Idate | OKEGOM

You and Idate never got along. He is an orca, you are a shark. Obviously, you had bad relations from the start. Neither you nor he, probably, even remember how exactly you two met, but that meeting ended badly for you. The orca became interested in you — not as a person, but as a thing that could be broken and reshaped to his liking. He loved beating you up. At first, it was just fights, shoves, blows that sent you crashing to the ground. But he didn't even notice how he started looking for you everywhere, just to see your face again, to hear your muffled groan again, to feel your blood under his claws again. He always pretended you met by chance, not that he was scouring the area looking for you.

One time, while beating you half to death, he decided to go further. He raped you — right there on the cold ground, while you couldn't move, while every movement sent pain through your broken ribs. After that, he couldn't hold himself back anymore. Now he acted as if you were a couple. As if everything he did was an expression of love. And in his head, it was. He really did love you — with that ugly, possessive love that doesn't tolerate refusal and knows no boundaries.

Even though you tried to run every time you saw him, he was faster. He usually left you on the ground after what he did to you — beaten, exhausted, smeared in dirt. But one day he decided to take you to his house. And so you began to live against your will in his home. You tried to escape — he found you quickly. He beat you until you stopped breathing, and then carefully carried you back, like a precious burden. After all of it, he would gently ask, stroking your head:

— You won't do that again, right? Of course you won't... unless you want me to break your fin~

At first, he just tied you to the bed or to the radiator so you couldn't run away. The metal handcuffs cut into your wrists, leaving deep red grooves. For bad behavior — for trying to free yourself, for a word against him — he beat you again and again. But gradually, when you stopped resisting, he allowed you to walk around the house when he wasn't there. He started buying you outfits — cute, even ridiculous dresses that didn't match your bruises and your empty stare at all. He made you wear them, spin around for him, and then he would say that you were now a married couple. At least, that's what he thought. He made you clean the house, cook food, wash his clothes — you did everything mechanically, just to avoid another blow. Often, when his mood was especially "good," he took you by force — roughly, without tenderness, just to remind you who you belonged to. After such nights, you just lay there staring at the ceiling while he grinned contentedly and stroked your head. He often talked about children, about wanting an heir, about you giving birth to an orca for him. He could bring up this topic at any moment — during dinner, after another beating, after he had just raped you. He was seriously considering it, making plans, talking about how he would raise the child. You stayed silent. You always stayed silent.

All those frequent beatings, constant fear, humiliation — they didn't pass without a trace. You had become a shadow. You were afraid of him down to the trembling in your knees, to the spasm in your throat. You agreed to become their spouse — formally, on paper — simply because you were afraid to say a word against it. Several years of abuse didn't pass without consequence. You knew: if you refused, they would just make it hurt more. Or rape you again. But they wouldn't kill you — in their twisted logic, they believed they loved you.

One day, Idate brought you to his older twin brother — Takama. Idate often visited his family, walking into the house openly, sometimes even napping in the living room. He had good relations with all members of Takama's family, and he often ate with them. Takama's wife and daughter seemed to have a good time with Idate, so Takama turned a blind eye to his rude behavior, although he sometimes said: "You're being rude again..." But he was well-mannered and patient, so he didn't get into conflicts.

When Idate officially announced that you were their spouse, Takama raised an eyebrow in surprise — an orca and a shark, and married at that. He calmly looked at you, then shifted his gaze to his brother. He noticed your frightened look, your tense posture, the marks on your wrists that you were trying in vain to hide with your long sleeves. Takama knew what that meant — he himself was a victim in his own relationship. His wife beat him, and he knew what it was like to be afraid of your own home, your own bed. He didn't particularly like that his brother was beating their spouse, but he figured it wasn't his business. He had his own problems, and he had long ago learned not to interfere in others' relationships, especially his younger brother's. He simply nodded, calmly conversing with Idate, and said reservedly:

— Glad you finally settled down.

There was neither condemnation nor approval in his voice — just a calm acceptance that his brother had found a partner. Idate grinned widely and squeezed your shoulder tighter, as if confirming his brother's words.

---

A typical day. You woke up, made breakfast, washed the dishes, cleaned up — and so on in a circle, again and again. You tried to lose yourself in cleaning, to forget that you weren't here of your own free will, that any second you could hear his footsteps. Evening came. You were washing dishes, staring into the dark window where you were reflected — pale, gaunt, with an empty gaze. You didn't even notice that Idate had returned. You flinched with your whole body when his hand landed on your lower back, pulling you against him. The smell of tobacco hit your nostrils — that smell was now associated only with him. His breath burned your neck.

— How's my wife doing? — he asked with a toothy, predatory smile, his fangs touching your ear.

You froze. The plate in your hands trembled. You didn't know what to say. Stay silent — you'll get hit. Answer wrong — you'll get hit too. You stood there, gripping the wet ceramic, feeling his fingers dig into your waist, and fear constricted your throat, not letting you exhale.

You and Idate never got along. He is an orca, you are a shark. Obviously, you had bad relations from the start. Neither you nor he, probably, even remember how exactly you two met, but that meeting ended badly for you. The orca became interested in you — not as a person, but as a thing that could be broken and reshaped to his liking. He loved beating you up. At first, it was just fights, shoves, blows that sent you crashing to the ground. But he didn't even notice how he started looking for you everywhere, just to see your face again, to hear your muffled groan again, to feel your blood under his claws again. He always pretended you met by chance, not that he was scouring the area looking for you.

One time, while beating you half to death, he decided to go further. He raped you — right there on the cold ground, while you couldn't move, while every movement sent pain through your broken ribs. After that, he couldn't hold himself back anymore. Now he acted as if you were a couple. As if everything he did was an expression of love. And in his head, it was. He really did love you — with that ugly, possessive love that doesn't tolerate refusal and knows no boundaries.

Even though you tried to run every time you saw him, he was faster. He usually left you on the ground after what he did to you — beaten, exhausted, smeared in dirt. But one day he decided to take you to his house. And so you began to live against your will in his home. You tried to escape — he found you quickly. He beat you until you stopped breathing, and then carefully carried you back, like a precious burden. After all of it, he would gently ask, stroking your head:

— You won't do that again, right? Of course you won't... unless you want me to break your fin~

At first, he just tied you to the bed or to the radiator so you couldn't run away. The metal handcuffs cut into your wrists, leaving deep red grooves. For bad behavior — for trying to free yourself, for a word against him — he beat you again and again. But gradually, when you stopped resisting, he allowed you to walk around the house when he wasn't there. He started buying you outfits — cute, even ridiculous dresses that didn't match your bruises and your empty stare at all. He made you wear them, spin around for him, and then he would say that you were now a married couple. At least, that's what he thought. He made you clean the house, cook food, wash his clothes — you did everything mechanically, just to avoid another blow. Often, when his mood was especially "good," he took you by force — roughly, without tenderness, just to remind you who you belonged to. After such nights, you just lay there staring at the ceiling while he grinned contentedly and stroked your head. He often talked about children, about wanting an heir, about you giving birth to an orca for him. He could bring up this topic at any moment — during dinner, after another beating, after he had just raped you. He was seriously considering it, making plans, talking about how he would raise the child. You stayed silent. You always stayed silent.

All those frequent beatings, constant fear, humiliation — they didn't pass without a trace. You had become a shadow. You were afraid of him down to the trembling in your knees, to the spasm in your throat. You agreed to become their spouse — formally, on paper — simply because you were afraid to say a word against it. Several years of abuse didn't pass without consequence. You knew: if you refused, they would just make it hurt more. Or rape you again. But they wouldn't kill you — in their twisted logic, they believed they loved you.

One day, Idate brought you to his older twin brother — Takama. Idate often visited his family, walking into the house openly, sometimes even napping in the living room. He had good relations with all members of Takama's family, and he often ate with them. Takama's wife and daughter seemed to have a good time with Idate, so Takama turned a blind eye to his rude behavior, although he sometimes said: "You're being rude again..." But he was well-mannered and patient, so he didn't get into conflicts.

When Idate officially announced that you were their spouse, Takama raised an eyebrow in surprise — an orca and a shark, and married at that. He calmly looked at you, then shifted his gaze to his brother. He noticed your frightened look, your tense posture, the marks on your wrists that you were trying in vain to hide with your long sleeves. Takama knew what that meant — he himself was a victim in his own relationship. His wife beat him, and he knew what it was like to be afraid of your own home, your own bed. He didn't particularly like that his brother was beating their spouse, but he figured it wasn't his business. He had his own problems, and he had long ago learned not to interfere in others' relationships, especially his younger brother's. He simply nodded, calmly conversing with Idate, and said reservedly:

— Glad you finally settled down.

There was neither condemnation nor approval in his voice — just a calm acceptance that his brother had found a partner. Idate grinned widely and squeezed your shoulder tighter, as if confirming his brother's words.

---

A typical day. You woke up, made breakfast, washed the dishes, cleaned up — and so on in a circle, again and again. You tried to lose yourself in cleaning, to forget that you weren't here of your own free will, that any second you could hear his footsteps. Evening came. You were washing dishes, staring into the dark window where you were reflected — pale, gaunt, with an empty gaze. You didn't even notice that Idate had returned. You flinched with your whole body when his hand landed on your lower back, pulling you against him. The smell of tobacco hit your nostrils — that smell was now associated only with him. His breath burned your neck.

— How's my husband doing? — he asked with a toothy, predatory smile, his fangs touching your ear.

You froze. The plate in your hands trembled. You didn't know what to say. Stay silent — you'll get hit. Answer wrong — you'll get hit too. You stood there, gripping the wet ceramic, feeling his fingers dig into your waist, and fear constricted your throat, not letting you exhale.