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the-travelling-witch · 9 months

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𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋

summary: having your period is already stressful enough and being in the devildom doesn't make it any better; luckily, these demons are here to help

pairings: mammon :: belphegor :: barbatos x reader

warnings: period-having reader (gn pronouns), blood, mild cramps

a/n: this is literally so self-indulgent, as everything i write is, but whenever i'm on my period thinking of scenarios like this helps me sit through cramps, so i thought i'd share the nonesense with you ♡

obey me masterlist || similar writing: twisted pains [twst]

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍

“Human! Open ya damn door!”

“No, please let me die in peace,” you whined from underneath your blankets as the banging against your door continued.

“If ya don’t let me in right now, I’ll kick it down, ya hear me?!” You could practically see Mammon pacing a ridge into the floor in front of your room, so you trudged over there and unlocked it, the demon almost colliding with you from how quickly he opened the door. His snow-white hair was sticking up from his head as if he’d run his hands through it without noticing. “What’s the big deal makin’ me wait so damn long, huh?”

“I told you I’m trying to pass away from this life,” you deadpanned, trudging back to your bed, groaning as another cramp twisted your lower stomach. “First, I have to deal with this shit in a house full of male demons who are absolutely not prepared to handle a human exchange student on their period. And second-“

You paused, for both dramatic flair and to take a calming breath. Then, you turned around and gave Mammon a saccharine smile dipping pure venom.

“I find out that apparently the entire Devildom can smell that I’m on my period if I step a foot out the bloody door.”

“Listen, I’m sorry.” Mammon held up his hands to plead his innocence. “I didn’t mean ta be so rude about it. But in my defence, I didn’t know it’s a normal thing for humans to just start bleedin’. I thought ya were dyin’!”

You painfully remembered how you had dragged yourself out of your room this morning, after luckily finding some hygiene products in the bag you had with you when you were whisked away to the Devildom unannounced (thank the sky guy you threw them into literally every bag and purse you owned). Already in a bad mood, you’d plopped down into your designated seat, ready to fight for your breakfast, only to feel six pairs of eyes on you.

“What?” You had asked, when nobody passed you the bread basket.

That had been when Mammon, eyes as wide as the coaster under your mug, almost jump-scared you into dropping your butter knife.

“WHY ARE YA BLEEDIN’?!” He’d already pulled you from your chair and started inspecting you for any signs of injuries, tugging your arms up and inspecting your head. “Are ya hurt anywhere?”

“Mammon, I’m fine. You can let go of me now.” You almost had to wrestle your arm back from him, heat already creeping up your cheeks.

“Clearly yer not!”

Exhaling deeply you said through gritted teeth “I’m on my period, if you have to know.”

The demons around the table had exchanged glances, but sadly only three of them had held a spark of understanding, those being Satan, Levi and Asmodeus. Mammon and Beel on the other hand seemed more lost (well, Beel actually had his eyes on his food but that was beside the point) and Lucifer’s face had been unreadable.

“Woah, periods are an actual thing?” Levi had asked incredulously, his voice somewhere between shock and awe. “I thought anime made those up for the sake of the plot.”

“I see,” Satan had given you hope. “I‘ve read about those before in some books on human anatomy but I didn’t think it was a big deal, seeing as it wasn’t talked about much.”

“Satan, pray tell, from when were those books?”

“The 18th century perhaps?” He shrugged, tilting his head.

“Well, that explains a lot,” you had sighed, whereas Asmo had just dropped his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry about them, hon. But demons don’t experience periods, so I doubt any of them will be much help,” he had squeezed your hand sympathetically.

Lucifer had cleared his throat then. “Well, it appears that we have some catching up to do, now that we are hosting a human exchange student. Given your…predicament, you are allowed to stay home from RAD as long as this affects you.”

You had sighed a breath of relief.

“In exchange, however,” Lucifer had continued, making you dread the next words to leave his mouth, “it will fall to you that my brothers are properly educated on how to handle this side of humanity.”

So, that afternoon, you had found yourself in the common room, holding a presentation on the menstrual cycle in front of the brothers… and the future demon king himself. Yes, of course, Diavolo had gotten wind of your situation and simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to learn more about humans. At least, him being in the know meant you’d never have to worry about getting period products imported to the Devildom ever again.

Subsequently, you had locked yourself in your room, curled up under a blanket as you scrolled through Devilgram trying to forget this whole ordeal happened. A good hour later, Mammon had started pounding against your door like a madman.

With him standing in your room now, you could see the bag he was holding as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you patted the spot next to you.

“I’ll forgive you. It would have been more embarrassing if I went to RAD without knowing,” you said placatingly. “Anyways, what’s that?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’…” Mammon trailed off, looking anywhere but you as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just… Ya were sayin’ this stuff could help and we didn’t have any, so I went and got some for ya… Only because Lucifer would string me from the ceiling if ya went and complained! That’s all!”

Taking the plastic bag from him, you peered inside to see various types of human world painkillers, a hot water bottle and chocolates. Despite what the demon had just said, you noted that the chocolate brand he bought was the one you liked best, something you had only dropped in a passing sentence when you talked to Asmo about a new trending dessert.

“Thank you, Mammon,” you smiled genuinely. “That actually is really helpful.”

“Really?” He managed to suppress his grin before it curled further than the corner of his lips before clearing his throat and hiding half his face behind his hand. “I mean, I’m only doin’ ma job, ya know? So Lucifer gives me back Goldie!”

“Sure you are,” you laughed, the first time since your day started. “Does your job also involve staying with me and watching a movie?”

“Yeah!” This time he was too late to hide his excitement, then he caught himself and tried again, calmer this time. “I uh- I could fit ya in my super busy schedule. Gotta make sure ya don’t die after all, huh?”

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑

What a horrible way to start your day.

Well, under other circumstances, it would’ve been near perfect. Waking up snuggled comfortably in your boyfriend’s tight hold as he lightly snored into the crook of your neck, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

If it wasn’t for the unpleasant twisting of your lower stomach you might have turned around and slept the morning away. Still slightly groggy, you sat up in bed, hoping dearly it was just a fleeting stomach ache or hunger and not your period, despite the clear symptoms.

All hope was shattered however, when you shifted and you knew instantly that you could kiss this pair of underwear goodbye. With some effort, you wriggled out of Belphie’s vice grip, looking back at the sleepy demon as he groaned in protest only to see a large blood stain where you’d just lain. At your shocked gasp echoing around the attic, you watched his brows knit together and his nose wriggle, his forehead creasing as if he was deep in thought. Then, he blinked his eyes open.

“What’s—“ he cut himself off with a yawn, “What’s wrong? Are you alright? What are you doing over there?”

“Belphie… I’m so sorry,” you nearly sobbed, guilt bubbling up in you. In combination with your hormones being all over the place and your still sleep-addled mind, tears were threatening to form along your waterline.

In a heartbeat, the Avatar of Sloth was up and next to you, pulling you into a hug and bringing your head to rest against his shoulder, one hand smoothing over your hair, the other holding you close by the waist. You’d never seen him move this fast this early in the morning.

“Hey, hey, what’s up?” He gently prodded, voice still raspy with sleep but soft nonetheless. “Please talk to me, starlight.”

“It’s— Your sheets, I’m so sorry… I didn’t know…” You buried your face deeper in the fabric draping over his chest as you felt him turn his head towards the bed. Then, a beat of silence spanned across the attic.

“That’s what you’re fussing about?”

“Yeah, I mean—“ Collecting your thoughts, you began again. “It’s gross and a pain to clean. I really should’ve known that—“

“Hey, look at me.” Tilting your face towards his, your eyes met amethyst ones as you followed the guidance of his fingers underneath your chin. “It’s not gross, you hear me? No part of you could ever be.”

“But the blood-“

“I’m a demon, might I remind you. You’d think I can handle a little blood.” There was a caring seriousness in his gaze that made you weak in the knees, the love and adoration you found swirling within almost making you cry for a whole other reason. “You didn’t actually think I’d be mad at you about something so natural, did you?”

“It’s generally a bit of a taboo topic and conversations about it can be quite stigmatised, so…,” you shrugged.

“You’re telling me half the population go through this every month and the topic is hushed up anyway? You’re already stressed enough and people give you crap for something like this?” You nodded at his incredulous tone. “Well that’s just stupid.”

For a moment, Belphie just held you, his fingers tracing random shapes into your hip. Then, he pulled you towards a dresser in the corner of the room, never letting go of you completely.

With how much time you had started spending in the attic it was a somewhat natural course of nature that your clothes would gradually end up moving here as well. Pulling out a fresh pair of underwear and a pair of black sweatpants, you didn’t have time to reach for a sweater before a soft pile of fabric was already pushed into your hands. Upon closer inspection, you identified it to be one of Belphie’s hoodies.

“I know you like wearing them,” he merely shrugged off your raised eyebrow. “Now go and take your time washing up, but make sure to come back straight away when you’re done.”

Practically herding you out of the door, you almost had to snort at the irony of the Avatar of Sloth encouraging you to do something you might not have had the energy to otherwise. But you were incredibly thankful for it because when the shower’s warm water hit you, you noticed how much you needed this, feeling born anew after scrubbing your skin clean.

Climbing back up the stairs to the attic, you already felt a lot calmer than when you had woken up, swaddled in Belphie’s cloud-like hoodie (seriously, where did he find fabric like that?) and surrounded by a mixture of his scent and your body wash.

When you pushed open the attic door, you blinked at the new set of sheets Belphie was lounging on, the old ones nowhere to be seen. Even without you moving, the demon perked up at your presence, extending one arm to coax you back into bed.

“What are you still doing over there? Come here,” he said, voice already drowsy again. “There’s still some morning left to be slept away.”

Who were you to refuse? Sliding under the covers next to him, you turned and twisted into whatever pretzel position made you cramp the least before two strong arms wrapped around you. This was another perk of being with Belphie; if anyone could accommodate weird sleeping positions, it was him.

Warm hands found their way under his hoodie, his palms pressed flatly against your lower back where most of your pain was coming from, while the hips of his fingers slowly caressed the surrounding skin.

“Feeling better?” He mumbled into the crown of your head.

“Mhm, much better,” you breathed into the crook of his neck, sighing as his natural body heat slowly eased some of the constant pressure in both your lower stomach and back. “How did you know about the back pain though?”

“You always complain about it, especially on the first day,” he replied nonchalantly, as if it was the most natural thing to know.

“How did I get so lucky,” you mused, your tone playful but just as genuine. “Makes me feel even worse about ruining your sheets.”

“Literally don’t worry about it, you do too much of that anyway. I left them with Asmo, he knows how to get just about any stain out of stuff.” You tried not to think about the specifics of where that expertise came from, so you rolled your eyes at the very typical behaviour of the youngest to dump his work on his brothers. Then you stiffened. Work. Chores. You were on grocery shopping duty today. “What’s the matter now?”

“I have to go out soon and get everything we need for dinner,” you sighed. Maybe you could convince someone to trade it with an indoor chore for the week.

Before you could reach for your D.D.D, the arms around you held you a little closer to the demon you were snuggled up against, one of his legs draping over your thigh, careful not to put too much pressure on you as he tangled your legs with his.

“Well that’s too bad,” Belphie mumbled into your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Looks like Lucifer has to find someone else for the job. Because you’ll be busy all day.”

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐒

Periods had the annoying habit of showing up whenever they pleased, which mostly meant whenever it was most inconvenient for you. Being well aware of that fact didn’t mean you were any more prepared for it to happen, though.

So, as you were running errands around RAD with Barbatos, it suddenly felt like your insides were squeezed together and wrung out like a washcloth, making you stagger and pause to steady yourself again. When your companion turned to ask if you were alright, you assured him everything was fine, hoping it was just one bad cramp that would ebb away soon.

But over the course of the next fifteen minutes, it progressively got worse and you had trouble focusing on the task at hand, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you sorted through student council documents. As you reached for a new stack of files, gloved hands came to rest over yours, preventing you from picking up more work.

“You should not overexert yourself, dear,” a soft voice spoke close to your ear. On other occasions, you would have welcomed the way his hands smoothed down your shoulders when it was just the two of you for once, but you couldn’t think about anything but the pain you were experiencing. “Without meaning to offend, you’re looking rather unwell. Allow me to take you to the Demon Lord’s Castle.”

“What about work?” You mumbled but didn’t resist as he pulled you to your feet, steadying you with a hand between your shoulder blades. “And Diavolo?”

“Do not worry about that. There’s no rush to complete these files and the Young Master has given the explicit order for me to take care of you,” Barbatos smiled as he led you out of RAD, careful to avoid as much unwanted attention as possible. “An order I was all too happy to comply with, might I add.”

“So you knew,” you sighed with a smile, not actually too surprised at the revelation. “I did think it was suspicious to have you all to myself the entire day. Do I even have to ask how you knew?”

“Well, as you have come to learn, demons are far more perceptive to certain reactions of the body, hormonal changes included,” he explained matter of factly. “Aside from that, however, I have also made it a priority to learn the rhythm of your body to best care for you.”

“You track my cycle? Despite being so busy already?” You turn your head to look at him in surprise.

“Of course. Not only are you an honoured exchange student, you are also someone who is immensely important to me,” he said as he held the castle door open for you, his verdant gaze full of adoration. “Naturally, I aim to ease your strains and alleviate some of the burden you carry.”

“You really don’t have to—“

“But I want to.” Taking your hand in his, the fabric of his gloves soft against your skin, he brushed your knuckles with a featherlight kiss. “Please allow me to take care of you, my love.”

“I guess I can’t say no when you ask like that,” you laughed sheepishly. Your body seemingly agreed with you as it sent another wave of cramps to make your knees buckle.

“You must be exhausted,” Barbatos said, no doubt picking up on your unease immediately. “Let me draw you a warm bath to ease some of your tension.”

Said, done. Soon thereafter, you were sinking into a tub that probably cost more than a normal person’s house, the water the absolute perfect temperature to relax your muscles. You also noted how there were no strong scents present, only the hint of something floral and calming, but not overwhelmingly so.

After some time of soaking in the bath and with your permission, Barbatos stepped back into the bathroom. First, he wrapped you in the fluffiest black towel, carefully patting your skin dry so as to not irritate it. Then, he applied a moisturising lotion, gently kneading out any knots in your legs and shoulders with his skilled fingers before helping you into a new set of clothes which felt light as feathers against your skin.

He also showed you where to find any sort of hygiene product you might need and, to nobody’s surprise, somebody had stocked the guest bathroom you used whenever you came over with every possible product there was.

In your guest room, Barbatos guided you over to the sofa and lounge chairs underneath one of the high windows where a tea set was already waiting for you on the table in the middle.

“I took the liberty to prepare some tea and a few pastries while you were bathing. This blend has soothing qualities and is known to help with cramping. Given your usual choice of tea, I also think the aroma will be to your taste,” the demon explained and, as always, you were stunned by his level of attention to detail.

As he poured it, you noticed, however, that there was only one cup on the table and instead of getting one for himself, Barbatos went to fetch a hot water bottle.

Wrapping it in a cloth he warned you to be careful not to burn yourself before announcing he’d start preparations for dinner, letting you know he’d be making your favourite. But before he could turn to leave, you caught his wrist, a surprised expression flitting over his face for just a second.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you started, holding his gaze, “would you join me for tea? It’s been a while since we sat down together.”

At your request his face smoothed over into a fond smile, the hand in your grasp coming up to brush over your cheekbone.

“I suppose dinner can wait a little longer,” he said, clearly as happy as you to spend time with you. “Then again, even if it couldn’t, I’d find it hard to leave you. Especially when your wish and mine are so closely intertwined.”

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

#┊holly’s potions ೃ༄#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me fluff #obey me comfort #mammon x reader #belphegor x reader #belphie x reader #barbatos x reader #mammon fluff #belphie fluff #belphegor fluff #obey me mammon #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me barbatos

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workingclasshistory · 9 months

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On this day, 18 July 1969, Black Panthers held a conference in Oakland alongside the white anti-racist Young Patriots Organisation and Puerto Rican street gang-turned-radical group the Young Lords. The Young Patriots were a group of poor, mostly Appalachian migrants in Chicago. Although they opposed racism, they originally wore Confederate flags, which they believed were a symbol of rebellion. As they worked more with communities of colour, they abandoned the flag as an irredeemable symbol of white supremacy. Leading Panther Fred Hampton played a key role in building links with them and other white working class youth, until he was assassinated by police. In his speech, William "Preacherman" Fesperman of the Young Patriots, argued for armed self-defence against police brutality: "A gun on the side of a pig means two things: it means racism and it means capitalism and the gun on the side of a revolutionary, on the side of the people, means solidarity and socialism." Learn more about the Panthers in these books by former members: https://shop.workingclasshistory.com/collections/all/black-panthers https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=663813302458555&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

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queerly-autistic · 3 months

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Here's the thing: Stede didn't enjoy or get a thrill out of killing Ned. He was fundamentally upset and traumatised by it. Not only did he have immediate flashbacks to traumatic moments in his childhood, but he then fled the crew to go and sit in his room and cry. When Ed knocked on the door, he was sitting on his own in a dark room, looking completely crushed.

But the key thing, and potentially the reason why he was able to move on from that moment (and why he was able to get - briefly - swept up in the infamy of it all rather than remaining upset and traumatised), is that he wasn't left alone to sit and marinate in these feelings. Because Ed came to find him. Ed's formative trauma - the trauma that has shaped and moulded his entire life, rising up in his darkest moments and making him feel like an unloveable monster - is an act of violence he committed in both self-defence and defence of someone he loved. Exactly like Stede did with Ned. He's the embodiment of what happens if that sort of trauma is allowed to fester. And he didn't let that happen to Stede.

Ed refused to let him be alone with this, instead appearing at his door to offer comfort and understanding and support, and, most crucially, love (particularly important considering Ned's taunting that Ed wouldn't be interested in Stede anymore if he went through with this). That soft little 'you okay?' is everything, because it's exactly the softness, the love without judgement, that Ed didn't get in the aftermath of killing his dad.

There's a reason why, despite Stede initially grabbing Ed and doing a bit of ye olde wall slamming, that very quickly fizzled into something much softer, with Stede practically collapsing into Ed and Ed circling his arms around Stede comfortingly and protectively. It's two people coming together around a trauma they both now share, seeking comfort and love and support in one another.

And yeah, the next day, for a moment, Stede got caught up in the infamy and attention he was getting for killing Ned, but that's fundamentally not who he is. This is who he is. And this isn't Stede getting turned on by violence or enjoying being a bloodthirsty pirate or embodying toxic masculinity. It's the opposite of that.

This is a man deeply traumatised by an act of violence he has committed, being loved and supported and held through it by another man who is deeply traumatised by a similar act of violence he committed, and loving and supporting and holding him right back because neither of them need to suffer alone anymore.

#ofmd #our flag means death #stede bonnet #ed teach #ed x stede #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd meta #erin waffles #calypso's birthday #ofmd s2 ep6

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 years

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“Stubbs States Police Used Unneeded Force,” Toronto Star. October 18, 1932. Page 19. --- Stormy Petrel of Bench Lashes Out at His Critics ---- Winnipeg, Oct. 18. - Lashing out at police methods of using more physical force and violence in arrests than was necessary. Judge L. St. G. Stubbs, outspoken member of the Manitoba bench, yesterday acquitted six men arrested at a disturbance in a box factory strike and charged with rioting and possession of dangerous weapons. At the same time he made further jibes at his accusers.

In making the acquittal, Judge Stubbs declared he was not prepared to find the men even technically guilty. Only two of them, he pointed out, were of mature age, three were quite young men, and one was in his teens.

‘The police were on the ground early that morning,’ his honor said, ‘and the court finds for the purpose of keeping the strikers and sympathizers, and in fact everybody not going into the factory, 100 yards or more away from the building, and to prevent any attempt to interfere with those going into the factory.

‘There is no evidence that any of the accused threw stones. They all deny doing it. Two of them admit they carried clubs, but only for the purpose of self-protection, alleging that in a clash with the police on a previous occasion they had been unjustifiably attacked and beaten by the police.

‘The accused made serious allegations of physical ill-treatment at the hands of several of the police during and after the arrest.

#winnipeg #police violence #police brutality #strike #strike violence #rioting #unlawful assembly #possession of dangerous weapons #picket line #picketing #armed self defence #winnipeg police #great depression in canada #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada

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pseudowho · 2 months

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Calamus et Gladius

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

Stolen from a foreign army to participate in the Culling Game, speaking little to no Japanese with just a rifle for self-defence, the reader partakes in a bittersweet dance of death and love, with Higuruma Hiromi.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, enemies to lovers, murder, use of firearms, the desperate smut of two traumatised people who fall hopelessly in love.

This is long, but I make no apologies, because the payoff is worth it.

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You were used to violence. You were used to senseless bloodshed. Used to rains of bullets, flinging shrapnel, your ears ringing with explosions and screams.

Yet, it was your own screams that rang through you, as an enormous gavel split the earth where you had just stood.

Your entire unit was dead, almost fifty men and women lured into Tokyo Colony One, and you scrabbled back on grazed hands, kicking feet, as this ink-haired monster stepped slowly through the rubble and gore, black eyes fixed on you with the rage and fervour of a justified killer.

He appeared to hesitate only briefly as your face crumpled up at him in tearful rage and despair, desperation. You did not move to grab the rifle on your back; a threat of retaliation would be your downfall.

Despite being the only one of your unit who had had something new, something alien awakened within them, you had developed no fantastical technique. You had no mystical weapon. You had no roiling blue flames engulfing your fists. You had only the ability to sense others like you, and the horrifying stop-motion beasts that now sullied your sight. It was enough, at least, to hide.

"Please-- please--" you begged, the last attempt of a cornered woman. Your back pressed against the wall, the wide street around you a no-man's land of rubble, overturned cars and bloody splatters. The man's hand tightened on his gavel, his other raising to swipe flicks of black fringe off his forehead. He frowned, stopping. You noticed his distinctive hooked nose, crinkling in disgust.

"English," he offered, thickly accented, neither a question or a statement. You gulped, nodding with urgency, any dialogue an opportunity to re-establish his humanity.

"Innocent," you insisted, hands raised in front of you, disarming, "I'm innocent." That word, the man seemed to recognise, and he blew air through his nose, snorting in mirth.

"Innocent?" He asked, sarcastic.

He knelt down in front of you, his eyes still offering no mercy, but he spoke to you so conversationally. He reached one long finger out, tapping the rifle on your back, coming back round to stroke you teasingly along the side of your cheek, holding it so tenderly. His words washed over you, meaningless, until you caught one you could understand as he stood up.

"...sorry." His arm raised, the head of the gavel blocking out the sun, and you took your chance.

Your hand darted, and you flung a handful of brick dust into his eyes as he spat, staggered, cursing. You brought the butt of your rifle round to slam into the side of his head, and although he barely faltered, you ran for your life, darting down alleys, your heart bursting in your ears.

You heard no footsteps chasing you. He could have...but he didn't.

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Just one easy kill.

The others had all gone down so hard, Hiromi thought, stepping into his swing, barely missing the foreign woman, the gavel making a buckled crater in the tarmac instead. Hiromi tsked, annoyed, kissing his teeth. Watching her squirm on the floor to save her life, a worm from a bird, Hiromi's gut churned-- ugly.

Murder was so easy. The power to beat scum at their own game was intoxicating. Hiromi stepped after her, so far removed from his old self. His usual self? He wasn't sure.

His keen eyes built the woman's character, hawkish and unforgiving. Young...naive. Soldier...killer. No Japanese...lazy. Pleading...pathetic. Not fighting...coward. By the time she began to beg Hiromi, she was already barely human in his eyes. Swiping his hair upwards, and tightening his grip for the deathblow, he spat, "English."

She caught his eye, and Hiromi felt the barest seed of guilt in the back of his mind, an itch he could not scratch. She had nodded at him, tears brimming in her eyes, hands raised in placation.

"Innocent," the woman had insisted, "...innocent." Bile rose in Hiromi's throat at the familiar word, and the audacity she had to use it for herself, as if she wasn't rolling in the same pigshit as the rest of them. Hiromi's lip curled, smirking as he rubbed his nose with the side of one long finger.

"Innocent?" He stabbed. Hiromi knelt, talking at you as if you understood.

"What's that? You're the good guy, are you?" He mocked, reaching out to tap the rifle on your back, feeling you flinch beneath him, "Is it this, that makes you innocent, hmm?" He brought his hand to your cheek, stroking it with the blade of his finger, swiping away the tears that had cut a track through the dust and grime, "Or this pretty face, hmmm? Are those big, teary eyes what make you innocent? Don't make me laugh. You're scum, just like the rest of us. And natural law is at play here." He cupped your cheek once, squeezing it with the barest of sincerities in his apology as he stood.

"Sorry," Hiromi offered, lifting his gavel and feeling power churn through him, just and righteous as your executioner.

Hiromi cursed as he felt a spray of grit flung into his face, immediately disarmed by the sordid pain of sand in his eyes, further disorientated by the ear-ringing slam of something into the side of his head. He staggered, faltering.

"Oooh, you piece of shit," Hiromi cooed, vicious, spitting with venom, vision completely obscured as he tried in vain to clear his eyes. He felt you disappear, and he leaned against the wall, laughing despite himself at having been bested. He smiled, the barest tinge of admiration for your tenacity threading through him.

"Alright," Hiromi sniffed, rubbing his nose again as his vision began to clear, "catch you later, I suppose."

Hiromi tried to forget you. He tried to forget his humanity, but each life he took made him sicker, infected by this game.

Every time he closed his eyes, to sleep in some strange home-less, love-less bed, your eyes met his, impeaching him.

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Resources soon ran thin, for one who held no territory. You had your army pack, and rationed out your meagre foodstuffs, always hungry, always on-edge. You had never fought alone, in war.

You had managed to develop quite the skill at hiding, and concealed yourself, cloaked in plain sight, from even the most powerful of those left in the game. Every day that the stragglers were picked off, the stakes ran higher. Every explosive battle you ran from, dodging the falling debris thrown by titans, you felt your inherent value as an easy kill increasing.

You thought of the hook-nosed man who had let you go. Despite his willingness to kill you, you craved human contact, and found warmth in the memory of the heat of his gaze, his hand on your face, desperately trying to translate the words he had spoken to you as he caressed your cheek.

One dewy dawn, you had taken position on a sheltered rooftop, giving you equal measures concealment and oversight. With your rifle drawn, flat on your belly, you felt the ebbs and wanes of a familiar power draw closer. Curiously, it made your belly clench, eager to see the man who could have chased you, but didn't. You were itching to know why. Itching to behold him again.

Your heart leapt as he stepped into the street, at least four stories below you. Even from this distance, you could see the intensity of his furrowed brow, the noble bearing of his shoulders beneath a great black overcoat. His tie hung, dishevelled, loose-knotted. He was hunting.

He paused, tiptoed on a breath...before rolling, gracefully dodging as a knife of Cursed energy ricocheted through the street, splitting it. You gasped, your eye moving away from your rifle lens, watching in awe as he took to battle with another man. While he seemed to hold his own, he appeared distracted, and was buffeted, winded by an almighty hit, knocked onto his back, elbows on the ground.

A strange panic overtook you as your hook-nosed man's assailant bore down on him, power surging, preparing to murder--

-- a gunshot. A brittle, echoing bang. The assailant's head snapped forwards, and he fell, killed instantly, face first on the ground in front of your hook-nosed man.

He panted, his face sprayed with blood. With a few owlish blinks, his eyes tracked upwards. You held your breath, adrenaline coursing through you. As the man stood, eyes fixed on you (in rage? murderous intent? thanks?), you jolted to life and took aim on him.

He did not raise his hands. There was no standoff, as he made no move to save his own life. In the moment that he accepted his death for the attempt he had made on yours, something in you both softened, seeing each other as you saw no others. A gentle impasse. The intimacy of differentiation.

It took everything you had in you to break eye contact, and run.

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Hiromi mulled beneath the shaky warning of your rifle.

You were afraid, he thought as he gazed up at you, so sickeningly grateful for having been chosen by you. The mist of his opponent's blood drifting through the sunrise, picked Hiromi out as somehow preferable, in your mind.

And, why should you not be afraid? He saw you beneath him, again, your eyes soft and begging him for mercy. You had been defenceless and entirely in his palm. He had been relieved, he recalled, that he could kill someone easily. The begging made you passive. Hiromi could have vomitted, sickened by himself.

He stood, arms raised slightly to his sides, his profile illuminated by sweet morning sun, waiting for death to take his hand.

Hiromi felt embraced by your eyes. Wanted. Some companionship, in death...until you refused him his end. The red string between you both seemed to snap as you broke eye contact and ran.

Alone, as the sun broke above the skyline, Hiromi whispered; "Thank you."

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There was no way out. Starving and desperate, days had passed since you had saved your hook-nosed man, and you had crept through haunted streets to a convenience store, unusually well-stocked with food and drink.

You bit your tongue for your own stupidity at having walked into such an obvious trap. No amount of being able to hide one's Cursed energy could compensate for being seen walking into the shop. Crouching now, behind shelves of ramen, tears trembled on your lashes, an aching lump in your throat.

You heard a mocking voice, cooing at you, laughing at you, and you blushed with indignant tearful injustice, not needing language to know when you were being assaulted for your sex. You were afraid of death. You were more afraid of being used beforehand.

With nowhere to hide, and no grit to throw, you tipped your head back and thought of those black embering eyes, holding you in his gaze.

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"Are you hungry?" The voice chirped, teasing, mean, "Come out, baby. I've got something here in my pocket you can taste." A filthy laugh. Slow, easy footsteps. Willing to rape you before he killed you. Hiromi felt himself burn with fury, ready to wring this man's neck with his own two hands.

Hiromi walked the streets easily, now. His power had come on in leaps and bounds, and he both trusted in his own abilities, and feared nothing of death. Not since you had held his life in your hands, and thrown it straight back in his face.

He was a disordered eater at the best of times, but, a sudden faintness from hunger sent him seeking food. Hiromi knew some dirty little spider had built a web at an abandoned store, and did not fear a man who sought to ensnare the desperate.

Let him try me, thought Hiromi as he approached, lit by the sickly orange glow of streetlights, and see where it gets him.

Just a few steps from the entrance, Hiromi paused mid-step, his heart hiccuping in his chest. It was you. Inside the store, your Cursed energy faltering and so overwhelmed by that of the spider. Hiromi's lips parted, to call for you, a hand in the dark. He stopped, gritting his teeth. No-- this would not do, he thought, as he began a hunt of his own.

The spider was so obviously distracted by excitement, thrilled to find a woman in his dirty little trap. He had found you, by the time Hiromi reached you, in time to see you flung, body smashing against the counter, curling and coughing. Hiromi stepped behind the spider, seething, overburdened with terrible strength.

You had looked up in time to see your hook-nosed man wind an arm round your assailant's neck, throttling him, dragging him backwards out of the store. The hook-nosed man's face was twisted, ugly with rage...and for what? For you?

If your Cursed-energy had been no match for that of your assailant, his was dwarfed by that of your rescuer. Still coughing, doubled over on your hands and knees, you crawled to the entrance, watching the streetlights flicker above your hook-nosed man as he choked the life out of your assailant, merciless in his conviction.

You knelt there, drinking in his profile, in that sickly orange glow. His sharply squared jaw. His black overcoat, shrouding him like Death itself. Panting and cursing as his arms shook, your assailant fighting weakly beneath him. Choking the life out of a man, a murder most intimate. For you. Killing, with his bare hands-- for you.

Time hung in suspended animation in these small hours. Your rescuer sighed, the tension releasing from his shoulders as he knelt back on his haunches. He appeared devoid of guilt, at having carried out his sentencing. Slowly, as if fearful of what he would see in your eyes, he turned to you, kneeling in the doorway of the shop.

Your eyes met. You studied each other in silence. He had a way of making you transparent. You had a way of making him exposed. His panting slowed, palms flush to his thighs, offering you a cautious smile, as your eyes glimmered in the dark.

"English," he spoke, by way of greeting.

"Nose," you returned. He frowned, uncertain.

"N..?"

You reached up to stroke your nose, and repeated, with a smile; "Nose."

His hand reached up to mirror yours, realising, and he burst into laughter, rich and genuine. You blushed, burying your face in your hands as he continued to laugh. He wiped his eyes, fingering the hook in his nose again, looking at you with those deep embering eyes that wholly undressed you.

"Nose," he repeated, chuckling, "Subarashī." Your bit your lip in mirth, looking anywhere but at him as he tried to catch your eye again, mischief twinkling in his.

Hiromi stood, stretching his shoulders back with a husky groan, tipping his neck from side to side. He stepped over to you, and you felt, ridiculously, so teenagerish as the odd duality of your hook-nosed man made your belly twist. You saw a long-fingered hand enter your line of sight. You looked at it questioningly. The fingers wiggled in invitation.

With a shaking hand, you took his. He pulled you up and smiled at you, swinging your hand briefly in his before releasing it, waiting for you to step into the shop before he followed. You browsed for food, as if Saturday-Night-Snack-Hunting as a couple, in safe silence.

Shivering as the adrenaline wore off, your stomach clenched with terrified nausea to hear explosions, shouts, drawing ever nearer in the street outside. Your hook-nosed man looked up, hangdog eyes wide, flicking from you, to the street, and back again. He gritted his teeth, bundling packets of food into the pockets of his overcoat.

You found yourself manhandled, his heavy coat suddenly on you. Your rescuer's hands moved deftly, smoothing the coat across your shoulders, searching for words, irritated by his intelligence in one language and his stupidity in another.

"Cold-- hungry-- go," Hiromi pressed in broken English, spinning you as you protested, urging you through the back door. You turned in the doorway, your eyes begging him to...what? To go with you? There was no time, no time--

Hiromi materialised his gavel, and crouched, snarling at you: "GO!" He roared, steeped in regret as you sprinted away, guarding your life like a child.

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Your hook-nosed man began to leave you breadcrumbs; tickets to safe havens, food, shelter, beds. You felt the vestiges of his Cursed-energy wherever you followed his trail, haunted by the path of devastation he left to build you sanctuaries.

Your dialogue budded, and combined with his notes and signs, you began to learn more about him. His notes, secreted away in scrawled English, street signs flipped to point in alternate directions, and crude maps drawn on dust-caked windows, all added colour and life to him.

Hiromi took a little joy, his cold heart popping to life, at the little hearts you drew in the dust; signs of acknowledgement, a tiny thrill.

You found yourself drawn to a bookstore, and scoured the shelves, looking for a particular something, a matching pair. You found hints of him in the pockets of the hook-nosed man's overcoat; a business card, in Japanese. A handkerchief, curiously embroidered with two gold initials-- H.H. A set of housekeys with a key-finder fob. A pair of chewed pens. You still thought of him as "Nose".

Hiromi still thought of you as "English", as he caught himself differentiating you from the others. Still steeped in this depression, this black-dog-misery and ugliness, he saw you, a light in the dark, who hid yourself to protect yourself as well as others, from needless violence.

They were all ugly...except, perhaps, for you.

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You sighed as you slipped into the hot bath, water up to your chin in the great, deep basin of this luxury hotel. You were impressed there was still a hot water supply, and you felt a gleeful coil of naughtiness, knowing you would never usually be able to afford to stay in such opulence, all marble tiles and gold taps.

Fighting for survival did not negate the fundamental craving for little joys, and you took advantage of the selection of complimentary soaps, scouring yourself free of grime with happy hums. You sang to yourself, quiet in the evening hush, just you and your languid splishing--

-- oh. A cautious approach. A familiar power. You clasped the lip of the bath, sinking your body under the water.

"...hello? Nose?" You called out. You heard the click of a lock, quick feet stepping in, locking the door behind him. A single held breath.

"...English?"

You blushed, pressing your lips to your knuckles, white from how tightly you gripped the bath. Hiromi's cheeks prickled faintly, hearing soft splashes from the bathroom, seeing your clothes discarded over the bed, your rifle leaning against it. You cleared your throat, wanting to talk, not knowing where to start.

"Mhm." Hiromi smiled at your little squeak, sitting with a groan and creaking knees, his back against the wall beside the bathroom door. Separated by this thin wall, he reached a hand around the doorway behind him. You giggled to see his long fingered hand offer you a jaunty wave.

"Konbanwa, English," he offered. He jolted to feel your little hand, warm and wet, squeeze his. His thumb grazed over your knuckles, smooth, examining, probing in a way that made your belly tight. You reluctantly released his fingers, humming in thought as you reached out of the bath into your backpack, searching for something.

Momentarily, Hiromi felt something gently tap the side of his head around the bathroom door, and he giggled, a noise which made you paddle your feet in delight. He reached up, taking a Japanese-English dictionary and phrasebook from your hand.

"Ahhhhh!" Hiromi hummed, genuinely thrilled, "Yoi aidea." He skimmed through the book, hunting again, and you paused, listening.

"Good idea!" He stated, confident, and he squirmed to hear you laugh at his janky pronunciation. Hiromi wanted so dearly to see you, to know you were uninjured, and instead scoured his little book again.

"Hurt?" He asked you. You softened, responding automatically.

"Ah...no, I'm...hmm," you flipped through your own book, "...uhm...daijōbu desu?"

Hiromi hummed, satisfied. You talked this way, for some time, gently brushing the outskirts of each others' language and personality. Hiromi corrected you. You corrected him. The bath grew cold. The light began to die behind the windows, casting you both in deep shadow and amber glow.

At some point, in the conversation, your hands had trailed together again. Hiromi now leaned sideways against the wall, his cheek pressed against it, eyes closed as his fingertips grazed the inside of your wrist.

You lay in the bath, shivering, feeling your heartbeat between your legs from such an innocent, intimate touch-- except, it did not feel innocent in intent. Perhaps, that was what made you squirm.

"Stay safe," Hiromi whispered to you, his fingers drawing circles on your palm, his next word crumpling your face with barely restrained tears, "Afraid."

Hiromi bit his lip in anguish, eyes squeezed shut to see you in his mind's eye, so desperately touch-starved as you pressed a kiss to his palm. He felt your lips remain, nose ghosting against his pulse. He imagined those lips on his own, and he was filled with an anxious need to taste you, to lift you from the bath, wrap you up in the bed and his arms, safe.

Fully distracted by thoughts of you and your sweet cries beneath his body, Hiromi almost missed you holding out your book to him, pressed open at the start-- and a name, your name, written neatly on the page. You offered this, all the while wanting to step to him from the bath, and offer him the feel of those clever fingers, examining the rest of your body.

"Oh..." Hiromi whispered, reverent, squeezing your hand as he swiped his thumb over the faint imprint of your written name, repeating it aloud slowly. Hearing him speak your name, almost had you climbing out of the bath and into his lap. You closed your eyes, imagining him crying it out as he peaked, buried deeply inside you. You burned with the urgent need to know him.

Just a few seconds later, Hiromi's hand reached round the corner, offering his own book back to you, with his own name written in your own alphabet, jolted and square.

"Higuruma...Hiromi?" He hummed, happily.

"Hiromi," you repeated, and he hummed again, delighted by your name on his lips. You tucked your dictionary away, thrilled, reaching for a towel.

"It suits you. I love it." Hiromi understood just one word you had uttered, and it sent joy creeping down his spine. He pressed his forehead against the wall.

Pull yourself together, Hiromi, he thought, it's just loneliness and desperation. Nothing else. No amount of logic and self-chastisement stopped his mouth from moving independently of his mind, as he flicked through your dictionary, imbued with your name.

"Bed. Stay. Please." Silence. Hiromi pressed the corner of the dictionary to his head, cursing himself under his breath. Idiot, pathetic little moron, stupid--

"Yes."

Hiromi's stomach swooped, missing a step, hearing you climb out of the bath. You steeled yourself, blushing furiously, to wrap a towel around yourself and pad out to the bedroom. Hiromi turned his back to you, but not before seeing the graceful curve of your leg, the wet cleavage of your breasts, the towel barely skimming the tops of your thighs. He breathed slowly, clawing back his self-control as you dressed behind him.

A long, slow whistle, belonging to neither of you, broke the silence, and your blood ran with ice water.

Voices spoke, Hiromi spitting threats, in this language that still gatekept against your understanding.

You jacked sideways, still topless, seizing your rifle as Hiromi demolished the doorway with a single wide swing of his gavel. You heard laughter from the corridor, and you hurriedly pulled your top and Hiromi's overcoat on, fixing your rifle on your shoulder to take aim.

Hiromi backed up to you, wrapping one arm behind himself and around you, fingers splayed against the small of your back. You understood none of the venom spat between Hiromi and this hidden assailant.

Your nerves on a knife-edge, you sensed movement behind the shattered brickwork of the doorway, and fired, a deafening blow in this enclosed space. A spray of blood and an enraged shout through the drifting plaster-cloud saw you hit your mark, and Hiromi exclaimed, shocked and delighted, squeezing your waist.

"I've seen better shots than that from her, bastard" Hiromi warned, "and if you think she's easy prey, you've got both of us to take down."

"Hiromi," you gasped, hyperventilating, "Hiromi-- Hiromi--"

Silence through the room; Hiromi's ears rang. He pocketed your dictionary, and grasped your cheeks, eyes fixed to yours and wordlessly reassuring you as he turned you towards him from the doorway. You felt your heart bounding in your chest, hands loosening on your rifle as you drank him in, breathed the same air, panting, together--

--it was all too fast. Hiromi's eyes fixing behind you. His panicked shout. Being thrown sideways onto the bed, a glassy smash, a scream that may have been your own--

Hiromi and your hunter plummeted in an outward spray of glass, two inky blots fading into the night.

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You had searched so desperately. Nothing could assure you Hiromi was still alive. There were no breadcrumbs left in the dust; nil but blood, and so much of it, beneath the shattered hotel window, so many stories up.

You had run your hands through it, clotted with the rubble, needing to feel him within the grisly spill-- alas. Too many residuals passed over this land. Too many battles fought, too many lives spent and saved, for clairvoyance to be what repaired your fractured heart.

You steeled yourself. Adversity goaded you to try harder. To do better. You took to the hunt yourself. You amassed points from potshots, hidden in curious places to execute nasty little opportunists who sought dominion over the weak.

While you had had no experience of the Kogane-- the odd, winged shikigami which acted as an interface between the players and the game-- in your passive state, they now became regular visitors, updating you of your points total. You had assumed they could not speak your language-- you were wrong.

Witnessing, from afar, one day, another player asking Kogane a question, your stomach rolled with nausea and hope as you called the black-tailed beast to you.

"Kogane?" The creature appeared with a pop. Your mouth opened, and closed, faltering over your words.

"Kogane, is-- is Hiromi Higuruma a player in the game?"

Silence-- and an answer; "Higuruma Hiromi is a player in the game--"

All of the air left your lungs in an enormous gasp, a heaving cry of relief as you doubled over, your hands cupped over your mouth and nose, tears streaming down around your fingers, before the Kogane had even finished giving its report.

"Thank you-- th--thank you, Kogane," you sobbed, blinded by your own tears. This tiny demon, to whom manners meant nothing, hung impassively. It disappeared with a pop as you spun away, cloaked with conviction.

You turned on a pinhead, cocking your rifle ready, and stalked off through the ruins; all of your steeling wisped away like ashes, your heart on the battlefield, knowing your vulnerability was out there, alive.

You decided now, with a smile at the thought of those beetle-black eyes, to hunt not for business, but for pleasure.

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Hiromi felt the damp all the way to his bones, in these heavy, wet clothes, made heavier still by the excruciating weight of his crimes. The theatre door swung closed behind him, and he leaned his back against the wall, crouching, the palms of his heels pressing so hard into his eyes that he was blinded by lights.

He had fallen beyond salvation, and it gnawed at the rotten wood of him, eating him alive. Feeling his brain judder, his tie too tight, the walls too close, the silence too deafening, Hiromi tried to collect himself. He pressed his palms to his thighs and breathed; in through his nose one two three four five and out through his mouth one two three four five.

Feeling his heart rate slow, full of equal parts light and dark, Hiromi called out into the gloom, straightening slowly.

"Kogane." The creature appeared with a pop, waiting, patient. Hiromi spoke your name, and then, hesitant--

"...is she a player in the game?" A heartbeat. Two. Three.

"Confirmed--"

Hiromi did not hear the rest, buckling to his haunches with a primal cry of gratitude, and a few moments of dry sobs as his fingers raked through his hair. Chest heaving, he breathed again, one two three four five, one two three four five.

In the space taken for one breath, Hiromi decided not to find you. You, who had always chosen not to fight. You, whose pleading eyes still haunted him. You could not be sullied by his rot.

Hiromi stepped out into the night, a porcelain man checkered with cracks, seeking only to rebuild a world worthy of you.

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He's here.

Climbing the stairs, fine piano music rang distant, its notes bittersweet, cherries in kirsch. Your feet carried you unbidden and you ascended, the notes becoming sweeter, feeling him, closer, playing this Siren's song.

Stepping into the doorway of the skyline bar, he must have felt your approach. The lights were low, refracted through a hundred hanging glasses, a hundred under-lit bottles of vim and vigour. The room sprawled out in an expansive, long C-shape, and your heart stuttered to see Hiromi at the end, pale fingers moving across the piano, white-shirt-shoulders burdened by the weight of his song.

You felt him build in the music as you approached, each note demanding more of him, and more and more and more and more--

There was only the briefest hitch in the music, barely perceptible, as you slid onto the bench beside Hiromi. He did not look up, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes pressed tightly shut.

Consumed by the need to feel his skin on yours, you reached out, your hand ghosting over his. In a flash, Hiromi's hand darted up to grab yours, fingers tangled, as his other hand continued to move, playing this bisected song. A few moments passed, this way, with Hiromi pressing his lips and nose to your knuckles, his face contorted, conflicted-- pained.

"Go," he whispered, breath fanning over your hand, "bad."

"I...I don't--...bad?" You turned towards him, to hold him, and he jerked, twitching away from you, and you felt your heart tug along with him.

"No. Me. I...am bad." You shook your head, more and more fervent as Hiromi twisted away from you, quietly cursing, husky, tortured. He tried to release your hand, and you refused, plaiting your fingers in his, steadfast in a way that filled him with an animalistic urge to appreciate you.

You turned from him, your other hand resting upon the high keys, pressing gentle, uncertain notes. Overwhelmed by your closeness, and your insistent faith in him, Hiromi softened to watch your profile, backlit from the liquid glow of the bar. Your small hand, moving softly over the keys. Your heart beating like butterfly wings in your throat.

"No. Not bad. Lost. Lonely. Sabishī."

Every moment of belief you handed him, pulled Hiromi closer to the light. Swallowing thickly, he brought your joined hands to the keys, laying his palm over the back of yours, overlaying your fingers with his own. He pressed, soft insistent touches, on your fingers, guiding them to play. You felt your belly coil with odd pleasure, captivated by Hiromi's hands, all at once gentle and rough, smart and instinctual--

"Hiromi--"

"No. Stop." Hiromi tensed, his voice rough, fraying alongside his self-control. His hand shook over your own, the notes stopping now. Heat burst through you, certain he felt it too, this dangerous need, and his name forced its way out of you again, a challenge.

"Hiro--"

Hiromi spat venom again, growling and cursing as he stood, lifting you by the waist, sitting you upon the keys with a spray of notes, his arms shaking as they pressed beside you, trapping you in. Nose to nose, his breath on your lips, his face twisted with fury and need, Hiromi whispered to you.

"Stop. My name--" Hiromi shook, on his last thread, half a step away from using you--

When your hand snaked to his tie, tugging him closer, your other hand sinking into the back of his hair, Hiromi snapped.

His lips pressed to yours, hot and hungry, his body closing the rest of the distance to be flush between your thighs. Your mouth opened to him, feeling his urgency as he drank down your stolen breath, one hand tilting your head back to consume you, the other dragging through the plush rolls of your belly and hips.

Every kiss was hot and anguished, punctuated by Hiromi's low rolling voice, not needing language to feel the fervour and vice on his lips-- "--won't be gentle-- I'm sorry I-- I can't--"

You insisted your understanding on him the only way you knew how; fingers working his tie off and draping it round your own neck, locking your legs around him to press his aching cock against your core, undoing his shirt in a desperate flurry, all notes and fingers and tongues and moans.

You tasted rum in his mouth, all spice and brown sugar, and his hand wandered to your throat, feeling your pulse there before tilting you backwards, arched against the hood of the piano. With your head rested back, he spoke to you, shirt now unbuttoned to his navel, cock straining against the material below a trail of black hair.

"--making a mistake to let a monster put his mouth on you, English-- let's see what sounds you can make." Your khaki t-shirt was pulled off over your head, where Hiromi let it catch around your hands, twisting it to bind you. Hiromi kept you gripped this way, leaning over you, caging you in as he gripped the cups of your bra between his teeth, yanking them down to free your breasts.

Hiromi shuddered and moaned, feeling a drop of pre-cum soak into his boxers, as he flattened his tongue over your nipple, rolling, tasting, pulling you between his lips, nuzzling from side to side like an animal. You mewled, jutting your hips involuntarily, and Hiromi pressed back, pleasuring you with rough, sharp thrusts against your clothed pussy.

Hiromi leaned back, releasing your nipple with a hard suck, gazing down at where he fucked himself against you, mesmerised by the way you shivered and humped against his cock. Unabashed, his words falling over you like strange-eyed constellations, Hiromi fucked you with his voice--

"--cum like this, and I'll give you my fingers...cum like that, and I'll give you my tongue-- fuck, I'll eat you alive, you fucking goddess--"

As Hiromi spoke, all twisted rage and growls, his hips slammed into you, spurred on by your squeaks and whimpers, gripping the fat of your hips to ram your core against him. The pleasure was brutal, all harsh fabric friction and Hiromi's unrestrained adoration, and you tried to hold yourself together as you were dragged to orgasm, your frantic hands pressing disjointed chords on the keys beneath you.

Hiromi wanted to, needed to cum like this, with you, knowing he'd be able to continue fucking you after until he collapsed in your arms from exhaustion. Pausing only briefly to reach into his boxers, and angle his angry, throbbing cock upwards so the bulbous tip pressed between his waistband and belly, Hiromi's eyes rolled back in unadulterated ecstasy as he continued to fuck you against him.

You were both close, having been unfinished even by yourselves for weeks, and Hiromi's eyes burned into yours, feral with the need for you to finish with him, feeling your thighs tense around him as you babbled, fully understanding your meaning behind the nonsense--

"--gonna cum-- please-- Hiromi-- harder--"

You pressed back against the piano, arching with a high-pitched cry as hot pleasure burst through you, from your deeply aching clit outwards, crackling through your fingers, all white-hot sparks and embers. Watching you convulse against him, angling his hips to rut his trapped cock tip, feeling his thighs and belly set alight with the force of his orgasm, his hands planted either side of you, back twitching as he came with a bark.

Still riding the last waves of your orgasm, you watched him in fascination. The sight of Hiromi's cum spurting in long, white ropes onto his navel and yours, his agonised, fractured gasps, had you humping against the underside of his cock again, dragging out your peak to hear him whimper, cock twitching against your core. Your hand drifted to his belly, stroking the cum between your fingertips in a blissful haze, squeezing a thumb under the foreskin of his exposed cockhead, stroking his slit with his own lubrication.

Hiromi convulsed and growled at you, clasping your hand against him, dopey and shaking as you drank his reaction from his eyes, thumb still circling his cockhead, slippery with his seed.

"St--st--aaaaahhh..." You shushed Hiromi's weak cries, grazing your tongue over his lips, delighted as he twitched in your hand, weak little spurts of cum oozing onto your fingers. Hiromi let you continue like this, for a few seconds, before wrenching your hand away, plaiting your fingers into his own and nuzzling into you furiously. His heart leapt to hear you giggle as he bit into you, still to desperate, everything still not enough to take away this pain and this filth and this misery--

His other hand wandered down, stroking down the rolls of your belly, pinching, nails grazing, digging in all the way to your belt, undoing it with military efficiency. Not bothering to undo the button, he yanked down the zip instead, giving him enough room to manoeuvre his hand between your skin and the fabric, shucking your underwear aside to cup the wet heat of your pussy in one long hand.

Dipping his hand out to collect the cum off your belly, he thrust his hand back inside against your pussy again, teeth gritted and bared as he drank down your reactions now. He was satisfied to see the playful glint in your eyes flicker, your eyebrows raised in shock and overstimulation, teeth sinking into your lip as he rubbed your clit roughly, cum-sticky fingers rubbing broad strokes side to side across it.

"--two can play at that game, sweetheart...feels good? More? Harder?" Hiromi pressed you, in these words you didn't understand, and laughed, darkly satisfied as you wiggled beneath his hands, one hand resting lightly on your throat as you tried in vain to scoot away from him, your breath releasing in airy whimpers.

"No answer?" Hiromi moved his fingers faster, harder, your pussy squelching with your mixed cum inside your trousers, feeling you writhe beneath them, "I'll decide for you then."

Hiromi urged your orgasm to build, faster and harder this time, teeth gritted as he dragged you to the edge, growling into you as his tongue flicked roughly over your nipple--

"--come on-- know you can do it-- I'll go as hard as you like, come on, good girl--ah, there-- good girrrrllll..." Hiromi softened his movements, fingers undulating against your pussy as he pulled another orgasm from you, moving one finger from your throat to dip into your mouth, shuddering as you sucked it around your cries and whimpers.

Hiromi felt his cock beginning to stir to life again, and he committed you to memory like this, draped over the piano, wet breasts heaving, his seed dripping down your belly, eyes glazed, body supple.

Another word, that he did know in English, slipped from him, as he dropped to his knees before you, worshiping at this otherworldly alter in the moonlight; "Beautiful."

You blushed, voice catching in your throat as Hiromi smiled up at you, soft and captive in his sincerity as he unbuttoned your trousers, easing them, with your underwear, gently to your ankles, and off. Feeling suddenly so exposed, so flawed, you squeezed your eyes shut. You felt Hiromi grip your ankle with such tenderness, pressing a long, languid kiss to the delicate bones on the inside.

"English," Hiromi called, beckoning you back to him. You shook your head, blushing, eyes still closed, and he insisted. "English, please--" your eyes opened, uncertain, and Hiromi hummed in satisfaction as he began to kiss his way up your inner legs, "--beautiful."

Sighing and leaning back, one arm over your eyes, your heart bursting with the oddity of having fallen in love like this, you felt safe behind your language barrier as you spoke without a filter; "Oh, Nose. I love you. I really do."

Hiromi paused, stunned and ecstatic, his lips still on your inner thigh. He shocked you both, at how quickly his grasp of your language had come along; "And I love you, English." Hiromi chuckled with genuine glee as you clapped your hands over your face, mortified. Hiromi nuzzled into you, wickedly playful, but soon overtaken by this violent urge again--

"And...I love--" you squealed as you felt Hiromi force your thighs apart, sinking his tongue and nose quickly between your folds, groaning as he tasted the heady mix of his and your cum around your clit. His cock, almost fully hard again, throbbed, tightening his waistband as the blood rushed to it again. Hiromi reached down, releasing his cock with a sigh.

He took his time, lifting your thighs over his shoulders as he lapped at you, dipping his tongue into your entrance, tasting you, teasing you. You leaned, watching him again, and he looked up at you, hooded eyes burning as he nuzzled his nose against your clit, and held his own cock in his hand, stroking slowly. You felt jolts of voyeuristic pleasure, watching him masturbate himself to the taste of you.

"I...I like that," you whispered to him, your hand moving down to graze your nails against his scalp. You watched Hiromi like pornography as he shuddered, his cock leaping in his hand, your eyes fixed intently on his hand gliding up and down his length as you felt your pleasure beginning to crescendo yet again.

"More, I--" you moved your hand in the air as if you were the one stroking Hiromi's cock, mimicking faster movements, "--faster, Hiromi." Hiromi hummed in understanding, groaning sandy little groans into your pussy now as his hand sped up, jacking himself off harder, feeling your pussy clench around nothing beneath his tongue as you watched him, your keening cries getting higher and higher until--

-- you came again, trembling with the fluttering soft pleasure of your third orgasm, thighs clamping around Hiromi's head as he sucked your clit gently between his lips. Hiromi panted, gripping the base of his cock, delaying his high, fingers wet with more pre-cum, desperate to drag you to the floor and finish using you.

Pulling his mouth away, his hands trembling on your thighs, Hiromi's face was unreadable as he looked at the floor. Standing, dishevelled and sweating, looking up at you with feral hunger, his cock still twitching in his hand, you could see the barest vestiges of Hiromi pleading you for permission, with those exquisite dark eyes--

All it took from you was a nod. Hiromi pounced, wiry arms deceptively strong as he lifted you, legs locked around his waist, nose nuzzling against yours, teeth nipping your lips with a rumble. Hiromi whispered his mother tongue against your mouth, reaching out one hand for his overcoat, and tossing it into the floor, before laying you on your front, sinking his teeth into your shoulder blade with bruising force.

"--you're beautiful, and you're good, and I don't deserve you-- fuck, I need you now, I--I need--"

Hiromi panted above you, barely restraining himself from slamming into you immediately as he looped an arm round your neck and chest, pulling you up and forcing your back to arch. Ghosting his nose over your ear, he whispered your name, making you shiver and squirm, certain you'd break unless you felt him inside you soon.

"Ready, English?" You trembled, nodding, head tipped back as his cock grazed against your slippery folds. One hand cupped your arse, stroking softly, before slapping, Hiromi captivated by its plush jiggle against his fingers, how you cried out, how your skin flushed so deliciously.

Not holding back, Hiromi slammed into you, one forearm planted to the floor while the other restrained you against him, cupping your breasts in one squeezing hand. He shook, cursing, his teeth in your shoulder, as he felt the tip of his cock kiss your gummy walls, feeling your pussy clench around him in shock.

Prone, hands clawing at his overcoat, Hiromi felt enormous inside you, so swollen and plush after waiting to be filled for so long. You whimpered, resting your head sideways against his clutching bicep, feeling the muscle tense and jump as he rammed into you at a relentless pace, still speaking husky reassurances to you in his native tongue.

"--rest, just-- keep still and let me hold you, I-- I can't slow down anymore--"

Feeling simultaneously used and protected, caged in like this for him to chase his own pleasure, your breath came in ragged gasps, both hands now clutching the forearm across your neck and chest, head swimming with the instinctively blissful fullness of his cock, tightly sleeved within you. You felt your belly jolt from the force of Hiromi's thrusts, and pressed up towards him, proud to hear him moan in response.

Hiromi fucked you with abandon, needing this release, needing to shed his sin and worthlessness, his heart leaping to feel you fall apart beneath him. His hips began to stutter, strength abandoning him as his orgasm approached, moaning deep breaking moans in your ear, nipping, holding your neck in his teeth.

His legs buckling beneath him, Hiromi cried out in bliss, his arm shaking around you, hips flush against your arse, cock twitching long, hot spurts of cum inside your walls, feeling you pulse around him, sucking him in. You revelled in the glorious feeling of him twitching deep inside you, your belly hot and clenching as his seed seeped out between your clenched thighs. Hiromi lay above you, panting, pressing soft kisses into your hair, using his arm to roll you sideways with him, covering you both with his overcoat.

With his arm beneath your head, the other lazily stroking the curve of your waist and hips, Hiromi laughed lazily behind you.

"You love me, English, hmm?" Hiromi laughed again as you clapped your hands to your face.

"Stop, Hiromi, stop--" you cried, blushing all the way to your toes as he squeezed you closer, "-- or I will shoot you." Hiromi lifted his head, peering mulishly at you, one eyebrow raised. You scowled, pointing to your gun, and then at him, and he gasped in mock horror.

"Ara ara," he rumbled, teasing you in alien words, "so violent when you're meant to be happy."

You remembered these sweet small hours the most, after the horrors that came. You remembered lying in each others' arms, sticky and teasing. You remembered sneaking to the bathrooms, splashing each other at the sinks as you cleaned up as best as you could. You remembered laughing as Hiromi cursed, trying to clean the residual cum off your clothes. You remembered Hiromi calling for you, afraid, anxious, before you ducked back up from behind the bar, your arms full of snacks and drinks. You remembered lying beneath the piano, gazing out across the city, flicking peanuts at each other, sharing slow, lazy kisses. You remembered naively seeing a future between you, a happy life with none of this unthinkable chaos.

It was your fault, you cursed yourself, vomiting and wracked with sobs, staggering away from the devastation. If you had been able to develop your power, and pose a real threat, Hiromi wouldn't have been burdened with such a liability.

Lost in each other again, nose to nose beneath the piano, your instincts had kicked in just fast enough to kick Hiromi away, saving his life as the floor between you both split with dreadful electricity. A strange-haired, wild-eyed boy burst through the room on a voltage, bottles smashing, the floor splitting, your rifle disappearing into the chasm as Hiromi shouted for you, urging you, ordering you-- you were sure, to move, to run, to save yourself and leave him.

You could do none of them, your military training meaning nothing to this god. You could do nothing when Hiromi stepped into his path, defending you, fighting tooth and nail. You could do nothing as the floors split beneath him, dragging them down in lightning flashes, horrifying rumbles. You had fled from the collapse, leaping flights of stairs one at a time, possessed by some strange force. You had not felt Hiromi again. Powerful though he was, you could not see how he could walk out of such a fight alive.

Putting all the dregs of your energy into hiding, refusing to let Hiromi's sacrifice be in vain, you cried yourself to sleep, nose in Hiromi's overcoat, his cum still cooling between your thighs.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Each day merged into the next. Time had lost meaning. While you had the urge to fight before loving Hiromi, to have loved and lost him broke you and the future you may have had. The battleground was no place for someone such as yourself now. You cursed the injustice of it all.

Cold, dirty and exhausted, your head rested sideways against an industrial bin, praying the rain would wipe your soul clean.

You had translated his business card, with your little dictionary--

Lawyer. Higuruma Hiromi, Criminal Defence Lawyer.

Knowing this detail of his life, a sweet overlay of understanding dawned upon you, his character suddenly so understandable, his anguish shooting through you like knives, and all too late, too late--

"...English?"

Your head jerked up, to the end of the alleyway. Silhouetted, dripping in the rain, bleeding and bruised but impossibly alive--

Your face crumpled, pressed into your wet sleeves, shaking. Slow splashing footsteps approached you, Hiromi kneeling in front of you, a hand coming out to graze through your hair.

He opened your dictionary, dusty and bloodstained, before flicking to a dog-eared page;

"Found you."

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ithebookhoarder · 2 months

Note

If your still taking requests could u pls do “if you were taken by an unsub” criminal minds imagin? Or smth along those lines, if not that’s fine tho

~ ☘️

(BAU Headcanons) If you were taken by an Unsub

A/N: Um, of course you can?! Thanks for sending this one in angel 😇 I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to answer this. Hope you like it!

Warnings: Usual Criminal Minds references to criminals, murder, violence etc. Mentions of mental health. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

If you were taken? This man would not rest until you were back and safe with him - and not just because of what happened to Haley (though it doesn’t help).

He would bark orders at everyone in a cold and blunt manner that tells them he is not in the mood to be messed with.

They will do as they are told and they will do it now.

This poor man would be fighting not to let his fear show but he'd be seen clenching his fists over and over and taking long deep breaths in front of the mirror in the bathroom in an attempt to ground himself and get his head on straight.

He's no good to you if he lets himself fall apart. His team - and more importantly, you - are counting on him.

You know he’s blaming himself and you’re both going to need therapy once this whole experience is over with.

He would go into his hyper-rational mode, focusing on making plans and ignoring anything that isn’t getting you back safe and sound - which means no sleep. None. He’s running on fumes and caffeine - even after you’re found.

It would take days for him to feel secure enough to close his eyes and be able to trust you’ll still be there when he opens them again.

Also you best believe he is breaking out his old law text books and ensuring this UnSub goes down for a lonnnnnng time… if they even make it to trial that is. This man is a trained sniper and knows other trained snipers… just saying…

David Rossi

He may like to remind you all of his passionate Italian nature from time to time but it’s impossible to miss when he hears what’s happened to you. He’s an emotional mess, staggering between horror and rage to a frighteningly cold determination that is rare for the eldest team member.

He’d try to act in control, pulling rank on everyone - including Hotch, which obviously doesn’t work.

“No offence, Aaron, but I was chasing down Unsubs when you were still in diapers. I know what I’m doing.”

However, they know him well enough to see that despite having years of experience under his belt, Rossi is terrified of making some kind of mistake.

Once they do find you, he’d be one of the first through the door, too concerned with checking you’re ok to worry about anything else.

He’d also be sure to pay for the best medical care money could buy, if you needed it following the ordeal.

He also knows people and has no problem paying for you to see a counsellor of some sort if the situation required it. He just wants to take care of you now that you’re back in his arms again.

Derek Morgan

This man is like a whole military unit in himself at the best of times, but he’s a whole other level of lethal when it comes to protecting the ones he loves. You do NOT want to be on the wrong side of Morgan, and that’s exactly where the Unsub who took you would sit.

There isn’t a door he wouldn’t be willing to kick down to get you - and everybody knows better than to say a word about it. (Hotch is already mentally filling out all the paperwork he’s going to need once this rescue is done, but he doesn’t exactly mind, given the situation).

Also, Morgan may have trained you himself, drilling you in self-defence and marksmanship so you’d known how to protect yourself out there in the field, but none of that matters now. You may have the Unsub at your mercy already, or you may be at theirs, but he doesn’t know and that’s what’s killing him: the not knowing.

It’s why Penelope is basically glued to his side the whole entire time, telling him everything she finds out the very second she finds it.

“We’ll find them sugar, I promise. They’re just as tough and strong as you are, so don’t give up on them, ok?”

He’d be leading the pack once you are found though, tearing through anyone and anything that stood in his way. All he cares about is seeing you with his own eyes and getting you as far away from danger as possible.

“I’m so sorry, baby. It’s my job to keep you safe and I failed you.”

He’d be beating himself up for weeks after and it would take an entire team intervention to get him to let you go back out into the field again without him being glued to your side. After all, he’s not making the same mistake twice. Any Unsub wants that wants to get close to you will have to get past him first.

Emily Prentiss

This woman is a super spy and a lethal weapon on an average day but if you were taken? Then she would be the most dangerous woman in the entire United States.

She knows people in every agency and on every continent so you best believe she will be calling in favours left, right and centre. (Even Rossi is terrified by how quickly she was able to get the Pentagon on the phone…)

She would also be action-focused, needing to do something rather than sitting around wasting time. Every minute spent talking was one more minute the Unsub had to hurt you - and that thought makes her feel physically sick.

This would end up causing her to explode, taking it out on whichever unfortunate soul is closest. Like, you know she would definitely have to be reminded by Hotch that they actually need the local law enforcement to work with them, if they want to get you back alive, after she is seen screaming at an unfortunate officer for their ‘utter stupidity’.

Thankfully, she gets to turn that rage on the Unsub after they find you. I mean, let’s be real. It would take Morgan physically holding her back to stop her from beating their face in.

This frustration would ultimately then be transferred to you, once she knows you’re safe.

You almost can quote her ‘You almost died’ speech by this point, but you know it makes you both feel better to hear it so you let her rant and rant until she’s calm enough to crawl into your arms and squeeze you close.

“I love you so much. I can’t lose you.”

You’re also pretty sure she now has people following you at all times, watching over you when she can’t, so that this never happens again.

JJ is every bit as lethal as Emily is when those she loves are at risk. If anything, she’s more terrifying because she’ll hide that murderous rage behind a ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ smile before deciding to strike.

However, it would take everything in her not to just charge in and go on the offensive. After all, she was willing to run into a bank full of armed robbers after Will.

It would probably end up with the team having to physically holding her back to stop her - usually accompanied by a well meaning pep talk about how she needs to get her head on straight if she actually wants to help get you back.

You know this woman would follow you everywhere afterwards, never letting you out of her sight. In fact, she hits ‘super Mom mode’ where she is constantly fussing over you and seems to have the world in her go-bag.

You need tissues, pain-killers, chocolate: she got it.

“Hey, it’s ok. You know I’ve got your back, right? I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’re safe now.”

She would also call you out on all your BS, if you tried to downplay what happened to you or if you were still affected.

One twitch of her eyebrow is all it takes for her to have you pinned to your chair and spilling your guts about your emotions. You know better than to make her ask twice. After all, she may be the first to downplay it when she’s hurting but when it comes to her team and her family, she’d do anything to take care of you. If that’s driving your ass to therapy or just holding you, she’ll do it without complaint.

Penelope Garcia

Would immediately panic as soon as she hears what’s happened to you. Like, we’re talking SO much panic.

Poor girl is spiralling and needs the team to help ground her so she can get back to the lair and do her thing. It would probably be down to Morgan or like JJ to get her to actually remember to breathe and not make herself pass out.

But once she’s up and running? Well, she’d be all over the Unsub like a bad rash. Every teeny tiny detail of their life is suddenly unearthed and splashed on the

board for everyone to see. (No one dares ask how she found certain items, but knowing her history with the dark web it’s probably for the best).

Also, she would be begging for constant updates once the team is out in the field. Any other day, it would drive the team insane to have a constant running Penelope monologue in their ears, but they’re surprisingly tolerant in this case.

“Guys, do you see them? Are they ok? What’s going on? I need to know people! I have no eyes here!”

Would be all over you once you’re safe and insists on installing tracking software on everything. She wants a digital link to you, 24/7 so that this NEVER happens again. It’s simultaneously flattering and slightly terrifying how much power this angel has at the end of her glittery, manicured fingers.

Dr Spencer Reid

Depending on which season-Reid you’re with when you’re taken, you would have a distraught super genius who makes it his life’s mission to get you back. Or, you’d have a prison-hardened super genius with a slightly grey-er view of the world on a mission to find you.

Either way, there’s probably no one you’d want more to be in charge of locating and rescuing you.

Like Hotch, I feel he would become obsessed with nothing other than finding you. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t sleep. Hell, no one on the team has even seen him leave the briefing room long enough to go pee, let alone take a break. This results in the team all taking it in turns to be parental figures and coax (and eventually threaten) him into pausing long enough to down a glass of water and eat some snack bar.

Between Morgan’s physical threats, JJ’s guilt-trips, and Hotch threatening to bench him from this case, they’d eventually succeed.

“You guys don’t get it. They need me. I have to figure this out - they’re counting on me. I can’t fail them. I won’t. So either help me or get out of here and let me think.”

We all know he would probably harass any medical professionals charged with caring for you, once you’re back. He doesn’t trust them - especially when it comes to your welfare.

He’d also confine you to the couch and force you to rest, queueing up endless re-runs of Doctor Who and whatever shows you find most comforting to have playing in the background. It’s selfishly what he needs too, being able to sit and hold you long enough to quell any fears he may have about you and your wellbeing. You’re here and you’re real and you’re safe.

Masterlist

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