#//And he WILL lash out quite violently; he’d be so terrified he’s back with his ‘family’

[intcrastra]

Moze absolutely despises the scent and taste of anything outright medicinal, to the point of refusing to consume certain things bc of it

[stained-glasswriting]

Sweet Kitty

Hybrid!Park Jimin X Reader

Word count: 4.5k

AN: ok guys this ones gonna be a little bit of a slowburn. The classic reader finds a hybrid and takes them home. I hope you like!

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It had already been a long day when you got distracted while dragging yourself home. Your day started with your only 8 am class of the week, you were late of course, keeping you from your daily caffeine dose. It all got worse when you left your college campus for the diner you worked at. Immediately upon entrance, you were bowled over by a coworker practically begging you to take the last three hours of her shift. Agreeing to take the shift from her, you set about getting ready for that was now a closing shift.

Of course by the time you flick off the lights and lock the door, it was dark and started to drizzle. Pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, you step out into the street, starting the 5 block trek to your apartment.

The first thing that caught your attention as you neared your home, was a quiet whimpering. Quickly you stop in your tracks, looking around the damp area. For a moment the darkened street was silent, before a barely audible whine came from a dark expanse of alley jutting from the street to your left.

Staying in the entrance of the alley you peer in looking for the creature making the noises. In the dim lighting you could make out the sight of a pair of dumpsters surrounded by trash, sitting a few feet from a brick wall dead end. In front of them laid what looked like a pile of cardboard boxes. One of the boxes had something dark dangling out of it. At first you couldn't see anything that could be making that noise.

Another whimper had you taking a couple steps towards the wet boxes in front of you.

“Hello?” you called out into the dark tentatively. There was no response, but the quiet whimpers started up again.

You shoot a glance back out into the street considering your options. Going wandering down dark alleys in the middle of the night was a bad idea, but what if someone was hurt.

Steeling yourself with a deep breath, you slowly pick your way down the alleyway following the noises. All of your senses on red alert, you had to be careful. As you neared the boxes, you quickly realized that a dirty cat tail was hanging limply out of one of them. The stiffness in your shoulders leaks out as the realization that it's probably an animal that needs help.

Crouching, you peek into the dirty damp cardboard, fully expecting to see a kitty curled up in it. Instead you end up coming face to face with a hybrid.

You slap your hand over your mouth, effectively cutting off any noise you were about to make in surprise. Hybrids aren't exceptionally rare, but really only well off families could afford them. There weren't a lot of them just wandering the streets so this was unusual.

This one didn't exactly look like he’d come from a nice house though, or at least hadn’t been in one for a while. His clothes were dirty and appeared threadbare in places. They had run ragged around his wrists and ankles. Blood dripped down from his shoulder and down his arm staining the fabric a dark red. A long matted tail hung out from underneath where he was laying on the cardboard.

Your eyes trailed up the man’s skinny figure, up to his thin face. A fairly large cut was opened above his eyebrow, slowly weeping blood down his overly pronounced cheekbones. The cat hybrid’s eyes were closed but fluttered lightly as he made small noises in the back of his throat. His dirt covered ears pinned back in what you assumed to be pain.

Through all the dirt, blood, and obvious malnutrition, he looked small and almost soft. Honestly, how could anyone do this to him? It took all of two seconds to make your mind up to help him. You gave the hybrid a long moment of consideration, before you took the last few steps to reach the boxes. Leaning near you lightly touched his shoulder.

The effect was instantaneous. His body flinched away from you violently. The hybrid’s ears flipped forward to face you then immediately laid flat back again. His eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide with fear, they seemed unfocused, and whipped around wildly looking for danger. Another heart wrenching whine was released from his throat.

Pulling back you murmur soft comforting phrases, trying to assure the terrified hybrid. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep shuddering breath. The cat hybrid’s eyes finally seem to focus on you, scouring your face in an instant.

After a moment of staring between you, he seems to come to some sort of decision. He slides his eyes closed once more, and bends his head towards you seemingly resigned to allowing you to do as you wish. He’d seem almost calm if it weren't for the shaking of his form, and the ragged breaths that tore up his throat.

It’s cold out, and his injuries needed to be tended to. If you left him here, he wouldn't last much longer, you’d have to bring him home with you.

“Alright, come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” you whispered to him, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. You reach for his arm again, this time gently grabbing it. Your fingers wrap all the way around the thin limb.

Lightly you start pulling him out of the wet cardboard. You were afraid that he might resist or lash out at you, but he didn’t seem to have any fight left in him. He just sort of resigned himself to whatever you were intending to do with him.

You were able to pull the hybrid into sort of a crouching position. Several of the movements caused deeper, more draw out whines to escape him. The hybrid didn’t stop you while you placed your other hand on his elbow, pulling him into an upright position. The hybrid leaned on you heavily, his legs wobbling as you held him up.

The first couple of steps were difficult, and shaky as you murmured encouragement and praises to the man. He limped heavily to one side showing you there was something wrong with the leg. After about a minute he seemed a little more inclined to help, and didn’t weigh on you quite as heavily.

It took some time, but eventually you were able to get the hybrid to the front steps of your apartment building, and inside.

The light of the lobby showed just how much blood and dirt covered the man, and his clothes. Some of it had started to dry and harden to him. Other spots still oozed the thick red fluid. Underneath it all you could now see just how pale and exhausted he looked.

Thankfully it was late enough that the secretary for the building had left for the night leaving the lobby empty. This allowed you to avoid any strange conversations as you pulled the hybrid past the front desk and to the elevators behind it. Without setting the man down, you hit the button with your elbow.

You're lucky once more, with how late it is the elevator only took a couple of moments before opening with a ding. It wasn’t hard to pull him into the contraption, but as you stop to hit the button for your floor, you could feel him start to shake harder.

“We are almost there.” you assure the hybrid trying to calm him some.

A few minutes later you’re pulling the partially unresponsive hybrid into your two bedroom apartment. Bypassing your living room and kitchen, you drag him down the hallway into our bathroom. Carefully you settle him down on the floor, and lean him against the tub wall.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” You told him, and spun on our heel leaving in search of the first aid kit you kept in the hallway closet. While in there you also snagged a couple of extra towels and a whole box of Band-Aids.

By the time you make it back to the bathroom, the hybrid appears a little more conscious. He was sitting a bit straighter, his tail clutched between his hands as he messed with the fur. His eyes wide with fear blinked up at you when the door opened.

“I’m just here to help, I promise,” you reassured the hybrid gently. Slowly you crouch in front of him trying to get a better view of his forehead. You could tell it was still sort of bleeding, but with all the dirt and dried blood it was difficult to tell where the cut started. You’d likely have to get him cleaned up before you could do anything meaningful about his wounds. He flinched violently when you carefully pressed a clean cloth on the wound, but didn’t move otherwise. After a few minutes you’re at least able to get the bleeding to stop.

Tearing your eyes from his injured forehead, you glance down, locking eyes with the man. He studied your face with an intensity that made you squirm slightly. You could tell he was sort of sizing you up. It was as if he expected you to do something, and was ready for whatever it was.

“Well, it’ll be difficult to do anything about your injuries till we get you cleaned up. Do you want to take a shower?” you asked the hybrid in front you.

His body jerked in surprise, his eyes somehow widening even further, apparently that was not what he had been expecting of you. He refused to speak but did respond with a stilted nod that left him wincing in pain.

Pushing yourself up, you cross to the front of the tub. He listens intently as you explain the different knobs, and what soaps to use.

“Do you need anything else?” you ask, lightly helping the man into a standing position. He quickly shook his head in response.

“I’ll bring you some fresh clothes.” you told him as you started towards the door. Warm fingers snaked around your wrist lightly. He pulled enough to stop you without actually pulling you back. This time when you turned to look at him, he kept his eyes firmly on the floor.

“Thank you.” he said quietly, his voice raspy almost like it was overused.

“Of course!” You immediately exclaimed with a nod. The hybrid looked up just in time to see a sweet smile come across your face. He released your hand then, allowing you to finally leave your bathroom.

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The first thing you did was change out of your now dirty work clothes, and into some comfortable pajamas. Looking through your closet, you pulled out some basketball shorts your ex left, and an oversized t-shirt. With a pair of scissors you cut hole in the back of them around where the hybrid’s spine would end for his tail. After a second thought, you grabbed a sweatshirt you wore often. It was your largest, even though he wasn’t much taller than you and was basically just skin and bones, you thought he deserved something soft and comfortable.

Carefully you slid the bathroom door open just enough to shove the clothes in. some steam escaped, showing just how hot he had the water at.

Your next task was getting some food into the poor boy. He looked so skinny, you should go with something that wouldn’t be too heavy on his stomach. Flitting around the kitchen, you get some soup started on the stove. It was just a simple chicken noodle soup recipe. Chicken, noodles, stock, and some vegetables you had chopped up originally for stir fry all went into the pot. Humming you bounced between the stove, and setting two places at the table.

Lost in your own world, you missed the sound of the shower turning off, then later the sound of the door opening. You got quite the fright when you turned, silverware in hand, and a now clean hybrid was standing in front of you wearing the shorts and shirt you left him staring at you.

A startled squeak slipped past your lips when you jumped. At the noise the man’s ears pinned back, and his eyes dropped back to the floor.

“It’s ok, you just startled me.” you reassured him, hands raised. “Are you hungry?” he responded with a short single nod. With a happy smile you went back to setting the table, and finishing the soup.

Before long, you were ladling the hot liquid into two bowls you put on the tale. Carefully you place the pot onto the pad in the middle of the table, and sit at one end looking expectantly up at the hybrid. He still stood in the doorway, head down, but now his tail sat in his hands as he carded his fingers through the fur. The sweatshirt you left him was slung over his shoulder.

After the shower, his fur proved to be much fluffier than you had expected. It was a lovely light tan that turned almost cream color in some spots without all that dirt covering it. Unfortunately there still appeared to be some tangles among the fluff, but those could be brushed out later.

“Aren't you going to sit down and have some?” you asked, confused as to why he continued to stand there,

“Sit… at the table?” his head snapped up to stare at you as the words tumbled from his open mouth. In his seemingly shocked state you were able to finally get a good look at his face now washed.

The hybrid was pale, and his cheeks sunken in from malnutrition. The wound over his eyebrow had stopped bleeding but the area around it was all red and angry. You could tell he’d been on the street for a while, and was exhausted if the circles underneath his eyes were anything to go by.

Despite all of this, the male across from you was handsome. He had nice full lips and high cheekbones underneath wide brown eyes, his hair, now clean, was a lovely light blonde color. Although it was shaggy, a little tangled, and definitely in need of a cut. Then at the top of his head stood a pair of fluffy ears with the same coloration as his tail.

After a long moment of staring between the two of you, he limped over and pulled out the chair opposite of you, and hesitantly sat down in it. He glanced up at you again, maybe waiting for you to start. With another reassuring smile, you grab your spoon and dig in. Once the first spoonful hit your mouth, he snatched up his spoon and started in on his food too.

The first couple of spoonfuls he started slow, but after that he tucked in with much more gusto. He made happy little noises as he dug into the hot broth. It took him only minutes to finish off the bowl, even tipping it back to get the rest of the liquid. His ears drooped slightly as he sat back and looked into his empty bowl forlornly.

“If you’re still hungry, have some more, there’s plenty.” you told him with a giggle, gesturing to the pot.

“N-no, I’m alright.” he stuttered out. The strange flick his tail did, and the look in his eyes told you differently.

“It’s ok, there’s plenty,” you responded, standing to ladle more into his bowl. This time he wasted no time tucking in and scarfing it down.

“So, my name is (Y/N), what’s yours?” you asked politely. You thought it was about time that you learned something about what was going on.

“My name?” he pondered for a moment before answering. “I’m Park Jimin,” he gave a short bow from his seat with the response.

“Park Jimin,” you repeated thoughtfully. “I like it!” you decided with a smile.

A beautiful smile lit up his face the moment the words left your mouth. His thick lips pulled back in a sweet smile that showed his teeth, and turned his eyes into little crescent moons. A light dusting of pink settled onto Jimin’s cheeks as he ducked his head and went back to his soup.

The moment you saw Park Jimin’s smile you knew you were a goner. With the appearance of that smile came the realization that you’d do just about anything to keep it on his face.

You observe him quietly while you finish your own bowl, Jimin however had another two. He looked up gratefully at you when ladled more into his bowl each time, his tail flicking back and forth. Around the middle of his fourth bowl, both his tail and his eyelids had started to droop. The hybrid looked sleepier and sleepier as time went on, but you wanted to deal with his wounds before you settle him in for the night.

Trying not to startle him, you stood slowly, gathering the dirty dishes from the table. When Jimin noticed you cleaning up, he hopped out of his seat and snatched his own dishes off the table before you could grab them too. With big eyes, he stood looking at you, waiting for you to make a move. He followed you like a shadow into the kitchen, immediately placing his dishes next to the sink with your own.

The hybrid then ignores your movement to return to the bathroom, and instead turns to the sink turning it on.

“Leave that for now, I’ll take care of it later.” You tell him turning the sink back off, holding your hand out to him.

Jimin’s ears go back again as he stares at you in confusion.

“You- I-?” he sputtered for a moment, eyes flicking between your face and your hand. “Shouldn’t I do it?” He finishes lightly placing his hand in yours.

“I’m a big girl, I can wash my own dishes,” you giggle, gently pulling him back to the bathroom. A look of utter confusion passed over his face, but he allowed you to tug him along.

You walked him back to the bathroom, taking care to go slowly so he could limp along without too much trouble.

Once there , you settle Jimin down on the edge of the tub, and open up the first aid kit. Flipping the lid open, you pull out a spray antiseptic.

“This is gonna sting a little.” you warned as you pushed back the tan strands of hair that flopped over his forehead as they dried. Now clean the cut above his eyebrow looked a bit smaller, and the edges looked clean like it had been done with something very sharp.

Carefully you sprayed the antiseptic over the slash mark, making Jimin wince as he gasped sharply.

“Sorry… Sorry,” you whisper, pulling a piece of gauze out of the kit on the counter, you lightly press the gauze to his forehead with one hand, using the other to attach it with medical tape. Once it seems secure, you take a step back to admire your work.

Jimin stared up at you with curious eyes, sleepiness seemingly entirely forgotten for the time being.

“Alright, now for the shoulder, shirt off.” you said with a gesture to the piece of clothing.

The hybrid stared at you for a long long moment, seeming to study you. It took a little for you to even realize why.

“Oh, I mean only if you’re comfortable…” you tried to back track. The tell tale feeling of warmth of a blush flooding your cheeks.

He then gave you a small nod, and began pulling the shirt over his head, wincing as he moved his shoulder up.

A gasp passed your lips as the true extent of the damage done to Jimin’s body was revealed. His malnutrition was even more obvious with the sight of his clearly visible ribs, the skin clung tightly to each one all the way down to his stomach slightly distended with the weight of the meal he’d just had. His hip and collar bones stuck out sharply showing once more how long it had been since he had a good one.

Bruises of various states of healing dotted up and down his emaciated form. Scars joined the mixture here and there across the expanse of pale skin some more healed than others.

Tearing your eyes from the hybrid’s chest, you moved to take a look at his battered arms. They were also dotted with bruises, but at the top of his arm and around his shoulder was a large patch of marred skin. It looked like he’d likely skidded across the ground on it. You could see bits of gravel still embedded in the skin, some parts still damp with spots of blood, others had already started to scab over. Lightly you pulled on his arm to turn his body to give you more access. This also gives you a view of his back.

“Oh, honey…” you breathed out in shock, nausea rose in you as your eye’s raked down his pale skin. His back was somehow even more mutilated than the rest of him. Thin, ropey scars crisscross across it in no apparent pattern. Thankfully even the newest ones looked mostly scarred over, like it had been a while since he’d gotten them.

Before you could think, you lightly dragged a finger down a raised line of skin. Jimin released a shuddered breath causing you to jerk back away from the injuries.

“I was bad a lot.” he whispered without turning to look at you. For a moment you stared dumbly at the back of his head before you realized what he meant.

“What? You meant these are punishments?” you asked shocked.

The cat hybrid didn’t respond at first, his breath rattled through his chest. It took a moment but eventually he gave a stiff nod. Suddenly his behavior through the night started to make sense. You didn’t know how much abusive bullshit they filled his head with.

“Oh Jimin, you don’t deserve anything like this.” you told him, tears starting to form in your eyes. Hesitantly you reach for him shaking, but you stop, hands hovering over his skin. Faint warmth radiated off as you looked over the expanse of marred skin on his back. Honestly you couldn’t tell if the hybrid was shaking more or if you were.

A loud sniffle escapes you, as you rub away a couple of tears tracking their way down your face. Jimin’s ears flick back towards you at the noise, and he whirls around to look at you.

His eyebrows pulled together tightly over eyes that studied you again with an intensity that had you dropping your hands into your lap. Jimin’s eyes search your face, following the tracks left by your tears. After a moment he broke your impromptu staring contest, drooping as he turned his face to the side.

“ Why are you crying?” he asks, not looking at you. His voice then gets really small. “I was naughty, it was my punishment.” The hybrid’s tan tail stays low but swishes side to side fast behind him.

“No no no, you don’t deserve this.” You move to reassure him, kneeling down on the floor in front of Jimin. He notices this, looking down at you as you sit and continue on, “ nothing you could ever do, would make it ok for them to do that to you.” By the end of your sentence your voice had started to waver. Jimin was fully looking at you by this point, mouth dropped open in shock.

It’s only a moment before his face crumples into tears. Quickly you pull the cat hybrid off of the tub rim, and into your arms. He startles, stiffening at first, before melting into your arms. His body trembles hard in your arms as he buries his face in your neck. You start rubbing his back slowly trying to calm him.

It took a while to get him to stop shaking, and even longer for his sniffles to slow. Pulling away carefully as his breathing calms, you raise a hand to wipe at the tear tracks covering his face as well now. Jimin just blinks slowly at you, pure exhaustion written all over his face. It’s definitely time to get him cleaned up and in bed.

“Come on, up.” you tell him, pulling him up as you stand. The hybrid’s eyes and tail are clearly drooping in sleepiness when you settle him back on the tub side. “I’ll finish cleaning you up. Then we can go to bed.”

Carefully you patch up both his shoulder and several large slices around his leg. All of the cuts appeared to be done with a knife like his face had. The questions you had about them could wait at least the night, while Jimin’s emotions were obviously still raw.

By the time you finish, he is clearly nodding off, jerking himself awake every few moments. When you move back to put your first aid stuff in the box, the hybrid’s big brown eyes blink blurrily up at you. His left hand raised to rub at his still somewhat red and blotchy face. Grabbing his hand, you pull him into a standing position, and help him put his shirt back on without messing with his wrapping too much.

“Alright, I have a guest bedroom that is all yours for the night.” you tell him, gently pulling him from the bathroom. In the same hallway were two doors, one being your room which you pointed out to him, the other being the guest room you were leading him to.

Opening the door, you help him hobble inside, holding onto his uninjured arm. You deposit him on the bed, and help him under the covers. Reaching over to a little side table situated next to the bed, you flick in a small lamp sitting on top. The dim light shows a sparsely decorated room.

The walls of the room were a pretty light blue color, but other than the bed and the table. The only furniture in the room was a dresser. A closet juts out into the room next to the entrance, a pair of large full body mirrors work as the sliding doors to it. Honestly the room was mostly set up for when your brother came into town, which you’re thankful for now.

Once Jimin was settled into bed, eyelids already falling, you straighten up, leaving the dim light on just in case. You sneak out of the room, leaving the door cracked, to let the exhausted hybrid sleep.

Quietly you go about cleaning up the remnants of your dinner. After taking care of the dishes, you turn in for the night as well.

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AN: alright guys let me know what you think. And if you want another chapter!

[cyla]

Can I request a 100 follower special thing alphabet with Inumaki?? Love your work btw ❤❤

Yandere Alphabet with Inumaki

Warnings: yandere, suicide, delusional, death, manipulation, kidnapping, stalking

Thank you so much for requesting!! Please people request more alphabets they're so fun pls!! Anyway I love Inumaki hes so cute!!

Affection - How do they show their love and affection? How intense will it get?

Inumaki shows his love by being as close as humanly possible to his darling. I think physical contact is his love language and he is definitely gonna show it. And it would get pretty intense. Inumaki really really loves his darling and he wants them to know.

Blood - How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He is willing to kill anyone that isn't his darling or himself. He would try his best to hide this from his darling though, as he wants them to love him back. But if they found out, he'd just insist that it was for love and that there was nothing wrong with it.

Cruelty - How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Inumaki will worship them. He is one dedicated yandere and he will worship them with all his mind, body, and soul. He will absolutely not mock them. He understands that his darling may be a bit uncomfortable as first, so he goes easy on them at first. But he is also one of the most delusional yanderes, so he might not understand if his darling doesn't get over their fears of him soon.

Darling - Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darlings will?

Mostly likely physical contact. He is a very clingy and touchy yandere and he doesn't really care that you don't like touching him. Or he just thinks your a bit shy.

Exposed - How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

All of it. He isn't afraid to cry in front of his darling. He is so so delusional he already thinks you love him and nothing you can do or say can change his mind. He wants you to know how much he loves you, so you will get to see every emotion from him.

Fight - How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He would trick himself into thinking that his darling might just be a little scared or shy. He knows they love him!! He has done so much for his darling how could they not love him!! He would totally ignore their protests. It's okay!! Inumaki understands his darling is just shy, and that's okay!!

Game - Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No absolutely not. True love is not a game. He would hate watching his darling try to escape. He didn't know his darling was that shy!! That's okay, he just need to take his darling back and love them more!! So they know just how much he loves them!!

Hell - What would be their darlings worst experience with them?

I don't think there would be one specific event, it would kinda build up over time. But probably the first punishment was the hardest. He was unpredictable and he could snap at the tiniest of things but also overlook the biggest of things.

Ideals - What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He wants to stay with his darling forever. He intends to start a family with his darling and live happily ever after. It's true love after all!!

Jealously - Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Inumaki does get jealous but he tries his best not to lash out on his darling. Even if his darling tried to make him jealous. His darling is the light of his life, and they would never do that!! He does definitely lash out at the person though. Very violently too.

Kisses - How do they act around or with their darling?

Clingy. Baby. He needs to be touching his darling all the time!! 24/7!! How else would he know 100% if his darling was okay?? His darling should expect a lot of random kiss attacks, and tickle attacks.

Love Letters - How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Inumaki already knows his darling loves him back, so why would he try to win them if he already has them? The first time he meets his darling, he will waste no time in kidnapping them to make sure they stay by his side and are okay.

Mask - Are their true colours drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Yes. Inumaki to his darling, is delusional and absolutely terrifying. He will definitely use his cursed speech against his darling. But to everyone else, he's smart, cool, calm and collected. None of his friends would take him to be the delusional type, he's too self-aware for that.

Naughty - How would they punish their darling?

He would mostly isolate his darling. Locking them up for weeks on end and only visiting them two or three times a day, and only to give them food and water. He would try to do other physical punishments, but he absolutely hates it. The first time he tried it started crying and sobbing. But if his darling makes him really mad, he just might not feel any guilt at all as he litters his darling with cuts and broken bones.

Oppression - How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Mostly their freedom. With him, his darling has basically no independence at all. Yandere Inumaki gets jealous and to combat that, he traps his darling away all safe and sound. He will try to be patient will his darling and not take away too many rights, but if they take his generosity for granted and take too long warming up to him, he might just have to force his darling.

Patience - How patient are they with their darling?

At first, quite patient. He understands that his darling could be a little upset, but that doesn't mean that they ignore him completely!! He needs affection!!! If his darling doesn't start to warm up to him early on, he will force them.

Quit - If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No. He is such a lovesick, delusional yandere. If his darling dies, he will visit their grave everyday and will bring fresh flowers to replace yesterdays. He will trick himself into believing that their ghost is watching over him and he'll look for 'signs' sent from his darling to him from heaven. If his darling escapes, he will not stop once he has found them. Not until the day he dies.

Regret - Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Definitely feel guilty. Especially about forcing himself into his darling in sex. But he will always quickly push that guilt aside. Tricking himself into believing it is for the good of both him and his darling. But he would never let his darling go.

Stigma - What brought this side of them?

Because of his limited speech, if his darling is both kind and patient, that is something that gets him going. I don't have an idea as to exactly how his obsession started, but if his darling is patient with him regarding his communication, that is a big green flag for him.

Tears - How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Absolutely terrible. He hates seeing his darling hurting!! Mentally or physically!!! If his darling is crying hard enough, he'll probably start crying to. If his darling isolates themselves, he will be as patient and as cautious as possible. Sometimes, seeing his darling in pain puts him more in pain than his darling.

Unique - Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Maybe the fact that he is just so delusional. But on top of that, he absolutely lives to worship his darling. Would probably have a shrine dedicated to his darling.

Vice - What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Probably his kindness. He would be easy to exploit if his darling starts fake loving him. He would not be able to tell if his darling is playing with him or they actually love him. It probably never even crossed his mind. So if his darling starts to 'love' him and then screams and cries and puts on a show, he would probably do whatever his darling wanted.

Wit's End - Would they ever hurt their darling?

Inumaki would never hurt his darling, but he would scream and cry and yell at them. If they just refuse to let him in, and he would break, yelling and screaming as to why his darling doesn't love him. He has does everything for them!!! He gave his darling everything!!

Xoanon - How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Oh my goodness Inumaki thinks his darling is the reincarnation of some God, I swear lol. Absolutely any means necessary. He needs his darling to live, to survive, to function properly. Without his darling, he is nothing!!! They are his reason to live.

Yearn - How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He likes to be prepared before he kidnaps his darling. But he gets more desperate as days go on. He would try his best to plan some more and postpone the kidnapping, so everything will be perfect, but he can't hold it for that long. Probably 1 to 2 months.

Zenith - Would they ever break their darling?

No. He is much to cautious to do that. His darling would be more confused if anything. If he ever did (which is extremely unlikely), he would most likely kill his darling and then himself.

[darthmaulification]

you’re somebody else | din x reader

A/N: ahahaha i couldn’t stop getting drawn to this prompt on the list, and since it hasn’t been requested yet i wrote it for me. 💀💀 i’m actually really happy with how this turned out too. 😳

after writing this, the tone/vibe reminded me of a short story i read in my fear and fiction class in high school called Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? by Joyce Carol Oates which was basically a psychological horror that i want to spoil nothing of, so i implore y’all to read it because i’ve linked a pdf here. 🙏😈

(title is flora cash’s song of the same name which i listened to repeatedly while writing this fic.)

hope you enjoy! 💗

prompt: 10. “who have you become? i don’t know you anymore.”

content: this just might be the darkest thing i’ve ever written, dark!din, haunted!din, tbh the darksaber is a warning all on it’s own, gn!reader, depression, very bad mental spiral (that’s made worse by a semi-supernatural force), implied that din verbally lashes out at reader, kinda a character study, implied Very Bad Things enacted by din 😬

word count: 936

At first, it started slow.

Din passed Grogu over to the Jedi, teary-eyed and breaking, and watched as the elevator doors slid shut like eyelids closing when all the life’s been drawn from the body. The helmet went back on and the mask did too, but no one said anything about that then, not while Cara and Fennec shared smirks at a job well done, not while Bo-Katan silently yearned for the Darksaber in Din’s hand.

Grief took hold next. It filled Din like water poured into a pitcher, until he was only hours of quiet weeping, long sleepless nights, and louder stretches of screaming and punching that left him with a raw throat and gashes on his knuckles. Grief replaced everything then, it replaced time, food, rest, and everything that was Din. 

You took the brunt of what was left of Din in the months directly after, painfully accepted everything the angry, broken, sad Mandalorian threw at you by always responding with an “It’s okay, Din” or a “You didn’t mean it”. You rolled with the punches as they landed, told yourself to be patient and considerate, reasoned that Din was hurt, and hurt people hurt people. 

In those early months, the sting of Din’s vitriolic words would fade easily, like lemon juice on parchment, which didn’t really make it okay, but it was bearable. Forgivable.

But those were the early months.

In retrospect, you blame two major players for what happened:

One, yourself. You had every single opportunity to stop it while you were ahead, but you were either too unobservant or ignorant to see what was really happening, or (if you’re kinder to yourself) you were also grieving so maybe it wasn’t all too much of a surprise to miss a few things when your heart was also trampled on the floor. And as much as everyone else tells you “It wasn’t your fault” and “No one saw it coming”, you know damn well the red flags were waved in your face time and time again.

It makes you angry, it makes you guilty, it makes you weep.

It all comes down to the second variable:

The Darksaber. It was never a good thing. It was always some ancient evil, fueled by all the blood it’s shed and all the lives it’s taken, masked by the façade (lie) that it made warriors into kings, made verd into Mand’alor. It spoke the tongue of a wronged, hurting people, because there is no other way to ensure absolute control quite like telling white lies and half-truths in all the anger of a Mandalorian.

So it laid it’s seeds in Din the moment it passed from Moff Gideon’s hand.

You didn’t notice then, but Din’s hand held the Darksaber tighter than any of his other weapons.

Months after Grogu is when you started explaining away the shift in Din, how he became different. You excused his gloominess for melancholy. (Din would get this faraway look in his eyes, like he was remembering something terrible.) Told yourself it was part of the healing process that he was angrier, it just made him more... violent than he’d normally be on hunts. (Din beat his bounties to gurgling, bloody pulps.) You would pretend to sleep when he sat awake at night for hours at end just listening to him speak in low Mando’a. (Din was speaking to the Darksaber. It would speak back.)

“Din isn’t dark”, you’d convince yourself when you knew he had done or said something cruel, something heinous, “He’s just upset”.

And it’s true, Din was upset. But not like you thought he was.

It all came crashing down one night, when you started to feel like you could recognize Din anymore.

He was soaked in blood, splattered with it like a child’s painting across his cuirass, his hands completely crimson. (”Din, what happened?”)

The helmet spoke to you first, then it was lifted to reveal a face you that wasn’t his face, not anymore, because that face looked pleased with the murderous handiwork, and those lips spoke your name in an unfamiliar voice, and oh my Maker, Din, the smile didn’t reach your eyes.

They weren’t his anymore.

“Who have you become?” You ask, voice trembling and you can’t stop the cold shiver that goes up your spine, or how your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach, and it makes you focus on the queasiness there and the metallic tang of blood. Din doesn’t say anything, but he gets that faraway look on his face, somehow both coldly distant and shockingly precise, and it terrifies you more than anything ever has. The world stops, Din stares, the Darksaber rests in his hand.

“Cyare, I don’t know what you mean.” He replies and it’s not Din’s voice you hear. It’s lost the gentle timbre, no longer rumbles from his throat like rhythmic white cap waves to a shoreline, no longer the voice that you would hear in loving secrecy, when it was you and Din beneath the sheets, when the night was your sanctuary. No, you no longer hear Din’s voice.

“... I don’t know you anymore.” The whisper hangs in the air like a body from a tree, all dreadful and sickening. The room constricts and falls away, the walls crumbling to the black void of shadows that line the corners and curves of the stranger you once knew, the lover you’ve lost like a childhood toy to the wilderness.

“I don’t know you anymore.” You repeat, staring at the man in front of you, oh what is his name?

What is his name?

[silkentragedies]

A boyfriend sounds good, but…

Non idol! Jung Wooyoung x fem! Reader

3.1k words, Highly suggestive at best, making out, FLUFF, E2L vibes, College AU

Warnings: Mentions of STDs, making out. ( This is so self-indulgent it’s horrible lmao- also, not explicit at all.)

This piece of fiction does not reflect the actions of the real-life Jung Wooyoung. Not meant for minors. 

College was supposed to be late night parties and hurried submissions, overdosing on caffeine and woefully unedited essay compilations. College was supposed to be hellish hangovers and greasy weekend brunches in bed, helter-skelter running to part-time jobs and missing classes with snoozed alarms.

You got all of that, of course, but you also got one thing you didn’t ask for, in fact, wished beyond wishes that it wouldn’t happen but of course, your guardian angel was up to some mischief: You got yourself an archenemy.

Jung fucking Wooyoung.

It all started off small, of course; bumping into each other rather violently in the hallways on orientation day ended with your coffee on the floor. Minor detail- his phone had also dropped on the floor.

You apologized profusely- he seemed like an upperclassman with his leather jacket, slim but solid build, a head of double-toned hair and oh were those tattoos peeking out of his collar- no point in causing a ruckus on the first day. You even offered to pay for the damage. 

And then he opened his mouth. 

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

The sheer annoyance in his tone rubbed you the wrong way- obviously you had to respond, you weren’t the only one at fault- 

“Sorry, but you weren’t watching where you were going either. So don’t tout the blame to me-”

“Oh, whatever, just keep your money. I can get it fixed myself.”

The audacity of this bi-

“Good for you then, because my offer is off the table now, pretty boy.” 

A smirk curled up his lip- “You think I’m pretty?”

“About as pretty as a skunk, especially with that hair.”

You had to tamp down the urge to childishly stick your tongue out at his bemused, mildly annoyed expression before walking past him.

 Lamenting the loss of your morning coffee, you hurried your way to the orientation venue. At Least he was an upperclassman. Thankfully you wouldn’t have to deal with him-

“Did you see that hot guy in the leather jacket and that black-blonde hair ?”

Fuck’s sake. 

“His name’s Jung Wooyoung and apparently all the upperclassmen already have an eye on him. He’s in our major so we really lucked out, hot guys-wise.”

Fuck’s sake.

Surely you could just avoid him and pretend he didn’t exist?

But no.

Jung fucking Wooyoung turned out to be the apple of the campus’ eye in a matter of 2 weeks. He was as new to the university as the rest of you and yet, managed to look more put together, cooler than the rest of you still struggling to figure out class numbers and professor names.

He was the upperclassmen darling- people drooled over him, wanted to befriend him, and invite him to all the big parties…

and fuck- even the teachers were already wrapped around his infuriating pinky finger. They allowed him to waltz into class 25 minutes late, smile his infuriating innocent smile and chill in the back row, scot fucking free.

A month in, he’d gotten into the Dance Club too-  cementing his legendary status in the university. It was unheard of, after all, for a freshman to get into the unattainable Dance Club in his first attempt. 

You happened to visit one of the club’s performances one weekend and even you couldn’t ignore the sheer talent he radiated. It only infuriated you more to watch Wooyoung hog the stage’s spotlight with almost no effort- all perfect lines, sharp and clean movements…

It’s fine, you could still ignore his existence

But no.

Another thing about Jung Wooyoung- he found sick pleasure in annoying the living daylights out of you. 

It was so juvenile, so high-school, so immature of him- sticking gum in your hair, snapping your bra strap, kicking the back of your chair, striking up nonsense debates with you in class…

And then he had the nerve to laugh in your face when you glared at him with hellfire in your eyes because you were too polite to lash out in front of a professor.

Of course, you exhibited no such restraint outside the classroom.

“You vs Woo” was a commonplace explanation for the commotions that blazed up in the campus courtyard every other day. You were like wolves, the way you snarled at each other, not hesitating to slash at each other with as many cutting words as you could find. 

This went on for months, an entire semester marred by an enmity that seemed to stem from nothing- until one day, mister Jung Wooyoung really fucked up.

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? FACE ME, YOU COWARDLY WORM!” Your angry yelling and thudding on the door had Wooyoung’s roommates Yeosang and… Choi San? running to open the door to their shared dorm room. 

You barged into Wooyoung’s room, unplugging the game he was playing. “What the fuck-”

“You dirty fucking bastard. You shameless shitstain of a fucking human being-” 

Slap. Wooyoung reeled back. In all this time, you’d never actually hit out at him physically. It had always been words. Maybe this time he crossed a line?

“You told Changbin I had a fucking STD. THE GALL OF YOU-” You lashed out at him with every few words, pushing Wooyoung further back against the back wall of his room. 

“How fucking dare you make assumptions about me like that. you lowlife scumbag.” You snarled in his face, now having him trapped between you and the wall.

You were smaller than him by quite a bit- it was almost amusing to see Wooyoung cowering in front of you, lowkey terrified of what you’d throw at him next. 

“Okay okay, fuck, I’m sorry!” He burst out finally, cutting you right across your angry rant. “I didn’t mean it like that!! I swear, I didn’t even know you were the one he was talking about. And I only told him to be safe from STDs, not that anybody had one.”

“What makes you think I’ll believe you, Jung,” You screeched. “You’ve always been a dick in general to me. I wouldn’t put it past you to say something like that and lie to my face about it.”

You back away, almost disgusted at being so close to him, “Seriously, dude. Get fucked.” Flipping him off before leaving, you turn around to look at him still standing where you’d backed him up to, an evil glint in your eye.

“It will be so fucking unfortunate if somebody told the campus gossip blog you had erectile dysfunction and your hookups were all fake.”

\

Safe to say, Wooyoung never made digs at your sexual activity again.

Neither did he have much sexual activity of his own for a while. Not that there was much sexual activity in your case either.

Maybe it was that exact…starvation that led Wooyoung to behave the way he did.

What was juvenile teasing became more… flirtatious?

Oh gods, what the fucking fuck is going on-

Suddenly, it wasn’t gum in your hair, it was soft whispers against your ear, breath warm against your cheek

It wasn’t kicking the back of your chair, it was leaning in front of you to fistbump Lee Felix on the other side of you until you could smell his intoxicating chocolate-honey-sweat scent.

He’d taken to taking his leather jacket off and sitting through classes (he still turned up late for) in a muscle t shirt that showed off his toned arms- 

All of his movements now seemed to be designed to tease the crawling under your skin you hadn’t been able to quench recently-

Not that you were a serial hookup kinda person, but you’d been fairly sexually active until semester exams and Wooyoung’s rumors had brought around quite a dry spell for you.

It was like every action of his sparked something wildfire hot in your head, tension stringing your senses into overdrive- were you imagining it?

Wooyoung was having some troubles with said crawling under-skin himself. 

Since when did you wear skinny jeans like that to class? Did you always have such a pretty neck, just waiting to get marked up? Did you always have that sway to your hips when you walked out of class?

The forced abstinence was doing bad things to him. 

It did rather amuse him, however, when he could see your breath catch a little from his murmurings in your ear, or squirm in your seat when he spoke to Felix before the professor arrived. It was the little things, truly. 

You still fought like a cat and dog though- there was no way the two of you would ever let on that your scope of noticing each other had gone beyond annoyance and rivalry a while ago. 

//

“Fuck no. I’m not doing this fucking project with you. It’s worth half the fucking grade and you’re a numbskull when it comes to this subject.”

“Like I want to deal with you anymore than I have to, sweetheart. You’re pretentious enough in class as it is.” 

Fate really loved playing the cliche card with you- of course you got paired up with Wooyoung for one of your semester projects. 

No, it definitely wasn’t the teacher that saw you two glaring more at each other more than the whiteboard and decided to take matters into her own hands.

Of fucking course the teacher refused to allow switching of partners or individual grading- it had to be a team effort or you’d both fail the subject. As a team. Yippee-ki fucking yay.

So you two ended up in the library at 11 p.m, two nights before your first check point review, having procrastinated the fuck out of working together until the last possible minute.

Amidst cursing at each other and cups of ramen and iced americano, the two of you found yourself stuck with each other and attempting to build the basis of an acceptable report to present. 

Surprisingly enough, Wooyoung wasn’t entirely a lost cause when it came to the subject. He actually made sizable contributions to the report. He even got you some coffee on his break, despite the jibes and taunts you threw at him about going soft- you were the type to hold a grudge.

You were both wandering down the shelves in the library, looking for more references when Wooyoung decided to open his big mouth again.

“You do realize that shitty rumor you put out didn’t really mess with my prospects, right?” Wooyoung was so full of shit. “If anything, I’d be worried about you, sweetheart.”

There it was again. Sweetheart. Another of those taunting things that just riled you up in all the wrong(right) ways. It was like he knew everything you would go weak for and then shamelessly exploited them all.

“Unlike you, Wooyoung, I don’t need people to stroke my ego…or anything else. I can get myself going just fine.”

“If you did know how to stroke anybody’s anything, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have trouble getting some.”

Ohhh, so he wants to play some games!!! Okay then-

You reached out to flick at his ponytail, ever-so slightly enamoured by how well he pulled off the double-toned look.

“Like you know anything about how to please in bed, babe.” 

It was unfair how much that nickname falling from your lips affected Wooyoung. Some…not very appropriate thoughts had already taken root in his brain and you running your mouth was not helping at all. 

“Good enough for them to beg, sweetheart.” 

A soft crow of laughter escaped you as you turned to fully face him, the both of you standing between the Greek Architecture and Geography sections.

“You sure you weren’t the one doing the begging?” 

“Oh, really now?”

You really should’ve thought through what was leaving your mouth 

Because now you were wedged between the shelves and Wooyoung’s (unfairly) toned body, his arms caging you in with that signature shit-eating grin on his face as he leaned closer to you- 

The tension was almost atrocious now, suffocating you when it had only previously nudged at you. You could feel it settle under your skin, in your veins, fingers itching to reach out and pull him closer 

But you kept your hands braced against the shelves- you would not give him the satisfaction of making the first move yourself…right? 

Fuck, you really wanted to though- 

It had be the late hour leaving you with lesser inhibitions than normal or possibly the pent up horny in your system or maybe the questionable direction your conversation was headed in

There was no other plausible reason for your arch nemesis’ lips to look that inviting

It must’ve been the way your attention flitted from his eyes to his lips that gave you away, a momentary lapse of self-control before you looked away, off to some point behind his shoulders-

And he smirk only widens

“You know, nobody really visits this corner of the library.”

“Your point?”

Both your voices were whispers now, your bodies close enough to touch but not quite, Wooyoung’s face a few inches away from yours and holding your gaze 

(He had honey flecks in those dark eyes, 7 on one side and 4 on the other, like gold leaf in coffee)

“We could easily find out who begs for who…”

He still hadn’t touched you yet, his hands placed on the shelf on either side of you- you could move out from the space if you so wished-

Despite the tension between the both of you, it seemed like… like he was waiting for you to make the first move, voice your consent, act on it 

How considerate, you thought to yourself as you let your sight wander to either side, checking for people 

Surprising you found Jung Wooyoung’s one possible redeeming quality like this, mind hazy and barely restraining yourself from kissing the living daylights out of him- 

Oh well, fuck it

A soft sound left Wooyoung as you curled your hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face to yours, lips meeting in a soft, hesitant kiss

How dare he be a good kisser too?

One hand reached up to cup your cheek and you instinctively tilted your head into the warmth of his palm as the kiss deepened

Unfair that he could take your breath away so effortlessly

There was nothing hesitant about the way Jung wooyoung kissed you back

Lips pressing more persistently against yours, teeth grazing your lower lip and pulling slightly before diving in again, hand now curled around the back of your neck

His other hand caressed your side and gripped your hips as he pressed you gently against the shelves, your arm slipping down to clutch at the front of his shirt as his body molded all too perfectly against yours

You could feel him everywhere

Everywhere 

From the way his lips had begun to land messy kisses against your jaw and neck, the hand on your hip tightening and slipping under your shirt to clutch at soft skin, hips flush against yours 

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from Wooyoung, your head spinning at the intoxicating feeling he brought with him 

The sensation of his mouth against your neck was almost euphoric, your head lolling back against the books and leaving you to pull your lower lip between your teeth, an almost futile feeling bid to keep silent, you’re still in public

Somehow your hands wound up in his hair, pulling the double-toned strands as his head dipped lower, a quiet groan from Wooyoung your only pointer that he liked it

So this is why he was so sure of himself, your mind temporarily blanking when Wooyoung’s teeth pulled against the sensitive skin, biting and sucking gently

A choked, uneven sound escaped your mouth when he pushed you harder against the shelves, hand reaching lower to squeeze your butt-

A smirk lit up his eyes as he straightened up to look at the line of red- blue blooming across your neck, then at you, cheeks warm and still biting your lip, looking resolutely away from his gaze

“Weren’t we supposed to be working on the project?” 

This little buzzkill.

//

You didn’t work on the project that night

You spent it in Wooyoung’s bedroom, getting railed within an inch of your life.

Not without the lack of the both of you being absolutely unable to keep your hands off each other on the way there 

Between the library and his dorm, you pulled or got pulled into shady alleys and corners for ‘another taste’ 

“Never again.” You warned him when he dropped you off at your dorm, you looking windswept from the wind of course and his hoodie up because of the cold not because his neck was more purple than tan-

Lies.

Your daytime dynamic remained the same 

But now with added benefits- 

He got to corner you after class, feel you up until you were gasping his name and then leave you hanging 

You got to make brazen moves under the table in the library whenever he got too snarky for his own good

He could ask nicely, you learnt. Broken groans and choked-up sounds would escape him when you ran your nails over his skin, soft and sharp and wanting and unyielding as you kissed your way down his body

Down his neck, over his chest, the hard planes of his stomach 

He would plead for more when you sucked him off, bucking his hips closer to you everytime you slowed down or stopped

Find him at the right time, though and he could just as easily return the favour

He would tease you relentlessly, hands ghosting everywhere dangerous and then pulling away just to watch you squirm and make grabby hands at him, a frown marring your kiss- swollen lips 

Leave conspicuous marks too high up on your neck for you to cover, dark enough for a day or two that even makeup left shadows

Spending a long, long time between your legs only to get up and start dressing, claiming to be late for class

Quickies were your religion at this point 

Janitors closets locked and hand covering your mouth to muffle your moans before a dance competition, empty bedrooms in frat parties with one of you getting pushed onto the bed

It was an infernal coupon from hell : Find one archrival, get a fuck buddy free of cost!

Of course, there were side effects

“Did you just walk out of that empty classroom with Jung Wooyoung? After class hours?” “We were studying for the midterms!!”

“Uh.. Wooyoung, who was that leaving the dorm building? at 1 in the morning?” “uh yEAH WE WERE DOING THE PROJECT YEAH.”

Yeah, a boyfriend sounds nice but an archenemy you can make out with in secret sounds ravishingly pleasing-

When the boy in question is a certain young man with double toned hair with a penchant for leather jackets and out-of-line snark, you couldn’t agree more.

Yes, this is a revamp and repost from my main account xD. Like I said, this was self indulgence to the peak 😩 I'm a tad whipped for snarky boy Jung Wooyoung 😀

Do lemme know what you think ^_^. xoxo, A💕

Possibly interested parties: @aliceu​ @whiteprincessofnohr​

(drop me an ask to be added or removed! )

[stardustdates]

can i ask for a fem!demon slayer who accidentally falls for kokushibou and comically tries getting in his pants, to the dismay of literally everybody else, and fINALLY it works! nsfw please! irgh i feel like i'm asking for too much, and thanks in advance!

Stardust's comment: I read Kokushibou? Thank you for fueling my writing stamina *-*

Stardust’s comment2: I got this done for today so it might be a bit rushed! I just love the 3 highest upper moons so much ;;;

Kokushibou x reader NSFW: “Mine”

let the date begin!

It started out with a fight. Like with every demon you encountered. Never would you have thought you’d fall for one.

For hundreds of years, demons and slayers had been enemies. Yet the moment your eyes laid on him. He looked strong, intimidating. Yet more than anything his angry face seemed to hide so much pain. You did have a pretty good sight, it was your best advantage after all. You could see every micro movement of the demon’s face.

And as you both stared each other down you felt a certain tenderness instead of the terrifying fear that should have taken over you. That, that had the six eyed demon in front of you quite perplexed.

“-You’re not scared?.. He seemed surprised.

-Only scared of what that di- I mean- no, obviously. You stuttered out

-What?”

You face palmed inside at the fact that your first line was about to be a dirty joke. Only if you knew it wouldn’t be the only time.

It had been a few months that you came to the same place in the forest every day to meet with the giant. You had learnt his name -or at least his demon name- he was Kokushibou. He never told you a lot about his past, all you knew was that he was a very jealous and envious demon. Yet he showed a certain interest in you, hidden by a cover of an “interest for how pathetic humans are”. 

After a bit he seemed to start smirking at your jokes. Tho you didn’t know if they were jokes anymore. Even as he was talking with another demon, which he had to dissuade from approaching you. You had come to learn the other demon’s name was Akaza. Well… Akaza did quickly end up disgusted by how touchy you were getting with the larger demon. Putting your hand gently on his arm so he wouldn’t draw his sword, being glued to his chest when you spoke to him. But what disgusted that striped demon even more was the fact that Kokushibou didn’t seem to mind. Even looking as if he enjoyed it.

Oh and was he chocked when he heard the dirty thinks you’d spill jokingly talking to the more powerful demon. Maybe someone else would have found it fun, he didn’t. He’d often lash out at you, calling you disrespectful and disgusting amongst other things, fleeing in submission as Kokushibou showed signs of a future fightback.

“-Are you okay? He asked, still as stoic.

- Yeah, I think.. I’m used to demons after all! You beamed. Maybe.. I could thank you in a special manner! You giggled

-Oh? -For once he seemed intrigued with your proposition.- And would you really do that?”

Your eyes opened wide. You couldn’t identify if he was serious or not about it, it was hard to see through him.

But oh. Your doubts disappeared went rough hands grabbed your hips, you could feel his sharp claws through your uniform. Blood rushed to your face as he leaned down close to your ear. His deep voice sounding like a growl.

“Maybe you really should. It’s a lot of teasing behaviors you’ve been showing me, after all.”

You could feel heat running to your core. His hands making their way behind you as he hoisted you up in his arms. He was rough and violent as he sat you on a rock shedding off your haori. If he gave into his instincts he’d have ripped it all away. But something inside of him wanted you dressed once he was done. He didn’t want anyone else than him to see you vulnerable. Thus calming his needs as he unbuttoned the uniform his mouth latching into the skin it exposed, not with an intent to kill but to mark you up. Biting and sucking at the skin. His tongue licking at the marks he left as his rough hands groped at your chest, making you let out a breathy moan. Your flesh was so tender. So soft. He felt great power just from seeing how small you were compared to him.

Crouching between your legs he lifted up your skirt, sliding off your underwear, getting hit by the smell of your pheromones, demons were more sensitive to it, and he would go feral if he didn’t know better. He licked his lips at the sight, kissing your thighs, leaving a few bites and love marks here and there. He ran his finger up and down your slick slit collecting wetness. It was already driving you crazy and your moans were about to do the same to him. You shivered at his warm breath as he got closer to your intimacy giving it an experimental lick. Seeing you squirm just from that was definitely a boost to his confidence, he started eating you out roughly, licking and sucking at your clit while his fingers curled up inside of you. His hands were big and just two fingers made you feel so full already, you were moaning so lewdly it only encouraged him to do more. He started stretching you out in a scissoring motion, slowly adding another finger. He saw the slight discomfort on your face and frowned, lifting his face to look at you.

“-Would I really fit in such a tight body? You seem pained from as little as stretching. Maybe you don’t really want it. The demon let out a dark chuckle.

-I do! -you muttered- Please… Kokushibou-sama...” Oh the way you half moaned his name while he kept fingering you as you spoke… It made something inside of him snap.

Your moans turned louder and your eyes closed as his hands got rougher, as he added more pressure to his licks. Right as you were about to cum you heard him getting up and away from you, letting you to the feeling of emptiness that you expressed in a needy whine. Your eyes slowly opening again only to see the fabric of his clothes come off, his scarred and toned body revealed to you.

“You’re beautiful..” You whispered, lost in thoughts. He gave a smile. One that looked genuine. Yet that softness could only last so long as your eyes traveled down to his hardened cock, another electric wave of heat going straight down to your needy pussy. He got back to you holding you up once more, making you let out a little yelp as he laid you down on the cold floor, quickly settling himself he lined his dick up with you wet hole. He looked at you as he slid in. He starred at every micro expression you might have. He knew he couldn’t keep collected for too long as your walls seemed to squish him in while your moans seemed both immensely pleasured and slightly uncomfortable, but nothing could get him prepared to the sight of your small body barely managing to fit him whole inside, your lower stomach bulging up as he stayed inside. The growl he let out, fighting his feral need to thrust hard and rough into you, making you clench around him even more.

Kokushibou couldn’t hold it anymore he was shaking from his thoughts and wants. His mind was almost animalistic as he grabbed your waist with one hand, holding himself up with the other as he started thrusting into you. You moaned his name out, again and again. You could see the way his eyes were glued to the movement of the bulge caused by his dick inside of you. He was absolutely obsessed with the size difference you both had. He was muttering through his growls and low breathes, muttering about how he could destroy you, how he could split you in halves just by fucking you.

Your moans and his noises felt like music to both of you, even as you yelped in a pained surprise as he bit into your shoulder, trying to suppress his moans. His thrust got rougher, harsher, your body taking everything it could as his cock head hit the deepest parts of you. You felt so close, screaming his name, pride harbored his features as he heard that. He himself starting to give in into the pleasure, letting his low rocky moans out. He got sloppier in his thrust, holding onto you as he barely moved his cock out anymore, instead just hitting as deep as he could. He felt you contract around him as you came screaming his name once more. The tightening around him, so tight it could almost let him stuck, got him filling you up after a few more thrusts. When you came back to reality, riding out your climax you couldn’t help but notice how Kokushibou was holding you against him. Focusing a bit more you could hear him repeating a few words over and over again.

“You’re mine. Mine. Mine only and just mine.”

[babyybitchhhwrites]

Sukuna x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit./R-18+

Words: 3567

Warnings: body horror, torture porn, cannibalism, urination, dead dove do not eat. 

Just took a fucked up idea and ran with it. This isn’t much, but its honest work. Happy end of hiatus. : ^ ) 

♥♥♥♥

Slowly, slowly you move. Bidden by nothing more than a single pointed glance from the man across the room. His eyes follow you, always watching and all seeing. Your heart thunders inside its cage of ribs. It's hard to breathe, but he’s still looking so you keep moving. Almost lose your balance on the dutifully polished hardwood floor, your thumb and forefinger not quite enough to steady you. Bare knees ache with the pressure of holding up the majority of your weight and he, of course, does not miss the way you falter.

Sukuna’s mouth splits open in a toothy grin. 

You forcibly swallow the bile rising in the back of your throat, the raw stump at the end of your left arm burning something fierce with needle sharp pin pricks. It still hurts.

“Are you having trouble getting around, little one?” 

A mute shake of your head. Another fumbling shuffle forward. 

He’s waiting, expectant and quiet; infinite patience etched across the cruel face you’ve come to recognize as the center of your universe. You have no choice but to answer his exigent summons. Even if it caused you physical distress and mental anguish in equal measure. Even if you died in the process of bending over backwards for his baneful wishes. You were compelled just the same as if he’d barked a command at you, his well trained little pet.

It’s a tedious, cumbersome journey from one end of the room to the other. Your body was simply far too battered and broken to respond quickly and you’d long since lost your voice in the time you’d spent in his care - weeks, months. It was hard to tell when every waking nightmare bled so seamlessly into the next. Your very autonomy was gone. All that was left were the whims and fancies of the monster slowly consuming you one piece at a time and now he’d called you to his side. You knew better than to disobey. 

But it wasn’t speed he seemed to care about. Rather, it was your unfaltering submission to his endlessly vile inclinations and it clearly didn’t matter if you needed five minutes or five hours to drag yourself over to his throne of pillows. You suspected he’d be just as happy watching you squirm across the floor, worm-like and helpless, which was surely only a matter of months away from becoming reality. He’d be sure to keep you alive long enough to see such an amusing spectacle with his own eyes.

Your gait is awkward with only one mangled hand to brace on, but you push through the discomfort. Making him come get you was a fate much worse than whatever he already had planned for you, so it was easier just to comply. Save yourself the terror that inherently came hand in hand with displeasing him. It wasn’t any less harrowing, but at least it was easier. 

And Sukuna watches you every step of the way, drinking in the pitiable picture you paint as you hobble closer like a wounded animal. He clearly enjoyed demeaning you like this. Stripping away your humanity, systematically removing what made you you with near fiendish glee until you were the empty husk of a woman struggling to get to him despite knowing only bad things awaited you at his side. By his own design, you were less than cattle. 

At the very least cows had to be led to slaughter, sometimes by force if they sensed their impending doom. All you required was a single, silent look and you were in motion, slumping over to him despite every survival instinct in your body screaming at you to do the opposite. It was obvious which creature had more dignity. 

“Good girl,” He murmurs, a small eternity later when you were finally within arms reach. You could all too easily extend your hand and touch him with the tip of your last remaining finger but you don’t dare. He doesn’t make a move to close the remaining distance either. Just keeps watching. 

A quiet whimper rises in the back of your throat as you painfully drag yourself the last few inches separating you from him until you’re prostrated between his feet. The rich, expensive silk of his kimono brushes your shaking shoulders and the sensation makes goosebumps erupt across your skin. You can’t seem to catch your breath. Every inhale is short and quick. Each exhale a small burst that robs you of more oxygen than what you were able to take in. The fear vibrating through your naked body is palpable, you can almost taste it in the air, and he can sense it too. The way his eyes - all four of them - turn up in delight is all the proof you need of that. 

“You’re trembling, dear. Are you cold?”

Another mute shake of your head.

Wordlessly, Sukuna lifts a hand and you flinch. Reflexive tears spring up in your eyes, pooling along your lash line so instantaneously that it almost catches you off guard. He pays it no mind though. Couldn’t care less. 

His knuckles touch the spot between your shoulder blades before dragging a slow path down the length of your spine. Jolting at the contact, you instinctively try to arch away from him. But there’s nowhere to escape and all you do is impotently twist, awkwardly contorting your body like a cat in heat. The nerves feel like they’re alive and they dance under his touch with such intensity that you almost cry out in distress. The most you’ll allow yourself is a half strangled gasp, but startled horror quickly dawns when you realize you’d vocalized a sound suspiciously like that of a groan of pleasure and you freeze.

Pausing at the small of your twitching back, he regards you with a quiet, unreadable look. You quickly avert your gaze so you don’t have to stare directly into his horrible face anymore, as terrified of the man as you were ashamed of the humiliating noise you’d produced. There was nothing enjoyable about this. Nothing in this arrangement that brought you pleasure. He knew that as well as you did and you weren’t about to explain yourself to the likes of him. 

The terse silence was almost suffocating.

At length, Sukuna hums. Thoughtful. Contemplative. Amusement coloring the wordless commentary even as he slides his hand back up the path it had just traveled. The sensation is no less powerful the second time, and you tremble under his attention. You make a concerted effort to bite down on your cracked lip and silence yourself, though, and he chortles when he reaches your shoulders again without another peep out of you. He found it all so very funny. 

“If you aren’t cold,” He croons, soft and disarmingly gentle. “Then why do you shake like this, hmm? Surely you don’t find joy in being touched by the likes of me.”

You close your eyes. Swallow your nerves. 

Clenching your jaw in grim resolution, you bring your face around and pin the demon with a hollow, unamused stare. Sukuna merely smiles, leers at you with unconcealed humor wrought solely from your expense. His hand shifts against your back and sharp talons replace the rough but smooth texture of his knuckles. Your blood pressure spikes, so fast you feel momentarily faint. The sweet release of oblivion does not claim you though and you quake as he drags inhuman nails across your neck in a thinly veiled threat that seemed superfluous at this point. You were all too aware of what he was capable of. There were three raw nubs where fingers used to be and a blunt stub where your left hand should have been. You didn’t need to be reminded that he was a monster. 

He doesn’t linger long, however, and instead casually drags his claws up to your clammy face. Feather light so as not to tear you to shreds but enough to leave a burning, fiery trail in their wake. You suck in a haggard, choking breath of air. Try to brace yourself against the next cruel punishment he intends to inflict on you. But, to your astonishment, all he does is touch the pad of his thumb to your mouth in what you can only assume is a twisted mockery of affectionate gesture.

Your stomach violently clenches, threatening to expunge its contents right then and there. 

Sukuna, of course, pretends not to notice. “Such a quiet little lamb. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think I took your tongue. You do realize you can still speak, don’t you?”

Without waiting for a response, he tugs on your lower lip. Pulls down until your mouth grudgingly parts and he can worm his thumb inside. You yelp when that unnaturally sharp nail nicks the roof of your mouth, the coppery taste of blood flooding your palette even as he finds your tongue and presses down on it so hard your gag reflex activates. Heaving wetly, you try to pull away. He puts a stop to that quickly enough by curling his fingers under your jaw, locking you in place with all the unyielding force of iron. You’re entirely helpless to stop it when he tilts your face up and peers into your mouth with near clinical detachment. A terrified little croak rises in the back of your throat. You really are going to be sick.

“Maybe I should relieve you of this next.” He muses. “You certainly aren’t using it.” 

Emotions swinging to the extreme, you issue a slurred protest and implore him with big, glassy eyes. Plead for some semblance of mercy on his part. It’s a lost cause, you know it is. He’s never once taken pity on you in all the time you’d been acquainted with him but you can’t help this irrational panic from squeezing you in a death grip. Fingers and hands were one thing. A tongue was something else entirely. You didn’t want to be robbed of your speech even if you’d barely used it for anything other than screaming since he brought you here. There really wouldn’t be any of your humanity left at that point, and the looming prospect terrified you perhaps more than anything else he’d done up until now.

You wanted to cling to that last remaining vestige of your former self with a desperation you hadn’t realized you still possessed. Even if it was foolish to do so. Even if it would hurt all the more when he finally, inevitably, took it away. You weren’t quite the same as an animal just yet. Not yet, and your ability to talk was proof that you were still human on some level. 

It wasn’t much, but the thought of losing that distinction very nearly sent you into hysterics.

Sukuna barely even stirs though, dully observing the way you rock on your knees and shake your head. The spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth hardly register in your mind but he watches its slow descent down your chin with nothing short of distaste. You’re almost certain he’s going to rip your tongue out right on the spot, just to spite you for such an unsightly display, and yet you can’t bring yourself to stop. 

Wracked by a sudden onslaught of cold, wet chills, you jerk against his hold. It succeeds only in making him tug on your mouth so hard the joints actually pop and you wail in startled distress as pain shoots through your head. The realization that he could simply tear out the lower half of your jaw with one quick yank turns your blood to ice. You can’t breathe. It feels like you're vibrating right up off the floor and, heaving loudly, your arms fly out in a misguided attempt to keep him at bay. 

The throbbing stub where your left hand used to be bumps into his forearm, further shocking you on some level. It was incredibly easy to forget you were missing such a vital appendage when the phantom sensation of a palm and opposable fingers still felt so real in your mind. The disconnect is mirrored in your right hand when only thumb and forefinger find purchase in his robes but you can almost feel the  missing digits curling into silk as well. Your alarm doubles, then triples. He’s still gripping your jaw painfully tight. Just watching. Always watching. Observing from his elevated seat of superiority. 

You let out a wheezing groan, shuddering when your bladder abruptly evacuates. 

Sukuna curls his nose as the unmistakable pssssss rises loud in the otherwise silent hall. Your eyes promptly roll back and you slump against his legs, drained of your ability to fight. The piss spreading in a puddle underneath you feels blistering on your chilled, sweat soaked skin and it almost hurts. Almost burns the same way a boiling hot bath makes your mind register pain when you first step in. This, too, becomes more bearable the longer you sit in it though and you don’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about wetting yourself at this point. You were so scared. So tired. 

He waits until you’re done. Lets you finish pissing all over the polished floor before pulling you up by your jaw. A low, faltering moan tumbles out of you as you acquiesce, rising up on your aching knees even when the meat of your thighs try to stick to the drenched wood but there’s no more protest left in you. The king of curses will get whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. 

If your tongue was what he desired then that is what he shall have. 

“Filthy.” He utters the word like its poison. “You truly are a detestable creature, you know that? I should just kill you and be done with it.” A disappointed shake of his head accompanies this statement. “Tell me, girl. Is speech really that important to you?”

You nod weakly and let out a broken, halfhearted whimper. 

“Oh?” Sukuna raises an interested brow at that. “Really? Then show me.” 

Numb shock washes over you when his saliva coated thumb slowly retreats from your mouth and you sway, thoroughly caught off guard. You don’t understand. He’d never taken your feelings into consideration before. Never asked for your opinion. He clearly didn’t care what you wanted so why was he playing this game now? You couldn’t make heads or tails of it and, certain this must be some sort of trap, you warily stare up at him with tightly closed lips. There was definitely some sort of trick here, but where? 

Predictably, his patience runs out in a matter of moments. 

“Well?” He prompts with a vicious swat to the side of your face, jerking your head around.

“Please!” You blurt. It doesn’t even sound like you anymore. 

The smile that graces his mouth is downright fiendish. “Ahh. So you do remember how to talk. Surprise, surprise.” Simpering, he props his chin on the palm of his bent hand while the other reaches out to swipe a stray clump of hair off your face. You flinch, shaking so hard your breath comes out in quick sporadic bursts, but he pays it no mind. Two sets of red, horrible red eyes dance across your pinched expression for a long beat before he seems to reach some sort of conclusion. “Do it again.” 

You’re too stunned to even balk. 

“If you still have use of your words,” He explains in the even, haughty tone of someone talking to a child. “Then you should utilize them, no? Especially since you claim to be so attached to them. Come on, darling. Speak for me.”

One taloned finger trails down the side of your temple, across your cheek and stops at your quivering chin. With far more care than you would have ever thought him capable of, Sukuna tilts your face up at him so that you have no choice but to meet his delighted gaze headon. The sick satisfaction staring back at you makes your stomach drop. It suddenly occurs to you that this, too, is simply another part of the game. He finds this so very entertaining - and not just the systematic torture he’s subjected you to. It’s everything about your humanity that sparks his interest and that’s the sole reason he wants to play with you like this. 

You’re not just food for him. If you were, he would have likely already killed you by now. No, there was much more to it than that. Sukuna had brought you here to his barren, rotting domain for dinner and a show. 

“Please …” You say it again, as if it will help.

Humming in faint approval, he drags his nail lower. Across your jumping throat and along the ridge of your collarbone even as it subconsciously tries to twitch away from him. Slowly, tortuously slow, he traces a taunting path straight down to your wrist - the one with a hand still attached to it - and you choke on a terrified shriek when he wraps steel corded fingers around the appendage. Your eyes are wide open but they see nothing; mouth running on autopilot even as he guides your trembling hand up to his face. You can’t do this. You can’t.

“Please. Please. Please, please, please pleasepleasepleasepleaseplea -”

“Mm. Please what, darling? Tell me.”

A quick tongue darts out to tauntingly lap at the pad of your outstretched finger. You attempt to recoil in visceral disgust, horrified beyond measure, but his grip holds strong. He doesn’t even have to try. His strength is just that much greater than yours, and all you manage is a skittish jolt as the wet muscle drags across your prickling skin in a farcical impersonation of much, much more pleasant activities. 

You let loose some awful, hysterical squawk. It feels as unnatural in your throat as it sounds in your ears, and your finger twists violently to get away from Sukuna’s mouth. Curls at such an awkward angle it’s likely a small miracle it doesn’t snap in half right then and there. The uneven, jagged nubs he’d left you burn with a pain so intense it actually brings tears to your eyes and you don’t even realize when they streak hot, wet paths down your cheeks until you blink and notice the sodden quality of your eyelashes. You’d merely traded one horror for another. How could you ever have been so naive as to believe one was preferable over the next. 

“Little one,” Sukuna regards you plainly, bringing you back to the moment, and you glance up to find his mouth hovering just over your painfully contorted finger. A suffocating lump forms deep in your throat, threatening to asphyxiate you. “You have more words at your disposal than ‘please’, don’t you?”  

“I … I - I ca-”

That horrible tongue of his slithers past his teeth, glinting softly in the flickering light of a nearby candle as if it were little more than a slimy pink snake. But rather than attack your remaining finger again, it lashes out at the webbing between the joints. Warm and slick, it pushes in and digs into layers of muscle and sinew - in search of what, you do not know - and your breath hitches. 

Rather than being dulled, the nerves in your remaining hand were actually painfully sensitive after the crude amputation of your fingers and a sensation not unlike a static shock zaps through your heaving body. It settles somewhere in the general vicinity of your belly button, your stomach twisting in painful knots, and you let out a hoarse, startled scream. Your whole system instantly runs hot as molten warmth floods every nook and cranny inside your soft, fluttering guts, so fast and so suddenly it actually knocks you off balance. 

Knees giving out under the intensely unexpected sensation, you collapse in your own puddle of piss. The sharp, wet slap makes your ears ring but you barely even notice it. The stabbing pain rides the line of something you don’t quite have a name for. It’s not pleasure. It’s not ecstasy, but something else entirely. Something that far exceeds your limited depth of perception. Too much and not enough at the same time. Horrible, yet wonderful. Your body was alive with it and, cursing him, you grudgingly squeeze your thighs together to stop them from quaking.

Oh, how you despised him for doing this to you.

“Pl - plea - please … s - stop …”

The demon hums in vague approval. “Now why would I do that?” 

Those crude lips brush against the raw, stinging tip of what used to be a finger as he sucks the paper thin flap of skin into his mouth and worries it, making you outright seethe. Your vision crosses for a split second, then doubles. You can’t even see straight anymore. Can’t even fully comprehend the moment when he stops applying that delicious suction to the webbing between your joints and redirects his attention to your forefinger instead. 

You’re still panting, gasping for air, when he opens his mouth wide. 

You shake uncontrollably with nerve induced chills when he covers it straight down to the knuckle and seals his lips. 

You whine, mewling out in desperation when you force your eyes to somewhat focus on his horrible face only to find him watching you. Still watching. Always watching. Watching, watching, watching.

Your mouth warbles open. “Please …”

Crunch

[owl-with-a-pen]

Prompt where brainy gets very angry over something and nia just wraps her arms around his waist to give him a big hug from behind. That “it’s okay, I’m here” trope. Specific but I’m curious to see how you would write it x

- Okay so this gave me a cute idea that I decided to run with. Hope you enjoy!

Nia knew it was bad the second she saw Alex walking quickly in the opposite direction from the Tower’s lab.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” Alex warned as she passed Nia by, offering her a strained smile. “He’s in a mood.”

Nia winced.

Right. One of Brainy’s classic moods. The Super Friends had learnt to make themselves scarce when one presented itself. And, oh boy, did they present themselves.

Although Brainy had had a tendency to get moody before removing his inhibitors, this was way different. Anger was still so new to him in this sort of a capacity, and when he needed to focus on something – really focus - distractions were something he just couldn’t stand. Outside stimulus became too difficult to manage when he was in that kind of headspace. It was times like those that he valued his privacy, and would readily snap at whoever didn’t grant it to him.

Nia leant hesitantly in the archway to the lab, digging her shoulder into the brickwork as she watched Brainy worriedly from behind. He was tinkering with something on his workbench; his back and shoulders were rigid, and although she couldn’t see his face, Nia was certain she could hear a distinct crack from how tightly he was clenching his jaw.

It wasn’t good for him to hold everything in like this, but the alternative wasn’t exactly pretty. When Brainy had told her about the broken keyboard, the broken tablet and the very nearly broken TV, it had become clear to her that he’d needed a healthier outlet.

Kelly had spoken to them both about ways to support each other when it came to nightmares or outside stressors, but Brainy was more of a complicated case than Nia, simply because he’d never experienced these emotions before. He had no frame of reference for even half of what he was feeling, and that terrified him.

And so, as much as she wanted to respect Brainy’s unspoken wish, Nia knew she couldn’t let him stay holed up alone in his lab like this. It'd only encourage his emotions to grow even further out of check.

Her concerns were verified when Brainy jerked his hand suddenly, throwing the device he had been working on clean from the table, sending it to the floor with a jarring clang.

“Sprock,” he muttered tightly. He made no move to retrieve it. Instead, he gripped tightly to the workbench’s edge, leaning his full weight into it. He ducked his head, chest heaving with the effort of holding back this newfound rage.

Nia knew the signs well enough by now. He was seconds from bursting wide open, his most unruly emotions reaching an intensity he wouldn’t be able to filter out on his own.

Nia hated seeing him like this, but what hurt her the most was knowing just how helpless all of this made Brainy feel. He didn’t like what these emotions did to him, and most certainly didn’t want to act on his most violent impulses. It was why Kelly had offered her help in the first place, even suggesting some breathing exercises for when things got too volcanic for him to handle. Right now, though? Brainy was barely able to work those exercises through his lungs.

It wasn’t working. This tightly wound, it would be impossible for Brainy to come down organically. Nia’s heart clenched, the urge to do something for him so profound that she could barely stay put in the doorway. But what could she do? It wasn’t exactly like she could rip this anger out of him. She couldn’t control a person’s emotions, her powers didn’t work that way.

If only they could. If only she could offer him something…

Unless…

Nia frowned suddenly, glancing down towards her hands, the energy filters she wore as bracelets around her wrists.

Surely, it couldn’t hurt to try… right?

Nia pushed herself from the wall, heading carefully across the room. She managed her footing well enough that Brainy didn’t hear her over the laboured pants of his own breathing. By the time she was in reaching distance, she could see the tremors running through his arms, the pinched corners of his lips as he swallowed down the urge to unleash his most tempestuous emotions.

Nia didn’t think. Instead, she took that final step forward, sliding her arms around Brainy’s back, clasping her hands firmly together against his front.

It was a bold move, all things considered. After all, Brainy wasn’t always welcoming to anyone’s touch, not even her own.

Expectedly, Brainy stiffened the second he felt her arms around him, although he didn’t try to move out of her hold. “Nia-?” he managed weakly. “What’re you-?”

“Just breathe, okay?” Nia said softly, tucking her face into the private warmth of his shoulder. She could feel his pulse quivering against her cheek, sidling close enough that she was able to mould herself against the gentle curve of his spine. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Her question was clearly enough to throw him off guard. Brainy glanced about himself restlessly before relenting, closing his eyes. “This rage,” he muttered. “It- it won’t stop. Every time I think I have a hold on myself, it comes bubbling back up.” He swallowed hard, baring his teeth. “I can’t stop it, Nia.”

“You got frustrated,” Nia said, holding her voice steady. “You just need to take a break. It’ll pass, I promise.”

Brainy choked out a strained laugh. “I- don’t know how it can. Not without…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to; Nia knew exactly what he was implying. Previously, these attacks had only ended in one way: with him breaking a particularly complex piece of his own equipment, which only furthered his frustrations later on when he inevitably had to rebuild it from the ground up.

Lena had encouraged him to let his emotions out, and maybe at first that had been helpful – cathartic, even. But, Nia knew Brainy. When not directed at a bad guy, the act of violence only made him feel uneasy, reminding him none too gently of the cruelty his ancestral line was capable of. He may have only ever broken inanimate objects when releasing his pent-up rage, but it didn’t stop him from ending every outburst with a tearful comedown. It was usually only then that Brainy would normally let her in, which was why Nia knew exactly how exhausting this was for him.

Every episode was taxing on Brainy, both physically and emotionally, and yet they never got any easier for him to manage. He just couldn’t catch a break. No matter how hard he tried, his anger was always prickling just beneath his skin, ready to burst through at a moment’s notice.

This time, though?

“What if I helped?” Nia suggested, spreading her hands tactfully across his abdomen.

“What do you m-” but Brainy didn’t finish. Instead, he sucked in a sharp breath, arching his back instinctively as Nia closed her eyes, allowing her dream energy to wash across her palms, encouraging Brainy to absorb it in earnest.

Brainy sagged into the desk immediately, the metalwork denting like putty between his fingers. He groaned aloud, his voice distorted against the crackling static of his modulator. When she was certain it was working, Nia summoned more energy, not just to her hands, but to every part of her, willing it to swirl and crackle in the air around them, transferring to Brainy's body in a whirl of blue fog. Brainy laxed further into Nia’s touch as a result, lashes fluttering as he tried to hold himself steady against the workbench.

Nia smirked, running her hands tenderly across Brainy's ribs before slipping them both behind his back, working her fingers carefully into her boyfriend’s shoulders. Her energy looped around every digit like electric blue coils as she continued to massage it through his muscles. The tension inside of Brainy unravelled all at once, enough that his legs very nearly gave out, but not quite. After all, this wasn’t the knock-out potency of her energy that she’d been steadily perfecting against her enemies. Instead, this was something new, a far weaker version Nia hadn’t seen much use for in the field. If anything, it worked as her own brand of Nyquil, instilling a drowsiness that encouraged total relaxation of the host in question. It wasn’t exactly something that could do much on the offensive. But, for this? Nia couldn’t think of anything more perfect.

“How does this feel?” she asked after a long moment, pressing her thumb experimentally into the base of Brainy’s shoulder blade.

“Good,” Brainy murmured, a pleasant shudder rolling down his spine. His voice was still distorted by a mechanised echo, and he showed no signs of trying to correct it. “Really good.”

“Good.” Nia grinned, kissing his throat. She kept kneading circles across her boyfriend’s back, tracing her fingernails down both sides of his spine. When she reached just above Brainy’s tailbone, she bit her lip, slipping her hands quickly beneath his shirt, pressing them against his skin.

Brainy's body ran far warmer than Nia's, even with dream energy burning through her blood. Brainy inhaled sharply at the foreign sensation of Nia's cold fingers before his eyes rolled to a close. The sudden lack of tension in his jaw caused his lips to part, allowing his lungs to unlock. Already, Nia found the steady rise and fall of his chest much improved, allowing him to breathe unrestricted for the first time since this episode had started.

Nia tucked her face against Brainy’s neck, pressing another kiss just above the collar of his jacket. Even her lips were alive with static, potent enough to cause Brainy’s throat to spasm. If the droning hum of contentment issuing from his chest was anything to go by, she figured he was starting to really enjoy this.

She grinned, looping her arms back around his front. “Still angry?” she asked.

Brainy’s eyes were half lidded when he shook his head. “I—thank you.”

“Anytime,” Nia said.

Neither of them were willing to separate just yet, so Nia stayed exactly where she was, feeding gentle waves of energy against Brainy's back the whole while.

Kelly had told them that there was no overnight solution for this, warning that at times, it might feel like they were barely making any progress at all.

Today, though? Nia felt like she’d made enough to be proud of.

And hopefully, Brainy felt the same way, too.

[acesophiewalten]

Beauty

Word Count: 1,326

Fandom: The Walten Files

Tags: Mild Gore, mentions of broken bones, Character Study, well it's a bit of a character study anyway, Canonical Character Death, Angst, Jack Walten Is Bon, of course disclaimer that i don't condone jack's feelings on beauty here, Rosemary Walten Deserves Better, does jack love his wife? yes, is that going to stop him? no!, possibly ooc, i'm not sure honestly

Read on Ao3!

Tagging!! @batmarriedacat @petulant-poet @another-her

She isn’t beautiful anymore. That’s the first thing he notices.

How much could one person have changed? Her eyes are red, dull, with deep purple bags underneath them. She is close to tears, though whether that’s simply how she looks now or whether that’s the natural reaction of seeing a nine-foot-tall animatronic rabbit stand in front of you, he isn’t sure. Her skin has paled, thinned, if he squinted he was sure he could see her veins poking through. The idea of her not eating made his throat constrict - well, as constrict as much as it could, being metal. Her turtleneck hung on her body, loosely. She’s trembling - once again, is that due to being confronted, or was it simply something she had acquired? - and her breath is so quick he can’t pick up on when she takes a breath in and lets it out, he can only make out the small movements of her bony shoulders. Due to the paleness of her skin and the brightness of her sweater, she appears to glow among the dark backrooms. In one hand, one emaciated, translucent, shaking, nearly destroyed hand, she holds a flickering flashlight, right up to his mechanical face. Her mouth slightly opened, closed, then opened again, before settling in a white line. She must notice, then, his moving eyes, the grinding jaws, the movement and life to him. Her hair is down, uncombed, and frizzy beyond belief. He thought - she wasn’t even like this when Edd and Molly died, this had to be because of his disappearance.

So this is what she’d become. He lured her back here to discover a shadow, a remnant, so consumed by loss that she had been completely destroyed - at least looked like it. What was the point of seeing her again, then, if all he saw was some poor, run-down, barely-functioning version of his wife? The Rosie! Rosie! I know where he is! Rosie! had done nothing but show him what she’d turned into - a shell, suffering under the weight of her own ignorance, her own fears. He’s disgusted, why does he suddenly want to cry?

And yet, she’s still pretty. It’s hard for her not to be - she has a sort of internal prettiness that never once falters, fades, or shies away. If her hair had been shorn off, if she hadn’t slept in weeks, if her clothes were shredded and her face bashed in and her skeleton showed beneath rotting, mottled, blue skin, she’d still be pretty, for that was simply her way. Even now, he could recognize that her eyes were still their brilliant dark blue, her hair, though frizzy, though let down, loose, and soaked with humidity and sweat, was still the loveliest caramel-brown, and its bounce and curl could still be seen. Her lips could extend into a smile that made you feel giddy, weak. Her skin was still adorably freckled, her lashes long, her large eyes even larger with terror. It was more than her looks, though, it was the way she simply was, as real and as natural as her hair, her eyes, her limbs. You couldn’t take the prettiness out of Rosemary Walten unless you scratched at her body, peeled at her skin, ripped her apart, bit and tore and forced it out of her.

But prettiness wasn’t beauty, now was it? No amount of prettiness could compare to true beauty - the beauty of happiness, the beauty of awareness, the beauty of feeling safe, wanted, loved, adored, needed, desired. She had been drained of beauty. Through a lack of knowledge, through despair, through his disappearance that made her so, so desperate, she wasn’t beautiful anymore. She was in shards. He felt a disturbing amount of pity for her, she was so saddened, so frightened, so clearly incapacitated by grief that all she could do was to stare up at him, tears now let free and running down her face, her body shaking, her lips quivering. He had succeeded in tearing out her beauty, and he had to fix her. He’d done this, of course, not forcing her to see, sooner, not letting her in on the truth, refusing her until she became horribly, overwhelmingly, utterly...not quite ugly. She wasn’t ugly. She’d never be ugly. He couldn’t stand to see her like this, though, and what was he supposed to do, now that she was in front of him? Let her go? Let her go on living, terrified, shaken beyond belief? She was broken, and he, as her husband, as her confidant, as her companion for god-knows-how-long, had to fix her. He simply had to.

He thinks, at the moment, that this is an act born out of tenderness. He looks at her - the frizzy hair, the dull eyes, the shrunken skin, the large turtleneck, the pure, draining hope that her husband is around here, somewhere, and feels as if he is about to fall over. If bile could rise in a machine’s throat, it would be rising. He sometimes took pleasure in what he did - he took pleasure in Susan, in Charles, and sometimes others - but this, he assures himself, is a necessity. An act of love from a husband who had abandoned his wife. Left her to rot. He finally says what he’s thinking - Rosemary, he relishes the name in his mouth, you’re broken. I will fix you.

He hopes that, even with his wheezing voice box and the monotone voice he now has, his emotion can show through. He hopes she understands that he means it, that this is, in no way, out of malice, out of hatred, out of a desire to hurt her. The idea that he is lying to himself crosses his mind, and it violently repels him.

He takes a step towards her and she finally starts to scream.

Perhaps it is simply that, her screams, her attempt to run away, that makes him grab hold of her arm, and perhaps it was who exactly she screamed for - Sophie, Felix, anybody! - that made him squeeze it and hear the agonizing crush of her bones. Why was she crying out for Felix, of all people? The very thought of it made him tighten his grip more, only bruising her, breaking her, and Sophie? Sophie could be here, he remembered, watching, staring on with fascination, unable to look away, unable to move. She could be behind the door, looking through the window, even behind him, having come in unnoticed, hands covering her mouth, possibly shaking. Possibly trying to get herself to run in and distract him long enough to save her mother, sacrificing herself in the process. Sophie could be behind the boxes. Sophie could be at his feet, and he hadn’t noticed. Sophie could be in the next room over, hearing everything. Sophie could be getting Felix, assuming that Felix wasn’t in the room as well, looking on with shock and horror. His eyes scan the room, trying to spot anything, anything - but he cannot. He is sure he’s alone, with his screaming, writhing, petrified wife - pity and something very, very close to love, almost indistinguishable from it, fills him.

Jack Walten destroyed Rosemary particle by particle, scratched at her body, peeled at her skin, ripped her apart, bit and tore until only her prettiness remained, stubborn as it was. By the time he was finally satisfied - her mechanics were properly set, her skin was sitting comfortably inside Sha’s suit, the blood had been slightly cleaned up, he watched as her eyes opened, her limbs began to move, her mouth opened and closed with small creaks and groans in the metal joints - he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He sat next to her and nearly laid his head on her shoulder. How truly perfect she is, he thought, is, was, and will be, forever.

[fettsvette]

When She Wakes Up

Fatherhood was never something Boba Fett had envisioned for himself, nor had he particularly wanted any part in it. That all changed when he met his daughter for the first time.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Sintas Vel Words: 2.2k Rating: General Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

  Mando’a terminology

ke barjurir gar’ade, jagyc’ade kot’la a dalyc’ade kotla’shya - ‘train your sons to be strong, but your daughters to be stronger’

  ba’buir - grandfather

bu’ad - grandchild

buir - father

ad’ika - little one

kov’nyn - headbutt/forehead press

    -

  “I slipped on myself, no help from anyone else

I fell in love 

And I was humbled

  There she is

Isn't she everything?”

  Frank Turner, “There She Is”

    -

  She was so kriffing small .

  Boba didn’t think he’d ever seen another human being this tiny, this helpless. 

  Not that he’d been around very many babies in his lifetime. 

  There had been the infant clones on Kamino during his childhood, of course, but his father had never let him stray too close to the lab facilities. Not that he’d wanted to, anyway. The rows and rows of little bodies, floating suspended in translucent goo, as well as the hundreds upon thousands of children that shared his face, and the men who shared his father’s, had always scared him a bit. 

  Boba Fett didn’t consider himself to be someone who often felt fear. He could count the times on one hand, most of them occurring during his earliest years, instances of cautiously peering around his father’s leg at strange visitors or waking from imagined terrors in the night, wailing for Jango to come to his rescue from the other room.

  But he’d never felt as scared as he did in this moment, right now, gazing down upon this little pink-hued creature wrapped in a blanket of nerf-wool, fast asleep and dreaming. His daughter .

  He hadn’t even been this terrified when Sintas had first told him that she was with child, his child, nor when she’d begun to experience violent bouts of nausea every morning, nor when her belly had begun to tellingly swell beneath her clothing. Boba had felt strangely detached from the situation for the entire nine months of the pregnancy, and it was only in hindsight that he realized he had been afraid . He and Sin had only been married a year - barely knew each other, really - and they were both so young. So young. They were hardly more than children themselves. And now they were responsible for another life, this fragile creature curled in a plastene bassinet, gently tinkling mobile of miniature stars and planets hanging overhead.

  Sin had said that the name ‘Ailyn’ meant ‘graceful.’ She couldn’t remember in what language, but she’d seen it in a mothering book somewhere, some sickeningly sweet maternal tome she had browsed through in a secondhand shop in town. The child - a little girl, they’d discovered - would take her surname, ‘Vel.’ Boba hadn’t protested when Sintas had made the announcement - yes, that’s what it had been, she hadn’t even asked his opinion - nor had he questioned the decision. It would be safer for the baby, Sin had elaborated, and Boba had agreed. Yes, the baby’s safety. Our baby. Although his wife was just as involved in the bounty hunting trade as he was, Boba had already made quite the name for himself, at only sixteen. He had enemies, heartless barves who wouldn’t hesitate to harm an innocent infant solely to exact their revenge. One of the reasons he’d settled down on Concord Dawn in the first place was to escape that unforgiving life, and bestowing the decidedly infamous name of ‘Fett’ upon a defenseless babe was no way to honor that choice. 

  So ‘Ailyn Vel’ came to be.

  Boba hadn’t been there for the birth. He’d been on duty with his fellow Journeymen, out in the middle of nowhere keeping watch over one of the many agricultural sectors that had fallen victim to pirates as of late. His comlink had crackled to life as he and the squadron under his command had been patrolling the bush, the superior officer on the dispensing end ordering him to get back to base at once; his wife had gone into labor, and it wouldn’t be long now before he became a father. A father . His comrades had congratulated him, pounded him on the back and wished him well.

  ‘Ke barjurir gar’ade, jagyc’ade kot’la a dalyc’ade kotla’shya!’ one of his fellows had shouted at him as he roared past on the speeder bike that would take him back into the city. ‘Train your sons to be strong, but your daughters to be stronger!’ 

  Boba wondered if he was strong enough to raise a daughter, let alone train one.

  By the time Boba had arrived at the medcenter, Sin had already given birth. He’d missed it by several hours. The child was healthy, robust, had been squalling like a Kowakian monkey-lizard and waving her tiny fists in the air, seeming almost enraged at having been unceremoniously evicted from her dark, warm home - or so the attending medical droid had claimed. The machine had greeted him in the hall outside of the center’s maternity ward, already aware that he was the husband, the father; whether it was due to information that had been provided upon Sin’s admittance, or because of his noticeably frazzled state when he’d arrived - drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, helmet tucked precariously under his arm - he couldn’t be sure.

  Sintas hadn’t stopped bleeding afterwards, the droid had told him, and several medics had to intervene. Sensing Boba’s rising panic, his urge to smash its hydraulics against the wall and force his way into the birthing room beyond, the droid had clarified that she was fine now, recuperating comfortably, but that it was unwise for her to receive visitors at the moment. Yes, that included the husband, but he would be allowed to go in soon. The newborn girl, however, had been whisked away to the medcenter’s nursery to be poked and prodded by the maternity droids, to be bathed and swaddled and left to rest until it was time to be brought back to her mother.

  And there Boba found himself, standing in the otherwise empty nursery, gazing at this prone form tucked away in a sterile cradle, sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of the man peering down at her. Boba allowed himself to exhale a shaky breath. His daughter. Ailyn.

  “Would you like to hold her, Master Fett?” 

  The metallic voice’s inquiring tone jerked him out of his dazed stupor. The droid stood at his side, searching his face with an uncanny mechanical imitation of human compassion. At first Boba stared, not quite understanding what the droid meant, until it stooped and lifted the baby from her cot, holding the swathed infant out to him. 

  Boba had never held a baby before, and had no idea how to proceed. The droid had anticipated this and shuffled forward, holding the newborn in the crook of one durasteel arm, guiding Boba’s hands - his rough Journeyman’s gloves having been stuffed haphazardly into a pouch in his flight suit - into the proper positioning with its other.

  “Support the head; the muscles in the neck are underdeveloped at this early stage of life. Keep one arm under the body, and the back must be kept straight - raise the infant level to your chest, like so. I shall leave you with her momentarily while I confer with our staff on the mother’s condition. Please wait here.” 

  And suddenly, Boba was alone in the room, his daughter in his arms. Ailyn snuffled at the sudden change of positioning, the sensation of soft human touch versus the cold alloy of the nurse droid. Boba gave a start, expecting her to start shrieking, but she simply let out a soft coo and turned her head to the side, closer to her father, drawn to the warmth radiating from his body. The newborn was small yet compact, a tuft of downy black hair already present atop her head, long lashes framing eyes still tightly squeezed shut, pouty lips pursed, dreaming milk dreams. 

  Boba stroked the side of a finger along the infant’s rosy cheek, downwards from her closed eyes to the soft bow of her mouth. Soon the little face would be marked on each side by distinct tattoos, three dark stripes arching across her skin, the qukuuf of the Kiffar - her mother’s people. Ailyn already bore the shape of Sin’s face, the high cheekbones and sharp chin. Her nose, however, was a perfect copy of his own - the bridge flattened, and slightly upturned at its tip. Boba found himself musing if this child would also inherit his Concordian accent, the same one he’d acquired from his father. A fierce ache lit a fire in his chest at that thought, and he wished Jango had not been so brutally cut down in his prime, that he could have met his son’s own little one, that he had lived to see himself become a ba’buir, with a bu’ad to fawn over and spoil endlessly . He briefly wondered if this very moment had possibly been mirrored sixteen years prior, between his father and newborn self. Had Jango Fett been nervous before being presented with his baby son, needed help learning to cradle him, worried that he wouldn’t be a good father? Boba found the idea strangely comforting. Shifting his hold on the baby gingerly, Boba hesitantly reached one digit out to poke at a little fist that had freed itself from its swaddlings. He couldn’t believe how tiny the fingers were, curled over as if in deep concentration - the little knuckles, the miniscule fingernails. It was while studying these details, perfect miniatures of his own hands, Boba heard a sniffling grunt, and flicked his view to the baby’s face.

  Her eyes were open.

  They were her mother’s eyes, Sin’s eyes, bright blue and already alert, and Ailyn was studying him intensely. Slowly, almost as if she was experimenting with the newfound use of her hands, she reached out and grasped Boba’s index finger, clutching with surprising strength for such a small creature, and she blinked up at him slowly. 

  Boba’s heart seemed to momentarily stop, and his vision instantly blurred over with hot tears. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, was beginning to think it was no longer within his capabilities. After a moment, he spoke, and he was surprised at the level of emotion in his voice.

  “Hello, Ailyn… I’m your buir . I’m going to take care of you. I won’t ever let anything happen to you, I promise you that. I swear it on my life, ad’ika .”

  Boba bent to press his lips to the crown of her head, taking in the sweet, clean smell that only newborns seemed to carry. Not wanting to relinquish this feeling just yet, he touched his forehead to hers in a gentle kov’nyn , choosing not to notice the tears that had soaked into the baby’s blanket as he closed his eyes in pure paternal indulgence.

  “Master Fett?”

  Boba turned at the call, Ailyn cradled in his arms, to regard the medical droid standing in the doorway. He didn’t know how long it had been there, silently observing him and his daughter, but he found that he didn’t really care. He hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand before readjusting his hold on Ailyn, wordlessly regarding the machine.

  “My apologies, Master Fett, but I’ve just been informed that Mistress Vel is awake and well enough to receive visitors. I can take you both to her now, if you wish.” The droid offered, extending its arm and bobbling its head subserviently. 

  Boba looked down at Ailyn - her eyes were shut again, his finger still enclosed within that tiny fist. He had only just met his daughter, but he already knew he would do anything she asked of him, gladly give up his life for her. Was this what fatherhood meant? Was this how his own buir had felt upon being presented with his son, so long ago in Tipoca City? Not taking his eyes off his newborn daughter, Boba nodded silently, and stepped forward to let the droid escort him down the hall, where Sin - his wife, the mother of his child - awaited them.

  There was still much that Boba Fett didn’t know about Sintas Vel - their courtship and subsequent marriage had been a whirlwind, and stars … now they were parents - but he knew that she was beautiful, and a crack shot with a blaster, and that he trusted her at a time in his life where he thought he could only trust himself. And he knew that he loved her, and that he loved Ailyn, this incredible new life that they had created together. 

  Perhaps that was more than enough.

[palbabor-writes]

If you are still doing prompts 12, 21, 41, 103, 126,,,, not really nsfw but ya know?

Of course! I love these. They help to get my creative ideas flowing. There’s another one floating around my writing blog too, if you want to ask about other characters 

( ＾◡＾)っ ♡

p.s. I am working on other asks that have been sent in too! Don’t think I’m ignoring you nonnies. I just like to think about them and edit them before I slap them up.

onward to the Tomura question game created by the lovely @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love!

warnings: SMUT, NSFW Shigaraki game, non/con

12. How jealous is he?

I can see Tomura as being very possessive of you.

This is all so new and he’s never really had anyone that he can honestly say, well, belongs to him. Most of his life has been one conditioning or manipulation after another. He’s always been under someones thumb.

His first, gut instinct, is to try and do the same with you. He’d like to keep you shut away and beside him. He doesn’t like the idea of you interacting with the world. What if something happened? What if, what if, what if?

But, another, quieter part of him knows that it’s not realistic to clutch at you like that. This instinct will build as the relationship deepens.

He wants you to be happy. He doesn’t want to shutter you from the sunlight. Nothing can live like that and you don’t deserve it. He’ll feel guilty about those early thoughts, especially if you’ve taken the time to help him break down some of his walls.

Now, if you’re trying to fuck with him, emotionally speaking? Going out of your way to flirt with others, or to drag him through power games, and other emotional manipulation?

I can see him shrinking back into himself again and lashing out at you, violently. He’s not about to let anyone, not even you, play with him like that. Whoever you’re dragging into your little game won’t like him much either. Not that they even have a say. They’ll be dead before they can scream.

No, he won’t like that he has to hurt you, to break you, but you brought it on yourself.

21. How would he feel if you broke up with him?

If it’s something you do early in the relationship? Before he’s really gotten a chance to see you as anything other than a distraction? He’d likely kill you. Loose lips and all that.

Now when it’s an established relationship? He’ll be gutted, crushed and shaking. Likely he knew it was coming. Nothing wants him, no one loves him for long. He’s already had so much snatched from him: AFO, Kurogiri, his hopes and dreams, his childhood, hell, his entire life. What’s one more thing?

He’ll try his best to persevere, to move on. But he can’t help but try and find you again. He’ll shadow you, a fleeting ghost that watches you from afar. He wants to be part of your life in someway, anyway that he can.

He’ll want to leave little hints, specks of himself that will litter around you. You’ll find tokens of your relationship scattered about. You’ve told him things and he wants you to know he remembers. 

It’s small pieces: your favorite food, waiting on your doorstep one night, your favorite flower, just a single one, wilting on your walkway, and other, little, things that the two of you talked about with each other.

He’ll never stop haunting you, if he can help it.  

41. Would he take advantage of you if you were passed out or drugged?

If he doesn’t care for you in any emotional sense, or he hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to act on his base instincts? Yeah, he’ll paw at you. It’s the one time you’ll let him touch you. The bonus is: you’ll never know.

It will be dark and he’ll lift your shirt, his fingertips dragging over your pebbling skin, watching your face for any worrying signs of you stirring. You’re so soft, so breakable. He’ll cup your breasts and unbutton your pants, curious and wanting.

In an established relationship? Depends on why you’re passed out. If you’re ill? No, he’ll leave you alone, content to just have you against him, your fevered skin a worrying heat that he wants to comfort, to cool.

If you’ve taken something to make you that way? Oooh, that’s different. You’re so very pliant like that, slobbering and sopping for him. *I’m trying my hardest to keeeeeep this tame <(￣︶￣)>

But yeah, he’ll get himself off on you and tease and taunt you with it later.

103. Does he want kids?

Mmm, hard no. 

Depending on what part of the manga you’re at, he doesn’t have much memory of his childhood, but he knows it feels painful. Sometimes his scars will hurt, echoing an old, sharp pain across his skin.

If he does remember the hazy images of that night? It becomes an even harder no. 

He’s honestly terrified he might slip into his father. What if he can’t take care of you and the child? What if he hates the child? Fuck, what if he hits them. He won’t mean to, but sometimes he gets so, so angry. He’ll feel a deep pooling of shame when he thinks about that and go to you.

He’ll snatch you into his arms then and just breathe against you. He doesn’t want you to hate him. He doesn’t want to lose you. And both of those terrors might come true if you bear his child.

126. Use of a safe word.

Eeee. He might use one, if you ask him nicely and he gives two figs about you. If he doesn’t care about you, pffft, dream on.  

He won’t have one for you. Like, if he doesn’t like something he’s just going to tumble you away from him. There’s no warning for that and it may or may not bring a cessation to the uh, activities, you’re engaging in.

If there is an established word that you use, he’ll push you until you’re screaming it. Honestly, it just eggs him on and he lives for you panting it out. So, um, you might both love and hate that he let you have one.

[philicheesecake]

(U. L.) An Impossible Defeat

Synopsis: After he survived witnessing the giant’s Banding, Warren seems to be the target of a vengeful giant. It seems just quitting the Unseen Legion was not enough to protect him.

Warnings: PARTIAL HARD VORE, GRAPHIC SEVERE INJURIES, PARTIAL DIGESTION, NEAR DEATH, F/M halfsize unwilling nonfatal vore, fatal mention,

((Phili’s note: 

Me: takes 4 months to write one U.L. story  Also me: Writes this story the next day in under 24 hours OHhhh yeah babyee we movin’ along! And yeah I got pretty violent for this one, so if you’re squeamish, I would be cautioned. Also if ye like this story, go ahead and reblog! It helps spread my work and it means a lot! ^w^ ))

“Well I came a long way to be here today

And I left you so long on this avenue

And here I stand In the strangest land

Not knowing what to say or do”

The windows of the old silver Civic were rolled down and the speakers blared the upbeat tunes of Electric Light Orchestra. Warren had his elbow propped out the window, some aviator sunglasses, and his hair blowing back in the mountain breeze that gushed through the windows. He was belting out the lyrics of the tune, stumbling over some of the lyrics, but he didn’t care. His voice was high and steady despite his stumbling over the words. 

“As I gaze around at these strangers in town

I guess the only stranger is me”

Unknown to the ex-hunter, something with glistening eyes followed from within the treeline. Its speed rivaling a racehorse, though quieter than a cat. Its figure was too fast to be seen beyond a subtle blur past the treeline as a hulking silhouetted shape masked by the glare of the setting sun.

“And I wonder, Oh I wonder

Is this the way life’s meant to be?”

He was having a great time with the free air. No more U. L. missions. No more giants or near-death experiences. Just him and his friends about to meet up at a concert out of town to have a fun evening. The sun was beginning to descend over the road, casting its golden glare over the windshield. In his mind, he might’ve been a Lone Ranger riding into the sunset. He had seen some things no one else would believe. That alone could power a Western film. 

Though he was beginning to associate dusk with death, he was safe in his car. Nothing could get him here. He’d be with his friends when he got into town. Safety in numbers, right?

“Although it's only a day since I was taken away

And left standing here looking in wonder”

The figure in the tree line burst out. Warren didn’t notice it immediately with the sound of blaring music, but one glimpse at the rearview mirror showed what was going on. “OH SHIT--!”

A giant. Seriously? What sort of gods decided to toy with Warren’s luck at this point? This was just ridiculous at this point. He thought he could recognize the figure. Long white dreadlocks, dark skin, flashing silver eyes. She was even taller than Eli by a good two feet. She had a weird name, but Warren couldn’t remember exactly what Eli had called her back then. Not that he cared. His first thought was getting the hell out of here.

“Oh, the ground at my feet, maybe it's just the old street

But everything that I know lies under”

The melodic voice continued on, despite the alarm in the situation. The sheer contrast only seemed to add to the stress of the situation. 

He stepped on the gas, speeding faster. The giant was in hot pursuit, soon practically on the car’s bumper. Her claws dug into the asphalt, powering her unbelievable speed. 60 mph. She was still not lagging behind. 

Her claws lashed out and she lunged forward, digging her claws into the back of the car and pulled herself half-onto it while her feet dug into the ground to gain traction. The car screeched, lurching to a halt. Warren was thrown over the steering wheel and the impact jammed into his ribs causing a painful crack. 

He wheezed, blinking through the adrenaline to realize the car was at a complete halt, and the silver-haired giant was approaching the driver’s door. 

“And when I see what they’ve done to this place that was home,

Shame is all that I feel”

He gasped, almost immediately coughing from the pain of the shifting of his lungs disturbing a freshly cracked rib. He hastily unbuckled, trying to scoot away from the driver’s seat as the large figure stooped over the window. Her slit silver eyes peered in. An expression of complete indifference played on her face. No response to the intense fear he was feeling. It almost scared him more than any taunts. There was no connection of emotion. Just complete apathy.

“And I wonder, yes I wonder,

Is this the way life’s meant to be?”

The door was ripped from its hinges. Her clawed hand reached for him, trying to grab through the narrow space to get ahold of him. He scooted backwards. His breaths rattled in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears. Tears pricked the corners of his wide eyes as the claws barely skimmed him as they fought to gain purchase. He ducked beneath the console of the passenger’s seat, digging out his phone and his shaky fingers struggled to operate the device to send a hasty message. 

A crushing grip closed around his leg. He screamed.

“Too late, too late to cry, the people say

Too late for you, too late for me”

He was dragged out of the car, clawing for purchase. Trying to grab onto one of the seats or the steering wheel. His cracked ribs bumped painfully against the seats. She pulled him out of the car, hoisting him onto the air by his ankle.

“You've come so far, now you know everything, my friend

Look and see the wonders--”

Her ears twitched and she stomped her foot over the front of the car, smashing the radio. She didn’t seem to enjoy it. Without another word, she rose to her full height again, leaving the ground far below Warren as she began to walk back into the treeline. The ex-hunter whimpered, struggling to try to reach the hand that held his ankle. It was scary and disorienting to be held this high above the ground upside-down. A fall like this could break his neck, but not escaping would lead to certain death. He had encountered giants plenty enough times to get a pretty good idea about where this was going.

“P-please-- R-- Riki-- uh-- Riri--?” Warren struggled to remember her name, but honestly he couldn’t think at this point. 

To his surprise, she let out a cold laugh. “If that Arawn knew you called me that, he would have finished what he started last time.”

Warren shuddered, recalling how they had parted last time. She was climbing up a cliff and Eli had eaten him to protect him from the other giants. He had been certain he was going to die. 

“I--” “I should have known he had gone soft like his sister. I suppose I will soon deliver him the same fate as she has received. This human, however,” She lifted him higher so that they were practically face-to-face, just inches apart. He took in a shuddering gasp which stung his lungs. 

“It’s lived too long to see too much… Things that no human should have seen. Not that it makes any distinction from the rest of the humans.” She sighed and opened her mouth beneath him. His eyes widened and he flailed, trying to jerk away from her open mouth. He quickly reached up to dig into his pocket. His fingers nearly slipped to drop the object, but he caught it, unfolding a pocket knife. She gave him an unimpressed look, and her other hand reached up to grab it just as he managed to slash it across her face. “GAHH-!”

A growl sounded through her throat. Her hand crushed around his leg, snapping his bones like twigs and he screamed in pain. Her other arm reached up and gripped him roughly around the torso. Her teeth snapped over the knife-wielding hand and spat out the weapon onto the forest floor. Blood poured down from a slash across her face, dripping down from her chin. 

“I think that you’ll learn that fighting will only worsen things for you, human.” Her voice drawled. Warren cried, barely able to focus on her in the blinding pain. She shifted her grip to let go of his leg and reinforce her grip around his waist, beginning to lower him into her mouth backwards. Warren sucked in a terrified breath as his feet met the back of her tongue and she began to gulp them into her tight throat. Things were happening so fast. His shattered ankle screamed in protest as it was engulfed into the passage of rippling muscle. 

“No! Nono— wait—“ 

The giant swallowed again and he suppressed a shout of pain. Her legs were now fully encased in the throat and his lower torso was entering her maw. Fangs jabbed painfully around him. She clearly didn’t bother being careful about how rough she was in the process. The giant’s tongue slathered his torso in gross saliva as she gulped more of him down. The ex-hunter whimpered and grabbed for the edge of her jaws in a poor attempt to stop his descent. This only made things worse when she met the blockage. 

Her jaws widened for a second before crushing down over his chest, not enough to snap him in half, but enough to draw blood and hurt like hell. There was a distant scream of pain. He was getting lightheaded. He was losing blood, and was faintly aware of the feeling of blood dripping from his limp fingertips, and pooling our from her jaws. There was a hungry growl that sounded around the throat from the taste of his blood. The tongue cupped under him and she began to tilt her head back. He had lost the strength to struggle, in a state of shock and agony that made it too hard for him to think. 

Another swallow sounded around him, bringing his head into the mouth. His chest was squeezed into the too-tight throat which crushed his already cracked ribs. He was barely able to choke another breath through the pain. It was a frightening sight to see the jaws wide around him, the saliva dripping over his line of sight. The marks of his own blood trailing down from the fangs. He didn’t have the strength to struggle in his state of stupor and pain. 

One last gulp dragged him completely into the darkness, and his arms soon followed. He distantly felt pain shoot up his ankle as his feet began to press through the esophageal sphincter and the rest of him began to follow into the tight organ, forced to curl up in the claustrophobic space. As soon as his head and arms finally joined him, he coughed and gagged for air, finding it difficult to breathe with how much each breath hurt. The air was scalding and humid and burned his already aching lungs. The jagged movements of his rapid breaths only hurt his cracked rib further. He hugged his knees and cried. 

“R— Rikki— R— Rhyka— please— please don’t do this.” He barely managed to recall the giant’s name.

Rhyka ignored him. She couldn’t care less. The giant was so tall and broad that her stature nearly perfectly concealed the small imprint he made, and the only mark of his existence was subtle. It made it all too easy for him to be ignored. 

“L-listen, I’m…” he hissed in an anxious breath through his teeth, trying not to fully break down now. The heat was exhausting, and the main thing keeping him conscious was the intense pain. He just wanted it all to end, but at the same time, he didn’t want to die. Not like this. His sisters needed him, and he tried his best to not abandon them, only for his luck to turn for the worst once again. He could recall Olivia’s lessons on giants and hoped to god something might work here to give him a slim chance of survival. “R-Rhyka… I’m sorry humans drove giants into hiding. I— I wish things were— were different between our kinds… but— but killing people won’t fix that.”

To his surprise, the giant let out a laugh. “You truly believe that having a, ah, ‘heart-to-heart’ will spare your life here? Your kind is an inferior race. Weak. Pathetic. Even if your kind had not done what they did, it does not change the fact that we are the predators, and you are the prey.” 

Warren shuddered, biting back a sob of fear. “B— wait—“

“You could save your meager breaths now. I have heard all the same arguments. None sway me. Do yourself a favor and accept your fate.” 

Warren could feel the movement from her walking seem to settle. There was a dropping sensation and his environment seemed to tilt sideways. She must have laid down or something. He squirmed in place, biting back a hiss of pain as he had to reorient himself with his vulnerable broken shin and ribs. The puddle of fluids he was sitting in splashed over his face, making him sputter and cough weakly. He noticed a faint stinging and his heart rate picked up in alarm. Acids—? Giants only digest when they’re asleep… which meant Rhyka must be heading there now. 

“Wait— no—no— please— I— you can’t—“

He froze as he could hear the giant’s breaths slow to a more relaxed rate. She didn’t respond. His eyes widened in the darkness and he took in shaky breaths. An ominous growl sounded nearby from the organ. The puddle of fluids was half-filling the space now, and still having trouble to reorient himself, he had to sputter and squirm to avoid breathing in the stinging fluids. 

“Nononono— G-God— p-please…” he cried. He didn’t want to believe this. He didn’t want to die like this. He had dodged death before, he had to do it again. But Eli has told him time and time again he was weak, and he was right. 

The stomach groaned and clenched tightly around him, causing the level of fluids to rise briefly before the walls relaxed. He took in a sharp gasp of pain, bracing his shattered leg that just felt like pulp now. He could swear he felt something crack from the way his leg bent just then, feeling the limb was beyond repair. It was probably just held together by shredded muscle and tissue at this point. 

He was too tired and in too much pain to really fight back the oppressive stomach folds that began to clench around him more rhythmically. 

“I guess you’ll die then” Olivia’s voice echoed in his mind, recalling her lecture from before. 

Warren took in shaky breaths in the heat. Olivia had a point. She gave him lessons, and if he gave up, he would be dead. Not every giant would be generous enough to let him live. Rhyka wasn’t one of them. He had to think.

Olivia had mentioned a pressure point against the spine that could do… something? His brain felt foggy, but some part of him could recall that it might save his life. He hadn’t succeeded last time he tried. 

He grimaced as the stomach gurgled loudly again and its walls crushed in closer. The acids were beginning to sting worse. Burning at the bare skin of his hands and face. He held out his elbows on either side to hold the slimy walls off of his face, letting out a rasping breath through his teeth. He felt around in the darkness, trying to orient himself to figure out what was where. Doing some calculations based on how he had been swallowed, and the new position of the sleeping giant, he made a blind guess of an idea. He was facing the wrong way. Being swallowed feet-first and backwards, he was likely facing the outer wall of the stomach, instead of the vertebrae where his target lay. 

He grunted, twisting around in position and using his one good leg to try to reorient himself to face the spine. He had no idea if he was right about this, and every inch of the tight organ was identical. It was especially difficult to figure out if he had turned a 180 or just a few inches because of how disorienting the rippling muscles were, making his laborious movements either too small or too big to calculate. He settled at where he ended up, however, taking a moment to gather his breath. The heat was really making him feel like he was about to pass out, and he just wanted a break from the pain of his mangled leg and ribs. He couldn’t rest though. He had to at least try.

He leaned back as far as he could, using his hands to press himself backwards in the stomach as his one good leg kicked at the spine. There was no response, and he tried kicking everywhere along the opposing wall. Everything felt the same, so it was impossible to know how close he even was from it. The walls around him crushed in more tightly. He could barely breathe now. The fluids were rising higher. He was on the verge of passing out. The heat. His mind was numb and far away. His only thought was his sisters. He had to focus on them. He could barely even recall their faces. So tired...

Kick.

The tightening walls suddenly went limp, freeing the small pocket of air. Warren gasped for air, feeling lightheaded from all the effort. He didn’t know what happened. He didn’t even know if he had succeeded. Everything was too foggy to focus on. His mind slowly drifted from consciousness.

***

“Rrrg. Wha... what did you do… to me…?”

Warren was slowly brought to his senses by a rough jab that met his injured rib which prompted a scream of pain. He gasped, foggily beginning to regain his senses. Everything hurt. The first thing he noted was the voice… so loud and rumbling around him. There was a numbness around him. He could barely feel his limbs, but at the same time, he was faintly aware of a burning sensation covering everywhere. He was soaked to the bone by a deep pool of slimy fluids. It was hard to know how much of him was left, and if most of him already been melted away. The walls weren’t as active or crushing as they had been before. The place felt oddly dormant aside from an occasional groan or squelch from the environment, the sound of the giant’s breaths, and the thumping of her heart nearby. How long had he been in here?

“Wh…” Warren’s tongue felt like it wouldn’t cooperate enough to speak. “Whd’yamean…” He slurred. He couldn’t think. He was too tired. He just wanted this hell to end, whatever this hell was. 

“Don’t play stupid with me, human... You… you shouldn’t still be alive! What have you done to me?” Her voice almost sounded pained in a way, though his brain was too tired to pick up the tone. The jab once again met his side, though thankfully hit his shoulder this time. He weakly tried to raise his arm to push back. 

“D’nno… wha you… mean. Wh...what time’sssit…?”

The pressure increased by his side and he could hear a gurgle nearby. “I am finished with your games… Hunter. You will be dead soon enough… what… whatever tricks you are using will… wear off.”

“I.. I dunno wha-- what…” he took in deep breaths, on the verge of passing out again. He was faintly aware of a shifting from outside and the pressure lightened to be circular rubs. Any other moment he’d be indignant to the action, but right now, he was too tired to really think about it. There was definitely something off about her voice. She sounded… fatigued. He didn’t think into it.

“Please… j-just… just make it s-stop…” the ex-hunter groaned weakly. He was regaining awareness of the burning sensation around his skin. The pain from his broken leg and ribs. 

The giant didn’t respond aside from an annoyed growl that rumbled to her core as she rubbed the form in her stomach as if to help him digest faster. Her breaths began to calm again. He could hear another gurgle from the stomach and the dormant walls began to pick up their act again, rubbing against his skin and distributing the numb, stinging fluids over his skin. He didn’t bother squirming. He was too weak to think. Rebeka. Liss.

What were those names anymore? He could barely recall their faces. Just concepts at this point. But more than anything, he wanted to see them again. 

Had the kick done something before? 

A clench tightened around him, bringing up the acid level higher, briefly submerging his head under the caustic fluids. He choked and struggled weakly for breath just as the walls loosened up again just enough to give him a chance to take shallow gasps for air. He tried to focus, lifting up his good leg briefly to jab into the opposite wall again. It took every fiber of strength for the action. He kicked a few times. The walls tightened again and he was submerged. His heart pounded. He could hear the giant’s heart thump more slowly. The distant gurgling sounds of the stomach around him. His lungs burned for air. He kicked out his leg again, trying anywhere for that pressure point. His foot slipped, then dug into the opposite wall. It just barely managed to hit the right place. The walls loosened up again and Warren coughed weakly, gasping for air. The whole stomach seemed to grow limp again. His body followed suit. He didn’t have the strength to keep this up. Even if he was alive for now, he was prolonging the inevitable. He wasn’t going to make it out of here alive.

He was too tired to cry, but there was a pang of emotion in his chest nonetheless. His body grey limp again. His ears began to sink beneath the stinging fluids. His mind fell to dormancy again. 

***

Olivia had been sound asleep through the whole night, unknowing of her phone buzz with Warren’s text. Her face was planted on the alchemy table and her glasses were falling off of her nose. In the late morning, she rose again to get some coffee and sat down with her entire carafe of coffee with her alchemy equipment, ready to put this frustratingly difficult concoction in the past. She worked for a while at her project before she saw her phone buzz. It was another hunter wanting some more potions for lycanthropy. She had been getting too many requests from that same hunter, it was beginning to get rather tiring. Wait a moment… There was another message from Warren. 

Her tired eyes scanned it with her bulbous spectacles before sighing tiredly and picked up her pastel pink bag of alchemy equipment and got in her car to drive away.

***

The white dump truck hummed down the winding road into the forest. Olivia was dead tired and really didn’t want to be doing this. She would much rather finish that lycanthrope-enthusiast’s order, or sleep instead. The road was not a popular route, one of the back roads. It didn’t look like anyone was within miles of the stretch of asphalt. Though something laid ahead in the road. A smashed silver car was sprawled out over the asphalt in shredded bits of smashed metal. Her brow raised slightly and she parked her truck on the shoulder of the road, giving the wreckage a good once-over before she sighed and pressed through the treeline. 

She took out a small vial of blue liquid from her alchemy bag and opened up the bottle, placing a small drop on her finger and dabbed it beneath her nose. She sniffed in the odd scent of the concoction and the effect was instant. A faint blue mist seemed to appear in the forest. A scent trail that led further ahead. Wordlessly, she followed it. 

There was a dip in the forest path that led into a steep ravine which was difficult to travel into, though she managed. At the bottom of the ravine in a dip in the rock, the scent trail led to an end. 

A white-haired giant laid asleep on her side. There was a slight bulge in her middle. Her clawed hand rested over it. It didn’t take much imagination to deduct what had happened. The alchemist sighed, taking a small yellow orb of ice out of her bag and put her teeth together, making a high-pitched whistle barely audible to human ears. The response was instant. The giant’s eyes opened, though she remained on the ground. She tiredly turned to her side, scowling as she spotted the alchemist. 

“I take it you’ve eaten William, then,” Olivia’s tired voice drawled.

Rhyka’s eyes narrowed and she sat up, glaring at the ice that the alchemist wielded, knowing exactly what it was meant for. 

“He is dead. Your point?” Her voice was groggy, almost coming out in a slur. 

Olivia sighed. “Well I guess I have no restraint from using this, then.” She raised the ice and approached the giant with an unphased expression.

The giant held up a hand hastily. “Stop… It… I will release the human if you throw that into the woods. I lied. He might be alive. I can’t know for certain at this point, though it’s the only chance you have.”

Olivia shrugged and tossed the ice aside indifferently. “Alright. Let him go.”

Rhyka looked like she hadn’t expected this, but groaned. Her eyes were exhausted. She looked like she had been through hell with some sort of terrible indigestion. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Heaving sounds came, then the bulge in her middle reformed in her throat, slowly traveling upwards. She lowered her head and gagged. The form of the bedraggled, slimy hunter spilled out onto the ground in a pool of reeking fluids. 

Olivia barely seemed phased at all by Warren’s appearance. He looked like he had been thrown in a meat grinder. His left leg was crushed to pulp beneath the knee. He was covered in acids and his own blood. Past the dripping slime, patchy red burns littered his skin. 

The alchemist didn’t waste a moment before reaching into her bag again and threw another yellow orb of ice at the giant, hitting her clean in the face. Rhyka let out an infuriated shout as the enchanted ice seemed to melt into her skin. There were cracking and shifting sounds and she began to decrease in height. The giant roared, lunging forward to slash her claws at Olivia, only to shrink further and bat harmlessly with declawed otherwise human fingertips. She collapsed onto the ground, hissing in pain. She eventually shrank down to a complete human size, though she was still a good foot taller than the short alchemist. 

Olivia pursed her lips, ignoring the giant as she stepped toward Warren. He wasn’t moving. Neither was the giant. Whatever vigor she had before was short-lived. She seemed too wiped out to fight. 

“Wilhelm, listen to me,” She sat down on the earthy floor, taking his slimy hand. His hand remained limp in hers. She shot a look at the now shrunken giant. “You killed him.” She spoke levelly. She sighed and withdrew a black orb from her bag and pressed it into his hand. “Wake up,” She muttered.

The black orb melted into his hand, seeming to grow warm before disappearing. For a moment, there was no response, before she glanced over at him to see Warren’s chest slowly rose and fall. He was breathing. Weakly, but steadily.

***

Two were dragged into the truck by the tired alchemist. Rhyka’s hands were tied together, and Warren was seated next to her, unconscious, and wetting the seating with the gross slime that dripped from him. 

They drove back to the alchemist shop in silence. Rhyka still seemed ill from whatever had happened, not in much of a talking mood. 

Once they arrived back at the shop, Olivia put out a blanket on the floor for Warren and tied up the camouflaged Rhyka in a chair. Olivia did her best to clean Warren’s wounds and treat the burns, but for his broken leg, not much could be done.

***

Warren groggily returned to consciousness. A day had passed. He was lying on his back, staring up at the blank ceiling of Olivia’s basement. The light was dull, which was a good thing, to not be overwhelmed by too much light with his senses returning. He was in pain, though the worst thing of all was his leg. He could feel a crushing, burning sensation coming from it, though part of it was foggy and dampened. He must have been given medications while he was asleep to numb the pain.

What just happened. 

The last thing he remembered was… He grunted as he rolled to his side and his blood froze. Rhyka was sitting tied up in a chair before him. His heart picked up rapidly. 

“Look who awakened,” she smiled coldly. 

“You… How... what..?” Warren mumbled. How was he here? How was he even alive?

footsteps sounded from the floor above. Olivia appeared on the staircase, looking over Warren tiredly. “Ah, Winston. Good to see you are alive.” She spoke in an expressionless drawl. “I suppose the pressure point techniques work after all.”

Warren hugged his arms, leaning back on the hard blanket. He just tried to level his breaths instead of thinking too much into it. He might have been in a state of shock. 

“And my apologies about your leg. It seems not all of you was intact enough to be saved.”

Warren blinked, then glanced down at his legs. His breath caught in his throat and he felt like he had been punched in the gut. “Ho-holy shit.”

His left leg was gone. Amputated beneath the knee. He stared for a moment in shock. Olivia sat down next to him on the floor, taking a swig of her coffee from the glass carafe. “Yeah, you’ll get used to it. Just take it easy for now.”

He shuddered, biting his lip. “I… No… no… this can’t… I quit the U. L.. I-- I was supposed to be safe. W-why… Isn’t fair.”

Olivia sighed, glancing toward Rhyka. “The giant who ate you seemed to have a grudge from when you witnessed their Banding ritual. Apparently it’s no thing that any human should live to see. She had been hunting you down ever since.”

“B--but it’s not my fault! The giants brought me there! I-- I didn’t want anything to do with that!” 

Rhyka rolled her eyes, staring at Warren in a deadpanned sort of way. “Ah, excuses. None of that will change anything, you are aware?”

Warren covered his face, shaking. “You… you cruel person… you wanted to kill me. I didn’t want to get involved with the giants ever again and-- and y-you went and…”

The alchemist’s hand tapped his shoulder and she let out a tired groan. “Rachel is right. None of the things that happened will change. However,” She rose to her feet, walking over to her alchemist desk and withdrew a shimmering grey knife. She turned to look at Warren. “I do not kill monsters unless I have to. If you wish to kill Roxanne, then that is up to you.”

Warren tried to stand, leaning against the wall and lifted the stump of his leg above the ground. He stumbled over toward Rhyka, using the wall as support. “Give me the knife.”

Rhyka’s eyes narrowed. Olivia sighed and went over to Warren, placing the knife in his hands. He gripped the blade, trying to keep a straight face through the pain in his leg and glared at Rhyka, holding it to her neck. 

“How does it feel having the tables turned, huh Rhyka?” Warren grit his teeth. “You… You don’t care about humans. What did you say we were? W-weak? Inferior? ‘Lesser beings?’”

Her cold glare remained unwavering, locking eyes with Warren’s. She remained silent.

“Look at me now. You tried to kill me but failed.” The knife pressed more firmly against her throat, threatening to draw blood. “You-- you have no idea w-what you put me through. No one. No one should ever have to go through that. Killing you will avenge god-knows-how-many people you’ve murdered like that. I don’t wish death on many people but… You…”

His jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed. His grip tightened over the knife until his knuckles were white. He didn’t act for a solid few seconds. Rhyka held her breath. 

The knife dropped to his side and clattered to the floor. 

Rhyka let out a cold chuckle. “Coward,”

“I’m not like you, Rhyka.” Warren backed to the wall again, sliding down to be seated. He put a hand on his injured leg, hissing through his teeth and looked to the side, trying not to focus on the pain. He was defeated, even if he had survived. He had just lost his leg, though it felt like he had lost so much more.

------------------------------

Rest of the series can be found here.

[justauthoring]

brought down.

Request: Hello! Can I pls request a John Shelby x F reader where Reader gets kidnapped by one of the Shelbys’ enemies and John sheds his cocky, badass demeanor and gets to the point where he’s begging for her life because he’s just so worried for her? Up to you how it ends. Thank you very much. Your writing is quite the joy to read whenever it pops up on my feed.

Pairing: John Shelby x Reader Word Count: 1,437 Please don’t plagiarize my work!

The sight of a gun pressed to the side of your head is what changed his demeanor.

John rarely was ever afraid. It was something he’d had to be taught growing up the life he had. Fighting in France and having seen the things he did left him numb, and often, even with faced with death, he didn’t find himself afraid. He would just... feel numb.

He’d seen the worst of worst, or at least that’s what he’d thought.

But this, you, this was the worst of fucking everything. He was sure there was nothing that could possibly top this because he wasn’t just afraid, he was fucking terrified. Out of his mind. For the first time in a long time, John’s hands were shaking as held them out before him in surrender. For the first time in a long time, he felt something when faced with death.

Because it wasn’t his out life that was threatened, but yours. And fuck, your life was ten times more important than his own and John didn’t know what he’d do if lost someone he loved and cared for again. He’d already lost a woman he’d loved, a woman at the time he’d thought was the love his life. Then, he’d been graced with you and you’d shown him what happiness and love felt like again. You reminded him of what he lost but also gave him a chance at it again.

There were no chances after this. If he lost you... John wasn’t sure if he’d survive it.

It’s the begging that shocks you. In all your years of knowing John, you’ve never once seen him beg for one thing. He’d find alternative methods of getting what he wanted and, in most cases, he ended up coming out on top and getting exactly what he’d wished for in the first place.

This... right here, being brought down to his knees, humiliated in front of the enemy, the men that had beaten you, he was ready to beg and plead and cry to all the Gods above that they spare your life. And while you’d known you loved John, and you knew he loved you just as much, you hadn’t thought a scenario like this possible. For a man such as John, confident, cocky, sure of himself, to be brought to not only his knees, but in tears as well just for you...

well, you never thought someone could love you that much.

And for a moment, the sight, the warmth that swells you, is enough to make you forget the pain, the trauma and fear, and even the gun pressed against the side of your head. But just for a moment.

“That’s right. On your knees. Hands and knees so I can be the one to say I brought a Peaky fucking Blinder to their knees.” The man who holds the gun against your head practically spits as he speaks, and to put emphasis to his word, he presses the gun harsher against your head, making so your neck is craned unnaturally. “All for a fucking slut.”

Your eyes fall shut at the insult, but they snap open almost instantly when you hear John lash out, fighting the hands that grab a hold of him in response. “Don’t fucking call her that! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“I think you’re forgetting who’s the one with a gun pressed against the side of her head now.” The man reminds, a whimper leaving your lips as he shoves harshly into your side. Before you know it, his free hand is gripping around your upper arm, squeezing painfully and yanking you up to your feet. You trail behind him, scrabbling to keep your balance as he all but drags you.

And he doesn’t stop until he’s directly in front of John.

Your heart is pounding madly against your chest, and you’re sure your shaking though you can’t really tell. Your legs are wobbly beneath you and honestly, at this point, you’re not even afraid of dying. You don’t want to, but the guns been pressed against your head for so long now it doesn’t even really feel like a threat anymore. You’re worried about John, you’re worried about what will happen after, when you’re dead and gone --

will they kill him too?

You pray to God they won’t.

You’re pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a loud tear. It takes you half a second to realize the tear had been your own dress, and it takes the cold wind to hit your bare skin to realize you’ve now been left in only your slip. And it’s with that realization you notice the many pairs of eyes on you, your legs pressing against one another as a bundle of nerves floods your stomach, cheeks warming in embarrassment and disgust at how vulnerable you feel.

And as you lower your head, in shame, your eyes catch that of John’s below you. His eyes are already on your own and then it’s there you see how truly angry he really is. Though, you’d expected it half as much, the man never being great at controlling his anger. At your shame, he attempts to lash out again, but he’s forced lower and there’s nothing he can do.

However, you also see the fear. It’s not hard to notice, unlike how it usually is. But seeing him that afraid, well... it only scares you that more.

“Maybe i’ll give her a taste before I kill her, huh? Fuck her right in front of you and force you to watch, on your hands and knees, as I fuck her from beh--”

He never finishes his sentence. A cry of fear leaves your lips when you hear the gunshot, curling into yourself when the man falls dead next to you, hitting the ground with a loud thud. The shock of that doesn’t last long, though, before three more gunshots ring around you. The two men having been holding John fall dead, and another standing by does too.

John, taking the opportunity, is up on his feet in seconds, grabbing one of the men and shoving his fist directly into his gut. And he doesn’t stop, even as the man falls to his back, bloodied. John just doesn’t stop. He keeps hitting and hitting and you’re in shock of it all, tears now freely falling down your cheeks from the trauma of it all, that when you feel a coat drape around your shoulders you’re pulled from your stupor with a violent jump.

You calm, however, when your eyes meet Tommy’s.

“John! John!” You hear Finn bellow, and your eyes slide to your husbands once more only to see his younger brother desperately trying to pull John off of the already dead man. But he just won’t stop. “John! He’s dead! He’s dead! You have to stop!”

“Get the fuck off me!”

Tommy races forward, “John!” He roars, voice echoing amongst the room as he grabs the back of John’s jacket and yanks him back, making him stumble on his own two feet.

“What the fuck! Let go of me! Get the fuck--”

“Y/N, John!” Is all Tommy has to say to snap John out of it, gesturing to you who hasn’t moved since it all. Your lips part when John’s eyes slip to you, the anger fading from his eyes as worry floods them. Tommy easily lets go of John as he races towards you, pulling you close within seconds as you slump against him with a sob, shoving your face into the crook of his neck and clutching onto him desperately.

“Let’s leave them to it, aye.” You hear Tommy mumble, pulling Finn along with them. “Give them a minute.”

“I thought I was going to lose you,” John mumbles, lips directly next to your ear. “I thought...” And he can’t manage to finish his words, getting stuck at the back of his throat at the reality of it all. 

You just cry. Let it all out. Your nails dig into his skin, even through his jacket, and you refuse to let go. You refuse to step back from John because you’re still shaking and you won’t stop and you’re sure if John lets go of you, you all but drop to your knees because of it all. 

And right now, John is the only one that feels safe.

“I’ve got you,” John soothes, voice husky, quiet so that only you can hear, even if no one else is around. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m never letting you go again.”

-

Let me know what you thought?

[connorandersons-blog]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor Additional Tags: Pride, Pride Parades, Nonbinary Character, Bisexual Character, Gay Male Character, Hank is an ally, Good Parent Hank Anderson, First Kiss, Coming Out, Gay Disaster Gavin Reed, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor, Post-Pacifist Best Ending ,Gay Disaster Connor

Summary:

Connor comes out to Hank who takes it very well and decides to take his android son to his first ever pride parade. Connor wasn't expecting to see a certain coworker there and what happened after he did.

-----------------------------------

He knew it was silly to be so nervous, acceptance of the queer community had gone up quite a bit, but there was still so many people who hated them. Who’d hate Connor, but he had to believe Hank wouldn’t be one of them. The man was one of his closest friends, he saw him as a father figure, but Hank could be a little old fashioned on some things. He had really hoped this wouldn’t be one of them. 

He had made Hank dinner that night, not fancy at all, just food he knew Hank would love. He sat at the table watching him eat, trying not to tap on it when Hank told him to just spit it out. 

“I’m bisexual,” he blurted, ducking his head. It wasn’t the only thing, but this was more accepted than the other thing he needed to say. 

Hank took a second, putting his food down which said a lot. “Thanks for telling me, kid. I know I can be… fucking stubborn but I fully accept you, no matter who you love.” 

Connor smiled and opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. He tried again and again until finally the words came out. “I’m also non-binary.” 

“Alright, that’s cool too, you wanna go by a new name? Oh and pronouns, what do you want?” Hank picked up his fork and took another bite, watching Connor carefully. 

“I like everything as it is now! I like my current pronouns and name. I just… I know I’m not a guy? But I’m ok with being called one. I kind of want to try feminine clothing but I also like my current clothes.” It had been so confusing, still was honestly but he felt comfortable with saying he was non-binary 

Hank nodded, smiling slightly and reaching out to pat his arm. “That’s alright kid, you do what makes you happy. Fuck knows the world needs some happy in it.” 

And that was that. Hank took him to the mall the next time they had off from work and let Connor pick out a few new clothes. It wasn’t much given their salaries but he still got two dresses, two skirts, a shirt, and a pair of heels. 

He was too terrified to wear any of it to work even though Hank promised no one there would be a dick about it. He didn’t say it outright but Connor could tell he was implying that Connor wasn’t alone in being queer. Connor did wonder who there was but apparently his ‘gaydar’ was subpar and he couldn’t tell with anyone. 

That was until Hank took him to his first ever pride parade. 

It shocked absolutely no one when the queer community welcomed androids with open arms, and the parade was filled with a wide range of people and android. Connor stared wide eyed at how big it all was, all the colors, all the scents from the food stalls, so many people. They were all dressed differently, some finally able to dress how they want and Connor is no different. 

He had decided on one of his skirts, a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows to keep cool. He had decided to not wear the heels given there would be so many people and he didn’t want to stumble or step on anyone. 

Hank and him found a good spot to watch the parade and Connor felt so light and jittery. There was this energy in the air of complete acceptance and joy that Connor couldn’t stop smiling. Even Hank had grinned a bit seeing Connor so happy, pointing out different areas of the parade. There was the vendor area, the food area, and the main parade route. It was all in or right near Hart Plaza so there was plenty of room to just stand and talk with friends too away from the parade. 

Connor got quite a few compliments from those around him, and each time made him blush and duck his head. He almost didn’t see him going by because of it, but he glanced up and there he was. 

He didn’t know what organization he was walking with, but Gavin Reed was strutting down the road like he owned it. He had a rainbow flag on like a cape but that certainly wasn’t what caught his attention. No, that was the chest harness, pants so low and open that it showed off the trail of hair down towards his crotch and if the pants were any lower everyone would be able to see his dick. He also wore very tall boots that had at least nine inch heels. The collar he had on was leather and had a chain attached to it that he held, but he let some take in and drag him along with a laugh. 

He had rainbow eyeshadow, silver eyeliner, and fake lashes on. Not to mention the amount of glitter that had already gotten all over him. He looked damn good and Connor’s jaw was on the ground. 

He was so used to seeing Gavin hidden behind slightly baggy clothes, his leather jacket too, hiding how wide his shoulders really were. At work he kept himself hunched a bit but now he had his back straight and looked so confident. 

Gavin didn’t see him or Hank, and Connor was far too distracted by the sight of him to see Hank’s raised eyebrow at Connor with a small smirk on his face. 

The person beside him noticed Connor’s expression, snorted and bumped his shoulder. “Good choice, he’s always a favorite, comes every year.” 

Comes every year? To… pride. That meant Gavin was queer in some way? Or maybe he was just a very enthusiastic ally. “I, yeah, wow.” Was all he managed to get out before shaking himself. He tried to focus on the rest of the parade but soon Hank was dragging him towards the food stalls. 

Hank almost spit his new food out when someone came up to him and asked if he was single. Though, they also called him ‘daddy’ and Connor decided he’d rather never think of that ever again. Hank did knock over his drink, just a little close to the person which Connor saw as purposeful. 

“I’ll go get you a new one, Hank.” Connor said, patting his shoulder. 

“Yeah kid, I’ll go look at the vendors a bit while you do that. I thought I saw someone I knew.” Hank waved him off and Connor only tilted his head when he recognized the lie. It was fine, if Hank didn’t want to say why he was actually going over there. 

Connor jogged back to the stall they had gotten Hank’s lunch, waiting in line patiently for it. He laughed off the situation, but the person gave him a free replacement. 

Connor glanced around the crowd and suddenly it felt like too much. The heat was beating down on him, he was too aware of his clothes and the people accidentally brushing against him as they walked past. 

He moved quickly away, finding a nice big tree to lean against. Hank wouldn’t be upset if he took a few extra minutes, he’d probably think someone stopped Connor to talk once again. 

He wasn’t too far away, he could hear everything very clearly still, but the tree’s shade helped cool him down and he felt himself calming. That was until he heard someone walking up to him. He opened his eyes and looked at the man, he had a chest harness on like Gavin had but it didn’t look nearly as good on him. Not that appearance made much of a difference, it was still nice to see beautiful people. 

“Hey pretty boy… or girl, or whatever you are.” The man grinned, winking at Connor. It reminded him of Gavin trying to wink and it brought a grin to his face without thinking the man would think it was for him. “What are you doing all alone?” 

“I just got a bit overwhelmed,” he wasn’t sure what else to say. The man kept looking at his LED and licking his lips. Connor had a bad feeling but had no real evidence to back it up. Hank had taught him he didn’t always need evidence to be right. 

The man nods, stepping a little closer. “Aw, well I can keep you company. You know… you’re one of the few ‘droids that I’ve seen that’s kept their LED in. I like it, shows the real you.” 

From anyone else Connor may have taken it at face value but every scan showed the man was aroused and Connor felt even more uncomfortable. “I’d rather be alone. I'm… waiting for my boyfriend. Thank you, though.” 

“Come on baby boy, don’t be like that. I like your kind, don’t worry. I’m sure your boyfriend is willing to share.” He stepped forward again and Connor held his hand up to stop him. 

“I said no. Please leave me alone.” The panic was coming back, and he didn’t want to get violent. 

“I don’t see him around here either. Just a little fun, no one has to know.” The man was sneering now, and Connor got ready to run or defend himself. 

“He’s right here, jackass!” A voice said, and then an arm was going around Connor’s waist. Connor froze, glancing over to see Gavin Reed of all people glaring at the man. “Now get lost.”

Connor went along with it, leaning into Gavin, the heels making him taller than Connor, and even placing a hand over his chest like he was scared and needing comfort. He wouldn’t say anything, he didn't want the man to get aggressive. 

He glanced at Gavin, before scoffing. “I could give you so much more, but if you say so. Just come find me if you get tired of him.” 

Connor wouldn’t, they weren’t actually together, but he’d never go to someone like that. Gavin gently rubbed a hand up and down Connor’s side as they watched the man walk away. 

“Ok, can you take your hand off my chest now?” Gavin asked, letting go of Connor. 

He jumped back, face turning bright blue. “I’m sorry! And thank you, that could have gone a lot worse.” He smoothed down his shirt and skirt, running a hand through his curly hair. 

“Yeah, no problem dipshit. So you actually have a boyfriend or just wanted that creep gone?” Gavin leaned against the tree, showing off his very nice abs, and Connor tried not to follow the trail of hair down. 

“I don’t, Hank brought me here after I… came out.” It felt so odd to say, but Gavin was here too. “I went to get him a soda but it all got too much.” He picked up the drink, glad it hadn’t gotten knocked over with everything that had happened. 

Gavin nodded, rubbing his hands together almost anxiously. “Congrats then, takes a lot of guts to come out.” 

Beaming at him, Connor ducked his head quickly. “I was very nervous but Hank has been incredibly kind and supportive. Can I ask, well, are you here as an ally or…” he trailed off. 

Gavin actually laughed at that before motioning to himself. “Do I really look straight? Nah, I’m hella gay.” 

Of course, Connor couldn’t help but follow where his hands motioned, trying to not let on just how affected he was by Gavin’s appearance. “I’m bi, and non-binary,” he blurted, and even though he was still nervous to say it, it felt good too. He motioned down to his skirt, copying Gavin slightly. 

Gavin glanced at the skirt, smiling slightly. “That looks good on you, and thanks for telling me. Are you going by a new name or pronouns? I won’t use them at work obviously, unless you say so… not that we see each other outside of work.” 

“No, I like my name and I’m still using he pronouns. Thank you for asking.” He wished he could say they should spend time outside of work, but he could barely consider them friends. Gavin hadn’t been outright rude to him, their bickering was more good natured and teasing than anything else. 

“Cool cool, well you wanna go find Hank? Don’t want him thinking you got kidnapped or trampled in the ground.” Gavin pushed away from the tree, nodding back to the stalls. Connor followed after, watching how well Gavin walked in the heels even in the uneven grass. 

“This your first pride parade?” Gavin asked as they made their way back into the crowd. Connor reached out and very carefully put a hand on Gavin’s arm so they wouldn’t get separated. 

“It is, I love all the colors and happiness, you can just… feel it everywhere. It’s a lot of fun… I saw you in the parade and was a bit shocked, you know. Someone said you come every year?” If so then maybe they could make this a thing. They could come together, spend some time outside of work. 

Gavin grinned, waving at someone before nodding towards Connor. “I do, Tina comes with me normally but she had work. I came with Cecil Sunshine… or well that’s his drag name. He’s somewhere around here.” 

Oh. Well Tina wasn’t too much a surprise given the two were best friends but he’d never heard of the drag queen. Were they together? “I see, that sounds fun. I love your makeup, I’d love to learn to do that.” 

Gavin perked up even more, turning around to grab Connor’s hand. “I can teach you! If you want, of course, if we find Sunshine, she has my makeup.” 

Connor’s pump was pounding, having Gavin hold his hand, and he nodded mutely. He tried to clear his throat, glancing around. There were so many people, but off to the right side was a very large group. “What’s going on there?” 

Gavin looked over, then frowned. “Protesters. Those that can will surround them to protect the kids and everyone else from them. Wanna go see? If not it’s ok, I couldn’t be around them for a while, now I like messing with them.” 

Connor nodded and Gavin kept a hold of his hand as he led him over. He could hear those screaming about god and repenting, how unnatural this was. He could also see the signs, some of them were also specifically anti-android. 

“How do you mess with them?” He was pretty sure that they weren’t allowed to touch each other, which helped both sides. 

Gavin smirked a bit. “Find someone willing and kiss him right in front of them. Freaks them out a lot.” Gavin was looking around, probably trying to find someone that would be willing. 

“We could,” he mumbled, probably not loud enough for Gavin to hear over the yelling but his head whipping around said otherwise. “We don’t have to! I just, considering they are also anti-android it would add to the effect, right?” He reached up, tapping his LED. 

Gavin stared at him with wide eyes before grinning. “Definitely. Come on, let’s get to the front.” He dragged him forward, politely pushing his way through until they were right in front of the group. 

They stood so Connor’s LED was facing them, and Gavin carefully reached up to cup his cheek. It was clear he was giving him time to back out, but Connor wouldn't. Those that were queer or supporting started cheering realizing what was happening. 

Connor leaned up, pressing his lips against Gavin’s. They were warm and a bit wet given the lipstick he was wearing. It sent a buzz from his lips down his spine as he pressed closer. He ignored the anger shouts of the protesters and even the cheers, just focused on Gavin pressed against him. 

It was hard, and long, sweet and indulgent, over far too quickly. Gavin broke it, panting, and then pushed back in for another, this one far more heated. Connor grabbed the chain connected to the collar he wore, keeping him close that way. It got wolf-whistles and catcalls, all in good nature though. Connor reached to hold Gavin by his waist with his other hand, titling his head to help deepen the kiss, their tongues sliding together. 

They pulled back slowly, both grinning widely. It was Connor’s first kiss and one he would never forget, not that he could, given he was an android. “That was fun,” Connor giggled. Gavin nodded and dragged them away from the group, getting a few pats for the show. 

Once away Gavin paused, reaching up and swiping his thumb across Connor’s lips, he froze, licking his lips without thinking. His tongue brushed against Gavin’s thumb, and he stopped breathing. 

“Sorry… had lipstick on you.” Gavin murmured, pulling his hands away. 

Connor reached up to touch his own lips, feeling how they still tingled from the kiss and now from the touch. “It’s ok, I don’t mind. Listen Gavin, I-“ 

“Connor!” Hank called and he spun around to see the man come up. “Damn kid, I couldn’t find you anywhere. You good?” He glanced at Gavin who looked like he just got caught stealing. 

“I’m ok, Gavin found me and we messed with some protesters! Here’s your drink,” he held it out, smiling widely at Hank. 

“Huh. At least you didn’t get lost… I uh, got you something too.” Hank shrugged, trying to play it off nonchalantly. 

Connor tilted his head, seeing how Hank had one hand behind his back Connor figured he was hiding something. “Oh?” 

Hank shrugged again and held out a package. Connor gasped when he saw what it was, looking between them and Hank. “Thank you!” It was the non-binary flag. He could hang this up in his room! He stepped up and threw his arms around Hank, pulling him into a tight but quick hug. 

Hank glanced at Gavin who had a fond look on his face before it quickly turned into a scowl and he looked away. Connor saw none of that, but stepped back from Hank. “Yeah, no problem kid.” 

Connor showed the package to Gavin who gave him a small smile and nod. Then he glanced down, biting his lip before unclipping the flag and pulling it away. He hesitated only for a second before putting it over Connor’s shoulders, using the two holes meant to put it on the pole to clip it together to make a cape. 

Connor went completely still as Gavin did so, feeling like his thirium pump was pounding away in his chest. He brought a hand up to touch where it was clasped together, his fingers brushing over Gavin’s. 

“Happy pride, Connor,” Gavin muttered just loud enough for Connor to hear over the chaos around him. 

Connor could help but beam at him, touched beyond words. He felt so loved here, so accepted by people who didn’t even know him, by Hank and Gavin. It was one of the most wonderful feelings in the world. “Happy pride, Gavin.”

(my art do not repost)

[haro-whumps]

Group Whumpees 13: Spirit

CW: Slavery, depression, less than great self-image, ghosts and the discussion thereof, multiple whumpees, aftermath of abuse, blink and you miss it references to noncon, catholicism (brief)

Tag List:  @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave  @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @lumpofwhump @thatsthewhump @pinkdiamondprince @shameless-whumper  @whump-only @infested-with-bloodv2 @kiretto-laorentze @eatyourdamnpears @whumpzone @bluebadgerwhump

How many references can I fit into one whump story on the internet? And yes, Galo’s ass is canonically phat.

Masterlist

They had never discussed it, really, never quite put it into words, but when they went to bed there were common configurations they all slept in. Evan almost always insisted on sleeping with his back to the wall, Sasha needed the edge of the bed so she didn’t wake them when she got up in the morning, and Greyson was almost never in the middle so he slept just in front of Sasha. Lilah and Nyla would take turns in the middle, occasionally switching with Evan or Sasha if they were hurting. 

Evan was hurting, now, his leg making the journey all the way to the wall a lost effort, so he was in the center. Lilah curled up in his arms, so Nyla’s back was to the wall. In theory, then, Greyson should be at Evan’s back, and Sasha at his back, and yes, that had been how they’d slept the night before.

But that night, Greyson had insisted that Sasha lay between himself and Evan, knowing he’d been weirdly adamant about it and that his family was concerned. But he knew, very well, that he would not be able to sleep that night, and would need to move out of bed without waking them.

And, indeed, the sliver of moonlight that managed to find its way in through the tiny rectangular window at the very top of the room landed on Greyson, wide awake, propped up on one elbow. His tired eyes (and god, he was so tired, but not in a way that craved sleep) surveyed his family, their soft bodies, their loose hair, the gentle curves of their hands.

He sat, apart from them.

Honestly, he’d been apart from them for a long while. 

He could ask for no firmer proof of that than the events of that very day. Lilah, little Lilah, who had clung to his arm, to Nyla’s skirts, to Evan’s vests, who had hid behind their bodies from Mistress Bethany’s wrath, now bravest of them all. But should he be surprised? She and Evan were always thick as thieves, didn’t it make sense that she would collect some of his bolder habits? She had always been playful, among them, was that something that she’d extended towards free people? Was this new? In small part, Greyson felt like he should know.

In large part, Greyson didn’t feel a damn thing.

He knew he had, once. He remembered feelings, could even summon the ghosts of them, as he looked over his family. Fondness. An aching longing that stretched over his skin. He’d felt something at his Mistress’s grave, though he couldn’t summon even the phantom of such emotions now.

Lilah was brave, standing proud before the man who, by all rights, should terrify her. Evan was calming down, lashing out less, barely lashing out at all, really. Happier. Easier. The defensive hunch so characteristic of his shoulders was slowly lowering, so slowly Greyson hadn’t even noticed until he looked and found Evan had practically no hunch at all. Nyla, she was happier, unwinding sliver by tiny sliver, but she was. She’d allowed herself to be gently corralled into bed, even if it had been backed by an order from their master. She was willing, just barely, to let down her guard, even if it meant an increased chance of imperfection. She did not, by Greyson’s observation, seem so petrified of imperfection, anymore. And Sasha, Greyson ran a thumb very gently over the skin of her upper arm, Sasha was going outside, she was smiling, her eyes had lost the permanently watery quality to them. She was more openly affectionate, freer with touch.

What was Greyson?

Greyson was the same as Greyson had always been. Quiet. Thoughtless. Hollow. The shell of a man who’d broken and been left to gather dust where he shattered. 

His family was growing, healing, but an inanimate thing cannot heal. He was beyond repair. An old plaything that had been used dry, and when opened found empty inside.

If someone were to take a knife against him, carve open his skin and split the seam, would they find anything? They’d find blood, oh yes, he knew that he could still bleed. But beneath his skin and blood, would they find bones? Beneath where his ribs should sit, would anyone find a heart? Did he still have lungs, were there entrails to be lifted? Or would they find empty air and still, placid blackness? A broken papier mache balloon, a wrinkling, decaying pumpkin with its insides carved out.

He took his hand from Sasha’s skin. It didn’t feel right to touch her as he thought such things.

Three decades. Perhaps only two and a half. The years...they were blurry. And Greyson wasn’t naturally inclined to keep track of the time. He’d spent more of his life with his Mistress than he had without her. Was he even good, for anything else? He knew other men his age didn’t look like him, like they were faded and falling apart. She’d had every right to get bored of him, uncomely as he was.

His thoughts were all over the place, slipping and sliding this way and that. He should go to sleep. It was late. He was tired. God he was so tired. He laid down. His eyes stayed wide. He forced them shut. Attempting to relax made his eyes open again. This was pointless.

He leaned back up on his elbow again, looked at his family. The fondness there was growing colder. Not in general, just for right then. Would he go cold in the larger sense, though? Was a thing like him even truly capable of actual, meaningful love?

He got out of bed.

The bed fit four better, anyway. At the very least it was what they were all used to, though they’d all adapted to the company of their fifth quickly, since Master Galo.

Greyson wished he understood him. He doubted he ever would.

But that wish, that doubt, they were glancing, shallow things. Sort of like how everything in Greyson’s life felt incredibly shallow, like an optical illusion. His whole person, his whole life, he was just an illusion. Presenting the facade of depth but if you reached out to touch him, you would find your perception all wrong.

The basement was too dark to see in, but that was fine. He knew where the stairs were, where the rail was, he’d walked them multiple times a day, every day, for three decades. Or perhaps just two and a half.

The main floor was lighter, distant street lights and the moon curving their way in through the dark, casting long shadows where the blackness did not already swallow them whole. It was still dark, but Greyson did not want to turn any lights on here, either. He could navigate the darkness fine. Was it because his own soul was like this house? Kindred spirits, filled with lonely shadows in the black.

But, that was strange. Light cast against the familiar portrait at the end of the hall, like someone had left a light on in a nearby room. Greyson approached, the lack of glasses making the details fuzzy but he certainly knew what he was looking at. He peered around the corner and came to a halt.

The door to the den was open, which was hardly noteworthy in itself, but lamplight spilled out of it, yellow and warm. The sight settled a coldness in Greyson’s chest, whatever he had left in there frosting over. There had only ever been a single lamp in that room, and Mistress had knocked it over when she collapsed, that day before she died. Greyson had picked up the larger pieces and vacuumed the smaller, had emptied the vacuum’s basin into the same bag as the larger pieces and lampshade and set the bag outside for the garbagemen to collect.

But there was lamplight coming from the den.

Greyson felt numb. Numb, and cold, a churning pit of fear pounding at the glass his feet walked across, shadowy hands ready to swallow him whole as soon as the numbness broke. With each step towards that light, his body grew colder, colder, so by the time he reached the doorframe his whole body shivered violently.

The old, well-worn armchair was positioned so that it looked over the rest of the room, and would only require someone sitting in it to turn their head to look at the doorway. So he did not see her face, right away, just her dark, curly, slightly-frizzy hair that stressed her so, the fabric of her light blue nightgown over her arm and shoulder.

Slowly, she turned her neck and looked straight at him.

The numbness broke the moment their eyes met, Greyson’s hand snapping up to his mouth and his body convulsing, curling in on itself, with a hand to his stomach. This can’t be happening some part of him thought desperately.

“M-Mistress--”

“I’m barely in the ground and already your behavior’s gone to shit,” she snapped, in her voice, her voice. “Is that how I taught you to greet me? Do you think this is appropriate?”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, rushing forward, in front, to bend and kiss her hand but she stopped him two feet away.

“Kneel.”

He crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, elbows wedged between his spread knees and hands clasped out in front of him, head bowed and eyes staring wide and vacant at his shadow on the carpet.

“Up and about dressed like that. Disgusting.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, hot tears against his forearms. He hadn’t cried from fear in...years. He’d forgotten he could.

“I heard you, you know,” she said, voice pitching low.

His eyes squeezed shut and he choked on a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Think you can just go to my grave and say whatever you want?”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“Did you think ‘oh there won’t be any consequences, I’ll just do whatever I want’ like a little entitled rat?”

“Please, I’m sorry, Mistress, I’m sorry!”

“You like my nephew better than me, don’t you?”

“No, Mistress, I--”

“Liar. You only say that because you got caught in the act.”

“Please,” he blubbered, rabbit-pulsed and shaking apart on the carpet.

“You’re a disgrace, Greyson.”

“I’m sorry,” he wept, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry Mistress I’m sorry.”

--

Galo moved to a room at the front of the house, peering through the window, but yup, the driveway was still empty. Not that he had genuinely expected that to change overnight, but still, better to check. He yawned, stretched his hands up above his head, and went back to his room to grab his cell phone.

“Hi! My name is Galo Fotia, I scheduled to have a dumpster dropped off at my address two days ago, but it did not arrive that day or yesterday. I was--no, go ahead? ...Yeah, no, I absolutely understand that, sometimes things just get lost in the process. Yeah, yes please, I appreciate it.” Galo descended the stairs as he spoke, bare feet against the soft carpet. “No, it’s no problem, just, as soon as you’re able. I--” Galo stood straighter, something… off. “Mhm, yep, thanks a lot. Have a nice day now, bye!” he said, cutting the conversation a little shorter than he would’ve liked.

But he felt alarmed. And in this house of horrors, any bad vibes he got were very much worth listening to. He pocketed his phone and rolled his shoulders, ready to widen his stance and square himself to look as massive and menacing as possible if he found a threat. He made a beeline for the den, whatever signals his brain was giving him were leading him there, and blanched to find Greyson, of all people, there. Face down on his knees with clasped hands extended out. Wearing pajamas.

“Uh, Greyson?” Galo asked, anxiety spiking up at the full body flinch--really, more of a jolt--that came with Galo’s words. “You alright there dude?” He tried to keep the alarm out of his voice but was pretty sure he did not succeed at all. He moved to Greyson’s side, noticing how the man was kneeling pointed at the old armchair, and carefully went down on one knee, not wanting to spook him more.

Greyson was awake. Mouth-breathing, twitching, but he didn’t move for a long moment, not until Galo lightly placed his hand on Greyson’s back and gave a light, slow stroke downward. He heard Greyson swallow, and watched him slowly separate his fingers and press his palms to the floor. Galo moved a hand to Greyson’s front, helping him lift up to somewhat-sitting, and winced sympathetically at the dark shadows under his eyes and the dried tear-tracks there.

“Hey,” Galo said gently, leaving his hand on Greyson’s chest and continuing to pet up and down his back, “Ground control to Major Tom. What’s goin’ on here, dude?”

Greyson looked at him, then up at the armchair. His body trembled all over, then went still again under Galo’s palms. His lips cracked open but no sound came out, and Galo rubbed a circle into the back of his neck. “Take your time.”

“She was here,” Greyson stated, and fear crawled up Galo’s spine. Haha, that was fucking ominous.

“What do you mean by that, Greyson?” Galo asked, kind of proud at how his mental screaming only barely filtered into his tone.

“She. Mistress, she, she was here. Last night. The light was on and she was sitting here.”

“Okay,” Galo said, mentally adding the armchair to the list of things he would be throwing into the dumpster when it arrived. Actually, he might put it in the middle of the driveway and set it on fire. “Okay, that’s alarming.”

“She spoke to me,” Greyson whispered, lifting a knobby hand to his face and covering his mouth. “She--she was here. She was right here.”

“Right, right okay, Greyson, can you stand for me?” Galo asked, moving the hand on his back to under his elbow. Greyson nodded and Galo stood slowly, hands bracing Greyson and glad of it. His legs were shaky at best, and Greyson caught himself on Galo’s strong arms, body trembling and staggering.

“How long were you kneeling there?” Galo asked gently, waiting as Greyson winced through the pain of circulation returning to his lower body.

“I… at least half of the night--I didn’t sleep, Master.”

I can tell Galo thought with another glance at the bags under Greyson’s eyes. But oh, the thought of this poor man kneeling there for half the night, more, dawn sliding over his body as he continued to kneel in one of the worst rooms in the building…

“Okay,” Galo said, mostly to himself, “Okay, deep breaths. Greyson, do you maybe wanna go get dressed? I’ll get this all sorted out, don’t worry, but I think you might feel better if you do.”

Greyson nodded, because when did Greyson ever disagree with him, and Galo helped him down the steps. He kept an arm extended for Greyson to brace himself on all the way to the slaves’ room, and he knocked twice on the door. Nyla opened it with confused alarm, which turned into just-alarm when she caught sight of Greyson.

“Hey, weird developments in the night,” Galo said, looking at the spot just above Nyla’s head because her nightgown was very flimsy and pretty and he Was Not Looking, “Greyson’s kind of going through it. Could you all come up to the kitchen once you’re dressed?”

“Yes, Master,” Nyla said, glancing at him as she reached for Greyson, and Galo brought his arm forward to help Greyson along.

“Cool, excellent, let me know if Evan needs help with the stairs,” Galo said and rushed off. There were two wolves inside him: one that was absolutely flipping its shit about potential ghosts and one that was blushing about seeing Nyla in her nightgown and what was his life that these were the things warring for his attention? What was his life? Why was this his life?

Sasha was in the kitchen but nearly jumped out of her skin when he came in through a different door than he usually did.

“Hey, morning, weird things going on,” Galo said, bypassing his usual greeting. “Can you freeze bread dough? Or like, refrigerate it? Because uh, yeah, just, I don’t want your work to go to waste but I think today is a good day for us all to be outside.”

Galo reached up on top of the fridge and pulled down a nicely sized cooler. “And, in the spirit of being outside, like, all of today probably, would you please pack breakfast and a buncha fluids into here for me?”

Sasha took it with a nod, visibly befuddled. “Great, thanks, sorry to alarm you but some weird--I already used that adjective--just, stuff’s happening, okay? Stuff is happening that I think we would all prefer not to be happening aaaaand I’m gonna take care of it but I’m gonna take care of it outside.”

Sasha nodded again, wrapping the bread dough in saran wrap and setting it in the fridge.

Galo pulled out his phone and started googling. It turned out people could get dressed pretty quick here, though, because he’d barely saved two phone numbers to his notes app before the other four were entering the kitchen, dressed with pinched expressions. Evan was on his crutches with Lilah at his side, and Nyla had one of Greyson’s arms braced in both her hands. He was covering his mouth again.

“Great, cool, so, Greyson saw a ghost last night and I think we should all just have a nice day off outside.” Sasha’s head snapped towards Galo with wide eyes, dropping the bag of grapes into the cooler which, hey, of all the places they could be dropped. “Yeah, yup, I’m gonna talk to some people who are, uh, more professionally inclined to the supernatural than I am, but in the meantime I would like not to be in this building. Or for any of you to be in this building. So, garden party.” Lilah stiffened, “Oooooor whatever we wanna call it. Just.” Galo gestured towards the door and lifted the cooler for Sasha. “Outside.”

Lilah helped him find and set up a large umbrella to keep the sun off them, Galo carrying the heavy weighted base for her. While they were in the garage, away from the others who sat together around Greyson, Galo asked, “Has Greyson ever seen ghosts before?”

“No, Master,” Lilah answered, sticking a can of bug spray in her jean pocket.

“Good thinking,” he praised briefly, “Okay, I’m gonna drink my breakfast and make some phone calls. Do you think it’d be more reassuring for me to stick close to y’all, or should I move over and give you some privacy?”

“Privacy, sir, just for a bit. We all want to ask Greyson for details. And comfort him, if we can.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Galo said, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not holding the metal base. “I appreciate the guidance.”

Lilah looked up at him and gave a brief smile. “Well, hypothetically we’re in cahoots, right? I’m only behaving sensibly, sir.”

“Yeah. Even so, I’m still grateful for it.”

Once the umbrella was up and Galo had snagged the thermos Sasha had prepared for him, Galo told the group that he was gonna be a couple benches over so he could make some phone calls, but please come get him if they needed him for literally anything.

He was an hour into calling people when he finally got ahold of someone willing to help. “Hello, may I speak to Father O'Reilly?” Galo asked, and when the man was on the line he took a deep breath, ready to repeat himself for the umpteenth time.

“Hello Father, my name is Galo Fotia and let me preface by saying this is not a prank call. I am legitimately asking, do you do exorcisms?”

“I… would like more details,” the priest answered, and honestly? That was the best response Galo had gotten so far.

“Someone I live with saw a ghost last night, and while I do not consider myself a man of any particular faith: I don’t mess with the supernatural. Someone who lived here recently died and it seems like a very real possibility that she’s haunting us, since she was a bitter, malicious, cruel person. It could also be a demon. It could also be a nightmare or hallucination but personally I would prefer to cover absolutely all my bases, so, do you do exorcisms? Or, I dunno, at least come take a look?”

“I believe that would be doable.”

Galo heard himself sigh, shoulders slumping. “Thank you, Father. Today?”

Galo gave him his address and number, asking him to call him when he arrived because, again, Galo didn’t fuck with ghosts. He was not going back into that house until someone with a degree in Weird Bullshit was there with him.

He was not a man of faith, but he went to religious men first. He was aware of the irony. “Yeah, well, in the immortal words of Regina Spector, no one’s laughing at god when they’re desperate,” he muttered to himself. Or however that song goes. Whatever adjective she uses, he thought. It was a whole song. Not important. Focus.

Google reviews spoke very highly of a website that was designed to all but physically scream “I’m a scam.” But every person who left a comment professed that the psychic agency in question had solved their problems, and it had a five-star user rating. So Galo cautiously navigated the page, bright colors and comic sans putting him on edge to exit out at the first sign of a popup or potential malware.

His phone call with the agent was nearly identical to his call with the priest, explaining the ghost situation. He was asked more questions: when did this start happening (last night) what was the person’s relation to the deceased (he was her slave) how recent her death was, did Galo know of any unfinished business she might have, and a brief discussion of prices. Galo might’ve been daunted by the gaudy webpage, but the agent was nothing but professional on the line.

Satisfied he’d exhausted both a religious and non-religious form of supernatural-fuckery, he returned to the group. They were sitting clustered together on a long stone bench, Nyla and Evan on either side of Greyson, Sasha holding onto Nyla’s arm and Lilah sitting on Evan’s leg, the uninjured one. Nyla held Greyson’s hand and Lilah’s palm rested on his shoulder, and his hand still covered his mouth. Poor guy.

“No, please, stay sitting,” Galo rushed when Sasha heard his approach and triggered everyone else realizing he was there. “I’m just comin’ back, no need for formalities.” He looked directly at Greyson, face involuntarily screwing up in pity. “How’re you doing, Greyson?” he asked with a low, quiet voice.

The older man shook slightly, his fingers curling against his lips before lowering his hand. “Better than you found me, Master.”

“Good,” Galo said, sinking down to sit with crossed legs. “No, no! Stay,” Galo said, raising both hands to stop the group. They all, Lilah included, looked panicked to be sitting up higher than their Master. “I’m sitting on the ground because I want to, I happen to like it down here. Please, just stay where you are.”

“...Yes Master,” Nyla answered after a tense moment, deliberately settling herself back on the stone and smoothing out her skirts. She looked different without her usual apron on. Galo couldn’t wait to see her in one of the dresses she’d ordered.

Now was not the time brain, get it together.

The others took their cue from her and sat back, Lilah shifting off of Evan to sit next to him on the stone. 

“Thank you,” Galo said supportively, smiling up at them. “Nyla, where’s the carbon monoxide detector located in the house--or, a building this size would probably need more than one actually…”

“I, sorry sir?” Nyla said, smiling but eyebrows twisted up in confusion.

“The carbon monoxide monitor?”

“I… am not certain, sir, what you mean?”

“Oh. Okay, uh, hm.” Galo nodded slowly. “Yeah, so, that’s something I’m gonna go ahead and order. You don’t need to mind me, I’m just gonna sit here and do that real quick.”

Galo pulled out his phone again and googled how many he should even get. Google suggested one for each floor, and possibly extra ones in or directly outside sleeping areas.

“I would actually kind of prefer it if you all didn’t stare directly at me while I do this,” Galo mentioned as mildly as he could, but they all snapped their gazes away in an instant anyway. He… ugh, whatever, don’t overthink it. He ordered six, just to be safe, and pocketed his phone again.

“Alright, so, I’ve got a priest coming over hopefully within the hour, and an appointment with a psychic this afternoon. I’ll just order lunch and we can eat out here, because, uh, ghosts.” Galo gestured vaguely. “I’m not taking chances with that shit.”

“Yes, Master,” Nyla said, “Is there anything you would like us to do in the meantime?”

“Mmmnng” Galo hummed, scratching at his undercut. What to do with a group of people who’d never relaxed a day in their lives? 

“Oh, uh, actually, since I have you all here!” Galo said, remembering. “I wanted to make a statement that you’ve all been very good for me so far, and I appreciate all the effort you’ve put in, but I want to do away with some of my aunt’s old rules.” Galo noticed confusion on most of their faces, but Sasha’s was the only one holding any real sense of distress so he marked that down as a win.

God he needed to find a way to make Sasha, specifically, feel more comfortable around him.

“So,” Galo lifted three fingers, eyes rolling back to the side as he tried to remember if that was right. “First, I don’t care about stuttering. I understand my aunt apparently had a thing about it, but I don’t, so if you stutter I won’t mind.” Evan’s eyes flicked, briefly, barely noticeable, to Sasha, before he resumed being as stony-faced and attentive as the rest of them. Lilah, Nyla, and Greyson didn’t react, but Galo suspected that might be because they were deliberately refraining.

“Second, it’s okay if you don’t move super gracefully around me. It’s okay if you do, too, but like, you don’t have to put an effort into it if you don’t feel like it.” Nyla, impossibly, sat up straighter at that, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“And, uh, fuck,” what was the third one? Oh yeah, “Smiling! I don’t need you to make pretend-expressions at me. If you wanna frown or anything you’re allowed.”

They collectively looked baffled. Galo, who was pretty sure he was just allergic to awkward situations, pulled out his phone again with a cheery grin.

“I have Netflix! There are a couple different movies I’ve thought looked cute that I haven’t gotten around to yet. I mean, my phone screen is kinda small but I bet we could make it work if we all just sorta get in close.”

Evan reacted positively to that, though his expression shuttered the moment Galo’s eyes flicked to him. “That sounds wonderful, Master,” Nyla said politely, but she also kinda sounded like she meant it, her smile taking that softer quality that Galo associated with genuine pleasure. Galo smiled up at her. “Cool.” He’d need to grab his portable charger while the priest was in the house, but he should have enough battery to last until then. He pulled up Song of the Sea, which had selkies, not ghosts, and sat with his back to the group, right in front of Greyson, lifting his phone with one hand. He was strong, so he could keep his hand lifted up like that for a while, and he’d just switch hands when he did get too tired.

They were about 3/4ths of the way through the movie when it auto-paused for a phone call. “Aw, shit, to be continued,” Galo said as he rose, answering the phone with a hello. He jogged around to the front of the house, not passing through it, and waved hi when he caught sight of the priest.

“Hello Father,” Galo greeted politely, extending a hand. 

“Hello, my son,” Father O'Reilly greeted in turn, eyes darting to Galo’s tanktop and then doing a double take. Galo glanced down, and oh, yeah. He was wearing his “Mothman wants what I have” shirt. The one with the art of Mothman’s GIANT ass. Probably not the most professional. C'est la vie. 

“So about the ghost,” Galo said, attempting to get back on track. “Wait. My shirt probably makes it seem like I’m not taking this seriously. I am taking this seriously. I just, didn’t realize what I was wearing, I--”

“It’s alright,” he cut in, much to Galo’s relief.

“I’m a little jumpy today,” he said with hands held half in front of him, “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Please, show me where the spirit was seen.”

Galo led him to the den, very much hoping that Greyson had just had, like, a super bad nightmare while sleepwalking. That would be the best option. 

“He said the light was on, but when I found him this morning the lights were all off,” Galo said, settling a hand on top of a bare side table near the armchair and leaning on it. “This is where he saw her,” he said with a gesture towards the chair. 

“Mm,” Father O’Reilly hummed, examining the armchair. He examined the rest of the room lightly, not opening anything or prying. Which. Good. Because the dumpster still wasn’t here and Galo really didn’t wanna explain the cabinet full of weapons and chains to a Catholic priest. The man just said a few chants, what Galo assumed were Hail Mary’s. He finished with the lord’s prayer which Galo did know, due to his own churchly upbringing, and Galo muttered along under his breath. Well over a decade later and Galo still knew it word for word (but then, he could also probably sing Veggie Tales verbatim so who knows if that was indicative of anything). 

“The Lord has blessed this home and those within it,” the priest assured as he headed out, “Rest easy now, my son.”

Galo did not believe that at all but he thanked the priest gratefully regardless. He grabbed his portable charger and his laptop, then headed back out to the slaves.

“Good news, the priest has come and blessed the house. I’ll meet with the psychic this afternoon and then we should be able to head back inside.”

Galo ordered pizza, plugged his phone into the portable charger, and then pulled up the rest of Song of the Sea on his laptop. Nyla, interestingly enough, settled herself on the ground next to Galo when he sat down again, and he was gonna protest but…

Well, if it was just her.

This was an interesting exercise in proximity, too. Galo tended to see them fleetingly, just here or there unless something was going on, and rarely all of them together at once. They were stiff around him, but he was kinda stiff around them too, for all he tried to project only friendly, relaxed ease. They were… still figuring out how to exist around one another.

The dumpster arrived mid-afternoon (yay! A project Galo could work on some other time) and they’d started another movie by the time the psychic arrived, and Galo took his laptop inside with him to plug it in while things happened. He was a little more okay cutting through the house with the priest having been there, which meant his first look at the psychic was when he opened the door.

Before him stood a relatively short, middle-aged Japanese man with a polite smile who was absolutely SHREDDED. Just completely fucking JACKED. Galo’s face immediately lit up in unadulterated delight.

“Hi!” he greeted, extending a hand. 

“Hello,” the exorcist greeted with a mild accent. “Are you Galo Fotia?”

“Yes, that’s me! Mr. Kageyama? Or, uh, Kageyama-san?”

“Oh, either’s fine,” the man said with a wave of his hand, smiling pleasantly. “I apologize for coming alone, my coworker had something come up so it is just me today.”

“Yeah, that’s cool. You can uh, you can get rid of ghosts without your partner though, yeah?”

“I am the primary agent who handles spirits, yes,” he reassured.

“Thank you, great, so, uh, this way?” Galo led him to the den and pointed at the armchair, but Mr. Kageyama shook his head.

“There is an evil spirit in this house, but it is not here,” he stated plainly, and Galo’s face froze in a wide eyed smile. 

“Ah. Yeah?”

“Mm,” Mr. Kageyama said with a nod of his head. Fortunately, he looked utterly unperturbed, because if the professional looked bothered Galo was going to Lose His Whole Shit. “May I lead the way?”

“Uh, yeah, yes, please,” Galo said with a weak gesture, edging closer to the older man. No way in HELL was he going to be alone in this house for even a moment.

It occurred to him, distantly, that between the shady website and Galo’s own nerves, this man might possibly just be winding Galo up to scam him. But Galo had the money! Scamming was a non-issue. And if there was an issue, Galo was all too happy to pay this nice, buff man to make it go away. Please dear god.

Mr. Kageyama walked out of the den, over into the dining room, but paused, staring up at the ceiling. “No, upstairs,” he mumbled, turning back around and leading Galo up the steps, down the hall, directly to Auntie Bethany’s bedroom. Galo’s steps slowed as he realized where Mr. Kageyama was heading, and he felt his breathing going tight as he came to a halt completely, a couple feet away.

“Well,” Galo said with a strained chuckle, making Mr. Kageyama pause and turn. “I know you’re the real deal,” Galo told the man standing in front of Auntie Bethany’s “tool closet.”

Mr. Kageyama nodded and turned back to the closet, settling his hand on the door handle. “This is not a ghost,” he stated plainly, “but it is an evil spirit. They can sometimes form in places of concentrated hatred, pain, and anger. It does not have any memories since it was never alive, but it does have a ‘mind’ that might interact with the living.” 

Mr. Kageyama stared at the door a moment, then removed his hand from the handle. “It is strong. It would’ve taken years to gain this sort of strength.”

“Yeah,” Galo breathed. “My uh, my aunt--look, the stuff that’s in there, please know that I would never…”

Mr. Kageyama glanced at him, nodded once, and placed his hand against the plywood. “I don’t need to open it. I can do my work from here, and I feel I probably do not want to know.”

Galo blinked as the light in the room warped, physically waving around Mr. Kageyama in a purplish blue, then just as suddenly went back to the cheerful, neutral light of the daylight coming in through the windows.

“...ah.” Galo said. Ghosts were real. Evil spirits were real. Psychics? Also real apparently! This was a lot to take in during one day.

“So, that thing, the evil spirit,” Galo said, fiddling with the neckline of his top, then rubbing his undercut, “that’s what looked like my aunt last night?”

“Probably not. Although it was powerful, usually only ghosts can look like human beings. It could have induced a nightmare in a susceptible mind, though.” Mr. Kageyama approached Galo and asked, “May I speak with the man who saw the ‘ghost?’”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Galo took the lead this time, and debated on if it would be impolite to ask about leisure activities during a work assignment. Eh, fuck it, Galo was friendly. “So, what gym do you go to?” Galo asked. Mr. Kageyama brightened, and the two talked companionably the entire way out to the garden. Mr. Kageyama seemed to favor afternoons for his exercise, while Galo was definitely a morning man, and they compared notes on their weekly rotations. Apparently Mr. Kageyama had a group of people back in Japan who he videochatted with he’d befriended back in middle school, where they all kept tabs on each other and stuck to a group routine, even though many of them didn’t live in the same city or even country as the others, anymore.

Galo longed for friends like that.

“Hey, guys,” Galo greeted as they rounded a hedge. Nyla was on her feet in a flash, and Galo hastened to assure the others they could stay sitting, yes, even with Mr. Kageyama here. “He just wants to ask Greyson a couple of questions, okay?” Galo said, and Greyson’s adam apple bobbed visibly. He stood and walked to Galo and Mr. Kageyama, and Galo pressed a hopefully reassuring hand to his back as he passed. “We’ll just be over here,” Galo said to both Greyson and Mr. Kageyama.

“Yes sir,” Greyson said as Mr. Kageyama nodded, and Galo went to Nyla as they left.

“Everyone over here holding up okay?” Galo asked, reaching up and letting her kiss his hand before he caressed the side of her head, stroking a thumb over her hair.

“Yes, Master,” she answered, and if his eyes did not deceive him she actually smiled a little as she leaned into his touch, eyes slipping slowly closed like a cat before she blinked them back open and stood straight.

“Easy,” he breathed, not wanting to scare her off but feeling like that was so precious. “So, I can repeat myself when Greyson gets back if Mr. Kageyama didn’t catch him up to speed, but Mr. Kageyama found an evil spirit in my aunt’s old bedroom. Not a ghost, apparently, but like, a conglomeration of evil energies? I’m pretty sure. He got rid of it though.”

Galo explained how Mr. Kageyama had walked straight there, and Evan confirmed that the dining room was in fact directly underneath Auntie Bethany’s bedroom, and everyone knew that the ‘tool closet’ was as good a place as any for terrible things to fester.

“So… magic is real, sir?” Lilah said, sounding dumbfounded and struggling with the information as much as Galo felt.

“Honestly, I’m just gonna ignore that and ideally never bring it up again,” Galo stated. Sasha nodded, Nyla and Evan staring into the middle distance, Nyla with a fist lifted to her lips.

“...Yes Master.”

When Greyson and Mr. Kageyama returned, Gresyon’s hand was tight-knuckled on the lapel of his jacket, eyes down, but his posture immaculate. “Mr. Fotia?” the psychic asked.

Galo rejoined Mr. Kageyama and walked out of earshot, Galo drumming his fingers on his thighs. “So,” he prompted, scanning Mr. Kageyama’s face.

“I do not believe the evil spirit was what caused last night’s vision,” Mr. Kageyama stated mildly. “It is not impossible, or even uncommon, for extreme stress to manifest as audiovisual hallucinations. I would strongly urge you to seek the counsel of a psychiatrist.”

“Yeah,” Galo said with a heavy sigh, “yeah, trust me, I know. They’ve all got appointments with therapists this upcoming week.”

Mr. Kageyama hummed and nodded approvingly. It made Galo feel… nice. It was pleasant, knowing that at least someone approved of his decisions.

“There are no more evil spirits in the house or nearby; did you have anything else I could help with?”

“...If I may get oddly personal, how do you get your glutes to look like that?”

“Oh, I was simply born with very little fat on my hindquarters.”

“God, I’m so jealous,” Galo said, laughing. “I feel like one of those old ladies that jokes about everything she eats going straight to her ass and thighs.”

Mr. Kageyama laughed politely, bringing up the exercises he favored that really worked out those muscles, and Galo compared his own routine. They both seemed to welcome the positive change in topic, and kept it up all the way back to Mr. Kageyama’s car, where Galo thanked him again, paid him for his time and service, and waved goodbye.

He sighed, and looked to the house, rubbing at his undercut. It was safe to go back inside. No ghosts. Just demons of a metaphorical kind.

--

Master Galo had been generous. More than generous.

Greyson was aware that he was, in a large way, very ignorant, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew how it looked, to find him kneeling in front of an empty chair, talking about lights when the lamp was gone. He knew that the questions the psychic had were only asked to gauge his mental state, whether he was a raving lunatic or not, no matter how politely the man had framed the words. He knew that it was foolish, for a man in his 40’s to be frightened by ghosts.

But Master Galo had taken his concerns seriously. His large hands had been gentle on Greyson’s aching, tired body, bearing his weight when his own hollow legs couldn’t. He’d touched him softly, brought them all outside and forbade them from work, removed long-standing rules when by all rights he should be punishing Greyson for the inconvenience, hired not one but two different professionals to handle Greyson’s childish fears.

He knew he did not deserve this.

But Master Galo demonstrably cared very little for what Greyson deserved. He gave very openly, very freely, very frequently. 

He had ordered them to please try and take the evening off, and allowed Nyla to beg to water the plants, and hadn’t been even remotely irritated by the contradiction. Lilah disappeared while Sasha and Greyson helped Evan back down to the basement, and Greyson was almost inclined to worry on her whereabouts, but only almost.

Master was inexplicably kind, and Lilah had tried strange boldness with him before. If Master Galo caught her out and about with no reason for her wandering, the worst he would do would be direct her back down to the basement. Greyson was surprised by his own certainty, that she was fine.

But Master Galo had always been kind, even from his youth, and Greyson had known him, in whatever small way, the longest out of everyone here. Should he truly be so surprised by his Master’s kindness?

Shortly after Nyla and Lilah had both returned to their room, Greyson gave voice to the rattling thought that had taken up new residence inside his empty skull.

“Greyson,” Sasha tried to dissuade, because apparently the only times Greyson felt want were when his wants were absurd.

“No, he can go,” Nyla said, her brow furrowed a little, Lilah and Evan glancing between the three of them.

Greyson nodded to Nyla, his shoulders curving in a shallow bow, and left their room. He heard Sasha’s frustrated noise, and then, surprisingly, the door.

“Sasha?” he asked, surprised, and she firmly wrapped her arms around his, her strong fingers digging into the nonexistent flesh of his arm.

“So you d-don’t see any more ghosts a-alone in the house,” Sasha said firmly, her mouth pulled in a determined line.

Greyson opened his mouth to protest--he didn’t need walked up the stairs and down a hall--but found he simply did not have the energy to argue, and he didn’t really want to in the first place. He was surprised he had even the single want he currently possessed, and even his surprise was a shallow, hollow thing. Like a car wreck glanced at on the morning news.

“Thank you, Sasha,” he said, lifting his free hand to pat at hers, and he left it there. Palm to knuckles, skin to skin.

He was so tired.

But regardless, he wanted to do this, despite his fatigue, so he climbed the stairs again and sought out his Master. He was sitting with a damp cloth over his eyes, arms spread over the back of the couch, legs spread carelessly, head tipped back and his ridiculous shirt on display.

Greyson really shouldn’t have an opinion about his Master’s wardrobe, and yet, that one thought continued to flit about in the back of his mind, like a tone deaf background character in a serious scene.

Greyson, silent as the air, pressed his lips to Sasha’s cheek in thanks for taking him here, then waited until she was gone to knock on the doorframe.

“Master Galo.”

“Greyson?” Master Galo asked, sounding alarmed, sitting up in an instant and pulling the washcloth from his eyes. “Hey, dude,” he said, beckoning him in, and Greyson went, straight-spined and graceful despite his Master’s earlier retraction of the rule. “Are you okay?”

“I am, Master, thank you,” Greyson, and it was more or less the truth, he figured.

“What are you doing here, instead of with the others?” he asked as Greyson knelt and kissed his hand. It was so big, he noticed, like he’d noticed every time he kissed it. At first it had alarmed him. Now he didn’t feel anything at the observation.

“I wanted to thank you, sir,” Greyson said. My body is present and available for your service and pleasure, please use me as you see fit. The words were familiar and worn, though he was perhaps the only member of his family who had ever meant them, when he said them. He would’ve meant them now, too, if he thought he was allowed to say them.

“You don’t need to,” Master Galo said, sounding tired of Greyson’s fawning, and Greyson at first resisted the urge to grip his own wrist to soothe himself. “You didn’t sleep at all last night, aren’t you tired? Go to bed, Greyson.”

“Please, I wanted--” his words cut out. He… was not the most eloquent speaker. He did grip his wrist, then, and swallowed hard. This was defiance. He’d been given an order. He pressed himself to speak anyway. “To… seek comfort, Master.”

He hadn’t told Nyla and the others about that part. They weren’t… they hadn’t had the same relationship with Mistress, as he had. They never saw the part of her that Greyson missed the worst.

“Yeah?” Galo asked, no more than a whisper. “What--what can I do for you, Greyson?”

Greyson’s shoulders slumped in relief that his defiance had not pushed his Master to anger. “Please, Master, may I rest my head against your leg?”

“Ah, sure?” Master Galo leaned back against the couch, shifting as he did. “Like, just, sit there?”

“Unless you would prefer I do something, Master?”

“No. No, definitely not. Uh,” Master Galo gestured at the thigh closest to Greyson, which was probably about as large as Greyson’s waist if he was honest. “Go ahead?”

When Greyson was a teen, he’d pillowed his arms across Mistress’s knees and rested his head there as well, her fingers petting at his hair and shoulders. As he’d aged, his arms had left the equation, simply kneeling at her side with his head against her skirt.

Now, with his Master, he let his posture relax further, sitting on his rear instead of his ankles, his wrist grasped in his lap, his glasses held loosely in that hand. Master’s thigh was warm against the side of his face, his eyes closed and knees pressed to the front of the couch. Master’s hand gently caressed his skull, passing over his hair just behind his ear.

Greyson sighed, some pale shade of contentment passing through him, his body slowly, very slowly, unwinding. It happened in increments, first his legs, then his shoulders, then his jaw, then his brow, all of him melting under the steady, slow pass of his Master’s hand over his head.

God, he was so tired.

He woke in bed, with the others, in the basement, with no recollection of how he’d gotten there.

Next

[lovelivingmydreams]

A story by heroes and villains

Book 2: secrets revealed Janus Bullard: A call

Masterposts: Book 1: the way stories cross

Book2: Secrets revealed

A simple cal from a friend can gt you through the toughest of things sometimes.

“So. What do you think? Are we going to sit in silence the next forty minutes too or…?” Janus just curled in on themself tighter. They were at their first appointment with Doctor Remy Pikani. Who insisted Janus called him Remy. Not because he was one of those adults who thought they’d be more relatable that way. Doctor Pikani just found the title sounded dreadfully boring. Which was why Janus kept using it for now. “Ok. I’ve given you plenty time to be broody. But I was under the impression that you want to fix some things about your attitude and your life.” Janus huffed. “And you think you can fix me?” Doctor Pikani grinned. Taking Janus responding at all as progress. “First of all: You don’t need to be fixed. People never need fixing. Your attitude though, well you gotta admit there is room for improvement there.” Well at least one of them thought they weren’t broken beyond repair. “Okay. We clearly aren’t going to be talking about you today. Your parents mentioned a Virgil and his father, Logan?” the man said as he looked through his notes. Janus relaxed just a little. They supposed they could talk a little about them. But… What if Collector found out what he was doing right now and tried to find out what was said… They couldn’t tell this man too much. Nothing that could harm uncle Lo or Virgil. “What about them?” they said dismissively. Remy took him in for a minute, Janus just looked away, not wanting to give anything away. “Alright… Clearly you don’t trust me. You know that I made one of those fancy oaths to never reveal any information about you without your permission. Unless I have reasons to think you’re a danger to yourself or others. I could lose my job, forever, if that got discovered. So if you don’t trust me, trust that I like this cushy job and the things it affords me to buy. Like my fav Starbees order.” Pikani underlined the last statement with a long sip from his to go cup. Janus took Remy in, suddenly impressed. He might be better than they had given him credit for. Janus had given him pretty much nothing and he still figured how to get them to be more open to the idea of sharing. And maybe, maybe if the collector did ask, even if he was persuasive. Maybe Remy would hide the most important things. They were nowhere near ready to take that gamble. But they could talk a little about certain things. By the end of the session they’d laid out their life before high school in the broadest possible terms. Remy now knew how close they were to uncle Logan, that Virgil had been their friend for as long as they could remember, they knew that they’d been friends with Remus until he moved schools. But that was it. All of that Collector could learn from anyone really. And Remy could feel like they had made progress all he wanted. They had agreed to see a shrink, but they had not thought of all the risks that entailed. Still they couldn’t back out now. Their parents had made it clear that they had to make an effort to show that they were trying to change. And they were. They were done with making mistakes. They’d figure out a way to fix things. They needed to get better at controlling their powers so they wouldn’t accidently hurt others or make them do things they didn’t want to do, and they had to expose Collector for who he was asap. He was not a good person and he spent way too much time with Virgil. The fact that the artist Virgil admired was bad news, did not make what Janus did last year right though. Still they kind of wished they had succeeded, even if that had led to Virgil hating them forever. No… they had to trust that Virgil could take care of himself. Janus had to sneak out every night to meet Collector for training. To their regret they practiced their manipulation on their parents to make sure they’d believe them when they said they were going to bed. Once they realized they had done it before, they could do it quite easily on purpose actually. They were more concerned about trying to win an argument and doing it by accident. They supposed that it was a good thing that they joined the debate team this semester. That should give them practice in turning it off. They were starting to think that Collector was just pretending not to notice their little manipulations. Or maybe, their ‘Persuasion’ helped them fool him into believing they were following him blindly. Though they weren’t trying to use it for that. Which might be why it worked. When they actively tried to get him to tell them something, even just something small like “Why do you bother teaching me?” he noticed and could push against it. Collector never revealed what his gift was. Which was probably meant to make it harder for Janus to guard against it. His words kept chipping at their insecurities and last spring that would have worked. But they were different now. They had grown and they were ready to prove it. While they were trying to get their act together, the entire city was buzzing with the presence of a new hero. Their parents included. “This DreamPrince boy is going to go places. Maybe you should contact the GTH and propose a design for the fanwebsite?” Their mother suggested to their father over dinner after they watched the Prince’s first big interview together. “Hmm. Maybe I will. Who knows I might get to meet him in person. What do you think Janus? Want to meet a real life superhero with me?” Janus shrugged noncommittally. “Sure,” they muttered before finishing their meal and heading to their room. There was this thing in the pit of their stomach that grew white hot with anger at the mere mention of this guy, and they didn’t understand it. Had their old anger at Roman latched on to the next shining light it could spot? Regardless this guy had done nothing to earn their anger. He had seemed charming and confident but also modest and caring. None of which deserved a punch in his  face. They had to learn to control it. “You want anger management?” Remy surmised during their next session. It had been hard to describe what they wanted without getting into specifics. But they’d managed. “Yes,” Janus said decisively. “What makes you think you need it? From what I heard from your parents, and principal, you had no altercations that got violent…” Janus narrowed their eyes. Virgil had, of course, not told the teachers what he had done during their altercation. Even when he was mad with them he tried to protect them. They didn’t deserve it. “I hit my best friend in the stomach!” they hissed. “And just because I was kept from hitting anyone in the past… It’s like there are these embers in my stomach, and when something mildly upsetting happens they catch on fire and I lash out at anyone who’s nearby. And… You know what? It doesn’t matter why I want it. You are here to help me. This is what I need. So help me!” they demanded furiously. Remy leaned back. They hadn’t meant to go off like that, but maybe now he’d understand. “Okay… Yeah, you are right. If this is how you want to do this then we will…” he glanced at the clock. “That’s our time for today. See you again next week?” Remy wondered. “Yeah,” Janus sighed reluctantly. They weren’t eager to return, but they didn’t dare suggest quitting after only two sessions. They’d give it another try next week. Maybe now that Remy knew what they needed, the sessions would stop feeling like a waste of time and energy. They needed to make some progress. Right now they were terrified of even talking to Virgil. As long as they kept their distance Collector wouldn’t say anything to upset Virgil. Not to mention they were not sure if they could control their temper around him yet. But they did start talking to some people they’d been needlessly cruel to in the past. Rebuilding what they broke one apology at a time. They were building up to the bigger ones. Apologizing to Roman was still far ahead. After they’d really gotten a hold of their temper. One such apology was owed to their science partner of last year. “Hi Carlton,” they said softly. Despite their careful approach, their classmate jumped in fright. He took a defensive stance. Not in a fighting sense. He had his backpack clutched to his stomach, flinching away, making himself as small as possible. Janice swallowed away their frustration. This wasn’t the first apology to start out this way. After a few seconds Carlton relaxed his stance somewhat and looked them up and down. “… Hi?” he greeted hesitantly. “Listen… About how I acted last year. And, especially the year before… I was… I shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t do anything to deserve it and even if you had, I shouldn’t have. So. I’m sorry.” God it was so awkward every time. If Remy ever managed to make Janice feel like it was safe to open up, they’d tell him about this. To the doctors credit, he had suggested during their second session that starting small in getting better and making things right might be easier. And it was. It was still hard though. Carlton frowned as he studied them for a moment, first suspicious then thoughtful. “Did Virgil tell you to leave me be?” he asked. Janice shook their head. “I haven’t even talked to Virgil since they year started,” they admitted. “No…  I mean last year. Did he make you leave me alone?” Janice frowned. “No. We never really talked about you. I mean he didn’t like it when I was an ass to others in general. But he never gave anyone special mention… Why?” Carlton stared at them for another moment. “Well… Other than for like five minutes in that first class, you were pretty okay to me last year,” he pointed out. Janice shrugged. “Doesn’t excuse those five minutes or any of the times we talked before… If you can call it that. I have no explanation for Freshmen year, other than wrong place wrong time. For that class though… I was playing up the big bad bully angle to get Castile to switch seats. Figured everyone would be happy. He gets to play the hero, Virgil and I get to sit together, You get to sit next to your crush, but in hindsight-” “Wait! You thought… I was crushing on Roman?” Janice was beyond confused by that. “You were staring at him every chance you got,” they pointed out. Carlton blushed. “I… wasn’t staring at him,” he admitted. Janice let that sink in. If Carlton wasn’t staring at Roman then… “You have a crush on Virgil?” they realized, so shocked that it came out as a question “I sure hope so.” Janice nearly jumped when they heard Virgil’s voice come from behind them. In the next moment Virgil brushed past them and stood beside Carlton, draping an arm across his shoulders, making the later blush profusely. “We’re dating.” It was a statement. A challenge to say something bad about that fact. Janice was still processing. Virgil was dating a boy… But… “You… But… I thought you were with Stacey?” Had they broken up? Virgil was not fazed. “Where did you even hear that? I hung out with Stacey after school at the start of the year, yeah. We’re friends. After that, I went out with Anne, and Valery and Iris.” Janice’s head kept spinning as Virgil continued. “Didn’t work out beyond hanging out though. But me and Carlton are dating.” If Virgil went out with girls, had crushes on girls in the past and was dating a boy now… Then. “But… That means…” “I am bisexual Janus. Get over it,” Virgil huffed. Janice’s gaze drifted between the pair in front of him. Pieces slowly falling in place. “R Right… I’ll leave you be then.” They needed to get away. To process. It was their free hour so they went for a walk in the nearby forest again, ignoring the snapping branches above and around them, avoiding the clearing they’d made. One day they’d ask Collector how no one was talking about the damage they’d done. Today they had other things on their mind. All the hints Virgil dropped over the years flooded in at once and they couldn’t believe they’d been so blind. He wore the bi colors as his signature look! He’d commented on cute actors, he’d said he wouldn’t care about gender as long as the individual was cute. He had offered Janice his first kiss! Made it abundantly clear that he was comfortable with that! All of that was him testing the waters. Janice just had been so busy with their own secret that they did not pick up on it. Holy… V was bi. He had genuinely wanted Janice to kiss him back then. Probably not in a ‘I have a crush on you’ type of way. Virgil wouldn’t trick someone like that. But… When they got home that evening they were still processing the fact that Virgil had a boyfriend now. They were pulled out of their thoughts of might have beens when their phone rang. They didn’t recognize the number so they hung up. It called again. And again and so on the fourth time they picked up. “Janice speaking?” they asked distrustful. “Snakeface! Finally!” Snakeface…? “Remus?” they asked baffled. “The one and only! Scarecrow gave me your number. He said you two are going through a rough patch. Don’t tell me you two are getting a divorce!” It really was him. “Okay I’ll bite. What are you talking about?” They were curious to see how Remus’ mind was spinning this story. “Come on! You two were basically my playground parents… It was kinda nice to have you hover over me. I never thanked you two for that. Most kids thought I was too wild and weird.” Janice scoffed. “That’s part of your charm. It’s their loss,” they assured their friend. It was so good to hear him again. “But how did this happen? I haven’t heard from you since middle school!” they wondered. “Well my bro discovered I was buddies with you and Virgil back in the day and gave V my number, and now V gave me yours. Apparently my nicknames got confusing for my family. They thought I was talking about some of my creepy crawler friends and not actual humans,” Remus giggled. “Is that why we were never invited over?” Janice wondered. Another misunderstanding? “Um… Yeah… My bad?” Remus replied uncharacteristically awkwardly. “And the reason you never wanted to involve your brother was…?” Might as well get all the questions out of the way. “Well. You’ve met Romie. What do you think he would have done if he heard some bullies had it out for his brother?” They didn’t need to think twice. “He’d probably do something reckless and heroic.” “And gotten hurt or something. Also… Don’t be mad but I thought maybe if he got involved and you met him… You’d like him better.” Oh. “No chance. You were our friend. No one ever could’ve replaced you. I know Virgil felt awful for ages about being unable to protect you that day. Still does I think.” “Yeah. He hasn’t stopped apologizing since his first call,” Remus agreed. “Where did you go after they took you?” Janice wondered. “Oh, they got me in private tutoring. It was real fun. They give me time to go crazy when I need to in between the boring lessons. Only downside is that I don’t see Roman as often as I’d like. He visits all the time, but he has schoolwork and stuff to do as well. And I didn’t have you guys to annoy of course. But that’s enough about me! You spill!” So Janice told Remus that they had been kind of a jerk and that they were working on fixing things. The fact that Virgil had decided to throw them a boon by reconnecting them with Remus was a good sign. Remus cracked jokes and made innuendos. He found it hilarious that Virgil apparently had the ladies and lads lining up for him. When Janice mentioned Roman’s idea of coming out he cackled loudly. Though he did approve. They finished their conversation and agreed that Remus would call whenever possible and that Janus would either answer or call back when they had time. Unless Virgil told the collector for some reason, he didn’t need to know that Janice had a friend or hope of things going back to normal between Virgil and them. The less he knew the better. That evening Collector announced that it was time they prepared for Janice’s first heroic escapade. Which meant they’d need a codename and an outfit. They had one, actually. When they were in middle school they’d played heroes with Virgil and Remus and they all picked names. Remus was Duke. Virgil was Guardian and Janice was… “Serpentine,” they stated firmly. Collector nodded and took their face, angling it, studying it. “Making your flaws your strengths… Inspired. I can work with this,” he grinned before releasing his hold. The next day they were given their outfit. Apparently Collector had managed to get his hands on some GTH tech and fitted it for them. When they put it on their entire skin got covered in scales, their eyes were snakelike and yellow, the outfit itself was black with yellow scale patterns. A pair of yellow gloves and Yellow boots completed the look, along with a black cape. Their hair was black and straightened, pulled back in a ponytail. They looked cool, just not very heroic. They didn’t say anything about it though. Tried not to listen too closely as Collector told them their mission. Become popular, gain the new Prince’s trust and ‘most importantly’ get Virgil’s attention. Janus asked why Virgil had to see them in person. If they made the news wouldn’t that enough? Apparently not. Collector insisted they needed to impress Virgil, make sure that Serpentine was on his mind. There was a lot on Janus’ mind when they met up with Remy for their appointment. And it was a weird one. “How do you mean I don’t need help containing my temper?” Janus asked incredulously, very close to losing their handle on said temper. “Not in the way you think… I have the feeling that keeping things under lock and key, might be your problem and…” “How would you know that? We’ve talked for two hours! Not even that! And the one thing I ask you, you don’t want to even try!?” Janus exclaimed, barely keeping himself from setting of a blast in the room. Remy flinched back, but pushed onward. “See this, right here. This is actually good. Expressing your anger, letting it go, is much healthier than trying to lock it up. Take the pressure off so to speak.” Janus fell back into their seat and curled up once more. Not looking at doctor Pikani as he kept trying to explain why not teaching him how to keep his cool in stressful situations was a good idea. They didn’t even look at him when they left at the end of their hour. He’d said he’d help and now he was backing out. How were they expected to tell him anything? That Saturday, they were sent out for the first time. They did little things. There was a purse snatcher they managed to slam into a nearby set of bushes in someone’s front yard. Cushioning the impact and causing way less property damage than if they had slammed them into the nearby car as Collector suggested. Good quick thinking on their part if they said so themself. They returned the purse, tied up the purse snatcher to a nearby lamp post and ran off. Were there a lot of cameras? Yes. Did they care? Not really. Doing something right alone gave them quite the thrill. They didn’t encounter a lot of trouble after that. None that got Collector’s approval at least. They got a few toys out of drains and the like.  At some point they were directed to a different street and spotted Virgil walking with Carlton, they were holding hands and seemed to be having a good time. It was sort of cute. “Seems you have been replaced,” Collector’s voice whispered through his com. Janus wasn’t sure what that was supposed to be about. But he stealthily followed the two of them for a bit longer just out of curiosity. They liked seeing Virgil happy. Collector kept whispering in their ear about how Virgil had forgotten all about them and they might be too late even if they did become a hero. It was getting kind of annoying honestly. And just when they were about to snap at collector a nearby tire blew out, making the pair turn, Virgil instinctively pulling Carlton behind him, before moving on. That wasn’t good, they had to get away before they ruined Virgil’s date. “I’m done.” They said into their com once they felt they were far away enough. “Very well. I suppose you deserve a break. Good job  today.” And just like that they were left alone. They turned of their disguise and headed home. On their way there their phone rang. They took it out and checked the ID, expecting Remus’ name. It was not Remus. “Virgil?” They asked incredulously as they picked up. “Hi Jan…” Virgil sounded nervous, but not hostile or distrustful. A little on guard but in a familiar awkward way he had about him sometimes. Janus was scrambling for what to say. There were so many thinks they wanted to say. “I…” I’m happy to hear from you. I missed you. I am trying to make things right. “Hey. Thanks for… You didn’t have to give Remus my number. Hearing from him… It was great.” Those calls the past week were probably the only reason why they hadn’t blasted the Collector into a wall yet. “Well… You’ve missed him just as much as I did. And he missed you too I bet. And you’ve been trying. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Carlton told me you were apologizing to him last week.” Oh… Right. Usually they asked the people they apologized to not to make too big of a deal out of it. Two reasons. They wanted to apologize because it was right, not because it would get them back on Virgil or the teachers’ good side. And, again, the less collector knew, the better. But with Carlton they’d been interrupted before they could make the request. “Um… Yeah. You know. I was kind of a jerk for a while… And I don’t want to be,” They explained rather awkwardly, wishing for a change of subject. “I kissed him!” That sudden declaration caught Janus completely off guard. Virgil… Kissed… “What?” Sure they’d looked very cute and cozy. But they hadn’t expected things would go that well. “I kissed Carlton. The date went well, and the moment felt right… And I kissed him.” Virgil sounded giddy. And that made Janus happy. “Virgil that is amazing! How was it? Wait was that your first? Cause apparently you are in high demand,” they teased, getting Virgil to laugh. “Well yeah. But I’m not letting just anyone kiss me. You gotta earn that.” They laughed at Virgil’s carefree voice. They’d really needed this today. “Well I never thought I would beat you in that department that’s for sure. With the amount of crushes you had in middle school, I figured you’d go off and kiss a girl the second I turned my back.” They informed Virgil, curious if he’d catch up on the semi hidden confession. He did. “Wait… You don’t mean… Janus. Have you kissed someone? When?! Give me the details now!” he demanded. “It was nothing really. Just a summer fling. I was gonna tell you the second I got back. It really helped me put things in perspective but… Well. You know.” They’d already ruined things too much for a simple conversation to fix things. “Jan… I…” The guilt in Virgil’s voice was honestly comforting, as terrible as it may sound. But they wouldn’t let him feel that way. “No. Don’t apologize. I was not trying to guilt trip you. It was brought to my attention that I might’ve accidently been doing that.” There was more to it than that, but now was not the time. “Sorry for that by the way. There is a lot of things we need to talk about. But not yet. I… Can handle this. On the phone… But could we keep it between us? I don’t want the adults or Ca… Or Roman to pat me on the back for every good thing I do. Ok? I’m…” They couldn’t tell him everything. But they’d be as honest as they could. “I’m not ready to trust others. I barely trust my therapist…” God, they were rambling and oversharing. Well… Now Virgil knew they were trying to talk it out with someone. “Ok. Whatever you are comfortable with,” Virgil assured them. “And J?” “Yeah?” “I am proud of you.” Janus bit their lip. Hearing that from Virgil… It meant a lot. “And don’t worry. I didn’t fully trust mine right away either. It needs to click first. If you are really uncomfortable with them, then you just ask for another.” Janus let that sink in for a moment… Virgil… oh, wait… No that made sense. As long as they’d known him Virgil was very hard on himself and put a lot of pressure on his shoulders That was bound to boil over in some shape or form at some point. They were glad he was getting some help with that. And his suggestion seemed like a good idea. “I… Ok. I’ll think about it.” Maybe they’d give Pikani one more shot before asking their parents to move them to another therapist. “Thanks.” They were almost home now. “Listen. I gotta go. See you on Monday?” “Yeah?” Virgil wondered, kind of hopeful. Apparently he’d missed them too. “Yeah. And congrats. You and Carlton make for a nauseating couple,” they drawled teasingly. Virgil laughed. “Thanks. See ya J.” “Bye.” And so their first decent conversation with Virgil in months, ended on a good note. They couldn’t go back to normal yet. But for the first time this semester, they truly believed like it was a possibility for the future.

Hero au

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