20+. 📍lost in cyberspace. writing my whole life away and filling it with dreamy fictional people.
warning: this blog sees dark content from time to time which means upsetting topics might be referenced. please take any warnings into consideration and approach carefully.
asks are welcome; requests are always open but they do take a while — currently queued to write: 3+ (max 5 at any given time!)
my masterlist • my ao3
rules • request a fic • recommended fics
ongoing works:
chasing humanity (ongoing): multi chapter piece with a yandere kenjaku x equally yandere f!reader, dd:dne with slow-ish updates.
an imp in fae’s clothing (ongoing): multi chapter piece with a yandere fae x f!reader who slowly becomes a villain over his love for a human who caught his curiosity. slow-ish updates.
your volcano-headed partner begrudgingly helps you feel better when you’re sick with something — jogo x m!reader; though it can be read as gn!reader, since no gendered terms are exclusively used, he’s a bit tsundere i would say? • based on a requested ask • w.c: ~400ish
“I don’t feel too well,” you just barely managed to croak out, your voice all weak and raspy.
Jogo cast a look at you, meeting you with a sharp, disapproving huff, although he didn’t dismiss you outright. “Of course you don’t feel well,” he started, “humans rarely ever do! All you do is breathe in filth, overwork them, and then have the audacity to complain once they break down.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at his sudden anger; it was never something you could take so seriously.
“Yeah, but I can’t help it, can I?” you managed to respond with, your whole frame trembling as you forced yourself to sit upright against the cool ground. Your limbs felt heavy and anchoring as you struggled to find balance, but you could now at least look at him properly.
Jogo’s eyes drifted down from across, his one eye narrowing. He could admit that you looked awful—pathetic, even, fragile—and yet, the thought of you getting worse sat poorly with him.
He found himself shuffling closer as a result—
Until at least the heat that radiated from his body could be felt by you, forcing a steady flow of heat right into your very core. Your skin grew flush and your breathing smoothed from strained into something a little more relieved.
“God, that’s great,” you finally said, your eyes drooping into half-lidded contentment.
Jogo, on the other hand, looked increasingly angry, as if he was above your compliments. He only ever did begrudgingly accept from you, and even then, barely.
“Yes, well, your condition is disgusting,” he said. “If you’re troubled by a fever, then you have no choice but to sweat it out.”
You managed a smile despite the ache. “So caring. You seem to know an awful lot about how to make me feel better.”
Jogo just about choked. on his own breath. He inhaled sharply, and steam rose from his head with each sputter. “What?” he asked, his voice strong with annoyance. “Don’t—don’t be ridiculous! I used common sense, not care, to assess your condition,” he kept on insisting, “Why, you insolent little—“
He stopped himself short before correcting his outburst. “Should something as trivial as human sickness be enough to kill you, then it would be disappointing. That’s all,” he insisted, his voice softening before hardening again. “Not because I care.”
“Yeah, well, you’re probably too stubborn to let me die,” you teased him. “I’m the only human you don’t hate, right?”
Jogo’s face scrunched up in irritation, but he didn’t deny a thing. He sat down on the ground by you at last, his shoulder brushing against yours.
“Only because you’re tolerable,” he grumbled out—though he couldn’t quite deny that it was nice to be so needed, so he leaned in closer—fully content to help you through everything, provided you kept a lid on your attitude, that was.
headcanons for which your cold and jaded superior—levi ackerman—gradually softens up to you while learning of a deep, dark secret — based on this ask • themes/warnings: x f!reader, implied trauma disclosed, it isn’t ever verbally said but there is a strong implication towards past SA, reader is inexperienced/a virgin and while nothing graphic happens, there is a build-up towards gentle intimacy (a hug) • w.c: about 900ish
Levi Ackerman, who didn’t care all too much about you when you first joined his squad. Truth be told, he thought you wouldn’t last too long at all, so dismissing you from the first interaction onwards felt safer. At least much more so than getting to know yet another eventual face to bury.
Levi Ackerman, who found it annoying when he’d catch you lingering around the barracks long after everyone else had gone off to sleep. He found it so strange that you often stood there in place with your head tilted up, your mind somewhere in the clouds.
Once, he decided to confront you about it, only to be met with a flinch and a shove that sent him stumbling back a step. Your eyes were all glassy when they landed on his, coated in tears that were ready to fall. You looked at him like he had cornered you—as if he were about to hurt you.
He wasn’t offended when you looked at him like that, no, but—
He also didn’t know what to do with himself.
Levi Ackerman, who, after that, made an effort to notice all of those other things about you, no matter how small. He shrugged off the nonchalance he wore around fresh faces, reminding himself that you were his squadmate, so therefore, to a degree, your responsibility. Only when he started to take extra care did he begin to see the way you so easily startled when someone’s hand or shoulder brushed past you when they walked by, or how you would dissociate during field missions.
It was around then when the way you acted started to feel familiar; it was how he acted when processing grief, after all.
Leading him to understand that you were working through something traumatic.
He should have known.
And over time, he put together the pieces without ever needing you to say what it might have ever been out loud, with certain things like context clues guiding him closer to the answer he once so naively sought, leading him to the conclusion that it might have been someone who hurt you in the past. Given the way that you often recoiled from closeness, he guessed it was personal enough.
When, also, you finally were brave enough to disclose the truth on your own, he went strangely quiet, or at least more so than usual. You told him all about how you were hurt—how you were touched—how you then lost yourself to the pain. Anger rose from within him on your own behalf, and he felt profoundly disappointed—but not surprised—that people like that existed, let alone breathed the same air he did. Still, he kept his anger concealed and didn’t let his fury reach you, understanding that all you needed right then and there was someone who accepted you.
In turn, giving you his support, his shoulder to cry on, his sheer presence, if it meant you wouldn’t have to suffer this all alone anymore.
And indeed, you did not—
For it was you who joined the military as a means of surviving something you could never quite outrun, wasn’t it? You convinced yourself—perhaps foolishly—that if you poured all of your misery into something essentially terminal, then you could disappear when it all went south.
Even when you performed well on the initial assessment and even when you did act like the ever-so-disciplined soldier they wanted, you were still set aside, told to wait. Someone told you it was nothing to worry about, that it was that… they hardly ever got adult recruits. That you needed to be in a team that fit you.
Which was how you ended up working alongside a man with the coldest eyes you had ever seen.
It was you who found yourself flinching whenever he got too close, not that it was ever his fault for spooking you, nor your fault for reacting. You tried so hard to push him away, to keep things strictly professional, but he never provoked you to do anything other than take your time, and as you did, the pieces that barely kept you together slipped loose all on their own.
It was you, then, against all reason, who began to fall for him anyway, even when you swore off everyone else left in the world. It was just the fact alone that he recognised your pain for what it was, and that meant a lot more than anything else ever did. This wasn’t a person who wanted to hurt you—not like they did back then—in fact, all it ever seemed like was that Levi only ever wanted to help you.
It was you who felt your breath hitch when you realised he quite possibly felt the same way, leaning in for a kiss—which was rare of him to do—only to have you pull back, your shoulders close in on themselves, your hands ball into fists—
“That’s alright,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, nothing but reassurance in his tone.
But it was still you who trembled, it was you who shook, and you who tried to push him away—
“I’m not,” you said too quickly, all breathless and shaky, “I-I’m not— I don’t— I want my firsts to be my own, and this feels like it, but—”
“They’ll be on your own terms, then,” he said decisively, understanding perfectly well, pulling away, allowing you some space.
At that, though, it was still you who felt as if something in you was freed.
You met him with not a kiss, but a hug, holding on with all that you had—
Just about nearly breaking under the weight of how lucky you were to find him in a place that you had gone off to disappear.
And Levi Ackerman, who, on the other hand, finally felt something in him settle, because all of the care he once withheld had finally found somewhere safe to go.
in which choso, your impassive neighbour from downstairs, started to get involved in your life in a way that felt invasive (x f!reader) (part 4) poll winner: choso forces us to hear him out
trigger warnings: yandere choso, strong implication of being drugged and abduction elements, please proceed with caution —
< previous part • from the beginning
You forced air into your lungs in an attempt to steady the growing panic, and then, without thinking, you moved before your mind could process what was even going on. Your elbow shot out in an attempt to connect with his ribs, but all he did was twist his body to the side, avoiding the hit. He caught you by the shoulder as you stumbled forward, stabilising you.
“Look, I know you’re probably scared,” he said with a sigh, his eyes fixing on you. “It must be disorienting to come back to this mess, but,” he then added, as if to tame the accusation, “I’m not the reason why it happened in the first place. I just want to help you. You’ll let me do that, right?”
Then, a beat after, not letting you dwell on the matter if he could help it. “Can you trust me? Please?”
Your missed attempt to push him away left your thoughts a jumbled mess. Your hands trembled so hard that you could barely close them into fists. He moved just now like someone expecting retaliation, and this little detail unsettled you deeply, because just why was he waiting for such a reaction?
Regardless, you forced a small, stiff nod.
In the inner depths of your mind, however, you wished to be anything but calm. You wanted your strength to come back and strike him again. You wanted to scream, even though right now, you couldn’t. No matter how hard you tried to raise your fists, they felt uselessly heavy, anchored by your sides, and if you were to force your voice out, it felt like it was trapped in the back of your throat. Only hot air came out.
Then, you might as well have betrayed yourself entirely—
“Okay…” you said, your voice uneven. “I’ll… I’ll trust you.”
Choso smiled at your reluctant compliance, but he didn’t stop there. His hand branched out to wrap around your trembling arm, curling his warm fingers around your wrist in a way that felt loosely firm: not tight, no, but the pressure was noticeable.
“How about I make you some tea?” he asked, his eyes lighting up as he offered the gesture. You didn’t even have time to react before he was already pulling you down the side of the outer stairs. “It might help,” he added.
Your thoughts were blank the whole time he spoke, and by the time he had dragged you into his apartment, you were essentially a shell of yourself. Fear gripped you so tightly that you couldn’t react the way you wanted to. You knew for certain that you did not want to be in this guy’s home. You knew that this was a mistake. You were only moving along with where he guided you, because you could not shake the way he missed your attack on purpose, and how fast his reflexes were. Something about this whole scenario felt charged, and you could not help that by even speaking to him—by even humouring him before—you walked into some sort of elaborate trap.
When he gave you the tea, you tried your best to sip through it, but it was bitter in a way you didn’t like. Your whole body worked on autopilot, but the controls were otherwise malfunctioning, so the cup shook unsteadily as you tried to hold it. By the fourth sip, however, the mug slipped from your grasp, and you watched uselessly for about five long seconds as the liquid seeped into your clothes, before you stumbled up, shattering the mug completely.
“Oh—” you blurted out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll go and clean up. Sorry.”
Before he could stop you, instinct took over, and you ran towards his bathroom. As soon as the door slammed, you could breathe again, but only somewhat. Your eyes drifted around the small room, settling on a narrow slit cut above the toilet. Shit. You couldn’t fit through that. The plan was to crawl out of it and run back to the dorm, or if by some miracle, the police station. If not there, then anywhere else, as long as it had a crowd and you could make a scene, but you were not getting out through that. This left you going back into the living room, and you really, really did not want to do that.
Especially because you also felt dizzy now, even with the light. It sort of ate away at your vision, on and off, around the corners, resulting in a dark film flickering around the edges. It didn’t make sense to you, though. Was this fear? Paranoia? Nausea gripped you regardless, and your ears rang loudly.
Finally stepping back in, however, the atmosphere changed at once. Maybe you were imagining things at this point, but something about you being here at all was starting to feel orchestrated. He immediately finished cleaning up as soon as you were ready to face him, as if on command, approaching you so slowly that he might as well have floated in from across the room.
When your balance faltered, too, he was there right away to catch you, as if he had been anticipating it to begin with.
“Oh,” he said, sounding surprised, even if you doubted his reaction. “Maybe you’re just not feeling well? Hearing stressful news can do that to you. Should I get you some water instead?”
This time, however, your answer shot out of you without a second thought. “No!” you blurted out, flinching from the sound of your voice. “I mean… no,” you repeated yourself, forcing yourself to sound softer that time. “That’s okay. It’s just, I don’t think I want anything right now.”
He held your gaze for a moment, though something about him seemed to stiffen internally from your rejection. “No worries,” he assured, guiding you to sit back at the very spot you once tried to get away from, giving you the smallest amount of space this time, however. He took a few steps away as you settled over the cushions, coming to lean against the open-plan kitchen counter, crossing his arms.
“You know,” he said after a beat. “When I found out about the break-in, I thought it was very lucky that you weren’t home. You could have gotten hurt if it was the wrong type of person to encounter, huh?” he brought up, his voice still only mild before the tone dropped into something colder. “There’s just… so many sick people in the world out there who want to hurt others. It’s a good thing I was around to prevent that from happening.”
You swallowed hard, not appreciating his word choice.
He exhaled a breath of air, forcing a laugh to surface, though it didn’t hold onto any real humour. “Oh, and I’m not one of them,” he assured you quickly, fixing you with a strained smile. “I mean, I want to help you, remember? If I did want to hurt you, then I would have done it already. So… can you stop looking at me like that? Please?”
You blinked a couple of times before relaxing your posture. “Sorry,” you said, beginning to hate that word, your knuckles tightening around the coarse fibres of the sofa. “It’s just you’re not… exactly being…” You faltered, the dizziness sharpening. “You haven’t exactly made the best impression in the last couple of days.”
You tried to laugh also, if only to soften the accusation, though the weight of it still stuck.
“Oh? Forgive me,” he said right away. “I probably have been a lot, haven’t I?” he asked. “It’s just… " You seem very friendly, and despite my profession, and despite working with people from day to day, I’m just still so bad at… socialising properly, and you,” he highlighted, his eyes coming to rest on your face, trying to gauge your reaction. “You just seem to get me. You’re nice. It doesn’t feel difficult to talk to you.”
Though you felt out of place and dizzy, you still tried to hold your ground however you could. You didn’t like being told what you were just based on a few interactions. That wasn’t fair to you. Only you could decide that.
“Nice?” you caught on carefully, trying to maintain a sense of calm even as your body felt gradually heavier. “I don’t think so. I would say that maybe that I’m just polite? I try not to be rude if it can be helped, but really, I’m just like everyone else,” you trailed off, unable to stop the flow. “I still judge people. I still think things about people. I’m not as kind as you think I am.”
His eyes glinted with curiosity. “Think things?” he highlighted. “What do you think about me?”
He took a step closer to you again.
“Do you think I’m too much?” he asked, sounding self-depracating.
Then another step.
“Did I make another mistake?” he probed you again, though that time, he sounded so quiet that you barely heard him, as if it wasn’t directed to you in the first place.
You shook your head, trying to block out what he was trying to do. Your mind was a whole mess, but you could tell that even now, he was trying to minimise your fear by appearing nervous and harmless, when the reality in itself was grim. After all, you were all alone in a man’s home that you didn’t trust, half dizzy, half trapped, with no sense of where this could possibly be going and what you did to provoke it at all.
“I think that you’re probably well intentioned,” you started, trying to flatter him. It was probably stupid to try to pander to him; in fact, another part of you thought you should have been trying to be rude to him instead to prove your point. The whole issue was that you didn’t want him to react in a certain way, because what if he switched up the whole nice act if you gave him a reason to act differently? You didn’t know a single thing about him.
You forced yourself to steady your breathing, flinching forward a little as you tried to regain your balance.
Goodness, you were dizzy.
“I just don’t think I can give you what you want, that’s all,” you added after a few deep breaths. “My life is hectic enough as it is, and I don’t think I have time to be the friend you need me to be. Thank you for the tea, though.”
Choso, on the other hand, brought himself closer, crouching down right in front of you to meet you at not quite eye level, but just below your gaze. He reached out to adjust a pillow at your side, as if prepping it for something. You barely noticed it happening at all before the whole room started to spin again. Your eyelids fluttered, and your breathing grew uneven and fast. The ringing in your ears worsened, too.
What was going on…?
“I think you could make some time,” he murmured.
Your mouth moved to deny the direction of his words, but you couldn’t produce a single sound anymore. The whole world around you was already beginning to darken.
“You must be feeling really unwell, huh?” he asked you, his voice suspiciously calm.
Then, your body finally gave out. Your breath caught once in a gasp, and your head lolled forward, forcing you to drift somewhere else. Choso, of course, caught you before you could hit the floor, redirecting your body to the side of the sofa where you went limp; your mouth half open and your eyes anchored shut.
For a moment after, he was very still and then quietly, when he was certain you could no longer hear him—
“You’re going to have all the time in the world to get to know me,” he promised.
He pushed himself back onto his haunches and then—only then—did his composure finally crack: whatever calm he held onto for your sake had evaporated in an instant.
Panic flooded into his gut as he processed the act of finally accomplishing something so risky, something that he shouldn’t even have done, but something so tempting at the same time:
He had successfully gotten you.
God, he didn’t expect it to work, though. At least not so easily. Not this fast—and yet—here you were. Now, the hard work could begin, because he didn’t know when you would wake up, given that you didn’t take the full dose, so he had to move fast.
Does he…
Keep you in his home where your chances of escape are still quite high
Move you to his shop where you will be kept in the lower basement
Hope your break helped! And that you’re doing well. Was it caused by anything? 🎀
i’m doing okay :) just i usually focus on irl things more in summer & tend to write a whole lot more during autumn/winter—mostly because it keeps me sane, haha. that sunset at 2pm thing is no joke. :(
i’ve had a very eventful/outdoorsy last few weeks and to avoid burnout socially, i will be dedicating a few days to just catch up on the words i’ve started to write. should be back to normal soonish bc i tend to spread things out once i finish them anyway. :)
but god do i want to write about two guy losers who are about to give up (on dating) only to end up worshipping a woman who walks into their lives (they realise the poly route will only benefit them both)
in which choso, your impassive neighbour from downstairs, started to get involved in your life in a way that felt invasive (x f!reader) (part 4) poll winner: choso forces us to hear him out
trigger warnings: yandere choso, strong implication of being drugged and abduction elements, please proceed with caution —
< previous part • from the beginning
You forced air into your lungs in an attempt to steady the growing panic, and then, without thinking, you moved before your mind could process what was even going on. Your elbow shot out in an attempt to connect with his ribs, but all he did was twist his body to the side, avoiding the hit. He caught you by the shoulder as you stumbled forward, stabilising you.
“Look, I know you’re probably scared,” he said with a sigh, his eyes fixing on you. “It must be disorienting to come back to this mess, but,” he then added, as if to tame the accusation, “I’m not the reason why it happened in the first place. I just want to help you. You’ll let me do that, right?”
Then, a beat after, not letting you dwell on the matter if he could help it. “Can you trust me? Please?”
Your missed attempt to push him away left your thoughts a jumbled mess. Your hands trembled so hard that you could barely close them into fists. He moved just now like someone expecting retaliation, and this little detail unsettled you deeply, because just why was he waiting for such a reaction?
Regardless, you forced a small, stiff nod.
In the inner depths of your mind, however, you wished to be anything but calm. You wanted your strength to come back and strike him again. You wanted to scream, even though right now, you couldn’t. No matter how hard you tried to raise your fists, they felt uselessly heavy, anchored by your sides, and if you were to force your voice out, it felt like it was trapped in the back of your throat. Only hot air came out.
Then, you might as well have betrayed yourself entirely—
“Okay…” you said, your voice uneven. “I’ll… I’ll trust you.”
Choso smiled at your reluctant compliance, but he didn’t stop there. His hand branched out to wrap around your trembling arm, curling his warm fingers around your wrist in a way that felt loosely firm: not tight, no, but the pressure was noticeable.
“How about I make you some tea?” he asked, his eyes lighting up as he offered the gesture. You didn’t even have time to react before he was already pulling you down the side of the outer stairs. “It might help,” he added.
Your thoughts were blank the whole time he spoke, and by the time he had dragged you into his apartment, you were essentially a shell of yourself. Fear gripped you so tightly that you couldn’t react the way you wanted to. You knew for certain that you did not want to be in this guy’s home. You knew that this was a mistake. You were only moving along with where he guided you, because you could not shake the way he missed your attack on purpose, and how fast his reflexes were. Something about this whole scenario felt charged, and you could not help that by even speaking to him—by even humouring him before—you walked into some sort of elaborate trap.
When he gave you the tea, you tried your best to sip through it, but it was bitter in a way you didn’t like. Your whole body worked on autopilot, but the controls were otherwise malfunctioning, so the cup shook unsteadily as you tried to hold it. By the fourth sip, however, the mug slipped from your grasp, and you watched uselessly for about five long seconds as the liquid seeped into your clothes, before you stumbled up, shattering the mug completely.
“Oh—” you blurted out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll go and clean up. Sorry.”
Before he could stop you, instinct took over, and you ran towards his bathroom. As soon as the door slammed, you could breathe again, but only somewhat. Your eyes drifted around the small room, settling on a narrow slit cut above the toilet. Shit. You couldn’t fit through that. The plan was to crawl out of it and run back to the dorm, or if by some miracle, the police station. If not there, then anywhere else, as long as it had a crowd and you could make a scene, but you were not getting out through that. This left you going back into the living room, and you really, really did not want to do that.
Especially because you also felt dizzy now, even with the light. It sort of ate away at your vision, on and off, around the corners, resulting in a dark film flickering around the edges. It didn’t make sense to you, though. Was this fear? Paranoia? Nausea gripped you regardless, and your ears rang loudly.
Finally stepping back in, however, the atmosphere changed at once. Maybe you were imagining things at this point, but something about you being here at all was starting to feel orchestrated. He immediately finished cleaning up as soon as you were ready to face him, as if on command, approaching you so slowly that he might as well have floated in from across the room.
When your balance faltered, too, he was there right away to catch you, as if he had been anticipating it to begin with.
“Oh,” he said, sounding surprised, even if you doubted his reaction. “Maybe you’re just not feeling well? Hearing stressful news can do that to you. Should I get you some water instead?”
This time, however, your answer shot out of you without a second thought. “No!” you blurted out, flinching from the sound of your voice. “I mean… no,” you repeated yourself, forcing yourself to sound softer that time. “That’s okay. It’s just, I don’t think I want anything right now.”
He held your gaze for a moment, though something about him seemed to stiffen internally from your rejection. “No worries,” he assured, guiding you to sit back at the very spot you once tried to get away from, giving you the smallest amount of space this time, however. He took a few steps away as you settled over the cushions, coming to lean against the open-plan kitchen counter, crossing his arms.
“You know,” he said after a beat. “When I found out about the break-in, I thought it was very lucky that you weren’t home. You could have gotten hurt if it was the wrong type of person to encounter, huh?” he brought up, his voice still only mild before the tone dropped into something colder. “There’s just… so many sick people in the world out there who want to hurt others. It’s a good thing I was around to prevent that from happening.”
You swallowed hard, not appreciating his word choice.
He exhaled a breath of air, forcing a laugh to surface, though it didn’t hold onto any real humour. “Oh, and I’m not one of them,” he assured you quickly, fixing you with a strained smile. “I mean, I want to help you, remember? If I did want to hurt you, then I would have done it already. So… can you stop looking at me like that? Please?”
You blinked a couple of times before relaxing your posture. “Sorry,” you said, beginning to hate that word, your knuckles tightening around the coarse fibres of the sofa. “It’s just you’re not… exactly being…” You faltered, the dizziness sharpening. “You haven’t exactly made the best impression in the last couple of days.”
You tried to laugh also, if only to soften the accusation, though the weight of it still stuck.
“Oh? Forgive me,” he said right away. “I probably have been a lot, haven’t I?” he asked. “It’s just… " You seem very friendly, and despite my profession, and despite working with people from day to day, I’m just still so bad at… socialising properly, and you,” he highlighted, his eyes coming to rest on your face, trying to gauge your reaction. “You just seem to get me. You’re nice. It doesn’t feel difficult to talk to you.”
Though you felt out of place and dizzy, you still tried to hold your ground however you could. You didn’t like being told what you were just based on a few interactions. That wasn’t fair to you. Only you could decide that.
“Nice?” you caught on carefully, trying to maintain a sense of calm even as your body felt gradually heavier. “I don’t think so. I would say that maybe that I’m just polite? I try not to be rude if it can be helped, but really, I’m just like everyone else,” you trailed off, unable to stop the flow. “I still judge people. I still think things about people. I’m not as kind as you think I am.”
His eyes glinted with curiosity. “Think things?” he highlighted. “What do you think about me?”
He took a step closer to you again.
“Do you think I’m too much?” he asked, sounding self-depracating.
Then another step.
“Did I make another mistake?” he probed you again, though that time, he sounded so quiet that you barely heard him, as if it wasn’t directed to you in the first place.
You shook your head, trying to block out what he was trying to do. Your mind was a whole mess, but you could tell that even now, he was trying to minimise your fear by appearing nervous and harmless, when the reality in itself was grim. After all, you were all alone in a man’s home that you didn’t trust, half dizzy, half trapped, with no sense of where this could possibly be going and what you did to provoke it at all.
“I think that you’re probably well intentioned,” you started, trying to flatter him. It was probably stupid to try to pander to him; in fact, another part of you thought you should have been trying to be rude to him instead to prove your point. The whole issue was that you didn’t want him to react in a certain way, because what if he switched up the whole nice act if you gave him a reason to act differently? You didn’t know a single thing about him.
You forced yourself to steady your breathing, flinching forward a little as you tried to regain your balance.
Goodness, you were dizzy.
“I just don’t think I can give you what you want, that’s all,” you added after a few deep breaths. “My life is hectic enough as it is, and I don’t think I have time to be the friend you need me to be. Thank you for the tea, though.”
Choso, on the other hand, brought himself closer, crouching down right in front of you to meet you at not quite eye level, but just below your gaze. He reached out to adjust a pillow at your side, as if prepping it for something. You barely noticed it happening at all before the whole room started to spin again. Your eyelids fluttered, and your breathing grew uneven and fast. The ringing in your ears worsened, too.
What was going on…?
“I think you could make some time,” he murmured.
Your mouth moved to deny the direction of his words, but you couldn’t produce a single sound anymore. The whole world around you was already beginning to darken.
“You must be feeling really unwell, huh?” he asked you, his voice suspiciously calm.
Then, your body finally gave out. Your breath caught once in a gasp, and your head lolled forward, forcing you to drift somewhere else. Choso, of course, caught you before you could hit the floor, redirecting your body to the side of the sofa where you went limp; your mouth half open and your eyes anchored shut.
For a moment after, he was very still and then quietly, when he was certain you could no longer hear him—
“You’re going to have all the time in the world to get to know me,” he promised.
He pushed himself back onto his haunches and then—only then—did his composure finally crack: whatever calm he held onto for your sake had evaporated in an instant.
Panic flooded into his gut as he processed the act of finally accomplishing something so risky, something that he shouldn’t even have done, but something so tempting at the same time:
He had successfully gotten you.
God, he didn’t expect it to work, though. At least not so easily. Not this fast—and yet—here you were. Now, the hard work could begin, because he didn’t know when you would wake up, given that you didn’t take the full dose, so he had to move fast.
Does he…
Keep you in his home where your chances of escape are still quite high
Move you to his shop where you will be kept in the lower basement
You’re kidnapped from Sukuna’s estate. He does not take it well.
(Warnings: Kidnapping, murder, he’s pretty tame in this one ngl, dark, yandere, obsession)
After living with Sukuna for so long, you’ve gotten used to his invincibility. There were no guards to secure his estate for he was the protection himself. No one would dare steal from the King of Curses.
Until now, when you were plucked from his estate with barely a scuffle.
The cell they stuffed you in lacked any charm. Mold grew in the corners and the iron bars smelled of rust and rot. You could not see the sun, they must have taken you far underground. Maybe as a ploy to keep you hidden.
If your head wasn’t burning, you may have pitied them for wasting their efforts.
A tray slid through the bars. You blink at it, not taking the bait.
“Eat.” An unnamed man rasps out. You couldn’t make out his face, but you know he was part of your kidnapping.“It’s not poisoned.”
You don’t believe a word he says, but you knew the food wasn’t poisoned. Why would they go through all this trouble of locking you away to just kill you? You simply rejected the food because you were spoiled.
Living with Sukuna made you realize the finer aspects of life: Delicious food prepared by his chef, sweet wines and tender meat. You highly doubt you could confidently say you enjoyed Sukuna’s company, but you appreciated his culinary taste.
The sludge melting in the tray could hardly count as food. It was a meal fit for swine.
“So what plans do you have for me, if it isn’t the guillotine?”
He laughs, squatting down to meet your eyes.
“Did that monster fuck you dumb?” He goads. “I think you can figure it out.”
You already know. You are the sole concubine of the greatest calamity to ever consume your country. There was worth within you. These people looked to exploit that.
It was a good plan, unfortunately for them, it would backfire.
“We already sent your ransom to the King.” He spits the word out with vile and you can taste the hatred that lurks beneath his tongue.
“Hopefully he’ll make a proper payment before we send him his whore’s fingers.”
There was a history of resentment behind his eyes. A charred family, a burned village. Another crime Sukuna would never pay for. But since Sukuna wasn’t here to answer them, he directs that resentment towards you.
He burned your village too, you want to say, but your words wouldn’t matter to this man. He considers you a perpetrator since you chose to spread your legs rather than burn with the rest.
You can’t fault him for thinking that way.
You examine your hands. “It’d be a waste of fingers. He won’t answer to any ransom.”
The King of Curses cares only for himself. By now, he’s probably found another one to warm his bed. You were nothing if not replaceable.
“For your sake, you pray he does.” The man warns.
He leaves you in that cell and the door slams shut behind him. You glance at the tray he failed to take. In a few minutes, the rats would scarf it down. It hardly mattered to you.
This is where you would die. Whether you would be killed or slowly starve to death, forgotten.
Something tightens in your heart. Your eyes burn. Something’s stuck in your throat.
A part of you is happy with your tears. For years, you assumed you didn’t have any left.
It proves you’re still human.
~
You wake up to smoke.
Faint. Far away. It’s a familiar scent—one that’s plagued your nightmares for years and years.
You can hear screaming too. You can’t make out the words but you can hear the fear in their voices.
Lift yourself off the dirty cell floor. You shift forward, trying your hardest to pick up on whatever calamity was attacking your captors.
Eventually, that calamity finds you.
The door doesn’t so much as open as it does falter. The metal creaks and falls as he pushes through like it’s made of paper.
You stare at his two sets of arms, his bare chest, and those red eyes. You blink once, then twice.
It’s not a mirage.
“You came?” You can only ask.
Sukuna only glances around your cell. He eyes the floor in disgust.
“You reek.” He gruffs out, but his hands don’t hesitate as he lifts you up into his arms.
You’re pliant in his grasp, letting him bring you into his chest. Out of pure exhaustion, you rest your head on his warm shoulder. The scent of fire clings onto him.
Sukuna walks out of the cell in confident strides. You force yourself to peek out to see the destruction he caused.
Fire looms everywhere. You can see what used to be bodies, half burned on the floor. He’d come alone and yet he’d done enough damage to destroy a city.
You can’t bring yourself to look anymore and you bury your head back into his shoulder.
“Uraume will guard you from now on,” Sukuna says. “Disciplining the lowers is a pain.”
Uraume shouldn’t have to guard you at all because you are not supposed to return. Sukuna wasn’t supposed to bring you back. He was supposed to forget your existence entirely and move onto another poor soul to torture. You should be dead.
Subconsciously, your hand grips his bicep.
“Why…did you come back for me?”
For minutes he doesn’t respond. He continues his walk until you’re back outside. The sky is bright and blue, clashing with the fire that singes the trees. He must have burned down the entire forest. Whether it was out of rage or something else, you couldn’t be sure.
“I cannot allow anyone to break what’s mine,” he finally tells you. “It’s an insult.”
You close your eyes as he continues to walk back to his estate. You can hear his smile through his next words.
