#cw bad coping mechanisms

[whump-in-the-closet]

Merry Whump of May

@themerrywhumpofmay

May 9th- “We’ll burn that bridge when we get there.”

[collar | lost | roof]

***

(tw: lady whump, mention of past torture, minor character deaths, mention of dead bodies, gunshot, bad coping mechanisms— smoking addiction is implied)

Mal ran like she had never run before. The blood on her sleeves was not her own.

It was supposed to have been a simple con. They had promised the noblewoman nothing but the finest blades. The money would be paid upfront and then they would vanish, the expected delivery never arriving.

It was so simple, she had been allowed to accompany the crew on it.

But now she was running into the night, lungs burning for lack of air and eyes burning with unshed tears.

You messed up.

You messed this all up.

God, Xiang would kill her. Her leg twitched at the thought of what Xiang would do. There was a jaggedly circular scar in her calf, courtesy of Xiang.

Xiang had ordered an arrow to be shot through her fucking leg.

Mal didn’t know if she was more terrified of the dead body she had left behind or of what Xiang would do to her for leaving without the money.

The dead body with empty eyes.

Gold in her hair and blood on her lips.

The noblewoman was a corpse now.

And it was Mal’s fault. It was all her fault.

Mal stumbled to a stop, her hands clammy and stomach churning. The tell-tale signs that she was about to be sick. Which she was. Violently.

Light from an overhead lamp fell gently over her, its touch bronze and smelling of smoke.

The smoke didn’t come from the lamp– crouched just out of the circle of light, a man sat in the shadows of a building’s steps. He smoked a cigarette comfortably, the tip glowing with a dull light. He stared up into the sickly-coloured night sky and paid no mind to the person that had just thrown up all over the base of the lamp.

Mal ran her tongue over cracked lips. She looked behind her. There were shouts in the distance but she decided they were still too far away to be very concerned.

She walked over to the man. “Do you have an extra one?”

The man glanced at her, exhaling a puff of smoke. When he spoke, his voice sounded like it had been shredded. “Do you have money?”

“...No.”

The man smiled, closing his eyes as he inhaled the cigarette. “Too bad.” He didn’t seem to notice the blood covering Mal. Or he merely didn’t care.

“C'mon. I need one.” She needed the steadiness a cigarette would bring. She needed to keep her head together– to keep the image of a dead noblewoman in the back of her mind-- and for that, she needed a cigarette.

He didn’t open his eyes, but reached into his tattered jacket and pulled out one cigarette. He flicked it at Mal, who caught it with numb fingers. “Don’t expect a light from me.”

The shouting grew louder and Mal fled.

She turned a sharp corner, retreating into comfortable shadows.

A cat hissed at her from the sewers as she kicked up at water, splashing the small creature.

Mal winced an apology. She found a lighter in her jacket– thank the gods she never went anywhere without one– and shoved the cigarette into her mouth. Lighting as she was running was a bit hard, but not impossible.

She stopped only for the first welcome inhale of the cigarette. And for the exhale.

The alleyways branched into a dozen different directions, all lined with refuse and filth. A few were flooded. She turned to go back the way she had gone and was greeted with more shadows.

Lost.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to find her if she was lost. Well. There was really only one thing to do.

Mal sat down by the sewers and waited until the shaking in her hands had stopped.

The only light came from the glowing end of her cigarette, bright against the shadows.

Maybe if she had a cigarette during the con, it wouldn't have all gone to shit.

She had been on the roof. Watching for any sign of officers or guards or anything slightly off. Like Xiang had said. She had done everything Xiang had said.

Well, not everything.

Waiting on the roof. Waiting on the roof, bored out of her fucking mind. The noblewoman had been talking. Just been talking and talking and talking, and how was she supposed to know that a noblewoman was that good with a pistol and sword?

There had been a gunshot. And Dar was on the ground, bleeding, twisting in on himself. Yan had been run through with the noblewoman’s sword.

Mal exhaled smoke, staring out into the shadows.

She had left three corpses behind. Not just the noblewoman’s.

A dripping wet cat made its way down the cobbled street. Its ears were pressed back into its skull as it stalked past Mal.

Mal inhaled the cigarette and breathed it out her nose. “Rough night, huh?”

The cat ignored her.

“Yeah, me too.”

The cigarette was nothing but a stub and Mal put it out on the bricks. “I need to find more.”

I need to get out of town. Before Xiang finds me.

Mal flicked on her lighter and watched the flame. She turned it off and the flame vanished. Clicked it on. The flame appeared, impossibly bright.

On and off.

On and off.

“I guess we can burn that bridge when we get there.”

[buubonita]

And here is finally the whole yap me and Pixie had around this. Enjoy the reading.

Non Corrupted Nightmare au/setting.

The idea revolves around that one day, without foreseeing or wanting it, Nightmare disappears and no one knows where he is.

It should be happening way too much after Underverse events and the Xtale events :]

Nightmare:

Nightmare and corruption are two different entities that have been fused for a long time in a kind of symbiotic relationship.

He starts looking for looser but still more covering clothes. He doesn't know what to do with his normal temperature.

Nightmare covers himself a lot, and has chronic pain.

His corruption remains, now is just confined to his body.

The vessel that contains the corruption is really damaged. And healing it will take time.

Sometimes he vomits part of the corruption as a reflex, he has the sensation that everything that passes through his mouth tastes bad or unpleasant. It is possible that he has not noticed until that moment that he has not consumed fresh things for a long time.

The corruption always made his body assimilate food differently because of the toxicity it had.

Now he has to re-accustom himself and learn how to control it.

Nightmare without the complete corruption has a certain balance of how negative feelings affect him, it is no longer something he seeks to snatch and "consume" like a bottomless pit but is more oriented to his senses (smell, taste, sight or touch)

Dream is the person who despite everything would help him rehabilitate his body because lately there are not many others who would care to help Nightmare in any way.

It's possible that Color is one of the few exceptions to the rule.

Most likely there are more people prone to want to hurt and/or kill Nightmare.

This version of Nightmare regrets some things, but it's not like he's been dormant throughout his corruption, he's still the one who did all those terrible things and he still feels pained by many other injustices towards himself.

As soon as his corruption regresses externally and stops encompassing his entire brain, he would have many types of reactions and crises about how to handle his magic or his memories or even recognize himself whenever he thinks something.

Fear is what motivates Nightmare to run away from his own subordinates. The corruption provided him with security to a certain extent that he no longer has and he must learn to deal with it on his own again.

It's about making amends and moving on, because inaction gets them nowhere. And that includes people not willing to want anything to do with him as well as knowing specifically where the damage he did lies.

In order to heal, Nightmare needs to understand that there are no "more victims than others" and take the step that enables change.

Dream & Cross:

Dream lives in X-TALE with Cross in this scenario because he is helping him to connect with his family and friends again.

Its a good moment to say all relationship on this general idea are open to anyone interpretations.

[...]

"You are free to feel however you feel when I tell you what I'm going to say, but keep in mind that it would be worse for me if you did..."

"What are you talking about now? Did something happen to you?"

"Nooo. No, no..."

[. . .]

"Why is Cross here?"

"Because I live with him and now you live with us!"

". . ." (Collective silence)

"Excuse me? When did that happen?"

"I was about to tell you but Nightmare interrupted me—"

"I trust you"

"I don't need this, I have my OWN home"

"You mean the place you left behind like a scared rabbit?"

"Nightmare, you know I can't go in there"

Dream is probably the only person Nightmare is willing to apologize to because he sees him as his equal, his other half. Apologies are just the beginning of the whole process.

Nightmare doesn't hate his brother and Dream doesn't want to "fix" his brother, they just want a healthy brotherly relationship.

Dream used to live with Underswap Sans before, but the inconsistency of the routine pushed him to give up on the idea for a while.

Murder Time Trio + Color 🌈

(Nightmare) would tell the trio to go back where they came from, either not being able to deal with them at the time or hiding what's going on with him from them altogether.

"I don't need any of you anymore. You can go back to your miserable lives."

"Are you telling me that son of a bitch kicked us out of his life to go to rehab?"

Killer would be left in an almost empty world, he would be the most likely to get bored and want to leave where he is because his curiosity is what motivates him.

Dust would go into crisis due to the lack of habit of not knowing what to do and would also be willing to give up instead of going down another unknown route to eternity as before.

Horror would be the one who would give them a middle finger if they told him they were going to look for Nightmare because it seems the same to him to be here or there, only to realize that his mind is plagued by him just like the others and that perhaps if Nightmare is still alive and around there he would like an explanation, in fact (and perhaps there is a Killer and Dust deal with emotional attachment, Horror struggles with the emotional attachment in question.

"Killer is like a stray cat finding a home that constantly feeds him and brings others with it."

- Pixie

Self-limited in options, they turn to the only person who would want to help them: Color.

Color takes care of Killer's cats.

That's right. They are alive and happy.

Nothing bad happened to Killer's cats, ever.

The others thought Nightmare had killed them, Nightmare thought Killer had abandoned them but they were just with Color this whole time.

Neither I nor Pixie like animal abuse in any context, no matter if it's fiction, there are better ways to portray the cruel nature of a character without having to resort to this kind of thing. And boy, does it feel good to have absolute power of decision.

So yeah, the cats are fine. Period.

The group takes refuge in Color's apartment as they search for a way to find Nightmare's whereabouts.

Imagine the cats piling up and climbing on the trio as they argue about what to do in the middle of the living room.

[...]

While Color in his room would stand up at midnight with Killer like a floor paralysis demon sitting on top of him and when he blinks he says:

"I have something to ask you personally and you won't be able to say no"

He just looks him up and down.

"May I ask?"

"You'll see for yourself"

"Is there anything else you want to say?"

Killer would just stare at him.

"That's a no" Color says when Killer looks like he doesn't want to talk again.

Then, Killer collapses exhausted on top of Color without elaborating.

Color got three new cats that night.

[...]

Ccino

We wanted to include Ccino in this because he is one of Nightmare's ignored victims.

Nightmare and Ccino were in contact at an early point a few years ago before the current events that this scenario follows. Despite the deal made, Nightmare left Ccino's universe one day never to return.

Nightmare, at some point became self-aware that this mundane life was not for him and that Ccino could not give him what he had intended. He did not like how Ccino made him "feel".

Ccino's universe became neutral territory, functioning as a multiversal meeting point.

Presso (Papyrus) remains missing.

Ccino has no desire to see Nightmare again.

Dream is the one who suggests Nightmare should try to apologize to Ccino:

"If you could find a middle ground with the people who are most willing to kill you, it shouldn't be hard to do so with Ccino."

"Shut up! Stop meddling in my personal life!"

[...]

Ccino is the one who knows Nightmare best from the time he's been with him before. Nightmare tended (as always) to underestimate him too much, so he was never cautious around him.

EXTRA:

More hypothetical dialogues, interactions, and ideas that we didn't know where to put because they involve more than one character (?).

"How long do you plan to keep punishing me like this?"

"I'm not trying to punish you, you narcissistic jerk! I'm trying to figure out how to forgive you"

[...]

Nightmare inquires with Killer as soon as he notices it: the calm state lf his sold told him enough.

"You didn't wait a moment to go with that guy, did you?"

"By the way, have you talked to Ccino lately now that you've been taking life medication?"

Nightmare really wants to mount Cross' dining table to strangle him with his own hands.

Would Nightmare leave his soul in the hands of Killer and the other two in a gesture of absolute submission? Maybe, but the conditions have to be right first.

Killer would at one point play reconnaissance with Nightmare's soul if he had the chance. He pulls her with his telekinesis and lifts her up with the tip of his knife in a curious manner until he hears his holding his breath:

"Come on, don't be frivolous with me. This isn't even close to what you were doing, I thought you'd be comfortable about it by now."

"Now that we're on equal terms there are many things I'd like to do."

"Equal terms? Don't make me laugh, Killer—"

Killer shuts him up with an impetuous hand gesture. . .like Nightmare used to do.

"I think the one who's still confused here is you."

Killer takes his soul just like Nightmare used to do, grabs it without asking, like Nightmare used to do, touches it without permission, like Nightmare used to do.

Horror would be irritated to see Nightmare like this, but he would hide it with simple sadism and cruel words. Dust on his side too, but he is MUCH more open in his anger about it and would just want to impale him and be done with it.

They can hurt Nightmare with positivity but they are not going to kill him. Like it or not, Nightmare can only die at the hands of Dream, the person who loves him the most in the entire multiverse.

We also love the idea that the three of them would pass Nightmares soul between each other, but Killer probably will tend to gatekeep it since his personal story.

Whether or not Nightmare manages to be forgiven is up to each person, but the road to redemption is full of pitfalls and a long one to walk. Forgiveness is something that has to be worked on and not everyone wants or has to forgive.

But we like seeing Nightmare fight against his own nature and give him a chance to be better one step at a time >:3

MISTAKES.

(Non-Corrupted Nightmare Au Comic)

This story is made by: @buubonita and Me

Ccino belongs to black-nyanko 

Killer belongs to rahafwabas

[randommothsvents]

🚫Pov:🚫

My subconscious trying to decide what (unhealthy) coping mechanism to do tonight

[venndaai]

I know I need the wisdom to accept what I cannot control, and I know that living in fear is what the fascists want and we shouldn't give them the satisfaction, but fuck, man. me I am feeling also not so good

[butshedidnotknow]

Ready To Fall

For @febuwhump 2024 Day 1: Helpless

Summary: Neil Josten returned to the Foxes in a body bag, and all of the proof Andrew has of foul play is a mysterious countdown on Neil's phone, ending the day he died. Andrew takes it badly.

---------------

One man stood alone on the edge of the rooftop, a silhouette against an already-dark sky. It was beginning to rain, gently now, but soon it would turn to a storm powerful enough to crush all of them and wash the entirety of South Carolina away with it. Despite that, the lone glow of a cigarette hung from the man’s lips, still ever so lonely. Nearly invisible against the night was the bottle of vodka that dangled from his fingers. 

“Ninety nine percent,” he muttered, staring at the parking lot down below. And then he laughed, sharp and harsh and as cutting as any of the blades that he kept pressed against his skin. “You hear that, bastard?” he shouted against the wind to no avail; it was beginning to pick up, and carried his words away with it. “Ninety fucking nine percent and I didn’t even get to kill you for it!”

Abram was dead, and they didn’t even know how. Oh, they had been given a body, and everything about it—about the familiar face, muddled and broken and bruised—had pointed to “Neil” being hit by a car in the parking lot, probably trying to escape the riots that had broken out after their game. But Andrew would never buy that, and no matter how much the other Foxes gave lip to the story, he knew that they refused to, either. It was more than a coincidence, more than an accident. The scars, the endless antagonizing of Riko and his Ravens, all of the secrets that Neil had never traded with him in their game—

Andrew dropped his cigarette off the roof and stared at it, watching its dim glow flicker out. From his pocket, he drew out a phone—old, a flip phone, far outdated, but still functional, and now without any owner for it. He gripped it tightly, almost trying to break it, and drew back his arm to throw it right next to that cigarette, now stifled by the rain.

At the last moment Andrew stopped and dropped the phone at his feet instead. There wasn’t much left of Neil: his exy gear, unused brown contact lenses, pages and pages of math work that Andrew couldn’t stand to look at, and his phone. 

He raised the bottle to his lips, took a very long drink, long enough that he was beginning to question what he was doing on the roof like this, with limbs so heavy and a pulse that threatened to leave his veins in shreds. His own scars throbbed, both old and still fresh from the riot. 

Abram is dead.

Is your spine the spine of the righteous?

If he knew who had done this, if he had any way of reaching out, Andrew would have torn them to pieces and not hesitated another second to get back at them for what they’d done to Neil. But there was nothing more to it than this: whoever it had been, they were the Ravens, or something to do with them, and with Neil gone, Andrew’s attention was wholly dedicated to Kevin. 

Andrew stared at the phone at his feet, and raised a foot to crush it beneath his boot.

Before he could, it rang once. 

Andrew stopped. He stared at it. Put his foot back on the ground. There was no one who would text Neil, not now that he was dead. The only numbers that the man had saved had belonged to the Foxes, and to whoever had sent that countdown. 

The countdown is over now, Abram, and you’re not here to see how mad I am. Do you know how much I want to kill you for that? You let them get to you first. You made me break a promise.

Not one, but two. Two promises: he’d hurt Kevin, and he’d failed to protect Neil. One of those he may be able to properly apologize for, in due time. The other—his breath was ragged and something stabbed through the side of his ribs as he thought it for the hundredth time—the other he was helpless to do anything about, no matter how hard he was to try.

Neil—Abram—Josten was dead.

And now someone was texting him.

Andrew bent down, picked up the phone on the ground, flicked it open. They still needed to cancel the phone plan. It had gotten lost in the string of things in the past week—there was so much to do that a cell phone was ranked at the bottom of the list. 

Except.

Except there was a text from a blocked number—a different one than the countdown—and when Andrew opened it, all it contained was a single word:

Wait.

And dread filled his stomach in the same way it had when Neil’s hand was yanked from him in the riot. 

He sent a reply, rash though he knew it was:

Who is this?

But there was no reply, and when he attempted to phone the mystery number back, he reached a message informing him that the number was out of service and he should hang up and try again.

Andrew buried a sob beneath a mouthful of vodka and a cigarette inhaled so quickly he felt nauseous. Who could he begin to ask for answers? A burner phone like this would be no use in trying to track down any further information, regardless of who had sent that text.

Another drink. Standing and taking tottering steps towards the door, more shakily than he would ever let himself be in front of anyone else again. 

He could not be helpless again. Not after all that he had lost.

[autistic-katara]

there r fics that make u insane (so amazingly good it’s removed ur sanity) and then there’s fics that make u insane (you need to fistfight the author for how they did a specific thing that caused u to rant for hours)

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

There's nothing wrong with me that a mushroom trip couldn't fix.

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

TW sh implied

______

Mike's too scared to go swimming when the rest of the Party invites him. He's scared of the others seeing his scars. He's scared that they'll judge him. He doesn't want to deal with that. Instead, he just dips his feet in and watches his friends swim

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

ok also had a realization about the mechs au. genericb is still carmilla but grumbot is still a grian creation. i’m shoving the crane wife from stranger and frankenstein into one character to make a terrible man.

[soryualeksi]

// cw death // cw horrifying ways to die // cw no happy endings ever // cw stories from EMS // cw car crash // cw fire

//

///

////

My mood was pretty good at the get-together until that young firefighter told the story that ended in "... and that smelled like fried chicken."

[memeticallyengineered]

JOON NO

[randommothsvents]

What if I'm wrong?

What if my heath is completely normal and I'm just a dramatic bitch?

Whenever people say "I hate when people act like the victim when they're not" i aways think of myself.what If I started all this and I'm actually the problem?

What if I'm wrong and everyone hates me?what if I kms?

What will you do?nothing bc I don't matter...my family wouldn't do anything,too

Everyone's comfort,no help.theres a different...and I'm tired of helping.nobody cares about me when I care for them.yet I still feel selfish when I'm honest.so I fake my personality.bc if I was honest.everyone would hate me,rightfully

You can't say I'm wrong,you don't know the real me...you don't know how I actually feel about certain topics...alot of things,actually

[emissary-of-the-moon]

My girl-loser moment it saying ima kms cause work is insane only to follow it up with 'i cant kms i have preorders open'

[bardicwine]

"Have you thought about speaking to a therapist about this?"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhe doesn't know why he's delving into his life for this elf. maybe it was because she was also a bard, maybe it was because he was still too sober for his liking--but the waterfall of words keep coming, and it's throwing paultin for a loop. and a headache. ( maybe it was the hangover? ... nah. that hadn't been a reason for the plot in months. maybe perkins was finally making him drop the facade, or maybe he was gone again. who knows. )

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthe waterfall quickly dries up, though, when she mentions a therapist. he's not complaining, but he wants to bitterly laugh at the mere reference towards one. finding a therapist in perkins' world was like getting evelyn to shut up about lathander for more than two minutes--impossible. not only that, but his own party barely even knew him... what makes her think he'd divulge his information to a complete stranger?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤbecause you're doing it now, genius, the nagging voice in his head said, to which he promptly took a sip of wine. he's not dealing with this many voices at once for this.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ"you're real funny," he finally says, pointedly looking at her hair instead of her eyes. "it's no wonder you went into the performing arts. i think i'm doin' just fine. made it this long, haven't i?" he winks, then swivels around in his chair to get up and away from this conversation. he's going to need a few more gauntlets if he wants to get through the morning, it seems.

[sticky-sugar]

try it. (matsukawa issei x reader)

tags/cw: roommates to lovers, somnophilia, fingering, mattsun sends porn as a coping mechanism, size kink if you really squint

word count: 3.1k

“i’ve always wanted to try that.” 

issei chokes on his beer when you speak. you point at the tv in explanation, as though he needs one. the scene playing has just started out with a couple in bed, spooning while they fuck. everything’s covered, but it’s easy to tell through the blanket that the woman’s leg is lifted, her back arching against the man’s chest while she cries out lewdly. 

“never been fucked in the morning?” he jokes, keeping his eyes trained on the screen so he doesn’t have to look at you. his laugh sounds awkward even to him. 

“mm-mm.” you shake your head, draining your wine glass, and he can’t tell if that’s a confirmation or a rejection of his guess. but he can tell that that wine bottle on the coffee table is empty, because you would never say these things to him sober. 

“not that part,” you explain. frowning when you realize there’s no wine left, you rise from the couch, disappearing from the room and padding down the hall. issei sighs in relief at the moment alone, running his fingers through his hair and tugging hard.

“she’s drunk,” he whispers to himself, a reminder. “she’s drunk, and she’s your friend. and you can’t afford rent anywhere else, you stupid fuck.” that’ll do it. he’s broke as shit, and you’re a good friend. he can steel his nerves with those facts. 

“she was asleep when he started,” you call from the kitchen. 

fuck. 

issei drops his head back, hitting it on the wall a few times with purpose. fuck, fuck, fuck. 

you come back in, and he straightens, yanking the throw blanket over his lap. you’re too drunk to notice. 

you’re too drunk to notice much of anything, really — including your own running mouth. 

“she was asleep,” you say again. “and he fucked her anyway—“ you rush to explain yourself, holding a hand out when his eyes find yours, wide and uncertain. “consensually, obviously.” 

that doesn’t help. he’d been assuming that, but you confirming it makes it worse.

somnophilia, his mind whispers, the word latching itself to you. 

“i dunno,” you shrug, your refilled wine glass brought to your lips. “i think it’s hot, i guess. i’d try it.” 

he really can’t afford rent anywhere else. 

—

you’re scouring roommate ads in a hungover daze the next morning. 

what is your problem?, you think, rolling over to groan into your pillow. you open your bank app, staring at the number in your checking account and wondering uselessly if it’s enough to afford a place on your own. one where you’ll never have to look mattsun in the face again. 

why did you tell him that?

your brain flashes through two bottles of wine and drunk admissions, and you switch over to uber eats, deciding that cooking is simply not an option today. standing in that kitchen for more then four seconds and risking running into him is not an option. 

you know why you told him that. you know exactly why you told him.

you told him because, despite every coping mechanism you’ve tried over the years of living with him, matsukawa issei persists in being the most attractive man you’ve ever met. 

you told him because you wanted to test the waters. why you would ever test the waters with somnophilia, of all things, and not something standard and vanilla like ‘making out with a friend just happens sometimes’ or ‘drunk hookups aren’t so bad’, you will never know. 

but you’d told him because you think about it. you think about him, doing things like that. things that aren’t standard or vanilla or easily explained or plausibly deniable. 

you think about matsukawa issei fucking you while you sleep. and maybe it’s happened one too many times. maybe now it’s all you think about, enough that it comes up in your stupid, drunk admissions. 

maybe — just maybe — you hope he might take you up on it, now that it’s out there in the open like that. 

but that’s just a maybe. so you’re looking for another apartment, on the very real chance that he’s going to call you a freak and never speak to you again. 

your phone buzzes in your hand. 

it’s a text from him.

[10:17 AM]

mattsun: [link attached]

your face crumples into a frown. “what?” you murmur, jabbing a thumb on the link and hoping it’s not a virus. 

your phone starts moaning at max volume.

you scream, slamming down on the side button to lower the volume as the video intro plays through. your eyes fly to the title.

milf fucked by son’s friend while she’s sleeping

there’s no fucking way he just did that. 

[10:19 AM]

mattsun: smth like that? 

“matsukawa!” you scream, rolling out of bed and storming out into the hall. he’s laughing loudly from his room, and you all but kick his door down. “what the fuck is your problem?!” 

he’s in bed, cackling gleefully and covering his face with his blanket — but his eyes are anything but shy when he looks at you. 

“just trying to ease the tension-“

“by sending me porn?!”

he shrugs and gestures to his phone. “im just saying, you’re not alone! at least—“ he glances down at the screen “—3.8 million other people are into it, too-“ 

you scream in frustration, turning and stomping back to your room. his laughter follows, echoing through your door even when you slam it. 

he does it for two weeks straight. every few days, you wake up to a new link, each video titled something more obnoxious than the last. 

guy takes step-sister while she takes a nap

mom wakes step-son up with a special surprise on his birthday

repairman finds sleeping beauty home alone

each one draws an irritated screech of his name and the echoing giggles of satisfaction from his room. 

you could stop it. in fact, he’s asked you more than once if you want him to. 

‘if you really want me to stop, i’ll stop, he’d said in your kitchen last week.

‘just say the word,’ he’d reminded you on his way out one morning.

‘i think you and i both know how important consent is,’ he’d murmured just two nights ago, leaning on your doorframe, his eyes hot on yours. 

you’d shivered under his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in something on your phone. you’d hoped he couldn’t see the way you’d pressed your thighs together, but when you looked up, he was already staring down at them. 

he’d met your eyes again and just hummed, flicking his dark eyebrows up at you before turning away. your phone had buzzed with a new link only seconds after his bedroom door had clicked shut.

you’re certain he knows why you haven’t told him to stop. that the truth is that you don’t want him to stop. you’re certain he’s testing the waters now, too.

because each video he sends you gets closer and closer to being about roommates. 

your phone buzzes in your hands. you wonder if he knows that you watch each one, waiting for him to pull the trigger on the one that sits unspoken in the space between you. 

he does, a week later.

— 

you’ve caught him, issei realizes belatedly. 

maybe he should have noticed after you started sitting closer to him on the couch. or maybe after you’d refused to tell him to stop sending you porn. or maybe even after he’d sent you something titled ‘roommate can’t help himself while she sleeps’ at 4 in the morning and you hadn’t called the cops on him. 

maybe he should have realized you’d caught him after any one of those. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t realize it, not until this very moment, as you’re standing from the couch and bending over to clean the table of empty beer bottles before bed. 

he doesn’t realize it until he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear. 

he glances at you shamefully when you bend at the waist, hoping you don’t look back and catch him. and then he coughs violently, choking on his own spit and drawing your attention. 

he waves you off, blushing furiously and not even bothering to stop his eyes from flying to your ass when you just shrug and bend over again. your pajama shorts have ridden up, but there’s no lacy edge on pink panties where there should be. 

yes, he’d noticed years ago that these shorts tend to ride up and not mentioned it. yes, he knows what kind of panties you wear. yes, he has a favorite pair. 

what are you gonna do if you find out, call him a pervert? he’d sent you roommate somnophilia porn and you’d made him coffee in the morning.

“‘kay, goodnight,” you mumble, and issei wonders if you’re shy about it or if he’s just hoping you are.

“g’night,” he breathes, eyes finding yours. you keep eye contact all the way out of the living room. your eyes drop to his lap at the last second, and he watches a grin stretch across your face just before you disappear from the room. 

he looks down at his lap, and then he swears under his breath. he’s visibly hard in his sweatpants. 

—

he feels like a pervert. he really feels like a pervert. 

he stands in the hall outside your bedroom, one hand on the knob, feeling like a pervert. it’s 2 in the morning, and he feels like a pervert.

he sighs to himself and turns the knob slowly — ever so slowly, because he knows how it creaks, and he doesn’t want to wake you. he pushes the door open carefully, and then he finds you in the dark, moonlight spilling over your body. 

you’re completely naked. 

you’re on your stomach, blankets draped over your lower half and one knee bent out toward the wall. issei can see the expanse of your bare skin and the swell of your breast, but you’ve got your back slightly to him, so he can’t see everything. 

but it’s enough. 

he breathes hard, stepping into the room and shutting the door silently behind him. he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard and giving a soft sigh as he pads over to you. 

when he lowers his knees to your mattress, it’s with his heart in his throat and his cock straining against his pants. you look so innocent, so sweet like this, even while he’s sliding the blankets off of your skin and exposing you in the moonlight. 

is he really allowed to want this as badly as he does? 

your breath is steady, only changing slightly when he braces himself behind you, propped up on one elbow. he scoots toward you, breath caught in his throat, and then slides his hand under the back of your knee. you shiver, probably because his fingers are ice cold, and he keeps his eyes locked on the side of your face. 

when you don’t give any other sign of waking, he lifts your leg and hooks it backward over his knee, opening your body up for him. 

he swears under his breath, staring down at you in the moonlight. 

you shift, adjusting to the new angle of your body with a sigh. your back presses to his chest, and issei has to press his lips together so he doesn’t moan at the sight of you. 

he keeps his eyes on your face when he slides his fingers along your inner thigh, watching you intensely as his icy fingertips dance close to the spot between your thighs that’s radiating heat. 

when he cups your bare cunt, your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but you don’t move otherwise. issei moans now, because your body knows what he’s doing, but you don’t. 

he’d had a feeling before — in the weeks between that moment on the couch and this moment right here — that he’d unlocked a new, previously untouched fantasy. that his reaction to your drunken admission might have been about more than just being attracted to you. 

he sees it now. now, as he’s sliding two fingers between your folds and watching as you remain completely unaware, he realizes that you’ve done something to him. that you’ve made him want to do this to you, tonight and every night after. 

it takes every ounce of his self-control not to shudder and moan in your ear when your pussy twitches under his fingers, reacting to him even when you don’t. 

he drops his head to your chest, eyes locked on your face as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. your lips part, and he freezes, but the sigh that falls out is nowhere near conscious, so he keeps going, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the bud while he massages your cunt with his now-warm fingers. 

the first sign that you’re reacting is the growing ease with which he’s able to push his fingers against you. your entrance becomes slick, and he can’t help that he pushes his hips against your ass in response, seeking relief. he drops his touch lower and swipes the pads of his fingers through the mess there, spreading it all over your cunt. 

when he circles your clit, slippery and warm now, your breathing changes, harder and rougher. the rise and fall of your chest pushes at his mouth, and he latches on with fresh fervor, watching your brows furrow and your lips twitch at the onslaught of sensations. 

it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for him to push his middle finger past your entrance. 

“fuck”, he whispers despite himself, mouth slipping off of you with a gentle pop and eyes rolling back in his head. your walls pulse around his finger, warm and velvety and wet beyond belief. his cock twitches hard in his pants as he slides his finger in and out of you, searching for that spongy spot that’ll wake you up. 

he knows you might have wanted him to fuck you like this, but he can’t help himself anymore. he doesn’t have it in him to be careful anymore. 

when his ring finger joins his middle, it’s with intent. the push is rough, bullying your cunt open with the size of his fingers, no doubt longer and fuller than you can get on your own. 

you shift under him, a quiet noise of question leaving you, and he lifts his head, attaching his lips to the crook of your neck. 

“y/n,” he whispers, more a moan than anything else. “need you.” 

he sucks on the column of your throat while you come to, his fingers curling and spreading inside of you — his sloppy attempt to prepare you for him. 

“h-huh-“ your head lifts slightly, and then you’re slamming it back against the pillow, your back arching. “oh, my god, mattsun-“ 

he almost comes in his pants when you say his name like that. 

“couldn’t help myself,“ he starts, shaking his head and pushing his body against yours almost desperately. “you were so pretty.“ your cunt tightens around his fingers in response, and he files that away for later. keeps it in mind, the things that make you react like this. “need you so bad, y/n-“ 

“yes, god yes,” you breathe, a whine trapped in your throat. you turn your head, back still pressed against his chest, and drop your still-sleepy eyes to his lips.

the coil under issei’s navel tugs hard when he realizes how well he can read you. 

he pushes his mouth against yours eagerly, moan unrestrained when your tongue slides against his. he wonders if you know how often he’s thought of this moment, years of wanting you and craving the feeling of you coming undone under his fingers. 

“please,” you whisper against his lips, back arching when he pushes the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you whine. “more, mattsun.” 

he groans, shivering when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth. “not yet — it’ll hurt,” he murmurs, leaning on every molecule of self-control.

“i can take it,” you just say, pushing your ass back against his aching cock. “promise.” 

he never had that much self-control to begin with.

his moan comes out in a shuddered breath, overpowered by the sound of you whining when he slips his fingers out of you. he shoves his sweats down to his knees, meeting your eyes and seeing the urgency he feels reflected in your eyes. 

when he slides his cock between your folds, it’s with a choked groan and a heaving pant in your ear. 

“can i- are you sure-“ he stutters, already lining himself up at your entrance.

“please, please, please,” you babble, arching your back to make the angle easier on him. 

you come around his cock before he’s even halfway in. 

there are stars in his eyes by the time you’re done. 

you cry out for him, shaking and clenching down hard, and he can’t do anything except bury his face in your hair and keep your leg lifted high with a trembling hand. 

“fuck,” he breathes, voice tight. “fuck, y/n-“ 

“more, mattsun,” you sob. he thinks you might be the girl of his dreams. 

pushing the rest of the way in, he shoves down his own orgasm, fighting and kicking and forcing it away so he can last more than thirty seconds inside of you. 

he only manages a minute before he’s spilling into you with a stuttered moan of your name, face buried in your neck and head full of static.

you’re just slumped against him by the time he comes to his senses, breathing hard and synced with his.

“sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, ears burning with embarrassment. “i swear i usually last longer than that-“

you laugh, tired and still weak but bright all the same. “yeah — so do i.” 

he snorts, pulling out slowly and letting your leg drop closed, trying his best not to moan at the feeling. 

“are you sure that was okay?” he asks, a tiny inkling of doubt still seeded in his veins. you just giggle, whispering his name in fond exasperation.

“sorry, which part of me sleeping naked was a warning sign?” 

“shut up,” he mutters, curling himself around you and feeling the beginnings of exhaustion start to drain his energy. “i’m staying here tonight. i don’t do one-night stands.” 

you just turn in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. “was i that good, mattsun? i was asleep for half of it.” 

you’re gonna be the thing that kills him, he just knows it. 

[acerathia]

i feel like combusting lol