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preservationofnormalcy · 18 days

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[My name is Meghan Hendricks, and I’m about to do something stupid.]

[I’ve scheduled my work to be sent to my superior in the federal government’s oversight committee unless I stop it in one week. A dead woman’s hand. It’ll be somewhat fruitless - I’ve begun to suspect that my work will be restricted, censored, and buried like most other things the Office does.

A lot of the people I talk to are exculpatory of the Office, even if they say they have questions or concerns. I think most of them mean it. I don’t think it’s brainwashing. I think in such a tighly knit community as the supernatural world people feel a more genuine sense of belonging than they might otherwise. A werewolf helping werewolves is going to understandably try and defend the hand that deals the help, even if they’ve bit it in the past. But one thing I’ve learned as I’ve been peeling up rocks and seeing what scurries away is that something isn’t right. Something is hiding in plain sight.

Most people don’t know about it. They can feel the shape of it, the outline the absence of something makes. Some people, however, do know. At least a little. I’ve seen them avoid questions, look away, end interviews. I can see it in their eyes. They know enough to not want to know more.

All of that brings me here, to the backwoods of upstate New York. I’m dressed in all black, wearing a mask and gloves. My clothing smells of peppermint, and in my bag is a bottle of peppermint oil. It stung my eyes and, before I got the dilution right, burned my skin. I look in my car’s rear view mirror and it hits me that I look ridiculous. I don’t know for sure why the factory foreman Barry warned me about the peppermint, but I had a theory.

For the last few minutes I’d seen the shape rising into the air, the metal tower with red lights up its length. That was where I needed to be. The highway was thankfully bare, at this time of night. As was the turn-off onto an unmarked gravel road, only distinguishable by the Office’s symbol on a plastic sign, held up on a thin metal spike. I’d learned by now that the broader public couldn’t see the Office logos and signage until they’d been exposed to the extranormal, something the Office calls “memetic masking.” I was, in their terminology, memetically inoculated, and it was that fact that ironically helped me find the path. The gravel road went into the forest, but I pulled over past the road’s entry, into the small area of grass down past the turnoff. I pulled a tarp from my car and threw it over the vehicle, once again feeling ludicrous…and frankly, a little scared.

The hike was about twenty minutes, mostly uphill on a gentle incline, the numbers station being built on a hill. I’d done worse, but not in a while. I could see pretty well in the light of the full moon, a fact that made me a little more nervous. I walked along the edge of the gravel road, in the dark - hiking onto a government facility, my nerves went wild. Every shift of leaves meant an agent clad in camo, every whip of wind causing a noise that made me think of the things I’d seen since I began this assignment. Not this assignment, I had to remind myself. This wasn’t part of it. Not really.

I saw the fence in the distance first - an eight foot chain link fence that stretched as far as I could see in either direction. Past the fence, I could see dark buildings, giant spools of wire, and above it all the metal tower of the station. I hadn’t exactly planned for this, even though I knew it was more than likely. The handheld cutters in my back pocket were ready, but something in me didn’t want to cut the links, even if I fully intended to pass the fence. Getting in some other way could be a blunder, accidental. Cutting the chain meant intent.]

C] 1 15 12 24 2 12 12 21 16 26 1 15 12 22 21 19 6 26 2 25 3 16 3 22 25

[The voice almost made me vomit. I spun and saw a man. Disheveled, haggard, an unkempt beard and long hair. Older, in his 50’s, but being dirty and ragged made him look even older. He didn’t even look at me, mumbling numbers so fast I could only understand them later once I slowed them down in my recording. After his string of digits he stood there, looking at the fence, then back to me. In the moon’s light I saw his dirty, torn jumpsuit, the logo for the Office on the man’s arm and chest, along with an embroidered nametag - Cecil.]

M] Wh- who are you? What are you doing here?

C] 4 12 25 16 23 23 12 11 22 2 1 1 15 12 23 8 25 1 22 13 2 26 1 15 8 1 18 21 22 4 26 16 1 26 9 25 22 18 12 21

[His stare was distant, vacant. It was a shock when his hand moved suddenly, pointing upward to the moon. It took me a second to realize what he was saying, and when I did, it confirmed my suspicions.]

M] Here? Now?

C] 1 15 12 6 19 19 23 2 21 16 26 15 15 16 20 13 22 25 19 16 3 16 21 14 1 15 25 22 2 14 15 16 1

[With that, he turned and walked away. He looked back once, pausing as if making sure I was following - which, despite my better judgment, I did. I attempted to ask him some more questions, trying to understand who he was or why he was here, but he didn’t respond. Not even with his numbers.

After a moment of walking by the fence, we walked away from it, down the hill. A steep path, rocky and unstable, that he navigated with ease. It was only after climbing down past a tree and a rocky face that I noticed “Cecil” backtracking up a few steps. A huge drainage pipe jutted out from the hillside, hidden from above by rocks and plants. A piece of wood in the pipe was the only flimsy protection, and without hesitation Cecil pulled it aside and bent over to climb inside. Here I was, in the middle of the woods, about to climb into a dirty tunnel to a strange old man’s bunker.

I could hear a match catch fire just as I stepped down onto a concrete floor and stood up past the metal pipe. The space was small, a concrete box that ended in a pile of rubble. It must have been the entrance to an underground section of the complex at one point, but now was only a covered shelter. A camp stove, a bed, an orderly pile of refuse. He was living hard out here, but he was living. Cecil put the match into an old oil lantern and held it up to one wall. ]

C] 13 16 21 16 1 12 2 21 16 3 12 25 26 12 13 16 21 16 1 12 1 22 22 19 26 4 12 19 22 22 18 12 11 9 12 6 22 21 11

[All over the concrete wall, pasted or taped, were papers. Mainly old documents from the Office, with the Office logo watermarked on their corners. Many of them featured heavy black redaction bars. Some were torn, upside down. Cut in patterns, circled with heavy marker lines. I’d seen things like this in movies, of course. The stereotypical red string and thumbtacks on corkboard. This was different, however. When I looked over the collage I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a man trying to figure things out. He’d already figured it out, in his own way, and this was some kind of…archive. Memorial. A reminder. I looked at him, and he looked down to the floor. In shame? Sorrow? I couldn’t tell. I scanned the wall again, trying to find some order.

‘Numbers Station 23 Decommissioned By Order Of Reality Compliance Council.’ ‘Bulletin From Director Walker On Directive 61722.’ ‘Los Angeles–’ the last one was torn off.]

C] 26 15 12 16 26 14 22 21 12 13 22 25 12 3 12 25 26 15 12 11 16 11 21 22 1 11 16 12

M] What is all this? Who ARE you?

C] 1 15 12 23 25 16 21 10 16 23 8 19 16 1 6 4 16 19 19 8 3 12 21 14 12 15 12 25

M] Listen, I – I don’t want numbers. Can you speak?

C] 15 16 26 13 2 1 2 25 12 16 26 2 21 18 21 22 4 8 9 19 12 8 21 11 1 15 2 26 16 21 13 16 21 16 1 12

M] You used to work for the Office…at the numbers station? This numbers station? Is that why you can only –

C] 4 12 18 16 19 19 12 11 25 12 8 19 16 1 6 1 22 26 1 22 23 15 16 20

[I must admit to some frustration. I scan the wall again. None of it made sense. Clearly it did to Cecil, otherwise he wouldn’t have saved all of this. Was the numbers station related to…what happened to my brother? Phrases leap out at me: ‘reality compliance’, ‘the equation’, ‘project dammerung.’ That last one was…all over. There were scraps, shreds with the phrase, but all of it redacted.]

M] What is this? Project Dammerung?

C] 2 19 1 16 20 8 1 12 4 12 8 23 22 21 13 22 25 1 15 12 2 19 1 16 20 8 1 12 13 12 8 25

M] I don’t…I don’t have time for this. You know why I’m here. Are you going to help me, or not?

[Cecil was silent for once, looking around hesitantly, and finally back to the floor. I give him a moment to respond, and when he remains silent, I take in a breath.]

M] Right. Thank you, Mister…Cecil. I’ll…

[He raises his hand, almost as if he wanted to grab my arm, but was too timid. Raising the lantern to a section of the wall, he gestured to a particular document, from Office Security, or O-Sec. A photo of a serious-looking Asian-American man, Corporal Han. Most of the document was blacked out. Was this a warning? I take in the wall one last time, and drop my bag so I can reach for my camera. A polaroid - no digital trail, no getting the photos developed. With a click I snapped a photo of the wall.

A noise distracted me. I turned, and Cecil was going through my bag.]

M] Uhh…sir? Cecil?

[He stopped, looking up at me in almost surprise, as if he’d forgotten I was even there. ]

C] 1 15 12 12 20 16 26 26 8 25 6 26 14 25 8 21 11 11 8 2 14 15 1 12 25 4 16 19 19 1 8 18 12 15 16 26 23 19 8 10 12

[He slid the bag back over to me. I couldn’t figure out what he was looking for, but it didn’t matter now. I needed to get out of there. I put the camera back in, quickly checking that nothing was missing, and backed up towards the pipe.]

M] I know you showed me this for a reason. I’ll figure out how it all adds up, I promise.

[I enter the pipe again, leaving the old man holding his lantern.]

M] Thank you.

[When I turn away, he looks to his wall one more time.

I emerge alone into the moonlight, attempting the climb back up the hill. Though I had more scraps of information, I was back at square one, or so I thought. When I reached the top and made it back to the fence, I saw a section of the chain link that had broken, detached from the pole nearby and bent away, covered in a bush that only kept it half hidden. This must be where Cecil still entered the facility.

The gap in the fence opened up into what seemed to be a storage yard, the place I’d seen past the fence earlier. Piles of tarp-covered metal or wood beams, spools of wire as tall as I was. In the moonlight, I could see poles dotting the yard, cables stretched between them, each one bearing a floodlight. Though everything had been organized and put away securely, I got the feeling no one official had been here in a long time. Leaves covered most surfaces, and cobwebs shone in the dim light along the roof of a nearby shed.

Again, it struck me that I didn’t know what I was doing. Any information or leads would be in the building past the storage yard, and surely that had better security? Cameras, keycard locks - what was I even doing here? Walking through the yard, almost lost in thought - the tower of the station rose into the night sky in the distance, red lights along its length. They almost looked like eyes along the body of some thin creature, frozen against the stars.

And then, lights near the station building. I stood still for a moment, uncomprehending until a pair of floodlights on poles a short distance away snapped on, then the next set. The lights were turning on this way, towards me. I had seconds to react, and I did what I’d practiced. In my bag’s side pocket was a plastic bag, containing a gross mess of wet cotton balls, soaked in diluted peppermint oil. Despite my panic, I threw them in all directions, slinging a handful of them in a wide arc, and then hid before the lights were on in my section of the yard. I could hear the electric buzz of the floodlights snapping on just as I ducked behind a row of wire spools, trying to stop my racing heart.

As I debated my options - running, waiting out the lights…maybe they were on a timer? I heard footsteps approaching, crunching on the leaves and pine needles that had accumulated over the unattended years. When they got closer, I tried to peek through the center of one of the spools I was hiding behind. I saw his uniform first, O-Sec, Office Security. A large man, built like a weightlifter - could see the black shine of a gun in his right hand and my heart leapt into my throat. It was the man from Cecil’s mural, Corporal Han. Was he the officer assigned to this site? I should have known the Office would still have security even on decommissioned stations like this.]

H] I know you’re here.

[He stopped in a large open area, looking around at the stacks of materials around him, the sheds and tarps - all hiding places.]

H] Normally, I might blame teenagers. Kids getting a kick out of trespassing on Office property. We had one group a few months ago, teenagers. Two humans, a fae and a vampire. They all forgot their vamp friend couldn’t enter without permission. Fun night.

[He paused, letting the silence fall again. I could see him look around, eyes scanning the yard and narrowing. He sniffed the air in a way that seemed…odd.]

H] But judging by the smell…I think you know what you’re doing. You came in with an idea of what was going on. Either you’re a professional, or someone told you…

[He carefully walked, passing behind a small shed and out of my view. I panicked that I lost track of him for a moment, but then there was a sickening sound. Like flesh stripping and bones crunching, and Han’s voice hissing. Then a sound that echoed through the yard, the sound of a hand - no, a claw, grabbing onto the edge of the shed’s corrugated metal wall, digging in and tearing the metal. A shape followed it. A long maw of shining teeth, white fur. A raised canine lip in a familiar but terrifying gesture of anger and aggression, a low rumble as the muzzle raised, and smelled the air. Then, a whine, another growl, sneezing and huffing as the muzzle retreated behind the shed again, out of my view. Another crunch, a growl, and Han staggered past the shed. Haggard, sweating, panting softly, looking incensed.]

H] And if someone told you, I’m going to have a nice, long…conversation with them.

[He tried to collect himself, catch his breath, run a hand through his hair. He pulled a bandana from a pocket of his uniform, pulling it over his mouth and nose.]

H] You have one minute. One minute until I call backup. You can hide from me, but can you run from a dozen of us? Most of them won’t have my…shortcomings.

[My heart was pounding. My head was swimming. My fingers were going numb. I couldn’t claim innocence, not when they found out who I was. Could I make a break for it? All of the ways out seemed to be past him, and if he was what he seemed to be, it would be a short chase. It would end up better for me if I surrendered now, but what happens after that? I’d never work again…or worse.]

H] Cecil?

[Han’s voice was confused, concerned. I snapped around to watch through a gap in the spools as Cecil approached, holding a bottle. The bottle of peppermint oil. He must have taken it earlier when he was looking through my bag.]

C] 1 15 12 18 21 16 14 15 1 9 12 8 25 26 1 15 12 14 2 16 19 1 15 12 16 26 25 16 14 15 1

H] Cecil, what did I tell you about–

[Han took in a breath through the cloth, and exhaled, clearly frustrated. His voice was sharp, low, but his face softened, and there was a soft click as he put his gun away.]

H] Why the peppermint, man? You know what that does to my nose. Were you just trying to sneak around without me knowing?

[Cecil looked at the bottle, then dropped it.]

C] 26 22 20 12 26 1 16 19 19 13 12 12 19 23 15 8 21 1 22 20 23 8 16 21

H] Are you taking your medicine? Probably not. Let’s….let’s get you back home. Not that bunker, home.

[Cecil seemed to hesitate, but Han put a hand on his upper arm.]

H] You know you can’t be here. Come on. If you come with me to the station I’ll ask someone to bring you dinner when they come pick you up. Okay?

C] 25 12 8 19 16 1 6 4 8 26 13 22 2 21 11 4 8 21 1 16 21 14

[The older man lowered his head, but followed Han as the guard turned and walked back towards the station - but not before looking around, deciding on the row of spools I was hiding behind, and nodding, jerking his head towards the direction of the gap in the fence.

I didn’t need to be told twice. Once Han and Cecil were out of sight, I ran to the exit. I don’t remember much of the next several minutes - running a roundabout way through the forest, coming to the edge, following that until I found my car. I didn’t allow myself time to decompress. I slammed the keys into the ignition and pulled out onto the highway.

The tears came just as it started to rain, and I drove until it became difficult to continue. I had gained nothing from this. Nothing but a panic attack and a long-lasting nightmare, a recurring dream with claws, spools of wire, and the scent of peppermint. ]

#this one nearly killed me #interview #lycanthropy #microfiction #short fiction #sci fi #writers on tumblr #also to answer the question I'll get. yes. Have fun.

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cybsoo2 · 4 months

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yandere bts profile

╰┈➤ synopsis — Stories of seven men living their yandere lives.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!bts x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 4.3k

╰┈➤ content warning — murder, yandere behavior, stalker behavior, manipulative behavior, graphic depictions of violence, kidnapping, suicide, self-harm, vomiting, invasion of privacy, talk of religion

—Kim Seokjin

yandere type — manipulative and overprotective

watch out for! — overprotection, isolating, self-imposing, monitoring, spy cams, invasion of privacy

Seokjin speaks sweet lies

He’s such a good liar that he’s even begun to deceive himself

He’ll tell himself these selfish sins are for the greater good

Misleading you and manipulating others is one of his many skills

Although he holds no affection for anyone else and is inclined to ruin their lives through manipulation, he doesn’t dare try it on you

Although the fate of your friends and foes is different, He’d never hurt you, wouldn’t lay a finger on you unless you asked

He doesn’t want your love to be a lie, to become warped and wrecked into images unknown

Instead, he leads you astray when you step too close to his sinful secrets

When a coworker with a crush comes too close for his liking, he’ll whisper the words, “He’s not good enough for you sweetheart.”

Your friends offer an invitation to get drunk one dark night, “It’s too dangerous to drink this late at night, stay inside with me instead.”

And maybe one morning, a slithering suspicion sits still in your mind

You ask him why he’s so protective, so passionate, so possessive, and he’ll tell you, “I love you like no other.”

Jin cares about your safety

He wishes you’d be healthy and happy all the time

Although, his methods of achieving this dream can have some consequences

He’ll worm his way into your life

He looms over you with a loving presence

But if he’s not careful enough, his ‘love’ can be suffocating

He monitors your actions, not stalking, but spying on you through other methods

He’ll set up cameras to make sure you don’t get hurt

Of course a fragile fawn like you needs him in order to survive

He takes the truth from your friends to figure out how you’ve been doing

He’ll read your messages to find the deviant souls that might harm you

He gives biased advice (Though you don't know it) in order to keep you close to him

Misleading your crushes by telling them that you’re already taken

He keeps you away from everyone else, so much so that some friends become distant and disturbed at the sight of him

Jin is willing to be whatever you what so long as he can stay by your side

He’ll be your friend, a brother, a lover

He’s perfect for you, if it weren’t from the looming sense of danger that falls in his shadow

—Min Yoongi

yandere type — obsessive and possessive

watch out for! — murder, codependency, self-containment

Yoongi hides his true nature behind longing looks and a distant friendship

He keeps calm underneath a cold exterior

Yoongi stays to himself and watches you from afar

He may murder any pests that cross your path, but he wouldn’t dream of hurting you

You’d never assume he mutilates men and women while you sleep

He brings you glory through each slash and stab of scarlet

Yoongi just might be a cruel killer, but the worst types of killers are those who’ve become self aware

He holds a court of immoral justice in his head

Killing based off bias, yet he can’t find himself to care

You’ve made him into a merciless man, which is why he can’t stop once he’s set his mind on something

He’ll put on a plaster face, he’ll be kind, and quiet, and normal

Yet even if his body stays at shore, a selfish need sings him out to sea

Yoongi believes in codependency, you need him and he needs you

He may put himself in a position that demands him to be close to you

He could be a coworker, a classmate, or perhaps a neighbour

But you can bet that you’ve met him before

Yoongi is too dependent on the normality you two have to act on his obsession

He understands his sick self and knows the consequences if he confesses

Yoongi knows that he won’t be able to hide the horrors of who he truly is, so he doesn’t even take the chance

He believes in a loyal love and couldn’t lie to you if you had a real romance

He’ll take what he can get and make sure no one else can get in the way

His obsession is closed away in the corner of his heart (But that’s not exactly true since his whole heart belongs to you)

His passion is put on the shelf to collect dust in the dark

A distant dream that had no hope of really happening

It rots away in his ribcage, tearing him apart from the inside out

His sickness is a symptom of this strange fixation

He throws up three times a day

The bile burns through his throat and now drops of blood join the rest of his lost lunch

A running list of other side-effects include: sleep loss, hypersomnia, depression, loss of appetite, etc.

Yoongi is always wanting the dream that waits

Sometimes, he sees a sliver of it in his sleep

A feverish fantasy where you embrace like lovers and kiss without consequences

But then he wakes up to reality and wishes this illness had never infected him

Your love is like a leech, bleeding him to the bone and testing his tenacity

But then tomorrow arrives and he sees the smile he’s so lost in love with

His inertia is eternal and he’ll never give up what he has for his unlikely odds

Your life remains pretty much the same except for the missing men and women that hurt you many months ago

You would never suspect that the sweet, yet shy Yoongi has his heart in your hold

—Jung Hoseok

yandere type — clingy, obsessive, and delusional

watch out for! — self-harm, suicide, dependency, delusion, mixing fantasy with reality, insecurity

Despite how intense his love can be, he never acts as more than desperate and delusional when it involves you

There’s no need to worry about mysterious murders when it comes to Hoseok

He doesn’t have the patience, planning, or guts to kill anyone

He’d rather reap his worries and run away from the issue

He’s comes crying to you at the slightest inconvenience

You’re the savior of his soul who soothes all his sorrows

Such a saint you are, putting up with someone as pathetic and plain as this broken boy

Even when the roles are reversed and your upset under a burden of blue, Hobi will be your crying companion

He can’t help it, seeing you so sad evokes excruciating emotions

Someone as sweet as yourself doesn’t deserve to be depressed, which is why he’ll do anything it takes to be your sunshine in the storm

Hoseok is someone that clings close to you

Always following you around wherever you go and sticking by your side

Hoseok desperately depends on you, he may be your sunshine but you’re his hope

You’re the reason he’s like this after all

You gave him a glimpse of happiness, a unique thing in this large universe

He sees you as his angel, always right and a savior to the lovesick

Your kindness and compassion are what immediately intrigued him

But what made him unable to shake this obsession is how special you made him feel

You look into his eyes and you see him as an individual

You see his soul for all it’s crimson colours and still accept him

That’s when his delusion begins to distort the realm of reality

He truly believes you love him like he loves you

Why else would you take pity on a poor soul like him

His insecurities suffocate him, telling him he isn’t good enough for you

Yet you still stay, never once have you thought of the boy as a burden

This twisted love ties into his dreams

He dreams of the distant future: tangled in each others embrace, whispering your carmine confessions, and living out the rest of your lives as lovers

These fantasies feel so real that sometimes Hoseok swears they actually happened

That kiss you shared in the shadows last week? Totally real!

You falling asleep in his arms after crying out your confessions? Definitely happened according to Hoseok!

But when these fairy tales fizzle out, Hobi is left with lost dreams and a broken heart

Falling down from heaven, he’s struck by the hard-hitting truth

You don’t love him and even if you did he wouldn’t deserve it

He cries and tries to cut himself clean

Emptying out the red as it runs down the drain

He lets out the pain on his pinkening flesh

One day he may fall too far

Running the red blade over his arteries until all he can see is black blood

But he’s hopeful for now, this imaginary event would only happen if you turned to hate him

Screaming that he’s a psycho and a sinner

Crying cause you can never be alone, him always at your side

Telling him how much you hate him

Saying you wish to never see him again

It would take a lot for Hoseok to fully lose his heart

And the loss of your love is the one thing that would sink his sorrows

Without your light to guide him, it would send him overboard into the black abyss

—Kim Namjoon

yandere type — manipulative and devotee

watch out for! — collector, murder, manipulation, worship, extreme obsession

Namjoon worships the water you walk on

Yet this twisted type of religion isn’t right, it isn’t even real

In his mind, you’re an angel of purity and perfection

You’re the cause of every good event that happens to him

You single handedly uplift his life and give him guidance

And he’s just happy to be the devotee to his one and only divine

As aforementioned, Namjoon is a collector

His entire home is a museum of memories

Tiny trinkets are stacked on shelves, and useless objects are crowded into of the corners of his room

But every piece has a purpose, each and every object leads back to you

Outsiders may say he’s a hoarder, but Namjoon remembers why so many red bottles are shoved under his bed

You endorsed a beauty brand and he bought out the entire stock

Now every time he does his nightly routine, he can sense the faint feeling of your skin on his

Shoved in his drawers is the jewelry you just wore

Replicas of bronze bracelets or ruby rings

He wears noir necklaces like a noose around his neck

Chained up under your control, you decide his destiny

When he wears copies of your clothes, sometimes he feels slightly closer to you

Like he can hear you whispering right from wrong in his ear

Telling him what to do and how to do it

Namjoon doesn’t think for himself

His emotions are almost artificial, only responding with empathy when it relates to you

He’s lost interest in the social scene, but still goes out to keep connections

He talks to people only to take their trust and ask for favours in the future

It’s common knowledge to anyone that Namjoon is easily infatuated with you

He doesn’t try to hide it and uses peoples intrigue to gain intelligence

But the occasional onlooker will sometimes sense that this isn’t just a common crush

They might’ve found out about his stash of souvenirs stuffed up in his attic

Perhaps it was how obviously anxious Namjoon gets when you’re not near

Or maybe they noticed the lovesick looks he wishes your way

But when Namjoon finds out he’s got a follower, he knows what he has to do

He’s not big fan of murder, it takes up too much time and it’s a mess to keep hidden, he’d rather it be fast and efficient

So he sends his sins out to sea

He has no time for torture and no desire to drag this out

Namjoon ties up his victim in twine ropes

The ropes wrap around the writhing fool

Tether twisting around their throat and cutting off their cries

The rope scratches scarlet off the skin, leaving long lines that bruise purple and pink

Namjoon ties a brick to their ankles, bringing them back down to the dark

It’s the murder of a man who knew too much, sinking out in the open ocean with all their knowledge never to be known

The weight of Namjoon’s actions never wrestles with his heart

Uncaring and callous, he never stops to consider that these heinous acts hurt his humanity

Because in his brown eyes, this is all your doing

You told him to get rid of the fool that fell too close to your godly grace

You can do no wrong so this must be the new morality

Namjoon will protect your perfection by never letting any noble men come too close

Your sweet love must be kept a secret, no other weakling worthy enough for it but him

And even though dark doubts still taint his thoughts, Namjoon will spend the rest of his worship proving he’s your lovesick slave

—Park Jimin

yandere type — clingy and psychotic

watch out for! — isolating, self-harm, murder, suicide, dependency, jealousy, hysteria, insecurity, kidnapping

The gods gave Jimin a gift

A double wielded sword weighted with the opposite ends of emotion

His feelings are feverish and burn with a bright intensity

It’s all a sliding scale for him, switching out his soul for whatever worth

All-consuming emotions are what drives him

Day by day, Jimin is mostly described as empathetic and enthusiastic

And while Jimin is an awestruck soul, he also hides his more dark desires

Your love sets him alight

Melting away his walls to reveal the real monster

Violent thoughts flow thoughts his veins

It’s like a venom, monopolizing his mind and evoking his red wrath

Jimin isn’t an apathetic man, he cares too much about the things that make him tick and the love his lusts after

He’s incapable of indifference, always so engrossed in his emotions and their outcomes

Loving him would be like locking yourself in with a lion

Jimin worships you like you no other and makes you feel like you’re alone in ardent

But the burning candle that controls his heart will always end up blinding you

He’s too dependant, always running after you and following like a poor puppy

He’s too jealous, scared you’ll be stolen away by any other man

He’s overly enthusiastic, lovesickness so suffocating you have to beg to break free from his hugs

Jimin takes you two to solitude, liking to rest in your warmth without any else’s eyes on you

While the long list of turmoil may taunt you, it’ll only get worse when he’s upset

Jimin has widespread worries that you’ll leave him like everyone else

Insecurities lay intimate in his mind and he’ll only ever speak them to his soulmate

He’ll spend countless days crying and trying to seek your sweet reassurance

When these dark doubts are ripe and rip his heart apart, you better not set him off or else the consequences are grave

When he’s like this, clinging to you and crying his heart out, it’s best to shush his sorrows and hold him to your heart

He’ll bawl his eyes out into your blue sweatshirt, white knuckles wrapped around the familiar fabric

He’ll try to hide the hiccups in the crook of your neck, slightly embarrassed for his emotional outburst

Jimin lies limply in your lap, tired out from all the tears but too vulnerable to let go

He chases away the cold in your warm embrace

You speak lovely lies of how you love him

If this is all insanity and you truly don’t love him, then this outcome would be very different

Was it a rash rejection? Or careless cruelty too much for his heart to handle?

Either way Jimin would explode in a case of confusing emotions

He’d swipe the silver blade down to the bone, bleeding out all over the bathroom tile and trying to tell you how much he loves you

“I’m nothing without you and I won’t let you leave.”

“I’d kill to keep you, I’d die if you don’t love me.”

The universe is always against your relationship and if a situation where to arise where he can’t keep you, he may just kidnap you instead

A much more morbid scenario might even involve suicide

You escape and Jimin must now spend eternity alone

He’d wake up at death’s door with pills pouring out his mouth

A terrible taste lays on his lips and his stomach is swimming in poison

A life without his love is a life not worth living

—Kim Taehyung

yandere type — devotee and stalker

watch out for! — murder, stalking, invasion of privacy, voyeurism, collector, murder-suicide, insecurity, monitoring , worship

Taehyung is a cruel romantic

His thirst for your entirety is insatiable

This growing greed is what makes him so bold

He takes risks none of the other boys would dare to dream of

Of course, he didn’t always act so impatient

This restlessness for your red romance had started small before it spiraled into disarray

Subtle acts of stalking or stealing is how it all began

He just wanted to feel close to you, whether that be through physicality or by objects tainted with your touch

Taehyung is a collector of lost possessions and missing moral

But it didn’t take much time before he grew tired of absent objects and started stealing glances of you instead

He watches as you wander under the moonlight

Your features burning like fire in his brain

You’re so memorable under the moon that he can’t help himself from painting 10,000 pictures of your perfection

Taehyung sees himself as an artist and you his muse

His drawings dictate your every move, illustrate your emotions, and reflect your beauty

The days spent drawing last from dusk to dawn, and although he could never be bored of staring at your face and flesh, an emptiness begins to claw at his chest

It creeps in from the corners of the room, a cold wind that washes over him and makes him shiver

It takes hold of your image in his mind, making each brushstroke dull and distorted

Your pretty portraits lack your warmth, as does our poor Tae

He’s persistent in his pursuit of lifelong love, and he won’t stop waiting until your his to take

If Taehyung were to actually take part in your life, you’d live an endless eternity of claustrophobia and catastrophe

It may take some time, but you’ll begin to see the signs of your impending downfall before you can stop it

Taehyung’s love is tender and touching

It’s make anyone awe at the sight, but they don’t understand what goes on in the shadows

You’re an inspiration for his art, so much so that your home starts to look like a house of mirrors

Every element of your eternity must be captured, from the bare bones down to trailing patterns at your fingertips

He studies you like a statue

Staring at you all day, swearing at himself whenever he has to blink

Taehyung believes that your bare beauty is an eternal enigma

Your one in a billion and must be treated as such

He tries to show you his distorted devotion everyday, and this may be the only amount of pure peace you get

He makes you feel special, a divine entity the deserves everything you ask for

You were crafted by the gods themselves just for his sweet satisfaction

You were made for each other and nothing can change that… until it does

Taehyung’s always had a hunch that men and women all over the earth were jealous of your relationship

They try to tear you apart, saying your tainted by his toxic touch

He’s running out of time, slipping through the sands of the hourglass

Lost in their lies, he takes you to the one place where no one can separate your souls, heaven

Taehyung likes to think it’s romantic even, like star-crossed lovers born to be destroyed

He doesn’t flinch in the face of death

He’s so lost in his sick sense of delusion that he honestly believes you two are tied between the stars

Tangled up in each other, meant to meet in every timeline and be lovers once again

Both your sad sorrow would soak the bed he holds you in

He calms your cries with a hand held up to your trembling lips

The shivering steel of the gun touches your temple

He says that death will not be dark with him to guide you

You won’t feel the Reapers cold caress when he’s here to hold you

Taehyung gives your lips one last quiet kiss

Breaking apart only to breathe and whisper the words,

“I love you in every universe.”

“Till’ we meet again my dearest divine.”

His last moment with you is a memory of red redemption

With his thumb triggering the gunshot, he blows your brains out on the back wall

You’re head snaps back from the force and lays limply on your shoulder

Blood bleeds down and begins to soak the sheets

Taehyung chokes back his cries with his hand still holding the steel

He takes your cold corpse in his tender embrace and readies himself for a restful end

He lays down dark kisses to the bullet wound that tore open your temple

He weeps away his heinous actions and with you still held close to his heart, he puts the last bullet in his brain

—Jeon Jungkook

yandere type — impulsive and delusional

watch out for! — murder, suicide, dependency, kidnapping, delusion, hysteria, impulsion

Jungkook is just a boy with a broken heart

Still learning the differences between desire and devotion

He twists the two into one, his passion is painful and his innocent intentions begin to wither away

That fiery fondness that once burned so bright now sends smoke signals of death and destruction

But what really matters is what moment of massacre you met him

Was it when he was still a shy soul? Susceptible to sin but also ready for redemption

Or was it when he was a man? Matured into murder and wrapped up in wrath

If you arrived early in the timeline of terror, then you’d probably be childhood friends

Playing pretend in a world without worries

Lost in a little kids imagination, you play house, yourself as the wife and him as the husband

This is when his kindergarten crush would begin to grow

As a child you’d call yourselves soulmates, but an adult eye would sense that someone was seriously wrong

Jungkook would throw tantrums whenever you left to leave, and when he didn’t get what he wanted, he’d turn to violence

He’d begin to grow dependant on his only friend

Playdates would pursue sleepovers which would then turn to him refusing to ever leave your side

Scared that you’d be snatched away if his attention fell too far

And as you grew up, got to know more about the horrors and hormones of the future, you’d eventually find yourselves as high-school sweethearts

Jungkook just like his old self, only better at hiding the bloodshed

The obsession would only grow as you get older

More things threaten your relationship and his anger and anxiety amplify

But your impression of the innocent boy still stays the same

Sure he may be more dependant and delusional then most men, but he’s still your sweet boy

If an artist were to paint a portrayal of a lost lover, it would be Jungkook

Every day is a dream, you drink in his devotion and bathe in bliss

He washes away all your worries and takes on all life's labours

Your life would look pretty normal only because Jungkook’s good at burying all the bodies and biting back his paranoia

But when you bottle up your emotions for years on end, it’ll eventually explode in your face

Jungkook has always been impulsive, acting on his anger and making irrational decisions

His rage causes him to run on a rampage, killing anyone that could come too close

His fear tells him to hide you in the house and cut ties with the outside world

Jungkook is determined to obtain the life and love he obsesses over

Which is why when things don’t go his way, his has a fit of hysteria

His tempers turns up to 100 and he may try to kidnap you

He’s abandoned all rationality and is recklessly driving your relationship off a cliff

His thoughts are so stubborn and he won’t stop once he’s set on a solution

No planning or preparation is taken in advance

He’s in a fit of frantic fear and reality is slowly slipping

Illusion is in his lungs, he can’t understand that he’s undoing all his progress thus far

So set on the end goal, he can’t see the death and decay until he holds it in his arms

It’s a sudden slaughter and he’s doesn’t processes your passing until you’re pale and purple

After a rainy night spent sobbing and still clutching your cold corpse, he comes to a conclusion

He can’t live with his actions, he’s a monster in a man’s body

He feels sick in his skin, he tries to scratch it off

Peeling off the pink to reveal the red undertones

His hands are still sore from the force he gripped your throat with, he tries to take those off too

He’s disturbed by what he’s just done

Jungkook gathers your blue body in his arms and takes you to the bathtub

He dies by your side, drowning in devastation

most to least dangerous — jungkook, taehyung, jimin, hoseok, namjoon, jin, yoongi

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saetoru · 1 year

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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。EASY — KAVEH.

✩ — contents ⋮ fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, slight hints to kaveh’s past (but no details), a word vomit of what i think it is to date kaveh bc he has stolen my whole heart soul and mind :,)

“good morning, sleepy head.” you press a soft kiss to the forehead on your chest, moving messy strands of hair with careful fingers. “we really should get up, you know.”

“no.”

“kaveh.”

“no,” comes his protest. he’s stubborn, doesn’t give in even when you pry the sheets off his bare back, feeling him shiver at the cool air as it meets his skin. and yet, you can’t help but soften your gaze as you stare down at him, cheek pressed against you as he sighs before drifting off again.

kaveh is easy to fall for.

he’s a gentle lover, sensitive and delicate around the corners. you find him in the warmth that coats your skin from the sun every morning, in the honey you taste on your lips when tea is ready on the counter before you leave, in the soft sheets that are always freshly washed and ready to lay on when you come back after a long day.

“we have lots to do—”

he groans, tightens his arms around you stubbornly. “it’s not time to wake up yet,” he huffs, digging his head deeper into you and making you giggle.

“maybe you shouldn’t have stayed up so late doing that project,” you poke the tip of his nose, watching as it crinkles at your touch.

and then you trace the apples of his cheeks, feel the familiar indents of his bones through the soft skin, familiarize yourself with every piece of him. kaveh is easy love, and difficult to forget. he’s the quiet voice tucked into your shoulder at night, the pair of shoes you know not to trip over at the door, the mess of tools that are still assorted in their own way on the table that you dare not touch, the pillow on the left side of the bed because that’s the side he prefers, the random sketches in corners of every paper around your home.

kaveh is easy to love, and you find him in every corner, look for him at every turn.

“i had a stroke of artistic inspiration,” he sniffs petulantly, “you wouldn’t understand.”

“oh, i see,” you nod seriously. he opens an eye, raises a brow unimpressed at your faux seriousness. “then of course, please disregard your sleep and health. all for the sake of inspiration.”

“hmph.” it’s indignant, the sound of defiance he makes, it makes you chuckle as your weave your fingers through his locks and scratch gently at his scalp. “i can sleep just fine if you’re not persistently ringing in my ear about waking up.”

“but i want breakfast,” you pout. “wake up.”

“breakfast can wait.” you feel his nose dig into your neck, and then the soft press of lips against your skin makes you melt against the sheets.

perhaps if it’s kaveh who requests, you’re inclined to relent.

“if you ever say i don’t favor you, i’ll burn your sketchbook,” you mumble. and still, even despite the slight grumble against your shoulder, you can’t help but smile brightly, turning your head and planting a kiss to the side of his head.

“how can you favor me if you interfere with my livelihood,” he mutters bitterly—but there’s really no bite to his words.

it’s endearing, the way he’s devoted to his career. it’s the first thing you learn about kaveh when you meet him one night—you watch in awed amusement as he rambles at the tavern about the lacking interior design in his drunken stupor. and then he’s there the next day too, drinking just as heavily as the night before—it makes you quirk a brow as you sit beside him.

drinking this often is not a good habit, you say to him. he glances at you, blinks a moment before he huffs.

well you would too if you had a roommate like mine, he starts—and you’re sure the entirety of the tavern can hear him as he spills his woes to you without even realizing.

kaveh is hard to miss from then on. you see him at the fresh fruit stands when you walk through the market, at the akademiya requesting (demanding) funding from the acting grand sage, at the fields smiling with the children as they play and he ruffles their hair.

he’s nervous when he asks you on your first date, stumbles over his words and rubs the back of his neck, but his smile is earnest and his eyes are kind. he’s clumsy as he takes you to dinner, trips over his own feet as he scrambles to hold the door open. he’s a few mora short, blushing and mortified as he pats his pockets for more, mumbling how he’s sure he’d had enough when you giggle and complete the bill. he’s talkative through the night, rambles about his job and his projects, tells you details you don’t understand but can’t help but catch every word. he’s a bit shy when you hold his hand as you walk home, coughs a bit too loud to hide the hitched breath in his throat. he’s inexperienced when he leans in to kiss you, missing your lips for the corner of your mouth instead and stuttering over his words as he tries to explain he’s never done this before.

and when he takes a deep breath, cupping your cheeks with both hands and looking at you with conviction like he’s now made his life’s purpose to kiss you properly, you know you love kaveh.

you know you love him—somewhere during the first date. maybe the first meet. definitely the first kiss.

because kaveh is easy to love, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

he’s easy to love through soft kisses under the sheets, easy to love through gleaming eyes and animated hands as he speaks, easy to love through those moments of doubt and festering guilt of the past, easy to love through that innocence that wants to see the world for all that’s good and never for what’s bad.

kaveh is easy to love. so you love him. unconditionally so, from when the sun meets the moon and over again. continuing the cycle, holding him in your arms and pressing your lips to the soft skin of his forehead. and maybe, one day, if you continue to love him as easily as you do, he’ll learn to love himself too, to see the way he deserves the tenderness you show him.

“—and just so you know, inspiration isn’t something you can elect to ignore. some artists go months, if not years without an ounce of—”

“i love you,” you interrupt his rambling, voice soft and breathless and seeping with affection that he’s not felt in so long, he pauses with wide eyes.

it’s not the first time you’ve said it, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it’ll never feel quite like this time.

“yeah,” he says shakily, clutching you tighter, “i love you too.”

and maybe one day, he hopes if he loves you hard enough himself, you’ll know you’re just as easy to love too.

your honor he’s my everything 🥹 please i would steal the moon and stars for him 🥹

#i was supposed to post this last night but i got too sleepy to finish it #take the core of my heart in text form bc he is all that’s left of me #teepods.writings #drabbles.#kaveh x reader #kaveh x you #kaveh fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you

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softshuji · 4 months

Text

𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟗𝐏𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐀𝐍

Title: I love you as the day loves the night

Summary: Ran knows he is not a good man, but he's trying to be better for you. You don't argue often, but when you do, Ran confides in the only person who might understand him.

cw: fem!reader, mentions of sex, alcohol usage, Ran is a little sad, Rindou being a good brother, some vague suggestive parts, explicit pregnancy mentions, nothing too serious. Reblogs appreciated!

Ran downs another shot and winces at the burn as the alcohol coats his throat. From here, he can just about make out the thrum and trill of music in the club underneath him, and it seems the beat is pulsing in time with his racing heart.

Packed bodies, heads thrown back in laughter, tables coated in white, the floor sticky with the residue of drinks spilled and then hastily mopped up and underneath it all, the vinegary tang of sweat and sex.

Considering the time of night, he isn’t surprised to see Sanzu talking in low tones with Mikey on the other side of the private bar, his head dipping, pink hair framing his face.

The scene makes him nauseous, and it takes ample self control not to vomit the contents of his stomach all over the mahogany table.

He rubs his temples, inhales the hot and heavy air and closes his eyes, throwing his head back to the artificial lights. The red glare dances on his skin and he shudders as the urge to throw up tickles the back of his throat for a second time. The tension under his knuckles is a spark of electricity when he grips the table for support.

‘Ran?’

A voice pulls him from the darkness, and he rocks forward in his chair, groaning against the anxiety that threatens to climb its way out of his chest as his eyes crack open, squinting at the harsh flare of the lights.

‘Rindou.’ He chews on his lip and makes to pick up his glass again, the condensation wet against his clammy hands. He grips it hard to force down the shaking that snakes along his knuckles. ‘You’re here.’

‘This better be good Ran,’ Rindou says and pulls out a chair opposite, propping his chin up on his palm as he takes in the sight. His Brother’s tired eyes, shadows clinging to the skin underneath, the pinched brows that give him a permanent frown, the matted hair that sticks to his forehead, curling at the nape and around his ears, the sweat that rolls down his temple despite the air conditioning.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Ran says solemnly, his head hung low, eyes downcast.

Rindou narrows his eyes and reaches into his jacket, fishing around till he feels the sharp metallic edge of his cigarette tin, frowning when Ran’s hands shake as he leans forward to accept the offered cigarette.

‘So what’s this about then?’ Rindou moves the glass from Ran’s reach absent-mindedly, noting the way his Brother’s lips purse as he takes a long drag, holding the smoke in till it burns.

The smoke curls from his mouth, grey against the light. ‘Had a fight with My Girl. A bad one.’ This last part is a barely imperceptible whisper, and Rindou leans in, tucking his hair behind his ears as he strains to listen.

Ah, Rindou thinks, his lips a firm line. He scoots his chair closer around the table till the thump of music gyrates his ears less and gestures with an incline of his head towards the bartender for a drink. Under this light, the shadows under Ran’s eyes and the creases in his otherwise immaculate suit are all the more prominent. As is the shaky exhale when Ran puffs his cigarette.

He knows the wedding band on Ran’s finger is still new, that Ran hasn’t fully adjusted to married life and domestic bliss is a concept he’s not well acquainted with, that it had taken Ran a very long time to persuade himself that he was capable of marriage in the first place.

‘What about? Can’t be that bad.’ Rindou watches as the bartender sets down a jug of iced water and two glasses, backing up when Rindou shoots him a look, bowing profusely.

He fills a glass, all but thrusting it into his Brother’s hands and Ran doesn’t know if he should be grateful for the action when his hands itch for something dark and strong, and the pounding in his head tells him it can only be lulled by more alcohol.

‘It was bad Rin, don’t think we’ve ever fought like that before.’

It was new and it was ugly and the feelings are still fresh this many hours later as Ran drowns his anxieties for the umpteenth time tonight.

It’s not as if the two of you hadn’t fought before. At the beginning, your relationship was fraught with hushed arguments, vitriolic whispers that caught in your throat, words said without meaning, anger and bitterness and negligence thrown back and forth, a sharp word here and there that turned into something else entirely. Sometimes, not very often, he would say something that cut you, a clean slice through the tendon of your heart, and you’d wonder at what manner of love you had for him that had you constantly crawling back, sniffling down the line as you both whispered your apologies to each other.

It always ended in love, with you against his chest, your feelings for him, that of tenderness, the need to protect him renewed when he kissed you again and again and again, fervently, desperately, his lips latched onto your neck as you hoisted your legs around his waist.

‘So?’ Rindou fills his own glass and gestures with a hand, tilting his head as Ran curls around his glass of water, an injured animal hunched and hurt, his back and shoulders heavy with an invisible burden.

‘I cancelled our date,’ he starts and his eyes flick to the ceiling. The elaborate and ornate decor seems a mockery right now, and he can practically feel the desperation leaking from his skin. ‘You know how Mikey’s been on my ass lately,’ he says and his eyes move to his boss seated in a booth with his eyes closed, hair fanning the bridge of his nose.

The spark of his anger had started small, a flickering flame. You’d huffed and his ears had prickled at the sound and he’d raised his eyebrows as you crossed your arms, glaring at him as he shrugged on his jacket.

And the minute the complaint had left your lips Ran’s hackles had risen and the flare of his temper had sparked to life and you had cried, left sopping wet stains on the corner of your sleeve as you threw the insults back and forth. What hurt more, you couldn’t tell- the complaint itself or the fact that your complaints had been met by the domineering force of his viciousness, the wall that had slammed down on your voice when he glared, his lavender eyes swirling with rage. Rage at you.

You’d learned somewhat, to accept that part of him. The larger than life part, the fullness of him, as if he swallowed the light in every room, the ruthlessness that came with that, the cutting edge of his words when they bit into you. But this was different and as he’d towered above you, dragging a hand down his face, you knew it was the smallest he had ever made you feel.

‘Okay and then what?’ Rindou refills the glass and pushes it towards his Brother.

‘She told me she never got to see me, that she was always fighting to have my attention, that she missed me.’ Ran has never felt so humiliated, and the self loathing wraps its hands around his throat, and the guilt and shame is thick in the blood that floods his ears and head.

Rindou winces and sucks in a breath, the crease in his forehead growing larger as Ran takes another long drag of the quickly burning cigarette.

‘So what did you do?

‘I yelled at her, told her I had enough, that she was selfish, that she was being a spoiled brat when I was working hard for our future.’ Ran feels small as he says this, judged, even though he knows the opposite is true and even now, replaying his words out loud, he knows how harsh and critical they sound and Rindou only drives the point home unintentionally as his lips part and jaw drops open.

‘In those exact words?’

‘Yeah…Yeah in those exact words.’

‘And then you walked out?’

‘Yeah…’ A whisper against the glass, his hands still shaky, slipping on condensation.

Rindou purses his lips and pauses momentarily. ‘That was bad nii-chan,’ he says, the childish nickname slipping past his lips with ease. ‘Y’know she hates that stuff the most. It must have hurt her.’

Something in him softens watching Ran’s head tip towards his chest, the sad droop of his eyes, the singular strands of hair out of place around his ears, curling towards his forehead. He knows Ran can be brash and iron-handed and sometimes even cruel.

But he also knows that Ran loves you, and it’s a simple fact in itself. He knows he loves you as the day loves the night and the sun loves the moon enough to share its light. An indisputable unchangeable fact.

‘I know, I’m an idiot.’ Ran lifts his head, setting the glass down and dragging a hand forlornly across his face. He sniffles, and maybe it's the alcohol coursing through his blood, so much of it that his brain is fuzzy and swimming in his head, or maybe it’s the thoughts of you, your broken sob that died when he slammed the door, the hunched figure alone and left staring at the paint as he drove off to drown his sorrows, but he thinks he’s never felt this wretched or consumed by bitterness at himself for damaging something so precious.

‘Yeah no shit Ran, you messed up big time,’ Rindou says. A fact, not a criticism. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well you’re going home to talk to her right?

Ran’s lips curve into an ‘o’ and he blinks owlishly, his vision hazy. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’ Even as he says it, he knows how cowardly that sounds. That he continues to run from confrontation, from difficult arguments and sullen silences, from the clenched jaws and the eyes misty with tears, that it’s a consequence of constantly treading on eggshells in the life he’s chosen, a life of constantly running.

‘You don’t know if that’s a- are you listening to yourself?’ Rindou is incredulous, his glass suspended in the air as he shakes his head. ‘So what, you’re going to sit here all night?’ He scoffs and blows the wisps of hair kissing his eyebrows from his face.

Ran’s head snaps up, his eyes a harsh deep violent and flaring with anger. ‘So what do I do then?’

‘Go and talk to her, obviously!

It’s Ran’s turn to scoff bitterly, despite the fact that he knows Rindou’s right, that running from this conversation only serves to cut through both of you and prolong the pain. ‘I can’t.’ It’s the most shameful thing he’s ever said, the most pathetic.

Rindou only softens in response and while he could berate him and drive home the point of how clueless he thinks he is, he knows this isn’t the time, that Ran needs both his honesty and his brotherhood, the lifeline that connects them.

‘Nii-chan…’ Rindou swallows and takes a breath, hot and heavy in this cloistered atmosphere. ‘If you’re not going to listen to her or give her what she deserves, then leave her, because she deserves someone who will.’

It isn’t laced with hatred, bitterness, jealousy or resentment, and the softness, the low cadence of his Brother’s voice only tells Ran that he is being given a rare truth, that Rindou wouldn’t say it if he didn’t care. As pathetic as he feels, with anger and tension and cynicism rolling in waves under his skin, he understands the gravity of what he is being given, the weight of what the consequences are.

The thought itself however, is practically inconceivable. It’s another irrefutable fact that you have made him the man he is, at least to him. You have chased away the days spent tossing in a cold bed, sheets wrinkled as he turned in his sleep, nightmares hooking claws into his back. You tore down those walls he had so painstakingly built as a nest around himself, believing he could never be hurt if he never loved.

Ran closes his eyes and his clenched jaw is a knife simmering on the precipice.

‘And if she doesn’t want to listen?’

Rindou shrugs. ‘Then listen to her instead,’ he says, as if it’s the simplest concept. ‘And don’t get angry if she tells you things you don’t want to hear.’ She only does it because she loves you, he adds as a mental afterthought, a fact that he knows from experience and one he took too long to come to terms with.

Ran nods, his eyes fixed on a speck on the mahogany table and Rindou only hopes his words aren’t floating into the ether, that Ran’s addled state still allows him to grasp the gravity of them.

‘I’ll try.’ The words come out broken and cracked, his voice hitching as the breath forms a lump in his throat.

Rindou pats his Brother on the back. ‘Relationships are all about communication but it stands for nothing if there’s no comprehension involved too,’ he says. ‘It’s all well and good saying you want to talk to each other but are the both of you willing to listen? That’s what matters.’

A strange sense of pride tickles Ran’s chest as Rindou speaks. Pride in his Brother, in the way he raised him, in the way Rindou snatched a life worth living in a lifestyle that was less so and refused to allow it to break his spirit completely. Ran makes fun of him yeah sure, for the fact that Rindou is so homely and soft, tender and caring and embarrassed to hear it, but he’s also proud beyond belief, that Rindou had found something he loved so completely, or someone rather. Something that was so directly in contrast to the vicious and violent Brother he knew, raised and watched crack bones on a daily basis.

Underneath that pride comes the tendrils of love for you, the shame at having walked out on you when you had tried to talk to him, the renewed hope that perhaps he can fix his own mistake.

For the first time that night, Ran allows himself to roll the tension from his shoulder, his neck prickling as the coil of anxiety dissipates a little through the soles of his feet. He downs a full glass of ice water, the sharp sting a welcome sensation against the murkiness of his head. He winces as the cold rushes down his chest, cools the pulse of anxiety simmering in his belly.

‘How come you’re so good at this relationship stuff?’

Rindou chuckles and the faint warmth kissing his cheeks tickles the base of his neck as he hangs his head ‘It’s just experience. I had to work through this too, remember?’

Ran can’t help but smirk knowingly as the heat prickling his skin begins to ebb, leaving behind a strange tranquillity and it’s the calmest he’s felt all night since he slammed the front door. He knows he has a lot to make up for, that you’ve every right not to take him back, but he hopes the vigour of his efforts when he returns home will be enough to assuage the anger you no doubt have for him.

‘How is she?’ Ran asks, if only just to see the wistfulness in his Brother’s gaze, the glaze of his eyes when he stares at the glass in front of him, trying and failing to pull back the smile.

Rindou’s lips curve into a grin and the tint on his cheeks only grows tenfold. ‘She’s good. You and your girl should come when you get time.’

‘And the baby?’

‘Also great. Still a little soon to be buying baby things though.’

Rindou smiles sheepishly, his leg bouncing with excitement and Ran basks in the wonderment of Rindou’s happiness, returning the easy smiles, his heart settling back in his chest. Perhaps it’s because they’re older now, no longer so naive and arrogant and flighty, consumed by distaste for the world around them, but they no longer find themselves retorting with quips wrapped in jealousy, with anger or bitterness. Things are easy between them and when they glance at each other in that unspoken way that siblings often do, it is always with love and brotherhood, memories of running through alleyways laughing as the rain comes down in droves.

As Rindou babbles about his wife and the baby soon to come, Ran’s mind drifts. He thinks of you, of your belly swelling with his child, of your quick smiles, the lazy Sunday mornings under the covers, him tracing patterns on the sliver of skin under your collarbones, his thumb brushing over the hollow in your throat. He thinks of all he stands to lose if he can’t fix his own mistakes.

Haitani Ran knows he is not a good person, he doesn’t expect to be called one. He knows he has the ability to be callous, pretentious, even downright selfish and he knows that the less than savoury aspects of who he is flare to the surface at the worst of times, that he bites at you, makes you cry. Domineering and cruel and unrelenting.

But he also knows another indisputable fact. That he loves you, that he’d walk barefoot in the desert, the hot sand licking at his heels just for a glimpse of you in a mirage, that he, the unredeemable, is redeemed by the two people who love him the most despite his severity.

And you, you love him too. You know you’ve forgiven him already, that the sharp and jagged edges of his cutting words have softened now and all you want is to bury your head on the smooth planes of his chest, your hand on his stomach as it flexes underneath you. You wonder if you can keep going like that, arguing and making up, the constant back and forth, torn between love and anger. For him, you would bear it all, the full force of his will.

‘Ran?’ Rindou’s voice tears him from his thoughts and he shakes his head as the alcohol begins to loosen its grip on him.

‘Hm? Sorry, what did you say?’

‘I said, shall we go? I’ll drive you home.’ Rindou is already shrugging his jacket back on, leaning back to down the rest of his ice water. He looks at Ran expectantly, his clear violet eyes flashing under the sickly artificial lights.

‘Yeah…yeah let’s go.’ Ran stands and as he slips into Rindou’s car, he thinks again of your hair against his chin, your lips on his, needy and tender all at once, the way your teeth graze against his tattoo and his stomach jumps with the sensation it sends across his skin. He thinks of his hand tilting your chin up, kissing the sharp point of your lips, your pout that only makes him laugh fondly.

And as Rindou drives, he finds for the first time tonight that he is less scared and anxious about returning home, that instead he can only count the seconds till he can press his mouth to your neck, hear your giggle as you swat at him.

You are his, and he is yours, and that is the way he likes it.

a/n: happy birthday to my darling <3

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @anxious-chick

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #haitani ran #ran x reader #tokyorev x reader #ran haitani

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aphroditeinthesea · 3 months

Note

can i please request a percy jackson x reader where the reader is a daughter of aphrodite to the song i can do it with a broken heart by taylor swift

“ i can do it with a broken heart ”

percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite 🌊

⚠️ percy is an ass to the reader but that’s kinda a given + percabeth inclusion woop woop

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

i can read ur mind

she’s having the time of her life

there in her glittering prime the lights reflect

sequin stars off her silhouette every night

i can show you lies

“I’m so happy you're finally getting over him,” her sister smiled, hand on her back.

She forced a grin as she continued to sing along to the campfire song. She nodded and waited for her sister to turn her attention away. When she finally saw the girl from the corner of her eye turn towards her boyfriend.

Y/N looked down to the grass. If she looked up she knew what she would see. Just the thought was nauseating. The boy who she claimed to all her friends she would marry, who she already had best laid plans to move to New Rome with and go to college together.

Everything that came to a crumble when he decided he did want those things. Just with his best friend instead.

She watched from across the way how his arm was wrapped around the blonde. They weren't even talking, just looking into each other’s eyes. It was as though they were having an entire conversation without saying anything. She recalled how when she first started going out with Percy and her friends tried to warn her. Everyone knew that the two were soulmates, except for three people.

She wondered if on some level she always knew, too. Maybe she was just denying it to stay with him for just a little bit longer. Even if she screamed all night the day she he broke up with her.

If you were ever so inclined to wonder what really truly happened, here’s the deal:

It was like any other Friday. Perseus Jackson waltzed into her cabin, head low almost as though he cared. He told her he wanted to talk to her privately in cabin three. Her heart sank. She knew. She just knew.

Soon enough, while she sat on his bed and he stood in front of her, he spoke in his softest voice.

“We need to break up.”

She felt her head get dizzy while she looked up at him, “what?”

“I’m so sorry,” he sat next to her, “I hate having to do this to you.”

“Why?” was all she could say.

His eyebrows creased, while tears welled up in his sea green eyes. She felt like she was looking into one of the clear seas of Greece. “I dont feel about you the way that I should.”

She sighed, “Annabeth.” Although because of the weakness in her voice, all that came out was, “Eth.”

He understood her. Slowly nodding, he began once again, “I realized I feel more about her than I should,” he took a breath, “but I wouldn't do anything before ending this with you. I couldn't hurt you like that.”

That damn loyalty of his.

“I get it.”

i’m a real tough kid

i can handle my shit

they said “babe, you gotta fake it til you make it”

and i did

The next morning, it was like it never happened. Afterall, a girl’s gotta have a reputation to upkeep. Everyone’s favorite daughter of Aphrodite. Who could hate a girl so bubbly and peppy and outgoing and happy and has never once had a bad hair day?

Everyone tried to get her to talk about it, but the only thing she said was “I’m helping at arts and crafts today, tee-tee-why-ell!”

With a smile on her face and the taste of vomit on her lips, she pranced around helping campers make vases and false confidence.

“You need to guide your hands up more, like this-”

“Y/N.”

She looked up to lock eyes with the daughter of Athena. “Annabeth.”

“I really wanted to talk to you.”

She flashed her blinding smile and raised eyebrows, “I would love to talk, but I’m right now,” even though her blood boiled at the sight of the blonde curls, “see you later, though.”

“I’m staying.”

“Oh!” She squeaked, “grab a seat.”

lights, camera, bitch smile

even when you wanna die

he said he’s love me all his life

but that life was too short

As soon as y/n was alone she broke down, hitting the floor. She felt all the pieces of her shatter. She had spent hours grinning like a winner before she finally crashed.

She let out every emotion she had felt that day. The anger, the sadness, the betrayal, the heartbreak, all of it. She let out a scream for every glance she shared with either Percy or Annabeth.

But just before dinner, she dolled up her makeup and curled her hair to perfection. Then brushed it out. Then straightened it.

She knew she was overthinking it, but how damn stupid would she look walking out to dinner with hair that mirrored the girl she was just left for? Of course, the meal went as it always would. Her cracking jokes with her siblings, giving out advice that not a soul asked for, all was normal except for the table across the way.

The Poseidon table, which was currently being shared by a certain blonde. This had to be a joke. She watched their conversation flow so easily. The laughs, the smiles, whispers, before Annabeth snuck back off to her own table.

She thought to herself that maybe she should have done that. I mean, if little miss perfect could bend the rules a little, why couldn't she? Maybe that’s why he left?

Over the next few weeks, she tried to block out everything about him. Maybe it was just a dream. But occasionally she’d find something of his in a drawer. Crucial evidence she didn't just imagine the whole thing.

She was sure she could pass this test. The test being the ability to not spend her days crying. And although she did cry a whole lot, she was so damn productive. It was honestly an art. She knew for the rest of her life that this time really proved how good she was at faking. You know? ‘Cause she’s miserable and nobody even knows.

Try and come for her job.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson headcanon #percy jackson fanfiction #percy and annabeth #percabeth #percy jackson angst

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sanemisstalker · 1 year

Text

NSFW// Douma doing pussy inspections to make sure you didn't fuck any of his servants in his absence.

Saw a post talking about a possessive partner doing pussy inspections to make sure you'd stayed loyal and I 🤭

CW// Fem reffered/ AFAB reader/ Breasted / NTR / Cheating/Cuckholding (questionable) / BDSM dynamics / DUB-CON/NON-CON/ Objectification / Reader is reffered to as a 'sow' / is viewed as akin to an animal / Threats of Genital Mutilation / Gore / 24/7 Submission / Sexual Torture.

For all intents and purposes, you never wanted to cheat on Douma. The impulse was exactly that, an impulse. You would have to be dumb or, even worse, unstable, to actively seek punishment from a demon of his caliber. From a man of his social statute.

But, even if you didn't want it, which you would assure you didn't, that did nothing to sooth the pain of the itch. You weren't entirely sure what possessed you once he left your sight, but the idea was always there. Locked away behind bar after bar in your silly little head...

After your first incident with a fellow sow, found with your pussy rubbing gleefully up and down her thigh, Douma figured you were just odd. A bunch of humans are born that way. Just wrong in the head. He'd had a number of attempts on his life through the years.

He had never implied that there would be a punishment for such petty insolence, because he figured you would never be dumb enough to try. After all, the other sow began sobbing, begging for his forgiveness for her desecration and sin. She must've been right in the head.

You were clearly the predator in the situation, not even bothering to appear shameful, just dissapointed. Douma had been entirely perplexed. He had no real urge to harm the other woman. Maybe it was because she was a woman that he felt no real inclination to do so. And he didn't really want to hurt you, either.

The closest thing Douma could compare the feeling to was the curiosity he once felt when he watched too stray cats mate. How odd, that behavior. The need to fuck. Douma never needed to do anything. Want, yes, but that was always very distinct. Douma had never needed to fuck. He figured it was another one of those human things he never quite got around to doing.

He had told you, in a rather lack luster tone, to keep your hands to yourself. It upset you, he could tell. Likely because you were being reffered to with such child-like verbiage, but he felt it had gotten the point across.

The next incident upset him slightly more. He walked in on you with one of his closer male confidants. His face was buried between your legs, and just as quickly as it'd been there, it was gone. The remnants splattered on your thighs and Douma's palm.

The blood had made your orgasm dry out completely. Douma recalled the little huff you made, unbothered by the warm body at your feet. Douma shifted your lifted robes so they would fall back over your legs, patting the fabric into the mess with a tight smile.

"Is there something you're adverse to telling me, hm?" He'd prod, "Is there a quality you find I'm lacking?" There was a tilt to his voice. An odd tone you couldn't quite read. It wasn't insecurity, nor dissapointment. It was taunting, almost.

"I'm not sure." You answered honestly, and he knew, then and there, you must truly be unstable because what an anger inducing comment. He couldn't grasp why you were so... weird.

The problem wasn't your infidelity. Douma could, quite frankly, care less about whether or not you're loyal to him. The problem sat with the human taboo he knew you knew were comitting. One you should feel shameful for, yet you wore nothing but that pissy little look on your face because an orgasm had been stolen away. Nothing to indicate you even registered such a thing.

You had been the one begging him for months to fuck you. Pleading, sobbing, all but vomiting praise at his feet. Nothing but a desperate sow he had willingly invited into his harem, the only one he even had light willingness to sleep with, and now you were defiling his hole with other blood.

Fine. Douma resigned to simply keeping you with him wherever he went. You were allowed out if his sight only for prayer and the bathroom.

The third incident, Douma was quite certain you'd become more than unstable. To let another man bed you on his throne had to be entirely insane on your part. A complete lack of self preservation. Not only had you snuck away from prayer, but you had brought in an outsider. Some random slayer, at that.

The risk was palpable, each time Douma watched the man's cock slide deeper into you-

The man was lucky he finished before Douma's hand reached around his neck. A final pleasure in this world, found in your cunt. Douma flung his body effortlessly against the wall, the corpse folding in on itself with a sickening crack.

"Ah, Y/N, do I need to sew you shut?" Douma would ask in the same sing song voice he always had. "This is entirely disrespectful of your superiors."

"I-I know-" You huffed, winded from the act, pussy aching for your lord's cock. You knew you wouldn't get it. He'd never bother with a used hole.

You couldn't understand it anymore than he could. Why you craved that look in his eye so bad, that unpleasant lilt in his voice. He seemed almost bothered by the whole thing. Almost.

"Please don't... sew me up." Your pussy tingled at the idea- Maybe such pain would fix your ailment, not having your clit exposed anymore, or your needy hole.

Your hand trailed between you thighs, seeking your gape. As you felt a bit of the dead man's seed slip out, you rushed to finger it back into yourself. You feared what Douma might do should a drop of it land on his cushions-

The desperate display sickened him, willing an emotion to the forefront he hadn't felt in a millenia, at least.

Fine. Fine. Fine fine fine.

You were no longer allowed to leave his sight. At all. A leash now rested firmly on your throat. If not held by Douma, held by someone else who he'd calmly threatened to spay if they even so much as consider your constant pleading.

Douma had to make a remedial, somewhat temperamental announcement to his followers.

You were a temptress, never to be trusted. Something on the brink of succubi. Fucking you would lead to great downfall for anyone who fell woefully victim to your tricks. Their sperm would die before it even formed, bedding you would insure a life of flaccidity. You'd curse any womb you ate-

How kind a leader he was to assure the victory of his people by capturing you. A real, honest to god demon.

He decided he was going to fix you. Sometimes humans needed that kind of thing. Fixing. He decided you were sick. In the head. If your ever so present need for cock continously won out over a need to live, then such an illness had to be cured.

He set you up with a chittering little toy. Firmly tied against your clit with pretty red rope. He didn't bother having your hands tied. You loved it, after all, the constant attention (abuse) to the little bundle of nerves.

You realized what he was trying to do the first time your clit went numb. He was certainly trying to sterilize you, make it so you wouldn't even want to open your legs.

Another rod was always tucked inside your pussy. Keeping you constantly wet and always stretched for the once in a blue moon where Douma would kindly make you warm his cock instead. He was never a fan of the uncomfortable tightness the first few times he entered a sow. This was a far preferable sensation. Warm and just tight enough to nurse his cock.

Another would be in your ass, since he'd once again overheard you begging one of his servants for something so grotesque. Any hole would work to satisfy your bizarre appetite, it seemed.

Any time Douma had to leave for an extended time, he'd come back to greet his people, and then you, who he kept tucked behind a slew of pillows to muffle the constant moaning and sobbing you loosed.

He'd always check your mouth first, gentle claws pulling the orifice open so he could slide his tongue in and assault the crevice, seeking the taste of another human on your lips.

And then he'd turn you over, the first time in weeks you'd be allowed to have that toy taken off your irritated, pulsing clit. He'd carefully slip the other toy from between your lips. Your cunt would contract around nothing.

Douma would spread you open with little regard for how puffy your pyssy had become, how even the dull part of his claws were overstimulating. He'd ignore your yaps and cries in favour of burying two fingers in.

He'd bring them out and up to his lips.

"Oh wow!" He'd sing, overjoyed that his drastic measures had worked. "You did so good, Y/N! I can't smell anyone on you! I'm proud! I'm impressed!"

Something about the words made you sob. Your pussy ached, any and every touch felt like you were going to implode. You could barely remember why you were in this situation at all.

Douma would pop the plug from your backside, loosing an all too pleased noise at the sight on your twitching asshole. A finger would probe the wet hole before slipping in with incredible ease. Your toes curled into the plush of the pillows you'd been rested on.

"So good!" He'd mock cheer, clapping as the tightness persisted with a second finger. It was as tight as when he'd left you.

Douma reached up to your head, managing to lift you up by your hair. With incredibly weak knees, you struggled to steady yourself. Thankfully, Douma pushed you back down into the pillows, only desiring to see the arch of your back.

"Can you spread yourself for me?" He'd request. The word 'spread' didn't sound real, but you could hear the shift of his hands and the clank of his belt.

"L-Lord Douma, I can't- can't possibly-" You cried.

"Oh shush, you can." He laughed. With shaking hands you followed his commands, throat too sore to deny him. Your fingers felt cold against the boiling heat of your lips. You pulled yourself apart, presenting your sopping wet cunt to him.

Douma shuddered slightly. He'd melded humans to his will before, but never so quickly had they snapped. Maybe this sex thing could become a want for him.

You couldn't even feel when he sank into you entirely with his first thrust. You took him so incredibly well, his ego swelled at the sight. You were finally a good loyal hole for him to fuck.

A good, loyal, and stable hole for him to fuck.

#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer smut #douma x y/n #douma x you #douma smut #douma x reader #upper moon smut #upper moons x reader #upper moon two x reader

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inkpot909 · 11 months

Text

Jealousy Headcanons: Duwang Gang

↳ Characters included are Josuke Higashikata, Okuyasu Nijimura, Koichi Hirose, and Rohan Kishibe. Gender neutral Reader with they/them pronouns. Hinted to take place after the death of Yoshikage Kira.

A/n: What a beautiful duwang! Real talk, I’ve been wanting to write a headcanon list for this group for a long time, now. Bless these boys, none of them (except for Koichi) know what they’re doing. I really hope y’all enjoy. <3

Warning(s): Canon-typical violence and swearing.

Josuke Higashikata

-> The Silent

The immediate feeling that washes over Josuke after realizing he’s become jealous is guilt.

If he has the luxury of being alone, he’ll pace around his bedroom while entertaining a lengthy argument with himself. It takes everything in him not to raise a hand up to his mouth and press a nail or two between clenched teeth. There’s a game of tug of war occurring inside his head and he’s nothing if not a slave to fully investing himself in the conflict.

If he isn’t alone, and especially if he’s with you, there is seemingly no dent made in his chill persona. Not a single person around him would be able to tell the internal conflict running through his mind. Not even you.

His usually relaxed thoughts are disrupted with an ocean of insecurity. “What if” questions plaguing him and internally souring his mood.

It’s a foreign feeling for him to experience. Especially considering you tend to bring out a very proud side of his personality. Ever since he started going out with you, everyday life has only gotten brighter.

And although he’d never be caught mentioning it out loud, there’s a part of him that’s mindful of the fact that usually he’s the one others grow jealous of.

He’s running in mental circles, a back and forth. Agonizing over just the idea of being jealous between taking the brunt of his emotions all at once.

All while he says absolutely nothing on the matter.

He may end up distancing himself for a day or two depending on just how lost in his own head he gets. He doesn’t seek out your company, and that’ll be the only telltale sign of how he’s truly feeling.

Even then, whenever you do see him, nothing appears to be wrong. He’ll smile at you all the same. His tone is cheerful as ever, and there’s no falter present in his laugh.

Because he can’t help but be ashamed for feeling this way, he’ll do anything in his power to make sure you don’t notice. He’ll continue to play the part of your never bothered, always cheery boyfriend.

He will only bring up his dilemma to Koichi.

Being involved in a relationship himself, Josuke figures he would best understand his point of view. He does his best to hear him out (he did go to him, after all), but Koichi telling him that it’s unhealthy to internalize how he’s feeling isn’t going to get Josuke to budge.

Josuke knows you’re loyal. He does trust you... so how could he possibly compromise that trust by mentioning something as silly as jealousy? Being open and honest is usually his go to. He tells you everything. But this...? There’s a little voice in his head telling him not to. And not even sound advice from a close friend can get him to stop listening.

If you’re observant enough to catch onto him avoiding you while simultaneously greeting you as if nothing’s wrong, bringing it up bluntly will finally force him to open his damn mouth.

He’s nervous; more nervous than he’s ever been around you in the past. It doesn’t take long before the word vomit starts pooling from his mouth, littered between a plethora of apologies. His eyes never meet yours until he’s done talking, hands continuously picking and pulling at one another.

Believe it or not, talking it through with you actually helps! Who knew? Certainly not Josuke.

After that first incident, dealing with his jealousy becomes a lot more manageable. Although it doesn’t happen often, it still does happen.

And he’s still not inclined to make a scene if he can help it.

Josuke’s opinion of guys who freak out on their partner or anyone who they feel threated by- even by the loosest stretch of the imagination -is very low. He will certainly talk to you about it, but in private and merely to express his emotions rather than to criticize you in any way.

The only real exception to this, is if someone’s actively hitting on you and repeatedly not taking the hint. How he approaches the situation largely depends on you.

If you’re not afraid of confrontation, he’s going to be at your side with a smug expression on his face the entire time. Your ability to stand up for yourself can make him melt on the spot. He lets you go at it, watching you with a smile brimming with puppy love. He just cannot help but fawn over how cool you are.

Once you’ve made your point, he’ll happily back you up lightheartedly. Even to the point of mocking the person who dared to ignore every “no” you threw their way. People like that deserve to get knocked down a peg, and Josuke’s eager to help.

If you’re more meek in approaching these situations, and tend to shoot Josuke glances pleading for his aid, he’s happy to help. It feeds into his ego a bit, honestly.

He’ll make a point to wrap an arm around you, throwing his best intimidating side-eye to the person daring to make you feel uncomfortable. Hell, he’ll even puff out his chest a little too.

Once again, he’s not above insulting them. His words are vicious and more than a little rude. He is a delinquent, after all.

Josuke isn’t a really fan of getting violent in these situations, though. The only reason he would get to that point is if the other person grows violent first and he needs to defend himself.

If they take it that far, they’re asking for it in his book. He doesn’t feel any need to use Crazy Diamond against something so trivial, more than a little confident in his own strength.

That said, if the flirtatious bastard is enough to make you really upset, he will use his stand to rearrange their appearance in an attempt to make you laugh. Yeah, it’s a bit twisted, but his youthful mischievousness is likely to earn him a smile from you.

That said, if someone flirts with you and tries to brush him off by dissing his hair- all cards are off the table. Openly flirting with you in front of him and dissing his hair? That person must have a death wish.

You may want to look away.

Okuyasu Nijimura

-> The Emotional

Unlike his best friend, Okuyasu wears his heart on his sleeve at all times.

Expressing emotions, even negative or embarassing ones, is not something he shies away from. No, not even in public.

When he first confessed his feelings to you, he was certainly more than a little shy. But when you gladly reciprocated, you’re positive the entirety of Morioh shook with his joyous response.

It’s because of this that Okuyasu experiencing jealousy is quite the roller-coaster of emotion. If he’s jealous, everyone and their mother will likely know.

His immediate response is confusion.

Not over how he’s feeling per se, but instead over what to do about it. Painfully aware of his own intellegence, he’ll agonize over how he should respond. Jealousy is rather complicated in his opinion, and his biggest concern is accidentally pushing you away via his reaction.

He is decisive, though, so it’s not something he’s going to mull it over for very long.

And if you’re right beside him, the likelihood of you diffusing his jealousy right in that very moment is quite high. So, although it’s not uncommon for him to be jealous, he’s quick to let it go.

In most cases, that’s where the story ends.

Sometimes, though, if the feeling is strong enough or if you’re not able to talk with him, it’ll go a bit further.

In those instances, the emotion that follows his confusion is anger. More accurately, it’s defensiveness masked with a display of frustration.

It’s written all over his face, eyebrows furrowing and eyes turning sharp. The delivery of his words are rather harsh and unfiltered (well, more than usual).

This anger won’t ever be directed at you, though. Okuyasu cares about you far too much.

If he can’t direct it at a specific individual that’s (according to him) the source of his jealousy, he’ll instead grow angry with himself. Mainly because his jealousy stems from an insecure belief that he’s not good enough for you.

If he gets this upset, it’s best to leave him to let out his frustrations before going to speak with him on the matter. Hell, Josuke is a better support for Okuyasu when he’s dealing with the bulk of his emotions.

Not much time is needed; no more than a day. And because he respects you greatly, if you give him that tiny- yet definitely needed -space, he’ll gladly hear you out with a fresher mindset.

Okuyasu is almost always going to be soothed by your affirmations.

Sweet words about how you’re with him because you want to be, and that nothing so small could form a wedge between the two of you, is very reassuring for him.

Jealousy is going to be more of a prevalent hurtle for the both of you to work on at the beginning of the relationship. He was still getting used to the idea that you really do like him as more than just a friend. It’s sweet, sure, but the insecurity is something the two of you work on together.

As time passes, and he digests the fact that you’re not going to leave him for the first person that flirtatiously glances your way, he cools off a lot. In fact, he starts having a hard time taking the people who hit on you seriously.

Namely, he’s going to laugh at any poor bastard trying to make a move on you. Because “Ha! Get a move on, loser! Can’t you see their taken?”

His mocking may not be as well-thought out as Josuke’s, but they can cut just as deep. And his delivery is almost always sure to bring a smile to your face. Okuyasu is always proud when he’s the cause of your glee.

That said, getting defensive is still a knee-jerk reaction at times. It only applies if someone doesn’t want to take “no” as an answer.

Doesn’t matter how capable you are in defending yourself, if someone pushes it, he’s quickly going to follow it up with threats. Partially out of affectionate protectiveness, and also in part because he likes to think of himself as your knight in shining armor.

He tries to be as suave as he can while threatening a stranger with a fist to the face. One second he’s throwing insults, the next he’s giving you a smile along with a cheeky wink.

As far as he’s concerned, someone messing with his boyfriend/girlfriend better be prepared for a pair of knuckles meeting harshly with their jaw.

Okuyasu’s like an angry dog barking loudly at anyone getting too close. Least you know no one will ever dare to mess with you for very long.

Koichi Hirose

-> The Logical

Out of everyone in the Duwang gang, Koichi is the least susceptible to jealousy. Actually, scratch that. He’s the least susceptible to jealousy in all of Morioh.

Especially after developing Echoes act 3, his thought process just doesn’t leave a lot of room for doubts in both you and himself.

If someone’s attempting to flirt with you, he’s more likely to grow annoyed rather than jealous.

He’ll throw them an unamused glance, eyebrow raised as if daring them to continue further. He’ll turn back to you, mentioning loudly enough for them to hear how obnoxious he finds their behavior to be. Returning the favor with a smile almost always does the trick, often prompting them to give up.

If they don’t, and press further, Koichi is prone to suggesting that the two of you go somewhere else. He never returns any animosity thrown towards him, not letting it get to him much. Yeah, they may be hurling low-hanging insults towards him, but he’s the one with you on his arm.

His casualness in those situations is so consistent to the point where Josuke and Okuyasu each comment on how they don’t understand it.

When a situation arises where they know they’d be jealous, the two just cannot wrap their head around how calm he is. Koichi merely laughs them off, almost finding their confusion to be amusing.

Koichi’s grown a lot, and he just can’t find it within himself to give into insecurities he considers unnecessary. All that, in his mind, should really be left in the past.

Adding to his confidence, is you yourself.

Koichi adores you, and would honestly trust you with his life. So why would he ever grow jealous of an old friend? What on earth could some random person at a party provide you in a short, two minute conversation that would warrant any defensiveness? Why would he feel threatened by a coworker? It’s not like he can tell you to avoid them.

In fact, he’s very aware of the fact that he can't tell you what to do in general. Or rather, he simply won’t. It’s not in his nature to be controlling or hover over you like that.

Not because you’ve brought it up or it's ever been an issue in the past. It’s simply because... that’s not a real relationship in his eyes. He’s not bossy or pushy- you started dating him because that was your decision at the end of the day. And that alone is enough proof to him that being jealous really isn’t worth it.

Now, if by some miracle he does grow jealous, it’s not going to last very long. Again, Koichi is just too levelheaded.

He is going to grow downcast, saddened by his own perspective of the situation. This is because he’ll only get to the point of jealousy if he believes you’ve returned someone’s advances- whether it was by word of mouth or something he saw with his own two eyes.

And because you care for him as earnestly as he does for you, his jealousy likely occurs due to an honest misunderstanding.

Koichi will approach you on the matter himself, and will do so calmly. Even if he saw something, he doesn’t want to become more upset before he hears what you have to say. After all, you’ve never disappointed him before.

Because of his strong trust in you, after he details his perspective on the matter, he asks that you explain your side of the situation to him.

Koichi’s demeanor is very controlled and polite, hiding a certain degree of genuine worry. He listens with baited breath, internally praying that he simply misread what happened.

And to his relief, that’s all it ever ends up being.

Just like that, the both of you are quickly back to normal. Worries evaporate from within his mind, and he’s back to his usual sweet self.

Genuinely the best boyfriend here, no contest.

Rohan Kishibe

-> The Denier

Oh, boy.

First thing’s first, it should be noted that The Great Rohan Kishibe does not grow jealous. It’s not even a question, and honestly, expecting him to explain such a thing is an insult. Men and women alike fawn over him; anyone would be lucky to have him. You’re lucky to have him.

And to his credit, Rohan really doesn’t grow jealous very often.

His confidence in himself may cross the line into narcissism, but it doesn’t lead him to give into jealousy very often.

Like Koichi, he knows that if you’re with him, it’s because you truly care. Even more so, considering Rohan knows (if only slightly) that he’s not the easiest person to be around.

Nope! He certainly doesn’t become jealous very often… not never, like he’s worked so hard to have you believe.

For Rohan to become jealous requires specific circumstances. Some random person approaching you at a party or bar isn’t going to pose much of a threat to his ego.

On the contrary, it feeds into his ego.

You’re a beautiful individual; it’s no question as to why others would try and approach you. But, of course, you always turn them away seeing as you’re already his.

In those instances, he’s as dismissive as Koichi, coupled with a tongue as sharp as Josuke’s. Rolling his eyes, wrapping an arm around you, straight up ignoring the person trying to talk to you, kissing you out of the blue- he’s got every weapon in his arsenal equipped to ensure you’re left alone.

If it gets to the point where you’re growing visibly nervous or uncomfortable, Rohan’s words are the nastiest you’ve ever seen. But the display isn’t necessarily out of jealousy, as it is out of shock and frustration that they’d persist. He’s not going to let anyone speak to you in such a way.

But when it pertains to an old friend, the one you were talking about meeting up with for a week straight... now that’s what makes his chest tighten.

Rohan’s going to be in a bad mood because of it, but it’s not too distinct from his usual behavior. No, he’s just a little more quiet than normal. And by the time you cheerfully tell him about seeing this friend of yours, he thinks he may go nuts.

Rohan’s immediate response is to completely shut himself out from everyone, while simultaneously denying any thought he has over being jealous in the first place.

The time he spends locked inside his office is insanely alarming.

At first, you question whether or not you should even say anything about it. Yes, you’re obviously concerned for his health, but Rohan falls into his exaggerated version of workaholic-mode from time to time. And you know him well enough to understand he requires a very careful approach to be pulled out of it.

No, what really warns you that something’s wrong, is that even Koichi asks you if Rohan is doing okay.

His concern takes you aback, and only makes your heart sink further when Josuke (of all people) speaks up about it as well. He’s a lot more reserved about showing any worry, but it’s enough to let you know that something is fundamentally off.

Prodding Rohan for an explanation is going to take a good while.

He’s so unused to feeling jealousy in any capacity that he outright refuses to even admit it to himself.

No, he just needs to work and not interact with anyone. Why? Because he has to; don’t question him. There’s so much he needs to do. You’re far too busy with your old friend in town to pay him any mind anyway.

And that’s exactly the sentiment you finally manage to pull from him.

He spits it out it with crossed arms, not once meeting your gaze. But it’s a mistake (in his mind), because it gets the cogs turning in your mind.

You end up realizing Rohan’s jealous before he does.

Affirmations that you love him is a must, and don’t even bring up the fact that he grew jealous- it would only continue to stir the pot. You know Rohan well, confident in how you choose your words when talking to him about it.

He refuses to give you any indication that he's listening, of course, but one brief glance your way cracks his hardened outer shell.

The look on your face... it initiates this weird sinking feeling deep inside his gut. Just thinking of could halt his movements.

Yes, realistically, he could just use his stand to check whether or not his concern is warranted.

But, for one thing, he’s already promised you he wouldn't do that to you. Setting boundaries is extremely important to Rohan, so he respects the ones you set in return. So much so that the thought of using Heaven’s Door on you doesn’t cross his mind once.

And that look on your face, soft and melancholy upon the realization that he’s been doubting you... he honestly doesn’t need to use his stand to know he's severely misread your relationship with your old friend.

His own ability to recognize how poorly he misunderstood the situation is something he figures he’ll have to unpack at a later time. In that moment, he was just relieved. He told you, rather stubbornly, that he supposes he was wrong. In own his weird, twisted way, that was how he apologized.

In short, being with you is a humbling experience for a person like Rohan and this instance of becoming jealous is certainly a part of that.

Weirdly enough, to his internal surprise, it’s ultimately a pleasurable development. Not like he’d ever tell you, though.

With the passage of time, he even lets you tease him over it. The two of you playfully go back and forth, bringing up times where you both got so jealous. It’s all in good fun, his confidence in your feelings for him stronger than ever.

In reality, him having a bit of humor about it is a clear sign that he’s growing into the relationship more and more. And him being able to be more transparent around you makes it easier for him to talk to you in the future if he gets that jealous again.

There’s still room for growth, but such things are almost always a gradual process for someone like Rohan.

That said, only you’re allowed to make any sort of teasing remarks about the whole ordeal. Anyone else isn’t worthy of doing so.

#johnny’s work #jjba #jojo’s bizarre adventure #josuke higashikata x reader #okuyasu nijimura x reader #koichi hirose x reader #rohan kishibe x reader #diamond is unbreakable #diu #manga #anime #headcanons #jealousy #gender neutral reader #fluff #sfw #part 4 jojo #writing #fanfiction

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sillydumbdoll · 5 months

Text

My name is Dolly!! I am 27, autistic, and nonbinary(she/they/it). I have an intense dollification fetish, and I am a bimbofication enthusiast as well as a switch who loves corrupting minds and being corrupted. I’m open to chill conversation, but most of all I LOVE asks and attention! I am an exhibitionist attention whore dolly who loves being admired!

pics of me: #dolly pics

Kinks: dollification (#1 always), bondage, hypnosis, bimbofication, corruption, stalking, kidnapping, obsession, edging, dumbification, cnc, tease and denial, oral fixation, exhibitionism, piss, petplay, humiliation, femdom, foot worship, body worship, findom, gooning

Hard limits: raceplay, ageplay, ddlg, “daddy”, fauxcest/incest, bestiality, blackmail (as the sub, I will do blackmail as a domme), hucow, ED/sh, and the usuals like scat, vomit, etc.

Misogyny kink is now a hard limit and I can’t stress this enough

Soft limits (I don’t fw these that much but in a rare mood I do, no this is not a challenge. BDSM is all about consent remember): degredation, penetration

Do not: ask for nudes, dm me about sex (fetishes are okay, straight up sex is not, and if you wanna send a threat/what you wanna do to me immediately, you can send an ask 😄), call me slut whore or bitch

DNI: MINORS, ED/sh content, bestiality/zoo, detrans kink if ur cis (sorry I really don’t like this)

✧you can pretty much send anything to my asks! I like asks a lot better than icky dms

✧you can give me tasks, request what I should post, and what I should wear! Nothing is guaranteed but I do enjoy doing it! (I prefer this being done on asks) or you can tip for a post within boundaries to guarantee it gets done :3

✧I would love to be dollified if you feel inclined to do so

✧I am trying to explore my hypno kink, if anyone wants to teach me about it, or help me out I’d love you forever!! 🌀

🎀Tip and gift here if u like my content! 🎀

DISCLAIMER: CONSENT is the most important thing EVER in kink!! I do NOT condone anything on my blog without consenting adult partners, it’s ALL just fantasy! Not real! Everything on my blog is meant to be taken as a part of my silly kinks that I like to talk about online, it’s all a fantasy, and I expect everyone who interacts with me is a consenting adult who knows the difference between fantasy and reality. If you don’t like anything I’m into or if it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to interact with me at all.

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am-i-interrupting · 6 months

Note

Hi there! Could I request fem!reader x husk reuniting in hell?

Maybe they used to be together when they were alive but then a misunderstanding happened and they split up/ or one of them just died 😭

Someone from hotel found about it, found her and brought her there or maybe she just came there and met him. Idk I leave it to you.

I know it might be stupid but I really love this trope and want to read something like this with Husk :3

We’ll Meet Again

“So,” Angel began, laying in the bar with a perfect view of Husks’s hands as he fluidly went through the motions of mixing a drink, “what’s the ring for?”

Angel had said a lot of dumb shit. Like, a lot but he’d never said something that threw Husk off enough to actually spill something.

“Fuck,” Husk grumbled.

He grabbed a rag to clean the mess. It was then Angel realized that the only reason he’d ever seen Husk grab the cloth was to clean up someone else’s mess, never his own.

Angel sat upright. “So, I’m guessing it’s personal?”

Husk looked at Angel and paused his cleaning. “No shit.” He continued on.

It wasn’t until weeks later that Angel would see Husk wasted. In fact, all the hotel residents would see Husk truly wasted for the first time.

He came in, barely able to stand much less walk and ignored everyone, promptly flipping Charlie off when she asked if he needed help, and continued to make his way to the stairs.

“Oh, yeah,” Niffty said, “it’s that time of year again.”

“What could possibly have our resident day drunk absolutely plastered?” Angel asked.

“This happens every year?” Charlie asked, much more concern coming from her voice compared to Angel’s snark which covered his own.

Alastor appeared at the end of the stairs. “Ah, the woos of a broken heart strike once again,” he said as he spun his microphone before he leaned on it, staring up the staircase. “One would think after over seventy years, he would be over it, hmm?”

“That’s not fair, sir,” Niffty said as she joined him. “She was the love of his life.”

“And his life is now over,” he said in response.

“I’m gonna go check on him,” Niffty said as she began darting up the stairs. “I don’t want to have to clean vomit out of the carpet.”

“What’s wrong with Husk?” Charlie asked, standing with her hands clutched close to her chest.

“Nothing he hasn’t faced before, my dear,” Alastor said. “It happens every year. For a week expect him to disappear for long periods of time and come back completely zozzled. Although, he may be inclined to stay if I procure him something stronger. I would love a front row seat at a stage play compared to a parade, a rather sad parade but a parade nonetheless.”

“What happened?”

“Hmm? Yes, well, I suppose you don’t know, do you?” Alastor said. “Our dear Husker used to be married, unfortunately before they could grow old together, they happened to get into a lover’s quarrel and before it could be resolved, his darling wife was murdered in a street mugging gone wrong.”

Angel felt his heart sink down into his stomach. That’s why Husk had gotten so defensive. He’d probably been trying to avoid thinking about it and there Angel went with his big mouth, bringing up something that hurt him right around a trauma days.

“That’s horrible!” Charlie exclaimed.

“Yes, indeed but life is hardly kind, my dear. Death is rather the same,” Alastor said before he went to take stock of the liquor at the bar.

It was a long time before Angel learned a name but that’s all he had to go on, was a name and a description of what you looked like with an off hand comment or two about some of your hobbies.

A year paced and Angel was on his way back to the Hotel from a long night at work when he saw a woman crying as she walked. Normally he’d walk on by. It’s not like it was an uncommon sight to see in Hell but he didn’t. Something compelled him to stop.

“You alright, toots?” he asked as he slowed down so he didn’t walk past you.

You looked up at him. You weren’t ugly crying. You weren’t really showing any emotion but Angel knew just how much of a curse it was to bottle things up. He knew a vacant cry wasn’t any less concerning than a violent one.

“I’m fine,” you said as you quickly tried to wipe you tears.

Angel’s eyes flickered down to where you were fiddling with a ring.

“Martial problems?”

You huffed a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Maybe it’s because I’m just bored and noisy but I’ve also been staying at the Princess’s redemption Hotel. Maybe it’s made me a more carin’ person.”

You said nothing. The two of you walked side by side for a few minutes, both going in the same direction.

“It’s my death anniversary,” you blurted out.

Angel winced in sympathy. “Those are rough. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “It’s not dying that bothered me. It just—“ you felt yourself getting choked up— “I died while having a fight with my husband.”

“Did he kill you?” Angel asked.

“No, no, someone else did but we were fighting and it was over something stupid,” you clarified. “I slammed the door after yelling some bad things. They were the last things I ever said to him.”

Angel’s brow furrowed. “This is gonna sound stupid if I’m wrong but,” and he asked if your name was the one Husk had given him not that long ago. When you said yes, he laughed a bit hysterically. “Fuck, I didn’t think I was right.”

You followed Angel into the Hazbin Hotel. You were wary. You didn’t believe him. You didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“Hey, where’s Husk?” Angel asked.

Charlie looked up from the charts she had spread across the table as she sat on the couch. “Vaggie helped him go up to his room not that long ago.”

“How was he doing?”

“Not good.” Charlie got up. “Who’s this.”

When Angel said your name and Charlie gasped it gave you a bit of hope. A random sinner on the street fucking with you was to be expected. The Princess of Hell who prided herself on her kindness? That’s as a bit more trustworthy.

“Here, let me take you to his room,” Charlie said as she grabbed your hand and pulled you up the stairs.

The door barely creaked as it was opened. It revealed a damn near exact replica of your home in life and on the bed was a black tuxedo cat with red wings curled up on his side.

“That’s him?” you asked, twisting your ring on your finger.

Charlie nodded. You hesitantly stepped into the room.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Charlie said as she closed the door.

You stood there for a minute. You just stared at the cat that was supposed to be your husband. He looked so tense, even in sleep.

You took another step forward and then another until you were beside the bed. On the nightstand was a hat and tie.

You picked up the loose tie and twisted it between your fingers. For some reason you couldn’t explain, you held it up to your nose. You nearly collapsed as so many memories rushed to you from the smell, from his smell. It smelled like the same cologne he used to dot on before he went to perform or go play a round of cards at the bar.

You tried to keep the sobs bubbling up in your throat at bay but it was all for not. They came out anyway as you curled in on yourself, standing at the bedside.

There was a groan.

“The fuck?” your husband’s voice said.

You said his name, his real name and his eyes went wide as he shot up. He swayed and caught himself on the headboard.

“Am I hallucinating?” he asked.

You couldn’t get words out to answer. Instead you’d hugged him, causing you both to fall onto the mattress as neither of you had the energy to keep yourself up.

You woke up the next morning wrapped in Husk’s arms and wings. You felt safe for the first time since you fell to Hell.

You didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to let go. Luckily you didn’t have to.

No one was surprised when they didn’t see Husk for the next week. They were surprised when he came out of his room smiling, with you by his side and he refused to let go.

#hazbin husk x reader #husk x reader

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asumofwords · 1 year

Text

Treat - Ettore x Reader

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Somnophillia, rape, non-con, slight dub-con, masturbation, creepiness, sedation, assault, drugs, induced vomiting, blood, spitting, cum play, violence, degradation.

Pairings: Dark!Ettore x Reader (It’s Ettore… come on)

Synopsis: The cold of space had nothing on the cool glare of Ettore, another inmate on the spacecraft you were sentenced to life on. At the mercy of the Doctor onboard, Dibs, all are a part of fertility experiments and used as test subjects. Said Doctor has increased your sedation dosage as part of the trials, what will happen when suspicions arise for the unusual things happening to your body?

Word Count: 6.1k

Notes: @targaryenrealnessdarling and @ewanmitchellcrumbs inspired this hedonistic fucking abomination by creating an obsession with a man I shouldn’t even like. This is DD:DNE territory, so you have been warned. I blame you both for making me so fucking feral for this man. Enjoy ;) <3

It was cold.

It’s not supposed to be cold, but it was.

There was no way to keep out the chill of outer space. No way to keep the sub zero chill outside from seeping into metal ship you drifted in. No way to keep the unnatural of being in space away from your bones.

Your senses.

There was heating, and it was warm enough inside for you to wear shorts and a shirt, some mandated clothing given to you, but even then, the artificial warmth couldn’t keep the chill from seeping into the walls or floors.

Or perhaps it was the chill of being watched.

But you were always being watched, prisoner and a body for human experimental trials, or ‘guinea pigs’ as Boyse says, another inmate who hates being there just as much as you. She was sweet enough, but you kept her, like everyone else, at an arms length.

Being put on the floating jail in space was a combination of a shit routine and being stuck with other not so great people. When you first arrived, you had kept to yourself, quiet, head down, methodical. You didn’t want trouble, you just wanted peace. And anything was better than the Super Max they had you in before back on Earth.

So you were good.

Took your meds when told, took showers when commanded, ate and slept on the clock like a well trained pet. And sometimes, if you were feeling particularly inclined, which was more often than not, you found yourself in The Box. A crude space for you to go in and get out your ‘urges’.

'Fraternising' with the others was a big no no, but really, what were they going to do? Shoot you out the hull? You doubted it, and if you were honest, you didn’t care much either way.

You were going to die on this ship, lost in the same fucking routine for the rest of your days if you didn’t all go absolutely bat shit insane and cannibalise each other, which was a real fear Monte had whispered to you once.

Not much of a talker that one.

But Ettore was worse.

He barely even spoke a word. He just watched.

Listened.

Like he was sizing everyone up, writing invisible notes in his mind of who was who, and what was what. As though he was collecting intel from everyone like a secret government plant, or as though he was waiting to sell secrets, not that there really were any, all of you were there for crimes that warranted a life sentence.

Death sentence in your case.

And the way Ettore watched you, watched Boyse, or any of the other women on board, gave you an inkling as to what he may have done to deserve being locked up with the rest of you.

But it didn’t stop you from being intrigued, nor casting an extra glance here or there to watch him. Pine over him even, bent over, shirtless scrubbing the floor, but what else were you to do? You hadn't been touched in months, maybe years, you couldn't tell how long it had been with no natural rise or set of the sun, and he wasn't bad on the eyes. Leaning against the wall of the hull, waiting for whoever it was in The Box to finish.

Because thats where he always was.

The Box.

You would say it bordered on slightly neurotic. Obsessive. Insatiable.

And it was the moments before he went in that really rivalled the chill of space.

His pale blue eyes would always find you.

Always.

And although it sent shivers down your spine in fear and disgust, it also settled a warmth within you too.

It was hard.

Not being able to touch anyone.

Being surrounded by people, all day, all night, and not once having a chance to feel them. Hold them. Be with them. You had thought that perhaps Dibs would have at least let same sex interactions slide because there was no possible way for conception, but it was as if the bitch was edging herself. Or had some sick fetish of having everyone in a fucking cube strung out to shit in space.

Not the smartest of moves to whoever gave this experiment the go ahead, but you had to give them props for their misplaced faith.

You padded down the hall, making your way to the Doctors office, ready to collect your meds; sleeping pills which knocked you flat on your ass about half an hour after ingesting them, and then go to bed.

You saw the door up ahead and sighed, it was not that you didn’t want to sleep, you just hated the idea of constantly being pumped with this shit.

Surely it wasn’t good for your body?

But then again, being in space and stuck where you were with no choice to go outside in fresh air, noting that there wasn’t any air outside the craft, wasn’t good for you either.

Unnatural.

But it was all unnatural.

And in some ways, better than death row.

Sometimes.

Just as you moved to round the door, Ettore’s large body ducked beneath the frame, strolling right past you. His eyes flicked over your body quickly, predatorily, lashes blinking softly as he brushed past you and went on his way back to his cell.

There was that cold again.

It surrounded him like a wraith.

You slid into the room, Dibs barely sparing you a glance as you stood behind her, her long fingers fucking about on the table as she took her time to give you the meds you got from her at the same time, every fucking day. You thought that perhaps she may be a little more organised since all she did was sit around on her ass and be a prat.

But she wasn’t, and you waited, standing beside her as she swivelled in her stupid little chair to face you.

You had always had a pretty good read on people. Ever since you were young, you could spot the bad ones from the good, but it never really kept you away from the bad. Your ex's more bad than they were good.

It excited you, if you were going to be honest.

The rush of adrenaline, feeling of fear as your fight or flight would kick in when you looked at someone and just knew they had a more sinister part of them simmering beneath the surface.

And the moment you had spotted Ettore on the ship, being strapped in beside him, the alarm bells had rung in your head, blaring red DANGER behind your eyes. And you had felt the same fluttering in your chest as you felt his eyes on you the whole time.

But Dibs?

She was different.

There was something more malevolent than what meets the eye. Something that hid behind her dark gaze. And as you stood inside the make shift infirmary, doctors notes spread out on her table, shut curtains behind you, you felt as though perhaps you would have been safer stuck inside The Box with Ettore.

Dibs held out a small plastic cup to you, two pills inside.

Usually, it held one.

Your brows furrowed as you looked up at her.

"Changed dosage.” Was the only thing she offered you.

“Why?”

The Doctor blinked up at you with no answer, silence falling over you. You asked again, and were met with the same blank stare. And so you took the cup begrudgingly, snatching it from her hand and throwing the two little pills into the back of your mouth to dry swallow them. You could feel them catch on the back of your throat, sitting heavily like a lump, and so you swallowed once more to get them down.

Dibs gave you a sterile smile, and turned away back to her notes, scribbling.

You stomped away, walking back down the corridor to go to your cell, feeling the acidic, briny feeling on the back of your tongue.

No matter how many nights you had swallowed those things, it always made a bad taste settle in the back of your mouth, and a hollowness in your stomach.

When you had first arrived on the ship, you struggled to fall to sleep knowing that you were drifting in space, and couldn't get off even if you wanted, with the low hum of the ship in a constant drone keeping you alert, and so Dibs had given you sedatives to help you drift off.

There was already sedatives in the water Dibs gave you all, but the other girls in your cell followed suit soon enough, asking for the little pill so that they could sleep undisturbed in the night.

The closer you go to your room, the more your mind felt clouded, as though a thick layer of fog had crossed it, obscuring your thoughts and making each one feel as though they had been dipped inside a vat of molasses.

Even your limbs felt heavy, and so you hurried your uneven pace to your cell block, stumbling against a wall where you flopped down onto the bed, too exhausted to pull yourself beneath the sheets as the room around you spun.

You could feel and hear the others making their way to their bunks after you, but your eyelids grew heavy, and soon enough, you were out like a light. As though a switch had been flicked by the manicured nails of Dibs.

There were no dreams to be had, not even an awareness of sleep, just a deep, black abyss that swallowed you whole and completely, with neither complaint nor fight from your limbs.

When you woke the next morning, the first thing you noticed was how tired you still were, as though the medication still lingered in your periphery like dark little tendrils that rubbed smooth and soothing hands upon your mind, trying to lure you back.

But the day had to move on, and you were unstrapped from your bed, limbs feeling entirely too heavy to lift as you hauled yourself out. You didn't understand the need for the restraints, especially since you would be sedated and unable to move anyway, but you supposed they were there to keep you put in case you did.

Behavioural issues and that.

Who knows what the others had done to warrant a death row sentence. Yours certainly wasn't a light one.

The moment your feet hit the ground, your stomach lurched. Pain rippling up through your stomach.

What the hell?

You rubbed your face blearily and sighed, chalking it up to your period making an appearance early this month, or perhaps Dibs' experiments had finally stuck, or were melting your insides by the feel of it.

Dibs was going to have a field day with you, you knew it. You would have your legs pried open by stirrups and have her shove a million and one swabs inside of you like she did every month.

Like clockwork.

Well, cycle really.

You hated it.

Another thing to add to the misery of it all; being prodded by a stone faced bitch who only showed kindness to the men on board. Couldn't even get off to the way she shoved those cotton swabs or fingers inside you, fishing around as if she was going through a pocket for spare change.

Except this pain was sharp, and stung, but was dulled by whatever lingering sleeping pill was dragging your body down. You would have to tell the eager Doctor to be more gentle about turkey basting you with whoever's cum she picked from her cups.

Boyse had told you once she could have sworn she saw Dibs dipping her fingers into the 'donation' cups to taste test each one. You had laughed so hard you cried, and Monte had eyed you from across the canteen.

You yawned and stretched, ignoring the ache and hit the showers with the others, beginning your day of chores.

Today you were cleaning, something you actually didn’t mind. It was methodical, time consuming, and there was a clear outcome at the end that you enjoyed.

Cloth and cleaner in hand, you polished handles and doors and any surface that you could reach, wiping down the metal and other surfaces to sterilise them.

Boyse was on floor duty that day, and so she cleaned alongside you quietly, the occasional whisper or conversation had as you moved. But you truly struggled to hold one, your mind still muddled from the lurch of the changed dose.

You would need to speak about lowering said dosage back to normal with Dibs. This was like trying to think and exist when shitfaced at the pub.

God you missed the pub.

It was the little things you missed most. Things that you had taken for granted, like wind, or rain, or bugs. You missed the itch of being bitten. How fucked was that? Missing mosquitoes? Dibs needed to check your head rather than your fertility.

And so the day ended, and every surface in one wing of the ship was spotless thanks to yours and Boyse’s work. You ate alongside the others quietly and couldn’t help but feel that chill again, covering you in an icy blanket.

Lifting your head, you spotted Ettore watching you.

Still.

Like those nature documentaries you used to watch, when the lions would be hidden in the tall grass, still as a rock, watching and waiting to pounce on the galloping gazelle.

Your mouth felt dry, and the hunger you had felt left, pain winding its way inside of you as you stood slowly, careful to not set anyone off, especially him, and moved to clear your plate to go to Dr. Dibs.

You were more eager to get away from Ettore’s piercing gaze than anything, feeling like a game of cat and mouse, waiting to turn your head and see him chasing after you down the halls. It set your skin alight.

But he didn't.

Your journey to speak to the doctor about your dosage was a waste. Dibs didn’t budge, and in your hand ,the small pill tub was dropped with two inside.

You watched her intently, mouth parted to argue.

“You done yet?” Ettore’s voice swallowed the artificial air in the room.

Your head snapped to the door, watching as he slowly walked in, like a predator, looking at you intently. You blinked up at him, his lean form towering over you in the sterile cream room. You could smell the soft scent of generic soap you all used and the musky undertones of him beneath.

“I want my treat.” He spoke again, hand held out to Dibs, who placed a pill in his palm, no cup holding it. Simply placed into his palm with her fingers, as though there was an element of familiarity between the two.

The cold of his gaze contrasted the warmth of his body as it loomed over you.

Dibs spun on her chair to look at you through her lashes, eyes dropping pointedly to the pills still un-swallowed in your cup, “Take them.”

You threw the pills into the back of your throat, locking eyes with Ettore as you dry swallowed them, holding back the grimace as they slid down the back of your throat roughly. Ettore followed, smacking his palm over his mouth as he swallowed his own, then turning his head to open his mouth in show to Dibs, who gave him a soft smile.

“Smashing. Thank you.” He spoke down to her, accent thick on his tongue. His eyes flicked over you once more before he sauntered out the room.

Your feet felt stuck on the linoleum flooring until Dibs cleared her throat at you, “Go back to your cell.”

Taking her command, you left, winding down the corridor, falling onto your bed again and succumbing to the heavy sleep.

This went on for days, the same dosage, the same medicated sedation, and the same groggy rising with a continued ache that never seemed to leave your core. You waited for the blood to come, but there was only the occasional bit of spotting.

Perhaps a lighter cycle this month.

It wasn’t until that morning, when you went to the showers did you notice something was not right. Something that justified the inkling in the back of your mind that something was afoot with the pain that wracked your body.

That the pain wasn’t due to your monthly cycle, and something far more sinister instead.

Washing down with soap, the others in their cubicles beside you, your eyes were drawn to colour that should not be on the skin. Dark blotches of purples and blue, streaked with pinks across your hips and inner thighs. Your fingers pressed into them, hissing as pain shot up through you. But the pain wasn’t what made you blanch. It was the shape of them. And how your fingers fit perfectly within the large blooms of colour.

Fingerprints.

More specifically, finger marks, littered across your body.

Your heart raced in your chest as you looked at them, horror and sickness skyrocketing inside of you. Bile rose in your throat, and the urge to scrub your skin raw became an immediate compulsion, your nails scratching at the bruises roughly.

Dressing rapidly, you raced to the Doctors office, shoes not even on as your feet slapped on the floor loudly as you made your way down. But of course, whatever high power above controlled the fate that surrounded you had other plans for you, and your body collided with a body of steel.

You neck craned up, meeting the icy glare of Ettore.

“Watch it.” He sneered down at you, hands at his sides in fists.

You didn’t know what to do but blink at him, and it was all you did, looking up at the man who set your skin alight, a blush creeping along your cheeks and fear shimmering down your spine.

“You gonna move?” He asked again, lips pulled into a sharp frown.

You took a step back, then another, and another, Ettore’s eyes grazing over your body, settling on your chest as it heaved, wet patches of your shirt sticking to your skin.

You swallowed thickly.

“Quiet one, huh.” Ettore mused, eyes becoming half hooded as he watched you, “They always scream the loudest.”

You sneered, watching as Ettore walked towards you, leaning his head down just a bit as he whispered to you, “I’ll be in The Box.” Before he was on his way, body swaying with his walk.

Your heart leaped through your chest as you watched him.

“Somethings wrong.” You sat on the doctors bed, legs in stirrups as Dibs looked at you in annoyance, clinical eyes roving your body as you pulled your shorts high on your hips to display the bruises on your thighs.

Dibs didn’t even blink at them, just glanced at them shortly before writing in her notes.

“Something is-“

“-Vitamin D deficiency, Iron deficiency.”

“Fuck you. It looks li-“

“Take these.”

Her hand was held out to you, a small circular brown pill and an oblong pink one sat inside a medical cup. You blinked at her hand as she held them out to you.

“I don’t fucking-“

“-Take them. Or you will be marked as refusing treatment.”

Snatching the cup from her palm, your own nails scratching her hand, you threw them back into your mouth, staring at her angrily as you swallowed them.

“Good girl.” Dr. Dibs spun in her chair away from you and back to her desk, already looking through her notes in dismissal.

You swung your legs out of the stirrups and sat on the edge of the bed looking at her, staring daggers into the back of her head.

It could be so easy.

Who would know it was you?

You could just-

“Are you refusing to leave now too? Very naughty of you. Monte will have to come deal with this behaviour, little birdy.” Came her slimy voice.

"Fuck you."

Grunting, you hopped off the bed and stormed out the room, muttering beneath your breath in agitation and anger as it poured out of you.

"Fucking bitch."

Something was wrong, and you knew it.

Fucking useless cunt.

You went back to your chores, but found that you could scarcely concentrate with the anger that seemed to mount within.

You needed a release, and fast.

The Box was made for just such thing, and so you dropped the clippers in your palm in the garden and made your way to your destination. The anticipation of going into The Box made way for excitement over the anger, but all in all, it still rippled through you in waves.

All you needed was a good and rough fuck.

Get the anger out.

Your ex was always a good source of inspiration when inside The Box. The way his hips would snap into yours brutally, his teeth in your flesh, hands slapping, pinching.

Choking.

The Box would calm you down.

Your legs carried you down the ladder before you jumped down the last few impatiently, the light in this part of the ship far darker than the rest. You walked forward, looking at the closed door before feeling ice wash over you.

Who else would be waiting outside of it but Ettore.

His cool eyes flicked to yours as your steps slowed, looking to him and then the closed door. His lips pursed together into a pout and one corner pulled down into a smirk.

Shit eating bastard.

He leant back against the steel wall of the hull, head turned to look down at you as you leant beside him. Too frustrated to turn back, and not willing to let him scare you out of a reprieve that you needed.

“Gonna be waiting a while.” Ettore hummed, suggestive grin on his lips before he swiped a tongue against the front of his teeth noisily.

You looked him up and down, no mood for his attitude or creeping glares, “You look like it’d be quick.” You purred.

Ettore’s nostrils flared and his lips pulled down into a sneer, he pushed off of the wall, looking down at you as he adjusted his jaw, the muscles clenching tightly, blue eyes narrowed.

Your head connected with the metal behind you as he jerked you back into it roughly, forearm pressed against the top of your chest. Pain bloomed in the back of your skull, but that didn’t stop the small mewl that escaped from your lips.

Ettore’s eyes widened before they narrowed, face looming in closer to you as he watched your chest rise and fall rapidly, heat blooming in your stomach.

The door to The Box opened and Boyse stepped out, eyeing the two of you suspiciously.

Ettore stepped back dropping his arm to his side as he spun around and entered, facing you as the doors began to close, his eyes roaming down your body slowly as he sucked his tongue.

A shiver rolled through you.

Boyse watched you carefully, “You right?”

You cleared your throat, feeling your heart beat like a drum in your chest, “Yea, I’m alright. Asshole.”

Boyse nodded and left, and you waited for your turn, waiting for the door to open again, but it didn’t.

The moments flew by and it almost felt as if he was taking his time because of your comment. Punishing you.

Proving a point.

Fucking cunt.

You huffed and pushed away from the wall, making your way back to work again, knowing that dinner would be soon, and then the deep and dreamless sleep once more.

Dinner was quick, and in no time you were walking down to collect your sedatives from the Doctor who made your skin crawl almost as badly as Ettore. Your mood had not improved, and you would say that the want that simmered inside of you made it even worse now that it had gone unattended.

When you entered the infirmary, Ettore was already there, talking quietly with Dibs who was seated, craning her neck up to look at him with a soft smile on her lips.

Fucking pick-me.

Upon hearing your arrival, both turned to face you, and Ettore instinctually held out his hand, a pill placed in its palm, before it put it in his mouth, his eyes on you, narrowed and almost angry. But when he looked down at the doctor, a soft smirk wound its way on his lips and he whispered a small ‘thank you’ to her, brushing past you with a sniff on his way out.

You held out your palm in the same manner he had, eyes still on the door Ettore had walked out of, feeling the plastic of the small cup being placed in the centre. You looked down at it.

Two sedatives.

"You're a fucking bitch, you know that?" You grumbled, and tilted your head back, letting the two pills roll onto your tongue, Dibs eyes watching.

But there was something about it.

Something about her watching you like that, that made you shiver.

“Show me.” She commanded and you swallowed both dryly, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue obscenely at her so that she could get a closer look.

The Doctor nodded and turned away, back to her notes.

But fear scrambled in your throat.

You all but raced out of the office, making your way straight to the toilet, dropping to your knees in front of it as your instincts took over, shoving two fingers down your throat. You gagged quietly in the space, daring to not draw attention to what you were doing.

You did it again, and the bile and bitter taste of stomach acid flooded your tongue. You bent over the rim gasping, looking down into the water to see if the pills were in the bowl with your dinner.

You spotted one and collapsed down onto the floor feeling some sort of relief, though your stomach still turned, and bile coated your tongue. You sat there for a moment, feeling the cool of the bathroom floor on your thighs and hands before standing.

You couldn’t get caught.

You flushed the toilet and brushed your teeth carefully, cupping water into your mouth to rinse the acidic taste that settled behind your teeth. And yet still, you were still wrought with nerves.

As you lay in your bed, bottom bunk opposite to Boyse, you stared up at the top one, the restraints strapping you down by your arms as the beginnings of sedated fatigue gnawed at your vision.

So you had only gotten one pill out.

No matter.

Better than both.

At least it calmed your heart, and you turned your head to look at Boyse who was already out like a light, the soft curve of her nose shadowed in the dim of the room.

You wondered what she was here for often, but never had the courage or want to learn.

Some things are better left unsaid.

You tried to resist it, tried to fight the way your eyelashes sagged and your limbs fell heavier by the second, but in no time at all, you were sucked into the usual dreamless state that you had been in for god knows how long you had been on that goddamn ship.

It’s dark.

So dark.

And warm.

Soft pressing in the back of your mind, drawing you just below the surface of consciousness.

Why was it so warm?

There was pressure.

Pressure on top of you.

Pressure inside of you.

A thing.

Or two.

Maybe three.

What?

The pressure turned to a dull ache.

A pain.

Pleasure?

Why was it so warm?

It curled in your gut and you groaned, mind foggy, limbs of stone as you felt the weight of your body come back to you. Come back to the room.

The bed.

Soft sheets.

Grunts.

Weight.

Warm.

Pain in your thighs. Pain between them. Weight on top of you.

Breaths in your ear that are not your own.

Grunts.

Moans.

Hisses.

Eyelids feeling like lead as they fluttered, the sound around you louder, rustling, wet, clapping, breathing.

The room spun on its axis, mind reeling as you were pulled from the depths of your sedated sleep, your body reacting to whatever was being done to it.

It was hard.

Hard to stay awake.

You drifted again, bobbing beneath the surface only to rise back up again, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. Blurred vision making it hard to focus.

Heavy mind making it hard to comprehend.

Hard to see.

“Whas-“ You slurred, head being rocked backwards by movements, making the nausea that rose within stronger, barreling through you with a spearing sensation.

A loud grunt in your ear as the jolting of your body picked up. Something moving inside of you.

Atop you.

You could see movement above you, hair, a body.

A face.

Ettore.

You blinked, his sharp jawline coming into focus, comprehension wading through the thick fog of your mind as you continued to look up at him, mind reeling to figure out what was going on.

Eyes half lidded, lips pulled down into a sneer, Ettore rutted into you from above.

“Wha-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He growled, hand slapping over your lips as he fucked into you.

Your eyes widened, pain blooming through you, strength dulled, senses foggy, but knowing.

Knowing.

You knew now.

Ettore’s length fucked into you roughly, the tip beating against your cervix painfully. The stretch stung as he drilled into you, splitting you apart on his cock. Each thrust was just as brutal as the other, the sound of his hips clapping against yours loud in the cell of the others sedated, still in their dreams.

Was this a dream?

It felt too real.

You writhed beneath him sluggishly, trying to get out of his grip, breathing heavily through your nose as his hand stayed pressed against your mouth, small whimpers and grunts spilling into his palm as his cock bullied your walls repeatedly.

Ettore watched your face, lips pulling up into a smile as he gave a particularly harsh thrust, your eyes scrunching shut in pain as you yelped, sensing you had come fully to the surface of consciousness to feel the truth of his assault.

Pain pinged up you, your walls clamping down on him as your hips tried to angle away from him, restraints cutting into the skin of your wrists, legs too heavy to lift. Tugging at them for dear life as he watched you struggle from below. He laughed, deep in his chest before a groan fell from his swollen lips, eyes closing in pleasure with his mouth hung open.

You tried to scream beneath him palm, to try and wake the others, to call for help, for anything. But the hand at your mouth did not budge, and so the muffled sound of your cries fell on sedated ears. Tears prickled in your eyes from the pain as you tried to shake your head away from him, mouth opening.

You bit down on his palm.

Hard.

Ettore cursed, flinching as he pulled his hand away from your face, fist reeling back before it connected painfully into the side of your mouth.

You could taste blood. Coppery on your tongue, and you didn’t know if it was his or yours. Probably a mixture of the two. But your bite did not deter him, and his thrusts only became crueler, your body jolting beneath him as you felt wet beneath your hips.

How long had he been doing this?

How many times had he done this?

But the wet was not just from the man above you.

It also came from you.

Small sparks of pleasure wound its way up through your gut as he rutted into you in fervent, animalistic thrusts. Each one a sharp grunt or hiss falling from his lips. Each one, his tip bullying the soft and sponge spot within you. Each thrust winding the coil within tighter and tighter.

Ettore slapped your cheek, a small cry falling from your lips as you looked up at him, tears running down your cheeks as you sobbed quietly.

From the pain.

From the shock.

From the pleasure.

“Fuck you’re tight.” He growled, “Fucking dirty bitch.”

Another sob, mouth opened to cry out.

His lips pursed, and warmth sprayed across your face, the wet of his spit landing across cheeks and lips, hand coming to grab your jaw painfully as he squeezed, the joints protesting with pops as he continued, no doubt bruises to be seen in the morning.

Your walls fluttered around him, each snap of his hips grazing your swollen clit sending euphoria racing up your spine.

It was all too much.

“Look at you.” He sneered at you meanly, “Gonna cum on my cock aren’t you? Feel you tightening up. Fuck. So fucking disgusting. Asking for it. Always looking at me with those fucking eyes. Take it.”

It was a peel of words that continued to fall from his lips, his hips stuttering as his pace faltered.

He was near his end, and you were too.

With two hands, he wrapped them around your neck, leaning his weight down on it as he fucked into you, black spots blooming in your vision as he cut off both air and blood supply. You wheezed beneath him, thrashing against the restraints, hands in fists as they rubbed the skin raw.

You felt light, airy as you looked up at him, the lead of your limbs lifting with the lack of oxygen, the angle he fucked you in having changed, and each rut of his hips jabbed against your G-spot violently.

“Take it, you fucking cunt.” He growled, your eyes fluttering shut as you began to feel weightless, beginning to drift back to your sleep. A nice sleep. Comfortable one. Soft and warm and-

You came violently, a silent cry ripped from your throat, eyes shooting open as you looked up at the man who bit his bottom lip roughly, eyebrows knotted together as he fucked you through it.

The hands left your throat, gasp sucked into your lungs as you writhed beneath him, his thrusts pulling painful pleasure from you as his hips stuttered, one hand clawing at your hip, the other tugging your head back by your hair, exposing your neck to him.

Ettore came with a grunt, head dipping down to bite into the sensitive skin in the crux of your shoulder, teeth piercing the skin as you whimpered below him.

Hot ropes of his cum filled your walls, his thrusts stilling as you felt him throb within you, teeth still in your neck that he lapped at with his tongue, breathing hotly through his nose against the skin.

Another tear fell down your cheek as you lay beneath him, staring up at the cool, darkened grey of the ceiling. Pain and pleasure swirling around each other hotly in your core and gut, walls still fluttering around him from your own release.

You swallowed dryly, throat hoarse from where he choked you and wriggled beneath him, stirring his rest as he grunted into your neck, finally releasing the skin from his teeth. Small incisions and blooming bruise beginning to take its spot there, a dribble of blood leaking from where a crooked tooth pinched flesh between another.

He huffed above you as the world spun, slowly pulling out of you. You whimpered and half whined, feeling sensitive. Stinging pain and pleasure winding its way around your entrance.

Too much.

Ettore sat back on his haunches, cock softening in front of him as he looked down at you, fully naked. Your eyes roamed his body, muscular and lean all in one, watching you with lust filled eyes and hatred.

Another tear dripped down your cheek as his eyes roamed down your body, to the torn shorts he had ripped to the side, watching as his spend leaked out of you. His hand shot out, scooping fingers through your folds as you hissed, playing with his cum and smearing it into your folds and along your thighs.

Your heart pounded in your chest, nausea turning painfully in your stomach as he moved to loom over you, looking down at your tear streaked cheeks and the blood on your split lip, bits of his saliva dried on your face from where he had spat on you.

His lips pulled into a smirk, sticky fingers coming to smear themselves on your cheek as he pulled your shorts back into place, adjusting you roughly beneath him.

“Wasn’t too quick for you I hope.” He mocked, giving your face a rough tap before he stood, pulling on his pants and shirt as he looked down at you, chest heaving as you cried quietly, adrenaline pumping through you.

His eyebrows lifted on his face, grinning once he was dressed, grabbing your face in his hand and shaking it as he cooed at you.

“Good girl.” Another tap.

He left without another word, leaving you strapped to your bed, body aching and bruised as his cum leaked out of you, pooling wetly into the crotch of your shorts. You could still feel him inside you, thrusting atop you, his breath fanned in your ears.

You sucked in a steeling breath, shaking in the restraints, skin raw and bleeding in some places where you tugged too hard, pulled too violently as you shook beneath him, pleasure exploding within.

You didn't drift back to sleep, no matter how hard you tried, the sedative had worn off and adrenaline kept you alert.

You simply laid in your bunk, in your cell, surrounded by people who were none the wiser to your attack, sleeping soundly in their own restrained cots as your eyes stayed to the doorway, waiting for him to return.

Knowing that he would.

And not minding it either.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

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imagine-darksiders · 7 months

Text

Thank you to the marvellous @humboltsquid for commissioning a fanfic with pregnant Reader attempting to hide said pregnancy from the Horsemen because she fears they'll buy into the social rhetoric surrounding single mothers who don't know who the father is.

TW: Vomiting, morning sickness, drinking, Pregnancy, briefest allusion to sa, no actual sa took place, everything was consensual, both parties were drunk, Reader remembers most of the night except the guy's face and name. Horsemen are predictably angry about someone touching their little sister.

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Porcelain, cold and consolidated, bites into the sensitive skin of your palms as you grip the edge of the bathroom sink, your arms locked like overheated pistons just to keep yourself standing upright in defiance of how your legs seem determined to collapse out from underneath your weight.

To your right, the loo gurgles noisily, flushing away any traces of the meal you’d spewed up into it only moments ago. At least the sound helps to drown out a voice thundering at you from the other side of the door.

“Let us in!”

Fumbling with the tap for a moment, you bend down, spooning a palmful of fresh, cooling water into your mouth. As you do so, you spare a baleful glance down at the loo again, and the food lost to its pipes… Perfectly good rations… all gone to waste.

Five years on from the Great Resurrection and Earth’s agricultural efforts are finally on a steady incline. While the food situation isn’t anywhere near as desperate as it was when Humanity woke up to a world without excess, that doesn’t mean you’re particularly pleased to see precious rations wasted because you couldn’t hold them down.

And now that you’re supposed to be eating for two…

Groaning, your expression twists into a look of remorse, and you place one hand gently on your stomach, roaming a palm over the bump that lays hidden beneath the baggiest jumper you could find. You’re only too aware that it won’t be so easy to hide the swell in another couple of months.

You barely manage to bite back another miserable groan as a colossal fist hammers against the door so viciously, you almost wonder if the wood will splinter and break, which starts to seem more likely when seconds later, a familiar voice booms out, “If you don’t open this door, I’m tearing it from its frame!”

Ah… That’ll be War; youngest of the Four Horsemen, an armoured, muscle-bound colossus who also just so happens to be one of your very dearest friends.

A friend who has been growing rightfully suspicious of you over these last couple of months…

There are only so many excuses you can fall back on to explain away your frequent and unexpected dashes for the nearest bathroom. You can only thank the Creator that neither of the Four seem all that well-versed on the more delicate biological functions of humans.

Swiping a wrist over the back of your mouth, you lean away from the sink and assess yourself in the mirror, doing your best to ignore the taste of vomit still sitting like a layer of fuzz on the roof of your mouth.

‘How long are you going to keep this up?’ you pose to your reflection, her sleep-stained eyes bearing back into yours as if she too has had the same question.

It’s been like this for a few weeks now, ever since the dreaded Morning Sickness wrapped its hands around your guts and wrung them with a relentlessness that leaves you scrambling for the closest bathroom at least twice a day.

It wasn’t this bad in the first trimester… Now entering your second, things are getting a Hell of a lot harder to manage. To hide.

Slowly letting your eyes slip shut, you exhale through your nostrils in exasperation as a different voice accompanies the first. “Kid? I uh… I think he means it. We just wanna make sure you haven’t drowned in there.”

Strife… The humour he tries to inject into his quip is overshadowed by his hand rattling at the doorknob. He’s worried. They all are. You wouldn’t have thought it possible, if you didn’t know them personally, though each Horseman will swear up and down they don’t ever feel such trivial, human emotions.

Actions, however, speak louder than words.

Their sister, Fury, has hardly left your side ever since Mrs Gaffe tutted at you from across the hallway and you immediately retreated into your apartment, leant back against the door and wept into your hands. She didn’t know… She didn’t know Mrs Gaffe who lives on your floor is also a chemist, and she’s also the very woman who sold you your pregnancy test… and the subsequent tests you went back for when the first came up positive. You’d spent over an hour convincing Fury that, no, she doesn’t need to defend your honour by besting old Mrs Gaffe in combat. Though you let her know you appreciated the gesture.

You try to think the best of your neighbours. And you certainly didn’t like to think of Mrs Gaffe being a gossip, but judging by the curious and frequently disdainful glances other people in the building sent your way, you soon came to realise your secret was not such a secret after all.

You’re pregnant. And the father is nowhere to be found.

You only hope word doesn’t get back to the Horsemen somehow. You don’t think you could bear it if their gazes turned sharp and pointed as well.

Outside the bathroom door, you hear War grunt at Strife to move aside, and at last, you decide you’ve stalled enough.

Shoving yourself off the sink, you spin around on a hell, regretting the action as a wave of dizziness threatens to knock you back down to Earth, but it’s soon dispelled with a deep breath and a second to gather yourself, calling, “Okay, okay, I’m coming out.”

Someone – Strife, you think – grumbles, “Finally.”

Grabbing the handle, you pull the door towards yourself and tilt your head back, blinking up at the two, immense shapes blocking the entire width of your hallway. If it weren’t for the space between your bedroom and bathroom being meagre at best, you imagine you’d have the remaining two behemoths cramped in there as well.

“When did you guys get to be so clingy.”

War’s ice-blue eyes glare down at you from beneath a crimson hood.

You start to edge past them, feeling like a fish trying to squeeze between a pair of grizzlies. Just as you make it past and put your back to them entirely, you hear Strife announce, “All right. That’s it.”

“What’s it?” you ask hesitantly as he advances on you, his heavy, metal boots thudding on the carpet. Before you can react, the Horseman suddenly slings a bulky arm around your waist and hoists you off your feet, tucking you into his side. You’re forced to fold almost in half, bent over Strife’s uncomfortable gauntlet with most of the pressure bearing down on your stomach.

“STRIFE!” you exclaim, horrified.

“I’m not lettin’ you go until you tell us what’s been goin’ on with you,” he huffs, clomping into the living room with War bringing up the rear. By the window, Death twists his bone-mask towards the commotion, his shoulders flattening, unimpressed. “Brother…” he warns.

Fury too, tosses Strife her own disparaging glare from the sofa and barks, “Is it truly necessary to manhandle the human?”

You, however, hardly pay attention to a word they exchange. Your mind is utterly and wholly on the point of your stomach that’s digging into the Horseman’s gauntlet. You can cope with the discomfort, but it isn’t just you anymore.

There’s no thought to the cry you let out, just a plea borne of a desire to protect the little life growing inside you, by any means necessary. “Strife!” you exclaim, smacking your palms against his armoured thigh in a bid to relieve some of the pressure around your gut. “Put me down! The baby-!”

No sooner has the word left your lips than you find the arm restraining you springing open, letting you tumble to the floor. A jolt shoots through you as your hands and knees strike the carpet, but all you can celebrate in that moment is that the strength of a Horseman is no longer curled around your vulnerable stomach.

You don’t look up at the Horsemen until you’ve pushed yourself back to your feet, patting down your jumper. When you do happen to glance up, your face immediately falls.

Death has shifted from his position by the window and now stands several, jarring feet closer, he and Fury both, in fact. The latter has somehow leapt from her seat on the sofa in the time it took you to gather yourself up off the floor.

But more disconcertingly, they’re still. Utterly motionless as if they’ve been caught in a pocket of frozen time.

Gulping, you tentatively twist your head over a shoulder, only to find War and Strife are in much the same state.

Strife has backed up to stand next to his brother, his liquid-gold eyes round beneath his visor, neither one of them twitching so much as a single muscle. It’s… eerie. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them so still before. Death, maybe, but not the other three.

It only occurs to you then that you might have let something slip.

Then, at last, just as you wet your lips to call out to one of them…

“What did you say?” Fury breathes, cutting neatly through the heavy blanket of silence draped over the room.

Blinking owlishly, you turn back to face her, your mind scrambling for an adequate response.

“What… what do you mean, ‘what did I say?’”

Feigning ignorance it is.

You actually leap several inches off the ground when the Horseman suddenly explodes back into motion, storming forwards in your direction and exclaiming, “What baby?!”

“B-baby?” you double down, backing away from her until your spine collides with a solid torso – War. “Who said anything about a baby?”

“You just did!”

“Did I?”

“Y/n…” Death utters in a slow and cautious tone as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt at the slightest provocation - Hell, given the furtive glances you keep swinging around his side at the door to your apartment, he might be in the ballpark. His voice alone carries enough authority to silence his sister, and more than enough to make you clamp your jaws shut painfully tight. “You’re with child?”

It’s strange, but despite the inflection on his last word, you get the impression he isn’t asking you if you’re pregnant, but merely whether you’re ready to admit to the fact.

The hopelessness of it all dawns on you when you meet his enduring, gilded stare.

He knows.

And if Death knows, there’s little point in continuing your efforts of duping the other three. In spite of outward appearances and their frequent, often frightening disagreements, the Four Horsemen have a bond stronger than tungsten. So, with a head that suddenly feels weighed down by months of secrecy and deflection, you lower your gaze to the floor near his boots and give a slow, sombre nod.

It’s as though your little confirmation is all that they needed to lift the veil on any and all doubts.

The shadows they cast on your carpet suddenly start to tremble as an overhead light flickers, strobing on and off until it sputters weakly back to life and holds steady, albeit dimmer than it had been before.

The Horsemen seem to grow in size, muscled shoulders bulge like raised hackles and four sets of eyes flare with an ethereal light as they shift their weight, bearing down on you like toppling monoliths.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Strife mutters venomously under his breath, “I’m gonna kill whatever bastard laid a finger on-”

“-W h o t o u c h e d y o u?” the eldest Horseman’s growl cuts him off. It’s guttural and animalistic, so much so that you can’t withhold a flinch. You could count on one hand the number of times Death has outwardly lost his temper, which makes it all the more alarming to witness.

Stumbling over your words for a beat, you keep your eyes fixed to the floor as the Old One stalks across the meagre living space towards you, his ominous shadow growing along the carpet to swallow you whole. When it seems he’s right on top of you, you finally blurt out, “N-Nobody!”

In hindsight, that wasn’t the most logical answer.

Fury – her vibrant hair whipping behind her like angry, coiling snakes - scoffs, tucking her arms firmly across her chest. “Nobody?” she parrots, “I’m no expert, but don’t these things usually involve two parties?”

“Great! Now she’s lying to us,” Strife barks, pacing back and forth behind you and throwing a hand up to rake the fingers of his metal gauntlet through his stiff, black hair, “I don’t believe this, we go off world for two weeks-!”

“Were you hurt?” War’s voice, though less jagged than Death’s, is pitched low enough to rumble through you until it resounds inside your chest. You can feel his presence behind you, too close for comfort, the living embodiment of rage and violence.

You suddenly fear for the man whose face and name you can’t recall.

“I… no,” you protest, hugging your elbows close, “It wasn’t anything like… like that. It was an accident! We were out drinking, and I-“

“DRINKING!?”

Your mouth snaps shut as Death lurches towards you, and you’re finally forced to tear your eyes off the carpet when his sinewy fingers slide around your biceps and he hauls you a foot off the ground, holding you up to his mask and subjecting you a shout that’s rife with unparalleled urgency. “You know what that does to a human’s inhibitions!” he demands.

His hands are gentle, neither hurting nor bruising the delicate skin on your bare arms, but the power behind even his gentlest grasp is frustratingly insurmountable.

You’ve never liked how easily he can manhandle you. “Yes, Death! I know what alcohol does!” you snap back, kicking your legs and trying to twist out of his grip, “I’m not a kid anymore, stop treating me like one! And put me down!”

You’re aware that your point is all a matter of perspective. For the Horsemen, there’ll always be some small part of them that continues to see you as a youngling. You’re human, after all. A hundred years wouldn’t even see a Nephilim out of adolescence. Not to mention that the Horsemen have all but declared you as one of them… One of theirs - an unconventional, human sibling they’ve taken into their fold.

It's not so easy for them to simply stop seeing you as their little sister, no matter how much you might wish they would sometimes.

As your retort fades into silence, Death blinks, recoiling his head slightly with wider eyes, and it will only occur to you later just how rare it is to make Death falter.

The other three, although their bodies still quiver with barely contained adrenaline, have fallen quiet whilst you stare down their eldest until at last, he lowers you gingerly to the floor, setting you safely on the carpet once again and retrieving his hands.

You’d never dare to say it aloud, but in that moment, something like shame flashes over the dark sockets of his mask.

“Why didn’t you tell us, kid?” Strife asks, the crux of his question tinged by badly concealed hurt.

“This, Strife,” you sigh, throwing your arms out towards he and his siblings, exasperated. Fury with her face set into a thunderous scowl. War’s metal gauntlets curled into bludgeoning fists. Even Strife is idly tracing a finger on the stock of Redemption in its holster, and Death – especially Death – whose ancient magics are still causing the lamps in your room to fade in and out…

Heaving another, immense sigh, you continue, “This is why I didn’t tell you.” Well. It’s one of the reasons, but at this point, it’s a fairly vital one. “I mean, look at you!”

Each Horseman shares a glance with one another.

“You’re all raring to go on a manhunt to find a guy who didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“Didn’t do anything wrong?” War grunts, teeth still bared despite following the lead of Death and reeling in his temper, if only slightly, “He mated with you-“

“Oh, hell, War, don’t say it like that,” Strife complains, grimacing under his visor.

“-and now you carry his child, and he has abandoned you both?”

Biting at the soft flesh inside your cheek, you withhold a frustrated groan and remind yourself that War’s sense of Honour is vastly inflated. The ‘father’ of your child’s ignorance won’t excuse his absence, not in War’s eyes.

Even so, you try to dissuade any ideas of retribution before they can gain traction.

“He didn’t abandon us, War. He probably doesn’t even remember I exist! Goodness knows I can hardly remember that night…” You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor.

Death’s eyes are suddenly the hardest to meet. You recall your first introduction to Lilith; the self-proclaimed mother of all Nephilim, and subsequently the Horsemen themselves. You know of the demoness’s… reputation. You also know firsthand how much the Eldest Horseman despises her. You’re terrified Death will see something of Lilith in you, that you’d be so liberal with your own body as to end up with a child.

The inside of your eyelids start to burn. “And now everyone is gonna think I’m just some skank who went and got knocked-up by a stranger and… and-… They’re always gonna look at my kid and wonder who the father is. I don’t even know who the father is.”

There are tears prickling at your eyelashes, but you force your hands into fists at your sides, refusing to wipe them away lest your draw attention to them. The Horsemen see anyway.

Light blooms back to its full power across your apartment, your lamps stop trembling, and a pale finger crooks beneath your chin, tilting your head back until you’re peering up at a stoic mask of bone.

Death’s ebony hair falls in curtains around his face as he bends a little to speak to you in a hushed yet urgent tone. “He didn’t…” Hesitating, he draws in an unnecessary breath to fill dead lungs and alters his trajectory. “You were not forced…?”

You wish you didn’t know why that question is so important to Death, why the concept of consent means more to him than it might the others.

“No,” you reiterate miserably, “That’s one thing I do remember. I wanted, uh… it, at the time, a-and so did he. He didn’t know this would happen any more than I did.” You pause to lay a hand over your stomach, furrowing your brow as you give it a pensive stare and missing the way Death’s shoulders slump with relief. After a second or two, you hesitantly raise your chin to look him in the eye again, hoping that what little determination you can inject into your voice will hold strong. “… Look, I’m not proud of it, but it happened. I can’t change things… and… I’m keeping them. I’m sorry, but I’m keeping this baby.”

You hold your breath, expecting arguments, expecting a rebuttal or perhaps even a scoff or two.

“Why would you be sorry for that?” Strife pipes up instead.

It throws you off kilter. Pulling away from Death, you swivel around to frown uncertainly at War and his brother, fiddling with the hem of your jumper’s sleeve. “Well… I mean… I-I’m having the baby…“

When you don’t say anything further, War raises a hand and pulls down his hood, exposing the full extent of his wispy, white hair. “Yes?” he prompts, the unspoken ‘and?’ ringing clear as a bell.

“I’m having the… baby of a… of a man I don’t… know?” you finish slowly, glancing at each of them in turn.

“Big deal!” Strife announces so abruptly, you have to do a double-take, “You don’t need him to help you raise a little human! You’ve got us!”

Nodding her head, Fury adds, “Far be it from me to agree with Strife, but… in this case, he may be right.”

War grunts his own agreement, and when you throw an incredulous look at Death, you’re floored to see him dipping his head in concurrence as well.

“You’re…” Darting your tongue out to wet your dry lips, you squint at the eldest Horseman, asking, “You’re not angry?”

He’s quiet for some time, contemplative even as his gaze roves lower until it comes to a stop on your torso. Then, gently, he replies, “The only qualm I have is that you’ve been trying to bear this weight on your own two shoulders. And while I wish you had told us sooner, at least now we know how to help you.”

“Help me?” you utter, voice cracking.

Death’s eyes dance with a sudden fondness. “Well,” he replies, “As I’m sure Strife has told you repeatedly-“

“- you’re one of us,” said brother butts in, expertly finishing Death’s sentence and stepping up beside you to lay a heavy palm on your shoulder, “We take care of our own. Same goes for your kid.”

You’re too late to stop a choked noise from escaping the base of your throat, but before you can say anything, War steps forwards, towering over you as he pounds a solid, metal fist against his chest, directly over his heart in a show of allegiance.

“You and yours will always have the protection of the Four,” he proclaims.

“You… you don’t have to, you know,” you sniff, swiping a few fingers beneath your eyes, “I signed up for this baby, you guys didn’t. It’s okay if you don’t want to get involved because -“

“-Oh, don’t talk such nonsense,” Fury gruffly interjects, “You’re sorely mistaken if you think either one of us will be leaving your side for the foreseeable future.”

“Fury,” you laugh wetly, aiming a wobbly smile at her, “You mean that?”

The surly Horseman’s lip curls but she merely shrugs and retorts, “I may not care much for children, but someone will have to stick around to teach our youngling how to fight.”

Our youngling…

Your heart squeezes appreciatively, even if she might not have noticed the slip.

“That’s just her way of sayin’ she cares about children if it’s yours,” Strife’s voice murmurs in your ear, and with a gentle nudge at the small of your back, he pushes you towards the sofa his sister has vacated. If Fury hears him, she doesn’t dispute his words.

As you’re herded to sit down, War, ever the more practical of his siblings, is busy casting a rather dissatisfied look around your apartment, making a quick mental note to ramp up fortifications. He’ll have to schedule watches between himself and his siblings too…

“I can’t believe it,” you mutter, half to yourself, half to the Horsemen, sinking down among the cushions of your sofa and shaking your head, “I’ve been so worried about telling you guys I’m pregnant, and you’re just… okay with it.”

“As if we’d be anything else,” Death sighs, roving a quick look over you from head to toe. Squinting slightly, he adds, “Hmm… I’m not, however, okay that you can’t seem to keep food down lately. I take it that’s why you’ve been disappearing so suddenly of late?”

Giving him a sheepish nod, you shuffle to one side, allowing Strife to flop heavily onto the sofa next to you, his enormous thigh squashing you up against the arm rest. “I’ll go for more rations in a bit,” he announces, eager to provide.

“I can go,” you say, “They are for me, after all.”

Burly shoulders bristle in a display of faux authority as Strife instantly argues, “Nuh uh. You’re stayin’ right here where it’s safe.” He grumbles a nonsensical sound, then begrudgingly admits, “Hate you leavin’ at the best of times…”

Despite the niggle of exasperation that begs you to remind them you’re not helpless, just pregnant, you offer him a warm grin and bump your shoulder against his side, saying, “You’re going to make a great uncle, Strife.”

To say the Horseman’s mask almost flies off as he whips his torso around to face you would be an understatement.

You have to lean back, as though pushed away by the sheer intensity of his blazing stare. “What’d you say?” he breathes.

“I… oh, I, er…” Realising you may have overstepped, you swiftly attempt to backtrack. “I mean, that’s not what you have to be called, I was just-“

“-Uncle... That’s the brother of a human’s parent…” His eyes shine like the sun as they bore into you across the sofa. “Right?”

Uncertain, you quirk a brow at him. “Uh, yeah?”

He contemplates that for a second before he asks in a far smaller voice that almost doesn’t sound as if it belongs to the boisterous Horseman you know, “I’m your brother?”

“Of… course?” you blink, surprised that he’d need to even ask that question, “Of course you are. You said it yourself, I’m one of you. Sorry to say it, but that goes both ways. You’re my brother Strife. A-and if you’re okay with it… I’d like you to be this baby’s uncle.” Tearing your eyes off the sharpshooter whilst he none-too subtly coming apart at your side, you send a tentative look up at War, peering at him from under your lashes. “You too, big guy. But! Only if that’s okay with you? I just… want them to grow up knowing who their family is…”

War coughs into a mighty fist, hoping to hide the tiny smile that’s trying to bloom at the sides of his mouth, “In that case, it would be an honour to be acknowledged as the child’s ‘Uncle,’ until my dying breath.”

Always so serious. Giving your head a fond shake, you flash their sister a knowing look and call, “What about Aunt Fury? You on board?”

“Hmph, well,” she shrugs one shoulder, turning to glare at the wall, “It… has a nice ring to it, I suppose.”

You’re not fooled. The way she’s keeps having to wrestle the corners of her lips back into a terse line speaks volumes.

“Of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Death,” you say, at last addressing the Reaper who is watching the proceeding with a calm, reserved expression. At least until he catches the little smirk lifting your cheeks. “Or should I say, Grandpa Death.”

At once, the Nephilim’s expression flattens, unimpressed. “If you introduce me to that child as ‘Grandpa Death,’ perhaps I won’t be sticking around.”

“Ah, you love it, Gramps, don’t try to deny it,” Strife teases, leaning in to stage-whisper in your ear, “Look at him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the miserable bastard this happy.”

You have to stifle a snicker for Death’s sake. True to form though, while his eldest brother’s fearsome scowl persists when it lingers on Strife, it soon grows soft again upon turning back to you.

And in that one look, shared between a human and the eldest surviving Nephilim, you realise categorically that Death is with you. All of them are. They aren’t worried about your reputation. They won’t concern themselves with the idle gossip of your neighbours.

They’re family, as is the small spark of life steadily growing inside your stomach.

And father or no, your child is still going to grow up under the watchful eye of the Universe's most diligent and protective guardians.

#Darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #commission #found family #pregnant reader #hiding pregnancy #fluff #hurt/comfort #protective horsemen #allusions to SA

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