haikyuusboringassmanager

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

Weak hero class 2 spoilers ‼️‼️

NEVER KILL YOURSELF !!!!

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

Yandere Prison Warden

After getting thrown into jail for a crime you refuse to talk about, one of the wardens takes a keen interest in your past. Tags: Male Yandere x Fem Reader, blood, violence, mentions of child abuse, lowkey kind of sweet, 10k words

Being in jail is no fun. Being in a maximum security prison after being found guilty of homicide? Somehow even less fun.

You've tried to make the best of it. Got some posters to put up in your cell, started a book club, took up macramé. But you can't really paint a veneer of normalcy over incarceration.

It's violent, it's dirty, and most inmates tend to avoid you. And the thought of at least thirty more years of the same routine, day in and day out? Well, that's plain depressing.

Still, some days are worse than others. Today seemed like it was going to be a good day. The cafeteria food was actually hot, an acquaintance shared some gum with you, you managed to get a new book from the library. Things were, if not great, at least bearable.

Until the tour.

The wardens - also called Corrections Officers, COs, screws, or rotten, motherless bastards - were almost always training new recruits. The prison system had an unsurprisingly high turnover, which meant an almost constant stream of new faces. With time, you'd learnt to ignore the tours and walk-throughs. With one exception.

Slammer.

He was a senior CO who seemed to almost always turn your cell into the final stop on his grand introductory tour of the glorious prison system. Maybe you were just nice to look at or maybe he had a chip on his shoulder. Either way, things almost always ended with you being gawked at.

Like right now.

The 'tour group' was clustered outside your cell. Slammer was in the lead, his baton out and his little piggy eyes gleaming.

The trainees were in their new minted uniforms. Most of them uncomfortable and tugging at the scratchy, starched collars. You could have told them not to bother. That it was better for them to at least pretend they were comfortable. COs weren't your friends - every single prisoner in here would see that lack of confidence, that slight sense of unease. And they would pounce on it the first chance they got.

You hated being looked at like a zoo animal. And you especially hated the way Slammer showed you off to them like you some prize piece in his menagerie. Fellonus Homicidus perhaps.

You hated feeling their eyes on you. But you weren't going to make the mistake of showing them that. The less the COs knew about you, the better. It was like rule number three of incarceration. (Rule one being ‘never trust a warden’ and rule two being ‘don't fight the jacked inmate with prison tattoos.' Obviously).

You didn't bother to get up from your bunk to greet them. You stayed just as you had all afternoon - one arm behind your head and one leg hanging off the bed.

You pretended to keep reading your beat up paperback.

"This one is especially dangerous. Stabbed her neighbour forty eight times before the cops could get her off," Slammer told them.

"Forty six," you corrected without looking away from your book. "Coroner said it was forty six. Allegedly."

You could feel their eyes on you again.

"Right," Slammer drawled, "Because those last two stabs made all the difference."

You didn't bother to answer him.

"She really did that?" One of the trainees, a lanky guy with too large ears, asked. "She looks harmless."

You were almost offended at that. You flicked your eyes over them. They were mostly men, and most of them were looking at you in that hungry, contemplative way you knew so well. Wondering how much they could get away with once they were full fledged COs.

It should have bothered you. It didn't. Horny COs were just a part and parcel of life here. If you were smart, you could wring all sorts of goodies out of them before their supervisors caught on.

"Listen to me son. Every single prisoner in here is dangerous. They wouldn't be locked up if they were like you and me. They don’t feel guilt, not even when they steal from their poor old momma."

"You wound me, Slammer." You turned the page with a flick of your thumb. "I loved my mama. Only stole from her once or twice."

You didn't have much hope of them noticing your sarcasm. COs weren't the brightest bunch.

Slammer ignored you. "Don't ever say they're harmless. They sure as hell ain't. Two weeks here and you'll know exactly what I mean."

You could tell they didn't believe him. In the popular imagination, a women's prison was nothing like the men's. Women weren't dangerous. The trainees probably assumed you spent all day knitting scarves and talking about the lovely husband and kids you were oh so keen to get back to.

They would lose that notion pretty damn fast.

"Are you supposed to tell us the prisoners' charges?" A man's voice, neutral and respectful, but you thought you could hear a hint of reproach in his tone.

You looked back at the group and you were amazed that you didn't notice him earlier. He stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back like he was at parade rest. Unlike the others, he had the quiet confidence of someone who knew their job and knew it well.

His blond hair was slicked back and his uniform sat on him in a way that was a lot more natural than any of the others trainees. Ex-military or police, if you had to guess. Not that unusual. Corrections wasn't such a huge leap from those fields.

You sat up and answered him before Slammer could get a chance.

"He's not. Inmate information is confidential. But Slammer here doesn't always listen to the rules."

You shot the head CO a condescending smile. "He's a reaaal rebel."

Slammer scoffed. "The new officers have a right to know exactly how dangerous you are."

You put a hand to your chest, all faux innocence. "Little old me? Slammer, I'm a saint! A nun! I've been to chapel three times this week."

"Yeah. To sell cigarettes and buy booze."

"Just as the good Lord intended."

Slammer didn't find you funny. You could tell from the fact that a) he wasn't laughing and b) he was grinding his teeth like he was a beaver about to dig into a particularly scrumptious tree.

"Fact is, prisoners like her are the worst of the bunch. You think they're harmless, but the second you turn your back, they'll shiv you and run off with your tazer."

You grinned at the trainees as winningly as you could.

"Only did that once by the way. And the guy had it coming, swear on my mama."

Most of them were shifting around uncomfortably. Hearing Slammer keep banging on about your crimes was finally enough to get it through to them. The prisoners are not nice.

You'd assume that was obvious, but incarceration taught you that however slow you thought the wardens were, they could always get dumber.

The only one who didn't seem bothered was the blonde. He was looking at you like you were nothing more or less than a piece of furniture. You got the sense that he was analysing you, looking past your fake smile and even faker bravado.

You also got the feeling that he wasn't impressed with what he saw.

You flopped back down on your bunk and tried not to let it bother you. One more person thinking you were a delinquent. What difference did it make?

He was the last to leave. His eyes did one final scan of your cell before they landed on your paperback. He raised a brow.

"The Green Mile? Isn't that a bit depressing?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable but not entirely sure why.

"I like to think of it as aspirational."

"And why's that?"

"The wardens aren't all assholes."

That earned you a flicker of a smile before he turned on his heel and disappeared.

You forgot all about him after a week. To be fair, there were other things to occupy you. A fist fight on D Block that you somehow got dragged into. Drama in the book club. A warden getting caught with his pants down. Standard prison fare.

It was a Tuesday when you saw him again, in the middle of the cafeteria. You only had a split second to recognise him before he was dousing you in pepper spray and sweeping your legs out from under you.

That was misleading maybe. He wasn't totally unjustified in greeting you like that. You were technically in the middle of beating a CO with a lunch tray.

(He deserved it, but that's not exactly a good excuse when his nose is gushing blood all over the table).

You were still coughing on pepper spray when he hauled you to solitary, your eyes and throat burning.

"Glad...to see you got...the job Blondie," you managed to wheeze.

He sent you stumbling into the cell with a practiced push.

"Yep," he said simply, "They hired me on the spot."

Your shoulder was still a painful mess when he slammed and locked the door, leaving you in the half dark to wash the stinging out of your eyes.

You rubbed at your aching joints. "I can see why."

Pepper spray was considered the least lethal way to subdue a prisoner. Easier than a taser, less brutal than the baton. But despite its shining reputation, it was your least favourite tool in a CO’s belt. A taser was at least quick. The baton left a bruise but the pain didn't linger.

Pepper spray on the other hand? It left your eyes and throat and nose irritated for days.

You were still trying to rinse it out of your mouth when he returned, boots heavy on the linoleum and his keys rattling.

You turned to him with your white prison issued tank practically soaked. To most other guards, that would be an invitation to gawk. Not him though. His eyes never dipped below your chin.

"Sit down. I've got some cold cloths for the swelling."

You sat, more confused than anything else.

"That's not standard regulation Blondie. Usually, they just let us suffer through it."

He tossed you the cloths, still icy from a quick minute in the freezer. You pressed them to your face gratefully.

"It is standard regulation. Treating pepper spray once the prisoner is subdued."

You scoffed. "Why am I not surprised that no one ever told us that?"

He stayed quiet and you peaked at him over the edge of the fabric. He was a lot leaner than you realised, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his forearms toned with muscle.

And covered in tattoos. Damn, he had some sick tats.

You cleared your throat, not exactly sure why he bothered to do this for you.

"Thank you. It sucks to deal with. Makes everything taste awful. For days."

He raised a brow.

"I just dragged you to solitary and your main worry is that the food won't taste good?"

"The food never tastes good. This is more so a matter of bloody awful becoming hellish awful."

"It can't be that bad."

"Get back to me after you've spent five years chomping down on lukewarm hash browns and soggy peas."

"You've been in here five years already?"

You sighed, pressed the cloth against your brows so you didn't have to look at him.

"Yep. And I've still got another thirty to go."

"Why?"

That got an unexpected laugh from you.

"Didn't you hear Slammer? Homicide. Found guilty on all charges."

"Did you do it?"

"Allegedly."

What was his angle? Was this some new, interactive approach to corrections? Getting friendly with the inmates so they were less likely to riot?

"Didn't they teach you not to ask those sorts of questions?" you asked. "Not really something people in here like to talk about."

You saw that little flicker of a smile again.

"They did. But I get the feeling you don't mind it as much."

He was right. You didn't mind. At least, not with him. He had a kind of quiet confidence that, surprisingly, made you feel comfortable.

"Why did you want to work in a prison? Or more accurately, what the hell went wrong that you ended up here?"

"You think it's such a bad job?"

"I'd never do it and I live here."

He leaned against the cell wall, hands on his belt. There it was again. A veteran's stance, weapons in easy reach in case you tried something.

"It's a boring story."

"I've got nothing but time."

That earned you another raised brow.

"As we've established."

What's this? A CO actually cracking a joke? You never thought you'd see the day.

"And anyway, we're not here to talk about me. I'm here to find out why you attacked my fellow officer."

Ah, so that was why he was playing nice.

"I didn't like his face."

He narrowed his eyes and pushed himself off the wall. "Disappointing. I thought you'd have a better reason than that."

You didn't like his tone, or the way it made you feel. Ashamed. Like you'd failed his test, even though you didn't know you were supposed to be studying.

He paused at the door, like something occurred to him.

"What's her name? The girl he was picking on?”

You raised you head. "What?"

"The guard you attacked. He was causing trouble, wasn't he?"

How did he know? Did he see it? Oh God, was Ruby going to get into shit because of you?

"Listen, she had nothing to do with it. She had no idea what I was going to do. It was all me."

He shrugged. "How am I supposed to believe that's true if I don't know the full story?"

You bit your lip. You didn't like saying too much to the COs. And your instinct was telling you this one would be able to read a lot deeper than the rest.

"Guess I'll just have to ask her then."

"No!" You dug your hands into your sheets to stop yourself from bolting to your feet.

"No, Ruby has nothing to do with it I swear. She’s almost sixty. She gets enough shit as it is. Just leave her alone."

You swallowed. "Please."

He was looking at you again, much sharper this time.

"Explain."

Your grip on the sheets tightened until your knuckles were pale. Did you really have to talk about this shit out loud?

"Ruby is..." you started. "She's different. Older than most of us, keeps to herself. She's not...all there, if you know what I mean."

He turned to face you and settled back against the wall. "Go on."

"Most of the inmates don't bother her. Why would we? She's just a little old lady. Not harmless, no ones really harmless, but about as close to it as you can get. But some of the COs..."

His lips thinned. "They have a nasty streak."

"You can call it that. Usually it's just calling her names. But sometimes some of them get it into their heads that what she really needs is a hard knock. Rattle those screws around enough and maybe they'll fall back into place."

"Is that what happened today?"

You sighed, looked down at your hands and the blood dried in the crevices of your nails.

"Yep. CO was all in her face, being nasty. Grabbing her wrist. Taunting her. And she... she just stood there and took it. Old enough to be the his grandmother and he didn't care."

You closed your eyes.

 What else were you supposed to do?

He'd been at it for five minutes when you stood up with your lunch tray. By then you'd had enough. No one else was going to do anything, so it was going to be you.

The lunch trays were a hard plastic, meant to keep from breaking on impact. You'd left your half eaten bowl of chow on the table and walked up behind him, your heart beating steady and calm. Some part of you had already decided the consequences were worth it.

Some of the inmates were looking at you and every single one of them knew exactly what you intended. But none of 'em said a word.

You could still feel the smack of your tray against his head. The way he stumbled forward with the momentum.

You'd caught him by surprise and you weren't going to let him get over it. You swung the tray at his face, as hard as you could. You could feel his nose breaking. He was on his knees by then. And maybe you'd have let him up, might have ended things there.

But then you saw Ruby's wrist. A frail thing, with the warden's finger marks standing out a livid red.

"I see."

You opened your eyes. He was still watching you, his face unreadable.

You shrugged and tried to smile.

"Today was practically hum drum by our normal standards."

"How exciting," he deadpanned.

"Just wait 'til Christmas time. It gets positively festive."

He snorted and started for the door again.

"You're aren't such a hard ass after all, are you? Saving little old ladies in your spare time," he said.

"Just think how safe senior citizens will be when they let me back out."

It was only for a few seconds, but you liked it when he smiled. It softened that tough guy demeanour just enough to make you wonder about the man underneath.

When he was gone, you laid down with the cloth still pressed against your cheek. Who'd have thought it. A CO who you didn't want to punch in the teeth.

The CO you beat didn't come back to work for two weeks, and when he did, you heard that he asked for a transfer to a different block.

Ruby made you a macaroni necklace and said something about alien warships picking you out of everyone else. You figured that was her way of saying thank you.  

And maybe the most notable thing of all: Blondie was assigned to your cell block. Surprising. Yours wasn't the worst part of the prison, but you weren't a bunch of saints either. Rookies wouldn't even be considered until they'd had at least a year's experience.

It was yet another thing pointing to his past. Something, somewhere, had given him enough experience to slip ahead on the promotion queue.

You didn't much mind it. Hell, you'd almost say it was enjoyable. He wasn't rude, he didn't pick favourites and he was keen eyed enough to catch a lot of the under table business that inmates engaged in.

You didn't go out of your way to talk to him - getting too cosy with a CO wasn't a good look - but you made it a point to greet him whenever you could.

Well, you called it greeting. Most other folk saw it as a smirk and a sing song "Hey there Blondie!"

He must have had some sort of interest in you too. You'd look up from your lunch and see him watching you, head tilted just a little. Like he was trying to puzzle you out. You took to winking at him whenever you caught him.

It would usually be enough to make him look away, but never for long. His eyes would always find you again.

You should have been annoyed at it, or unnerved. But honestly, the way he looked at you was borderline sweet compared to the other COs. You'd occasionally catch some of them watching you too. Usually with their hands on their belts.

There wasn't much to do in prison besides read, sleep and exercise. But around the third week after his arrival, you started getting letters.

Not totally uncommon. Plenty of folk wrote to prisoners. But to you? That was a different story. You put the letters you received into two categories: perverts and the pervertedly curious.

The perverts were exactly what you'd expect. People who thought your mugshot was the hottest thing since Megan Fox taking a swim. Their letters were particularly uncomfortable to read. And often sticky. You never wrote back.

The pervertedly curious were a whole ‘nother class. They probably ran across your case on a true crime podcast or on a documentary. And their first thought at hearing the story was to wonder exactly what it felt like. They'd write and ask you what was going through your mind. What did the knife feel like sinking into his flesh? What did the blood smell like?

A fun bunch of freaks. You'd write back sometimes, more for your own amusement than anything else. Your answers were never even remotely true. I was mostly thinking about how late my taxes were and what a bastard it would be clean up. Stabbing him felt like cutting a steak except more scream-y. The blood smelt like a stack of pennies on a warm summer day, but mostly it just smelt like blood.

You'd always end your sentences with your trademark allegedly.

These new letters were nothing like those at all. The paper was crisp and clean and most importantly, not sticky. The folded lines were sharp, like the writer pressed them down with their thumb nail.

The writer didn't ask about the murder. They didn't ask about your bra size. They were almost...sweet.

You must be lonely in prison. You must get bored. I hope you're safe.

You read it again and again before you wrote a reply. Silly really. They seemed much too nice to be writing to someone like you. Maybe someone trying to do a good deed.

You should scare them off. Writing to a prisoner is sweet and all, but most folk in here would use it as just another way to wring someone dry. You were no different. Your anonymous pen pal would be better off working at the animal shelter if they wanted to help a stray.

I've got a whole host of buddies. We discuss the best ways to get blood out of our socks and pillow cases. I'm not bored at all. We've got a badminton league. Obviously the best way to spend federal cash. I'm as safe as a lamb in the hay. Only got stabbed twice last week.

There. That would get rid of them.

You mailed it out on cheap exam pad paper with a stamp you lifted off your neighbour. You didn't expect a reply.

When the mail got delivered the next week, you were more than a little surprised to find a new letter waiting for you.

The same crisp paper, the same neat, slanting hand.

You can't scare me off. I know you're only prickly and sarcastic because deep down you're scared. Scared a lot. Scared all the time.

I looked you up. You were barely out of high-school when it happened. Well behaved, normal family, no record of misdemeanours. Prison must have been an awful adjustment.

You had to put the letter down and take a deep breath. The kid clocked you. Less than two letters in and they'd read you better than anyone had in years. Better than anyone ever had maybe.

What were those first few years like, I wonder. How did you survive? Please write me back. I like checking in on you.

You considered not replying. What were they hoping to achieve, getting all familiar with a killer?

The letter sat on your shelf for half a week before you gave in and wrote a reply.

I survived by being mean and cruel and evil. Stop writing me kid. I'll bite your head off and drink your blood.

The next letter came almost instantly. If anything, the writer seemed amused more than anything else.

Scary. Did they put you in for homicide or suspected vampirism? You want to get rid of me, but I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to reply, but I know you must need a friend. They aren't easy to come by behind bars. Any alliances you form will always have the expectation of reciprocation. It must be exhausting.

Did I tell you I bought a new car last week? A Camaro. I know. How stereotypical of a Marine to buy a car like that, right? But it's gorgeous. I'd like to take you for a drive someday. Nothing but the open road. I think you'll like that.

You didn't even wait a full day before you wrote back. Because they were right. You really did need a friend. Someone to just shoot the breeze with, without any subtext of a favour being repaid later on.

You didn't know anything about your mysterious pen pal. Not their age or their gender or even the colour of their eyes. They signed all their letters with a simple from B.

They mostly asked you questions. Not obtrusive or gross ones either. They wanted to know which foods you missed the most, which tv series and movies you wanted to catch up on, which actors you thought were getting Grammys this year.

When Grammy and Oscar season rolled around, you choked out a fellow inmate to get the TV remote. You left them sitting up on the couch, passed out and looking like they were just asleep. Blondie almost caught you. He walked past the door and paused to stare at your victim.

You gave him your most charming grin.

"She said the opening ceremony was too long and to wake her up when the red carpet is over," you explained.

He scoffed and moved on.

When you wrote your next letter, you packed it full of award show details.

B wrote to you for the better part of a year. But you only learnt a handful of things about them. They were in the Marines, they now worked some kind of federal job, they had tattoos, they liked Nicole Richie, and they hated fried chicken. Like really hated it. With a passion.

I promise to never cook you fried chicken, you wrote, only fried calamari, fried onion rings, fried mushrooms, fried liver, fried green beans, fried -

Can you even cook? they wrote back. Or are you just running your mouth?

For a while, you were happy. They'd occasionally send you new books in the mail, burnt CDs to listen to on your busted radio, packets of sweets.

Prison was hell, but it was a structured, expected sort of hell. You could deal with it.

But then she arrived.

You didn't bother to learn her name. She was tall and lean, green eyes like pond scum, and teeth chipped from fighting. You didn't like her from the first, but you had no reason to quarrel and so avoided her as much as you could.

Blondie didn't like her much either, and that's where the trouble started.

She'd deliberately bump into Blondie whenever she could. Hard enough that you could almost feel the impact.

"Oops... Didn't see you there."

If it was anyone else, they'd probably get thrown in solitary. But Blondie was a stickler for the rules. He'd brush his uniform off like just touching an inmate was enough to cause a plague. And then he'd settle his blue eyes on her, cool and detached.

"Watch where you're going next time."

That was how it went on. Weeks of passive aggression, slowly getting more and more physical.

You didn't want to intervene. Blondie could protect himself. Still, you kept your eye on him as much as you could.

There was another thing about the new girl you didn't like.

She had a way with people.

Could convince even the most stubborn inmate to do something, even if it was against their own best interest.

She got an inmate who was almost out on probation to attack and almost blind a CO. She got innocent old Ruby to start selling cigarettes. She almost got you to pick a fight with someone for damn near no reason at all.

She was dangerous, in a way no one before her had been. You could feel it in the harsh whispers after lights out. Got to make those dirty screws pay. Fucking COs have had it too good for too long. Who the fuck do they think they are anyway?

A riot was brewing. You started staying in your cell a lot more. Managed to pull some metal out of your mattress and spent every night sharpening it to a point.

Some of the COs were smart enough to notice the tension and your outside time got shortened to half an hour, lunch got pulled back to fifteen minutes. Their solution was to keep you locked in your cells for as much of the day as possible.

Not a good move.

Prisoners with no distractions tend to amuse themselves by planning all sorts of nasty things. How to grab a CO from behind and get their keys before anyone noticed. How to choke out the one bastard who kept throwing them in solitary. How to pay back all those times a CO groped them in the middle of a search.

You could feel it heightening to a point. Could feel it in the dirty, oily stickiness of the air.

When Blondie came past on patrol, you stopped him. You'd been hoping to catch him for a few days and you weren't going to miss your chance.

"Yes?"

Those blue eyes were staring straight through you, cool as a winter without a radiator.

You remembered the pepper spray, the cool cloth pressed against your burning skin.

"Listen, I think you should call in sick for the next week."

Oh no, it came out sounding like a threat.

You cleared your throat, tried to smile.

"I owe you one, okay? So just trust me on this and don't show up for a while."

He narrowed his eyes.

"There's going to be a riot,” he said.

"Seems like it."

"When?"

"I don't know. It's not exactly a scheduled thing. But it's going to be bad."

He looked away from you, scanning the long row of cells across from you. You could hear the ambient shuffling and coughing and laughing of a hundred people living together.

"Can it be stopped?"

You sighed. You'd seen it play out a few times already. Wardens had all sorts of ways to handle riots, but once the fever was brewing, it was near impossible to break. It was in the atmosphere, in the tense glances between prisoners. It was bigger than all of you.

He must have seen the answer in your face.

He shook his head, stubborn to the last.

"I've got a job to do. If I got scared every time the prisoners got rowdy I'd be out of work real quick."

You sighed and pulled away from the bars.

"Your funeral Blondie."

You really hoped it wouldn't be.

The thing that started the riot was so small that on a normal day you'd call it borderline routine.

A CO was watching the cafeteria line, hustling people along when they paused longer than he liked. When he came to one of the girls a few spots ahead of you, he got impatient and shoved her forward. Not hard. Barely enough to make her stumble.

You cringed. For a second or two, you imagined you could feel it on your skin. A static crackling like lightning about to strike.

She punched the CO in the throat.

He stumbled backwards, holding his neck and gasping.

Other prisoners  were already moving forward. Three of them grabbed his arms and bunch of the others ripped off his gear. Taser and baton and pepper spray now in the hands of a pissed and petty prison populace.

The other officers were already coming forward, batons out. Usually that would be enough to break things up, but they had just about everyone against them. Numbers always won.

 The veneer cracked and the riot finally started. It took less than a minute.

The yelling was enough to make your head throb. Bouncing off the cafeteria walls and ringing ringing ringing in your ears.

You ducked out of the way as much as possible, always on your guard. Riots weren't just dangerous for the wardens. Inmates saw them as a way to settle old scores without ending up in solitary or back in court. And lord knew,  you'd accumulated a hell of a lot of grudges over the years.

A prisoner rushed you. She was clutching a shiv made out of a ballpoint pen and a piece of wire coat hanger.

You dodged, sticking your foot between her legs and making her stumble. Your adrenaline was pumping, your vision dark at the corners.

You grabbed her hair before she could recover, and slammed her head against the edge of a metal cafeteria table.

She dropped like a rock.

You stepped away before any of her friends noticed you, your heart so far up your throat you could almost taste it.

That's when you saw her. That green eyed bitch, slipping out a side door with two of her cronies behind her.

You could feel your neck prickling.

There was only one score she had to settle and you knew exactly who it was aimed at.

You followed as quickly as you could. The backup had arrived and two tear gas canisters were belching thick white smoke into the room.

Despite your best efforts, by the time you made it out your eyes were stinging and she was long gone.

You swore and sprinted down the corridor, thinking fast.

If she managed to corner Blondie, she’d want to take her time with him. That's how scores were settled when you had a mean streak. Slow. Painful.

That meant she’d want privacy. Somewhere the riot officers wouldn't immediately find her when things calmed down.

You grabbed the corner of a wall and used it to shoot down the main hall, prison issued sneakers pounding the linoleum.

The showers. That's exactly where you'd go if you were her.

She didn't have time to block the doors. You banged through them shoulder first, the same way a cop would. The room was still thick with steam from earlier and Blondie's blood was running in thin streams toward the drain.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" she barked.

Green eyes, the one who instigated this whole mess.

She was standing with her sleeves rolled up and a razor blade between her fingers. The small, rectangular kind that goes in a straight razor.

Her two cronies were holding Blondie by the arms, stretching him out like he was on a cross.

Blondie clearly hadn't made it easy for them. Green eyes had a nasty bruise blooming on her cheek and both her cronies were sporting ugly nose bleeds. His baton was laying abandoned on the shower floor, rolled up against a bench.

Even a man as strong and well trained as he was couldn't go up against three armed felons and win.

You must have been just in time. The worst they'd done to him was cut his cheek, all the way from his temple to the bridge of his nose. It was bleeding bad, but didn't look too deep.

You straightened up and smiled at them, big and broad like you'd never had a better reunion.

"Having some fun without inviting me?"

Green eyes scoffed. "Why do you care? This shit is personal. Find something else to do."

You tilted your head, still smiling.

"You're right. It is personal. As in I owe Blondie over there a personal favour. As in I don't want you fucking with what's mine."

Blondie was watching you with those sharp eyes. If he took issue with being called yours, he didn't show it.

"Let him go." You didn't scream. You didn't demand. You simply said it. That's what made them nervous.

"Listen bitch - I don't care that everyone is scared of you. What you did on the outside doesn't matter one fucking bit."

You kept smiling, but your fingers were buzzing. The same why they had the night you stabbed a man forty six times.

You flicked your wrist and the shiv fell into your palm.

It was as long as your hand and sharpened into a wickedly pointed tip. It could slide between someone's ribs and kill them in less than five heart beats.

"They aren't scared of me because of what I did outside."

The two cronies were looking at each all worried-like. You vaguely recognised them, but it was clear that they recognised you no problem.

The boss turned to face you fully, light and easy on her toes like a boxer.

"You really gonna make a big deal over a fucking screw? A CO?"

"Since he's the only CO I've met who isn't a total piece of shit, I've got a vested interest in keeping him around."

She rolled his shoulders like a fighter would. You bit back a sigh. This was going to really hurt.

She didn't come at you right away. She ran her eyes over your body - your posture, your build, everything that might give you an advantage.

Then she charged.

Fast, even on the still slippery tiles. There wasn't enough time to duck or dodge.

You blocked her first punch with your arms, her fist smacking against your skin and spiking a sharp pain all the way down to your bones.

You stepped backward and kicked at her knee, but she saw it coming and turned her leg at the last second, took it on her thigh instead.

She’d dropped the razor blade - without a handle it was just as dangerous to her as it was to you - which meant she had full use of her fists.

She kept pummelling at you, catching you on the ribs and then on the sternum. You slammed back against the lockers, winded.

She pushed her advantage, going straight for your throat. You dropped down at the last second and her fist slammed full force into the metal.

She screamed and then screamed again as you slammed your shiv into her thigh.

You grabbed her throat and shoved her away from you, breathing hard.

She was clutching her thigh with one hand, blood welling up between her fingers. Dark red, but not enough to be fatal. You hadn't hit any arteries.

You slammed the heel of your hand into her nose, aiming upwards. You felt cartridge crunching.

She screamed again and scrambled away as quickly as she could with her injured leg.

Blood was running into her mouth, and when she snarled at you, her teeth were red.

You smiled again, as cheerful as a choir girl.

"Had enough?"

She spat blood at your feet.

You waited, half your attention on the other two. They hadn't yet moved to help her. You weren't sure if it was out of fear of letting Blondie go, or just a strong self preservation instinct.

Green eyes finally gave in. Or more accurately, her leg did. She buckled and fell, knees smacking hard on the tile. You winced.

She looked pale, in the about to pass out sort of way.

You sighed and jerked your head at her.

"Get her to the second floor nurses office. Wrap something around her leg. Tight. She’ll live but it's going to hurt a whole lot more if you aren't quick about it."

The other two were looking between you and her, eyes wide.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, still holding the bloody shiv.

That seemed to decide them. They let go of Blondie all at once and grabbed their boss under the arms. Between the two of them, they were able to drag her out.

She left a trail of bright red behind.

When they were gone, you sat on the closest bench, holding your ribs. Hopefully they weren’t cracked - it hurt to breathe. You'd have to visit the infirmary as soon as things died down.

"She’s going to get even with you," Blondie said.

He was watching you. He hadn't moved. Blood was still running in thin streams down his cheek, like he was crying red.

"Yep. She's got a lot of friends too. It's not going to be fun."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Act so light hearted about everything. I can see your hands shaking."

You balled them into fists and avoided looking at him. The silence stretched.

Finally, "Why did you really kill your neighbour?"

"I didn't like his face."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want. The court already made up its mind."

He finally moved. Picked up his baton and slipped it into his belt. Grabbed a towel and balled it up, then pressed it against his face. The white started spotting red almost immediately. You watched him from the corner of your eye.

"Give me the knife."

"It's called a shiv. You should know that."

You rubbed the handle against your pants, getting rid of any fingerprints. Redundant, given there were three witnesses who saw you stab another inmate. Old habits don't really die, you supposed.

You handed it to him without looking at his face.

He wrapped it in a smaller towel and stuck it in his belt.

You could hear faint sirens from beyond the door, and his radio was crackling with orders. The wardens seemed to be getting things under control.

"I'm throwing you in solitary. And then I'm requesting a transfer to another block."

"Aww shucks, I'll really miss you Blondie."

"Not a transfer for me, you idiot. A transfer for you. It won't stop her entirely. There's always a little bit of communication between the blocks, no matter how hard we try and prevent it. But it should give you some time to make friends of your own."

"I've never been very good at that."

"Maybe try being less sarcastic."

He grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. His grip was light, a formality more than anything.

"Why did you really save me?"

You couldn't look at him. You shrugged.

"It's like I said. You're the least terrible warden in here. Not a very high bar to be fair, but still."

He started towards the door and you followed.

There were officers coming down the corridor in full riot gear. He waved them down and thrust you towards one.

"Solitary. Protective custody."

"Why?"

Blondie didn't even hesitate. "Because she saved my life."

Solitary wasn't so bad when the other option was tossing and turning on your bunk, just waiting for a knife to your ribs.

You'd almost call it relaxing. Your ribs were bandaged tight and the painkiller the doc gave you left you floating on a cloud of dope.

When you heard the footsteps pause outside your door, you didn't bother to get up.

Blondie didn't say anything for a long while. When he finally spoke, it was so soft that you had to strain to hear it.

"I still don't believe you. I don't think you're a cold blooded killer. I think that whatever happened between you and that man wasn't really brought before the court."

You sighed.

"Drop it Blondie."

"No."

Maybe it was the medicine or maybe it was the confession booth feeling of the half dark. Either way, you ended up giving away more than you intended.

"It doesn't matter. If the whole thing was public, it would only hurt people who've already been through enough."

"You had a reason for killing him."

"Yes."

"What?"

"I won't tell you. Won't tell anyone, ever. It's not my story to tell”

 “You're in jail because of it. Who else could possibly have more to lose?"

"You'd be surprised."

It was his turn to sigh.

"I'm going to find out eventually, y'know."

"Have fun with that. Don't give yourself a headache."

He sighed and walked away.

You didn't see him again for half a year.

They kept you in solitary a whole week. Long enough for your ribs to stop hurting and for the bruises to lighten. Long enough for green eyes to be processed and transferred further up-state. That was unusual, even if she was the one who instigated the riot. You had a feeling someone pulled some strings behind the scenes. And you had an even stronger feeling about who it must have been.

When you were finally out, you were assigned to a new block. Your stuff was already waiting for you in your new cell, your books and CDs and a new letter from B.

Won't be able to write for a while. I've got something important to work on. Hopefully I'll be back soon.

You couldn't ignore the way that stung. Without meaning to, you'd come to rely on their letters. A little reprieve from the life you were stuck with.

The new block wasn't too bad. You took Blondie's advice and made some friends. Tried to avoid fights as much as possible. If green eyes ever managed to convince someone to get even for her, they didn't go through with it.

Life was, if not good, then at least bearable. You tried ignoring the little nagging part of you that constantly wondered about both Blondie and B. Without either of them, you felt...emptier somehow. Lonely.

When a warden came to tell you that you had a visitor, your heart lurched. Your family didn't visit you much anymore. And you cut off your friends the day you got convicted - no need to draw them into your mess. Secretly, you hoped it was B. You had no clue what they looked like, but after six months without hearing from them, you were almost desperate.

You smoothed down your uniform before you stepped into the visitors' centre, your eyes sweeping the room for familiar faces.

You noticed him almost immediately. Blondie, his hair shaggy when it wasn’t gelled back and his usual uniform replaced by a flannel shirt and jeans. A man was sitting next to him, his pinstripe suit still neat and pressed despite it being late afternoon.

He didn't even give you time to say hello.

"This is Mark Lawrence. Your lawyer."

You squinted at the man, confused. He was clearly a cut or two above the overworked district attorney who'd handled your case.

"No he isn't. I haven't seen him before in my life."

He sighed, irritated. "Mark is the lawyer I hired to represent you when we go to court next month."

"...Why am I going to court next month?"

"To challenge the original ruling."

"Okay. Why?"

"Because I've found another witness to your case, one that didn't testify last time."

You felt like were slammed face first into a bucket of icy water. With rusted nails in it.

"Who?"

"The victim's daughter."

"No."

"Yes."

Your handcuffs rattled as your balled your hands into fists.

"She's just a kid. What she needs is to put the past behind her, not re-live every minute of it up on the witness stand. No. We're not doing this."

You glared at him and he met you straight on. The tension cracked.

The lawyer finally interjected.

"Knowing the full details of the case changes things dramatically. Your charge goes from first degree murder to manslaughter. We might be able to cut your sentence down to fifteen years or less, with time served contributing."

"No. I'm not putting that little girl up on the stand."

Blondie practically snarled. "Yes. You. Are."

"No. I'm. Not."

"She's so much older now! Practically a teenager. She can handle it. And besides, she said she's happy to do it."

"You spoke to her?!"

Could this day get any worse? Why the hell did he have to go and drag up old memories? It must have been just as unpleasant for the kid as it was for you.

"Yes. Myself and the original detective both."

"Why? Is this what you've been doing the past six months? Trying to overturn my sentence?"

He looked away from you for the first time, his ears turning red.

"Yes."

You leaned back in your chair, conflicted and confused more than anything else. You hated to admit it, but a part of really wanted this. Even if the chance was slim, even if it meant another round of dockets and cross questioning. You were tired of prison. You wanted your life back.

You watched the late afternoon sun reflecting off the ceiling.

"I want to talk to her first. And then...maybe."

"Deal." Blondie sounded immensely satisfied.

You kept watching the sun and half listening to the conversations around you.

"Why are you doing this for me Blondie?"

Your voice was awfully soft.

"I'm returning a favour."

Your eyes slid to the lawyer.

"Pretty damn expensive way to do it."

He smirked. "I prefer my method to yours. Requires a whole lot less stabbing."

The kid came to visit you the next day. Blondie was right. She was almost a teenager. Did time really go by so fast?

You grinned at her.

"Hey kid. Sorry to drag you out to this place, but they don't let me out much."

"I bet."

She’d lost a lot of the baby fat from her cheeks and her dark eyes didn't have the haunted look you remembered so well.

"How's life with your aunt?"

"Great actually. The school is nice and we've got this Great Dane. And she isn't like... well, she isn't like my dad."

That made you happy. The kid deserved something good after everything she’d been through.

She broke in before you could keep asking questions.

"I want to do it. I want to testify against my father."

You paused, your smile fading. You could still hear her voice from that night, high and tinny and begging her dad to stop.

He hadn't stopped. He hadn't stopped beating his little girl until the moment you sunk a knife into his chest.

You swallowed, your mouth tasting like metal.

"Are you sure? It's not going to be easy."

She met your eyes. "I don't care. You saved me. I'm not going to let you rot in a place like this."

When she left, you couldn't help thinking about her eyes. The last time you saw her, she wouldn't even look at your face. Wouldn't say more than three words at a time.

The kid might never outrun her past, but she’d done a damn good job so far.

You tried not to be too hopeful. Homicide was almost impossible to overturn.

You tried not to be too hopeful, but the lawyer Blondie hired clearly knew his stuff. He laid it all out in front the judge.

How you used to babysit the kid when her dad wasn't around. How the man used to get violent when he was drunk, but never hit the kid until that night.

How you heard the screaming and banged at his door for fifteen minutes.  How you broke in through a back window when it wouldn't stop.

How you found the girl half dead with her father standing over her. Still going at it.

How you grabbed a knife, just to try and threaten him, maybe bring him back to his senses.

How he attacked you. How you stabbed him and then kept stabbing him until he stopped moving. 

How you bundled the kid off to her aunt and then called the cops on yourself.

The whole story this time. No pleading guilty and then sitting back down without another word. No half hearted defence by a state lawyer already over worked and underpaid. No half truths.

It took three weeks of court dates to get through the whole story, with witnesses and cross examination. By the time it was done, you wanted to wash your hands of the whole mess. Innocent or guilty, you just wanted to stop reliving that night.

The judge was a hard faced man who'd seen a thousand criminals come and go. You didn't have much hope for yourself when the bailiff told you to rise for the verdict.

"In the case of the state versus the accused, in regards to the appeal and additional information provided to the court, the court hereby considers this appeal to be..."

You felt your heart stutter. The last time you were in court listening to a verdict the outcome was a forgone conclusion.

"Granted."

You almost sat back down, your knees weak. There's no way. After all this time, were you really about to have your freedom back?

The judge continued, "The accused's sentence has been adjusted to account for time served. The original sentence of life imprisonment with the chance of parole after thirty years has been changed to immediate parole on strict assessment."

The judge looked at you, eyes maybe a little softer than they were before.

"This court will never condone murder, not even in defence of a child. But I think it's clear, young lady, that you've spent more than enough time behind bars."

Your lips felt numb. Your whole future changed in one sentence. In one afternoon. It was staggering.

"Thank you, your honour."

The bailiff read out a list of regulations to follow. Weekly check ins with both a parole officer and a state psychiatrist. No furthers run ins with the law, not even misdemeanours. If even one person close to you felt you were a threat, they could report it to the police and have you sent back to jail almost immediately. You were on house arrest until further notice. It was one of the strictest parole agreements you'd ever heard.

You didn't care if they told you to do a hundred push ups morning and evening. You were free again. You were going to behave like a damn saint for the rest of your days.

The only hiccup was when he mentioned the address that you were registered to stay at. You raised a brow at your lawyer but he avoided your eyes.

When court was finally dismissed, the first thing you did as a free woman was give Blondie a hug.

He was much taller than you, though you'd never realised it before.

"How much do I owe you? When I get a job, we can work out some kind repayment plan."

He waved you away and lead you from the courthouse. You tried to ask your lawyer about the house arrest, but he managed to slip away before you could.

His car was waiting for you. A new Camaro barely a year months old.

You let out a low whistle.

"She’s a beauty."

When you climbed into the passenger seat, you were sure to buckle your seat belt. No tickets for you, not ever.

The car started up with a thrumming purr.

It ate away at the road, even in the dense city centre. It wasn't long before you were almost at the city limits and cruising.

"By the way, do you know where I'll be staying? I didn't recognise the address."

You couldn't be sure, but it seemed like his hands tightened on the steering wheel just a tad.

"Mm-hmm. You're staying with me."

What? You couldn't possibly do that to him.

"Thank you. But don't you feel a little awkward having a felon in your home? I've still got my savings from before. I can rent my own place for a little."

"You're staying with me. Do you know how hard it is to get a good apartment with a criminal record?"

"I guessed as much. But Blondie, I already owe you. I can't possibly intrude on your life. Maybe you think you still owe me from that day. You don't. We're square."

He was quiet for a bit, but finally managed to force a smile into his voice.

"No. I'm not doing this because I feel indebted to you."

He kept his eyes on the road, his hand loose and confident on the wheel. His sleeves were rolled up again and you got your first good look at his tattoos. They were a collection of really well done pieces, each small tattoo blending with the others. Mostly fine line work, simple and clean.

"Why are you doing it then?"

He didn't answer.

When you arrived, his house was ranch style three bedroom with a huge, rolling yard and a neat wraparound porch.

You let out another low whistle.

"How do you afford this on a correction officer's salary?"

"I don't. It's paid off already. I was in the USMC for a long time. The money was good."

"I knew you weren't a normal civvie."

He grinned. "What gave it away?"

"The muscles."

He laughed and pulled your duffel bag from the trunk.

You'd told your parents to donate all your clothes when you were first sentenced. You didn't think you'd ever be free again so why hoard? Someone out there was probably making good use of your Doc Martens and distressed denim. Whatever normal clothes you currently had were what you were locked up with. The outfit on your back and little else.

The suitcase was instead filled with your meagre prison possessions, the stuff you didn't want to leave behind. Your collection of books. Some postcards. The CDs that B sent you.

Blondie carried it across the lawn like it weighed nothing at all.

Stepping into his house was a surreal experience. You hadn't been inside someone else's home since the night of your crime. Your last few years were exclusive to the grimy and outdated rooms of state buildings.

It was like stepping back in time. Or more accurately, like stepping into a future you thought was lost to you.

Clean, without the tang of cheap, industrial grade bleach. The walls painted and wallpapered instead of just whitewashed. The feeling of finally being somewhere you could relax. Not an in-between place.

Home.

He showed you to your room, a neat guest bedroom across from his, with a double bed and wide windows.

You didn't sit down on the bed or on the neat desk chair. You didn't feel clean enough. You still felt the stink and grime of prison clinging to you.

He raised a brow but showed you where the bathroom was.

It was another taste of freedom. Showers in prison were monitored and timed affairs. No standing under the water and just enjoying the heat, no taking the time to scrub and exfoliate. In and out and done as quick as possible.

You stood under the hot water for a long time, your face wet not just from the spray.

When you finally climbed out, you felt clean for the first time in years.

Blondie was gone when you got downstairs, a hasty note scrawled on the fridge about grabbing you some new clothes. You tilted your head at the handwriting. You could swear it looked so familiar... But no, it couldn't be. That was ridiculous.

You brewed yourself a hot drink, fully intending to sit on the porch and enjoy it. Like a little old woman.

The backdoor was locked.

You frowned. Okay, not that uncommon. Folk kept their doors locked all the time. He probably intended you to use the front door instead.

But that one was locked too.

So were all the downstairs windows. Closed shut with little hatches you hadn't noticed earlier.

You tried not to panic. He was probably just looking out for you. Being careful. You were still a felon. How did he know you weren't going to make a break for it the second you could, his tv and laptop in tow?

It was fine. You were fine. You could just drink at the table and wait for him to get home. You kept telling yourself that, even as you searched through the kitchen drawers for a spare key.

Nothing.

You didn't want to panic. You'd spent years locked away. Wasn't this much nicer than a cell?

No. Because at least in a cell you had no illusions about your freedom.

You ended up in his bedroom without knowing when you'd gotten there. You didn't dig through his drawers. He'd know instantly. But you did open them all, one by one, as if you'd find the key right on top of his neatly folded shirts.

You found the letters in the last drawer. The one right next to his bed, like he read them every night.

It took you a while to recognise them, even though you were looking at your own handwriting.

Your letters to B. Every single one of them. The envelopes neatly cut open and the letters themselves stacked in chronological order. The most recent one was at the very top and you picked it up with numb hands.

Hey B! Guess who's going back to court. Guess they missed seeing me strutting down the aisle.

Don't worry. I haven't down anything bad (at least not this time). Someone who thinks they owe me a favour has gotten it into their head that the best way to repay me is to get me out of jail.

The legal way, that is. No midnight tunnels or disguises. (Boo. How boring. What happened to romance?)

I don't have much hope, but at least it means a break in the monotony. And nicer chow.

You'd better write me soon. Can't believe I'm admitting this out loud, but I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart whenever I get a new letter from you. I think it must be acid reflux.

-your favourite felon.

B did, in fact, write back quickly. For the last time - no return address on the letter. In that, and in so many other ways, it was clear it was the final letter you were getting.

You're the most complicated person I've ever met. Caring and kind but somehow wrapped up in the most sarcastic personality. I've fallen in love with you. Stupid. Incredibly stupid. But it's true.

I love you.

-B

You'd sat in your cell with your eyes almost bugging out of your skull. Wondering what B did to have the misfortune of falling for a girl like you. Wondering if you could have loved them back, if given the chance. Wondering who they really were.

Well, here was your answer. B, the person who wrote you sarcastic poetry and hunted down your favourite books, was Blondie, the warden who owed you his life.

And he was in love with you.

You sat down, knees replaced by lunch time jelly cups.

No wonder he did what he did. No wonder he paid for an attorney and got your house arrest registered at his house. No wonder he kept the doors and windows locked.

There was a light step behind you and you flew to your feet, the letter still clutched in your fist.

He was standing in the doorway, watching you with cool blue eyes.

"So. You found them."

You couldn't answer.

He stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving yours. He'd taken off his shirt and stood in only his tank top and jeans, his arms lean with muscle. You'd spent years fighting and you knew in one glance that you could never take him. He was stronger. Had years of Marine and police training. It had taken three prisoners and a razor blade to finally hold him. What chance did you have?

"The world isn't built for prisoners. Rehabilitation is hard. What were the stats again? Eight out of every ten end up back in jail before ten years is up?"

He continued towards you, as calm as ever.

"You're safer here. With me. You said you'd be a great housewife remember?"

"I was joking," you managed. "Just kidding around."

He reached you and gently took the letter from your unresisting fingers.

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to. But you're not leaving me. You're not leaving this house."

"Why?"

He smiled, that half smile that gave you a glimpse past his tough guy shell. This time, you didn't like what you saw.

"You know why."

"I'm a terrible person to love. I'm prickly and sarcastic and I suck at doing the dishes."

"I've got a dishwasher."

"All I know how to cook is fried chicken."

He wrinkled his nose. "We'll work on it."

"I snore all night."

"You don't. I've watched you sleep."

"Really?"

"Really. I'd stop outside your cell and just watch you sometimes. I couldn't help it. You're so much calmer when you sleep. It's like seeing another version of you."

He tilted his head and closed the last bit of distance between you, until you could smell his cologne and see the flecks of green in his eyes. You'd never noticed them before.

"There are worse cells than this, aren't there? All you have to do is stay with me. Be happy. Let me love you."

"Do I have a choice?"

He smiled that secret smile again.

"Nope. It's either me or straight back to prison."

It was true. He was a model citizen – a veteran with a clean record as a corrections officer. Even if you did talk to your mandated psychologist or parole officer, they wouldn’t believe you. You’d be the ungrateful prisoner trying to manipulate her way out of house arrest.

You knew it from the start. Rule one - never trust a warden. They never have your best interests at heart. All they want is to cover their own skin and get theirs.

But, you never were very good at following the rules, were you?

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

Insatiable Madness (13)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

Progress then no progress, progress then no progress... You're beginning to grow sick of this, aren't you?

Reader is Gender Neutral!

You shut the door behind you, taking the last bite of your chocolate bar and scrunching up the plastic to put in the bin later.

“AH! Capitano, you scared me! Don’t just stand there and say nothing, the least you could do is greet us!” You jumped back, flinching forwards in pain when feeling the door handle dig into one of your hip bones.

“I was going to, but didn’t get the chance. Anyway, welcome back. Nothing changed whilst the two of you were out.”

“Thank you, whatever is looking out for me right now.” You silently prayed in gratitude. “I’ll be going back to my room.”

“Don’t cause trouble.” Arlecchino eyed you, walking away to somewhere else in the house. 

“Damn, I wasn’t that bad company, was I?” You questioned yourself, mumbling death threats whilst walking up the stairs towards your room.

What should you do now? Although you should probably be finishing the clean-up of merch, now that you think about it, you’re way too lazy to continue. You’ll probably just pick up where you left off the next time you feel especially disturbed by it. Anyway, today has been alright so far, very positive actually. If you ignored the fact that you were being held hostage, you could even call it good. Apart from failing to ask for help when there was a clear opportunity of course. Sure, you were most likely being followed by another harbinger, but you still could’ve thought of something!

Oh well, you’re back home now. You should stop worrying about things that have already happened, there’s no use doing so when in your situation. Let’s think about what to do next.

You sat down on your desk chair, pushing the keyboard away from the edge of the desk and grabbing your notepad which you effortlessly threw in front of you. After flipping through a few scribbled pages, you found a clean page ready to be written on.

Okay, so, you have some of the Harbinger’s working and supporting the house now. At least this guarantees the house won’t starve. As much as you hate to admit it, Pulcinella was right. Having their wages will definitely help things. But what should you do now? You’ve already tried communicating with the game, and that backfired horribly. Originally, you thought that consistently trying would be a good use of your time, but are you still sure about that? You’ve tried at least two times now, and nothing’s changed! You probably look like an idiot from an outsider’s perspective, screaming at the screen the way you have been recently.

…Maybe you should try one more time. Your mother used to say you were the stubborn type, and it seems she was right. It won’t harm things, since your previous attempts did absolutely nothing. And it’s not like the Harbinger’s will know what you’re up to… Yeah… just one more time! If you put your hope into this, something will definitely change. And if it doesn’t, you’re kind of stuck on ideas. Man, having a friend or two who cares about you would be so handy right now. 

Oh, another thing! You need to get a lock, or find something to bar up the door with whenever you’re in and out of your room. It probably won’t stop them entirely, but their struggle to enter the room will give you enough time to look normal when they force themselves through and not cause suspicion. Childe’s entry was cut way too close this morning. You’re very lucky he wasn’t paying attention to your room due to his own excitement.

You’ll get the lock later. For now, just turn on your computer and leave the game on. Although the idea freaks you out a little bit, perhaps you should also actually play the game whilst waiting instead of just staring at a character staring back at you with soulless eyes. Eh, actually, now that you know the characters are real, they’re probably not that soulless. 

The screen flashed a blinding light, before fading into the familiar scenery of Mondstadt’s city with Aether’s back facing you. You looked up, putting down your pencil and reaching over to the keyboard.

Let’s just start with daily commissions. That should be easy enough, right? Ah, but maybe you should add more people to the party first. Your commissions are all in Mondstadt, luckily, so you should probably include Mondstadt characters only. Albedo would be a good choice, and Venti… Hm, just add Fischl for the fun of it. There’s no synergy here, at all, but it doesn’t matter. Your characters are all strong enough to solo the enemies if you really wanted them to.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... …

Yeah… You’re hooked.

You’ve been playing Genshin for over an hour now, you didn’t even realise your tension easing away as you played the game! It started off as just completing your commissions, then old habits kicking in and completing leylines to get rid of resin. Then you decided to use your condensed resin in artifact domains and–

You’re going crazy.

Time really flies when you’re having fun, huh? Anyway, you should probably stop for now. During the time you were playing, nothing tried to contact you or looked out of the ordinary in the game. It’s safe to assume that nobody is coming to help you from the other side.

…Maybe it was all planned amongst everyone in the whole of Teyvat? The reason nobody’s come to help you is because the character’s are in on making you suffer for controlling them for so long?

No, snap out of it. Think logically, that can’t be the reason no one has come to help you. There must be something blocking them from communicating with you. Something that’s also affecting the Harbinger’s from returning to Teyvat in the first place.

‘This is hopeless’ You buried your head in your hands, the desk’s temperature cooling your forehead. ‘Seems like I’ll have to hold out for as long as possible. Perhaps I could–’

Ding!

‘Huh? What was that noise?’ You raised your head, squinting your eyes at the screen.

Ding! Ding!

That noise… It sounds like the mail notification! You reached for the mouse, your posture straightening and heart rate quickening. You dragged your mouse over to the mail button, clicking on it and reading the notification.

—  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —

We can hear you, can you hear us?

—  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —

That was the first notification… It says it was sent yesterday, during the time of your first plea for help! Why did it only come through now!? Better yet, why is the unknown writer communicating through the mail system? Couldn’t they have just vocally replied?

And the ‘We’... There’s more than one person who heard you! This is good. Does that mean the Traveller and potentially Paimon are the ones writing to you? Quickly, let’s read another one.

—  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —

Why did you walk away? We’re trying to help you.

Could you not hear Paimon shouting?

—  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —

Paimon was… shouting to you? No, you didn’t hear her. Yesterday you left because nothing was happening, you were unsatisfied with the results! Was she really trying to communicate with you? Ugh, this is why you need to be patient!

Anyway, this must be the reason why they’re communicating through mail. Their voices must not be able to come through to the real world! Something feels wrong though… The mention of ‘walking away’ is strange. How did they know you walked away? You’re looking too deeply into this, it was probably just written that way as a generic saying without any meaning behind it. They probably just meant that they couldn’t hear you anymore and assumed you left.

What does the third notification say?

—  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —

You’re back, that’s great!

If you can see this, it appears we can’t communicate vocally for now. We can hear you, however, so feel free to update us on your current situation whenever comfortable and possible.

We’re working on finding a solution to communicate with you further. The Traveller, Paimon and I are working to gather geniuses all across Teyvat to come up with a solution to our current problem: you. As of writing this, we’ve managed to gather all the scholar’s in Sumeru, Liyue and Fontaine to join Mondstadt’s efforts in research to establish a stronger connection. Although this is a theory, we believe you will be the most important part of the process in figuring out how to return Teyvat back to normal. 

Speaking of returning Teyvat back to normal, I should probably tell you more about that other problem too. A problem that has caused almost every nation to join their intelligence together in the first place. Teyvat is currently suffering through imbalances - and nobody knows the reason why. Coming from me, I’m unsure why Celestia hasn’t intervened in the problem. My suspicions lie in Snezhnaya, and from what you’ve told us, I fear I might have been correct. You said the Harbinger’s were with you, beyond Teyvat, right?

Buer informed the rest of us that their existence in Irminsul is becoming more unstable by the day. Normally, I’d have an idea on how to correct the problem and deal with it privately. But this…? This has never happened before in any of the passages of time I’ve witnessed. Nobody can find any of the Harbinger’s anywhere, those who were personally with them claim they saw them just deteriorate from existence!

What’s worse is we can’t even get a direct account from Snezhnaya themselves! They’re violently turning away any messenger from any nation, some returning traumatised. We don’t know what they’ve done, in fact, I personally don’t think they know what they’ve done themselves!

We need your help. And to get your help, we need a more efficient way of communication. I’ll have to end this transmission here, any more words and I fear the machine might overheat completely. Please trust us, and don’t lose hope. We want to help.

-Venti

—  —  —  —  —  —  —  —  —

“I don’t… understand…” You breathed out, leaning back into your chair with shock bubbling over your limbs.

What did you just read? Is this actually happening? Teyvat is in danger… because the Harbingers left? And Celestia refuses to get involved? Well, that’s not too surprising considering the lore. Let’s read the message again, surely there’s something you’re missing!

You scanned the message again, noticing the time it was sent. An hour ago… Why did all the messages suddenly come through now? What about now changed!? Did they change something? The mail claimed they’d gathered geniuses from all over to tamper with ‘the machine’.

Are they even aware they’re in a game!? From the mail, you don’t think so. You’d like it to stay that way. Keep it professional, Y/N! Stay calm and reply, if what Venti’s saying is true, it could be their entire world that’s in danger. You thought it was bad that the Harbinger’s could potentially kill someone here. But their appearance elsewhere might be hurting their original planet? God, you’re all so fucked!

“Thanks for the reply… even if it was a little late. But you know, I’m happy that we’re now on the same page!” You coughed into your hand, laughing awkwardly after.

“Sorry, this isn’t the time to feel regretful. We’re in trouble right now and I’m clearly not helping. If I understand you right, we need to get the Harbingers back to Teyvat before Irminsul corrupts… no, imbalances further. I’m glad the majority of Teyvat is working through this, the reason I approached Mondstadt in the first place was because of Albedo. I hoped he would have an inkling on how to solve the problem, and now knowing lots of others are helping really puts my mind at ease.”

You closed the menu, watching Paimon bounce about with her usual idle animations.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer you Paimon.” You apologised, smiling softly. “I was really frustrated with my situation. If I heard you shouting to me, I think you would have really cheered me up.”

“Could you… maybe wave? Or do something that I don’t normally see? I could really use a boost of confidence right now. Not like this isn’t already very reassuring! Words can’t express how relieved I feel at the moment!”

You looked at the screen, watching it begin to glitch and show a dark blue which didn’t suit Mondstadt’s colour scheme. Your whole screen turned into a night’s sky, stars swirling into each other in a warped formation. You marvelled at the pretty display, recognising the almost identical appearance to the Abyss.

That’s… strangely coincidental. You won’t question it for now though.

Eventually, it cleared, and showed Paimon waving with a beaming face. Her expression didn’t show any evidence of what happened to you also happening to them, making you sigh in relief. You waved back, laughing at her enthusiasm to keep doing so. So, this is what Teyvat really looks like? You noted the surroundings after the glitchy screen changed slightly, and the graphics more realistic. Maybe that was all the glitch was? Or maybe it was a sign of Irminsul being imbalanced? You’re not an expert.

Ugh it still looks unrealistically beautiful despite the world becoming less smooth and more detailed. Is your PC even gonna cope with this?? These graphics look insane!

“Alright, alright! I’m happy now. I feel a lot better, thank you… Let me know when something changes, or rather when something develops. I have nothing new to report really, other than the Harbingers have been desperate to also return. I mean, occasionally they’ve told me they felt a bit weird and alienated, but that’s probably nothing.” You put your arm down, Paimon doing the same and giving you a thumbs up.

“Listen.” You spoke in a different tone. “We’ll have to be very careful from now on. I don’t want the Harbinger’s to catch wind of what’s currently happening, nor do I want them to find this PC and realise their predicament fully. They think that there’s still a chance they can return to Teyvat by their means, but from what I’m hearing, there’s no chance when Irminsul has no record of their existence anymore.”

Paimon nodded.

“I’ll keep my computer on for now, so you can keep me updated. I’ll be leaving the room to try and strengthen the security of the room itself since my PC is full of passwords already. Stay safe, Teyvat doesn’t sound like the best place to live in at the moment.”

You turned around and walked away from the PC, opening the door and closing it behind you gently with a determined expression.

It’s finally happened, something’s actually gone your way for once, and you didn’t even have to work for it! Well, saying that, you did have to shout in desperation and cry a bit to get your way, but it all ended well so you’re not complaining!

Although… Why did their connection come through so easily? Surely trying to connect with something not only out of their universe, but also BYPASSING FUCKING REALITY should be impossible? Now that you think about this further, shouldn’t your suspicions be leaning towards Hoyoverse?

Whatever, you don’t know how they did it, and it really doesn’t matter right now. You’re curious, but your questions will have to wait for when you’re finally at a comfortable point where you see no risk of being harmed by the Harbingers.

Now, about that lock…

You opened the storage cupboard in the wall, grabbing the ladder and heaving it out of the small cubby with a grunt. Settling down the dirty ladder onto the clean carpet, you pulled out the supports and picked it up again, positioning it underneath the small door above the top of the stairs. Climbing the ladder with shaky legs, you breathed in nervously before pushing the door upwards.

Climbing through the open door and successfully planting your feet on the firm floor, you left the ladder behind you. You froze when officially entering the attic, noises scattering over the walls. Your body relaxed when you saw a familiar person in front of you.

“Sandrone?” You called out in confusion, hearing rummaging and familiar ramblings echo through the room. “That’s not you I can hear, is it?”

She looked behind her shoulder with a flustered expression, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been doing in the first place. Her rummaging paused, a rusty metal pipe in one clenched hand and the other holding a ring with lots of different keys.

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

“I think this is what it looks like. Why are you in the attic? Also, how did you even get up here without a ladder?” You walked up to her and peered into the box she was rummaging around.

“I didn’t feel like playing house.” She looked away from you, continuing her rummaging when realising you weren’t going to stop her.

“Playing house?”

“The girls were trying on clothes, which heavily disturbed me I dare to mention. I decided to do something useful with my time, unlike Dottore, and see if there’s anything useful which can aid our efforts to return to Teyvat.”

“How on Earth did trying on clothes disturb you?”

“Well, I felt there was a better use for my time. The Captain found this hatch suspicious and asked me to investigate for any danger as he wouldn’t be able to get through the hatch himself.” She retorted, raising a pipe to her eyes and staring at it intently, nodding before placing it next to her.

Why can you just imagine Capitano giving Sandrone a piggyback now?

“Well, since you’ve been searching here already, you haven’t found a lock in here by chance, have you?” You asked her.

“No, I haven’t.” She gave a judgemental side eye. “Even if I had, I wouldn’t help you find it as I’m too preoccupied with my own search. Not only this, but your efforts to find a lock is useless. Do you take us Harbingers as a joke?”

“No! It’s for… self comfort. That’s all.”

“Self comfort?” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you an idiot?”

You shrugged, feeling uncomfortable in continuing the conversation. Sandrone sighed when noticing your expression, before pointing to a box she hadn’t opened yet.

“That’s the last box I haven’t gone through yet. There’s a high probability there will be a lock and key in there. Don’t think for one moment this will help you escape.”

“Thank you.” Your eyes widened. “I can’t believe you actually just helped me.”

“Just be quiet and grateful whilst finding it, you’re bothering me enough as it already is.” She scoffed, purposefully not looking at you to hide her rosy cheeks. “I expect you to help me when I ask for it in return. If you’re truly going to become my partner once we return to Teyvat, we must learn from each other dutifully.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘partner’?”

She violently threw a pipe behind her, the sound crashing across the floor, and narrowly missing you. “Don’t worry about that for now. First and foremost, we must deliver you to the Tsaritsa. I will worry about gaining her permission to have whatever’s left of you when you’ve finished your purpose.”

It’s times like these that remind you these Harbinger’s are horrible human beings. Oh, and that Sandrone makes puppets like Katheryne, and she’s most likely referencing she’ll turn you into one for knowledge. Nice, that makes you feel comforted, these goosebumps on your arms are definitely just from the cold.

“I won’t worry.” You gulped in a quiet voice, using the keys she tossed to you on the closed box and opening it. 

Did she really help you without expecting something immediate in return? This can’t be right, there must be something she wants to ask you that she hasn’t revealed yet. She said it herself. She always expects something in return when she helps someone. Oh! Maybe she’ll ask you for a favou–

“Tell me about this world’s technology.”

Ah, there’s the question. There goes your optimism as well.

“What do you mean?”

“A couple days ago you mentioned that the humanity of this planet created new weapons. I’d like you to elaborate.”

“I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about. When did I mention what and why?”

“A couple days ago. You mentioned. Humans creating new weaponry. With dangerous chemicals. And different minerals. Explain.”

“Uhhh… Where did I mention this a few days ago?” You held back a smile, showing you were teasing her.

“The dinner table.” She was practically sneering, her voice threatening to get louder if you pushed her one sentence further.

“Ohhh, now I remember! Chemical warfare, sheesh, wow.” You whistled. “Yeah, these new weapons are unique because up until that point we’d been using swords and shields. Then we evolved to using shitty guns using pure gunpowder, then suddenly less than a hundred years later we’d evolved to use pure gases instead. And now? Ugh, don’t get me started.”

“Go on.” Sandrone nodded, attention solely focused on your words with her eyes sparkling in anticipation.

“That’s it. That’s the whole elaboration.”

“Excuse me? There’s clearly more reasoning than that!”

“Nah. That’s it.”

“Explain about a few of the specific inventions, don’t be so selective!” She argued. “You led it up to be something much bigger a few days ago, why so stingy now?”

“I can’t really say much, sorry.” You shrugged with a neutral frown. “I don’t know anything about it, truly. You’ll have to ask someone else, like a historian, for help with that question.”

“...You’re lying, I can tell.” She scowled. “I detest liars.”

And you detest your current situation. But beggars can’t be choosers, can they? Even though you definitely think she knows this, Sandrone needs to relearn that life isn’t fair. Here, she can’t threaten those around her using her Harbinger title to get the information she wants. Well, minus you of course.

“I helped you find the lock you were looking for, you’ll answer my question in honesty at once!”

“Pfft, you didn’t help me find the lock. This is my attic, I’ve been in this house longer than you’ve been in this world. Besides, there isn’t a lock in this box.”

“Actually…” She trailed off, physically pushing your body away from the box so she could shove her arms in it. After rummaging for a few seconds, a lock emerged from the pile of metal scraps inside.

“How did you-”

“Inventor's instinct.” She hid her hand behind her back after you tried to swipe the lock from her. She laughed in your face mockingly.

“Now, about that question I asked…” She chided, head tilting sideways.

This bitch! You gritted your teeth. I feel confident enough to tease her once in revenge, when she teases me all the time first, and now she’s hanging the lock against me like a dog!? Who does she think she is, Scaramouche?

“Ugh, fine.” You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your frustration.

You thought to yourself for a while, trying to dig up any information you could remember from secondary school when you learnt about this stuff. Should you just make a weapon up? They think you’re ‘The Decider’, which means y–

Hold on a minute, you forgot to ask Paimon who exactly ‘The Decider’ is in the first place! You knew you were forgetting something earlier! Oh well, that’s something to ask for next time you get a message, if you remember to ask it that is.

Anyway, that’s not what’s happening right now, keep your mind straight in front of you. If you don’t answer Sandrone, you’ll have to find a sturdy lock somewhere else. There’s no way she’ll give it to you if you don’t.

“Well, you wanted something particular, right?” A lightbulb practically lit above your head, remembering a specific piece of evidence from an essay you wrote years ago.

“Indeed.” Her eyes narrowed in warning.

“Let’s see… In World War 1, the janky technology used on the frontlines was very outdated. To combat this, countries began to develop new weapons in an attempt to overrun the trenches at a faster pace with lesser casualties. Of course, talking from the future, this only made the amount of casualties sky rocket. In particular, the Battle of the Som–”

You felt a sudden harsh tug at your hair, causing a yelp to escape from your lips that interrupted your explanation.

“I don’t care about your dumb history.” She seethed, eyes darkening in anger. “This world can rot in the lowest depths of the abyss for all I care. What I care about is the machinery of this decaying world, with its workings and purposes. Stop wasting my time with explanations that lead to nowhere but a readily dug grave for an organic lifeform to claim it as home.”

You trembled in fear, squinting your eyes closed when she pulled on your hair harsher. 

“Who do you think you are, testing my patience in a manner such as yours? You’re a nobody, especially considering the type of person you are. Without me by your side, you’re worth nothing. Your only use to me is your brain, and even then 50% of the time it’s lacking in anything convenient.”

A moment passed after that, silence ringing through the dusty room and a light breeze causing goosebumps to erupt on your arms. You opened one of your eyes cautiously to see Sandrone’s staring into your own, widened with shock.

She flinched her hand away from you, looking at it and back at you with her mouth gaped slightly open.

“You…! I can’t believe this, utterly ridiculous! To think that I…, me of all people,” She breathed in and out quickly, stepping back in realisation.

“No. I don’t believe it.”

What on earth is she rambling about now? Is she struggling to come to terms with threatening you directly in your face or something? That doesn’t really fit into her character though… Oh shit, did she realise you're not The Decider or something as stupid as that? 

“Enough of that.” She shook her head violently, grabbing her shaking raised hand which touched your hair moments ago.

“Continue, and if you dare mention something meaningless again, I’ll grab more than your filthy hair next time. Oh, and I’ll make sure it hurts.”

You’d laugh at the potential innuendo if you weren’t shaking from fear right now.

“The Germans made a harmful gas called mustard gas, whilst the British invented a new vehicle suitable for combat called a tank…” You were barely able to reply with a strong voice, watching her lips turn into a satisfied smile.

“Music to my ears! Was that so hard? What a good little assistant you are.” She cooed, tossing you the lock carelessly.

You didn’t catch it, the lock landing on the wooden floor with a harsh thud that startled you despite watching it hit the floor. You bent down without a word, picking it up and clutching the lock to your chest. Looking up, you saw her looking down at you with a threatening glare.

“Test my forgiving patience once more, and you’ll face something far worse than a ‘light’ tug to the scalp. Do you understand?”

You nodded silently, worrying your voice would betray you if you tried to give a vocal answer. Sandrone hummed, satisfied with your compliance and fear, turning around and walking back to her own box.

“Now leave me, you’ve already bothered me enough as is.” She didn’t turn back to look at you, loud sounds of rummaging cutting off any answer you might have replied with.

You should leave quickly before you annoy her again. Lesson learnt: don’t bother Sandrone if you don’t wish to be hurt in the process. In fact, just don’t approach her on your terms in the first place. Her patience is miniscule, she barely lasted two comments before blowing up in your face about giving detail.

You thought she’d prefer detail since that’s what she always asks for, what about now was different!? If you didn’t give detail, she’d get angry and blow up in your face about it. Give detail, and she replies the exact same way! What does she want from you!? You did nothing wrong!

The more you try to figure her thought process out, the more your head hurts. Your scalp is screaming at you right now, and she called that a light tug? She practically ripped out your hair! Forget it, the more you think about it, the more you’ll fall into a panic. Forget, forget, forget.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Walking back in your room with a sigh in an attempt to calm yourself down, you closed your bedroom door behind you and attached the lock to the handle, making sure that it worked.

It did indeed work, much to your relief. If it didn’t work, you’d have been so annoyed that your efforts from earlier would have been worth nothing.

Now… What should you do? Should you ask about The Decider, to try and get more information on them? But, you just communicated with Paimon not that long ago, it would be weird to suddenly strike up a conversation again. Quickly, let’s write down more questions to ask for tomorrow.

Once you finished scribbling on your notepad, you put your pen down and shivered slightly. Rubbing your arms aggressively, you noticed your goosebumps were still across your arms from the attic. Maybe you should get a blanket and have a nap for a while? You don’t feel like actually going to bed yet, it’s far too early.

Trudging over to your wardrobe with the intent of putting on pyjamas and finding your favourite blanket, you lightly put your hand over the indent and gripped it. Slowly opening the door, you revealed something behind it that definitely wasn’t clothes.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” You screeched, falling backwards in pure shock.

Columbina’s back was facing you, the girl holding one of your t-shirts to her chest, hugging it tightly as if it were trying to leave her embrace.

“What are you doing in my wardrobe!? More importantly, what are you doing in my room!? Get out!” You screeched again, Columbina turning around to face you.

“Your room is really nice, it’s such a shame you kept me out of it for this long.” She giggled at your bewildered expression.

“Although, now that we’re finally alone after days of waiting, I must ask… How long do you plan to keep your act up for?”

Somehow, you immediately knew what she was talking about.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play coy,” She giggled again, walking out of the wardrobe. “Although I was also tricked in the beginning, don’t treat me like the others.”

How did she… How did she figure it out? When did she figure it out is the real question, what gave away that you weren’t ‘The Decider’!?

“How…?”

“It was easy to figure out.” She shrugged with a lax smile. “For one, you’re extremely weak and fall victim to the other’s very quickly. The extent to you fighting back is arguments, which is not something I’d expect from someone so seemingly strong as The Decider. Which leads me to question your actual purpose in Teyvat.”

“My… purpose?”

“You, The Decider, can see the future. Our future. You take care of and strengthen any vision user you possess in return of using them for combat to aid the traveller’s journey. This is all we’ve known of you for a long time, which is why I was ecstatic to finally have the pleasure of meeting you!” She explained, eyes glistening in excitement.

“However… You were a lot more disappointing to meet face to face than I thought you’d be.” Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, the irony. Did you know that everyone in Teyvat considers you to be one of the strongest? Poor Childe, he was so excited to spar with you.”

Wait… you can save this! She thinks you’re just weak, but still The Decider! This is great, you can indirectly get more information this way if you follow along with her! Just be careful, one ounce of suspicion and she’ll question you more.

“Well, I’m sorry to be a big disappointment.” You rolled your eyes. “Could you leave my room now?”

“I’m not finished.” The tone in her voice changed, sending electric shivers down your spine.

“Now that we’re on the same page, I would like to know the truth to your powers. And also… if you’re a secret fan of us.”

“What.” You deadpanned after hearing her last few words.

“I must say, I’m very disappointed. Never, during our stay here, did I think you’d prefer Tartaglia over me. Rather, over anyone else. Your actions certainly don’t convey that opinion, although, it’s clear your affection lies in harsh truths over sugar coated lies.”

“Okay, now I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hmm, that whale on your bed. It looks quite familiar. I wonder where I’ve seen it before?…~” She hinted, pointing to the plush toy laid across your pillows from where you threw it this morning.

No way. Does she think you’re a fangirl!? Not anymore you’re not!

“Ahhh, you’re referring to that.” You laughed off her suspicious smile. “That’s just a toy my aunt got me a couple years ago.”

“I see. Then, would this allow you to become a bit more truthful?” She covered her unnaturally wide grin with her dainty hand, pulling a familiar body pillow out from under your bed.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

HOW… HOW DID SHE FIND THAT!? FUCK, YOU’RE DEAD! YOU DIDN’T THINK SHE’D CHECK UNDERNEATH YOUR BED! WHAT KIND OF SICKO DOES THAT ANYWAY!? Wait, if she went under your bed… that means… oh shit.

“Why is your first instinct, when trespassing in my room, to look under my bed!?” You covered your flushing face, embarrassed beyond belief.

“Because that’s where everyone keeps all their secrets, silly!” She giggled with a few claps from her hands. “You’re not original you know, and besides, I found a lot worse under there.”

You’re cooked. You’re actually cooked. Goodbye actually okay reputation, goodbye not feeling embarrassed in the Harbinger’s presence, goodbye– yeah, you get the point.

“Anyway!” Her voice pitched higher. “What a nice pillow! Strangely hug shaped, and it’s not new either, I can smell your scent on it. I wonder what could possibly be on the other side, hm?”

“Please no…” You groaned in your hands, feeling your face grow even warmer somehow.

“You put this on yourself when you chose Childe over me!”

“I didn’t even know that you existed before Childe! How can I prefer someone over another when I don’t know the other existed in the first place!?”

“I suppose you have a point.” She put a finger on her bottom lip. “You met Tartaglia in Liyue, right?”

“Yeah, where are you going with this?”

“Oh, nothing!” She waved her arm in dismissal. “I’ve changed my mind about questioning you, I want to do something else.”

…That’s it?

“You’re… not going to tell anyone about this, right?” You hesitantly asked, grabbing her shoulder in a pleading tone.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Should I?”

“No.”

“Then it’s settled, it’ll be our little secret, mhm?~” She clasped her hands around yours on her shoulder, wings behind her head flapping.

“Our little secret. Thank you, Columbina.”

She simply laughed at you before turning around and walking towards your door. She swiped the lock easily with a raise of her hand, the speed so quick you could barely see the movement. You stared incredulously at the metal lock with a clean cut down the middle in pieces on your floor.

“Don’t thank me.” She didn’t turn back around. “I expect to be allowed in your room whenever I want to be in it now!~ You know what they say, don’t you?”

You didn’t reply.

“Huhu, nevermind. It seems you understand what I’m referring to anyway. Bye bye!” She gave a backwards wave before the door closed behind her on its own.

To be honest, you’re not even surprised anymore. You’re just tired at this point. Maybe it’s not too late to go to sleep after all. What a waste of time and effort it was getting that stupid lock.

Still… you should at least do one more thing before you go to bed. Something that would calm you down and not involve going on your PC to play a game. Hmm… ah, you might have one idea. It seems you’ll need your blanket after all.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... …

You walked through the dining room, passing by the Harbingers who didn’t seem to notice you. Opening the sliding door to the garden, a chilled breeze flew through you and past the doorway, the Harbinger’s heads snapping towards the direction it was coming from.

“Close the damned door, it’s cold!” Childe screeched from the sofa, hugging one of the pillows, with his eyes glued to the TV. He seemed to be watching a boxing match of some kind… well, at least he’s taking his new job seriously.

“I was doing that. You shouldn’t be complaining anyway, you grew up in Snezhnaya.” You closed the door behind you, taking a deep breath in to embrace the fresh air. They never said you couldn’t go in the garden, so you should be fine. It’s not like you could escape this way anyway, the fences are way too high to climb over.

Hugging the blanket around your shoulders tighter, you laid down on the dry grass and gazed up at the stars, their twinkling patterns almost hypnotising you.

“What are you doing here?”

You groaned at the familiar voices’ intrusion and didn't bother looking at him to confirm your annoyance.

“You know, there is a reason I came out here on my own.”

“And there is a reason why I came out here to accompany you too.” Scaramouche folded his arms, looking unimpressed with your decision to come outside.

“To make sure I don’t escape, yeah, yeah, yeah.” You replied.

He didn’t say anything after that, groaning in annoyance to himself before laying down next to you with an unusually serene expression. There was a silent agreement amongst the two of you when you turned to him in confusion, eyes talking instead of words. It seems he wants to join you in looking at the stars, is he just shy to admit that out loud or something?

“I can tell exactly what you’re thinking, get that idiotic cloud out of your head.”

You hate this guy. He had to ruin the mood, didn’t he?

“Shh, I’m busy thinking.” You lightly scoffed in a gentle voice, turning back to the stars and tracing their patterns in your head.

“How rare.” He commented, snickering at your sudden turn to him. “What? You’re looking at me as if it’s not true.”

“...Whatever.”

He was the one to look taken aback this time. “No argument in return, really? You really must be out of sorts then.”

“I can’t be bothered to fight right now. I’m so tired, but my eyes won’t let me sleep. Today’s been an emotional day, and a pointless one without meaning. Every single time I feel like I’m finally progressing in something, something else gets rid of all my progress and pisses me off!” You sighed, closing your eyes.

Well… Apart from the successful communication with Teyvat of course, but you can’t mention that to him. Still though, you’re feeling really shitty right now.

“You went outside with The Knave, and even bought some of your favourite chocolate. That’s one good thing, isn’t it? Ungrateful brat…”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” 

Your eyes snapped open, realisation in your eyes. “I was right! There was another Harbinger following us outside! And it was you?”

Good thing you decided not to ask the girls in there for help after all, they might have been killed by Scaramouche once you and Arlecchino left if you had! The more you think about it now, the more your stomach hurts…

“Yes. So what?” He shrugged.

“I just… didn’t think you’d reveal it so quickly. I thought you would’ve kept it a secret or not mentioned it at all, you know, like a normal person.”

“I didn’t care whether you figured it out or not, I didn’t think it was a secret.” He smirked to himself. “I’m also not a person, idiot.”

“...”

“...”

“Was that meant to be funny?”

“Shut your mouth, you knew what I meant.” He elbowed your stomach lightly. “I’m now fortunately in a good mood, you should say what you want to now.”

“That’s good for you.”

He sighed again, shaking his head. “Will you stop moping like a saddened sunflower? It’s annoying and starting to make me uncomfortable. And that’s saying something.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You rolled your eyes, feeling jealous. “Go somewhere else if it bothers you that much.”

“And here I was, thinking my presence would invigorate you.” He shook his head in disappointment. “Speak. What’s wrong now?”

“Don’t act like you care, I would never confide in you for anything.” You glared at him, the Harbinger gritting his teeth in reply with furrowed eyebrows.

“How dare you…! After trying to be nice, this is what I get in return!?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You asked him apathetically. “You can’t just expect me to tell you after you order me to, that’s not what being ‘nice’ is. That’s controlling and just making me not want to tell you more.”

“Hmph, you say this, yet you’re not taking my effort into account.”

“If this is what you call putting in effort, shouting when things don’t go your way, you must be tired from putting ‘effort’ in everything all the time.” You watched his expression grow into one of something you didn’t recognise, seemingly letting your words sink into his head.

At the end of the day, Scaramouche during this stage of his life is just an angry traumatised toddler who acts all tough to prevent his gentle nature from leaking out. He doesn’t want to care about anyone again, so he pushes all who talk to him away rudely in hopes they don’t approach him.

To be honest, he alongside Childe are probably the easiest Harbinger’s to deal with. …In terms of getting them on your side at least. Sure, Childe would probably be harder considering his unwavering loyalty to the Tsaritsa and connections with Pulcinella taking care of his family, but you feel as if you could do it.

Scaramouche on the other hand is a temperamental landmine on the opposite side of the spectrum as Sandrone. That’s how you see it anyway, you could be very wrong and offend die-hard fans if you told someone that. Actually, you’d probably offend both Sandrone and Scaramouche as well since they hate each other.

“Stupid. You’re a stupid mortal who doesn’t know their place. Defying one of your kidnappers, as you like to call us, is a dumb idea. Are you asking for death?” He finally answered your small scolding, breaking your previous thought process.

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” You said, voice mellow. “Anyway, could you let me stargaze in peace now?”

“Pfft, that’s what you came out here to do? You could have worn warmer clothes than that!”

“A blanket is enough, I don’t plan to fall asleep out here. Besides, you’re not wearing warm clothes either.”

“How many times must I tell you…” He trailed off before dropping the topic. “Besides, I don’t see what’s so great about the stars,” He commented. “They’re not even real anyway, just because they look different from Teyvat doesn’t change the fact that they’re fake.”

You gently laughed at him. “You just said it yourself, these stars look different from the ones in Teyvat. If you’re really that interested, then yes, these are indeed what real stars look like.”

“I thought as much.”

“If you thought as much, why say it?”

“...”

“What is the focus of constellations in this world?” He ignored your question, asking his own instead.

“Well…” You thought to yourself. “It depends on who you ask, as everyone believes in different things. Some believe them to be the souls of others who have passed on and watch over their families, some believe them to be heroes from legends, some believe them to exist for interpreting a God's will. Some even believe them to interpret human’s behaviour. - Those are called horoscopes.” You listed to him.

“What are the Gods like in this world?”

“It depends on who you ask. Once again, there are many different religions here. Some religions don’t believe in Gods, and focus on morals and ethics instead.”

“...If only it were like that in Teyvat.” Scaramouche grumbled. “Maybe then worshipping the current Archons wouldn’t be as common.”

“Maybe so.” You shrugged, choosing to ignore his clear jealousy. “Not everyone has a religion, you know. Kind of like Teyvat, actually…” You decided not to continue in courtesy of Khaenri’ah.

“So, people can freely choose to worship? Interesting…” He mumbled to himself.

“...What do the stars mean to you?”

“Me?” You thought out loud.

“Yes, stupid.” He deadpanned. “Who else would I be asking, the grass?”

“Ha-ha, very funny. For me, I don’t really know. I’ve never thought about it in detail before, I believe they mean nothing but something at the same time.”

“Are you talking gibberish? You contradicted yourself.”

“I know.” You sighed. “To be honest, I don’t know what I meant myself. I just replied with the first answer that came to mind.”

“Speaking of saying what first comes to mind, this is the first time we’ve talked alone since…” You stopped yourself, not wanting to think about it further.

“Ah.”

“Yes, I think ‘ah’ is an appropriate response.”

“Hmph, I’ll let it slide. What are horoscopes in the first place? I find it hard to believe they can control humans. At the end of the day, nothing can control those greedy insects.” Of course he wouldn’t know what they are!

“They’re a group of constellations that many believe impact a person’s personality and lifestyle. You get one when you’re born, depending on when your birthday is.” You explained.

“Do you have one?”

“Yeah, it’s ‘.....’.”

“And how does that impact your lifestyle? I’m guessing being stupid is a part of it.” He snickered in his hand.

“No!” You argued back. “I don’t know how it impacts me, I don’t follow horoscopes as seriously as others do.”

“Well, aren’t you useful?” He sarcastically replied.

“Your birthday is January 3rd, right?”

“...What the fuck is ‘January’?”

“Oh riiiiight, you wouldn’t call it that in Teyvat since Janus is a Roman god. Think of it as what your birthday would be considered here, I did the calculations.” You sweated, a chuckle escaping your lips.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

“Don’t mock me! Anyway, from your birthday, you’d be a Capricorn… Or would you be a Libra? I can’t remember, I’m more confident in you being a Capricorn.”

“And you gather that from my personality?”

“Nah, I’m talking about remembering when a friend and I geeked about it once for a project years ago.”

“Funny.” He bit his tongue.

“Hey, I…”

?

“I...” 

“The great and powerful Scaramouche hesitating to say something? What an honour to witness such a sight!”

“You’re clearly feeling better.” He narrowed his eyes, not appreciating your comment in the slightest. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, okay?”

Huh?

“Sorry about what?”

“I’m not repeating myself.” He scoffed, leaving you confused.

Wait… Is he genuinely apologising to you? This version of Scaramouche, the Balladeer, is apologising TO YOU?? And it’s him confessing a mistake!? You didn’t think this version of him could even say the word ‘sorry’, and yet here you are hearing it first hand! Has he hit his head? Or maybe this world is affecting his machinery?

“Do you really mean that?”

“I guess.” He shrugged, hiding his face from your view. “What’s done is done, I can’t take it back. I only said it to shut you up, you should feel grateful that I said it out loud.”

And grateful, you indeed are. Whilst you’re definitely not accepting his apology inside, you won’t deny this heartwarming act did make you feel better, did make you feel like you’re actually a person in at least one of the Harbinger’s perspectives.

It’s also very clear that he’s hiding his face in embarrassment. If you weren’t shaken up from earlier, you probably would have teased him about this already.

“Don’t tell anyone I said this, I’d never hear the end of it from those imbeciles.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” A smile appeared on your face, feeling a lot better. “Oh, and Scaramouche?”

“...What is it now?”

“Thank you.”

He turned over to look at you again, ready to reply but stopped himself when he noticed you were stiller than usual. He panicked for a moment, placing fingers on your neck before sighing in relief to find you were simply asleep.

“‘I don’t plan to fall asleep’, huh?” He mocked you in a whispered tone, looking up at the stars above him.

The stars… to him, it seemed like a personal audience to the two of you’s conversation, waiting eagerly to see what he’d do next. He didn’t know how to explain it, but these real stars made his porcelain feel strange. Shivers coursed through his body when thinking about it further. Perhaps this is the reason the stars were covered in Teyvat?

Enough gaping at the scenery, he should probably carry you to bed before you turn ill and become more argumentative than you already are. As much as he loves to see you more docile than usual, seeing you give up makes him feel like shit. He doesn’t know why, either, which is the annoying part. If you need him to cheer you up at your lowest, he supposes he could spare his time for you to pick you back up into a stable zone.

And it better just be him next time. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he saw you finding comfort in someone like the Knave’s presence again.

Picking up your body with care, he walked back into the house with your sleeping body draped over his back, your chin resting on his right shoulder. He shut the door behind him and walked through the living room with all the Harbingers staring at him.

“Want your eyes gouged out?” He warned them, clutching your legs tighter to not only control himself but steady you on his back.

“Pfuhu~, Balladder, I can take them back to your room. It must be tiring to hold them up.” Columbina smiled politely at him, doing a grabbing motion with both hands like a toddler wanting to be picked up.

“No thank you,” He also gave her a polite smile, the smile stretching across his face occasionally twitching. “They’re as light as a feather. I don’t blame you for being wrong, and neither would they, you’ve never given them a piggyback after all.”

“Now, now,” Pierro gave a warning glance. “I see exactly where this is leading. Control yourselves, both of you.”

“The Decider is asleep, don’t make too much noise.” Pulcinella coughed. “It’s been a long day for them, going outside must have tuckered them out.”

“They’re not a child.” Scaramouche recoiled in disgust.

“They sure do act like one!” Dottore laughed from the sofa. “No wonder they get along with Childe so well.”

“When will I be free?” The ginger prayed to the skies, muttering soft words.

“We’re moving off-track. Take The Decider to bed, I’m sure they’d rather you go in their room to tuck them in rather than leaving them to freeze outside. Come downstairs when you’re finished, we have a lot to discuss.”

“Indeed we do.” Dottore interrupted him. “Now that we’ve seen they can somewhat be trusted in going outside, I plan to go to the library with them.”

“Might I remind you we can’t read this world’s alphabet?” Sandrone hissed.

“A minor obstacle.” He replied to her comment before continuing. “The Decider will be my translator, I will pick up the rest easily.”

“Enough, The Decider could stir awake and hear something they shouldn’t. Off with you now.” Pierro waved him away, Scaramouche gritting his teeth before walking slowly up the stairs with your added weight.

“Balladeer.” Columbina called out sweetly from the bottom of the stairs. She didn’t wait for the puppet to acknowledge her so she could reply. “You’ll come to regret this, I swear to you, this won’t be the last of our bickering.”

“Hmph! ‘Bickering’, you say? I look forward to the challenge.” He cackled before disappearing at the top of the stairs.

This chapter really came full circle lol

Don't mind the fact that this View is 4 days over the newly proposed schedule. I'm getting used to it though!

I finally got to implement two rivalries, so exciting!!! I'm sorry if some people don't like the parallel situation I made with Sandrone and Scaramouche, I just see them as very similar to each other! Both see each other as what they want to be, and any conversation always ends in jealousy.

...Does anyone actually read these?

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff @yumi-genshin-writer @yuii-v @itz-luna @annoying-mary @etherisy @khalhaimdad @haikyuusboringassmanager @magica-ren @sweatyexpertdeputyduck @booksandteaplusart @9140 @whatamidoing89 @raesleepyhead @nasidibakar @shikanosn @purpleamethystsblog @chihawari @esthelily @stuffyfrenchflowers @conspicuous-mayonnaise @sielt @katsumikumo @greyhoundwires707 @carminerin @raidendeeznuts123 @angelofdarkness2 @shellofthewell @ginnxy-galaxy @bk-4-trash-fire @uniqaal @vianitry @dottoreandcolumbinaslovechild @melou008 @lsleepysimpl @steadybreadbluebird @eliciana @kamit-frog @twst-kumi @idk098 @kurayamioterasu @mmeatt @the-lazy-perfectionist @florelll @vvzhyxx @averycuriousperson @starlaisopaque @lovelive-animequeen1029 @mayythammyy @eirly-morning-tea @rainejiang @kiraversee @heart-cream @jiminscarmex @scaramouche104 @honorificmention

Quick Reminder Here! If you no longer want to be on the taglist that's completely fine; I take no offence whatsoever so please don't hesitate to tell me. ^^

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

I just love those two.

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

gojo satoru

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

Monsters :Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

Chapter 4: The Calm

[series summary]: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. and now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

[chapter summary]: Everything comes crashing down right before your very eyes when something horrible from your past resurfaces

[cw]: DARK CONTENT, NSFW, angst PTSD, bullying, victim blaming, attempted rape mention(s), implied sexual intercourse (character x character), choking, mommy issues, implied masturbation (m.), public sex, violence, misogyny, betrayal, parental abuse amd neglect, religious trauma, implied past homophobia, dark impulse Mikey, homelessness

[r-18+] not suitable for 17 and under

[wc]: 12.2k

[A/N]: There is a new taglist linked here, so please reapply or if you haven't applied before, it is there. I accidentally ruined my old one.

[masterlist] [chapter 3] [chapter 5] [taglist] [a03 + bonus side story] [wattpad]

  NO ONE ever tells you about the guilt of keeping secrets from your one and only true friend.

It eats you alive daily, soaking into your very core as you look at Emma from the corner of your eyes, jotting down anything the lecturer says eagerly. Her blond hair is in a neat ponytail, exposing the beautiful slope of her neck from behind you, her back curved from leaning down to take notes.

How do you tell your friend that her brother had attempted to force himself on you?

‘I should have never let things get this far with Mikey.’ you lament internally. ‘Why didn’t I just reject the offer in the first place? The worst that could have happened was Emma being mad at me. Then that night would never have happened. What am I supposed to do? What if she finds out from someone else?’

Even if you tell her anything, she might never believe you; women are never believed for these kinds of things, if life taught you anything, but they sure were blamed all the time. And if she does, who knows what Manjiro Sano would do to you as revenge.

It’s not like you have anyone else to turn to, your parents consider you dead to them and everyone in this school hates you for existing.

For the first time in your life, you don’t know a way out of this situation.

“... and that is the end of today’s lesson. You can all leave now.”

You’re snapped out of your self-inflicted guilt trip at the sound of professor Hanabi concluding his lesson. Panic overtook you as you looked down into your notes only to see that it was half written when you were paying attention from the beginning to mid-way in the lesson, and the rest of your paper was empty.

Just your luck.

“You spaced out, again? Are you still thinking about your parents?”

Your hand flies to slam your book shut at the sound of Emma’s voice from beside you, Hinata following not too behind, embarrassed at the two of them seeing your half-baked notes. She only chuckled in response at your hasty action, shaking her head in disapproval before putting her hand on your shoulder. “There’s no need to do that, come on. I’ll lend you my note after class.” 

You slid your hands over your face at being caught red-handed; As usual, Emma is being so kind to you even as you continue to lie and keep secrets from her. She’s tried everything to get you to open up as to why you keep spacing out, but you deflect and change the subject.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” you sighed out, deflating visibly with your hands still covering your face. “Some days are good, and some days are just…”

Another comforting hand rests on your shoulder, this time belonging to Hina. “You’ve got to stop getting all up in your head, (Name).” Her voice is gentle, trying to ease you off whatever tension looming over your head. “Come on, let’s get you boba in the school’s cafeteria.”

You nodded weakly and packed your books into your worn out school bag, before hurriedly following them behind along with the last of your classmates.

The walk to the cafeteria is a short distance, as your departmental building was very close to it and soon, the three of you had gotten your boba drinks, now in search of a place to sit. “Senju and Yuzuha are around here,” Emma said, scanning around to try and find them in a throng of people. A lump in your throat forms on hearing Yuzuha’s name; you haven’t spoken to her in a long time, since that incident. You wonder if she still hates you for what your family did to her.

“Oh there they are.”

The pink haired girl, Senju, eagerly waved at you three from her table, with Yuzuha glued to her phone, not looking up from it and Emma waved back, before grabbing your arm and gently pulling you with her towards the table, Hinata following not too far behind.

Senju Akashi was the president of the sorority group Brahman and also, Emma’s childhood friend. From Emma’s point of view, Senju was closer to Mikey than her, always opting to play with the boys, Keisuke and Sanzu, rather than her. The pinkette never left the tomboyish phase in her teenage years and hasn’t left it since then, only now she’s more willing to let Emma fix acrylic nails for her and she puts on makeup, probably to cement her status.

Yuzuha was someone you knew as a child. She was just a few years older than you in school, not to mention very popular with the student body as she was a mixture of beauty, brains and brawn and the only person that used to care about you.

Until your family ruined it all.

As you sat down on the chair, facing Yuzuha and Senju, with Emma and Hinata by your side, you realized how small and insignificant you were compared to them. Emma was the wealthy IT girl and her brothers practically have a tight leash on the school, Hinata ran the school’s newspaper and was on the dean's list regularly, Senju was the leader of the most popular sorority and Yuzuha was the financial advisor and also always on the dean's list, as well as the leader of the university’s cheer team.

And you? The only notable thing about you was Izana and Mikey’s obsession with ruining your life.

Feeling even worse, you shrank in your seat, swirling your straw as they have a full on conversation about another upcoming party, their chatter excitedly echoing through the table. You try to tune them out, occasionally looking at Emma as she talks animatedly about whatever the topic was.

Your heart twinged with jealousy at how her eyes lit up as she spoke, breaking into fits of giggles every now and then. When was the last time you made her laugh? Or happy? All you do these days is mope and get her worried-

“Were you invited, (name)?”

'Huh?'

You’re roused out of your thoughts by Senju’s cheery tone, all eyes on you now. Suddenly conscious at your slouched sitting position, you quickly sit up, the question tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“Um, invited to what?”

The entire table raised a quizzical brow at your question and you felt stupid for even asking in the first place instead of just pretending to know what they were talking about. Emma shoots you an annoyed ‘seriously?’ look, in lieu of your absent mindedness and you bit the inner parts of your cheek, looking at your lap.

You have a feeling Emma is getting exhausted of playing babysitter. You can’t blame her.

Deciding to take pity on you, Senju reiterated what she was talking about, leaning closer to you as she whispered. “Tenjiku’s Bacchanalia. It’s where all the popular kids, the crémé la crémé, come to party every year to network. It’s really exclusive and the four of us went last time.” she giggled, as if it was an inside joke you were supposed to be in on. “Izana usually handles the invitations personally, so you had to have been invited, right?”

The question itself was like a slap to your face and an ego boost to your insecurities. If you didn’t feel embarrassed and out of place before, you sure did now.

An important party where the rich kids hang out and the person who hosts it hates your guts.

“I wasn’t…invited. I didn’t even know about it”

Your reply makes Senju’s face crumple slightly, her green eyes darting from you to Emma, who also looked uncomfortable. “Oh” she uttered.

Just as Emma opened her mouth to speak, her phone started buzzing, interrupting her. She picked up the device and cursed underneath her breath as soon as she saw who was on the line, hurriedly standing up. “I’ve got to take this, I’ll be right back.” She mumbled, reaching for your hand squeezing it. Your gaze lingered on her as she walked away, before looking back at the group again.

You catch a glimpse of Yuzuha’s eyes sharpening before looking back at your boba the moment Emma was out of range, causing a chill to run down your spine, as if the atmosphere just shifted.

‘It’s probably all in my head.’

The table is silent, briefly and you’re almost relieved that nobody's prying further information from you until Senju switches her attention to you, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she prods you further. 

“So you really weren’t invited? For real?” She hummed, her perfectly glossed lips shimmering underneath the fluorescent light above her, pink lashes fluttering. You shook your head in response, afraid you would stutter at how pretty she was. She placed a hand on her chin curiously as she added. “I thought since you were Em’s friend, you would be invited.”

“Well, I wasn’t…”

“The Bacchanalia is only for people who have something important to offer, either in talents like Mitsuya with his designs, Tetta with his businesses or Hajime with his connections. (Name) is a talentless pleb with nothing to offer.”

You nearly had a whiplash with how fast you turned your head to look at Yuzuha who didn’t look bothered at your reaction to her statement. You swallowed hard.

“Maybe I wasn’t invited because Izana hates me.” You replied in an attempt to stay coolheaded.

Your heart palpitates as Yuzuha shares a knowing look with the rest of the girls for a minute before bursting out in laughter, their yelps echoing throughout the entire canteen for the next three minutes, making you grow hot from embarrassment, as if you had said something stupid.

As the laughter died down, Yuzuha rolled her eyes at you and let out a disgusted scoff as she folded her arms across her chest, peach lip gloss coated lips quirked up into a sinister sneer. “You know what, maybe you are good at something, acting…” Her voice is full of venom, like she has been holding back whatever sentiment she was saying right now for a long time. “ ...like a victim.”

You quickly realized that this was serious and your heart dropped in your stomach.

You felt blood rushing to your head as her words settled in your mind. You could feel all their eyes on you, as if they were gauging your reaction.

You looked at Hinata, hoping to God she would shut it down but instead she only sits back even further, legs crossed over each other. “Don’t look at me (name)” She chimed in. “You know all you ever do is cry and hide behind Emma, making us look bad.”

Your heart sank at the bottom of your chest. Even Hina hates you too.

“I’ve known her for a while so I’m not shocked by her manipulative tendencies” Yuzuha snarked back, leaning in further until she was close enough for only you three to hear. “Ever since Emma became friends with her and brought her into our dynamic, she has been the cause of every fight. I don’t even know why Mikey apologized to you when you were the one who blew things out of proportion first!”

Your mouth grows dry at the comment. They were blaming you for the fight that happened at the night of the party, despite it not being your fault at all.

Yuzuha doesn’t stop there, turning her gaze back to you, the fire burning in her eyes so bright, it hurts. “Maybe Emma has you fooled, putting on rose tinted glasses for you; because you could never do shit for yourself- but none of us…” Yuzuha gestures with her hand at Senju and Hina, to drive her point, “like you.”

You look at the other two girls and nearly reel in shock at how their demeanor shifted from one of worry, to one of nonchalance and placidity. Senju picks at her nails, looking at you with a devious smirk. “What the hell do you expect? You embarrassed the entirety of Toman and Tenjiku when you made Mikey and Izana fight with Emma. Am I meant to be on your side?”

Hinata, picks up her pumpkin spice latte, mumbling at Yuzuha. “You better hurry up Yuzu, Emma’s coming back soon.” before sipping the drink and leaning back on her chair, rolling her eyes at your shocked expression. “I don’t want to deal with her being mad at me for making her precious (name) cry.”

A lump forms in your throat at the two comments made. How bad of a person were you that the nicest girl in the entire school hates you?

“See?” Yuzuha continued, whispering furiously as she inched closer and closer to your face. “We’re all sick of you driving a wedge between Emma and the rest of us. If you had just stayed in your own lane, then we wouldn’t be doing fucking damage control on our interpersonal relationships each week.”

You sit there, speechless as Yuzuha tears into you, blaming you. For things you know, for things you didn’t even know. “I fucking warned Emma that you were nothing but trouble, but she insists on picking strays off the streets.”

Your eyes widened in shock, mouth agape as you stuttered, trying to defend yourself. “I … don’t call me…”

She laughed at your pained expression, her lips curled up into a mocking smile. “Aw, are you going to cry?” Her smile drops as she lowers her voice, just so that only you could hear her next words. “It’s obvious what you’re doing, isn't it? Sinking your dirty little poverty ridden claws into the highest bidder. That’s why you’re around Emma right? To get to Mikey?”

You could feel the entire canteen drilling holes into your head, all eyes fixated on you. You can hear the little murmurs and snickers following it. Your face burns with embarrassment, wishing that the ground would swallow you whole.

Yuzuha leans further, smirking at how your body shook with a mixture of fear and anger until she lowered herself closer to your ear, lips merely brushing the shell. “I’m going to make sure Mikey will never like you. He’ll know what you truly are and then he’ll never ever want you again.”

Your blood turns to ice at her words, heart dropping down to your stomach. ‘That was years ago… she’s going to tell them… everyone will really hate me-’

You try to get up from the chair and hurl your guts out in the bathroom but a manicured hand forces you to stay put, her orange eyes glaring at you. “Don’t even think about it.” Hina hisses lowly. “You want to make us look like were're bullying you? Sit down.”

You don’t say anything, opting to comply instead in order to placate them. What good would storming off do anyways- other than get Emma very angry at them, proving their point?

Instead, you pick up your boba with shaking hands and sip it fast, washing down the bile gathering up in your throat as familiar footsteps approach your table, the switch flipping in the atmosphere, as if nothing had happened in the first place.

The chair scrapes the floor and Emma sits down again, tossing her phone on the table. “Guess who didn’t write a letter informing the school about the annual party this year?” her voice dripping with sarcasm, rubbing her temple with one hand to soothe her headache “And guess who has to do it for him?”

Senju chuckled at her plight, hand resting on her chin playfully, a stark contrast to her mocking stare just a few moments ago. “I told you that he’d forget about it. Izana is too busy fucking my girls to remember that he’s the one hosting the party.”

Emma grimaced at Senju’s comment, before checking the time and sighing. “Might as well write the damn letter after the next lecture. Come on (name), Hina let’s go.” She said, packing her stuff. You follow suit, trying to ignore Yuzuha’s gaze fixated on you as you arrange your bag and get up from the chair, eager to be free from the uncomfortable situation you found yourself in.

“Bye guys. We’ll meet up at the boutique after school? We still need cute bikini sets for the pool at the party.”

You swallow your jealousy as Emma smiles at her back, eyes gleaming with interest. “Of course! At 6pm sharp I’ll be at the Sorority house with Hina.” She waved at them. “Bye!”

You don’t say anything about feeling excluded from the conversation as the three of you walk away. Emma and Hinata’s excited chatter about the Bacchanalia became nothing but background noise to you as you three walked back to class, Yuzuha’s words ringing in your ears with each step you took.

“Hey, (name), are you alright?”

You don’t look at Emma as she questions you, just shrugging your shoulders while you keep walking down the path to class. She walked closer to you, gently putting her arm around your shoulder as she tried to make you feel better. “Hey, don’t be sad. That kind of party isn’t your scene anyways.” She comforted “We do a lot of stuff that you’re not ready for.”

“Mhm”

Your response dampens her mood a bit, but at this point you’re too far in your head to care. It sounds patronizing at this point how she’s talking to you, like a petulant child who doesn’t understand when they are not wanted.

You understand loud and clear. She doesn’t need to pretend or pity you.

“Come on! You know what, how about this? You can come shopping with us -”

“Excuse me.”

You push her arm off you gently and walk faster towards the departmental building, much to her shock. You don’t answer her constantly yelling your name as hot tears streamed down your face, storming into the building with gritted teeth, bile rising up in your throat once again as you rush to the bathroom on the ground floor.

You make it just in time as you hunch over into the toilet.

“WHAT do you even see in her, anyways?”

Mikey doesn’t pay Senju any mind. He usually doesn’t pay her any mind whenever she’s in one of her rather curious moods about his life. He doesn’t pay her any mind because he knows her like the back of his palm; ever since childhood, she’s always followed him, Keisuke or Haruchiyo around like a headless chicken with no direction.

Those were fond times of simpler days; back when he was a kid and all he had to worry about was what game he, Keisuke and Sanzu were going to play. Or fighting with Shinichiro because a pretty girl hugged him and he didn’t want to wash her off by showering. Since childhood, she always had that mischievous hint in her tone, irritating him to no end at how she would always butt into their business whenever the boys were playing.

She inserted herself in their spaces much to Haruchiyo’s dismay until she made it fit into her own expectations. It wasn’t like Mikey couldn’t kick her out, but he knew that probably doing that would cause a bigger rift between Haruchiyo and Takeomi and she would drift into other predatory, male groups that could get her into big trouble.

But right now, he’s not feeling so generous. It’s the third time she’s asked this question and if Mikey didn’t have any control over his dark impulses, he would have crashed the car to shut her up, permanently.

“Who are you talking about?”

“You know, that lapdog that has attached herself to Em like a parasite.”

Senju’s voice is like nails scratching on a board to his ears, as sweet as sugar, yet as salty as the sea. She knows you are a sore topic for him and yet, she chooses to frustrate him.

The car rolls to a halt, stopping beside the library. He’s never seen Senju in the library before, but she whined about having to walk all the way there when she called him and he decided to just help her out. He expects the conversation to be over now as she’s at her destination, for her to get out and complain about how he doesn’t tell her anything.

Instead, she shifts closer to him from across the passenger’s seat to the drivers, her colder body pressed against his warm body, a constant for her. A soft sigh escapes his lips as her hand worms its way to his hair, fingers gently massaging his scalp in a satisfying way. He finds himself visibly relaxing, the tension slowly leaving his body as she rubs circles into his head, her acrylics giving a nice feel to her gentle actions.

Oh. Mikey understands what she wants. She’s jealous of you.

“Come on, Mikey.” her voice is soothing now, no longer having the masculine edge she uses, as if she’s pouting. He likes it. He thinks this is why she’s so successful in her own gang, her ability to switch personas, you can never tell who is the real Senju. “Does she fuck better than me? Is that why you spend more time with her now?”

Mikey scoffs. If only that were true. You wouldn’t even let him touch you if it was the end of the world. He supposes it was partly his fault for being too rough, but was he that repulsive that you would rather die than sleep with him?

At first, he felt guilty for making you cry. It plagued him for nights on end. Then, he got tired of feeling guilty and it was swiftly replaced with annoyance instead. Why do you get to blame him for anything terrible that happened to you, it's not like he forced you to sleep with him? Or sit on his lap to feed him? It’s not like he made you buy those expensive clothes or he threatened you to enter your room.

You were a willing participant to everything that happened between the two of you. You just didn’t want to acknowledge it because it went against your religious ideals. Afterall, you liked him romantically, what girl wouldn’t want her crush to want to sleep with her?

Sometimes he wonders if you truly like him or its his money that makes you tolerate him.

“That’s much better now isn’t it?” She whispered in his ears and he only nodded in response, not wanting to sound like a fool if he opened his mouth to speak. Ever the weakling for being pampered by anyone, he leans into her touch and lets his guard down. “Or you’d prefer her to do this for you?”

He flushes red at her constant teasing, wanting nothing more to bury his head inside sand with how hot he was feeling right now, being caught red handed. “You keep mentioning her, almost as if you want to get on my nerves” He finally gets out after a few minutes of staving off thoughts about you being so touchy with him, voice strangled with need. “What do you want from me?”

She chuckled into his ears again, making his neck hairs stand at attention. “Just curious, a few months ago, you wanted nothing to do with her.” She hummed in his ears. “Now every waking chance, you’re practically thinking about her, to the point you spent so much money on her. Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“I didn’t sleep with her. You know I don’t touch virgins, so what are you getting at?”

Senju paused her movements, putting her chin on his head as if she’s deep in thought. “Well personally…” Senju started in a sing-song voice. “... I think she’s really pretty and that’s obvious, but she’s not that stunning to begin with. You’ve been with much prettier girls and she doesn’t necessarily have the looks to turn heads.”

“Not everyone can be you, Senju.”

“I know I’m the prettiest girl you’ll ever be with, Mikey.” She snickered, completely ignoring Mikey’s sarcastic comment as she continued her analysis. “But, come to think of it, she kinda reminds me of a certain someone.”

Mikey frowned at her words, not liking the inflection of her tone, as if she was about to imply he was doing something wrong. She took his silence as a hint to continue taunting him.

“Soft, caring, gentle, miserable.”

She lowers her lips to the side of his head, lips gently brushing the shell of his ear as she utters one word that tipped him over the edge.

“Maternal.”

The next moment was a blur, Mikey spinning Senju around until she was face up and he was on top of her in the passenger seat, large hands wrapped around her neck tight. His eyes were darkened completely, nothing behind them but pure, unbridled rage, practically pinning her down with all his weight.

His breathing is heavy, hot against her skin as he lowers his head to hers, their foreheads practically touching each other as he pierces through her soul with his hate filled glare. With each moment that passes, the pink haired girl loses air, her circulation slowly cutting off. 

A normal person would be rightfully afraid and fight the hell for their lives, biting and scratching him to let go. Senju used to fight him off like that too, when he would lose his temper because she refused to listen to him about fighting with people. It used to be an effective scare tactic to show her just how easily she could be overpowered.

But now, Senju knows him. Knows the darkness that consistently plagues him and drives him to the wall. Mikey is no enigma or mystery to her anymore as he is to his foolish admirers.

Instead, she smiles at him, her own eyes shining badly with mischief and something entirely different, naughty. “H-heh. Y-ou’re ju-st as sick as Iza-na” she croaked out snarkily, her minty breath invading his nostrils. “M-mother fuck-”

“Say that word and I’ll snap your fucking neck.”

She clamped her mouth shut at his promise, opting to smile sultry at him instead, despite her dwindling air supply. Maybe it was the masochist in her, but the constant choking had made her a little less scared and a little more interested in the twisted desire of Mikey lashing out on her, doing this repeatedly. Haruchiyo barely paid attention to her presence and always blamed himself for anything Senju did and Takeomi always blamed Haruchiyo, completely skipping her entirely, even when Haruchiyo had nothing to do with it and she did something bad just for anyone to tell her she was wrong.

Mikey though. He fulfills her fantasy of being scolded, hurt, not treated as some fragile princess, but a tool to take out his hurt and hatred on. And she loves it. Perhaps it’s why he’s always the victim of her constant and persistent attitude, watching him tick was always so fun. At least she knew the one place to win him since he was physically stronger than her.

Dark impulses. 

Emma’s lucky to have brother’s that care enough to interfere. Maybe that’s why the blonde girl isn’t as twisted as she is.

The air between the two shifts into something hotter, more charged than before. She coughs violently as Mikey removes his hands off her neck entirely and sits up, his hands flying to his belt. As usual, she watches him from her lashes with interest as he fumbles around with it, ever so impatient to understand or think about what he was about to do with her.

“You’re so desperate” she chuckles as he tosses his belt somewhere in the car. “Bet she can’t fuck you right, huh?”

He didn't say anything as he shrugged his pants off to his knees, breathing harsh as he lowered his face towards hers, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss. She returned it with equal feverency, her fingers digging into his hair.

She smiled into the kiss, closing her eyes to relish in the taste of the sweet pastry he had eaten prior. He pulled away from her lips and began to kiss her neck with fervor, each kiss articulated with quiet “(name)” spilling from his lips as he pushed into her.

The pair don’t notice you staring at them from across the quad, tears streaming down your face.

  “YOU’RE not performing as well as you ought to. What is going on (last name?)”

You could think of a myriad of answers to professor Hanabi’s question, but all of them would sound unbelievable to anyone with a good head on their shoulders.

You didn’t know where to even start as you stood in front of the older man. Maybe it was the crushing feeling of guilt that followed you around, or the invasive dreams when you do manage to sleep off, the Sano brothers taking advantage of you in different, shameful ways as Yuzuha’s voice repeats "karma" until you’re screaming awake, tears rolling down your eyes.

It’s apparent your condition was far worse than before. Concealers could hide your eye bags, but they couldn’t hide the slump in your shoulders or the flash of fear whenever you lock eyes with any of the Sano brothers, especially Mikey.

It was a no brainer as to why school was the last thing on your mind right now.

Your gaze casted down to the big F written on your script. You had thought at least your make up test would be good enough for a C with how stressed you were, but apparently, you were wrong about that one too.

It didn’t make any sense, you had Hinata, the smartest girl in class, teach you before the test. So how did this happen?

‘Oh.’ You remember the events of yesterday at the cafeteria. It makes sense to you now that Hinata would lie to make you fail.

Of all courses it had to be the most difficult of them all with an equally difficult lecturer, who happened to be the Dean of the English studies and Language department; professor Daniel Hanabi.

“I-i don’t understand professor-” you started, about to say the words ‘I did everything right’ but quickly stopped yourself. Professor Hanabi was a strict man who prided himself in being correct every time. Assuming that you did everything right would mean that he was wrong and would only get him angry with you, reducing your chances at any form of negotiation. Instead, you changed the tune of the conversation. “- I thought I was prepared-”

“You cannot keep assuming you are prepared for anything, Ms. (Last name).” He hissed, silencing you immediately. You bowed your head in embarrassment as the blonde haired man started tearing at you. “How do you assume you are well prepared for a course, my course specifically? It is either you are or you’re not and looking at this excuse of a test score, you’re NOT. And you know why you failed? It’s because you’re a moron! A bimbo with nothing in that head of yours-”

You stayed silent as the man continued barking at you, tuning out his hurtful words with every curse and insult thrown in your face. You bit back any form of tears so that he wouldn’t find another reason to shout at you.

“- everyday I spend my time trying to impart knowledge onto you people and in turn you all disappoint me. What do you have to say for yourself?”

You took a deep breath, holding back tears of humiliation as you clasped your hands together. You knew the best thing to do was to tolerate his insults so that he could give you another chance. “I apologize, Professor Hanabi.” You began with a humble voice. “It was my fault. You gave me a lot of time to study and I failed to deliver. But please sir, you have to let me try again! I can do better. Please!”

The room fell silent again after your plea, the only noticeable noise being the whirling of the AC in the dean's office. A lump began to form in your throat at the tense atmosphere, wondering what next he was going to say.

“Fine.” He said, making you sigh in relief, one good thing finally happening in your life for the first time in months now. “I’ll let you retake the test next January.”

“Thank you sir!” You said appreciatively. “I’ll do my very best-”

He waved at you dismissively, not in the mood for any sort of thearatics, now facing the rest of his papers. “Just leave my office before I change my mind.”

   MIKEY should know better than to bother you.

There’s a sensible part of him that knows he should keep his distance from you. With how you cower away from his presence whenever he comes to see Emma after her classes, or how your body goes rigid when he turns to your direction, attempting to greet you, it’s evident that you don’t want to be in the same space or vicinity as he was. Even Emma complained to both him and Izana that she feels like you’re slipping away from her, that you look for every excuse to not hang out with her anymore and she feels so sad. 

It’s not like he didn’t deserve it, even before the events of that night, all his actions prior - from bullying you, to isolating you from any potential friends, the insults, the berating, the way he tormented you for months, turning everyone he sunk his claws into to your enemy, making you the most hated girl in the school- it was only a matter of time until you couldn’t bear to look at him without throwing up in your mouth a little.

He should be happy. After all, it was all he wanted, wasn’t it? For you to be out of their lives? He has finally chased you away.

So why does it annoy him so much that you're avoiding him now?

He stares at you from across the table, taking in your features; you look terrible as compared to the vibrancy of the friend group; your eyes have prominent dark circles, as if you haven’t slept in days, your lips are chapped, dehydrated and your hands twitch nervously underneath his scrutinising gaze, fiddling the spoon in your hands. You’re not looking anyone in the eye, and despite you being usually silent, today it’s different, you look defeated.

Like you don’t want to be here.

“Come on (name), Mikey’s being generous today! He never pays for lunch.” Emma chirps in, nudging you playfully, but you don’t budge. One may think she’s oblivious to your suffering right now, but everyone notices the nervous edge to her voice and the worried look in her eyes.

It’s like there’s this wall that’s impenetrable between you and her.

“I’ll eat”

You fall silent once again, and the meal goes on uneventfully, a little small talk here and there between some of their other friends. Mikey has been quiet too, trying his best not to be obvious in sneaking glances at you, often flickering his gaze to everyone else in their friend group to throw off suspicion. You don’t pay much attention to him or anyone, unlike how in the early days you used to stare at him with so much adoration. There used to be so much life in your eyes, in your body language, in the way you eat, in everything.

He’s succeeded in killing you finally, leaving only your corpse to roam the earth, but he didn’t mean to. If he could bring back that part of you that would worship him, he would. He hates not being the center of your life, not being the reason you’re happy. Sure, it seems like he is being selfish, but he has his own needs as well that you didn’t honor, even when he tried to be nice to you.

You hurt him too, dressing up only to reject his touch. It was humiliating having to deal with the fact that a girl doesn’t want him sexually. He was even willing to break his rule of not sleeping with a virgin for you. He bought you things, he spoiled you and tried to take charge when you were acting like a dead fish and in return, you threatened to kill yourself because he wanted sex like every normal man does and he had to leave with blue balls that night.

Senju was right. He wonders what he saw in you in the first place.

“... can you imagine? They’re not letting anyone stay back in school for winter break.” Emma whined, bringing Mikey back to reality. Everyone else on the table perked up from their food. “What for? What about people who want to stay behind and study? Or people who don’t have anywhere to go?”

Oh yeah. It was in the newsletter that Draken read to him earlier this month -and forced him to listen to. Mikey decides to chime in for the first time since the meal began. “Em, it’s not like they want to chase people out. The school’s undergoing some renovations and they don’t need any one interrupting them.”

“But that doesn’t answer my question.” Emma huffs out. Izana only chuckles at his little sister’s mini tantrum, while Mikey shakes his head. “What about people that don’t have a home to go back to? People that their families abandoned? Where are they supposed to go?”

“They’ll figure it out.” Draken scoffed dryly and some people on the table laughed in response.

“Ken, don't be so callous! (Name)’s in that category since her parents don’t even talk to her anymore-”

Mikey sees it. The subtle way your jaw clenches. But you’re not one to lash out, so he’s not worried. You know how to hold yourself. But Emma doesn’t, continuing on her tirade on just how she hates your parents so much while everyone else on the table looks from her to you.

“- ever since they disowned her, they’ve never bothered to even ask how she was doing! This school’s policy isn’t fa-”

“Emma…”

“-ir at all. Can you imagine? (Name), tell me you’re not going back to them? I can talk to the school if you want me to, they’ll have to listen to me-”

“Emma, please-”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to go back to your shitty parents. Not like they deserve a good daughter like you anyways-”

“Stop it, please-”

Mikey knows that Emma’s in her own world, assuming she’s doing good as she rants about your shitty parents expecting you to agree with her like you always do with everything. But right now, she doesn’t hear the desperation in your tone or see the look of humiliation etched onto your features as everyone turns their attention towards you, staring at you either with pity, amusement or indifference.

“You’re too kind, always protecting them.” Emma sighs, turning to Senju, who like Izana only watches in amusement as you crumble further, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks. The pink haired girl has never liked you from day one, probably because Yuzuha hates you and she - Senju- adores the older woman. “Senju, can you imagine? They kicked her out for wanting to go to school. Ridiculous. Aren’t they terrible people? How would you not want your kid to go to school cause she’s a girl? And (name)’s incredibly smart too-”

“Please stop talking about my parents like that-”

“Oh come on! This again, (name).” She turns back to you, annoyed that she isn’t getting the reaction that she wants. “Why are you protecting them? You know they treated you badly! Your father used to beat you all the time and your mother would just watch-”

“Stop it, you’re making her sad!” Draken tries to cut her off, but it only makes Emma angrier, now facing Draken too. “I’m not! I’m just telling the truth! She keeps taking their side. When have they ever been good parents? Do you know she called her mother some months ago to talk? You all want to know what her mother had to say?”

“Please… don-”

“What did her mother say, Emma?” Yuzuha cuts in, now interested in the conversation, casting her phone aside. Her expression is curious, but there’s a sick glee in her honey coloured eyes, like she’s been waiting for this moment for a long time. “Can you tell us?”

“Gosh! Her mother called her a whore, Yuzuha. Her own mother! What kind of mother calls her virgin daughter a whore for wanting an education?”

The girls on the table dramatically gasped, not because they’re shocked, but because they knew it was upsetting you.

Yuzuha is the first to react, gleeful eyes finding yours, tearfully looking at her as her lips curled into a pitiful smile. “Oh (name), how the tables turned.” She says in a sickening sweet voice. “I know you didn’t think you would end up being your mother’s scapegoat, right? What a shame it happened to you too.”

Your body goes rigid for a brief moment, before snapping back to reality, please spilling from your lips. “Yuzuha please-”

“Huh…” Hinata chimed in, shutting your pleas down as she curiously asked, “Come to think of it. You did grow up together… did you ever encounter (name)’s mother?”

“Of course I did. I babysat her.” Yuzuha says the next part bitterly, as if she’s been holding this in for a very long time now, waiting for the right chance to speak her truth. “Unpaid labor to watch over (name) and teach her good manners. It was hell.” the girls, even Emma laughed, before Yuzuha continued. “You know, (name) acts like a saint now, but back then, she was a self-righteous, obnoxious brat who reported everyone’s wrong doings to her mother and father -letting her parents spread rumors about others, isolating people for silly things. But you know, I forgave her cause it wasn’t her fault she was like that. Her mother was a bible thumping idiot, so it made sense for her to turn out that way, just to get a crumb of attention-”

“Yuzuha, please-”

“But you know what IS unforgivable, though?” Yuzuha’s voice is curt, her eyes narrowed into slits, dealing a devastating blow to your already crumbling reputation. “Your mother called me a lying whore after I told her that your big brother tried to force himself on me.”

The whole table goes silent. Mikey trails his eyes to you, not believing his ears that you were involved in such a terrible act, until he sees the shame and guilt written all over your face, your shoulders trembling with sobs, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again.

‘So that’s why she didn’t tell anyone anything about what I did.’

Mikey realizes that in a way, he was your karma after all. You would have deserved every single thing he did to you that night.

Yuzuha isn’t done yet. No, she’s been waiting for this opportunity for years, and nothing will stop her from dragging your name through the mud. She starts blinking out tears, trying to hold it in as everyone turns their attention towards you, blood lust permeating the air.

Emma can’t even stare at you. There’s this look of shock on her features, before morphing into one of utter disappointment.

“I understand if you still want to be friends with her, Emma. I kept this secret because you care about her, but everytime I look at this girl, all I can see is the church women berating me for a traumatic experience that wasn’t my fau- fault- oh god I can’t-”

Yuzuha suddenly breaks down, her head buried in her hands as she starts to cry. Hinata and Senju rush to hug the girl, while everyone else stares down at you, furious.

“I feel disgusted just looking at you.” Mitsuya is the first to speak up, his voice full of venom. It’s natural of him to be so protective of Yuzuha, especially because he’s so close to her and Hakkai. “So it was your mother that tried to ruin Yuzuha’s life and then you pretended like nothing happened and tried to join our group?”

“Wait, please I can explain. I wasn’t part of it-”

“Oh, you want to make excuses now?” Keisuke cuts you off angrily. “You’re lucky you’re a woman or I would have beaten you up where you sat.”

One by one, everyone started to gang up on you, cursing you out, not letting you say a single word. Eventually, you felt so powerless surrounded by people screaming at you that you started to cry even more, begging them to hear you out. You turn to the one person that could still have your back, your hands pressed together in a prayer. “Emma, please, you have to tell them to listen to me, please-”

“Why the fuck are you crying now?” Rindou suddenly snapped at you, pushing Emma behind him, not before you saw her turn her head away from you, as if she couldn’t stare at you any longer. “Why do you always have to act like the victim, huh? Is something wrong with you? You should be apologizing to Yuzuha, not dragging Emma into your stupid mess”

You’re quick to fall onto your knees in front of the orange haired girl, your head touching the ground, apologies spewing from your lips. But neither of the brothers, nor their friends care anymore. Mikey feels foolish for worrying about a pathetic human being like you, for having mercy on you instead of taking advantage of you like he should have. All this while, you acted like you were a harmless little ant that can’t do anything, writhing around when someone says something mean to you.

How could he have been so blind?

“Get out before I kill you.”

You look up at Mikey, about to open your mouth to beg him when Izana throws his drink at your head, splashing it on your entire body, sending the message loud and clear; get lost.

Mikey doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt when he sees you carrying your bags and leaving, sobs echoing throughout the entire school.

  SOMETIMES, you wonder if you were cursed.

In the year of your birth, your father had lost his job and became a terrible drunk. Your mother had taken even more frequent violent beatings - already a victim for the majority of their marriage- that year, more than any other year and hadn’t found out she was pregnant until she nearly miscarried you.

Bloodied with a swollen eye and a busted lip, she had more things to worry about than a budding child in her womb. Your immediate elder brother was four and the baby of the house, your three older brothers, aged ten, twelve and fifteen had an amazing relationship with your dad, him never hitting or hurting them. She already had four sons to raise, four sons that would carry the (last name) on for generations and for a split second she considered getting rid of you, despite being against it from a religious standpoint.

But then, your father assumed he would have another son. A fifth son. Your father loved sons, they were easier to raise and they were his pride and joy. The others were turning out good, and despite your father’s violence, life was good. A son brings luck and your father assumed he would get a job soon.

You were born unlucky. You were a girl.

Except for the prompting and care of your maternal grandmother, your mother practically abandoned you, hoping you would starve to death. You barely saw your father’s face, except through pictures and he hated touching you.

You knew your crime was being born a girl; you apologized every day and paid dearly for it. You did everything you were told, down to the most humiliating experiences of your life. You were smart enough to realize that if you could gain the love of your father, then everyone would love you too.

Misfortune after misfortune.

You thought the horrors would end there when you ran away from home. That you would change your destiny and live a normal life. All those books you read talked about finding yourself and love in high school, and you couldn’t really, because of the scrutiny of your family, perhaps university would be where you found it.

But now, it’s all gone. You’ve lost everything the moment you gained it, all for things you couldn’t control.

You don’t know how long you've been crying in the payphone booth, pressing the phone on your ear, waiting for someone to pick you up. It’s late in the night, and you’re clad in only your pjs and a jacket to ward off the cold, standing in a cramped space, miles away from your dorm. Your eyes feel swollen from sobbing for long hours, the only thing you do after school, while applying for jobs, while doing your assignments - an everlong sadness etched into the very crevice in your soul.

“Hello, who is this?”

There are no ties left between you and your mother or any member of your family after you ran away two years ago, to show how foolish the idea was to go back to your vomit. But with everything that has happened, there was no other person you could turn to but your parents.

At least there, you knew where you stood and how to avoid trouble. You knew not to look your brother or father in the eye and you knew they rather have too little salt in their food than too much. Your life back then was horrible, but your brothers respected you enough to not allow any man touch you or humiliate you in public like the Sano family and their group of horrible friends have done, even if it’s all to preserve your family’s image. 

“I’m sorry but if you’re not going to say anything, I’m going to have to cut the call.”

“W-wait don’t go-” You blurt out quickly, racking through your brain to say anything before she starts getting suspicious. “I-i- is the (lastname)’s home?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

Your heart nearly breaks into two at the fact that not even your mother recognizes your voice. Sure it’s been two years but surely your voice hasn’t changed that much since then, has it? Were you that irrelevant that you - her child, her only daughter- were not something of importance or someone to remember?

You comb through your brain to think of something to say. What do you even say to someone who called you a disgrace to all women? That told you she will never ever forgive you for breaking her heart? You’re sure if you lead with a ‘hey, mom, it’s me’ she’d cut the call, still angry at you for running away from home and bringing shame to your family’s name by doing so.

Your parents never forgot your past transgressions when you were in the house, always holding it up over your head and weaponizing it against you to get you to be a good girl. Back then, you were sure they hated you and all your classmates muttered about how abusive it was to be in that kind of situation, but now, even the beatings given to you pales in comparison to the trauma the Sano brothers have put you through.

You want to go back to your parents and tell them you were sorry for thinking they were bad people. That you love them and you’re ready to be a good child and do as they say. “Do you by chance have a daughter?” you decide to test the waters, hopeful she’d be at least receptive to hearing about you. “I’m her friend and I know that I’m doing this behind her back but she really misses you-”

“I had a daughter” she cuts you off abruptly, her tone cold, talking about you in past tense as if you’re dead. Maybe you are dead to your mother at least, with how hateful she sounds, as if your name is poison. “If by any chance that whore is trying to reconcile then tell her to not bother us. Goodbye.”

“Wait, mama it’s me! It’s (name)! I’m sorry, i’m sor-”

The line goes dead before you could say anything else.

Sobs escape from your lips, the phone slipping from your hand to the ground with a dull thud, your body sliding down the phone booth, head buried in your hands as your shoulders tremble. Of course, what did you expect? That your mother would want you back? You’re not her beloved sons who would carry the family name further, you’re a liability of a daughter who couldn’t do one thing right.

Even if you do come home, you’re already partially soiled with Manjiro touching you, with nothing to your name but the shame of failure in every aspect of your life.

“Please mama, I want to come home.”

‘sixteen missed calls from: (nick name) <3’

‘Thirty unread messages from: (nickname) <3’

‘5 voicemails from: (nickname)<3’

  HOW do you forgive someone who has been lying to you your entire friendship?

You're the least person she’d expect to betray her like this. She assumed you were an open book, that you told her everything about your past, your family and your life, because she did so. You’re the first person she dared to bare her heart to that wasn’t either a childhood friend or her brother’s goons. You’re the person she risked all her relationships for, always fighting for you, defending you against her brother’s accusations, that you wanted something from her, probably because you were poor. She even dared to fall in love with you, in love with the person you showed her you were.

But that was a lie. Everything about you is a lie. You weren’t an innocent, helpless girl who was kicked out by her cruel family, you were just as cruel as they were. Outing Hakkai for being gay, keeping quiet about what happened to Yuzuha, ruining a girl’s chance to escape her arranged marriage by telling her family where she hid? It just kept getting worse with each tearful story Yuzuha had told her.

You were not the person she thought you were.

Her brothers had tried to warn her. Izana is usually a good judge of character, and he was always paranoid when it came to you. Mikey’s friendly to everyone, but for some reason, you and him clashed so often. Emma used to put the blame on her brothers’ difficulty to accept change. Now she realizes that maybe they saw something dangerous in you that she didn’t.

Her phone rings loudly again from across the room, but Emma has not made any effort to pick it up, opting to just lie face down on the hotel bed, waiting for Draken to come out of the bathroom. She knows it’s you calling her, begging her to please listen and hear you out, but she can’t bring herself to do so. Even if she picks it up, you’re just going to lie, hide the truth from her to save your skin. How many secrets have you been keeping from her? How many more? How could you betray her like this?

She won’t fall for it. Never again.

Eventually, the calls stop coming in, probably because you’re tired or you’ve figured it out that you’re not needed anymore. She asks Draken to help her delete all the messages and voicemails when he comes out, not wanting to look at them anymore, or she might cave and call you back.

And when he was done, she asks him to fuck her until she can’t remember the name of her traitous friend.

It doesn’t work.

  IZANA loves being right.

Watching Mikey furiously pace around, his fists balled at his side as he curses you over and over again was vindicating. All along, Izana knew you were suspicious, that good girl act of yours, how quickly you became friends with Emma, how not even Hinata liked you when they first met you; it had to mean you were hiding something.

He didn’t expect it to be so big, of course, but it felt good to be correct.

So now, while everyone is reeling from Yuzuha’s confession, Izana is gleeful. You’re finally, finally the villain in this story for the first time and he’s not seen as the crazy bully who tormented you for nothing. Sure, Emma is crying her eyes out in her room as Draken tries to comfort her, and Mikey’s having a mental crisis about how he should have gone ahead that night instead of sparing you, he’s personally, is having the time of his life, pouring shots after shots for himself and Kisaki. 

If he had it his way, he would have thrown a ‘fuck you, (name)’ party to celebrate you being gone from their lives.

“Come on now Mikey!” he calls out, holding out a drink for him, a wide smile on his face. “You’ve got to sit down, have a drink. I’ll even get you a cocktail that’s sweet, just the way you like it. Stop pacing around like you’re the guilty one.”

Mikey stops for a moment, his dark empty eyes darting from Izana’s drink to Izana’s smirking face. His facial expression is almost unreadable, if not for the brewing irritation hidden beneath his carefully crafted blank stare.

‘Oh’ Izana reminds himself of that unfortunate night that he wasted all his energy on helping his brother to get you, his smile dropping outwardly. ‘I forgot that he was also beginning to have feelings for her. How troublesome.’

The white haired man sets down the drink carefully, refusing to break eye contact with his younger brother. It seemed Mikey’s opposing mood must have sobered up Izana, at least to the point where he could stand up carefully and walk up to his little brother until they were standing face to face with each other. Kisaki watches the event unfold, one leg strewn over the other as he sips on his drink.

“Manjiro, rejoice, you can rest easy now” Izana starts, after a momentary long pause. “She can never use what you did to her against you. No one's gonna believe her. I know she was beginning to mean something to you and you were navigating very difficult feelings, things you don’t understand-”

Manjiro’s eyes hardened at Izana’s words even further, the frown on his face deepening. “I think I understand my feelings very well.” He snaps defensively, as if saying he had feelings for you was some kind of insult. “I was not in love with her. I’m just annoyed that I fell for her innocent act.”

Izana blinked once. Then twice. Then three times.

‘This idiot cannot be serious’

Composing himself, Izana takes in a deep breath, rubbing his temples with a groan. He’s back to Mikey denying his true feelings to cope, square one again. “Mikey, it’s okay to feel betrayed by (name). Everyone knows you wanted her and that’s fine-”

“I did not want her.”

“Mikey don’t lie to yourself. I know what I saw that night-”

“I don’t care what you saw, I did not want her then and I don’t want her now-”

There’s a growing frustration gnawing at Izana’s mind, but also amusement. Mikey is so prone to denying his own feelings, and denying the truth, even when evidence was face to face with him, that it was nearly hilarious to watch him do it, especially when it’s someone he feels is beneath him.

“Mikey, do you like her?”

“No.”

“You’re lying. You do have feelings for her. Just admit it. That’s why you’re upset about it right? About what she did? Because now, you’re torn between loyalty to us and going after her-”

“I said I don’t like her. I even feel disgusted for ever touching her in the first place.” Mikey looks terribly pissed at this point, his face red with anger. This was getting ridiculous now, it’s written all over Mikey’s body- the twitching of his left fist, the rapid blinking, even how he’s trying to even his breath to calm down; each denial is a confession. “I’ve got many girls that want to fuck me, she’s not the only one.”

“-and yet, you wanted to chase after her.” Izana spat back. “Isn’t that right?”

“Keep believing in your own delusions, Izana.”

“Delusions? Says the man who keeps jerking off to her nude photos every night.”

Mikey hadn’t even realized when he jumped on top of his brother, pushing him down hard on the  wooden table and knocking the drinks over, shattering the expensive bourbon whiskey Kisaki had just acquired to the ground and started exchanging blows with him. Izana doesn’t hold back either, wrestling Mikey off him to the ground, swinging twice as hard.

“Oh come on,” Izana yelled, articulating his words with brutal blows to Mikey’s jaw and face, sending it flying upward. “Everyone knows what is up Mikey. You’re head over heels for her-”

All Mikey saw was red as he swung his head downwards, landing on his elder brother’s nose hard and destabilizing him, before throwing Izana on the wall. Mikey corners him in place, before punching his abdomen repeatedly, making the older man cough violently. “I told you I don’t love that bitch,” His voice didn’t change inflection as he switched his direction to Izana’s cheek. “Why the fuck don’t you ever listen to me? Are you trying to piss me off?”

The older male blocked the last fist aimed at his face and kneed his brother in his stomach, before kicking him to the floor. A psychotic grin made its way to Izana’s face, like the painful blows were nothing to him. “Just a few weeks ago-” he kicked Mikey in the face, making the blond tumble across the floor. “ -you were all over her, wanting her to sit on your lap and feed you? Bet you called your other sluts her name, didn’t you?”

“So what if I did? Doesn’t matter! I’m not in love with her.”

“Really? That’s not normal Mikey-”

Izana’s mockery only fuelled Mikey’s anger, making him push himself off the ground and kick his brother violently in his face. The white haired man fell straight to the ground, howling with laughter at Mikey’s outburst as the blonde jumped on top of him, ready to punch his face again.

“You’re so in love with her-”

“THAT IS ENOUGH!”

Mikey’s hand froze mid punch at the sound of Kisaki Tetta screaming at the top of his voice from the sofa. Kisaki looked at the two of them, nose turned up in disgust as he folded his arms around his chest. The two brothers looked around them, realizing the wreckage they caused within just minutes of fighting- broken vases, the shattered whiskey soaking into Hajime’s imported rug, and glass shards.

His glass encased eyes scanned around the room, tsking at the destruction. “Kokonoi’s going to fucking kill me.” He murmured before looking at the two males, a frown on his lips. “All this over one bitch?” he asked, a brow raised in disappointment and shock. “I’d be impressed if I wasn’t pissed.”

Izana was the first to react, scoffing at the younger male’s unwanted interruption. “This isn’t your problem-”

“It’s mine now.” Kisaki shot back hotly, irritated by everything that was going on. “Since we can’t even have peace of mind now that she is gone, it’s definitely my problem. The both of you, get up. Now.”

The two of them begrudgingly untangled themselves from each other and got up, dusting their clothes, ignoring the bruises scattered all over their body. Or the blood dripping down Mikey’s face from the cut on his head, and his eye that was now black and swelling up, even the way Izana held his abdomen painfully. Kisaki eyed both of them, moving from Mikey to Izana and then Mikey again.

“Mikey, you know normally I don’t care about what woman you see, as long as it’s not affecting our business.” He starts, taking in a deep, long breath before letting it out. “But everyone’s noticed the change in your demeanour since that party where you and (name) fought.”

“Are you agreeing with Izana?”

“Come on, even Kisaki can see it, you’re the one who’s playing dum-”

“ENOUGH!” Kisaki interjected once again, extremely frustrated by their constant squabbles. The brothers kept quiet, as Kisaki continued. “Mikey, it’s clear there’s a tension between the two of you. I don’t mind whether you label it or not, but it’s clear this is affecting you.”

It was Mikey’s turn to roll his good eye, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m fine.-”

“Manjiro Sano, you are twenty-four for god’s sake. Stop being so childish for once.” Izana spat back, getting fed up. Kisaki nodded, agreeing with Izana. “He has a point. You can’t keep pretending it doesn’t exist forever. For some reason, you want her.”

Mikey took a long and deep breath, trying to make headway and listen to what Kisaki was saying, despite the whole ordeal being so difficult for him. His good dark eye flickered to Kisaki’s face as he asked. “What the fuck are you implying”

“It’s very easy,” Kisaki shrugged his shoulders. “you just need to get her out of your system.”

Izana started smiling deviously, wanting to piss off Mikey even further. “Like a rebound? Well, Senju tried, but then she got really pissed with him moaning a different girls name while being balls deep in her-”

“Shut up and let me finish.” Kisaki barked. When he was sure no one was going to interrupt him, he continued. “Mikey, you have to sleep with (name)”

As much as Izana wanted to pass off Kisaki’s idea as a stupid plan, it actually sounded like a good idea. Sometimes, you just need to get something to see how worthless and unimportant it was so that you can let it go. He had to admit, as much as Kisaki was a bastard who was only doing this for his drug business, he couldn’t deny he was more insightful than anyone when it came to interpersonal relationships.

Too bad he couldn’t use that skill to get the woman he loved.

“You’re fucking crazy.” Mikey interjects, his face scrunched up in disgust, repulsed by the idea. “She has rejected me so many times and look at the way we kicked her out of the group. She’s not going to believe me if I suddenly switch up and pretend to be nice just to get in her pants. And I don’t sleep with virgins-”

“But it seem like you really want to fuck this one.” Izana retorts dryly. Kisaki shoots him a dirty look, making the older man raise his hand not clutching his abdomen in mock surrender.

“I don’t want her.” Mikey spits out. It’s clear he’s getting tired of everyone being on his case about you. “Yeah, I wanted to sleep with her at some point, but she sucks at everything I ask her to do. She can’t even satisfy me sexually, even when she’s on board. There’s nothing redeeming about her personality, she’s a boring prude with nothing to offer. Why the hell would I chase after her?”

“Mikey, are you sure? You know, we can help you-”

“If she ever approaches me again, I’ll snap her neck.”

Without saying anything else, Mikey picks up his phone and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Kisaki collapses on the couch, snatching the bottle instead of the shot glass, mumbling something along the lines of Mikey being a ‘spoiled brat’ and how he’s tired of all this dramatic nonsense before downing the drink in one go.

Izana stands there, looking at the door, blinking slowly as if processing everything that just happened, the wheels turning his head. He knows Mikey is lying about not wanting you, Izana can see it in his younger brother’s eyes and it should anger him, after all, he went through the stress of dealing with the aftermath of the situation, then setting up the mall outing that would make you indebted to Mikey and do whatever he wants with you. After all, those are times where Izana could have been doing something else entirely.

He should be angry. He had every right to. Any normal person would be angry for that much effort over something that didn’t work.

But when you’re Izana Kurokawa, you take every opportunity that has been staring at you for so long, even the one that doesn’t seem desirable enough at first glance, because in the end, you know the rewards are far greater and more interesting for the future.

A twisted grin makes its way to his face, his eyes gleaming with overwhelming excitement as the pieces fall into place for his next move. He was known as the gasoline to Mikey’s flames, always fanning the flames of dark impulses in Mikey’s heart and pushing him to be the worst version of himself.

And it seemed like Mikey just needed a little push in the right direction to lead him down the path Izana wants him to go.  

‘It’s my turn to play with your toy, little brother’

Bonus:

  SCHOOL closes eventually for the holidays.

Your roommate was already gone days before the official day came, leaving you all alone and you would have asked to come with her, but you know her answer would be a strong no. You tried calling Emma again, but her line doesn’t go through anymore, reminding you of the bitter reality that you’re truly alone in this world.

The school’s order was swift, kicking anyone left out or handing out suspensions to anyone that refused to leave. The last thing you needed was a suspension, so you packed a little of your things and wandered around in the bitter cold of the winter.

Things were hard at first. You tried your best not to look suspicious so that no one would suspect you’re homeless and call the police to report you or harrass you. At night, there was so much violence- fights would break out, there was so much stealing. Some of the men in the surrounding area had tried to take advantage of you, but you didn’t hesitate to defend yourself, fighting back and escaping.

It’s not like it’s your first time being homeless. So you know. It’s not easier for you, but at least you’re not as naïve as you were at seventeen.

Eventually, you wound up at a homeless shelter somewhere around town. It was crowded, cramped and smelt like damp mold most of the time, but at least you had a bed and two warm meals everyday. You could study now with little fear of getting robbed here, and go out and look for some odd jobs to do to earn money.

“Hey, missus cambridge, it’s food time.”

Your head snaps up from your book as the woman calls out to you. You didn’t really know her name or anything about her other than how she lost her kid and then everything in her life spiralled, wounding her up here. She was as nice as one could be trying to survive, giving you the name missus cambridge because you always held your bookbag so tight whenever you slept and then you did nothing but read all day or work all day.

“Yes mam.” You said, dropping your book, stuffing it into your bag and strapping your bag to yourself, before heading out towards the church. You were told that every Christmas, they donate food to the shelter from December to January, before disappearing into thin air. You found it ironic, the way that the soup drive gave them something to say they’re good people and call it a day. You don’t blame them. You don’t blame anyone for doing what they want to do.

After waiting your turn and getting your food, you sat down quietly somewhere far away from others. For once in your life, despite not having a roof over your head or a stable place to eat, you had peace of mind. No one was dragging you around and forcing you to do what you don’t want. Or breathing down your neck and telling you want to do. Or trying to rape you constantly.

Just peace and quiet.

‘Maybe this is better.’ you thought to yourself. ‘It’s better if I am alone. Everyone I loved always betrayed me or turned their backs on me. And it’s exhausting to keep enduring it. I don’t have to pretend to like people that hurt me or want me dead. I can live my life, now.’

With that understanding, you eat your food like it’s the best thing in the world. Being alone wasn’t so bad after all.

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

UPDATE: NEW LINK! Yahya and his family were displaced by the IOF, and are currently residing in Deir al-Balah, south-central Gaza.

Life as displaced Gazans was already extremely difficult for them. Food is very scarce, and their living conditions leave them exposed to the elements. Here is the frequent condition of their tent now that the winter rains have come:

Then, Yahya’s father was injured. Some cartilage was damaged in his neck, and doctors say he requires IMMEDIATE surgery to avoid permanent paralysis.

Yahya and his family previously had another campaign, but it was suddenly shut down by GFM with no explanation. They have created a new one, but it has EXTREMELY LOW FUNDS.

The surgery is a stifling €15,000 euros (about $15,729 USD). Yahya and his family have no hope of paying for it without your help.

I am currently watching an elderly loved one lose their mobility, and it is an extremely heartbreaking and isolating situation. I cannot imagine what Yahya and his family are going through, having no social or financial support and only minimal medical care.

Please give what you can to this family. You are their only hope to save their beloved father’s mobility!

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

Chapter 3: The Lesser of Two Devils

series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. and now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

cw: DARK CONTENT, MISOGYNY, NSFW, smut (character x character), dubcon, noncon, DARK IMPULSE MIKEY, depressive thoughts, victim blaming, sucidial ideation, religious guilt & discussion (very brief), gaslighting, power imbalance, manipulation, abuse (domestic, verbal, sexual, finanical), love bombing, violence (physical, mental, sexual), slut shaming, peer pressure, dry humping, attempted rape, nonconsensual filming.

r-18+ (not suitable for 17 and under)

wc: 13.3k

[masterlist] [chapter 2] [chapter 4] [taglist]

a/n: the reason why this chapter didn't come out earlier was because I was sick and busy with school. Anyways comments, reblogs and anonymous asks are welcomed.

“DON’T you want to know what me and (name) talked about?”

Mikey doesn’t look away from the burger he’s eating, but he hears Izana loud and clear. The cool morning breeze hits his skin, his golden hair flying in the wind as the two men sit on the ledge of Toman’s balcony, legs dangling from the porch. On a normal day, Mikey wouldn’t be awake by this time, opting to catch some extra hours of sleep until he is forced to go to class. But with the possibility of you saying something to Emma about the incident at the car and Izana going ahead to fix it, he was too restless to go to bed.

He forgot that you could still tell someone, even with your promise. You had no reason to honor it, especially with how he treated you badly, So to get the voice message from Izana with you saying you will keep quiet, was surprising.

“You already told me she’d shut up about the whole thing.” Mikey murmurs, gulping down the last part of the food. “I don’t care about her beyond that.”

A chuckle escapes Izana’s lips as the tanned man takes out a cigarette pack from his pocket. He picks one out with his teeth, then stretches the pack to Mikey. Mikey shakes his head no, at least not now that he just ate a really nice burger and Izana merely shrugs, pushing it back into his pocket, before taking out his lighter. They sit in silence as the lighter flickers on, and Izana brings it to his lips, before shutting it off.

Mikey stares ahead of the weather as Izana smokes, the sun barely peeking out of the dense clouds surrounding it, meaning it was probably going to be a rainy day. He remembers his teenage years, whenever it was rainy and Shin had to go to work, leaving Izana in charge, the three of them would have rainy days, doing things like building large pillow forts, playing video games or a makeshift band with Izana on the guitar, Emma with her drumset she barely ever used and him on the vocals. He and Izana always got along, they were having too much fun to even think about fighting, and it made Emma happy too.

Eventually, as they grew older, rainy days were spent apart, with Izana either busy with work or smoking in his room and him busy with his own gang, in his own world.

And Emma; they left her all alone. Not like they had a choice, they just couldn’t bring themselves to drag her into the lifestyle they were knee deep in or endanger her by bringing her out with them. In hindsight, they were just trying to protect her, but in a way, Mikey knows she resents them for isolating her.

You were her act of defiance against their strict rules. She could hide it with her words that she was fine with her upbringing, but her actions speak even louder for herself. Mikey just wished she defied him in a better way than being friends with someone outside the Sano approved group.

Silence continues between the two of them as they do their own thing, watching the sun attempt to peek out of the dense clouds. Sometimes, Mikey feels like the sun, constantly competing with the cloud of darkness hovering above his head, waiting for his carefully crafted mask to slip just a little bit, so that it can consume him and leave him with nothing.

It already happened once with you in that car and he knows that it cannot happen again.

What happened was a mishap. Something he knows he shouldn’t do again, yet he doesn’t understand what exactly he did wrong.

It confused him to no end. Was it that you felt guilty because your religion said premarital sex is wrong? Or maybe he was too aggressive with you, pinning you down until you couldn’t move? It wasn’t like he had a choice because you kept on fighting him every step of the way.

He looks at his brother peacefully smoking, thinking about the earlier proposal he had offered. Come to think of it, what could you have told Izana that could have made him ask Mikey if he wanted to know?

“So, why did you actually do it?”

Izana’s hoarse voice startled the younger man, nearly making him jump out of his skin. Once he got his bearings, he responded with another question, confusion laced in his tone. “Do what?”

“The car incident. Like, really of all the girls, why her?”

Oh that. “She kept rubbing her thighs together any time I said something, and I thought she wanted relief.” He shrugged, but didn't look Izana in the eye. “She was asking for it-”

“You’re lying.”

Mikey goes silent. Izana must have finally figured out that he wasn’t being completely honest, he was way too observant when it came to others, especially his siblings. “I couldn’t stop myself,” he sighed out, finally facing the reality of the situation. “It was like everything she said or did seemed to offend me.”

“Is that so?”

“Well,” Mikey paused for a moment, thinking about that day. He was angry, but there was always something gnawing at the back of his mind whenever he saw you. The voices in his head made it difficult to think rationally and encouraged more impulsive actions, and that was truly the origin of the actions that happened in the end. “I also really just wanted to know how sleeping with her would feel.”

“Fool.”

“Excuse me?”

The white haired man doesn’t answer his question immediately, tossing the finished cigarette to the ground first, before pushing himself upright. “You heard me clearly. You’re a big fucking moron.” His voice is low and strained, fury lurking beneath.

Izana’s words struck a nerve, causing Mikey to stand up, dark eyes glaring right back at his brother. He thought Izana was on the same side as him in hating you, so why was he suddenly insulting him? “If I didn’t know any better, I would assume you’re blaming me and taking her side.”

“I AM blaming you.” He spits out, venomously towards Mikey now, eyes burning with anger. “Because of you thinking with your dick, you risked our relationship with our sister”

“So was I supposed to tell my dark impulses to go on vacation that day? It wasn’t entirely MY fault-”

“You drove her to the most secluded space in school. Do I look stupid enough to buy that excuse?”

Oh this was rich coming from Izana. “Are you insinuating I planned to rape her?” Mikey asked incredulously, not believing his ears. “I met her on the road and she asked for privacy. I didn’t intend to do anything, I’m not you.”

“You don’t get a moral high ground right now.” Izana spits back at Mikey, making the blond clench his jaw.  “You’re just as bad as me and you know it.”

“She can go to class and move the fuck on from whatever happened. If it were you in that fucking car, she’d be in a hospital-”

“And yet I went to clean up the mess you made without taking out my dick, you ungrateful little asshole.” Izana hissed back.

“Don’t call me little-”

“You know what I hate about you, Mikey? You’re so self-centered and self-absorbed that you don’t think about how your actions affect everyone else. You just want things to go your way and you can’t take no for an answer.” Izana laughs coldly. Mikey’s jaw clenched tightly, but stays silent as Izana continues to tease him. “Then again she’s the idiot who fell in love with you, so she better get used to that nasty habit of yours.”

‘What?’

Mikey feels like an ice bucket of water had been thrown on him. His mouth slowly hangs open, trying to process what he just heard right now.

“Don’t fuck with me-”

There’s no way that can be real. It had to be a lie or some kind of sick joke that Izana came up with, but he’s not laughing or smirking. Instead, he lights another cigarette, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. “Look” he said, blowing out a loud plume of smoke. “It was you who said we have to befriend that bitch. I’m guessing it’s because you want to get your dick wet and I don’t care. But if we’re going to pull it off and trap her, you’re going to do all the heavy lifting.”

“I’m not interested-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit Manjiro.” Mikey suddenly flinched at Izana’s harsh tone, the use of his government name sobering him up. “I know that you want to sleep with her. But you’re not going to just go in guns blazing. You’re going to convince Emma you like her by doing some grand gesture so that (name) feels like she can’t say no to you.”

Mikey stays silent, mulling over his brother’s suggestion. Izana can see right through him, even to his deepest desires and he knows it’s true. He’s attracted to your body and wants you.

“Okay fine.” He finally gives in. “But I don’t believe she loves me. She probably said that because you scared her.”

“Then you won’t be opposed to making a bet, right?”

Mikey smiles widely. He just wants to knock down Izana by a few pegs to prove him wrong.

“Fine.”

   “NGH, K-ken -more please-”

There is nothing more divine to Emma than what Draken was doing to her right now.

It was supposed to be a normal morning after a wild night. She had told Ken after round five, going to round six that she had a test tomorrow, one she absolutely could not miss and he had promised her no shenanigans.

Unfortunately, Ken is not one to keep those kind of promises.

She’s not sure why he decided to be touchy today; maybe it was the two weeks of no contact until you pushed her into accepting Draken’s proposal for a date night. Whatever it was, Draken was extra clingy this morning and he managed to convince her to let him eat her out for good luck.

Not like she’s complaining, for a change, she’d like to be the one on the receiving end.

Her legs were spread out wide on either side of Ken, his head buried in between her thighs, lips latched onto her clit, sending pleasurable tingles throughout her entire body. Yellow eyes cast down to Draken, her hand gripping his long blond hair, forcing him to stay put.

She let out soft moans at the gentleness of his tongue, the way his large fingers rubbed the sides of her waist to keep her grounded, occasionally rolling his tongue to her hole, before trailing back up to her clit. The girl felt her back lift from the bed, arching in a perfect circle, her heels digging into the bed. Ken hums into her pussy, sending vibrations onto her clit and a wave of electricity down her spine.

“Ken, fuck more-” she gasped, feeling his long tongue swipe up her clit, his mouth engulfed around her pussy. “- right there, k-keep g-going ah”

Emma felt like she was in cloud nine, so high with bliss underneath Draken’s touch. Whenever she was with him, all her problems disappeared for a moment and everything felt so, so good. She didn’t have to think about university or lecturers sucking up to her because of her affiliations. She didn’t have to think about Mikey and Izana bothering her.

She didn’t have to think about you.

You with your soft gaze, laughing gently at whatever joke she might have told you -it wasn’t that funny and yet Emma found herself smiling along with you. Your smile, so beautiful when genuine it reflects in your eyes. Your warm skin that she looks for any excuse to touch, to feel you. The way you looked at her shocked when she showed you the knowledge she retained from Taekwondo, underneath her sweaty body, your chest rising and falling.

‘Shit. I’m not supposed to be thinking about this now when Draken’s here. Not again’ She panicked, trying to focus on Draken’s ministrations again.

But her thoughts kept drifting back to you. Emma’s strong hands securing your thighs, pushing you down to her face until you're on top, her tongue working on your clit and hole while Draken eats her out as well. 

It was too late, the mere thought sent a wave of electricity to her clit, combined with Draken’s touch.

Her two favorite people, sandwiched between them. You’re more innocent, unskilled and Emma is willing to let both her and Draken pamper you, his large hands cupping your breast as he fucks into her while you grind on her face. Or you on the bed, Emma watching Draken fuck you stupid while she touches herself to the sight.

‘F-fuck it.’ She relishes in his touch and her imaginations, now switching to just you and her, your bodies pressed together as she rubs her clit on yours, gently kissing you. ‘I want her so bad shit. I-i want her so bad-’'

Emma cried out as she orgasmed hard, white filling her vision. Draken’s tongue worked her through the feeling, letting her grind on his face as she rode it out until she couldn’t, falling flat on her back on the pillows.

She tried to catch her breath the moment it was over, mulling over the feeling of post euphoric bliss. Draken crawled from between her legs and laid on top of her, lowering his lips to hers in an open mouthed kiss. She hummed, relishing her taste on his tongue, secretly wishing yours was on it too.

The man pulled away, resting his forehead on hers, just staying in silence with her as he usually did after a session. A pang of post nut guilt hit her for thinking about you like that. It felt so wrong and disrespectful, especially knowing how well you trusted her and how she cherishes you so much.

You’re her friend, she’s not supposed to imagine you in such vulnerable positions, not when you probably wouldn’t be comfortable with such thoughts and not when she is in bed with someone else.

Not when you might not have feelings beyond friendship.

She didn't realize her face was scrunched up in a frown until Draken rested his large palm to her face and pressed his finger between her brows, rubbing circles in the space. “Stop frowning, you’ll get wrinkles.” He joked, trying to lighten the mood. “At least that’s what you told me.”

She rolled her eyes in response, swatting his hand away as she shoved her guilt at the furthest corner of her mind. “It’s a stupid myth I told you so that you stop scaring my other friends that don’t know you. And there’s nothing wrong with wrinkles.”

He smiled mischievously, the kind that Emma was used to when he was about to push her buttons like always. “So what’s with all the beauty products?”

“Get off my case Ken.” she hissed at him, but there was no malicious intent behind her tone.

“Besides you and Mikey steal my very expensive products any time either of you come here. Buy your own shit.”

“You steal the fries off my plate, too.”

“The fries are 5 dollars, Ken, you’ll live.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, still laying on their bed to catch their breaths as Emma’s thoughts began to drift back to you. It has been some months since she started to see you in that way. She didn’t know how she developed these feelings nor could she pinpoint the day they started. It doesn’t surprise her though, you were just her type; soft-spoken, genuinely kind and so innocent, the kind of person she’d want to shield from the world forever. And in terms of looks, god you were gorgeous in her eyes, like a painting that the artist took his time to create.

It wasn’t like she didn’t try to bury her feelings for you. She figured you liked Mikey when she saw the stars in your eyes any time you looked at him and tried her best to set you both up, only for her plan to slap you in the face when Mikey treated you like dog shit. She switched gears to Izana but that even went so much worse that she had to step in.

Emma doesn’t understand why they hated you. You had done nothing but respected them, no matter how much they both hurt you. How could anyone hate you really? You were just so fragile, so quiet and you avoided trouble, so why do her brother’s keep insisting you’re no good for her?

“What’s on your mind?”

Draken’s quiet voice brought her back to reality, and she let out a quiet sigh, rolling her body to face him. “Just thinking about (name).” she mumbled, her eyes meeting his. “And how I royally fucked up by trying too hard to introduce her to Mikey and Izana.”

He hums in response, his brows furrowed together. “Mmh.” He shifts his body a bit to reach out his hand, stroking her face. “Mikey’s so cruel to the poor girl. If I were her, I’d hate his guts by now. Izana too.”

“I don’t think she’s capable of hating anyone.” Emma sighs softly for the umpteenth time, leaning into his touch. You’re not the type of person who can hate someone for treating you badly, no matter what. You’re so insistent on forgiveness, even though you’re in so much mental anguish that it baffles Emma. “The other day after my fight with Izana, she insisted I should talk to my brothers and forgive them, that she understands where they’re coming from. I think…” Emma pauses. “... it’s because she likes Mikey a lot, y'know. That’s why she’s so insistent on forgiving him.”

Draken’s expression darkens at the statement, his hand stopping mid-stroke. The once calm atmosphere basking in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking had turned ice cold, tension hanging in the air and it sort of scared Emma.

“Babe?”

Whatever it was that had crossed Draken’s mind quickly changed on hearing her frightened voice. He quickly shifted back to his warm gaze, stroking her hair again. “I’m sorry. I was just…” he trails off, a sigh escaping his lips as he recomposes himself. “There’s something I actually want to tell you-”

Draken’s words cut off as her alarm went off. Emma groaned outwardly, realizing that it was already time for her to start getting dressed for her important test. Reluctant, the blonde rolled off the bed nude and walked towards the bathroom.

“So sorry Ken.” She murmured, opening the door to the bathroom. “But I’ve got to go to class soon. Plus, I’m picking up (name) since she doesn’t have a ride there and I don’t want her to spend the little money she has on a bus fare. You can tell me later right?”

Emma doesn’t see the despair on Draken’s face. “Yeah. I’ll call you after class.”

“Thanks, you’re the best.”

  A LONG time ago, you dreamed of freedom.

You wanted to do something with your life other than the carefully crafted plans your parents had for you. You were told women belonged in the kitchen, that they should always be hairless, stand behind their husbands, and seen but not heard. That life felt like prison; cold and unloving, with nothing else to do. Your father wouldn’t even let your mother have female friends, because it would encourage gossiping and his wife should never be involved with gossip.

Despite your mother being on the more introverted side, you could still see the terrible loneliness in her eyes. She was like a bird in a cage, forced to sing for people when they have guests, serving them with a smile, but not too bright, otherwise your father would have an issue with her.

You didn’t want to become like your mother, so you ran right into another cage that you can’t see yourself getting out of.

You stare at yourself in the toilet mirror as the faucet runs, your heart dropping at how terrible and haggard you look right now. Not only did you have to deal with Izana’s subtle threat hanging over your head, but the test you had written the day after was also terrible, as if you’d forgotten everything you had studied for. You still have no luck in finding a job and those nightmares of Mikey continue to plague you.

Within a span of a few weeks, your life had been thrown into chaos. You miss the days where you were worried about getting the approval of Mikey and Izana, where you didn’t know the uglier sides of them and how far they would be willing to go to keep you quiet. 

“I shouldn’t have gone to that party. I should have stayed back and dealt with it.” Your voice is low, strained from all the crying you’ve done since you excused yourself from your hangout with Emma.

Emma.

You can’t even tell your best friend all your heartaches. Even ignoring what Izana said, just seeing her chat about her date with Draken, a smile plastered all over her face, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her. You’re no longer confident that she would stand up for you, seeing how Izana was so convincing that you believed everything he said about the entire situation being your fault.

‘I need to face reality. I’m just someone she met a few months ago and those are her brothers she’s lived with for years. Why would she believe me over them?’

You were told that God doesn’t give you burdens He knows you cannot bear, but this one might be too heavy for you to carry.

Reaching for the faucet, you hastily splashed water on your face, trying to calm yourself down. Worse things have happened to you, worse things will happen to you and this is just one of them. You can bear the pain, the shame of letting that happen to you, so long as you never let it repeat itself again.

“I’ll stay away from them.” You say out loud, staring at your reflection in the mirror. It’s a promise; you know it’s the only way to get them off your back. If you make sure Emma spends less time with you and more with them, they’ll leave you alone. “I won’t be a bother or attend any of their parties or force myself into their friend groups. I’ll just be Emma's friend and that’s it.”

A sigh escapes your lips as you stare in the mirror again. Easier said than done.

You touch up your face a little, putting on your lip balm and redoing your hair. You force a smile onto your face, adjusting your blue dress and walk out of the bathroom with false confidence that could kill a sensible man. You held your head up high as you made your way back to the canteen; life gets harder on a daily basis, but at least you have a chance at making things easier for yourself.

‘Avoid the brothers, find a job, study harder.’ You repeat to yourself as you make your way back to the canteen where Emma was waiting for you. You still long for freedom to live a life you chose for yourself and you won’t let anyone ruin that for you. It’s merely a stumbling block that you’ll get over. In ten years time, you’ll forget about your terrible childhood, you’ll forget what Mikey did to you and how Izana made you feel like everything was all your fault.

Someday, you’ll live your dreams that seem so far away.

‘I’ll live in a house that I love, I’ll have a job and maybe a pet. I’ll have more friends and I’ll be ha-’

Your thoughts die the second they come in your line of sight.

Mikey sits on one side of Emma, making a pouty face while she laughs at him. Izana sits on the other side with his cheek resting on his hand, a humorous smirk plastered on his face. To everyone else, it looks like a family having a fun time, bonding and laughing together, but to you, it's a mocking gesture, reminding you of your place in Emma’s life and how much worth you have. That they can do what they like and not feel the slightest bit of guilt while you spend days crying and washing out the dirt off your body until your skin feels raw.

Mikey is the first person to notice you, dark eyes looking into yours and for a brief moment he stares blankly at your frozen figure standing a few feet away, before switching to a more sincere look.

“Oh uh, (name),” the way your name rolls off his tongue makes you anxious. It’s so calm and reserved, like you’re old friends that haven’t seen each other in ages. Like he wasn’t the same man that forced himself on you in his car. “We've been waiting for you. You spent a lot of time in the bathroom, are you still sick?”

If you weren’t feeling sick before, you do now. He sounds genuinely worried and if you were as clueless as Emma, you would have believed he was. The others turn their attention towards you and you feel even more nauseous when Izana gives you a worried frown, yet his eyes are full of mirth.

He finds this entire situation entertaining.

Everything inside you wants to scream at them, tell them to just stop whatever they are trying to do, but all you do is stand and stare at them blankly.

“You’re shaking. Come on, sit down, before you fall.” Emma teases, thinking that you’re shaking because you were nervous and not angry. “Geez guys, look at what being mean to her has done. She’s scared of you guys! You better hope she accepts your apology.”

An apology. They were here to give you a fake apology. After everything they had done to you, they had the audacity to come here to offer you an apology they didn’t even mean, just to get in Emma’s good graces again, and she bought every single bit of it.

“We’re really sorry for being mean to you.” Izana chimes in a remorseful tone, but he doesn’t mean it, not even the slightest bit. “I shouldn’t have called you a whore or made fun of you like that.”

They could have done this earlier. Right after the party. You wouldn’t have minded the fake apology as long as Emma was happy and you all could be cordial with each other. But they chose to ruin your life first, before going ahead to apologize, as if it would mean anything to you. As if it would undo the damage they have caused.

“I was a jerk.” Mikey says in a very apologetic tone that could have anyone else fooled. “All these months, I assumed you were coming between us and I let jealousy push me to do things I never meant to. Let’s put the past behind us and be friends.”

‘Be friends?’

Frustration bubbles up at the bottom of your chest, your heart pounding loudly against your chest as you look at the two men who made your life a living hell. All this time, you were planning on ignoring them and moving on with your life like nothing happened but they just won’t do the same, despite them hating you. Was this just to torment you until you left Emma permanently?

Why are they doing this to you?

Right now, you want to tell them no, you don’t want to ever be friends with them, you can forgive them but you want nothing to do with them. But everyone else in the cafeteria is staring, expectantly waiting for your answer. You know if you say anything now, your life will be ruined. No one in this cafeteria will be on your side, either out of fear of the Sano family connection or loyalty to them.

Yet again, you’ve lost.

Pushing down your anger and frustration to the bottom of your heart, you decide it is best to accept their apology publicly and keep your sentiments to yourself, a forced smile on your lips. “I-it’s alright. I know everything you’ve done is all for Emma.” It’s technically not a lie, but it isn’t true either. You take your seat right across the rest of the Sanos quietly, feeling everyone’s watchful gaze on you, picking up your drink in shaky hands. “I forgive you both. Let’s put the past behind us.”

Your heart drops further to your stomach when you realize what you had just said. You feel even worse when you realize you meant every word: that you forgive them, because you’re tired of being angry. You’re tired of holding them in your heart and making plans to avoid them. If you were going to keep secrets from Emma, then you’ll have to actually put it behind you or it would eat you alive.

Anyone else who knew your situation would have called you a moron for doing so, but when you look at Emma, who is smiling at her brothers, you know you did what you think is the right thing and you did it for the right reason.

Love.

Right.

YOU feel overwhelmed.

With your dwindling savings and the looming fear of failure concerning your tests hanging over your head, it feels like the world is throwing one curveball after another at you. Applying to jobs had been even more disappointing. Apparently, no one wanted to take in a college student who was fired from her last job, not especially after that scathing recommendation letter from your former employer that said very concerning things about you.

You know it won’t be long until you have nothing left and time is running out for you. At this rate if you don’t get any job, you might have to ask someone for a loan or financial aid. But you don’t want it to get to that.

‘I still have some time before then. I can get a new job, no matter what it is.’

With no classes for the rest of the day, you decide to keep searching for jobs with a renewed vigor. pulling yourself up and googling jobs with vacancies, writing applications and reviewing them before sending it to multiple places. You’re sure if you send a hundred applications, one will definitely call you back. You kept sending application after application until you lost count of how much you’ve put out. Your back aches from being hunched over to type on your phone, your eyes are blurry from staring at the screen for so long and your mouth feels dry but you don’t stop sending mails.

Immersed in your application, you don’t realize that someone is practically pounding on the door of your room until the door flies open, Emma barging in, guns blazing with a terrified look on her face. You exit out of your email app and close your tabs quickly just as she comes in, screaming your name with a shaky voice.

“(Name)? (Name)!”

You rush towards her, panicking that something terrible might have happened to her. Grabbing her by her shoulders, you hold her in place, trying to calm her down. “I’m here, I’m here. Are you okay? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

For a few seconds, it’s as if Emma can’t register that it’s you holding her, struggling in your grasp until she looks at your face. Her eyes lit up in recognition, a sigh of relief escaping her lips only for her relieved face to turn furious, like she’s angry at you.

Scratch that, she IS angry at you.

“For god’s sake (name) don’t scare me like that!” You look at your best friend, clearly puzzled by her answer to your question as you release her shoulders. As if reading your mind, Emma adds; “I’ve been knocking on your door for the past ten minutes and when you didn’t answer, I called you again for five minutes but it said your line was busy! So I panicked. I thought something had happened to you.”

‘Whoops’

 You put your phone on do not disturb because you didn’t want any distractions while you were applying for jobs. You also never told anyone that you had lost your old job and you were looking for a new one, especially not Emma. Knowing her, if she knew you were fired, she’d try to assist you with money despite your protests. You don’t want to use her kindness for your own benefit, especially in this friendship. Even if you agreed to borrow money from her, she would never let you pay it back.

You’re the kind of person to pull your own weight, not to cast the burden onto someone else. You don’t want her to feel obligated to help you.

“I’m really sorry for scaring you. I put my phone on dnd because I was busy-”

“You never, EVER put your phone on DnD, even when you’re doing your homework.”

Now she sounds suspicious, the last thing you want. Knowing yourself, you find it hard to lie and Emma can be persuasive in figuring out secrets, like how she had convinced you to tell her you had a crush on her brother when you first met her.

You really don’t want her to find out this secret.

It’s as if for the first time someone hears your prayers for once because Emma drops this issue instantly. “You know what? That doesn’t matter.” She brushed your hands off her shoulders, letting them fall to your side as she walked away. “If your phone was on dnd, it means you didn’t get my message. No wonder you’re not dressed up.”

‘Message?’

For the third time today, your face scrunches up in confusion as Emma walks up to your wardrobe and starts digging through it. “What message?” You ask, tentatively. You hope it doesn’t have anything to do with either of her brothers - two people you’ve been avoiding for a while now. Just because you’ve given them grace doesn’t mean you want to be associated with them. It’s hard to not feel some form of resentment for what they did to you.

Without looking up from her task, she says cheerily, “Mikey and Izana said they want to take us out shopping today!”

Your heart drops at the statement. Just as you feared. Maybe things will never go your way and you just have to accept life as it is.

“Are you sure about that?” The last thing you wanted was to arrive at a place, only to find out your presence is unwanted, again.

“It’s not going to be like the last party, I swear.” It’s as if Emma can read your thoughts, because she dismisses the idea immediately. “Mikey practically begged me to drag you out- Oh this looks cute, come here (name).”

Despite being unnerved, you make your way towards Emma in strides until you’re besides her. You stand there, perplexed that of all the people, Manjiro Sano, who you’re sure despises you, asked for you to come with them. ‘Or maybe it wasn’t like that.’ You try to rationalize the whole situation. ‘Emma might have asked if I could come and he told her to go ahead. Maybe Izana wasn’t in the mood to protest it either, since he seems okay with my presence. Or he wants to test me to see if I’d say a peep.’

“I can hardly believe Manjiro would want me there.” You decide to voice out your doubts as Emma puts a couple of outfits on your body to see what matched. “Or that Izana wouldn’t protest my presence there. Just because they apologized doesn’t mean they automatically like m-”

“This dress looks so pretty on you. You’re totally wearing this.” Emma cuts you off, putting a white fitted dress with slight ruffles at the end, as if she wasn’t even listening to you. You’re about to voice your concerns again when she adds. “(name), my brothers never ever apologize to anybody. Mikey’s selfish and immature when it comes to taking accountability, even when he’s caught red handed and Izana is too prideful to ever admit he’s wrong. But they did that for you. Do you know how much of a big deal that is?”

“You had to give them the silent treatment for them to do it-”

“They still wouldn’t have apologized, they would have threatened to hurt you or put you in danger, as long as it meant you were gone and they didn’t have to say sorry. Sometimes, my brother’s pride is much more important than I am to them.” You feel a chill run down your spine when you register that Emma’s silence could have meant your disappearance. Suddenly, the gun in Izana’s hands last time wasn’t just a threat, it was a promise and it made sense now when he called you a fool for trusting him. “But they laid down that pride, for you. You. Don’t you understand?”

“I don’t-”

“I think my brothers are in love with you.”

“HUH!”

‘Excuse me?’

Your mouth fell open in shock, trying to process what you just heard. Their apology, the fake acting, everything worked well; too well in fact that Emma was suddenly jumping into the wildest conclusions, conclusions that not even in your wildest imaginations you could jump to. Maybe if you were still naïve, you would have been elated at the idea of the two brothers liking you in any capacity. If Mikey hadn’t sexually assaulted you and if Izana hadn’t pointed a loaded gun at your head, you would have believed that lie hook, line and sinker.

But you know the truth. Neither of the brothers are capable of loving you.

You don’t say anything to counter Emma or change her mind. Maybe it’s best she thinks they’re in love with you and live in her headspace that her plan of endearing you to her brothers worked. It’ll keep her less suspicious. “Well, don’t be shocked babe, it’s not just them, even the rest of the executives have a crush on you. You’re a work of art painted by god himself and you have the personality of a fucking saint, who wouldn’t love you?” She giggled, pushing the dress into your chest. “Now go shower and put this on. I’ll do your hair and makeup when you come out. I’ll tell the boys we’re going to be late.”

‘Yeah. Who wouldn’t love me?’

You force a smile as you disappear into the bathroom.

    IZANA knows you’re beautiful.

It’s not something that could be denied. Anyone could insult you about not having money or being a prude, but no one could ever call you ugly and mean it. You’ve got that sort of grace that many girls don’t have, not just the looks, but the purity of your soul and a heart of gold. Your innocence is like a white cloth, with no blemishes, no stains, because of your hard upbringing and strong morals.

To him, you would be fun to ruin.

He’s not the only one that can’t take his eyes off you. Mikey’s more obvious with his staring, watching your every move as you walked towards them alongside Emma. Dressed in a white short dress with ruffles at the bottom and a blue lace trim, your makeup is rather cutesy, doll-like even, making you look much more innocent than you usually do. Your demeanour today is not so different, donning your usual shy appearance, eyes cast down to your feet as opposed to Emma’s bright, preppy aura, her chin up and eyes alight.

Like night and day. You two couldn’t be any more different.

Mikey’s the first to react, ever the affectionate brother, pulling Emma into a tight hug the second she stepped in his vicinity.

“Emmaaaa”

Aware of his displeasure about them being two hours late, she hugged him back with equal intensity, rubbing his back to soothe him until he calmed down. Izana notices you looking at their interaction with a longing gaze in your eyes, and at first, he wonders if you want to hug Mikey too. It wouldn’t have surprised him, given how desperate you are for any form of affection, but then he remembers you too once had a family and you had elder brothers.

‘I wonder if she misses them.’

He’s cut off by his thoughts when Emma launches herself at him. He catches her in time, hugging her tight and patting her hair, Mikey also joining in the hug too, dorayaki always switches on his more affectionate side. You can only stand there awkwardly with your hands by your side, looking away from the three siblings as if you’re intruding in a private moment. Izana decides to be merciful enough to stop taunting you with their love.

“I think we’re making your friend jealous.” His purple eyes meet yours as he makes the statement. Your eyes widened as the three siblings separated, stammering out shaky excuses, clearly embarrassed that you were caught staring. “N-no, I don’t mean to- I-i mean I-i’m not… you can keep hugging I don’t mind… I’ll just…”

There it is again. That shyness as you looked down at your feet, trying to hide your flustered gaze away from them. Izana thinks that perhaps his favourite trait of yours is the ability to get so worked up easily, it makes it so fun to tease you.

“Aww, (name), do you want a hug too?” Emma eggs on, making you even more flustered. Oh so you also swing that way, interesting. “You must be feeling left out-”

“Emma!”

Your outburst only makes the three siblings laugh at you for a full minute before dropping the whole thing altogether. Besides, they were in public, any further teasing would have turned into something more charged.

He wonders what would happen if you were alone with either of them.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Emma says, walking back to you and grabbing your arm, pulling you alongside her. “Come on, we came out too late and all the stores are gonna close within four hours. Let’s go!”

Izana follows behind Mikey, until he catches up with him. He realizes his brother is silent, which was odd since he was so chatty and affectionate just minutes before. He’s about to ask what’s wrong when he follows Mikey’s gaze to your backside, lust practically oozing from how he was undressing you with his eyes.

Izana gets it. Your dress makes your body look good and your ass looks amazing in it; if he had any less control, he would have pounced on you in the middle of the mall.

But for someone who said he doesn’t want you at first, Mikey looks like he wants to drag you into a corner and fuck you like a slut right now. Sometimes, he wonders why Mikey chooses to lie and deny himself of things he wants instead of asking his dear big brother for help.

The white haired male leans closer to Mikey, his voice low enough for only the both of them to hear. “Don’t forget our bet.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

    YOU’RE not buying anything.

It’s a blow to Mikey’s pride that you’re just standing there, not touching anything.

He thought you’d jump at the opportunity to take his money and run wild with it, so that he’ll call Izana’s bluff about you loving him. For someone as poor as you, free money is like a dream come true. He knows your type of woman; pretty, nothing up in your head apart from books and the desire to want something more. He’s dated girls below and at his financial ladder, and most of the times, the poor girls love to drain him dry of his cash- not like that would ever happen, what’s a few million dollars gonna do to his wealth

It makes him feel less guilty when he eventually takes his own payment in kind, letting out his dark impulses when he has desires to be fulfilled. He drains them of all the love and adoration they can give to him until there’s nothing left for him to lord over.

Mikey watches you from the corner of his eye, the way you take note of each outfit before just nodding and moving to the next one. It annoys him. ‘Do you think you’re too good for an expensive designer brand (name)?’

Eventually, he gets up from his chair, excusing himself from one of Emma’s fitting sessions to meet up with you. He doesn’t miss the way your hand shakes nervously as you hide it behind your back, giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Oh hey Mik- Manjiro. Do you need anything?”

“Don’t you like anything in this store?”

“W-what? Of course I do, the clothes here are pretty-”

“But you aren’t buying anything.”

It’s your turn to be confused, looking at Manjiro like he had two heads. What could possibly be going on in that head of yours that made his statement so surprising? “If you don’t like anything in this store, I could take you to another place while Emma and Izana stay here. We can meet up with them later.”

You look at him for a few seconds, blinking once, then twice before smiling at him, a bit more honest this time and to his dismay he feels something hot burning in his chest and spreading to his face. “Oh, that’s nice of you,” your words come out in a drawl, eyes half-lidded as you thumb one of the clothes. “But the truth is, everything in this mall is much too overpriced, so I can’t really afford anything, but it’s how life is. I’ve worked in a store like this before, I can tell you that I buy similar clothes in the thrift store for less and save money for my next year tuition while looking good. Quality isn’t too different either and I’m happy.”

For the first time, Mikey really takes a good look at your face, because he’s sure you’re not the same person; talking about responsibility and budgeting instead of scuffing at your feet like you usually do.

He understands why Izana called him a self-centered fool that never noticed anything that didn’t involve himself. The world has given you so much pain and suffering and yet, you work around it to just survive and move on, not once blaming him for anything.

He hopes for your sake, Izana isn’t right for saying he’s in love with you.

“Manjiro?”

There’s a softness to your gaze when you look at him, as opposed to other girls who stare at him like he holds heaven and the earth in his hands.

It’s the same way his mother used to look at him.

He quickly pushed that thought aside, nearly appalled he compared you to his mother. If he didn’t know better, he’d think you love him unconditionally. But that’s not possible. No one loves a stranger unconditionally, there has to be something you want from him.

But that’s fine, you’ll help each other plenty.

“(Name), you don’t know why I told Emma to bring you here?”

“You wanted me here?”

“I promised you I was going to take you out shopping that day in the car.”

You wince visibly when he mentions it, and it annoys him, you’re acting like he did something horrible like rape you. Honestly, if you’re going to keep acting like this, maybe he should just do it, then you’ll have a reason to be terrified of him. “I’m trying my best to forget that day ever happened and put it behind me. You already apologized to me and I forgave you. You don’t have to do anything to make up for it-”

‘All this niceness is making me sick to my stomach. I need to shut her up fast.’

Before you could finish speaking, Mikey called one of the saleswomen around, telling them to come quickly.

“What are you-”

“Help her pick whatever she wants. I’ll pay for it.”

“Yes sir. Follow me.”

You look mortified, about to open your mouth to protest, only to be dragged away by the saleswoman before you could voice your grievances.

From the corner of the room, Mikey can feel Izana watching you both, an amused smirk etched onto his lips and Emma practically swooning over how romantic it was that Mikey wants to spend it on you.

‘Emma buys it. Perhaps I should listen to Izana more often.’

  YOU hate being the center of attention. If you knew that this kind of thing was going to happen, you would have doubled down on not coming with Emma.

“Let me buy your food (name)-”

“No little brother, you’ve spent enough, I can take care of it-”

“I’m not complaining about spending money now am I?”

“Focus on getting your kiddie meals, let a man take care of the bills.”

You hate this so much. You’ve heard of the Sano brothers competing against each other for the pettiest of reasons, but you never expected to be one of them. Now, you can’t even eat in peace after spending hours on your feet trying on clothes.

You’ve heard whispers of people calling you a gold digger. The store clerks, other patrons, anyone who happened to see you buy all those things have said horrible things about you. Making assumptions that you must be sleeping with the Sano brothers - their newest attraction and predicting your downfall soon enough because you must have seduced them.

Here in this food court, everyone is giving you a dirty look for not only holding the line, but because of their preconceived notion; you’re not worth the hold up.

And it’s giving Emma even worse ideas, really fueling the theory that they’re “in love” with you. But you know the truth. It’s like when your brothers would fight amongst each other to get a pretty girl, only to use and dump her because she’s just a prize.

Mikey and Izana don’t like you, they’re trying to outdo each other.

“Manjiro, Izana”

Their bickering stops the moment they hear you calling them. They slowly turn their attention towards you, their gazes burning holes into you for interrupting their conversation. You’re careful with your next words, it’s easier to tolerate them treating you like a pinup doll than them hating you and you don’t want to make them angry either, knowing fully well they’ll hurt you the second Emma isn’t looking at them. “I’m so sorry for causing all this commotion and keeping you two from eating. How about you both get something to eat first? I haven’t made up my mind yet, maybe we can get something to go when you’re done.”

You hold your breath, praying to God that they take this as you being an idiot for putting them first and just do as you asked. Luckily for you, your relief was immediate as they suddenly relaxed, mumbling “yeah, you’re right.” And “I’m actually hungry” before doing as you said. A sigh of relief crosses your lips as they finally get their separate orders and make their way back to the private booth they ordered, guards standing outside waiting for you three to be back.

Emma’s eyes lit up in amusement as you came in and sat next to her, a smug smirk tugging on her lips, as if telling you ‘they’re so head over heels in love with you.’ “Seems like you didn’t get any food, (name)” her tone is teasing. You know she has good intentions, but that’s the last thing you want to hear after the embarrassing ordeal you just went through right now. “Couldn’t decide between spicy or sweet? You can just pick both.”

You know exactly what she’s insinuating, but honestly, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. You feel like what they’re doing is backing you into a corner, it’s going to be harder to believe that both of them hurt you, especially with everything that they’ve done. It’s not like you can say no because they’ll get angry and hurt you again for insulting their pride. And if you do keep their gifts, they’re not above using it to make you do things you don’t want to.

‘Just look on the bright side.’ You try to think positively. ‘They might not go to the extreme since Emma is watching them closely-’

“THIS DOESN’T HAVE A FLAG ON IT. I’M NOT EATING IT.”

Of course. Things can never go so smoothly whenever you find yourself in the company of the Sano brothers.

“Mikey not this again. Ken is not here to put a flag for you and I’m not doing that for you either.” Emma sighs in annoyance. “You’re twenty-four, not fourteen, eat your damn food.”

“I’m not eating this shit.”

You thought it was a rumor that Mikey has an obsession with flags and wouldn’t eat without it, but this being a fact was … shocking. You watch as the man pouts, like he’s not the feared president of Toman’s fraternity but a spoiled kid; it’s somehow cute, the way he looks distraught over his food. ‘Reminds me of my younger cousin who wouldn’t eat unless someone fed him. Specifically me. Moments like this make Mikey seem so human.’

“Come onnn” Emma groans. “Mikey eat! You said you won’t do this again-”

“No”

Emma’s at her wit ends at this point and turns to Izana, but quickly dismisses the idea of asking him for help, probably because it would cause another fight, turning to you instead. “(Name), please convince him to eat something” Emma pleaded. “Trust me, you don’t want to be around a starving Mikey, he can be very snippy.”

You want to reject the idea, but with Emma’s pleading gaze and your inability to say no, you decide to try. You’ve had experiences with little kids who dig into their heels, refusing to do anything, and compromise is always the answer. You think that would work on Mikey too. “Manjiro, we don’t have a flag here or anything, what can we do to help you eat?”

He’s silent, still pouting as he thinks of your proposition for a few minutes until his eyes light up, a devious smirk slowly crawling onto his lips as he stares at you.

“Sit on my lap and feed me.”

Emma nearly chokes on her food, coughing loudly as she drinks water in an attempt to catch her breath. Izana only chuckles at Mikey’s bizarre but not surprising request, continuing to enjoy his now premium entertainment. You think it’s a joke, asking him to be more serious until Mikey repeats his request with a serious expression on his face. “Sit on my lap and feed me or I won’t eat this shit. I’ll even throw it away.”

‘This cannot be happening’

“Manjiro we’re in publi-” You’re cut off by Emma kicking you hard under the table, her eyes sharp enough to cut through glass. Stifling a cry of pain, you turn to her, your voice in a low whisper. “This is too much. What if someone see us-”

“And so what? This is your chance to cozy up with Mikey. He’s willingly let you touch him which means he definitely likes you. You have to stop being shy about your own affection.” She hissed back. You want to tell her that this has nothing to do with being shy with your affection, but has everything to do with Mikey’s previous actions whenever you got too close to him. “And there’s nothing dirty or wrong about feeding him and sitting on his lap. It’s just an innocent thing.”

“B-but-”

“(Name) just please. It’s a private booth, no one’s gonna look inside. Mikey has problems with eating, just this once, please please-”

Emma’s begging eventually gets to your soft heart and you cave in, pushing yourself up from your end of the booth and crossing over to his side. Mikey’s smile only gets bigger as you lower yourself onto his knees so that he doesn’t get the wrong idea, ignoring the way your legs were shaking from how nervous you were. You reach for the spoon to start, only for two strong hands to yank you forward until your ass sat comfortably on his thighs, earning a gasp from you.

“There, that’s better.” He murmured. “You’re much more comfortable like this.”

You’re not, but you know he doesn’t care. It’s his and Izana’s goal to cross as many of your boundaries as they can, just to see how much they’ll get away with.

‘Just do what you’re told. It’ll be over before you know it.’

Swallowing the utter embarrassment and nervousness you felt right now, you picked up a spoonful of food and angled it to his lips, a smile on yours to hide your true emotions.

“Open wide.”

Surprisingly, Mikey’s receptive to your feeding, reducing the embarrassment by at least fifty percent. You take the job as seriously as you can, easing him into opening his mouth and encouraging him to chew and swallow like you would your cousin and he does as he’s told without much of a fuss, his eyes glazed over in bliss, despite Izana constantly looking like he wants to laugh and Emma staring at the two of you like a couple out of a romance story, her eyes almost in hearts.

With more eager bites Mikey takes, you get more comfortable on his lap -apart from the hard thing poking your behind, most likely his keys-, your hand hovering under his spoon to avoid his food from spilling on his clothes. Emma may have a point, there was nothing wrong with feeding him, as long as he eventually ate something and perhaps he was just too lazy to do it on his own.

Unlike the other encounters, it doesn’t feel dirty or wrong, Mikey doesn’t creep a hand underneath your dress or touch your thighs, despite the booth being private enough and the table large enough to cover him if he attempts to do so. Izana doesn’t make lewd jokes about it either, apart from muttering ‘pervert’ and ‘spoiled brat’ to Mikey’s hearing -which makes him pout briefly- and Emma thinks it’s innocent enough to take videos of you two being cute together, sending it to their other friends.

It was weird, but seeing him wait on you patiently instead of yelling at you was nice. It’s been a while since you took care of anyone and he looked so innocent with his puffed up cheeks and bright eyes, waiting on you to feed him.

This was definitely the sweetheart, cheeky Mikey everyone talked about whenever he was brought up in a conversation of attractive men. The one you fantasized about when imagining how nice he’d be to you as opposed to his cold demeanour.

But still, you know it’s not permanent. It doesn’t make him any less cruel, just more human. You know it’s an act, but it still makes you sad regardless.

You wished he was kind to you all the time.

Emma’s phone pings with a new message in the middle of videoing you both, brows furrowing as she reads the text carefully. You all notice the sudden change of mood, from her usual chirpy self to a troubled expression.

“I totally forgot, I promised Yuzuha to help with her and Mitsuya’s project.” she hurriedly began picking up her things. “I’ve gotta go. You guys better drop (name) at her place safely.”

‘No! Don’t leave without me’

You’re about to open your mouth and tell her you want to leave with her, but you feel Mikey’s hand on your waist gripping you tightly, the warning loud and clear: keep your mouth shut. 

“Sure Em. We’ll get her home safely. Promise” Izana speaks for you, his eyes glimmering with mischief. Reassured, she pecks both her brothers’ on the cheeks before giving you a not so subtle wink, encouraging you to ‘have fun’ with her brothers.

You wish she was not so trusting of her big brothers.

  YOU have a bad habit of denying the ending of a book, until you reach there and realize there’s nothing you could do to save the protagonist.

You remember crying after reading “Lolita” for the first time. Emma had warned you beforehand that justice is never served at the end of the story and yet while reading it, you half-expected - no hoped for- someone to jump in and save the little girl. When you read Macbeth, you hoped he’d return to his senses before killing the king that was his good friend. When reading Hamlet, you hoped he would tell Ophelia he was sorry for killing her father, that he’d tell her he loved her before she died. You hoped Juliet would wake up before Romeo drank the poison, stopping him from killing himself, despite reading all these stories over and over again.

But just like your life, these stories were tragedies and the characters were doomed by the narrative.

You knew Emma had unintentionally sealed your fate when she left you in the care of her brothers to meet up with Yuzuha and you tried rationalizing every action that led you up to this point while in the car with the brothers heading off to your dorm. Could you have avoided hanging out with Emma today? Maybe not. She would have noticed you shying away from her brothers and become suspicious. Rejecting any offer given to you by the Sanos could mean insulting them.

Mikey is someone who hates hearing ‘no’.

‘There’s no point in thinking about the what ifs’ you tell yourself solemnly. ‘Every choice I could have made would have brought me back to them, regardless.’

The car revs to a stop at your dorm, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Thank you very much for everything.” You don’t look up from your lap, too scared to face them now that you’re alone. “I’m grateful for all the things you bought me.”

“You probably need help in carrying all of that, don’t you?” Mikey doesn’t acknowledge your thanks, but you don’t really expect him to. “I’ll help. Izana, you can wait, right?”

“I’m giving you an hour.”

You want to reject his help, but Izana’s the one driving and you’re at the backseat with your properties. You saw him when he put on the child lock earlier on, so you know you couldn’t just open the door and make a run for it.

You wait patiently for Mikey to come out of the passenger’s seat, opening the door and taking out the larger clothes and shoes, leaving you with only the little things like smaller clothes and the few jewelry you bought.

Correction, Mikey bought for you.

You go ahead of him, being the one who knows your room and the two of you walk in silence. Tension lies thick between the two of you as you make your way up the stairs, past the other rooms until you reach the end of the hallway. Like a predator, he watches you carefully as you turn the locks with trembling hands, opening it completely and entering inside. He doesn’t wait for an invitation, letting himself inside the room and kicking the door shut behind him.

Your eyes try to look anywhere but him as you open your wardrobe and arrange your new things. From the corner of your eye, you watch him drop your shopping bags beside your feet and move towards your bedside table. As you bend to pick up the rest of the clothes to neatly fold into squares while you figure out what to do with it, you spot him thumbing your Rosary beads between his fingers, as if he’s deep in thought.

“Seen this with Hakkai before.” He murmurs just enough for you to hear. You almost forgot he and Hakkai know each other, and with your bitter history with the Shibas, you assume that they probably have something to do with Mikey’s notion about you. “What do you use it for?”

“Prayers” You answer. “For protection, too.”

He laughs in response; it’s dark, tinged with mockery as opposed to his earlier laughter with his family, making your rate speed up until you can hear it thrumming in your ears. You know why he’s laughing and if you didn’t find yourself in this kind of predicament with him, you would have found it funny too.

“A lot of good it has done in protecting you.”

You don’t say anything in response, opting to stay quiet so that you don’t argue or agree with him. He has a point, a lot good it has done in protecting you when you wore it that day in Mikey’s car. Or when Izana broke into your room to harrass you. Or when you press it close to your chest in the night, hoping to keep your nightmares away. At this point, you’re sure your sins are too great for God to care about you anymore or hear your prayers.

After all, He couldn’t bear to look at his own son when the sins he was dying for was much too piled up on him, how much more you?

Mikey doesn’t say anything more, dropping the beads back before focusing his attention elsewhere. You continue with your tasks silently, slowly folding your new clothes in squares attempting to make space for them and wasting his time, hoping one hour would come by quickly so that he would leave.

‘I just need one hour to pass-’

“Are you in love with me (name)?”

You freeze.

The answer should be simple, shouldn’t it? After all he’s done to you, every humiliating ordeal he put you through the entire time you’ve known him, you should loathe his very presence. Resentment always lurks beneath your skin whenever you see him with another girl, knowing fully well he could get whoever he wants, he can sleep with them whenever he pleases and yet he chose to not only hurt you, but go on with his own life while yours falls apart.

Yet, you can’t say it.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you hear his footsteps inch closer, his eyes burning holes on your back. You shudder when you feel his hand on your bicep, roughly turning you around to face him. Dark eyes scan your features, before meeting your own, staring into them as the silence stretches on.

“Oh” he said, still maintaining his grip on you. Your silence is a resounding answer to his question and now all you feel is shame. For being romantically attracted to him. For being so weak that you couldn’t hate him or push him off you. You want to crawl up in yourself and hide away from him, so that he can’t see how pathetic and vulnerable you are anymore.

“You look ashamed (name). Is it because you want to resent me, but you can’t? Or because you know I don’t love you?” His free hand cups your face, cleaning the tear drop that had rolled down your cheeks, a gesture so gentle and yet, at the same time so cruel when you couple it with the fact that his fingers are digging into your arm painfully. “It’s okay. You don’t need to cry.”

“M-manjiro, please go hom-”

You hate yourself. You hate how you’re melting into his touch like you’re ice in his warm hands. You should be pushing him away and telling him to go to hell, to stop touching you. Instead, you let him drag you away from the wardrobe towards your bed, the inevitable. Heart thudding against your chest, body trembling with tears streaming down your face, you brace yourself to be shoved on the bed roughly and taken advantage off by force, your pleas of mercy and forgiveness ignored.

Only for him to let go of you.

You stand there, confused as he sits on the bed comfortably, his legs slightly spread. His face looked so calm and impassive, like this was his room, his space and you were the one out of place. “Come sit here, (name)” He points at his legs. You don’t move, frozen on your spot as the realization dawns on you about Mikey’s plan.

He wants you to be a willing participant.

You take a step back, ready to run away from here as fast as possible, but Mikey only tuts in disappointment. “Would you rather I chase you down and rape you instead?” The way he says it so casually, like he didn’t just threaten you sends chills down your spine. “You know fully well you can’t outrun me.”

You swallow hard, weighing your choices as you stare at him. Running away right now would give you a chance to get away from him, but he could still catch up to you if he wants to. Even if you escape him, Izana is downstairs and would willingly hunt you for sport. You thought of hiding in one of your dormmate’s room, but no girl here likes you enough to incur Toman’s wrath.

‘I’m finished.’

Your feet move on their own towards Mikey and his hands maneuver your body until you’re straddling him, your legs on either side of his waist, knees digging into the mattress, your crotch hovering over his. You wait for him to attack you with his touches or kisses, for him to take what he wants and leave you a broken woman, but he doesn’t move an inch, only opting to speak, his breath tickling your face.

“Show me how much you love me.”

“What?” You whisper, confused. What does he mean by that? “I don’t understand-”

“You said you love me, so show me.” He repeats again. “Pleasure me.”

Pleasure him? You don’t know how to do anything. Apart from kissing someone, which you only learned when you stayed with the Shiba’s, you were so sheltered that you don’t know what you’re supposed to do. Even when you asked your mother about how to please your husband, she only told you that your job is to lie down and let the man do as he pleases. Emma had made a significant effort in trying to show you a demonstration, but ultimately you chickened out because you couldn’t risk watching something as filthy as pornography.

‘He’s going to get angry at me.’ You start to panic. ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Oh God, he’ll hurt me for sure. He’ll force himself on me again-’

“I-i don’t know what to do… I’ve never done this before- I’m sorry, I’m sorry- please don’t hurt me.”

You don’t realize that you’re shaking once again, until you feel his hands slipping onto your waist, gripping it tight to steady you. “Stop shaking. This is why I don’t like virgins.” Mikey snapped. If you didn’t feel embarrassed before, you feel utterly humiliated. Not only were you forced into a situation you didn’t want to be in, you couldn’t even do anything to get yourself out of it.

You gasp quietly as he pushes your hips down to his crotch, pressing your clothed cunt against his hard cock. Your head falls onto his shoulder as his hands grab your ass from under your dress, rocking you against him, your dress lifting up higher and higher until it’s past your thighs.

His hands are hot against the fat of your ass, his warm breathy groans tickling down your neck as he pleasures himself with your body. The friction feels good, much to your horror, so good that you nearly forget what kind of predicament you found yourself in, feeling the ridge of his dick touch your clit repeatedly, jolts of pleasure running down your body, a damp patch growing on your panties. At the back of your mind, you know you don’t want this, but the way he controls your hips to his rhythm, the soft grunts he lets out of his lips and the way his breath tickles your skin, has you lowering your inhibitions bit by bit, holding onto his shoulders to attempt to anchor yourself down.

‘I-i’m not… I shouldn’t feel good doing this-’

A whine nearly escapes your lips as he abruptly stops his grinding, the small pleasure you felt suddenly ripped away from you. You quickly sit straight up, about to ask him what was going on, only for him to say. “You know what to do now, so do it.”

Oh. He was teaching you how to get him off. Of course, you must have forgotten that this was all supposed to be for his pleasure, not yours.

He lets go of your bottom, resting his elbows on the bed, dark eyes watching you, waiting for you to go ahead. You balance yourself, warping your hands around his neck and pressing your hips downwards, trying to mimic his previous movements. Your hip movements are awkward, slow, out of rhythm, and you start to panic. With his dark eyes trained on you, nervousness starts to creep in, your body trembling once again, making your movements even more unpleasant.

You peek at Mikey from your lashes, your heart dropping down to your stomach as you see the increasing frustration and annoyance written all over his face. It makes you try harder, try to arch your back, try to grind harder onto him but it doesn’t earn a sound from him.

‘I’m trying. I’m trying. God knows I’m trying but I can’t do it right I can’t-’

Mikey’s patience with your ‘incompetence’ runs thin, and before you know what was happening, your back hits the hard mattress, his body hovering above you. Panic rises in your chest when you see his darkened gaze, fury, lust and disgust all mixed into his eyes as he pinned you down with one hand. “Can’t do one thing right. You claim to love me but you can’t even make me happy. I did all that for you and yet you can’t do what I want-”

You struggle against his grasp when he grabs the front of your white dress- your favourite dress and suddenly rips it off your body and into shreds, the rope burns leaving marks on your body, your panties following suit. You let out a guttural scream, fear creeping in your veins when you realize just how far gone Mikey was.

“STOP IT! STOP IT MIKEY! MIKEY PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME- I’M SORRY, I’LL LOVE YOU HARDER, JUST DON’T DO THIS TO ME-”

He ignores your screams, discarding the scraps of clothes and using his free hand to undo his belt, his expression blank, uncaring. You kick against his feet, screaming at him to stop but it falls on deaf ears as he drags out his penis, lowering his hips closer to yours. You started to weep, as he gathered what’s left of your slick.

“If you do this to me, I’ll never forgive you.” You weep, tears rolling down your cheeks. He doesn’t react, gathering spit in his mouth and spitting on your uncovered woman hood, before rubbing his cock on it again. “I’ll hate you for the rest of my life, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.” He doesn’t say anything, his cockhead pushing through your hole bit by bit until you hiss out.

“I’ll kill myself.”

He paused his movements, his eyes growing wide as you utter those words, but you’re too exhausted to care. “I’ll kill myself if you take the only thing I have left. I know you don’t care because you already have blood on your hands, what’s my life compared to others? but I will kill myself-”

“You can’t be serious-”

You curse him out, the all bitterness and frustration of life laced in your voice. “You made everyone hate me. I lost my job, failed my test and because I was haunted by what you did to me in that car to the point I couldn’t sleep. When you apologized, I forgave you. I forgave you because loving you was all that I had left and I hoped that you’ll change. I don’t have money, I don’t have a family, I don’t have friends, I have NOTHING else to live for. If you take the one thing I have left, I will kill myself!"

It’s as if something in Mikey’s brain clicked. He pulls out his tip from you before he could go any further, tucking his manhood back into his trousers. Through tear streaked eyes, you could see an unfamiliar look in his visage, something you thought he would never feel for anyone but himself.

Guilt.

He lets you go, climbing off your body and standing upright, his hand tousling his long blond hair, immense guilt written on his face. You turn around, away from him and curl into a ball to hide your body from him, nursing your bruised wrists while sobbing quietly. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything as you cry, not even to defend himself. Eventually, you hear him shuffle around, before dropping something on your table and turning to leave.

You don’t look at him as he turns the knob, opening your room door to leave.

“I’m sorry.”

“Leave me alone, please.”

He doesn’t say anything else, closing the door behind him silently. With him gone, you peek over your shoulder to see what he put on the table.

The huge stack of cash only makes you curl into a tighter ball and weep harder.

Bonus:

  THE look on Mikey’s face was nothing short of priceless.

It’s a mixture of anger, hurt and guilt - so much guilt that could kill a normal man. Izana could only watch humorously as Mikey sat down in the passenger seat of his car, violently tossing his phone onto his lap.

“You won. Here’s your stupid pictures.”

He only smiles at his little brother’s anger, finding it hilarious that his brother would be upset at being wrong about you being in love with him. “Wow Mikey, you really work fast. How the hell did she not know the spy cameras were there huh?” Izana snickered, picking the phone up to look at the pictures taken. His grin only stretches further as he sees you in intimate positions, even one with you fully naked, your perfect tits out on display and tears running down your cheeks. “Come on, how was your first time with a virgin? You don’t look too happy. Did she cry a whole lot-”

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

His smile falls lopsided. There was something strange about Mikey, like he had done something he couldn’t take back. Which was shocking, this was the same man that had paid Makoto - your PA, to put spy cameras in your room, what changed? “Why though? Don’t tell me she made you go soft or something-”

“She was going to fucking kill herself if I went through with it.”

“And you stopped?” Izana scoffed at Mikey. Really? That’s why he didn’t go ahead with taking what he wants? “She was gonna silence herself permanently, no one would have known.”

Mikey’s jaw clenched, but he only grunted, his eyes looking down at his lap. “Just drive me back to my dorm room.”

Izana rolled his eyes at Mikey. “This is the last time I help you with a girl, all that effort for nothing.” He snaps, revving up the engine to leave. “Since when did you get so soft, Mikey? Don’t tell me you fell in love with her while you were on top of her?”

Mikey stays quiet this time, his silence holding the answers.

‘Well fuck. That was unexpected.’

Special thanks to: @officiallyjaehyuns @haikyuusboringassmanager @ilybbg @merrymerrykiss @cockonoi @Rindou24689 @short-cxke @kokoch4n3l @GenAwi @ryuguji-sana @nuyoo @reiners-milkbiddies @kiwixpi @gh0stgirl333 @brisssaaa009 @fushiqruo @kawaiikoalagarden @damidamimongalam @raven-nevra @ilovetwodmen @kodzubaby @straightfromheaven @manchie55 @pikibee @tomeyano @matchamilktea-05 @tenjikusstuff4 @m0onz1 @hapikiou @rainnyzz @Lovelyartistz @lik0 @theblueslytherin @rabbit @kakusimp @Rin-10 @sousydive @torasplanet @playgirlfawn @gumiegumie @kurokawaia @anastasiatheloveofyourlife @bontenxo @satorubby @black-swan-blog27 @asirensrage

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

Traumatized in Ireland While my Family is Facing Death and Starvation in Gaza

Note: Vetted by:

1. @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi # 151 on the spreadsheet of Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List]

2. @riding-with-the-wild-hunt Here .

I contemplate the happy faces of people around me here in Ireland and reminisce about the happy normal life my family and I had before the war. A life that turned into a distant memory for us and was replaced by an unending series of horrible nightmares.

Unlike my family in Gaza, people here have access to drinking water, all types of food, electricity, and a roof over their heads. Above all, they are safe, and I cannot help but wonder if they genuinely do appreciate these blessings in their lives enough.

People seem relaxed and laughing wholeheartedly around me in Ireland. I wish I could laugh too, but I am crushed way beyond recovery on the inside. I was evacuated by my Irish college after five months of living the horrors of war in Gaza. I hope you will never know what it feels like to live in constant fear and worry and be horrified by the most sickening and scary nightmares every single night while you are far away from your family in such circumstances.

When did my people in Gaza cease to be human beings worthy and deserving of a normal life? Has it become normal now for my family in Gaza to be starved and killed while the whole world is watching the genocide? If that is the case, then you will have to excuse me if I seek every avenue to bring them to Ireland and start a new normal life like all people here around me.

I was assured by the Irish Reugee Council (IRC) and lawyers in Ireland that there is hope I can reunite with my family in Ireland. In difficult times, it is hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. For me and my family, you are literally our light and hope for a better life.

SOS!

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[haikyuusboringassmanager]

Still Waters

Yandere Nøkken/Nicker (water elf) x reader

Authors note: listening to Grieg while writing this was definitely an experience<3This is my first time writing an x reader with one of my ocs and I had a lot of fun:) If you have any requests or questions about Nøkken or Eilif as my original character’s name is, please let me know!<3

Nøkken/nicker is a Norwegian urban legend. He is a water creature that drags his victims under water. He is known to take many forms, a horse and a beautiful man some of them. (More info at the bottom)

Synopsis: you find yourself by a lake in search of water for your village after your well has run dry. By the door of the lake you met a mysterious man with long black hair playing the fiddle.

Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of drowning, manipulation, mention of previous murders, original character, Norwegian folklore,

Word count: 2478

The water in the stream was unruly as you came out onto the lush clearing. The sun was getting low and you regretted going out so late. The well by your small village had run dry, so you were forced to go out and gather water yourself.

A crow cawed in one of the treetops before it took off. As you watched the majestic bird soar over the orange sky, the hair in the back of your neck rose. You knew all too well that venturing outside at dusk was dangerous. Your grandmother had told you tales about beings that resided deep in the forest that lusted for human blood. You had long refused to believe in such stories, but tonight you couldn’t stop your fantasy from running wild.

The sound of a twig snapping pulled you out from your thoughts. Your eyes scanned the stream. It was empty. You sighed in relief as you began your trek up the stream and towards the little lake.

In contrast to the stream the lake was completely still. The beautiful colours from the sky reflected onto the surface. A warm summer breeze gently ruffled your hair as you put your two buckets down on the soft grass.

The gentle melody of a fiddle filled the air. Your heart hammered in your chest as you slowly rose your head.

There on a moss grown stone sat a man. His eyes closed as he played. He had long, slightly wavy hair that reached a little below his elbows. He was truly beautiful.

His eyes slowly opened as his melody came to an end. He tilted his head slightly as he smiled.

“Hello” his voice deep. He shifted his position on the stone and leaned slightly back in a relaxed manner.

“Hello. Beautiful playing” you answered with a shaky voice. The air around him seemed otherworldly. Your intuition told you to run. To run as far away as humanly possible, but something made you determined to stay.

“Thank you” he smiled. “Enjoying the view?” he asked. His green-yellow eyes studied you intensely.

“Umm… I suppose so” you shifted on your feet.

He nodded towards your buckets. “Are you from the village nearby? I have seen you multiple times here. Your well has dried up, if I remember correctly?” he leaned forward slightly.

“Yeah…” your voice low. “It’s my turn to get water” you forced a smile that looked more like a grimace.

He hummed. “I see…” He rose from the stone and slowly walked towards you.

In a blink of an eye he was a few centimetres away from you. His tall stature towering over you. His thin hand gently raised and twisted a strand of your hair around thin fingers. “You are beautiful” he whispered.

You swallowed at his closeness. “Thank you” you smiled slightly back at him. His eyes shone through the dusk light.

“It’s rather rude how your village let you go out here all by yourself. It’s dangerous, plus those buckets are going to be extremely heavy and difficult to carry” his voice was laced with concern.

A shiver ran down your back at his words. He was of course right. It was dangerous, but you didn’t have any choice. You shook your head “Thank you for your concern, but I will be alright. Now if you would excuse me. I need to fill my buckets.”

He blinked slightly before he regained his composure. “Of course” he nodded. He turned and walked towards the stone to pick up his fiddle. His black hair gently rustled in the wind.

You turned your attention to your buckets. You cursed yourself for not bringing the iron buckets as those where much easier to carry than the wooden ones. The water rippled as you brought your first bucket down. A lily pad almost got caught in it. Its white flower petals broke off and got caught underwater. You watched in silence as the flower disappeared.

You sat your full bucket behind you before you started to fill the next one. Water slowly filled the bucket as you stared out into the horizon. The landscape around the lake was beautiful and reminded you of the beautiful paintings you had seen hung in the village church. The trees were lush with green leafs that reached high up towards the sky.

You were about to set your bucket down behind you when you saw a small ripple in the still lake. Your senses were on alert as you scanned the waters. All you could see was beautiful waterlilies. You were about to stand up when something pulled you underwater.

You screamed as something grabbed your right hand. You tried to resist with wriggling and kicking against its hold, but to no avail. It was way too strong. It dragged you further down the dark and chilly lake. You were grateful you automatically took a deep breath when it started pulling you down.

A few light rays shone through the surface and aided your eyes.

With the light you were able to fully open your eyes and see what had dragged you down. The first thing you noticed was a pale hand that tightly held your wrist. The next thing you noticed was long wavy black hair that danced as the creature dove. You suddenly regained the control over your body and you clawed at the hand.

The creature only tightened its hold as it swam faster.

It didn’t take long before you started to choke at the lack of air. You screamed through a closed mouth in fear. Drowning had always seemed extremely terrifying and now as it was happening you had never been more afraid.

The last thing you saw before darkness enveloped you was a cave that lead up to the surface.

Your eyes snapped open and you coughed up water. Whit each couch your lungs protested. Your lungs were on fire and it hurt.

Your eyes darted up towards the sky and you blinked hard as a way to clear your foggy vision. The sight that met your eyes was the sky that was almost completely dark and a face more beautiful than every prince you had ever seen the portraits of. Back started a pair of green-yellow eyes accompanied by long black lashes.

“You’re awake” his voice gentle and filled with relief. “I was getting worried” your eyes shifted to his mouth were you could see four sharp fangs.

You swallowed as your chest heaved up and down. Your nostrils flared as you tried to control your rapid breathing.

The man above you cup you face gently. He stroked his thumbs over your cheekbones and you could feel the ghost of claw-like nails. “Shushhhh….. It’s okay. You’re okay” he shushed you gently.

“Who are you? What happened? Where am I?” your voice was loud and panicked as you looked around. You were by a lake you had never seen surrounded by beautiful wild flowers and the greenest grass.

“Do you really not know? I am sure you must have an inkling feeling of who I am? Right?” he rose his brow as he leaned back. He was straddling you, but he didn’t put his full weight in you. His lips widened slightly up into a little smile.

“I don’t…” you shook your head.

“I see…” he nodded. “It doesn’t matter. Not when you are here. Oh, you have no idea how long I have waited” he grinned. He stroked your cheek with the back of his hand. He sat up, causing his black blouse to slid slightly off his shoulder revealing pale skin and some of his lean body.

He stood up and offered you his hand. His hand was cold as you took it. His hand was dry despite him just recently being underwater. He dragged you up with ease and he supported your wobbly knees by holding onto your shoulders as to stabilise you.

“Let me show you my home. The one on the surface that is” he gestured towards a house at the foot of the lake. It was in medium size decorated with fishing nets and bones of various species. Some flowerpots were hanging underneath some of the windows creating a stark contrast between the different aesthetics.

“It not like the royal castle, but it isn’t so bad” he chuckled softly. “I’ll prepare some supper for you.”

You froze in your tracks as you let your eyes fully scan your surroundings. Now that you were standing, you were able to see that you really weren’t near the lake he had dragged you under.

“Aren’t you coming?” he tilted his head.

You nodded slightly. You decided it was better to do as he said rather than getting drowned in the deep lake.

His house was surprisingly cozy. It was decorated in various dark greens and dark blues. Rosemaling in green and blue littered the walls and cabinets.

“Take a seat” he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs.

You did as he said. The chair groaned slightly underneath your weight. And you almost felt guilty dripping water all over his chair. Your gaze trained on his back as he lit the stove and began preparing the fish. He was seemingly skilled in the kitchen as his movements were as fluid as waves.

In a blink of an eye were a plate of fish and steaming potatoes sat in front of you. It smelled heavenly and you sighed.

He chuckled at your reaction. “It will taste even better”. “Do you want some water?” he sat a glass of water in front of you.

You hesitated as you stared the glass of water down. Your heart rate quickened as cold sweat ran down your back. You could see your reflection on the surface.

He took a seat before you. The chair legs scraped against the floor. “Are you alright?”

When you failed to answer him, his eyes widened slightly. “Oh” he stifled a laughter. “You finally realised who I am then” he nodded.

You didn’t take your eyes away from the glass. “If I drink this I’m dead” your voice quiet.

“Why would you be dead? It’s just water.”

“Because I didn’t drown when you dragged me under. If I drink this, I will drown when I swallow” your eyes rose and met his. His expression was unreadable as he stared back at you.

“And why is that? Why would you drown?” his voice devoid of emotion.

“Because… because you are… Nøkken” your voice a mere whisper that was more fragile than a crisp autumn leaf.

He leaned back in his chair. “Nøkken… not many dare say that name” his lips curled up in a small smile.

You gulped. You adverted your gaze from his intense eyes. You were filled with hopelessness and you couldn’t help the crystal tears that fell from your eyes.

“I didn’t try to drown you. I just wanted to bring you here” his voice broke the silence.

You looked back up at him. Confusion clearly written on your face.

“Why would I kill you? You really have no idea about all the effort I went through. Drying that well was no easy task, I tell you that. Not when it was as deep as it was. But I did indeed enjoy luring those crudes you call neighbours, to my lake. Those pitiful screams surly made my day” he sighed in delight. “No, I would never in my wildest dreams kill you, [Name]” he reached for your hand. His long fingers gently wrapped around your hand. “Besides, you didn’t feel thirsty when you woke up did you?” he smiled.

You blinked as you shook your head. No, you had not been thirsty at all. The tales your grandmother had told you said that the victim that was saved from drowning would be thirsty afterwards. When they drank, they would drown on their drink. For such is the power of Nøkken.

“But why?” you asked.

“Because I love you” his smiled widely and his eyes were filled with emotion deeper than the lake he had dragged you under.

You suddenly stood up, causing the chair to fall. “I want to go home” you tried your best to not show fear. It suddenly hit you that he knew your name even though you had never told him. Were you really safe at home? Most likely not.

“No” his voice quiet. He slowly rose to his feet. He stalked towards you like the predator he was.

You backed away from him. Your back hit the wall as you cowered in on yourself. His steps was slow as his eyes looked into yours with determination. “You belong to me. You have belonged to me since the moment I saw you. When you listened to my playing and bared your soul for me by complimenting me, your fate was sealed” his voice was eerie quiet.

He slammed his hands on either side of your head and leaned down. “There is no fighting it. You humans are nothing compared to non-humans. But don’t be afraid. I will never hurt you. Never” he cupped your face. “Since I know your name, it is only fair that I give you mine. That should show you how deep my love for you runs” he looked you deep into your eyes. His eyes more vibrant than ever before. “My name is Eilif.”

“Eilif…” you tasted it on your tongue out loud. A beautiful name which meant alone or immortal. Your face lit up. You knew his name. You knew Nøkken’s name. “Eilif” you said with such determination like ever before.

The man in front of you froze before he lifted an eyebrow. “You thought by calling my name out, I would be forced to let you go. Which is true has it not been for two things”. He raised one finger “Firstly you already let me take a hold of your soul when you gave me your sincere compliments”. He lifted a second finger “Secondly, I didn’t try to drown you. Had I tried just that, then maybe saying my name would have worked.”

You looked at him like a gapping fish. He cooed as he closed your mouth with a thin finger. “Don’t be so surprised darling. Don’t you for one second doubt my devotion to you” he smiled wildly, showing his sharp fangs. He pulled you into a tight embrace. He rested his head on top of your head as he sighed in glee. “You and I will be by each other’s side for eternity. I cannot describe the joy I feel. All my work finally paid off. A man can’t ask for anything better” he kissed the top of your head with his soft lips.

As the Eilif hugged you, you knew that all hope was lost. For how could a mere human compared with the urban legend himself?

Dictionary

Nøkken (nicker in English) explanation: Nøkken is a Norwegian urban legend about a creature that lures people down the depths of waters and wells. He is described to take many forms, a beautiful man one of them. If you hear him playing the fiddle you can learn from him and become exceptionally good, but you would then have sold your soul to the devil. I have made my own version of Nøkken in this fic.

Rosemaling/rose painting: A traditional Norwegian painting technique which consists of rose like motives which is often painted on walled, shelves, cabinets, doors, bowls, spoons and etc.

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

WHY'D I SEE THIS WHILE MY CAT IS SICK?! IM ABOUT TO CRY MY EYES OUT

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

thank you for the tag <3 also I don't understand how people enjoy spicy food, it literally kills me....

last song: sugarcoat by natty from kiss of life

favorite color: baby pink!! ever since I was a kid I've been obsessed with it

last book i finished: Haikyuu manga. I literally one read manga or my textbooks

last tv show i watched: from. I don't think I've ever heard anyone else except of one person who watches it

sweet/spicy/savory: Hundred percent sweet

relationship status: single

last thing i googled: prions disease (don't ever study biology more than you have to, it's scary)

current obsession: Dinosaurs. They're so fucking cool or maybe watching those aesthetic study vlogs for studying, very motivating

looking forward to: going to China next year with my college. Although my Mandarin is going really bad at the moment and I don't know anyone going, it was really cheap and we get to study in an actual Chinese uni for two weeks.

Tags: @shesjustanothergeek @witchthewriter and anyone else who'd like to join <3

10 people i’d like to get to know better

tagged by @bubonicbabybell <3

Last song: meat is murder by the smiths

favorite color: orange 🍊

last book i finished: bliss montage

last tv show i watched: supernatural (s12)

sweet/spicy/savory: savory? i honestly dont have a preference

relationship status: single

last thing i googled: stardew valley wiki 💀

current obsession: dead poets society + the sims 4

looking forward to: halloween! and nanowrimo

tagging > @laceyc0bwebs @thelifeofagirl @chiiiiiiiiiiiiiii (i have no other mutuals and am lowkey scared to tag people i follow so sorry this is supposed to be 10)

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

i do not ghost purposely i just have no idea what to say ever

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

Some good news for y’all right now Missouri has overturned their abortion ban!!!!

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

Monsters: Mikey Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

Chapter 2: Shots Fired

series summary: your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. and now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

chapter summary: Izana Kurokawa demands your attention and he doesn’t take no for an answer. Not even when his demands are outrageous.

cw: DARK CONTENT, MISOGYNY, NSFW, r*pe mention, religious guilt, depictions of PTSD and CPTSD, emotional incest, abandoment issues, violence, revenge porn, depression, filming without consent, drugging, implied domestic abuse, victim blaming, blackmailing, manipulation, gaslighting, mind break, psychological torture, use of firearms

r-18+ (not suitable for 17 and under)

wc: 11.6k

[masterlist] [chapter 1] [chapter 3] [taglist]

a/n: likes are nice, comments and reblogs with comments are superior, anons are also superior too and would make me update faster cause it means people like what i write. this chapter takes an entirely different turn from the old story, some scenes are similar but the context is different. i host polls after this so stay tuned. Edit 02/11/2024: this chapter's end has been edited and changed. I've indicated the edited point, so that you could skip other parts to read it. Thank you.

 YOU haven’t been able to stay asleep for the past few days.

It’s easy to fall asleep after a hard and stressful day at school and your part-time job. Your limbs ache from all the walking and lugging a bookbag far heavier than what you could handle -since all your e-textbooks were on your (now destroyed) laptop and phones were not allowed during lectures. And working from 5pm until 9pm at a restaurant, serving food to rude, overbearing customers only to be paid in pieces was another added stress in itself.

Not to mention, studying until the words are bleary and just looking at a book hurts your eyes.

But then, in all your dreams, everything you’ve pushed to the back of your memory is at the forefront. Your dream starts typically, your normal school day, waking up, dressing in your cute little blue crop sweater and jean skirt with socks. You go to classes, and then you see Mikey’s car waiting for Emma.

Things take a different turn. He’s the one getting out of the car to meet you. It’s like a siren call, him holding out his hand for you to take despite someone screaming for you to stop. You try to reject him, try to run away like the voice said but you end up getting trapped. This time, he’s not using his hands. He’s fully sheathed inside you, robbing you of the thing you hold so dear while you kick, bite and claw at him until you wake up screaming, sweat soaked all over your sheets.

You consistently dream of being violently raped by Manjiro Sano.

The next few hours until sunrise were equally horrible. You’re quietly sobbing into your pillows, praying to God to forgive you for letting Mikey touch you in the first place, assuming your reason for having such dreams was God’s divine judgement for your grievous sin. You’ve lost count on how many Bible verses you stay up reading until your eyes are bleary and the sun comes up.

No matter how much you pray and how many times you recite psalms 127 before you sleep, you can never escape Mikey in the world of dreams. He’s a virus that has invaded your thoughts, corrupting every dream you had and twisted them into nightmares.

You don’t know how long you can hold on being this sleep deprived. It’s been impairing your school life, trying to find a way to stay awake during classes only for you to fall asleep and miss the rest of it. Even when you got notes from the person next to you, reading them was always difficult because your eyes hurt so much.

Work was even more taxing and stressful, rush week adding more stress than you could ever imagine. You found yourself spacing out more than usual when you were supposed to be taking orders. You were unable to keep up with the fast paced environment, your body feeling like a ton of bricks with every moment you make. Your eyes were heavy lidded, tired from forcing them open throughout the day.

You were so, so tired-

“Hello! Are you sleeping on me young lady?” A voice snapped at you.

Your eyes shot open and immediately you stood back straight. You must have been dozing off while taking the older lady’s order -the very thing you’ve been trying to avoid all day long. “No, not at all Ms-” you started to explain. “-I was just … what was your order aga-”

You flinched when the woman angrily slammed her fist on the table, shutting you up instantly! “So you were sleeping on the job! What kind of establishment allows this?” She screamed, attracting the attention of customers around. “I need to speak to your manager. NOW!”

You instantly began to panic at the mention of your manager. If he heard any of this, he was definitely going to fire you. You cannot afford to lose this job right now, with all your school expenses and saving up money for next session’s tuition.

“No mam!” you begged, keeping your voice even as you tried to reason with her. “Th-there’s no need for that! Please! Let me take your order and I’ll-” you racked your brain for an excuse, knowing fully well your establishment does not offer free meals. “- I’ll pay for your meal! On me-”

“So you’re trying to imply I’m poor?” She interrupted you again, her tempo even higher than before. “You disrespectful little wretch! How dare you? GET ME YOUR MANAGER RIGHT NOW!”

You started begging the older woman, trying to calm her down and de-escalate the situation, but each plea only fuelled her rage. By now, every customer, every employee and just anyone in that place watched you grovel and beg this woman to calm down, some people even videoing your altercation. Your body was trembling as she screeched in your ears, calling you all sorts of names while you relentlessly apologised to her.

“What is going on here?”

You winced at the sound of your manager’s voice emerging from the backrooms. You stood stiffly as he walked to your side, using his shoulder to nudge you out of the way. “Is there something wrong Ms.?” He asked the lady. “What happened?”

“This little wretch!” She practically screeched at you, her finger wagging straight at your hung face. “She was sleeping while I was ordering! And when I pointed it out to her calmly, she called me a hag!”

Your eyes snapped open. You can tolerate people yelling at you, but lying is out of the question. “I did not call you anything! That’s a lie-”

“You be quiet!” Your manager yelled at you, silencing you. He turned to face the woman again, apologising profusely for your so called rude behaviour. “I promise you mam, she will be dealt with accordingly. Your order is in the house, please take that as a token of our humble apology and forgive us.”

You stood there in shock as the woman smirked satisfactorily at her now free meal. “Well, you better get rid of her!” She snarked, eyes scanning you up and down, plopping back down on her seat. “Or you’ll lose me as a patron.”

“Of course mam.” He said sweetly before switching his countenance towards you into a more irritated one. “You, come with me.”

You lowered your head once again in disappointment as you started following your manager towards the back rooms, your head lowered in shame as the eyes followed your every move to your damnation waiting for you in the manager’s office.

Your skin crawled as you felt his penetrating gaze on you, as if judging you. “You know how many complaints I have received this week just from you, (name)? How many orders you’ve messed up?”

You shook your head no in response, not trusting yourself to say anything reasonable at this point. He eyes you up and down again before scoffing at you rudely. “I only let you stay here because you said you were desperate for a job. But apparently, you’re not even bothered enough to keep it.” He spat out. “Unfortunately for you, this is the end of the road for you here. Change out of your uniform and leave.”

“But s-”

“I said you’re FIRED. GET OUT.”

You sighed weakly, obeying your now ex-manager’s order and leaving the office. You ignored the eyes of everyone watching you exchange the too tight black jeans and green top uniform back to your white bohemian skirt and light blue top with your white jacket. Calmly, you packed your school bag and everything you owned with you and slung it over your shoulder, replacing the uniform back to the locker, dropping the key on top.

No one said goodbye to you as you left through the back door.

  IZANA knows it's creepy to be waiting for Emma just outside her college, but it's not like he has a choice when she keeps ignoring any method he uses to contact her.

Mindlessly, he fiddled with his lighter with his back on the wall of the English department building and an unlit cigarette between his lips. Purple eyes scanned the people leaving the building one by one, hoping to find a mop of golden hair amongst the students. His hopes rose with each blond he saw, only for him to deflate when he realised they weren't her.

A few minutes passed and still no sign of Emma. Deciding that he didn’t want to stand around and gape, Izana lifted his lighter towards his cigarette, flicking the light twice and bringing the warm flame to his lips. Breathing in the familiar scent of nicotine, smoke filled his lungs as he tucked the lighter back in his pockets. His free hand took the cigarette from his lips and he exhaled, releasing plumes of smoke from his lips.

His smoking habit had gotten worse within the past week. Izana couldn’t help it, reaching for a light anytime he saw his gifts in the dustbin. Emma hasn’t been this angry at him before. Usually a new plushie was enough to wash his sins clean, no matter how grevious they were. Now, not even the most expensive shoes she’s been eyeing for months could satiate her anger.

All because of you.

Izana knows his little sister like the back of his hand. Like how she loved sleeping with plushies because it comforted her whenever their mother brought her gambling friends into the house and they were loud. Or how he picked up a guitar to learn multiple barbie songs because their mother had destroyed Emma’s CD that he bought with his money to punish her. He knew she liked warm tea during her periods and gentle back rubs to ease her pain. He’s not the best person to be around, with how fucked over he was by life until Shinichiro gave him purpose but he loved his sister a lot and everything he did was to protect her. Life hardened him, made him so jaded that the only thin thread connecting him to his humanity was Emma and he’d do anything to protect his humanity.

Only to watch it slip through his fingers.

First it was Mikey’s stupid friend, Ken Ryugi, who waltzed his way into Emma’s life. Izana didn’t like him one bit- didn’t like how Emma would bite her lip, waiting for him to reply and cry herself to sleep when he didn’t. Her heart was soft, fragile and that brute tore it apart by telling her he wasn’t interested in a relationship yet.

The only reason Ken wasn’t in an unmarked, shallow grave in the middle of nowhere was simply because Mikey was involved.

Now it is you, taking the space in her life that belonged to him and Mikey. You’re pushing both of them out of the equation, threatening their position in their sister’s life and everything they know.

Izana wonders how someone so insignificant was so important to Emma that she was willing to cut communications with her own brothers. It baffles him beyond understanding and at the same time enrages him that she could trust you so easily. That she was willing to turn against him in your name.

He took more puffs, skimming throughout the campus for any sight of her. It didn’t matter how he felt about it, as Kisaki had convinced him to ask Emma and you to go shopping, just to get back into Emma's good graces again. Apparently doing a nice gesture publicly for you would convince their sister to give them another chance again.

Especially because Izana had been the biggest opposition to their friendship.

“But Mikey was a little shit about them too.” he grumbles underneath his breath, cigarette in hand. “Why do I have to be the one to apologise? And why did Mikey get an out while I’m doing all the heavy lift-”

His thoughts were cut short the second he caught sight of a familiar blonde hair bouncing in the wind and stood up straight, tossing the cigarette to the floor and crushing it underneath his black shoes, before rushing to catch up to his little sister.

Izana pushed through the throng of people, violently shoving anyone that got in his way until he finally fell in step with her, slowing down to match her pace. Without wasting time, his hand curled around the girl’s wrist, stopping her in her tracks instantly and earning a shocked gasp escaped her lips.

“Get off me - Izana?”

Her free hand was fast to hit him, but her head was faster in turning around, only to recognize it was just Izana. Her hand stopped inches away from the smirking male’s face, the tension leaving her body and relief taking its place. It doesn’t last long, though as irritation suddenly crawls on her face, instantly displeased at his actions. “What the hell? I’ve told you to stop doing that.” she hissed at him.

A mischievous grin made its way to his face at Emma’s irritation. She always had a pout whenever she was angry at him and it made look even more adorable.

“Were you scared?” He teased, pulling Emma closer to him until she was practically smushed at his side, despite the glare she gave him in response. “You know no one would dare touch you.”

“Get off me. Your breath stinks like nicotine, I thought you said you quit smoking that shit.”

Ignoring Emma’s last question, he decided to change the topic. “Your lapdog isn't here with you?” he asked. Usually, you would be hovering behind her like a damn pest, so you not being around her was rather strange. 

Emma is quick to shove him off lightly, putting some distance between the two of them, clearly still mad at him. "(Name)'s not feeling well, so she didn't come to class today. I'm on my way to get her medicine."

Oh, that's a surprise.

But with you out of the way, Izana could finally have Emma all to himself for today and hang out with his beloved sister. Maybe even make up for the party thing without apologising to you. Without you here, it’s likely Emma isn’t as mad at the whole situation and is playing it up to make you feel like you have someone on your side.

He knows you’re not going to protest if Emma says she’s in talking terms with her brothers again. It’s a win-win situation and he doesn’t have to grovel or ask for forgiveness for some joke that went wrong.

"So that means we can hang out?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't have to keep pretending you're still mad at me now that she isn't here." He spews the 'she' with so much venom it could kill, before switching up with a sick grin, his hand stretched out. "We can go to Vivienne Westwood and get that Saturn necklace you like, what do you say?"

His words hung in the air as Emma trailed her pointed glare from his hand, back to his cheerful visage. She crossed her arms in response slowly, her yellow eyes burning holes into his face as her lips curled into a sick sneer.

“Are you insane?”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me Izana! I just told you (name)'s ill and you're asking me to go with you to shop at Vivienne westwood? Are you nuts?”

Emma’s voice was loud enough to garner wandering eyes of other by-standers, watching the event go down. Izana kept his composure, despite his bubbling irritation beneath the surface of his skin, with a smile -albeit stiffer than before. ‘She’s just being emotional’ Izana whispered to himself, still trying to be rational. ‘Just take it easy with her’

“Oh come on, should I care about her-"

"You should be begging her to forgive you for what you did to her that night!"

"You can't still be mad at me for that shit that happened two weeks ago. And besides, it's not my fault she couldn't take a joke” his words were smooth, buttery, flowing out of his lips like it was the truth, digging his own grave. “I didn’t know your friend was that sensitive-”

“Are you listening to the bullshit coming from your mouth?” Emma roared, her voice echoing throughout the entirety of the department, her face red with fury. Izana had never seen his own beloved sister ever look at him with such disgust in her eyes, her teeth gnashing against each other and hands at her side, clenching against each other. “Is that what you think a joke sounds like?”

“Calm the fuck dow-”

“No wonder you’re fucking single, you’re such a piece of shit to anyone that isn’t Shinichiro!” Emma screamed, interrupting Izana once again, her temper fiery enough to burn a hole on the ground she stood with how heated she was. “How does anyone even stand you for so long? You’re unbearable!”

“Excuse m-”

He doesn’t like where the conversation is going, with how furious Emma was right now. He tried to raise a comforting hand to Emma’s shoulder to ease her tension but she was quick to smack it away from her hard, stinging his fingers a little.

“You’re so unpleasant, how do you even have any friends? How do they tolerate you? To think (name) wanted me to forgive you! Thank god you aren’t my fucking brother, I can’t imagine being anything like you!”

The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

It was as if the world froze over for Izana. He stood there, wide eyed, his heart beating loudly in his chest as all the voices around him faded into the background. His hand extended weakly at his side, mouth drying up as a lump formed in his throat. 

“I-I-i" she starts to stutter. It’s obvious that she can recognize what she had just said as he blankly stared at her. "I didn't mean i-”

He doesn’t let her finish, turning on his heel and walking away as fast as possible. People were quick to clear out of his way, not wanting to be his target of aggression. Emma followed behind, instantly, shouting his name at the top of her lungs followed with strings of apologies.

“Izana, wait please-” she screamed from the crowd of people, tears streaming from her yellow eyes. He continued to ignore her as he hopped on his bike, sliding in the key and revving up the engine before she could reach him.

Izana zoomed away, turning Emma’s cries into background noise, her words repeating in his head.

“I didn’t mean it! I’M SORRY-”

YOU don't know which was worse, the feeling of helplessness that came with the reality of your life crashing before your very eyes or the splitting headache you've developed after crying in your room for a week straight. Laying on your bed all day, huddled up in a blanket and sobbing uncontrollably was unhealthy, but it was all you found the strength to do these days. 

In all your years of being alive, you've never felt this pathetic. Not when you would be pushed outside in the pouring rain if you made a mistake in making dinner, or had been beaten with a belt in front of Yuzhua and Hakkai because you failed your catechism test. You could protect yourself from your brothers when they got violent. You could run and hide when your dad was really angry and wanted to take it out on you.

Unfortunately, no one told you what to do when your life is falling apart.

Ever since that day, you couldn't find the strength to go to class or do anything for that matter. It was like your entire energy was sucked out of you, leaving your body an empty husk with nothing left to give. 

You only have yourself to blame.

You drag the blankets closer to your body, sniffling a bit. The worst part of all of this is that after this month, if you don’t find a job that pays you quickly, you are going to be broke. It’s times like this that makes you regret leaving your family. You know it’s wishful thinking, but you wonder if you would be forgiven assuming you return home in tears and repentant of your sin of disobedience like the prodigal son in the bible. Life is too hard to live in the outside world without the help and guidance of a parent. You miss your old life, with your own bed and guaranteed food, as long as you did as you were told. You miss how sometimes your parents took you and your siblings to eat out after church.

You miss your mother. You want to go back to her. Life is hard, and dealing with being jobless with nowhere to turn to is harder. You could ask Emma, but she’s already taking care of you and there was no way you would bother your friend about your money problems.

"Hey babes, I got the medicine for you."

Emma's soft voice rouses you out of your self-pity session. The wood creaks underneath her heels as she walks to your bed and takes a seat besides you, the mattress dipping underneath her weight. The scent of her Vivienne Westwood wafting through your nostrils fills you with a sense of warmth, familiarity and at the same time, dread.

You feel guilty. Perhaps it's because you don't know how to tell Emma what exactly is wrong with you. It's easier to give her the half-truth that you caught a stomach bug than say everything. If you even as much as hinted that Manjiro had something to do with the real reason you were a sobbing mess on your bed, you're sure she would overreact and fight with her brothers again.

But still, not telling her meant you were keeping secrets from her. Something you both promised not to ever do as you two became best-friends.

‘It’s for her own good.’ you try to justify it. ‘It’s better I keep my mouth shut.’

Pushing that thought at the back of your mind, you roll over to her direction, pulling down your blanket just a little bit to see her properly. Your heart drops at the sadness etched onto Emma’s face, a forlorn look in her eyes. You hated seeing her down, yet all you’ve been doing for the past few months since you came into her life was causing her pain. You know how it feels to lose family, no matter how bad they were to you and Emma is no different.

“Hey”

Your voice is hoarse from your constant crying, but Emma doesn’t mention it as she reaches a hand to caress your face. “You look better than yesterday. You up to eat?”

You nodded briefly, realising how hungry you were. You’ve barely had an appetite to eat anything, so your rations had been smaller and compact until you regained it back bit by bit, thanks to Emma’s constant care. Pushing yourself up, you sit up and yawn, quickly covering your mouth the moment a bad stench emanates from it. Emma’s face quickly grows sour as well, probably smelling it too.

“You haven’t showered.”

“Uhhh-”

You knew there was no excuse for that one as Emma put the food and medicine away before yanking you off the bed while talking about how gross you were for not showering throughout today. “You’re a girl (name), don’t do this to yourself, c’mon-”

“But-” you start to whine, trying to defend yourself. “I was tired-”

“Nope!” she retorted, pushing you towards the bathroom. “No excuses! I swear you’re acting like Mikey when he’s in one of his moods-”

The room falls silent at her words, the cheerful aura dropping the second Emma realises what she’s said, a wave of guilt washing over her face as she lets go of your hands.

“Fuck- I’m sorry (name)...”

Your heart aches at how heartbroken she sounds right now and shatters even further at the fact that everything, every problem they were experiencing right now was all your fault. You saw it deep in Mikey’s eyes how much pain and suffering your presence in their family had caused, and how his anger reflected that action towards you. You’ve been so entrenched in your own problems that you forgot the mess you made in their family.

“Emma, you miss them don’t you?”

‘It’s not too late.’ You mutter to yourself, your heart in your throat as you steel your resolve. You couldn’t let her make that mistake you made by leaving your family aside. You don’t want Emma to be like you.

“(Name), please don’t-”

“You can’t keep ignoring them forever.” You cut her short, speaking directly to her now. “You can’t keep ignoring Draken either too. You’re miserable.”

“I’m fin-”

“Emma no.” You snap at her, finally having enough of her stubbornness as anger swells up in you. “I see how sad you look everytime you look at your pictures with your big brothers and Draken. Do you think that it’s healthy to keep ignoring them like this?”

“You were the one they hurt, you shouldn’t feel bad for them-”

“It doesn’t matter! I don’t matter!” You yell desperately, now pulling away from her grasp in an attempt to put your foot down. “They are the ones who matter a lot. Those are you family members! People who love you and have protected you for years! Just talk it out with them! They miss you for god’s sake!”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t matter?” Emma roars back at you, suddenly enraged by your outburst. You nearly stumble back at how angry she sounded, fear creeping into your skin as your verbal claws retract. “You matter to me! You mean the world to me as any of them do! You’re my best friend and I love you and if they don’t understand that then there is nothing to make up for!”

By the time she was done yelling, her breathing was heavy and her eyes so intense you couldn’t even stare at her. Your eyes quickly flickered to your feet instead; scared of seeing the disappointment on her face and terrified of her anger. You didn’t like it when Emma yelled, it reminded you of your mother getting angry at you, something you hated doing to her.

Eventually, she took a deep breath and took a step closer to you, her hand intertwined with yours. “Come on, I’ll help you shower.”

You silently follow behind her, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

  PERHAPS Izana should be angry at Emma.

It would be justified after the words she said from her mouth, but he can’t because he knows the truth. Emma was just angry as well and she didn’t mean any of the words she had said to hurt him. She said them because of you, however and he realises that every fight they’ve had is over your presence in her life.

Which meant that the true culprit was you.

People may believe in love at first sight, but from the first day Izana set his eyes on you, he could only feel hatred towards you. You were just there, sitting awkwardly while Emma tried to involve you in their conversation and it irked him.

At first, Izana thought it was the fact that the both of you were clashing personalities that made him feel that way, but then you keep getting in his way and ruining things for him. He hates everything about you - the way you picked your finger when you were nervous. Your bright smile you gave to only Emma and how easy it was for her to like you. Just your mere presence in general was enough to set him off because of how simple it was for you to be close to Emma while you barely knew her. It felt like he was losing his only sister to a stranger, and now the Emma who stands in front of him is a mere mockery of his real sister.

And that’s the frustrating part. He can’t do anything to hurt you. He’s smart enough to know that if he does, Emma would never forgive him.

“... Kurokawa, are you here with us?”

Izana snaps back to reality as Kisaki taps the table three times to get his attention. ‘I might have spaced out.’ He thinks to himself before facing the entirety of the table; Tetta Kisaki, the rather shrewd and ruthless dealer sitting, his equally irritating lap dog Shuji Hanma and the little shit that he called his younger brother, Mikey.

Speaking of Mikey, ever since that day he made that phone call and revealed his brand new plan of accepting you into their friend group, he’s been very quiet. Even throughout today’s meeting, he hasn’t said a word, aside from mentioning that Draken was going to be absent and asking where Kakucho was before the meeting began.

And knowing his brother, a quiet Mikey is a suspicious Mikey.

Now that Izana thinks about it, he’s noticed that Mikey, who was on his side initially had suddenly switched to trying to apologise to you. Which was weird, considering how egocentric Mikey could be on the topic of apologising. Izana has his suspicions, but then again Mikey is unpredictable due to his rather dark impulses, so he couldn’t really say anything yet, until Kakucho came back from his task.

Izana cleared his throat and faced Kisaki again, deciding to be as honest as possible. After all, it’s their fault that he’s in this mess, might as well remind them. “Just thinking about how Emma practically called me a bastard and I’m supposed to be okay with it.” He said nonchalantly and the air in the room shifted into an uncomfortable silence for the upteenth time this week ever since that unfortunate day. It isn’t surprising to anyone as to why though, Izana’s complicated relationship with the Sano’s is a sore topic that no one ever dared to bring up.

From Kisaki’s tight lipped expression, Izana is sure that the younger male is picking his words carefully in his head. Even Hanma who would have laughed or said something to intentionally piss off Izana remains silent. Eventually, Kisaki lets out a resigned sigh. “The audit would be done another time.” He states in a cool tone, putting his laptop aside before facing the two brothers. “It’s obvious we’re not gonna do anything useful until you resolve this issue with Emma and her friend.”

“Really?” The white haired male mocks, causing Kisaki to shift in his place, an irritated frown creasing his face. “would you like to hear my pla-”

“We’re not going to kill a civilian and draw attention to ourselves, Izana. I’ve already told you what to do.” Kisaki snapped back, his yellow eyes darting from Izana to Mikey, before narrowing in irritation. “Both of you. Just apologise to (name), it’s not that hard. You don’t even have to mean it, the girl won’t even know the difference-”

“Ah yes, cause that went well the last time.”

“And whose fault is that? I clearly told you to say “I’m sorry” and all you did was make things worse!”

“I’m just brutally honest.” Izana spits back. “And you can’t blame me because I tried, compared to Mikey who sits on his damn ass and has done nothing-”

“I wasn’t the one who called her a cheap hooker!” Mikey interjects defensively, sitting upright after staying quiet from the start of this meeting, finally saying something.

“Oh, so you can speak.” Izana retorts back, his voice cold. Mikey is so good at shifting blame onto others for actions he has a hand in, especially when he knows it would reflect badly on him. Unfortunately, Izana has been in this game longer than his little brother. “I thought you had gone mute with the way you don’t want to talk about the issue beyond pushing me to apologise to her.”

“You don’t make it any easier with how you talk to people.” Mikey hisses back, his tempo rising with each word, but Izana can hear the slight shake in his voice, almost as if he’s hiding something. “How am I supposed to do anything if you keep saying shit like you’re glad (name)’s gone?”

(Name)?

The entire room falls silent at Mikey’s sudden outburst, or rather what Mikey had just said. No one says a word as they all stare at Mikey in shock, eye wide and mouth hanging open like he’d grown two heads. There’s a glimmer of confusion in the dark eyed male before the realisation of his mistake washes over him, his facial expression changing into a mixture of guilt and pure terror.

As if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

It’s unmistaken. Izana knows his brother is hiding something and it has to do with you. “You’ve never,” he starts slowly, never taking his eyes off Mikey, gauging his facial expression. “called her by her name. You only call girls who you had something to do with by their name.”

“I-”

“You fucked her, didn’t you.” it’s a statement, not a question. Mikey grows pale and it's more of a sure answer than anything else at all.

“I didn’t do anything bad… she’s still a virgin-”

“What.” Kisaki, interjecting as well, cuts him off, his voice cold. “Did. You. Do?”

Mikey is silent. It’s brief and doesn’t last long as he finally seals his fate with a quiet voice. “It’s not my fucking fault, she wore a short skirt and she was asking for it-”

At the side, Kisaki crumples back onto the dining table seat, his head in his hands muttering a quiet “Oh fuck, I should have stayed with Osanai.” as he shakes in disbelief. Hanma just sits there, clearly perturbed, not knowing how to react but at the same time, not really interested.

“Glad to know I’m not the only screw up.” Izana scoffs as well. Despite how cheery his voice sounded, the furious look on his face says a different story altogether. “Since apparently you’re just as stupid as I am.”

Mikey runs a hand through his golden locs, frustration evident on his features. No one has ever seen him look so frantic, like a little kid who broke something and is trying to hide it. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Sure she said no at first but I knew she wanted it when she relaxed in my touch-”

“That’s not what Emma’s gonna think, you idiot!” Izana barks at him angrily, his temper finally off the rails. “You practically threw away your entire plan before it even started! All for what? Mediocre pussy you could get from some other girl? And you know how Shin is about this shit. If Emma finds out and tells him, we’re screwed!”

There’s a mixture of emotions swirling in Izana right now. The urge to punch Mikey was strong, for daring to not only lie to his face, but also making him look like a fool to cover his ass.

Then again, he knows it’s really not Mikey’s fault but yours. You must have done something to make Mikey hurt you because he knows his little brother doesn’t hurt girls. You have this effect of turning people into worse versions of themselves, making them disgusting, evil and hateful.

You turned Emma against them and now you made Mikey’s dark impulses come out.

It’s you that’s the problem.

“So what anyone find out? They won’t believe her” Mikey snarls back, irritated. “She can’t blame me, I told her to fucking leave but she didn’t listen! She was practically begging me to fuck her-”

“ENOUGH!”

Kisaki’s voice is loud enough to silence the two brothers, ending their argument instantly as they breathe heavily from their prior screaming match. Izana slumps back on his seat as Kisaki sits up straight, eyes narrowed. Mikey does the same as Izana, his jaw tightly clenched as he crosses his arms on his chest, feet crossed. The younger male clears his throat, and starts to rationalise the situation.

“It’s obvious that we’re going to switch gears since this happened. We all have a curated reputation that we need to protect so that people don’t nose into our business.” He turns to Mikey who is still glaring hard at Izana. “Your brother has a point, you fucked up our plan by not telling anyone what you did-”

“You judging me too, Kisaki?”

“Can you stop being defensive for once Mikey and just listen!” Kisaki scolds, just about done with everyone making things more difficult for him. “I don’t care what you did to her, whatever affection or lust you have for her is a you problem. I just want this situation to be in our favour.”

The statement makes Izana scoff in dismal fashion, but he decides to ask out of curiosity regardless. “And how do you intend to turn this situation around? Cause right now she has leverage over us and any careless move can put us in a tougher spot than we can handle.”

Kisaki turns his attention fully towards Izana again, a knowing look on his face as he asks. “Is Kakucho done searching Mikey’s car?”

‘How did he know?’ Izana blinks, but then catches Hanma smirking and doesn’t bother to ask his impending questions. Kisaki always had a nasty and suspicious habit of continuously tailing him specifically, and usually it doesn’t go over Izana’s radar when it happens, apart from this instance. Which meant someone was being a rat in his group.

He’ll deal with that later.

Mikey raised a brow in confusion as well, opening his mouth to protest the invasion of his privacy when Izana’s phone suddenly rings. He picks it up, attempting to step out to answer it when Kisaki raises his hand to stop him.

“Answer it here.” Kisaki said, ignoring the way Izana looks at him like he has two heads. “and put it on speaker.”

He had no reason to comply, but he wanted to see where Kisaki was going with whatever plan he had. With a wry smile, Izana put the phone down on the table and slid the answer button, putting it on a loudspeaker.

“Did you find anything Kakucho?”

Ever loyal, Kakucho clears his throat and starts to speak, his voice sounding strained over the phone, as if he’s struggling with something. “Yes boss.” He answers, a twinge of nervousness coating his tone. “There’s a dash cam on the mirror and a spy cam underneath the compartment facing the passenger’s seat…”

Mikey grumbles under his breath something about fucking Kakucho up if anything ends up spoilt or missing in his car but Kisaki holds his hand up to his lips and shushes him. Izana continues once he’s sure his brother is done complaining. “And did you confirm the anonymous tip that we got?”

He can hear Kakucho shift uncomfortably, the silence on the other side of the phone drawn out until he finally says. “Boss, it’s too … I don’t think we should use this against her.” He tries to reason. “I think we’re going too far-”

“Perfect.” Kisaki chimes in, now looking at Izana with a satisfied smile. Kakucho is about to ask why Kisaki was there but Izana cuts him off instead. “Bring it back. I’ll explain once you come to the house.”

“Okay boss.”

The phone line dies and Kisaki, fairly confident in his plan, looks at Izana once again. “I’m sure you know where I’m going, right?”

Izana may think Kisaki is a pathetic brat who just happened to be smart, but right now, it’s like the both of them are connected and in tune with their thoughts. The tanned male stretches his lips into a smile, one full of malice and at the same time, glee, his eyes light with mirth when he realises what Kisaki was thinking.

Finally a plan he could follow along with.

“Alright, I’m all ears.”

THE walk back to your dorm was quiet.

By the time you managed to catch a bus after spending the entire day looking for a job and getting back to campus, it was already late in the night. Save for only the street lamps that were beginning to dim, everywhere else was darker than usual.

You had read that there was going to be a lunar eclipse tonight between the hours of 10pm - 00am. The time boldly written on the bus’ digital clock before you got down was 10:45pm, so you already assumed it was the cause of the unnatural darkness tonight.

A long time ago before the world weighed you down, things like this would have made you excited. You loved watching the stars when you were young, trying to check on the papers your father bought to see if there was any space news available. You remember borrowing your immediate elder brother’s binoculars as a makeshift telescope, trying to piece out the stars in the sky or see if you would catch a glimpse of the comet that was said to pass through that week.

Unfortunately, you were young and foolish. Wanting to impress your father, you told him all about your book of constellations that you drew up, detailing the first star that appeared every evening, down to your crazy childish theories about aliens and space.

“Can you show me the book?” your father asked calmly. You should have known it was dangerous for your father to be this calm, but you were too blinded by excitement to think and you gave him the book, a bright smile on your face.

Your smile fell as his large hands ripped your book into shreds, before telling you: “Women don’t dream.”

Maybe that was the day you realised the love you craved from your father will never be given to you. You were so young and impressionable, all you wanted was for him to be proud of you, like he was with his sons. Now, you can’t even look at the stars, the memory leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and you try to shake it off as you continue on the path.

You wondered what grievous sin you’ve committed to be so down on your luck like this. Today had been one disappointment to another

You passed by Emma’s dorm building, a sigh escaping your lips. She told you that Draken wanted to take her out for dinner tonight, which shocked you because friends with benefits - according to what Emma herself told you- don’t go on dates or do lovey dovey stuff with each other, to avoid complicated feelings from budding.

Then again, their relationship is based on the fact that they both have feelings for each other, but Draken was not interested in a relationship.

It was already complicated before it began but at least she's taking your advice and talking to them again.

Your eyes darted up to her window, hoping her lights were on. Whenever she was alone, Emma hated sleeping in the dark. She said it reminded her of the times her mother would lock her and Izana in a dark room whenever she brought her customers in. Anytime she was in a darkened room, she told you she could still hear the sound of her mother moaning and a man grunting. Izana would try his best to distract her, playing games or even stealing an earphone and plugging it to his own so that she would listen to music instead of what was going on.

A frown graced your lips when you saw two bodies from the curtain, one tall figure you recognize as Draken and Emma’s smaller dainty figure perched on him, kissing. You quickly averted your eyes and walked faster, ignoring the unfamiliar pang in your chest. Maybe you’re jealous because you needed your friend’s comfort right now and she wasn’t available. You felt greedy for this, after spending a week with her, you should let her be free.

‘She has her own life to live. And I have mine’ you muttered to yourself as you trudged along the path, slowly dragging your feet. ‘I have to stop being so dependent on her.’

Eventually, your thoughts drift back to your reoccurring dream. Losing your job made you realise that if you didn’t do anything about it, your tiredness would eventually catch up to you and ruin everything else you’ve worked for. With an important test scheduled for tomorrow, you knew you could not afford to take another loss this week. You had to power through your sleep tonight, even if it traumatised you.

‘Maybe I should pretend that I like it. Pretend it’s okay and enjoy it so that I won’t have to wake up.’ You shook your head, cursing as you drew closer to your own dorm building. ‘Oh God, how far I’ve fallen. Look at me trying to enjoy a disgraceful act-’

You paused in your tracks at the sound of a leaf crushing. You quickly turned around, trying to ascertain who could be lurking there behind the bushes. Your palms started sweating, your nerves firing at the thought of being watched.

Silence.

You decided to continue walking, assuming that maybe you were hearing things and there wasn’t anything at all. Nighttime always had a way of making you nervous, especially with all the horrible stories you heard about innocent women being attacked around these times. Besides, looking around for whatever may be lurking was a dumb idea.

You should just get out of here.

Eventually, you make it to your dorm house in record time, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. ‘Maybe I’m being paranoid. But at least I’m safe now.’ You think to yourself as you push the door open, closing it behind you.

Weary from the day’s stress, your body starts to give up on you but you push through, trying your best to just make it to your room. You’re sure you would just collapse on your bed the second you got there and forget about anything else.

But as you reach for the handle, a feeling of dread washes over you, the same one you felt when you were outside. ‘I really need to let this go. There’s no harm waiting for me. It’s just my room.’ You mutter to yourself. Your overthinking has cost you a lot, from your job to your academics and right now, you really need it to stop. Pushing whatever feeling was keeping you away, you walked into the darkened room.

You finally make it to your room, about to rummage your bag for the keys when you notice the door was unlocked. ‘Oh? Ami must have come back rather early, since I barely see her until 2am.’

(From here is edited)

The first thing that greeted you was the stench of some kind of smoke -weed, the kind that Ami liked to use whenever she was in the room. You always hated the smell and you recall telling her to leave the windows open whenever she wanted to smoke. Coughing, you quickly covered your nose and mouth with one hand and reached to turn on the light with another. “Ami, how many times have I told you to open the window whenever you smoke? You know I don’t like the smell-”

Your blood turns to ice the moment light floods the room, your mouth dry as you stare at the man perched on your reading chair, a leg crossed over the other, the weed blunt hanging between his tanned hands. His lips are stretched into a sick grin, showing all his teeth, purple eyes shining with an odd mirth as he glances at you up and down.

Izana Kurokawa.

‘Run’

You don’t need to be told twice, quickly discarding your bag and running towards the direction of the door, only to hit someone hard, standing tall in your way. You look up fearfully to see mismatched eyes, a scar running down his face and flinch backwards in reflex. It’s as if he gazes at you with pity, but quickly switches to a blank stare as he stands between you and the door.

You know him from hanging around Emma a lot in the Tenjiku frat house, Kakucho. He’s always around Izana and only loyal to him for some reason that you don’t know. He doesn’t listen to anyone else, not even Mikey. You realise that he might have been the one that was following you when you were walking home.

Begging him to let you pass would be futile.

“Don’t worry, I’m just here to have a little chat with you. I’m not going to hurt you.” His tone is calm, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. If Mikey could hurt you without any remorse, then there’s nothing stopping Izana from doing worse to you. “And as much as your backside is as interesting as your face, I prefer talking to someone who is looking at me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The words fly out from your mouth before you even think of a more appropriate response but it doesn’t seem to give him any form of reaction other than a dry laugh.

He scoffed. “I don’t care. Turn around.”

Reluctantly you slowly turn to face him again, your body trembling as your fear filled eyes lock with his. Your heart drops to your stomach when you hear heavy footsteps walk out of the door, shutting it behind you, locks turning and trapping you with Izana.

‘Oh God oh God oh God.’

Your fear doesn’t go unnoticed by the white haired man, and he only chuckles at how stiff you were. Between the two brothers, you know Izana thrives in fear, using it to his advantage and it’s not unfounded. Notwithstanding his backing from Black dragons, Izana had taken Tenjiku from a down and out frat house, to a den of crime that holds power, trickling right into the administration of the university. Even his men know better than to ever get themselves in his bad books, because no one can ever escape him, no matter how much you try to run.

It was only a matter of time until he would make you pay for causing him problems, but you didn’t think he’d come by himself. You felt stupid for thinking he wouldn’t care about you or he’d forget how angry he was at you and leave you alone, especially with Emma still not on speaking terms with them.

He motions with his bunt for you to come closer to him and you comply, taking careful steps until you’re standing right in front of him. He eyes you again with a tepid frown. “When you meet a king, you don’t stand before him, you kneel.”

Kneel. You want to assume he’s not serious but you know better than to question him and go down on your knees, focusing your gaze firmly on your lap. It’s humiliating the way he has you at his mercy, without even moving an inch but it’s better to be compliant than to aggravate him even further by being disobedient.

You’ve learned the hard way what could happen if you resist.

From the corner of your eyes, you watch as Izana puts out his weed blunt on your reading table leaving a sorching mark on the table, before reaching behind his waistband. Your mouth grows dry the second you see the gun, your heart pounding against your chest as he presses the barrel to your head.

‘Oh god.’ You gasp as he presses it further against your head, until you’re sure it would leave an indent. ‘He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me…’

“That’s odd,” He murmurs. “Usually, other people would be begging for their lives when met with a gun to their head, but you’re quiet. If not for the way your hands are trembling, I’d think you weren’t scared.”

This time, with a gun pointed at your head, you’re careful with your words. “Y-you said you won’t hurt me.” Your voice shakes with fear but you continue. You know men like Izana, he reminds you of your older brother who ruled the house apart from your father, with fear and control. Sometimes, when you were able to stroke his ego, he’d go easy on you. Maybe that would work on Izana too. “That you want to talk.”

“And what if I changed my mind? Pulled the trigger? That’ll make my life easier, yeah? I won’t have to fight for my sister’s love and affection with you.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you hear the safety go off and watch as his finger curls around the trigger. ‘Oh God, he’s going to kill me. He’ll shoot me dead. I-i have to say something- I don’t want to die-’

“I-i trust you not to do it.” You reply, your lips trembling as you struggle not to think of your head scattered into pieces on the floor if he chooses to kill you. “You’re a man of your words.”

There’s another complete silence that engulfs the entire room, until you hear a click that makes you flinch for a split second, waiting for the bullet that would end it all. Instead, it’s him putting the safety back on, and chuckling at your reaction.

“You trust me? How foolish.” He laughs, tracing the gun from your head down to underneath your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You’ve only read about people with empty eyes in stories, but seeing it in person was so terrifying. “Is that why you ended up with Mikey in his car?”

All the blood rushes from your head to the tip of your toes. “H-how do you kn-”

“I have eyes and ears in this school, (name).” You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve heard him call you by your name and despite being in a life or death situation, you couldn’t control the shiver that ran through your spine. “You wanted him to touch you, right?”

“T-that is not what happened!” You suddenly cried out, trying to explain your own side of the story. Of all the people who know your dirty and shameful secret, Izana is the worst pick, just your luck. “It was a mistake! I tried to tell him I didn’t want it but I couldn’t-”

“Ah ah -” Izana cuts you off, tilting your chin higher with the gun. “Don’t lie to me. You must have planned the entire thing to make Mikey look bad”

“No! I wasn’t trying to do anything, I just wanted to talk-”

“Really? Cause Mikey told me an entirely different story-”

“No, no I- didn’t… -”

“You were dangling yourself like a piece of meat for him to fuck and he’s a man, you know. He has urges and it's hard to resist temptation.”

“That’s not true-” your lips start to tremble at his words, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You didn’t want to be assaulted, you just wanted to talk to him about the Emma issue and you wanted to apologise. “That’s not true-”

“Oh but it is.” He said firmly, now leaning in closer to your face until there’s barely any inches between the two of you. “And now Mikey feels like a piece of shit because he couldn’t stop himself.”

“No-” your voice is small, trying to defend yourself but even you are beginning to doubt your own credibility with how he keeps twisting the narrative around until you begin to actually believe him.

‘No! Don’t let him make you think you’re in the wrong! You know what happened!’

“He even told you to leave but you refused to. You were baiting him to just do something to you so that you can tell everyone how bad Mikey is and make yourself get more sympathy points. Am I wrong?”

“No! I would never do that to Mikey!” You don’t realise your tempo had suddenly gotten high or that tears had started to drip down your face, but Izana did. He doesn’t point it out, staying quiet as you start to shout at him. “I would never bait him into hurting me! I just wanted to make up with him because I felt that I overreacted at the party I swear! And then he touched me in the car -”

“And you never reported him to the school authorities? Why? Did you want to blackmail him for money-”

“Because I love him!”

The words flew out of your mouth before you could even stop yourself from saying them.

Your heart drops as a mischievious glint appears in Izana’s eyes. His smile drops slightly, still maintaining the gun on your chin. “You love him?” He says slowly, testing out the words on his lips. “Love? Mikey?” He looks so deep in thought, like the concept sounds so foreign to him that he almost can’t believe it. His gaze falls back to you again, a quiet scoff emanating from his lips. “You really have no shame, do you?”

Unable to maintain eye contact with him, you break away from his gaze, biting down on your lips to prevent yourself from falling apart. When you don’t respond, Izana takes your silence as an opportunity to keep talking. “If you love him so much, then what’s wrong with what you both did in the car that day? It was what you wanted, wasn't it?”

“Not like that…”

“But you claim to love him.” Izana is calm and cool, while you’re stuttering on your words, making you look like you’re the one who is wrong. Like what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense to begin with and he’s the one saying something of reason. “And yet, you didn’t even notice he wasn’t himself that day. Or did you take advantage of his fragile state of mind?”

“I would NEVER-”

“You would, because you get to be the so-called victim and he gets to be the villain in your own story. Do you really know the implication of your actions?”

“That’s not right.” You don’t even realize how quiet you’ve gotten, your voice full of uncertainity. “I didn’t … it’s not…”

“Shut up.” He cuts you off again with a firm tone, tapping the gun on your chin gently to enunciate his point. “The reason why I haven’t put a bullet through your head as much as I want to is because I love Emma. I love Emma so much I’d kill for her and I’d resist the urge to kill for her. That’s how Sano’s love. That’s true love. That's something you'll never ever experience.”

You stay silent, trying to understand what exactly Izana was calling love. He leaned closer, making you feel even smaller. “If Emma finds out, she’ll think Mikey intentionally hurt you and she will hate him. But I guess that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Never. I don’t want her to hate him” your inner voice telling you it’s not your fault, is nothing more than a whisper, the feeling of guilt and shame overtaking you until you’re almost suffocating. “I just want them to be happy…”

“Then you know exactly what you’re meant to do, right?”

Of course you know what to do. Ever since you were child, it’s been drilled into your head. Whenever your brothers hit you a bit too hard or your father went overboard with his belt and you ended up in the hospital, your mother would take you aside to issue a warning that still rings in your head. That had terrible consequences if you refused to follow through with it.

You nod weakly. It really doesn’t matter what is right and wrong when it comes to the Sano’s, but what they want. Izana taps the gun on your chin again, shaking his head. “I need a verbal answer.”

“I won’t tell anybody what happened. Especially not Emma.”

Satisfied, he withdrew his gun from your chin and your face falls onto his lap, unable to support your head any longer. You feel a hand reaching down to pet your head, like you were a dog who had just been tamed by her new owner. The strength to push him off or stand up had left you, feeling drained as the weight of guilt settle down on your shoulders, heavily. You know you shouldn’t believe anything Izana says, but then again he does have a point. Maybe you should have been more receptive of Mikey’s touch or at least be polite about declining him instead of shoving him off and hurting his pride.

You feel so utterly powerless. Despite being wronged, you know there’s nothing you can really do to save yourself. You don’t think you can bear the traumatic experience of being an outlier again.

Mikey. You don’t want to hurt him. You don’t want anyone thinking he’s a bad person over a singular action.

'Maybe it’s not as bad as I think, I did enjoy it mid-way, so it should count as something. Right?'

You feel sick just trying to think about it.

“You know, if you’re this obedient, we can get along just fine.” He hums, breaking the silence as he pets your head gently. You hate yourself right now. How easy it is to do whatever it is that you’re told because disobedience is not an option. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to know what I’ll do to you if you break your promise.”

“No” your voice is quiet. You feel tired, sick maybe, you don’t know. Maybe it’s the weed he smoked earlier affecting your judgement and reasoning. Or it’s the lack of sleep that has made it difficult for you to think straight or stand up. Either way, you don’t care. “I don’t.”

“Good girl.”

Bonus:

You know he’s mocking you, but you accept it, like you do with every circumstance thrown at you.

  IZANA looks down at your sleeping figure with a curious gaze.

For a moment, he almost pities you. Despite the faint glow of the room lighting, he can see the dark circles underneath your eyes and how stressed you look. For someone who is actively working to pay her fees while sustaining herself with no one caring for her, it must be hard being abandoned by society.

He can see why Emma picked you to be her friend, she always had a trait of picking up stray animals who had no one because she wanted something to protect. It’s no different with you, the way she’s so fiercely loyal to you and why she wanted you to be accepted by their family. No wonder she was hurt when you were vehemently rejected by them.

If he had a conscience, he’d feel bad for you. You love Mikey, of all people, someone who only saw you as a nuisance and to push the blame of his actions onto. All those times Mikey was cruel to you must have hurt the most because you truly cared about what he thinks about you.

He’s careful when he lifts your head from his lap, not wanting to wake you up. He puts your head on the chair and turns to leave, already overstaying his welcome. He’s done the thing he was supposed to, ensuring you stayed quiet about Mikey’s actions and there’s no need for him to be here any longer.

As he walked to the door, his mind goes back to you. In a way, you and him were similar. All alone, unwanted, with nobody in the world to care about you, cold, uncaring parents who didn’t think twice in terms of abandoning you both. The only difference between you and him is that he grew a backbone and you haven’t. You’re like a kicked dog who continues to stay on the ground to get kicked, in hopes the person kicking you stops eventually.

As long as you stay on the ground, people like him will keep kicking you.

He knocks loudly on the door and the locks turn. Kakucho opens it for him, peering inside with a worried gaze, his eyes settling on your body slumped over a chair.

“Did you hit -”

“I didn’t touch her.” Izana snaps at the taller male, stepping out of the room properly. “She’s fine, physically at least. Emotionally she’s a mess. But that’s Mikey’s problem to fix.”

“Huh?”

It wouldn’t hurt to tell Kakucho your little secret.  “Apparently (name)’s in love with my dear brother Mikey so she’s keeping quiet what he did to her.” a cruel smile stretches across his face. “How pathetic.”

Kakucho frowns at Izana’s statement, but as usual he doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, his eye darts back to your form again, taking a good look at you, his eyes softening. Ever the gentleman.

“She shouldn’t really stay like that Izana, she’ll get a stiff neck-”

“Kakucho.”

That was enough to end the conversation.

special thanks to: (please turn on your mentions in 'settings' before filling the form.): @officiallyjaehyuns @haikyuusboringassmanager @ilybbg @merrymerrykiss @cockonoi @Rindou24689 @short-cxke @kokoch4n3l @GenAwi @ryuguji-sana @nuyoo @reiners-milkbiddies @kiwixpi @gh0stgirl333 @brisssaaa009 @fushiqruo @kawaiikoalagarden @damidamimongalam @raven-nevra @ilovetwodmen @kodzubaby @straightfromheaven @manchie55 @pikibee @tomeyano @matchamilktea-05 @tenjikusstuff4 @m0onz1 @hapikiou @rainnyzz @Lovelyartistz @lik0 @maraya-007 @thisismarisaaa @reeyy0-2 @littlemisspropaganda @cherie026

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

When You Looked at Me, I Should Have Run [Mahito x Reader]

Title: When You Looked at Me, I Should Have Run [Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Your trip to Japan doesn’t go as planned, thanks to a monster in the forest.

Word count: 7400ish

notes: Yandere(ish); body horror, violence, vore and implied digestion, reader is transmasc

If there was one thing you could appreciate about getting lost in Japan, it was the fact that people were very willing to give you directions. So when the realization hit you--you have been unfortunately walking the wrong way for some time now--there is none of that stomach-churning dread that occurs back home, when asking someone for directions typically ends with someone telling you to “fucking looking it up on your phone.”

And sure, you didn’t exactly speak Japanese, but that’s what your secondhand “301 Phrases You’ll Need in Japan!” book was for! You’d also found that you could ask in English, and people didn’t seem to mind. Or at least, they didn’t say they minded, and that was what counted. 

Sighing, you grab the book out of your tote bag and begin to flip through. A few people veer to the side from behind you after the sudden stop, but you pay them no mind, instead focusing on finding just the right phrase you need. When you do, you repeat it out loud what feels like a million times before tucking the book away.

The map comes out next, and you unfold it haphazardly, searching for the hiking trail you’ve been searching for all morning. It was supposed to be really scenic, but a little off the beaten path. Perfect for photos, plus you could tell your friends back home that you weren’t on one of the annoying overcrowded tourist paths, which was always a bonus. 

Now, to find someone to help and--ah! 

A young man leaning up against the alley wall of a charming little storefront would do. He’s dressed unusually, wearing a flowing shirt with a striped pattern, and he was maybe in an accident of some kind, with stitches on his face. But you don’t stare (well, maybe for a second); because that would be exceptionally rude, Japan or otherwise. 

You smile, bowing (maybe too low, maybe too dramatically, but it was hard to get the angles right) and hold up your map. In very accented Japanese, you ask, “Can you help me find the…” And the word you had memorized from the book vanishes, so you tap the map, shaking the paper. “Mountain trail?” You complete in English. 

The man blinks at you, saying nothing, which is a bit strange. A bit rude, you might say. Maybe you pronounced the words completely wrong. You fumble for the book, finding the page again, and hold it up for him to see. “Mountain trail?” You ask again, still in English.

The man blinks again. 

You sigh, and point at the page where the phrase sits, not wanting to attempt a pronunciation in Japanese at the moment. 

He leans in closer, too close, really, and his silver hair ghosts your shoulder. Mismatched eyes--contact lenses? He was really trendy!--scan up and down before he moves backward, staring at you again.

Then--

The man grins.

Widely. Unusually so, among the people you’ve met. But perhaps since he was younger, he was breaking social norms a bit. I mean, he already was, with his outfit--with his hair, long and impossibly silver. And those contacts! 

His eyes roam over you--and you feel suddenly self-conscious of yourself, wearing a simple touristy t-shirt and trousers with hiking boots--and his finger finds the map even as his eyes never leave your face. 

The finger slithers down the paper, and you force yourself to follow it (geez, why was he staring so rudely?) as it lands on a particular sidestreet marked with a hiking trail symbol. It’s not too far off, thankfully, and you could probably cut across a few streets to get there sooner. 

He says something in Japanese, but you don’t know what. When you stare at him blankly, he grins again.

“Forest,” he says, in English. His grin gets even wider, somehow, and you swear one of his stitches twitches. “Fun.” 

“Thank… you very much,” you murmur, in your accented Japanese, before giving the strange young man another exaggerated bow. You wave--a habit--and don’t bother folding the map before you leave, walking quicker than you might have, to avoid wasting anymore time on this trip.

The wave seems to amuse him, and he waves back, beaming. 

A strange young man, sure. But just as helpful as anyone else you’ve met on your trip so far. And his hair was really pretty; it was a wonder nobody was so much as staring at him.

--

There is something in the forest.

There is something in the forest, wild and large.

There is something in the forest, wild and large--and it is following you.

You’re not sure exactly when it started; you weren’t paying much attention to the forest itself until it became too loud and obvious to ignore. There weren’t enough service bars on your phone to look it up, but it had to be some kind of bear, right? Japan did have bears--you think. 

Maybe it was a deer. But deer would be too skittish, wouldn’t they? To follow you around in the woods, despite all the noise you were making. Unless it was one of those deer that was used to being fed by people, though if that was the case, wouldn’t it have made itself known by now? Begging for an apple and bowing, like the videos you saw online.

Probably not a deer. Maybe a bear. Or a fox or something else large and rumbly and, you think, eyeing you as a potential snack. 

Whatever it was, it was staying hidden. In the brush and trees, with the occasional rustle and snapping branch to give away its position. 

What do you do? Your mind tries to trace back to those Saturday evenings spent watching the occasional “When Animals Attack” documentary with your family. There were episodes on bees and mountain lions and sharks and bears, too, you’re sure… should you play dead? Make more noise? Run like hell? 

How can you get help, in the middle of the woods?

There’s on one else on the trail. Your phone isn’t working. And you’re not entirely sure if you should retrace your steps or keep going on ahead, to make it lose interest. The choices are all too confusing, with the adrenaline steadily growing inside your body, and your heart beginning to beat altogether too fast.

A decision can’t be made, not like this, heart and brain buzzing too quick and too loud to be steady enough for a proper thought process. 

In the end, though–

It doesn’t matter.

Your choice is made for you, when the animal retreats from the camouflage of the brush and steps right onto the trail. Its body takes up the entire trail, and it’s a wonder it was able to hide amongst the leaves and branches at all. 

And–

And it’s not a bear, or a deer, or anything you’ve ever seen before.

The creature that has been following you for oh-so-many steps is deformed. A monster. Something you’ve never seen in your entire life and so entirely wrong in its construction that your brain doesn’t register it as being real for a few awful, agonizing moments.

What is it–

It--whatever it is--has too many limbs. That’s what stands out at first, because it’s the most bearable thing to look at--the limbs. There are at least 6, skin-colored arms sprouting from the torso on downward. Claws or… hands? Fuck, they look like hands; hands are at the end of each arm, fingers wiggling like worms.

The creature doesn’t just have too many limbs. There are too many mouths, all open and red, with white human-like teeth showing in the center. Opening and closing and there’s a sound being made, but you can’t register if it’s human speech. It couldn’t be, because this thing was not a human. The sight of it was making you crazy, that’s all, and that craziness traveled from your retinas to your ears.

The worst sight of all, and it’s the sight of this that finally unfreezes your legs, is the rippling underneath the skin. A solid mass worming its way around the body. Like there was something else underneath the flesh, waiting to burst out, slithering along like a gorged snake.

You couldn’t let it come closer. You wouldn’t let it. 

So when your legs feel like they can move, when your breath gets sucked in with a terrible gasping that nearly chokes you, you bolt.

The creature comes after you. Of course it does. You ran like prey, and you feel like prey; you are prey, here, in the woods. You hear the creature now in full force, no longer meandering in the brush of the woods, but chasing you. The sound of too many feet hitting the ground, the sound of the air whipping by its many arms, and its breathing. Steady, loud, increasing as it gets closer. 

Your own breath comes out ragged, desperate, wheezing. You weren’t made to run like this–or perhaps you were, and that’s the crux of this whole damn trip–but this creature was clearly meant to chase. 

Regret on ever coming to the woods courses through you every time your feet pound against the ground, but regret wasn’t going to save you. Thoughts whir together--don’t let it catch me, how do I get out of here, will anyone be able to help me?--as you rush down the winding paths of the forest trail.

But there’s no one in sight, and there surely wouldn’t be anyone to help you if you went deeper into the woods. The only chance for salvation, if there was a chance at all, would be to head back towards the city. Monsters didn’t live in cities, didn’t thrive there. There’s an almost prickling fantasy that blurs through your mind: cross the threshold of the trail and it will stop instantly, like a fairy tale creature unable to cross a magic bridge. 

You will be safe, if you can get back there. 

But how to get there, with a beast at your back? 

You’ve got to turn around, somehow. If you can turn around, you can go back the way you came, and get back to human civilization. If you get back to human civilization, where monsters are dreams and movie magic, you will live. 

If you keep going into the woods, you’ll only get lost, you’ll be so deep that no one will hear you scream. If you even had the lung capacity to scream, after all this running. Would the lungs the monster tears through with its claws, its teeth, have anything left in them? 

You can’t turn around the proper way. Your brain, frantic though it is, is steady enough to understand that fact. You’ll lose momentum if you try to pivot and go back the way you came, and who is to say if you’ll be fast enough to evade the monster at all? 

But you want to live. 

So you do what the signs at the beginning of the trail forbade you to do, and veer off the trail, pushing into the thicket of the forest. The branches snag on your clothes, and you’re glad you decided against wearing the fanny pack after all. You’re able to pull the fabric of your shirt and trousers free from the branches as they snap and rustle around you; a fanny pack would have been a death sentence.

And when you make your desperate foray into the thicket of the woods, something happens. Something that makes your blood run cold, despite the heat of your pumping muscles and the sweat beginning to drip down your back.

The creature stops running. Oh, just for a moment.  You hear the racket of its limbs, of its power and size, cease. And you hear a little sound, a bit like a chuckle. That can’t be right, though. It must be catching its breath. Even monstrous creatures get tired. 

It must have been a wheeze, that’s all. The alternative is far worse.

It doesn’t stay still for long. You hear its body pushing through the canopy of trees now, too. 

It’s faster than you. And stronger than you.

But you keep running. Desperate, human, wanting to avoid the horrible fate at the end of its teeth and claws.

Your thighs and lungs and chest burn awfully as you hop over branches, run through canopies of leaves that slap your face as you go through them, the sting of micro-scratches registering as if you’re experiencing them as a third party.

What does a few scratches mean, if you get attacked by some--thing? No one will ever find your body, probably. Or it will be so unrecognizable that they’ll never identify you.

If you trip now, you’re done for. If you trip now, that thing will be on you, with its many mouths and many hands and many teeth.

If you trip now, that is.

Somehow, sheer dumb luck or some otherworldly being guiding your burning legs, you don’t trip until you reach the very edge of the woods, when the beautiful sight of the trail’s entrance is within arm’s reach. 

“Fuck!” 

You shout out, hands catching you before you hit the ground proper and hurting awfully in the process. Your palms sting, you’re sure there will be blood and scrapes. Like when you used to trip on the sidewalk as a kid and you wound up with gravel in your palms for the trouble.

That doesn’t matter though. What matters is that you can feel the weight of the creature behind you, can imagine it rearing up, can smell something--its breath, its body?--and you know you’re about to die.

This is it. A lifetime, all ended with–

Ding-ding-ding!

The ring of a bicycle bell turns out to be your saving grace. Someone pulling up to hike or maybe they heard your distress or who fucking cares, really, because at the sight of the bell, you hear the monster retreat back into the woods.

The person on the bike seems appropriately concerned at the state of you, sweat plasteirng your hair and clothes to your skin, your face red with exertion. They offer a hand and you don’t know what they’re saying because the thought of getting your translation book out right now is the furthest thing from your mind.

They murmur in concern at the scrapes on your hands. Those scrapes are nothing, compared to what was behind you; what should have happened, when you tripped. Child’s play, in more ways than one.

You let this stranger–your savior, really–guide you on jelly-like legs that carry you away from the forest, back towards the little town and what must be safety. Safety in numbers, safety in humanity, safety in the knowledge that the streets are filled with buildings, bikes, cars; the smell of automobile smoke and food stalls. The chatter of people, car horns, all of it a far cry from the wild woods and the wild creature behind you.

As you walk away on unsteady legs, you swear you hear another sound from the forest. you swear–but no, no, the rational part of your mind bubbles you safely away from it; oh, it can’t be real it can’t be real it can’t be real.

Because--

It sounds like laughter.

--

You don’t tell the police about the arms, and mouths, or the laughter. Only that you were chased by some kind of animal--you don’t know what--that was following you on the trail. 

The police smile at your story, told to them in shakily typed app-translated Japanese, and one of them types into his own translation app that they will search the forest, but that it was probably an aggressive bear. 

It was not a bear. You know this. You know this, and you let them placate you with assurances that they will put up signs, and send out a forest warden. Despite the awful knowledge that nests in your stomach like a rotten egg: this was not a goddamn bear. 

It was a monster in those woods. 

But who would believe you, if you tried to tell the truth?

–

The stranger with the silver hair and mismatched eyes spots you that afternoon, sitting at a local cafe with what must be a shaken, sullen expression. You’ve hardly touched the food you ordered, instead keeping your hands wrapped around your warm drink, focusing on the way it spreads through your fingers. 

Not that he seems to mind your look or the clear tension surrounding you like miasma. In fact, he plops right into the chair across from you without even asking, all grins, and swipes one of the mini sandwiches you ordered for lunch.

The audacity. The over-familiarity. Honestly? You can’t help but find it refreshing, in this moment, your mind and body still shaken from the ordeal. It was better than the awkward distance between you and everyone else; it was like the monster in the forest had laid its scent on you, and everyone knew to keep a step back.

“Trail?” He asks, eyes glancing over your hair, cropped short and still sticking a little to your forehead from sweat. He smiles a little–at you, maybe. Or maybe he just likes to smile. “Fun?”

The word hits, but not too hard. Not as hard as it would have, if anyone else had asked it.

It’s not like he knew what happened. And maybe… maybe he would know something more? A local who knew the trail, who lived around here, might take you more seriously than the police. Especially since he was a little strange himself, he might be used to the idea of not being believed. 

So you shake your head and offer up your phone to this perfect stranger, with the translated story from the police station still typed in. An animal, but you didn’t know what kind; a chase through the woods. 

“Ah,” he says, after a while of staring unblinking at the screen. “No fun.” He smiles, when he shouldn’t. “Scared.”

“Yeah,” you admit, breathily, almost smiling yourself. A lighthearted confirmation for a terrifying experience. Something about this stranger makes you want to open up. Makes you want to trust him. It’s like he gets you, and considering the fact that you stuck out like a sore thumb in this small foreign town, you latched right onto it. 

Then, leaning forward, you type the eager words into your app before asking them out loud: “Have you ever heard of there being a monster in that forest?”

You’re not sure if he knows enough English to register what you’ve said before reading the phone screen, but your words make his eyes widen. 

So you continue, almost babbling a bit, describing it in more detail. You’re not sure how much he understands, how much he’s getting. Your fingers type frantically into the app, repeating a choppy version of what comes bubbling out of your lips, hoping it makes enough sense. App translators weren’t exactly known for their accuracy. 

But you want to tell him, need to tell him, all about the way it moved, the odd breathy sounds that almost sounded like speech, and the rippling under the skin. The primal feeling of being prey in the woods, the same as any rabbit, any deer. 

People are glancing over as you speak, as you show this stranger your phone and go on about the horrors of the forest; and you’re not entirely sure if it’s because he committed an awful social faux pas in plopping down at your table to casually or because of you. Your words, your clothes, the way you’re getting increasingly frantic as he actually listens to what you say and doesn’t tell you that you’re some crazy American tourist who might consider going back to your hotel and taking a nap.

He gets you, he gets this, you’re sure of it even before you’re finished with your story.

When you’re done, you can feel new beads of sweat dripping down the back of your neck. During the course of your conversation, his wide-eyed expression has gone somber. Seriously. Like he knows exactly what you mean and it makes your chest clench in sick hope. 

“Yes,” he says, finally; low, leaning forward. His voice is soft and earnest and you latch onto it in a sea of unfamiliarity. “I know about a monster.” He glances around, apparently now keenly aware of the stares, although they only make him grin. “I tell you… not here. At home.” 

Home? His home? Maybe you shouldn’t--lord, stranger danger--but the stares only seem to intensify when he stands up, and you follow suit on instinct. It makes you feel naked, judged. Frayed-nerves don’t do anything but amplify the sensation. 

This is stupid. You read enough travel articles before coming to know that you shouldn’t go to places with a stranger. Hell, you knew that before you searched “Japan travel tips” on your phone for the first time–how many times did your mother tell you to never be alone with a stranger, back when you were small and so very different? 

But you were an adult now. More sure of yourself, in more ways than one. And this stranger, this strange young man, might be able to help you. If someone else knew about the monster, well; it might mean you weren’t out of your mind. It might mean you could leave Japan with this part of yourself intact. 

It’s something of a relief when the stranger grabs your wrists and pulls you away from the cafe. 

Your stomach flutters equally with that relief–and uncertainty. 

--

His home, he explains in his own accented English, is at the edge of the forest. It’s enough to make you nearly trip over your own shoes, when he tells you. The stranger turns around, smiles, but he doesn’t stop walking. He doesn’t let go of your wrist, either, holding it with a gentle firmness that makes you want to avoid pulling away.

“Scared?” His smile is small and almost private. Whether it’s just for you, or him, you’re not sure.

You swallow. And nod. A knot of fear tightens in your stomach, but you try to remember that there is strength in numbers. 

He looks you up and down, and tugs you closer, so that you’re walking nearly side by side as he holds you close. The closeness is, you think, a comfort. 

“The monster lives anywhere,” he says. There’s a blend of solemnity and humor to his tone that you can’t quite place. It might just be his accent, you tell yourself.

You tell yourself a lot of things. Like that he sidepasses the forest trail and takes you through a shortcut in the woods because it’s quicker, and safer.

Branches and leaves snap underfoot, and the dead silence of anything but the noise the pair of you make as you walk is all too familiar. The quiet is unusual, in a forest like this. There should be the sound of animals, the sound of scurrying, the steady hum of insects.

Silence in a forest means something is wrong. 

You shouldn’t be here, your body tells you. Your heart begins to pound again, and you tug a little on your wrist--you should tell him that you don’t want to go to his home, after all. You’re fine with not knowing the truth about the monster.

You’re fine with not following this stranger into the woods, in a foreign country, after having just been chased by something mere hours ago. 

If he notices your tug, your apprehension, then he says nothing. He only maintains his steady grip, his steady smile. 

“The monster eats people,” he says again, with that awful casualness. There’s a thought in your mind--you, tripping, the monster over you, tearing you apart with its teeth. Nobody finding your body, or whatever was left of it.

Without warning, the stranger stops. His grip on your wrist loosens and you slowly pull it towards you, heart thudding in your chest.

He stopped, yes, but why? There’s no house here. Only the woods around you, without the comfort of the manmade trail as a guide. Not that the trail kept you safe the first time. And are you really at the edge of the forest? If anything, you walked deep into it, away from the trails, from the markers, from the tourist spots marked on the maps.

Oh. 

Something is wrong, something is wrong, something is–

“How do you know so much about the monster?” You ask, quietly. There’s only so much room for proper thoughts in your brain, and the only one that worms its way to the top is a sensible, naive question. “Have you seen it before?”

He doesn’t answer. Not in words, English or otherwise. You wish he did. You wish he kept talking, and you kept talking, and you found yourself at some run-down shack where he lived off the grid.

That doesn’t happen.

Instead, he tilts his head up, long hair almost slithering across his shoulders with the movement. As he does, he grins, the profile of it broad and then wide and then wider and then--

Then it’s so wide that it splits his face into two, revealing a mass of dark red colored flesh and teeth sharp enough to tear through your muscles. And oh, my, grandmother, what big teeth you have.

There are undoubtedly words within you, words that might express the primal shock and horror at what you're seeing. But all that comes out of your mouth is a squeak, a wheezing little sound that has him turning.

You wish he didn't turn. You wish all you saw was the profile of his split face, because as he turns it is no longer possible to recognize him as the young man from before. Except for that beautiful silver hair, cascading over his shoulders, beautiful and grotesque.

His body expands as he turns, and muscles beneath the skin rise as his height gets too tall, his arms grow too numerous, and you can't believe mere moments ago he was simply a quirky good looking stranger who was going to help you solve this traumatic tourist mystery.

It’s not enough that he has too many arms. It's not enough that he has too many teeth, and they are so sharp that you know without thinking that they are going to tear through your flesh and rip it like well-braised beef.

There is something underneath his skin. It was there before, and it’s there now, only you’re closer–and still–and its presence is not some shock to the system but a confirmation of an earlier, terrible scene.

Oh, yes, there is something under his skin, and it does not stay still. You can see it moving, like a worm or an alien. Only instead of bursting out of his chest it simply moves, rippling the flesh underneath. Is it separate from him? One and the same? Is this some solitary mass, or are there more–to go with the creature's many arms and many teeth? 

How can this creature be anything but a monster, something other? 

Unless--unless you're looking in his eyes. 

(His, or its? You don’t know, and you never want to find out.)

But those eyes, those eyes are just as pretty and human as they were before.

His human eyes are staring right at you. Your mouth is agape, and you wish you had something other than domesticated teeth designed for chewing and not ripping apart. Because there's nothing you can do in the face of this but run.

You are prey, after all. The rabbit. The deer. The thing that scurries and squeaks. 

So you do run. For the second time in so many hours, you run for your life.

Only now the sun is starting to set, and you are in a completely unfamiliar part of the forest, and you know the monster is real and that it wants you and that it played with you like a cat plays with its food.

Your breath comes out in sharp, short pants. There's something tingling in the adrenaline that courses through your veins, pumping straight from your brain to every extremity, making even the tips of your fingers feel numb and floating. 

It’s like you're high from the fear. 

"Why run?"

The monster calls after you, even as it gives chase. It doesn’t sound as winded now.

And fuck, his voice sounds exactly the same. Why couldn't he sound like a monster? Why couldn't he sound like some guttural beast with no connection to humanity?

Why does he sound like the helpful, if a bit strange, young man who sat with you in the café? Who cheerfully pointed out the spot on the map you ought to go? Who seemed kind, if odd, an unusual character you would surely tell everyone at home about once you got off the plane? 

But the resemblance ends at his voice, at these little things. It ends at the glimmer of silver hair and the too-human eyes that you can no longer see as you try desperately to lose it in the forest. Swerving here and there, stumbling and half-leaping over obstacles, whipping through tree branches that claw at you in the dimming light.

You’re bleeding, you know it. You think the monster knows it, too.

"I like you," the voice says, light and breezy, from behind you. He says it in English and you wish he didn't, because it means he wants you to understand. 

It’s better when you don’t understand the monsters that chase you. 

Your foot trips on something, a branch or a log or the bone of a dead animal, and for the second time today, your body goes sailing through the air. This time, you land on the ground with a thump, half-crumpled. 

You could lie down here. You could lie down and die; let it rip through your throat and hopefully it would kill you quick before consuming your flesh.

But you don't want to. You don't want to die and it's not fair and you're just supposed to be on a nice trip, the end result of an entire year's worth of paid time off accrual. But instead, you're panting and bleeding and being chased by something in the forest that wants to eat you and likes you in what may be equal measure.

So you force your exhausted arms to push up from the ground and you stumble into a run. Pitiful as it is. Pointless as it is. 

Behind you, the creature laughs. Or the young man laughs. You're not sure which is which, or if they were different to begin with.

"I like you," it says again. There's something lighter in its tone now. Or maybe you're imagining it, high on adrenaline and lack of oxygen from all the panting. The tingling in your body hasn’t stopped, even as you stumble forward. 

"I'll keep you," it--he? You don't know, fuck--says. "Always."

The silliest of thoughts worms its way through your fear-addled brain.  Did he learn English just to communicate with you? Did all monsters speak different languages? Or did he shove his face into a tourist phrasebook in between chasing you and finding you in the cafe?

It's this silly thought that sticks in your ear as you go sailing to the ground again. Pushed, maybe. Or maybe you tripped on the bones of a dead fox, its flesh long eaten away by predators then maggots, in that order.

Palms stinging, knees burning. Blood bubbling through a tear in your trousers--cut on a sharp branch, you think. 

Your thigh aches.

Your lungs ache. 

Your chest aches.

Behind you, there is only the forest-noise of the monster chasing you. Arms and legs and the presence of it, pushing through branches and bushes like nothing. It could kill you like nothing, too. Maybe there are claws at the end of those hands, too many hands and too many fingers, and the world makes no more sense than it did a few hours ago.

Still, you don't want to die. Not here, not like this. So you push up with your burning, aching arms, and force yourself into a wobbling, weak standing position. 

It halts when you stand. You don't turn to see, you don’t even register the cessation of the rush of brush and bramble--you just know. 

One step forward, on wobbling legs. Legs that can’t run anymore, no matter what is chasing you.

“Oh,” says the monster. A soft, sweet sound.

Another step forward, and your knees buckle underneath you. Down you go. 

“Oh,” it says again. You do register the lack of sound, now. Nothing but distant insects (you wish they were closer) and your own breathing, and a sort of rustling as the monster approaches you from behind. 

”Cute,” it says. And oh, now, you can imagine its wide mouth, all those teeth, cradling the word like soft candy. 

You stare, barely able to support your body on your arms, at the ground underneath you. This will be the last thing you see, you think. At least it’s kind of pretty--nature. Green and brown and there’s life here, some insects meandering along underneath you, uncaring as to whatever is going on up above. 

Maybe they’ll get to eat what’s left of your body, when he’s finished. The circle of life, and all that. 

But it won’t be the last thing you see. Because you’re turning--no, you’re being turned, four or five or six arms on you, cradling you in a sickeningly gentle way even as your weakened muscles strain against their hold.

Your lungs strain and your breath comes out in short, terrible pants. The soft, sad acceptance is a lot harder to keep up when you’re facing death head-on. 

The last thing you’ll see will be this monster, above you, silver hair almost shimmering in the dimmed light of the forest. His mouth too wide, his limbs and teeth and scars too many, his human eyes boring into you with a glinting fascination. A sickly sweet sort of affection. 

That something is still underneath the skin, too. Rippling. Like a tick burrowed underneath the flesh, straining, wanting to get out but being unable to do so. 

His stretched mouth opens and there are so many fangs--you imagine the pain--imagine the teeth boring down into your chest or your neck, the tearing of your flesh. 

But that isn’t how you die; that isn’t how he eats you.

Instead--instead--his mouth opens wide and you hear the grinding of flesh as he teeth retract further into his mouth, leaving only a gaping dark hole staring down at you. Above it, his nose, distorted; above that, those eyes, still human, still searching your gaze as he leans forward and your body is gently cradled into the open mouth and pushed down into the tight cavern of his throat.

He swallows you down, and pushes you forward into his throat, down his gullet, onward and onward. There are brief glimpses of the world outside just before you enter his mouth, and then everything goes dark.

But not because you’re dead. Oh, if only you were dead. Instead, you are alive–you are inside.

It’s wet, inside. Wet and warm, like an inside should be. But there’s a wrongness to it all. You were never meant to be pushed down a gullet, to be surrounded by this pulsating warm darkness that slickened your skin even as your mind began to constrict along with your lungs.

Too tight. Too warm. Too many limbs--and despite all those teeth, they did nothing to ease your passing, to tear through your arteries and let you bleed out before you were swallowed up. 

You were swallowed whole, instead. Like Jonah and the whale. Like Pinnochio. Like other characters in other stories, and you can’t think of them now, with the buzz in your brain getting both louder and weaker all at the same time.

You don’t want to die–and not like this; the buzz in your brain constricts, something primal, telling you to GET.OUT.

And you try. You really do try, through pure instinct alone. An instinct you didn’t know you had until you were in this forest, inside of this beast. That animal instinct to free yourself from the jaws, the very stomach, of death.

Your arms, pressed up against your side by the pressure of the moist muscles around you, begin to flail. Your legs, too, constricted by the space you’re in–but moving. Squirming and kicking, trying to get some sort of purchase inside your living prison.

Strange, dim thoughts come as your body begins to squirm. They are the only thing keeping you human, separating you from the mouse clawing from inside a snake.

The thoughts–Being in here is like the time you wrapped yourself up in a sleeping bag and got stuck; being in here is like the first time you went down the tube slide at the playground as an adult, drunk at midnight, and almost got stuck.

Being in here is like all those times you thought you were going to suffocate inside something tight and warm and wrong–only this time, there is no triumphant roll as the sleeping bag unwraps, no sigh of relief as you wiggle your body back up the slide to freedom

There is only the wetness and warmness and the feeling of the monster around you. He hums–oh God, you can feel him humming, feel the way his body rumbles. He says something, too, you think. Something with a cadence that you’re so glad you can’t understand.

You have to get out. You have to get out, damn it. 

There’s a sick sort of rhythm to it, and while your mind recoils from the slick feeling against your skin as you begin to trash, it also gives you hope. This is how you get out, how you get free. Somehow, squirming inside the beast that’s swallowed you–you’ll survive. 

If only you could move more. If you could raise your arms and claw at the warm, wet interior, it might hurt enough to let you go. Throw you up or spit you out or maybe you could burrow your fingers so deep it rips the beast’s flesh open, like a bear gutting a salmon.

A salmon is perhaps what you most resemble now as your thrashing becomes a spasm, reflexive, increasingly jerky as the oxygen in your lungs begins to dwindle. 

Get-out-get-out-get-out, your mind screams.

Your body does its best. Your breath comes shallow now, panting loud inside the tight space and its moving, living walls. It’s all too moist, too hot, too wrong.

Warm, damp limbs jerk and kick and get nowhere in particular for their troubles. The moving walls against you constrict and release, slowly, and you find your thrashing only helps move you down further.

Further into the body of the beast. Further away from the world outside, further away from everything that made you a living breathing tourist just looking for a pretty mountain trail to explore and winding up eaten alive for their troubles. 

It was just an hour or so ago, wasn’t it, that you were sitting in the cafe? It seems like a lifetime, a distant memory, a dream. You cry out, the sound all warbled and wrong inside the tight cavern of his body. 

You want out–you want to go home–but there’s nothing you can do but trash again, soft, bleating sounds pushing out of your increasingly constricted lungs. 

“Oh.”

The monster speaks again, and the rumbling against you is softer, somehow. Cooing and low. And oh, Jesus–you feel him now. Feel his hands on the outside of what must be his belly, where you’ve wormed your way towards with every thrash.

The press of his hands against his skin from the outside is nearly unbearable, sending the wet-hot interior of the inside pressing against your cheek, smearing something slick against your skin, against your eye.

It stings against your lashes and you can’t see, can’t move your hands up enough to properly wipe it away. It makes you jerk again, makes your breath come in tighter, faster, less thoughtful and closer and closer to pure instinct.

Thoughts don’t come as easily. There’s only that desire to get out, to break free, to get away from the wet heat that surrounds you. There’s more slickness now, and a strange sort of acrid scent. A bitter, acidic scent in the air that stings your nostrils. 

He presses against his belly again and you wail, and he coos, and there’s hardly any space left for you to thrash but you try as best you can.

One.

Two.

Three more times.

And then the world gets too woozy, too hazy. You can’t breathe in here. You can’t move, really, aside from the way your limbs still twitch on instinct. You can’t see, and the sounds are only the strange rushing, the warbled noises from the beast that are hard to distinguish. 

The last thing you can sense with any sort of human distinctness is another side, slick and slithering, the sound of something inside the beast with you–oh God, you are not alone in here–and this last thought is when you stop being a person. When the thoughts cease to come as distinct lines from your brain and turn into a low, humming, dying thing.

The twitches that send your body spasming are not that of a person trying to escape, but of prey, finally subdued. 

Undoubtedly, you were once a human being. A person who grew up and imagined a future, some distant thing you couldn’t conceive as a child but which grew more concrete with every passing year. Someone who wanted a girlfriend or boyfriend, and eventually got one. Someone who thought, yeah, maybe kids, some day, if you adopted. 

Who imagined going to school and getting a job that paid decently enough; who did just that, working your ass off, spending all nighters drinking shitty dorm coffee before examples. All to get a degree to get an internship to get a desk job, so you could take nice vacations like this one, where you saved for a year and submitted your time-off request 6 months in advance and everyone at work told you to have fun and take plenty of pictures.

You were a person with hopes and dreams, with a family, with a past, with memories both clear and fuzzy. Sitting on the beach as a child and getting pinched by a crab you tried to place on top of your sand castle. Pushing another kid off the swing when he refused to give you a turn. Coming out to your parents and your dad making a joke about father-son fishing trips and your mom laughing too loud because she didn’t know what to say about having a daughter and now having a son.

All of that, and so much more besides--all of that and everything you ever were, everything you are, everything you will now never ever be, is lost inside a warm void of a body, a slithering, living cavity.

There’s no buzz in your brain now, no lungs to draw in desperate sucks of air. Nothing to register the monster sprawling out on the forest floor, satiated, thinking of how pretty you looked when you ran and the warm, full with the feeling of you inside him now.

He’ll rest here, dappled sunlight warming his skin, letting you digest; breaking you down with acid, absorbing your nutrients into his own body. 

And you? 

You’re dead and gone and there’s no comfort in knowing that Mahito will think of you for a long while, even after you’ve been digested. You were such nice prey, after all. 

[haikyuusboringassmanager]

As an aside I came back to this in my drafts this morning and genuinely do not remember adding the 4th option:

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