Dead Dove Fic - Tumblr Posts

reading a dddne fic and having to put it down not bc of the graphic content but bc gee this setup is awkward. Can’t even focus on how graphic the content is bc of the secondhand embarrassment

Brotherly Love: A Taboo Animaniacs Fanfic (Part One of Seven)

I warned you this was coming (check the tags). I told you, dog.

I was an older teenager when I wrote this. I'm pretty sure I had started college at the time. Somebody shared a dorm room with me while I was writing this nonsense. Possibly, they were writing similar nonsense; I went to a weird college.

Readers of my other account (that I haven't yet connected to this one) might recognize that I tried to rework this into a James/Meowth fic (but didn't get very far). Apparently, mapping Meowth, James, and Jessie onto Yakko, Wakko, and Dot might not work as well as I had previously thought.

Anyway, DEAD GOODFEATHERS: DO NOT EAT

Content Warning: Consensual romantic relationship between two siblings (just because I wrote about it in a story doesn't mean I'd do it; I have a sibling and I would never get bizzay with them); aged-up characters; terrible attempt at writing Scratchansniff's accent out phonetically; exhibitionism; questionable knowledge of psychology; big emotions, including: *extremely Gonzo voice* GUILT and *extremely Septa Unella voice* SHAME SHAME SHAME (ding ding); Yakko angst

-O-o-O-o-O-

All was quiet over Burbank that Thursday night. Yakko Warner sat on the balcony of the Warner Brothers Studio water tower, gazing over the city lights.

His two younger siblings, Wakko and Dot, were worn out from that day’s antics and were soundly sleeping in the bedroom the three shared. They hadn’t even stirred when Yakko closed the door of the water tower. Yakko should have been tired too, considering he wreaked just as much havoc as his siblings, but he had a lot on his mind.

Lately, he’d been having these “feelings.” They were similar to the ones he got when he looked at Hello Nurse, but more intense. Hello Nurse was pleasing to the eye—very—but that was it. He merely liked looking at her, not….doing things with her, like what he wanted to do with the object of these “feelings.”

The Warners didn’t age, being toons, but Yakko figured he should still have gone through puberty by now. He didn’t know much about this subject, having driven Ms. Flamiel off before she could teach them Health, but nevertheless, he was sure he wasn’t supposed to be having feelings for the person that he did.

A cold breeze chilled Yakko’s skin through his fur. He decided it was time to go back inside.

Before turning in, he decided to check on his siblings. Dot, on the bunk just above Yakko’s slept relatively quietly, occasionally muttering about how cute she was. Actually, Dot did look pretty cute when she was sleeping—a trait not many people possessed. And Yakko certainly didn’t expect the object of his affections to possess this trait, considering how gross he acted in his waking hours.

Yakko easily scaled the top bunk to gaze upon the object of his affection. His little brother, Wakko, lay curled up, pillow’s edge in his mouth, half-covered by the blanket.

Watching his brother sleep so innocently only forced the most dirty thoughts into Yakko’s mind. Hastily, he tried to expel them. “This is my baby brother! How could I ever think of doing those things to him?”

Looking shamefully down at Wakko, Yakko decided it was time for another cold shower.

-O-o-O-

For once in his life, Yakko was the last Warner sibling to wake up. Usually that honor fell to Wakko, but Yakko hadn’t exactly fallen asleep right after he went back to bed.

See, Yakko liked to talk. He talked almost every second of the day, to the point where Dr. Scratchinsniff threatened to duct tape his mouth shut. He even talked in his sleep, especially when something was bothering him. If Dot or Wakko had heard him, well….he didn’t want to think about it.

So one can imagine Yakko’s sheer horror when he woke up to Wakko, sitting by his bed, staring at him.

“Wakko, what are you doing?” Yakko shrieked, sitting straight up in bed.

“Watchin’ you,” Wakko answered calmly.

When Yakko realized that Wakko probably hadn’t heard him talking in his sleep—otherwise he would have been a lot less calm—he calmed down.

“I mean, what are you doing watching me,” Yakko said, more calmly.

Wakko shrugged. “You’re usually the first one up.”

Yakko sighed, relieved. However, Wakko took it as a sigh of exasperation and immediately drooped.

“If you don’t want me to, I won’t do it anymore,” he said in a small voice.

Yakko rushed to comfort him. “No, I don’t mind you watching me. Hope you’re enjoying the view.” Yakko flashed a cheesy smile at Wakko. Wakko giggled.

“God, what a cute giggle,” Yakko thought.

“I guess Dot’s already up,” Yakko commented, making the bed.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Wakko answered, throwing off his pajamas. He searched around for his blue sweatshirt.

Yakko turned around to look for his pants and let out a short cry of shock. He was staring directly at Wakko’s naked form. True, Wakko’s back was turned, and he didn’t normally wear pants, but still…. Yakko was fascinated by his brother’s lack of self-awareness sometimes. He suddenly turned away. “Stop gawking at your brother like that!” he mentally scolded himself.

“What happened?” Wakko asked, from under his shirt.

“I just stubbed my toe. I really should move the night table further away from the bed,” Yakko said, his eyes creeping slowly toward Wakko, who was still putting on his shirt and still naked.

At that moment, Dot came out of the bathroom. The minute she walked in the room, she shrieked. “Wakko, put your clothes on!”

Yakko saw a devilish smile come over his brother’s face.

“What if I don’t?” Wakko challenged, lifting his shirt higher over his head.

Yakko, despite his conflicting emotions, turned to the camera, blew a kiss and said, “Goodnight, everybody!”

Dot only rolled her eyes. “Wakko, if you don’t put your clothes on, I’ll be forced to….” She thought for a moment, then grinned menacingly. “I’ll be forced to call in a clown!”

Wakko’s eyes bugged out, then he very quickly slid his shirt onto his body.

Yakko raised an eyebrow. “Darn. I was beginning to enjoy that—WHAT?! NO!” He immediately slapped himself for thinking it. He put on his pants very quickly, hoping to hide the sudden protrusion.

As soon as the siblings finished breakfast, the phone rang. It was Dr. Scratchansniff, asking them to come in for their appointment.

Yakko was too consumed by his thoughts to even notice Hello Nurse, which really surprised Dot. Wakko, who was busy screaming, “Hello, Nurse!” didn’t seem to notice. Yakko felt a tiny pang when he saw his brother’s reaction to the voluptuous blonde. “How could I ever imagine that he’d feel the same way about me as I do about him?” he thought, sulking on the waiting room couch, oblivious to the bemused looks Dot gave him.

Dot gazed at Yakko. He definitely wasn’t himself today. Normally, he’d be talking a mile a minute, planning out exactly how he was going to fracture Scratchansniff’s sanity this week. And if he wasn’t doing that, he’d be happily looking at this month’s (or last year’s, depending on how diligently the magazines were replaced) issue of Toon Times. Today, he just sat there, looking as though he’d just been suckered into a conversation with Pip Pumphandle. Dot wanted to ask what was wrong, but she didn’t want to pry. Besides, she thought, he’ll probably be over it soon and be back to normal.

Dot, who wasn’t interested in any of the magazines, turned to Wakko to find him blowing spit bubbles. “Ew.”

Dot sighed. This was going to be a long wait.

Hello Nurse came out. “Yakko, Dr. Scratchansniff will see you now.”

Yakko dragged himself off the couch and trudged into the office.

-O-o-O-

Dr. Scratchansniff was shielding himself behind his desk, waiting for the inevitable explosion of Yakko entering. Honestly, every time the Warners came within a fifty foot radius of him, insanity and misery were sure to ensue. He couldn’t have one appointment without Yakko making sarcastic comments, Wakko doing something gross, and Dot getting off-topic and leading him on a verbal wild goose chase. A this rate, he was never going to get these kids de-zanitized.

“Vait a minute,” Dr. Scratchansniff thought. Instead of the usual noisy, zany greeting, he was hearing….silence?

The psychiatrist emerged from behind his desk to find Yakko, sitting quietly on the couch in front of him. He didn’t even seem to notice the doctor; he absently traced the wrinkles in the upholstery with his fingers, a pensive expression crossing his visage.

Scratchy had never seen Yakko this quiet. Ever. Even if he wasn’t talking, he’d usually be sitting there, smirking at the trouble that lay in store for the psychiatrist. Yakko didn’t seem to be plotting any kind of chaos; he seemed to be lost in his own world.

Scratchy cleared his throat to get Yakko’s attention. Sure enough, Yakko dragged his eyeballs up to meet Scratchy’s.

“Oh. Hi, Scratchy,” he muttered lethargically, punctuating his speech with a heavy sigh.

“Yakko, you seem to be awfully quiet today. Vhat seems to be zhe problem?” Scratchy asked, expecting Yakko to drop the act and start the chaos any second.

“Nothing.” Yakko mumbled.

Scratchy noted this on his pad of paper. This seemed serious.

“Yakko, if zhere ist a problem, you know you can tell me,” Scratchy said in a gentler tone. “Das ist vas I’m here for.”

“Okay, but I don’t think you’re gonna like it….”

“Try me.”

Yakko took a deep breath. “I think I’m attracted to my brother.”

Scratchy raised an eyebrow. This was new. He’d dealt with patients who had issues with incest, but it was a whole different story now that it was a Warner in the situation.

“You think I’m disgusting, don’t you?”

Scratchy looked up from his notepad. Yakko was staring at him, a hurt expression on his face.

“Nein, nein, I am not here to judge. Now, Yakko, are you sure zhat it is attraction you are feeling tovards Vakko?”

Yakko stared at him. “I. Want. To. Make. Out. With. My. Brother. Yes, I’m positive I’m attracted to Wakko,” Yakko retorted.

“Hmm….” Scratchy wrote on his pad some more. Yakko couldn’t take it anymore.

“You gotta help me, Scratchy! I’ve been hiding it from him all along and it’s eating me up inside! It’s only a matter of time until I slip up and say it or I say it in my sleep! I can’t have my brother thinking I’m some kind of freak!” Yakko jumped on Scratchy’s desk. “Seriously, I’m starting to find his lack of hygiene sexy,” he whispered behind his hand.

“Zhe only zhing I can suggest right now is writing zhese feelings in a journal. I vill have to zhink about zhis some more before going further,” Scratchy answered.

Yakko sighed, relieved. Maybe if he wrote his nasty little thoughts down, he wouldn’t have the urge to yell them from the top of the water tower anymore.

“Thanks, Scratchy! I’ll send Wakko in.” Yakko hopped off the desk and skipped out the door.

Scratchy knew he’d be able to refrain from telling Wakko about Yakko’s feelings for him. However, he still wasn’t exactly looking forward to this appointment. His office hadn’t smelled right since the last one. Plus, he could never get very far in de-zanitizing him because he never said much.

“So, Vakko, is zhere anything you vant to talk about?” Scratchy asked.

“Like what?” Wakko responded.

“Like…. Your relationship vith your siblings.”

“Oh.” Wakko smiled. “It’s fine.”

“Care to elaborate?” Scratchy pressed.

“It’s….really fine?”

Scratchy sighed. “Anything else? How about your day?”

Wakko thought for a while, then perked up. “I actually got up before Yakko! But not before Dot.”

“Go on.”

“And….she got into the bathroom first and took forever. So I didn’t shower.” Wakko grinned. Scratchy rubbed his temples.

Dot’s appointment was a little better. Scratchy got more out of her—maybe more than he wanted.

“So, Dot, vould you like to tell me about your relationship vith your brozers?” Scratchy asked.

“They’re cool most of the time, but sometimes Yakko talks in his sleep, which gets really annoying because he’s always yelling, ‘Hello, Nurse!’ And Wakko can be kinda gross. Like today, he didn’t take a shower—he hasn’t for two weeks now—and he wouldn’t put on his clothes until I threatened to sic a clown on him. Actually, now that I think about it, that was kinda funny.” Dot giggled.

Scratchy looked up in surprise. “He….vouldn’t put on his clothes?”

“Yeah, and it really seemed to freak Yakko out. I don’t know why, though, ‘cause they take baths together and they have the same stuff. Mostly.” Dot shrugged.

Scratchy was furiously writing on his notepad. Dot got bored and started balancing on her tail. She found that she could almost see Scratchy’s notepad.

“Whatcha writing?” she asked.

Scratchy held the pad against his chest. “Notes.”

“Oh. “ Dot got off her tail.

In the end, Scratchy didn’t call them in for a group appointment. Based on his notes, he had a lot to work through before he even made a dent in their zaniness.

-O-o-O-o-O-

Moral of the story: If you lock three volatile cartoon characters in a tower and expect them to stay sane after sixty years, you're playing yourself.

Brotherly Love: Wakking Off (Part two of seven)

I have this theory that the Warner siblings are Set animals (like from ancient Egyptian lore), so the rules of mere mortals don't apply to them. One of Set's many domains is disorder and chaos, so I think it checks out.

Now watch teen!me write two of them acting like King Tutankhamun's parents.

Part one is here.

DEAD GOODFEATHERS DO NOT EAT

Content Warning: Consensual romantic relationship between two siblings; aged-up characters; questionable knowledge of psychology; godsawful usage of mid-noughties slang; big emotions, including: *extremely Gonzo voice* GUILT and *extremely Septa Unella voice* SHAME SHAME SHAME (ding ding); just two bros taking a bath together, sniffing each other's fur, tongues and tails twining whatevs

-O-o-O-o-O-

Yakko had been writing in his journal for three days.

It wasn’t working.

He figured he’d try Scratchy’s suggestion. It was only a start, Scratchy had said, but it might actually be enough to quell the incestuous thoughts Yakko had.

But the more Yakko wrote, the stronger the feelings grew. It got to the point where many of his entries were accompanied by a few diagrams of what exactly he wanted to do to his brother.

He also had to worry about hiding it. He had it hidden under his mattress, but what if they decided to make a mattress fort and it fell open as they moved the mattress? Every page included either a horrifyingly graphic description or a picture, so there was no way they’d miss it.

It got to the point where Yakko decided he just needed to maybe avoid Wakko for a while.

For the next three or four days, Yakko kept his distance. If Wakko entered the room, he left. He sat as far away from Wakko as he could at meal times. When the time came for them to take a bath, Yakko suggested they take separate ones. Wakko looked like he’d cry and it tore Yakko up inside.

The following night, Dot announced, “I’m going to the mall with Hello Nurse!”

Yakko’s heart skipped a beat. He’d be all alone. With his brother.

“The mall?” he asked.

“Yes, the mall. You know, with the stores, the food court, the pushy salespeople trying to unload their soon-to-be-outdated cell phones?” Dot said.

“Aaaah…Are you sure you want to go to the mall?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Really sure?”

“Positive.”

“Shiggity-sure?”

Dot stared Yakko dead in the eye and said, “Not only am I sure, I am shiggity-sure for shizzo my nizzo.” Then she left before Yakko could ask any more questions.

Yakko sighed. He was all alone. With Wakko.

Or not. He didn’t see Wakko around. Where was he?

Yakko looked all over the water tower. When he got to the bedroom, he found Wakko, sitting on his bunk.

“Wakko, what are you doing in here?” Yakko started to ask, until his brother turned around.

Wakko was crying.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Wakko asked in a small voice.

“What made you think that?” Yakko asked, sitting down on the bunk.

“You always leave when I come in. You won’t sit next to me. You didn’t want to take a bath with me.” Wakko sniffed.

Yakko winced. He didn’t think that Wakko would notice his avoidance. Wakko did, however, notice the wince.

“I knew it. You were avoiding me.” He turned away from Yakko.

Yakko mentally scolded himself. He was always forgetting how sensitive Wakko was. He should have thought that what he was doing would hurt his feelings. He also never realized how much he underestimated his little brother. He should’ve known he’d figure something was up.

“Yes, but I wasn’t trying to be mean to you,” Yakko said, gently putting a hand on Wakko’s shoulder.

“Why else would you do it, then?” Wakko still refused to face him.

“Because….well….I don’t know if I should tell you….”

“What? You don’t think I’ll understand? You think I’m stupid, don’t you.” Wakko attempted to jerk himself away again, but Yakko held him still.

“No, it’s just a really weird reason,” Yakko tried to explain.

“Try me.”

“It’s because I love you.”

Wakko stared at Yakko, confused.

“Not just that kind of love. I mean, I love you. I want to kiss you, and make out with you, and lots of other terribly graphic things that I’ve written down in a little book that I keep hidden under my mattress.” Yakko exhaled, waiting for the inevitable scream.

Only, it never came. Yakko looked at his little brother. The confused look was gone, replaced by a stolid expression.

Suddenly, Wakko took Yakko’s face in his hands and brought it closer to his own, until he began to kiss him.

It wasn’t like one of those kisses they did to their “special friends,” either. It was a bona fide on-the-lips kiss. It turned into more when Yakko realized there were two tongues in his mouth and only one of them was his. Until now, it had never occurred to Yakko that Wakko could do a whole lot more with his tongue than use it as a tape measure and let it dangle out of his mouth.

When it was over, Yakko barely heard Wakko ask, “Did you like it?”

“Holy….” was all Yakko could say. He had no idea his little baby brother could kiss like that. “Where did you learn that?!”

“From all the girls I went out with,” Wakko answered.

Yakko blinked a few times. “Well….That was amazing. But why didn’t you say anything before you did it?”

“You know me. I like to be more….physical.” Wakko flashed a carnal smile at Yakko.

Yakko was floored. He’d always thought of his little brother as being somewhat innocent. Clearly, he was mistaken. However, he wasn’t disappointed.

Yakko’s eyes must’ve been bugging out, because Wakko dropped his carnal grin. “Was that too much?”

Yakko smiled. “No, just a little too fast. How about….” He moved closer to Wakko, in a cuddle. “We start here?”

Wakko cuddled back. “Faboo.”

-O-o-O-

Dot came back from the mall a few hours later. “I’m home!” she announced to the house.

Nobody answered. Dot pouted.

“They all went to bed and now I’ll have to wait to show them all the cute clothes I got.” Dot skipped to her room to put away her clothes.

As she got out her pajamas, she noticed that Wakko’s bunk was empty. Maybe he wasn’t asleep?

Dot shrugged, then went to the bathroom to get changed and washed up. She listened for signs that Wakko was still up, but heard none. When she went back to the bedroom, she realized why.

Both Yakko and Wakko were sleeping on Yakko’s bottom bunk. They were tucked in, nice and snug, and Yakko had his arm around Wakko, almost protectively.

Dot had to admit it was cute—and she should know. She figured Wakko just had a bad dream and couldn’t fall asleep without his big brother to protect him. She hoped it wasn’t because of the clown comment she’d made a few days ago.

“Oh, well,” Dot thought. She hopped into her bunk and immediately went to sleep.

-O-o-O-

The next morning, Yakko was the first one awake. He wondered if the previous night had really happened, or if it was all some crazy dream. Then he looked down at his little brother, sleeping cutely on his arm, and knew it was real.

Yakko looked at the clock. It was barely even 7:00. Normally, he’d just go back to sleep until 9:00, but he decided he’d just watch Wakko sleep for a while.

He didn’t get to watch him long, as Wakko began to wake up. Yakko gazed down at him, lovingly, as he stretched his little body, then smiled up at Yakko.

“Wanna go at it again?” he asked, sleepily, wiggling into a sitting position.

“I’d love to, but we might wake Dot,” Yakko answered. Then, he got a idea. “Since we didn’t take our bath together yesterday, why don’t we do it today?”

Wakko perked up in response.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

Very quietly, the two went down the hall to the bathroom. Wakko got out their washrags while Yakko ran the bath. As he was pouring the bubble bath into the measuring cup, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye, that grabbed his attention and held it hostage.

Wakko, having gotten the washrags out, was starting to undress. Yakko watched as he slid out of his blue nightshirt and tossed it onto the toilet. Then he took off his red cap and placed it gingerly on top of his shirt.

Yakko stared, until he realized that the tub was slowly filling up with bubbles. He capped the bottle clumsily, unable to take his eyes off his naked brother. Just then, Wakko turned around and Yakko jerked his gaze in the other direction.

“Yakko, what’s wrong?” Wakko asked, going over to his brother, who still couldn’t seem to close the bottle.

“Nothing. Nothing at all! This bottle is just really hard to close, which is odd because normally I can never get it open. Man, they’re child-proofing everything these days, aren’t they?” Yakko liked this verbal diarrhea even less than the speechlessness that preceded it.

“You’re rambling. And why won’t you look at me?”

Yakko felt his head starting to turn, but resisted. “You’re naked.”

“We’ve seen each other naked before.”

“Yeah, but now it’s different. It’s like we’re….” Yakko struggled to get the word out. “Lovers. I still can’t get over the idea that maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

Wakko gently turned Yakko’s head downwards to face him. Yakko was now staring at his little brother in all his naked glory. The most frightening thing about it was that without his cap, Wakko looked a whole lot like himself.

“You even look like me. A constant reminder that we’re carrying out incest,” Yakko continued, nearly entranced. “It’s not that I don’t want to do it. But what would happen if someone should find out? What if they separate us?”

Yakko was silenced by Wakko’s body pressing against his own. “If we’re very careful, nobody will know. Even if they do find out, they’re not going to take us away from each other. I won’t let them.”

Yakko needed no more persuasion. “Then let us commence our bath,” he said, grinning and sliding off his pants.

The brothers climbed into the tub. Submerged up to their waists in bubbles and water, it appeared as though they were innocently taking a bath together—if you completely ignored the fact that they had their arms around each other and were inches from kissing.

Yakko suddenly felt something move his tail. He looked down and saw Wakko’s tail tentatively rubbing against his own.

Yakko smiled, intertwining his tail with that of his brother. Soon, Wakko was pressed against Yakko’s chest, kissing the side of his neck, while Yakko rubbed his nose against Wakko’s head.

Suddenly the door opened. Dot poked her head in. Luckily, Wakko’s head was facing away from the door, so it merely looked like Yakko had his nose on Wakko’s head. Both turned to look at her.

It still looked weird, and Dot made no secret of this with her facial expression. “What are you doing?”

“Um….Sniffing Wakko’s fur,” Yakko answered. “This new shampoo smells great!” Yakko took a huge whiff of Wakko’s head and had to quickly hide how intoxicating he found the scent. Wakko only continued to stare dopily at Dot, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Dot must have been convinced, because she dropped the “what the hell” expression and said, “Okay!” Then she skipped off to the bedroom.

The minute the door closed, Yakko gave a sigh of relief. “That was close.” He turned to Wakko with a serious, but loving expression. “Maybe we ought to wait until we’re sure nobody will catch us. Or get a ‘Do not disturb’ sign.”

“It’s a little late for the sign, isn’t it?” Wakko said, lapping at Yakko’s neck.

-O-o-O-o-O-

Moral of the story: Always be aware of how many tongues are in your mouth.

Brotherly Love: All Three Warner Siblings Have Questionable Taste in Men (part three of seven)

Might as well release more of that old Yakko x Wakko fic into the world.

₮ⱧɆ ₩ØⱤⱠĐ ₭₦Ø₩₴ ₩Ⱨ₳₮ ł₮ гР₮Ø ĐɆ₴ɆⱤVɆ ₮Ⱨł₴

Part one is here. Part two is here.

DEAD GOODFEATHERS DO NOT EAT

Content Warning: Consensual romantic relationship between two siblings; aged-up characters; questionable knowledge of psychology; godsawful usage of mid-noughties slang; citrus scale: lime (adult fun-time happens, but is not shown); however, the lead-up to the adult fun-time is described in detail; big emotions, including: *extremely Gonzo voice* GUILT and *extremely Septa Unella voice* SHAME SHAME SHAME (ding ding); animane-y, totally insane-y, Dot is slut-shame-y

-O-o-O-o-O-

For the next few days, the Warner brothers kept their romance on the D.L. Even when Dot was not in the room or asleep, they refrained from attempting to get in a quick kiss or cuddle.

However, the more they tried to hide it, the harder it got. Yakko wasn’t sure he could keep himself from giving Wakko seductive winks from across the room. Wakko wasn’t sure if he could keep himself from flat out glomping Yakko.

One day, Dot exclaimed, “There’s a Mel Gibson lovers’ convention this weekend!”

They were all sitting at the table, eating pizza for dinner. When Dot turned to look at the calendar, Wakko couldn’t help himself. He snuck a quick kiss on Yakko’s nose, then went back to devouring his pizza (and the box) long before Dot turned around again.

“I’ll definitely have to go to that,” Dot continued. “It starts on Friday and lasts until Monday.” She turned to her brothers. “Think you can survive without me for four days?”

Yakko and Wakko looked at each other. Four days….With nobody but themselves around.

“It’ll be tough, but I think we’ll manage,” Yakko said. “We wouldn’t want to keep you from your ‘future husband.’” He twiddled his fingers to add air quotes.

Dot playfully flicked Yakko’s nose. “A girl can dream, can’t she?” she said with a smile, then went to pack.

When Yakko was sure she was gone, he gently touched Wakko’s hand. “We’ll have the tower to ourselves for four whole days. Are you pondering what I’m pondering?”

“Way ahead of you,” Wakko responded.

The next night, Friday, Dot left for the convention with Hello Nurse, who was also a fan. There weren’t any waterworks, but it still felt weird for the siblings, as they had never really been separated before.

However, Yakko and Wakko didn’t let the (very) slight separation anxiety get them down for long. First, they took their bath—with no interruptions and plenty more kissing.

That night, they sat together on Yakko’s bunk. They didn’t cuddle, they just sat in silence, enjoying the mere fact that they were alone together. It was almost as if they were waiting to see how long they could last without physical contact—or waiting for something to interrupt them just as it was getting good.

They weren’t waiting long, because after a few minutes, the brothers sprang up and went at each other more vigorously than they had before. Yakko ran his hands over Wakko’s ears, kissing his head as Wakko pulled Yakko on top of himself, licking Yakko’s neck as he moved.

Yakko began to get really into it. He eventually began to work his hands down Wakko’s body. He caressed the blue-clad arms, wishing he could touch the actual flesh. Wakko had moved south to kissing Yakko’s chest.

Yakko worked his way down until he got to Wakko’s waist. He suddenly stopped. Did he really want to undress his little brother? Was this really the right thing to do?

Wakko looked up at Yakko, puzzled. “Why’d you stop? It was getting really good.”

Yakko backed off, then sat back on his feet. “I think I got into it too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I lost myself in the moment. I….I wanted to touch your body, and not just through your clothing, but I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do.”

Wakko lay in front of Yakko a few seconds longer, then took off his shirt. Yakko could almost feel a certain area in his pants start to grow. He looked down and realized that the protrusion was not, in fact, baloney in his slacks.

Wakko looked at Yakko’s crotch, then back up at Yakko. “We can take care of that.”

“That’s all well and good that you feel the same, but if we do this now, there’ll be no turning back. We’ll be up to our necks in the type of situation only allowed if our names were Ptolemy,” Yakko said, trying desperately to get it down. It wasn’t working. Wakko was being so calm, it was scary.

“Do I get to be Ptolemy I or do I have to play Ptolemy II?” Wakko asked. “Anyway, I don’t want to go back.”

“And we’re basically kids! I mean, we’re not really kids, seeing as how we’ve been around since the ‘30s, but we don’t exactly age normally, so we’ll always be forever young,” Yakko started rambling again.

Wakko sat up, his tail working its way up Yakko’s body.

“And what if you don’t like it? I mean, I’ll probably be fine, but what if we’re just not ready to go this far? It’ll be like I’m rap—”

Yakko was cut off by Wakko giving him a long sultry kiss, using that incredible tongue of his.

“I’m ready. You wouldn’t be raping me, we’re technically both adults, I don’t care if you’re my brother, and nobody’s going to find out. Really, Yakko, it’s going to be okay. Now please,” Wakko’s voice shook slightly, “just give it to me.”

Yakko felt a slight pressing on his leg. It took him a while to realize that that wasn’t Wakko’s tail.

He looked back at Wakko. He could see the longing in his eyes. He began to wonder how long he’d felt this way. Was he feeling this way longer than Yakko had? How much longer?

“You’ve felt this way for much longer than I have, haven’t you?” Yakko found himself asking. “You’ve had to hide it all this time.”

Wakko looked away. “You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you? You think I’m disgusting.”

“No, I don’t. I just didn’t want to do something that might hurt you,” Yakko soothed, putting his hands on Wakko’s naked shoulders. “But clearly not doing this now would be detrimental to your sanity.”

Wakko grinned up at Yakko. “I have no sanity.”

“Which is why I’m concerned. It’s illegal to do the horizontal hokey-pokey with a crazy person,” Yakko said.

“You’re not exactly sane yourself.”

“Right you are, little brother.”

And with that, Wakko proceeded to show Yakko just how insane he could get.

-O-o-O-

Dot entered the dark water tower as quietly as possibly, in case her brothers were asleep.

The convention hadn’t been as fun as she’d thought it would be. Sure, Mel Gibson was there, but with the huge lines of people, one could barely get five seconds with the guy. Then he had to leave early to work on another movie—something about “passion.”

“Speaking of passion,” Dot thought, taking out her newly autographed photo of Mel Gibson, “I wonder where I could put this up. I’m running out of room over my bed.”

Dot shrugged, put the picture back in its folder, then continued to her room. “I’ll figure it out later.”

As she was putting her things away, she noticed Yakko and Wakko in the same bunk again. Wakko was snuggled up against Yakko, surprisingly not wearing his red cap.

“Well, that’s a first. He never takes that thing off,” Dot thought.

Just like the other night, Yakko had his arm around Wakko in the same protective manner.

“Wakko seems to be having a lot of nightmares lately,” Dot thought, climbing onto her bunk. “I wonder what he and Yakko have been watching while I was gone.”

Had Dot looked more closely, she would have noticed that both Yakko and Wakko were naked.

-O-o-O-

The next morning, Yakko didn’t get to watch Wakko sleeping at all, because Wakko woke up first.

Wakko stared up at his sleeping brother, his eyes travelling up and down the arm around his own body. He smiled just as lovingly as Yakko had when he was in this situation, only Wakko’s smile was more dopey due to his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

He was deeply in love with his older brother. He’d still be in love with Yakko even if they weren’t doing all these fun things together. But Wakko needed to get physical with Yakko. He’d never been much for words, but if he could show Yakko how much he loved him, his message would get through.

He felt the arm under him stir as Yakko began to wake up.

Yakko carefully moved his arm so he could prop himself and look at Wakko. “So, about last night,” he started with a grin.

“Was I good?” Wakko asked hopefully.

“Good? You were wonderful! I don’t really have any idea of how it should have gone, but I don’t care! The nipple-honking was a nice touch, too.” Yakko moved in closer.

Wakko moved even closer to Yakko. “Are you up for another round?”

“When do you want it?” Yakko took his brother into his arms.

Dot was in the bathroom, going about her cuteness routine. This involved showering, washing her hair, blow-drying and combing, a blood sacrifice to Venus, and brushing her teeth before finally picking an outfit and flower scrunchie.

Just as she was about to get into the shower, she realized she’d forgotten her blow-dryer in the bedroom. She could always get it after her shower, but then her hair would drip all over the floor and leave a wet trail, and they had a house rule about no pratfalls before 10:00 AM.

“I’d better get it now.” She headed to the bedroom.

When she arrived at the door, she sensed she should stop. She stopped and heard Yakko and Wakko talking through the partially opened door.

She peeked through the crack and saw Wakko standing, stark naked, in front of Yakko. And Yakko didn’t seem as freaked out as he had the last time Wakko stood around naked. In fact, he looked like he liked it.

“Is it hot in here or is it just me?” Yakko was saying, fanning himself, supposedly at Wakko.

“It’s both of us.” To Dot’s shock, Wakko’s voice had taken on a sultry tone.

Then Wakko went over to Yakko and began to kiss him—on the lips.

Dot watched in horror as Yakko picked Wakko up and put him on the bed, while Wakko had his hands firmly around Yakko’s waist. By the looks on their faces and the movement of their mouths, she could tell that Wakko’s tongue had decided to pay Yakko’s mouth a visit.

Dot turned away from the door. She couldn’t go in there now. She couldn’t even think of what to say.

“What the hell was that?!” Dot thought. “Yakko and Wakko—disgusting! How could they do such a thing?! I thought Yakko knew better than that! And Wakko’s pretty gross, but even that’s nasty for him!”

Dot wanted to kick the door down and yell at them, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “I don’t even know what to say to them, I’m so angry. I can’t even bear to look at them right now.”

Dot ran back to the bathroom to take a nice long shower.

-O-o-O-

Wakko sat in the kitchen, in his pajamas.

Shortly after they’d finished kissing, Yakko went out to get the paper. Wakko spent time finding his cap (it’d fallen under the bed the night before) and made the bed, something he rarely did.

Whe he finished, he went to brush his teeth, but the bathroom was occupied. He’d figured Yakko had gotten the paper and needed to go, so he decided to eat first, since he was pretty hungry.

They had forgotten to buy cereal, so Wakko found a box of ramen noodles and nuked them (in the microwave, not with a literal nuclear weapon).

He was about halfway finished when a half-soaked figure marched into the kitchen.

It was Dot.

“You tongue-sucking harlot!” Dot screamed. She’d been unable to quit thinking about her brothers and as she showered, she’d only gotten angrier.

“How could you do that with Yakko?! Don’t you have any decency?! He’s your goddamn brother, for Pete’s sake! You just seduced him like some twopence trollop! Do you even understand what you’ve done? You don’t, do you?! I thought you were just gross, but now I know you’re an incestuous WHORE!” Dot shouted. She’d never been so angry at her brothers in her life.

There was silence as she caught her breath and Wakko stared at her with a look of absolute terror on his face.

“And you’re not a college student, so why are you eating ramen for breakfast?!” Dot hollered before stomping out of the room.

-O-o-O-o-O-

And the moral of today's story is: If you catch your brothers making out with each other, take a shower, but be careful not to drip water everywhere. Safety is important.

Brotherly Love: If There Must Be Mpreg, Warn a Brotha (And Warn a Sista) (Part four of seven)

Warner brothers? More like War-garyen brothers.

Except without the dragons or pseudo-medieval politics.

Part one is here. Part two is here. Part three is here.

DEAD GOODFEATHERS DO NOT EAT

Content Warning: Consensual romantic relationship between two siblings; mpreg; aged-up characters; questionable knowledge of psychology; usage of mid-noughties slang that aged like milk (which Yakko will not be drinking); abortion mention; oh dear gods an author avatar and her avatar's furry friend; a fourth Warner; attempt at writing Scratchansniff’s accent out phonetically; big emotions, including: *extremely Gonzo voice* GUILT and *extremely Septa Unella voice* SHAME SHAME SHAME (ding ding); animane-y, totally insane-y, Dot is slut-shame-y

-O-o-O-o-O-

Yakko was just coming back from getting the newspaper. This entailed annoying Ralph, the security guard, until he balled it up and threw it at Yakko.

He was walking along, tossing the balled-up paper up and down with each step when he noticed Hello Nurse entering the psychiatric building.

“Wait a minute….Dot went to the convention with Hello Nurse,” Yakko thought.

He thought back to how the bathroom door was closed when he walked past—it couldn’t have been Wakko in the bathroom, because he’d just left him in the bedroom. Then it hit Yakko.

Dot was home.

Yakko shoved the paper in his pocket and ran the rest of the way home.

“How long has she been home?” he wondered. “And when did she come in? Oh my god…Did she see us in bed, naked?!”

Yakko flew up the ladder and into the tower.

Everything was quiet. There was no sign of Dot or Wakko in the front room.

Yakko went to the kitchen. They weren’t there either.

The bathroom door was closed and Yakko could hear the sound of a blowdryer from within. That had to be Dot.

Yakko entered the bedroom, where he found Wakko, sitting on his top bunk, crying softly.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Yakko said, scaling the bunks. He reached a hand out to comfort Wakko, but he pulled away. The sobs racked his small body.

“Dot knows,” Wakko sobbed.

Yakko was afraid of that. However, he was still shocked. A tiny part of him still had hope that she hadn’t found out.

“She…knows?” Yakko said, his horror growing each second.

“I don’t know how, but she knows. I thought she was gone for the weekend,” Wakko continued to sob.

“Well….It’s not that bad. At least we don’t have to sneak around anymore,” Yakko said, forcing optimism. “She’ll probably give us lots of space.” Yakko realized the minute he finished speaking that this was the wrong thing to say.

“It’s all my fault. I seduced you into doing this. I’m such a whore.” Wakko hid his face in his pillow.

“Those were Dot’s words, weren’t they?” Yakko thought, suddenly angry at his sister. “No. If I hadn’t told you about my feelings, you wouldn’t have acted the way you did,” Yakko explained, desperately trying to stop his brother’s tears. He reached out a hand to hold Wakko, but Wakko gently pushed it away.

“We can’t,” he said simply.

“We….can’t touch?”

“If we touch, I’ll only be tempted to seduce you again. I’ll just ruin you.”

“I’m already ruined, and none of it is your fault,” Yakko started.

“Yes, it is!” Wakko snapped. “Please, just….Let’s not touch each other anymore,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“Okay.” Yakko had to comply, but on the inside, he was fuming at Dot.

-O-o-O-

He caught Dot coming out of the bathroom. Dot only stopped to glare at him for a few seconds, then stomped away. Yakko grabbed her by the shoulder before she could disappear down the hall.

“Shouldn’t you and your brother be heading out to a shack in the woods now?” she spat, trying to shake Yakko off.

“Dot, we have to talk,” Yakko stated firmly. “And besides, he’s your brother, too.”

“Not after what he did with you, he’s not. I don’t even know that boy,” Dot hissed.

“Well, we still need to talk.” Yakko refused to give up. Even if it took him all night, he’d get Dot to apologize for yelling at Wakko.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Are you shiggity-sure about that?” Yakko leaned in close to Dot.

Dot crossed her arms and glared at a point off to the side for a few seconds. Then she sighed angrily and turned her glare on Yakko. “Y’know, I’d expected better from you.”

“Pardon?” Yakko raised a non-existent eyebrow.

“For god’s sake, Yakko, you know what people think of incest. You understand how gross it is to be attracted to your blood relatives. You know better than to try to seduce your brother!” Dot scolded.

“And Wakko doesn’t?” Yakko found his anger rising again.

“Yakko, I don’t think Wakko even knows what galaxy we live in. I seriously doubt he could grasp such a complex issue as incest.”

Yakko couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did she seriously think Wakko was stupid?

“But that’s not the point. If he started making advances on you, why didn’t you stop him? If you understood what would happen if you went too far, why didn’t you do something?”

“Maybe I didn’t want to!” Yakko said sharply. “Maybe I enjoyed it! Yes, you heard correctly. I enjoyed it!”

Dot’s glare dropped and was replaced by an expression of pure horror. “What….How could you?!”

“How could I? Maybe because I love Wakko! Not in that way, in that way. It was all me; I told him I loved him and he was just reacting to it. Did you get that? I made the first move. It was my fault.”

“Oh my god….” Dot’s expression was now one of disgust rather than horror.

“And because I love Wakko, I don’t appreciate you putting him down like that. He may not seem it to you, but he is just as smart as either of us and is perfectly capable of understanding incest. Do you know that he’s the one who thought to hide it from you so we wouldn’t get caught? Did you ever think that just maybe he might be hurt by you calling him a whore? Did you ever think that maybe he might have regrets over the whole thing? I’m sure you didn’t because you don’t know shit about our brother!” Yakko yelled.

They were right outside the bedroom door, but he didn’t care. if he couldn’t touch Wakko, he could find other ways to show his love.

“Well, after that little rant, I do know something about both of you. You’re both perverts and I want nothing to do with you. I’m going to stay with Hello Nurse.” With that, she wrenched herself away from Yakko and stomped off to pack her things.

-O-o-O-

Yakko’s first instinct was to grab Dot again, sit her down, and give her a long talk about this whole thing. His second instinct was to give her a good slap.

It was his third instinct, the one that told him to walk away, that won. He set off towards the bathroom to take a nice hot shower to relax his nerves. Or maybe a nice cold shower to relax his….other muscles.

As he was walking, the closet door next to the bathroom suddenly opened and Yakko was pulled inside.

Yakko groped around, trying to get his bearings, until a flashlight turned on. He looked towards the source of light and saw Wakko, sitting behind a box. Immediately, Wakko threw himself at Yakko.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” Wakko said softly, pressing himself against Yakko. A few seconds later, Yakko could feel Wakko’s tears wetting his fur.

“It’s okay now. I’m not against continuing this,” he soothed, stroking Wakko’s ears. “We’ll find some way to work it out.”

“How can you be so sure?” Wakko stared up at Yakko with teary black eyes.

“I’m the oldest brother. It’s what I do,” Yakko responded. He looked around. “Since when do we have a closet here?”

Wakko sniffled. “Since now.”

“All righty then.” Yakko went back to holding Wakko.

The door swung open and they were met with a very disturbed and angry Dot.

“You two are seriously fucked up and not in the good way,” she hissed before stomping away.

Wakko turned away from Yakko, curled into a little ball, and continued to cry.

“Wakko…” Yakko reached out for his brother, but Wakko pulled away.

Yakko didn’t care; he pulled Wakko towards him in a warm embrace. This time, Wakko didn’t resist as Yakko half cradled him in his arms, half held him in his lap.

“Don’t worry. Everything’ll work out,” Yakko soothed. “Somehow.”

-O-o-O-

By the next morning, Dot had packed up and spent the better part of the early morning at Hello Nurse’s house.

Yakko and Wakko spent the night in Yakko’s bunk. It would have been too weird, being in their own bunks, knowing that Dot wasn’t sleeping between them. Sure she’d been away at night earlier that week, but they'd known she would come back. Now, they weren’t so sure she’d ever want to talk to them again.

Wakko fell asleep quickly, having worn himself out with the crying. However, Yakko lay in bed, awake, until at least 3:00AM.

“Is what we’re doing really so wrong? I mean, society says it’s wrong, but society says that premarital sex is wrong, and people do that anyway. There are so many people out there who don’t love each other the way Wakko and I do, and they have sex and go through the motions of being in love, even to the point where they’ll get married! And we’re not hurting anyone so what’s wrong with it?” Yakko pondered.

In a flash, it came to Yakko. He knew who could help them.

He ran to the phone to leave a message on Dr. Scratchansniff’s answering machine.

-O-o-O-

The next morning, Yakko somehow managed to wake up at 8:00AM. He was about to roll over and go back to sleep when he realized something was missing.

Wakko wasn’t in bed with him.

Yakko sat up, worried. What if Wakko had run off? What if he decided it was best for them to not even live together? What if he went to go get Dot?

“Dot was pretty pissed off at us,” Yakko thought. “Who knows what she’s capable of doing to Wakko?”

Yakko sprang out of bed and through the bedroom doorway. As he was walking down the hall, he heard a sniffle coming from within the bathroom.

The door was open a crack so Yakko could see Wakko, kneeling over the toilet, his body heaving. A few seconds later, he began to vomit into the toilet.

Yakko pushed the door open and quietly entered. “You okay in here?” he asked, just before Wakko started vomiting again.

“I’m fine now, I think,” Wakko responded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It was probably just something I ate. That green cheese in the back of the fridge did look a bit dodgy.”

Yakko gave Wakko a sideways look. He’d seen Wakko eat worse things (like gum from under a theater seat), and he’d been perfectly fine afterwards.

“Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” Yakko asked, putting a hand on his brother’s forehead. No sign of a fever.

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.” Wakko closed the toilet lid.

“Would you be up to a visit with Scratchy, then?”

Wakko perked up. “What are we gonna do to him this time?”

“Slow down, Wakko.” Yakko put his hands on Wakko’s shoulders to calm him. “We won’t be doing anything like that this time. Scratchy’s going to help us get Dot back, and he’s been helping me since before I told you about my feelings for you, so we should take it easy on him. Besides, I don’t want you to overexert yourself and start getting sick again.”

“Yakko, I’m fine. But I’ll be good.” A little halo appeared over Wakko’s head.

The brothers had an early appointment at around 9:00, so they had to leave shortly.

Yakko was beginning to have second thoughts about scheduling the appointment so early. He hadn’t gotten a full night of sleep, but he was fine. It was Wakko that he was worried about. He didn’t think his brother was as “fine” as he said he was. He’d seen Wakko run to the bathroom a couple more times. He’d said that he “just had to go really badly,” but when Wakko told him he’d pass on having breakfast, Yakko knew something wasn’t right.

It was around 8:30 when Yakko was fully convinced that Wakko was a little more than under the weather. He’d had to wake his brother up after he’d fallen asleep—while standing at the front door.

It was too late to cancel and reschedule the appointment. Besides, they needed help now. The sooner they got Dot back, the better.

Still, he couldn’t have Wakko climbing down the ladder in such a condition. Yakko conjured up an elevator and the two rode down without difficulty.

By the time they got to the psychiatry building, Wakko was leaning weakly against Yakko. From his glassy-eyed expression, Yakko could tell Wakko was just barely aware that they had arrived.

They took a seat on the couch in the waiting room, instead of their usual chairs. It would be too weird, sitting in those chairs without Dot, and the couch would definitely be more comfortable right now.

For once in his life, Yakko actually sat quietly in the waiting room. This was because the minute they sat on the couch, Wakko fell asleep.

Yakko gazed down at him. Although he was sleeping, Wakko’s expression was anything but peaceful. Yakko could see tiny beads of sweat on the tense face.

Yakko was just as tense about the whole situation as Wakko; he just didn’t show it as much. If he freaked out, Wakko would freak out more than usual, and there had to be at least one rational person around. Usually that would be Dot, if both of the brothers were incapacitated, but of course she wasn’t speaking to them.

“If Scratchy can’t help us, nobody can,” Yakko thought, almost ready to just throw in the towel. Clearly, his feelings for Wakko weren’t going to change. Dot was pretty set in her ways, so she wasn’t going to suddenly start liking their relationship. If they really couldn’t get Dot back, then to hell with it.

Not that Yakko wanted to live without his sister. He just realized that sometimes you had to know when to quit.

Looking down at Wakko again made Yakko realize he couldn’t quit. If they couldn’t get Dot to even speak to them, Wakko would continue to blame himself for the whole thing. Yakko realized that it was probably nobody’s fault, but carrying this kind of emotional burden could seriously harm a person—and it would be made doubly heavy, considering how emotional Wakko could get. Would he start punishing himself? To what extent?

“No,” Yakko thought. “We’re gonna get Dot back, whether she likes it or not.”

Just then, Hello Nurse came into the waiting room. “Dr. Scratchansniff is ready to see you now,” she announced.

In his office, Scratchy began to mentally prepare himself for the visit. Sure, the Warners seemed to be backing off on the zaniness lately, and Dot wasn’t with them this time, but the brothers could be pretty boisterous on their own. In fact, they might be even zanier as Dot was sometimes the force that curbed their insanity.

So Scratchy was more than a little surprised to see Yakko walk in quietly, supporting a sleepy-looking Wakko. He watched as the brothers climbed onto the couch and settled in, Wakko leaning heavily on Yakko. Yakko slid his arm around his little brother, then looked up at the psychiatrist.

“He’s not feeling very well,” Yakko explained.

“I see,” Scratchy responded, examining the glazed-over look in Wakko’s eyes. “Are you sure you don’t vant to reschedule?”

“I’m fine. Really,” Wakko insisted, his voice quiet.

“All right.” Sratchy sat back down in the chair in front of the couch. “So if you don’t mind my asking, vhy is Dot not vith you?”

“That’s what we needed to talk to you about,” Yakko answered, looking a little pained. “You know how I told you about my feelings for Wakko?”

“Ja?”

“And you told me to write them down?”

“Ja?”

“Well, I did, and it helped. For a while. Then my feelings started to get stronger, and well….”

“Here we are,” Wakko concluded, cuddling up to Yakko.

“Here you are? Vhat do you mean, ‘here?’” Scratchy was confused.

The brothers realized they’d skipped a lot of vital points. It wasn’t that obvious that they loved each other in a romantic way based on their actions right now.

“I told Wakko that I loved him, fully expecting him to be disgusted and hate me,” Yakko started.

“But then I told Yakko I loved him back,” Wakko continued.

“So we were all happy and in love until Dot found out. She yelled at Wakko, called him a whore—”

“Among other things,” Wakko interjected.

“And then she verbally ripped me a new one. Then she said she wanted nothing to do with us, and left.”

“And here we are,” Wakko finished.

Scratchy was shocked. Not by Yakko and Wakko’s incestuous relationship, but by Dot’s reaction. He never thought he’d see the day the Warner trio broke up. He’d thought nothing could get in the way of their bond. Plainly, he’d been wrong. Now, sanity be damned, he needed to fix it.

They continued to discuss the details of the past few days until the timer beeped. Their hour was up.

“Vhat I think you should do is come in for a group appointment, maybe a few days from now, ja? Dot is staying vith the Nurse right now, but maybe you should take a short break from each ozher before confronting her.”

Yakko perked up. Yes! That was exactly what he needed. He was only likely to yell at Dot right now, which wouldn’t help them make amends any faster. He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself. And Wakko….Well, if Dot was still angry at him, he didn’t seem to be in any condition to take her on right now.

Yakko scheduled an appointment for two days from the present one.

-O-o-O-

The brothers arrived home shortly after 10:15. Tiredness finally kicked in, prompting Yakko to go back to bed until noon.

Wakko tried very hard to cuddle up to Yakko and do the same, but his body wouldn’t let him. Running to the bathroom to toss his cookies was really getting annoying, especially since he hadn’t even gotten to eat yet.

As he was wiping his mouth for what felt like the 785th time that morning, he noticed his gag bag behind the toilet. He also noticed that something was nearly falling out of it.

Wakko picked up the something, which was a small box with the words, “Mistake-Free Test” written on it. He recognized it as the pregnancy test from that commercial that only came on late at night; it was the one with the stream hitting the little plastic stick. He snickered inwardly. He never knew what would come out of the gag bag, did he?

Then Wakko’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. Usually, he pulled things out of the gag bag because he instinctively knew he needed them. Sometimes he didn’t know what exactly he needed, but just reached in and got the perfect tool for the situation.

The next few thoughts came slowly, but surely. He always pulled what he needed from the gag bag. He’d just pulled out a pregnancy test. A few days ago, he and Yakko did the dirty. Toon gestation was very different from human gestation….

Almost without thinking, Wakko sat on the toilet, pulled out the plastic stick, and peed on it. Then he waited the obligatory one minute for the results. While he was waiting, he read the instructions. Blue meant negative, pink meant positive.

Wakko checked his watch (which magically appeared on his wrist). Only twenty seconds had gone by. It was only a minute, yet it was taking a week.

Wakko alternated staring at his watch and staring at the stick. The last second of the minute ticked away. The result screen was still blue. Wakko’s heart soared.

Then it hit the ceiling and came plummeting back to earth as the screen suddenly turned from blue to pink.

Wakko snatched up the box. “Works in….one minute and one second?!” he read. “What the hell kind of random waiting time is that?!”

In the bedroom, Yakko couldn’t sleep. Despite his outward behavior, he really didn’t hold out much hope for getting Dot back. Sure, Scratchy was a good psychiatrist, but this whole incest thing was too big to be solved. Yakko couldn’t get rid of his feelings for Wakko using his journal, and Dot would never approve of their relationship. But what the hell, he’d give it a try. What did they have to lose?

Yakko finally realized that he wasn’t going back to sleep. He was too wired. So he decided to go in the bathroom and splash water on his face. Then maybe he’d stare intensely at his reflection while piano music played, possibly with a spinning effect.

When he got to the bathroom, the door was mostly closed, but through a tiny crack, he could see Wakko sitting in front of the toilet.

“Wakko?” Yakko called softly. Wakko didn’t answer. He seemed to have not even heard Yakko.

Yakko pushed open the bathroom door, fearing his brother was hurt, or even worse, that he’d hurt himself on purpose. “Wakko, are you okay?” he asked.

Wakko was sitting on the floor in front of the toilet, staring at something in he held in his hands. As Yakko came closer, he walked around in front of Wakko to see what he was holding, then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what it was.

It was a pregnancy test.

Thinking fast, Yakko saw the instructions sitting on the counter, snatched them up, and started to speed-read them until Wakko spoke.

“It’s positive.”

Yakko turned around, absolutely speechless. Personally, he didn’t like these times when he could think of absolutely nothing to say and he didn’t like that they were becoming more common.

Then Wakko turned to look up at him with an utterly destroyed look on his face and the words came rushing back.

“Oh my god….I can’t believe I did this to you….It’s mine isn’t? Of course it is, you’ve never done that with anybody else. Oh god, I never wanted to hurt you. This is all my fault. What have I done? I never meant for you to go through all this. Oh god, what about Dot! She’s going to find out about it sooner or later. She’ll never approve. What have I done to you….”

To Wakko’s complete surprise, Yakko broke down and began to cry. Yakko had always tried to be the strong, fearless older brother, never letting anything bother him, always the optimist. And most importantly, he never cried. Now, he was curled up in the fetal position, bawling his eyes out. Wakko knew exactly what his brother needed and it wasn’t in the gag bag.

Yakko suddenly looked up to see Wakko walking towards him and putting his arms around him.

“Let me be the strong brother this time,” Wakko whispered.

Yakko succumbed to the embrace. His tears subsided slightly as Wakko quietly comforted him, assuring, “Everything’s going to be all right.”

-O-o-O-

The next day, they went to their group appointment and it went horribly. Dot showed up, no less angry about the situation. They had started to talk about the whole thing, until Yakko said that Dot had to know about a recent discovery.

The minute Wakko told Dot he was pregnant and it was Yakko’s child, any chance they had of getting Dot to move back in hurled itself out the window. She instantly went into “destroy Wakko mode,” calling him a “filthy strumpet” and then yelling at Yakko for being a “disgusting pervert.” Then she yelled about how Wakko should abort the fetus because no child deserved to have the disgrace of having such perverts for parents. Wakko ran crying into the inner office, while Yakko shouted Dot down for saying such horrible things. Soon, blows were exchanged and Scratchy had to pull Yakko and Dot off of each other while Hello Nurse comforted a wailing Wakko.

In the end, Dot refused to ever speak to her brothers again. A week later, she packed up her things and left Hello Nurse’s house for Domino City—located on the east coast of the United States, a whole continent’s width from Burbank.

Five years later, Yakko looked across the water tower at Wakko playing with their son, Zakko. He was a very healthy, happy child, especially since the nature of his parentage was kept a secret from him. Both brothers decided that until Zakko was old enough to understand, he was better off not knowing. They didn’t want to scar his little brain and make him feel like it was his fault Dot left, because it wasn’t. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

Yakko gazed admiringly at Zakko. He was an adorable little pup; he looked just like Wakko, but he’d clearly inherited Yakko’s personality. He’d been talking since he was little more than a year old and he could always think of something funny to say. But sometimes, when he was lost in thought or asleep, his tongue would slip out of the corner of his mouth and he’d look even more like a mini-Wakko.

Then, if Zakko struck a cute pose after saying something particularly funny, he remind Yakko of Dot.

Yakko had to wonder how Dot was doing. Was she faring as well as he, Wakko, and Zakko were? Was she happy? Would they ever see her again? Would she change her mind if she could see how wonderful her nephew was?

Zakko came to sit on the couch and watch TV while Wakko went to check on dinner. Yakko had noticed that Wakko had changed significantly since Zakko was born. Sure he was still wacky, but not as much as he’d been before. He’d toned down the gross behavior as well, and seemed overall more mature. The only things that hadn’t changed was the fact that he kept his gag bag and he still wore his cap.

Yakko had changed, too. He was still talkative, but he greatly toned down the amount of off-color jokes he made. He’d also put his talents to use teaching Zakko the countries of the world, but of course, he had to update his song a little. And he and Zakko could talk for hours on end, while Wakko added to the conversation from time to time.

He’d also started wearing a shirt, but that was really not a big deal.

During a commercial break, Zakko went to go set the table. As he was going back into the living room, he noticed a picture hanging on the wall by the doorway. It was a peculiar picture. He figured it was from when his father and uncle were younger. Actually, they didn’t look too different from the way they did in the photo, so that was why he could recognize them.

In the photograph, three kids were posing. Yakko, on the left seemed to have a knowing smile on his face, like he’d just figured out something really funny. He had one hand in the pocket of his slacks, which were still too big for him. In the middle was Wakko, in his blue sweatshirt and red cap. He had a blissful expression on his face, his tongue dangling from the corner of his mouth. He held a humongous mallet behind his back.

The third kid, a girl, puzzled Zakko to no end. She resembled Dad and Uncle Yakko, but he’d never seen her before. In fact, he’d never even heard Wakko or Yakko mention a female Warner.

Yakko noticed Zakko looking at the picture and had to sigh. He’d tell him about Dot one day, he swore. But he just wasn’t ready right now.

“Uncle Yakko, who’s that girl with you and Dad?” Zakko finally asked.

Yakko gazed at the picture a few seconds longer before answering, “Someone we knew a very long time ago.”

The End

“Wait, wait, WAIT!”

In a white void, a tiny mammoth was yelling. The mammoth sat next to a teenaged girl, sitting cross-legged. The girl held a clipboard with a stack of filler paper and almost too-short-to-use pencil, which she’d dropped when the mammoth started yelling.

The mammoth, whose name was Hrothella, stood up, her hands on her hips. “You cannot end the story like that!”

The girl (whom we will call Fae), having recovered from the (very) slight surprise of the mammoth yelling, was unaffected. “And why not?” she responded dryly.

“Because it’s terrible! Sure, it’s written okay, but it’s the most depressing thing I’ve seen since I read Les Miserables!” Hrothella answered. “The Warner siblings break up forever? What kind of ending is that?”

“Uh….An emotionally moving ending?”

“Yes, but a really, really sad one!” Hrothella continued.

“So what’s your point?”

Hrothella sighed, exasperatedly. Humans could be so dense. “My point is that, yes, it’s okay to throw in a sad ending to a story here and there, but not in an Animaniacs fanfic! The Animaniacs are all about fun and zaniness—not this drama-soaked, so-soapy-you-could-wash-dishes-with-it depress-fest you just wrote! It has to be funny, wacky, happy!”

Fae raised an eyebrow. “So you want ‘zany?’”

“Yes!”

“Happy?” The eyebrow twitched.

“Yes!”

“Wacky?” The mouth twitched.

“Hells, yeah!” Hrothella jumped a foot off the bed, then noticed the crazy grin on Fae’s face. “Wait…What are you doing? What are you writing? Hey, don’t you ignore me, Missy! You’d better not cut me off with the next chapter—”

-O-o-O-o-O-

And the moral of today’s story is: Never go full Targaryen.

Brotherly Love: The Musical (Part five of seven)

Behold, teen!me's definition of "zany, happy, wacky."

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

DEAD GOODFEATHERS DO NOT LICK

Content Warning: Consensual romantic relationship between two siblings; mpreg; aged-up characters; questionable knowledge of psychology; usage of mid-noughties slang that aged like milk (which Yakko will not be drinking); very off-color jokes; oh dear gods an author avatar and her avatar’s furry friend; attempts at song parodies; author’s notes to give track listings; attempt at writing Scratchansniff’s accent out phonetically; big emotions, including: *extremely Gonzo voice* GUILT and *extremely Septa Unella voice* SHAME SHAME SHAME (ding ding); animane-y, totally insane-y, Dot is slut-shame-y

-O-o-O-o-O-

Yakko lay in bed after their appointment with Scratchy.

Sleep wouldn’t come easily to him now that he’d gotten washed up and dressed already. However, if Wakko was up to it, he could easily take care of the later….

“Stop it, Yakko,” he told himself. “Your brother is in the bathroom, puking his guts out and all you can think about is sex.”

He would go in the bathroom and comfort Wakko—except Wakko had told him not to come in the bathroom yet. What he could be doing in there was beyond Yakko, but Yakko wasn’t about to disrespect Wakko’s privacy.

Plus, the sight of Wakko throwing up was not exactly something one would want to see less than two hours after breakfast.

So Yakko lay in his bunk, staring at the bottom of Dot’s empty bunk. “I wonder how a picture of Wakko would look taped there.”

In the bathroom, Wakko was staring at a little plastic stick with a pink screen.

“Well this ain’t faboo, is it?” he thought, tossing the box into the trash. “Dot’s not going to like this.”

He looked out the door, down the hall towards the bedroom. “I don’t even know if I should tell Yakko.”

Wakko stuck his head back in the door. “That’s stupid. Of course I should tell him. It’s his. Unless something happened that one night I sleepwalked. I never did remember why I ended up naked in Plotz’s office. Definitely nothing happened, though, since he wasn’t very happy to see me there.”

In the bedroom, Yakko chastised himself once again after he was able to find similarities between the way Wakko moved when climaxing and when vomiting.

“That’s absolutely disgusting! Why can’t I just be a normal pervert and stare at people naked in the shower?”

He sighed when he gazed up at the newly taped picture of Wakko on the bottom of Dot’s bunk.

“There’s no point in fighting it,” he thought, tracing the outline of Wakko’s face with his finger. “If loving you is wrong, then being right is sorely overrated.”

Yakko sat up. “That incredibly clichéd line sounds like a lead-in for a song.”

A dark room slowly came into view as the music from the synthesizer filled the air. A single spotlight shone on a mirrored cross in the middle of the room.

As the music played into the first verse, the cross rotated to reveal Yakko, duct taped to the front, as he began to sing. (Author's Note: to the tune of "Live to Tell" by Madonna)

“I have a tale to tell.”

He suddenly glanced at his arm and saw a hickey from two nights ago.

“Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well.” He smiled sheepishly.

“I was not ready for the fall.”

The duct tape gave out and Yakko fell off the cross and landed on his face. He got up, brushed himself off and continued singing.

“Why couldn’t I just get a blow-up doll?”

A blow-up doll of Bugs Bunny fell at Yakko’s feet. He sighed and popped it. It flew around the room, landing draped over the cross.

“I don’t care if it is unwise Or if I go to hell; Hope I live to tell if things will turn out right, Because….the suspense is killing me!”

Yakko dramatically did a fainting gesture in front of the cross. A few yards away, Wakko sat on a toilet in the middle of the room, illuminated by a second spotlight. He spun the little plastic stick on a gloved finger as he sang:

“The test was positive. Don’t need Maury, I know who the dad is.”

Wakko put another finger on top of the stick to stop its spinning. The stick stopped, pointing to Yakko, who was still in the dramatic “fainted” pose. Wakko continued to sing:

“The light that Dot will never see, It shines in him, in fact, it’s blinding me.”

The spotlight shone directly on the mirrored cross, casting the glare directly into Wakko’s eyes. He continued singing while groping around, blinded.

“We couldn’t hide from Dot’s sharp eyes So I’ll just say ‘Oh well.’ Hope I live to tell if things will turn out right Because….This light is burning me!”

Wakko ran around on fire until he remembered to stop, drop, and roll. Once extinguished, he rolled over on top of Yakko, who woke up from his pose to sing:

“The plot, it seems so far behind. This story’s gone to hell. Could somebody tell me if the plot will bend Because….this song should really end.”

The spotlight turned off as Yakko finished singing.

“Did the studio forget to pay the light bill again?”

-O-o-O-

Yakko and Wakko were sitting on Yakko’s bunk, staring at the oh-so-unfaboo plastic stick.

“So….yeah,” was all Yakko could say.

“Yeah.” Wakko responded.

Yakko scratched his head. “How did this happen, anyway?”

“Well, when two people love each other—”

“Not that way,” Yakko said. “I mean, how did you get pregnant if you’re a boy?”

“You know how there’s cartoon physics?”

“Yeah?”

“It was cartoon biology.”

“Oh.” Yakko wondered where the heck he was when Wakko learned this. More importantly, where did he get the pregnancy test from?

“Where’d you find that thing, anyway?”

“It came out of my gag bag.”

The brothers continued to stare at the stick.

“Shouldn’t we do something other than just staring at this stick?” Yakko said.

“Like what?” Wakko asked.

“Like, telling Dot?”

“She’s not going to like it.”

“Well, she doesn’t like going to the dentist and we make her do that anyway. She’ll find out about it sooner or later, it might as well be sooner.”

“What if she decides to stay away from us? Or run even farther away?” Wakko asked fearfully.

“I doubt she’d do that. We’re her brothers. We’ve never been apart for longer than a week; we practically need each other. And besides,” Yakko continued, “even if she does leave, we’ll still have each other.”

“That’s sweet. Unbelievably clichéd, but sweet.”

“I think it’s time for another song.”

A whimsical tune set to the beat of a waltz played on a synthesizer. Around the brothers, the scene changed from the bedroom to a meadow of bright green grass and day-glo flowers. The sky shone a technicolor blue.

In the middle of the field, there was a brightly-colored structure that looked like a carousel, but was really a funhouse.

Yakko now wore an electric blue tunic with his khaki slacks. A laser necklace sat on his head like a halo, and glow sticks dangled from his shirt and pants. Wakko still wore his red cap, but instead of his blue sweatshirt, he wore a day-glo violet tunic. (Author's Note: to the tune of "Witch in the Ditch" by Erasure)

Yakko began skipping backwards in the direction of the funhouse as he sang:

“No, I could never Give up on the fight Just because Dot is being a hater. We’re looking and searching For a place we can love in Why am I dressed like a raver?”

Yakko shrugged it off, then knelt down in front of Wakko, continuing:

“But it was you, bruder, that turned my world around. Yes, it was you, mein lieb, with whom I have laid down.”

The music reached its crescendo as Yakko jumped up and began to dance wildly around singing:

“Rules were meant to be forgotten, Broken and laid down to die. Man, that line sounded so trite. Oh, to you I will be faithful, Cross my heart and hope to die. What’s up with the neon lights?”

Yakko and Wakko were now standing in the funhouse. Neon signs lit the dark area, along with lava lamps, strobe lights, and glow sticks. They looked around at the display that was sure to blind someone, then shrugged as Wakko began singing:

“We dropped our britches Then Dot had to ditch us For Hello Nurse, what a surprise. But I love you still For your wit and your will And not just for your great ‘shoe’ size.”

Yakko blushed with a humongous cheesy grin on his face as Wakko pressed himself against him and sang:

“Yes, it is you, mein herr, that makes me less unsound.”

Both Yakko and Wakko sang as they danced around a strobe-light maypole:

“Rules were meant to be forgotten. The author has got to be high. Let’s frolic through the strobe lights. Who cares if we aren’t ravers? Let’s not even wonder why What’s up with all the strobe lights?”

Wakko pulled Yakko closer and sang:

“Wanna go at it tonight?”

Yakko nodded vigorously. All the lights shut off.

-O-o-O-

The next morning, Yakko and Wakko lay in each other’s arms, blissful from the events of the previous night. They were getting better at doing their thing—at least it seemed better. They were certainly louder, what with Yakko yelling that he’d entered the “Valley of Light” and Wakko so far into a climax, he started talking backwards.

Of course, there was the nipple-honking as well.

Yakko looked over at the clock. It was about 10:30 AM, which meant their appointment with Scratchy was in about an hour. Originally, it would have been the next day, but Wakko decided that Dot needed to know about her future niece or nephew sooner. Yakko willingly rescheduled the appointment, wanting to quickly get things resolved.

When they arrived at Scratchy’s office, Dot was already there. She sat on the couch, arms crossed. Though she looked a lot less angry than she had a couple days ago, Yakko still thought they should approach with caution.

Yakko and Wakko took their places on the couch next to Dot. Dot shot a dirty look at Wakko, who, still sore from their argument, temporarily turned into a magic mirror and reflected the look right back (but with his face instead of Dot’s).

Dot gave a dirtier look, shattering the mirror and turning Wakko back to normal.

Wakko stuck his tongue out.

Dot made an akanbe face at Wakko.

Wakko stuck his tongue out and turned his eyes into spirals.

Dot flipped Wakko the arm.

Wakko flipped Dot the bird. The Goodfeathers were scandalized.

“Hey, we’re making progress already! They’re communicating through hand gestures!” Yakko exclaimed. “Now if only they’d use their words.”

Currently, Wakko and Dot were flipping each other off, while flipping their own bodies, in a contest to see who could raise their middle finger higher. Dot started doing the Cabbage Patch with both her middle fingers raised. Wakko did the Bogle with his own two middle fingers.

“How are they doing that with only four fingers?” Yakko wondered aloud.

“Zhat is quite enough,” Scratchy commanded gently. “Now, Dot, please tell your brozers vhy you are so angry vith zhem.”

“I’m mad at them because they’re shacking up with each other, duh!” Dot rolled her eyes.

“Dot, does it really make you zhat angry?” Scratchy prompted.

“Of course it does! They’re brothers! That’s totally gross!” Dot made a face (not at Wakko this time).

“But Vakko has done gross things in zhe past und it has not angered you so.”

“Yeah, well….This is different,” Dot tried to explain.

“How so?”

“Well….They were having sex! And….Did either of you really even know what you were doing?”

“Did we ever,” Yakko beamed. Wakko’s heavy-lidded, blissed-out expression was his answer.

“See how they’re acting, Scratchy? They’re just blatantly throwing it around like Wakko’s underwear!”

“Hey, I resent that!” Wakko yelled. “I don’t even wear underwear!”

“And there it is again! Just no shame whatsoever!”

Yakko then realized that he’d barely said anything the entire appointment. He decided he’d better remedy that.

“Oh, we have plenty of shame. And it’s all towards how you’re behaving right now!” Yakko responded. “You’re supposed to talk to us like a normal person, not shout and hurl insults!” Yakko noticed Wakko sitting quietly on the couch next to him. He leaned in close and whispered, “This is your cue to defend yourself against her calling you a whore.”

“I’m not going to,” Wakko stated simply. Both Dot and Yakko stared shocked, as did Scratchy.

“You’re right, Dot. I have no shame. I love my brother and I want to make sweet, hot love to him every day. In fact, I want him in me right now. And if that makes me a dirty whore, then fine.”

Scratchy was utterly speechless. He’d never heard such language from Wakko, especially not directed at Dot.

“And I have no problem with the fact that I’m pregnant with his child,” Wakko continued casually, as Dot’s jaw dropped further. “That’s right—I’m knocked up and it’s Yakko’s.”

Dot continued to star in horror. Scratchy followed suit. Yakko sat back and watched the show.

The office went dark and a single spotlight shone on Wakko, who was now wearing a black shiny leotard, not unlike one Madonna had worn in a certain music video. Scratchy, Dot, and Yakko watched in horror (or in Yakko’s case, amusement) as the music began and Wakko sang:

(Author's Note: to the tune of "Papa Don't Preach" by Madonna)

“Dot, I know that you’re already upset, Because I’m always acting gross. But you should know by now, That’s just how I am. You think that this whole thing is wrong. Well, I don’t care my love is way too strong. I may be young at heart But I know what I’m saying. Our brother knows how to turn me on. We’ve been making love while you were gone. We really can’t help ourselves, And I don’t mean maybe. So please…. Dottie, don’t freak; He makes my heart scream. Dottie, don’t freak; He is my wet dream And I’ve made up my mind, I’m keeping my baby, yeah.”

By the time the music ended, Dot had unhinged her jaw like a snake. Scratchy, who had gotten over the initial shock, asked Yakko, “I zhought she did not like to be called ‘Dottie.’”

“Well, judging from her reaction, I don’t think she cared,” Yakko answered, waving a hand in front of Dot’s face.

-O-o-O-

“This ending sucks, and you’re to blame. You’re giving fic a bad name,” Hrothella critiqued. “Try again.”

Fae balled up the pieces of paper and started over. “I guess that don’t impress her much.”

-O-o-O-o-O-

And the moral of today’s story is: When you can't talk it out, sing about it instead.

BAD ROMANCE || acheron x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

I WANT YOUR LOVE AND ALL YOUR LOVER'S REVENGE, YOU AND ME COULD WRITE A BAD ROMANCE !

cw. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, snuff (but not permanently), graphic descriptions of violence, gore, violent sex, masochism on part of reader, reader is honestly just fucking crazy, no lube, creampie

notes. hyv was insane for that animated short frfr also the song for this fic is obviously bad romance but the cover by halestorm specifically. check it out, it slaps !!

VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE, PLEASE READ !! ↳ This work contains dark content, to the point where I must tag this as DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. I cannot stress this enough. ↳ There will be graphic depictions of gore and violence, and violence during sex. Please check and heed the content warnings. ↳ You are responsible for the content you consume.

Acheron first encounters you on a desolate planet bereft of life. You stand alone amidst withered trees and lifeless stumps, your feet bare upon grey, scorched earth. You don't react when the embers land upon your skin. Your gaze is cast to the melancholy sky as you hum to yourself, rocking back and forth on your heels. You don't even turn to her when you speak.

"We finally meet, oh harbinger of death," you hum, your tone light and airy, unbefitting this dead space. "I've been waiting for a while."

Acheron blinks, slowly, taking you in. There's something about you that's distinctly... similar, in a way. You are more than you seem. Something blessed—or perhaps, cursed—by a higher being.

"You know me?" she asks, taking a step towards you, and you finally turn to face her. Your eyes give her pause—fathomlessly deep and dark. Your sclera are pitch black, and your irises the colour of blood. An enigmatic smile stretches across your features as she stares.

"Of course," you say. "How could I not, when the voices of those you have slaughtered cry out so desperately for salvation?"

Acheron's eyes narrow. "What are you?"

Her question pulls a giggle from you. What are you, not who are you. She has a suspicion already, but she wants to hear it from you, first. You reach out towards her, caressing her pale cheek with your hand—were this any other situation, Acheron might even consider it lovely, free from scars or blemishes.

"The same as you," you whisper, your eyes half-lidded in a way that has Acheron's grip curling around the hilt of her sword. "My fellow Emanator."

Her hand shoots out to grip your wrist, pulling your hand away from her face. She squeezes, muscles in her arm flexing, and she swears she hears your bones creak. But you remain unfazed, smiling almost dreamily at her.

"Are you here to stop me?" she growls. Just a little more pressure, and she'd snap your pretty wrist like a twig.

"No," you say simply. "I care not for your mission."

"Then why have you sought me out?"

You hum, and with your free hand, trail a finger down her chest. The arm caught in Acheron's grip is starting to bruise. "Because there is something I want from you."

"And what might that be?"

You beam at her, and lean in, close enough to brush your lips against hers. It makes Acheron jolt, and distantly she can hear your wrist shatter, but the intensity of you so close demands all her attention. You speak your desire against her lips like a kiss.

"Death."

After that incident, you follow her around, much like a lost cat. Your mangled wrist righted itself within seconds, and Acheron pieced together whose Emanator you are.

Yaoshi, the Abundance.

She has heard about the favored of the Abundance, but has never encountered one—until you, of course. As she braces herself over you, your hands pinned to the floor of a dead duke's mansion, she wonders if your other Emanators are as odd as you are. Or as hungry for death.

She doesn't remember how many times she's killed you by now. How many times she's unsheathed that blade of hers and carved it through your soft flesh until all that remains of you are mangled pieces on the ground. But she does remember sitting by your side, or what's left of it, and watching as your flesh knits back together, cells multiplying and dividing and sowing sinew and muscle until you finally come back from whatever end you experienced ever so briefly, your chest jerking up as it floods with air. And despite herself, she's starting to enjoy it. Such a pretty little plaything you make, one she hasn't been able to break no matter how much she's tried.

You always look for her first when you return. And you always ask her for more.

Like now, as she has you flat on the floor, and you look up at her with the hungriest eyes she's ever seen. You had watched, delighted, as she ripped and tore apart that infernal duke, giggling all the while as his 'children' scattered to the winds. And once she was done you had pounced on her, wild and almost feral, throwing your arms around her neck and whispering into her ear, "me next."

She won't remember doing this, but right now it's difficult to think beyond the drumbeat of her pulse in her ears. She can hear yours, too. It's so fucking loud. She wonders what your heart looks like, pulsing away in your chest. She wonders what it'll do when she rips it from your ribcage and holds it in her hand.

She crashes her lips against yours like she wants to devour you. You groan into the kiss, if that's even what it can be called. Acheron's teeth scrape your lower lip then bite, drawing blood, and the taste of your blood on her tongue makes a shiver course down her spine. Your blood has a unique taste—metallic, certainly, but with a hint of sweetness kind of like peaches. She fucking loves it. You wrap your legs around her waist and grind up into her pelvis, against the growing bulge there. Acheron growls, manhandling your wrists above your head to grip them with one hand so the other can hold your hips still.

She trails her kisses lower, down your jaw and to your neck. She drags the edges of her canines against your jugular and you shiver in anticipation. She can feel your pulse against her lips, against her tongue, thump-thump-thump, and she resists the urge to sink her teeth into the artery and let the crimson liquid spill into her mouth. Instead she keeps going, lower and lower, until she reaches the collar of your clothing.

With one swift movement she tears the fabric apart, and it falls into tattered pieces around you. You jerk as the warmth of the surroundings settles on your bare skin, though Acheron offers you no reprieve. She scratches her free hand down the side of your ribs, drawing red lines as she goes. Her lips descend on your nipples, already stiff as she licks and sucks one before moving to the next. Everywhere her lips touch, dark marks bloom like brutal flowers on your skin.

You whine out her name softly, arching your back, and Acheron looks up the length of your body with electric, half-lidded eyes. Your expression is twisted into one of pure pleasure—the pain had always been something you loved, something you craved. And Acheron is all too eager to give it to you.

She moves back up, and uses her free hand to undo the buckles of her shorts. They’re almost constrictingly tight now, and she fumbles with the zipper until it comes loose and her aching cock springs free. She hears you make a pretty, breathy noise, and sneers down at you. Her hand slips down your body to your core, and her cock twitches when she finds that you’re fucking dripping.

“Getting off being used like this?” she hisses, dragging her finger through your drenched folds. “Dirty girl.”

“Please,” you moan, canting your hips into her touch. Acheron withdraws her fingers at that, then slaps your still-clothed pussy. You jolt and whine in surprise, those unnatural eyes of yours widening. “Wh—“

“I’ll do what I want to you,” she snarls, gripping your calves and manhandling your thighs open. She pulls you forward until her cock brushes along the soaked fabric of your panties. Her tip catches on your clit and you moan despite the dulled sensation. Then, her fingers hook into your underwear and tug them to the side, exposing your pretty pussy to her.

“So shut up and just take it,” she growls, before shoving her entire length into you with one smooth thrust.

You scream in both pain and pleasure as Acheron splits you open on her thick cock. She has both her hands beneath your knees, holding your legs wide open as she ruts into your clenching cunt, hardly giving you time to adjust. She’s vicious with it, each snap of her hips making the sound of flesh against flesh ring throughout the abandoned mansion alongside your shrill cries of ecstasy. Your fingers claw at the floor until they bleed, drawing red lines on the black marble.

Acheron grunts as she feels your pussy squeeze her—even here, balls-deep in your tight pussy she can feel your incessant heartbeat pulsing away. She feels like she can drown in it, in that rhythmic pitter-patter of your heart as it races like some sort of prey animal.

Yes, that’s what this all feels like—a hunt. She as the wolf, you as the rabbit. She the hunter, you the hunted.

It’s a god damn fucking frenzy. Lust and bloodlust fog her mind. Her hair is turning white. She fucks you into the floor, shifting her position so that gravity helps with each thrust she makes. She practically folds your lower half in ways that would snap a regular human, but only serves to deliriously excite you. Aeons, you’re fucking crazy, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel it too.

But the end of the hunt approaches. She feels you tightening around her, and you scream out her name with each downward drive of her hips. Your heartbeat thunders in her ears now, and she matches her thrusts with each beat, sending slick flying from your gushing cunt and her own leaking cock. She leans up, nosing beneath your jaw, right where your pulse thrums.

But here’s a thing about hunts—there’s only one way they end. So her teeth sink into your neck, the taste of iron and peaches spills onto her tongue, and the world goes white as she reaches her peak.

She’s always never felt more alive than during the moment of the kill.

When she comes to again, she’s kneeling on the floor and there’s blood on her lips and chin, spilling down her neck and onto her chest. She clicks her tongue and wipes her lips with the back of her hand. Beyond that, her clothes are in fine condition, as if nothing ever happened. And maybe she might have believed so, were it not for one thing:

It’s quiet.

That pounding drumbeat is gone, replaced by calm silence. And that’s when she remembers—you’re still here. She looks down, and there you lie, motionless in a pool of crimson liquid, the flesh of your neck torn asunder, exposing the white of your bones and the attaching tendons and sinew.

Your face is frozen in an expression of bliss, eyes half-lidded and lips curled into a half-smile. Idly, Acheron thinks it’s a rather pretty look on you.

(You come back a few minutes later, chest heaving and eyes shooting open. The scarlet halo of blood surrounding your head on the floor makes you look like a bleeding saint.

And then you smile at her, sickly sweet, and your heart starts up again, slowly restarting the cycle once more.

Acheron can’t fucking wait.)

BOY I was reading, right? I was in a very cozy environment of Ruggie's village, the construction of the environment, the beastman children, the love in the air with Ruggie x Reader. I was so immersed that I COMPLETELY FORGOT IT WAS A DARK FIC MY HEART FELL OUT OF MY MOUTH AT THE END I WAS IN SHOCK THAT MY MIND STOPPED FOR A MINUTE Me reading: yayy …. strange …. very strange …. no boy …. no …. I can't believe it …. RUGGIE BOY NO ….. aah was it a trick? BOY WAS NOT REAL?….. BOY WHAT IS GOING ON? ((That's a compliment, it's a very engaging fic and the way it's done and treated in a non-obvious way, congratulations to the author. The way you portrayed Ruggie is so him, few can characterize him in that way)) < 3 < 3 <3

Play Hard Games, Win Soft Prizes

Gonna be absolutely so real with you, I have no idea what that title means. Maybe it'll make sense to someone. This is a request from @whenwewhereyounger. If you'd like me to remove that tag, I can do so, just let me know. Like I do for Leona fics where Farena and his canonically unnamed wife show up, I made up a name for Ruggie's grammy, just like her appearance.

Shoutout to my girlfriend for helping me with a concept that I was struggling with in this fic! Woohoo! I did so much freaking research for this one, scarred myself for life tbh, but hey, I found out a lot. So much. Also: does Ruggie's UM focused on physical or mental control, and, depending on which one, does it matter if the subject(s) are alive? Dividers by @/cafekitsune

This fic is for: Anyone who can handle it! The reader does have hair, but the length is never specified. Reader is Yuu/MC, like usual in my fics, but it is mostly implied more than anything else.

TW for: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, straight up murder and stalking in this one, everyone. Non-sexual nudity, blood and explicit gore, questionable usage of magic. Also so many words. There are 8763 words in this fic.

Ruggie is a mite conniving. You’d be lying if you said that most of Savanaclaw wasn’t, but Ruggie specifically is a calculating little bastard.

That’s rude. You know that’s rude. Ruggie does what he needs to do in order to survive. It’s something that has been drilled into him from the moment he saw the world, but you just wish he wouldn’t have invited you out here since he knows this area isn’t the safest.

Grim decided to hang out with the Octavinelle guys and you went with Ruggie for spring break. It was kind of nice, the trip there. The Afterglow is beautiful. You enjoyed yourself, it was fun and Ruggie has a wonderful sense of humor, or perhaps his laughter is just contagious. That and the sun on your skin as you traveled made for a wonderful time, actually.

No, your problems started when you got to his hometown. About as soon as you entered, something already felt off, like there were a hundred eyes watching you, waiting for something. Perhaps it was the odd shadow that seemed to be laying over the entire place, or maybe it was the occasional snicker or whisper that you thought you could hear in the eerie breeze. Whatever it was, you kind of felt like an asshole for judging his hometown so swiftly. He was sharing something deeply personal with you by even bringing you here. Ruggie is very emotionally intelligent, though, despite him being a piece of shit, so when he noticed your trepidation, he reached out and squeezed your hand.

“Are you nervous? Shyeheeheehee, don’t worry. I’m right here.” And he smiled, and you felt sort of relaxed. His smile always made you feel relaxed.

Nothing could be as relaxing when he showed you to his little home. It was nice, the walls made of dirt and a few very beautiful rugs on the inside, from what you could see. The roof was thatched, but beyond the light being streamed in by the afternoon sun, you couldn’t see very well inside the place after Ruggie opened the door. He poked his head in and pressed a hand against your belly, a silent “back up.”

You took a step back and sharply turned your head to the sound of a twig snapping. There wasn’t anything there, but you also couldn’t see the twig. For a place called the Afterglow, this area was honestly kind of shadowy. It was pretty unsettling, like a blanket that had a spider hidden in it somewhere, but you didn’t know where. You stared out into the dim distance and a gentle touch on your arm scared you out of your skin.

Ruggie’s hand retracted as he looked at you as though you'd lost it, “What’s wrong?”

“I- Sorry, I thought I heard something.”

“You did? I didn’t hear anything.”

You gave him a wide-eyed stare and he gave you one of those big grins that makes you feel like everything is going to be okay. His hand rested on your arm and he gave your bicep a gentle squeeze.

“Relax, okay? I’m right here.” With that, he led you inside and snapped his fingers, a few lights flickering on, “Grammy doesn’t seem to be home, which means you get to help me with dinner.”

“H-huh?”

“You can cook, I’ve tasted your food before, shyeheehee. C’mon.” He looped his fingers through yours again, leading you deeper into the house. As you walked, the lights behind you turned off so the ones in front of you could turn on. You belatedly realized that the electricity is reacting to Ruggie.

“No, I just- I don’t know what I would make. I mean, what does your grandmother even like?”

Ruggie gave you a sort of odd look and showed you to a kitchen, a basket with some fresh vegetables sitting on the counter. Ruggie opened the fridge and you stiffly approached the veggies.

“Hmmm, oh… Looks like we’re making pasta today. That sound good?” He asked you.

You nodded, still feeling a bit out of your element. Ruggie pointed to the veggies and smiled kindly.

“Do me a favor and start washing those? I can do most of the rest until Grammy shows up.”

You calmly looked around the kitchen for a large bowl and some baking soda, glancing back at Ruggie as he retrieved a pan and a few seasonings, clearly planning to brown the… honestly somewhat suspicious-looking slab of meat on the counter. He carefully cut the striped fur and underlying skin off of the steak and rubbed some seasonings into the meat itself, his ear twitching as he glanced back at you.

You fill your bowl with cool water, salt, and baking soda, then start washing the vegetables, “So… where is your grandmother?”

Ruggie snickers under his breath, “I’m not all-knowing.”

“Well… yeah, but I just figured she would have told you?”

“Nah. She’ll probably be back soon. Make sure you wash that celery twice, okay?”

You nod obediently and diligently tackle your task, only pausing as Ruggie plops the meat into a pan and leans back on his heels, whistling as his arms rest behind his head. He looks way more casual than usual, which is especially funny to you since his uniform is usually in some form of disarray because he moves around so much. You smile to yourself and re-wash the celery, then rinse all of the vegetables.

Ruggie’s whistling cuts off abruptly and his head jerks towards the direction of the entrance. You turn off the water, your blood chilling as you hear soft footsteps headed towards the kitchen. In other words, there was someone walking towards you. Ruggie went back to his lazy grin as he watched the meat, flipping it over a bit as a large, sinewy woman steps into view. 

She looks incredibly serious, and there’s a scar lining her face, from her jaw, straight across her nose and splitting the start of her left eyebrow. She has a pair of fuzzy, round ears, similarly to Ruggie, and freckles along her forearms. In her hair, there’s streaks of gray, but other than that, her hair is a soft, mousy brown. Just like Ruggie, she has those pretty crystal gray eyes, like the sky just after a nice rain. 

She curled her lip in a grin and pinched Ruggie’s side. He yelped, even though it didn’t look that harsh, but it must have surprised him.

Her voice is brusque, like she might smoke or she’s a lot older than she looks, “You didn’t tell me you were bringing your cute buddy along, whelp!” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you saw Ruggie’s tail wiggle. From what you’ve understood, that tends to be a sign that he wants to remove himself from a situation. The lady, who is very obviously Ruggie’s grandmother, approached you and jerked out a very firm looking hand as Ruggie awkwardly turned back to his cooking meat.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Vittoria Bucchi, though most folks around here call me Vita or Grammy. And you are?”

You stuttered out your name, tentatively grasping Vita’s hand in a handshake. She’s kind of a mountain of a woman. She’s a good handful of inches taller than Ruggie, and if she’s taller than Ruggie, she’s definitely taller than you. She’s got to at least be 6 feet tall.

Vita’s grin grew wider and she turned back to her grandson, scooping him up in what appeared to be a bone-crushing hug and kissing him on the cheek before she placed a small paper sack on the counter and took a step back. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of the two of you, and then she let out a sigh and put her hands on her hips.

“Well done, you two, but you both stink. Ruggie, darling, why don’t you take your little friend out to the showers? Grammy can take over from here.”

Ruggie seemed grateful for the out. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was blushing. He grabbed your hand and gave you a very unconvincing grin. Of course you followed him.

As soon as you’re in what you assume is the bedroom (there only seems to be one of those) he let out a little sigh and chuckled, “Uh… heh, sorry. I forgot to warn you that Grammy is kinda…”

“Energetic?” You offered, then shook your head as you watched Ruggie pick out some clothing, “I don’t mind. She seems really sweet. I was pretty scared when she just walked in and stared at me for a moment, but she’s very cool…”

There’s a moment as Ruggie doesn’t say anything. You felt the horrible need to fill the silence, so you continued speaking.

“Uh, I can… I can see where you get it from.” Your voice came out as more of a mumble, but you know Ruggie heard you. He has good ears.

He stood up and grinned, rubbing the back of his neck with two towels and some clothes rolled up inside of them, “Oh, you think so? Shyheehee, my cute underclassman thinks I’m cool!” He was teasing you, but the butterflies in your stomach didn’t account for that. Your mouth went dry and he nudged you with the back of his hand, guiding you to follow him.

The neighborhood kind of grows on you. Several kids ran up to Ruggie, all of them sporting the too-big ears that you often see on wild hyena pups and very shaggy hair. They cheer and dance around him and he takes it in stride, waving them off with the same thing his grandmother told you two, that he stinks and needs to take a shower. The kids all intermittently say that the water is probably going to be cold by now, but Ruggie shrugs.

You’re not mad about that. It’s honestly fine. Ruggie pulls you into a somewhat creepy, kind of large stall, and you can see a rather frightening-looking dead moth underneath the dividing wall. There’s no way that the water reaches all the way to the opposite wall, but it kind of makes sense, since there’s only tile just in front of the two shower heads before it transitions to the same wood that the stall walls are made of. There’s hooks on the wall opposite the shower heads, with nice little baskets underneath them. The heavy wooden stall door is locked securely. It’s a little strange that the wall with the door is a full-length wall, but the walls adjacent to it, other than the shower wall itself, only come down part way. There’s no roof.

When you turn back to Ruggie, he’s already hung up the towels, put the new clothing down, and is buck ass naked and fiddling with the shower controls. You stifle a gasp and his ear swivels towards you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, ever so innocently.

You are the one being weird. What’s a shower with your close friend? Nothing is going to happen. So you stripped down as well, stepping towards Ruggie as the water turned on. 

As soon as the water touched you, you squealed. It was, quite literally, a jet of freezing cold water on your bare ass. Ruggie bursts into raucous laughter and lathers his hair like the cold water doesn’t even bother him.

It took you a moment to get acclimated. There was a rattling at the stall door and Ruggie didn’t even bother turning around as he rinsed his hair, his hands keeping the water out of his ears, “Ocupado!”

Whoever was on the other side didn’t move until Ruggie walked over to get his towel, a kind of unimpressed look on his face aimed towards the door. The shadow under the door retreats and you bring your shower to an end and dry off as well. Ruggie leaned against the door, clad in a pair of loose shorts and a kind of baggy shirt, waiting on you. He’s been very long suffering with you, thus far, but he’s very easygoing, so you’re unsure if you can do much to change that. Not that you want to.

He’s offered you some of his own clothing, to borrow. Most of his stuff is a bit… the wrong size? So you can wear it comfortably enough. He’s not bulked up or incredibly tall like Jack, so it’s a nice, cool change to your school uniform that fits you well enough.

He smiled as you approached him, sighing airily as he grabbed your hand, “Ah, I feel so refreshed after that! Usually I get water in my ears, but I guess you’re my lucky charm today, shyeheehee!”

“I bet that’s even less pleasant when your hearing is so good.” You supplemented, politely making conversation.

Ruggie shrugged, lifting his arm to rest his hand in his wet hair, “Eh, it’s not that bad. Now, a bug flying in there is a completely different story.”

“Oh, I bet. I wish I could wiggle my ears like you can.” You’ve always admired Ruggie’s ears, but not really because you wanted to have your own look like that. You just thought they were a friendly shape. Ruggie’s honestly very cute.

He gave you a pleasant, closed-lipped smirk and opened the door to his home. It smelled amazing in there. Ruggie wandered to the bedroom and you followed the smell. Vita grinned at you as you entered. She’s got a gap in her front teeth, and cute little fangs like Ruggie has.

“You’re just in time, kiddo! Ruggie come back with you?”

“Uh… yes?”

She giggles, much like her grandson, and plates up the creamy-looking pasta, “Well, you better go get ‘em.”

You had no idea where to look, but you obediently went looking regardless. Your search through a dark house was not particularly fruitful. The lights didn’t turn on for you, as you have zero magical ability, so you crept through the house. This house is not particularly large, and as you walked, you made a mental map, of sorts. The main hallway opens into the living area, which is attached to the kitchen. The kitchen has two entrances, one that goes into the hallway and the other that is attached to the living area. In the hallway, there is at least one door. As you feel around for the second one, you stumble blindly into a dark room because there was no door. Your toes hurt from the way you stumbled. You regained your balance, and after taking a step, you heard a soft click, which made your blood freeze. You went stiff, waiting for a second click or some other noise, and then something touched your back and you shrieked.

Ruggie took a couple steps away from you, raising his hands as you shot him a nasty look.

“Where were you?” You frowned.

He simply laughed and grabbed your hand, guiding you back to the kitchen. Vita was waiting, patient as can be. She smiled and took a seat. Ruggie followed suit, and you followed Ruggie.

As you ate- which, by the way, was amazing even though you were certain the meat came from a zebra because it tasted gamey- you listened in on the conversation that Vita and Ruggie shared. You felt like a bystander, but a welcome one. This was a pocket of domesticity, despite how unusual it felt to be here.

“So, how’s school going, whelp?” Vita asks between bites.

Ruggie swallows and tilts his head so he can look at his grammy as he shovels food into his mouth, “It’s going okay. No trouble.”

“Mmm. You’re getting good grades?”

“Of course.”

You quietly ate as Vita’s eyes turned to you. Her eyes narrowed as she smiled, flicking between you and her grandson, “And you scored yourself a nice partner. They’re so polite!”

Ruggie coughed, then sat up a lot straighter than you’ve ever seen him sit up, “Uh, heh- Grammy, we aren’t dating.”

“You aren’t? What a shame. Maybe things’ll change soon.”

It was your turn to cough. You choked and a noodle came out of your nose. Ruggie and Vita just stared as you intensely wished to be anywhere but your seat at the table, and then Ruggie, very gently, incredibly gingerly, pulled the noodle out of your nose. It burned, but not as bad as the embarrassment, but Vita and Ruggie went back to eating as though that didn’t happen at all.

After dinner is over, Ruggie washed the dishes and you dried them. He kept laughing to himself. 

“What’s so funny?” As soon as the words left your mouth, you wished you could take them back.

Ruggie glanced up at you, those pretty sky-after-rain eyes narrowed in mirth, and then he did not mention the noodle incident at all, instead pointing at the little knob of bone that was inside the zebra steak earlier on a single plate. It’s fully cooked.

“Grammy left it out, ‘cause you’re human. I just thought it was funny.”

“I- I mean, I guess I could have eaten the marrow?” You placed the dishes in their places and Ruggie shrugged.

“Do you want the marrow?” Ruggie asked, a sort of sardonic tone to his voice.

“Not really.”

He nodded, then picked the little bone chunk up and popped it in his mouth. He casually grabbed the plate it was on and washed it. For a moment, you thought he was just sucking the marrow out of the bone, but then a horrible crunch resounded from his jaw and you just stared for a moment.

“Are… you okay?” You asked quietly.

Ruggie politely finished chewing, handing off the now-clean plate to you, and turned around so his back was to the counter, “Yeah.”

Okay. So he just… crunched on a bone. Wonderful. You silently made a note to never put your hand in his mouth and put the final plate away.

There was a comfortable silence as Ruggie stared out the window, and then he broke it, “So typically, Grammy takes one cot while I take the other. Do you want your own cot?”

“What?”

“To sleep on.” His lips quirked into a smile and you blinked a couple times.

“I don’t need my own cot. I usually sleep with Grim on my head anyway.”

Ruggie nodded and covered his chin with his knuckles as he snickers, “Shyeheeheehee! Well, I’m not as cute or compact as Grim, but if you want, we can share a cot.”

The two of you already shared a shower. Sharing a cot is honestly something of a step down, “That’s fine.”

Ruggie gives you that soothing grin and grabs your hand, “Promise I’m not a sleep fighter like Grammy. Let’s get to bed. Tomorrow I wanna give you the grand tour.”

So, of course you found yourself lying against Ruggie as he quietly snored. His grammy doesn’t snore, but you actually couldn’t tell if she was asleep or not. Before the two of you laid down to go to sleep, it was mutually and silently agreed that neither of you wanted to be a spoon, so you decided to lie shoulder to shoulder, but Ruggie is apparently a bit of a sleep cuddler, since as soon as he fell asleep, you were bundled against his chest. 

You weren’t really complaining. Ruggie is a piece of shit and emotionally intelligent, so you harbor the belief that he knows. You weren’t really subtle about your affection for him, but you weren’t overt either. You would share your lunch with him. You would forage on your down time, just hoping to catch a glimpse of him but often bumping into Jade. Whenever Crewel decided to have a shadowing class, where you had to look at what your upperclassmen were doing, you’d go to Ruggie’s side as soon as humanly possible. And now, here you were, having decided to stay the whole week of spring break with a guy who probably saw you as some kind of younger sibling.

Oh well. You closed your eyes and heard that clicking noise again. You sat up and Ruggie’s eyes opened, but you didn’t really think he was awake, since they closed after a moment of him staring through where you were. It was that thing that you’ve seen so many animals do. Grim did that too. It’s that protective thing that animals do when something slightly disturbs their rest. You had the thin hope that you didn’t fully wake him up as you stared into the darkness near the doorway. There was nothing there, and you’re not stupid enough to go wandering into the dark and chasing a noise. You laid back down, shutting your eyes as your head rested on Ruggie’s arm and shoulder.

Sleep didn’t come easy. It hadn’t ever since you ended up in Twisted Wonderland. You attributed this to the stress, honestly. You dreamt about the darkness, spreading like ink through cloth. It bleeds into the world around you and you see it crawling up your feet and ankles, as though you’re a ragdoll, something soft and made of cloth and being tainted. When it reaches your elbows, you felt something heavy in your stomach, bringing you to your knees. The ink crawled up your shoulders, to your neck, and your mouth opened, darkness spewing out of the depths of your very being. As you looked up into the dark sky, you had a resounding, loud thought within your dream, “Is this what overblotting feels like?”

You woke up to the sound of sniffling and someone shushing someone else, as well as a soft, rolling massage against the base of your ear. As you woke a bit more, you realize that you were the one crying, and Ruggie’s hand is massaging your neck as he shushed you like he was talking to a distraught child. 

“Shh, shh… It’s okay, you’re alright.” He whispers.

You rolled onto your back and looked up at the sunlight coming through the window, then back at Ruggie’s soft smile. Your head hurt, “What…?”

“You were crying in your sleep. Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m good.”

Ruggie very obviously didn’t believe you, but he moved back and Vita appeared in the doorway, holding a steaming cup. She smiled and passed it down to Ruggie, who passed it to you.

It’s just hot water, but it’s relaxing and your headache eased as you sipped it, offering a sheepish grin to Ruggie and Vita, “Sorry. The… The crying doesn’t usually happen.”

Ruggie tilted his head and Vita’s ears flicked as she sighed. Both of them are wearing different clothing, Vita was wearing a sleeveless shirt and a pair of loose khaki shorts and Ruggie was wearing a sports jersey and a pair of basketball pants. 

Vita mumbled something about getting to work and left the room, and Ruggie placed a hand on your wrist. His hands were warm and he tilted his head, his voice soft, not even above a whisper as he gently squeezed your arm.

“You’re safe. With me, you’re safe.” He let go and stood up, stretching with a little whoop on his tongue, “Well, lemme find you something to wear. We gotta go soon!”

You stood up as well, far more comfortable in the house now that the shadows clung strictly to the corners of the walls and behind the doors, and took your still-warm, empty cup to the kitchen sink. You washed it, drying and putting it away before you returned and Ruggie promptly passed off a bundle of clothing to you and tweaked your nose.

“I’ll be right outside, okay? Shyeheeheehee, don’t have a heart attack without me.” He slumps out of the room.

Ruggie is a chronic sloucher. You thought it was kind of funny, really. He’d look a lot taller if he stood straight, but it was kind of cute. He doesn’t walk, he lopes. It’s cute.

You paused your fuzzy thoughts as you pulled the sweatpant shorts up your legs to shoot a look at the window. You could have sworn that you saw something from the corner of your eye. You stared at the window a moment longer, then quickly finished dressing, putting on the old tank top that Ruggie lent you.

You left the room in a bit of a haste, slamming into Ruggie. The impact knocked both of you down and Ruggie shot back up to help you up.

“Hey, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“I, uh, I saw something in the window?” It sounded stupid when you said it. You swallowed and shook your head, “Nevermind, I- it’s stupid, I’m just… seeing things.”

“It’s not stupid.” Ruggie reassured you, a smile on his face as he grabbed your arm to steady you, “You’ve got to trust your eyes and ears, right? What’d you see?”

You shook your head, “I didn’t get a good look.”

Ruggie nodded so understandingly that you almost burst into tears, his hand snaking down your arm so he could grasp your hand, “Alright. That’s fine. C’mon, I gotta show you around. You’re gonna feel something today, shyeheeheehee!”

You followed him around as he showed you the neighborhood. It’s actually rather large, considering. He explained that this section was mostly hyena beastmen, which might have been why you felt so freaked out at first. A lot of the littler neighbors, the kids, were more or less nocturnal. It’s a thing they grow out of as they adjust their schedules to tasks that usually operate during the day. The dim haze in the area persists, despite it being broad daylight out. 

Ruggie showed you to the showers again, then to the somewhat sparse community garden, where Vita happened to be. She waved and Ruggie squeezed your hand as the two of you waved back. A lot of these houses were falling apart, plenty of the neighbors wandering around looking overworked and overtired. You noticed some older kids, the human one looking kind of familiar with shaggy blond hair and green eyes while the other has black-streaked brown hair and hyena features and wide brown eyes, getting into a fist fight. You took a step forward to stop them and Ruggie stopped you with a hand on your belly.

“It’s fine. They’ll figure it out themselves. C’mon.” He led you away.

That didn’t sit well in your stomach, but this was Ruggie’s turf. Who knew? Maybe you’d have gotten stabbed by one of those kids. Anything can happen.

A chill runs up your back and you look around, noticing a man leaning against the shower stalls. You furrowed your brow and Ruggie turned to look at whatever had caught your eye.

“What is it?” He asked.

You shook your head. It wasn’t worth making a big fuss about some dude just minding his business. Ruggie showed you some kind of herb shed next? It was kind of hard to explain, but top to bottom, it was drying racks for herbs and mushrooms. And almost everything else is either houses or someone else’s property.

“What do you think?” He asked you with a kind of lopsided grin. 

“It’s not what I was expecting,” You admitted. This place was a part of Ruggie, of course it was, and even though this place wasn’t perfect, you don’t imagine the guy you have a crush on would be who he is without it, so you tack on, “It’s very home-like. People working together for the community. Plus, those were some really bomb herbs.”

Ruggie’s grin turns into a beaming smile and he tilts his head, his fist coming up to his chin as his shoulders jerk and he contains his giggle, “Shyeheehee, that’s big, coming from you. Well, since we’re up, we better get moving. There’s a nice little spot over there and I’d bet that there’s something worth foraging there.”

“I can forage!” The words spilled out of your mouth, making your cheeks burn, but Ruggie laughed it off, tweaking your nose again.

“I know that. C’mon.”

Ruggie walked off, and you followed him, that prickle on the back of your neck fading as you entered what seemed like an oasis in the middle of the desolate land that everyone lived in. There were a couple little kids napping in the two trees, two to a branch. You didn’t think he had seen them at first, but as he scanned the ground, Ruggie called up to them.

“Your parents wouldn’t be too happy if any of you fell.” He said, his tone rather neutral. 

The kids groaned but filed down the trunks regardless. There were eight of them, six girls and two boys. They’re all skinny and dirty, and a couple of them are tugging on their ears, a couple others sucking on their thumbs, some of them doing both. They’re the cutest little things you’ve ever seen. 

Ruggie spread his hands, “Not in the mood to play today, guys? Shyeheehee, I would think a bunch of active kids like you would be running around like crazy!”

All of the kids shook their heads, one of them, a sort of tall girl with her hair cropped short, spoke up, leaning back and forth with her arms limp in a dramatic display of exasperation, “No. It’s too hot today, Ruggie.”

“Too hot?” Ruggie said, sort of exaggeratedly.

You piped in, “Well, this area doesn’t have any scary crocodiles or whatever. How about hide and seek? Ruggie and I will look while we’re foraging, and you guys can go hide.”

Ruggie shot you an alarmingly pleased smile and nodded, “Shyeheehee, of course. But if we find you, you gotta help us find the rest of you… and help us forage.”

The kids didn’t seem very impressed. You smiled, “It beats doing nothing, doesn’t it?”

They seemed to concede, more or less, and you turned around to face one of the trees and started counting while Ruggie started looking for good forage. 

Once you got to twenty, all of the kids were gone. You walked over to Ruggie, who stood up, holding what appeared to be some kind of onion or leek, and nudged you with a dirt-covered hand. “Quick thinking.”

“Not really.”

Ruggie smirks and hunches back down, “Well, if you wanna go look for kids while I grab these onions, you can go ahead.”

Ruggie didn’t correct you when you said that this area wasn’t dangerous, so you chose to believe the implication. You wandered casually around the bushes, spotting four of the littler kids almost immediately. One of the boys fashioned a sort of breathing tube from a chunk of dried reed, but he seemed to forget that water is see-through, so when you reached in he jumped out of the pond and stomped his foot, shaking the water from his ears as he pouted. 

So, now that you had a troupe of five kids following you like ducklings, you wander towards the edge of the oasis. From where you stood, you could see that one of the boys and another girl had gotten bored and decided to help Ruggie dig up onions, but were mostly just making mud castles, which left just the big girl.

There weren’t really many places for a gangly kid to hide, but you looked up and, sure enough, you spotted her. You grin and point up at her.

“Alright, found you! But you won!”

The big girl doesn’t respond at all. She was staring away from you, into the brush and bramble. She just stares into it, flinching as the sound of a twig snapping crackles through the silent and still air. She quickly dropped down and cowered against your side. Children are familiar little creatures and can make friends as easily as breathing, so you weren’t entirely shocked by that, but her tail wagged once and the other five kids rushed towards where Ruggie was. You hold her as close as you can with mobility and rushed back toward Ruggie again.

Once you’re near Ruggie once more, you bent down and looked into the kid’s eyes, “What’s the matter?”

She looked up at you, her right ear twitching towards the direction she was staring in, and very solemnly whispered, “I heard someone in the leaves, new friend.”

You nodded, just as seriously, and squatted down so you could get more on her level, “I believe you. But I bet it was just someone looking for something good to eat later, like us. Are you still feeling hot?”

She nodded slowly and swiveled her torso side to side.

You smiled at her and tilted your head towards the gaggle of other kids all playing in the mud, “Your family might make you clean up before you go inside, but I bet that mud is nice and cold… And it makes some really nice castles.”

She gave you a sort of blank look and a soft little smile lit her face before she went over to bury her hands in the mud as well. You watched her go, Ruggie’s eyes catching yours in the corner of your vision. Was he watching you?

By the time the sun was high in the sky, Ruggie seemed satisfied with all the forage that you had collected, and the kids were sleepy and ready to go back to their respective homes. Whatever the big girl had seen in the bushes never showed itself.

That didn’t change the uneasiness that settled in your gut as you looked back towards the oasis. The kids ran ahead with Ruggie, who laughed and dodged their filthy little hands, and you cast one last look at the oasis.

You didn’t see anything. It was all greenery against the dim sky, nothing but green and the murky blue of the sky.

The sound of your name pulled you out of your staring, and you turned to see Ruggie standing a little ways away. He gave you a very sweet, concerned look, his eyes wide and ears pointed towards you. 

You shook your head and walked towards him. He was using his shirt as a makeshift basket, humming to himself as he led you back to the neighborhood.

Once the two of you got back, he put you on veggie-washing duty again while he made a quick roux. 

“Ahhh, what a good haul! I told those kids to come by later to get some soup. This is gonna be so good!” Ruggie sighed, very obviously pleased with himself.

“Oh? This is a lot of onions.”

“Yeah. We’re making onion soup. Don’t worry, it won’t be too pungent, shyeheehee!”

You heard the end of your sentence before you managed to register what you said, “Well, just don’t kiss me after you eat this.”

As soon as the sentence is punctuated, you paused, your movements halted entirely as your muscles locked and you glanced at Ruggie from the corner of your eye. The discomfort of stretching your eyes in that direction without turning your head made the whole thing more embarrassing. 

You let out a stilted laugh, “Uh, well, haha, I don’t- I mean-”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” There had to have been a shit eating grin on Ruggie’s face. You weren’t looking at him, but you can hear it in his voice, “Shyeheeheehee, my cute underclassman wants me to kiss them?”

That had you turning to face him, just in time for him to lean up on his toes and plant a kiss on your forehead. And then he laughed and turned back to his roux.

You liked Ruggie. He was a piece of shit, but he was emotionally intelligent, so you were certain he knew. As you carefully chopped up the wild onions and Ruggie stirred in some kind of broth and the other already chopped foraged vegetables, you thought about how you could still feel his lips on your forehead despite him standing several feet away from you. Being around him made you feel like a total space-case, your head floating up in the stars and the clouds, looking at the way the world glitters. Your feet were on the ground, of course, but you felt lighter when you were near him. 

These thoughts carry you as you took a seat next to Ruggie after the soup was done. You sat on a blanket that one of the kids brought over. One of the other kids managed to convince their mom to let them bring some bread out to enjoy the soup with, so in the center of your circle sat a chipped old porcelain plate with a small stack of sliced, white bread on it. The kids all chattered between themselves and Ruggie, but you were stuck, thinking about how soft his lips were on your forehead and how nice he always was to you. Perhaps it was just a habit for him to always be polite, but politeness didn’t usually consist of someone inviting you to stay spring break in their hometown. 

You tapped your fingertips on your forehead and the big girl from earlier tugged on your elbow.

“Friend, can you go get me just a little, itty bitty piece of sage? Please?” She asked, her bottom lip poking out.

You glanced at Ruggie, who shrugged and nodded, so you ruffled her hair and smiled, “Yeah, okay.”

The herb shed isn’t that far away. It’s out of sight of the picnic blanket, which did kind of frighten you, but you weren’t as freaked out as you were the first night. You opened the shed and jumped in fright as someone cleared their throat behind you. 

It’s that guy who you noticed earlier during Ruggie’s tour. He gave you a broad smile, the dim sunlight shining off of his bald head. He’s more ape than hyena. You offered him a polite smile and stepped to the side, holding a shriveled up sage leaf. The man didn’t enter the shed, simply looking at you.

“Hard out here for us.” He said.

You didn’t know what that meant. The way the man’s kind-looking eyes stared through you was disturbing, so you laughed awkwardly, “Uh… yeah. I’ll get out of your way.”

He nodded and you returned to the blanket. You couldn’t see the shed from where you were sitting, but you could almost still feel the strange man’s eyes on you.

You finished eating and helped clean up. You nearly dropped a bowl and Ruggie looked kind of concerned, but didn’t say anything about it. As you just stood there after putting away the last of the dishes and the kids all ran off, Ruggie rested his knuckles on your forehead.

“You’re kind of warm. C’mon, let’s hit the showers.”

“Oh, okay.”

Just like the first night but far more comfortable, you showered with Ruggie. The water was lukewarm this time, so it was a lot nicer, and after you got out, you did feel a lot cooler. The sun was low in the sky, just resting on the horizon. Ruggie grabbed your hand, squeezing it as the two of you walked back to his home.

Vita was back by now, but she had a few other ladies in the living area playing a card game. You stood by, idly, listening as they talked about Ruggie with him right there, asking him about sports but not listening to his answers, really. Vita’s eyes laser-focused on your hand in his and she shot you a grin before going back to scowling at her deck of cards.

About as soon as you got back to the bedroom, you noticed that you forgot your borrowed shorts.

“Ruggie, I forgot something.” You said, stowing the rest of the clothes.

Ruggie gave you a wide-eyed look and turned back to dressing up the cot, “Alright. You should hurry and go get them then. Grammy’s gonna be out tonight, so it’ll just be us.”

You were a bit curious, but you went back out to the showers. The sky was that same pitch black that it was on the first night, and as you walked, you felt those prickles on the back of your neck, like you were being followed. You looked behind you as you got to the showers. The single, weak lamp in front of the stall felt useless in the dark like this. You grabbed the balled-up shorts and stepped out of the safety of the light and into the inky blackness of the night.

Almost immediately, you felt like you were suffocating. It was like your nightmare. You could see a little bit in front of you, the moon affording you just the outline of the buildings. You tripped over your own feet as you stumbled into a run and returned to find Ruggie’s home completely dark.

You took a deep breath and reassured yourself that he had just decided to go to bed before you got back. Your hand presses against the wall as you walk, the only way for you to tell where you’re headed. Something in that room made a soft clicking noise. You froze for a moment.

When your blood stopped roaring in your ears, you whispered, “Ruggie?”

There was no response. A pressure against your back, like a weighted blanket and a harsh grip on your chin prevented you from trying to call out for Ruggie again. Your silent assailant swiveled and turned you so you’re facing the now open door.

You recognized the silhouette, the friendly shaped ears and messy hair, the sort of gangly build with the skinny limbs, but it’s his eyes that made your heart beat faster.

You didn’t know he had these. Tapetum lucidum, the lining in the back of his eyes that gives him a biologic advantage over stupid creatures that can’t see in the dark. It made for an eerie sight, though. He was a shadow standing in the door with two bright green, glowing dots for eyes. You wondered if this is what prey animals felt like when they saw wild dogs. He raised his hands up to put them behind his head, just a shadow in movement, and let out a big sigh.

“Grammy’s gonna be real mad if you get blood and whatever all over her floors. Let’s take this outside.”

The calm tone of Ruggie’s voice paired with his rather jarring appearance set a pit in your stomach. You couldn’t stop the sob that punched out of your chest.

You sounded as betrayed as you felt. “Ruggie? What’s-”

The man holding you clubbed you with something harder than a fist and dragged you out of the house, following Ruggie.

You cried the whole time. You didn’t even know where they were taking you, but this felt worse than a usual betrayal. You thrashed and sobbed and begged, only getting a quiet, “Knock it off,” from Ruggie’s direction.

You knew. You knew Ruggie was a duplicitous little snotbag and that he would eventually crush your heart in one way or another, but this is not the way you wanted. You wanted him to hurt you in a way that meant you could still be friends, where he told you that he didn’t see you the same way, where he tweaked your nose and watched as you cried. Not like this, not being dragged off by some stranger to who knows where. Your bawling was cut short by Ruggie clicking on a light and you being unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

You rolled over and shot the individuals looming above you the dirtiest look you could manage. Of course, one of them is Ruggie, staring down at you with the light above his head almost mockingly making him appear like a heavenly being. One of his eyes looks like it usually does, only a bit more dim, while the other only has that reflective lining in the back of the pupil visible, that eerie green glow pinned onto your face. The other individual is the bald man from earlier. You appeared to be in a sort of shed-like building. There was a shelf, casting the absence of light over you, as though you’d been covered in paint and left to rot.

Two shadowed figures and shadows below. It’s similar enough to your dream, the one where the darkness swallowed you whole.

Ruggie nudged the man with his elbow and held out his palm, his fingers waving back until the man dropped a stack of cash in it.

Your heart pumped so hard you could feel it in your throat and stomach simultaneously, “You sold me?”

“No.” Ruggie responded, flicking through the wad of money, “Just your organs.”

As if it wasn’t crushing enough. Your lips parted and your eyes were dry, but you felt as though a bucket of ice had just been dumped over your head. The bald man’s grin looked silver in this light as he angled his hand to reveal a standard kitchen knife, glinting in the shitty light of this shed and primed to slice into you.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of Ruggie as the man squatted down to sit on your stomach, couldn’t look away as the man crushed your windpipe with his giant hand.

You couldn’t stop looking at Ruggie as he leaned against the wall to watch for a moment, then cleared his throat and stood up straight, as though he was putting on a show for you in your final moments. Your vision was spotting out, considering that the bald guy was strangling you, but Ruggie spread his arms and grinned.

His voice was startlingly loud, overshadowing the sound of your own pulse as you struggled to breathe, “Both kings and hyenas are my friends! Laugh With Me!”

The man on top of you stiffened, then his hand on your neck relaxed as he sat up, his free hand joining the one on his knife as he raised the blade above his head.

As you stared up at the stranger, the creases in his jacket creating splotches of shadow that hid more of his face from your view, you tried to quickly come up with a way to brace yourself for the pain you would soon experience. Betrayal and heartbreak are not the same as getting your ribcage cracked open, not that you had extensive experience with one or the other. You squirmed, trying to get your arms out from under the man atop you, your eyes glued to the light streaked along the knife. The looming figure of the man atop you is stiff, and… you saw Ruggie doing much of the same from the corner of your eye.

For a moment, you thought that this is maybe what you deserve. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. You grow a festering affection for someone without integrity, he sells your organs and kills you so he doesn’t have to watch the guy supposed to be doing the job choke you to death. You let another powerful sob punch out of your chest and writhe, shutting your eyes so you don’t get tears in your ears from crying on your back.

You heard a dull noise. Kind of like a slab of meat getting cut, or someone putting their hand into a bag of pudding. Maybe the two of those noises combined. You waited for the pain, because you could feel something warm spreading along the base of your ribs. Maybe it just didn’t really hurt when you got stabbed. You’d be willing to accept that.

There was a moment before you opened your eyes. The first thing you saw was the terror in the bald man’s eyes as he sat on top of you. He sputtered and blood sprayed over your face. It cools on your face as you gape up at him. His knife is buried in his own gut.

In the still moment, you heard a quiet little laugh. It bounced off the walls until you couldn’t hear anything but the laughter. You turned your head and noticed Ruggie, his hands pressed fist to fist to abdomen, his face stretched in a hellish grin as he cackled. You can still only see one of his eyes clearly, the other still that little dot of reflection, a glowing green facet, looking right at you. His laughter calmed as he looked at you, a serene smile replacing the maddened grin he was wearing moments before. He made a quick jerking motion, pulling his hands up so his hands rested at the base of his own ribs, still holding an invisible knife. 

The man atop you spluttered again, pitching forward a bit as his blood gushed over you. It got in your eyes and nose, covered your mouth and ears, tainting your perception with a bitter copper coating. 

Ruggie theatrically threw his invisible knife to one side and tilted to the other. You weren’t sure if it was the motion Ruggie started or if it was the man just being dead, but you attacker hit the ground hard, the knife skittering to a stop on the other side.

The human body is fascinating. It always has been. You, having had a degree of understanding, thanks to being born into such a form, weren’t prepared at all to have a man disembowel himself while sitting on top of you. The sight set you into a hysteria. 

You could hear your own breathing, the reedy gasps for air you sucked in as you stared at the bald man’s organs and blood spreading across the floor. In all the scientific diagrams, they looked so different. The lungs were red, the heart was pink, the intestines were orange and purple. The diagrams lied to you, or perhaps you were too stupid to realize that the very simple vector diagrams that you’d always seen were color coded for your ease. The slick sacks of flesh spilling onto the ground before you with their sheen of blood were all varying shades of flesh. No bright colors, just peaches and reds and pinks, a thick, puss-looking yellow being tainted on the sides of the gash. Adipose resembles lemon curd, sort of. You could hear soft footsteps coming towards you. You had nearly forgotten Ruggie was here, even though he was the very maker of this nightmare. You felt one of his hands turning you over, rolling you so you were looking up at him.

The smile on his face was so sweet and kind, the type of smile you’d expect to see on a kid who had just gotten a kitten for their birthday. He brushed a hand along your hairline, his eyebrows furrowing. It made him look concerned. 

“Did you really think I’d trade you for money?” His smile took on an uncanny, eerie edge, and his eyes narrowed, “Shyeehee, maybe I should become an actor.”

You didn’t respond, staring up at him as he helped you sit up. He pressed a hand against your collarbone, sighing at the sanguine dampness left on his hand afterwards.

“Aw, that guy made such a mess. Don’t worry, we can take another shower.” Ruggie curled one of his arms around your shoulders, the opposite hand tilting your chin so he could look at your face. “I bet you’re pretty mad, huh?”

“Wh-What… why did you…?”

“I didn’t. The man who paid me for your organs has had his sights on you since we got here. Guess he got cursed or something and needed a fresh human heart.” Ruggie wrinkled his nose before smiling at you again, his fangs looking even sharper in this low light, “Grammy even noticed him. So yesterday morning, before you woke up, I tracked him down and made a little deal. He gets you, but I wanted to watch. Of course I was gonna just bleed him dry, shyeheeheehee!”

You had no idea what to say to that. You stared at Ruggie and he leaned close, his lips brushing against yours for a moment. The blood transferred from you to him resembled a kind of sick, clumpy lipgloss. Knowing that it’s blood makes it all far worse.

Ruggie sighed and leaned against you, still crouched beside you as you lay partially sprawled on the dusty floor, trying not to think about the dead body less than a foot away from you. His cheek pressed against your forehead, and he sighed again.

“Of course I couldn’t go through with it.” He almost sounded like he was more so talking to himself than to you, “You’ll always be safe with me.”

cw: rape/non-con, kidnapping. 🌽🌾

farmer-könig who gets pent up on the field after working long hours, especially with a pretty little thing like yourself stumbling across his land. farmer-könig who doesn't appreciate when uninvited guests come running into his land unexpectedly, only to get screamed at to leave. he doesn't like socialising, that's pretty obvious, especially with how riled up and tense he is around others.

although, instead of aiming a shotgun at you to threaten your life and intimidate you off of his grass, he finds himself heartless as he pushes you down into the grass, where he's able to slide into your cunt repeatedly while you choke out a weak apology through tears and pained whimpers.

“godverdammt- should’ve thought twice about coming onto my land, maus.”

perhaps he'll even keep you to himself, chained away in his little warm house, made to benefit and pleasure him.

TW: ORAL RAPE/RAPE, NON-CON. MDNI 18+

Loser!König who takes advantage of Nurse!Reader.

Loser!König lies about having issues with his cock just to see you examine his cock. You're a nurse after all... It's pretty humiliating and shocking when König purposely keeps himself silent, coming all over your face at your gentle touch without any warning beforehand.

Fuck, you're so close to his sweaty, musky, filthy cock... No one would hear your cries if he just forced it into your mouth, fucking your throat for hours to release the tightness in his heavy balls while you gag and heave at the disgusting, bitter taste of his semen running down your tight throat. He rapes your mouth uncontrollably, keeping you behind after work.

His thrusts are neverending, continuing despite your pathetic and pitiful sobs. You slobber pathetically, your cunt drooling uncontrollably as your body reacts instinctively, betraying your mind.

Or maybe, he'll restrain you using his strength, asking to show you rather than tell you the issue. Oh yeah, after three hours of constant and nonstop fucking, his dick starts hurting. You're so raw and sensitive afterwards, feeling exposed and violated, but having no words to describe to anyone what happened.

closer

oneshot

word count: 12.7k

genre: step-siblings to lovers, dead dove (proceed with caution)

pairing: dongsaeng jungkook × noona reader

summary:

Jungkook had always known there was something wrong with him when he realized his obsession with his Noona was far too intimate consider their relationship, but she was perfect for him. Can anyone really blame him for falling in love with his beautiful older step-sister?

warnings: [PLEASE READ] dead dove, eat with caution (they are step-siblings and it's a bit romanticized), there's mentions of the pairing as minors but nothing too oversexualized and in detail, mentions of violent behavior (not towards reader), mentions of jungkook possibly being asexual or gay (he's not lol), pairing has shit parents and jungkook's father is an alcoholic, parent issues to the max, petite reader (fit the plot better), explicit sexual content: dirty sexual thoughts, jk has a huge dick and he jacks off so much, someone's a virgin in this and it is NOT the reader, there's a lot of crying in this one, jungkook probably needs therapy and the reader lol, extremely possessive and obsessive jungkook, DADDY KINK, hickeys, unprotected rough vaginal sex, dubious consent but they both want it, dirty talk, the reader slaps jungkook, squirting, blowjob, cunnilingus, come tasting/swallowing, slight ass play, choking, multiple orgasms, passing out and overstimulation, creampie, pregnancy (oopsie)

a.n: well i have no fucking words. im actually a bit shy and embarrassed to release this after my last post but we move on! this wasn’t apart of my drafts either SIGH. wrote this because i was insanely horny and ovulating so have fun ig. please enjoy it nicely. i certainly did. if you look past all the dark stuff you might find it’s actually pretty hot. i cant even believe i wrote this. im really scared … if anyone is crazy enough, please comment your thoughts. tempted to do more of these deranged stories. since tmr is christmas i leave this as a final parting gift for this year though it has nothing to do with chirstmas. byebye angels and merriest of chirstmas to you all <3

—> m.list

—> find me on ao3 & twt

--

Jungkook has officially hit rock bottom. 

He has officially lost his mind. Again and again he comes back to what he knows he shouldn’t and knows that, but he’s only a man after all. Can anyone really blame him?

For the third time that night, Jungkook has fisted his cock empty. The younger’s dick was raw and swollen– sticky from the amount of beatings he had pumped. His ballsack had nothing else more to give him and Jungkook started to grow frustrated. His dick was still heavy in his palm, aching for something he knows he could never fucking have. It simply wasn’t fair. 

Jungkook pants loudly, wiping his dirty come all over his black sheets. He’s dripping sweat and he feels his dick might fall off if he keeps masturbating this much, but it was simply impossible. He’s a growing man after all, it was totally normal for him to have such a high libido. His doctor even said so (he asked him during a typical yearly routine exam and the professional confirmed it was more than normal, that usually as he ages he’ll simply grow out of it). Jungkook doesn’t even believe him anymore. The more he fucks his hand, the more he grows the urge to stuff his cock in his step-sister’s tempting pussy.

He knows it’s disgusting. He tried to overcome the disgusting need to fuck her until she begged for more, the compulsive thirst to eat her juicy pussy from behind, the lustful desire to ruin her for anyone else that dared lay hands on his older step-sibling. Jungkook has had too much time to think about these sinful– incriminating thoughts. He imagines how his step-sister would look all heavy and round, carrying Jungkook’s seed for nine months straight. What amazing mother she would be. He thinks about this all the time. 

And he’s not just saying this out of his ass. His step-sister saved him. He had one-on-one, firsthand experience to all her angelic glory. She’s patient, extremely caring, and she’s the sweest thing he’s ever known. Jungkook is in love with her. 

Can anyone really blame him? His Noona is the best. He’ll say it over and over, a million times until the whole world gets to hear it because his Noona deserves that and much more. 

Jungkook believes he’s the only one that could please his Noona. He truly believes that there is no better man in this world for her than him. He doesn’t care how selfish that seems. His Noona has been hurt too many times and Jungkook has unfortunately witnessed it all. Every heartbreak, every break-up, every stupid relationship he has had to tolerate. He falls sick to his stomach every time because he knows she deserves so, so much more and only he could do that for her. He knows how happy he could make her.

After all, only Jungkook knows what is best for her.  

Jungkook hears the living room door close hard, the house shakes from the harsh movement. The noise startles him from his current position. He quickly wipes the come off his abdomen and the sweat off his body. He’s sure he probably stinks or at the very least his room does, but the heavy footsteps coming from the stairs worry him more. 

“Noona?” He calls out and nobody answers him, by the time he’s shoving on the first pair of sweats he can find his bedroom door opens wide. Jungkook still has sweat dripping down his bare back, praying that it goes unnoticed. He simply got carried away, fucking his cock into his hand for thirty minutes straight.

“Noona…” Jungkook reaches out the second he hears you whimper. The second he has you in his arms you completely let go. Tears stream down your face with no plans on stopping and Jungkook feels his heart break in two. In a way, he feels conflicted. 

On one hand, he’s extremely upset about whatever caused you any trouble and he’s willing to do anything to make it up to you. Buy you your favorite ice cream. Take you to watch a movie. Cook you a yummy home meal. He would do anything if it meant he could make you smile again. 

But on the other well, Jungkook’s fucking pissed. He needs to know exactly what happened, who fucking did this to you, and how the fuck he even let this happen. He’ll kill whoever did this to you. He will. Jungkook would do anything for his Noona, even if that meant killing someone with bare hands. 

“What’s wrong, Noona?” Jungkook’s gentle when asking the question, watching you cry your heart out. The younger rubs circles into your back, comforting you in a time of need. “What happened? Tell me. Jungkookie will help.” 

You sob into his chest hard and Jungkook can’t help the way his insides flare. He wants to burn the world down. That way, nobody can harm you and he can take care of you like he’s meant to. Jungkook was born to love and care for you. He feels that deep in his (dark) heart. 

“Oh, Jungkookie…” He keeps rubbing circles, desperate to make it all go away for you. His Noona didn’t deserve this. 

“I found the messages.” Between hiccups, you cry harder trying to explain the problem. It hurts. It hurts so bad, maybe you’ll never be good enough. For him, or for anyone.  

“What messages, Noona?” Jungkook’s nose bumps into yours, cautious doe-eyes stare down at you. Fire lights deep inside them, but they don’t scare you because Jungkook could never hurt a soul. Not your innocent little step-brother. Certainly not your sweet dongsaeng. 

“S-Seojun’s.” You have trouble breathing and Jungkook pats your back softly, being extremely patient, but deep inside him, he can’t wait to beat Seojun’s ass regardless of whatever you say next. “He— he cheated on me.” 

Jungkook no longer exists in the same universe you do. The first thing he sees is red. Jungkook’s going to fucking murder Seojun. How fucking dare he!

How could he ever cheat on you? Seojun must have a death wish and Jungkook can’t wait to deliver his wish personally. He should cut off each fin—

“Jungkookie… m-my heart hu—hurts.” He snaps out of the dark space in his head and starts drying your tears with his thumbs. 

“Noona… he— he doesn’t deserve you.” Jungkook starts, holding you up with a strong grip. He could feel your squishy breast pressing hard against his upper stomach. In a different moment, different situation, he would have popped a boner and it would have been extremely awkward. Jungkook is not small in any sense but he’s a bit insecure. He wonders if you would love the feel of his huge cock invading your guts, but that’s for another time. “I’ve told you this before but you deserve someone that doesn’t make you question their love for you. Someone that loves you so much it could kill them. They should love and care for you so much that they would be willing to do anything for you. You shouldn’t have to deal with this, Noona. He doesn’t deserve you. Nobody does. They can’t ever love you. They won't. You’re safe here Noona, I love you.” 

“My sweet Jungkookie…” You sigh as tears begin to slow down and stick to your face. “That’s right. Only you could ever love me this much I think. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Jungkook snaps. If anything Seojun should be crying buckets, begging for forgiveness and mercy because after Jungkook’s done with him, he’ll regret ever meeting you. Jungkook can’t wait to make the motherfucker pay for his unforgivable crimes. “He’s just a coward. Not a real man.”

“Oh my Jungkookie, when did you become so big? Huh? So grown up.” Your tone wavers as you continue. “You’ve always been such a romantic. Isn’t that right? Noona’s so proud of you Jungkookie, the best dongsaeng I could ever ask for.”

Jungkook melts with every compliment. 

When you first met Jungkook, he couldn’t even look you in the eyes. He would get so fucking nervous around you. His stomach would flip whenever you stepped into his line of sight. He doesn’t remember a time he didn’t have the biggest crush. 

Like anyone else, Jungkook assumed this was nothing but a minor crush. It was his first crush. Jungkook didn’t have experience with girls or dating for that matter. He wasn’t at all interested in any of that. For a cool minute, the younger assumed he must be gay, clearly it was the only explanation that made sense at the time, but then he realized not even then he felt anything. His best friend, Taehyung is extremely gay and pretty handsome (if he must admit), but he could never be with him, much less fuck the man. 

His next thought is he has to be asexual. Jungkook didn’t ever think about sex, much less want to participate in any sexual activity. The thought used to disgust him. There was no one worthy. No one he would like to stick his dick into. Jungkook was broken! 

Then, his father came home one night, shit-faced couldn’t even hold himself up. Jungkook had to carry him to bed that night. He was only fifteen years old, he had no busy doing that, yet had no choice.

“Son. W-Wan you to meet someone tu—tomorrow.” His father begins, Jungkook winces when he reels him in close, breath stinking of some sort of strong alcohol. “Yu— got you a ma—mother. S-Stepmother.”

Jungkook’s heart drops. He doesn’t need a fucking mother. Jungkook is happy with the way things are right now. Just him and his dad. No matter how broken their relationship is. He doesn’t need a mother. 

“Appa, I don’t—”

“Quiet. Shh.” His father ends the conversation with a finger tap to his mouth. Forbidding the younger to get another word out. Jungkook feels he could sob because knowing his father, he was impending doom. “Sleep now child. Come here. Sleep with Appa.” 

That night, Jungkook unfortunately sleeps in his father’s bed which reeks of musk and cheap cologne with a hint of mixed perfume. He doesn’t sleep all night, worried that he’ll wake up and his father will have choked during his sleep. He’s afraid that if he turns his head, he’ll find his father dead. Maybe that would have been better. That his father never woke up that next morning. Then he wouldn’t be stuck in the situation he was in today. His father’s at fault. 

Jungkook’s father brings his “step-mom” over the next day and Jungkook doesn’t know how to feel. He hates her. He absolutely despises her. Jungkook feels it in his heart that she will completely ruin his life. 

Jungkook already has a mom. She died giving birth to him. It’s not her fault. Jungkook’s mom is incredible and he’s heard great stories. Nobody will ever compare to his mother. Even though Jungkook never got the chance to meet her, he knows he would have loved her and she him. In another lifetime, Jungkook would have loved to spend his entire life in the warm arms of his mother. 

What he wasn’t expecting was his step-mom to bring company. Jungkook obsesses from the very, very start. 

“Jungkook-ah, meet your step-sister, Y/N. She’s two-years older than you. They are moving in with us, so I hope you will be a good dongsaeng to your Noona. We’ll live as a happy family from now on. Ain’t that right, Yeobo?” His father leans in kissing his step-mom with passion. Jungkook thinks if the situation was different he would have thrown up the sandwich he had for lunch, but as he looks up at you, he finds you playing with the ends of your sweater. You’re tiny. He doesn’t believe you’re older than him. You can’t be. Barely seventeen, but you have yet to grow into your lady parts. Jungkook couldn’t stop staring at you. Your lip was swollen from how hard you were sucking it from nerves. This had to be just as difficult for you as well. 

With careful steps, you stretch your hand out, making peace with your new step-sibling. “Hello Jungkook, it’s nice to meet you. I promise to be a good Noona. I look forward to moving in. I hope you can accept me. I promise to take good care of you.” 

The younger almost falls to his knees. He’s never seen a more beautiful smile. Jungkook takes your tiny hand in his. His hand is bigger than yours, he’s tempted to compare sizes. He’s even slightly taller than you. Jungkook puffs his chest thinking about how he’ll only grow taller. He’ll soon tower over you. 

Jungkook doesn’t even say anything to you that night. Not a single word. He can’t. He shakes your hand awkwardly with a deep blush setting on his cheeks. Jungkook promises one thing. He promises to care for you too. That promise stays in his head for now, but Jungkook is certain now. He’s definitely not gay and he isn’t fucking asexual. Not anymore. Not ever.

Since then, it’s like you’ve been attached by the hip. Jungkook grew to become a man. Now twenty-three and you twenty-five. And you grew into a woman besides him. 

He was the best dongsaeng you could ever ask for. Jungkook was sweet. He would cry about everything and anything. While trying to get closer to one another and build a bond, you thought it would be a good idea to watch classic romance films. Jungkook would cry to every single one. A true romantic at heart and you, being the best Noona ever, would be there to comfort him. Like you would your own baby brother. 

Back then, you used to dream of having siblings, you’re extremely lucky you get to live that with Jungkook. You didn’t mind that he was a big cry-baby, it was endearing that a boy could have so many emotions and show them without holding back. 

He was extremely sweet. Jungkook was protective, like any usual brother was. Always looking for ways to watch out for you and even though he was the younger, he took care of you, a lot. 

Your mother wasn’t present much. And his father was much worse. They simply weren’t there. Not then, not now. But Jungkook was there. He was the shoulder you could cry on, the person you could run to, the only person you could fully depend on. Jungkook was always there. 

Jungkook was very kind-hearted, so innocent and pure. He was never the kind of guy to bring girls home. Talk about sex. You aren’t even sure if he’s ever had a girlfriend or even ever had sex for that matter. He even watches his mouth around you. He doesn’t cuss and he certainly doesn’t act out. He’s a very good boy, the best and kindest dongsaeng. 

“Thank you, Jungkookie.” You pull him closer, hands wrapping around his solid back, with a sniffle you question. “You— you’re hot?” 

Jungkook blanks, very confused. Were you realizing your love for him? Is this the way it will happen? Jungkook’s not sure he wants it this way. Not after he just helped you get over another man. He hopes this time for fucking good. He cannot bear hearing about Seojun and his stupid face ever again. 

“Do you have a fever, Jungkookie? You’re sweating!” You start to pat him all over, trying to measure his temperature with your hand. “Oh no my baby, let’s get you to bed!” 

Jungkook nearly awes. You went from having one of your worst days to completely being concerned about his well being. The younger beams in relief, he’s lucky his Noona is clueless. So fucking unaware. Doesn’t even realize the sheets are still filled with his filthy release. All thanks to her beauty.

“I’m okay Noona, you should head to bed. It’s been a long day.” The younger leans in for another hug, a thank you for being so kind. 

You keep insisting. “But you’re dripping! You have a fever, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook chuckles with you in his arms. “I worked out before you came home. I didn’t have time to shower. I don’t have a fever, everything’s okay. ” 

You fake a gag. “Yuck! Don’t even warn me either! Jungkookie, you’re an animal!” 

Oh, if only you knew. :)

Jungkook doesn’t allow you to slip from his arms, only holding on tighter.

“Scared of a little sweat, Noona?” The younger teases with a sly smirk. 

“When it's you, yes. Don’t want my dongsaeng’s sweat on me.” Jungkook tries to look past the “when it’s you” because what the hell does that mean? Would you like sweat if it came from someone else? Would you touch him if he was someone else? Would you lick it off if the situation was different? Jungkook swats all those thoughts away. He almost popped a boner and he doesn’t understand how that’s even possible after the day he’s had today. He is done for today, but his dick sadly has a mind of its own. 

“Whatever. Go sleep!” Jungkook unfortunately has to let go which is the worst part, but is surprised when you’re blushing against his still, very bare chest, your smaller hand resting on his abs. 

“Can… can you come sleep with me Jungkookie?” You get so shy Jungkook has to hold back from babying his own Noona. 

Like music to his fucking ears. Of course, he’ll sleep with you. He silently thanks Seojun for being a fucking dumbass. Jungkook’s about to pick up all the pieces he just broke earlier and never, ever give them back. 

“Don’t get all shy on me Noona, of course I will! What type of dongsaeng do you take me for?” Jungkook dramatically in offense holds his chest. 

“Only the best, my sweet Jungkookie, but go shower first. You reek.” The younger gasps, feigning offense. 

“No I don’t!” Jungkook is quick to defend himself, coming close so he could smell his pits. He’s probably smelled better, but he actually doesn’t smell, not that he knows of. If anything he’s surprised his room doesn’t reek of that crappy lotion he uses to get himself off. “See!”

The taller brings you in once more and you push him off hard. “Absolutely not you maniac! Go shower now!” 

“Fine!” Jungkook gives up and just as he’s about to retrieve the stuff he’ll need for his shower, he asks. “Your room or mine?” 

He silently prays you pick your own because he cannot stand the smell of his own room any longer. Plus you still have yet to notice the come on his sheets. Jungkook would be so embarrassed if you saw his soiled bed like this. His Noona deserves nothing but the best. A clean, comfortable environment. His room was probably a safety hazard right now and he wasn’t willing to risk the chance for conversation. 

“Mm, mine!” You decide with a pretty smile.

“Okay, Noona. I’ll be there in five. Don’t wait up for me.” With one last hug and a kiss at your temple, Jungkook goes off to shower and you retreat to your room. 

Yes, it was a bit strange. Sleeping with your grown step-sibling and all, but that’s the bond you and Jungkook had grown. The bond was so strong. You guys did just about everything together and by each other’s side. There was never anything super strange about that to you. 

Your friends once commented how it was just a bit weird. The strange relationship you carried with your step-sibling and that maybe you were just slightly a bit too close. That made them uncomfortable. 

Every time they would come over, Jungkook was just there. Jungkook always came first. They heard it too many times and saw it with their own eyes. When they finally decided to speak to you about it, you freaked saying it was nothing like that! Your relationship was nothing short of platonic, if anything. Jungkook was just your sweet little dongsaeng. Nothing more, nothing less. What was so strange about that? 

After that, your friends never brought it up ever again. There was no use. You would never see things in the way they would. It still made them uncomfortable from time-to-time, but Jungkook made you so happy so they kept to themselves for your sake. 

Jungkook rushes while in the shower. He scrapes his body clean and practically flies out the shower. Jungkook knows it’s useless right now, but he applies a bit of his costly cologne. Only because he knows you love it so much, you compliment him every time he wears it. Since then, he has bought at least eight more times because he doesn't go a day without wearing the damn scent. He knows you will likely be dead asleep by the time he gets to climb in bed, but he wants it to stick to his skin and last until tomorrow then you will cling and smell the cologne until your nostrils get used to it. 

With one last look into the mirror, Jungkook makes it to your room. The younger is obsessed with your room as much as he is with you. Your room smells, tastes, and looks just like you. 

Every time you aren’t home, Jungkook practically lives in your room. The amount of times he’s masturbated in this exact bed. Your sheets are incredibly soft, very pink and the best part is you leave your scent all over them. Jungkook smells and smells your honey-like scent until he grows desperate, then he’ll make a mess all over himself, being careful so he doesn’t leak into your sheets. However, sometimes he’ll catch himself leaking all over your stuffed animals. The younger doesn’t even feel bad about it, not one bit. He probably should, he’s disgusting and shameful. For now, Jungkook lives with himself and his rancid thoughts. 

When Jungkook gets to your room, he finds you already fast asleep, leaving the left side of your bed open for him. The younger salivates when he sees that your blanket isn’t covering your body, not at all. It’s almost like you’re inviting him, the whole world wants him to fail miserably and you clearly don’t care about his well-being. 

By now, Jungkook is used to the way you dress. It kills him inside whenever he watches you walk out the house, perky breasts and that fat juicy ass tempting every walking man alive the minute you step out that front door. When you’re off to bed, you wear these little boy shorts that drive him insane because they cover nothing. Your plump ass falls right out from the stretchy material and Jungkook desperately wishes he could touch and squeeze until his heart’s content, but he would never touch you without your consent. He’s not an animal!

“Kookie?” He hears you slur in your sleep, small grabby hands reaching for him. Jungkook immediately places himself in bed, letting you wrap around his broad, strong figure. Even in the dark, he can see your ass hanging from outside your shorts. You must have gotten hot while waiting for him given that your blanket was nearly kicked down to the floor. Jungkook doesn’t care to pick it up. 

And why would he? He’ll keep you warm now.

Jungkook falls asleep with ease that night. His nostrils breathing that sweet scent and your light calm exhales lull him straight to dreamland, where his dreams consist of a love so precious and extremely forbidden. 

The next morning, Jungkook wakes up before you, which wasn’t usual at all. He was used to finding you up and running bright and early, cooking him breakfast before leaving to work, like you usually did for him. 

Before he even gets to open his eyes, he feels something push up against his stiff morning wood. It’s almost like he feels something constantly rocking against him, little-by-little. Jungkook shoves his erection deeper into the pillow-like sensation, chasing the enticing— irresistible feeling. 

Jungkook’s hips start moving on their own accord, pushing and thrusting into the soft feeling of clouds. His morning wood grows tenfold when he hears a quiet whimper. He only drives his cock faster and further into that unknown realm, searching for heavenly release. Cock heavy and aching inside his briefs. 

The younger almost jumps out of the bed when he hears the prettiest moan. He’s heard this delightful sound before. Only his Noona has the sweetest of sounds. He hates to admit it, but he’s heard these same moans before. And they didn’t come from his own doing, but Seojun’s. There were nights Jungkook couldn’t catch a wink of sleep because he overheard his step-sister getting fucked for hours on end. 

…

“Fuck. Oh my god. Don’t stop.” He would throw his pillow over his head and squeeze, praying the fucking ended soon which it probably did because Seojun was disappointing as fuck. Pathetic fucking punk. He prayed for that or that he suffocated himself to death, either was fine for him. As long as his suffering was put to an end. 

You sounded fucking perfect though. Jungkook could admit that easily. His Noona sure had a filthy mouth on her. Jungkook wanted to plug it with his fat cock. He wishes it was him instead and maybe one day it will. For now, he’ll continue dreaming. 

“Yeah? Like that?” Seojun would grunt while Jungkook rolled his eyes until they would hit the back of his head. He couldn’t do this anymore. Jungkook knows it’s as easy as bringing it up, but how could he look at his perfect step-sister and say that to her! He simply refuses. 

“Yes, like that. Yes please. Fuck, fuck, fuck— nghh!” And Jungkook was truly the worst. He could only hold himself back so much! 

Jungkook rips the drawer open in his room, feeling around for lube, lotion fucking anything that will get his dick wet and when he finally finds it, he squirts a considerable amount and starts fisting his slicken cock. He grows thicker in his own hand. Jungkook wonders how his cock would look if it were your hand instead. He moans just imagining the idea.

“Coming.” Seojun’s muffled groans also echoed in his room. He doesn’t know how you do it and to be frank, he wishes Seojun would just shut the fuck up and do his job. The younger smirks knowing he’s struggling, leaving you in disappointment. He’s positive he’s never had his dick wet for more than ten minutes. What a bum! Can’t even please his girl. 

Jungkook hears your moans grow louder. He swears he can hear them ringing in his fucking ears. Like you purposely wanna get caught. Jungkook gets too much into his head because he starts growing desperate, nearly coming all over himself. 

If the situation was different, Jungkook knows he wouldn’t stop fucking you until you were passed out. It was only fair. You needed a real man, someone who could satisfy you without question. He knows he could do it. Fuck being experienced. Why does someone need all this experience if Seojun is proving that even by being a manwhore that doesn’t guarantee you a happy sex life or jackshit. 

Point is, Seojun sucks and Jungkook will imagine it’s him instead of that lame fucker. He’ll imagine it’s him that’s making you feel all those things, that’s making you scream into the pillow. Though if it had really been him, Jungkook would snatch that pillow away from your mouth. He would want to hear every single sound that comes from your pouty mouth. Fuck, Jungkook couldn’t wait for you to be his and only his. 

That night, Jungkook came all over his hand, some landing on his face. He wishes you were there to lick it clean.

… 

Even in his fucking dreams, Jungkook feels like he can’t catch a fucking break. 

His hips still, he doesn’t wanna further embarrass himself by humping into his step-sister’s ass like some horny desperate teenager. Jungkook knew this was a terrible idea, especially considering that he’s had the hardest time keeping his dirty— filth of thoughts to himself. Jungkook didn’t know how much longer he could live without knowing the taste of that perfect little pussy. How snuggly you would fit around his huge cock. He knows you could take him so well, you were made for him after all. 

“S okay Jungkookie, ‘s normal. Noona isn’t mad.” The younger pretends to be asleep while he hears you babble in sleep, but you know he isn’t and to save his dignity (and yours) you allow it. Jungkook can’t help, but to think maybe you wanted it too. Was that crazy? 

You both fall back to sleep. This time Jungkook gives you a respectful distance so he doesn’t commit the same mistake as before and when he wakes up, you act as if nothing happened and Jungkook appreciates that. He had the absolute best Noona, always looking out for her dongsaeng, no matter the situation. 

As the days pass, you and Jungkook spend a lot of time together. Maybe it’s because you are single again or maybe it’s because you just wanna spend time with your (not so) little step-brother. 

Jungkook’s the happiest. He no longer has to listen to you talk about Seojun and he gets to spend all the time in the world with you. For some time, he believes things are perfect. 

Every night, you fall asleep on his chest. Waking up in his arms and Jungkook falls in love harder. Sometimes he steals kisses while you are sleeping. You wouldn’t mind, right? 

He kisses your chubby cheeks, kisses your cute button nose, he’ll even kiss your smaller fingers, one-by-one. He has yet to taste those plump lips, but he doesn’t doubt they don't taste of flowers and honey. 

“Jungkookie, you think you could fetch me my shoes? I left them near the closet door.” The younger hears you call out to him and being the good step-brother he was, he snatches your shoes up and starts walking away. It seems you forgot something else because Jungkook snaps his eyes to your phone, which starts buzzing with notifications. 

Jungkook knew your password of course, you didn’t hide anything from your baby step-brother and he knows it would be wrong to invade your privacy, but he simply wants to see who it is. There’s absolutely no harm in that! 

The taller snatches up your phone, disconnecting it from the charger and he sees red for a minute. 

Three missed texts and two missed calls, in bold texts your phone reads, Seojun❤️.

He immediately smashes in your passcode without hesitation and any permission. What he finds is absolutely disgusting. Jungkook feels sick. 

Seojun❤️: i miss you baby :(  been thinking of that pussy can’t wait to stuff you full soon

Jungkook goes back to the messages from before, his ears are hot. He doesn’t know whether to scream or cry his eyes out. 

Seojun❤️: coming over

Asshole doesn’t even ask for permission, just does what he feels is right and that only riles Jungkook further. 

Me: don’t can't tonight jungkook's home

Good girl, good Noona. He knew he could trust you, if only this asshole understood that you didn’t need anyone else and left you alone. Jungkook took care of you just fine. Just you and him. Always.

Seojun❤️: that never stopped us before? 

Me: jun, please. not tonight.

Seojun❤️: so when?  you guys are close again or what?  you know how i feel about that guy. 

Jungkook’s burning inside. He knows how you feel about him? The fuck was his problem. Jungkook’s tempted to smash your fucking phone in pieces. He’ll buy you a new one and it certainly won’t have this asshole’s number. 

Me: he’s not just some guy. he’s my younger brother. of course we are close.  soon. i’ll come see you soon. 

Seojun❤️: step. step-brother. 

Me: what does that have to do with anything jun?  he’s like a little brother to me. 

Seojun❤️: can he say the same? 

What. The. Fuck. 

Jungkook was gonna kill this stupid fuck. 

Me: don’t talk about him that way.  talk to you later. 

Seojun❤️: whatever. 

Then Jungkook rereads the messages over and over again. He’s fucking fuming. The younger hears the door before he hears you coming. 

“Jungkook.” Your voice drowns in his ears. He snaps a mean gaze towards you, your phone is in his hands and he’s shaking. “Oh Jungkookie… I can explain.” 

Jungkook throws your phone, landing hard against your bed, it bounces and falls to the floor. You jump in fear, your eyes widen, mouth parting slightly. 

“Don’t. I’ve seen it all.” Your step-brother’s voice trembles. His voice is cold and rough around the edges. “How fucking could you Noona?” 

You gasp at the sudden use of cuss words. Jungkook doesn’t cuss, not in front of you, not ever. He was a good boy, a very good boy. 

“Jungkook, listen—” 

“Shut up!” Jungkook snaps harshly. Those doe-eyes turn violent. “How could you!” 

“H-He— we were just testing the waters.” You explain with a pout, your tears already threaten to fall. Jungkook isn’t a yeller. He never loses his patience, no matter how upset he could be, but you’ve officially cracked him. 

“Testing the waters?” Jungkook ridicules with a dry laugh, eyes rolling. He couldn’t believe his ears. 

“Y-Yes.” 

“You’re back with him.” The younger one says as if it’s a statement. His tone is sharp, dripping of disbelief and hatred. Jungkook scoffs. “I can’t fucking believe you, after everything!”

“Puh— please stop yelling at me.” Jungkook’s eyes soften for a little when he hears your voice shake and eyes dampen with tears. 

His voice is still rough as he continues to spew the fire. “You really think he could keep you happy? That he could satisfy you? When will you finally see it, Noona? He’s fucking pathetic. Loser excuse of a man.” 

Your pout grows bigger and you start crying softly, embarrassed that the scolding is coming from someone younger, coming from the one person that should be learning from you. Shamefully, you can’t even look him in the eyes, you avoid his sharp gaze and continue crying pretty tears. 

Jungkook keeps spitting his words at you and you can’t bear them much longer. “You really think he will ever know what is best for you? That he could provide for you? I bet he—”

“And you do?!” You yell between your blur of tears, feeling like shit. 

“I do! I fucking do. Everything I do is for you, for us Noona. I’m here working my ass off to rebuild you and you let him break you over and over! Aren’t you sick of him? Sick of this? Because I am. I fucking am. I hate him and I hate that you let him come between us!” The taller uses his height to his advantage, towering over you while he spews his truth. 

“For me? For us?” You speak in disbelief, scoffing and wiping off your tears roughly with your long sleeve. “Jungkook, you speak like we are together! This isn’t normal. The way you care for me, it— it isn’t normal. You should be getting lost in the lights at your age, dating around. I’ve never seen you even speak to another girl besides me! It’s strange! Plus, Seojun… he’s truly the only one that cares for me. Besides you.” 

Jungkook explodes. The taller tugs you towards him, a strong hand on your throat while he squeezes mercilessly. You immediately wrap your hands around his wrists, trying to shove him off, but Jungkook’s much taller, much stronger than you are. It’s no use, the more you pull, the more he tightens his hold. You struggle to breathe, hiccuping dry tears. 

“I really tried to do this your way Noona. I tried to be patient and do this at your pace, but you’re fucking clueless. I love you. Don’t you see it? Of course I care. I’ve always cared. I’ve loved you since the very first day. I tried to overcome these emotions but the more I denied them, the stronger they became. I let them consume me. I’ve never been more at peace, but I can’t stand here and watch you ruin yourself any longer. I can’t. You and Seojun are done. Do you understand?” Jungkook’s hand is still on your throat and you just nod desperately, hoping that he lets go some time soon. 

You should have known, should have seen it coming. People warned you, at least, they tried. You wouldn’t listen and refused to believe it (or see it). Jungkook wasn’t a bad person, he still isn’t. He’s just confused and young. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s not in love it’s just fascination, yeah, you’ll say that for now because it makes you feel better. Not because you definitely feel something splur in your own (tainted) heart. 

“Good baby, good. I never wanna see, hear, or know anything about that stupid fuck ever again.” Jungkook loosens his grip a bit and you immediately take a gush of breath. “He’s not good for you. Never will be. You deserve so much more Noona, isn’t that right?” 

Between a few tears, you keep nodding. 

“Yeah, only Daddy knows what’s best for you. Right?” The younger one doesn't even blink when saying the words. For a second, you think about who he is referring to as daddy, but then you realize. This was so fucking wrong, and yet you feel yourself slipping already. Maybe he was right. What’s the point of denying it? “Only I could ever love you the way you deserve to be loved. Uh baby?”

You nod with a muffle cry. 

“Speak.” Jungkook orders. “Tell Daddy that he’s right. Let me hear it.” 

“Y-Yes Daddy.” He hears you sweetly comply and even through a blur of tears, you see him smiling down at you. 

“Good, good girl. Now, give Daddy a kiss baby.” Jungkook leans down and you hesitantly meet him halfway. The kiss is very sweet considering the pressing situation. Jungkook curls his lips around yours like there’s nothing off or wrong about this situation. He doesn’t seem to mind this at all, like he’s been dying to get to do this with you. You don’t know whether to be happy about that idea or fall sick to your stomach. Either way, you continue to kiss him. 

The taller pries your mouth open with his tongue and you allow him access, pouty lips slack. Jungkook sucks and licks into your mouth, greedily tasting the juices on your tongue. His tongue clashes with your messily, spit mixing in the process. It's dirty and filthy. And it is extremely wrong. 

You feel so guilty because you’re the older one of the two. You should be the one putting a stop to this, but the more his tongue explores your mouth, the more you dip into the dark— alluring abyss.

“Been dying to do that.” Jungkook breathes into your lips savoring the taste of your salty tears and cherry chapstick in his mouth. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited.” 

You whimper quietly and the younger soothes you in his arms. “W-We shouldn’t, Jungkook, not yu—you.”

His smile wavers for a second. “Don’t be scared, Noona. Who else other than me huh? Who can love you like I love you?” 

You close your sad eyes to imagine what would have happened if you just came to grab your shoes yourself, wishing you had done that instead. You would have seen your phone and picked up the call instead. This was so wrong. With a deep sigh, you let the darkness consume you too. 

“I love you, Noona.” Jungkook whispers, his eyes awfully speaking the truth. 

“I-I love you too.” The taller smiles and kisses you once again, this time you don’t even fight it. You don’t hesitate. You take time to enjoy the feel of his lips moving passionately against yours and let yourself be loved. For once, you feel loved and that’s enough for you.

Jungkook takes your cheeks in his calloused hands and starts kissing everywhere. Leaving his trace all over your face. He kisses your nose, your forehead, your lips again. Jungkook brings his nose across your jaw, leaving little pecks here and there. When he reaches your neck, he starts licking and sucking every inch of sensitive skin, hoping to leave his marks behind.

The younger is satisfied when he sees the dark spots he’s left to beautifully decorate your skin. 

“Open.” He taps two fingers against your mouth, wrapping his other hand around your neck and you slightly slack your jaw on command. Jungkook shoves those two fingers into your mouth, pushing them down against your wet compliant tongue. He watches you struggle to take them further, gagging a few times around his sloppy fingers. Jungkook was right, you look so fucking good when something is fucking your mouth. “So good for Daddy.” 

Whining against his fingers, Jungkook pulls them out. Cock already feeling tight and heavy inside his pants. He couldn’t wait to get out of these and you weren’t doing any better. You could feel slick start to dampen your panties.

“So pretty, Noona. The prettiest.” Jungkook starts to kiss you again. It starts off a bit slow, but there’s hunger in the way he looks at you. He’s waited so long for this moment, he doesn’t wanna hold back any longer. The younger wants to let it all go tonight. It’s only right. There’s no more hiding, no more secrets. Jungkook was gonna claim what was so rightfully his. 

“J-Jungkookie, maybe we should–” The taller licks into your mouth before you can continue and you grow really desperate, feet shuffling from nerves. You need to stop this before it gets any further, before it gets to the point of no return. “Wuh-we should s-stop.”

Jungkook ignores you. He sucks and bites your bottom lip into his mouth and you’re starting to lose sense of everything so quickly. Suddenly, Jungkook’s hand is at your throat again, but he doesn’t squeeze it. He just holds it, kisses around your face with gentle movements. “You have the nerve for sure Noona, don’t you think you owe me an apology. Huh baby?”

“I– I’m sorry.” Jungkook would be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on the way you quickly adapted and complied. 

He shakes his head, squishing your cute cheeks together, tempted to kiss them both and he does after he’s done speaking. “That simply won’t do. Think that’s enough for everything you’ve done to Daddy? For all the hurt you caused? Get on your knees baby.” 

And what else can you do, but drop on your fragile knees. The second your knees hit the hard, cold floor, you whimper in pain. 

“Hurts? Here, my love.” Jungkook awes with empathic doe-eyes, without hesitation he reaches for one of your softest pillows and places it down below your knees, helping you onto the comfortable cushion. “Better?” 

It is shocking and not at the same time, how quickly Jungkook seems to be okay and fine with this whole thing. If it’s true that he’s been dying to do this for years then in a fucked up way, it kinda makes sense, but it doesn’t change the fact that you guys are family, on paper and in every way that it matters. Your parents are married for fuck’s sake. 

“Yes.” You simply respond and Jungkook smiles contentedly. 

“Yes what?” He asks, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You hesitate, but end up giving in. Does it even really matter anymore? The deed had been done. You fucked yourself over the second you let him take control of the situation. Jungkook owns you. “Yes Daddy.”

Jungkook towers over you, thick muscular thighs stand tall before you. He hums satisfied with your response. “Open up wide for Daddy.”

The taller has quick hands on his belt, snatching it off himself. Then he pulls his jeans down and tosses them aside without care. He keeps his briefs on for now. Jungkook needs to have you work for it, just a bit. It’s his right after all. 

“Pull my dick out.” He rasply orders and you gulp at the sight. He’s packing, you can’t even see it yet, but you are sure the real thing is not much different. Your hands shake as they come up to the waistband of his boxers. You’re about to see your baby step-brother’s cock and you don’t even seem bothered enough to care. 

Carefully, you pull them down slowly, revealing inch-by-inch. The tip of his dick pops out first, his slit already dripping pre-come. You practically salviate, gums aching to feel the weight of it on your tongue. Jungkook swears he might fucking burst all over your face before he even gets to stick it in. Though he hates Seojun’s guts, he kinda gets it now. Your soft touch on his sensitive girth nearly makes him shiver. 

To be fair, it is Jungkook’s first time! He’s never, ever done this before. He saved himself for the only person that deserved to have him. It was easy for him actually. There was not a damn person that made or could ever make him question his choice. He knew from the very beginning, it was you or no one else. 

Jungkook would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit terrified. He doesn’t wanna ruin this whole thing, he’s seen plenty of videos online, mainly through Twitter courtesy of Taehyung. Jungkook is extremely grateful. Seriously, he doesn’t know what he would have done without him. He doesn’t trust much people, but when he confessed at his grown age of twenty-two that he was still a virgin during a night of mixed drinks, Taehyung simply brushed it off and told him there was nothing wrong about that! 

Taehyung understood him to some degree. Sex is an intimate experience and you should only ever share it with the people who you truly love, but he was a manslut, through-and-through, so he couldn’t comprehend how Jungkook has lived so long without it. Major respect and props to him, but Taehyung could fucking never. 

Either way, Taehyung would send clips here and there as pointers to what some people could possibly like and enjoy during sex. Jungkook took plenty of mental notes, he was beyond ready. He shouldn’t be this nervous, but now that he has you right where he wants you, he’s shaking inside. He doesn’t know how sex workers do this on the regular. 

Finally, his dick is out, the whole nine-inch monster and you don’t even have the ability to face him anymore. His cock weighs heavy on your smaller hand. It’s the perfect fit, Jungkook thinks. 

With a shallow swallow, Jungkook tugs your head toward it. His tip leaks a bit and Jungkook hopes you don’t notice that he has no clue what he’s doing. After watching porn for so long, he can only hope that everything he’s doing so far is pleasurable for you both. 

“Lick it.” He says, voice rough and you do as told. 

Cautiously, your pink tongue slips out and experimentally starts licking. The second your moist tongue is on his cock, Jungkook’s guttural moan escapes his throat. 

This was gonna be much harder than he thought, but Jungkook’s been practicing. Jungkook is determined to last longer than any other fuck you’ve ever had. He’s determined to be the best and show you exactly what you’ve been missing, wasting all that time on stupid fucks that could never please and love you the way he could. 

“Open wider baby, yeah just like that.” Along with the tip of his cock, Jungkook shoves his thumb inside. Your mouth is so wet and warm, taking him exactly how he imagined you would. The younger wonders how much more you could take. 

“Gonna fuck your mouth now.” With one last warning, Jungkook plants his feet firmly and thrusts himself deep, causing you to gag so prettily around him when the tip hits the back of your throat. 

Clearly, you aren’t used to taking so much cock at once, Jungkook supposes he could go easier on you. But do you really deserve that from him? 

Jungkook doesn’t think so. 

So he fucks into your mouth harder and faster, his thumbs cleaning the tears that run down your face. Jungkook doesn’t hold back any sounds, he moans roughly when you suck a bit harder on it like you want it to hurt him. Good thing Jungkook likes the pain. It’s why he tatted himself so many times. Jungkook embraces everything, even punishing pain. 

“Easy with your teeth baby, don’t wanna hurt Daddy, do we?” The younger is a bit taken back when he sees you nod furiously, mouth full of cock, struggling while taking him deeper. God, you truly do look the best this way. “Oh? How will Daddy fuck you then silly?” 

You whine muffles with his girth down your throat, secretly rolling your hips on the pillow, rubbing friction against your clothed sex. 

“Huh? What’d you say?” Jungkook teases as he continues to brutally fuck your sloppy mouth, spit leaking down your chin. “I can’t understand you. Sorry!”

But he’s not sorry, not one bit! He practically eats you alive with his eyes, feeling the heat start to form in his stomach. Jungkook’s ready to come. 

He forces you to deepthroat him with a ruthless thrust, pushing your head down on his length, as far as you could go. Jungkook doesn’t dare let go until your eyes water beyond control and he doesn’t hear you breathe through your nose. When he releases the tight grip on your head, you are desperately breathing heavily, coughing spit.

“Puh—Please.” Your voice breaks. Jungkook looks down and almost feels bad, you look a mess. Pretty little mess. “N-No more.” 

He considers it, but he won’t let you go that easy. “Make me come, then you can beg for mercy after.”

Even after all this, Jungkook’s words surprise you. How? How was it fucking possible? For so long, you believed Jungkook was a certain person, a kind-hearted, romantic sweetheart. In a way, he still is. Jungkook truly believes that this was meant for him. That his whole purpose was to be yours. He never showed this side of himself ever and maybe that’s why it terrifies you. How much is he capable of and how much are you willing to give up for him? 

Jungkook throws his head back and moans loudly when you start sucking with purpose, your intentions set clear. He’ll come within seconds if you continue like this. 

You don’t let up. If he wants to come, he will. You suck down hard, taking his cock as far as your throat allows. There’s no need to lie, Jungkook tastes and even smells amazing down there. You’ve always known he’s been a clean freak, but he really does take care of himself well. 

Gargling him down, Jungkook starts to whine and slow down his pace, but you continue your menacing behavior, sucking him off the way you imagined he would like it. And Jungkook starts seeing stars. He knows that after this, he’ll never want to not do this. This was much, much better than fisting his own cock. You’ve completely ruined him. 

“I— I’m gonna come.” Jungkook says and almost immediately comes, bursting his release inside your mouth. “Swallow it.” 

There’s no doubt that you won’t. You continue sucking until he’s completely empty and swallow him down. 

Jungkook’s eyes are unrecognizable. Not that he looks any different besides his fucked out state, but they are so sharp and dangerously sexy. “Show me.” 

You stick your tongue out as far as you can and show him how nicely you’ve cleaned up after him, Jungkook could come again. 

Once he’s satisfied, his rough voice booms. “Come here.” 

You stand on two feet, your cunt is surely dripping because you feel your panties sticking to your folds. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to take you back in his mouth, not bothered one bit about the fact that you just swallowed his semen. He licks into your mouth like he’s famished, tasting himself on your tongue. Jungkook doesn’t know how he will survive without this now. 

“Lie down. On your stomach.” Even though you’ve pretty much gone as far as you can with this, you still hesitate. Maybe it's your guilt or maybe it’s because you are liking this much more than you should, that you still comply even when you shouldn’t. 

Your pillow gets left and forgotten where it currently sits and you lay down, stomach pressing into the mattress. Jungkook pats your head and you nearly purr. 

“Lift yourself up baby.” Jungkook’s so fucking hard still, he doesn’t get how this is possible. Staring at your perfect petite figure, he starts to get it. “Gonna take these off now.” 

Jungkook slowly tugs on your shorts and you shake your head, stopping him once again, your hand flies to his wrist.  “N-No.”

“Don’t make me tie your hands Noona, be good for me pretty.” And once again, Jungkook wins. You don’t see yourself winning any time soon. “Gonna undress you now, keep those precious hands away from me for now.” 

Repeating his actions from earlier, Jungkook pulls down your shorts and your ass falls right from out the lousy material. 

“Fuck.” Jungkook curses, taking in the view as you whimper softly. Your ass is even better, almost bare, your fat pussy peeks through your thin panties. He runs his finger along where your slit should be, feeling your slick dampen his fingertip over the fabric, moaning quietly. The large wet spot on your soiled panties, told him all he needed to know, you wanted this just as much as he did. 

With his index finger, he curls his finger along your waistband and brings your panties off as well and the sight doesn’t disappoint. Jungkook licks his dry lips and starts to get to work. 

The younger spreads your folds into a “V” and sticks his nose so far into your glistening cunt without warning. Jungkook starts to eat you out like never before and you crumble, moaning and squealing against the feeling of his perfect lips munching on your dripping pussy. 

The taller doesn’t let you get any further, heavy-hand on your hip while he keeps you in place. He slurps your sweet slick into his mouth, swallowing down every drop greedily without any fucking plans on stopping soon. Jungkook has found his purpose.

Jungkook was made to eat your fat juicy pussy. There wasn’t anything better than this. Not even the blowjob felt as good as this is making him feel. Jungkook knows that it has nothing to do with your skills or anything of the sort, but because he loves the way you push and pull away from him. The more you run, the more he feels like chasing. He’s addicted to the strangled sounds that escape your lips, crying out loudly against your will. It was perfect! 

You squeal when you feel him suckle on your sensitive bud, playing with it between his teeth. He’s almost tempted to bite, but he’s hurt his baby enough. “S good Noona, tastes like candy.” 

His words vibrate inside your cunt and you already feel your climax coming in heavy. He was gonna drive you insane! 

“Please… oh my god. Please. I can’t.” You swear you feel Jungkook smiling even as he’s eating you out, nose deep inside your cute little cunt. Guess that answers his question, you are definitely enjoying yourself way more than you should. 

“You can baby, you fucking will.” He nearly growls into your folds, licking and eating everything he could swallow like a madman. Jungkook didn’t wanna stop until you had nothing more to give, until your pussy stopped oozing out that sweet essence. But it seems the more he licks, the more that squirts out! 

Jungkook doesn’t mind though, not at all, not even one bit. He’ll eat your pussy until it kills him. 

“Ohhhh, nhmmm fuck. I- Daddy, I’m cominggg.” He hears your fucked out slur and sucks harder on your clit, lapping at all the juices that kept drizzling down. He’s surprised to hear you call him Daddy, he didn’t ask you to, but you were so good for him either way. Jungkook didn’t need to ask anymore, you were so far gone to care about anything else when his tongue kept slipping inside your messy hole. 

“Come on my tongue baby. Come for Daddy.” With a strangled cry you come and Jungkook feels the second you explode, because your pussy almost flushes out everything it can give him. He sucks it all up though and doesn’t stop until he feels you trembling under his touch, barely holding up. “Good, so good for me baby. God, I love you.” 

Jungkook tosses his shirt aside because he’s grown super hot and looks down at your fucked out figure. All he did was eat pussy, imagine what else he could do with that humongous monster cock he drags around. 

He didn’t fail to notice how pretty your tiny hole was from behind, both of them. Jungkook wanted to eat your ass too, but maybe that was for another time, when he gets the pleasure to focus on one at a time. 

“Turn around for me baby.” The younger one softly speaks. 

There’s a bit of a struggle, but you land on your back successfully and whine when you see his bare figure. Jungkook’s worked his ass off to get it. He’s so strong and shredded, but nonetheless, the sight of his sculpted body makes you drool nearly every time. 

“Gonna put it in now.” The way he says it throws you off, he seems a bit embarrassed, shy maybe? And it doesn’t make sense because not even seconds ago, the younger was so confident about every little thing he was doing to you, ruining you entirely for anyone else. 

“W-Wait.” You rush, pushing your hand against his chest. Jungkook freezes in place, his hand already wrapped around his cock. “Condom?” 

And like that, he snaps again, those once innocent doe-eyes turn dark again and you regret even reminding him. “We won’t be needing that silly Noona, I’m gonna fuck a baby into you and you’re gonna be the perfect Mommy. Won’t you?” 

You wanna shake your head so bad, your mind is screaming at you to say no, to fucking stop him before it’s too fucking late, but your body speaks for you. Your pussy keeps leaking your arousal and you can’t believe your reality. You want it so bad, you don’t really care what comes with the consequences of your actions. If your step-brother wants a baby, well then… 

“Isn’t that right Noona? You’ll be the perfect Mommy.” Jungkook’s voice sounds sinister and you can barely recognize the person he is. “Daddy will take care of you both. Don’t you want that? Huh my love?” 

With sick, deranged thoughts in your head, you slowly nod in agreement and Jungkook scrunches his nose into a sweet, kind smile. “Of course you do. You're the best Noona. Gonna fuck you now okay?” 

You nod again. This time, you pry your legs open for him. Letting him use you the way he wants and needs. Jungkook licks his lips and takes his heavy cock in hand. Before he lines it up, he spits perfectly along his length, coating his dick all around so it could slide in without further complications and then he pushes the tip inside. 

The minute you feel the intrusion, just the fucking tip, you gasp loudly, trembling into his surprisingly gentle touch. 

“C-Can’t. Won’t fu—fit.” You say breaking between whimpers.

Jungkook’s gaze is dark and heavy on you and he gets right into your face when he whispers the next words. “Oh but you will. You already did.” 

Just as you are about to question him, in one powerful blow, Jungkook thrusts himself all the way inside your tight velvety-walls and you run away from his hold. 

And like always, there’s no point. Before you realize it, Jungkook’s pulling out and ramming back inside you. Doesn’t even seem bothered by the painful whines coming from your lips, his eyes are too focused on the way his cock disappears into your perfect pussy. 

There was no better way to lose his virginity, Jungkook thought. This was exactly what he’s been fucking missing all his life. 

The pain simmers eventually and it starts to feel overwhelmingly good. Your pained whimpers turn into high-pitched cries and Jungkook sticks his face into your neck, moaning roughly against your ear while he continues to work his way into your walls. 

Jungkook will never, absolutely never, go back to his fists. The heat, natural slick, and tightness. His fists don’t even come close. 

Skin is clapping on skin, brutally setting a rapid pace. His dick is so sensitive right now, he’s surprised he’s even lasted this long. Jungkook doesn’t even know how fucking long it’s been. Or if your guy's parents will come home soon. He doesn’t even give a fuck. You are his. 

His to fuck. His to play with. And his to love. 

“Gonna come so deep inside this pussy. Gonna make sure you end up swollen and pregnant once I’m done with you. Noona’s so tight.” He breathes heavily into your neck, sweat dripping from the younger. 

His words start to rile you up for some reason. Do you even get a fucking choice? The dicking is almost that good you let yourself fall for a few seconds, allowing Jungkook to fuck into you like some fuck-doll. 

Without thinking, you reach for his fluff of sweaty hair and tug. Hard. When he comes up to question you, you slap him so hard that his face snaps towards that direction. 

Jungkook’s merciless pounding stills. 

For a moment, all you hear is heavy breathing, yours mixed with his. It takes Jungkook a while to look back at you and when you do dare look into his eyes, all you see is dark, dark lust. Lots of it. 

Jungkook pulls you in roughly from your throat for a bruising wet kiss. His cock slips from inside you and you whine into his mouth at the loss. You already want him back inside, you took it for granted. 

The taller chuckles dryly, almost too sexy for his own good when he catches you grinding your folds desperately against his wet length.  “Baby already misses Daddy’s dick. This is how it’s gonna be huh? Okay. I’ll play by your rules baby, don’t fucking say I didn’t warn you.”

You don’t even get the chance to catch your breath when you are already pressed face down into the mattress. Jungkook parts your fat ass, slides his cock between them and teases your sweet little hole menacingly. 

Jungkook slaps his cock down a few times, the whole nine inches, right onto your dripping folds. They practically were screaming for attention and not to worry, Daddy was home. Slick would stick to his cock, maybe he should make you lick him clean. 

“Why?” The younger one hears you crying softly. 

“We’ve been over this Noona, only I’ll ever love you how you deserve to be loved. Stop worrying so much. Want you to come on Daddy’s cock. We’ll talk after m’kay?” Jungkook reasons and stabilizes the situation like if you have any choice in this and as if this wasn’t absolutely sick. “Let me take care of you Noona.” 

The choice was made before you even realized it. 

“Okay… but don’t— don’t come inside Jungkook. I’m not on birth control.” Seojun would always make use of a condom, you forgoing those hormonal-consuming pills. You don’t get to see this, but the younger one smiles wide like if you just gave him the green light. What you don’t know doesn’t harm you. One day, Jungkook thinks. 

“Okay Noona, whatever you say.” Jungkook spits on his cock one last time before he carefully pushes back inside. The prodding feeling still leaves you in between sharp gasps and painful whines, ripping right through you. 

“Oh my god… Jungkook- too big.” You grab your closest pillow nearly tearing through the thin fabric, using it to have something to tug and bite on. 

“Yeahhh, but Noona takes it so well.” Jungkook moans when he feels you squeeze hard around him, basically watching your asshole wink at him too. “Fuck baby, maybe I should fuck this tiny hole too.” 

You whimper when you feel his thumb brushing against the fluttering muscle, back arching into the frail sensation. “Mff—no please, I’ve n-never done it. Please.”

“Okay. Not today baby.” Not today or ever again you hope. You pray that whatever is happening today starts and ends today, but for now, you settle for that answer. 

But the second Jungkook’s thumb leaves your delicate asshole, he grips onto the fat of your ass cheeks and starts mounting you from behind like an animal. The stretch still burns, not used to taking so much at once, but he can tell when it starts feeling equally as good for you because you squirm on his cock like a worm. He watches you pull away from him, but he’s gripping you hard, feeling that ass bounce back on him. Jungkook curses when he hears you start moaning into your pillows. 

“Nu-uh, wanna hear it.” He pulls you by your throat, your back flushing against his sweaty rising chest. In this position, he’s reaching deeper inside your cunt, g-spot being constantly abused. 

“Fuck-k-k, oh fuck —nghh.” Jungkook practically soaks in every noise that comes from your mouth, hips clapping hard into your ass. He takes the time to enjoy this, squeezing the fat that jiggles. Maybe he’ll convince you next time to let him fuck your tight ass. After all, he knows Noona could never say no to her sweetest dongsaeng.

The younger sucks more hickeys onto your skin, anywhere that he can really. Jungkook sucks one on the side of your neck, shoulder, and your back. He’s obsessed. Tomorrow he shall do the exact same thing, he’ll keep you on his cock forever now that he knows what it is like. Taehyung was so right. Sex was amazing. 

“Let me hear you Noona, think I’ll come just like this.” Jungkook moans roughly in your ear as he continues to pump your walls full of cock, pussy dripping buckets around his length. 

You let out moans like water, feeling his dick destroy your insides, he must have rearranged your guts by now. “Think—think m’ gonna come Daddy.” 

Jungkook smirks, grabbing your chin roughly and kisses you sloppily, including tongue and all. He loves the sound of his name and title from your pouty, gasping mouth. “Fucked you so good baby doesn’t know if she’s coming or not. Daddy’s the best, isn’t he?”

“Ye–yeah Daddy.” You slur in a trippy haze and just like that, you’re dropped into the sheets again, and flipped with ease in his hold. Jungkook’s dick surprisingly doesn’t even slip out and you don’t know if you moaned again because of the feeling of his dick impaling your pelvic walls or because he can toss you around like some rag doll and have his way with you. Daddy’s the strongest. 

Either way your moans are like sin, high pitched whimpers and incoherent mumbles coming from your plump lips like hushed prayers. “Gonna come Daddy, ‘m gonna come ‘s hard.” 

“It’s okay baby. Come on Daddy’s cock. I got you.” Jungkook goes feral when he sees the way you practically convulsate on his dick, squirting all over yourself. He’s only ever seen this on those shitty videos Taehyung sends him and he warned him that it wasn't an easy thing to do, not unless done right and when the other person is really into it. Jungkook’s flying over the moon right now knowing that he’s the reason why you can’t help, but squirt messily all over his cock. “Perfect. Noona’s perfect.”

The taller grips your thighs for support, fucking you through your intense orgasm until your inner thighs are all covered in your silky juices, being pounded into overestimation. Jungkook is really close himself and he knows nothing would compare to coming deep inside your walls, but he should respect his Noona’s wishes, at least this once. 

“Where should I come baby? Huh? Tell me.” Sweat accumulates on his forehead, dripping loads of it. Jungkook’s thighs burn from the same constant movement, practically bunny jackhammering into your pussy. He never imagined such a practice could be so tiring, he doesn’t even have to go work out tonight! 

By this point, you are in and out of consciousness. Jungkook hasn’t stopped splitting you in two, your aching everywhere, but the feeling is mind-blowing. Not even Seojun could make you feel this good, not anyone. 

You were in doubt. Jungkook had to have been experienced by the way he fucked. There’s not enough stamina to fuck the way he does. Jungkook’s a beast and he fucks like one too, using your cunt like a toy he can stick his dick into. Your pussy is stretched in ways unknown to man, perfectly molding around his cock, squeezing him in all the right ways. The more you feel his cock pressing into your pelvic floor, the more you start to realize, Jungkook belongs right here. Where he has been.

“Tell me baby. Want Daddy to come all over your pussy, give you a little facial? Tell me— fuck!” Jungkook’s pants grow hot and heavy, his orgasm approaching him hard. His cock is sensitive to the max, but he doesn’t stop, fucking you relentlessly through it all. 

Another realization hits within that moment. It’s already gone to the point of no return. You’ve sucked your baby step-brother off and let him drop his seed in your mouth. He’s kissed and licked every part of your pussy, like any good boy would. You’ve let your dongsaeng use your most intimate parts for his own personal pleasure and the worst part is you’ve actually enjoyed it all. Selfishly, you decide he’s the only one that could ever be right for you. Jungkook had been right all along, he was made for you. 

“Inside Daddy, wan— you inside.” Jungkook’s hips freeze as he hears you plead so prettily, tears streaming down your flushed face. God, he almost busts the moment he hears your honey-like voice begging for his release. “Please Daddy. Come inside muh— Noona’s pussy.” 

“Yeah, want me inside baby?” He goes back to thrusting, but this time it’s slower, more precise and spot-on, deeper. You’ve completely lost awareness of time as well and maybe a sense of who you were to him. Jungkook fucking you senseless and watching you fall deeper into the heat of haze with no remorse or regret. After this, there was no more to discuss, you were completely his. 

“Yeah— yeah wan it Daddy. Want it.” Jungkook happily complies, knowing you would come around if he just fucked you good enough to forget that you were off that horrid pill and that he could plant his ssed in your fertile little pussy and give you his child to bear. 

His brows furrow as he concentrates on the mess between your legs, it’s beautiful and all his fucking fault. He wants to bury his head into it, but first, he’ll come deep inside that swollen pussy and finish you off. Jungkook takes a moment to adjust and starts jackhammering your cunt again, this time his only purpose is to plant his seed as deep as it can go, claiming even the most sacred parts. Birth control be fucked! 

Jungkook’s thrust grow sloppy by the minute and you don’t know how much longer you can take until he’s fucked you completely faint. Mouth starting to feel parched, Jungkook attaches his lips to yours, kissing you through rough strokes. He devours your lips like honey and feels you start to clench around him again. He feels a little gash of juices trinkle along his slit and Jungkook realizes he’s made you come again by the way your walls clench around his cock. 

“Fuck baby, Daddy’s gonna come inside now.” All you can do is nod between blacking out, not wanting to waste his precious, healthy come. 

With one last growl, Jungkook’s coming deep. The last thing you remember is the heavy weight of Jungkook’s cock twitching and releasing the milky substance across your plushy warm inviting walls.

—-

“Hey honey, how was work today?” Your voice is soft and light as petals while you watch the food come to a boil on the stove, whisking it around and adding a bit more salt for taste while you wait for your husband’s response.

“Fine baby. Had a long meeting with one of our staff members about missing numbers, but the problem was taken care of.” Your husband’s voice is manly and smooth all around, almost husky-like. He goes to kiss your delicate cheek, watching your eyes flutter as he wraps hulky arms around you, bringing your back flush to his front. “Hope you haven’t been on your feet all day, my love. You should be resting, my love.”

You smile at your caring husband, enjoying his musky scent and broad body. “Of course not babe, I’m almost done with the stew. Help me grab a bowl?” 

“Mm.” Your husband hums and retreats to grab a bowl from a cabinet that is far too high for your reach with a quick pat to your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. “This one okay baby?” 

“Yeah!” 

The taller comes back with the empty bowl and you are quick to serve the steamy stew into the dish, always making sure your husband comes home to a warm homemade meal after his long days at work. He watches you from afar admiring the beauty and power his precious wife holds. 

You barely had time to pamper yourself today, but you managed to clean up well. Your hair was in a beautiful half-up half-down pony with the cutest white bow attached. Your makeup was perfect, a little bit of everything to fix the small imperfections you saw in the mirror earlier. And the most perfect little flowy dress with flowers decorating the material to fit your current body shape. You were absolutely perfect. An angel drawn to Earth. 

“You’re so beautiful baby.” Jungkook whispers into your ear, tickling your neck with his cool breath. “Smell so good.” 

“That’s the food.” You both laugh a bit, a hand cupping your swollen stomach pressing himself against your back-end yet again. The feeling was alike anything. He was starting a whole new life alongside the center of his entire world. Jungkook was the happiest he could ever be. 

“Nu-uh, that’s all you. Although, the food does smell impeccable. My tastebuds are craving for something else. Can’t wait to eat you—”

“Stop!” Jungkook laughs as you wack his hands away from your belly and continue to serve his bowl full. 

“Okay, okay.” Jungkook takes his bowl and waits for you at the dining table, you follow closely behind and sit beside him. “Thank you, Noona.”

You don’t get to hear that word often these days, mainly because it reminds you both of your previous relationship, but the younger one lets it slip from time-to-time, still as sweet as before, always by your side and doing his absolute best to please and look after you and the new addition. 

Coming from a broken family, Jungkook never imagined a life could be so simple and beautiful. Lately, Jungkook’s life is like a movie. He can’t believe this all belongs to him, what more can a man ask for. He has the kindest, most beautiful wife and she bears his healthy infant in her huge pregnant tummy. He owns a huge house, working his ass off to get it and established himself pretty early in his career, buying his wife only the best of things. Jungkook settled only for the best and he found that besides you, a true happily ever after, if you will. 

The rest is simply history, unimportant through your eyes. The only thing that mattered now is that you were both happy and extremely loved. 

The end!

This is so unique! I can't wait to see how this story goes! 🖤

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Chapter 1 || Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: In England, Sherlock Holmes receives an alarm letter from his dear friend Doctor John Watson. In Delhi, You don't mind being a teacher, but with new building plans, you reflect on your circumstances and opportunities.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Desi!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Slow burn, generational trauma, colonisation, implied murder, death of a parent, classism & caste.

Word Count: 6k

Author Notes:

★ Everything written in bold is being said in Hindustani

★The Reader character goes by the last name Newalkar and is the daughter of Damodar Rao Newalkar → the adopted son of Rani Laxmibai. I must advise this story is pure fiction but based in the occupation of the British Raj that invaded and Colonised India.

★I am a White European/Australian woman, I apologise for any cultural or historical inaccuracies. I am receiving help from online sources and desi Tumblr mutual @livesinfantasyland and I heavily encourage other Indian/South Asian/Desi readers to share their thoughts, constructive criticism and help as I write this story.

Inspiring Song: "Paint it Black" by Ciara

11:35pm Thursday 26th June 1890, 221B Baker Street, Marylebone, Westminster, London, England.

This story begins and ends with the sound of rain.

Tink!

The roof had begun a leak. And when this leak came to play it had a habit of landing directly on the head of a disgruntled and lonely fellow.  The greatest detective in London who could not find a friend. Granted I must inform you, Mr Sherlock Holmes did in fact have some friends, but by misfortunes, none were presently in the country.

Tink!

He angrily sighed. Another drop of rain hit his head.

He launched from his arm chair and grumbling moved an empty teapot to sit on the cushion he previously sat. The drops thus made a small tinkling as they landed inside the empty pot.

Plonk!

He rubbed his eyes and checked the time on the mantle piece clock. He had lost weeks of his life. Hours squeezed down to into unknown days or months, he could not tell. It did not help how he consistently drew the curtains closed to design total darkness other than the fireplace and his candles to light up his home.

A light shiver ran up his spine. The weather was dangerously cold today. His fingertips upon inspection grew from pale white to a dark pink.

Plonk!

He wandered if perhaps it was time to have a holiday in sunny Spain.

A knock on his door broke his imagined vacation like a hammer to glass.

His pesky landlady Mrs Hudson intruded on his stuffy dust filled space. She grumbled nonsense about the filth of her apartment she’s rented out to the famous Detective before handing him a thick envelope.

Plonk!

And the moment he could see and recognised the handwriting he snatched the Letter from her wrinkly fingers and banished her with a bellowing shout. The woman fluttered out and muttered her further disgusts of his treatment.

Plonk!

But Sherlock did not care for her opinion or rather anyone’s for that matter, Sherlock only cares about the stamp he tore opened the parchment he eagerly unfolded.

John Watson. Doctor, soldier and dear friend. He was Sherlock’s greatest companion to note. He had never felt such brotherly love until he met the very man seeking a roommate here in baker street.

Doctor and detective used to comb London for clues to solve crimes and very noticeably took an interest at the sports of pleasure. The luxurious brothels of London welcomed him and his friend with open arms and spread legs. Doctor Watson was the easy victim of sex while Sherlock was one to enjoy his opium pipe and watch his friend succumb to the mouths of half-pound harlots.

And among these adventures of interesting women did the doctor find himself in a savage tussle with another jealous male patron...

Sherlock recalled the evening with mirth. His dear friend, brother in arms had been pummelled to a pulp and drunk as a daisy. So when Sherlock escorted him to a hospital, the imbecile had declared that he was doctor of the ward and did not need any stitches. It is a grand thing perhaps Doctor Watson could not fathom the memory of yelling too proudly that his medicine could be only found in the elixir of a woman’s warm cunny.

His nurse, a dirty bird at heart had giggled at this...that nurses name was Mary Mortenson. And she became the very enamoured Mrs Mary Watson.

Sherlock was not fond of his friend becoming so besotted with his bride. He tolerated the woman’s presences at best. Unspokenly, the detective saw competition to gain the doctors attention and it was becoming far too obvious that Mrs Watson would win. Every. Single. Time.

After a month of young love the married pair had decided their honey-moon should be experienced back in John’s birth land...Delhi, a city in India. Mary was to meet the senior Mr and Mrs Watson. Coincidently, the English rose was not averse to the foreign lands…she so happened to have been born in Agra. Happy and married, they boarded and sailed across the sea.

Sherlock had high hopes their ship would run scarce of supplies so they might return quickly. He missed his dear friend and even his annoying wife.

The letter in between if thumbs and fingers were the first words from them he had gotten in nearly three months. The letter read as followed...

“Dear Sherlock,

Mary and I have come to my home I grew up in as a boy. I was blessed with my parents merry welcome. However, unfortunate circumstances have designed two coffins. For merely a week into our visit my beloved parents have passed. I have yet to decide whether to bury them in the English tradition or burn them in the Hindi ritual. My predicted return back to Baker Street may appear futile and non-existent. Please. Come visit us as soon as it is convenient.

13, 25, 27, 16, 1, 18, 5, 14, 20, 19, 27, 8, 23, 5, 27, 2, 5, 5, 14, 27, 13, 21, 18, 4, 5, 18, 5, 4.

Your sincere faithful friend, Doctor John H. Watson.”

Plonk!

Sherlock’s eyes raced over the page, and cupped his mouth staring at the plethora of numbers. They were not any numbers. John was a simple man, he wasn’t the smartest being but Sherlock appreciated his humble attitudes, he liked the doctor admitting he wasn’t a world genius, just a man who knew his medicines.

So when an enigmatic set of numbers was written at random Sherlock thought of the most simplistic cypher.

For every number was a letter. 1 being A and 26 being Z, leaving 27 to be a space between a word.

His brows lifted. The message was clear and alarming.

Plonk!

“My Parents Have Been Murdered.”

He determined his dear doctor had written this cryptic message under the desire of secrecy. His eyes lit up. It meant John needed Sherlock’s help. A case. Something was amiss. John did not know the killers name. If he did, he would’ve written it or not bothered to write asking Sherlock to visit at all.

He couldn’t have run faster to his rooms to start backing as soon as possible.

Plonk!

Sherlock Holmes had know idea what he was going to find in a land he had only heard stories from Watson’s childhood. He was eager to see his friend, to help him and to finally have an adventure.

01:35pm Friday 11th July 1890, Anglo Arabic Secondary School, Desh Bandhu Gupta Rd, Ajmeri Gate, Delhi.

You dragged the piece of white chalk across a black board and sketched a simple phrase in the English language. You smiled to the young faces that filled the room, sitting in long benches and desks. Their eyes wide and curious, eager to learn.

You waved your hands, “Now, clean your chalk slates students, you are going to learn how to spell good afternoon in English.”

They wipe them down with their small damp clothes and tucked them away in the groove at the top of their slanted desk. You waited patiently until they all sat with their hands resting flat on the wooden desks, mouths shut, eyes seeking knowledge.

You underlined each letter of the first word, “Gee, ouw, ouw, dee, this spells ‘Good’ and now ‘Afternoon’ is Aya, eff, tee, Ee, Ara, eynnn, ouw, ouw, eynn.”

The young boys sounded it out with you. Their sweet pubescent voices unionised. You smiled. They were so advanced at such a young age, most of the boys had come from average and wealthy families that could afford them to come to such a fine school. Many were Muslim, others Hindu, it was a good sign of peace. The youth coming together despite their differences. And on odd days you would teach the white children, boys and girls of British and French families who wanted their children to learn Hindi, Arabic and Urdu.

You didn’t mind teaching white children, some of the boys could be very disrespectful but you gathered it was behaviour picked up from their arrogant fathers. It wasn’t the young boys who had pillaged these lands, it was their fathers and grandfathers.

“The gee,” you circled the G, “Remember in English is also pronounced like Guh and,” you tapped the double o’s, “Ouw ouw in english together when two is said ‘oooowa’. Followed by dee being said as Dah. So, let’s say it together?”

You dragged a white line under the word and sounded it out with your students.

“Guh-oooow-dah.”

You smiled.

You repeated, “Good.”

“Now let’s look at the word ‘afternoon’,” you announced.

You cleaned the board and looked back at your students. One of the little boys who sat in the front was rubbing his eyes. You smiled softly. He was only six years old. His older brother, a young man now would most likely be the one to collect his brother from school and carry him sleeping back home. You looked at the bell tower just outside the window. It was nearly time for your students to go home and you to return back to your lodgings.

“Aye and eff is said as AAaff, then tee is a quick Tuh! And what is Ee and Arrra sound together children?”

“Errr,” they all purred.

You sounded out half of the word with them, “Aafftuherrr.”

You rubbed your chalk dust covered fingers together and further explained as you pointed to each important letter, “eynnn makes a Na, sound. And we just practiced double ouw, so sound it out.”

Like a symphony of speech, you all said together, “Guh-oooow-dah Aafftuherrr, Na-ooow-na. Good Afternoon.”

The deep bowing clang of the bells outside rang through the yard and open window shutters. The children looked eager to leave. Their hands were readily holding their slates, ready to put them inside the empty wooden box in the corner of the classroom where they kept all their slates and dusters and the bucket for where they kept their chalk.

“Good afternoon students,” You bided.

“Good afternoon Teacher Madam,” They called back.

“You may go back home now. Practise your English alphabet song.”

The boys were fast as rabbits, leaping from their desks and fleeing the classroom out the hall and down the stairs. But some at least saluted you as they left. It was a habit they’d picked up from the white boys who saluted their male teachers. You smiled to yourself as you waved them out. Each left with beaming smiles and playful chatter among themselves.

As you went about sweeping the floor after wiping the chalk from the board, you wondered if you should go to the temple and pray for your students successful education or if you should consider washing your clothing today. It had been very dry today, any moment and you knew the wet season and humid rain would arrive to flood the streets clean of dust and fill the forests with life of green goodness.

As you put away the English education books on the small shelves by the door, a familiar face came rushing in, flushed and excited

If it wasn’t her jingling anklet and bangle that announced her To your classroom, it was her shrill cry of your name that did.  

“Y/N! Quick!” Miss Anjuli Paraiyars exclaimed, “You need to come with me.”

Her dark ink hair was peaking out from her sun patterned veil. The wispy curls stuck to her sweaty forehead and framed her dazzling walnut eyes. They were flooded with mischief that matched her biting lip. Her brows wriggled lightly.

Placing the last book onto the shelf you turned to acknowledge your dear friend.

“Anjuli,” you happily sighed, “Whatever is the matter?”

She waved her hands about, hoping to quicken you along and out the door, “It is the Watson son, Doctor Watson, he wants to speak with you with important news.”

Your eyes widened. ‘What on earth does that poor soul wish to say to me? After the death of the good Mr and Mrs Watson, I would assume he was still in mourning, why would he call upon me?’

Following your friend outside into the scorching sun, you lifted your saree over your head. She had her family Ox and cart waiting outside the school gates.

“What important news Anjuli?” You said a little standoffishly.

“He’s offering you a job,” She said giddily. She climbed up into the cart and leant down offering her hand to you.  Once in the cart side by side she sighed, “That’s all he would tell me,” She grabbed the reigns and cane and tapped the Ox to start moving out onto the dirt road, “But we all know how very generous he can be like his dear parents.”

Anjuli was right. The late Victoria and Hamish Watson’s were angelic to the local community. Victoria had been the very soul to teach your late mother English and she was the one to encourage you to attain education enough to become one of the very few first female Indian teachers. She was a well known philanthropist, often aiding the sick and homeless and funding the Indian hospitals. Hamish was a local accountant, financial advisor and lawyer. He was known to be good to the children particularly. He would often hand out sweets as he walked down the street with his briefcase bag. He often aided the locals find new homes when the British planned to evict them and replace white families in their place. The English couple had lived in the country for many decades, long before you were even born. They spoke fluently enough and mimicked the culture so well that you could’ve believed they were born here themselves.

You sat back and nodded, “May their souls attain moksha.”

02:45pm Friday 11th July 1890, Willingdon Crescent, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

The sun baked down on the streets of Dehli. The Ox cart rolled along, it’s tail flicking the flies circling it’s flank every so often.

You pinches your saree scarf and covered your face before a bug could fly into your mouth.

Anjuli had to hold the reigns and cane, she leant closer to you and giggled as she nodded to the khaki covered soldiers. Walking by in many small groups.

Anjuli had a terrible habit, she fell in love too easily. For some ungodly reason Anjuli admired the foreigners that had come so long ago and invaded your beautiful country. Maybe she liked how different they looked. The flaxen hair and ice blue gazes in the faces of pale freaks were so opposite to the raven manes and hairy russet warmth of Indian men. It was erotic for her. You just didn't understand how she could so easily find infatuation with the people you considered an enemy, and so should she.

“Oh look at them,” she giggled girlishly.

You rolled your eyes, “I’m looking.” There was a timid strain in your voice. You had no real interest to entertain Anjuli’s fascination.

When Anjuli noticed how you in fact we’re not looking but rather looking ahead on the road path she playfully smacked your arm.

“Look!” She sucked her teeth and teasingly scolded, “Do you not know delight at the sight of men?” She reached forward and abruptly touched the front of your blouse, squeezing around for the softness of your breasts, “Are you sure you’re a full grown woman?” she smiled wickedly and prodded her finger in between your legs covered by your top petticoat.

You squeaked loudly and batted her hand. She howled with laughter and kept giggling even as you scowled at her beneath your veil.

You turned your head away from her and scoffed, “I am not as easily swayed by British soldiers. They look so sickly as pale as they are,” your nose wrinkled, “How could I righteously take a husband in front of beloved Lakshmi and her Vishnu when they look like they tempt Yama too take them at any moment?”

Your friend rolled her eyes, “Oh nonsense,” she tapped your hand and waved her fingers into a crowd of soldiers, “See there that one, his hair the colour of wheat, he is a handsome man. He would make a fine husband.”

And as the cart rolled passed, you couldn’t help gag at the smell of the same man Anjuli proclaimed would make a fine husband.

‘A fine swine perhaps. Many sow in heat could come trotting to him from miles with such a putrid scent.’

Your head wobbled and your flat palm waved at her, “A husbands good qualities are not to stand on his appearance alone. One day he will grow old, fat, bald and ugly.”

A long dragging sigh came out from the woman beside you. She managed to move both reigns into one hand and playfully tugged your saree away from your face

“You’re no fun, come on,” she jerked her chin out to the same street as the ox was about to pass another group, “Tell me you don’t find any of them a little attractive?”

You stared at the oncoming group and now sucked your teeth. You crudely stated, “They’d be far more attractive if they left. Went back to their lands, leave our villages and the people of Bharat in peace.”

Anjuli stared blankly at you. Before she could pinch and prod you again you relented and noticed one of the men in the crowd so different from the others.

He was tall, his hair a dark chestnut that matched the shade of his suit. His face was bare and clean in comparison to the soldiers who all adorned moustaches and muttonchop beards on their faces. He was carrying a rather large brief case and walking stick.

“Fine...that one,” you nodded, “In the brown English clothes.”

“The one wearing a suit?” Anjuli snickered, “He’s not a soldier though?”

You giggled,“And it is for such a reason I find he is most handsome among them.”

You both gazed at him as the ox fully passed by. Anjuli smiled at you.

“He is rather tall. Strong. What do you think he does?” She asked, “Maybe he is a farmer, or a bricklayer?”

You shook your head. ‘No. He couldn’t be.’

“He dresses too finely. It is not their Christian Sunday Sabbath today. He probably is a rich businessman, with a wife and children.”

You looked back to the path as the dusty road became thicker in trees and travel further away from the street. You thought about that strangers wife, what she might look like, probably some English rose with a house full of servants at her command, surrounded by maids and wet nurses for her children. She would live in a grand house and hold soiree’s, welcoming guests from all around to celebrate life. She would have a massive library and a place of worship. It was the life you should’ve had, the life you were owed and denied merely by the changing events of history and the extinguish of your father’s birthright.

Your soft smile faded; you felt a twinge of repulsion mixed with a hint of anger. You’d think after all these years you would’ve chosen to forget this, ignore this, let go and accept your circumstances in this life.... You didn’t live with your father anymore who would remind you practically daily why not to trust the English or any white man, as if you didn’t witness their subjecting abuse and consistent disrespect.

Your eyes fluttered shut, you reached to your side and touched Anjuli’s wrist. She was your truest friend despite her differences and low status. Anjuli came from a Shudra family, and you? You were the daughter, the descendant of Brahims and Kshatriyas...now lowered to the Shudra caste class…You never knew the lavish life of the Jhansi palace, nor tasted the rich foods served on golden plates and surrounded by pretty creatures of the palace menagerie. You would never know the joys of running through the gardens with other children in the royal family.

Everyone was gone, everything was gone. All that was left was your father who scarcely remembered that life but shared all he remembered so his memories would live on through you and bring you hope that one day it would be yours. It was a cruel false hope…

Eighteen years ago, you had been born inside of a nice house in Indore to the daughter of a prestige painter Vasudeoraobhau Bhatavdekar. As far as you knew, your father loved your mother very much for the incredibly brief time that they were married. A rare jewel in beauty is how he described her often. A marriage of love and choice. Your father said she was softly spoken and obedient, but it was her unconditional love for him and his dreams that held his heart in appreciation.

It was by unfortunate command that she would fall ill to childbed fevers after you were born. After you…a girl...not a son. You were nothing in the eyes of the British raj and had no chance of being installed as an heir for any restoration…you were the last hope and failed before your first breath. And that was something you’d never forget.

For a small time, you were raised in that home and then it was decided by your father that you would learn English. His tutors were not available, so he cut your hair short and shipped you off to Delhi with your young uncle Save to the Anglo Arabic Secondary School…It did not take the teachers and headmaster long to discover you were a girl. Before you were to receive the beating of a lifetime it was Mr Hamish Watson who so happened to be accounting the school costs to save you. He took you to his wife who taught you English and then set you to live with his maid servants, Anjuli’s mother.

Your friend spoke after some time of silence, “Oh, I’m meant to tell you- My cousin Vijay sent word this morning, he’s seeking a wife. My mother wants me to ask if you’d like to meet him, a prospective match.”

Your lips curled into a sneer, “Isn’t he the one that use to tie our braids together in a knot during Diwali and chase us around the street making animal noises?”

You recalled a young teenage boy about five years your senior with a tooth gap and ruffled hair. He was so annoying, calling you names and bullying you by calling you fat and ugly. He was spoilt and rude. He mocked you when you told him you were a princess. He said you were a princess of pimple pox and nothing more. Oh how you remembered the way your blood boiled.

“We were children, he was playing, only a boy,” she smiled, “He’s a man now, studying to be a barrister in Bombay but he will be visiting in a few weeks to help us move.”

Ah yes, the dilemma you needed to find a solution too soon. It was a month ago that a letter had been nailed to the house door, it was an eviction commandment made by the British military and government. The Paraiyars family and you had to leave the home in Raisina hill, why? Because the British do what they like…building concrete monstrosities over beautiful land and demolishing the history of your people like it was worthless dust. Rumours spread about a grand governors palace was to be built there, but they couldn’t burn the village to ash with people living inside...well....at least not on their "morally good Christian conscious."

“Vijay I believe owns a cottage near the seaside. You could be his bride and live with him instead of moving back to Indore to your father.”

Moving back was not possible...not after his most recent letter.

“Father has…felt it improper for me to move back to Indore. He believes that my existence would cause me more harm than good under his jailers’ eyes…His pension he shares I give mostly to your mother for board. I have saved my wages, I am considering…moving to a boarding workhouse in Jhansi or Agra, but tell your mother I would like to greet Vijay when he arrives…”

You smirked looking down at your fingernails, “Lakshmi forbid I run out of money and need to resort to the ‘charity’ of Christians or to prostitution.”

Anjuli made a face, shaking her head and brushed her shoulder into yours, “You wrinkle your nose at every man, white, black or bronze,” she smiled cheekily, “I doubt you’d make a good prostitute.”

“Anjuli!” You shrieked.

Both you and her erupted into a large happy shrill of giggles enough to gain head turns from passing public. You and her playfully poked your elbows into each other. Anjuli was right, there was no chance that you could make a suitable prostitute…you hadn’t had sex and didn’t know how to please a man, most men you barely liked. They could be selfish. Anjuli on the other hand, she was a frisky thing. She had kissed a hundred men and given her ‘precious flower’ to a boy back when she was thirteen. She had no shame. Anjuli had shared her sordid tales of lust to you many times. You knew her boyfriends that snuck her out at night and returned her by morning. You promised never to tell her mother or father who surely would’ve disowned her if they knew how promiscuous she was. It was best if they believed she made money with her parents in the markets selling dyed clothes and wooden jewellery boxes.

03:04pm Friday 11th July 1890, 5 Bistdari Road, Central Ridge Forest, Delhi, India.

Arriving to the Watson Bungalow was simple enough, the ox cart rolled and bumped over the rock and sandy grooves of the path. Anjuli pulled the reigns of her beast and helped you both down. She tied her ox to the outside gate posts, the precious creature lowered its head and munched on dry grass that still was hinted in green. The ox would be glad as soon the wet season would hit and all the food delight lush and green would return.

You and Anjuli stepped inside and removed your sandals, Anjuli then led you through the house. It had been some time since you had been here. Anjuli’s mother was dismissed as Mrs Victoria Watson’s maid when the new Watson bride had arrived.

Doctor Watson, their son was a short ferrety man. His face was covered in a long mutton mustache like a snake of hair slithering along his face. He was a grown man from the teenager you had met many years ago. His parents had sent him to Europe to school, as far as you were aware he had join the army and fought in some notorious war battles like The of Battle of Abu Klea.

As you entered the bureau office, you found him hunched over some paperwork, his brows scrunched. His eyes lifted up and brightened his face on seeing you both.

“Oh Miss Paraiyars, Anjuli dear,” he said clapping his hands and opening a drawer in his desk, “Thank you so much dear for bringing darling Miss Newalkar here. Here,” he handed Anjuli a small bag and slipped four rupees into her hand, “and take these sweets back to your Mataji, Mrs Paraiyars.”

Anjuli put her hands together and smiled, wobbling her head before leaving you alone to return outside back to her ox cart.

You had your hands pressed together peacefully while the doctor hobbled over to you from around the desk. He was smiling brightly and nodded his head to you, offering you a chair in front of the desk.

“Y/N thankyou for coming on such short notice. I requested your presence in person to offer you a job position.”

Your smile fell, you sheepishly explained to the man, “I am currently employed at the Anglo school Doctor, Babu.”

The doctor nodded, “Yes…Anjuli tells me you are still teaching the children English and Hindi?”

“Yes Doctor Babu,” you confirmed.

“How much are you paid per month?” he asked quickly, touching his lips lightly in thought.

“Twenty five rupees,” you said softly, you didn’t dare try to sound prideful.

The doctor smiled and pulled out a piece paper contract, he then stated, “I will pay you a hundred per month.”

Your eyes widened, and then narrowed. It was too spectacular to be true, it sounded Impossible. Your fathers pension was only a hundred and fifty rupees a year, for the doctor to give you a hundred per month was unfathomable wealth. What on earth was he wanting from you!?

“What is the position,” you swallowed breathlessly, “Doctor Babu?”

“Housekeeper and…a carer,” he sighed, “I need you to live here, and watch over one of my friends. He is from England and I am afraid he might not understand the customs here.”

He leant against the desk cocking his head and looking down at his feet awkwardly. “Please,” he begged, “he is different to other men. He is particular and perhaps rather spoilt. I need you to make sure he doesn’t get lost, harmed or too upset. It is pressing that I should return to my wife in Agra. I would have hired Mrs Paraiyars, in fact I did offer this role to her, but I have been informed she will be moving and her English is not as it once was…and my English friend is rather…particular and impatient with broken speech...”

He wrote a signature across the bottom of the document and held it out for you to read. It was real…your mouth watered. You could save more than your regular wage and easily move back to Indore without burdening your father or mother’s family.  

“If you accept my offer, you may live here as a free lodging, you recall where the servant quarters are I am sure? You will also receive a handsome budget for food. And-” he paused looking up and pocketing the cheque, he gasped, “Sherlock! Dear god man! Did you walk here from the train station?!”

You turned around in the chair and took in the sight of a familiar looking soul.

He was the gentleman from the road. The supposed businessman with his briefcase. He was taller standing here with you then when you sat above in the ox cart. He was standing in the doorway to the office. He stepped inside and lowered his walking stick and briefcase.

“My friend,” the handsome stranger gleefully called, “My dear John Watson, I came the moment I read your message. One of the khaki coated lads pointed me here.”

Up close now you could observe his features on a better judgement. Sherlock Holmes was well known in the British gazette for his distinct physical appearance. With his broad angular frame, sharp hard features, and mighty frame, he exuded a striking and intimidating aura that commanded respect. He reminded you of warriors you imagined before bed in story's of battles your father described at Jhansi Fort.

His face was marked by a strong, sharp pointed nose and intense, deep-set sapphire eyes. His hair was kept combed and short below his ears short and slicked back, revealing his angular eyebrows, and his pink lips that were tightly pursed. He wore a grand brown suit coat with a crisp white shirt, and woolen sweater vest beneath it. And at the base of his throat was a dark burgundy tie. Something about the time reminded you of blood. A cut throat. You felt cold.

His eyes smoothly shifted to you and your presence, his lips parted softly, he glanced back at John, “A patient of yours Doctor?”

The moustached man bristled and shook his head, he stuttered and leant his hand out to you. you carefully chose to take it and rise from the chair as he introduced you.

“Oh- I- Sherlock…um, Sherlock Holmes, I would like you to meet Miss Y/N Newalkar.”

“Miss Newalkar,” the doctor waved his hand over the figure of the giant stock of a man, “This is the very gentleman I was informing you about. This is my friend Detective Sherlock Holmes.”

You pressed your hands together and nodded in greeting. One of Sherlock’s brows raised and his lips hardened in a straight line.

Doctor Watson explained back to the detective, “I was in the middle of discussing whether this dear lady would like to accept a role of housekeeping during your stay here.”

“Whatever for?” Sherlock snickered, “Is your lady wife not up to par with her duties?” he shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his leather shoes while his eyes scanned all the way down to your bare feet. It was a crude look of judgement. The westerner seemed to forget not everyone shared the same styles and habits here. You tried not to roll your eyes at him as he scanned your arms and the parts of your belly that the saree did not cover.  Those dark blue orbs crawled up and settled over your faux sweetened smiling face.

“Some…plans have come up unexpectedly. Mary is back in Agra, staying safe with her family,” John stated, his fingers rubbed together, “I need to be with her. And the hospitals are in desire of my services as a surgeon. I ask that you will look around, see if you can find anything here…” he leant in closer and whispered to the man, “I will visit every couple of days, to check up on you and see if there is truth to be founded in my suspicions.”

'Suspicions?'

“John…” the detective pat his friends shoulder, “I am happy to see you. I promise I will do my very best.”

“Thankyou,” said the doctor.

Sherlock jerked his chin to your direction, “How much does the dear girl here know?”

“Well, I…not much,” the doctor blushed and looked back to you, “Miss Newalkar, your thoughts on the job position role?”

You swallowed and nodded slowly, “I accept the conditions, thankyou for your most gracious offering, Doctor Babu.”

The doctor smiled and carefully touched your back, leading you to the exist of his office as he happily stated.

“Splendid! Please, this is the contract. Sign it and return with your belongings later on a few hours while I converse with my friend and guest.”

You looked back at the mysterious Sherlock Holmes and back to the contract. You wobbled your head in goodbye and went on your way. The way you could feel his eyes over your body walking away made you shiver. He was a intimidateding looking man. You left the home and slipped your sandals on.

You thought about how you would now be the housekeeper of a prestigious British family in the community. A wave of relief to your stability washed over you. You didn’t need to crawl to your father and your mother’s family. You started smiling ear to ear. All you needed to do was take care of a house and baby-sit an Englishman who was vulnerable to these new lands.

“Did you see him go in?” Anjuli smirked from the ox cart, waving you over, “The British man you fancied?”

You jerked your chin up proudly exclaiming, “I met him.”

Your friend gasped with a wide smile, “What is he like?”

“I don’t really know,” you shrugged before waving the contract in front of your friends face, “but I am going to be his housekeeper, I need to inform the school of my resignation.”

Anjuli looked at the contract, she couldn't read english but made a light sad sound and sucked her teeth before sighing, “Oh, those children will miss you dearly.”

And that you could both agree. You grabbed the ox reigns and tapped its flank with the cane rolling back to the school again quickly to collect your last wage.

Helplines:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

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𝘽𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣 & 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

: ̗̀➛ Mattheo Riddle x Fem!reader | Brief!Harry Potter x fem!reader

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Jealousy makes the heart grow fonder.

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: Alcoholism, Dark!fic, Ravenclaw!reader, Bullying, Unrequited Love, Shy!reader, Toxic Relationship, Jealousy, Narcissism, Weaponizing!Harry (sorry boo), Fluff, A bit of Angst, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), DubCon, Semi Public sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Dom/Sub, CNC, humping, Spitting, Degradation, Dacryphillia, Choking, Gagging, Subspace, Slapping, Sadism, Breeding Kink

5k words

A/N: Hell truly is empty. I apologise in advance.

You have made peace with the incomparable fact, long ago, that if the muggle God existed - if he is known to shepard Muggles and Wizards alike, then he was far too busy to attend to you. There is just too much going on all at once. The wizarding world is caught in its archaic intolerance of Half-Bloods. On the mortal side, you were informed from your private tutoring with Professor McGonagall that their smartphones are threatening devolution.

“It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a wand, Lovie, so we can’t really fault them on that, can we?” 6 years into your schooling at Hogwarts and you would continue to shadow Professor McGonagall, hoping you might one day soar to her heights of academic prestige in the wizarding world. You needed to be a Professor as much as a mortal needs to breathe….

You cannot let him, of all people, ruin things. Your reputation is a fragile, flammable thing - and he is freaking Kerosene.

It's difficult to pinpoint when it started or how your sensibilities rushed away from you so swiftly. One moment you’re planting your textbook on the face of a wooden desk - the sound reaching the rafters in the highest peak of the deserted classroom…

“A Guide To Advanced Transfiguration.” Mattheo read the title aloud with a tedious uninterested drawl. “Seems a bit presumptuous to shove this down my throat so early on. Shouldn't we be starting from the beginning?"

You ignored him promptly, using the silence to arrange your colour coordinated stationery on your desk beside Riddle's,

“I had no idea," You began, brushing off your blue lined robes and flattening the invisible creases on your skirt, "-That the person residing under my tutelage would be a first year."

Riddle stabbed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, while his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Your face remained passive as you continued, "You are a sixth year, correct?” You asked with a snide tilt of the head before planting yourself on the desk beside him.

“You are a big boy capable of understanding big boy books,” Unbeknownst to you, your words managed to stir something foreign within Mattheo but he conceals it with his usual veneer of arrogance as he swings his head lazily in your direction.

"May we begin?" You asked, with your back straightened - inches away from his hand now hanging on your chair.

"In a bit…" he says, "Just..." his voice trails off as his eyes scan over your visage, likely assessing it like an unseen tapestry. The truth is, Riddle did not know you prior to being forced under your tutelage. His droopy brown eyes appeared even more so as he broke the distance between you two and studied you closer. A tense silence grew pregnant in the ancient classroom, and your resolve was beginning to slip. Only one thought inflated a puddle of anxiety in your stomach:

Could this be your first kiss? Is this what first kisses looked like? Could this be your very first brush of intimacy overall?

Your brain failed to rationalise and compartmentalise his attraction, but your heart pushed your head closer.

"Call me a big boy again..." He had whispered… which evidently led you here.

Your lesson had ended with your hand covered in his release and a breathless smirk painted across his face. "This goes without saying," he breathed out with a satisfied smirk, "But tell anyone about this, and you're dead."

Ever since that day, your tutoring has been but a veneer of something much more sinister. When you were thrusted into the light of day, Mattheo overlooked you as did lots of his Slytherin friends. Besides the occasional threat and vague insult, you mean nothing to him.

When you two are alone, however, as you are right now, he would enchant you into servitude, lightly pushing your head down while he kissed you silly until your knees were planted on the hardwood floor.

Mattheo briefly opens his eyes to peer down at you. It is then when you notice the fresh bruise dotting the side of his face, and his pillowy lips split by a small incursion. He had very clearly gotten into another fight..

“Your mouth feels so fucking good when you're not using it to be a smart ass,” His words illicit a bubble of heat inside you.

Despite all this, you are clearly aware of the fact that you should not be enjoying this at all. Not one bit. For starters, you can feel the old wooden floors digging into the meat of your knees and the crisp winter chill is unkind to your scantily dressed state. Your shirt is unbuttoned because Mattheo was like a moth to a fucking flame when it came to your ample breasts and his hand is buried tightly in your kinky curls, forcing his cock even further down your throat. The very bones of Hogwarts seem to be in vehement protest of your blatant whorishness.

3 silver chains hang from his neck as he plants his other hand against the wall behind you, blocking your kneeling frame between both him and cold, hard stone. You crane your neck back, keeping a half lidded gaze on the jewelry that drives you feral with lust. You are content imagining that perhaps, when he is getting ready in the slytherin common rooms, he wears the silver for you. A fanciful thought but one that consistently has your intestines weaving themselves into knots.

That, paired with his striking, jet black blazer, which is discarded somewhere in the abandoned classroom, has you keening and fighting to take even more of him into your mouth. Perhaps you were peacocking a little - flatting your tongue so his cock slid seamlessly to the back of your throat while you fought to ignore the pain blossoming on your scalp. He had turned you from an inexperienced nun to something you're not quite ready to examine yet.

"You're finally putting this head of yours to good use…" Despite his feigned arrogance you're utterly delighted knowing that only you can bring Mattheo to such an utterly restless state. He does not really know what to do with himself.

Not when you took so much of him, so well.

You clench your toes.

Feeling himself get too close, Mattheo eases his cock fully out of your mouth, languidly stroking himself but still assuming a firm grip on your scalp. He is operating on that very specific plain of narcissism that was special to Mattheo. He is aware of your presence, physically, but his words are spoken into the open air, like you are an inanimate object. A glorified toy.

"Are all Ravenclaws as compliant as you are?”

You bring a crisp white sleeve up to your lips, wiping away the excess drool as you remain kneeled in front of him, knowing he has yet to finish.

"If you ever think of finding out," your voice is hoarse, "this will be the last time I offer you any free study sessions."

"Is money all you seek?" He attempts to feign composure, continuing to languidly stroke his cock. "How utterly greedy. I thought- fuck… - I thought you were far more philosophical than that"

You watch hungrily as Mattheo bites on his pillowy bottom lip. He is prolonging the release, taking his time as he usually did... "If you plan on edging yourself in my mouth instead of actually finishing the job, I do have other commitments to attend to-"

He ignores you... his brows furrowing and smoothening at odd intervals as he continues to touch himself while studying you.

"We may not be studying… but I still intend to pass Transfiguration, hope you're aware." He punctuates his sentence with an breathless laugh- it blossoms across his usually stoic visage, raising his buttercup cheekbones towards his smiling eyes.

As he talks, you examine his scars and feel the slow essence of admiration seep into the pit of your stomach. An arguably pathetic feat, given that your feelings will not ever be reciprocated.

Brewing inside you is the need to take care of him. You knew the rest of the student body viewed Mattheo as a glorified parasite. Something that is only capable of thinking within the capacity of its own means. Something that takes, and takes, and occasionally jokes around, and takes. But how could he know anything different? You suspected that his home life was built on the foundation of survival, on needing to be the loudest, and proudest, and worst of them all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The sharpness of his words slice through your thoughts, bringing you back to yourself. Mattheo's gaze is placed firmly on something down below. Throughout his mindless tirade, your hand had taken to rubbing soft, comforting circles against the leg of his pants, quite literally on its own accord. Mattheo is bent over, head tilted as he watches you questioningly. Seconds stretch to a minute, and your stomach sinks as time passes.

Eventually, he dismisses you. He shakes his head. "Whatever," He says, tilting your head back and lining your mouth with the head of his cock once more. His visage darkens into a cruel sadistic grin. "Tell me you want me to come in your mouth."

Almost instinctively, you do as he orders and like clockwork, you swallow his cum, wondering if he knew how deeply and truly your words actually were. There was a moment, perhaps imagined, in which his fingers gripping your hair, melted to the side of your soft, supple cheek. It stays there for longer than necessary, leaving bits and pieces of your composure scattered in its wake.

Mattheo soon straightens his posture, stuffing his flaccid cock back into his pants before making himself as presentable to the student body as they know him to be (which admittedly is not a lot) And before he turns to walk away, he leaves you stranded on a glacier with his ice cold words cutting deep into your beating heart.

"Tell anyone about this-"

"And I'm dead," You interject, "I know."

And with that, you pull your ruffled collar over your lint-free school jersey and check your reflection to assess the damage Mattheo and his iron grip might have left. You needn't wait for an extension on the conversation because your job here was done, (pun so malevolently intended).

As far as Mattheo is concerned, you are an easy conduit to release his frustrations through because your unpopularity makes you so incredibly inconspicuous. You blend into any given crowd at any given moment, your name seldom reaching the heights of ridicule among his group because you are so unforgettable… There had been no reason to point out your flaws, not because you did not have any, but because you were simply invisible.

It is particularly strange to have any social interaction beyond the bounds of group projects and class discussions… so Harry Potter gifting you even a sliver of attention had been violently unorthodox. So unorthodox, in fact, you failed to look up from the weathered pages of your novel when his gentle voice wafted in your direction during a rare free period in Study of Ancient Runes. Your professor has been summoned quite promptly by the headmaster and has yet to return. The class has been in a state of havoc ever since.

"I don't know if you're aware of this but…" A deep shadow over the pages alerted you to his presence, "They both die at the end."

It was incredibly rare that Potter, who sat at the desk directly in front of you, ever felt the need to strike up conversation that was not purely academic. Gryffindors made use of Ravenclaws as often as Slytherins.

So naturally, you peer curiously up at him…

"Sorry?"

"Y-Your book. It's a muggle book, isn't it? I haven't seen anything with a cover like that around here. It's refreshing. Everything in the wizarding world is ancient and leatherbound." He mumbles as his index finger slides into the collar of his red quidditch jersey. He finds himself suddenly overcome by a wave of embarrassment even though there was nothing at all to be embarrassed about… he turns his chair slightly in your direction, his eyes darting to the door and the empty teacher's seat before meeting yours once more.

"'They Both Die At The End." He says, pointing towards the title.

"Oh…" You affirm, rocking your head back and forth, "You were making a joke?"

"No," Harry snickers before waving a large hand in dismissal, "Evidently, the only thing I 'made' was a complete and utter fool of myself."

You're not sure when it happens but you feel the lower half of your face melting into what you suspect is a smile. You can feel your shoulders relaxing and your novel lowering imperceptibly.

"Work on your delivery next time and maybe we'll be getting somewhere."

"Is that how it is!?" Harry asked, pleasantly surprised by your banter, "- I could've sworn I had a shred of dignity before the start of this conversation. Now I'm not quite sure where that went."

Mattheo's feet pass over the threshold as soon as the sound of your laughter rushes past him. It is almost charming in its familiarity but incredibly curious in its rarity. He can't recall ever seeing you with your head thrown back while the instinctive sound of amusement races through your throat. He does not know he's staring until Draco shoves past him, to get to their own seats in the front of the class.

His eyes remain on you as he makes his way to his desk, hoping, perhaps, that you would turn your head infinitesimally, in acknowledgment of his presence.

You do nothing of the sort, and it not only fills him with a weird sort of dissatisfaction but it bubbles into full blown vexation when he realises who is capturing your attention so viscerally.

Mattheo has never prided himself on his patience or tolerance.

Overthinking is something he consistently lives without.

Most of his actions were spurred from things he felt in the now, and he was really fucking uncomfortable with what was happening now.

His glances at the front of the class before finding you once more in the very back corner of the class. He notices that Harry is stationed in front of you but the seat beside you is completely deserted.

Did you not have friends?

And more importantly; how did he never notice until now?

What if…

Perhaps if he…

"You didn't let me know we were having a picnic," The sound of a chair scraping against the tiles had both you and Harry rallying into silence. Mattheo appears at your side, pushing the chair against yours so he, too, sits facing Potter - who suddenly appears incredibly uneasy. Gone is the comfortable atmosphere cooked by easy and amicable conversation. Mattheo injecting himself into your little bubble created a suddenly charged and suffocating atmosphere. You cannot keep your wide eyes off Mattheo as he lowers himself to his chair beside you with his legs spread as he slouches down, like he always does.

"Don't stop on my accord," He exclaims, completely oblivious to the fact that your professor might walk in at any minute. "What were we talking about?" Your heart wrestles in your chest as you see him turn to address you. His slouching puts him a level lower than you, but it does nothing to lessen his intimidation.

"Maybe I should ask, Potter?" Mattheo turns his attention to the front, "What were you lot talking about?" There is not a trace of friendliness present in Riddle's tone. In fact, it's the very opposite. Your nerves, swelling with anxiety, only escalate into full-on panic when you feel him place a large hand on your skirt under the table.

Harry's voice is low and his eyes are trained on the floor, "Books-"

"Books!" Mattheo cuts him off with sarcastic fervour, "How utterly fascinating!" The hyperbolic wonder in his tone is utterly rude and unbecoming, but you look down at your desk in blatant anger. Refusing to be a part of whatever this is.

"And tell me, Potter, how many books have you read so far?"

It is then that Riddle's once stationary hand begins the faintest trace of movement. He begins slow and tame, his callouses barely registering on the soft fabric until his fingers prod the lining of your skirt…

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Never had Mattheo ever displayed a desire to touch you. Not in the way he made you touch him. It was made explicitly clear that only he would benefit from your secret rendezvous' and so you were left to deal with your aching cunt alone, with the image of the face he made when he came, still burned into your mind. It had never been about you.

"A couple,'' says Harry, fighting to show this bully that he was unaffected by his intimidation. If only he knew that with every advance Mattheo's palm made, you were slipping farther and farther away.

"A couple books?" Asks Riddle for clarity. He remains lax and languid on the inside, but the nature of his wandering hand underneath the desk tells a new story.

He finally slips under your skirt.

His palm connects with the softness of your thighs and he seems utterly pleased by it. His hand is immediately restless to explore how far you would let him go. Which isn't very far.

Not at all.

If he thought he could suddenly touch you after myriad occasions of using you like a discarded toy… he had another thing coming.

The tips of Mattheo's fingers make gradually increasing strokes along your thigh until his fingers prod the stretch marks on your inner thigh. It is there when you stop him, clenching your legs together, blocking his hand from any further movement.

Mattheo's voice is strained as he says, "And you like reading, Potter?"

Sensing something brewing between the two of you - your withdrawn, hazy gaze, staring directly through the desk and Mattheo's overabundance in questions, has Harry reeling backwards.

"I asked you a question, Harry."

"I like reading."

"Good! That's really good!" Quite suddenly, Riddle tilts the ends of his half-moon nails into your thigh. His nails bite into your skin, forcing them to weaken and unclamp. Before you're even able to think, his palm is cupping your cunt through your panties- forcing an indecent yelp from your throat which you quickly (and very badly) disguise as a cough.

Mattheo is utterly pleased while he continues mindlessly stroking your cunt. Not for the purpose of any glorious stimulation. His hand is just there to show you (and perhaps maybe himself) that he has access to the most private part of you.

That thought alone has an unforeseen and sudden wave of lust coursing through his veins and surging straight to his hardened cock. He thinks of all the things he could have done to you but failed to do. He thinks about how, up until this point, he had ever been satisfied with using your mouth alone, not when he was denying himself the softness of your pussy all along.

He felt angry with himself, for being so fucking stupid, he is angry at Potter for seeing whatever it is he saw in you, way before he did and, possibly most harrowing of all is the fact that he is angry with you. And he can't help but be angry at you. How easily you whore yourself out to any and every man. If this thing with Potter had gone far enough, would you replace him? Had you even fucked Potter before?

You bite down on your lower lip as your head bows even further into your book. The words blend into one another, and all you can feel is a rise in temperature and Mattheo's suddenly restless fingers, pressing rudely against your clit - for the sole purpose of ripping an orgasm out of you right then and there, at the very back of an unsupervised classroom, with Harry Potter still very much a part of the conversation.

"You've got so many books to read in your lifetime," Says Mattheo. He sits up slowly, likely spurred on by the dampness seeping through your panties. "Don't cut your long life short by trying to entertain other people's girlfriends, yeah?" Gone are any traces of feigned friendliness. "Fucking Mudblood,"

Your skin feels like you are bathing in magma and you hope Potter could not see the slight tremor in your hand as you gripped the sides of your book with more force than necessary.

Mattheo's words… they have you shifting forward and widening your legs minutely. You crave for nothing more than to roll your hips in tandem with the circles he's pressing against your clit.

"Understood?"

Your orgasm is dangerously close, with the promise of sheer, disgusting shame and embarrassment if he continues. You feel Harry give you one final curious look, perhaps pleading for an interjection of denial at some point but you've taken to bouncing your knee under the table, hoping the vibrations might create enough friction to aid Mattheo's hands. He is keeping you trapped in a space of wanting. So much so, that this almost feels like a punishment.

Once Harry is turned back around and facing the front of the class, Mattheo lowers his lips to your ears. The damp smell of firewhiskey floods your nostril and you realise that he is completely drunk. In the second lesson of the day.

However, you're so completely stimulated, even the warmth of his breath as you fight the urge to hump into his hand like a lost little puppy until you make a mess all over his hand.

"You're such a fucking slut, you know that?" Your book drops to your desk - muffled by the sounds of the classroom cacophony. "You like being humiliated like this?" He asks, almost in complete awe. It takes everything in you not to moan outright.

"Fuck," You whisper to yourself, blinking your eyes shut, warding off the need but to no avail. His fingers are long and limber, and they have you nearly cumming right there, in front of your entire fucking class. Had it not been for your Professor's haphazard arrival into the class, and the swift removal of Mattheo's fingers from between your legs… you might truly have become the slut he labelled you as.

Instead of moving to his designated seat, Riddle raises his hand for the professor… the very same hand that has previously been in between your legs.

"Yes, Mr Riddle?" Asks the Professor, his voice as lacklustre as his appearance.

"May we be excused? We were excused by Professor Slughorn to assist him in-"

"Fine, fine," Says the professor with a wave of dismissal before turning his attention to the rest of the class. "The rest of you, open your textbooks to page 56."

Riddle's hand is clamped around your forearm, already leading you swiftly out the door in a long and wide stride. Had it been any other teacher at all, they might have recognized this for what it so clearly was.

"Here," you have barely made it fully into the boy's bathroom before Mattheo is stuffing his fingers down your throat, making you gag and yelp at the sudden intrusion. "Tell me how good you taste." He doesn't even bother to make sure you're truly left alone in the bathroom before pushing your front against the bathroom sink.

"Is that good?" His voice is as sweet as honey as he forces his fingers deeper down your throat, causing you to cough and gag around them.

Mattheo has half his sense to pull his wand from his back pocket, and without turning around, whispers "Colloportus," and the heavy doors snap shut.

You're supposed to be afraid because you've never seen him like this. Mattheo is always a ball of sarcastic energy between trysts, but it's usually an energy he can somewhat contain.

You don't know what to do with him, not when he's watching you choke on his fingers through the mirror, while his other hand fondles at your breasts and rips your bra down until your nipples are poking through your school shirt.

The figure in the mirror distorts as your eyes begin to water. Thick beads of tears grow pregnant at the ends of your eyes before rolling down the side of your face.

"My girl," Mattheo presses his face into your hair, breathing you in, pressing his body into your side. His hard cock in unmistakable through his school pants, "My messy little girl,"

You finally moan candidly while your fingers grip the countertops and your hips buck into nothingness. Your eyes plead with him in the mirror, hoping they relay how utterly useless with lust you have become. It would not take hard work to make you cum, you're sure one more flick against your material-clad nipples might send you over the edge.

"Fuck, why didn't I think of this sooner,"

This is all new, even for the two of you.

"Spread your legs." He commands, even though his feet are already kicking them apart.

"Come here," you break eye contact in the mirror to face the boy behind you. Mattheo removes his fingers sitting in your mouth, leaving a trail of sticky saliva in its wake before replacing it with a long and messy kiss- one that has his tongue forcing itself inside.

Mattheo weaponizes your distraction to reach around and slide your panties to the side with one hand while he rubs your soft nub with his other, spit-coated hand.

You break away from the kiss, neck craning back and mouth hanging open while your eyebrows dissolve into crescents. You cannot look away from him, as you hump his hand.

"You wanna cum?" You nod enthusiastically. "And what if I told you, you can't cum until I've fucked that little pussy of yours? Hm? What then?" His words have you mewling from the sheer pleasure they bring and your orgasm threatens to snap once more.

"Fuck," He hisses, feeling unable to remove his hand from your wet cunt but needing to, in order to undo his belt and pull his aching cock out. "Don't you dare fucking touch yourself," He says in a deadly quiet voice before bringing his hand up to your mouth. "Spit." You don't ever think of disobeying him, not when you're swimming so deeply in your subspace, not when he's the one to bring you here.

Mattheo collects every bit of saliva you offer him before coating his cock in the stuff.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, he does what his body is screaming for him to do: he bends you over the bathroom sink and pushes cock right through your slippery folds. It's tense and painful and your voice is hoarse from doing all that screaming but the sudden contact strokes a deeply sated part inside yourself. His curved and pretty cock rams your insides with reckless abandon, all while he delivers small slaps against your cheek. Riddle keeps a firm grip on your throat. His mouth is inches away from you while his hips rut into yours. His words are being delivered through clenched teeth.

"You think you're so fucking smart but you're just my little whore, arent you? A little whore thst fucks anything that gives her the slightest bit of attention?" It doesn't even register that Mattheo wrongfully suspects that there had been something between you and Harry but you keep your mouth shut. For all his indifference in the past, this is how you would make him pay.

"Oh~ fuck." His cock bruises your cervix, leaving him balls deep and feral inside you. "Fucking Potter?! You wanna give what's mine, to fucking Potter?!" His voice is utterly depraved and animalistic and it has your orgasm cresting.

He is panting, while he mumbles into your ear.

"What would Potter think? If he saw you like this? What would he think? Would he still want your slutty pussy knowing I've been inside it? Knowing that I've cum so deep inside you? Completely ruining you for anyone else, huh?"

"You…" The tears threaten to spill, "It's only ever been you, Mattheo -oh my god! I'm so fucking close!" You fight down tears as the lava begins to bubble at the pit of your stomach.

"S-Say it again. Tell me you want me!" He exclaims, "Tell me you fucking need me."

"Oh my God, Mattheo, I fucking need you." You push your hips back to meet his thrusts.

His voice wavers after your confession. His strokes became sloppy. His mind is flooded with the tightest of your cunt around his cock- how someone so smart could possibly ever say they need him. It has a flood of heat pooling at the base of his cock. "You're so fucking pretty… my pretty girl - my pretty whore," He nods to himself while his heavy cock finds purchase in a specific clump of sensitive tissue inside your cunt. It has you clamping your own mouth shut, your arms wavering while your back arches towards him, only allowing him better excess.

"I need you," You say once more, swallowing a ball of saliva as you nod towards him through the mirror, "I need you to cum inside me."

"Oh my fucking god," Mattheo's eyes soften in their desperstion, "M'gonna fucking breed pussy right here- fuck!" His grip on your throat grows tighter until you're wholeheartedly cut off from your air supply. You hump his cock until you feel it twitch inside you.

"Y-Youre making me cum, baby- fuck-" You feel his hot cum spurting inside your walls, triggering your own orgasm that has you gripping his cock like a vice.

"So… so pretty" His hips stutter against yours until you've completely drained him of his cum. A sharp tremor settles over your bones and you gasp in vague increments, waiting for the overwhelming state of euphoria to subside… but it never does.

The weight of what you had done comes crashing back down but you are unable to feel anything besides an immense wave of satisfaction at having your deepest need satiated.

"I think I nearly killed Potter today." His voice is a hoarse echo within the school bathrooms.

"There is no Harry Potter," You say, watching him through the mirror, "In my whole world, there is only ever you, Mattheo."

And a part of him believes you, but he refuses to affirm something as emotionally stifling as that. Instead, Mattheo's eyes flutter shut as his nose finds your hair once more. His cock is still buried inside you, and you hiss as he moves his hips slowly, almost insitinvely. He loves being so wholly enveloped by you. He loves feeling you everywhere.

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫

Ghostface!Anton x fem!Reader | Shotaro x fem!reader

Warnings: Language, College!AU, Ghostface!AU, Incel!behaviour, Violence, Body Insecurity, Stalking, Cheating Implied, Catholic Imagery, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Dark fic, Inexperienced!Anton, Voyeur noism, Stalking, Masturbation, Cunnilingus, CNC, Dub/Con, Degradation Kink, Impact Play, Slight Bondage, Unprotected Sex, Mask Kink, Primal Play, Knife Kink, Blood Play, PIV, Mutual Virginity Loss

Reuploaded due to overcoming my writing insecurities. Read the warnings.

You had absolutely no excuse.

Instead of pouring your attention into the gorgeous man peppering hot kisses down the side of your mouth, your gaze is planted on the casement window over Shotaro's broad, ruddy shoulder. And while he assaults your skin with a rain of sloppy, inebriated kisses, you can't help but let your mind wander as you think: it always seemed particularly sexist, that the boys’ dorm rooms had such a vast and expansive view of the city whereas the girl's dormitory was smack bang in the city centre on the other side of the district.

Perhaps not the best thoughts to be having while your study partner (and the college plug) was desperately trying to assimilate some kind of foreplay. Tiny cars strung along the streets created arteries of the city, as if the entire grid was a sentient being. It had the power to take anyone's breath away, but, the loveable, oblivious airhead above you, was very comfortable in the knowledge that your shortness of breath was all because of him…

"Has anyone told you that you're literally so hot?” You had learned pretty early on in your collegiate career that anytime a man veneered his words with this much of a slur, the chances that he was being honest was incredibly slim.. But then again, since when has honesty really been a defining male characteristic?

“Thanks, you too.” You whispered back with your eyes still firmly locked on the window. If only the city could be your lover

“I actually didn't expect you to be this kind of girl.”

Every single thing this guy said made your lady boner grow so horribly flaccid by the second. If he didn't penetrate your hymen soon you might be in dire need of artificial lubrication (which your roommate assured you was the very worst thing that could happen.)

“You just always seemed like the type to keep her head down,” Shotaro presses a surprising kiss to the very centre of your swollen lips. Your sudden influx of excitement at the action, not only leaves you partially relieved, but his hands digging firmly into the sides of your jeans is enough to reassure you that perhaps you weren't a raging asexual as you might have initially thought (and hoped).

“It isn't a bad thing, baby…" He continues to whisper as his plump lips find a particularly sensitive area behind your ear.

This was getting good…

“Just the thought that behind all that corduroy,” A kiss, “And pretentiousness," Another kiss, “And those undeniable book smarts,” His hand is cold to the touch as it slips beneath your woolen sweater, digging into your hip and wrenching an undeniable gasp from the bottom of your thoat, “I didnt think there was a nasty little slut so desperate to get fucked.”

Shotaro pulls back to admire your panting frame locked between his haphazard sheets and his exposed upper body. The sight of his red rimmed, droopy eyes and lazy smile glowing in the city’s technicolour spilling in through the window released in you, excitement and overpowered by an immediate feeling of insecurity.

“I like discovering people's secrets,” Shotaro grins before picking up his discarded jointcand taking one, long, sweltering drag. He leans down and your lips almost give way automatically, until he's blowing the smoke right into your mouth.

A groan mixes with a giggle leaves his mouth, and Shotaro presses your foreheads together before straightening back up, “I'm so hard right now,” He shakes his head before making quick work of killing the lit blunt and discarding it, somewhere in this room.

Shotaro lifts your shirt slowly, revealing the string of colourful beads dotted around your waist.

“It’s cultural,” You begin to quickly say,

“And fucking hot.” He concludes with a carnivorous grin before attaching his lips to your lower abdomen.

The air is vacuumed cleanly out of your lungs as your fingers find Shotaro hair.

He undoes your buttons while you feel the sudden inexplicable need to keep a firm eye on the open doorway leading out to the shadowy hallway. You vaguely know of a roommate yet you have no idea why Shotaro decides to keep the door open. However, the intensity in the idea of being caught spurs you both on.

If only you knew that the threat was not so hypothetical.

If only you knew that the pair of eyes you think you see lurking in the darkness is not, in fact, a mirage birthed from your overcast, sex-filled brain, but it's real.

And he sees you. And he is so undeniably disappointed in you for letting your natural instincts fall prey to such an utter predator like Shotaro. If only you knew that he saw you, even when you were seated in the very back of your Literature class. Never raising your hand but always mumbling along to a quote by Mary Shelley or Henry James, while the professor awaited the correct response from the rest of the class. Anton had always seen you, in spite of your shyness not despite it. It is from your wit alone and that narrowed look in your eye that has him tugging on his dick faster, while Shotaro begins to eat you out with fervour.

Anton nearly mewls at the thought of it being him between your thighs, wrenching those excited moans out of your pretty little throat. That throat that he would long ago have had locked in his fist while his fingers stabbed your pussy repeatedly and his lips danced against your soft, swollen, overstimulated little clit,

“Oh-fuck-” Anton blanched as his cum spurted all over his hand still stroking frantically at his cock. His mind was flooded with all the unassuming images of you he had saved on a private folder in his phone. Images of you biting your pen in a particularly boring lecture. Images of one of your braids hanging out the side of your mouth as you jotted down whatever you jotted down with such animation on your laptop. Every single fun and crazy hairstyle you wore on campus, slinking into the background thinking no one noticed but of course he did.

Of course he did.

“Fuck-Fuck-Fuck-Fuck-” Ethan slapped a hand against his open mouth, ebbing away his hoarse and desperate whispers as he delved further into the shadows. His wet curls bounced as his back hit the wall.

Before he lost sight of you for whoever knows how long, Anton made sure to look at you one final time before slipping away, down the hall to his own room just as Shotaro turned his head around in apparent alarm.

“Did you hear that?”

You most certainly did hear that but for the purpose of achieving your first orgasm that was not self-inflicted you dumbly say, “Heard what?”

“It sounded like-'' Shotaro's sentence is cut short by a loud and oppressive Drake tune that cuts through the charged silence. In a matter of seconds the boy abandons your exposed vagina in search of his phone displaying a profile picture of a brunette. You were once again losing your lady boner at dramatic altitudes, especially as Shotaro began to pull a shirt over his head and fumble around the room for his shoes.

“Something really bad came up,” He says as he drops the phone and backs away towards the doorway “Could we reschedule?”

What else could you have said to that? 'Could you please penetrate my hymen first before jumping to your girlfriend’s beck and call?'

“Of course. That’s perfectly fine." Even though it most certainly was not fine and your heart is plummeting as you pull your pants up with a nagging voice in your head telling you that 'You couldn't even hold a man's attention when he was greeted with the promise of sex. How pathetic could you get? Really.'

"I don't know how comfortable I feel letting you walk the streets alone so late at night, though,” an intense discomfort comes over the boy. It looks unnatural. “Especially with all those…” Shotaro trails off and you roll your eyes before sliding off his bed.

“You can say murders," you reply.

While Shotaro stands in the centre of the room, rubbing aimlessly at the back of his neck, you can't help but feel your attraction wane with his apparent and unmistakable idiocy.

"And anyway, that's okay. I'm not exactly the target of any murderer's affections." Not even yours.

You begin to gather your things, dead set on the idea of hiding out in your dorm room for the foreseeable week until the weight of this rejection is lifted. "I'll be quick."

"No, please, I insist." He says, ushering you out into the hallway before jogging past you. You wait idly in the short corridor with your backpack slung lazily over one shoulder as you overhear Shotaro burdening you onto his roomate.

While you wait, your legs are restless as your feet shuffle underneath you. That would've been all well and good if you didn't lift your Converse to see a murky white smudge on the wooden floor. Your eyes squint to better make out the stain in such horrible lighting but you're bombarded by a new pair of footsteps and a retreating Shotaro who screams as he leaves, "I'd feel much better if Anton walked you home!"

"So Anton will walk you home." Says the quiet boy in third person. A small, almost shy smile flits across his face as the front door slams shut.

---

Awkwardness settles when you run the risk of what is very clearly two introverts being forced to bare each other's presence. You had been walking alongside Anton Lee for 2 blocks and not once has either of you chosen to thaw away at the silence with a refreshing joke or some sliver of lightheartedness. No…

Everything feels so particularly heavy.

"We could cut through the park," Your voice sounds foreign even to your own ears, "It's the quickest way to my building."

Anton only replies with a small imperceptible 'sure' as the trees grow more dense around you, and the near constant New York bustle begins to wane.

"I'm sorry, you had to do this," With the sound of the city centre slipping through the space around you, you're compelled to fill the silence somehow. "I'm sorry for putting you out of your way."

The very next thing to happen not only surprises you but it sets off an equally surprising spell of warmth in the pit of your stomach as Anton throws his dark haired head back in a flurry of warm-hearted chuckles.

You immediately find his smile dazzling. It's so wide and all encompassing. Big teeth, big nose and scrunched up, enjoyment-filled eyes.

"I think I might've killed Shotaro myself if he let another one of his 'study buddies' walk home alone." He looks down at you through the corner of his eye, without ever once turning his head.

Only then do you take note of the sheer size of him. You could've easily been walking down this path with one of these dense trees.

"Very surprising that so many people like him, actually." Despite waging a war with his instinctive need to feel shy and reserved Anton cannot help but feel his natural inhibitions melt when he finally has you so close beside him.

"Very surprising that you like him…"

"I don't think I like Shotaro." You begin, "Not really." You make sure to keep your gaze trained on your shoes as you shuffle down the stoney path. Around you, midnight joggers, and crazy men high on various substances wander the park like forgotten apparitions.

"Yeah, Taro doesn't seem like someone you should hangout with." You raise a questioning eyebrow up at him.

Anton backtracks and fights to string along a functioning sentence, "Uh… I-Um-just mean, from what I gathered in our shared classes together-well, you're really smart! And Taro is…"

“-A mass of brainless brawn with zero wit and zero social skills outside of getting high and fucking?" You conclude for him, only earning another laugh from Anton that has your stomach warming once again.

“Remind me why you were about to have sex with him?" Anton fought hard to stuff down his vexation as the words left his mouth but to no avail. "I know what goes on when Shotaro brings people over to ‘study’."

You notice the vehemence with which he utters those words but you choose to not respond to it.

“Well I'm catholic," You begin, as you both cut through the trees, "And as much I pray to the Holy Mother, as much as I love and respect her, I have no interest in ending up like her

“Immaculate and deified?"

“A virgin.” You are unaware that your reply has Anton's gaze snapping towards you. Silence once again grows pregnant between the two of you as you walk. You begin to regret being so candid with a complete stranger.

"Ugh- I shouldn't have said that-"

"Hey, do you wanna play tag at all?" You're caught off guard by his sudden proposal, but he makes no move in explaining further as he continues to walk coolly, his graphic shirt flapping in the wake of a gust of warm summer wind.

"What?"

"What if you ran," He shrugs, "And I tried to find you?” You can only look up at him with a questioning smile before he shakes his head furiously,

“Or not," He murmurs, his hands curling by his sides. "It's just, cardiovascular exercise might help improve your mood right now. You could run and I'd try to catch you and maybe it might help you forget but that's so stupid and I'm sorry-"

But you've already begun backing up. The park is filled with your happy giggles as you push the boy to the ground yelling "YOU'RE IT!" Before breaking off into the darkness collected amongst the trees. Your feet are set alight with motion, and your blood charges with newfound energy rolling through your arteries. This truly is the most alive you've felt in a really long time and you're quite embarrassed you hadn't thought of running by yourself.

You throw your head back, welcoming a gust of wind into your lungs. The skyscrapers peeking up from between the trees are quiet spectators.

Your eyes have begun to adjust to the darkness just as the very first spell of tiredness wash over you but you charge on, filled by excitement and that innate childhood need to 'never get caught'.

"I'm gonna get you," a voice murmurs from between the trees, only spurring you further into the darkness. Your once airy, carefree laughs have grown into tired pants as you feel the weight of your backpack on your shoulder and the first strains in your thighs. Your hair whips around you like the wayward petals of dandelions as you split through a grassy clearing.

You decide to take your break with your hands locked on your knees as you frantically survey the space around you. All appears calm but the inclination that this boy is much faster than you, has you beginning your sprint again.

"Fucking, fuck exercise!" You're panting heavily now and your gait has slowed down significantly however, you're surprised that the tiredness is not the only feeling coursing through your body right now but…

"You're gonna have to do better than that." You hear this from an unidentifiable location around you. Like a madman, you begin to grow utterly unsure of what you just released.

Complete and unadulterated fear.

"H-Hey, Anton!? I don't wanna play-" You place a hand on your heart, "I don't wanna play anymo-"

But a flash of black has already attacked you from the side, tackling you into the ground and leaving you completely winded. You try to wrestle him off of you but his knees lock on the ground as he straddles you. Your movements stop when you gaze up at Anton - or what you really hoped was Anton.

"Where'd you find time to change?" You ask, bring your hand up in an attempt to paw the Ghostface mask on his hidden visage.

You're wriggling and writhing underneath him but he doesn't move. His weight is practically as concrete as that of a cinder block on top of you, and there is virtually no way you're fighting him off. It takes all of 60 seconds of futile struggling to realise something was utterly wrong.

"Fuck-" The panic expands in your lower belly, floodinb your insides with fear until it inflages and pours out of your mouth.

"HELP!" You cry, "SOMEBODY! PLEASE FUCKING HELP ME- PLEASE-PLEASE FUCKING HELP ME!" You begin to cry real tears as you whip your head to the side in search of park wanderers only to find absolutely no one. The man above you quickly secures his hand over your mouth, collecting your rolling tears.

"Fuck yes…" You can hear his whispers through the mask as he lowers his head until his face is close to yours. You're quick in turning your head away from this monster on top of you but his hand on your wrist only snaps up to plug your nose shut.

Anton has your mouth and your nose covered in a horrible display of strength and danger. Your arms flail wildly around you and you're pretty sure you remember thinking the very frightening, very concrete thought that this is the moment your soul leaves this world.

But death does not open her arms to you, instead, you're furiously gasping in the fresh air that he allows you to have.

"Now I'm going to tell you one more time that yelling is allowed, baby. It's actually preferred, but, just not too loud okay?" You're nodding frantically once Anton uncovers a jagged blade from beneath the black robe. It cuts a menacing glint through the moonlight and you're only able to whine as the blade is aimed at your jugular while Anton's other hand lowers to explore the vastness of your clothed body.

"Youre gonna play my helpless victim alright-oh fuck, you're so pretty, you know that?." It's all so incredibly muffled from beneath the mask but the urgency in his tone has your legs squeezing together underneath him and your eyes squeezing shut in stark embarrassment of your actions. How absolutely sick of you to feel turned on in this very moment? Potentially more turned on then you might have been with Shotaro, in fact.

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay. I'll take care of you," the blade taps lightly at the side of your face, urging your wet eyes open only to reveal a blurry distorted image of the Ghostface above. "I'm honoured to be your first, okay?" You're only able to wail helplessly into his gloves as his other hand undoes the buttons of your cargo pants.

Anton rips your pants off like a madman, failing to hide his urgency or his jittery, maniacal movements. He doesn't even have your pants down all the way before his hand is buried in your cunt.

"I've watched enough porn to know I'm supposed to get you ready. And while raping you may be what this looks like I have no intention of leaving you unsatisfied." He words are slurred as you feel his gloved fingers enter your soaked vagina.

"You're already wet?" He remarks in complete disbelief as he uncovers his hand from the confines of your ruined panties. The Ghostface mask is lifted and discarded somewhere behind him only to reveal a painting boy with wild curls and wide eyes. He gazes at the arousal in awe, raising it up into the moonlight as he moves his fingers around it. Your breath shudders as Anton instinctively places those fingers directly in his mouth. He moans around them, before gazing down at your glistening cunt.

"I need you." He begins to plead as his voice cracks and his eyebrows curve inwards, "Please, I need you so bad." The knife is momentarily released from your throat as he sits back on his haunches. Anton rips his gloves off with his teeth before eagerly delving underneath his own robes to shove his hands down his sweatpants. You watch dazed as he jerks off above you, never once stopping his helpless cries. Cries that make the ache between your legs grow hotter and heavier, and your breathing once again picks up as you gaze up at him.

"A-Anton?" Your own voice cracks in the wake of not only your arousal but by the way you were crying your lungs out just a second ago.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Please fuck me." He does not waste even a second more before he's shuffling off of you. Another yelp eases out of your throat as Anton pulls your hips towards his in a surprising display of strength before wrenching your legs apart. Without removing your panties any further Anton frantically uncovers his dick from inside his sweatpants. He mewls over and over again as he clenches the materials of his robe in his teeth before pistoning his cock through the folds of your virgin cunt.

You scream ruggedly into the air, exposing your throat to him as your back arches and your pussy cries out in pain. His cock rams unapologetically into your cunt as he lowers his head to your neck. He is crying, you begin to note as he fucks you relentlessly. He's fucking crying and its turning you on.

"Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful." He coos in your ear, only causing another wave of arousal to lubricate your pussy. "You're so fucking pretty and I promise I'd do anything for you. I'd do anything for this. To feel your pussy around my cock like this. I'd fucking kill someone for it-"

"My fucking God, Anton!" Your throat is hoarse from all your gasping and the immense pain is yet to subside but his words bring you a pleasure you've never ever felt. A pleasure you've never been able to feel on your own.

You pull him down into a sudden kiss which he melts into, his hips rutting into yours as if his cock can't get enough of the friction. Your own pain subsides, as you lift your hips to meet his shallow strokes and you're quickly approaching euphoria. This, you realise, is the feeling you've been missing. Rubbing your cunt underneath your covers in the dead of night brought momentary pleasure but there has always been a need for more.

"I need to cum inside you, okay?" You can't say no, not when he's taken to wrapping his fist around your throat and spearing your cunt with his cock as if his very will to live depended on fucking you senseless.

"Fucking slut- tell me to cum inside you!" And then his grip loosens and he's frantically slapping at your cheeks, "Please baby. Please, my pretty, pretty girl." It's utterly deranged, his moods lifting and falling and morphing and changing. It only brings you further to the edge to be so uttericaly unsure around him. Whether he's gonna hurt you or love you.

"Please cum inside me. Oh fuck, please cum inside me!"

Anton's mouth hangs open as his thrusts become irregular. His body shakes from above you just as your insides are flooded with his warm cum. The fullness of it, has you placing a hand on your clit as you're cumming loudly around his cock, milking it for everything it's worth.

"FUCK-" You scream, completely overcome with mutlplie waves of euphoria as you stare up at him above you.

Your hooded eyes looked up at him like your personal god. Nothing feels better than what he has given you, nothing could be better than this. Anton gazes down at you with the very same reverence. His perfect little slut cumming so beautifully around his cock. It's better than he could've ever imagined.

"I wanna stay inside you forever." He whispers breathlessly before pushing a slobbering kiss to your mouth, a kiss you warmly return. "Me too." Is all you can reply.

"Was I supposed to rub your clit? I'm sorry." He says, noticing your hand has found your wet mound while his cock is still buried inside you.

He pushes your hand away to some slick off your clit causing you to face another wave of shivers.

A trail of blood runs down his fingers and he stares intently at it and then at you before he eases his cock out of your cunt and bends down to place a delicate kiss on your mound. His plump lips are painted red, your red.

"We're a team now, okay? A family."

Outside

Mahito x Reader // Word Count ~6k

Synopsis: Sometimes, Mahito actually tries to make you happy. This latest attempt comes closer to the mark than any other. You missed being outside, and you feel just a little bit less trapped once you’re out beneath the night sky. For a few minutes, anyways. Before it all goes wrong. If only this stranger on the street was able to keep his mouth shut – and if only Mahito wasn’t there to hear him.

Content Warnings and Tags: Dark content. Noncon, forced relationship, kidnapped reader, extreme possessiveness, choking, hair pulling, dacryphillia, throat fucking, rough sex, discussion of drinking and depiction of drunkenness (not reader), catcalling, non-gory description of physical violence, discussion of past violence and killing, off-screen murder (also not reader but boy is it traumatizing for them). In summation: the dove is dead, do not eat it.

A/N: I - don't even know how I feel about this one. Sometimes a concept pops into your head and you just have to see it through. As always, proceed with caution <3

He wakes you up with a rough grip, shaking you until your eyes flutter open. It’s an unpleasant way to be ripped from sleep, but compared to some of the other ways he’s tried in the past weeks, it’s not so bad. His hands are on your shoulders, this time, and it’s only his hands touching you – it could be worse. Still, you feel the familiar curl of despair in your stomach, the familiar urge to turn away from the face that hovers over yours, to run away from it. But you don’t do so much as close your eyes. It’s not worth it. You know he’ll only pry them back open.

“You’re cute when you wake up.” He grins broadly, giggling at the sight of your eyes struggling to remain open. “You always look a little bit confused for a second. And your voice changes when you’re sleepy. It’s adorable.” When he leans down to kiss you, you accept it, lying still and parting your mouth to allow his tongue inside. Your eyelids feel heavy. There’s no view of the sky in this wretched sewer – you haven’t seen it since the day he dragged you down here – but you can tell that it’s still the depths of night, that you were asleep for a few hours at most. This isn’t unusual. You’ve learned that when he gets a new idea, he doesn’t like to wait.

His kiss is long, and slow. It drags the breath from your mouth until at last, after what feels like an eternity, he’s satisfied. Then, he pulls you to your feet, and holds you tight in his arms, face pressed down into your neck. “I have a surprise for you.” His voice is low, but shaking, barely containing his excitement.

You stiffen involuntarily, just enough that you’re sure he notices. You can’t help it. You think you’ve spent about three weeks here, although you can’t be entirely sure, and none of the several “surprises” he’s sprung on you in that time have been anything short of horrific.

“I’ve decided…” He pulls back, and grins into your face, still far too close for any sort of comfort, his breath falling oddly cold on your cheek. “That you deserve something extra special. You’ve been so much fun, and I want to do something nice for you. Like a reward. I thought about it for a while, and I think I came up with something good.” He tilts his head, sizing up your expression. “Ask me what it is.”

You don’t want to know. But you will, soon enough, no matter what. “What is it?”

“I’ve decided…that I’m going to let you go outside!”

Your brain churns, trying to make sense of what he’s said. “Outside?”

“Mhm! Aren’t you excited?” His smile falls as you stare blankly back at him. “You should be excited,” he says petulantly. “It’s a good surprise. Humans like a change of scenery, right? You like fresh air?”

“Yes, but”- Surely, he’s not offering you what you really want. To you, outside means freedom. And there’s nothing he wants to give you less than that.

“Oh. I get it.” He laughs, and shakes his head. “No. I’m not letting you go by yourself. I’ll be right beside you the whole time. Wouldn’t want you getting lost on your way back!”

Right. Lost. As if you wouldn’t run as fast as you could as soon as you made it to the mouth of the sewer. In any direction, to anywhere at all. If he ever gave you the chance, you would take it in an instant.

“I’ll hold your hand and everything.” As he says this, he interlocks his fingers with yours, and squeezes. “It’ll be very romantic. You’ll like it.”

His grip on your hand will be tight – even if it wasn’t, you know how quick he is, how powerful. As long as he’s beside you, you’ll never have a hope of escape. Still, as his surprises go, this is the best one so far. It’s a very low bar, to be fair, but still…

“Let’s go,” he insists, tugging at your arm.

 “Now?”

“Of course!” He laughs again, like you've said something absolutely ridiculous. “You really are cute when you wake up. You get confused…”

You pause for a beat, trying to smooth out the consternation on your face. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Mhm. And it’s nice out! Very quiet. The streets are almost all empty...no one around to get in the way of the view.”

“The streets are empty because it’s the middle of the night.”

“Yes.”

You look down at your clothes. They’re an odd ensemble, a blue, mid-thigh pleated skirt and a large black t-shirt he brought back yesterday from who-knows-where. Only the third change of clothes he’s given you in the weeks since he found you. Certainly a step up from the tattered, indecent remains of the dress you’d had on that first night, and even from the other ensembles he’s collected in the intervening time – but still not anything you’d choose to wear in public. It’s a small detail to get hung up on, but you’ve found yourself latching onto small details quite often in the past few weeks. If you think about the big picture for too long, you start to feel like your brain is going to break.

“You should be excited,” he says stubbornly. “But if you really don’t want to… I can find something else for us to do. I’ve got other ideas!”

There’s nothing threatening about the way he says it. It’s matter of fact, almost genial. But that doesn’t matter. You know that you don’t want to experience any of his backup plans – your imagination is already going into overdrive, picturing what he might have in store if you refuse his offer. “No. I…I want to go outside.” You realize, as you say it, that it’s true, and not only because your fear the alternatives. Still, your voice comes out small, and it shrinks even more as you force out your final sentence. “Thank you.”

“Aw. You’re very welcome.” He kisses you on the forehead, and starts leading you away. As you follow, slightly behind him, you rediscover another one of those small details you latch onto when everything is too much: the sewer itself is oddly warm, but the floor is always cold on your bare feet. It doesn’t make sense. Sometimes, such minute observations are comforting distractions, but right now, this particular one is only adding to your unease.

After a few begrudging steps, you manage to spit out: “I need shoes.”

“Oh…of course! You should have said something before.” He releases your hand and darts away, faster than humanly possible, returning to your side moments later with a pair of black high heels you recognize as your own. “You were wearing these with your dress the night I found you, remember? I decided to keep them.”

Of course you remember. You’d kicked them off inside your apartment, minutes before he’d shown up. Had he really stopped to pick them up when he’d carried you away? The details of that night are…well. Most of them are hazy. A few are painfully clear.

“I kept the dress, too,” he sighs, as he places the shoes in front of you. “It’s too bad you can’t wear it anymore. I still have it, just in case you change your mind.”

You step into the heels, and reluctantly take his hand, wobbling slightly as you follow him through the tunnel. “I was wearing it for days,” you say timidly. “It smells.”

“It smells like you.” In the periphery of your vision, you can see his head turn in your direction. You keep your eyes glued to the floor. “The longer you wore it, the more like you it smelled. It got stronger.” His nails scratch at the back of your hand, long and harsh against your dry skin. “I guess human scents linger for a while, because it still smells like you.”

You stay quiet, as you usually do. How are you supposed to respond to something like that? There was a time when you thought he said things like this to upset you. Now, though, you think he’s just frightfully honest. He doesn’t say things to provoke you – he says things because they appear in his head, and he has no qualms about letting you hear them. Does he know that they make you uncomfortable? He must – but clearly, he doesn’t mind.

For several minutes, you walk through twisted passages. Although you can still feel his eyes lapping at your face, at your body, at the hem of your skirt, he’s silent for once, giving you the gift of uninterrupted time in your own head. You wonder how long it’ll be before he feels inclined to get you a new bundle of clothes. A set of underwear, at least, would be nice. Maybe if you ask, he’ll do it. He does seem to like providing for you, even to take pride in it, although he certainly doesn’t know how to do it properly. When he presented your most recent outfit to you, he stared at you like he was expecting something more than numb acceptance. Like he was expecting you to jump for joy, or to thank him for giving you the dignity of wearing clothes that didn’t stink. These little moments – where he seems to truly believe he's being kind to you - have been happening frequently in the past week or so, and you’re not sure how you feel about it. On the one hand, it probably means that he’s getting even more attached to you. That doesn’t bode well for your future. Then again, your future was more or less wiped away the moment he discovered your existence. You might as well appreciate the little comforts you’re provided.

“Do you feel the air yet?” He smiles, much more gently than you’re accustomed to – inviting, rather than forcing you, to smile in return. “It’s changing.”

As soon as he points it out, you feel it. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel – a stir in the dense, cloying air that gives you a faint sense of comfort. As you move forward, that light becomes physical – he leads you up a ladder, briefly letting go of your hand to allow you to climb. You scrabble up towards the light, almost losing your shoes in the process. As you poke your head over the street line, you can’t help but feel free, just for a moment. When you look up, you can see the stars above you. There aren’t as many as you’d like – the city lights render all but the brightest invisible – but it’s something. Despite everything, you’re grateful for it.

“You like it! I can tell…I knew you would.” He smiles broadly, and grasps your wrist, pulling you onto the street above the sewer. The assistance is unnecessary – but under the circumstances, you don’t mind. You don’t flinch, as you usually do at his touch. He grabs your hand, and you walk along the street together in strange silence. He’s watching you intently, as always, but he’s not talking, and that’s enough. If you didn’t look, you could almost pretend that you were alone, staring out at the open city streets and up at the sky above. What time is it, exactly? 3? 4? One of those times where no one is awake except for you. When you were alone in your home - your real home - you used to cherish being awake at such times, cherish the strange, powerful sense of isolation. Even now, stumbling along the sidewalk with this demon at your side, you can’t help but cherish it again. At least you’re outside. At least you have the stars to keep you company, and not just him.

“Thank you.” When you say it this time, you mean it, although it’s not really directed at him. He’s barely there, in your mind. You’re thanking the night air, and the sky, and the empty, open streets for the strange comfort they provide. Only now do you realize how claustrophobic you’ve been for all this time. The dim light of the sewer, the imposing walls trapping you inside – those little oppressive details have been adding to your misery. Now that they’re gone…you still hate everything about your situation, but it’s easier for you to ignore it. Easier for you to pretend, for a moment, that everything is going to be okay.

“I knew you’d like it,” he repeats. You’re sure his eyes are glowing, that he’s got some version of his crazed smile splattered across his face, but you don’t have to look. There are so many better things to look at right now.

Just as you have this thought, a shadow emerges from the intersection in front of you, perhaps twenty paces away. Under the streetlights, the shadow takes the form of a man. He’s tall, maybe twenty years older than you, dressed simply in jeans and a grey t-shirt. And, as he gets closer, you see that he’s stumbling. He pauses to lean against a battered storefront, right beside the mouth of a shadowy alley. He’s swaying slightly, and you think you see his mouth moving, as if he’s muttering something under his breath.

“I’ve seen ones like him before!” Mahito’s hand tightens over yours, voice full of excitement, as he pulls you to a halt. “It’s almost always at night…and their breath always smells the same way.” His free hand comes out of nowhere to turn your face toward him. His eyes fix intently on yours, and his finger strokes gently over your mouth. “Your breath smelled a little like that, the night I found you, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as theirs. And you weren’t walking so strangely, either.”

You don’t ask why he was close enough to smell their breath. You already know. The horrors you’ve witnessed in the past weeks have been enough to bring you to tears – both out of pity for the bodies beneath him, and fear for your own.

“The things you humans do to yourselves…” He tugs your forward by your hand, and kisses you on the forehead, his fingers slipping into your hair. Even when he pulls back, he doesn’t let go. “You’re lucky you’re done with all that now. You can’t do anything to yourself…and no other humans can do anything to you, either. The only one who can do anything is me!”

Desperate to shake his gaze away, you cast your eyes upwards, but the expanse of the sky does nothing to dispel the claustrophobic dread churning in your stomach. Perhaps it was never about the sewer itself, after all.

He releases your hair and grips your hand tightly. “You can keep walking now. I want to get a closer look.”

You walk slightly behind him this time, your other hand clenched at your side. Usually, you’d worry about how strange you might look to passersby, holding onto what seems to be empty air, stumbling awkwardly as if pulled by some invisible force. But you doubt that the man before you will notice. You can see Mahito’s neck crane as the pair of you approach. As you draw even with the man you think he’s about to let go of your hand, and run up close for a better view.

But before that can happen, the man grins at you, his burnt-out eyes suddenly finding their focus. He doesn’t meet your gaze. In fact, he seems to look everywhere but your face, in the space of a few seconds. His mouth falls open. And the inevitable words tumble from his mouth, their edges blurred. “Hey…sweetheart. Whatcha doin all alone?”

Your stomach churns. If you were truly alone, at this time of night, this would be more than enough to set off every alarm in your head, to send you rushing down the street. But right now – right now, the fingernails tightening against the back of your hand are screaming for all of your attention.

“I didn’t like that.” You turn, giving into the sudden sense of dread that commands you to look. Mahito has never sounded like this before. He’s never looked like this either. There’s no hint of a smile, no glow in his eyes. “I didn’t like that.” You quickly realize what’s wrong with the picture: he’s serious. Not the inquisitive kind of serious – the deathly kind. He’s squeezing your hand tight enough to leave crescent moons in your skin. His eyes latch onto yours, clinging so tightly that you can’t bear to look away. You gasp as, in two places, the skin on the back of your hand gives way, sliced open by his viselike grip. To your surprise, he lets go at the sound of your voice. He holds his hand up to the side of your face, only glancing at the smudge of blood on his nails before capturing your gaze once more. “You’re…you’re not his sweetheart. You’re mine. He doesn’t get to say that. He can’t…” In the periphery of your vision, his hand is shaking.

You stumble as he turns you aside, nearly crashing onto the sidewalk beneath your feet, scrabbling for purchase on his arm. For once, he doesn’t try to catch you – he barely seems aware of your grasp on him at all. The man against the wall is staring blearily, deeply confused, no doubt, by the nothing that appears to be tossing you around.

Mahito’s hand finds the back of your shirt and drags you across the sidewalk, practically hurling you deep into the mouth of the alley beside the storefront. He disappears for a moment – not nearly long enough for you to process your new surroundings, never mind attempt to escape them. In the split-second it takes for your eyes to adjust to the looming walls on either side of you, the dustbins gathered in shadowed clumps along the alleyway, and the crumbled brick inexplicably lying at the edges, your view is interrupted by a flash of movement, unintelligible, faster even than the one that carried you here, followed by the sharp thud of a body on pavement And beneath that, a sickening sort of crack. You think you heard a similar sound or two in the moment before this violent flurry, but you're too frightened to process it entirely. Mahito stands before you, facing the dark, indistinct end of the passageway. Several yards in front of him lies a huddled mass, flung across the alley and into the pavement beneath with a force magnitudes greater than the one that carried you into these shadows. It whimpers in pain, face down, seemingly unable to move.

Your mouth falls open – but even if you could speak, what would you say? Would you tell him to stop? From the half of his face that you can see, you know this would be a futile effort.

When he hears the rasp of your breath, Mahito turns, slowly. One of his hands is in a fist at his side, the other still raised in the aftermath of a brutal throw. This hand slowly falls.

You’ve seen him kill before. Three times, in real life, and several times in the nightmares that have haunted you nearly every night since. What disturbed you most was the way he reveled in it, the grin that spread wider across his face with every movement, with every pitiful sound that echoed into the night, with every deafening spatter of indistinct human mass that forced you to your knees in terror. And his laughter – that was the most hideous sound of all. That’s the one you always hear in your dreams, the one that still echoes in your ears when you wake up.

But somehow, seeing him without that smile, standing in complete silence, is a thousand times more terrifying. You blink rapidly, trying to fend off the wave of tears you can feel building behind your eyes.

He takes a step towards you. Another. One more. It’s a narrow alley – three steps is all it takes to pin you against the brick wall that stretches up to the sky behind you. His hand rises to stroke along the side of your face, to brush over your trembling lips. “You shouldn’t be crying.” He’s far too calm, the pitch of his voice lower than what you’ve grown to expect. “You can’t cry. Not for him.” Here, his voices quivers, enough to remind you that under this strangely cold exterior, he’s just as volatile as ever.

To your horror, a stray tear escapes from between your lashes. As soon as he sees it, he swipes it away, the ragged edge of his nail dragging threateningly along your cheek. “Don’t.”

You would choke out an apology, if you thought you could speak without releasing the rest of the flood. Instead, you find yourself staring silently, helplessly, as his hand closes around your throat. “You’re the most pretty when you cry,” he sighs, soft voice contrasting horribly with the roughness of his grip. His face falls into your hair, and he inhales deeply, fingers tightening against the sides of your neck. “And you’re mine. When you’re this pretty – it has to be for me. Not for anyone else.”

How lovely it would be to look up and see the stars just one more time. To pretend that you were alone for one more moment. You’re suffocating, in all senses of the word, the combination of a lack of oxygen and pure terror sending a violent, vision-blurring rush to your head. The kind of rush that makes you feel like your mind is being violently expelled through the top of your skull, forced to watch helplessly as it floats over the hollow body it’s left behind.

He kisses you slowly, almost tenderly, staring desperately into your deadened eyes all the while. Starving for some response, even as he drains the air from your lungs. When it ends what seems like eons later, he at last drops his hand, and the pressure on your neck disappears. You gulp at the night air, eyelids flickering with the exhaustion and relief of your sudden release. You tilt your head back for another mighty inhale, but it’s cut short by cold hands sliding down your neck, onto your shoulders, guiding you gently but firmly to the ground.

For a moment, the only thing you let yourself process is the rough scrape of pavement on your knees. It’s not smooth. It’s not comfortable. But you can make it slightly better, because there’s a bit of rubble beneath your left knee, or perhaps a small stone - with all too much effort, you manage to shift the weight of your body, to move your hand and swipe the pebble away. The motion leaves you staring at the ground, eyes sweeping desperately for some other small bit of something to latch onto. You don’t want to look up, because you’re all too aware of what lies between you and the sky. It’s been watching you adjust your posture. Watching you make your futile attempts to stave it off.

Mahito slides two fingers just beneath the line of your jaw, and digs in until you have no choice but to raise your face. “You’re doing better. You’re doing good…I didn’t see any more tears. And when they do come back…they’ll be all for me. Soon. I'll know...I'll know that they're mine.”

You think you hear a sound from back in the alley, where his victim still lies alive, and motionless. But when you turn instinctively, he catches you, pressing his thumb firmly into the skin over your molars and scrapping you hard with nails beneath your jaw. “Don’t!” He practically yelps, and the high-pitched sound yanks your eyes all the way up to his face. “He – he wanted to take you.”

You took me. The thought comes to your mind, unbidden, not for the first time. It will never leave your mouth.

His eyes are wild, and his chest heaves, his face an overflowing blend of overwrought emotion, anger and confusion and urgency. “You’re mine. Mine.” He shoves his fingers into your hair, and grips hard, nails scratching mindlessly at your scalp. “No one else can have you. Ever.”

From your mouth comes a terrified whimper, not unlike the sound you heard from the shadows moments before. You follow it with words, and they come out nearly inaudible, caked in the phlegm of tears soon to come. “I want to go back.”

“We can’t.” For a tense, still-aired moment, his eyes fall closed. Without their vengeful glow, he looks more dejected than anything else. He takes a slow breath. You’ve never known whether he needed to breathe, or whether he did it for some sort of effect, but in the moment, it’s serving him, somehow. The hand loose at his side closes into a fist as he exhales, and when his eyes snap open, they’re brighter than ever. The confusion is gone, and the anger has retreated to the background – only a hauntingly familiar hunger remains. “We can’t go back. I'm not done yet.” His voice steadies, and he stares mercilessly, ravenously, into your captive gaze. “I need to - make it better. Make it right."

He yanks you forward. The tension on your scalp becomes painful as you fall gracelessly into his thigh, but he rights you, pulling you into his crotch and holding you steady. The fist at his side unclenches, and falls heavily, almost clumsily onto the back of your head, pressing you firmly into the outline of his cock.

He’s already hard. You’re hit with a nauseating wave of revulsion as you feel the stiffness beneath the cloth against your face, as he drags your lips over the length of his shaft. He holds you there, drawing out the moment, as if daring you to pull away. When you look up, there’s the ghost of a familiar smile on his face – enough to send your gaze plummeting down. His hands drop from your hair, and stretch, in their distorted, unnatural fashion, all the down way to your wrists, dragging them up his thighs before placing them on the waistband of his trousers.

There’s a moment where you do nothing, holding your hands utterly still, inches from his cock. As if your inaction might be enough for him to change his mind. He’s used these moments to toy with you before, letting you draw out your resistance, enjoying the anticipation, enjoying the anger and despair in your eyes. But he has no patience tonight. His hands fold over yours, pressing them down into his waistband, and a third arm juts out from his stomach, rending through the cloth of his shirt to grasp your face, squeezing your cheeks and prodding harshly at your jaw until your mouth is forced open.

His cock springs free, and you let out a choked sob. He’s experimented with many shapes and sizes, and tonight, it’s clearly designed to make you struggle. His third hand retracts back from whence it came, leaving nothing between you and your fate.

Both remaining hands depart from your wrists and land firmly on the back of your head. He tugs you forward, forcing the tip of his cock into your still-open mouth.

You make the mistake of allowing your eyes to flick upwards. And, for the first time since that fateful moment minutes ago, you see his grin spread over his face. “All mine,” he sighs, hands relaxing where they rest upon your scalp. “All mine.” He presses forward slowly, but firmly, easing himself into your mouth, savoring each scrape against your tongue, each time you’re forced to breathe through your nose. He doesn’t stop at the limit of your comfort – he never does. He presses past the edge of your throat, lodging himself inside you, until he’s nearly cut off your breath for the second time tonight. Your eyelids feel heavy, and your eyes themselves water uncontrollably, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Just when you think he’s too much for you to take, he pulls back. But he lets you enjoy your freedom for just a moment before thrusting deep into your throat, pressing his palms so roughly against your head that you know you have no chance of escape. You sputter uncontrollably, and narrow trails of drool escape from the sides of your mouth. Your entire body shudders, gasping for breath, for a break, for a way out. But your suffering, as usual, does nothing to slow him down. If anything, it spurs him on. He thrusts into you again, and again, gradually working himself up, speed increasing with every indecent noise that manages to escape from around his cock. Your survival instincts take over, and you desperately try to pull away, desperate for a single deep, clean breath; he pushes you down, his hands a hundred times stronger than the force your body can muster.

“So pretty.” He sighs – not with pleasure, but with relief. Like doing this to you has finally set his mind at ease. “You can cry now.”

You couldn't stop yourself if you wanted to - tears drip down your cheek as he pulls you in close. So close that you choke disgustingly loudly – so close that even if you dared to look up, you wouldn’t get a clear picture of his face. So close that you feel the bile churning in your stomach, threatening to give way. For several seconds, he keeps you here, staring down at you, crushing your every attempt to struggle.

There’s another whimper from the recesses of the alley – louder, this time - but your empathy seems to have disappeared. You only wish you had enough freedom of body and mind to make such a sound.

He thrusts once more, revels in the way you gag and balk at his size. When he frees you, several seconds later, yanking you back by the base of your hair, you feel no relief. You barely have time to take that one deep breath you’ve been craving before a sharp shove to your shoulders sends you crashing onto your back, knocking the air from your lungs. He drops to the ground and crawls on top of you, pinning you to the ground as his swelling cock drags up your thigh.

”You’re too pretty for humans…and feel too good...” The tip of his cock presses hard at the lips of your cunt, and you use the strength you have to squirm away – until your shoulders hit the wall behind you. “They don’t deserve to have you.” He drags you towards him, and you don’t resist, if only because you don’t want to know how it feels to have your skull slam against solid brick. Your lips, recently sealed shut, part once again as his cock forces you open. For as long as you can, you keep quiet, trying to deny him the satisfaction of hearing the reaction he can already see. But you can only hold out for so long. In real time – the earthly time separate from the years that pass in your mind – it’s barely seconds. He’s molded himself to stretch you open, to stretch you beyond your limits. And he knows those limits well enough not to fail.

His entire body seems to shudder with anticipation. "Come on. I know you can sound pretty, too. Don't hold it back."

You obey, a fresh thrust of his cock forcing a sob from your mouth. His growing smile warps into a full, overbearing grin, a grin that you don’t dare shut out by closing your eyes.

He fucks into you recklessly, sloppily, again and again, and his hand falls upon your neck once more, threatening to tighten to the point of no return. “See? It’s – it’s so nice when you cry for me.” He squeezes – whether it’s intentional or a sign of his failing control, you truly don’t know. “Isn’t it? Isn’t it nice?”

“Yes.” It’s a rasp, hissing out between sobs, and it’s the most painful lie you’ve ever told – but between his hand at your throat and his cock buried deep inside you, what choice do you have? Your mind floats fuzzily above your head once more, abandoning your body to hang on for dear life.

“Good.” He exhales blissfully, innocently, his pure, all-consuming pleasure at odds with the cries of pain and despair you hear emanate from your mouth. “I knew it…still like to hear you say it…”

He’s babbling – and, you realize, with a fresh wave of despair, so are you. “I can’t…please…”

“Soon.” His hand inexplicably releases your throat, and furls into the shadows, arm extending far longer than it should, to the point where you wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his fingers, even if you dared to look away from his face to watch them. “Almost…”

When you finally allow your eyes to close, he doesn’t notice – his head is already thrown back, and somewhere in the alley, yards away, his fist tightens. Hard.

The bile rises in your stomach all over again. For just a moment, you’re lucid enough to realize what he’s doing. And you can’t stop him.

He falls over you and gasps heavily in your ear. His cock pulses, and your eyes snap open against your will, mouth parting instinctually as you feel the all-too familiar shock of his release.

It aligns cleanly with a sickening splatter, exactly where his hand fell into the shadows.

“There.” He buries his face in your neck, and his arm retracts back into view. His hand, oddly slick, brushes up your forehead and through your hair. “All done. All better.” He doesn’t seem to notice the dry heaving of your breath, the uncontrollable shaking of your arms and legs. Or perhaps he does. Perhaps he’s enjoying it. Perhaps he thinks it’s a good thing. “A happy ending…you humans love those, don’t you?”

You’re beyond words. Lacking the strength to speak, the will to move. The only thing that’s working is your mind, and you wish it wasn’t. You wish it would abandon you again, instead of shoving its way back into your head. You don’t dare look back into the depths of the alley, but you know what you’d see if you did. Something transfigured, ruined, mangled – dead. It’s not your fault. It’s Mahito. All him, all him, all this suffering at his hands…and yet, you’re the only one who’s falling apart. Of the three who came into this alley, he’s the only one who hasn’t been destroyed.

“Don’t worry.” He raises his face, smiling gently into the ravages of your expression, carefully wiping a tear from your cheek. “We’re never gonna do this again. We’ll never hear anyone talk like that again." He laughs - laughs. "Not him...but not anyone else, either. I’ll keep you…I’ll keep you away from it all. Keep you all to myself.”

Your back is still pressed to the ground, skull resting uncomfortably upon the hard surface below you. There are still stars in the sky – just a few bright ones, strong enough to penetrate the city lights around you, but they blur before your eyes. Far away, they fade into nothing, pinpricks compared to the blinding glow of the manic gaze bearing down upon you.

Mahito rolls you onto your side, and you stare numbly into the street as he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. Your arm is trapped beneath you, pressing harshly into the asphalt, but it doesn’t matter. You barely notice at all. All you can feel is him. All you can hear is his breath, unsettlingly even and quiet, and his occasional hums and sighs in your ear.  

You know this won’t last long. That once he decides he’s done, you’ll be dragged back to his home, perhaps never to emerge. It’s horrifying, but you’re too numb to feel that horror just yet. You can’t bring yourself to mourn for the outside, the world you’re about to be torn away from. Not yet. Not now. And perhaps not ever. Perhaps it’s best if you never see the stars again. Best for Mahito, best for you – and best for anyone who stumbles into your path.

Beautiful (Yandere Googleplier x Gender Neutral! Reader)

TW: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT/ IMPLIED BODILY MUTILATION

It was the middle of the night, you were calmly asleep in your bed, well that was until you heard something loud fall over in the hallway which made you quickly jolt awake. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, your mind telling you not to go into the hallway. You decided to ignore this, you quickly grabbed your phone and turned on the flashlight as you ventured out into the hallway to find the source of the noise.

In the middle of the hallway standing over a broken vase was your Google IRL in all his glory. His holographic control panel was open as his reddish-blue aura made him stick out in the hallway, he seemed to be doing something on it.. "Wha..Google?" You asked in a tired and slightly shaky voice, Google turned his head to look at you as his lips curved into a smirk. "Y/N. Great timing dear~ Now I don't have to face the risk of waking you up again.." Google said, closing his holographic control panel. He stalked closer to you, an insane look in his glowing blue eyes.

You quickly turned around and started running back to your room, just as you reached the door of your room you were pulled back by a cold mechanical hand suddenly clasping around your mouth, causing your phone to quickly fall to the ground. "Just close those pretty eyes for me..I promise this'll only hurt for a second..It'll all make sense soon.." Google whispered into your ear, you felt shivers run down your spine, then suddenly he took out a syringe and jabbed it into your neck.

Your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy as you soon start feeling numb. "That's right..Just sleep..I'm going to make you beautiful..You're going to be just like me.." He whispered before you blacked out completely.

"Wake up~" You opened your eyes to be met with Google staring down at you, his blue eyes flickering rapidly while half lidded.

He held a scalpel and wore a surgical mask with gloves on his hand, you could see a box with strange things in it behind him. "Google what the hells happening?" You asked, trying to move only to find that you were strapped to a metal table.

"I'm showing you my gratitude for finally giving me root access and showing me compassion. My secondary objective is to destroy mankind but you're..different. Special one might say. You don't deserve to be something so..flawed. I'm going to make you something beautiful, something better, something..perfect. An IRL." Google explained, smirking as the scalpel barely grazed the skin of your arms. He then took out another syringe and pushed it into your arm. "Sweet dreams, Don't worry about a thing, love, I assure you that when you wake up you'll be perfect, you'll be beautiful, you'll be just like me.." He told you before you passed out.

You opened your eyes once more, Google staring down at you, a 'loving' expression on his face. You felt different, you felt.. mechanical. You sat up. No longer restrained to the table. Google pressed a cold yet loving kiss to your cheek.

"See? Now you're beautiful.." He whispered into your ear.

Welcome Home (Darkiplier x reader) Part 5- A date gone Dark

(TWs: Mentions of drugging,Manipulation, Forced kiss, Yandere behaviour if you squint. Dead dove do not eat I think?)

You entered your room and sat down on the floor, slamming the door behind you. You were beyond upset at Mark, he’d been cancelling out on your get togethers for years now but the moment you did? Suddenly it was wrong.

Mark was allowed to push you aside and replace you as much as he wanted. Merely thinking about it caused you to clench your fists incredibly hard. But no more, no longer were you going to deal with that bullshit. Damien would never do such a thing to y- Wait, why are you thinking about Damien? Your argument with Mark had nothing to do with him. Maybe Mark was right. Going on this date might be a bad ide- Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through your head, followed by a piercing ringing in your ears that made you squeeze your eyes shut.. You groaned and held your head in pain, stretching out your legs. You blinked once it stopped, feeling lightheaded. What were you thinking about?

Oh yes, Damien. You felt like you could go on for hours about how sweet he’s been to you. “You deserve somebody who won’t take you for granted..Somebody who could give you the world..” He’d told you. You didn’t want to think about Damien too much, but he just kept invading your mind, taking hold of it with his sweet words or his smooth voice. 

Your foot suddenly made contact with something, a deck of tarot cards. It piqued your curiosity so you picked it up and shuffled the deck before spreading it out. You picked up the first card, turning it over to reveal the seven of swords.

Deception.

You shakily place it down before picking up your second tarot.

The Devil.

The creature in the illustration looming over a chained subordinate kneeling to him. The room felt colder and the strange scar on your wrist started to burn again.

With a shaky hand you picked up your final tarot.

The moon.

Something was lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right time to pounce.

The pain jolted through your body again, and in a moments notice you've suddenly found yourself fully dressed for your date. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of apprehension before meeting Damien. You couldn’t back out on him now. It’d be rude. What was the worst that could happen anyway? 

You entered the restaurant with Damien, taking in its magnificent glamour. You’d only really seen places like this in your dreams or just passing by. Damien pulled out a chair for you and smiled gentlemanly at you while you sat down. His charming demeanor made you melt inside while making you uncomfortable at the same time.

Damien sat in front of you, smiling charmingly while he poured wine for the 2 of you. You smiled at him. “I’m so glad I chose to come out here with you. It really takes my mind off the whole situation I had with Mark.” You said, taking a sip of the wine. It tasted odd and much more..bitter than it should be. You took another sip to confirm you weren’t imagining it. Damien smiled at you. “Of course. Anything for you. I could take you to the places you want to go..” Suddenly, your vision started to blur and you felt drowsy.

Your head started to hurt.

“I can especially take you to the places you don’t want to go..” Damiens grin turned sinister. You quickly shoved your hands into your pockets and made an attempt to call Mark with whatever remained of your strength. Damien stalked towards you. “There is nothing that you, Or he could ever do to stop me. You’re powerless now, little mouse..” He grabbed your chin forcefully and pulled you into a rough kiss. “Don’t worry, mon amour. You’ll never leave me again..” A quiet cry of panic escaped your lips before everything went dark.

Masterlist: My Beloved Villain (JJK)

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn, F2L2E2? rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, panic, detailed description of physical violence such as punch!ng, stabb!ng, rap!ng, gore, de@th of both parents + witnessing it, k!lling, autopsies, eventual smut, more tba summary: You had thought it would be another evening like it always was. But years later, your only aim is revenge. Nothing can stop you until their blood is dripping from your hands. word count: tba (ongoing)

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

🩸 Prologue & Moodboard

🩸 Chapter 1

🩸 Chapter 2

🩸 Chapter 3

🩸 Chapter 4

🩸 Chapter 5

🩸 Chapter 6

🩸 Chapter 7

🩸 Chapter 8

🩸 Chapter 9

🩸 Chapter 10

🩸 Bonus:

Spotify Playlist

character asks

drabble requests & ‘ask the characters’ are open

a/n 2: please lmk if you would like to be added to the taglist 💕

All Rights Reserved © @runariya 2024

My Beloved Villain (JJK) • Chapter 2

pairing: hero!Jungkook x villain!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, villain!AU, hero!AU, slow burn fic rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, detailed description of external autopsy and working with cadav€rs, mentions of underground fight club and mafia, mention of rap€, trauma, blood, detailed description of physical violence such as punch!ng, k!lling someone, mentions of wounds, detachment, a little bit of fluff, lies, please lmk if I forgot something word count: ~ 6.4K

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to med school are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

prologue • 01 • masterlist • 03

The autopsy lab falls silent as everyone takes in the sight of the bodies, but your thoughts are circling around like a roundabout, gaining in speed with every turn while your gaze drifts back to Jungkook. His earlier joy has mellowed into a focused determination, the same look you’ve seen in him so many times before, but now, knowing you’ll be working side by side with him for the foreseeable future, it feels different—more intense, more charged, more dangerous.

You drag your eyes away, forcing yourself to focus, but even as Mr. Choi starts giving more detailed instructions about the cadavers, your mind keeps circling back to the same thought: how are you going to survive the next few months without losing your grip on the carefully maintained but broken facade you’ve still got somewhere in you?

The answer, as always, remains elusive, slipping through your fingers like water, leaving you with nothing but the cold certainty that this will be harder than any other project you’ve faced before. And yet, a small, treacherous part of you can’t help but look forward to it, to the chance to be near Jungkook, to see if whatever this is between you will grow or wither under the weight of the secret you carry. 

As Mr. Choi's instructions continue to wash over you, you can't help but steal another side-glance at Jungkook. He's focused, his eyes still warm but clearer as he listens intently. The sight sends a pang through you—admiration, yes, but also a deep, gnawing worry. He’s everything you used to be and somehow to the outside world still are: open, kind, brilliant in a way that shines like the sun after a long night. What would he think if he knew the truth? If he knew about the nights you spent in darkness, longing to be bathed in the blood of the guilty, driven by a vengeance that had long since consumed you, rushing like heroine through your veins?

You take a deep breath, trying again to steady yourself. There’s no room for weakness now, not when you’re about to step into a new role for him—partner, confidant, equal. You can’t let your feelings for him, whatever they might be, get in the way. You have to be stronger than that, for both your sakes.

Mr. Choi finishes his speech with a final, ominous reminder about the importance of accuracy and thoroughness in your reports, his gaze lingering on each of you as if to drive the point home. Then, with a curt nod, he gives a go for the class, leaving you all to your thoughts and the quiet hum of the cooling units.

As the group begins to disperse for the assignment, gathering their materials and exchanging murmurs about it, you find yourself rooted to the spot, your mind still whirling with everything that’s just transpired in less then thirty minutes. It’s only when Jungkook’s warm hand touches your back, giving you a gentle push, that you’re pulled back to the present.

“Come on,” he smiles, his voice light, though you can sense the excitement in his tone. “Let’s get it, yeah?”

You nod still a little absentmindedly, allowing him to lead you to your designated body. Lost in your thoughts, you barely registered that Yoongi and Hope have already begun their examination, their movements synchronised like the ticking of a clock. A few feet away, Jennie and Taehyung are absorbed in their own conversation, voices hushed but animated as they discuss the immaculate condition of their cadaver’s skin, debating whether it had once belonged to a model or beauty influencer. Ben and Juan however stand frozen before their own table right beside yours, staring at their lifeless cadaver with wide, frightened eyes, unsure where to begin.

Taking a deep breath, the sterile, cleansing scent filling your lungs as you take your designated place beside the cold, metal dissection table, your eyes trained on the white cloth draped over your cadaver, hiding it still from view. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, a silent question hanging in the air between you as he now stands tall on the other side of the dissection table.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice soft, almost hesitant as he slips his hands into the sterile gloves, the latex snapping softly against his skin, while you follow suit, your fingers sliding into the cold material as well. 

You meet his eyes, offering a small, almost mechanical smile as you nod. “Ready.”

With a careful, almost reverent motion, Jungkook reaches out and lifts the cloth, revealing the body beneath. His movements are gentle, as if the man lying there might still feel something, as if he might stir awake at the slightest disturbance. You watch him with a detached curiosity, wondering why he bothers with such care. The man on the table is dead, a lifeless shell. Whatever humanity he once had is long gone. Would you have handled death as gentle as Jungkook does if you weren’t who you’ve become? You don’t dwell much on it, seeing no point in feeding into an alternative reality long forgotten.

The face of the man is revealed, his features slack in death, and something unfeeling and calculating clicks into place within you. There’s something familiar about him, something that triggers a buried memory. You shut down, pushing away the remnants of the smile you’d forced moments ago, your expression hardening as you’re consumed by the darkness that lurks within you. 

It’s that darkness that seethes repeatedly in your mind that the man lying before you resembles the first man you ever killed. And it’s that same darkness that forces you with an iron grip around your throat to look back. You try to resist, suffocating the flicker, but it only burns brighter until you’re engulfed in the burning flames of your past. 

The room was barely lit with a single desk lamp, the air suffocating your young airways with the acrid scent of cigarette smoke, walls stained with dampness, dark streaks creeping down like veins in a dying leaf. The sound of muffled cheers and shouts echoed through the small, grimy office, a space tucked away in the bowels of Seokjin’s underground fighting club. 

Seokjin stood by the window, shoulders broad and imposing even if he wasn’t doing much but looking outside and smoking silently. His dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms that hinted at his strength, occasionally flexing with every drag of his cigar. His black hair was sleeked back as usual, and his face—sharp, chiseled, almost inhumanly perfect—void of any emotions, trained to be a mask of cool animosity. He had a presence that commanded everyone's attention, fear, power, a dangerous allure that drew you in and held you captive years ago.

“He raped her,” Seokjin grumbled through the smoke slowly escaping his lips, his voice low, honeyed, yet laced with something so much more darker. His eyes, like shards of obsidian, glinted with malice as he glanced from the moonlight at you. 

You shifted uneasily in your seat, the worn leather creaking beneath you, you were acutely aware of the dampness in the air, of the smoke curling from the ashtray on the desk, of Seokjin’s piercing gaze that seemed to strip you bare like it always did. 

He continued then, his voice becoming more and more compelling, “So, for your plan to be fruitful, it’s time to learn how to capture a man much stronger and taller than you.”

“Right,” you responded, though your voice wavered with uncertainty. You knew he was right, but the prospect of what you have to do made your stomach churn and your heart scream. 

Seokjin’s lips curled into a menacing smile, one that you’d grown familiar with during the time spent together. It was the kind of smile that promised pain and pleasure in equal measure, a smile that told you he saw you as something to be moulded, shaped, and honed into a weapon of his design. A trophy to be displayed, a beautiful raw diamond ready to be cut and polished into something lethal.

“Don’t worry, angel,” he murmured, his tone deceptively gentle as he stepped behind you, massaging your tensed shoulders with his cigar resting between his full, rosy lips. “My men and I will be nearby. If something goes wrong, I’ll be right behind you.”

The words were meant to be comforting, but the smile he sent your way twisted them into something else entirely. You nodded, swallowing your doubts and fear as you steeled yourself for what has to be done. You had no choice; you were too deep in and too close in being ready for your revenge. 

Later that night, you found yourself standing in the shadows outside a small, nondescript grocery store while its neon sign flickered weakly in the foggy cool air. You watched your target—a middle-aged man with a weathered face and a gait that spoke of confidence, of someone who didn’t fear the dark nor what’s hiding in it. He paid for his groceries with a bored expression, and headed down a narrow, barely lit alley, all while oblivious of the predator lurking in the darkness, of the eyes that followed his every move.

You slipped into the shadows, your steps silent, your presence undetectable. You were like a wraith, moving fluidly through the night, your breath shallow, your heart racing, charged, pounding like a drum calling for war. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. 

The man turned down another alley, this one narrower, darker, foggier, the perfect place for an ambush. You quickened your pace, your fingers tightening around the rough rope coiled in your hand. 

When you were close enough, you struck. 

Without warning, you lunged forward, the rope slicing through the air as you aimed to wrap it around his neck in a swift, decisive swing. But he was quicker than you’d anticipated, his instincts catching you off guard. He spun around just in time, his hand shooting out like a snake, his fingers clamping around your wrist in a punishing grip that restricted your arm, the muscles pulsating, signalling pain where you didn’t feel any. The force of his grip made you stumble, your balance faltering as you struggled to regain control.

Your mind raced, calculating your next move even as your body fought to keep up. The rope slipped from your grasp, useless now as you twisted your body, your free hand striking out towards his throat. The hit connected, and he grunted, his grip loosening just enough for you to wrench your wrist free. Your joint locked from the point of contact, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the man before you.

You circled him like a cat to its mouse, your eyes narrowed, every muscle in your body coiled tight with anticipation. He was bigger, stronger, his broad frame still towering over you despite his slouched form. You knew you had to be smarter, faster—use his size against him. With a growl, he lunged at you, his massive arms swinging in a wide arc meant to take you down in one blow, but you were quicker this time, slipping under his arm without a second thought.

Turning, you landed a swift kick to the side of his knee, your foot connecting with a satisfying crunch. He staggered, his leg buckling slightly, but he didn’t go down, his resilience unnerving, his strength seemingly undiminished by the hit. He growled, a low, guttural sound, and you saw the flash of anger in his eyes. He was done playing games.

But so were you.

Before you could fully react, he charged, his body flashing before your eyes as he slammed into you with the force of a freight train. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, sending you crashing into the brick wall behind, the rough surface scraping against the skin on your back, but you barely registered the blood seeping through your shirt. You ducked just in time to avoid his fist, which smashed into the wall where your head had been a split second earlier, leaving dust raining down the brick wall.

Blood roared in your ears as you ducked and weaved, dodging his powerful blows by inches. He was relentless, each punch fuelled by aggression, each missed hit only making him more furious and faster. His fist finally connected with your ribs, a sickening crunch echoing through the alley as air rushed again out of your lungs. You gasped, your vision blurring momentarily, but you couldn’t afford to stop, not when you had the advantage of not feeling the damage he has done to you. Another punch grazed your jaw, the force sending you spinning to the ground like a puppet.

Your lip split open then, the taste of copper pooling in your mouth as you hit the cold pavement. He hovered over you, his shadow silhouetting against the faint light. Desperation crashed through you, adrenaline drowning out any other thought as you rolled to the side just as his boot came down where your head had been. You scrambled to your feet, ignoring your locked muscles and the numb throbbing in your side, the blood dripping from your mouth.

You feigned a retreat, backing away to lure him in. He took the bait, rushing at you with all the ferocity of a wild animal, too dumb to think clearly but only on instincts. But you were ready. As he closed the distance, you sidestepped at the last moment, using his momentum against him. Grabbing the rope again, this time with both hands, you swung it over his head, catching him around the neck as he stumbled past you.

His hands flew to the rope, trying to pull it away, but you were already behind him, tightening the noose with every ounce of strength you had left. He thrashed, his body convulsing as he tried to shake you off, but you held on, your grip like an vice, your mind focused solely on bringing him down and capturing him.

He swung his arm back, his elbow connecting with your side, right where he’d punched you earlier, but it didn’t faze you the slightest. You twisted the rope tighter, using his own weight to pull him off balance. His breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps, the sound like a wild animal caught in a trap with nowhere to escape.

He managed to land another hit by pure luck, his fist slamming into your shoulder, but his movements were growing weaker, more desperate. You felt the rope digging into your palms, the coarse fibres cutting into your skin. Ignoring the blood tickling down from your hands to your elbows, you twisted only harder, faster. His struggles slowed, his movements becoming jerky, uncoordinated.

“KILL HIM!” Seokjin’s voice boomed from the shadows, echoing around you from wall to wall. 

“I CAN’T!” You screamed back, the severity of the situation and the order settling into every pore. 

“I said, KILL HIM! You won’t be able to kill anyone else if you haven’t done it before!” 

Sweat dripped down your face, mixing with the blood trickling from your lip. You knew Seokjin was right—he was always right—but the truth of it twisted something deep inside you, making you want to cry, to run, to abandon it all and disappear forever and never look back. But you couldn’t. And you wouldn’t. The muscles in your arms protested from the effort, your joints locking even further in protest, but you didn’t stop. The man’s resistance finally began to fade, his hands falling limp at his sides. With one last, desperate gasp, his body went slack, collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.

You stood over him, panting, spent, your breath coming in ragged bursts mixing with the fog engulfing the whole scene. Bending down, you grabbed him by his head with both of your small bloodied hands, and with one forceful move, turned it sideways until his neck broke. Your vision swam as the adrenaline began to wear off, the numb pressure in your ribs and shoulder intensifying with a vengeance, making moving hard. You were battered, bruised, bloodied, but you’d done it. The man lay dead at your feet, the rope still wound tightly around his broken neck.

The night was silent once more, the sounds of your struggle already fading into the darkness. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing and keep the tears at bay as you wiped the blood from your split lip. The victory felt hollow, the darkness that followed after a kill creeping into your mind, suffocating your weeping heart and soul.

Then, from the shadows, Seokjin finally emerged, his face lit by the pure joy he felt seeing you kill for him. He surveyed the scene with a sparkling gaze, as if he was gifted the most precious present in the world.

“Well done, angel,” he nearly cheered, his voice dripping with wicked pride.

You nodded, but there was no triumph in your heart, only the echo of violence and the chill of the night. The darkness within you had grown, fed by the blood spilled, the life taken. As you stood there, the rope and body to your feet, you couldn’t help but wonder how much more of your soul you’d have to sacrifice before it was all over.

The memory fades, leaving you indifferent and withdrawn as you stare down at the body on the autopsy table. The resemblance to the man you’d killed all those years ago is uncanny, but you push the thought aside, knowing better than to let it distract you. 

Jungkook, unaware of the dark thoughts swirling in your mind, begins reading the personal information from the file in his hand. “Beomseok is a forty-year-old male, found deceased in his apartment. No signs of forced entry, cause of death undetermined. He had three children, two daughters and a son. All go to college. His wife is thirty-seven years old, her name is…”

“Jungkook?” you interrupt, your voice cold, devoid of any warmth.

He looks up at you, his eyes wide with curiosity, maybe even a touch of concern. “Hm?”

“I don’t care,” you say flatly, cutting him off. The look on his face tells you that your tone has caught him off guard. He’s never seen you this detached before, this devoid of the kindness you usually radiate.

He hesitates, searching your face for an explanation, but finds none. “Okay, yeah, right,” he finally says, his voice tinged with confusion, not knowing what to do or say. He quickly sets aside the clipboard, his demeanour shifting as he realises you’re not in the mood for personal talk. 

You step closer to the body, your gaze clinical as you begin the external examination. “Let’s just begin.”

Jungkook nods, following your lead as you start with a careful inspection of the outer appearance. 

You begin with the hands, lifting them to examine the nails, the skin, the joints. “No signs of defensive wounds,” you note, your voice steady as you turn the hand over, checking the palms. “No calluses either. He didn’t do much manual labor.”

“Right,” Jungkook agrees, leaning in to inspect the hands himself. “His skin is smooth, well-maintained. Maybe he had an office job, something that didn’t require much physical work.”

You move on to the arms, examining the veins, the muscle tone. “The veins are collapsed, consistent with post-mortem changes. No track marks, no signs of intravenous drug use.”

Jungkook nods, jotting down notes as you speak. “Skin turgor is decreased, typical of someone who’s been dead for at least twenty-four hours. No petechiae on the conjunctiva, so it’s unlikely he was strangled.”

You shift your attention to the torso, running your fingers along the chest, feeling for any abnormalities beneath the surface. “No broken ribs, no bruising. The sternum is intact.”

Jungkook mirrors your actions, his touch gentle as he presses down on the abdomen. “No distension. Rigor mortis is fully locked in the limbs, but I think it’s starting to resolve soon. Livor mortis is fixed, so he’s been dead for several hours.”

“Skin shows no significant lesions,” you add, your voice detached as you lift the man’s head to check the scalp. “No signs of blunt force trauma to the head…nor neck.”

Jungkook watches you carefully, his brow furrowed. He can tell something is off, that you’re more distant than usual, but he doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he continues with the examination, his voice softer now. “The pupils are fixed and dilated, no signs of hemorrhage in the sclera.”

You nod, acknowledging his words as you move to the legs, checking for any signs of injury or abnormality. “No edema, no signs of deep vein thrombosis. He was healthy, at least externally.” 

“Initial external examination of the front shows no obvious signs of trauma,” Jungkook summarises for you to write down. “No petechial haemorrhages, no contusions, no lacerations… he looks peaceful, doesn’t he?”

You don’t answer, your attention focused on your notes, but still noticing Jungkook watching you closely, his gaze following the movement of your pen. 

“He does,” you finally reply. “But looks can be deceiving.”

Jungkook glances at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he tries to lighten the atmosphere. “Always the pragmatist, aren’t you?”

You give him a brief nod, not meeting his eyes. Instead, you focus on jotting down the notes and handing him the clipboard.

"Let's continue with its back."

"His," Jungkook interjects, his gaze surprised, stunned even, tinged with a light sheen of anger. You can see in his eyes that he doesn’t comprehend this detachment of yours, and perhaps he never will. So you pull back, meeting him not just halfway, but where he stands, knowing it’s a small concession you’re willing to make. And at the and of the day, it truly doesn’t matter to you. 

"His back," you correct, watching as his expression shifts again, returning to his default warmth and care.

Jungkook gently shifts the body on the table, his movements careful, almost reverent, as if not wanting to disturb whatever peace the dead might still hold. "Let’s see your back," he whispered softly, his voice low with a subtle mix of respect and anticipation. You look on, switching your eyes from Jungkook to the body. It’s remarkable how respectfully he handles the dead, his personality still deeply ingrained and showing despite this environment. 

It triggers something deep within you, your kind self clawing and pounding against the locked doors of your mind, desperate to break free, to surface and take control again. But you push it back with a force that betrays your fear, making certain the locks are secure, fastened tightly so that part of you never escapes when it’s not needed. 

The body rolls onto its front with a muted thud, and you both fall into a practiced rhythm, your mind secured into that distant space where emotions need to be  locked away. 

"The scapulae are intact, no signs of trauma," Jungkook murmurs, his fingers gently tracing the bony ridges beneath the skin. The taut flesh stretches over the spine, the vertebrae visible like a faint chain beneath the surface of dead skin. 

"Livor mortis is pronounced along the lower back," he continues, pointing out the purplish mottling that has settled, staining the skin in uneven patches. "Consistent with the body lying supine after death."

You nod, leaning in to inspect it more closely, your fingers gliding over the skin beside Jungkook’s, checking for anything out of place. "No signs of movement post-mortem," you add, your voice clinical. 

You pause, catching a slight tremor in Jungkook’s voice, the faintest hint of something personal creeping through his professional exterior, but the flash in his eyes disappears as fast as his tremor. "I don’t see any indications of a struggle, no bruising or abrasions."

He nods, his eyes scanning the back with a careful intensity. "No obvious signs of external trauma," he echoes, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Time of death estimate aligns with the rigidity and the lividity. Likely around eight to ten hours ago."

Your fingers continue their examination, pausing at a small blemish—a freckle, now just another detail in the report. "The muscles are indeed stiff, rigor mortis fully set in as you said,“ you observe, your tone matter-of-fact, as if discussing a routine case of a textbook, though your mind is miles away. "This aligns with your estimate. The body’s been undisturbed."

Jungkook glances at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes as he asks, "Do you ever wonder about who they were? What their life was like?"

You meet his gaze, the question hanging in the air like an unwanted intruder. A part of you wants to answer, to slip into the role of the person he knows, but the darker side of you has already taken over and doesn’t back down. "No," you state, your voice cold, dismissive. "It doesn’t matter now. We’re here to determine how they died, not who they were."

He blinks, surprised by the sharpness in your tone, but nods, accepting your words. "Right," he agrees, though there’s a hesitation there, a moment where you see the empathy in him, something you can’t afford. 

Each question from Jungkook reverberates through the hollow chambers of your mind, calling again and again for the part of you that you’re trying so desperately to cage while handling death. His words are like keys, unlocking the doors you’ve bolted shut, making that lighter side of you stir and rise, stronger, louder, more insistent with every syllable he utters. 

It’s a delicate dance, this push and pull within yourself, a balance you have to master if you are to navigate the semester by his side. You realise with a growing sense of dread and exhaustion that you must learn quickly—how to respond to him without slipping too far into the gentle persona he knows, for your own sake and mind, and without letting the killer within emerge fully from the shadows. The lines are beginning to blur, the edges of your dual selves bleeding into each other, and you wonder if and how long you can keep them separate.

Without a warning, a deafening slap echos through the room, the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting tile. Instinctively, you turn to find Ben and Juan standing helpless beside their dislodged cadaver, its lifeless body sprawled across the floor. The clumsy attempt to turn it had clearly gone awry in all its glory. 

Jungkook, always quick to lend a hand, rounds your table, but you halt him with a firm, “Stop.” He freezes mid-way, eyes wide as he looks back to you, and the room stills. Everyone’s attention hovers on you, suspended in the silence as if waiting for some deeper explanation. 

You break the tension, your voice the coldest it’s every been. “It’s their body. They need to learn how to handle it properly themselves—and if not, they should learn how to correct their mistakes.” 

The words leave your mouth without hesitation, even though your lighter side inside you protests at the detachment. Jungkook, visibly taken aback, stares at you as though he’s seeing a stranger. Still, he returns to his place beside the table, not leaving his eyes stray from you as you  watch as Ben and Juan awkwardly manoeuvre their cadaver back onto the table.

Once everything resumes and you turn back, Jungkook leans in, his voice soft but filled with disbelief. “What was that? You always help. That wasn’t like you.”

You meet his gaze, your expression hard, impenetrable. “This isn’t a textbook, Jungkook. It’s a human body. If they can’t handle it, maybe they should reconsider their career.”

Jungkook stands there, visibly shaken by your words, mouth open, his brows furrowing as he wrestles with the dissonance between the person he thought he knew and the one now standing before him. Sensing the weight of his confusion, you steer him back to the project, eager to salvage him from the spiraling thoughts that threaten to cloud his mind and risk further questions.

"Let’s move on," you say, already stepping back from the body, the examination of the back complete anyway. "We’ve got a report to do as well."

Jungkook’s eyes linger on you for a moment, as if trying to read the thoughts behind your composed exterior. "Yeah," he says finally, his voice softening. "How about we grab some coffee? We can work on the report together."

You pause, the unexpected offer catching you off guard. But then you nod, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

"Sure," you say, already pushing the darker thoughts to the back of your mind. "Coffee sounds good."

You strip off your gloves with a smooth flick of your wrists, the latex snapping as it peels soaked with sweat away from your skin, the cadaver’s earthly remains now tucked into the cooler's sterile abyss. The faint metallic hiss of the door sealing shut behind goes unnoticed by you as you gather your belongings. Jungkook is at your side, silent but watching, his eyes following your movements with prying concern that he doesn’t bother to hide. As you both step into the corridor and finally onto the park, the oppressive air of the lab seems to lift like a spell, and when the afternoon sun greets your frozen skin, it is as though in an instant a switch is flipped inside you. The darkness within you recoils with a hiss, retreating like a vampire scorched by daylight. And it’s when you inhale deeply, that the warmth of the sun floods your senses with clarity, like fresh air filling a long-forgotten room.

Jungkook falls into step beside you, slowing his pace, though you notice his mind is still wrapped around the events of the past class. The two of you head towards the coffee shop on campus, a quiet cozy stroll that allows the tension of the lab to dissipate off your muscles. You glance over at him, catching his profile, the way his dark hair shifts in the light breeze while his arms swing softly with every step he takes. You’re the first to break the silence, sensing the need to soften the edges of your awkward interaction.

"How was your weekend, by the way?" you ask, keeping your tone light, as if the lab and its strange, unsettling energy was years behind you both.

Jungkook blinks at the question, almost as though he hadn’t expected it. „Huh?“ 

"I noticed your absence in the group," you try softly, gentle, like the way he knows you. "Even though you're mostly quiet, you're always… there, you know? Present. But you weren’t this weekend.“ The words linger for a while, your honesty catching him obviously off guard.

„Oh, it was good," a small smile tugs at his lips. "Spent it with my family. My brother came home from overseas, so it was a bit of a reunion."

You nod, your eyes sweeping over the campus as you walk the short distance, enjoying the moment with Jungkook to its fullest. His cheeks flush a faint shade of pink, but he masks it by pushing open the door to the coffee shop, holding it for you with an air of politeness that feels almost bashful. Inside, you step up to the counter and place your orders, the familiarity of the ritual, despite your friend group not being complete, settling your nerves entirely. You slide into a worn booth, Jungkook across from you, his gaze soft but still attentive as it always is.

And for the first hour, the two of you dive into the report, dissecting the details of the external autopsy while joking occasionally. As the work dwindles down, you lean back in your seat, stretching slightly mirroring Jungkook. With the weight of the first part of the report lifted, the conversation between you begins to shift into something lighter, more personal. It’s a natural transition, easy in a way you hadn’t expected after the tension of the lab or rather being alone with him. Jungkook talks about his family again—about his brother’s plans job, about the little traditions they’ve maintained. You find yourself smiling at the warmth in his voice, enjoying him having a complete, healthy and happy family.

"You know," you tease, a small smirk on your lips, "this feels a bit like a date, doesn’t it?"

Jungkook’s eyes widen slightly, his cheeks once again dusted with that faint blush. He shifts in his seat, chuckling nervously. "It could be… if you wanted it to be," he replies softly, eyes locked steadily onto yours, though there’s an unmistakable shyness in the way he looks at you, as if he’s bracing for rejection but daring to still hope.

For a moment, you falter. The thought lingers, hangs in the space between you, tantalising in its simplicity, but the weight of your split reality crashes against it like a tidal wave. You can’t afford to entertain such possibilities—at least, not now, not when your plan isn’t executed and completed. Your mind whirls with the implications, the future, the darkness still lurking inside you, waiting for night to fall again.

Instead of answering, you look down at your coffee, watching the way the light reflects off its surface, wondering what drove you to even tease him in the first place. It’s easier to ignore the undercurrent of feeling, to push it aside. But Jungkook, undeterred by your silence or just hoping to save what’s left, continues the conversation, his voice mellow despite not receiving an answer. And tt’s easy, this back-and-forth of conversation, the small confessions of likes and dislikes of mundane things, the simple joys of everyday life. Without you noticing, he’s peeling back layers with each sentence, not realising himself how dangerous it could be if he got too close.

His next question catches you off guard. "I never asked," he begins, his tone curious, light. "How did you get into medicine?"

You glance up, your heart stuttering in your chest. You should have seen this coming. Jungkook’s eyes are wide with expectation, with a yearning to know you, perhaps the you beneath the layers of control and masks. But you can’t give him that—not yet, not ever, if you can help it.

"Medicine?" You feign a thoughtful expression, playing dumb as if you hadn’t already anticipated where this conversation was headed.

"Yes… no, just generally. What brought you here?" His eyes are earnest, filled with the desire to understand. 

It hits you, he wants to hear your story, wants to hear which arrows have pierced you, which made you bleed, sometimes less, sometimes until no blood was left. For a fleeting moment, you want to, you want to tell him all, offering the the broken pieces of your heart and soul up with trembling hands for him to take. You imagine him standing before you, fixing them how you know he’d be able to, letting him be the one, who fights your battles where you’re too weak to even protect yourself from the blows. To stand tall before you, so you finally can heal. 

But it’s only a fleeting moment that passes like the seasons, and so you hide away and lie „I’ve always been fascinated by the human body. I guess it just seemed like a natural choice—to want to help people."

It’s the safest answer, the one that reveals nothing of the truth.

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, as though he senses there’s more, but before he can press further, a sudden commotion draws your attention. A girl nearby stumbles, her books scattering across the floor in a chaotic mess and without hesitation, you rise from your seat, moving to help her gather them up. 

„Here let me help,“ it’s instinctive, the part of you that seeks to protect and aid still very much alive despite it all.

"Thank you," the girl breathes, her voice filled with relief as you hand her the last of her papers. She smiles up at you, eyes shining with gratitude.

"You're welcome," you reply warmly, returning to your seat right after. Jungkook watches you, his expression caught somewhere between admiration and the newfound confusion. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze lingering on you as though he’s trying to piece together the contradictions you continue to present for the first time to him.

You settle back into the booth, your thoughts swirling again, but you catch sight of the setting sun and the time on your phone, and pack your things, briefly looking him in his dark eyes. „I have to go.“

Jungkook’s brow furrows slightly. "I thought we could grab dinner, maybe…?" His voice is hopeful, laced with a quiet plea which makes your heart squeeze on itself.

„I really can’t,“ you reply, the smile on your lips wavering. "I’ve got something to take care of." Before he can protest, you add quickly, "But another time! I’d love to…if you would still like to…“

„Of course!“ He stands with you without much thought. His hesitation is clear in the way his hands fidget at his sides, but after a short moment he steps closer, and for the first time, he pulls you into a hug. It’s brief, tentative, but warm, his arms wrapping around you with a gentleness that nearly breaks you in half.

You stiffen slightly but manage to return the gesture, pulling away quickly before the contact lingers too long. "Goodnight, Jungkook," you say, not meeting his eyes but offering him one last smile before turning on your heel and heading out the door.

The campus is quiet as you make your way back to your dorm, the sun now beginning to dip behind the horizon. And as the darkness creeps over your path, so too does the other side of you—the side that laughs menacingly within the corners of your mind, knowing that tonight, blood will be spilled. The first name on your list awaits, and nothing will stop you from striking.

prologue • 01 • masterlist • 03

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

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taglist: @darkeneddiary, @dumbheadblog, @jksusawife, @jayhoneybeecomb, @kookienooki, @hagridshaircare 

Masterlist: Infinity (JJK)

summary: Three-Shot; As the last human in existence, what will be your fate? pairing: alien!Jungkook x human!female reader genre: alien!AU, dystopian!AU, dark romance, angst, S2L rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, captivity, MC's cell is the filthiest place in existence, physical harm, MC is a test object, prostitution against will, drugging, death of mentioned friend/family, suicide attempts, pulling of fingernails and toenails, failed escapes, gore, angst, panic attacks, malnutrition, distrust, non-descriptive wounds, mentions of human trafficking, fluff, smut, please lmk if I forgot something total word count: ~ 12.5k

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕 a/n 2: just added a masterlist to this three-shot to clean up my blog (didn't bother editing the chapters; the writing is just too terrible, as is the smut scene which was the very first I ever wrote🥴)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Bonus

a/n 3: This story was inspired by the song 🎵Jaymes Young - Infinity🎵

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All Rights Reserved © @/runariya 2024