face as he speaks. “He played dumb at first. Denied everything. But then he started shouting, about an old case file. About you.” His voice falters. “He said your name. And then he ran.”

“Ran off where?”

Yu hesitates, shame flickering across his features. “…Into a TV.”

Your eyes go so wide they bulge.

“We were going to follow him,” Yu rushes on, “but it wasn’t safe. And, Naoto quickly used their authority to access the file. It had an address. And with Dojima’s help, we convinced the police to check it with us. It was the only lead we had and…” His voice breaks. “And there you were.”

Your throat goes dry as the pieces slide into place.

They didn’t find you. They did fail.

Adachi gave you up. If he hadn’t shouted your name, gave up the file that led them straight to the special place between you and Adachi. You would have been forgotten. Starving until you died a slow death, one you had always expected.

Your friends didn’t save you. Your captor just didn’t want you to be left behind.

“Please don’t worry,” Yu says quickly, voice cracking under the weight of it. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to be scared. We’re going to find him. We’ll stop him. He’ll pay for what he did to you. I-I don’t know how, but I won’t stop until he’s behind bars for the murders and for what he did to you.”

He reaches for your hand, then freezes halfway, catching himself. Slowly, he pulls back.

“He’s not going to hurt you ever again–”

A low laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.

“Holy shit,” you murmur. “Please stop with the baseless reassurances. You’re making me go insane.”

Yu flinches, his mouth pressing into a thin line. There’s too much moving behind his eyes, too many thoughts colliding at once, and you’re certain one of them is what Adachi did to you while you were his prisoner. It’s almost funny, since you know Yu will never ask. Whatever truth he might uncover wouldn’t be worth the cost of knowing the details of how you were beaten, tortured, maybe even touched.

“I got out once,” you say, louder now. Your tone is eerily light, almost conversational. “For a bit. I didn’t realize I was in the middle of the woods at first. If I had, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

You lift your hand, the clean white thumb spica cast catching the light. A definite upgrade from the makeshift splint Adachi put together.

“That’s why he broke my thumb.” You follow Yu’s gaze as it drops to your arm, and you realize he’s noticed the fresh scratches you carved into yourself just minutes before he arrived. You don’t care. “See, he said I was trying to leave him.” A humorless laugh slips out. “Isn’t that hilarious? Because he was the one who left me there every fucking night. Alone.”

“But he always came back. He liked having me, you see.” You tilt your head, eyes fixing on that spot in the room you’ve stared at a hundred times already. You’re tired of looking at his face. “Anyway. I bring it up because while he was beating the absolute shit out of me out there, before dragging me back, I thought of you.”

Your voice darkens.

“You. And Yosuke. And Chie. And Yukiko.” A pause. “Even Dojima, for a second.” Your jaw tightens. “I kept thinking how badly I wanted you all to save me. And not one of you showed up.”

It was just you and Adachi and the pain you lived in constantly.

The memories come rushing in; being beaten unconscious in his apartment, counting his visits to pretend time still existed, getting so sick he finally gave you that blanket you loved. Your drawings. His insults and praise of the hobby. The plan to provoke him enough to kill you. Failing. Smashing a chair over his head instead. Dirt in your mouth. Cold air on your skin after he took your clothes. The warmth of the last night, when he stayed and held you instead of leaving.

Yu says your name, quietly, carefully.

You don’t let him finish.

There’s no real reason to tell him any of this. You already got what you wanted. But something inside you aches to hurt someone, someone who expects you to return to the girl you used to be, while failing to stop her from disappearing.

“I will always,” you say, steady and deliberate, “hate you all with my entire being for that.”

You don’t look at him. You don’t need to.

“I hope the guilt of failing to save me quick enough destroys you,” you continue. “I hope it turns you into someone you can’t stand. I hope every time you look in the mirror you feel sick.”

You glance over once, just long enough to see it. The devastation written all over him. The grief. The way his mouth hangs open, empty of words.

Then you look away.

“The only thing you can do for me,” you add, coldly, “is ask the officer for a phone so I can call my parents.”

Silence takes over the room.

You clench your fist until your knuckles burn white, hoping he’ll just leave. Because if he says one more thing, you’re not sure you’ll be able to stop the poison spilling out of you.

It felt good. Having control over someone's emotions, when you’ve lost the control for yourself. Taking it back even just for a moment. This must be how Adachi felt each time he called you pathetic and worthless.

You can hear him dryly swallow like he's trying to force all the pain you caused him deep into his chest where it can't hurt him. You can feel in the air that another apology, maybe to beg for forgiveness, hangs on his tongue, but silence continues to fill the room. Then you hear the chair scoot back, movement, and a door open and close. No confirmation if he’ll listen to your request, but knowing Yu, perfect and charming Yu, he will.

And that will buy you enough time alone.

You slip off the bed quickly, bare feet hitting the floor as you move toward the spot you’ve been staring at since the doctors first left you here. To the left of the bed sits a chair and a bathroom. To the right, a small television. You haven’t turned it on once. There’s been no need. You’ve had more than enough to think about.

The blank screen reminds you of him. That’s why your eyes keep drifting back to it. If it weren’t for the TV world, you wouldn’t have started eating dinner at Dojima’s. Wouldn’t have grown fond of Adachi. Wouldn’t have gone to his apartment on the night that started everything.

You hold your breath as your hand lifts. For a fleeting moment, you worry your power might be gone. It’s been so long.

Then your fingertips sink through the glass like it’s nothing more than water. The anxiety drains out of you, replaced by urgency.

You hear footsteps faintly in the hall just as you push your arm through the screen, then your shoulders, grasping for something solid to support you. There’s nothing to grab. Your balance tips, and suddenly your legs follow.

The room disappears and you fall right in.

Yellow light rushes past you, endless and disorienting, until, thankfully you hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. You scramble upright immediately. You’re used to that breathless feel.

The only thing within reach was the damp towel he just used to dry you off. On any other day, you might have clutched the towel to shield yourself, but the pain left no concern for modesty. Your throat burns from screaming, your voice torn to a rasp, and your swollen eyes blur with more tears.

Your mind can’t process anything except agony. Each thought caught fire and slammed against the walls of your skull, leaving you a broken husk. The pulsing in your hand spread up your arm, and you couldn't think or focus on anything other than the sharp jolts. Every slight movement ripped another scream from your throat.

As if he’s satisfied with the amount of pain you endured, Adachi pries your lips open to force bitter pills down your throat and you just let him. You barely register the sting of a needle sliding into the base of your thumb, cold anesthetic flooding the joint to drown the pain.

All you knew now was sudden numbness.

You still cry, even as Adachi grumbles for you to stop. He snaps that it doesn’t hurt. But the tears won’t stop. They spill over helplessly and you sob harder. Despite your hysteria, he forces your thumb straight, the movement sending a dull jerk through the numb joint, before binding it tight against a rigid splint. The edges of the brace bite into your palm. 

He works with unsettling precision. Somewhere, in a quiet part of your mind, you think that with all these supplies on hand he must have anticipated breaking one of your bones at some point. The thought burns out almost as soon as it forms. 

You’re too tired. You’re so dizzy.

By the time he hoists you over his shoulder, the fight and hope has drained out of you. The world becomes muffled and distant. You press a weak, stifled cry into his shirt as he carries you back to the basement you’d tried so hard to escape.

It’s all so irrelevant. There’s no point in trying anymore. He had to break your thumb to convince you of that, but now you’re completely and utterly convinced. 

“It’s a clean break. Shush. You’re fine.” His voice is flat, almost soft like an attempt at soothing.

He lays you down on your thin mattress, and a sudden warmth envelops you. Only when you blink through the blur of tears do you realize he’s pulled the blanket up to your chest. You’re still naked, the fabric brushing against your raw skin, and you’re relieved to be granted some cover.

More than anything, you’re relieved to feel calmer as the searing pain melts into a heavy, loopy daze. The pills must have been strong stuff and the injection makes it feel as though your thumb no longer exists.

A strange, bitter gratitude bubbles up at the thought that Adachi probably abused his position as law enforcement to get them. For you. Even if he’d anticipated needing to punish you this severely, he’d also planned to dull the pain once the lesson had sunk in. 

It fills you with a sick comfort. The same comfort that once drove you mad when he nursed you when you were sick. Back then you buried the feeling, refusing to even acknowledge it. But now you’re too far gone to fight it. It seeps into you like the blanket enveloping your body; the same blanket he’d draped over you then. 

You clutch it with your good hand, gripping tight, as if holding the fabric means holding on to something good.

Your vision shakes. When you tilt your head down, you see him at your feet, or maybe you feel him there first, and your eyes only catch up after. A drugged out daze won’t stop his presence from consuming you.

Adachi wraps your shredded soles with thick beige bandages, pulling them snug.

“If it were up to me, I’d have left these bare,” he mutters. “Make it harder for you to walk.” He doesn’t need to look; he can feel your gaze on him just like you can feel his. 

“But if something got infected…” His voice drifts off.

When he’s finishes the first aid on your feet, he straightens and completes his earlier thought. “It should be fine. All the mud washed off, and I got the splinters out. Cuts aren’t too deep, just a lot of them.”

He sucks on his teeth, glancing down at your newly bandaged feet, taking in his own work like he wants to confirm what he just said was true. “Yeah. It should be fine.”

Oh. It’s the softer Adachi right now.

But the two of him are always there. The cruel one; a punisher, a kidnapper, the reason your thumb is locked in a splint, the one who dragged you back down here naked after you tore your body apart trying to escape. And the soft one; rare, but he’s there, pressing bandages flat, dosing you with hard medicine so the pain of a broken bone doesn’t swallow you whole.

They blur together, overlapping until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Every good thing he does exists only because of the terrible thing he already did. 

His care feels like someone buffing out a scratch in a car he loves too much to see ruined. A car he’ll polish and patch obsessively, but never stop driving recklessly, never give up the thrill.

You blink slowly, loopy from the drugs, and the exhaustion of this entire fucking day is finally catching up. Adachi is teleporting around the room and you see his lips moving, but you don’t hear anything. 

A cold sensation cocooning your ankles is the last thing you feel before your eyelids are too heavy to lift and you flutter into darkness.

-

Your recurring dream returns.

It plays out as usual. Wings tearing through your flesh, the door ahead flying open as they beat against the air.

But this time, the agony is unbearable. Hot, searing pain streaks down your spine, rattling your bones. It burns. It consumes. Desperate, you claw at the feathers, ripping them free, tearing yourself apart.

A pure white light pours from beyond the doorway. It grows brighter with every feather you destroy, calling to you, begging you to step through. Still, you don’t stop. Something warm and wet trails down your back. You scream, a raw, primal sound, as you rip and tear at the very wings meant to carry you to freedom.

Blood pools around your feet. 

Your vision darkens.

No. It’s not you, it’s the door. The doorway dissolves into nothing, a hollow void that snaps shut, sealing you in with no way out. But you don’t care. You don’t even look. 

Your gaze is locked on the pile of feathers at your feet, white stained crimson, the pieces of what should have saved you are now revolting. 

Your wings are gone. You’re trapped. And somehow, that no longer matters. The pain has quieted now, replaced by a stillness. The air itself seems to whisper give up. So you close your eyes and let the darkness seep in, filling every corner of your soul until it turns completely black.

-

Adachi parks and gathers what he needs. 

He hates almost everything about this place. The cabin sits in its own little world, over forty minutes from town if he remembers the tiny dirt road; miss that turn and the drive stretches to an hour. Then there’s the slow crawl over rocks along the path until he reaches a patch of dead grass where he can finally leave the car.

He can’t pull up to the cabin itself, no, of course not. The trees crowd in too tight. He parks as close as he can and walks. Though, after his doll slipped out days ago, the trees stopped feeling like an inconvenience and started to feel quite useful.

The walk isn’t long, but after a long drive and a grueling day at work, he’s at his limit by the time he reaches the place he likes best in the whole world. He just wants to touch you, press a thumb to a bruise and hear those private, cute sounds that belong to him alone. You’re perfect to toy with; vulnerable, fragile, sweet. 

He can’t understand why anyone else didn’t pounce on you first until he reminds himself you showed up on his door step. You choose him. Good. 

A cold breeze pricks his skin. The sun is setting and the walk is miserable. He keeps promising himself he’ll stash sneakers in the car so he can stop killing his work shoes on the rocks, but he never remembers. 

It’s routine by now. Every visit begins the same way, grumbling about the cabin, even though it’s exactly what he wanted. He found it in old case files, a remote cabin once used as a meth lab, with a basement and enough isolation to be useful. 

Far enough to sever you from your old life, close enough for him to come often. No one goes that deep into the woods, and if they did, the door stays locked and those basement walls would swallow any sound you make. It’s almost funny how perfectly the place handed itself to him. Just like you did. 

Then he went onto the next part of his routine, thinking of how he got here. How he got you.

Adachi had been feeling quite impulsive even before you. Like there was a shadow whispering sweet encouragement for every debraved thought.

It started with that bitch Mayumi Yamato. He’d spent too much time at home, too much time watching her on TV, letting her smile charm him until he almost believed she cared. Maybe even developed a little crush. And then it came out, she was just some shameless woman who slept with married men.

A lie, right? It had to be. He wouldn't have been so infatuated with a whore.

So when he learned she was hiding out at the Amagi Inn, he told himself he just wanted to talk. Confront her. Make her explain. But she refused. She brushed him off. Like he was nothing. His blood burned, his vision snapped red, and before he knew it he’d shoved her closer to the screen. 

In his defense, how was he supposed to know she’d fall all the way in? He only meant to scare her a little. A touch of fear to make her learn her place. But she vanished all the way inside. And then she turned up dead.

How… interesting. Something fun was happening to him for once.

The next time, it was that Saki girl. She stumbled across Mayumi’s body. He had no plan to use his new found powers on her, none in the slightest. He just figured, after seeing her chummy with Namatame, maybe she’d be friendly with him too. But no. She was just another stuck-up little bitch, talking down to him. And once again, he couldn’t stop himself. A little lesson. A reminder of who had the real power. It wasn’t as if he was killing them. It was the world.

And then the next time was you.

Showing up at a man’s place alone at night is a terrible idea already. Showing up at Adachi’s place, after he’d noticed your dreamy stares, the way you always addressed him politely, after he’d used his badge and every scrap of authority he could twist to dig into the private details of your life, is worse.

You were too naive, expected from a girl with no real authority figures. He’d already pulled school records, tracked your routine, memorized the tiny habits that made you, you. He knew when your eyes drifted mid-conversation, it was because you were daydreaming. About him. As if you were silently begging Adachi to take you away.

He wanted to. But the timing had to be perfect. You were too close to the case, to Dojima, and if you went missing too suddenly it would point straight back to him. The TV wouldn’t work this time; anything rash would leave evidence, spoil the game. No fun in that.

Maybe you never noticed he returned your stares. Maybe you did, and that’s exactly why you came.

Either way, the desire burns hot enough to scorch his reason. He wants to punish you for being careless, and you must want it too. After all, you handed him perfect timing and perfect circumstances to finally keep you all to himself.

He doesn’t fully realize what he’s done until you’re limp beneath him, unconscious and vulnerable. Good, he thinks, that’ll teach his sweet girl not to be such a fucking tease. 

But then the doubt creeps in. He didn’t think this through. If you wake, you’ll deny everything. You’ll never admit to seducing him. You’ll try to leave. He can’t let that happen.

His eyes flick to the TV. No. It won’t work. He can’t risk letting you out of his sight until he knows you’re trapped for good. Maybe tie you up? Not a problem, his badge gives him access to the tools he needs. 

Then he remembers the cabin from those old files.

The choice snaps into place. Your fate seals as he cuffs your wrists and ankles, just in case you wake and get rowdy, shoves you into the trunk, and types the address into his GPS. He drives you far out of town, farther than anyone would bother looking. 

Your home, your life as you know it, disappears behind him.

The cabin sliding into view yanks him out of his little stroll through memory lane. Days of chaos at work still gnaw at him, and he’s itching to see his doll, to blow off some steam. Soon, he tells himself, the game will be over, and then he can focus all his time on you.

Adachi wants nothing more than to rush down to where he keeps you. Feast on the bruises blooming across your skin, so he heads straight for the basement.

Descending the stairs, he’s greeted by the sight of a small lump curled on the mattress. You must be sleeping. Again. Every time he visits since the escape attempt, his broken doll is sleeping.

The sight irritates him. Yes, your ankles are still cuffed together, a necessary precaution after how you took your freedom to roam for granted, but he’s been lenient. 

Brand new notebooks and mechanical pencils sit untouched beside the mattress. He didn’t have to let you keep your hobby and he did. This is what you do with it? Trade it for endless sleep, as if you don’t have the strength for anything else?

Ridiculous. Down here, you’re safe from the burdens of the real world. He’s the one putting in overtime, especially since Dojima went on… medical leave, in a manner of speaking. He’s the one who deserves rest. And he was considerate, wasn’t he? He only broke the thumb on your non-dominant hand. For your sake, so you could still draw, still keep busy.

And this is how you repay him? Wasting it.

But then you sit up, straighten your back and the blanket you were previously curled under falls to your lap. Your ankles being cuffed together wasn’t the only consequence to your idiotic stunt. He kept good on the promise to keep you nude, so, without the shield of the blanket, your tits are on display.

His frustration dissolves into hunger and he’s already forgiven you for the discretions. 

You blink hard, rubbing at the fog clouding your vision, only to realize your captor is eating you with his stare. You glance down and pink colors your cheeks, with your good hand you yank the fabric back over your chest.

Adachi places the few bags in his hand on top of the table. “No, let me see.”

Your lip trembles and your gaze falls down to the floor, but you obey, allowing the blanket to fall back onto your thighs. Your flushed cheeks deepen into an embarrassing shade of red.

The way you stiffen as he comes closer draws wildfire underneath his skin. He crouches beside you and stretches his fingers, slow and deliberate, savoring the quiet power of turning you into a trembling fawn. 

He can always tell exactly what you’re scared of. It’s empowering. Right now, you’re scared he’s going to grope your tits. 

Even so, you let him do it without a fight. With nothing left but the life he allows you, you cling to it out of instinct, not hope. You do as he says, because it’s safer that way. And that good behavior is part of why he brought you a gift today.

You don’t resist as he guides you forward, his hand curling against your shoulder. The bruising along your spine has dulled to yellow and green, the swelling gone. Healing, mostly. He lets his gaze linger, assessing, then decides it’s good enough.

His eyes drift to the splint bracing your thumb. The memory of how it happened passes through him leaving behind a joyous feeling. A lesson learned, it seems. You haven’t been defiant since.

He can see the change in you. In the subtle shift in the air when he’s near, the way you keep yourself small. Your fear lingers like fog, and he’s been feasting on it to keep himself at bay from his desires to wrap his hand around your throat, permanently bruising your skin with his handprint. Or clamp his teeth down on the column of your neck, deliciously leaving a trail of bruises all the way down to your shoulder.

God. He needs to mark you.

“Your back looks fine.” His touch leaves you and he chooses to ignore the sigh of relief that slips out of your lips.

You hike the blanket back up your chest.

“Does anything else still hurt a lot?”

“...No. I feel a lot better. …Thank you for taking care of me.”

Your eyes start to dart around the room, a habit you use to try and calm yourself. 

“W-well… my thumb is sore… b-but it’s fine because my feet don’t,” you mumble. “…Actually, I think… maybe you can take off the bandages. I can walk without it hurting.”

Your gaze locks into one spot on the floor. “...maybe the cuffs too..?”

Adachi’s face scrunches. For a brief, heavy moment, he considers slapping you. A good hit every now and then is bound to keep some sense into you. Your aching thumb must not be doing a good job of that. Did you really think you’d earned your freedom of movement back? Absolutely the fuck not. Good behavior only gets you so far after you tried to leave him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want anything.” The words tumble out suddenly, desperately.

You draw your knees up to your chest, pressing them tight against your body. It makes you smaller. Your arms wrap around them, clutching the blanket like a shield. Your shoulders hunch forward, your head bowed, as if you can sense his violence in the air and hide from it, disappearing into the fabric.

“Please forgive me.” you whimper. “I don’t know why I said that, I... I must be delirious.”

“I want today to be a good day, doll.” He keeps his voice low, steady. Staying calm scares you more than yelling. “Now that you’re healing, are you going to start misbehaving again?”

“No. No, I would never.”

Adachi bites back a laugh. The fear he stirs in you makes you glow. It’s almost tender, the way you tremble so willingly beneath his gaze now. Every shiver, every flinch, feels like a secret language only the two of you share. No one will ever see this side of you. It’s all his. 

The quick apology just now and your eagerness to please is proof you’re learning. Soon, you’ll need the fear more than he’ll need to put it in you. Pain will begin to feel good, because it’s coming from him, and you won't be able to distinguish pleasure from pain.

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” His lips stretch into an unsettling smile. “I brought you something.”

You lift your head from the blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders and meet his gaze. Your dull, glassy eyes catch the light of the single bulb. Your eyes are beautiful, though you didn’t agree. A shame.

Adachi turns to the table, picks up the bag he left there earlier, and sets it down in front of you with a soft thud that feels heavier than it should. You hesitate before reaching inside, the crinkle of plastic impossibly loud in the quiet room. 

He watches you the entire time from his chair, his fingers steepled, his patience rehearsed. The chair is a new one; wooden instead of metal. If he refused to let you keep your dirt-stained clothes because they reminded him of your attempt to leave, there’s no way he’d keep the weapon you used to do it. 

You pull the gift out slowly, and your mouth parts in a small, almost imperceptible gasp. 

“…a sweatshirt…!”

Your dead eyes flicker with what could have been light for a moment. Good thing it disappeared. He can’t deny that your empty gaze, perfectly mirroring his own, makes his mouth water.

He’s snuffed all the hope out of you. Now, only he can be your salvation, only he can guide you, only he can shape your small world and the thought makes his chest tighten with a twisted sense of pleasure. Hopefully you understand that and worship him for providing for you. Or you don’t. He loves giving you lessons.

“…this is for me to keep?” You hold the fabric up in front of your face.

“Put it on.”

Your hands move quickly as you slip your arms through the sleeves, fumbling just a little as if testing whether you’re allowed to move. You pull it down over your head, and for a brief moment, a shadow of a smile crosses your face.

Palms flatten across the wall for support as you manage to stand up. The metallic clanking from your ankle cuffs was music to his ears. Your eyes roved over him like you didn’t know where to look first, and belatedly, you stretched your arms out and did a half-twirl. 

Adachi picked out a sweatshirt about two sizes too big for you. The hem of the fabric stops in the middle of your upper thighs, keeping your legs in sight. If he ignores your splint and the cuffs, you look like a normal girl trying to show off a new shirt to her boyfriend.

“...how do I look..?” your soft voice cut through his thoughts.

You look like you're his. How does he articulate that for you? 

“You want me to clap or something?” he cocks his head to the side. 

You freeze, hands clutching the fabric like you’re bracing for an impact. Shame he’s not close enough to deliver one. There’s a glassy look in your eyes and he hopes you cry. Instead, your eyes trail to the ground and you start to inch closer to where he’s sitting.

Adachi waits for an emotional outburst that never comes.

“...I want to thank you.” You struggle with the cuffs around your ankles, but manage to wobble your way over to him and kneel down, “It’s been so cold a-and this will really help so… h-how can I thank you..?”

Adachi blinks for a few moments. The words hang in the air like smoke and he forgets what to do with his hands. Gratitude from you was unnatural. He expected pleading, maybe even tears, not this. Part of him wanted it. He loves when you struggle, it makes it that much more fun to punish you.

His throat tightens, and he swallows hard. How can he punish you for pleasing him? He should’ve taken advantage of you when you asked him to take the cuffs off. Missed chance. 

You sit on your knees, your fingers brushing up against his legs, and your eyes are wide with a mix of fear and something he can’t quite place. Something in your expression is broken and it sends a tremor down his spine. 

His little doll really is learning from the escape attempt, much more than he realized. If he breaks another finger, will you continue to kneel beside him as if he's your god? Please him more and more? 

“I want to hurt you…” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

You kneel there, shoulders tight, muscles coiled as if a single twitch could result in something horrible. Your gaze flits to the floor, avoiding his entirely, and your knees squeeze together so tightly it must hurt. 

“...yes.” You breathe out. The sight of how tightly wound up you are is captivating in itself. “I’m so scared of you.”

Adachi is almost completely immobilized by your stare as you meet his eyes. They shine with a gloss, wide and cloudy, reflecting a mixture of fear, nervousness, and something almost untouchable. 

The color, the depth, he can’t look away. It is as if they’re a mirror showing him that he’s invaded your mind and conquered all of it.

“But… Adachi, you’re… you’re all I have, so hurt me if you must, j-just don’t– I mean, please don’t, go too far…”

Fucking finally.

With a swift motion, he knocks you down on your back, forcing a loud cry out of your throat. It must’ve hurt since the bruising back there hasn’t completely healed. Good. Your sweet cries are prayers of worship. It’s as you said, he’s all you have, making him your god.

He settles in between your thighs with a full view of your pussy. Dry, but he can change that anytime he wants. More whimpers fill the air, maybe because you’re exposed to him without pants, or perhaps you’re scared to face cumming from your own captors tongue once more.

His cock fights against the restraints of his clothing, begging to be sprung free, but not now. Right now isn’t about his pleasure. Or yours. No, he wants to mark your body more. Not with reminders of you trying to leave him, trying to die to get away from him, no, these will be to remind you that he owns you.

His lips descend to the soft part of your inner thigh and he clamps down. The room fills with cries and your back starts to arch involuntarily. 

His teeth pierce you and his tongue laps around the wounded flesh. It’s so delicious that he is positive he’s drinking the essence from your body. Shivers wrack you, but you don’t resist, staying put like the good doll you’re becoming.

Pulling back, he drags his teeth further down your inner thigh, taking in the beautiful sounds of sobs. A metallic taste fills his tastebuds and it’s so satisfying. The spot must ache. He’ll be able to admire the bite marks over your legs for days to come, and once they start to fade, he’ll cover you in bruises, and you’ll love every second of it because he’s devoting all his attention to you.

He bites down again. Harder this time, enjoying his favorite song ripping from your throat.

–

“You haven’t eaten.”

It was the first thing he noticed. Keeping your food stash stocked was his responsibility. He knew exactly what he bought, exactly how much remained. Plus, there were no wrappers. It was obvious you hadn't touched your food.

He turned to you, sprawled on your stomach, scribbling across one of your old drawings. Drawing was good. It kept you from going completely insane from boredom when he wasn’t here. A hunger strike, on the other hand, was unacceptable, and he wouldn’t tolerate it. 

Putting the pencil down, you glance up with a pout. “I was waiting for you. We can eat together.”

He rolls his eyes and tosses one of the protein bars your way, glaring at you with the demand to eat. “That’s stupid. Why would I want to eat this crap?”

“…we always used to eat together.”

Another cruel remark turns to ash on his tongue, the taste bitter and wrong. 

You start fidgeting with your hands, eyes darting across the room as if looking anywhere else might make the moment less tense. “I can pull out the table… a-and I can stand since there’s only one chair.”

Then something strange happens, something that freezes him in place.

Your lips twitch upward, hesitant at first, then settle into a small, trembling smile. It’s the first one he’s seen from you in so long that for a moment, he forgets to breathe. That faint, fragile curve of your mouth drags up ghosts of old memories. Dojima’s house, polite greetings, eyes that once held too much light. That brightness is gone now, hollowed out by him, but the smile… the smile is exactly the same.

“It’ll be just like a… a real dinner, Adachi…”

It’s unsettling. He doesn’t like it.  “No.”

Your jaw twitches. “Okay… okay, then I’ll just eat and you can sit with me.” You start to push yourself up, slow and cautious, your cuffs clinking as you do. You’ve gotten used to maneuvering with them on. “I’ll get the table–”

“I said no.”

The words come out sharp, cracking under the weight of memories from before he owned you. Silence settles between you, heavy and suffocating. 

You freeze, breath caught, and for a moment neither of you look real, as if you two are just shadows pretending to be people. The only thing alive in you is the weak smile faltering at your lips, dissolving into a tight, trembling line as tears glint at the corners of your eyes.

“...fine.” Your voice shrinks to a whisper. Your eyes are narrow and cold. If Adachi believed you were capable of it, he’d think you were glaring at him.

You bend down to pick up the protein bar he’d tossed at you earlier. The motion looks too careful. You look like you’re supposed to again; defeated, lonely, quiet.

And yet, watching you like that thrills him in ways he’ll never admit. Because you’re beautiful when you’re broken, and it terrifies him, how much of himself he sees in you, how much he wants to bond himself to you.

Suddenly, something cuts through the air beside him with a startling whoosh and slams against the far wall. The protein bar bounces off with a dull thud and lands on the table with a pitiful roll.

For a second, Adachi doesn’t move. His brain can’t quite catch up with what just happened. Did you…? That can’t be right. His doll has been perfect. Scared and obedient. His eyes flick to you, then back to the wall. Surely after breaking your thumb that wouldn’t have happened.

No it’s true. You actually threw the food.

His hands curl into fists before he even realizes it, nails biting into his palms. His jaw clenches hard enough to ache. The audacity of it, it hits like a spark to dry wood, anger flaring hot and sudden. You can’t be fucking serious.

If this is the game you want to play, fine. He can play it. He wants to play it.

But then he sees it, your shoulders trembling, the redness in your eyes spilling over, tears slipping down faster than you can blink them away. Then you start tearing at your sweatshirt. It’s the only article of clothing you have to cover you, and yet, you don’t seem to care, ripping it from your body and throwing it onto the ground like it meant nothing to you.

Anger boiled his blood, but he can’t deny the bolts of electricity invading his crotch.

You’re crying and naked. What stands out most to him are your legs, the color. Blotches of deep violet and blue bloom unevenly down your thighs, fading at the edges into a sickly yellow. At the center, the faint ridges of teeth are still visible, forming an ugly ring of purplish dents embedded in your skin. His marks.

“Fine!” The word rips out of your throat, raw and shaking. “Just fine! Go ahead! Just go ahead and do what you came here to do and leave me again!”

Adachi’s lip twitches. “Doll, you have no fucking idea how much trouble you’re in–”

“I hope I am!” you scream, voice cracking mid-sentence. Your breath comes out ragged, trembling hands gesturing wildly at your exposed body like it’s an object to be given away.

“It’s the only– the only reason I’m here!” You jab a finger toward the bruises on your legs, your voice rising with every word. “So I’ll fulfill it! I’ll keep making you mad so I can give you what you want! You can punish me, you can hurt me, until I die…” your chest heaves, tears spilling over, “and you’ll be happy while I’m gone and you’ll just kidnap the next stupid, lonely girl to satisfy your evil, evil sadistic urge–”

Adachi hand wraps around your throat, swinging both your bodies into the wall. Hard. You grunt from the impact, but that is of no concern to him. Adachi growls low, not taking kindly to your sudden outburst. “Careful,” he says, voice quieter now, but the edge in it could cut steel. “You’re starting to sound ungrateful again. I could’ve made this a whole lot worse for you, you know.”

Your breath hitches as his free hand skims down your side. Even though his anger simmers, the sight of your drained face makes him pause to take it in. There’s something so addicting in the way fear and submission paints you. 

How could you say that? That he’d take another girl once you're gone? Impossible. No girl could ever be so beautiful under his control.

“...you don’t want to eat with me.” The words come out small. “I’m only here because I’m worthless to everyone else. You took me because I’m worthless and won’t be missed and you want to hurt me...”

For once, Adachi doesn’t have a ready smirk. His jaw flexes and his hands twitch against your skin. When he finally speaks, it’s quieter.

“I took you because I wanted to,” he says, “Because you offered yourself up to be mine. It’s as you said, I’m all you have, so I get to hurt you, I get to make the decisions and you do not get to hit me with shit every time you want to bitch about it.”

You stare at him like a knife is in your chest draining you of life. 

“...I know that. You own me. I’m yours. I’ll die in this basement. I know, but, if I’m good enough to be your punching bag, t-to use as some sort of glory hole, why won’t you eat with me?”

His face scrunches and his grip on you tightens causing you to gasp for air. “That’s fucking disgusting. I’ve made you cum on my tongue as much as I fucked your tight throat, so don’t start bringing up porn labels.”

“…Adachi… please… tha-that’s not… my point… please… let me breathe..!”

Your eyes are about to pop out of your head and it thrills him how pretty you look right now. All he wants to do is bend you over and bury himself in your cunt. 

But he can’t. 

You gasp for air when he loosens his hold. Still, your eyes don’t leave him, as if you’re scared if you look away he’ll do something more.

“...I’m so lonely. So, so lonely...” You whisper. “I’m completely isolated, and you’re my entire world, but all you’re interested in is…” You trail off, gathering your thoughts, 

“...Is that why you kidnapped me? To hit and rape me? It doesn't make sense. We must be far from Inaba, the trip to come here must be long, and you haven’t even fucked me yet… so I thought that…”

Your cheeks burn with shame as you lift your arms to cover your breast, the height of your outburst over with and now the regret of tearing your clothes off is hitting. 

“I thought you were going to kill me, but it’s as you said in the bathroom… you already killed me. The girl– No, the doll I am now, is someone completely different… born from the pain you inflict on me.”

Adachi’s train of thought vanishes as your arms lift toward him. His first instinct is to push them away, no one touches him without permission, but then he catches the way you’re looking at him. It’s like he’s the only thing left in your world, the only anchor in this darkness he’s trapped you in. 

He recognizes it because he feels the same. His doll is the only person who matters in the emptiness of his life. The only place he can peel his mask off. When your arms wrap around his neck, he doesn’t resist.

“Do you even like me…? I-i know you love hurting me and that’s w-why I’m here.” Your voice trembles as you speak. “But that doesn’t mean you like me. Am I too… broken for you now?”

He can see the struggle flickering in your eyes, the pull between fear and something dangerously close to care.

“You’re my doll. ‘Liking’ doesn’t cover it. I don’t like people, I use them. But you’re different. I may use you, and you can hate me for it, but I keep you. I want to keep you. You’re mine and that’s all there is to it.”  

“...so, why won’t you eat with me? I want to spend time with you. I’ll endure everything you want to do to me if you’ll stay with me… I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want you to love me, even if it's only because you own me… please. I don’t care if it hurts.”

“You’re so pathetic, wanting love from the man who stole you.”

“I know.”

“Tell me more.” He growls, “You must want to get punished by me, stripping down to nothing and yelling at me. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“No… I don’t want any of this.” 

Your eyes go wide, searching, as if you're begging him to understand.

“...isn’t that what excites you the most?”

Adachi can’t hold back anymore. He grabs the back of your head and hauls you forward, crashing his lips onto yours. It must have surprised you by the way you're wiggling, or maybe that’s because his erection is now pressing against your belly. Long and hard.

Despite this, your lips pop open slightly, just enough room for him to stab his tongue in. He swirls his tongue against yours, backing both of you further against the wall and by the way you moan into his mouth, it must’ve hurt. Or maybe you like it and you were just lying, knowing how your resistance only makes him harder for you. He can feel your breast pushing against his body, your nipples pebbles from the cold, and he groans with need. He pulls back with a plop. “Get on your fucking knees.”

Adachi fumbles with his belt as you drop down, peering up at him with wet eyes. His hard dick stands tall once he’s able to kick his pants to the side and with a grin, he starts wrapping the belt around your neck. 

He pulls it tight, the leather biting into your skin as the belt constricts your airway. He watches as you try to inhale, but each attempt is thin and shallow. Panic flares throughout your expression making his cock twitch with excitement.

“What a cute collar.” he coos, tugging on the belt like a leash closer to him. 

You fall, catching yourself with your hands. He takes a step back, then another, smiling so wide it splits his face open as he watches you crawl to keep up with him. You keep your head low, eyes darting from him to the floor, and he can see the breath trembling in your throat. 

You're fine. He made sure to leave a little room for you to breathe.

Once he gets to his destination, your mattress, he yanks the belt and with a yelp you fall on top. 

“Spit.” He orders, jutting his open hand out to you.

You obey, of course you do, and he smears the saliva along his erection. Groaning, he pumps himself above you. Each stroke is rough and he can see in the way your tongue drags across your lips that you think he’s going to throat-fuck you some more.

“Get on your back.” His voice is more like a growl.

Your gaze seems unfocused, still, you lay down and don’t resist when he gets on top. He’s still fist fucking his cock as he straddles you and the mix of confusion, fear, and obedience in your eyes rips another groan from his throat.

“...are you going to fuck me…?”

“I’m going to fuck those perfect tits you keep flanting off like some slut.”

He tightens the belt and you cough from the strain. “Press them together.”

With shaking hands, you press your breast together and gasp when he thrusts straight into your cleavage. Both of your heavy breathing fills the room as he starts to thrust in a steady rhythm, without letting go of the leash he made you.

Adachi eyes lock onto your tits, mesmerized by the sight of him slamming into them as if they were your pussy. If only he could fuck your tight body. He’d be rough, so rough you’d be sore for days and even then he’d do it again. No matter how much you ache and beg for him to be gentle. 

One day you’ll feel empty without the aching feeling of being split open on his cock. 

Your tits bounce with each buck of his hips. For a moment, he glances up at you and is met with the sight of your cloudy eyes. Soft whimpers fall out of your slightly part lips and it makes his cock swell more.

Fuck. Fuck fuck. He can’t decide if he wants to paint your neck with a pretty pearl necklace or sink himself into your throat so you can drink it. Without thinking, he tugs on the belt to tighten it more and your eyes bulge out like a fish.

That’s all it took.

With one last thrust, he was coming, hot seed splashing over your beautiful bruised skin. Adachi shudders and bows over you. Electricity dances across his body and he’s seeing stars. If it was any other slut’s jugs, it wouldn’t nearly feel as good, but you’re different. It was euphoric. 

He lets the belt fall from his hands and you instantly start clawing it off while taking deep breaths.

“...you’re going to leave now, aren’t you?”

He tilts his head, tone flat. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you always leave when you get what you want… and I go to bed alone.”

Silence hangs between you like static until Adachi clicks his tongue and pulls his boxers back up his legs. He wanders into your tiny bathroom, grabs a few sheets of toilet paper, and returns without a word.

You flinch slightly when he kneels and starts to wipe his cum off your chest.

“...thank you.”

He scoffs. “Don’t get used to me playing maid.”

“...I won’t. A-are you still going to leave?”

Adachi shakes his head with a crooked smirk. “What else would I do? Sit around, talk about our feelings? Maybe discuss the weather while we’re at it?”

You don’t say anything in response. Your lips part for a moment like you might, but no sound comes out. Instead, your breath catches, and your brows draw together in a pitiful way that makes you look holy to him. Your eyes shining with wetness, the way he usually loves to see, search his face for mercy. For a hint of softness, maybe. 

What’s left of you now is raw and pleading.

Adachi exhales through his nose, a rough and weary sound that isn’t quite a sigh nor a growl. He stares at you for a long time, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he argues with himself. He never stays overnight. That’s not how this works. What if you’re just trying to lull him into letting his guard down again? Wait for him to fall asleep, slip the key off him, somehow get the cuffs off, and vanish into the dark?

But then you look at him. Really look at him and it’s like every wall he’s ever built around him starts to crack. Because you’re staring at him as if he’s your god. 

And that’s all he’s ever wanted from you.

The noise in his head fades into nothing. Without another word, Adachi shrugs off his suit jacket and lets it fall onto the floor. He crouches beside you and then pulls the blanket up over both of you. His arms slide around your waist, firm and possessive, drawing your back against his chest. The warmth of him seeps through you steady and inescapable. 

He’s spooning you and he can tell you’re surprised your pleas worked. “You try and escape while we sleep, I will not hesitate to break your fucking legs. You won’t get far with those cuffs and I won’t ever be nice like this again.

“You’re really going to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

He exhales through his nose again. “Don’t push it, doll.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You sound small, but there’s a flicker of glee you can’t quite hide, and he hears it.

It’s quiet for a long time, and Adachi assumes you’ve finally fallen asleep until he shifts slightly and you whip around, eyes wide, noses almost touching. It’s instinctive, as if the thought of him leaving you alone is unbearable.

He huffs a tired laugh, something caught between amusement and disbelief. Your eyes catch the faint light, glittering with desperation. It’s so pathetic. You press yourself closer, the blanket rustling softly between you.

“...Would it be okay if you ate with me tomorrow?”

“...Perhaps,” he says, after a pause. “If I’m in a good mood.”

“I’ll do anything.”

He chuckles again, because the words sound so small coming from you. The bright-eyed, lonely girl he first met was killed by him and now the defiant doll who fought him, screamed for freedom is gone too.

How romantic.

You’re perfect now. It should be okay to throw you a bone every now and then as long as he gets to keep pulling you around on a leash.

“Alright,” he says finally, brushing a stray hair from your face. “I’ll bring something decent next time. I’m not touching the cheap crap I buy for you.” Your face brightened, and you nodded eagerly. A moment later, your eyelids fluttered shut, and you drifted into sleep against his chest. When he finally slipped out from beneath the blanket and stood to leave, you didn’t stir. You stayed perfectly still, lips curved in a faint smile as if whatever dream you’d fallen into was a kind one. Maybe you were dreaming about dinner with him.

Unfortunately, you always wake up before you can reach it. Pity. Not that it mattered, running through the exit in a dream won’t help you in real life.

But this isn’t a dream.

The door bursts open beneath your trembling hands, and suddenly you’re in a stretch of hallway you don’t recognize, in a building you don’t recognize. It’s dark, so dark, but there’s no time to let your eyes adjust. You’ve got seconds to choose, run left or run right. Because Adachi is behind you, furious, and after you.

You nearly trip over your own feet as you break into a sprint, veering right, forcing yourself not to listen to the heavy, scattered footsteps rising from the basement. The basement you were locked in for so long. 

A flicker of joy strikes, bitter and fleeting, you’re hearing it from out here, not from in there.

No time. Maybe if you’d hit him harder, hit him longer, if you had even a little more strength to make it count, he’d be unconscious or dead, and you would have all the time in the world to figure out where you are and make a plan.

But you saw the rage in his eyes before you hurried through the door. You need to find an exit right now or you’ll never get a chance like this again.

You rushed forward with no clear direction. Just frantically looking for a door, anything, that will get you outside. Then you saw it, around the corner, not the yellow glow of bulbs, but thin streaks of gold spilling ahead. Sunlight. 

You bolt toward it, not risking a look back, a silent prayer on every step. An exit. Please.

You enter what seems to be a kitchen. Counters. Cabinets. No appliances. A rusted sink beneath a grimy little window. Too small. You might not be able to get through it. Too risky. Panic claws through you. You spin on your heels, ready to sprint in the opposite direction.

And freeze.

At the far end of the hall, a dark figure staggers into view. Stumbling, yes, but still coming. Still coming towards you.

You spin again, scrambling onto the counter with no choice left. The window, too small for your liking, but it’s all you’ve got. Adrenaline and terror drive you as you shove it open and hurl yourself through it. Your sides scrape against the frame, hindering you from getting completely through. 

You suck in, twist, push harder, try to angle yourself in a way that will help and somehow it does. Gravity takes you and you tumble straight down, crashing onto your back. A pained grunt follows.

Above, a hand juts through the window, clawing, inches from your ankle. 

Oh fuck. He was seconds away from getting you. Maybe less. Get up and run now.

You scramble, the pain in your spine numbed by the rush in your veins, and bolt forward.

“Get back here!” His voice splits through the air, furious, inhuman. “If you do I won’t break anything when I beat your fucking ass–” 

The words drown into silence as you get further and further away.

Nature crowds around you, towering trees, thick shrubs and jagged rocks. You’re deep in the woods, that much is obvious, where though? You don’t know. This all puts you at a disadvantage for sure, and it should make you panic, because your chances of escape shrink the farther you are from civilization. 

But the thought hardly processes, because for the first time in weeks you’re outside. Actually outside. In the real world. Fresh air, solid earth beneath your feet, and sound. So much sound. Leaves rustling, wind howling, birds singing to each other. Birds. Living, breathing things.

The air tastes delicious and it’s fresh, clear, and wonderful. A cool breeze washes over your sun deprived skin and it makes you euphoric. The scents of moss and soil fill your lungs, grounding you, even as panic propels you forward.

The world is vast again. Not a single locked room.

But then there is unbearable pain. Not just dirt beneath your feet, but sharp needles biting into the soft flesh. You glance down, just for a moment, because every second counts. 

Right. No shoes. You never had shoes on to begin with, since you had no need for them down there. You’re going to have to run barefoot in a forest.

Clearly, your frantic desperation at an opportunity to escape left little room to think it through. You stole the key from Adachi. You escaped. But now what? There is no plan. No shoes. No food. No sense of how far the nearest road might be, or a town, or how close Adachi is. 

Adachi, who surely ran out the front door to chase you the moment you slipped away. He’s coming for you right now.

You push harder. With nothing but the clothes on your back, you force your feet to endure every jagged stone, every splinter, every cut tearing at your soles. 

Ignore it. Ignore it and you’ll be fine. Ignore it ignore it ignore it. 

Just like you’re ignoring the fire ripping through your lungs, the hammering in your chest, each ragged painful breath. Running is all you can do. Running is the plan. Somewhere ahead, there has to be a road, a house, a person, someone who can save you. You have to keep pushing yourself. This was your only chance.

Maybe if you zigzag, you’ll throw him off. Maybe. You don’t know.

Is he right behind you? You don’t know.

Where are you? You still don’t know. This can’t be inaba.

All you know is that you can’t stop, but your muscles, worn down from over a month of captivity, have their limits. You whip your head back, desperate for solid proof you’re safe enough to stop, just for a moment. 

Nothing but trees and the howling wind.

Your hand finds the rough bark of a trunk as your knees give out beneath you. You collapse, huffing air in jagged bursts, wheezing like no breath will ever be enough. Slowly, your erratic heartbeat begins to steady. You press a trembling hand to the ground, stroking the grass.

Your eyes burn and tears spill, silent sobs as you grab fistfuls of earth, rolling dirt between your fingers, not caring at the dirt caking beneath your nails. It’s filthy. So beautiful. 

Every muscle screams as you push yourself upright. For a fleeting moment, you’re standing, but then fire tears through your feet, and you collapse back to the ground. Blood smears across the grass where you land. You twist your legs for a better look and instantly regret it. Deep gashes, raw and bleeding, litter your feet, splinters jutting from torn skin. The sight stabs you with horror. 

You can’t ignore this. 

You twist side to side, scanning the area. You want to keep moving. You have to. But your body is breaking down, and it’s pitiful, you’ve torn your body apart just to enrage him further. If he finds you, he’ll drag you back.

That narcissist never imagined you’d escape. Why would he? You were his doll perfectly tucked away, given more freedom than you deserved, he thought. You had this whole basement to roam. He could have handcuffed you, chained you even, but he didn’t. A mistake, a huge mistake, and it benefited you, but fear consumes you because if he finds you, there’ll be a shackle on your ankle for the rest of your life.

“No. Please, no.”

You scan the woods again, frantic for cover, for anything to keep you hidden long enough to plan, to think. On your knees, you drag yourself forward, the fabric of the sweats Adachi gave you darkening with mud. 

“Why should you lounge around in a skirt all day?” he had said after giving you the clothes. 

You wore that skirt to be pretty for him, that night. Soon, you promise yourself, you won’t refer to your kidnapping as “that night” again. Soon, you’ll use it to refer to the night you escaped.

Then you saw a log. A massive, rotting trunk, split and hollow inside. It reeked of damp earth, but it had enough space to crawl into. If you can hide for a little bit, you can rest for a little bit.

You squeezed yourself inside, pressing your body against the rough curve of its walls. A single ray of sunlight slipped through a small hole in the bark. Fine. This will do. It has to. Lying on your side, curled tight, you even had just enough room to shift if you needed to.

Your body is a wreck, pushed past its limits. Adachi’s abuse may have given you endurance, but that didn’t make up for the lack of proper nutrition, no exercise, and all that leads to a frail girl with no strength. Each breath hurts to take, your thighs burn, your whole body feels like one giant bruise. 

You must be a sorry sight.

Okay. It’s decided. First thing when you’re home, you’ll get a gym membership. You’ll eat only rice, eggs, chicken, whatever food helps you to bulk up. You’ll get strong, fast, powerful, powerful enough that you’ll never, ever be in this position again–

A sound cuts through your thoughts. A twig snapping. Rustling. At first it blends with the other forest noise, could have been an animal, but no, it’s too consistent. And it’s getting closer. 

Your chest locks up. You tilt your head, peeping one eye through the hole in the trunk.

Your entire body turns to stone. Unmoving and unbreathing. Eye wide, you continue to look out the peep hole. There’s only grass. But the rustling is accompanied by ragged wheezing. Like someone running. Someone who’s been running for a long time.

Footsteps. Close.

You freeze, paralyzed, as two pairs of dirty dress shoes appear. He stops right in front of the log. Your chest squeezes so tight you think you might die from a heart attack, perhaps a better end than whatever will happen if he finds you. All you can do is spit baseless encouragement into your head to keep from pissing yourself out of pure fear.

You’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fineyou’refineyou’refineyou’refine.

The shoes, god you wish you had shoes, grind against the dirt, pivoting sharply one way, then the other. Predatory steps. He’s rooted in that spot. Sweeping the area with his gaze. Hunting. The silence is deafening. You can’t breathe. You’re too scared he’ll hear.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okayit’sokayit’sokayit’sokay.

Fuck. It’s not okay and it’s not fair. You had a head start, and still he caught up so fast. If you hadn’t hidden, he would’ve found you already, for sure. 

Just move on, damn it! 

If he runs one way, maybe you could slip the other, and after a little rest you’re sure you can endure the pain–

The pain.

It rips through your soles, reminding you of a crucial fact. You were running barefoot. Skin shredded, blood spilling, and you kept running anyway. And he’s not just a criminal. He’s a detective. 

Oh god, no, if you left a trail–

It all happens so fast.

The filthy shoes vanish from sight, and instinct takes over. You twist yourself sideways, trying to scramble out of your exposed hiding spot. You barely make it to your knees before a hand clamps around your right ankle. Iron-hard.

“Here you are...”

You scream, bloodcurdling, throat-ripping, as you try to claw at the slick bark. Your nails bend against the wood, sharp pain shooting through your fingertips. He yanks you back, and a violent struggle erupts. You pull yourself forward, only for him to tug you back again. You try to kick, to fight, but all it earns you is having your other ankle taken into his grasp. Suddenly you’re being dragged out into the open, covered in new splinters, still screaming.

Air slaps your face as he yanks you up. Your battered legs dangle helplessly in his grip, but your shoulders and butt scrape the ground, letting you prop yourself up on your elbows just enough to see. Your head jerks, and for the first time since that nightmarish sprint down the hallway, you catch sight of him.

Adachi.

Your desperate escape attempt caught him off guard too. His suit jacket was gone, left somewhere in the chase, and his undershirt clung to him, dark with sweat. Beads ran down his forehead, dripping past his jaw, the fresh gash you gave him bright red. He loomed over you, bent at the waist from dragging you out of the log, posture low and predatory, like a wild animal. His biceps flexed and trembled from the effort of holding you up, muscles bulging, yet his grip didn’t waver.

He is far stronger than you. Now that he’s got you, you are royally, utterly fucked.

Narrow, dark eyes blaze into you like molten lava. His forehead creased with lines carved by pure, unfiltered fury. A fury you’ve never seen before. Something truly sinister radiates off him. There’s a change in the air around him, a pulse that makes your stomach clench. 

It was weird. You planned to fight him in the basement, struggle enough to make him angry enough to kill you, and in a round-about almost-escaped-instead way, you achieved that. 

But now, your death will probably be painful. And slow. And you don’t want to die. You want to keep running towards the horizon.

His lips were moving, but you couldn’t hear a word, because you’re still screaming. Your throat was shredded raw, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to. You’re so close to freedom. You don’t want to die when you’re this close. 

You want a miracle, so you think of your friends. 

Can’t they come save you now? 

You started thrashing, trying to scoot back out of his grasp, and twisting your legs. All a futile attempt to break free. 

“Let me go!” You yell.

Not because you actually believed Adachi would listen, but because you had to say it, had to try, so at least you’d know you’d done everything. 

You clawed at anything within reach, but all you managed was to shred the grass beneath you. Desperate. Pathetic.

Suddenly, he did drop your legs. For a fleeting second you thought screaming worked in your favor! But, it was a short lived illusion of freedom that shattered almost instantly as his weight crashed down on you, pinning you flat against the ground. 

Once again, you were caught. He straddled your waist, his kneecaps grinding into your arms. The extra pressure was unnecessarily cruel. You were already immobilized beneath him. 

“And here I thought you were a good girl....”

The words were the only warning you got before his fist cracked across your jaw. Pain exploded through your face and you saw stars. You groan, but another blow follows, slamming into your cheek, then another into your stomach, each one rattling your bones.

“...But you must have forgotten your place.”

Again. And again. Familiar, in the worst way, just like back in Adachi’s apartment, when his fists hammered the back of your head until the world went black. And familiar, in the best way, like when you finally returned the favor, swinging that chair into his skull over and over again.

Ah. So that’s what this is. Revenge. For thinking a meek girl like you could ever attack him and get away.

Adachi finally pulled his fist back, his breathing ragged and erratic. You lay limp beneath him, bloodied, bruised, defeated. But you’re still conscious. The sun burns overhead, its rays blinding, but you don’t turn away. You squint into the light, certain this would be the last time you ever see it.

Fingers dig into the hem of your shirt, holding you upright. Your gaze forcibly switched from the sky to the corrupt detective. His breathing is erratic, chest heaving. His eyes are wide, tired. He’s worn out, but you’re torn apart. It’s amusing, your little stunt failed and caused more harm for you than good.

“How does it feel?” He hisses. “To step back into the world only to find it’s still as unforgiving and shitty to you as before?”

You whimper.

“Dumb fucking bitch. I took care of you.” His words come through clenched teeth. “I fed you. Gave you things to do. Bought you clean clothes that you just ruined…” He pauses, eyes roaming over your battered, dirt-streaked body. “…I even got the water running in that run-down place.”

Wrinkles deepen on his forehead as both eyebrows furrow. He winces, as if something hurts. The hand not holding you by your shirt rises to touch the large cut he sustained from the chair. Dry blood flaking off from his touch. His breathing grows heavy again, as if he was getting angry with you for injuring him all over again, darkness erupted throughout his expression.

“I bend over backwards for you…”

His hand snaps to your neck, making you gag. Unfortunate. Your neck had been relatively unscathed until now, but his fingernails dig in, promising more bruises. You cough violently, lungs sore.

“…and you hit me with a fucking chair.”

Your face is sticky and wet. Blood and tears mix until they run into your mouth. The taste is unbearably foul, but you aren’t able to focus on it for long, as you can hardly breathe. Dizziness overtakes you. His grip on your throat tightens, breath ragged and labored. Can he strangle you with one hand? It seems like it.

“Unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.” His nose wrinkles in disgust, like you’ve just committed the worst kind of crime against him. It doesn’t make sense. He’s only had a few bruises and a cut from this stunt. That’s nothing compared to the damage it’s done to you.

“Was it worth it?” His voice twists into a sneer. “Look at you. Hurt all over. Barely hanging on. You think that was clever? Running off just to last a couple minutes? Stupid girl. You were never getting away from me.”

He lets out a low chuckle, lips curling inward. You know that laugh too well. Adachi loves to fuck with you. Whether it’s through raw violence or psychological warfare. More than anything, he loves thinking up new ways to hurt you.

Fear trembles through your body. Your chest rises, arms aching, and then there's air. His grip loosens from your throat, his knees shifting off your arms. Air surges into your lungs in big, desperate gulps.

His forearm drags against the side of your face, making you flinch. He leans closer, torsos nearly touching, your ragged breaths mingling. The rhythm feels wrong. Too intimate, though you can’t quite put your finger on why. How could this be intimate? No, it’s primal. Prey and predator, once more.

“I’ll have to make sure this lesson sinks in,” he says, tone suddenly boyish, mocking. His eyes narrow, and your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

His hand snakes into your hair, fingers knotting tight. You sob as he slams the side of your face into the ground. He twists it back and forth, grinding dirt into your skin. Not that it wasn’t filthy already. He presses harder, forcing mouth onto the earth. It fills your mouth. Gritty, bitter, no better than the metallic taste of blood.

“Eating dirt’ll do the trick, won’t it?”

He yanks you back up, your face dangling a few inches from the ground. You spit, desperate to rid yourself of the soil caked in your mouth. It doesn’t help. The grit still coats your tongue, grinding against your teeth. With another tug, he turns you to face him directly. 

“Was that delicious?” His voice dips low, dripping with sarcasm. You’re still choking and spitting making him smile, “Outdoorsy types like you must love the taste of dirt.”

And then, rough and inevitable, he slams you back down. Pain detonates through your skull, through your chest, everywhere. It all blurs together at this point. Every part of you hurts in ways too horrific to fully process. 

You can’t handle it.

You can’t handle any of this. How did it come to this? You’re an imprisoned punching bag, all because you fell in love with Adachi?

Fuck. It wasn’t love, it was a crush, but you thought you were so mature, that your feelings were too. How childish. You aimed your affections at someone you didn’t truly know at all. So stupid.

No. You can’t blame yourself. You can’t pile that burden on top of this humungous failure. You can’t keep going like this. Your body is falling apart, your thoughts are chaotic, dark, overwhelming, it’s bitter, and somehow you start to blame everything Adachi has done on your parents– on your friends.

If they loved you, if you were important, if they truly wanted you… wouldn’t they have found you by now? It’s their fault for not loving you more than Adachi loved having you.

“Let’s try rocks this time.”

You feel him shift on top of you. From the corner of your eyes, you catch his fingers digging at the small rocks scattered nearby. Dread fills you. Now, you’re blaming Dojima, your homeroom teacher, every Junes employee—

It’s a vicious cycle, one that serves you nothing. The searing agony burning through your body is a cruel messenger, whispering that giving up is the only option left. 

“…Please,” you whine, voice weak and trembling. “No more… please. I’m sorry.”

His eyes twitch, and his sadistic smile disappears. You can’t tell if that’s good or bad until he finally lets go of your hair. Control of your face returns to you, but you don’t dare break eye contact. Gulping, you force yourself to keep begging, voice trembling, tears streaking down your cheeks that fuel him.

You don’t want to go back with him, to a world no bigger than cement walls, notebook paper, and Adachi. He’s the only other person in that dark place, and maybe, as twisted as it is, it’s the same for him. 

He’s isolated you from the world he feels cut off from, the world he hides from under that idiot-detective mask. With you, he can peel that mask away and step into a space where he’s completely in control. 

It’s a grim reality. You gambled everything the moment you picked up that chair, and you lost the play you needed to win: escape. Now the chance is gone. He won’t let you have another.

All you want is for the pain to stop. You don’t know what else to do but submit. So you throw yourself at the source of it. Flatter him, plead, say what he wants to hear. Make the words sound real, even if they’re not.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I made a mistake.” Your voice wavers, glossy eyes fixed on him. “Please… stop. It was so, so stupid. I’ll go back. I won’t struggle, I promise…”

He grunts. His expression empties, sliding into something blank, unreadable, like he slid into another one of his masks. His breathing steadies, even as your heart jackhammers, because he’s still straddling you, still keeping you pinned. As if he isn’t finished with you. 

Your lip quivers, and fresh sobs break through. Every part of you already throbs, but the pounding headache from crying and dehydration contributes. 

“God. Stop crying. I’m so sick of this high-pitch whining.” He bends down and you flinch, bracing for the sharp taste of rocks shoved into your mouth. Instead, his hand presses into the ground beside your head as he pushes himself upright. He stands, towering over you. The crushing weight pinning your waist is gone, leaving only the echo of it in your bones.

“This is all your fault.”

You push yourself upright, slow and shaky, to avoid lying flat and vulnerable. Your sleeve drags across your face, smearing away tears in streaks of blood and dirt. Smudges stain it darker still, but your clothes were already ruined, streaked brown from the rot of that log you crawled through. 

“…I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I just…” The taste of dirt thickens as you speak. You slide two fingers into your mouth, trying to scrape grit from your tongue. A hand clamps your wrist, stopping the motion, like you deserve dirt in your mouth, and hauling you up onto your feet. 

You wince; your feet sting and burn, but you don’t cry. Listening to him at least got you those notebooks. Your heart aches at the memory of the many days you spent sketching. It was a small mercy on top of everything else and you miss it. 

“You’re not really sorry.” His eyes drop to you, flat and empty. “You just want to dodge responsibility for your fuck-up, don’t you?”

“No!” You shake your head, frantic. “Please, I’ll… I’ll go back with yo–”

“Is your brain rotting?” He cocks his head, amusement in the tone. A soft chuckle. “Why would I want to keep an ungrateful brat around?”

Your eyes go wide and you keep shaking your head, a useless, involuntary motion. Your mouth opens, then closes. There’s nothing left to say. He’s staring at you like he’s peeling you apart, hungry for an answer you don’t have.

You swallow, question burning in your throat. There was still one way out, but now faced with that possibility, you’re terrified. The words come out small, and direct. “…Are you going to… kill me?”

Adachi hums. You tremble. Partly from fear, partly from the raw pain of standing, but his grip on your wrist is like a bangle, keeping you forced upright. You felt that death was your only exit from Adachi. It was the plan you’d held onto before you ever picked up the chair: make him so furious he ends you and you’re free. 

Human instinct burns in your veins, though, and even as you try to brace yourself, your body refuses to make peace with the idea of dying alone in the woods.

You feel movement and suck in a breath, bracing for his free hand to clamp around your throat, because surely he’s going to strangle you. Instead, fingers brush your cheek, warm, the curve of your face settling into his palm. The frown etched between his brows is gone. His eyes narrow, then widen slightly, his gaze roaming over you as if piecing something together. He blinks, slow and steady, as if he was bearing the weight of a realization. 

The silence drags until it feels unbearable, but with him staring at you like that, like he knows something you don’t, you can’t force more words out. Then he scoffs, the sound sharp, and his fingers press harder into your skin. Not enough to hurt exactly, but enough to make you flinch, enough to remind you he’s in control. The pressure isn’t violence, it’s emphasis on a point, though you don’t know what the point is.

“Ah. I get it now…” His fingernail tucks into your cheek with a twist. His voice drops, low and almost in a dramatic tone as if he figured something out. “…you want me to kill you, huh?”

Your eyes go wide. You don’t understand how he reached that conclusion, but you can’t deny it completely. Pain and shame weigh you down; you can’t meet his gaze as he peels you apart with those dark eyes. You’re exposed, and you don’t have the strength left to lie properly.

“Oh… it’s not… exactly like that.” You gulp, hunting for words. You’re not going to tell him, flat out, about the suicide-by-cop plan. You can sugarcoat it, sprinkle a little lie over the truth.

“It’s just… hard, being stuck in one room all the time. I just thought that maybe, and just for a moment Adachi, …if you were mad enough to kill me… it would only be speeding up what’s bound to happen anyway…”

His nose wrinkles like your explanation isn’t what he wanted to hear. He looks at you as if you’ve just tried to explain college algebra to a dog.

“This stunt was to get me to kill you.” He confirms. His nose wrinkles like your explanation isn’t what he wanted to hear. As if you were trying to explain college algebra to a dog. 

It probably doesn’t make sense because it isn’t true. You tried to run because you wanted to escape, but if he never turned his back to you, then eventually you probably would have pulled a stunt, as he put it, to get killed. 

“Because… b-because I’m going to die in that basement… aren’t I?” you blurt, voice small. Might as well run with his idea. He seems calmer under the impression this wasn’t an attempt to truly escape. “What’s the difference between sooner than later..?”

Adachi clicks his tongue. He pauses, glancing into the trees. You follow his line of sight, half hoping he heard something, someone, but the woods are the same maze of trees and grass.

“You’ve been so good lately.” He says it like an observation, then fixes on a single spot as if whatever’s there suddenly matters to him. “You were adapting, weren’t you, doll?”

“…Yes,” you squeak. You’re dizzy from the pain, barely steady, and agreeing seems safer than arguing. His grip is still iron. Without it you’d sag to the ground helpless.

“Yes. My doll was adapting perfectly.” He smiles then, small and wicked. “So meek, so obedient… I say jump and you cry, I give you a gift and you embrace it–”

Unexpectedly, his knee grinds in between your legs and you gasp at the friction. “I touch you and you moan… You knew your place, unlike those two cunts.”

You don’t know who he means, and there’s no time to think. His knee lifts, stopping its pressure, and he yanks you forward, wrist still locked in his hand.

“But now you’re trying to manipulate me into killing you?” he snaps. He starts walking fast, dragging you along. Every step sets your feet on fire, but you bite your lip and keep pace.

“No, no! It’s not manipulation! I couldn’t manage that!” you plead, glancing back as he hauls you past the spot he’d been staring at. “It was a stupid idea. Really stupid idea!” 

A smear of dry blood flashes in your peripheral vision, your blood. Your chest clenches. He’s following the trail. He’s taking you back. 

“How dare you,” he hisses, and the anger in his voice makes your stomach drop. You only see his back as he pulls you. The sound tells you his face is full of fury. 

“You’re unwanted out here. Nobody wants you. Your parents didn’t. They were never home, which is why you cozied up to Narukami and his group like a bitch in heat.”

“You never fit in with them.” He stops and turns back, making you meet his eyes as if he wants the words to land harsh. His gaze narrows, dark. “The only thing connecting you to them is that TV power. So when you don’t jump in with them, what are you good for? You’re good for nothing.”

“…I know,” you mutter, not sure if he hears.

“But with me… I gave you a purpose” He flicks his head as if the idea is obvious. 

“You don’t have to deal with all the crap that comes from being in the real world, because of me.” He spins on his heel and starts walking again. Each step drives pain up through your feet.

“All you have to do is please me. That isn’t difficult.”

Tears slip down your cheeks. You’re grateful he doesn’t look at you. You can’t stop them. Whatever waits back at that basement feels worse than death. For a moment you wish for a cliff, anything to end it on your terms, but you’re sure even if there was one you don’t have a will strong enough to jump.

“Adachi.” You sob; he keeps moving.

“It’s unbelievable,” he mutters to himself. “Running out here to get killed like I’d ever let you go.”

You really thought you’d be free if you just got beyond that door. You didn’t know he’d sequestered your prison in the middle of nowhere. Woods stand tall around you on every side. Even if you’d managed to outrun him, you’d be far more likely to get lost than to find safety. 

The realization spawns a hopeless, sinking despair, because he’s right, he’d never let you go. Even through death. Not until it’s on his terms.

“Adachi!” you call again.

“Mine,” he says, voice hardening, his grip squeezing. “You’re mine. You should be thankful someone wants to own you the way I do–”

“Adachi, please!!”

“Stop interrupting me!” He stops, jerking his head back. Your hair falls forward hiding your face as you slump, depending on his grip to stay upright. You balance on one foot while clutching the other with your free hand. The sight of the cuts on your soles makes him loosen his hold for a beat, then he drives his nails into your wrist, unwilling to let you go.

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, biting your lip harder to steady your voice though pain wracks you. “My feet… they hurt. I can’t– …I can’t take it–”

A faint flicker of interest lights his eyes. “Well, that’s what adults call the consequences of your actions.”

The lack of empathy was expected, but you need at least an inch of consideration or you’ll collapse into darkness. If you do, it’ll be just like the first time; kidnapped, beaten, blacking out. How ironic.

“I…I understand… It's just that I'm so dizzy. It hurts everywhere.”

You let your foot drop from your palm to the dirt with a soft, painful thud, then meet Adachi’s gaze. Your eyes shine with tears, your lips trembling. 

“I don’t want to collapse and… cause you more problems…” you suck in a shallow breath. “If you could just walk a little slower…?”

Adachi huffs, but your appeal seems to work. When he starts walking again, pulling you along, his pace is slower. The rest of the walk is quiet. For him, anyway. Your ears are filled with a high-pitched ringing, and your heart only grows more erratic the longer you go. 

It feels like your body is physically rejecting the choice to return, refusing to understand that you don’t have a say.

Every step is another toward being locked away again. You want to spend what is likely to be your last moments outside looking at the sky, but it takes everything just to put one foot in front of the other. And with Adachi’s nonexistent patience, you can’t risk stumbling.

It hurts. Your head pounds, your feet burn, your eyes are swollen, your jaw and neck ache with bruises, but none of it compares to how defeated you feel inside. You’ve endured abuse day after day, and of course it’s left its mark, but it’s never been as clear as it is right now. 

To have freedom within reach, only to lose it, you’ll never recover. It’s as if darkness has seeped into your mind, poisoning everything it touches. Hate, anger, misery, it all taints you, leaving behind a kind of bitterness that never fades.

Adachi must have bitterness like this too.

The pain scrambles your thoughts, twisting them into knots you can’t untangle. You can’t even make sense of what you’re feeling anymore. 

And worst of all… Oh god, you’re starting to recognize the trees. The landscape is familiar. You’re getting closer.

You don’t want to go back. The thought screams in your mind, your stomach churns and every muscle is tight. If you had any tears left, you’d be sobbing, but you’re too exhausted to shed a single one.You’ve cried, screamed, run, and none of it changed your fate. You’re still Adachi’s prisoner.

Or his doll, as he likes to call you. Something to please. To be used. You have a running theory that he fucks his fist at the memories of abusing you. And if there's any sexual frustration left, he takes it out on your mouth, sliding his cock down your tongue until he’s snug in your throat. 

Though, if there is none left, he’ll opt for stuffing his tongue into your pussy, as if making you cum made up for that fact you don’t want any of this.

Air leaves your lungs. A cabin slides into view. You didn’t see much of the outside when you pushed yourself through that window, but you can feel in your bones that’s your prison. For a split moment, you freeze, unable to bring your body to take another step closer to certain doom, but with another strong yank you don't have a choice except to keep walking. 

You two walk closer, and more details come into focus. A wooden wall rises before you with a single window. Small, not too high from the ground, the very same one you squeezed through to escape. 

The sight of it seems to irritate Adachi. He mutters something about boarding it up as he trails along the walls, whipping around the corner to the other side.

Your eyes refuse to leave the exterior, desperate to understand more about the place you’re being held. A porch emerges, overrun with overgrown plants. Weeds push up through the gaps in the wood, leaves are piled in corners, and the stairs look rotten. One misstep, and you’d fall straight through. The house has the unmistakable air of abandonment. It’s perfect… for him.

Where did he find this? You want to know, but asking him isn’t going to achieve anything, especially as he pulls you up the stairs. For a beat, you’re just thankful you didn’t fall through, but the creaking sound of the front door opening horrifies you to the core.

The front door looms ahead. You hate doors now. Once you step through, it’s really over, your normal life from before will forever just be memories. You hesitate, your eyes flicking back to the open world behind you, desperate to memorize every last detail of it. The sky, the nature, the vastness. Then Adachi pulls you forward, and the door closes with a thud, sealing your fate.

Inside, the air feels heavier. He releases your wrist. Not because he trusts you in any way, but because he doesn’t need to keep holding you in this place. The walls do that for him, close in on you, suffocate you until you can’t do anything but what you’re told.

A sharp pressure digs into your lower back, urging you forward. “Walk.”

Your eyes dart from wall to wall as you continue through the hall, searching for the door that haunts your nightmares, the door to the basement. Adachi’s fingers trace your spine as he walks behind you, not quite a push, not quite a caress, more of a silent reminder not to try anything.

This place is all wrong. Hollow. The walls breathe dampness and you yearn for the fresh air from outside. It still lingers in your chest making the stench in here more suffocating. You can’t shake the feeling that something bad happened here. Even before you happened.

“In here.” His voice cuts through your thoughts as he pulls you into a room you don’t recognize. An odd sense of relief fills you. You’re not going back to the basement, not yet at least. You get a few more moments out of there.

There's a bathtub and a toilet. It’s a bathroom, clearly, but not like the one downstairs. This one has a bigger tub, more jarring, there’s a mirror bolted to the wall. You can’t remember the last time you saw your own reflection. The edges of the glass are freckled with black spots, but the image staring back at you is clear. Too clear.

And you don’t recognize it.

The girl in the mirror is too thin. Her collarbones jut sharply beneath her shirt. Her skin is gray-like, lifeless, and stretched tight. Her face is hollow; sunken cheeks paired with cracked lips. Her hair hangs in wild, uneven clumps, strands glued to her face by dried tears and blood. Dirt streaks her jaw and neck, smeared like paint, and dry blood clings to her hairline.

Your eyes widen at the sight and the girl in the reflection mirrors you. God. Her eyes are the worst. Too big, glassy, bloodshot, rimmed with red from endless crying. Dark circles stain the skin under. There’s a dullness in them, the weight of psychological torment layered thick, ready to consume her forever. 

Even if you can’t immediately place her, it has to be you. 

“…I look awful,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you realize you’ve spoken aloud.

“You smell even worse,” Adachi adds.

You’re happy that there are no mirrors in the basement. Seeing yourself like this, pitiful and broken, only fuels more despair inside you.

Water splashes behind you, snapping your attention to the sound. Adachi crouches over the tub, sleeves rolled up, forearms exposed. In one hand, he holds the showerhead and with the other, he flicks the stream, droplets scattering across his fingers.

Your body stiffens as the realization hits. You understand why he commented on your smell.

“Strip.”

Embarrassment and shame floods through you. You don’t want to do this. Not with him watching you like you’re nothing more than a piece of meat for him to savor. Not when you can feel in your gut that something bad is going to happen.

Still, your trembling hands grip the hem of your filthy sweatshirt. There isn’t a choice.

You peel it off and let it fall to the floor beside you. No bra. There isn’t a point to undergarments in captivity. The air bites at your bare chest, and instinctively you throw an arm across yourself, trying to hide. With your free hand, you tug at the waistband of your sweatpants until they slide down on their own, gathering at your ankles. You nudge them aside with your foot, clamping your legs together tight as if that could make you less exposed.

Adachi’s gaze lingers, sharp and invasive. A flicker of a smile touches his mouth, whether it’s from your shame, your nakedness, or the bruises and scratches marring your skin, you don’t know. Maybe it’s all of it.

He crooks his fingers, wordlessly summoning you.

You swallow hard, fighting down the heat of mortification. You try to convince yourself that this… being bathed here, upstairs, is still better than the alternative. 

Better than being dragged back to the basement, thrown from the stairs, your body making a loud thud as you hit each step on the way down. That’s what, or something similar, you thought would happen.

Moving stiffly, you step into the tub and crouch low, curling your knees up to your chest for a shred of cover. The ceramic is icy beneath you, goosebumps prickling across your skin. And then the water hits.

It’s freezing. He presses the showerhead so close to your face you can barely open your eyes; the water stings like knives. A rough washcloth scrubs along your hairline, abrasive, not kind. 

“Filthy. I’ll have to get you new clothes too. Huge pain in my ass.”

“I’m sorry…” you squeak, the cold running down your shoulders. His hand hooks under your arm and forces it outward so the stream hits your collarbone, your chest. 

You wince. Every inch of skin is raw. If he cared about how filthy you are, he’d use warm water and soap. But he doesn’t, so he won’t.

“I think maybe I won’t get any,” he says, sounding amused. “You’re just gonna have to be naked until you learn to appreciate what I give you.”

Your stomach drops. “I do appreciate it. I really do… please. I can keep wearing the dirty clothes– I don’t mind–”

“No. I don’t want to see dirt. If you want clothes, don’t fuck them up.”

You whimper and stay silent. He doesn’t want reminders of your escape, and maybe that’s something you should want too. If you give up the idea of freedom, adapt, and survive, things would be much easier. Even if every part of you still wants to get out, you should just squash it down. 

Everything here is about what Adachi wants: the freezing water, the scrub that reddens your skin, the clothes he’s taking away. Even now you are cleaned on his terms.

When the water finally stops, he tosses the showerhead aside like it’s already forgotten. You’re shaking. Cold, humiliated, and the thought that he might fling you back into that basement, naked and exposed, claws at your stomach. There’s nothing you can do about it.

He grabs a towel from the bar and returns to his scrubbing, pressing the cloth into your hair, forcing excess water out. He drags the towel across your skin, but the motion is rougher. 

His hand pauses to trail the pads of his fingers down your neck and over your collarbone. You assume he likes the bruises shaped exactly as his handprint.

Your eyes find the mirror again, even though you don’t want to see the reflection. If this is your last glimpse of yourself before you’re locked away where there are no mirrors, you want to memorize it. At least, you want to know what you look like.

A hard pinch on your shoulder jerks you back to him. The towel slips, pooling over your thighs.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“…Hm? I…I was just–” You fumble for words.

“You were thinking of trying something again, weren’t you?” His voice goes flat.

“No! I wouldn’t, I was just looking at myself. I haven’t seen…” You trail off, biting your lip. Explain it right, you tell yourself; if you don’t, he’ll assume the worst. “I look so different from what I remember.”

He eases up on your shoulder, if only a little. “That’s because you’re a different girl now.”

His fingers slide from your shoulder down to your inner elbow in slow, almost lazy circles. “I’m making you into my perfect doll. Each bruise is a lesson. You’re nothing like that disgustingly optimistic kid you used to be. I made sure of it.”

The words are meant to feel like praise, but they land like a threat. The room chills. You can’t shake this feeling of dread.

“In a way, I guess I did kill you. The old you.” His hand moves lower, rubbing little circles on your forearm, then your wrist, until his thumb presses into the soft pad of your palm. Your chest hammers.

“But I must have missed some part of her.” Suddenly his grip tightens; he takes your thumb in his palm. Hard. You look up. His eyes are dark and quiet, and a cold jolt runs up your spine. 

“…Adachi?” you whisper.

“Resisting me, raising your hand against me… that’s one thing,” he says, each word measured. “Trying to leave me is another.”

“I-I know, it was a mistake–” you stammer.

“I think eating dirt taught you a lesson about hitting… but I warned you.” His voice is almost casual.

You open your mouth to ask what he means. There’s no time. His hand twists on your thumb. A keen, white-hot pressure erupts from the joint and rockets up your arm. Then, an awful, snapping sound fills the air.

Pain floods you unlike anything before. It’s searing, electric, so painful it drowns out everything else. You scream. Not from fear, but a new, primal scream of agony. Pins and needles prick through your veins; the rest of your body goes numb around the white-hot center of hurt. 

You claw at him, at yourself, at anything because the pain makes you prey all over again and all you can do is try to get away from.

“I told you.” 

He says it flatly as your screams tear the air. You can’t hear him over the ragged sobs that spill from your mouth. Words collapse into a string of incoherent cries. He leans closer, voice low and steady.

And that was the thing. After you recovered from being sick, you had assumed things would return to that. Perhaps even worse. Because the words he hissed that night, “I’m going to put my babies in you.” were cemented into your very being. Horrified for the day he’ll come through that creaky wooden door, and do just that.

Savagely throw your frail body wherever he wanted to take you, fuck you, and pump you full of cum as many times as it takes before your belly is big and round and you’re connected to your abuser forever, so yes, you were obviously terrified for that.

But what you mean by unsettled, right now, is the fact he hasn’t exactly done any of that yet, when he totally could.

Truly. He hasn’t followed through in any capacity.

Sure, he touches you, like when his lips press against your skin, leaving a trail of saliva from your neck, down to your chest, lower and lower. Sticky. And gross. Kissing with him, one way or another, turns into biting. His teeth always leave fresh marks, or wounds, depending if he’s rough. Most of the time he is. It excites him to mark you.

And sure, the other day he had your hair tangled in his fist, yanking it so he could sink his cock further into your pretty throat. Make you choke on it. That’s not exactly touching, but it’s certainly proof he has no qualms about assaulting you. Not that proof was needed at this point.

The most damning thing was when Adachi found it upon himself to press his full weight onto your chest, pinning you to the floor, just so he could settle himself comfortably between your legs. His breath, yes his breath, not his dick, hot against your pussy, before he devoured you. 

It was humiliating and you came all over his tongue, but he didn’t fuck you. Plenty of opportunities for baby-making activities have gone and passed. 

Therefore, as you said, he hasn’t followed through in any capacity. And, as you said, it is difficult to explain, but the inaction made you tense. Like this was the calm before the storm.

These thoughts were just making you spiral. You should have been grateful that, in all the weeks of captivity, there was still one line he hadn’t crossed. 

The days after your recovery are a blur, so simple they all seemed to blend together. Lots of rest, slightly better food, warmth from the blanket. Once your energy began to return, he brought a couple of notebooks and a pencil.

“So you have something to do besides think while I’m not here,” he said. 

You thought it ridiculous at first. How could a notebook possibly fill the time more than your own spiraling thoughts? Yet soon enough, you were nibbling on a peanut butter protein bar from your food stash and dragging a pencil half-heartedly across the page in a low-effort sketch of a cat.

Truthfully, you wanted to write. Writing would help your brain quiet and you could better organize your thoughts. But, Adachi would definitely read it, and giving him some access to your personal thoughts was a bad idea. 

The last time you wrote in a notebook was for history class, copying down notes from the textbook reading, trying to prepare for exams. Mom had promised you a new phone if you pulled off all As. Balancing the TV world and studying had been brutal, but it was your last year, and you wanted to end on a good note.

If only you’d known how nightmarish your future would turn out to be.

You tilted your head, eyes trailing from the top to the bottom of the page. Wow. It was awful. So, you turned the page and tried again, this time with a little more effort. When you finished, there was some improvement… hardly any, but some.

“This is stupid. I had to take art in school, I can draw a stupid cat,” you muttered, flipping to the next page. Then another. And another. By the time you looked up, you’d filled an entire notebook with cats. Some fat, some weirdly long, none remotely realistic.

You didn’t want to admit it, but the act of drawing, much like the comfort of your new blanket, offered something nice in a life surrounded by horror. It was more distracting than crying, more bearable than thinking. For a while, your mind wasn’t crowded with the ache of regrets.

The creak of the door jolted you. Scrambling like a fish on land, you clutched at the notebooks scattered around you. But before you could scoop up the last one, the one you actually used, Adachi was already there. Looming over you, squatting down, plucking it up

He opened it, flipping through the pages with an intrigued look on his face. “I find it funny you’re trying to hide something I gifted you.” With four fingers, he held the top of the notebook and turned it toward you. “What even is this supposed to be?”

“...a cat.” you replied sheepishly.

The corner of his lip tilted into that cocky smirk you despise. This is exactly why you’d tried hiding it. “No, this isn’t a cat.”

“Don’t mock me,” you whispered, but it came out too brittle.

Adachi tilted his head, smirk never faltering. “Mock you? I’m encouraging you.” Pages rustled as he dragged his fingers over the notebook. Every turn came with a mocking, exaggerated “Oooh” and “Aahhh.” Your sketches of the cat were clumsy, uneven, more blob than animal. 

You weren’t looking at him, but you felt the shift of movement. His presence edged closer, until the sleeve of that suit jacket he always wears brushed your arm. He pressed in, shoulder to shoulder, so close your muscles tightened, bracing.

Without warning, the notebook fell into your lap.

It was open to the last few pages, the more recent sketches. Cleaner. More precise. The kind of improvement born from endless repetition, with nothing else to fill the hours.

“Now these can maybe pass as a cat, if you squint, but whatever those blob creatures from before were scary,” his hand brushing yours as he slid the notebook away again. Heat rushed to your cheeks. He loved humiliating you. At least you hadn’t written anything; words are more personal and would’ve given him stronger ammo. 

“You’re making fun of me for doing what you said.” your lip quivered.

“I didn’t tell you to draw ugly, disfigured cats.” 

“They’re not– …it’s not my fault, I hardly remember what a normal cat looks like.”

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes, stretching them wide, until it felt like he could swallow you whole with a single look. The lump in your throat swelled, heat pricking behind your eyes, but before the tears could fall his expression splintered into a sadistic grin. 

His hands shot up to seize your cheeks, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, forcing your gaze to lock with his. No escape. His breath brushed your skin as his smile widened. “Are you going to cry?”

What happened after was lost to you, except for the intrusion of long fingers curling inside you, hitting a tender, spongy spot that left you warm behind your navel.

Next time he visited, he had a roll of tape in hand. He tore off a strip of tape and ripped one of the cat sketches from the notebook, smoothing it against the wall, before taping it above your mattress. 

After, despite all the mockery, Adachi still silently nurtured the hobby. Each time you filled a notebook, he brought another. Sometimes pencils, sometimes erasers. It became part of his routine to tear out a page or two and tape them up, like trophies on display. 

You never understood why he bothered, but you really liked having decorations, so you tried not to think about it too much. 

Sketching became as constant in your routine as the fear of him finally deciding to fuck you.

Wake up. Sketch in another notebook. Endure his belittlement. Wait. And more waiting, for the slightest change, as though the moment something is different is the sign that he will finally make good on his promise to get you pregnant. 

You couldn’t survive that. You won’t. 

That’s why you had a plan. Save your energy, obey, endure whatever he throws at you, no matter how much you hate his touch, just wait. Wait until he decides to attack. Then, and only then, will you fight.

The urge to resist, to push back, was haunting you like a ghost from the early days of your imprisonment. Back then, a small fire of determination burned inside you. Even as your body ached from being beaten unconscious, swollen from his relentless abuse, you clung to that fire. Fiercely believing your friends would come for you. That someone would rescue you.

You know better now. No one is coming. You even know in your bones that you could never overpower him. You wouldn’t win. The return of your stubborn fighting spirit wasn’t hope, it was something somewhat sad. A recognition of the reality of your situation. There is no escape, no rescue, no happy ending. The conclusion of your story is clear.

You’ll die here.

The plan to fight back wasn’t to stop him, heavens, no. It was to struggle enough to be a problem, even if it was just for a few minutes. You’d scream until your throat was raw and hoarse, struggle until something broke, and even then, you wouldn’t stop. You’d force yourself to keep going.

Because the real plan is to push him into a corner, force his hand. Make him angry enough to lose control. Angry enough to strangle you. Angry enough to kill you.

Can’t get a dead girl pregnant, asshole. 

At least in some twisted way, you can use your own death to gain a final edge over your captor. He may have complete control over your surroundings, sometimes your own thoughts, but he cannot control your resistance. Once you're gone, your misery won’t be free jack off material anymore.

But until then, you are still his prisoner, you are still terrified of what he’s capable of, and you will be the obedient good girl he wants you to be until its time.

Your wall of artwork had grown rapidly, despite it only being a handful of days since you were given the tools for this newfound hobby. From animals to abstract pieces, even realistic sketches of the rice cakes and protein bars from your foodstash. 

Adachi had instructed you to use the notebooks, and somehow, most of your time between his visits ended up spent doing just that. He looked at them too. Not without his usual mocking comments, of course. They are just a way to pass the time before you inevitably die. 

Still… They were kind of nice to look at. It’s the first thing down here that felt even remotely normal.

He would pick and choose what he allowed to be displayed, rewarding certain pieces while ignoring others, reinforcing his control. You were allowed a hobby, and while it seemed great for your conditions, he held the power of being able to take it away from you at any moment. Even small joys down here were dictated entirely by his will.

Lately, your favorite thing to sketch has been scenery, from your memories of the outside world. It’s a way to see those places one last time.

“Is it Junes?” Adachi asked, ever since the deformed cats, he liked to guess your drawings. You knew it wasn’t genuine curiosity, he used these moments to get under your skin. 

How ridiculous. He lives there already.

“No. You say Junes every time I do a scenic drawing, and it doesn’t make sense,” you tapped your finger against the paper. “Look at all the chairs and desks.”

“Alright, alright,” he squinted, putting on a show as if he were truly trying to decipher the shapes and lines you’d carefully arranged. “It’s a classroom.”

Your finger kept tapping, and impatience flickered across his face. “If it’s not a classroom, then I don’t know. And I’m not guessing again. So I’ll just throw it out–”

“Adachi!” you gasped, shaking your head vigorously. The threat worked. “It’s a primary school classroom. See? The desks and chairs are small.”

His eye twitched as you tapped the paper again. Quickly, you turned and tucked it away from his line of sight. If it was hidden, maybe he wouldn’t throw it away.  

“Sorry… um, I was trying to think of what to draw, and then I remembered this project in primary school where we had to draw….” You trailed off. Overexplaining never helped. Just be quiet. “…you know.”

“Am I supposed to know?” he countered, and you fell silent as he rose from his chair, approaching you.

His long fingers brushed against your palm, sweeping across yours. His hands were big, and your breath caught. Please don’t break my finger, an intrusive thought raced through your mind, but it was entirely plausible with Adachi. With his other hand, he grabbed the paper, your classroom, off the floor.

“You’re crumpling the notebook,” he said, stepping back to smooth the page against the cement wall. He rubbed it flat, fingers firm and precise. After a few seconds, he must have been satisfied.

Looking back at you, his sharp eyes locked onto yours before flicking over to the small table holding other notebooks, dull pencils, worn-down erasers, and a roll of tape.

It was an order, unspoken but clearly communicated, and you obeyed, because you’re a good girl. That’s why Adachi will be so caught off guard when you finally snap on him.

You shuffled over, picked up the roll of tape, and delivered it to him. Tearing off an extra-long piece, he lined up the artwork he had threatened to discard only moments ago, carefully sticking it to the wall.

“Does it make you happy?”

You tore your eyes from the art wall and back to Adachi. “Sorry, what?”

“Does it make you happy?” He repeated.

Puzzled, you tilted your head. What did he mean by it? Besides, he has never once cared about your happiness. Look at where you are right now. 

Your eyes locked on him. Oh, you know what he’s trying to do. He wants you to say yes, just so he can attack afterward, a cruel reminder that you’re never meant to be happy. Your body stiffened, bracing for any hint of movement to confirm your suspicion. Instead, you were met with a quizzical look, almost casual.

Then you saw it. A small twitch in a finger. Every drop of blood in your body ran cold. Instinctively, you lifted your arms, crossing them, bracing for the first impact that would mark the beginning of your desperate struggle. The plan wouldn’t work if you were knocked down and rendered immobile. You needed to hold your own long enough to bruise his narcissistic, control-freak, perverted–

“All this art stuff.” The twitching finger, which you’d mistaken as something hostile, traced a circle toward the collection of paper taped to the wall, emphasizing every single piece.

“...Oh.” You have to stop thinking he’s going to beat you every time he moves. It’s too stressful. The room was quiet and you realized you had to give him a response. “Sure, yeah, I like it.”

His expression darkened, a heaviness settling over him, then, just as suddenly, it slipped into an eerie calm. He leaned back in the chair, fingers steepled, eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. “Then go ahead. Do another one.”

You searched his face for a sign that this was a trick. Nothing. “Really?”

He scoffed. “Name one time in history a girl said ‘really?’ and the guy didn’t just roll over and prove her right. Girls like you run on validation like it’s oxygen. Yes. I want to watch”

“I…” The words stuck. Adachi was giving you the chance to spend his visit sketching instead of having your body toyed with. The idea left a sour taste, as though you had some concrete proof he had a sadistic ulterior motive. Well, you did, this was Adachi. That alone is proof.

Impatience flickered across his face and a lump rose in your throat. Better deal with your uneasiness and suspicion than risk a physical punishment. You want to save your strength, so you scrambled for a pencil.

His eyes followed you the whole way, unrelenting, until you lay flat on your stomach before the blank page. This was how you always drew to avoid slouching for hours on end, but under his gaze you felt exposed. Vulnerable.

You dared a glance up, only to find his mouth crooked in satisfaction. Pleased. He didn’t need to speak. One look told you “You will do as I say.” And your frantic compliance had already confessed that you would.

It’s fine. Don’t let it get to you, your resistance was more useful elsewhere. You had to save your strength. Let him savor this hollow victory. Whatever secret reason he has for watching you like this, you’d endure it, because you had your plan.

The tip of your pencil pressed still against the white paper. Blinking, trying to see if that would snap you out of this empty stare. What should you do? Usually, you pick a subject and then draw it over and over and over again, until it ends up good enough for you. 

But he’s here. Making it hard to think. You didn’t want to risk drawing something bad and relive the cat-blob humiliation, though you’re almost positive whatever you pick it’ll end up in him insulting it, laughing at you, then fucking you with his fingers.

“Do you have a particular request?” you decided to ask. You’re used to being told what to do when he’s here. And trying to decide for yourself was just making you nervous, even for something as meaningless as what to draw while he watched. 

It's not your fault you second guess every decision, word,  and action you make with him here. He made you this way. And besides, telling you what to do is definitely in his top three favorite things to do.

He shrugs. Lazily tilting his head to the side, thinking. Then he smirks as if he decided on the perfect subject. “Junes.”

“Junes.” You echoed the word back to him. It made sense. Anytime you showed him a scenic sketch, regardless of the details, he’d ask if it was Junes. It was annoying which is why he did it. “Okay. I can do that.”

There were plenty of places around Junes you could sketch. The food aisle, maybe, though that would be a nightmare with all the detail. The big sign out front? Too plain. Just letters. The lobby could be easy–

Oh. No, no. Not the lobby. That’s where this all started. If you just didn’t stop to talk to Adachi, or show up with dinner like it was some clever idea, you wouldn’t be here. If you handed him that memory, he’d shred you with it, run you into the ground.

…Shit.

Holy shit. That’s it. All of this had to be a part of some long-term plan. Pretend to be interested, encouraging, of the only hobby you’re allowed, all to subtly guide you into sketching the scene of your own downfall. 

Force you to relive that night. Showing up at his door. The soft smile when he invited you in. Then the blunt force. Sudden. Painful, and you fell. Straight to the ground. You can still hear the crack, your screams. Begging, pleading, “stop, stop, stop,”

And once he does that, drag you back to the lowest fucking point in your pathetic life, he’ll give you a new low. He’ll strike, just as merciless as your first time, and hold you down. Muffle your screams. Strip you. Put babies in you, as he put it.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck you.

You can feel that you’re right. Like the air’s heavy with this evil force. Like the walls are leaning in and suffocating you. You must be right. You had to be right. 

Your hand jerks. Pencil finally slashing against the paper after a long beat. Ugly line to start off. That’s okay. You can work around it. You had the advantage. You know his plan, but he doesn’t know yours, and you had control of the pencil. 

You’ll draw the food court instead. Yes. Yes. The food court is a great idea. It’s still at Junes. It's where you would meet your friends, back when you still mattered, when you had a purpose. 

More importantly, with the food court, he can’t use it to represent your doomed future. But you can use it to bring up stories about the TV world. Last time you accused him of throwing people in, he lost himself in a rage, kicked you violently, so hard he actually apologized. 

And that’s exactly what you want to happen again. This time, though, you’ll feed the fire, provoke it until he’s so furious he attacks you. The second he strikes, you’ll go low, straight for the dick. Kick hard enough that he sees stars. 

The pencil dragged across the paper like a blade. The lines had to be dark, sharp, precise. This picture had to be your best one yet.

That has to guarantee some sort of rage-induced strangulation, right? You hope so. Because once the rage burns out, once he realizes what he’s done, it’ll sink in. He killed you. Too soon. Too sloppy. Before he got to fuck you. Cum in you. Put his babies in your unprotected womb. He wouldn’t get to finish playing with his doll before he broke it beyond repair. 

You’ll be dead. But free. Finally free.

Certain that Adachi would notice your fervent display of drawing, you risked another glance. The crease between his brows had smoothen, replaced by watchful eyes. When your gaze met his, he clicked his tongue. Slow. Deliberate. Like scolding a misbehaving dog.

Eyes back on the paper. Fine. You got it. 

Your wrist started to cramp. You’ve been drawing for quite a while at this point and every drag of the pencil felt longer and longer. Stay focused. Graphite scraping and you realized your pencil was getting dull. Line to line, stroke to stroke, the scene started to form into a warm scenery.

Trash cans. Were they on the left or the right? The bushes. Trimmed or overgrown? You chewed your lip as the pencil scratched in final touches, the picture almost complete. Maybe the tables were too close together, maybe the bushes were off by a bit. The angle of the stalls might not be right. You’re struggling to remember. 

Fuck. It’s fine. It’s close enough. You’re finished. Sitting up, crossing your legs, you turned the notebook around to show off the finished product. 

The Junes sign over the food stalls took the spotlight with its thick lines, shaded in, and you’re positive you nailed the font. Tables and chairs surrounded the line of decorative bushes, you even included the signs. 

“Ah.” Worlds were stuffed into that one sound. “The food court.”

Your lip twitched. The spark of resistance dancing in your stomach. Go ahead, try and provoke him.

“I figured the food court would be the easiest to draw,” you said, lowering your eyelids. “I used to come here a lot with friends… sometimes to talk about the Midnight Channel.” A pause. “You know something about that, don’t you?”

You braced yourself, because Adachi’s obedient doll just made an accusation, and he should hate that. Waiting for the familiar spark of rage, But instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms relaxed, brow only slightly raised. 

“Are you purposely trying to make me mad?”

You stared at him, frozen. Heart pounding in your chest. He wasn’t supposed to say that. Your jaw slackened, and you shook your head slowly, but denial wouldn’t save you. He read you like a book. How could you manipulate him into strangling you if he already knows you want him angry?

No. Don’t give up. Just keep trying.

“I–I even went with the Dojima family once. Dojima’s actually a great guy, probably an even better boss.” Come on. React. “Maybe he’s so mean to you because he can tell you’re really just a… a g-good-for-nothing crimin–”

“I’m surprised that workaholic would waste his free time on some stupid girl whose voice shakes when she tries to sound tough.” His words were harsh, but you couldn’t place it in his expression. No sneer, no flash of anger, just calm, too calm.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Heat flooded your veins, your pulse loud in your ear. Why couldn’t something go your way just once? Before, you begged him to stop hurting you. Now that’s all you want and he won’t give it to you. He won’t fucking kill you already. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. The walls pressed closer, your own thoughts tearing at you, and you spoke without thinking. “We hung out there a lot because the TV we went through was at Junes. The big one. Back when I was trying to help everyone you put in there.” The words spilled out like a mudslide. Fast, sloppy, unthinking. 

You realize, with a jolt, that if Adachi really is the killer, you might have just handed him something dangerous… if he didn’t know already. Could that information hurt your friend’s investigation? Did you just fuck over the team you once belonged to?

But… they fucked you over first, didn’t they? They never found you. So why should you care as long as you get what you want? A reaction. Any reaction.

He nodded at you, slow and steady, a familiar darkness flickering in his eyes, the same darkness from earlier that convinced you he wanted to hurt you in the worst way tonight. His jaw twitched. Then he laughed. Low at first, quiet, like he was savoring your mortification. Like he knew exactly what you wanted and took pleasure in dangling it just out of reach. The sound twisted, warped, making you feel sick.

You flinched, your racing thoughts dissolving into silence, replaced with raw, paralyzing fear. His body language said it all. He was hurting you and enjoying it. It didn’t have to be physical. You’d been putty in his palm the whole time.

“Look how flustered you are.” His eyelids lowered, smile growing. “You look like a shivering puppy. How cute.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not doing any–”

“Why are you doing this?!”

He clicked his tongue, a show of disapproval at your interruption, at your hysteria. And yet… your cries were so sweet. Intoxicating. Each shuddering gasp, each tear running down your cheeks, fed his sick pleasure. He loved it. Loved how undone you were. 

“That’s the best part. I’m not doing anything. I don’t need to. Look at how you're falling apart all on your own.” His smirk deepened, and it hit you. He knew you suspected a hidden motive when he told you to draw. Maybe he even expected it. The truth? There wasn’t one. He didn’t need a reason. He didn’t need to lift a finger. Just sitting there, watching you sketch, was enough to make you into the pathetic mess you were right now.

You started to understand something. The physical violence offered a short-term thrill. The slaps, the bruises, punishments he could hand out to keep you obedient. But that day, when you were sick, unraveling under the absence of it, he discovered something far more effective to control you. Twisting your own mind into the weapon. Lucky for him, the beatings, the trauma he inflicted on you, served as groundwork.

That was the thrill of today’s visit. Watching you unravel beneath nothing but his presence. 

You dropped the notebook at your side. A crushing heaviness overtook you, dragging your body down until you slumped against the wall. He’s lying. He has to be lying. He’s always doing something. No… no, he manipulated this.

“You manipulated me.” That’s right. He made you draw Junes. Junes. It had to mean something. It had to. A sharp stab of pain in your scalp made you jolt, and only then did you realize it was your own hands, tangled deep in your hair, pulling at it. But you couldn’t stop. “You forced me to draw Junes.”

He laughed again. Low. Eerie. “You asked me if I had a request,” he countered.

“Why Junes?! Explain it! That’s not a coincidence! You brought it up before, and you know we talked in the lobby at Junes the night I came over to your apart– no, no… the night you beat and kidnapped me!” Your voice cracked into a scream, your hands flailing wildly, as if they had a mind of their own.

“Doll, it’s Junes. One of the only two things anyone can stomach in this shitty town.” His tone was sharp. “I don’t even remember talking to you before you came crawling to my front door, offering yourself up.”

He rose to his feet with a lazy stretch, your words hadn’t cost him a thought. “Clearly, you weren’t very memorable.” Something flickered across Adachi’s face, first amusement, then excitement… no, not that. It was arousal. You blinked, and suddenly he was towering over you.

Strangely, the constant fear of him violating you dissolved into a grim realization; if he truly wanted to fill your unprotected womb, he would have done it already. 

You didn’t flinch when he ripped the notebook from your hands. Shock numbed you, realizing he was never going to attack you in a blind fury. He was in complete control. Under no circumstances could you anger him enough to make him deadly. The predator doesn’t get offended when its prey threatens him. The plan was a failure from the start.

Adachi moved to the other side of the room, toward the table. “I was going to leave after you were done, but, boy, am I having fun.” He plopped the picture of the food court, the one you had thought would foil him, the one that captured a time before this nightmare, beside the other notebooks. 

The sound of it hitting the table, his voice cutting through the silence, snapped you out of your daze. His back faced you. The view was unnervingly new. Your captor, this psychotic abuser, was always watching, always looming, even when he wasn’t physically above you. He commanded the room and held absolute power. Never once in your weeks trapped down here did he show the back of his head.

Then a new thought appeared. Slowly, carefully, you rose from your slouched, ball-like position. Quietly. Deliberately. 

“I think I’ll stay a little longer.” You inched forward. Feet light. No sound.

Adachi shuffled through one of your older notebooks. “I know, we can go through these. I haven’t seen all of them, and I’m sure you’ll hate it like everything else.” 

Your hand brushed against something cold. Metal. The chair. Grab it.

Adachi had terrorized your mind for weeks. That’s why he had so much control over you. He’d groomed you into the obedient, good girl who never struggled, who froze under his gaze. The horrors he inflicted had left you permanently scarred.

You were too scared to believe you could escape. Too hopeless to believe someone would find you. All you could do was cling to the pathetic hope that you could make him kill you sooner than later, so you wouldn’t have to be a part of the nightmare anymore.

But then… there was the back of his head. His dark hair caught the dim light of the basement. The subtle tilt as he fumbled with the pages. And that view? It told you something you hadn’t let yourself see. You didn’t have to wait. You didn’t have to try to provoke him into killing you to be free. There was another option. A better one.

Relaxed posture. Unaware. Unsuspecting. Metal chair heavy in your hands. Just a few more steps, and you’d be right behind him.

“Your silence is making me look even more forwa—” He finally turned his head but it was too late. You swung with everything you had, the chair cutting through the air.

CLANG

Adachi’s body jerked violently from the hit, a sharp grunt erupting from his throat. He didn’t drop to the floor immediately. No. He was too strong for that. But the sharp sting at his forehead and the ringing in his ears made him sway on unsteady legs. Blood trickled down, and his vision blurred for a moment. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, figure out what the fuck just happened.

The impact rattled your teeth, sent shocks up your arms, and left your shoulders screaming. You cried out, staggering, nearly falling, but there was no turning back now. You had the advantage of the surprise. The blow stunned him, made him sway, and hurt him. 

With another howl, your heartbeat pounding, you swung the chair up again. His hands shot up instinctively to protect his head, but not fast enough. Another blow landed. For a split second, you caught a glimpse of his face: vulnerable. Blood. The chair came down again. Harder. Angrier. Unrelenting. Again and again.

Once he hits the floor, you let the chair clatter with a long clang. You couldn’t hold on any longer. Your chest heaved violently, struggling for air, every muscle in your upper body aching. Hyperventilation took over, shaking you from head to toe.

Adachi lay sprawled across the floor, a deep cut splitting his forehead. You couldn’t tell how many times you’d hit him. His eyes were closed, groaning intermittently. Not dead. Not even unconscious, just… out of it. Fuck you wish he was dead.

Too weak. You’re too weak. You wanted to end him. Wanted to hit him with the chair until this nightmare was finished, certain that once you escaped, no one could follow, that you’d finally be safe.

But weeks of being trapped here, no proper food, no exercise, no purpose, had drained you. Every ounce of strength had been spent in your rage. The chair too heavy for you to keep trying and you fear if you tried smothering him it's more likely he’d snap out of it and retaliate then you succeed. 

You sank to your knees, hands fumbling into his pockets. The key. You had to find it. Had to get the fuck out. If you were quick, and lucky, you’d be far enough away to escape.

Nothing. Not in his pockets. God damnit!

Frantically, you searched the inside of his jacket, rubbing your fingers over every crease until you felt something hard. There it was. The key. 

You snatched it, lifting yourself off the floor and hurrying to the stairs. The stairs you never bothered to go near, because there was no point, you would never go up them, only watch Adachi come and go from there, but you pressed on foot on the first step, climbing quickly.  Euphoric, hopeful, you could actually get out of he–

“Doll…?” A growl rumbled through the room. Low, guttural, almost inhuman. But that couldn’t be right. Only you and Adachi were here and it sounded like an animal. You dared to glance over. Your eyes widened. The face staring back was no longer entirely human. You thought you’d seen every side of your captor, but this… this was a killer.

Blood streaked his hair, a cut across his forehead, and fury burned in his eyes. The dazed, controlled abuser you’d endured since falling ill was gone. In his place stood something worse. Worse then when he’d just beat you for fun. No, this was a raw, terrifying, almost demonic rage.

You swallowed hard.