"won't somebody think of the side characters?! 🚶"

Then, you're given an opportunity of a lifetime. You're invited to a game, a shit load of money up for grabs. They usually offer people down on their luck to give you a fighting chance. It's perfect. You need the money, he doesn't so he wouldn't be invited.

You should know your stalker better by now.

Being one of the richest families in the world, Satoru obviously knows about these games. He couldn't care less, it's just an event for billionaires to flaunt their wealth and make fun of the poor.

Then, your name comes up on the listing. Backgrounds, numbers, names and pictures appear for those who want to gamble.

Oh, his poor darling! He's going to have the spy's life he had tail you ruined for not reporting this to him.

Only to see the spy is also part of the games.

It's all too easy to get in. Almost everyone here wants Satoru gone, his business a threat. When he says he wants to be part of the games, they're shocked, confused, but no one objects.

Throw your life away? Go for it.

Satoru Gojo doesn't care about his life. He only cares about being next to you. If this is where you two meet your end so be it. Dead or alive, you'll be in his arms~

...

When you get an opportunity to escape your stalker, to get a shit load of money that you can take home and help your sick family with, all for playing some games, how can you say no?

Satoru won't leave you alone, but, they say no one will be able to follow you here, only participants in the game will allowed to go to the venue. It's crazy, you wouldn't normally step out of your comfort zone, but here you are!

Being drugged and essentially kidnapped is not what you thought would happen.

You wake up on a bunk bed, groggy, in different attire with hundreds of other people in the room. Hands feel over yourself to gauge that everything is in place.

Looking down, you see a number on your chest, "456".

The people around you are also numbered, confused, and heading to the centre of the room.

You're one of the few that stay on your bed, legs crossed, waiting for an explanation.

People in pink suits with shapes on their masks and guns, literal weaponry enter from the door. Contestants demand answers, pink people remain calm, and by the end of it, a large, clear piggy bank descends from the ceiling with a fun, little tune.

You jump off your bed in awe, is that thing really going to be full by the end of the games?

That kind of money seems impossible.

There's a tap on your shoulder, your head whipping around to see who wants your attention.

Satoru, fucking, Gojo. You're stalker. Who just so happens to be number 001, because he's just that perfect.

"Yo!" He greets, as if this was expected. He even got his fucking, circular, black glasses in.

Your eyebrows furrow and you hiss at him, "What are you doing here?! You're not supposed to be allowed in."

He taps at his number proudly, "I'm a player, see? They couldn't keep me away even if they wanted to."

Your fists clench in anger and frustration, "You don't even need the money, arsehole. Quit."

"I'm not here for the money," his hands come to your face, fingers starting to brush through the fringe of your hair, "I'm here for you-"

"Don't touch me!" Some people are looking your way, you don't care, maybe the staff will do something, "You already ruined my life. Just let me do this."

He laughs at you, hands in his pockets as he leans back on his heels, "Oh, honeypie, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. If only you took your place by my side when you had the chance~"

They announce the first game is about to commence, you just huff and hit your shoulder against his arm as you stomp passed him.

.

Red Light Green Light. How nostalgic, a game that always made your stomach curl as you thought of creatures like weeping angels.

Satoru was a few people away, stretching his limbs as he grins and winks at you. You don't acknowledge him, keeping your gaze straight ahead.

The first few rounds are successful, it isn't until a quarter in that someone missteps.

Gunshots ring out, blood splatters, and the ground goes silent.

...

Before the screaming and running take place. You were isolated enough that no one hit you, only a few getting shot before your eyes, most being picked off behind you.

You couldn't believe what was happening.

When the doll turns its head around again, you stay still.

Satoru stands in front of you, unfazed by all the terror. He keeps a casual pose as he says, "There's a timer up there," your eyes see it, behind the doll, "If you don't make it over the line by the end, you'll die too."

Green light, he takes your hand and you start off walking. Tears now trickle down your cheeks, voice soft in a whimper, "Are they really dead?"

Red light. You both stay silent and still.

Green light, he makes you walk a bit faster, "Yeah, they are. It seems they're not playing around here."

Red light. You're standing beside a body, the man groaning, begging to be helped.

Green light, Satoru ignores him and you both run. Just before red light, he spins you around and holds you close to him, chest pressed against chest. You see the piles of corpses against the doors you came through, eyes widening. He speaks into your hair, "I'll protect you, though. We can get through this together."

You turn and jog away when it's safe, "You're way too calm about all this."

Red light, he has you in his arms again, face buried in your neck. His mouth is open, tongue licking and slobbering on your skin while you can do nothing about it.

The clock is ticking down, and as you're getting closer and closer to the line, he's slowing you down and hanging off of you, "I don't care about those people. Why do you? They're strangers after."

"People were just killed, Satoru! We could be next."

He holds you still, a few metres away from the line. The clock is ticking down, multiple rounds go through but he uses the moment to grope you, squeeze your flesh, kiss and bite your neck, "Nah, I won't let that happen. Just stick with me and you'll be fine."

One minute left, one minute and you either die or survive. You remember you're not just here to get away from him, you're here for the money that could help your family. To restart your lives.

"I don't mind, though. I'd be happy to die with you in my arms, too. Some people say I'm picky but when it comes to you, I'll do anything."

30 seconds, the light goes green, he's not moving. You have to stop your jaw from trembling so hard, "F-Fine. Fine! Please, let me go so we can get across!"

Red light. There's no way. This psychopath just killed you.

Green light. He laughs, picking you up and sprinting with long strides, making it over with one second to spare.

You fall to your knees when he sets you down. The stragglers are being picked off. He bends over to steal your line of sight, "I'm so happy! You really know how to drive the suspense."

And then there's you, their precious, priceless darling. A warning isn't good enough if you were to be picked on, broken bones, lost jobs, people are still debating whether or not the person who moved lands is dead or still alive.

So, when you're dragged from your station, or told to meet them somewhere, everyone drops everything to make sure you comply. Which is why, even if people did see you be hauled into the heroes bathhouse, you know calling for help would do nothing good.

That's why you stand there, sweat soaking through your white road, nipples poking into wet, sheer fabric, face stoic and hands holding a large jug of wine like it were any other client. They seem entertained enough by each other, hopefully today they will just leave you alone.

However, as Mydei pulls away from the heated kiss, grinning drunkenly your way and leaning his head against the edge of the in ground bath, you know there is no such luck. "He philtatē, come drink ambrosia with us," he practically moans, Phainon grinding his naked body in his lap, kissing and lapping up the sweat of his lovers neck.

You make a point to keep your eyes facing forward, not wanting to give them the thought that you're indulging in their actions, "No, thank you, dominus. I am working right now." That's not to say you would if you weren't on shift, but, it's as good an excuse as any other.

Phainon finally frees his mouth from the other's body, sculling the rest of his drink, red ambrosia trickling over his lips, down the cleft of his neck, and over the pecs of his chest before mixing with the bath water and disappearing. His eyes are hooded, cheeks dusted red with the effects of alcohol and lust, "Why the sudden harsh treatment, He philtatē, you were never this reserved when we first met."

With a bow of your head, avoiding his gaze, you say, "Kindess is part of the job. I welcomed you in, my job is done."

"Boo~" Phainon whines, rolling off of Mydei and sitting next to him in the water. "You're not like this after work or with your colleagues," he mutters, now holding out his empty cup, "Refill, please!"

You're not even going to ask how he knows what you're like when they're not around, already having the sneaking suspicion they've been following you and paying someone to tail you when they're gone. You crouch down to aim the jug into the goblet, only for Mydei to snatch the wine from your hands which makes you cry out a, "Hey!"

Within moments, you're being dragged into the water by a laughing Phainon. You thrash and splash the water as you're manhandled, thick fingers pulling your clinging robe over your head, leaving you in thin panties and the gold chains around your torso to help support your breasts. You're held tightly against his chest, coddled like a sweet pet until you stop moving so violently. Once you calm down enough, Mydei hands a cup to Phainon, who then promptly presses the rim to your tightly sealed lips, "Ambrosia~ Ambrosia for He philtatē~"

His other hand is roughly grabbing your jaw, the ache forcing your mouth to part enough for the liquid to slip through. You grunt, swallowing the sweet drink, a lot of it falling down your front, until the cup is empty. His hand is swaying in front of your face, the motion annoying you so you backhand the goblet, it flying and dunking in the water. He's so out of it that it takes him a minute to realise what you've done, the man laughing and messily petting your head in a playful manner.

Mydei exhales, sinking further into the bath to relax his muscles, "The whole trip he wouldn't shut up about you. 'When can we see (Y/n) again?' 'How much longer until we leave for (Y/n)?' 'Do you think if I send a letter, it'll reach her before we get back?' Couldn't even focus on fighting."

Phainon cheekily pinches your cheek, directing your attention back to him, "Funny he says that. Just whose name do you think he was calling every night we fucked?" You grab at his wrists once they start to slip to your cunt, fingers brushing your clit while your strength did nothing to hold him back. He didn't even acknowledge it, choosing instead to ask, "We have those new heroes, too. Should we introduce them to our private hole?" A wince escapes you as he slips a finger in, your pussy clenching from the intrusion. He swirls his digit around before adding another, "And what of Anaxa? Where is he?"

"Anaxa is still busy, he won't be back for another month," Mydei steps from the tiled ledge and stands in front of you, his large hands stroking over your shoulders, cupping your breasts in his palms and grazing the nipples with his thumbs. His eyes follow every move with a predatory gaze, "They certainly have proved their worth..."

You zone out as they talk about you like some object. Gritting your teeth, frustrated tears mix with the sweat on your face as you silently cry. What sort of a God or Titan or Deity would allow something such as this to happen to one of their subjects? It just proves how lost your soul really is from everyone else's. Everyone was right, you were abandoned by the titans the moment you were conceived.

Mydei pushes himself against your front, sandwiching you between him and Phainon so he can easily kiss your tears away, "Now look what you've done, you made her cry."

Phainon coos against your hair, his fingers hooking inside you to get a jerking reacting out of you, your hips trapped between the two, "It's okay, He philtatē, we won't share you if you don't want to. It actually makes me happy to see your heart is ours alone."

That's absolutely not true.

"Just be good for us tonight or else we might have to get them to 'help' hold you down," Mydei chuckles drunkenly as if his joke was actually something worth laughing at.

It pissed you off how he could just say something like that and get away with it. You pushed a sturdy hand against his chest, halting him from your boldness. (E/c) eyes look to the door, longing for anyone to enter and stop this madness. Your voice is quiet, moisture inside your mouth gone from the alcohol, bath heat and sexual actions of these men, "One day... One day someone will stop you."

The amused rumble from Phainon's chest made your heart sink. Then, when Mydei's fierce eyes sharped as his grin showed too many teeth to bring an intense foreboding to flood your veins, you shrank back into Phainon as he suddenly seemed to be the lesser of two evils. Mydei scoffed and gripped the base of your neck, your chin tilted up on the curve of his thumb and index as he held you just hard enough to make you wheeze and meet his eyes, "That day won't be a day you're alive."

He makes up his mind that at the end of the mission he will be taking you with him to play with. You're off limits now, and if they can help it then you also get your life spared for the time being.

The heist goes off without a hitch. It's gory, loud, and you - who had been gracious enough to show them every exit, every room, every security box as part of the tours - now stared at Feitan like he had just betrayed you, even though he never made an effort to befriend you in the first place.

You get an ultimatum, follow him quietly or he knocks you out, and for every minute you stay unconscious is another body added to the pile.

Even though you hid in the security room for most of the attack, you saw everything on camera. Not to mention the horrible death that befell the guards in the room when he came, eyes wide in fear and mouths left often as they tried to breathe through the blood in their lungs. At least one thousand people have died tonight, no one else needs to suffer.

It seems to be funny to the troupe as you shake and cry behind Feitan, following diligently through the wet corpses and broken interior of the building. The blonde man cracks a joke about him finally finding someone to warm his bed, and maybe even his attitude, reaching out to touch your shoulder when Feitan swiftly punches him in the gut. It's all the acknowledgement he gives.

For some reason, you're made to carry stuff as well, mindlessly helping these criminals because you're not sure what else you can do. They're not human.

Eventually it's just you and Feitan, forcing you to walk farther and farther away from civilisation until your feet are aching and your legs are shaking from exhaustion.

You stop in front of an abandoned farm house, windows boarded up and grass taller than yourself. When he starts walking down the flattened path to the front door, it hits you harder that this is the end, this is where you die a horrible, painful death and no one is even going to know.

You're sobbing, you can't stand anymore and collapse to your knees, snot and tears running down your chin as you beg and beg and beg him to let you go.

His eyes and eyebrows, the only expression visible over his cowl, scrunch to a pissed look. He doesn't say anything, only grabbing your wrist with a hold so tight you think the bones inside might break, yanking you and dragging you towards the house.

He doesn't turn on any lights as you're pulled through the dusty interior, eventually coming to a door that leads down to the basement. "Walk or I'll push," he finally says to you after hours of silence.

Your steps are slow but he doesn't comment on it. Once your feet finally touch the cement floor, he walks around you and deeper into the darkness. You have to squint and shield your eyes when the light in the middle of the room is turned on by a yank of the cord attached to it.

The way your head begins to sting and ache from the despair is more annoying than anything now, as beneath the light is a bloody, metal table with a dirty rag, and next to it are tools obviously used to hurt someone.

Perhaps it's the prostration of your mind finally giving in, but you joke over a wavering voice, "You'll at least wash those before you use them on me, right?"

It's silent as he just stares at you, watching the way you hold your arm for comfort, your knees clacking together, your jaw unable to stay still. Then, he merely scoffs, pushing the table away to make room. He goes the the old workbench, reaching under and pulling out an old, dusty blanket. You circle around the room as he steps towards you, hugging the wall. Eventually, he just rolls his yes and throws the blanket at you, smacking you square in the face. You quickly pull it off, just in time to watch him slide down the wall in front of the stares, arms resting on his knees, "Sleep."

Nothing else is said, and any time you try to ask questions he either ignores them or tells you to sleep. You suppose it's comforting, after flicking a good portion of the dirt and dust off the blanket, having it wrapped around your shoulders as you cradle in the adjacent corner, far away from him and still under the light.

Most of the night is you two staring at each other, though you had to wake yourself up a few times as you began to nod off. You're pretty sure you did fall into a sort of sleep multiple times throughout the ordeal.

.

Suffice to say, this wasn't how Feitan pictured this going at all. He looks at you, he looks to the tools, he looks at you, he looks to the tools. It's an ongoing battle he has for quite a while after kidnapping you.

No doubt your fear and tears fuel him, he just loves having you around whenever he's working, sharing stories and pictures over dinner. Your screams when startles you, your blood and bruises from being clumsy; it's all catering to his taste. So why won't he put you on the table yet?

Once you've moved, you're allowed to roam the house as this main base is more secure. Privacy doesn't really exist with Feitan, unless it's his own. More than once you've come out of the shower to see him sitting casually on the toilet seat or sink, you have figured out he likes making you jump. You'll think you're alone in the kitchen, singing quietly to yourself, and he's come back from a mission days earlier than he says and talks as if he's been there the whole time (he probably has).

The worst he makes you do when it comes to his 'hobbies' or 'work' is making you watch and hand him the tools. You have to take part, you're not allowed deny him or else he'll somehow make it more sadistic.

One day you had been braver than before, shouting how this is wrong and you won't be like him. Feitan had conceded after that, letting you go back upstairs. You had gotten through to him, you really did believe that. Until two days later when you were brought back down to the basement and there were now three hostages.

They sat in a circle, tied with rough rope and stripped to their underwear. Their mouths were gagged but their eyes were clear of any restriction. Momentarily they looked to you, only look back at each other with desperation and grief. He points out and introduces each person, "Grandmother, mother, daughter. Family of Hunters."

The daughter was the one from two days ago. Feitan said a few things, that she was trying to track down the troupe, had gotten information from an unknown source that he was tasked with figuring out. He pulls her gag down, words immediately spilling out, "Please! I told you everything I know, I promise you. Leave them out of this."

Feitan nods, idly holding his hand up and lengthening his nails to a sharpened point, "I know. This, is for them."

All eyes are on you now, accusatory, like it's you that's failed them.

There's no time for words of disgust or questions when Feitan has a goal in mind. He pulls down the other two gags before turning his gaze back to you, "Three people. Six eyes. Choose three eyes to gouge."

"M-Me?!" You step back, their volunteers already flooding your ears, each begging you to only take theirs. You aren't listening, speaking over them to Feitan, "But she just said you have what you want! Why do this?"

His eyebrow raises, judging you as if it's stupid to even ask. "How do you know you don't want to be like me," like the ominous, little creature he is, Feitan slowly steps around the three victims until he's by your side. Gently, a word that has never once been used to describe him, he takes your hand and runs his fingertips along the length of your palm to your own, "If you've never tried?"

It's only when you hear yourself gulp do you realise how quiet it is. Looking over to the other three, it seems you're shaking harder than they are.

A cold object is slid into your hand. You looked down in time to see him closing your fingers around it and holding it up to glint in the light. For the first time you see carefree amusement in his eyes, his voice coming out in a soft laugh, "Pineapple eye peeler."

As it stands, after that night, you stuck with being the assistant and not the surgeon.

.

"So, how's the pet?" Phinks asks, he and Fei on the top of a city skyscraper as they wait for the target helicopter to land. They're late and the two are running out of conversation topics.

Feitan huffs, unable to look at Phinks because he knows if he sees that dumb smirk he won't be able to hold back, "Cranky. Not rebellious, just... temperamental."

"Ha!" Phinks kicks up a random stone from the ground, grabbing it and throwing it as far as he can, the object disappearing into the night, "Do you fuck them?"

Ah, an interesting question. He didn't notice it at first, whenever Feitan woke up slightly aroused. He is a man, it's not uncommon. Then he kidnaps you and takes care of you and it gets more frequent and harder to wake up without thinking about you and rubbing one out. He takes any opportunity to smell you, touch you, rub against you. He can't tell if you're more uncomfortable with helping with his work or when he rubs up against you to get the right instrument.

It seems his silence speaks volumes, Phinks tilting his head in coolness, "Sometimes you just need to fuck it out. If you're not going to kill 'em, fuck 'em."

The helicopter finally pops up in the distance, 45 minutes after the time it should have appeared. Both boys get ready, excited for the event to come, a certain concupiscent desire filling Feitan's head as he thinks about what to do when he gets home.

.

Usually when Feitan brings you down to the basement, there's already someone prepped and waiting. Sometimes, he likes to make you help get them ready, depending on how much time he has and the level of distress he wants to induce in you.

Today, the table is empty, clean even. The shelf with the instruments is covered by a sheet so you can't see what is under and in store. Your unease is heightened into fear when he stands before you with a lengthy blindfold and orders, "Turn around."

Oh gods. This is it, he's finally going to end you. You've witnessed and aided his endeavours for over a year, you're aware of what he is capable of, and now he's hiding it to let your mind wander and guess what exactly he's going to torture you with.

He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, his annoyance making you shake even worse, "Calm down. Won't hurt... much."

That didn't really help. All it took was one glance to the staircase for him to step heavily towards you, reminding you of no escape. There isn't much you can do aside from allow him to blindfold you and lead you onto the table.

You think you're going to piss yourself with how thorough he is. Bringing your wrists beside your head, the clanking of metal and leather heard as he secures them so you can't move your arms. As if that's not enough, he removes your clothes with ease, tearing the threads and throwing them away before binding your ankles to your thighs and locking you in place on the table. It's humiliating. Absolutely deplorable.

You're quivering in the cold, fear emanating off of you in waves and Feitan is absolutely devouring it. Yes, this is what he wanted, to have you before him in a vulnerable way that makes your tears flood through the blindfold and your whimpers echo off the walls. He takes all the time in the world to examine your body, knowing that every second is like hell to you. You're not even sure he's still there, your small whines of his name seeming to fall into an empty room.

A single finger runs along the base of your foot and you flinch so hard it makes the metal bench rattle. "How does it feel," he begins, doing again and watching intently as your abdomen seizes, your toes curl, your teeth grit and your arse tighten around nothing yet, "To be the one tied down?"

Feitan alternates his fingers, the touch more consistent now, moving around your foot and ankle so you don't get too used to it. And then there's you, laughing, but you're obviously hating it. Your voice is shrill, your body is tensed so tightly that it's beginning to ache. "Please!" You're begging, screaming, crying, laughing, "Please, stop! Stop! Stop it!!!"

He doesn't think he's ever been this hard in his life. You can't thrash hard enough to get away, to give yourself some sort of pain from the leather cuffs to take your mind off of it. He doesn't relent until he's satisfied, when you're gasping for breath and your skin has change colour and your screams are beginning to take on the same note. He waits until he's sure you're breathing has levelled enough for you to him, "Ridiculous. Can't even handle that. Wouldn't last a second in the real world."

You never expected Feitan to get sexual during your time here. You couldn't even imagine someone like him having any human needs - you're sure he only eats with you to keep up appearances. He does, though, and it makes your life ten times worse.

Your first experience together is nothing short of traumatising. He doesn't even fuck you, he just plays with you. Testing out toys, feelings your flesh, degrading you over and over again.

"Hate this? Then why so wet?"

"Pathetic. Won't let you come like that."

"Scream louder, or are you enjoying this?"

"Tsk. Fine. Will make sure you don't stop coming, then."

The denial goes on for too long, but then the overstimulation just won't end either. His nails nick you, you're sweating, covered in fluids, throat is raw and your body aches and begs to be released from these confounds but he just won't do it. Not until you're unconscious and muttering nonsense.

After he wipes you down and lays you in bed, he stays and watches you sleep. That isn't uncommon, though in the past he had always been confused, or thoughtful. Now, he feels fulfilled. Like your purpose here finally makes sense.

.

There's hardly a break. When you don't have a blindfold on, he stays fully clothed. It's more about the embarrassment for you, having to stand before him naked while he barely shows an inch of his skin. Showers are the worst, you tend to have the curtain open now so you don't step out unknowingly to no clothes and no towel. Your wardrobe is cleaned out and you have to make the humiliating walk around the house to find Feitan and ask to be dressed.

He follows you around until he decides to let you find him. Don't go to bed naked, or are you inviting someone to do something to you? He hadn't realised he kidnapped such a slut.

Sometimes he will be with you when you bathe, keeping you company, making you uncomfortable. You had stripped before him when he refused to let either of you leave. Then, suddenly, you're yelping as he's pouring hot wax down your back. You've bent over and grasped the edge of the bath, looking over your shoulder with tears dripping from your eyelashes as you ask him why he would do that.

A stupid question.

He just holds the candle carelessly and blows it out, the room going completely dark. That was the night he bathed with you, sitting behind you and using his sharp nail to chip away at the wax, reveling in the redness of your skin, the little prickles of blood that mixed with sweat and bath water, and the way you jolt and yelp when it gets caught on the finer hairs.

By the time he actually fucks you, it's been months of his new torment and torture. He may not see you in the same light as one of his 'friends', or revere you like he does Chrollo. But, in the only twisted way Feitan knows how, he thinks he does love you.

As you lay beneath him on the bed, one you now share, cheeks wet and lips parted in little gasps of breath, he feels a need to push his mouth to yours. Bruises in the shapes of his hands have already formed on your hips, stomach, and now over your collarbone while he holds your torso down with one hand and cups the back of your head in another. The kiss isn't anything fancy, just hard and dominating as he figures it out, his hips slapping into yours.

You're completely exhausted, just how he likes it, voice beyond repair and body succumbed to only him and gravity. He yearns to hurt you, to make you cry, and to make you need him.