#tw vile language

[wing-ed-thing]

Germa 66 Jealousy Headcanons

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Questionable Relationship Dynamics, Spats, Explicit Suicide Language and Vague General Racism (Niji Only), Mentions of Physical Fights (non-relationship), Possessiveness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (Niji Only)

𓆃 Reiju

Hot shit and she knows it. Reiju isn't jealous in any meaningful way, but is just petty enough and just ballsy enough to make a little show of establishing some dominance.

While she isn't one to take forceful kisses or pull you into her arms, she is purposeful in the little pecks to the cheek she'll give you or the way she might drape herself over your arm.

Reiju establishes herself in a way to make herself clear while remaining classy.

Her arms might gently wrap around your shoulders from behind while you're sitting down, maintaining eye contact with someone who dared to act just a bit too familiar with you as she presses her cheek against your hair.

Unabashed about PDA in general, a particularly severe transgression may be responded to with a kiss on the lips or an arm wrapped around yours as she lays her head on your shoulder.

Conversation goes on as normal, albeit with some heavier eye contact than usual.

This is about the farthest she'll go, and each action is rather gentle. Reiju knows that what's hers is staying hers, and sees no point in making a scene.

Overall, she trusts you whole-heartedly. Isn't that what healthy couples are supposed to do?

𓆃 Ichiji

Tries to play it cool, but other people making passes at you— or what he perceives as making passes— bothers him more than he'd like to admit.

Ichiji sort of hovers, stuck between the feeling that he's making too much of the situation and then not enough of it. He'll stand awkwardly in group conversations, not speaking and otherwise sending off odd vibes, or sit next to you with the same eerie quietness with a grip just a bit too firm on your knee.

He's slowly getting more annoyed the more whoever is at the receiving end of his jealousy speaks, and everyone nearby can feel it.

Reciprocal touches of reassurance only get you so far, with a part of Ichiji somewhat comforted— if you could call it that— by the mutual physical contact.

It is, after all, a clear signal that you're taken. But this does nothing for his darkened demeanor.

The night will surely end with Ichiji snapping, insisting it's about time you leave without any explanation.

"That's enough. We're leaving," Ichiji will huff out of the blue before ushering you out, forcefully grabbing your jacket and his all whilst rudely brushing off your friends and colleagues.

Any attempts to reason with him will be equally ignored, and more often than not, you'll fight as soon as you're out the door.

Ichiji will not throw punches unless an egregious boundary has been crossed such as someone touching you or being explicit in their desire for you.

It's ultimately your problem when he's caused a scene and refuses to talk about it. You'll likely end up fighting about something small and petty because it's really not about who drives home, now is it?

𓆃 Niji

TW for Dialogue Section: Explicit Suicide Language, Vile Language, General Racism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Niji, however, takes his response from 0 to 100. He wants a physical fight with someone, and it's quite frankly mortifying.

And you can always see it coming, and it's come to a point where you can almost warn people when they approach you at a busy venue asking to buy you a drink.

But it's too late, because Niji can somehow always hear. And when he hears what he deems a transgression of the highest degree, Niji is swift to sling an arm around you and deliver a carefully crafted response of the most vile string of words anyone can think of.

Niji's mortifying insult recipe = insult to the person + usually vulgar compliment to you + horrifyingly disturbing finisher

TW "Hey ugly, does a pathetic loser like you really think you could tap an ass that fine? What are you stupid? HA! Kill yourself!" he might say with a wide grin, the words pouring from his lips with an uncomfortable casualness before slapping your ass. He drapes his arm back over your shoulders for effect.

TW "What race are you? I wanna call you a slur."

He's proud of himself for it and isn't afraid of getting up in someone's face. Niji enjoys rising to his full height, squaring his shoulders, and baiting some moron who had the nerve to try and take what's his into a fight.

You can try to tug him away all you'd like, but Niji will shrug you off, opting for getting you kicked out of wherever you are instead.

𓆃 Yonji

Can usually sense when someone is interested in you before even you can, and will call it out point-blank.

Yonji likes to use his size to intimidate those who have mistakenly shown their interest in you, and rather than hold your hand or give you a kiss, he'll throw his arm around the other person and lean in close to get in their face.

"So, I heard you've got a thing for my better half, huh?" he'll muse before turning to direct both of their attentions toward you. "It's all good; I can’t get enough either. Why don't you tell me what it is that you like so much?"

"Caught you eyeing my girl. That's alright; I like 'er, too." "I couldn't help but notice you sizing up my man. Don't worry, I want to tap that sweet ass, too. And I do! HA!" "Heard you're sweet on my plus one. Don't be shy; I get it."

Sometimes, this will go on without you even noticing, only to look for Yonji to see he's backed some poor soul into a corner.

Yonji is rather forgiving, and it typically only takes you rushing over to collect him for Yonji to laugh and leave the situation be as if it never happened (much to the relief of his victim).

However, on the surprisingly frequent occasions that Yonji can make someone talk about you in a more than flattering way, Yonji is more than happy to take that as an invitation to beat the living snot out of whoever it is.

For his credit, he usually takes it outside, and you'll only really notice when he comes back, looking excessively self-satisfied.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[elialys]

"There were a couple of scenes we tweaked quite a bit, particularly one where Lindsay, her boss, takes her home. And it's one of my favourite scenes in the show, actually.

And I think because it is so ambiguous, because it is never commented on after, you couldn't put a scene like that into a modern day show without having some repercussion for it, or having her have a conversation about the specifics of that. But we very, very specifically did not want to do that, we wanted to simply present it. And then the audience has to live with it. And that's the uncomfortable part that they're living with." Anna Torv [x]

THE NEWSREADER | 1.02 "Once in a Lifetime"

[fangdokja]

🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

❤︎ Synopsis. Caught in a web of lies, a spy's double life unravels when her mafia husband discovers her betrayal—turning their love into a merciless game of dominance, vengeance, and obsession. She was his wife, his possession, and now, his prisoner.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss x Fem. Reader

♡ Novelette. #1 -The Enemy in His Bed

♡ Word Count. 8,853

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, rape, blood play, forced oral, fear play, knife play, needle play, heavy bodily injury, slut shaming, objectification, psychological torment, actual torture methods, mature language, humiliation, degradation, forced orgasms, sadism, BDSM, groping, biting, bondage, nudity, fire play, gagging, physical assault and violence, choking / breath play

You are in a room that reeks of blood and mildew, the air so heavy it feels like it’s pressing down on your lungs. The faint hum of a fluorescent bulb flickering above casts the space in a sickly yellow light, illuminating the cold, concrete walls streaked with rust-colored stains. You’re tied to a chair—no, anchored. The ropes around your wrists and ankles are so tight you can feel the pulse of your blood struggling beneath them, the fibers cutting deep into your flesh. Your breathing is shallow, ragged, your chest rising and falling as if every breath might be your last.

He stands in front of you, a towering figure cloaked in shadow. His silhouette is broad and unyielding, the kind of presence that fills every corner of the room with an oppressive weight. This man—the man who used to call you lyubov moya—is no longer the husband you once knew. The ruthless Russian mafia boss whose name is whispered like a curse. His eyes, dark as pitch, are fixed on you with a predator’s focus, glinting with something primal, something vile. He’s not here to forgive. He’s here to destroy.

“Do you feel it?” His voice is low, gravelly, but it carries the force of an earthquake. He steps closer, the sound of his boots hitting the floor like a countdown. “That crawling under your skin? That’s fear. That’s regret. And yet, you still sit there,” he hisses, his tone sharp enough to flay skin, “with that fucking look in your eyes.”

His hand shoots out, grabbing your chin with bruising force. His thumb digs into the soft flesh just below your cheekbone, forcing your face upward. The light catches his features, and for a moment, you see the rage carved into every hard line of his face. But it’s his eyes that terrify you most. They’re dead things, black holes where love once flickered.

“You betrayed me,” he snarls, the words laced with venom. His grip tightens, and you hear the faint crackle of cartilage in your jaw. “My wife. My fucking wife. And all this time, you were a spy. An actress in my bed, a liar in my world.” He releases you with a violent shove, and your head snaps back, the base of your skull colliding with the chair’s hard frame. Pain blooms, hot and electric, as blood trickles from your nose, the metallic tang filling your mouth.

The room is silent except for the sound of his breathing, heavy and deliberate, like a beast stalking its prey. He circles you now, each step echoing like the tolling of a bell. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he asks, his voice quieter but infinitely more dangerous. He crouches down beside you, the leather of his gloves creaking as he pulls a blade from his belt. It’s thin, surgical, the kind of tool meant for precision rather than brute force. “Did you think I wouldn’t break you?”

The blade glides along your collarbone, its edge so sharp it almost feels cold. He presses just enough for the skin to part, a shallow cut that wells with blood and sends a sharp sting radiating through your nerves. “This is just the beginning,” he whispers, his lips so close to your ear you can feel the heat of his breath. “You don’t get to die yet. Not until I’ve carved every secret out of you. Not until you understand what betrayal costs.”

Your pulse is erratic, hammering in your chest as he stands again, looming over you like some ancient lord of vengeance. His fist connects with your cheek, and the world spins, your vision blurring as pain explodes across your face. Blood spatters across the floor in a violent arc, warm and sticky as it drips from the corner of your mouth.

“Where’s your defiance now?” he growls, his voice shaking with fury. He grabs a fistful of your hair, wrenching your head back so your gaze meets his. “You want to look brave, milaya, but I know better. I can see it in your eyes. You’re already breaking.”

His lips curl into a cruel smile as he lets go, letting your head drop forward. The room seems to tilt, the edges of your vision darkening, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of your surrender. Not yet. Not while there’s still air in your lungs.

But he’s not done. He won’t be until every inch of you is stripped raw, every nerve exposed and screaming. He reaches for a switch on the wall, and with a flick, the room is bathed in red light. It casts his shadow on the walls, grotesque and distorted, like a demon looming over the damned.

────────────

The door creaks open, and a figure, one of his subordinates, enters the room, dragging a metal tray laden with an assortment of cruel instruments. Your heart races as the cold steel glints under the flickering lights, each tool designed for a specific kind of torment.

The Russian mafia boss nods curtly, his eyes never leaving yours as the man sets the tray down with a clatter. "You're going to tell me everything," he says, his voice low and deadly.

"And then, I'm going to show you what it means to betray the one who gave you everything." He leans in, his hot breath on your neck, his grip on your chin painful.

"But first, I want you to remember what you used to be to me," he murmurs, the words a dark caress that sends a shiver down your spine.

His hand travels down, cupping your bruised cheek before sliding down to grasp your throat. You swallow hard, the fear rising like bile in your throat, but you refuse to show it. He squeezes, the pressure increasing until your eyes water, but you don't make a sound, not even a whimper.

His eyes narrow in frustration before he releases you, the hand moving to grip your jaw instead, forcing your mouth open.

With a sneer, he brings his face closer, his stubble scraping against your skin as he whispers, "You were once my sweet little bird, singing only for me. Now, you're a caged whore for the highest bidder." He slams his mouth down on yours, his kiss bruising and possessive.

You taste the rage and desperation in him, and for a fleeting moment, you feel a pang of pity.

But it's quickly replaced with a fiery resolve to survive, to somehow escape his clutches.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you bite down, hard. He pulls back with a growl of annoyance, but instead of releasing you, he laughs, a dark, chilling sound. "Good girl," he says, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

"You still have some fight left in you." His eyes scan the tray, and he selects a pair of pliers. "Let's see how much you can take."

He reaches for your shirt, his fingers deftly unbuttoning it despite your struggling. The fabric tears away from your body, exposing your bruised and bound breasts. He squeezes them, watching the pain flicker in your eyes with a twisted pleasure. "These used to be mine," he says, his voice filled with a sadistic glee. He leans in again, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "But now, I'll make sure no one else ever touches them again."

The air in the dimly lit room reeked of sweat and copper, a metallic tang that coated your tongue as you gasped for breath. His shadow loomed large, an oppressive specter that seemed to drink in your pain. The pliers in his hand gleamed under the flickering light—a surgeon’s precision wrapped in a sadist’s grip.

His voice slithered through the silence, low and venomous. “Tell me,” he hissed, his words thick with cruelty, “whose touch you’ve dared to crave besides mine.”

Your chest rose and fell, trembling under his gaze. You held your tongue, the taste of defiance as bitter as bile. His jaw tightened. Then, without hesitation, he snapped the cold steel jaws of the pliers onto your right nipple.

The first twist came like lightning, sharp and blinding, a searing current that jolted through your body. The delicate tissues twisted under the unyielding bite of the metal, the nerve endings igniting like fireworks. You clenched your teeth so hard your jaw ached, your scream lodged in your throat like a jagged stone.

He leaned in closer, his breath an unwanted warmth against your cheek. “Still stubborn, aren’t we?” he murmured, his tone laced with mockery and dark amusement. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The second twist was slower, deliberate—a calculated cruelty that made your skin crawl. He pulled, the pliers dragging the sensitive flesh in directions it was never meant to go. You could feel the tissue straining, tearing, fibers unraveling like the threads of a fragile tapestry.

Your vision swam, black spots blooming like ink blots against the edges of your sight. He laughed softly, the sound of a predator savoring its kill. “Beautiful,” he said, almost reverent. “Even in pain, you’re mine. Always mine.”

The climax of his sadistic art came with a grotesque pop, the sound of tissue surrendering to force. The pain was an inferno, all-consuming, burning through every nerve as he wrenched the nipple free from your body. Warm blood spilled in rivulets, pooling on the filthy floor beneath you. The ruined flesh hung like a torn petal before he carelessly tossed it aside, letting it hit the ground with a wet slap.

He stepped back, his gaze fixed on your bloodied chest—a grotesque canvas of raw meat and trembling sinew. The shredded skin wept crimson tears, each droplet sliding down to trace the curve of your ribs. The room tilted; your body screamed for reprieve, but there was none to be had.

“You’re breathtaking like this,” he said softly, running a gloved hand over your mutilated breast. His touch was clinical, detached, as if admiring the precision of his own handiwork. “But we’re far from finished.”

The metal tray clattered as he reached for his next tool—a scalpel, gleaming with sterile menace. But before he could wield it, he paused, considering. With a dark smile, he reached instead for the salt.

The coarse grains glittered like tiny shards of glass as he grabbed a fistful. “Let’s ensure you remember this moment,” he whispered, and then he scattered the salt into the gaping wound.

It was as if the salt detonated on contact, each granule a fresh explosion of agony. Your body bucked involuntarily, the ropes digging into your wrists as you thrashed against your bindings. The scream that tore from your throat was raw and primal, reverberating off the walls like a wounded animal’s last cry.

His smile widened, a cruel crescent etched into his face. “Much better,” he said, almost soothingly. “Now we’re making progress.”

The pliers returned, their jaws still slick with blood as they moved to your remaining nipple. This time, you could see the shadow of his intent, the cold malice in his eyes as he clamped down. The pain came like a tidal wave, drowning you in its depths as he twisted, pulled, and twisted again.

The nipple tore loose with a sickening crunch, cartilage snapping, blood spurting in a violent arc. Your chest was no longer your own—it was a ravaged landscape of gore, a grotesque testament to his control. The raw, exposed tissue oozed and quivered, a mockery of what it once was.

He stepped back, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes drinking in the destruction he’d wrought. “You’re exquisite when you break,” he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. “But don’t worry, little wife. There’s so much more of you left to ruin.”

You hung limp in the chair, your body trembling, every nerve ablaze. Your silence persisted, but his words lingered, curling around you like smoke, a promise of horrors yet to come.

────────────

The mafia boss steps back, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes never leaving the destruction he's wrought upon your body. His hand reaches down to adjust his crotch, where a noticeable bulge has formed.

He's enjoying this, the sadist, getting off on your suffering.

"You're going to scream for me," he says, his voice low and filled with a primal hunger. "You're going to beg for me to stop. And when you do, I'll make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He moves to stand in front of you, his pants tenting obscenely. He unbuckles his belt, the leather making a harsh sound as it's pulled from the loops, the anticipation in the air thick and suffocating. He unbuttons his pants, and his cock springs free, hard and angry. He strokes it, the motion taunting you, a silent challenge to see how much more you can endure.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice a whip crack that slices through the pain.

You refuse to give him the satisfaction, keeping your eyes cast down, focusing on the puddle of blood forming around your chair.

He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. "Look at what you've done to me," he snarls. "You've turned me into a monster."

He steps closer, pressing his cock against your bruised and bleeding chest, the heat from his arousal a stark contrast to the cold steel of the pliers still digging into your skin. He grinds against you, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"You're going to take this," he says, his voice a mix of anger and lust. "You're going to take every inch of me until you remember who you are."

With a brutal yank, he twists the pliers on your nipples even more so, and you feel your body convulse in a silent scream.

He takes the opportunity to force himself inside your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. "Suck it," he orders, his hand fisted in your hair, pushing your face closer to his crotch.

With a burst of defiance, you clamp down on his cock with your teeth, biting as hard as you can, feeling the warm flesh between your teeth, the taste of his pre-cum mixing with the coppery tang of your own blood.

He roars in a mix of pain and pleasure, his grip on your hair tightening as he thrusts deeper into your mouth.

The mafia boss’s eyes widen in shock, but the arousal in them doesn't waver. Instead, it seems to intensify, his pupils dilating with a dark excitement.

"Fuck, you little bitch," he growls, his voice a mix of anger and desire. "You're going to regret that." His hand moves from your hair to the back of your head, pushing down harder, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth with a sickening rhythm.

You refuse to give in, biting down again, the pain in your breasts and the metallic taste of blood only fueling your resolve to fight back.

He responds by slamming your head into the chair, stars exploding across your vision, but you don't let go. The pain radiates through your skull, but you hold on, biting even harder.

The Russian's hand trembles with a mix of rage and arousal as he pours an unmerciful amount of salt into the gaping wounds on your chest.

The agony is instant and overwhelming, your body arching off the chair as the salt sears into your flesh, setting every nerve ending alight with pain.

The scream that rips from your throat is muffled by his thick cock, still lodged in your mouth. His grip on the back of your head tightens even more, his hips jerking as your teeth graze his shaft, the scream vibrating along his length.

He watches your face contort in torment, his own expression a twisted blend of love and hatred. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Scream for me."

He pours more salt, the grains falling like a sadistic rain upon your ravaged breasts. Your teeth clench around his cock as you fight back the urge to pass out from the pain. Your eyes squeeze shut, and tears stream down your face, mixing with the blood and saliva that coats your chin. He seems to revel in your suffering, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his breaths more ragged.

The henchman, his eyes wide and slightly horrified, watches from the corner, unsure of what to do. The Russian mafia boss, noticing his employee's discomfort, turns to him with a wicked smile. "You want a taste?" he asks, his voice a dark promise.

The man shakes his head, unable to tear his gaze away from the macabre scene unfolding before him. The mafia boss laughs, a low, chilling sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Then get the fuck out," he snaps. "I'll handle this one."

The henchman nods hastily, retreating from the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

You're alone with the monster you once called your husband.

The salt has stopped falling, but the pain remains, a constant reminder of your betrayal and his wrath.

He pulls back a bit, panting heavily, his cock still hard and slick with your saliva. He looks at your destroyed breasts with a twisted kind of fascination, the blood and salt creating a gruesome tableau. "You're so beautiful when you scream," he murmurs, his voice almost tender.

His hand reaches out to trace the edge of one of the wounds, his touch surprisingly gentle amidst the chaos.

You flinch away, the slightest of movements, but it's enough to snap him out of his daze.

The mafia boss’s hand clamps down on the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him again. His eyes are dark with lust and anger, a storm brewing in their depths. "You're going to pay for every lie," he says, his voice a promise of unspeakable torment.

He then pulls his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, the sound echoing through the room. You gasp for air, your throat raw from his rough treatment. He steps back, his gaze traveling down your body, taking in every bruise and tear. "But not before I make you feel everything I felt when I found out you were whoring around."

He grabs you by the hair, yanking you to your feet, the ropes around your ankles making you stumble. He pulls you to the tray of instruments, his eyes lingering on a long, thin knife.

The blade glitters in the light, a silent threat of the pain to come. He picks it up, his hand steady, his movements deliberate. "You're going to tell me who else has had you," he says, the knife hovering just above your skin. "Every name, every touch, every time you spread your legs for someone who wasn't me."

His grip tightens, his thumb tracing a line along your jaw. "And for every lie, I'll make sure you feel it here," he says, pressing the knife against your throat, the cold steel a stark reminder of the power he holds over you.

You stand before him, your body shaking with pain and fear, but you refuse to speak.

The Russian's eyes narrow, and he presses the knife harder, a thin line of blood welling up. "Tell me," he demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

But you remain silent, your teeth clenched, your eyes locked on his.

He sighs, a sound filled with disappointment and resentment. "Very well," he says, moving the knife to your chest.

He slices through your shredded shirt, the fabric giving way easily to reveal your bruised and bloodied skin. "If you won't tell me willingly, I'll make you confess."

He starts to cut, the blade digging into your flesh, tracing patterns of agony across your stomach and ribs. You bite your lip, the pain a living entity consuming you, but you refuse to break.

He pauses, looking up at you with a mix of admiration and anger. "You're so stubborn," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I used to love that about you."

His hand moves lower, the knife grazing your navel, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You can feel your body responding despite the pain, a traitorous arousal building within you. He notices and smirks, the knife moving lower, hovering just above the fabric of your pants. "But now, it's just another reason to make you suffer."

With a quick movement, he slices through the fabric, exposing your nakedness to the cold room. He traces the edge of the knife along the line of your underwear, the threat of what's to come clear in his eyes. "You're going to tell me," he says, his voice a seductive whisper. "Or I'll start peeling you like a damn orange."

You force yourself to remain still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

He leans in, his breath hot on your skin as he presses the knife against your inner thigh, the tip just barely breaking the surface. "Who else has been here?" he asks, his voice a dark caress.

You bite down on your tongue, tasting blood, but still you don't speak. The mafia boss’s eyes flash with anger, and he presses harder, the blade cutting through your skin. You grit your teeth, willing yourself not to scream, not to give in.

With a snarl of frustration, he slices through your underwear, the fabric falling away to reveal your most vulnerable areas. His hand moves to cup your pussy, his grip bruising. "So wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

"Do you get off on the pain I give you?" He strokes you roughly, the knife still pressing against your thigh, a constant reminder of the power he holds. "Or is it the fear?"

His thumb brushes against your clit, and despite the horror of the situation, you feel yourself respond. It's a traitorous betrayal of your own body, but you can't help it; his touch has always had this effect on you.

"You're mine," he says, his voice a low growl. "You'll always be mine." His hand moves from your pussy to your throat, squeezing tightly. You gasp for air, your eyes watering as he forces you to look at him.

"Say it," he demands. "Say you're mine."

You refuse, the word 'no' lodged in your throat, unspoken but clear.

His grip tightens, your vision swimming, but you stand firm, your resolve unbroken. He laughs, the sound a chilling echo in the room. "Fine," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "We'll do this the hard way."

The mafias boss’s patience is at an end, his rage and lust boiling over. He yanks the knife away from your throat, the sharp tip of the blade leaving a trail of fire across your skin as he moves it downward.

With a quick, violent thrust, he pushes the knife into your pussy, the cold steel parting your wet folds with ease.

You scream, the sound a mix of agony and despair, your body trembling as he uses the knife to fuck you.

He's merciless, his strokes deep and hard, the blade sliding in and out of your tight hole, the edges scraping against your inner walls with each brutal thrust. You can feel the warmth of your blood mingling with your arousal, the sensation making you want to gag.

"You like that, don't you?" he whispers, his breath hot on your ear. "You like it when I hurt you. Fucking masochist." His free hand snakes around your throat, squeezing just enough to keep you on the edge of consciousness.

"You're such a good little slut, taking it all." He continues to use the knife, his knife thrusts growing more erratic as he gets closer to climax.

"Tell me," he grunts, his voice strained. "Tell me who you've been fucking." But you remain silent, your teeth clenched in a silent snarl of defiance.

The room spins around you, the pain in your breasts and the invasion of the knife in your pussy making it difficult to think straight.

Yet, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

The Russian's grip on the knife tightens, his strokes growing faster, harder. "I'll make you talk," he says, his voice a dark promise. "You can't hide from me forever."

The knife twists, hitting a particularly sensitive spot, and you can't help the scream that tears from your throat. He smiles, the sight of your pain seemingly pushing him closer to the edge.

As you feel the world fading around you, the older man’s grip on your throat tightens, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and arousal.

He slams the knife into your pussy one final time, the pain so intense you think you might actually pass out.

But just as the darkness begins to claim you, he pulls the knife out, the absence of the cold steel leaving you feeling violated and empty.

He throws the knife aside, his own breaths ragged and desperate, his cock pulsing with need.

"Fine," he snarls, his voice a harsh rasp. "We'll do it the old-fashioned way."

With a quick movement, he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down, his cock springing free, thick and hard. He grabs your hips, spinning you around so that you face the chair, your destroyed breasts pressed against the cold metal. He kicks your legs apart, and you feel the tip of his cock nudge against your bruised and bloodied entrance.

"You're going to tell me," he says, his breath hot against your neck. "You're going to tell me every name, every face, every cock that's been inside you."

His hand moves to the back of your head, pushing down until you're bent over the chair, your ass in the air. "And when you do, I'll make it all better. I'll make you forget them all."

His cock slams into you without warning, the pain so intense you can't help but cry out.

He's rough, his movements punishing, his anger and pain manifesting in every thrust. You can feel him stretching you, filling you completely, his cock hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

The Russian's cock slams into you with the force of a battering ram, the pain so intense it steals your breath away. He's not gentle; every thrust is a declaration of his dominance, a punishment for your silence.

Your body shakes with the impact, your bruised breasts smacking against the cold metal chair, the pain from the fresh wounds sending jolts of agony through your system. His hands are like iron bars, holding your hips in place as he uses you, his grip bruising your skin.

Each time he pulls out, you feel the warm gush of your blood and arousal, mixing with the sticky mess he's creating inside you.

"Who else?" he snarls, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your shoulder. The pain is a white-hot brand, but you refuse to give him what he wants.

Instead, you spit in his face, the saliva mixing with the sweat and blood that coats his skin.

He rears back, his eyes flashing with fury, and then he slams into you again, his hips moving like pistons, his cock a weapon of torment. "You think you can resist me?" he growls, his voice a dark whisper that sends shivers down your spine. "I'll make you beg for mercy, cunt."

You bite back a scream as he hits your g-spot, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses your body for his own sadistic pleasure. You can feel him thickening inside you, his orgasm building with every punishing thrust. "Tell me!" he roars, his hand reaching around to squeeze your throat again, cutting off your air supply.

"Tell me who you've been fucking, and maybe I'll let you live." Your eyes bulge, your nails clawing at the chair as you fight the urge to pass out.

After a particularly brutal thrust, the mafia boss releases your throat, and you gasp for air, your lungs burning. "You're going to tell me," he whispers, his voice a promise of more pain to come. "You're going to tell me, or I'll make sure you never feel anything but pain again."

His grip on your hips tightens, and he starts to move faster, his cock pistoning in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. You feel your body betraying you, your walls clenching around his shaft despite the pain, the traitorous orgasm building within you.

"Never," you croak out, your voice barely a whisper.

It's all you can manage, but it's enough to fuel his rage. He slams into you again, his cock hitting a spot that makes you see white. "You're mine," he says, his voice a harsh rasp. "You've always been mine."

His hand moves from your hip to your clit, and he starts to rub it roughly, the friction sending sparks of pain through your body. "You're going to come for me," he says, his voice a dark command. "And then you're going to tell me everything."

Your body is pushed to its limits as the Russian's relentless assault continues. Each thrust feels like a hot iron rod being driven into your soul, the pain unbearable as your body is stretched and filled with his monstrous cock.

The sound of your flesh slapping against his is like a grim symphony of agony, echoing through the cold, sterile room. You can feel your insides tearing, the warmth of your blood mixing with his seed, a grim reminder of his ownership over you. His hand on your clit is a sadistic maestro's touch, forcing pleasure from your bruised and abused body despite the pain.

"Tell me!" he roars, his grip on your hips like vice. "Tell me who's been inside you, and maybe I'll stop." His voice is desperate now, a mix of anger and love warring within him, his need for control overshadowing any shred of humanity he might have once had.

But you remain silent, your eyes squeezed shut, your mind a haze of torment. The only sound in the room is the harsh grunts of his exertion and your muffled whimpers.

The mafia boss’s sadistic stroking of your clit reaches a crescendo, and despite the agony of your injuries, your body responds to his command. You cum around his cock, your muscles clenching tightly, trying to push him out even as they pull him deeper.

He groans in victory, feeling your pussy pulse and spasm around him, his own orgasm building. He fucks you harder, his hand moving faster, his thumb pressing down mercilessly on your clit, forcing wave after wave of unwanted pleasure through your trembling form. You scream, the sound a mix of pain and climax, your body shaking as you cum for the second time, blood and fluids painting the chair beneath you.

"Fuck," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're in pain."

He doesn't stop, his thrusts growing more frantic as he chases his own release. You feel his cock thicken, his grip on your hips tightening until it's almost painful. "Again," he says, his voice a dark whisper. "Cum for me again." And despite yourself, you do, your body responding to the twisted game he's playing with your emotions and your pain.

The mafia man’s orgasm hits like a freight train, his cock pulsing inside you as he fills you with his seed. You feel the warmth of his cum mixing with your blood, the sensation making you want to retch.

But you stay silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing your despair.

He pulls out, his cock slick with your blood and his cum, and you collapse onto the chair, your legs giving out beneath you. You're sobbing now, the pain and humiliation too much to hold in.

He stands over you, his chest heaving, his cock still hard and glistening. "Look at what you've done to yourself," he says, his voice a mix of anger and pity.

"This is what happens when you betray me." He grabs a handful of your hair, forcing your head up so you have to meet his gaze.

His eyes are wild, the love and hurt swirling together in a toxic brew. "But I can fix you," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I can make you mine again." He releases you, and you slump back down, your head hanging limply.

The mafia boss stares down at you, his chest heaving with his own release. The rage in his eyes hasn't dimmed, but there's something else there now. Something that looks almost like hope.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a mix of disgust and admiration. "You're still fighting." He steps closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of your jaw, his touch gentle despite the bruises he's left there.

"But you can't win, my love."

You spit in his face again, the defiance burning in your eyes like a dying ember.

It's all you have left, and you cling to it with everything you have.

He wipes the spit away with the back of his hand, his smile twisted. "Oh, how I've missed your fire," he says, his voice a low growl. He grabs you by the shoulders, spinning you around to face him. "But it's time to put it out."

With a swift movement, he pulls you to your feet, the ropes around your ankles cutting into your skin as you stand. He yanks your torn shirt up, the fabric sticking to your blood-covered breasts.

His eyes travel over your body, a mix of hunger and disgust. "You're a mess," he says, his voice filled with contempt. "But I'll make you clean again."

He pulls you closer, his cock still hard against your stomach. "You're going to tell me," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. "And when you do, I'll make you forget all about them."

The Russian's eyes gleam with a dark excitement as he takes in your bruised and bloodied form. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat.

His free hand reaches down to a specific part of his belt, unbuckling it with a sharp click that echoes through the room. He then pulls out a set of keys from it and unlocks a drawer in the desk, revealing an assortment of whips, chains, and other tools of torture. His hand lingers over them, a sadistic smile playing on his lips as he selects a particularly vicious-looking whip.

The mafia boss selects the spiked whip, the leather crackling with anticipation. He takes a moment to appreciate the gleaming metal spikes, the sight of them making your stomach churn. He grabs a bottle of vodka from the same drawer, the clear liquid sloshing in the bottle as he brings it to your blood-soaked crotch.

You try to jerk away, but his grip on your hair is unyielding. With a cruel smirk, he pours the alcohol over your wounds, the stinging pain making your vision swim.

You scream as the liquid seeps into your freshly torn flesh, the coldness of the vodka a stark contrast to the heat of your blood.

He doesn't give you a chance to recover, instead bringing the whip down in a vicious arc that connects with your bruised and abused pussy with a wet slap.

The pain is a white-hot brand, searing through you as the spikes tear into your sensitive flesh.

You can feel the alcohol burning into your wounds, a fresh agony added to the symphony of pain already playing in your body.

He doesn't stop there, though; he brings the whip down again and again, each strike more precise and brutal than the last.

You thrash in his grip, trying to escape the torment, but he's too strong, too determined to break you. His strikes are methodical, a twisted dance of pain and power, the whip's spikes digging deeper with every hit.

The mafia boss then wraps the end of the whip around your throat, the spikes biting into your tender flesh as he squeezes, cutting off your air supply. You claw at his wrist, your nails leaving bloody furrows in his skin, but he only tightens his grip.

Your eyes bulge, your chest heaving for air that won't come, your vision swimming with stars.

He leans in, his breath hot against your face, his eyes gleaming with a sick satisfaction as he watches the life drain from you. "Tell me," he whispers, his voice a dark promise of more pain if you don't.

But you refuse to give in, even as your lungs burn and your chest feels like it's going to explode.

Your hands fall to your sides, your body going limp in his grip, the only sound in the room the wet, gurgling noise of your struggles. He holds you there for a moment longer, watching you with a twisted fascination before finally letting go.

You gasp for air, your throat raw and burning, the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth. He smiles, a twisted parody of affection, and pulls out another tool from the drawer.

It's a metal rod, the end shaped into a cruel hook.

"This," he says, his voice a dark purr, "Is for when you decide to be more… cooperative."

He steps closer, the rod in his hand glinting in the harsh light of the room.

You can see your reflection in the gleaming surface, a broken doll covered in blood and sweat. He runs the hook over your skin, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch that's somehow more terrifying than the pain of the whip.

"You're going to tell me," he says, his voice a gentle coaxing that's more unsettling than his previous roars. "And when you do, I'll make it all better."

You spit blood in his face again, your voice a harsh whisper. "Never."

The word is a declaration of war, a challenge he seems to relish.

He laughs, a sound devoid of humor, and brings the hook closer to your pussy.

"We'll see about that," he murmurs, the hook pressing against your bruised and swollen flesh.

You tense, expecting the worst, but he surprises you by sliding it along your slit, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of your pain. The mafia boss uses the hook to spread your labia, exposing the raw, bloody mess he's made of your most intimate parts.

"Look at this," he says, his voice filled with a twisted admiration. "You're so beautiful when you're broken."

He leans in, his breath hot against your skin as he runs the tip of the hook along your clit. The sensation is so intense, you almost pass out from the pain.

"But you're going to be even more beautiful when you're mine again."

He pushes the hook inside you, the spikes scraping along the inside of your pussy, and you scream hysterically, your body arching in agony.

The mafia boss’s smile widens as he watches you writhe in pain, the hook still embedded in your pussy. He takes a step back, admiring his handiwork, and then reaches for a small, black case on the desk.

Inside, you see a collection of needles, glinting in the cold light of the room.

His eyes never leave yours as he selects one, long and thin, with a wicked curve at the end. You can feel your body tightening around the hook, your muscles spasming in a futile attempt to push it out.

"This is for when you're feeling particularly uncooperative," he says, his voice a dark purr. He takes the needle between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently.

"But I suspect you're going to be feeling quite cooperative very soon." He brings the needle closer to your pussy, the curve lining up with your clit.

You can feel the sharpness of the tip against your swollen flesh, and you fight the urge to beg him to stop.

But you won't give him that power.

With a swift, precise movement, he inserts the needle, the point piercing your clit and sliding deep into your pussy.

The pain is like nothing you've ever felt before, a searing agony that makes you want to pass out.

You scream, your body jerking against the chair, but he holds you steady, his grip unyielding. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal.

"Take it like the good little whore you are." He starts to move the needle, twisting it inside you, the curve scraping along your inner walls.

Each twist sends a fresh wave of pain through you, making you want to vomit.

The mafia boss steps back, admiring his work, as you sob and whimper in pain. "You see," he says, his voice almost gentle, "It doesn't have to be this way. Tell me what I want to know, and I can make this all stop."

But you stay silent, your teeth clenched, your eyes squeezed shut.

He sighs, the sound filled with disappointment. "Very well," he says, his voice cold again. "But you're going to wish you had talked sooner."

He selects another needle from the case, his eyes never leaving yours.

He brings it to your pussy, the tip hovering just above your clit. "I'll give you one more chance," he says, his voice a deadly whisper. "Tell me who's been fucking you, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

You remain silent, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back your screams.

With a shrug, he pushes the second needle in alongside the first, the sensation of the sharp points tearing through your tender flesh making you want to pass out.

The Russian's eyes darken as he watches your silent defiance.

He starts to play with the needles, twisting and moving them with a precision that speaks of practice and skill. You bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing your pain.

"So stubborn," he murmurs, his voice a mix of admiration and anger. "But you'll break eventually." He grabs another handful of needles, his eyes traveling over your body, considering where to insert them next. You can feel the cold sweat trickling down your back, the pain making your vision blur.

The mafia boss’s hand moves with the precision of a surgeon, inserting needle after needle into your pussy. Each one sinks into your flesh with a sickening pop, the pain so intense you feel like you're being torn apart from the inside.

You're a pincushion of pain, each movement sending a fresh wave of agony through your body.

The needles are inserted at different angles, some going deep while others skim the surface, the varying depths creating a tapestry of torment that makes you want to scream.

Then the Russian's hand moves with a newfound fervor, the needles sliding into your flesh with an eerie grace.

The hook remains lodged deep inside you, the spikes scraping along your swollen walls as he twists it in a sickening rhythm that matches the insertion of the needles.

The pain is so intense, it feels like your entire body is on fire, your pussy a focal point of agony that threatens to consume you.

You feel the wetness of your blood mixing with the lubricant he's used, creating a macabre dance of red and clear fluids that dribble down your thighs.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "You're mine," he whispers, his voice a dark promise. "You've always been mine, and you always will be."

His words are a knife, twisting in the wound of your soul, as he adds another needle, the metal scraping against the hook with an almost musical sound. You can feel the sharp points digging in deeper, the pain an almost tangible presence in the room. "Tell me," he says, his voice a gentle coaxing that makes your skin crawl. "Tell me who's been fucking my wife."

The mafia boss slightly smirks, stepping back from you, as his eyes gleaming with a twisted excitement.

He reaches for a small, red canister on the desk, the label written in a language you don't recognize.

You know what it is, though; you've seen it used in interrogations before. It's a can of lighter fluid, and you know what he's planning.

He douses the needles and the hook with the fluid, the harsh smell of the gasoline-like substance filling the room.

Your heart races, fear mixing with the pain as he takes a step back and flicks open a lighter.

The flame dances in the air, the light flickering over the needles embedded in your pussy, making the metal glint ominously.

"This is your last chance," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me, and I'll make it quick."

The flame hovers near the needles, the heat making your skin crawl. You clench your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the unimaginable agony that's about to come. "Who have you been fucking?" he demands again.

But you stay silent, your resolve unbroken despite the hell you're enduring.

With a snarl of frustration, he brings the flame closer, the heat growing more intense until it's almost unbearable.

You can feel your skin blistering around the base of the needles, the smell of burning flesh making you gag.

The mafia boss’s hand hovers over the needles, the flame reflecting in his eyes. "Fine," he says, his voice cold. "You want to play the martyr, I'll give you a performance to remember."

In one swift motion, he presses the lighter to the needles.

The fluid catches fire, the heat searing through your pussy in an explosion of agony that makes you arch off the chair.

You scream, the sound echoing through the room as the flames dance along the metal, the heat spreading through your insides like molten lava. The mafia boss watches you burn, his expression a twisted mix of anger and fascination.

The needles glow red-hot, the heat so intense it feels like your soul is being torn from your body. You can feel the flesh around the hook contracting, the spikes and needles digging deeper with each spasm of pain.

The flames lick at your tender flesh, the pain so intense that it's all you can focus on.

Your screams fill the room, a cacophony of agony and despair that seems to echo off the walls.

The mafia boss watches, his eyes alight with a perverse excitement as he sees you finally break.

Your body jerks and spasms against the chair, the ropes cutting into your skin as you struggle to escape the fire.

The needles are embedded so deeply now, the metal searing your insides as the flames dance around them.

The smell of your burning flesh fills the room, a sickeningly sweet aroma that makes your stomach churn.

────────────

The flames from the needles flicker and die out, leaving behind smoking metal embedded in your burnt flesh. The hook remains lodged deep inside you, a constant reminder of his dominance.

Your body is a wreck, a canvas of bruises, cuts, and burns, a testament to the extreme lengths he's willing to go to break you. Your breathing is shallow and erratic, each inhale a battle against the pain that threatens to swallow you whole.

The mafia boss’s smile fades as he watches you slip into unconsciousness, your body a broken doll in the chair.

He sighs, his frustration clear as he puts out the last of the flames with a damp cloth. He's impressed by your endurance, by the sheer force of your will to survive and not give him what he wants.

But he's not done with you yet.

He can't be.

You're his, and he won't let you die until you're his again.

The mafia boss leans in, his breath warm against your cheek, as he presses a soft, almost tender kiss to your bruised and bloody lips.

The contrast between his gentle touch and the agony of your burnt flesh sends a shiver down your spine.

His hand moves to the hook, gripping it firmly as he slowly pulls it out of you, the spikes tearing through your raw, swollen pussy with a wet, squelching sound that makes you whimper despite being unconscious.

The hook comes out with a final, sickening pop, leaving a gaping wound in its place.

"You're so stubborn," he murmurs, his voice a soft caress that seems to mock the pain he's inflicted on you. He carefully removes the needles one by one, his movements efficient and precise despite the anger that still lingers in his eyes.

Each removal sends a fresh wave of pain through your body, making you jerk and gasp even in your unconscious state. "But that's what I love about you," he says, his voice a mix of admiration and frustration.

The mafia boss sets aside the bloody needles and hook, reaching for a first aid kit that seems out of place in the room of torture.

He cleans your wounds with a gentle touch, his fingers deftly applying ointment and bandages to the burns and cuts. You can feel the coolness of the medical supplies against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the flames that had just been there.

He seems almost disappointed that you're not awake to see his 'care' for you, his eyes lingering on your bruised and broken form with a disturbing mix of love and anger.

"You're going to be okay," he whispers, his voice a strange blend of sweetness and malice. "I'll make sure of it."

He tapes the last bandage into place, his eyes lingering on the gaping hole where the hook had been. His thumb traces the edge of the wound, the pad of his finger coming away sticky with your blood.

He brings it to his lips, tasting you, his eyes closing for a brief moment before he opens them again, the anger in them burning like the embers of a dying fire.

You're vaguely aware of the pain as he tends to you, the fog of unconsciousness lifting slightly.

Each touch feels like a brand, a reminder of your submission to his will.

He wraps you in a blanket, lifting you with surprising gentleness from the chair, and carries you to a cot in the corner of the room.

He lays you down, his hand brushing through your hair, his touch surprisingly tender. "Rest," he says, his voice a command wrapped in a velvet glove. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow."

The mafia boss locks the door behind him with a final click, leaving you alone in the cold, sterile room.

The cot is hard and uncomfortable, but it's the closest thing to relief you've felt in what seems like an eternity.

Your eyes fully drift shut, the darkness behind your lids offering a temporary reprieve from the horrors you've endured.

But sleep doesn't come easy.

The pain keeps you on the edge of consciousness, a constant reminder of the hell you're in.

[legitalicat]

Sweet Sister (Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon)

AN: Oh gosh guys. I did it. Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for being my workshop partner (I also got the amazing dividers from her) and to my spiritual twin @foxyanon for reading a bit of it when I needed to make sure it was okay. Also this snowballed very hard very fast I am sorry.

Masterlist here!

Summary: It wasn't the fault of them that this was their lot in life. Aemond and YN could only make the best of a marriage they did not particularly want. Yet Jacaerys does not see it as an obstacle. The gods made her for him. She was meant to be his.

TW: Language, characters are over 18, AFAB reader, use of YN in 3rd person pov, use of she/her pronouns, SMUT SMUT SMUT, oral (fem!receiving), a smidge of dry humping, lactation kink, tiddie sucking, masturbation, cuck!Aemond, threesome, Dom!Jacaerys, switch!Aemond (mostly veering on subbing), sub!reader, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, Jace's monster cock, NO DANCE, canon typical Targcest, Jace grinding his cock on Aemond, Jace cumming on Aemond, cum eating, spit, political marriage, Jace kinda teaching Aemond to proper fuck his wife, I think that's all

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon Niece!Reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x younger sister!Reader

Word count: 6.2k

It wasn’t his fault.

It was a thought that lived consistently in her mind in the years since her marriage. Both of them offered to each other’s mother as a solution to the growing rift between them. A marriage made in desperate hopes to avoid an ever looming annihilation.

It was good, she supposed, that it was to a man she was so familiar with. Her Uncle Aemond, while never particularly warm, had always been kind enough. He usually spared her the vitriol he shot at her brothers. Even when making it clear he knew the truth, he was less violent in his hatred. Queen Alicent raised him to be better than that.

A spat between boys here and there was acceptable, expected even. Training together, he got plenty of chance to beat on them, to spill the vile whispers that invaded his ears. Nobody but Ser Harwin ever said anything, but Aemond figured it was only because he was too stupid to pretend as everyone else did.

YN was different. Between his mother and Ser Criston, he knew that every woman was meant to be seen with a certain amount of respect. Despite who her father was, or wasn’t, YN was a princess. She was not like her brothers, who antagonized him at every step. And so he would hold his tongue.

As children, they were polite to each other. If he and the Velaryon boys were arguing, he went quiet when she would walk into the room. He would hold the door for her and in the same motion let it slam on Jacaerys.

It was this politeness that allowed Alicent to see reason. She couldn’t marry her only daughter to one of Rhaenyra’s sons, yet the King made it clear that it was his will their lines would converge. She made a counter offer to Rhaenyra’s, Aemond wed to YN. The Princess of Dragonstone denied for many the same reasons The Queen denied hers. But the Driftmark Incident all but forced her hand if she wished for Lucerys to remain unharmed as a consequence.

He was a good husband to her when they married not long after her coming of age. He stood by her side at court, always keeping her close. Over the moons they spent at each other’s side, a natural affection was felt between them. It may not have been a fairytale romance, but he at least could be counted as her friend. And for a girl who was without her family for the first time in her life, a friend was exactly what she needed.

It wasn’t Aemond’s fault that they were still expected to provide children to their line. They held off as long they could. Yet as they approached two years of marriage, rumors of infertility started hanging over their head. He could not bare to leave his wife to such scrutiny. It was only then they started laying together as husband and wife.

The affection they felt gave a solid foundation for their relationship in the bedroom. It was an awkward beginning in which he would blush every time his hand grazed her breasts and a small squeak would leave her lips when she saw him naked. Aemond, though, was a man of proficiency. He always planned to be the best in everything, the need in him increasing tenfold upon learning that bringing his wife to orgasm increased her odds of becoming pregnant.

“You looked lovely tonight at dinner,” he commented as they came from dinner.

“Thank you, husband. Your words flatter me always,” she told him.

He opened the door to their suite, the warmth of the fire already having filled the living space. When the door closed behind them, she let out a noticeable breath of relief. She always preferred the peace of their suite.

He stepped closer and began to unlace her gown. She reached behind her as he did so and took a hold of one of his wrists.

“Are you nervous?” he whispered. She hadn’t been nervous with him in months, but he always asked.

“Grateful, I suppose. For a husband like you,” she told him. Her dress fell to the ground in a pool around her ankles. She had forgone her slip and so she now stood naked in front of him. “I must admit though, today I am eager. I feel as though soon I shall be pregnant.”

He gave a small smile even though she could not see him. “A darling mother you shall be. How many do you wish us to have?”

“No less than two,” she told him. “So I hope you do not mind continuing this for a few years yet to come.”

“Never, my sweet niece. After all, I do still enjoy myself as a man should when I bed you.”

Satisfied, she released his wrist entirely so that he move as he wish. A feather light kiss to her shoulder as he began to undo his pants. A hand roaming the front of her body from behind, grabbing and squeezing to elicit soft little hums of approval from her. With his pants off, he stepped closer to her.

“Settee or bed?” he whispered in her ear, his hard cock pressing firmly against her ass.

“Settee,” she whispered while a shudder moved through her. Within a heartbeat, he lead her to the sofa near them.

“I want to make sure my seed takes in your womb, little wife,” he whispered in her ear before he helped her into position.

His touch traveled from her hip to entangle itself in her hair. She turned her face to him to allow a single kiss before he pushed her head roughly onto the settee’s cushion. Any sound she made was muffled by the cushion, but it was how they preferred.

The blood rush provided by his delicate fingers created as many desires in her as it sated. Any looks of love he would give her would be fake, they didn’t love each other. Yet when his nails raked against her back as he prepared to grab her hips, she knew she was lucky in this.

His left hand rested along the curve of her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh to hold her where he wanted her. His right hand moved between her thighs before finding their home in her folds.

The fabric where her mouth was pressed warmed against her skin as she let out small, repetitive moans. In the months since their first bedding, his fingers had become experts at a quick orgasm. He would flex his thumb to rest against her pearl with fluctuating pressures in time with the speed of his middle and ring fingers thrusting into her cunt.

Her thighs trembled as Aemond curled his fingers, coaxing her orgasm ever closer. A faint sound of her moaning made it to his ears as her walls tightened around the digits. She came hard, only getting a second’s reprieve before his hand moved away and it’s presence replaced by his long cock.

His hips repeatedly moving into her turned him into a desperate man. Watching himself disappear into her cunt while her ass melted against the muscles of his lower abdomen was a sight made of sin. She was soaked around him, her juices dripping off his cock.

Aemond was a restrained man until he was on the precipice of orgasm. It was when she felt his fingers return to her swollen pearl and his hips start to stutter that she cried out. She could feel him pawing at her back, his once anchoring grasp becoming a desperate touch. His movements were no longer careful and considered as he rubbed his thumb eagerly against her pearl and fucked into her with abandon. She could feel the tension begin to build within her as she whispered his name into the cushion again and again.

She came for a second time, squealing into the cushion as she attempted to move forward. The pleasurable band that had snapped inside her belly increased how much she felt tenfold. Every movement of his cock was like the sweetest torture. The head pushed against that spongy spot inside of her, making her whimper with every brush. Her walls gripped even tighter, like he was the missing piece of her.

He groaned out her name as he released his spend, ropes of white coating her walls. She was certain, as he pulled out of her while trying to steady his breath, that this was it. This would be their luck.

Within two moons she had confirmation she was pregnant. She wrote letters to her family immediately upon telling Aemond. Together, they would walk to Her Grace the Queen’s apartments and tell her she would once again become a grandmother. One would think they had divulged the secrets of the universe with the way the Queen became so overjoyed.

She was approaching her fifth month of pregnancy when her family returned to King’s Landing so that her mother could take the Throne. With the passing of King Viserys, many had anticipated war. But neither Rhaenyra or Alicent wanted to risk losing their grandchild. If war had broken out, both knew that the baby would be torn between the desires of both it’s parents. That was enough.

YN stood in wait for her family alone at the Dragon Pit. The peace was tense already, and they had yet to arrive. But one by one, the elder members of her family landed on their dragons in front of her.

A journey by ship would take too long when there was a throne to take. Her mother dismounted Syrax with grace befitting a queen. Her eyes though did not fix themselves to her mother, instead the new Prince of Dragonstone capturing her full attention.

“My sweet sister,” her older brother said once he dismounted Vermax.

Jacaerys looked at her like she was his favorite toy. Two years her elder and that had never changed. She was his little sister, the one he knew the gods crafted from the heavens specifically for him. It was everything he believed to be true. She was meant to be his Queen, to be his.

That is why he was never too worried about her betrothal to Aemond when it was announced. Jace knew he didn’t necessarily need to be her first husband. Men run away or die every day, leaving their families behind. Knowing his uncle meant knowing how perfect the one eyed man had to be. He anticipated Aemond running away the moment he proved to be subpar at being a husband.

And when he did inevitably run, when he did abandon his wife, all Jacaerys needed to do was be there. He had told YN her entire life how he adored her, how he would give her a crown and a throne and nobody would doubt his devotion to her. She would be his equal in every way once he was King. No marriage to some lesser standing man would change that.

“Jace,” she said with a smile on her face. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He was sturdy, lean but firm. There was no sway in his body when she all but collided into him in her excitement, her small bump pressing against him. He held her just as close.

Even her pregnancy could not dissuade him from believing they were meant for each other. Jacaerys knew she would have children from this marriage, he had long prepared for that reality. But this child was as much of her as it was of Aemond, and he would love every part of his beloved sister.

“You are stunning, my queen. The babe is not too much trouble, I hope?” he asks when he pulls away. But only enough to look at her.

“Oh none at all. The little bug has only just began kicking,” she told him.

“I was more referring to your husband, but I am grateful your pregnancy has been easy thus far,” he told her with a smirk, creating a giggle she could not hold back.

His eyes look over her face more times than he can count. He had never seen a beauty such as hers. From the way her lips stretched as she smiled, to the little furrow in her brow as she watched him look at her, to the subtlety of her eyes shining with a joy he doubted she had for years. Everything about her captivated him.

As his eyes raked further down her body he was a man in love. Her breasts already were beginning to swell with milk, looking deliciously full and ripe for providing his pleasure. The bump was small, he knew she wasn’t too far along just yet, but seeing evidence of a child growing inside her was enough for him to feel like a man gone mad.

His cock began to swell under his trousers. He could not resist pulling her in for another hug just to be able to rut against her for a mere moment. It was subtle, discreet, one would be forgiven for thinking it was the embrace of a brother who missed his sister. She knew what he was doing. She could feel his bulge pressing through his skirts and against her heat.

“I have missed you dearly, my queen,” he whispered in her ear.

“I have missed you as well, my dear brother,” she whispered, hugging him tighter to her.

Pregnancy had a way of clouding her judgement. She desired more than just this juvenile attempt at some relief. And while it was true Aemond would tend to her when her hormones became too overwhelming, there was a difference. Aemond was her husband, the man she was legally bound to. He was the father of the babe cradled safely inside her. He was allowed.

Jace was her older brother. Adore him as she might, he had no true claim to her. They had risked enough the night before her wedding when he made her ride his thigh to orgasm. It was his way of ensuring she knew pleasure before he would get the chance to properly give it to her. But now, to even do this was a slap in the face to her husband and an affront to the gods.

He pulled away, completely this time, and smiled at her. “Your presence has been missed deeply, sweetling.”

And with no other words he stepped away and allowed a proper greeting between her and their mother.

With Rhaenyra’s coronation and subsequent restructuring of the Small Council, life remained hectic for months. Rhaenyra was smarter than her father as a ruler, she understood that the only thing that posed a threat to her rule was the ambitions of one man in particular. The best way to remove such a threat was to understand the ambition and give it only enough power to remain useful to her.

Her first act? Removing Otto Hightower as Hand. He was still on the Small Council as Master of Whisperers, as he was a man best kept close and an expert of intelligence. In his stead she placed Jacaerys until such a time he was married and would move to his seat of Dragonstone. It would give him opportunity to learn the workings of ruling the country that would once be his. As a way to create good faith between her and her brothers, she offered them positions as well. She would appoint Aemond as Master of Laws, as she doubted there were any who knew more of Westeros’ histories and laws as him. And for Aegon she created the position of Master of Celebrations, offering no further explanation before he accepted.

Being as her husband was preoccupied with his newfound duties, YN spent many nights alone. The babe, due in the next month by now, made her ache and weep. It was all she could do to avoid such pains. If it wasn’t her back or hips hurting, both from the weight of her stomach and the way her body prepared for labour, it was the way her breasts were already filling to the brim.

Her only comfort was found in her baths. The water ran so hot it would be uncomfortable for many. She had the blood of dragons coursing through her, she carried a dragon inside her. A little extra heat did nothing to dissuade her.

In fact, she was sitting on the bed, waiting for her maids to bring forth the water needed. Her hands massaged her aching breasts to attempt to provide any relief for her. As such, she was hardly covered by anything. Only a thin sheet laid draped over her lower half.

There was a knock on the door. She beckoned them inside, assuming it was her maids. Yet when she opened her eyes, there stood Jacaerys. Her eyes widened slightly, though she made no grand attempt to hide herself.

“My sweet, are you okay?” he asked her softly. His voice was filled with a love she had mostly forgotten.

“Pregnancy is hard on the body, at it turns out,” she joked as he came closer to her. It was then she pulled the sheet up further, now hiding her breasts.

“And your husband is not here to attend to you,” he commented. He sat in front of her on the bed and repositioned the sheet, exposing her breasts and pregnant belly to him.

“He does as he can. His duties have been weighing more as of late, though, so I am typically asleep by his finishing hour,” she told him.

“A dutiful wife. Never speaking ill of him,” he whispered.

“He has been good to me, Jace. He cares a great deal for my safety and happiness. Better to me than I believe many would have been,” she said in response. Her words were soft and genuine. She bore no ill will for Aemond, truly she did not. And she would not pretend she did.

“I am grateful you were granted such a kindness by the gods.”

His hands moved now from the sheet he stilled gripped to roam her stomach. The babe kicked at his touch as if to say hello. The two chuckled at the sensation.

“She has never kicked so eagerly before,” YN told him.

“She?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Call it instinct,” she shrugged, smiling at his hand on her stomach.

“She has a fiery resolve, just as her mother and her mother before,” Jacaerys told her happily before leaning forward and placing a kiss to her stomach. “Such a beautiful mother already, my queen.”

“You are too good at your flattery, brother,” she whispered.

“Is it flattery if it’s true? Is it flattery if just the sight of you, swollen with a babe and practically dripping milk, make my cock harden?” he asked, looking up at her with his chin rested on her stomach.

When her jaw slacked and her lips parted, he knew he had her attention in the way he needed. He moved up her body, pressing gentle kisses along her stomach and breasts as he did. Her uptick in breathing was bordering on panting as she watched him. His mess of curls tickled her skin just as his lips did.

“Can’t wait until it is my babe in your stomach. But I will love this one just the same,” he murmured against her skin.

“I am married, brother,” she whispered as she attempted to move his head away.

“You think the gods care for the law of man when they have crafted you for me?” he asked. His body did not budge at her insistent nudges.

“Jacaerys,” she whispered.

His hand flew up to grip her wrist. It did not hurt but it was a former grasp than Aemond ever had. In a moment her hand was being held to the mattress by his own, his head unmoving. His face was nestled comfortably in the crook of her neck where he inhaled deeply.

“You know you were made for me, little one, just as I have known it always. And you said yourself our uncle cares for your happiness, yet where is he? Why does he not tend to you as you prepare for him the greatest gift?” he murmured against her neck.

“He is busy,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as he once again inhaled her.

“The gods themselves would have to bind me to the earth in order to keep me from putting my cock in you whenever you needed,” he told her before nipping at her skin.

His free hand found it’s way to her left breast. She whimpered a bit under his touch, the pain she felt earlier mixing with a pleasure from how much he desired her. She could feel his smirk against her neck as he began rutting his hips against her lap. His hardened cock pressed painfully into her thigh.

She should tell him to move. She knew he would respect her desires. But how could she focus on any desire she held save for him? She had always loved Jacaerys as he loved her.

Her first memory was of Jace promising her she would be his Queen. He doted on her from the moment she was born. He had always told her she was his, made for him by the gods to be his perfect match, even after her betrothal. And while she understood the role she was meant to play in keeping the peace, she believe it too.

“What is this?” Aemond’s voice said from the door.

YN was about to answer him, to insist that despite what it looked like she had only been waiting for her maids to draw her bath. She could only hope he would understand. Instead, Jace sat up. He smirked at his younger sister before turning to face Aemond, his hand never leaving hers.

“I am doing your job, since apparently you do not find my sweet sister important enough,” he said to the blonde man.

“Do not speak to me of my wife,” Aemond said darkly. “She understands the nature of my position.”

“You do not speak to me of my sister,” Jace commanded. “She is beauty in all she is, she is carrying your child, and yet you do not wait on her hand and foot? Instead leaving her to rot in this room while you pour over your books and scrolls.”

“I am a prince you do not get to speak to me this way,” Aemond said angrily, though not as loud.

“And I am Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne!” Jace all but shouted. “I should have your cock removed since you do not use it as you should! Send you to the Wall for daring to deny my sister an existence of gluttonous pleasure!”

Aemond silenced himself and looked to his wife. His wife who, until this moment, he wasn’t aware could look at someone with such a burning desire. But she looked at Jacaerys the way he had once hoped they would looked at each other, when he thought there was hope they would love each other. He could see that for her, Jacaerys hung the moon and stars.

“Close the door and sit in that chair by the window,” Jace told Aemond.

Having no choice to comply, the older man did as asked. There was little doubt in his mind Jacaerys would send him to the Wall if for no other reason than to have YN to himself. And so, he shut the bedroom door and took a seat in the chair.

The bed was close enough he got a perfect side view of his wife. He could admit the sight of her displayed in such a manner stirred something inside him. He could feel his cock twitch at the sight of her full breasts, her rounded belly, but mostly? It was the way she wasn’t even concerned with him.

Her focus was solely on Jacaerys now. Her brother was back to pressing kisses against her body. It was the first time Aemond could see the faces she made with the slightest pleasure. How easily her face contorted the second Jacaerys took one of her nipples between his teeth was a sight he wished he could commit to memory.

“Some ground rules,” Jacaerys said after pulling away from her breast. He looked to Aemond. “Sit in that fucking chair until I tell you you’re allowed to move. Answer me when you’re spoken to. Stroke your dick or whatever, just do not leave that chair.”

“And if she asks for me?” Aemond asked him.

“She won’t,” was all Jacaerys offered him. But it was enough to make YN whimper beneath him. Aemond flushed as his cock twitched once again, hardening with every passing second.

Jacaerys turned to YN, smiling down at her. “And you, my beautiful, darling, sweet sister…all I want is your permission to love your body the way it is meant to be loved,” he said. His voice with her was soft and tender as opposed to how harsh and angry he was with Aemond.

“Jace,” she whispered. She began to turn to Aemond, but Jacaerys gripped her chin and kept her gaze on him.

“No, my queen, it is not about him. It is about you, and us. About you belonging to me, if you wish,” he whispered to her. His brown doe eyes made her melt before he sat up, finally releasing her hand to he could grab the bottom of his shirt.

All she could do is nod. She was speechless with the sight of him pulling off his shirt. His toned abdomen caused a gush of her arousal to pool between her legs.

She felt heat flood her cheeks when he removed the sheet from her lower half. Her face felt even hotter when he pushed her legs apart, eyes locking in on her cunt.

“Such a pretty pussy, baby,” he praised her, hands rubbing the inside of her thighs. “Doesn’t she have a pretty pussy, Uncle?”

For the first time, YN looked at him. Her wide eyes were heavy with lust. In all the nights they had spent together, he had never really allowed himself the chance to take in the beauty of her face. He wanted more. Needed more

“Yes,” was all he could manage to say. His eyes moved from her face to where Jace was touching her. In almost expert fashion, Jace removed his pants. His cock was longer than Aemond’s, thicker too. As husband and wife stared at the monstrous cock, they both couldn’t imagine how it would fit.

“Have you drank from these tits, Uncle?” Jace asked Aemond without turning his eyes from her pussy. He smirked at how wet his sister was, feeling more desire in him than he had ever felt before.

“Not yet,” Aemond choked out. His self restraint was out the window now. He pulled his cock from his trousers and gripped it in his hand.

“Seems fitting, I suppose. You were the first to fuck a babe into her, I shall be the first to drink from her,” Jacaerys smirked at the idea of claiming a part of her Aemond had not.

He laid his cock in between her slick folds, allowing it to rest against her clit while he leaned down and began suckling from her. His left hand held one tit while he suckled from the other. Her sweet milk flowed freely past his eager lips and onto his greedy tongue.

He moaned against her as he ground his hips against hers. Her slick aided his cock in sliding between her folds and creating a friction that caused her to whine out. She couldn’t hold the moans from her lips.

“Fuck,” Aemond whispered. His pupil was blown wide as he desperately stroked his cock. Pre-cum beaded on the head just to continuously be wiped away by a swipe of his cum.

With a loud pop, Jacaerys pulled off her tit. He kissed her hungrily. There was nothing he needed more than her. He couldn’t help himself. He pulled his hips back just far enough to readjust, pushing his cock into her. She groaned into the kiss, feeling the burn of stretching around him. His hips stilled when his cock was seated half way inside her.

He broke the kiss after several moments. He looked between her lips and her leaking tits. His cock throbbed at the sight.

“So beautiful,” he whispered. “So fuckable. So perfect on my cock.”

“Yours, Jacey, yours,” she muttered. She made a pointed effort to ignore her husband whimpering in his chair. The thought of him so hard at this sight made her pussy flutter around the cock inside her. “Want your fucking cock, Jacey. All of it.”

He kissed all over her face as he pushed further into her. She cried out his name repeatedly, moaning, begging for more in the same breath she cried it was too much. Jacaerys nearly busted inside her in that moment. Her full tits moving with just the slightest snap of his hips, her cock drunk expression written on her face, her pregnant stomach pushing against him.

With her beautiful sounds as encouragement, he began fucking into her with abandon. All that mattered to him was how perfect she felt around him. Her walls squeezed around his cock in a quiet desperation to keep him inside her. With every stroke, the tip pushed against the spongey part of her walls, causing her to cry out his name. She was more sensitive in her pregnancy, allowing for her orgasm to build quickly.

“Fuck, fuck,” she moaned out as the band inside her snapped and her orgasm washed over her entirely.

The gush of her release flooded over his cock. He wanted to hear her moans every day. It was all he could think about as his balls, heavy with his load, slapped against her ass. His grunts and groans of pleasure drowned her out until finally he cried out her name, spilling his seed deep inside her.

“Stop,” YN commanded Aemond after a few seconds.. He looked to her face desperately, obediently stopping his furious tugs of his cock just as he was on the verge of his own release.

“What do you wish, my queen?” Jace panted, pulling his still throbbing cock from her.

“Eat your spend from my cunt. Then when you pull away I wish Aemond to begin to fuck me, and you spit your seed into his mouth,” she told her brother, never looking away from Aemond. She watched as his cock twitched with anticipation. “I think that is what my husband wants, too.”

Jace smirked at her once more before looking to Aemond. “Come over here, then. Naked. My Queen wishes to enjoy you.”

Aemond had never moved so fast in his life. As Jace moved down his lover’s body, YN took her husband’s hand. It was a small moment of intimacy neither had allowed themselves before. Until tonight, a certain part of them remained duty. But now, there was no pretending.

Jacaerys lapped eagerly at her clit once he found his home between her thighs. She squirmed under his careful tongue, whimpering his name. Aemond felt desperate now, to make her replicate those sounds for him.

Jacaerys pulled away from her right before she came again. She was breathing heavy, eyes wide, as she looked down at him. Without breaking eye contact, he reached beside him and grabbed Aemond by his cock. Wordlessly, Aemond allowed himself to be lead, occasionally bucking his hips into Jacaerys’ hand. YN moaned at the sight.

With Aemond in position, his cock firmly pressed against her entrance, Jacaerys grabbed his uncle by the jaw and squeezed. Aemond instinctually opened his mouth. The brunette looked to his sister, who at this point was rubbing her own clit, before turning back to Aemond and spitting the mixture of his seed and YN’s release onto his waiting tongue. Just like a seasoned whore in Flea Bottom, Aemond swallowed eagerly.

“Tell her thank you for the gift she has bestowed in you,” Jacaerys whispered in Aemond’s ear. His hand moved to grasp his uncle’s cock, giving slow, lazy tugs. Between the heat of his wife’s pussy all but begging him to fuck her and the firmness of his nephew’s hold, it was almost painful to not begin to fuck her at a reckless pace.

“Th-thank you, for giving me a child,” Aemond stuttered out. Jacaerys began grinding against Aemond’s hip, his cock hardening with every passing moment.

“Apologize to her for not satisfying her enough,” the future king demanded. His eyes watched his sister’s fingers rubbing furiously against her clit, her body trembling. And then they traveled up her body. “Tell her what a goddess she is.”

“Such a goddess,” he whispered, looking down at her. “I am a fool for not worshipping every moment.”

“Mhmphh,” Jacaerys breathed out as he rutted against his uncle. “Slide your pretty cock into her and beg her to keep you. Beg our Queen to decide she wants to keep you when I marry her.”

As soon as Jacaerys’ hand fell away, Aemond buried himself to the hilt inside her pussy. But his hand was not unoccupied for long. He batted her hand away from her clit and replaced her fingers with his. He rubbed the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts against Aemond’s hip.

“Do not cast me aside,” Aemond begged her, his hips moving at breakneck speed as he pounded away at his wife’s pussy. “YN, my wife, please. Keep me by your side, fuck, fuck, and and I will worship you.”

“Slow yourself, match your thrusts to mine. Deeply,” Jacaerys whispered his ear. Aemond was quick to adjust his speed. He wanted to make both of them happy.

“Fuck,” YN whined out. Her thighs were trembling uncontrollably as once again she approached orgasm. “Want both of you. Want to be Queen. Want to be both yours,” she begged the two men. Her back arched as she screamed out, their names tumbling from her lips in a jumbled mess. Both men tried to maintain their movements as she rode out her eye.

Jacaerys came first, still sensitive from his first orgasm. His sticky spend painted Aemond’s pale hip before beginning to slide down the taut muscles and onto the mattress below. Aemond followed sooner after, his seed finding home deep inside his wife.

The three of them were breathing heavily. Jacaerys stepped back off the bed, finding a cloth so that he could wipe off Aemond’s hip. By the time the blonde prince had pulled out, his cock had softened. But neither man could avoid staring at her pussy as it leaked cum.

Aemond laid beside his wife, Jacaerys on the other. She giggled and pulled a sheet over their bodies.

“We shall wed in the Valyrian tradition, and our Uncle and I shall take turns fucking babe after babe into you,” Jacaerys whispered as he kissed her cheek.

“It is against the Faith, the law,” YN reminded her brother.

But Aemond saw the frown on her face and knew how much she wanted that future. And he wished for it too, wished for more nights in which the three of them could spend together. Something inside him shifted as he looked at the two of them. What was once a marriage to his dearest friend was now more. It was a chance at a happiness he would never have allowed himself.

“Lucky for us, we know the person responsible for the law,” he murmured as his hand rested on her stomach. “And I have it on good authority he wishes nothing more than to allow us this pleasure.”

She looked up at his face, her gaze soft. “Truly?” she whispered.

“Jacaerys is right. I have been a fool. A fool for not realizing the beauty that you are, the wonderful thing you are giving me,” he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “And this was the happiest I have ever seen you.”

“It is the happiest you have ever been either, dear husband,” she pointed out. “I have never seen you so responsive.”

Jacaerys rested his own again against her stomach, his finger tips grazing Aemond’s. “I am glad to have seen it from the both of you.”

“Marry her. And we shall all be together as we were tonight,” Aemond murmured. Jacaerys chuckled. “What?”

“Oh next time, I’m fucking your ass while you fuck her,” he smirking. “Or maybe we should see if both our cocks could fit in her.”

“Oh, I think she’s definitely a good enough girl to let us try. Aren’t you, my wife?”

She nodded eagerly before leaning up to kiss him. He hummed against her lips for just a moment before she pulled away and kissed Jacaerys.

When she pulled away, both men moved as close as possible to her and held her.

“I love you, sweet sister.”

Taglist: @alexagirlie

[curtwilde]

TW: Rape, violent language, islamphobia.

On Slide 3 you can see the vile genocidal fantasies of hindutva ghouls towards grieving Palestinian mothers and children, and yet they'll whine about safety of Hindu women just to demonize Muslim men. Please remember every accusation from the Hindutva genocidal majority is a confession.

Source

This is what hindutvavadis - even the soft sanghis here on tumblr - support and align themselves with. This is what they believe and what they vote for.

[elliesflower]

i saw you in a dream [7]

summary; it's winter break and that guitar has got to go.

chapter; 7/10 2.3k words

cw (per chapter); language, angst, TW: CAT >:(

an; hellaaaaurrrrrr i don't have much to say except ur all amazing and wonderful and thank u so much for loving this story so hard. i love u all more than words. (also sorry not much ellie in this chapter, next chap will be longer and most likely have smut teehee) ((also this isn't proof read so sorry if there's weird mistakes i'll go back nd fix later ok love u bye!!))

Your last interaction with Ellie had you feeling pretty defeated. You had thought that maybe you were getting somewhere—but now, with Cat in the picture, you were ready to give up.

“I’ll fucking kill her,” Dina threatened when you explained the whole story. You shook your head, laughing. “Seriously, she has no right to fuck with your emotions like that.”

“Dee, it’s fine. I wouldn’t call it ‘fucking with me,’ either. Relationships can be messy and break ups are even messier. You of all people should know that.”

“Don’t you fucking dare even mention that disgusting, vile creature,” she pretended to gag at the thought of her ex. All the verbal abuse she had to endure, you’re amazed she lasted so long with them in the first place. “But seriously. You guys had a vibe. That was fucked up of her to not even mention it. It obviously seemed like she was intentionally keeping it from you.”

You pursed your lips, looking down at your hands as you picked at your cuticles. 

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, shrugging your shoulders. You wanted to believe that Ellie wouldn’t do that to you. Realistically, you understood you barely knew her—the two of you had spent less than a full day together. Maybe it was silly to think she was letting you see her heart.

“No, no, don’t do that,” Dina pointed a finger at you accusingly. “Don’t do that hopeless romantic shit you always do. I’m telling you how it is.” 

“Okay, and maybe it is,” you agreed. “But—”

“Hello?! No ‘but’s!’ You need to forget about her. You don’t want to get tangled up in that mess, trust me,” she was speaking from experience, and you knew this. You wanted to believe Dina was right. Who would want to be caught up in lesbian ex-girlfriend drama? And yes, the lesbian part makes a difference. Perhaps it was just the adrenaline of a new crush—the yearning to be in a relationship, so strong you feel like you’d do anything, anything to be with that person, no matter what they’ve done, no matter what they say. Lust can be dangerous.

“Okay, okay,” you gave in. “I’ll leave it alone.”

Dina squinted at you curiously. She probably didn’t believe you, but it didn’t matter. You knew she had your back, always. She’d never do something you weren’t okay with, and she’d forgive you if you did go crawling back to Ellie. Which was still very much…up in the air. 

“That’s what I thought,” she said with a smirk, but it wasn’t very definitive.  

The next few days were…weird, to say the least. With Christmas quickly approaching, the amount of people on campus slowly thinned out—Dina included. She was heading east to be with her family for the holidays, which left you alone in your dorm for a few days. You spent most of the time aimlessly scrolling on your phone, confirming next term’s classes, and making last-minute holiday plans with your own family. It was all very…mundane. 

Which is a weird feeling; your outside life being so normal, while your brain was scrambling trying to make sense of your feelings about the whole Ellie situation. It had been over a week, and she hadn’t texted. Neither had you, but you weren’t sure what was left to say. You wanted to side with Dina, leave Ellie in the past and let Cat have her. 

But the other part of you—the hopeless, yearning sapphic—wanted to reach out. Every time you saw a short-haired redhead from the back, your heart rate increased. It was a little pathetic, if you were being honest, the way your heart fell when they’d turn around and it was not in fact Ellie coming to reconcile. It made you want to call her; want to see her; want to see if the two of you could really become something, after all; want to know what else spilled from her lips when she was high, and anything else she’d give you. 

It sure didn’t help that everytime you walked into your dorm you were stared down by the guitar you were really regretting buying instead of renting. Now that you didn’t have a….teacher, anymore, you were sure it’d just start collecting dust over there in the corner. 

“Fuck it,” you mumbled to yourself one day after you’d been staring at the case for far too long, deciding you were going to take it down to the student store and see what they’d offer you for it. 

The weather was bitterly cold, but it surprisingly wasn’t raining. You zipped your coat up all the way to your chin, readjusting the guitar strap over your shoulder as you walked across campus to the store. Today was the last day it’d be open before they closed for the holidays, so naturally the store was eerily empty, aside from the two students working behind the counter. 

You let your fingers trail across a few cute embroidered journals on your way up to the counter, where a very unenthusiastic student turned to greet you. 

“What can I help you with?” They asked flatly, resting their elbows on the wooden counter that separated the two of you. 

“Uh, I was hoping to see how much y’all would give me for this guitar,” you explained, hoisting the case up to the counter and unlocking it. Upon flipping the top, the worker gave out a low whistle of appreciation. 

“Has it ever even been used? It’s in perfect condition,” they said, grabbing the neck to pull it out and examine it. 

“Uh, just a handful of times…I took the class for one semester,” you explained, one hand subconsciously rising to rub the back of your neck sheepishly. 

“And you didn’t just rent one?” 

Okay, well damn. 

“Wasn’t thinking, I guess…” There’s nothing like a stranger confirming what you already knew to make you feel even worse about your initial purchase. They gave you an amused smile before leaning the guitar against the back of the counter.

“Give me a minute to run some numbers,” and luckily, they didn’t mention your stupid purchase again, and retreated to a computer. You leaned over the counter as well, pulling out your phone to mindlessly scroll. The electronic door chime sounded from behind you and the other employee shouted a greeting across the store. You didn’t pay it any attention until you heard a very distinct voice respond.

“Oh my gosh, it is freezing out there!” 

Your whole body tensed, your grip on your phone becoming tighter as she started to chatter away—of course her striking presence had the other employee out of their seat, smile plastered across their face as they made their way over to continue chatting with…her. 

Of fucking course. 

The whole point of coming here was to get this little part of Ellie out of your room—and now, an arguably bigger part of Ellie just came waltzing through the doors. You made it a point to keep looking at your phone, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of your attention. Even though she definitely had it, how could she not? Her voice was sickeningly sweet, even though it somehow made you feel sour, resonating over the quiet music playing in the store.  

“Elliott, you are such a riot!” She laughed from behind you. Her vernacular was straight out of a sixties romance movie, and you wondered briefly if that just added to her charm. You’d known girls like her—you know the ones who have to swear up and down that they’re not like other girls, when in reality, they are like clones roaming the earth. They all have the same cadence, the same attitude, the same god complex. Sometimes you wonder what it would be like to be so blissfully ignorant. 

“Alright,” the clerk said after another grating minute of you trying to remain undetected. “This is the best I can do for you.” They at least had the decency to look apologetic as they slid you a scribbled note. You blinked down at the number. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you mumbled. The offer was less than half of what you originally paid for it. Not that you were expecting a miracle, but this was a little insulting. “You said it was in perfect condition…”

“I know,” they agreed, putting up their hands defensively. “There’s only so much I can do. I have to go by the school’s policies.” 

You frowned at the note for a moment, wishing nothing more than to go back in time and never sign up for that stupid guitar class. Or even if you did, you wished you’d never seen that stupid flier on that stupid tree on this stupid campus—maybe then you wouldn’t be stuck with your heart in your throat, choked up listening to Ellie’s ex-girlfriend slash roommate filling up the room with her stupidly charming personality. 

Wait a second, did she leave? Her voice disappeared, and the second clerk was returning back behind the desk. Maybe you should—

“Oh, c’mon,” she was peering over your shoulder in an instant, invading your space and making you flinch. Her floral perfume overwhelmed your nose, her black and silver bracelets tinkling as she examined the note on the counter. “We can do better than that, no?” Her arm was pressing your bicep, she was so close to you, you could hear her breathing and see her perfectly styled hair framing her sharp cheekbones. You were so taken aback by her boldness, by her invasiveness, you found yourself nodding.

She looked over at you, and her teeth were like pearls, shiny and probably not real. You just blinked at her, acutely aware that your expression was most likely not very kind. 

“Look, Cat,” the clerk started, and of course they knew her name. “You know I have to follow university protocols for these kinds of things.”

“C’mon, Dakota,” and yeah, of course she knew their name too. “There’s nothing you can do? For old times sake?” She leaned onto her elbows, resting her chin in her hands with a dopey look on her face. Good god, is this a joke? If so, it wasn’t very funny, because Dakota was now suppressing a grin, grabbing the paper off the counter before glancing at you briefly. 

“Let me see what I can do,” they smiled, returning to the computer. You wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Not that it would make much of a difference, anyways. You were pretty much invisible until Cat showed up anyways. 

“Well, that’s more like it!” Cat grinned, crossing her arms and leaning a hip against the counter, facing you. “Nice to see you again, by the way.” An afterthought. 

You forced a smile back, your deeply embedded people-pleasing outweighing your disdain. 

“Cat,” you went straight for the formalities. You wanted to get out of here as quickly as humanly possible. “Likewise.”

“You left so quickly last week I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye!” She exclaimed, reaching out to grab your shoulder. It was like she was from another planet. “Ellie’s been talking about you.” You really hoped her otherworldliness didn’t give her the power of supersonic hearing, because she may have heard your heart fall into your stomach at the mention of Ellie’s name. But perhaps, she still did anyway, because she was cocking her head ever so slightly, crossing her arms over her chest again. 

“Oh, yeah I wasn’t…feeling great,” and it wasn’t a complete lie. You’re amazed you didn’t throw up all over the both of them the minute Cat got all handsy with Ellie. Cat still looked at you sideways, like she was waiting for you to respond to her comment about Ellie. No way she was talking about you with Cat. It had to be a ruse. You chewed at your bottom lip nervously, averting your gaze to fidget with your hands rather than be trapped. But she wasn’t giving up.

“Well, she’s been going on and on about how she was so happy she could help you pass your final,” she said, and half of her words were punctuated with a hand gesture. Your heart wa thrumming in your ears.  “She said you were a quick learner and so eager to play guitar. I just didn’t take you for a quitter, the way she talks about you!” 

Talks. Present tense. Fuck, she was good at this. 

“A quitter?” 

“Well, you’re pawning off your guitar,” she said matter-of-factly. You furrowed your brow, but quickly let it smooth out. 

“I never planned to play guitar long-term. Ellie knew that.” Or at least you thought she did. Cat was making it really fucking hard to tell what was real or not. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, before she was standing up straighter and shaking a few jet-black tendrils of hair from her face. 

“Well, then,” and she was no longer holding back. Her eyes very blatantly scanned you, up and down before she continued. “Let’s see what we can get you for this guitar then, yeah?” 

And as if on cue, Dakota returned to the counter. They walked straight to Cat as if you had never existed in the first place. 

“Alright, how’s this?” He slid the note over, and the number was significantly higher. You felt like a second class citizen. You were fuming—not that they would notice as they looked into each other’s eyes like they were Romeo and Juliet or something. How is it that Cat can weasel her way into everything that’s yours? 

Hah. As if Ellie was ever yours.

[shirotaangel]

࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔ Magdalena: Black Dragons

- SCENE I, ACT II

- SYNOPSIS: Koko will do whatever it damn takes to buy you.

- PREVIOUS: Scene I

tw : human-trafficking and purchase, smoking, communism, lowkey blackmail, Koko is a clever bitch.

╰┈➤ KOKONOI LINGERED BY THE STALL of the pawnshop, bent down to look at the gold on display behind the glass. He recognized most of them are white gold from Arabia, some he knew by baser instincts is actually iron covered in shimmering yellow paint.

He hummed and stood upright, stretching his slender back.

It was a little off of five, the sky already switching to purple. He came specifically since he thought it'll be less hotter at dawn.

Kyoto is quite hot in these days of October,  the sun can almost be seen melting the lacquer off of the beams of the ancient palaces. A sight to see. But Koko is never one for sightseeing, anyway.

He came here for you. But before that, there were steps. He hated it. It's an inconvenience, really, but the more he thought about it, it brings a smile to his face.

That made you more desirable. This long, dragging process in order to breathe the same air as you - Ah.

"Excuse me," Kokonoi rapped his leather-gloved knuckles on the glass of the pawnshop, "Where can I inquire about Tourism?"

"On the right, second door," the man bent over a spread of silver rings replied, "wait your turn."

Kokonoi hummed and went into the green-lit hallway of the building. The plaster was peeling off the walls, and a ceiling fan buzzed in Kokonoi's ear, producing more noise than the cool air he needed.

Hooking a finger in his collar to release tension, he sat down on the rusting stool by the fish tank, clicking his tongue. Goldfish, eight of them, swam in dark green water.

They're lucky. They might die in a few days but at least they die cool, comfortable deaths. Koko rolled his eyes. They may lose their lives but he lost something more. No amount of goldfish lives will account for that.

Actually no, he hasn't lost everything yet. Yet. If he has, he won't be here in Kyoto, of all places. He hated Kyoto. He always thought he'd be caught dead before he's seen stepping her ever again.

Kokonoi crossed his legs, staring impatiently at the door in front of him, the second in a rotw here in the green hallway. The door is not a door. It's a rectangle space with a flower-printed plastic as it's door. Cheap, but it makes do.

A pair of Americans exited it, laughing and satisfied. Koko pitied them. They're used to the cold in their Western country. Maybe they'll die first before the goldfish does.

Kokonoi strolled into the flower cover of the door, raising his thin brow at the vile smell of cigarettes in the small, cramped room.

Tourism posters in red inks were pasted to hide the ruined walls, stacks of dusty folders were scattered on the tiled floor. Koko took a seat in front of the table, where a small radio played something Luciano Pavarotti beside a grumbling mini fan.

Koko noticed on the right wall hung a yellowing photo of Mao Zedong.

"You're Communist?" Koko asked the woman behind the table wearing an orange qipao.

The woman, maybe somewhere between fifty and sixty, was flipping through a black binder for accounts.

"Force of habit to have that picture," she raised her head, "I was born when the CCP still lived."

"But you speak Japanese," Koko reasoned, tapping his leather-clad fingers on the glass of the table. There are red tickets behind it written in Cantonese.

"I speak all the languages, boy," the woman snorted, "you should've done the same - it could've gave you better chances of winning my little Oiran over."

Kokonoi raised his brow, challenged, "she told you?"

"Why not? We'revery close." The woman raised her sagging arms, "if that girl wasn't so pretty, she could've passed as my daughter."

"Of course she did," Kokonoi muttered bitterly, sticking his pointy tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"Come now," the woman smiled, "why? What do you want with my beautiful girl? She has no time for you. A hundred kings are waiting for her as we speak."

"Half of them not as profitable as I am," Kokonoi answered, tilting his clever head, "where is she right now."

"Sleeping," the woman puffed out acrid smoke from her bony nose.

"Let me see her."

"Why?"

"Because I want her," kokonoi pressed, leaning his weight on an elbow he put on the table, "you out of everyone know what the benefits are when the most beautiful woman in the world is in your side."

"Exactly," the woman looks at him pointedly, "so why do you think I'll give her away just like that? Do you know how many men, powerful men, go through that door to pay me millions for her?"

"One of them me," Kokonoi says defiantly,  "madame, I'm here for a business proposition."

The woman looked at him suspiciously, tapping her cigarette on an ashtray the shape of a dragon head.

"Go on," she urged.

Kokonoi smiled, leaning coolly on his chair. He made this offer days ahead, filled the loopholes and cracks that might fault his argument. It's flawless. He was proud of himself for being so smart. So clever.

"The Oiran's men, all three thousand two hundred and four of them, made you a rich woman, haven't day?" Koko said calmly, proud again for his research, "but not a single one of them are patrons."

The woman glared at him. At this, Koko knew he struck a nerve. He sent one of his men from his division to bribe the older girls in the brothel. They liked to be paid more for information than for sex.

Knowledge, Kokonoi knew, is the divine currency. Oh, if only this woman knew how rich he is right now.

"As Treasurer and Captain, Black Dragon earns a total of three million yen per month, a maximum of five if the - " Kokonoi tilts his head, grinning, "weather is good."

"Go on," she flicked her head.

Kokonoi couldn't believe it - how easy it is to have the woman who owned you to lean towards him in interest, seconds away from giving him her terms of agreement.

He found that, no matter the amount t of money she receives from the you, it's unstable income. He learned you were bedridden from a fever two years ago. The brothel was forced to sell ten girls in the Vietnamese black market just to go by until you healed..

Roppongi also, is an untrustworthy finance. The connection between it and Kyoto, Koko knew, is illegal. The imports exchanged are always delayed because the police trace the money transfers -  another unstable income.

Only Koko can save them all.

"Shiba Taiju, tenth Generation Commander of the Black Dragons, will be your patron," Kokonoi raised his hands in welcome, "finally you have something to make your business a less bit illegal."

There. He said it. Kokonoi loved the shifting of the woman's wrinkled expression, all of which leads only to one.

"Fine," she groaned, "fine."

Kokonoi, triumphant, smiled and laced his fingers over his knee. The woman sighed, deflating back on her chair.

"But you know her, don't you?" She raised her brow, "my pretty, pretty girl?"

Kokonoi was silent for a moment, a flash of memory crossing his head. It made him smile and frown, excited and furious. You're beautiful, the most beautiful he's ever seen.

"Come to Black Dragons," he told you.

"Why should I?" You asked, glowing like a beautiful torch in your red cheongsam.

His answer was what all the women in the world would come running down to grasp, to eat.

"Because you'll be free," Kokonoi said.

Kokonoi offered you something your circumstance can never give. He dangled it in front of your perfect face, all you needed to say was -

"No," you told him.

That was it. Kokonoi could never forget how he bit his lip until it bled when he rode to Taiju at the back of Inupi's bike, leaving the Jansou where you poised and sat by the Mahjongg table you played on with him.

Koko looked at the brothel madame, "of course I do."

"Then you know she'll say no," the woman says, lighting herself another cigarette, "that girl is more beautiful than anyone and anything - it's a given her reasons aren't like most, too."

He knows that. Of course he fucking does. Kokonoi shrugged, "when can I see her?"

"Now."

Kokonoi smiled. You don't want freedom. It's even possible you might not want anything at all.

He remembers it, that look of yours. The endless depths of nothingness swimming under you perfect, perfect skin. Try as he might, he can't really do anything about it.

But he'll get you. Oh yes. He'll get you.

copyright belongs to @shirotaangel

[moth-yea]

Ookay abt the animal packers drama (TW FOR ABLEISM/ABLEIST LANGUAGE, ANTI THERIAN, PHYSICAL THERIAN, AND HOLOTHERE LANGUAGE. TW FOR MENTIONS OF ZOOPHILIA/DISCOURSE AROUND ZOOPHILIA. THE TOPICS WILL BE SEEN IN THE SCREENSHOTS IM SHOWING.)

Here's some screenshots of comments on a yt community post from a popular creator telling people to dni if you support the person who makes the animal packers (image id in alt text)

I'm speechless right now. Genuinely. It's all making my mind spin. For now I'm just going to say a few things, might add more in rbs later.

1: Minors can have packers (imo). They're for dysphoria, there's really nothing wrong with them. Maybe it's sort of iffy, which is understandable and I completely respect beings who think that minors shouldnt be allowed to have packers, but honestly I think teenagers are allowed to have packers if it helps them so much.

2: This isn't zoophilia. In any sense. This being was making and selling these purely as species affirming gear. It wasn't advertised as anything related to zoophilia/beastiality. They (from my knowledge) weren't even hyper-realistic.

3: The last person targeting physical therians and therians who experience delusions is using logic. I just can't fathom. Being a physical therian and/or having delusions as a therian doesn't make you a bad being.

4: I obviously respect you if you personally think this (animal packers) is a bit of a strange thing to do, I obviously respect you if you personally don't want to have an animal packer. That's fine, and that's just your opinions and feelings. The only thing I would criticize someone for is if they are calling something that makes another being feeling better about their body disgusting, vile, zoophilic when it isn't, "too far", the reason why therians get so much hate along with physical therians/ therians that expirience delusions/holotheres, or pornographic.

That's all we have to say for now, we'd appreciate it if you add your thoughts/insight in rbs/comments (not forcing of course, you're free to do what you wish with this post).

[collectingmuses]

The Last Boy Scout  (  1991  )  sentence  starters  taken  from  the  1991 action  movie.  Violence, self harm mention, and very harsh language TW. Feel free to change pronouns as needed. "__" spaces designate character names for you to add in.

"Nobody likes you. Everybody hates you. You're gonna lose. Smile, you fuck."

"I'm thinking about smoking some cigarettes."

"Wrong place, wrong time. Nothing personal."

"That's what you think. Last night I fucked your wife."

"It just happened, __."

"Bit late for a stroll, don't you think?"

"Coulda happened to anybody. It was an accident, right? You tripped, slipped on the floor and accidentally stuck your dick in my wife."

"I'm not your fuckin' son."

"You think you're so fuckin' cool, don't you?"

"All right, you want it in the chest, or the head?"

"I'm gonna dance a jig, I swear to Christ."

"Shut up, fuckface."

"I'm fuckface. He's asshole."

"Better give up, __. We're dealin' with a couple of geniuses here."

"Water is wet, the sky is blue, women have secrets."

"Yeah, that's what your wife said."

"What'd you do last night?"

"I seem to have dropped my cigarette. May I have another?"

"You touch me again, I'll kill ya."

"At least I liked the guy she was fuckin'. He was my best friend."

"All private detectives are scumbags."

"What are you, my father?"

"I wish that water wasn't wet, I wish the sky wasn't blue and I wish that I didn't still love my wife."

"Right now, I'm trying to figure out which one of you looks the most like my dick."

"__ attacks his job with a certain exuberance."

"He's still in a good mood, __. Kick him again."

"You know what? Fuck you, __. I was lonely!"

"Why don't you just go ahead and hit me?"

"So now you know my name?"

"I told you, if you ever touch me again, I'll kill you."

"Can we do a formal introduction here?"

"Who gives a fuck? You're the bad guy, right?"

"I am the bad guy."

"I'm supposed to be trembling with fear, something like that?"

"Yeah, I believe in love; I also believe in cancer."

"I figure you gotta be the dumbest guy in the world, __."

"Where are you goin'?"

"Okay, what would __ do at a time like this? He'd kill everybody and smoke some cigarettes."

"If you go any faster we're gonna travel back in time."

"You know, for a dancer, he is one hell of a detective."

"This the only kind of music they play in this joint?"

"What, is everybody stupid around here?"

"__, how long have we been friends?"

"You still want the job?"

"500 bucks is 500 bucks."

"You wanna be left alone, don't you? I'll be in the kitchen, over here."

"Good morning, gentlemen. Is there a problem?"

"Too risky, I might start thinkin' about you and slash my wrists."

"Wow, an actual house. I was thinking a cave with… skulls and shit."

"Be prepared, son. That's my motto. Be prepared."

"Oh, you're a lot of fun to be with."

"Go buy yourself a new pair of pants."

"Looks like our evidence got blown up. I think we might have to get some more."

"Just won't let go, huh? You're like a dog with a frisbee."

"Push this vile fuck off the road, man!"

"I've got bad news and bad news."

"Give me the bad news first."

"Since it's the '90s, you don't just smack a guy in the face. You say something cool first."

"I'm drawing them a picture."

"It's called a vocabulary. You got one of those?"

"Sorry, my subscription to JUGGS magazine ran out."

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Hey, that's not funny, man. I almost bought it there!"

"Tragic loss to the art world, let me tell ya."

"Hey flash, rescue attempt?"

"You got friends? When did this happen?"

"Okay, now that's not polite."

"You're a real bastard, ya know that, __?"

"This ain't no game, flash. Real guns, real bullets. It's dangerous."

"Danger's my middle name."

"She gets evidence to use against 'em, right?"

"What I'm going to do is count to three. Then I'm going to put a bullet in that door."

"The truth is a beautiful thing."

"If I were a cat, I'd purrrrrr."

"Hi, you're nobody."

"Shhh, don't tell anyone."

"Do you want to get kicked off the planet?"

"Water's wet, sky's blue...and ol' Satan Claws, __, he's out there and he's just getting stronger."

[mahojelly92]

The Night that Changed Us

First fic! Please tell me what you think! <3

TL;DR: You're at a party and you have something harrowing to tell your best friend, Schlatt. You've been keeping it from him for a while and it's finally time.

Inspired by @seufauw , I absolutely love your work!

18+, minors please DNI.

⚠️ TW: Language, mild su!cide, r@pe and dépression.

The song Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer drums in my ears as I make my way to the back deck, the flood of voices slowly disappearing as I struggle to open the door. There's no one out here except for me, braving the cold alone. This was the only place I could escape to. Freezing air hits my skin as I step out into the midnight sky. I wrap my hands around myself and shiver. The chill rushes through my legs, making my teeth chatter. Wearing this dress was a bad idea.

My body is freezing except for my face, which is hot and wet with tears. I wipe them, hating myself for even thinking about going out tonight. I sob quietly as memories of him flash into my mind, his frame painfully weighing me down as his hands force me to the ground. I shake my head, trying to level myself so I can go back in there. I should just leave. But I can't. Schlatt brought me here.

Coming to this party was a mistake. When Jay invited me this morning, I knew that I should have followed my gut and stayed home. But now I'm here, reliving the fucking vile memories of what that man did to me. The smell of booze, the maze of bodies, the pounding music. It all brings me back to him, in that moment, using me. I suddenly get angry, blaming Jay for not caring. But how could he know? He wasn't aware of any of it. And hopefully he never will be.

I take a shaky breath, trying to center myself. I look out into the dark abyss, making out silhouettes of the forest trees. They hug the edge of the house in rows, their snow caps blurring into homogeneous white orbs as I cry.

I met him at a small bar with Schlatt. He had sweet talked me into buying me a beer. Schlatt and I had spilt up earlier to go talk with his friends.

That man was funny, charming and sarcastic. He swept me off my feet, enticing me into his world. Before I knew it, our quick banter turned into hours of chatting. I remember that I had gone to the bathroom at one point and came back to sit at the bar with him. I began to drink the beer he got for me. The next thing I know, I'm lying naked on the bathroom floor, shivering and wracked with delirium. My friend stares down at me, petrified. She brought me home that night. She swore she would never tell anyone what happened, not even Jay.

It's always the same. Why did I think it would be different this time? I close my fists tight and open them again, staring at them with a familiar numbness, my fingers growing stiff and red. You know this. I tell myself. Every time, you think you can handle it.

But no, not this time. Maybe not ever.

The wind picks up and I curse under my breath, my cheeks drying quickly, fresh ones replacing them. I could just freeze out here and never see the light of day again. That would be nice. Death would be better than this living hell. I close my eyes, breathing heavily. God, what a nightmare I am. And what a fool I was to trust him.

My breath hitches as I sob again, another wave of pain eating at me. I breathe in and bawl up my fists. Fuck. I'm okay, right? Can I make it tonight? Tears trail down my face, falling towards the icy wood planks beneath me.

I can't do this.

Suddenly I hear the door creak open and I snap my head back. Music rises and falls as Jay struggles with the door. He chuckles, stumbling as he makes his way through. His hair is disheveled in the moonlight and his shirt is unbuttoned, showing a sliver of his chest.

"Damn, what the hell is up with this thing?" He murmurs and chuckles, fighting with the door and pushing it further open. It swings shut and latches, drowning out the noise from inside. I quickly wipe my tears, standing up straight as he walks over and stands next to me, looking at me curiously with that stupid smirk.

I force a chuckle, sniffing and clearing my throat. I take in his lax demeanor, his hands in his pockets. He shivers slightly and leans in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and cinnamon.

"Where were you? I was looking for you for like, twenty minutes. Had to ask Charlie, of all people, where you ran off to." He snickers. His breath leaves a trail of condensation. "That dumbass couldn't even find his beer earlier."

He leans back and rocks on his heels, staring at me.

I sigh and tighten my fists again, my nails digging into my palms. Stay calm.

"I just needed some air."

"Really?" He asks, still shivering. "You felt like coming out here? In the freezing cold?" There's a hint of slyness in his questions, the typical know-it-all tone he so often exudes.

I looked up at him this time, his eyes illuminated by the porch light.

"Yeah." I mumble, frowning, feeling my chest tighten. I cross my arms, looking straight towards the backyard.

A brief moment of silence falls between us. The constant sway of wind and the muffled voices from behind us fill the air. My face grows hot again. All I can think about is that man's hands. His grimy, stupid, ugly hands.

"Hey toots. Look at me." A gasp catches in my throat as my eyes find his. His words are tender and soft, despite the frigid sir around us. Jay has never said 'toots' to me before.

"What's going on? You're acting fucking strange." He asks, a hint of concern in his voice. "You know I don't like secrets." His New York accent is noticeably thicker in the cold.

I run a hand through my hair, the silky strands like icebergs. I swallow nervously, shifting my weight.

I can't tell him.

"It's nothing, Jay. I'm just tired."

My voice wavers and I swallow again. The dryness in my throat only ropes me in more. I look down at my shoes. I can't do this, not tonight.

Do not fucking cry.

Jay looks up at the sky and scratches his mutton chops.

"Really? I don't buy it." He turns his head towards me and stares, his eyes searing holes into the side of my head. He places his hands in his pockets and waits.

Damn, he knows me too well. I feel my heart beat rapidly as he observes me patiently. My eyes cloud with tears and my hands shake even more in the cold. I break down, covering a hand over my mouth as I sob.

Jay is right beside me now, extending his arms out to embrace me. His warmth is a relief in this weather, only making me cry harder. I turn towards him and bury my face in his chest.

"I can't. I don't want to..." I weep and shake, feeling every emotion pour through me.

"Hey, hey...." He says softly, smoothing my hair down. "You don't have to say anything. I'm here, you know that. I just... don't like seeing you like this."

I pull back and wipe my face, feeling the snot run down my lip. I think for a moment, sighing angrily at myself.

Why should I keep this from him? He's my best friend. He deserves to know.

I relax in his firm grasp, feeling his warm body pressed up against mine, his sweet scent swirling around my head. I take in a deep breath, steadying myself. Jay's still holding onto me, his hands lingering on my back.

"Jay... You remember when Jessica took me home that night? When we were at the mixer with your friends?" My voice falters. "Do you know why I left with her?"

He shifts his gaze away from me, deep in thought. "No...?"

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "Well, it wasn't because I was tired, or even drunk for that matter. It's because...."

I grip onto his shirt, feeling dizzy at the thought of saying it out loud.

Jay holds onto me tighter. "Just say it. You're freaking me out. "

"It's because I was raped."

My words hang in the air, a throbbing pain knawing at my insides. I stare at him, searching for any kind of answer.

Jay's face falls and he hugs me tightly. We stay like this for what seems like an eternity. He gradually holds me tighter, squeezing me up against his chest. His shoulders begin to shake.

"Jay?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah?"

I pull back and see tears running down his face.

"Jay..." His name lingers on my tongue, trying to find a purpose. I swallow. "You didn't know..."

"No, I fucking didn't." He utters angrily and pulls away from me, pacing over to the edge of the deck. I suddenly feel cold and bare, depraved of the comfort that had just enveloped me. He places a hand on his hip and rubs his face with the other, taking in my words. His back is towards me, his posture stiff.

"Please don't be mad." I choke out, bringing my arms flush against my sides.

He turns his head, blinking rapidly. "Fuck, man. I'm not mad. I just wish...."

He starts to cry softly, holding his temples with his fingers. "I wish you had told me sooner."

I run up to him and hug him tightly, sobbing into his shirt.

"I know." I mumble.

"I just couldn't bring myself to say it. I trust you, Jay, more than anybody in the world, but I was so fucking scared. "

He lifts a hand from my back, hesitantly placing it on my cheek. It's soft and big and warm, and I melt into his touch with a small sigh. I look up at his sunken face, his eyes glazed over and shining with tears.

"Never keep that shit away from me again. You hear me? You matter too much."

All I can do is nod.

"Fuck, if some dickhead does that to you again, I swear to god I will bash his head in." He curses with gritted teeth and turns away from me, his eyes filled with hurt and rage. I cry and touch his cheek, trying to bring him back to me.

"I'm sorry." I choke out. "I'm so sorry."

Jay turns and his eyes soften. He leans into me slowly, his warm breath spreading over my face. He kisses my forehead.

"It's not your fault. It never was."

We stand there in each other's arms, the wind biting at our skin.

The music inside fades and people start leaving. Charlie pops his head out the door. "Hey guys-- oh, sorry." We pull back slightly and look up at him. He laughs nervously and gives us a small smile. "I was just gonna say that people are heading out. Finish up what you're doing. Just wanted to say goodnight." We say goodnight quickly, not wanting to break away from the moment just yet.

Charlie goes back inside and the door latches again.

I look up at Jay. "Thank you. I don't know what I would do without you."

He smiles down at me and wipes a stray tear from my red cheeks. He presses another kiss to my forehead.

He inhales sharply, choosing his words carefully. "Hey, if you need some time to process all this, I get it. I won't force you to go to another party if that means..." He trails off, the unspoken words lingering in the air. His eyes trail over my face, noting my fragile state. "You know I'd do anything for you, right?"

I nod, wiping the last of my tears away and smiling up at him. I pull back, sliding my hands down his arms and placing them in his warm hands timidly, wanting to feel his comfort for as long as possible.

He smiles wearily and squeezes my hands. "Good. Now let's get out of here before they lock us out."

I start towards the door. Jay holds onto my hand, following me inside. The warmth of the house engulfs us as we make our way through the living room past the few lingering bodies.

I smile to myself. This time, the voices aren't so overwhelming.

I can finally breathe.

[th1nkingouttloud]

Hiii!! This is in intro for my acc :)

Im a minor and taken so please no gross or vile comments!!

This is mainly a venting acc

My style is sorta grungy ig

I enjoy painting and music!

I’m Omni and have a WONDERFUL gf<3

I love volley ball and contemporary dance!

I love bats and bugs 🐛

I’m an infp ⭐️

DO NOT BE RASIST, HOMOPHOBIC, FAT PHOBIC OR USE ANY RUDE AND INEXCUSABLE LANGUAGE TOWARDS A COMMUNITY OF PEOPLE!!

TW FOR THE STUFF BELOOOWWWW

This acc will talk about subjects like :

dr*g use, SH, SA, @n@ and some more traumatic things so please don’t look at my page unless your okay with this things!! I don’t want to get T worded so please just block instead of reporting :D🫶🏻

feel free to add my snap if you want to see more SH pics! It’s “soggynoddles0” (don’t ask😭)

I’m 5’7 and about 140 - 135 lbs, my GW is 100 and my UGW is 95 - 90 lbs :)

Have a lovely rest of your day!!

[chao-thicc-hcs]

Hi, how are you? I read your work, “It hurts when I realize I’ll never mean that much to someone, and it’s all my fault”, and I would like to request a sequel? Could you please include sanzu, rindou, baji and mikey? It also doesn’t have to be those characters, you can choose whoever, but I’d love to see sanzu especially! Thank you for your hard work and if you take the time to consider this! Love your works and small note, for English not being your mother language, it seems near perfect!❤️❤️

Thank you so much for your kind words, anon! I hope my future works will bring the same amout of joy as now!

And sorry for the delay!

I won't include Mikey and Baji, I don't rlly have ideas for them

It hurts when I realize I’ll never mean that much to someone, and it's all my fault. - the sequel [x reader]

ft. kakucho hitto, shinichiro sano, ran haitani, shion madarame + sanzu haruchiyo, rindou haitani

; when the turn tables. once, you were nothing to them, despite all of your efforts, now, fed up with all the pain they made you go through, they became nothing to you. ;

genre: heavy angst, no comfort at all (only fluff at rindou's ending)

tw!!: gn!reader, one-sided firendship/relationship, gun pointing, mentions of abuse, bullying, mentions of blood, abuse, cheating, reader snapping at the end, murder, mentions of suicide, alcohol problems, drug abusing, seizures, self-harm, necrophilia

kakucho (sequel).

Never in his life people have been so important to him, so important that their words pierced like a pitchfork.

He knew he was a villain, he knew he hurt innocent people, and this has never bothered him until now. So, how could you, a mere citizen, make him feel sick to his guts, make him tear up, cry, and coop himself up in a tiny room filled to the brim with dirty laundry.

Something deep in him knew you were special, despite all of the years denying you and assuming you're vile. In the end his anger issues and trust issues won, but at what cost?

You were able to help him, eradicate his pain and suffering, color his life and bring some joy. However, he missed his chance and now he's left only with the shotgun and cigarettes in his hand.

shinichiro (sequel).

He knew he hurt you and went over your limits, so it didn't shock him you were never willing to forgive him.

It was understandable, he left a deep wound that led to you losing your spark, miserable and insecure even until today and refusing to let others near you, embarassed to even show your face. He made you cry and isolate yourself as excruciating thoughts of ''never being good enough'' were flashing through your mind all these years.

He lost your trust for people that don't even reach up to him anymore, he doesn't even remember them himself.

Sano was smoking in front of your school, carefully watching how you were sitting under a tree, using your laptop and munching on your lunch. He was smiling at the sight of you tapping with your fingers on the device and taking your time to think of what to write down, even after the awkward encounter.

As he finished the cigarette, Shinichiro glanced once more at your figure, running towards the school entrance. He chuckled and turned around heading to his shop.

. . . .

Realizing his fate laying down on the floor as blood was pouring out of his head, the muffled police and ambulance sirens getting weaker as he starts losing his consciousness, Shinichiro was happy you were one of the last people he saw this day.

But you were not happy that your last goodbye with him was with his cold body in a coffin.

ran (sequel)

To his surprise he got over it pretty quickly, cursing the day he cried in front of you, instead of just killing you and that twink of a guard. He claims that he's gotten over it all, but even after months this encounter is still causing him random anger outbursts, driving him to insanity and even a desire to kill his own brother just to alleviate his anger. Ran seemed way more erratic, unstable and quick to anger as days passed by. The man tried to ease this by sleeping with women, but lowered his guard and ended up used by every single one of them.

Now he knew what it was like, being used up and then thrown on the ground, laughed at and left overthinking everything from the past weeks with a bottle of liquor and puffy, sleepless expression.

He also lost custody of his child and the mother filed a restraining order against both of them after he hit her and his child.

Ran stalked you, waiting for the perfect day to get his revenge. However you're not stupid, you knew he would be a pain in the ass and hired a guard, who works for another, albeit small, powerful mafia.

He deleted all of his social media, stopped going that much outside and settled down to work from home, eradicated all evidence of his exsistence, just so you think he's dead or just dissappeared, lower your guard and blunt your intuition. He bought extentions, dyed his hair to match them, and dressed blandly. Eventually he was able to abduct you and lock you in his basement, turning you into his favourite toy.

Even after your heart stopped beating, he was still enjoying the feeling of you between his thighs.

Is this what insanity feels like?

shion. (sequel)

His mind was still conscious while you were assaulting him, ruthlessly impaling him with the sharp item in your hand. He was able to process a glimpse of the things you were doing to him, a tiny teardrop going down his cheeks, as his eyes lost all color. He attempted to reach for your chin and feel you for the last time, but this is when you did the fatal blow that ended his life.

You opened your leather backpack and took out the food you bought before, casually sitting on his lifeless body, eating as the burger buns soaked the blood on your hands. ''It tastes better with a nice view.'' you mumbled.

Couple of years passed and you were sitting there, looking at your new lover, who happened to resemble Shion immaculately. The hair, the stern look, the physique. All the same. But at the same time radically different in spiritual terms. His demeanor meek and gentle. You felt the chills every time you looked in his eyes for longer than 2 seconds, reminiscing your past with the blonde.

It felt weird, anxiety creeping on your bones and nerves when he approaches you, still not over your abusive ex, the resemblance was uncanny. And the memories of you almost beheading him oftentimes flashed through your mind, what matters is that nobody will ever find out. You have your own tricks on how to get away with murder.

sanzu (+sequel)

Your mind was going in all shades of the rainbow as Sanzu was screaming at you in gibberish, equally as high as you.

He managed to get you into taking drugs with him so it could be easier to mentally damage you and chain you to himself. He succeeded, you were addicted to him and his pills, waiting eagerly everyday for your dose of brief embarking in another universe. Your brain was fried and you were on the verge of blacking out, just like every night. You don't know why aren't you already used to it. His screeching pounding on the inside of your skull, your eyes bloodshot red from the lack of sleep and you not blinking at all, staring at one spot, shaking like a leaf.

- You're nothing without me! You're miserable, you are ready to follow like a dog, drenching yourself with a concoction of tears and blood for someone else's benefit, you're worthless and have absolutely no value!

Overdosing on those potent drugs tickled his anger issues and made him almost kill you every time he encountered you while in this state, you were about to go in your room when he threw a chair at you and it hit your ankle, causing you to fall down and shriek in pain. You were unable to move, you were already tired from crying and skipping meals, hugging yourself as cold sweat went down your body.

-L-leave me a-al- you couldn't even finish a sentence without stuttering and zoning out or forgetting how to pronounce words.

-Oh heck yeah I will leave you alone, I will leave you here crying and screeching while I go on with my life and fuck others relentlessly while you are only left with missing my touch and drugs, craving me like a piece of meat! The others will be screaming my name and ending drenched in my juices and you still won't even have the courage to leave me.

You've known him since childhood, you grew up together, played games, and crushed on each other. However due to your strict upbringing, both of you waited until you were old enough to handle a relationship, but everything got worse over the years, with Sanzu's overflowing worshipping of Mikey and his growing intimacy with pills, and your deteriorating relationship with your parents, mental state, failures and you losing yourself over someone who didn't even love you.

The cheating, the manipulation, the abuse, this wasn't the Sanzu you grew up and played hopscotch with, you didn't even know who he had become. You were desperate to make things work, and forced yourself to dodrugs with him, hoping he will at least love you more if you shared ''hobbies''. And there he was now, proving once again all your work was futile, using the most dastardly words known to human to degrade you and make you feel small in your own house. You knew you would still feel pain, but consented anyways, because deep down was a searing love for this man.

You still loved him, every time you were sober, you were there to help him with the headaches and stomachaches, patched up his wounds. Sanzu never talked to you when he was sober, though, he ignored you and only paid attention to you only if it was related to his gang or using you to his advantage.

He even reached so far to make you watch him have the most gut-wrenching intercourse with a random cheap lowlife he hooked up with, enjoying how you cry for him and whimper in hurt and betrayal.

Sanzu liked to see you beg for the smallest things. He just felt like nagging with you all the time, so he tried his best to find the smallest mistakes and nitpick on them, growing the stems of your insecurities.

There were days where he didn't even look at you, slept on the couch, made himself food, and just acted like you were an inanimate object. Walked past you and didn't bat an eye if he accidentaly bumped into you. Your sanity depended on his mood and behavior.

The silence between you was loud, too loud it made your head hurt and feel heavy. He would take all your money, because ''you didn't deserve them since you don't bring anything to the table'', took away everything he didn't like that you buy because ''it's too ugly in his opinion''.

He did try leaving you, but he wasn't able to manipulate other people into staying with him, nobody was able to stand his erratic behaviour when he was high. You were feeble-minded and he already managed to imprison you and make you his puppy, so why leave you and waste all his ''effort''?

The day you snapped is engraved between his brain folds, the way you looked, the tears, the blood from your body, the messy hair, the torn clothes, your words filled with poison and pain. And especially, your eyes filled with fury and contempt. It was the first time he felt hurt seeing what his tomfoolery led you to.

. . . . . .

You overdosed on pills, cut your hair, cried and inflicted harm on yourself. Sanzu was sober, to his surprise, but finally saw what it was like being high, you were just an alternative version of his intoxicated state. You've had enough of this torture of a relationship.

- Y/n...? Did you fucking inhale my damn pills? - Sanzu tried hiding the shaking of his voice, but didn't succeed.

- N-no, I-i just - something in you snapped all of a sudden and you impulsively took a sharp glass shard from the broken bottle of alcohol you drank alongside the pills. Glenfarclas 12 year old single malt scotch whisky, both of you's favourite alcohol, drinking a glass of it after a fight to soothe the bitterness between you. Something propelled you to scream like crazy and swing the piece trying to impale the person you once called your lover, who was evading all of it, but tripped and fell to his nates.

Sanzu tried to look stern, but he was panting like crazy and looking around in panic, trying to find a way to escape. But when he turned his head towards you, suddenly, your eyes had a different sparkle and emotion in them that made him relax. Even if you wanted him dead that moment, he still managed to hit your soft spot with just his presence. All of your memories together, good and bad, he is still Haruchiyo Akashi. You still held hope. Whilst reaching out to hug him, your hands drowning in blood, yearning to hug him and feel his hands wrap around you like a precious ornament, suddenly your eyes went upward, mind and vision blank. You started having a seizure, but he didn't want to call an ambulance, as they will inform the police and arrest him for drug possesion. Instinctively, he grabbed his bag and ran away, leaving you there.

You had a brain hemorrhage, the pills and alcohol shutted down everything in your system, causing you to flatline. He just left you there to decompose.

The neighbors found you when the stench of your rotting carcass was spreading around, weeks after the incident. You were cremated by your parents' wish, because you had no ''true'' family in the first place that would want to burden themselves to cover the expenses of the funeral, but they kept your ashes in a small urn in your old bedroom.

. . . .

Ten years, ten damned years and this was still making him go insane. After the accident with you his life went downhill. He couldn't focus on his work, increased his dose and failed to complete everything he was assigned. He pretended to not give a shit about you, not at all, or at least he tried, albeit failing.

He actually felt something.... could it be, despondency? From a person who he saw as nothing? He lost his precious toy, the only person who could handle him. Eventually he was kicked out from the gang, got submerged with bills and debt, and ended up homeless, with stubble on his face and alopecia because of the severe stress he was subjected to.

Every time he remembered you his stomach was tickling, he realized he had a close bond with you, he realized you could've actually help him and drag him out of the shithole and help him reach the catharsis of becoming a better self. Since early childhood you saved him from thousands of troubles he involved himself into, gave your sholder for him to cry on, allowed him to be vulnerable in your embrace and filled his body with a new, purer blood, and now you're gone, probably laughing at him from the outerworld. Sanzu was not able to afford drugs anymore, and his sobriety stabilized his senses, and he realized how special you were. The only beam of hope and warmth.

Thankfully the apartment you died in was never rented by anyone. Rumours swiftly spread after your death, people thought your ghost was roaming there and were too scared to even glance at the front door engulfed in spider webs. Sanzu often visited the place to sleep in and stared at the dry blood on the ground and walls, crying and cursing himself for leading you to this.

rindou (+sequel)

The feeling of being overpowered by his brother and constantly living in his shadow plagued Rindou's mind. All the applause and credit for the hard work he was busting his ass for was aimed at his brother. Ran was the one who took the credit and profited more, leading him into becoming an insufferable stuck-up, who only got in his way, as Rindou was always saying.

His inferiority complex rooted from there his mental state and confidence went downhill, and he couldn't stand still nor remain calm without some form of reassurance, so he frequently organized pity parties and his co-workers had to bear with his whining. Unfortunately you were the victim of the self-conscious man, allowing yourself to fall into a trap of thorns and venomous snakes piercing your spiritual flesh. Rindou made sure to make you pity him, to make you feel the same way he does, just so he could ease his soul.

He loved you, he really did, so he wanted to share emotions with you, he wanted to teach you to be strong, so you don't get hurt just like him. From trying to stop you from doing what you love and saying how awful you are to even hiding all your stuff just so you don't experience the joy of succeeding in something, just because of his own bullshit.

You still wanted to work somewhere, you wanted your own money, because Rindou would never spoil you or give you anything money related, because he perceived them as the only reward he will ever recieve. He would even go far as to complete tasks assigned for you and gain all the credit.

- Baby, please, let me finish my work! - you pleaded as he was holding your laptop, deleting the files you spent days working on

You felt your blood boil, but the only thing you could do is watch him how he sat on the couch and continued writing, not even bothering to look at you or react to your cries.

- Make me food, please, I have a lot of work to do.

He deemed you weak if you cried, the only time he could try and apologize was when he had a hidden objective to fuck you. By his words, this was the only way to teach you how life actually works, so he didn't actually do any harm, at least that's what he preached. Rindou would seek empathy from you constantly, even after he mentally destroyed you just seconds ago.

Rindou took some rest from work. He loved spending time with you and analyzing every reaction you show as he was sitting on the couch with his hands intertwined infront of his mouth. The man slept almost all day with you, until sunset and still woke up before you. One blissful afternoon, right when the cocktail of sunset's colors were engulfing the sky, placing your head on his chest, you closed your eyes and fell into a deep slumber.

- Y/n, baby? - after what seemed for an hour he shook you awake from the nap you were taking on his chest, snuggled in a silk bedsheet as the sunset colors were touching the room

- Mhh, yes, honey? - you stood up and lazily rubbed your eyes, leaning in for a kiss

- I am worried. Now Ran will have even more time boasting about stuff he didn't do and will make me seem like a loser... and now I'm yet again useless, and he is currently probably living his best life, our co-workers praising him. - he said as a forced sigh came out of his mouth

The same questions, the same statement, for the 3rd time today. Your whole mood sunk to the ground and you tried to conceal your sigh of exasperation with a sweet smile on your face. He woke you up from your peaceful dream just to act like a brat.

- No, baby, you're better than him for the sole reason you do something productive, he's only there for decor, once people realize how useless he is you will gain your fame and he will be swiftly forgotten.

Rindou wrinkled his nose in disbelief, turning his head around and scoffed. This was one of his master tricks to receive a double shot of ego boost and new ideas to make you feel inferior to him. Even his own brother warned you about this behaviour, even encouraged you to run away as soon as you can, unfortunately you were taking a swim in pink clouds.

- Nah, you're still drowsy you can't even process information right now. I know you think of him all the time when I happen to fail, because you wished someone more competent was in your life.

- You know what? Yeah, you're actually a sore loser. - you blurted out with a raspy voice. Getting up from the bed, you went to the bathroom and took a fast shower. Grabbing the sexiest outfit you could find, fixing your hair, not even acknowledging Rindou's piercing glare. After half an hour you and aimed to the door, swinging your hips and leaving a trail of a heavy yet alluring perfume, the one you usually get more compliments for

- And where are you going? - Rindou asked as he was blocking your way to the entrance, towering over you, eyes filled with emptiness

- I am sick of being your punching bag, Rindou. Have you ever wondered why you're so miserable? Because you're weak, and if you go on with it, your brother will continue overshadowing you while you remain at the bottom. Grow a thicker skin and move on instead of asking for pity all the time. You're a child trapped in a grown man's body.

Before rushing out, you turned around and approached him. Towering over his laying figure, you began your taunting session.

- It's funny how you think that the only way to cope with the fact that you're insecure is by projecting your own issues onto others. Has Ran ever been laughed at and pitied? No. He's a real man who can handle his emotions and manage to do his own work without the help of his illiterate brother. Have you actually wondered why you're always the laughingstock? Tried to talk to your brother? You only sit and whine like a whore. All this time the ''work'' you've been doing for him was constantly the subject of a good laughter. You never acutally did your job correctly out of spite towards your own blood, but Ran had to correct you and then he enjoyed himself with a glass of whine, laughing at your kindergarten-level grammar mistakes with your co-workers while I'm sitting on his lap. His fame is deserved, and you will always remain in his shadow, alone and insecure, just how it should be.

You ran outside from the backdoor and head towards Ran's place, taking Rindou's car. You wanted to finally feel loved, and you remembered a conversation you had with Ran when your relationship with Rindou had just begun.

Your first conversation with the older Haitani was behind their bar, while you were waiting for Rindou to arrive. It took Ran embarrassingly long time until he broke the silence while

- My brother will damage you, angel. A pretty face like you doesn't deserve to be bothered with my brother's twisted fantasies of what a relationship is. I will make your life better.

You huffed in annoyance and crossed your arms, twitching an eyebrow and averting your gaze to somewhere else.

- Rindou always warned me about you, how you're always trying to steal everything from him, how you hate his guts and enjoy his suffering and blah blah. I know these old dusty tricks, I ain't getting fooled. You're always trying to overshadow him and steal his happiness away, and now even me, but I don't even like you. I know you're lying, you're a disgrace of a brother and never deserved your fame.

Looking back at this you realized how horribly wrong you were about your thoughtless trust in Rindou's words towards his brother. Fortunately Ran was not annoyed nor agitated, but still offered you help and shelter for when you realize that you were wrong about him. And there you were, kissing his lips and rubbing against him with unabashed passion and lust.

- I knew you will come to me, baby, I've waited so long for you. - he said as he moved his hips to match your rythm.

You spent the night with him, getting drunk and nasty. You unveiled a side of you that even you weren't aware you had, but it was an unbelievable night mixed with lecherous emotions. Ran was able to make you relax and be yourself without. You felt wanted, appreciated and all your craving needs were fulfilled this very night.

- No wonder you are the better brother. - you exclaimed in a slight laughter while hugging Ran's bare chest, sweaty from what was like your fourth session already

He smirked and turned to face you, embracing your figure under the moonlight creeping through the small gaps in his curtains. However, this sweety-lovely moment was swiftly ruined by Rindou kicking the door to Ran's bedroom, eyes filled with frenzied fury. Ran jolted and grabbed his gun that was on his nightstand, pointed it at his own brother and covered your figure with the blankets.

- What the fuck are you doing here, Rindou!

- Oh, no, dear brother, what are YOU doing with my lover! - Rindou screeched as he threw himsef on him.

Ran didn't want to harm him, but protecting you was his current priority, he managed to shoot Rindou in his shoulder and knock him down as he screamed in pain, holding his bleeding gash for dear life, his vision going blurry from all the anguish he was feeling. As much as he despised his brother's attitude and wanted him gone, Ran took him to the ER with you for his wound to be taken care of. The older lad tried to play it smooth but the anxiety could be spotted in his eyes and his hands were shaking.

You were sitting in front of the room Rindou was in, cold, still and stiff, looking at the ground and refusing to make eye contact with the older Haitani, who was sitting next to you, one arm massaging your nape.

After what seemed like an eternity, one of the surgeons left the room. Mikey, Sanzu, Kakucho and Kokonoi were already there. The surgeon's merry expression eased the atmosphere and it felt like all the world's weight came off all of you's shoulders.

- The boy is in a decent condition and we removed the bullet successfully. However, we have a suspicion his glenohumeral joint and humerus are affected. We have to perform an x-ray and a neurovascular exam to see if any bones are broken. But keep in mind if something is affected, the rehabilitation process involves gradually increasing activities to restore muscle strength, joint motion and flexibility. Now he needs to rest and is currently sound asleep.

Everyone smiled and cheered that Rindou made it alive. For a moment Ran thought he had affected a vital organ, fortunately he didn't. You felt tears coming out of your tears, becoming a potion of emotions as Ran wrapped his hands around you. Both of you felt immense guilt forming inside, mixed with sadness and joy. You were blaming yourself for everything and couldn't think how you will ever muster the courage to ever speak to Rin again or even look him in the eyes.

- Do you want a ride home? I can see both of you are tired and need some rest. - Kakucho mumbled as he was spinning his car keys on his finger

- We wouldn't mind, I will come pick my car tomorrow, my hands are too shaky to handle the wheel. - Ran retorted and thanked his friend

The ride home was awkward. Ran's arm was caressing your exposed thigh as you were snuggled in his jacket, staring outside the window. Everything seemed fuzzier and faster than usual, probably because you were lost in thoughts about Rindou. Ran was staring lovingly at your features and brushed your hair with his fingers, which snapped you out from your contemplations.

- How are you feeling, sweetcheeks?

- Could've been better. I want to go home and just fall asleep.. - you retorted and snuggled in him, wrapping a hand around his waist

He kissed the top of your head and brushed your hair and massaged your scalp, which led you to fall asleep under his touch. Ran carried you bridal style to his bedroom and placed you to sleep. You woke up some time later with his broad figure laying next to you to change your clothes.

- I think we need to cease our relations for now. For Rindou. I don't want to do him even dirtier than I've already did. - you nodded and hummed in approval, then went back to sleep

. . . .

Rindou got discharged with a fracture in his humerus and a torn glenohumeral joint. He didn't seem to be upset nor was acting maliciously towards both of you. What was even weirder was the fact he is happier than his usual self, albeit after your betrayal. He was constantly under yours and Ran's surveillance.

Both of you were sitting at a bench, waiting for the older Haitani to come back with the drinks and food. You were playing with a street cat that approached you, and Rin was smiling at your interactions.

- Can you put it on my lap?

You obliged and placed the silver tabby on his lap, who seemed not to mind at all and made itself comfortable. A very obedient and cuddly creature that took a liking to the younger Haitani. The cat transformed itself into a loaf and sat there. You were smiling and petting the purring animal, just when Ran came back with the food.

- What a lovely creature, but be careful, it might have fleas. - he scoffed and sat down

- There isn't a bigger sucker than you, brother. - Rindou slyly added and made u giggle, to which Ran threw his drink in his face

All of you sat there, eating peacefully and discussing random matters, giving the tabby some food too, arguing about it's gender, what name to give it and where will it live. There was a moment of silence after before Rindou spoke up.

- I'm not mad. Contrary, I even have a proposal. - that part made you and Ran choke, staring at Rindou with both worry and anticipation - why don't we engage in polyamory?

That sentence perplexed you. Your face was beet red and you almost dropped your food. Your lost all color from your skin when you turned to Ran, who was smiling like a cocaine addict nodding in acceptance

- Ran?? Rindou?? You're okay with this? - you shouted and only got a laughter from the two of them in response

- I know I was a total asshole towards you. - Rin blurted out, the atmosphere turing gloomy- With my inferiority complex and self-hatred, the only thing I inflicted was pain on you, rather than stabilizing myself and our relationship. I deserved to get cheated on, you deserved solace and the love I never managed to give you. But I still have as equally deep feelings as when I first got to know you. And I never want to lose you or my brother. I don't want us acting like strangers and avoiding each other.

Rindou took your hands and squeezed them tight in anticipation and anxiety of you rejecting him and leaving with his brother. In fact, he doesn't want to lose you and watch you with his own blood, albeit telling you he doesn't feel bad. It's eating him up on the inside, it's draining all life from him. He can't sleep, nor eat properly without his guts twisting in regret from all the suffering and torment he put you through. And the way his brother did the exact opposite.

- I-if you don't really mind... - you scratched your nape and held each one of them's hand in approval - I aggree..

You blushed and barely had the courage to muster your response. You were going to be with the hottest men you've ever laid eyes upon. The thought of being between them every night, sharing everything with them, even your own self, was exciting and simultaneously terrifying. Tears started forming in your eyes and you couldn't hold yourself from sobbing.

- What's wrong, baby?? - Rindou softly asked and both Haitanis hugged you tightly

- I'm afraid I won't be good enough... And that you will probably leave me for someone else.. I will not be able to satisfy you, I'm just a mere person while both of you hold power in your hands - you sobbed and snuggled between their embrace

- We never will, we promise. - the older Haitani retorted and kissed your cheek - You're our one and only we want to spend our lives with..

a/n: It took me way too long to be able to write again. I'm sorry for the long delay

[sidemenxyn]

Fellas podcast

Calfreezy x Y/n (afab) (reader grew up with Ethan and reader is apart of the sidemen)

Tw: mentions of drinking, language, mentions of inappropriate drugs (weed), you all being a bunch of hooligans, mentions of harassment,

Y/n is normal text, Chip is bold, Calfreezy is italic and Proddy is bold and italic

–—–

“Welcome back to the fellas podcast, hope you are comfy and ready to listen to some juicy gossip. as today me and Chip will be talking my one and only girlfriend!” Calfreezy presents.

You smiled and waved towards the many cameras in front of you “hey, guys!” Chip firstly asked “would you like a beverage? Y/n?” You smiled “eh, yeah please.” Cal asked “do you want a Stella or some gin?” You asked “you have gin? If so then yes please.” He nodded and started pouring you a drink.

Chip spoke “Y/n can you do a little introduction on yourself, for those who may not know you.” You smiled “of course, I’m Y/n, you may know me from either the sidemen or being with Cal. I’m a YouTuber and streamer.” The boys nodded. Chip announced “todays podcast we decided to shake things up a little. As we have asked some fans on your instagram account what they’d like to know about you and us.” You nodded.

Cal was handed the phone and quickly scrolled for a question. He read “ok, how did Y/n become a sidewoman?” You answered “so I grew up with Ethan, his mum and my mum also grew up together. I supported him into doing YouTube and then I met all the boys and they thought I’d be a good person to add to the group. So yeah! Grew up with behz.” Chip asked “does both mothers stay in contact?” You nodded “yeah, I mean they support each other through every step in their lives. That’s why I truly believe that if you find the right friend they can grow old with you.” The two boys nodded.

It was now Chip’s turn, he asked “this is for Y/n, what’s it like going on a lads holiday?.” You smiled already thinking about the memories “it’s amazing, sometimes I even forget I’m the only girl if it’s a sidemen holiday or just a ‘lads holiday’. Like most girls probably wouldn’t even think of being the only girl. But because I grew up with you all I’m able to say ‘fuck it’ and go on a lads holiday.” Cal chirped in “yeah, even before we dated it was as if you were ‘one of the lads’ like sometimes me and Harry would be doing drinking challenges or shot together and by the end of the night we’d all be shit faced.” You gasped “oh I have a story! From a lads holiday.” Everyone chuckled at the way you seemed to be so happy to tell your story.

“Right, so this was in Mykonos back in like 2019. So we were all out clubbing as usual, this night I wore my first like nice dress. Cause you know me I’m not the one to wear dresses casually or anything. So anyways, I was dancing and I could feel someone behind me right? So I moved out the way thinking they wanted to pass by, but the placed a hand on my hip.” “What?!” “No way” “yeah! So I looked around and saw Ethan and Tobi at the bar, so I headed over there. And the guy followed me. Cause he stood next to me by the bar. Ethan saw I was a bit annoyed and taken back so he asked ‘you alright?’ And I tilted my head towards the guy and mouthed ‘creep’. So you know Ethan he became protective.” “Oh god!” “As he should” “so he asked like ‘are you with her’ to see what he’d say and of course he said ‘yeah, she’s my girl’.” “Ew what the fuck!” “Nah that’s actually vile!”

“Yeah! Anyways, so cause you all know I don’t take shit from no one so I said ‘no I’m not, I don’t even fucking know you.’ Then he got a bit angry and Ethan said ‘mate she’s with me so if your bothering her, leave her alone’ and then I felt his hand on my waist again so I shoved his hand off and told him ‘get the fuck off of me’ and then out of no wear he slapped me in the face!” “Fuck off, he didn’t?” “Shit really?” You nodded “yeah, so you know what I did?” “What?” “Are we gonna have a girl boss moment?” You smirked and nodded “yeah, I fucking punched him in the face then kicked him in the crouch.” The boys mouths dropped to the floor, shocked by your reply. You continued “yeah, then he tried slapping my me but Ethan managed to stop it and Tobi pulled me away.” The boys were gobsmacked. “Mad right?” “Yeah!” “What happened after that?” “Me and Tobi went back to the hotel cause I don’t know why that guys hand was so heavy but it made my nose bleed. So we went back cause Tobi didn’t want to stay long as it was quite far into the night, well early morning. So we chilled at the hotel.”

After your story, Cal picked up the phone again “right! This person wants to know how Y/n and myself got together.” You smiled “Cal do you wanna tell your side?” He nodded “well, right, so basically as you know I’m close friends with Ethan so that meant I’m also close friends with Y/n. Like she came withe the package sorta deal. But we got along really well, and after moving out of the second house me and Bog offered her to move in with Harry, Lux and I. And obviously she said yes and then I grew feeling for her, in 2018 we went on our first date and then things escalated and now we are dating.” You smiled and said “yeah, so when I moved in a had down the same thing, the longer I stayed the more I grew closer to Cal and grew more feelings. Before we were even dating I’d say like a few months before dating we’d do the like kissing on the forehead and a hug. Like yeah I’d hug all the boys but these were the hugs like you’d do with your partner. We’d also like do what we’d loosely call ‘dates’ where if Harry and Lux were out I’d make him wear face masks and we’d cuddle and watch a movie type of thing.” Chip said “so what did all the boys think of it all?” You answered “honestly I’m pretty sure Harry and Lux had placed bets on who’s ask out who and what month we’d end up dating.” Chip and the boys were laughing. Cal mentioned “pretty sure Harry won too! Like only for the asking who out though.” You laughed.

Proddy asked “are you two living together now still?” You nodded and Cal spoke “yeah, it’s still Y/n, Harry and myself.” You giggled “Harry is like our non-biological child. He’s always pointing out that he’s a third wheel constantly, but he’ll deny moving out so.. yeah.” You all had a laugh.

Chip read “Do Y/n and Cal have any plans about having babies and if so how many?” You smiled “yes, just not yet.” Cal nodded “yeah, we’ve agreed either two or three. Depends on how Y/n feels.” Chip awed at the small comment. Proddy asked “what gender do you wish the children would be?” Cal spoke first “I honestly wouldn’t mind as long as they have a close bond and look out for each other. Also if I have a girl I want them to be like Y/n when their older, like they’re able to defend for themselves if needed. Like I’d like them to have someone there for them but like..” “like if they need to they can fight back or speak their mind.” “Yeah exactly.” “Yeah, I’d personally would like to to be boy, girl then boy. But I too honestly couldn’t care for gender like I grew up with what? Four brothers. That’s how I learnt to fend for myself. Bro the amount of batery I’ve been through.” You all laugh “like it was play fighting obviously but the constant need to know what I was doing. Like Eli the middle brother, constantly knocking on my door just wanting to chill or like Jack my youngest brother. He constantly wanted to go out in my car and get maccies.” “I can vouch for Y/n, her household is never quiet. Like bro when we’d go visit, or even for the holidays. Cause we were dating especially from Jack Y/n would just always got the ‘YouTube couple, omg I ship!’.” You were laughing constantly at the memories, Cal was the best with your brothers it was as if they’d known him their whole lives.

Chip had the phone in his hand and asked “when do you think Cal and Y/n will get married?” You smirked “soon I hope!” Cal smiled “yeah soon, waiting for the perfect time.” Chip said “who’s your best men and bridesmaids gonna be?” The boys looked at your first “well, obviously Faith I grew up with her she’ll probably be my maid of honour. Then it will be Talia, Y/f/n, Y/f/n and Freya.” The boys listened as you said everyone’s names then Cal spoke “I’ll, have Chip, Harry, uh Ethan, Lux.”

You asked “can I pick a question??” The boys nodded and Chip handed the phone over to you. As you scrolled one caught your eye “any drama from when you’d used to go to school? Like drama you were involved in?” you and the boys got excited to explain your stories. Chip spoke “Y/n you look like you’ve got a bunch.” You laughed “I very much do, me and Faith were the ones who knew everyone’s drama!” You added “ok what do you want to know?” Proddy asked “everything!” “I’ve heard some of them and they are wild!!” “Oh lord we are in for a good one!” You clears your throat “ok, firstly I want to say I won’t be using their real names, I’ll use fruit as their names” you chuckled “ok, so let’s say? Strawberry right, strawberry was the same age as me and we were 15 when this happened it was the thing of the year. Well she got pregnant but didn’t know who the dad was!” “No way?!?” “Omg!!”. You added “also this girl orange, well orange and I had a fight! Like full of fist fight!” “Who won?” “Me, not being full of myself but she did not stand a chance!” “Was that when you were professionally boxing?” “You did boxing?” “Yeah, I still do! Grew up on the sport.” “Trust me you don’t want to mess with her!” Chip asked “what happened after?” “Well, she tried going for another round, like this time I just knew she would try ragging on my hair cause she did it last time. So I just put her in a head lock.” “A proper head lock?” “Nah just one so she could get me as much cause I knew I’d probably get kicked out if I did do a proper head lock.”

You listen to the rest of the stories the boys told you and the listeners. After a while it was the end of the podcast, you sign off “thank you for listen to our stories and gossip, if you enjoyed make sure to follow and share. Have a good day!”

Later that day, Cal was on his computer as you laid in your shears bed. Huddled up on the bed wearing his hoodie and your favourite type of joggers aka Callum’s joggers.

You turned over facing him as he sat at his desk, you asked “how long will you be?” He turned to you “just finishing this bit and I’m done.” You smiled as he finished up whatever he seemed to be doing on the computer. Once he turn off his computer screen, he crawled into bed with you and pulled you into him. He turned the tv on as you snuggled into your loving boyfriend. Cal asked “what we watching love?” You hummed “maybe we could watch the new Brassic?” He smiled “yeah, I enjoyed that.” You commented “yeah, honestly the boys remind me of brassic besides the crime and weed.” “Yeah I get you like the personalities.” “Yeah!” So that was the plan. You two cuddled together and watched Brassic all night long. Later after you were done watching the show you both went to sleep holding each other closely.

–—–

If you’d like to see more you can follow or heart my posts if you’d like! If you’d like me to crest something you’d like me to write then ask away! I’m more than happy to make stories you guys ask me! So if you’d like ask and hopefully I can get it up quick for you guys to read! Have a good day/night! 🫶

[bizlybebo]

Hi vixen!! What’s up how are you—

ANDHEHEBEBDB OC LORE TIME

(TW for neglect, body modifications, ableism, and disowning of a child)

Her name is Carmine Somerville. Her whole life she had lived in the shadow of her sister, Leila, who was adopted from the slums by her parents due to the fact she was aasimar who bore powers similar to a very important god. Carmine resented her sister. She felt as though her parents were replacing her with a better child because she couldn’t walk without crutches. So, she spent her childhood perfecting the construction of a spider-like backpack that would allow her to move and climb using the arms (and maybe prove she was more intelligent than Leila). It didn’t work, Leila was prettier, funnier, more interesting and kinder than Carmine could ever be. If Carmine was a good shot, Leila had divine guidance imbued in every arrow. If carmine could speak 3 languages, Leila could speak 5. No matter how hard Carmine fought in this game of catch up, it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough. So, when she finally went off to university, she turned to alchemy and blood magic, fashioning braces for her legs that allowed her to walk without her pack, aided by elixirs and potions she’d brewed using hemocraft. She threw herself into this work, this addiction to improving her body, with elixirs and potions. She spent years holed up in her dorm, until a concerned professor forced her to return home for the holidays. Once she returned home, she was struck with the potential her research had. It was the final push that would leave her better than her sister. She eagerly showed her parents her modifications, begging them to fund her research so she could take it even farther. Her parents just snarled in response, calling her a “demonic” “vile” and a “stain on the bloodline”, before quietly disowning her. Stripped of her wealth, status, and pride, carmine could no longer attend her prestigious, private university, and instead had to work as a skilled tradesmen in the more low income area of the city, selling high quality potions for cheap, as well as stunning, versatile mobility aides and prosthetics. She charges what she thinks people can afford and built a comfortable life for herself, slowly healing from her upbringing. Until, by sheer coincidence, Leila appears in her shop, looking for cheap healing potions to continue a holy pilgrimage. For some reason Carmine can’t explain, she follows her, and the two begin to heal the tattered remains of their relationship.

(Disclaimer, Leila is not mine, she belongs to an irl friend of mine)

(ANOTHER DISCLAIMER, it’s like 12 am rn so excuse any typos and grammatical errors)

^ live vixen reaction

HOLY FUCK REMY THIS IS SO COOL HELLO. LIKE FIRST OF ALL THE ART IM. AAAAAAAAABCNFMEKGKEK GOD THATS SO PRETTY IM OBSESSED W THE SHAPE LANGUAGE AND THE CLOTHING AND THE MECHANICAL SPIDER BACKPACKARM STUFF.

ohh the fucked up siblings <333 i love how her disability is an important part of her character that adds to her story while she still has a whole personality on its own. oughh i will never not love charscters determined to prove themselves

and i LOVE inventor characters so fuckin much too. i need to bite her. the mechanics through which you explain hee spider backpack and the braces that let her walk are AAAAAA.

“she charges what she thinks people can afford and built a comfortable life for herself, slowly healing from her upbringing” IM OBSESSED WITH HERRRR

[scary-friend]

This is for me, it’s been eating away at my brain and I just need to make a vent piece. So view at your own risk.

I have been in therapy, but this is something I need to cope with in my own way.

Tw, csa, violence, and foul language.

I fucking hate you so goddam much. You fucking price of human waste. I truly hope that you’re dead, every time I think of you I want to throw up. I WAS A FUCKING CHILD. I WAS 12 YOU FUCKING NASTY FUCKER! I just found out my parents were divorced, my dad moved out and I haven’t seen him in months. I was so fragile emotionally, I was all alone, and YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! I hope your wife left you, I’m so glad you got fired, I just wish it happened sooner. Everyone knows you’re a nasty motherfucker. Even if its not the reason you finally got fired, everyone fucking knows now you piece of shit!

It’s been so long now, every time I had to walk into that class room I felt off, like something was wrong. I was so young I didn’t even understand what you did to me. You nasty fucking freak. I hope you get hit my car, I hope you get set on fire, and more than anything I want you to rot. I what you to get stabbed, one knife for each of your victims. We were children, you had children of your own. I hope they fucking resent you, I hope you die alone. I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOUR FUCKING NASTY FACE AGAIN! I WANNA KICK YOUR FUCKING TEETH IN!

I thought everything would be okay that year, but then you showed up and RUINED MY LIFE. I WANT MY FUCKING CHILDHOOD BACK YOU VILE MONSTER.

I remember a teacher said you got fired, and I felt so happy, i hated you then and I didn’t even understand how fucking sick you were yet. And then he admitted it was just a joke, and I felt so fucking crushed. I’d fake being sick just to avoid seeing you. How fucking dare you. HOW FUCKING DARE YOU. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU LOOK AT ME, HOW FUCKING DARE YOU TOUCH ME, HOW FUCKING DARE YOU SMILE AT ME IN THE HALLS LIKE YOUR NOT THE FREAK WHO RUINED MY CHILDHOOD.

How fucking dare you sign my year book, wishing me well, I fucking hate you so much.

I was a child who just wanted a friend, i just wanted my family to be whole again. I was so lonely, and you victimized me for it. Well fucking guess what! I have more love and friends than you ever did or ever will for that matter. I’M NOT THE ONE WHOS UNLOVABLE, IM NOT DISGUSTING, AND IM NOT RUINED, THATS YOU! HOW DARE YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME! I HOPE YOU ROT, I HOPE YOUR LIFE CONTINUES TO FALL APART, AND YOU’RE LEFT WITH NOTHING!

You got fired because you shoved a kid into a wall, how fucking pathetic are you. You can’t just let us be happy or enjoy our lives, you have to fuck it up because YOU’RE A PATHETIC PIECE OF SHIT! No one believes you retired. Every single student knows how much of a fucking creep you are. ROT IN HELL!

It’s been years, but I’ve finally forgotten your face. I’m so thankful, you don’t deserve to be remembered. You’re just a filthy parasite. I’ve dreamed of you, you were taunting me, saying I can’t do anything now. But then, you were gone, just a red pile on my floor. I killed you that night in my dreams and I’d never been so happy.

My therapist thinks you’re fucking pathetic too. She wishes she could hit you with her car, and that you would just die already. I feel the same way. I might not ever fully heal from what you did. But at least I can go to sleep knowing I’m loved and cherished such wonderful people. While you have no one. I’m so much more, I’m not a fucking victim, I’m a survivor. You can’t victimize me anymore. It’s not my fault, I WAS A FUCKING CHILD, HOW DARE YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE I WAS DISGUSTING. YOU FUCKING MONSTER!

I hope you don’t rest, I hope you get dragged kicking and screaming to hell. And I hope you get eaten alive.

It’s been almost nine years now. I finally figured it out when I was 17. I googled the term, I had to learn it from a fucking tv show. I read that definition and I cried for 30 minutes, I screamed. I fucking remembered what you did. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t real, that I was just overthinking it. But I know what you did. I’m not lying to myself anymore. IF I EVER FUCKING SEE YOU AGAIN, I WILL FUCKING END YOU.

I don’t even think of you often, I only think of my dreams where you die. How dare you seep into my mind like a fucking disease. All I picture is my dream of you getting swarmed by bugs and eaten alive. That’s what you fucking deserve.

I’m not making it up, I’m not a lier as some dumbasses would tell me. You’re the Fucking Freak who hurt me. I’m not disgusting, YOU ARE!

You’re nothing more than a bad thought, when I wake up in the morning. You’ll be a distant memory. I hope you’re dead.

I’m tired of being told to forgive you. You don’t deserve anything, let alone my forgiveness. I’m never going to forgive you for what you did. The only thing you deserve is to be run over and set on fire. FUCK YOU!

Breath in, 1-2-3-4, Hold, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7, Breath out, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8

You’re okay, he’s gone now, clear your mind.

( ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹, ❤️‍🩹)

To all of you reading this, who made it this far, I love you all so much. You make me feel loved, you make me smile, you make me feel beautiful, you make me feel worthy of everything. You’ve helped me so much more than you know. And if you’ve also suffered I truly hope we can heal together💕 You’re beautiful, you’re wonderful, you’re amazing, and you’re a survivor. Don’t let anyone make you feel lesser for being as strong as you are.

[not-alien-girl-v]

hey babes!! ur works is just 🤤. george is so hot could you please write a valentines day thing with him 🙏

warning: language, TW matty healy

note: they/them pronouns for Y/N and this is almost angsty but still fluffy also Matty is like bitchy but is still Y/N’s bestie idk they’re frenemies cuz that happened in a dream once. might continue writing more george stuff cuz i rly like it.

Complete silence is swallowing them whole, alongside a few other sounds keeping them company in the early hours of the morning.

There is an open window somewhere on the spacious tour bus, and the winged creatures singing in the outside world inform Y/N that the daylight has come to greet them all once again this morning. Though they wish the birds would just shut the fuck up, honestly.

They are loud, cawing and chirping and essentially screaming as if it isn't 7 am in the fucking morning and Y/N doesn't have a pounding headache. Last night was a bit wild for the gang, once the post-show drinks started making their way through the already mildly intoxicated band members, it was clear that none would have any memory of the rest of the evening.

And despite all the drunken tomfoolery, Y/N had not consumed a single ounce of alcohol. Not a drop. Yet their head throbbed as if they had. Being the designated driver, the designated sober friend takes it's toll on a person, especially when your entire group is filled with professional dumbasses, it's like they've been trained in all the ways to be annoying while drunk. Having to deal with all of them until 3 in the morning mixed with the lack of sleep and water Y/N is currently experiencing make the perfect recipe for a vile headache.

George had no problem with sleep last night, fortunate for him. He got the most shitfaced, and coincidentally, was the most irritating amongst the hoard of drunks, with his need to cling to Y/N like a lost puppy, stroking their hair, placing sloppy wet kisses all over their face when all Y/N wanted was to get them all safely in the car. At least as a drunk, George was clingy and lovey rather than mean and aggressive.

They had no idea what happened to the rest of the boys once they all retired for the night, as once Y/N succeeded in getting everyone safely in the bus, they allowed them all to fuck off for the night, with the exception of George who would not settle down enough to go to bed unless Y/N committed to a 5 minute cuddle in his bunk. Soon enough, a 5 minute cuddle turned to 10 minutes, which turned to an hour, and Y/N fell asleep before they could continue counting the hours G’s arm wrapped tightly over them prevented their escape.

So here they are, same position they fell asleep in with George's arm securing them to the bunk like they might slip away at any moment. They keep their gaze on him, his hair sticking flat to his forehead from hours of being pressed into a pillow. They consider reaching out, tenderly brushing some away from his sleeping face but decide not to, not wanting to disturb his peaceful slumber.

With a sigh, they pull out their phone, and like they suspected, it's 7:18 am, February 14. February 14... shit. It's Valentine's day. It's Valentine's day and George probably has something super fucking romantic planned as a surprise and Y/N has nothing. They gently peel his arm off of their middle and slip out of the bunk.

With the stress of the situation, they decide to trifle through G's jacket pockets, hoping to find his pack of cigs Y/N has come to know that he always keeps with him. When they're met with an empty container, a plan devises in their head.

Cigarette's can be a great gift, right? They're quick to find their shoes and lace them up, putting on George's jacket as an afterthought to conceal them from the frigid San Francisco morning air, seeing as it's still winter.

Before their hand touches the door, however, a voice speaks up from a figure on the couch that somehow Y/N hadn't noticed in their hurry.

"Where are you off to?" It's Matty, of course it is, because Y/N can't do anything without the mild tease and torment from that man.

"Drugstore."

"I'll tag along."

"I didn't ask you to."

"You don't have to. 'S the beauty of friendship, isn't it?"

A tired scowl appears on their face but Matty is already behind them, so fortunately, he misses it.

In their stress, Y/N kept quiet during the walk, resulting in a lack of snide commentary from Matty which they were secretly very grateful for, though they’d never admit it out loud.

They walk side by side into the automatic sliding doors of the drugstore and the immediate warmth of the interior of the building grasps their features. They make a beeline for the candy aisle, and an intrigued Matty follows closely behind.

“Oh fuck, it’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?” Matty comments like it was a necessary observation, not a glaringly obvious and rather stupid and oblivious thing to say at such a moment. Maybe Y/N needed breakfast, hanger is not a good look on them.

They hum in response. “He’s been talking about his plans for months. He even- actually, I shouldn’t be telling you. Surprise, or something like that. But it’s romantic as shit.” Matty paces the aisle, not paying attention to the icky stress sweat appearing on the other person occupying the aisle. Does this guy not know how to shut his mouth?

“He’ll like this, right?” Their hand grabs a heart shaped box of chocolates, assorted flavors. Matty gives them a look. “What? What’s with that face?”

“What face? This is just my face, can’t blame me for having a face.”

“No, you were making a face at me. What is it? Will he not like it?”

Matty’s eyebrows raise childishly and Y/N wishes they could slap them clean off, watch them inch away like lowly caterpillars on the ground below.

“It’s just, I don’t know, he’s more of a fruity candy kind of guy. Doesn’t fancy chocolate all that much,” they could see in his eyes he strained so hard to refrain from making a pun about his own song, but by some power above, he didn’t.

“Okay, okay. I’ll do… some Red Vines. He likes those, right?” Grabbing a pack of red candy, it is waved in front of Matty’s face.

“Do you even need to ask me that?”

“I don’t even know why he loves these things so much. This is like old person candy. He’s only twenty…” They trail off.

“Three?”

“Right, twenty-three. I knew that.” Y/N makes their exit from the candy aisle, grabbing a few cans of tea from the drink section.

“You should get a snack for yourself. You seem a little out of it this morning.”

“Only because you and your bitchass friends got drunk as skunks last night and I had to round you all up,” they huff and turn to face him, meeting his now rolling eyes.

“Fine. I’ll pay for your snack. Will that fix this?”

“Certainly won’t hurt!” They smile and pace to the front of the store, hoping they don’t forget the cigarettes, the sole purpose they went to the store for. That would be just like them, forgetting like that.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

The click of an opening tour bus door alerts George, who was scrolling through his phone on the couch. He woke up easily, however, wondering where his lover had gone so early. He sleeps like the dead, so whenever they slip out during the rare nights they get to sleep in the same bed, he hardly is disturbed by it in his peaceful slumber.

Sometimes he swears they always leave his bed before he wakes up to avoid his compressing cuddles in the morning. He can’t help it, he’s a sucker for being all over the ones he loves.

Matty is the first to walk in, and George almost goes back to looking at his phone in sheer disappointment until Y/N walks in. Suddenly, a lazy smile makes itself known on his sleepy face and his mood is elevated.

“Hey darling, where were you?” He queries as Matty busies himself with a laptop at the back of the bus.

His voice is extra deep in the morning, it’s always deep, but something about hearing it in the morning is something so personal and special to them. It’s like a promise to more days like this, spent in the knowledge of their lover, the knowledge that George exists and is in love with them.

“Stopped by the store for some things,” they plop down onto the cushion next to the one George is taking residency on, placing the plastic bag between them to dig through it.

“Is that my jacket?”

“You want it back?”

He grins, trying not to show how lovestruck he is and seriously failing. “No, no, keep it, if you’re cold. Looks better on you.”

“Oh, you old charmer,” they giggle, chucking the Red Vines into his lap, followed by the cigarettes, then gently placing down the can of tea at his side as to not injure him with the 24 ounces.

“All of this for me?” George places a dramatic hand over his heart while his lover digs into the snack Matty bought for them. “Aren’t I the luckiest girl in the world.”

The two spend a few moments in a famished haze, pile-driving the snacks in their grasps but once he slows down with his red candy, he sneaks a few looks at the person beside them.

The person who, even lost in thought, looked more beautiful than ever, who George had the privilege of sleeping next to when he sweet talked them enough, who George prayed he could sleep next to every night for the rest of his life, if they’d have him.

He tosses the empty bag separating him and his love onto the ground and scoots closer to them. Ignoring the odd stare he is given at the invasion of personal space, he wraps his arms around them and pushes them back into a laying position, propped up by the arm of the couch.

“What are you doing?” They ask with a small smile.

Voice muffled, face buried in their chest, “loving you.”

“You could have just said thank you for the candy. Don’t have to do all this to show your appreciation.”

“Maybe I just enjoying doing this, being close to you. Ever thought about that, numbskull?”

Their hand brushes up and down his built back, slow and gentle, like coaxing a baby to sleep and not a full grown man. “Watch your language, mister.”

He picks his head up to face them, chin resting on their sternum. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

Trying to make light of the furious blush creeping onto their cheeks, “do you ever keep count of all the names you call me in a day. Like affectionate or not. So far you’ve got ‘darling’ and ‘numbskull’, ‘my love.’”

“Well, somebody’s gotta be the sweet one in this relationship. Most of the time, you act like you don’t even like me.”

“I do not.”

“He’s got a point!” A mumbly British voice from the back of the bus.

“Butt out!” Y/N scolds, turning attention back to the man who’s made his place on top of them, settling enough to rest his full body weight. This is the typical type of cuddle to be expected from George. There’s not many other ways he knows to cuddle.

“I do too like you, what are you talking about?”

“It’s okay, I get it, you show your love and affection in your own special way, and I love that about you, but I’ve gotta say, sometimes people who don’t know us think we’re just friends.”

“Look, it’s not like I can be all over you all the time, it’s impractical.”

“I know, love, that’s why I use pet names, it’s the easiest way I know to show my love for you. Especially since you won’t let me buy you things even though I constantly offer.”

“Ok, I’ll let you buy me things.”

“That’s not the point, baby. The point is, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Their words seem to turn him to absolute mush. It’s something Y/N has always had a hard time speaking out loud to him, every time the three words make it out, they’re incredibly special to George.

“Thanks. For saying that, I mean. Thank you. I mean it.”

“Anytime.”

“Can I add to the relationship contract that you have to say that to me at least once a day? Can I do that?” George seems half joking but they don’t care.

“If that’s what you want, babe.”

“Good. Cuz I do want that. And I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. We leave at 6. Dress nice. And I’m paying, because you said I could.”

They nod their head at his demands, waiting for him to drop his head back onto their chest before circling both arms fully around his back, giving him a tight squeeze before holding him gently.