#tw hints of negligence

[mrfilippa]

How about some aran headcanons since you're the aran guy?

~ fan-mans

Ehehehehehe!

I am a bit late, but here you are! ( trigger warnings ⚠️ insomnia, lack of hygiene and hints of negligence) I worked on this headcanons for days!!

Behaviour

Aran sleeps very bad and he usually do exercise when he cannot sleep or when he wakes up too early. That's why at the WVBA gym he doesn't do anything except messing around and pranking.

He is very loud even in a normal situation. He likes being at the centre of attention. He isn't loquacious when sick.

Also he is an energetic young man, when he sits he always moves his feet or his hands.

if he has to describe himself, Aran would say he is both cool and lucky.

People would say about him instead that is a jerk who acts cocky, BUT they admit that he doesn't step back when things get hard.

Aran has a pov of the world where only the strongest can survive and rule over the others

Aran is a "open book", it's too easy to understand what Aran thinks about you

He is one of the quickest person the WVBA staff has never met. Also his reflexes are something outside this world: when he is concentrated he can avoid stuff throwing at him.

Aran has some... Problems... With hygiene. He usually forgets to take a shower or just brush his teeth. During his childhood and adolescence, no one told him how to wash himself correctly, so when he has to do it, he does it very quickly but he misses some parts.

Since this introduction in SPO, Aran stopped to cut his hair and, in general, to go to the barber. He prefers to take care of his hair himself (that's why his hairstyle is so odd). About his "beard", he thinks that a designer stubble is more masculine than a beard.

About hair, he is the most hairy around the WVBA. Very. His hair is the source of jokes against Don Flamenco's "hair". One time Don imagined to cut Aran's hair away and made a toupee with that hair.

Of course everyone remembers his iconic line about cheeseburger: Aran literally use that line with everyone, adapting it with their traditional food. Talking about stereotypes, Aran doesn't use them to do harm.

Aran has a soft side, but only his mam knows

He doesn't care what other people think about him and his behaviour

Joking and pranking is his way to interact with people

His driver's license was suspended and he decided to ride his bike. That's why he skips leg day XD

Passions

When he does exercise, Aran is very concentrated and he usually listens to Phonk (it boosts him with confidence and adrenaline)

When he has time (always lol), Aran draws on stuff or does doodles. Everywhere. On the metro, inside a cab, on a table of a pub... No place is safe.

About that, Aran made an Instagram page dedicated to his doodles in NY and Dublin (when he goes back), in which he signs himself as Ryan. Too bad everyone understands that it's him (tagging his main profile in the comments).

Relationships

Romantically he can give the vibes of someone uninterested in love and stuff

BUT truly Aran is a sorta of loser, he doesn't know how to approach to his s/o, so he imitates what Don and Macho Man do. In a bad way, exaggerating everything, from giving numerous presents/gifts to hugging/touching his s/o. He also would brag how muscular and manly is he, and he would start to talk no stop

The only one who has the bravery to comment his behaviour is Bald Bull. Instead, Soda always supports Aran, no matter what.

his attitude changes completely when his mam is involved, from a tough fella you should never mess about to a good and softy big boy.

He becomes kinder and softer when he gets closer to his s/o too.

Usually he isn't very liked inside the WVBA, but he has some friends (mostly Major circuit/world circuit)! Normally, they hang out to the pub or walk around, maybe searching a new disco/pub or a skate park.

[pin-k-ink]

kinda common request but ushijima with a size kink 👀

lusus // ushijima wakatoshi

tw ⇢ size difference, size kink, belly bulge, cumflation, mentions of pregnancy and marriage, a couple of clit slaps, teasing, pet names, “just the tip”, creampie, nipple play, unprotected sex, breeding kink

wc ⇢ 6.5k

a/n: i got a bit carried away… :(

It started as an idle observation - one Ushijima couldn't quite pinpoint the origins of amidst the endless cycle of practices, drills, and critical preparations filling his laser-focused mind. But gradually, possibility after innocent possibility arose where he found his sharp eyes catching on the sheer... daintiness of the team's new manager.

The first instance blazed into sudden, startling existence one afternoon as you attempted to ascend the rickety ladder for hanging the championship banners. Engrossed in charting out a fresh tactical overhaul with the coaches, Ushijima only registered your presence in his periphery as a flicker of movement.

Then came the tell-tale wobble of unsteady footfalls on the rungs, followed by a muffled yelp that managed to penetrate even his intense concentration. Before conscious thought could engage strategy, Ushijima was already in motion.

In what seemed like a single, supernaturally fluid heartbeat, his powerful strides had covered the short distance just as the ladder began tipping treacherously from beneath your feet. Another eyelash-blink later, and Ushijima's forearm banded like an iron bar around your trim waist - halting your stomach-dropping plummet with shocking ease.

But just as swiftly as your unconscious peril arose, it was snuffed out again by Ushijima's unhesitating intervention. That smooth-as-oiled-silk response was merely the product of endless repetitions and drilled conditioning honed to surgical sharpness.

What stole the breath from Ushijima's very lungs like a physical force was the sudden, bewildering intimacy of having your curves pressed flush against his chest in that follow-through motion. The way your back arched subtly against his solid wall of support as he cradled your astonishingly delicate frame against the immovable force of his body with negligible effort.

Even through the layered fabrics separating you, Ushijima swore he could feel every pliant inch of your modest silhouette molding against his ongoing inhale. Like liquid sin itself taking hypnotic shape and tempting form against the hardened steel of his physique.

It was such a disconcerting realization in that breathless moment that his brain lagged several precious pulses in catching up with the new data input overload. When Ushijima finally registered the quiet pants of shocked exhales ghosting warmly over the juncture of his throat, the sensory input proved as disarming as a physical blow.

The molten rasp of your breaths so unnervingly close... the plush press of your feminine curves all but swallowed up in the circle of his arms... the dizzying spiral of flowery shampoo and understated perfumes swirling between your two forms in a scent as unmistakably alluring as it was forbidden for the hyper-focused ace to dwell on...

With a ragged exhale, Ushijima abruptly disentangled you both by depositing your feet squarely back onto stable ground and swiftly disengaging contact. Though not before his senses insisted on greedily imprinting every nuance of your shared gravity - from the startled flutter of your lashes against flushed cheekbones, to the pleasing heft and hint of curvature fitting so unexpectedly neatly into his protective embrace.

As soon as the supporting rungs regained their burdened, you'd instinctively straightened with some reflexive murmur about being more careful in the future. But when your luminous gaze finally turned up to meet Ushijima's inscrutable stare, the words seemed to stutter and die on your lips.

For a suspended, molten pause, all the ace could comprehend was the sudden direct line of intimate access now open between you. The way your features were angled up towards him in the wake of that near-debacle, practically commanding his hyper-attuned focus lower...lower...to the utterly disarming swell of your parted lips that Ushijima swore he could nearly taste the breath-warmed fullness of despite no move being made.

It was such an unforgivable lapse of iron focus that in the next instant, Ushijima felt like he'd been doused in the coldest shower imaginable. A violent, full-body rejection of the distracting detour those inappropriate contemplations had nearly started meandering down.

That innocuous moment of dizzying intimacy seemed to awaken something deeply primal within Ushijima's consciousness - an insistent awareness that refused to fade back into ignorant complacency no matter how fervently he attempted to re-immerse in his usual flow of strategies and repetitions.

Everywhere he turned, his heightened attentions now persistently snagged on the same unavoidable observation: just how deceptively tiny and delicate your stature managed to be in direct contrast to his own honed, unyielding physicality.

During grueling practice sessions when the squad formed shoulder-to-shoulder for breaking down gameplay footage, Ushijima couldn't prevent his focus from repeatedly drifting to where you stood off to the side. The way the top of your head barely crested the center of his carved pectorals always delivered a strange molten punch to his gut - awakening unbidden flashes of you tucked securely against that very expanse of muscle mere days prior.

He found his stare lingering overlong on the gentle swell of your throat whenever you leaned in to inspect the tactical court maps unfurled across the staging tables before him. The delicate tendons shifting beneath satiny skin as you swallowed or angled your features in consternation would transfix Ushijima utterly. All he could envision was the scorching brand of his palm spanning that tantalizing column in a possessive caress as he angled your jaw higher to...

The inappropriate trail of thought would initiate a violent sub-routine reboot before it could bloat into something more disturbingly indecent. Ushijima's hands would unconsciously curl into white-knuckled fists at his sides as he forcibly rerouted higher brain function back to the neutral gameplans and optimizations spread before him.

But the struggle to maintain iron discipline only worsened from there as the days marched onwards. Like a riptide pummeling away at his steadfast restraint with each new swell, every innocuous reminder of your distractingly dainty proportions seemed to carve away another chunk of his control.

The mortifying afternoon Ushijima's broad shoulders and over-dense muscle mass saw him catching the spray of an entire water cooler you'd accidentally upended while attempting to carry the ungainly vessel. He hadn't registered more than a vague impression of your strained efforts across the gym before liquid splashed in a wide fan - drenching you from the crown of your head down to the tips of those petite, adorably flexed toes peeking from your sensible flats.

In the span of two lightning inhalations, Ushijima had closed the distance between you in a sinewy viper-strike of potent urgency. His hands - calloused, powerful, and larger than any person's had a right to be - spanned the width of your upper arms in an utterly dwarfing cradle as he instinctively inspected every inch for harm or hurt.

But there was no chance for actual injury of course, only your frozen astonishment and the way every fiber of Ushijima's existence zeroed in on that sudden soaked intimacy with frightening intensity. The cloying scent of your damp locks and the cool moisture beading along the plush pout of your lips in that breathless second redirected every one of his faculties with terrifying singularity.

He was mesmerized by the tiny rivulets of transparency skating across the high, delicate planes of your blushing cheekbones and down the tantalizing silk of your throat. So transfixed by the display of such naked fragility and untapped softness that the world beyond your shared gravities simply ceased to exist for one dizzying eternity...

Until eventually, you emitted the smallest, most temptingly breathy noise of surprise that managed to jar Ushijima from his reverie hard enough to wrench back to reality. Back to harsh fluorescents and squeaking sneakers and ambient shouts of exertion from his teammates resuming undisturbed drills. All the elements of the gym's familiar, safe equilibrium which starkly juxtaposed the darkly decadent awareness now swiftly metastasizing in his conscious thoughts.

Without preamble, Ushijima withdrew from your molten orbit as swiftly as he'd intervened - retracting those dangerously possessive hands before they could map out any more forbidden terrain or shape sin itself around your slender, soaked silhouette. An unforgivable indulgence the calculated, hyper-disciplined ace simply could not permit.

Or at least, so he had desperately resolved to convince himself in that moment of roiling weakness. Even as those traitorous eyes of his drank in one final, searing glimpse at the damp fabric now semi-translucent against the generous swell of your chest, straining invitingly over every tantalizing hint of feminine curvature concealed just beneath that teasing veil...

Encounters like that only seemed to escalate in both frequency and molten potency as the weeks drifted onwards. Until eventually Ushijima realized the gut-punched awareness plaguing his every waking moment was not some freak intermittence to be powered through with sheer determination, but a persistent condition demanding far more creative counterattacks.

Merely avoiding direct proximity to your daintiness proved an exercise in abject failure when the rest of the team apparently relished any opportunity to loudly emphasize the stark contrasts in your respective statures. As if the very sight of Ushijima's broad-shouldered bulk looming effortlessly over your petite figure acted as flashing neon bait to the resident school of minnows always nipping at his heels.

"Hey y/n! Get over here and compare hand sizes with Ushiwaka for the squad contest!" Tendou's vocals pierced the din of one post-practice cooldown with all the subtlety of a backfiring jet engine.

Ushijima felt his spine go ridgidly upright at the grating tones, shoulders unconsciously squaring off as he braced for the juvenile antics sure to fol--

"Yeah, find out if the great Ushiwaka's hands are truly the most gigantic mitts on the team, little lady!"

You obediently trotted over with an exasperated roll of your eyes, already offering up one slender wrist in resigned acceptance of whatever crass "competition" the randier hooligans had concocted during Ushijima's rare mental lapse into the indecent reveries swiftly spiraling out of control.

Before either of your startled regards could register, Tendou eagerly snatched at your proffered appendage and wrenched it upward in a comparative display beside Ushijima's own outstretched palm and fingers. The contrast in size made the breath stutter harsh and molten in the ace spiker's lungs.

Your soft, tapered digits barely spanned from the pointed tip of Ushiwaka's calloused thumb to the first knuckle at the base. Like comparing a child's plaything to the implacable, sinuous strength of a well-oiled machine purposely engineered for delivering controlled devastation. It abruptly felt utterly unconscionable for the two examples to be juxtaposed so overtly.

"Well I'll be damned..." Semi drawled somewhere from the peanut gallery, voice heavy with meaning. "Our little homeroom angelcake has Thumbelina hands after all!"

A few raucous hoots and whistles greeted that filthy observation, no doubt aimed at further fanning the flames of Ushijima's suddenly tenuous restraint. His free hand curled into an unconscious white-knuckled fist at his side as raw, unfettered possession roared to vivid life in his veins like an insidious poison.

The primal urge to snatch your tiny wrist free from Tendou's irreverent grip and reclaim your delicateness into the protective circle of his embrace grew increasingly maddening with every rasping inhale. To erase every set of degenerate eyes currently devouring the soft vulnerability of your feminine composition with their sordid regards from existence entirely. All while drowning in the molten awareness of how utterly and effortlessly your fragility fit beneath his dominion.

Only your smooth, infinitesimal squirm of apparent discomfort broke through the toxic spiral starting to cloud Ushijima's enraged senses in ruby shades of sin. His stare snapped to your features instantly, honing in on the way your cheeks had gone ruddy pink, your generous lips pressed into a flat line of perturbed propriety.

Meeting those wide, reproachful eyes - so innocent yet utterly unguarded in their honest chastisement - acted like a bucket of arctic water over the flames engulfing Ushijima's possessive urges. You didn't deserve to be subjected to the darker facets of awareness cresting inside the Ace's subconscious, he rebuked himself harshly. The quiet dignity and warm support constantly exuded by your graceful presence within their team dynamic far outstripped any sordid justifications brewing within his own repressed psyche.

Heavy footfalls crunched in the stale auditorium hush surrounding the gym as Ushijima turned on his heel to stalk mindfully away from further temptation. He couldn't trust his mental fortitude around you anymore, not with these unaccountable lapses into devouring indecency plaguing his iron restraint.

At least, not until the reckless firestorm of primal hunger silently raging in his core had been expertly doused and redirected once more into something resembling their usual polished professionalism.

Behind him, the continued jeering whoops and whistles dissolved into background static, tuned out utterly in favor of his silent, singular mission to wrestle his runaway restraint back into immovable discipline before it was too late...

The fever pitch of Ushijima's smoldering awareness continued spiraling to dizzying new nadirs with every subsequent team outing. As if some unspoken cosmic force seemed hellbent on testing the superhuman restraint of even the most stoic and unshakeable ace with a relentless barrage of fresh intimacies.

The yearly athletics festival proved to be a particular gauntlet of temptation in that regard. Your petite stature made navigating the rowdy crush of bodies lining the parade route essentially impossible without getting hopelessly turned around or even inadvertently trampled amidst the chaos.

Which was how Ushijima found himself glancing over at one point, only to feel a molten punch of concern twist his gut at the tableau laid out before him. There you stood, straining up onto your tiptoes in a fruitless attempt to glimpse whatever activity currently held the crowd's raucous attentions in thrall from your disadvantaged sightlines.

One broad sweep of his discerning gaze rapidly took in the squirming press of torsos and rippling sea of elevated arms boxing you into a near-suffocating pocket of confusion and mild panic. Your features pinched with that unmistakable look of overwhelmed dismay Ushijima was swiftly coming to recognize as a siren's call demanding his undivided intercession - propriety and personal restraint be damned.

Without preamble, his powerful strides easily ate up the short distance separating you as he shouldered his way through the rowdy crowd with unhesitating force. A few surprised yelps and grunts of displeasure met the wake of his passage. But Ushijima paid them no heed whatsoever, already caught up in the scorching undertow of his singular mission.

No words were exchanged, no by-your-leaves requested or offered as he coasted to an abrupt halt before your petite silhouette. You didn't even have a chance to register his sudden, looming proximity before Ushijima had already stooped into an effortless crouch and banded one heavy arm behind the pliant give of your knees.

The other swept out to catch the surprised bend of your lower back in a fluid, steely arc - essentially scooping your entire diminutive frame up into the air with all the ease and negligible effort most would exert when retrieving a magazine from the coffee table before them.

A soft, startled noise punched its way past your parted lips at the abrupt relocation. But before any reflexive protests could surface, Ushijima had already straightened back up to his towering full height with you easily cradled in the protective circle of his arms.

From this elevated vantage just beneath his squared jawline, you couldn't begin to even see over the tops of his powerful shoulders -- much less rejoin the rest of the team amidst the crowds. Ushijima's broad, marble-carved features stared inscrutably down at you through those perpetually shadowed lenses as a lush wash of heat flooded your cheeks.

In that suspended heartbeat of molten connection sizzling between you, the Ace spiker permitted himself the indecency of simply...savoring the moment stolen away against all propriety or restraint. Of drinking in the ephemeral impression of having your waifish curves and feather-light composition utterly subsumed within his protective embrace with utterly zero effort extended.

He allowed his larger-than-life palms to map out the delicious give of your lower back and hamstrings in one unhurried, possessive caress. Was mesmerized by the tiny, delicate bones of your wrist and the swell of tendons shifting beneath fragile skin as you instinctively curled your fingers over the carved geometry of his clavicle to steady your ascent.

There was simply no denying the rapturous delight thrumming through Ushijima's every tendon at how unimaginably minuscule you felt gathered against the solid wall of his torso like this. How confidently, how naturally your slight form seemed to melt into the cradle of his broad arms and chest as though every inch of whittled musculature had been divinely sculpted with this exact indecent cradling in mind--

With a harsh inhalation lancing through his nostrils like dragonsmoke, Ushijima abruptly resumed his sinewy strides forward once more - jaw clenching on a punishing grind as he ruthlessly smothered that wildfire of wanton fantasies before they could truly ignite. He refused to allow himself to be so thoroughly unmade and derailed by your doe-eyed prettiness again and again...no matter how transcendentally perfect your fragility felt molded against his immovable dominion in reality.

No. He was the consummate discipline in humanoid form, the very avatar of hyper-focused intensity and restraint. He would not be reduced to some dribbling, base cretin rendered incoherent by the fleeting impressions of tenderness and possession currently drug-hazing his senses.

Or at least, that's what Ushijima fervently told himself with every subsequent footfall resonating between you. Even as your quiet, self-conscious giggle of amusement suddenly wafted up on a humid zephyr - close enough that he could taste the sweetness of your breath on his tongue.

And close enough to rip the foundations out from beneath his fragile reasonings once again...

Ushijima really should have known better by now than to allow any scenarios where prolonged proximity to you proved unavoidable. And yet, time after time he seemed to stumble into these charged intimacies through sheer happenstance or unthinking habit.

Like the afternoon you'd both ended up seated side-by-side reviewing fresh game footage, with the rest of the team circled loosely around the solitary monitor on offer. It had seemed innocuous at first - nothing Ushijima hadn't experienced a thousand times before amid the endless cycle of preparations and chalk-talk sessions.

But the moment you shifted slightly closer, brushing your shoulder companionably against his in the tight confines, everything abruptly snapped into hyper-focused clarity once more. Ushijima became excruciatingly aware of even the most infinitesimal details radiating off your modest frame in dizzying waves.

The delicious floral bouquet of your shampoo and subtle perfume swirling between you in one intoxicating melange. The silken friction of your skirt whispering against his thigh with every minute readjustment. Even the warm puffs of your quiet breathing seemed to skate tantalizingly down the side of his throat in a searing caress he couldn't shake.

It was like being unwillingly submerged in an ocean of scintillating distractions and forbidden temptations, all designed to lash against the rickety moorings of Ushijima's restraint. He grit his molars hard enough for his jaw to creak in protest, determined not to allow himself to drown in those swirling indulgences again so easily.

Until the moment you made an abortive move to rise from the enveloping couch cushions - no doubt intending to step out briefly during a lull in the tactical breakdown occurring.

Before any rational thought could properly engage, Ushijima's hand was already lashing out in a reflexive, steely arc to halt your departure. Those same powerful fingers and sinuous tendons he relied upon to bludgeon spiker after spiker across the net wrapped like an immovable vise around your upper thigh with zero difficulty.

The jolt of heated realization that slammed into him was as disorienting as a physical blow. Ushijima froze utterly at the dizzying impression of his palm and splayed fingers spanning nearly the entire circumference of your thigh with space to spare. Of how easily that compact muscle strained and flexed beneath his grasp - as though every individual tendon comprising your modest curves had been purposefully scaled down to entice maximum inspiration from proportionally oversized grips like his own.

You'd startled at the unexpected contact just as thoroughly, pink lips parting to release some muffled noise or breathy exclamation of surprise. But all of Ushijima's strained focus abruptly hemorrhaged elsewhere in the wake of that heated touch.

All he could process was the rapturous give of your soft skin pulsing like molten silk against his calloused fingertips as you instinctively pressed back into the solid cradle of the sofa. The fine vee of your pelvis canting subtly against his knuckles in a sleek, powerful motion somehow throbbingly evocative of wholly indecent undulations and surrender.

An incendiary tidal-wave of wanton fantasy detonated behind Ushijima's eyes without preamble. Of ruthlessly leveraging his disproportionate physicality to seize every inch of your pliant, untapped softness in an iron grip and wringing out plaintive whimpers with each filthy glide of supplication...

Only your startled squirm and the faintly bewildered look now creasing those delicate features managed to pierce the scarlet haze building to criticality in Ushijima's skullfornace. Those too-large fists of his slowly unclenched from their vice with what felt like herculean effort -- leaving a burning imprint of possession seared into his flesh where unforgivable temptation had blossomed in the blink of an eye.

"Ushijima-san?" you queried hesitantly, no doubt picking up on the sharp disquiet simmering beneath his stoicism like corrupted code refracting beneath a still surface.

He didn't dare meet your gaze fully, instead making a Herculean effort to refocus on the tactical video still playing across the monitor before you both with hypnotic regularity. Perhaps if he immersed himself in those safe, sterile patterns once more, the more primal spirals of desire trying to pull him under again could finally be filtered ou—

"I'm just going to get some air," Ushijima growled before you could probe his sudden storm front further. He was on his feet before the words had even finished rasping past his lips, strides already eating up distance from your molten gravities in an urgent retreat.

The confused furrow pinching your brow as you watched his abrupt departure didn't even register to Ushijima. He was already compiling fresh deterrent subroutines in a frantic bid to wrangle back control of the rising inferno intent on consuming him from within over any further innocuous intimacies.

The dam finally burst during one of their routine evenings reviewing overhead camera footage from practice drills in Ushijima's private quarters. What should have been a perfectly sterile, professional exercise in optimizing spike angles and read progressions rapidly snowballed into something far more insidious.

Perhaps it was the dimness of the solitary desk lamp casting intimate shadows across your features as you leaned over the scattered topography of notes and stills spread before you. Or the way you'd automatically settled onto the edge of Ushijima's bed for lack of a second chair, creating a molten tableau of softness amidst his spartan sleeping arrangements that screamed of sin in the flickering half-light.

Whatever the catalyst, all it took was a single absentminded brush of your bare calf skimming up against Ushijima's as you shifted your weight - and every last vestige of restraint he'd been desperately grappling to maintain went nuclear in an eyeblink of culpability.

The live-wire frisson of that ephemeral contact jolted straight down to his very foundations like a lightning strike forking the sky. Before his conscious mind could fully grasp what was happening, Ushijima had already reacted on searing instinct honed across endless hours of emergency reads and scenarios.

In one blurring inhalation, his hand whipped out to lock around the flexing swell of your knee in an inescapable vise. With the other fist riveted into the mattress behind your hip, he effortlessly leveraged that staggering differential in strength to swivel your entire frame flush against his own coiled undulations before you could strangle out more than a whimper of surprise.

The rapturous juxtaposition of having your supple, dainty softness suddenly splayed out so nakedly within the cradle of his indomitable physicality very nearly punched every stray volt of higher reasoning from Ushijima's razored focus in a single shattering detonation. Finally, FINALLY, you were pressed so exquisitely into the scorching brand of him with zero boundaries or illusions of propriety separating you.

His senses veritably whited out beneath the molten lash of that merciless sensory overload as your heady bouquet, your delicate warmth, the whisper-slick friction of your cotton shorts clinging to the flexing sinew of his quads all slammed home in a rapturous deluge. For one endless, shuddering inhale, the primal immensity of having your frail, coveted prize conquered within his dominion rendered Ushijima utterly unmade.

Only one other base compulsion seemed capable of piercing that blinding nova scorching away the last vestiges of lucidity between you. With a harsh growl that seemed to emanate from the very dregs of his subconscious, Ushijima surged forward - simultaneously dragging your pliant form further into the cruel vanquishing of his embrace as he sealed his lips over yours in a branding conflagration of possession.

Any muffled whimpers of surprise or protests were instantly swallowed up and reduced to mere background white-noise in the wake of that indecent detonation. You instinctively melted and writhed, alternating between fitful struggles and the boneless surrender of prey before an apex predator's unhesitating advance as Ushijima's mouth plundered yours with nearly animalistic intensity.

Every hot exhalation stuttering from your gasping lips was instantly consumed and made air by the harsh rake of his next growling inhale. Lush whimpers transmuted to molten keens as his calloused palms mapped out every untapped inch of softness and burgeoning curve with searing brands of marking possession.

The taste of you on his tongue rapidly became the single point of obsession anchoring Ushijima's restraint to reality. Cloying floral and hints of something sweeter--the remnants of candy you'd treated yourself to earlier that day no doubt. The knowledge that he was finally savoring the true essence of your temptation after being starved of it for so long only served to inflame his primal desperation to experience everything all at once.

His iron-wrought frame visibly shuddered and heaved with each fresh glut of restraint rapidly ceding ground before that onslaught of unleashed lust. Everywhere his grasping hands ventured, electric ribbons of molten desire seemed to trail in their wake - intent on bathing you in the scorching, centered totality of pleasures Ushijima so rarely ever permitted himself to indulge at all.

Before that towering obsession could well and truly drown you beneath roiling tidal waves of sin, a final gossamer filament of conscience finally managed to penetrate the eruption enough for Ushijima to tear his lips free with a hoarse, bestial snarl of exquisite torment.

"You...have no idea..." he rasped in a slaughtering graveled baritone drenched in consumed want yet still somehow begging for Purchase. For you to meet him in the raging inferno of abandon he'd prepared to burn for. "What you do to me, little one..."

A desperate noise punched its way free from the back of your throat at those words - as if voicing the very same primal understanding now thrashing at your core as well. You were suddenly everywhere at once, pliant and heated and utterly unraveled, panting hot entreaties against the fury of Ushijima's next merciless inhale.

"W-what do I do, Wakatoshi?"

A harsh groan rattled loose from somewhere deep inside the ace spiker's chest cavity at those words. At the sheer, audacity of them. The brazen invitation they implied.

It was a question he couldn't possibly answer in any rational capacity. A question that demanded total and utter subjugation in the face of its overwhelming implications.

And one which Ushijima could no longer refuse.

With a vicious exhale, his broad, calloused palms slid to cup the generous curve of your rear in a claiming caress. Without pause, Ushijima dragged you upwards against his rippling torso, angling your head and lips back against his with an unhurried, deliberate savagery.

This kiss was different from the others. Gone was the frenetic pace and wild abandon of your initial collision. Now, his mouth moved over yours with a languid, unrepentant thoroughness - mapping out every seam and crease of plush compliance with the implacable, measured focus he normally reserved for the court.

A breathy keen vibrated from the center of your throat, and Ushijima seized the opportunity to delve deeper with a sinuous twist of his tongue, claiming the wet warmth of your mouth for his own once more. His large fingers dug into the pliant swell of your rear, kneading and spreading the supple globes apart until he could feel the wet heat radiating off your pussy soaking through the thin fabric of your shorts against his straining arousal.

A groan tore loose from Ushijima's chest, raw and needy, as he began rocking his hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding his clothed cock into the slickness gathering between your thighs. The feel of your cunt pulsing against his length was like a match striking a dry forest. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd been so hard. So fucking desperate.

But the way your arms locked around his neck and your slim legs hooked around his waist as he continued rolling his hips sent an avalanche of need roaring through him. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. He wanted you spread and bared, wanton and desperate beneath him.

"On your back, little one," he growled against the damp swell of your bottom lip.

The way your pupils dilated and your eyes darkened at the order was so damn sexy. The way you scrambled to obey was even sexier.

Without releasing his grip, Ushijima lowered himself atop you, careful not to let the full weight of his bulk rest upon you. He was a big man. Too big to risk crushing your smaller frame beneath his.

He would have to find other ways to keep you pinned beneath him.

With the tip of his index finger, he traced a path down the silky column of your neck, over your collarbone, and across the slope of your chest, watching as your nipples pebbled and hardened under his feather-light touch. He paused for a moment, admiring the view, and then he slid his finger down to the hem of your shirt.

He lifted his eyes to yours. "Arms above your head."

Your eyelids fluttered as you lifted your arms over your head, your breath coming in short bursts, and then you complied.

Ushijima pulled your shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind him. He didn't bother unhooking your bra. Instead, he shoved it up, baring your tits to his hungry gaze.

He dipped his head, capturing a nipple between his lips and sucking it into his mouth, while his hand cupped the soft swell of the other. A low, breathy moan echoed from the back of your throat as you squirmed beneath him, and he couldn't suppress a groan. Your taste was better than he'd imagined.

His teeth scraped over the sensitive peak, and a whimper bubbled from the back of your throat. You arched your back, pushing your breasts further into his mouth and hands, and he released the nipple with a wet pop, lifting his head and giving you a stern look.

"No moving. I'll tie you down if I have to."

The thought of tying you up sent another rush of blood to his already throbbing dick, but now wasn't the time. He could tie you up and torture you later, when he'd had a chance to go to the store and pick out some pretty restraints and maybe a vibrator.

Instead, he returned his attention to the task at hand, his thumb stroking over your hardened nipple while his lips descended upon the other. You gasped, writhing beneath him, and he nipped the delicate flesh with his teeth, eliciting a squeak.

"Be a good girl," he murmured. "Stay still for me."

And then, without waiting for an answer, he returned his mouth to your tits, licking and sucking, biting and pinching until the peaks were red and swollen, and you were a shivering mess beneath him.

By the time he finally lifted his head, the crotch of his shorts was soaked, and he could feel your own slickness soaking through the thin material of your panties.

He slid a hand between your bodies, tracing the outline of your folds through the soaked fabric. You moaned, arching your hips, and he gave a sharp smack to your thigh.

"Don't move," he ordered.

He hooked a finger under the hem, tugging it to the side, and his cock twitched at the sight of your glistening pussy. His mouth watered at the prospect of tasting you, but his own arousal was quickly becoming a problem. His erection was straining painfully against the fly of his shorts, and he was dangerously close to coming just from the friction of the fabric rubbing against him.

He tugged your underwear the rest of the way off, and you shivered as the cool air of the room washed over your heated flesh.

"Cold, baby?" he murmured, and you nodded.

"We'll fix that soon enough," he promised.

He pulled his own shirt off and tossed it aside. He didn't bother to unfasten his shorts, just unzipped them and pushed them and his boxers down enough to release his cock.

His balls tightened as his shaft sprang free, bobbing heavily between his thighs. He wrapped his fist around his shaft, pumping it slowly. He didn't need much stimulation. Just seeing you sprawled out before him, naked and wet, was enough to get him there.

He shuffled a bit closer and rested his heavy cock on the soft skin of your abdomen, hissing as the head of his cock rubbed against the smooth plane of your stomach. He couldn’t believe how tiny you were. How his cock could cover your entire stomach. How the tip of it almost reached your sternum.

He groaned, pumping his cock a few more times before lifting it and sliding the length between the wet lips of your pussy. You gasped as his cock glided over your clit, and he repeated the motion, enjoying the way you moaned and writhed.

"Look at you, taking my cock so well," he breathed, watching as his shaft slipped and slid over your clit.

You whimpered, and he increased his pace, rocking his hips and fucking his length between the swollen lips of your pussy. "S’ too big…" you whimpered, the walls of your cunt contract around nothing.

He grunted, thrusting faster, feeling your slickness coat his cock, making it easier for him to slide between the folds of your pussy. You moaned, arching your hips and trying to rub yourself against him, but he didn't let you. Instead, he pulled his cock away, smacking the underside of his length against your clit.

"Fuck!" you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders, gripping the solid muscle and squeezing as you tried to find purchase.

"Don't move," he repeated, swatting his cock against your clit a second time, and then a third, before pressing the tip against your entrance.

Your eyes widened, and you stared up at him with an expression that was half-terror and half-excitement. He smiled down at you, his fingers tangling in the hair at the base of your skull, pulling your head back so you were forced to meet his gaze.

"You're going to take my cock like a good girl," he told you, and you shuddered, a whine slipping past your parted lips.

"I- I don't know if I can," you whispered, your voice shaky and uncertain, and he chuckled.

"Oh, you will," he assured you. "I’ll fuck you with just the tip first, okay? We'll start there and work our way up."

Your brow furrowed, and he could tell you were trying to figure out exactly what he meant by that. But then he was pressing his cock into your tight hole, and all thoughts flew from your mind as his girth stretched you open, stretching you wider than you'd ever been stretched before.

He didn't push his length into you right away, just slid his fat tip in and out, working you open. It felt incredible. You were so tight, so wet, and the way your muscles clenched and pulsed around his shaft had his balls drawing up, ready to blow his load.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me come," he grunted, pulling his cock free from your pussy and rubbing the head against your clit, enjoying the way you shivered and writhed, the way your juices dripped from your hole.

"Want to fill you up," he muttered, pushing his cock back into your cunt, watching the way his thick girth stretched you, disappearing inside of you, inch by inch. "Fill you with my cum and make you pregnant."

Your eyes widened, and you stared up at him with an expression that was part shock and part fear. He didn't care. You'd take his cum, and he'd fill you with it over and over until he was sure you were knocked up.

He slid his length the rest of the way inside of you, until his balls were pressed against the curve of your ass. Until he saw the imprint of his cock bulging through your abdomen. Until his entire shaft was buried deep inside your hot cunt, the head bumping against your cervix.

"Gonna fuck you with my whole cock," he told you, and you moaned, the walls of your pussy fluttering around his shaft. "Gonna make you come all over me."

You gasped, your hands moving to grip his biceps, your nails digging into his skin as he began to pump his length in and out of you, fucking you with his entire shaft. He fucked you fast and hard, his hips snapping, the head of his cock hammering against your cervix, and it didn't take long before your muscles were clenching around his girth, milking him as he pounded into you.

You cried out, your eyes screwing shut, your body trembling as your orgasm tore through you, and he knew he couldn't hold back anymore. With a groan, he thrust his cock deep inside your pussy and came, spurting thick ropes of cum inside your cunt, painting your inner walls with his potent seed. He didn’t stop flooding your womb with his virile cum until he saw the skin of your belly distend and your lower abdomen rounding slightly.

He pulled his cock out, his shaft glistening with his spend and your juices, and you winced, squirming beneath him as his cum trickled out of your cunt, leaking down your ass crack. He pressed his palm flat against the bulge in your belly, watching as the cum gushed out of your stuffed cunt.

"Fucked you so full," he said, rubbing the head of his cock against your swollen clit, making you shiver. "Gonna be dripping my cum for days."

You groaned, your eyes falling shut as he continued to tease your clit, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue darting out to trace the seam.

"I'm not finished with you yet, little one," he murmured, and you moaned. "I'm going to fill you with my seed over and over again until I'm sure you're pregnant. And then we’ll get married, won’t we?"

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ A Boy Named Heretic 

tw: mentions of stalking and theft. Dottore in his Akademiya days, reader hinted to be from Khaenri'ah. SFW

Imagine little boy Zandik, discreetly hiding behind the columns of the Akademiy, trying to take a peek at you from afar. You’d stand among your peers, the Akademiya’s uniform embracing your constitution to further highlight your comforting poise. You are taller than the young boy, a perfect image of a senior student with just a few semesters away from graduating and becoming an official researcher. Alas, the teen felt self-conscious to approach you directly, since he was only a junior trainee Dastur. 

Imagine little boy Zandik eavesdropping on your discussion with your friends. You’d complain to your friends how one of your notebooks on Linguistic Semantics and Pragmatics was lost. You were a diligent student, and your written notes were a reflection of your hard work, so it was natural for you to feel bummed out about losing your notebook out of the blue. Zandik would persist in eavesdropping, noticing your friends providing consultative pats on your back: “Maybe you left it some other place?” or “Maybe you forgot it in the previous class?” - they’d say. Little did you know that a young trainee Dastur was hugging your notebook close to himself, not admitting to anyone that he was the one who stole it.

Imagine little boy Zandik sneaking off into the lush gardens of the Akademiya or some other miscellaneous corner of Sumeru. He’d hold your notebook protectively as if it was his newest treasure from the one he adores. He’d spend hours reading your notes, analyzing your handwriting, and smiling at the small doodles left on certain pages. Zandik’s fingers would gently trace the outline of your pages, memorizing the unique theories and thoughts you conveyed in your notebooks. His dorm room was filled with various notes or papers you randomly discarded or forgot about. Now it proudly hung, being displayed on his wall. 

Imagine little boy Zandik never telling anyone that he was the one who pocketed your negligible belongings. Yet in a couple of weeks or months, you’d mysteriously find your long-forgotten notebooks once more. There it is, in your backpack, as if you never lost it. You’d scratch your head in confusion, unaware of carnelian red eyes staring at you from across the library. Even yet, oblivious of the boy whose cold stare would turn into a longing gaze. Any books you borrowed from the library a week ago were now on his desk.

Imagine little boy Zandik being conveniently nearby when you stormed into the student affairs office, complaining to one of the supervisors how your Akademiya uniform was stolen. You’d relentlessly argue about how you definitely did not leave it somewhere randomly, only to forget it after returning from a research expedition. Thus, after a useless talk in the office, you’d sigh and slump down in the empty hallway wearing casual clothes due to your missing uniform. 

“...Excuse me, miss?” - a small voice interrupted your thoughts when a junior student approached you. He stood there for a while, hands behind his back and big round eyes gawking. 

“...Um, yeah?” - you replied with uncertainty, trying to conjure a polite smile. “How may I help you?” 

“You’re not in your Akademiya uniform. I heard a commotion from the office from which you came from…” - he spoke, although hesitantly as if looking you straight in the eyes was an act of disrespect that could shatter him. “Did you lose yours?” 

“Ah, well, about that…” - you groaned, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry, was I too loud that other students heard from the hallway? My bad… Yes, I have indeed lost mine. Although I am more than certain it was stolen directly from my bag.” 

The young trainee Dastur stood in front of you, his eyes still wide and observant of your every move. He mustered a reply and said: “Don’t worry. No one heard… Only I did.” 

You stared at him awkwardly. Where did this boy come from? 

“Is this yours, miss?” - he suddenly revealed neatly folded clothes from behind his back. And wouldn’t you know, it was indeed your uniform. You hopped up in an instant. 

“Whoa-! It’s my uniform! But how, and where did you find it?” 

Imagine little boy Zandik invoking all his courage to stand still before you while biting his lips nervously as he handed you your belongings. Your immediate shift to awe and excitement upon your found uniform was a lot. You were indeed taller than him, your mere presence made him feel like a child, stammering and shifting coyly. However, he finally muttered his name to you and explained how he found some folded uniforms mysteriously left behind. 

Imagine little boy Zandik feeling relieved when you believed him, even when you noticed that the uniform was oddly warm despite being missing. And yet you still looked at him with sincere gratitude and a warm appreciation. The boy’s lips would tug into a guileful smile when you left. He’d remember your smell from the uniform. 

Imagine little boy Zandik managing to catch you every morning in the Akademiya’s hallway. He’d always approach you, so silent yet observant, but only when you weren't surrounded by your classmates and other seniors. You thought it was a coincidence that his breaks matched yours and that he’d inadvertently stay in the same remote hallways you always preferred. He was visibly reclusive when talking, but his curiosity was palpable like his gawking red eyes. He often asked you about your interests, research, classes, and frankly anything. The young trainee Dastur never got bored of hearing you ramble and rant about ancient technology or languages; instead, the boy huddled close to you, with his legs swinging gently. 

You didn’t have to know that his break schedule did not match yours. But your inconspicuous meetings became a daily routine nonetheless. 

Imagine little boy Zandik clutching onto your uniform and asking in horror: “What do you mean you’re leaving the Akademiya?!”. You informed him that although you graduated and got your thesis approved, you refused all invitations to work as a researcher or a trainee professor at the Akademiya. It wasn’t an easy decision, and you wished to withhold that information from him, but the boy was eerily observant. He saw your signed papers and coaxed an explanation from you. 

“...I’m sorry, Zandik. I have to.” - your voice filled with as you stared down at him clutching onto you. regret 

 “You can’t just leave!” - his grip on you was not firm, but it was pleading. “You are an exceptional alumni! You could become a professor in just a few years. If you wait just a little, I’ll finish my senior classes and become a junior like you, too! And- and, in just a couple of years, I’d be a student in your courses! I’ll be your best student in class, I promise!” 

The boy begged and pressed himself onto you as if you’d vanish forever. It hurt to see him like that, it hurt to say you’d leave him. You squatted down to meet his gaze.

“Zandik, it’s all right. You’re already a top A student in your class. It’s just the circumstances that are calling to me, and I’ll have to leave Sumeru. I won't be staying to work here. I’ll… have to return to my home country.” 

“You won't even stay in Sumeru…? But your theories on ancient technologies, the ruin guards, the anthropology of the Cataclysm… a-and me - you can’t just leave it all behi-'' Znadik's lips were shut with your palm, trying to keep him at bay and not cause a scene. It took a while to shush him, and you’ve never seen him in such enraged distress.

“As much as I loved my studies and research, I… do not wish to stay in the Akademiya. This institution would not be so welcoming if I were to pursue my theories. This is not the academic career I desire.” 

Imagine little boy Zandik not understanding at the time. Why would the Akademiya not be happy with your topics of interest? What’s so wrong with learning about Khaenri'ahan technology? You’re Khaenri'ahan. What’s wrong with your thesis on the origins of cataclysms throughout Teyvat? He read them, he worships them, and you determined to leave it all behind? 

Imagine little boy Zandik concealing his choked anger as he whispered “... You would leave me behind?”. He never confessed he was the one who stole your notebooks numerous times, or how he reads your papers at night with a flashlight, or how he stole your uniform to relish your scent and imagine it was you he was holding tightly. 

He could’ve held you. He could’ve done many things if you stayed. Now his last anchor in this cursed institution was gone. 

Imagine little boy Zandik glaring daggers at a classmate named Sohreh, who blurted out once: “So what if some random alumni left the Akademiya? It’s not like their research was the most unique one… students come and go, right?” 

Imagine little boy Zandik is no more. Because after 400 years, in his place stood a dangerous man, deemed a heretic and the 2nd of the Fatui Harbingers. He would achieve great scientific length, no matter how immoral and heretical they were, all thanks to the inspiration of your works when you were young. His works in creating segments were not for naught, because his influence was used for both the Fatui’s and personal gains too. Personal, as in scavenging the corners of Teyvat and Abyss to locate you. 

Imagine Dottore finding you, after almost 400 years, instead of the little boy you once knew. Because that little boy from the Akademiya never stopped imagining you being back.

➻ A small illustration of Zandik that I did for this fic is here too :)

[girlfromthecrypt]

The sea breeds giants. So did I.

(TW: forced impregnation; non-graphic, basically implied. Also non-human.)

When I was young, I became aware of a peculiar talent of mine. When in the sea, I can dive as deep as I want without ever having to come up for air. The pressure seems to have no effect on me, either. The ocean turned into my playground.

I was born and bred in a small coastal town. Growing up, I came to know by heart the sound of the waves crashing against the rugged shore and the smell of salt carried across the land by every breeze, hanging in the air with every breath. My parents were never reluctant to let me go swimming by myself. Whether that was out of faith and trust in nature or simple negligence I'll never know, but I was grateful for it nonetheless. I wouldn't have had it any other way. When I went down to the beach, I would always go alone. I'd always return to the same desolate little spot that was all my own. Nobody ever found me there. Nobody ever wandered by.

I started, quite literally, testing the waters. I'd stay under for longer each time, exploring new depths at every opportunity. The further I swam, the more I saw of the world below. The masses of water didn't crush me as they would have a similarly unprotected body.

The volume of air in my lungs never seemed to decrease with my descension, and I never felt so much as a hint of pain when surfacing. I could open my eyes and my vision would be just as good as on land. Furthermore, I could swim faster than what should have been possible. Occasionally, I'd get so lost in the motion that I'd swim for a couple minutes only to then come up, turn and find that I couldn't see the shore anymore.

I did encounter a bunch of creatures that had intentions of eating me, but I was able to escape every last one of them, always getting away without so much as a scratch. Sometimes, I actually found it exhilarating. I know just how dumb I was being, willfully putting myself into danger, but at the time, I felt invincible.

There I was, a tiny human exploring the dark, vast expanses others were so intimidated by—all on my own. It was a deeply spiritual experience. I was by myself, sometimes so deep underwater that I could hardly see the light from above at all anymore. It was these pitch-black spaces that truly intrigued me. While I could see much better in the darkness than most people, it was still kind of… off-limit. These areas somehow struck me as distinctly more threatening, more dangerous and unnerving than just the wide, open sea.

They were yawning, abysmal maws, practically brimming with mystery. Then one day, I just… did it. I swam further and dove deeper than ever before. I plunged into the darkness, into the murky cold. I had never minded the freezing temperatures, and I didn't now. I was solely focused on what was below, without a clue on what I expected to find. I figured there had to be something amazing. Or perhaps there was nothing there for me to see. Maybe I was simply doing it to prove to myself that I could go the distance.

Perhaps I really didn't think I would discover much. Which made it all the more surprising when I spotted a greenish-blue glow in the distance. It immediately drew my attention and I started moving towards it, slower than before but just as deliberate. While a primal sense of dread began to creep further up in my chest with every stroke that carried me closer to the unearthly light, my curiosity far outweighed my apprehension. The colder and deeper it got, the brighter it became. Where in the world was it coming from?

I kept steadfastly heading towards it, until I could finally make out the source. When I realized it, I stopped, freezing mid-movement. Floating in the dark masses of water, seemingly endless widths and depths both above and below me, I was hovering motionlessly in the void of space. And staring at me from within the blackness beneath was an enormous glowing eye.

It sat within a horrid face, above a mouth so big it could have easily swallowed me whole, and a dozen people more. It opened its maw a mere slither, revealing rows upon rows of needle teeth, each one longer than I was tall. The body this head was attached to was so gargantuan that the better part of it remained invisible to me, hidden in the nebulous spheres of the bottom. I cannot describe to you the fear that I felt in that moment.

It wasn't just the terrifying sight in front of me, not just the teeth and glowing eyes; it was the sheer size of this monstrosity. I suddenly felt like I was merely a grain of sand on a big, long beach—a tiny speck among billions so easily carried away with each lap of the tide. If I was the grain, then this was the wave. Hulking, mighty, boundless; unaware of such a minute little being as myself, unaware and uncaring. If this creature were to swallow me, I would forever be forgotten, and it would live on none the wiser of my panic in the face of its vastness.

I stayed perfectly still, floating in place despite the icy currents pushing and pulling at my body. Stayed perfectly still, my blood frozen, my heart in my stomach as the snake's giant eyes bored into me. I knew then and there that I had been wrong.

This being was aware of me. And when I heard the voice in my head, the tiniest of whispers, I realized that it was even more than that.

"You are very small for a thing with purpose."

I don't know how I responded. I suppose I simply thought the words, but somehow, the Ancient did hear my question.

"What are you?" I asked the thing in the dark.

"I am."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Not if I can help it."

Despite the relatively soothing nature of these words, there was an undertone to the murmur they were spoken in. There was calculation there, raw and vicious.

"Will you let me go?"

"Afterwards."

I kept staring, my thoughts racing as I feverishly contemplated whether to flee or to linger. Something told me that if I moved a single muscle, I would be sucked into the space behind those needle teeth within a heartbeat.

"I have a need for you."

My throat constricted when a strange fog seemed to ooze from the creature's body; swirling, misty tendrils mixing with the water and enveloping me in their strange pale haze.

"What is this?" my mind cried out in terror.

I struggled, kicking and flailing to maneuver my rigid form out of this strangely contaminated zone. For the first time in my life, swimming did not come effortlessly. Through my clouded vision, I could see the unearthly green light slowly fading as the Ancient shut his eyes, masses of water shifting as it sank down to the very bottom once more.

I was then hurled up to the surface by a current that dragged me almost the entire way back to shore. I was swept onto dry land by the waves, and on the beach I laid, trembling in the summer sun as my eyes gazed into the far too bright sky. When I was found, I was burnt and blistered and covered in my own vomit. A group of surfers happened upon me by chance and took me to a nearby hospital. It took three of them to carry me. My stomach had swollen to the size of a beach ball.

The doctors couldn't explain it. Neither to myself nor my parents. Without ever having known intimate human contact, I was pregnant. The unborn baby was growing rapidly. I was rendered immobile by its weight and size merely three days after the conception. A week later, I gave birth. I don't remember any of it, having been sedated during the process. But I can still see the faces of the medical staff looming over me, the last image from before I fell asleep etched into the folds of my brain. Their eyes wide open, features contorted in shock and disbelief.

My daughter was released into the sea a couple weeks after her birth. I hadn't yet regained my ability to walk, so my father carried me down to the shore to watch as my baby slithered into the shallows and disappeared in the waves. During her brief time on land, her weight had already doubled and tripled. Nobody had any idea what to do with her besides letting her go.

It's been two years since then. I haven't set foot into the water since I met the Ancient, and I avoid the beach however I can. But yesterday was different. Yesterday, something enormous washed ashore. I recognized the Ancient by the form of his severed head and his lifeless round eyes. I recognized the father of my child. There was no trace of the rest of his body, except the red that tainted the shallows. I don't know if the Ancient had envisioned this end for himself, but whatever the case, I felt light as a feather gazing upon his mangled remains.

Thank you, baby girl.

______

OOC: Hi! Followers of mine who have migrated from nosleep likely know this story already, but since I'm still getting the hang of this whole Tumblr-thing, I figured I'd post it here, too. Basically as a test, though I guess I'll pull a lot of other stories from there over here, too. Either way, this is a a dark one I'm rather proud of. I hope you guys enjoyed!

[icecoldwilliams]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐋: 𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐈𝐙𝐘𝐒 | ✲・*:✲・*:･ﾟ

|| TW: Grief, drinking, death, hinted suicidal ideation (if you brought your magnifying glass)

Humanity has such a understated habit of spreading turmoil.

Various causal hubris's parallel incurable viruses running rampant across the globe, left undetected by the immune system even without a soul spared from the infection. War, misgivings and countless tragedies often rooted in the minimized concepts of pride, jealousy, and senseless rage ; Mere misguided ideations disguised in order to justify even the indefensible.

Assumptions. Even something so simple, so moronic as assumptions could control the world in the right hands.

— Cold, cruel, merciless, unloving. An emotionless robot only capable of caring about monetary gain.

Idiots spread the labels given her throughout the masses in the form of insults, as if she didn't meticulously craft the initial mask herself.

She'd load the gun with blanks. And if it meant shrouding the more... undesirable truth, they could pull the trigger over and over again as many times as they please.

Let the bullets hit the frozen glass window on dreary grey nights, let them rain against it with the water dripping from the sky - but never, ever, pull back the curtain to the dim-lit condominium. ; Blind your eyes of the blonde sitting at the kitchen island, empty bottle of Jameson and it's half empty friend joining a downed glass of kin.

Fatal digits tonight not gracing euros, yen or dollars, but instead infirmly running across sorry excuses for 'names', made up of mere letters and numbers. Listed in a worn file only alongside otherwise meaningless dates, biological info and synonymous statuses printed in bold ink:

'ꜰᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ ; ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ'

'ꜰᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ ; ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ'

'ꜰᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ ; ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ'

Victims of supposed sepsis. Embolisms. Organ failure. Repeated into the double digits. The words littered the pages like the alcohol tainted the assassins typically rational mind. Tempting her to again sit here, head in hand senselessly pondering the negligible. Reviewing the short lived, the manufactured, all that were apparently unfit for the cruel fate forced upon them. Debating useless questions in regards to how their lives could've played out.

Some nights it revolved around names and the string of them that followed based on whatever pleased the cold woman's ears. Others, inherited traits, interests, career fields, genetics.....

Maybe they would've inherited her infamous azures, currently staring yet not seeing. Sans any despair.. ; Glassy yet winning against any hint of tears.

Any hint of love.

If anything, outsiders wouldn't see the traces of responsibility lacing the withdrawn for mere blips with only two left to remember their existence.

For those on this list who wouldn't have been tortured, poked and prodded from the day of their conception to the day of their death if it hadn't been for rare misjudgment, and those who wouldn't find solace in a frigid heart, but atop resolute shoulders.

Only momentarily slumped under their weight.

Because come tomorrow, the sun would rise even if behind remaining clouds. Her head would pound. Files would again be concealed both where only she would be able to find them and where she would never look without whiskey's aid. And just as expected, ever frigid Nina Williams would walk per usual, head held high, shoulders back.

No cracks in the apathy. Burdens invisible and never assumed just as she preferred. Spite fueled and dwindling will again go toe to toe with loose ends. ; Bodies lost to an uncaring and all but considered mythical sea.

— Even had fate been different, the mercenary wouldn't love the negligible names. One sole survivor walking this earth was enough. - But for now, at the very least, this cold hearted bitch would live for them to both be remembered and stay drowned far below sheets of ice another day. | ✲・*:✲・*:･ﾟ

[perfectly-intoxicated]

tw: mentions of child endangerment

'Woman Sentenced to Serve 15 Years in Federal Prison for Child Endangerment/Negligent.'

Hannah stares at the paper. The words stare back at her, taunting. Who even reads papers anymore?

Her, apparently.

When her hands start shaking again, she tosses the newsletter aside onto the pristine green grass and rotates her wrists in slow circular motions. Her stress ball is inside, but she really doesn't want to go in. The elderly couple fostering her were sweet. They made her snickerdoodle cookies last night and taught her how to play Parcheesi.

They were too nice in a way that made her uncomfortable.

A woman had passed by the house today, and she hadn't needed to step through the entrance to see her seated with Anne and Benny (the fairytale, elderly couple) through the glass of the door. She should be happy at the possibility of leaving, of having a new place to stay. But at this point, the idea of staying at anyone's house makes her feel sick to her stomach.

Sleeping in the woods under a pile of rocks as blankets sounded better. Like a poorwill bird.

So now here she is, sitting on the steps of a porch that wasn't hers, in a house that wasn't hers, with people she didn't want to get to know better.

The front door opens and closes behind her, and the sound of heels clicking against the wood confirms it was definitely not Anne. Anne would've fallen the second she got a pair of heels on and broken her back from her lack of balance and grace. Respectfully.

Seconds pass. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. When it passes that time range, she turns back to look at the woman staring her down as if she were an ancient artifact who needed to be studied, and raises her eyebrows in a way that silently asks her to talk already.

"What?"

"You're not what I expected."

Her voice is deep and smooth, with the hints of an accent lingering behind every word. Colombian, maybe. Her tone reminds her of the satin sheets they used inside the house for each of the beds, but not intolerable. Sort of... comforting.

Sort of. Not entirely.

"Well, sorry to disappoint." Hannah disregards her with a sarcastic frown, and turns her head back to face away from the woman and ahead of her instead. She feels the presence step closer until she's seated right next to her, and she wants to rip her hair out from not being able to have a single moment to herself.

"Cuando mencioné disappointment?" While she couldn't say or understand a single fucking word of Spanish, her tone makes it easier to decipher what she means, and Hannah turns back to give her an incredulous look.

If she wasn't so over her already, she could appreciate how beautiful she is. Pitch black hair that cascades down her back in light beach waves, with even the hints of frizz around each curl not getting any attention from how her face is painted and pampered with the kind of make-up douchey men would look at and say was 'natural'. She made the embroidered print of her white blouse and her deep blue jeans look classy, when it would most definitely look cheap on anyone else.

It would be easier to insult her if her personality wasn't so patient and her appearance was terrible.

"What did you mean then?" Hannah asks, forearms resting over her knees and fingers picking at the dry skin of her thumbs, pushing back her cuticle only to try and pick it off.

The woman folds her hands in front of her and mirror her motions, head tilted as she thinks. "I've seen what you've been through. I've done my research. Having to raise a parent because of their poor decision-making, growing up in a world where you can't trust anyone. I know what that is like, y es una mierda."

"But you're strong. Resilient." She continues, the corners of her lips raising, and there's a glimpse of something in her eyes that Hannah hasn't seen in a while. Respect. "You have every right to let the world crush you and die right where you sit. It was what everyone expected of you. Yet here you are, looking at me like I'm ridiculous and you'd rather be anywhere else."

"You sound ridiculous. And I would rather be anywhere else."

The woman finally lets herself smile fully, as if her words weren't even the slightest bit rude. "If that's the case, I have the perfect 'anywhere else' location. If you'll be able to 'tolerate me', that is."

Hannah's eyes flit over her face and study her demeanor, looking for signs of deception or ulterior motive. Her body is relaxed, far calmer and confident in her own skin than she was in her own, like any choice she made wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things and she was only giving her a choice in the matter because she seemed interesting enough.

She could give two shits over how she used to live. No sympathy, no empathetic glances at the scars of her hands, and that's exactly what she wanted.

"So I guess I just go off with a stranger that easily, huh?"

"Something tells me you're desperate to leave this house." Fuck, and she really was. It got under her skin, how she could read her so easily and Hannah couldn't tell if the amusement she's displaying was real or not. Shifting where she sits, she huffs out a breath and slips her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt, the both of them flexing open and then into a fist once they're out of sight.

"Maybe if you tell me your name, I'll consider it." Even though she already had her answer.

The woman holds out her hand in greeting the same way one would when meeting the governor or some shit and not some moody sixteen-year-old. "Monica. A pleasure."

[heizedaze]

ACCESS - Girl's Rebirth

A list of Girl’s Rebirth and the things related to it. TW: negligence, mentions of eating disorders, mentions of weight, mentions of colorism, xenophobia (pls let me know if you spot anymore!)

Girl's Rebirth is the survival show that Vanity was formed from. It lasted from September 9, 2017 to December 18, 2017.

After the show, more and more viewers started to see it as controversial due to the treatment of the trainees on it.

Many past trainees have come out to talk about their experiences on the show. Some talking about how the show was purposely made to make money off of them without receiving a dime. “We created music, we choreographed it, we produced it, we recorded it, and we performed it. Without complaint. We believed the lies they fed us, that the only way to prove you were really idol material was to overwork ourselves and do whatever.” Two ex-members of the show told the public. “We were all so scared, of getting so far into the show then being dropped. Sometimes, we wouldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t eat. We couldn’t even sleep or eat, there are only 24 hours in a day, and we needed 30.” After this interview, many others came to talk about their own problems and experiences. They spoke about how their health deteriorated, to the point they had to spend weeks on a IV drip in a hospital before going home. “There was only two ways to be considered lucky; one being that you debuted, the other being that you were eliminated early.”

Mentions of male staff members telling the girl they wouldn’t debut if they “weighed too much”. “I used to cry in my room for something sweet, but I never caved in fear of me gaining weight.” Even some of Vanity’s members have spoken about it. “I remember a staff member constantly referring to Naeun and I as ‘broken japanese speakers’ because we were the foreign ones in our cells. He would play it off as a joke, but it wasn’t. We both felt it. The hatred he had for us. It was there, clear as day.” - Hannie

While the members have not directly addressed the colorism claims, they have hinted at it being the truth. “Well..it is true we weren’t treated the same. The biggest difference between us and the rest of our members is our appearance. I can’t guarantee an answer. Some comments from past staff have passed on, but that’s all.” - Mian + Viana & Ara

Shortly after, the CEO herself, released an apology on behalf of the company.

Hello. This is Shin Dahye of WX Entertainment. Due to the many allegations, we had decided to launch a private investigation within the company. We will confirm that these incidents have proven to be true. On behalf of the entertainment, I would to formally apologize to the victims of these horrible actions and their families. The employees involved in these actions are been released from the company, for we do not want those individuals to represent us as a company. We offer compensation and are willing to help and support the families through legal action against these people. But most of all, as CEO, I am at blame. I had only been the CEO of WX ENT for about 3 months prior to first recording of “Girl’s Rebirth”. I was not the CEO you deserved, I let others use power through me and hurt you. I believed that they only wanted to help, not hurt. Once again, I apologize for the events that happened with our ex employees.

But even til today, the contestants support Vanity. “We don’t blame them, we all went through it. We all suffered.” It was confirmed that Vanity is still friends with many of the contestants and that they talk all the time. “We know that they would have done the same thing if we were the ones to debut instead. Thank you Vanity, for never leaving.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

>Basics< Theme Song : Candied Heart (similar to PICK ME - PRODUCE 48)

There was 110 contestants which 8 of them would get to debut.

The final lineup:

1st place : Hiro

2nd place : Daiyu

3rd place : Hannie

4th place : Mian

There was a misconception of one of Mian and Hiro’s conversations. Some believed that Mian was belittling Hiro’s abilities. But when the uncut version came out, it was proven that it was simply the editing.

5th place : Ara

Ara was actually in 7th place but then a mentor used a Mirror Card* on her.

6th place : Chiyo

7th place : Viana

8th place : Naeun

Naeun was almost eliminated but was saved by a Rebirth Card*

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

>Popular performances<

Mian, Viana, Ara - Coconut Cream (SIMILAR TO : Catallena - Orange Caramel)

Daiyu, Hannie, Naeun, + 3* - WEE WOO (SIMILAR TO : WEE WOO - Pristin)

+ 6* - Get Up (SIMLAR TO : OH YA YA YA - Lunarsolar)

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Vocabulary:

Rebirth Card : It is basically a save card, a mentor can use a Rebirth Card to save a contestant who is almost about to be eliminated.

Mirror Card : It doubles the amount of votes/points you get in one round. Similar to how a Mirror reflects an image.

+ number : The number of other constestants that were in the performance.

DO YOU SEEK MORE VANITY?

[veronicaphoenix]

INTO THE ABYSS OF BAD HABITS — BONUS SCENE

The engagement party | Series masterpost ✧.*

This takes place between part 4 and the epilogue. | Word count: 9.5k | Tags and tw: established polyamorous relationship, recurrent mentions of building anxiety throughout the entire text, recurrent mentions of religion, mentions of alcoholism and fractured families, parent's negligence, swearing, noah and oliver being traumatized boyfriends, slight jealousy, dirty talks, sexual content (including nudity in public spaces, oral sex, fingering, spankings, and slight hint at Noah having a high-heel kink. Also, Oliver just loves being on his knees).

I stood frozen in the hall, the shopping bags hanging from my hands as I sharpened my sense of hearing. The giggles I’d just heard coming from the bathroom faded, and soon, a long masculine moan took their place. 

            That was unmistakably Noah’s.  

            I was tempted to drop the bags and run to the bathroom in my apartment suite. However, the sounds that followed his first moan rooted me in place. I was suddenly consumed with curiosity; I was eager to hear whatever other sounds and words would follow from Noah and Oliver’s heated activities in the shower. 

            The music extended for about five minutes, finishing with a long groaning wail from Noah and Oliver’s loud words that said ‘you taste fucking delicious, man’, followed by Noah’s embarrassed laugh. 

            I busied myself preparing a cup of coffee in the kitchen when the two of them came out from the room and into the living room, having heard me rummaging through cabinets and drawers. 

            “Hi, boys,” I said with a grin on my face and eyebrows raised to them. 

            They were wrapped in a towel, hair all wet and stuck to their foreheads and necks. Both their knees were red, an acknowledgement at how intense and how reciprocating their activities had been in the shower.  

            “Enjoyed your shower?” 

            Oliver’s laugh resonated in the house. Noah came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, nuzzling my neck with his nose. His wet hair and the droplets of water still on his skin made me squirm in his arms. 

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Noah replied. 

            “Go slower. Yes, fuck, just like that. I’m pretty sure that was you.”

            “Can you blame him?” Oliver replied, leaning forward on the kitchen isle, looking intently at me and Noah. “Pretty boy can’t go a day without cock.”

            “Well, that makes two of us, then” I said, tilting my head to the side so that I could kiss Noah’s cheek. “Coffee?”

            “Yes, thank you.”

            Noah took a mug, and I served Oliver another. 

            They settled on the sofa, not bothering to remove the towels and get dressed. I had told them many times not to do that. I was worried that the wet stain would spoil the sofa, but they didn’t care, and if I insisted it only prompted them to make jokes about something else being wet and staining every other surface in the house. 

            As we enjoyed the next hour in a kind of slow motion, I took out my new dress from the bag and finally showed it to Noah and Oliver. My brother’s engagement party was in two days, and I was on the precipice of nerves and excitement.  

            The outfit I had carefully selected was a pastel-pink short-length dress that gracefully skimmed right above the knees, which gave a flirty and youthful vibe while keeping it elegant enough for the event. Its color on the satin fabric was delicate and perfect for this spring occasion. With its tight fit, the dress would accentuate every curve of my body. I would be lying if I denied I chose it while keeping in mind what it would do to Oliver and Noah once they saw me wearing it, along with my high-heeled white sandals. 

            “Have you tried on your suits, yet?” I asked, returning from the bedroom, where I hung the dress in the wardrobe. The expressions on their faces told me they hadn’t, and frankly, they didn’t seem too interested, either. “Boys! The party is in two days, and you don’t even know if the shirts we bought fit you.” 

            “They fit, baby,” Noah reassured casually, taking a sip of his coffee while Oliver’s hand idly traced over the knee Noah’s flower tattoo adorned. The TV droned in the background, and the Xbox controllers had migrated from their usual place on the TV stand to the coffee table. Was their plan for the day really just to play video games in the nude and sip coffee? 

            I arched an eyebrow.  

            “This is important,” I reminded them, not only because it was my brother’s engagement party but also because it would be the first time the three of us would be seen together as a couple. They were about to meet Jack’s fiancé, Sylvie, her family, and my mother. “We don’t have any other plans for the rest of the day, so here’s what we’re going to do: You two are going to try on your outfits and catwalk from the bedroom to the living room until I’m satisfied. Got it?” I waited. No response, so I took it as a yes. “Good.”

            Noah snorted, and Oliver raised an incredulous eyebrow.

            “You think you’re in a position to give orders? With two naked caffeinated men in the same room as you?” he quipped. 

            “Oh, please. Like it’s ever stopped me before,” I retorted with a roll of my eyes, diverting my attention to a bag in the kitchen counter that contained a few other purchases I had made that morning. 

            “Definitely not, and it’s always getting you in trouble,” Oliver replied.  

            “She definitely likes trouble,” Noah added, smirking, his eyes following me. 

            “Come on,” I insisted, growing desperate as I retrieved a small box containing new earrings from the bag. Noah and Oliver watched me expectantly, waiting for a reaction to their laziness. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, I dropped my shoulders in defeat. “Get rid of those towels and let’s get you into your outfits,” I said, marching over to the sofa and grabbing their hands in an attempt to coax them into action. 

            Predictably, they didn’t budge an inch, their raised eyebrows silently mocking my efforts. After a few moments, they burst into laughter at my expense before reluctantly following me to the bedroom, where they discarded their towels and allowed me to dress them. 

Two days later

At thirty minutes to seven, I was standing in front of the full-length mirror in the hall, flattening my dress and making sure my ass looked amazing. I was already wearing my high-heeled sandals and had applied some perfume from the bottle Oliver had gifted me last Christmas. Now, I was just waiting for the boys, who were inexplicably taking longer than expected to get ready. They had unceremoniously kicked me out of the bedroom before they had even donned their shirts or styled their hair, insisting on surprising me—as if I hadn’t already seen them in their outfits a couple of days prior. 

            As I stole another glance at my reflection, the muffled sounds of their conversation drifted through the closed door. I could hear them discussing how good they looked and playfully ribbing each other, smoothing down the shoulders of their buttoned shirts and exchanging compliments.

I would’ve verbalized how cute that felt from my position if it wasn’t for the sight that welcomed me when they emerged from the room. 

            As the door to the main bedroom swung open, Noah and Oliver emerged, both dressed impeccably, commanding my attention with their surprisingly refined sense of style. Their matching outfits had subtle variations that spoke about both the similarities and differences in their individual personalities. As I took in their appearance, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips, captivated by the sight of these two dashing and alluring figures. Each detail, from their meticulously chosen outfit to the glimpses of tattoos peeking out from beneath their partially unbuttoned shirts, added to their undeniable charm and left me utterly enthralled and in love.

            Noah led the way, clad entirely in sleek black, wearing tailored pants that hugged his legs with precision and shiny shoes that gleamed with every step. Beside him, Oliver followed suit, exuding a different yet equally captivating charm in his ensemble. He had chosen a crisp white shirt that provided a striking contrast against Noah’s darkness, but he pairedhim with similar tailored black pants and shoes.

            I was about to start drooling.

            “Am I supposed to keep my hands to myself all night?” I whispered as we made our way down in the elevator, the three of us unusually quiet and behaving like model citizens. We were anything but.

            “Let’s try to keep it nice and holy for Jack’s sake, shall we?” Oliver replied. “He’s already nervous enough about the fact that we’re both dating you.”

            “You’re right,” I sighed, feeling the weight of apprehension settle in my stomach. Noah squeezed my hand in reassurance and pressed a tender kiss to my hair, commenting on how delightful I smelled. 

            It wasn’t just Jack who was nervous; the butterflies in my stomach were in a frenzy, and I wasn’t sure if they would end up killing me. I knew the boys were sort of jittery, too. I was dead nervous, too, and I knew the boys were, too. 

            But this was inevitable. It was required. It had to happen sooner or later. The bandmates were already in the loop. Jack knew. Even Sylvie was clued in. But I still had to introduce them, and most importantly, introduce them to my utilitarian mother. The thought had kept me on edge for the past fortnight. 

            Once we reached the outdoor parking lot belonging to my condo, Oliver passed the car keys to Noah with a fluid motion, and he effortlessly caught them mid-air. Stupidly hot scenes like this one always left me awestruck, wondering once again how incredibly lucky I was to have both these men in my life and call them mine.  

             The car ride lasted no more than twenty minutes, during which we chatted casually. Oliver expressed concern about how he should behave and whether he needed to know anything specific about the people we were about to meet. I mentioned that Sylvie’s family was pretty religious, which added to my disquiet about the upcoming event. Jack had previously warned me about this aspect of Sylvie’s family. They had some old-school puritan roots, and while Sylvie herself wasn’t a follower and didn’t mind about my relationship with two men, her family might be shocked at the idea of a relationship of three. Normally, I would have brushed off their judgment, but it was my brother’s engagement party, and I wanted it to be memorable. I didn’t want to be judged, and I didn’t want anyone judging my brother for my decisions. 

            As I rambled on about my concerns, Noah sensed my insecurity and asked for my hand. He held it gently, giving it a reassuring kiss without taking his eyes off the road, assuring me that everything would go smoothly. It was a comforting gesture, but a lie anyway. None of us knew Sylvie’s family well enough to predict how they might react to our unconventional relationship dynamic. Besides, Noah was too calm, and that meant just the opposite: deep inside he was as agitated as I was and scared of screwing up.

            There was no possible way Noah could screw up that night, not even Oliver while we were at it.  They had it all together. They were both grown, mature, and educated men, and being with them as a real treat. They cared deeply about everyone around them and had hearts of gold.  

            If anything went sideways, it definitely wouldn’t be their fault. 

            And so it was, that the moment we stepped into the hotel lobby where Jack and Sylvie had organized the event and we walked through the doors to the function hall, all eyes turned towards us. Maybe it was Noah and Oliver’s towering frames and inked-up appearance that caught the attention, or perhaps it was the young woman between them, holding one’s hand and wrapping her other arm around the other’s waist. Either way, we definitely made an entrance.

            They looked at us as if wondering if I was fucking both these men. Truth was that indeed I was fucking both of them. They were fucking me, and they were fucking each other. It didn’t get any better than that.  

            With a friendly smile, we joined the crowd, exchanging greetings with some relatives and acquaintances with a casual wave of my hand, trying to keep our distance. I wasn’t keen on having to repeatedly clarify that Noah and Oliver weren’t just friends, but my boyfriends. There was only so much of that I could handle before feeling annoyed and exhausted. 

            Amidst the crowd, I head Jack’s voice calling out, “There’s my pretty sister!”

            I turned to find him, and as soon as I did, I wrapped my arms around him, letting him pull me into a warm embrace. He looked sharp in his black suit and silk tie, but more importantly, he looked genuinely happy, and that warmed my heart as well. 

            Growing up, Jack and I had had an ordinary childhood. We had our phases of intense animosity, during which we couldn’t stand each other, followed by periods where we simply pretended the other didn’t exist, especially during our teenage years. It wasn’t until adulthood that we truly began to appreciate the value of having a sibling—someone to rely on for support and friendship. Our upbringing was largely shaped by our mother and grandparents, as our father had left when I was just twelve years old. His struggles with alcoholism led to his frequent absences and eventual departure, leaving our family fractured. Our communication with him dwindled to just a couple of interactions per year, each of us speaking to him separately. Surprisingly, his lack of interested in his children may have been a blessing in disguise, as his absence didn’t weigh as heavily on Jack and me as it might have otherwise. In fact, I hardly noticed our father was gone until two months had passed, when Jack took me to his room, put a hand on my shoulder, and gently broke the news to me. 

            Although our father’s departure didn’t have a profound impact on me, it left a lasting mark on our mother, despite her insistence on the contrary. While she deserved an immense credit for raising Jack and me well, a part of her remained broken by the disappointment of her love story not unfolding as she had hoped. This disappointment sometimes manifested in her difficulty being optimistic and her resistance to unconventional ideas, particularly those that challenged the notion that life follows a perfect script of monogamous relationships and male dominance. She occasionally would express regret over divorcing our father, clinging to the belief that they could have salvaged their relationship and helped him overcome his struggles. However, my opinion on that didn’t quite agree with my mother’s, and neither did Jack’s. We had been too small to comprehend the extent of my father’s destructive behavior, but we had experienced enough to understand, much later, that it was very likely that his ways would have destroyed more than just a marriage.  

             I couldn’t help feeling apprehensive about introducing Noah and Oliver to my mother. I didn’t want her to perceive my relationship with them as wrong or to feat that I would get my heart broken not once, but twice. Moreover, I hoped she wouldn’t say anything hurtful to Noah and Oliver. She could be quite cold and harsh sometimes. 

             Noah and Oliver were well acquainted with my family background and my mother’s demeanor. In the days leading up to Jack’s event, I found myself wrestling with my own nerves, chewing my fingernails as I debated whether to attend alone or bring Noah and Oliver along. While they left the decision entirely up to me, they nudged me toward going together, recognizing that it was a step we would eventually need to take. It wasn’t that we were hiding our relationship, but the prospect of navigating non-traditional dynamics always brought a twinge of uncertainty.  

            Between the two of them, they helped me find the courage not only for that, but for many other things that, had I been alone, I probably wouldn't have done for fear of failure. 

            Oliver had his arm around me and gave my side a squeeze, reminding me that I had him on my right and could lean on him for anything. Noah squeezed my left hand. I took a deep breath. 

            “Thanks for coming,” Jack greeted us, shaking hands with Noah and then Oliver. After a brief moment of awkwardness, he laughed and pulled them both into hugs.  

            Thank goodness. 

            “I hope I didn't interrupt any concerts or important events.”

            “Not at all, man,” Oliver replied. “Besides, this is more important.”

            “Congratulations,” Noah said, giving Jack a pat on the shoulder.  

            “Thanks, man. It’s all a bit embarrassing, having to do this,” he commented, looking around, “but the bride’s family insisted, so…” When he looked at me, I gave him an understanding look. “By the way, I made sure to get some vegan options on the tables,” he informed, gesturing to the spread of foods and drinks on the tables. “Just look for the green sticker that says ‘vegan friendly’. Some of Sylvie’s friends are also vegan.”

            Oliver thanked him, and the conversation flowed from there, touching on both trivial and other more significant topics. Jack appeared slightly nervous, understandable given the attention on him and Sylvie that evening. Despite being accustomed to public speaking as a businessman, when it came to matters as personal as his love life, he couldn’t help but blush. It was endearing, reminding me of Noah, who used to flush at any mention of his affection for Oliver or whenever he was caught starting at him or at me.  

            After a few minutes of mingling, a familiar face approached Jack with an effusive greeting. It was Axel, one of Jack’s oldest friends from elementary school. They exchanged a brotherly hug, and Axel’s eyes widened in surprise when he noticed me. 

            He uttered my name in surprise, flashing a smile and opening his arms for a hug. 

            “I haven’t seen you in ages! How are you, beautiful?” 

            Behind me, I sensed Noah and Oliver tensing up, and If I had turned around, I would’ve seen them share a displeased look. 

            “I haven’t seen you since Jack and I graduated. You look fantastic,” he continued, his gaze roaming me up and down in appreciation but devoid of any hidden agenda. I wished I could have conveyed that assurance to Noah and Oliver, but before I could, Noah wrapped an arm around my waist, drawing me closer to him, while extending a hand toward Axel. 

            “Hey, I’m Noah. Her boyfriend.

            “Oh,” axel responded, shaking Noah’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Axel and you’re…” he turned to Oliver. 

            “Oliver. Her boyfriend, too.”

            As Axel shook Oliver’s hand, he froze for a moment, blinking. Glancing at me for confirmation, I offered a slightly embarrassed smile. Not embarrassed by having two boyfriends, but by their reaction toward Axel. 

            “Wow, that’s a surprise,” he remarked honestly. “But hey, if you’re happy, why not? You only live once, right?” 

            I had hoped Axel’s lightheartedness would ease Noah and Oliver’s preoccupations, but they remained on high alert, sticking close to me like protective Rottweilers waiting for someone to try and bite their female. 

            “Cool tattoos, by the way,” Axel continued, noticing Noah and Oliver’s inked skin.  

            I silently thanked Jack as he joined Axel’s comment and both steered the conversation that way and then toward business and music, giving me a chance to scan the room for my mother. I needed to introduce her to my partners so that I could get that done with and then discreetly slip away to some quiet corner where I wouldn’t have to worry about someone catching sight of me being smooched by two men. 

            But she was nowhere to be seen, and my anxiety mounted. 

            Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by hostile and unnecessary thoughts.     

            I quietly excused myself, explaining I needed a quick bathroom break. However, as I took a couple of steps away, Oliver grasped my wrist. When I looked up at him, I noticed an insecurity that always made me feel guilty.

            “I’ll be back in two minutes,” I reassured him in a whisper, and reached over to leave a kiss on his cheek. I cast a reassuring glance at Noah, too. 

            Before I got far enough away, I heard Axel’s inquisitive voice asking what prompted Oliver’s gesture. With honesty, Oliver admitted that he didn’t like letting me go to the bathroom alone. 

            “Why’s that?” Alex probed further; his curiosity piqued. “Are you two those type of overprotective boyfriends?”

            “No,” Oliver responded without tearing his gaze away from me, “we’re just traumatized ones.”

By the time I came back, the boys were still chatting to my brother, trying to keep the conversation going while Jack got interrupted every two minutes to greet someone who’d just arrived at the party.

            “I should better go mingle with the other guests before they suffocate my future wife with questions and useless chatter,” Jack said, interrupting himself with a look towards Sylvie. Then, turned to address Noah and Oliver, his tone turning into a warning. “You two, you know I like you, but I’ve already warned you that if you break my sister’s heart, I will…” 

            “Break our necks,” Noah finished. 

            “Yeah, we’ve been duly warned,” Oliver added.

            “Jack…” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “That’s unnecessary,” I said in a hushed tone. “They’re good guys.”

            “Yeah, I know what sort of good guys...” Jack began, his tone teasing, but I felt a pang of discomfort despite the laughter that followed from Noah and Oliver. 

            If the three of them started cracking sex jokes, I would never see the end of it. 

            “Jesus Christ, Jack,” I admonished, glancing around to ensure no one overheard. “It’s your engagement party.” 

            “Okay, okay. Sorry,” he conceded, raising his hands. “I just want to make a good impression on Sylvie’s family and…” He trailed off with a weary sigh, running a hand over his face. The strain of the evening suddenly seemed to weigh heavily on him. “I’m just on edge, sis. And it doesn’t help that you two being attached to my sister’s arms has raised a few eyebrows around here,” he added. 

            “Let them. I don’t care,” I said, but I wanted to tell him that I had also noticed and that I was just as nervous as he was. 

            “Yeah, I just have t struggle through the process of telling them these will be my brothers -in-law one day. Both of them,” Jack remarked, his tone resigned rather than resentful. He was not pissed or unhappy. He was just feeling the pressure of keeping everyone happy and maintaining appearances at the lengthy party. 

            But his words resonated in my brain.

            Brothers-in-law.

            That was something Noah, Oliver, and I had not talked about. 

            The words echoed in my mind, sparking a flurry of questions I hadn’t even asked myself.      Do I want to get married? 

            Do I want to marry them? 

            Would they want to marry me?

            Can we get married? 

            I didn’t even know if polygamy was legal in the United States, or in Europe, for that matter. No, it surely wasn’t, so what was in the cards for us? Could Jack ever call Noah and Oliver his brothers-in-law? Would it matter if it wasn’t recognized on paper? 

            I felt dizzy, but I managed to gather myself with a shrug and a simple declaration: “I’m not giving them up.”

            “I know,” was all he said, holding my gaze for a moment before pulling me aside. “Guys, excuse us for a second,” he said, leading me away. “What’s going on? This is about mom, isn’t it?”

            My anxiety spiked at the mention of her. I looked around, avoiding Noah and Oliver’s gazes.            

            “Did you talk to her?” I asked my brother, certainly dreading the answer.  

            “Yeah, I did,” he answered. He straightened up, placing his hands on his hips, “but it wasn’t easy. I’m not sure she…” he took a deep breath that felt like a knife twisting in my back, “understands.” Before I panicked, Jack touched my arm, grounding me. “But you don’t have anything to worry about, okay? She’s not going to freak out when she sees you with Noah and Oli, trust me. She won’t say anything. You just… keep it simple. Introduce them to her as you would any other friend.”

            “But they’re not just my friends, Jack,” I protested desperately under my breath. 

            “I know. And she knows,” he clarified, “but it’s better if you just keep names and labels off the table, at least for tonight.”

            Did I have any other choice? If I wanted the night to end well, I didn’t. Feeling defeated, I nodded. There was a cruel irony in loving someone and not being able to show it. 

            “Oh,” Jack added, “and I have definitely not said anything to Sylvie’s family.”

            “I guessed that much…” I muttered. I stole a quick look at Oliver and Noah, thinking that they didn’t deserve to be put in such situation. They probably didn’t care, but it still made me feel sad and guilty at the fact that there could be a bunch of people here tonight judging them. “So… My best friends.” The words tasted bitter on my tongue.

            Sensing my disappointment, Jack gently shook me by the shoulders. 

            “Baby sis, this is the world we live in. It’s complicated. People are complicated. But those two are yours, and nobody else’s. Enjoy the party, enjoy the food, and enjoy them. I mean, keep your hands to yourself. I’m not asking you to go all puritan for the night, but this is important for me.” 

            “Yeah, I know. You’re right. I just…” I fidgeted with my hands, still ignoring the background noise of people chattering and laughing while clinking their champagne glasses. “I’m scared of things getting complicated. With mom being the way she is after dad left, and her views on relationships, and everything else…” 

            If I was so much worried, I shouldn’t have come. And this night was about my brother, not about me and my love life situation. Get a grip on yourself, woman.

            “I need to get a drink. I’ll go say hello to the bride who, by the way, looks gorgeous.” 

            “She does, indeed,” Jack agreed, his smile lighting up at the sight of Sylvie. Maybe I wouldn’t have my mother’s support, but I had Jack’s. 

            With a kiss to Jack’s cheek, I made my way to the other side of the hall, where Sylvie stood. I wrapped her in a sweet hug. She looked radiant and joyful, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders, covered by the fabric of the white dress she was wearing. She immediately expressed her delight at my presence, alleging that she thought I would be in England at the time. I did, initially. When Jack and her told me about the engagement party date, I had tickets booked to fly to England. The trip was going to be two weeks, but given that this was way more important, we exchanged the tickets for ones for Oliver, so he ended up coming here and soon I confirmed the attendance of the three of us to the event. 

            After a brief catch-up about how thrilled she was about this event and making fun of my brother for his nerves, Sylvie leaned in and whispered, “so, where are they?”

            She was referring to Noah and oliver, whom she hadn’t yet met in person, but was understandably curious about. Despite coming from a family with very traditional views, Sylvie was refreshingly open-minded and accepting. She was a joy to be around. 

            But again, whenever her family would ask about those two guys covered in tattoos that seemed to be always glued to your sister-in-law to be, Noah and Oliver were my best friends. They were not stupid, though, and eventually they would have to deal with it because I wouldn’t keep this stupid façade up for much longer than tonight. 

            “Um,” I looked around, scanning the room until I spotted them, not far. Oliver was handing Noah a glass of champagne, which Noah declined, “they’re over there.”

            “The tall ones?”

            “Yeah, let me introduce you to them.”

            “Oh, they look goooood,” she said as she nudged my side and we started to navigate the crowd.

            I flushed as I dismissed her comment with a light shake of my head. 

            We made our way across the hall, making small talk with other guests along the way. When I finally introduced them to Sylvie, I realized that, at this point, we were all a family. 

            She greeted them with genuine warmth and excitement, her smile lighting up the room. The boys reciprocated, offering their congratulations on her engagement, and Oliver couldn’t help but compliment her dress, his cheeks turning a faint shade of red as she returned the praise, telling both of them that they looked very handsome. 

            It was comforting to know that there would be a good relationship between us, and that the fact that there were three of us was not a hindrance and was simply something that aroused curiosity in some. 

            As Sylvie engaged in a conversation about Oliver’s clothing line after expressing her admiration for both BMTH’s and Bad Omen’s music despite her preference for Taylor Swift —which elicited laughter from all of us after Oliver made a comment about it—, a sense of ease settled over me, a comfort I hadn’t expected amidst the earlier nerves. 

            But that comfort was short-lived as a young couple, likely around our age, approached us with wide-eyed astonishment, their focus fixed on Oliver. 

            Oh, no. 

            The moment the guy addressed him, my nerves surged to the surface once again.  

            “You’re the lead singer of Bring me the Horizon, right?” 

            I didn’t recognize the guy, and judging by Sylvie’s demeanor, she didn’t either. He must have been a distant relative from her family or possibly mine. But as I watched him and his girlfriend gush over Oliver, any thoughts about family ties evaporated, especially when the girl at his side also recognized Noah. 

            Crap. 

            I stood there, frozen, unable to intervene or steer the conversation away. It was Oliver who, sensing my panic, gave me a reassuring look and smoothly offered to get drinks for everyone. Noah and Oliver walked off with the young couple, leaving me behind with my heart pounding in my chest. 

            The last thing I needed that night was someone recognizing them. Now I was terrified at the prospect of news about Oliver, Noah, and I’s relationship spreading through both the media and my family at the same time. I needed things to go slow, but it seemed I had lost all control, and everything would spiral out of hand soon. 

            A sheen of sweat began to form on my skin, my back clammy with anxiety. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the group until Sylvie spoke again, pulling me out of my trance. 

            “How do you guys manage it?” 

            “What?” I blinked, turning to face her. 

            “How do you do it?” she repeated, a curious gleam in her eyes. “The three of you. I mean, the dynamics, jealousy, all that. I don’t want to pry into your personal life, but I’m curious, if I can be honest. Also, about your sex life,” she added, making a funny face. 

            A nervous chuckle escaped me. I was grateful for the distraction.  Sylvie was like a sister to me. It’s not like I was very open about discussing those things. My personal life was private, especially considering that I was sharing it with two famous people. 

            “How do you manage it?” Do you ever doubt you each other? Not questioning your relationship, just…” Her tone was gentle and curious. 

            “I know,” I replied. “Sometimes I wonder the same thing: how do we manage it,” I let out a small laugh. “But it’s just… about feeling, and letting those feelings flow, I guess. And of course, communication. Everything becomes easier when there’s communication,” I explained, hearing Oliver’s voice in my head. “As for jealousy… Yes, there was jealousy initially. I cannot begin to tell you how we sorted that out…” I said, holding a laugh and remembering Oliver seated on his sofa, with Noah kneeled between his legs, me sitting on the opposite side of the couch, my hand between my own legs, watching them. “Everything’s okay now,” I concluded to avoid getting into details. 

            “And aren’t there days when you want to be with one more than the other? Or when they prefer to be alone?” 

            “Hmm. It’s not exactly like that,” I mused, giving it a thought as I glanced over my shoulder, but Noah and Oliver had already disappeared from my sight, leaving me with a tightening know in my stomach. “There are days when I need Noah more and others when I need Oliver more, but it’s because they’re different people,” I explained. “Oliver is more carefree, more experienced with certain things. He’s older, so… When it seems like the world is crashing down on Noah and me, Oliver is the one who manages to show us that it’s not that bad. He’s funny, more sociable. Noah, on the other hand, is more focused, more dedicated. He struggles with vocalizing his feelings, but this relationship has helped him a lot. And me… Well, I’ve always tried to be rational and brave, but sometimes doubts and fears overwhelm me. They best thing they have provided me with is clarity. I see things differently now, and I don’t hesitate that often to take any step I need. I think we complement each other very well. What one lacks, the other has.”  

            I explained that our relationship wasn’t so different from a monogamous one, all things considered. Simply put, we were three. We had to buy more food every week and have a bed big enough for all of us. While we were in Los Angeles, the three of us were staying at my small apartment, and one of us always ended up sleeping on the couch because my bed wasn’t spacious enough. 

            “And have you thought about finding a place for the three of you?” Sylvie asked, her eyes shining with interest. “I mean, I assume you’re serious. You look very good and very secure with each other. It’s wonderful, honestly. So have you considered looking for a bigger apartment or a house?”

            “We’re considering it,” I replied. “Oliver has his family in England, but he wouldn’t mind moving here. Anyway, both he and Noah spend half their time traveling, so it’s not really a hassle to have residence here or there. Noah is still climbing a mountain with Bad Omens and has a way to go. It’s important for him to be here, with the rest of his bandmates. He’s a workaholic. Us going to England wouldn’t be a good idea.”

            “Well, he could join your brother’s club, then,” Sylvie joked. 

            “Yeah, I know. Sometimes he takes on too much responsibility,” I chuckled, referring to Jack. 

            As our conversation continued, we moved to another corner of the venue, joining Sylvie’s closest friends. We laughed, drank, and danced, momentarily forgetting the complexities of our lives. 

            The hours slipped away unnoticed, and before I knew it, an hour and a half had passed without seeing Oliver or Noah. My mother’s absence was also troubling me at this point. 

            Approaching Jack as he was released from a group of older guests, I whispered urgently, “Where’s mom? Do you think she’s avoiding m—?”

            “Please,” he interrupted, saying my name. “It’s not like that. Of course she wants to see you and meet them. Maybe she’s not thrilled, but she’s curious. At least give her that.”

            “Curiosity isn’t always a good thing,” I remarked. 

            Jack dropped his shoulders. “She was talking to Sylvie’s aunt a while ago, over there.”

            Following his finger, I spotted Noah instead, a girl not much younger than me talking cheerfully to him. She seemed overly eager, her hand reaching out to touch him. A surge of annoyance rose within me, mirrored by Jack’s expression. 

            Sensing my stare, Noah turned to me with a plea for help in his eyes. Knowing his desire to make a good impression for my sake and my brother’s, I imagined he was struggling to dismiss the girl politely. 

            “He’s in trouble,” I observed. 

            “Look like it,” Jack chuckled. “That’s Sylvie’s friend’ sister. I don’t even know her name, but by the looks of it, Noah probably does by now. She looks like a…”

            “Predator,” I finished. “Hold my drink.” Passing my glass to Jack, I made my way towards Noah and the girl, with Jack cheering me on behind. 

            By the time I reached them, the girl had already touched Noah’s arm, ignoring the step that Noah took back. 

            “Hey,” I greeted, positioning myself next to Noah, effectively forcing the girl to withdraw her hand. “I see you’ve met my boyfriend. You’re on of Sylvie’s friend’s sisters, right?” I said, extending my hand. 

            She hesitated, confusion evident on her face as she glanced between Noah, me, and the room. 

            “Uh, yes, I am,” she replied vaguely, omitting her name. “But…” She glanced at Noah again, perhaps hoping he would declare his single status. “I was told your boyfriend was over there,” she continued, gesturing to where Oliver stood, holding a little girl in his arms.

            “Yeah, that’s my boyfriend,” I clarified, traying to maintain composure at the sight across the hall. “The other one is right here,” I added, wrapping my arms around Noah’s and resting my head on his shoulder. Feeling Noah relax against me and pressing a soft kiss to my hair, I shot him a soft smile. 

            “I don’t understand,” the girl admitted, her embarrassment evident as a blush crept up her cheeks.

            “You don’t have to,” I replied curtly. “Nice to meet you. We’ll see you around.” 

            With that, I led Noah away, his polite smile directed at the girl before he sighed heavily against my hair. 

            “Thank you for that,” he murmured. 

            “I blame your pretty face,” I said as we made our way towards Oliver. It wasn’t the first time Noah had attracted unwanted attention. His looks could literally make anyone salivate and bring them to their knees. Me, first. And it didn’t help that he knew exactly how good he looked… But he decided not to do anything about it, and then he found himself in situation like the one I just saved him from. 

            “Who’s that?” Noah asked, noticing Oliver with the little girl in his arms. 

            “The little girl? Lila,” I answered. “She’s the daughter of one of my mom’s nieces.”

            Approaching the scene, the sight before me made me feel something unknown in the pit of my stomach. Oliver was holding Lila close to him, his head a bit back so that he could look at her and make funny faces to the four-year-old kid as she inspected the designs on Oliver’s face, neck, and chest. Her mother stood just a couple of feet away, examining the scene with a tender smile as she chewed on some snacks. 

            “What is he doing?” Noah questioned, observing Oliver’s interaction with Lila. 

            “And this one?” Lila asked Oliver, touching one of the small tattoos peaking from his chest. 

            “Oh, that one! “Oliver responded cheerfully, “I let my nephew paint on me with magic pens and guess what, now it can’t be removed!” 

            Lila covered her mouth with her hands, copying Oliver’s look of shock. Then, she said, “But it’s nice!” 

            “You really think so?”

            “Yeah!”

            “Maybe I should let people draw on me with magic pens more often, then.”

            “Hmm, yes, but…” she continued, tilting her head to explore Oliver’s displayed skin with a frown, “you have no more space!” she exclaimed tragically, opening her arms and folding her hands out in a cute way, as if telling Oliver there was nothing to do.

            “Well, the color on the flower on my neck has faded, so if you want, I’ll let you color it next time.”

            “Really?” She was delighted at his offer.

            “Yeah, what do you say?” 

            “Yes!”

            “Good. Oh, look who’s coming,” Oliver said, noticing me and Noah approaching. 

            Lila smiled at me, happy to see me, but when she saw Noah, her eyes went wider again. 

            “Hi,” Noah greeted her.

            “Are you Oli’s brother?” Lila asked.

            Oliver chuckled. “Not exactly my brother, love.”

            “Is he the one that did all those other drawings on your neck and arms, then?”

            “No, but I’m sure he’ll let you paint on him, too,” Oliver added, casting Noah a tender look that would have made me melt if it wasn’t because we were in a public space.  

            “Sure,” Noah replied, playing along.

            “Is that an apple?” Lila asked upon noticing Noah’s neck. She had been eyeing him since the moment she spotted us.  

            Noah nodded. 

            “And a snake?! Snakes are scary!” 

            “Should I cover it up?” Noah suggested, but Lila shook her head. 

            “It’s scary but I like it.”

            “She loves scary things”, her mother interrupted. “I don’t understand where she picked that up from. Her father, probably. Lila, sweetie, why don’t you come back with me and dad?”

            “Okay,” Lila agreed, reaching for her mother’s arms. Oliver let her go, and we engaged in a brief conversation with Lila’s mom before Oliver promised Lila a dance later that evening.

            Finally alone, I rested my head on Oliver’s chest, feeling Noah’s hands massage my shoulders. 

            “Hungry?” Noah asked. 

            “Not really,” I replied. 

            “You’re tense, baby,” he observed, his fingers pressing into my skin. “No need to be.”

            “Still haven’t seen your mom?” Oliver inquired, his hands on my hips. 

            “I haven’t actively been looking, but yeah, I haven’t seen her yet, and I’m dreading the moment we meet her. It’s keeping me on edge. I’m not able to truly enjoy the party.”

            “Want us to take that edge off?” He whispered. 

            I lifted my head in surprise. “What, now? Here?”

            “Why not?”

            “…No, not a good idea,” I hesitated, glancing at Noah, who seemed equally eager to please. 

            “I think we’ve already made a pretty good impression,” Oliver said. “What have you been up to, huh?” He asked Noah. 

            “Causing a good impression, too, apparently,” he joked, clearly thinking about the way the girl from before had caged him into a stupid conversation. 

            I huffed with a roll of my eyes. 

            “All right, love,” Oliver decided, taking my hand. “You’re definitely on edge, and we’re going to take that edge off right about now.”

            “Oli…” I started, but Noah urged me to follow. 

            “Come on,” Noah insisted, guiding me with a hand on my lower back. “Let’s find a quiet place.”

            It wasn’t difficult to locate one in the vast hotel. Despite the option of simply booking a room on one of the upper floors, Oliver and Noah seemed determined to add an element of excitement to the night. 

            Eventually, we found ourselves in a housekeeping storage room. 

            “In here?” I questioned, feeling uncertain as I looked around me, at the shelves full of piled towels and bedsheets, boxes containing shampoo and gel bottles, toothbrushes and hand cream. 

            “In here,” Noah affirmed, standing close behind me, his hands settling on my hips while Oliver found the switch to get the lights on. He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Now, whose mouth do you want on your pretty pussy?”

            I swallowed hard, meeting Oliver’s gaze as he walked to me. He stood in front of me, exuding confidence in that fucking attractive white shirt and with that smirk playing on his juicy lips. 

            I wasn’t sure about this. A voice in my head urged us to leave before we got caught, reminding me that this is not what we should be doing. We should be outside, enduring whatever we had to endure because it was my brother’s engagement party and my anxiety was no reason to hide away. 

            However, Noah and Oliver couldn’t be dissuaded. 

            “Your eyes are already saying yes,” Oliver said, his thumb grazing my lower lip and pulling at it gently. “We just need your mouth to tell us the same.”

            And just like that…

            “Yes.”

            “That’s the word that changed everything, isn’t it?” Noah murmured against my ear, his lips tracing soft kisses along my hairline. 

            Oliver’s lips met mine, the kiss slow and intense. Pressing against me, he sandwiched me between himself and Noah. Noah’s hands explored my body, one resting on my stomach while the other tugged at the strap of my dress, exposing one of my breasts to the chill of the room, causing my nipples to harden. 

            Despite our seclusion, the sounds of the outside world persisted— voices footsteps passing by—as Noah whispered lewdly in my ear and Oliver trailed kissed down my neck to my bare breast, quickly driving me away from the distressing situation in the function hall. His hand ventured up my thigh, sliding under the hem of my dress. 

            “So soft. Always so—” Oliver halted abruptly, and I closed my eyes.

            Caught. 

            “You gotta be kidding me.”

            “What?” Noah asked, halting his actions, too. I longed for his touch and the way he worshiped me the moment he stopped. 

            “Doll, you’re not wearing any underwear,” Oliver acknowledged. 

            “Aware,” I admitted with the same casualness as if I had said ‘oops’. 

            “No joke. You’ve been bare all this time?” Noah questioned, lifting my chin to turn my head toward him. 

            “Since we left the apartment,” I replied softly. 

            I sensed all my worries draining down as I felt them giving into my not-so-innocent game. With their attention focused solely on me and the anticipation building, my anguish melted away, turning into something totally different. With them by my side and the heat rising, I knew I could surrender to them and they would take care of everything else. 

            “Jesus Christ, woman.” Oliver lifted the dress up to my navel, exposing me to his hungry green eyes. 

            “You’re a naughty little thing,” Noah growled in my ear. His words were accompanied by a playful slap on my butt, eliciting a wince and a suppressed moan that mingled pain and pleasure. “You planned on getting fucked at some point, didn’t you?” His voice trailed off as Oliver’s fingers continued their journey towards the spot between my thighs. 

            Yes, because I thought that might be the only way to distract myself from my panic. 

            I made that decision while panicking. 

            But here we were, weren’t we?

            “Just so you know,” Oliver whispered, nibbling on my earlobe. Noah’s kisses were peppered along my neck, the tip of his tongue softly licking at my skin. “We’ve been dying to fuck you all day. We’re going to get you off now with our mouth, but as soon as we get home, you’re going to have us both inside of you.”

            I gripped Oliver’s shirt, trying to steady myself as their words and soft touches turned me into a mess. 

            “So, who’s it going to be, kitten? Just give us a name,” Noah urged. 

            I felt Oliver’s lips curve into a smile against my mouth. Opening my eyes, I was captivated by the green depths I found myself staring at. 

            “Do you want my mouth, babydoll? Yeah, you do. Noah got you off twice last night with his. You’ve been missing me, haven’t you?”

            “Please?”

            “There’s the magic word.”

            And in two seconds, he was on his knees. 

            “It seems all I’ve been doing lately is getting on my knees for you two,” he mentioned, seizing one of my legs and lifting it effortlessly. I observed intently as he draped it over his shoulder, drawing me closer to him, my core inches from his face. “Not complaining, though.”

            I inhaled deeply, but the breath was knocked out of me when Noah spanked me once more, propelling my body forward, my center meeting Oliver’s eager and warm mouth. 

In less than five minutes, I was unable to support my own body weight, my legs feeling like jelly and shaking as Oliver’s tongue and two fingers guided me through my orgasm, no mercy. 

            Meanwhile, Noah’s erection rubbed against my bare ass, one hand teasing my breast while the other steadied me against his chest, his seductive kisses sending shivers down my spine. 

            “As soon as we get home, I’m stripping you naked, but those heels are staying until I’m through with you,” Noah’s voice echoed in my head as I tried to recover from my orgasm. 

            Once Oliver made sure Noah was holding me, he stood up and fetched some wipes to clean me up, his own arousal evident in his pants. Turning back with a tissue box in hand, I saw the mess I had made on his mouth and felt a bit of embarrassment. But he just smiled, always happy to get me into this state and provide one orgasm after another. 

            Cleaning me up, he then adjusted my dress to cover me properly, ensuring my modesty, —if you could call it that—. Leaning against Noah, I caught my breath, feeling immensely grateful for the quick escape they had provided me.  

            Oliver wiped his mouth, purposefully licking his lips in front of me to tease me. I was about to throw myself into his arms to kiss him when, just as he tossed the used paper ball into a small garbage can in the corner and as Noah pulled up the strap of my dress, the door to the room swung open. 

            “Oh, excuse me. I was looking for the re—”

            We froze as an old small woman appeared in front of us, her eyes widening at the scene in the storage room. Her grey eyes fell on Noah’s hand as he hurried to get the strap of my dress on properly. And as inevitable as it was, she noticed my position, locked between two male bodies, and then, obviously, on the huge bulges the two men had in their pants. 

            “Oh, in the Lord’s name!” she exclaimed, recoiling in shock with a hand covering her mouth. “You three…” She stepped back, and despite her words, Noah took a tentative step towards her, thinking that if she passed out, someone would have to hold her before she hit the ground, “you three are going to Hell!”  

            Oliver, ever so calm, responded, “I’ve been told people are having one hell of a good time down there.”

            I wanted to pick up a bunch of those toothpaste tubes from one of the boxes and fill Oliver’s mouth with the cream. Maybe that would force him to keep his mouth shut. 

            I was blushing furiously, my body starting to shake again. I was going to combust at some point that night for sure. 

            From the clothes the old lady was wearing, the jewelry and makeup, it was obvious she belonged to the party group, not some random guest staying at the hotel. She hurriedly left, probably traumatized, and left us in a tense silence.

            Noah gave Oliver a disapproving slap on the shoulder.

            “Why did you have to say that, man?”

            Oliver shrugged his shoulders, offended. “Do you really think she’ll go telling everyone about what she saw?”  

            Yes, that’s exactly what I thought she was going to do. And then Sylvie’s family would haunt me down and burn me like a witch. 

            “No,” Oliver continued confidently. “She’ll be too embarrassed to admit she stumbled upon three people doing nasty things in the housekeeping storage room.” He touched my shoulder and hair, noticing my stiff posture. He tucked some strands of hair behind my ear. “Doll, believe me, there’s nothing to worry about.”

            But Noah’s heavy sigh next to him betrayed the lack of credibility in Oliver’s words and my own concern. 

            “We didn’t do anything wrong,” he defended himself. “I’m sure her husband hasn’t given her an orgasm in fifty years. Did you see the look on her face when she realized Noah and I were hard as stone?” 

            Were, indeed, because their erections were gone now. 

            Adjusting the spaghetti straps of my dress and smoothing the fabric covering my thighs, I shot him a glare that was met by his mischievous smile and the seizing of my hips as he tried to tickle me, forcefully eliciting my laughter quickly enough. 

            We exited the room after Noah made sure nobody was passing by. My laughter echoed down the hallway as I attempted to wriggle free from Oliver’s playful grasp. I grabbed Noah’s outstretched hand, letting him lead me to the function hall, but Oliver clung to me, trying his best to calm mine and Noah’s new nerves. It wasn’t as easy as home, though, where we had all the time in the world to sort ourselves out and breathe in and breathe out until everything seemed to be in place again. 

            Back in the hall, the last twenty minutes of distraction seemed to fade away with a finger snap. Oliver, in his attempt to distract us from worrying about what that old lady thought and what the consequences of being caught could be, decided to continue by nibbling at our necks. Noah wasn’t having it, though, and pulled away with a warning look and a tug on my hand, which caused his attention to slip and nearly collide with a tall elderly woman passing by. 

            “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Noah apologized.

            When my eyes met hers, a knot tightened in my throat to the poing of threatening to choke me. 

            “Mom,” I stammered out, the word barely audible amidst the turmoil around me and within me.       

            Her response was as expected —a cold and critical glare that seemed to pierce through me with precision. 

            Her scrutinizing gaze swept over us, dissecting every detail with unnerving accuracy. From the nervous tension in Oliver’s and Noah’s posture to the telltale of our indiscretions, no aspect escaped her keen observation; my hands clasped one in Noah’s hand and the other in Oliver’s, the wrinkles on Noah’s shirt, the sweat stains on Oliver’s, the red marks on my neck…

            “I’ve been looking for you for a while,” I managed to croak out, the weight of her scrutiny crushing my voice into a mere whisper. 

            “Of course you have,” she replied, her tone laced with skepticism, a sardonic smile playing on her red lips. 

            She was draped in a flowing light green dress that accentuated her elegance. Her hair, now cropped shorter than the last time I’d seen her, cascaded around her slim shoulders. Her right hand held a glass filled with champagne. She was beautiful, she looked radiant, impressive, …and I had just screwed up.  

            This was exactly the way I did not want to introduce the boys to my mother, just right after one of them had just had his head buried between my legs and the other had been nibbling on my neck and playing with my nipples while his erection pressed against my ass.

            I couldn’t see my reflection, but I could imagine my face at that moment.

            The irony in my mother’s tone made my legs weak. 

            “Mom, these are…” I stuttered, releasing their hands as I gestured towards Oliver and Noah. My mother’s prolonged stare felt like a weight that I wouldn’t be able to hold on my shoulders. "Noah, and Oliver."

            “My pleasure,” Oliver said, attempting to inject some semblance of ease into the strained moment. Noah remained silent, just nodding while his cheeks remained flushed. I wanted to get him out of there immediately. 

            “Sure it is,” my mother responded, her tone carrying the same ironic edge that had unsettled me a few moments ago. It was clear she saw through the façade; she knew exactly what we had been doing. 

            Earth swallow me.

            “Sylvie’s parents are expecting me,” my mother announced, her voice cutting. With a final nod, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me feeling exposed and defeated. 

            The cacophony of voices around me intensified, engulfing me in a suffocating bubble. The walls seemed to press in, the frenzied movements of the crowd making my head spin, and waves of heat threatened to consume me. In my periphery, I caught glimpses of Oliver and Noah, their lips moving, but their words dissolved into the maelstrom, lost to my ears.

            “I need to get out,” I gasped, my voice trembling.

            It took an eternity to wrench off my heels, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the straps. One of the boys lunged forward, his grip tightening around me as he sensed my impending collapse, but his touch slipped away as I frantically pivoted away, heels in hand.

            Each breath grew more labored as I ran towards the exit, a weight crushing my chest, every fiber of my being screaming for escape. With pounding heart and trembling limbs, the last thing I heard were the echoes of two male voices calling my name. 

Taglist: @girlfromrussia-universe | @oro-e-diamanti | @lma1986 | @missduffsblog | @bngurngheart | @winterwinchester | @jilliemiw86 | @sorrowsofsilence | @th4t-em0-k1d | @to-be-written | @thescarlettvvitch | @nonamessblog | @somebodyels3 | @starsomens | @ditto66 | @dominuslunae | @cookiesupplier | @midnight-eternals | @pennysky | @iknownothingpeople | @cncohshit | @ladyveronikawrites | @blackveilomens | @robabankfuckmickeymouse |@kageyasma | @concretedaddy2018 | @silentglassbreak | @thescarlettvvitch | @sammyjoeee | @pathion

[pervysenpaix]

Murphy's Law | Alpha! I. Midoriya

A/N: This has been sitting incomplete in my drafts for months because I lost interest but the beginning was cute and I didn't want it to go to waste so I wrote some shitty smut just cause, yeah. read it if you want I don't really care ☹️

TW! ABO dynamics, ProHero/Aged Up, Alpha!Deku, Omega! Reader, Clumsy Reader, Accident Prone reader, condescending deku, reader is attacked and deku saves her, yandere deku if you squint, strangers to lovers, vaginal fingering, marking, not proof read poorly written 💔

18+ NSFW Content| MDNI

   

Murphy’s Law, in its simplest form, claims that “anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. In other words—you were a walking fucking disaster. 

Absolutely accident-prone. Wherever you went, chaos followed. It had been that way your whole life. You’d labeled yourself as a “clutz” thanking God that you were lucky enough to never get seriously hurt from your negligence, but it seemed that your luck was running out.

The chill of the night air did nothing to quell the sweat beading from your flesh. Brisk wind nipped at your skin, exacerbating the potent stench of a frightened omega. Yes, you were clumsy and, at times, forgetful but you always remembered to wear your blockers! 

It was just a crazy morning, and you were running late, and you assumed that it would be fine because you lived so close to the restaurant. But you didn’t expect the place to be so busy, or for your boss to have you stay an extra hour. Then two. Then four. And before you knew it you were doing a double closing shift because you were the only one available. Poor unlucky you.

That lack of luck continued when you begrudgingly passed a rowdy pack of males that were congregating outside of a liquor store. You ignored their whistles and lewd comments, clutching your bag and picking up the pace. Most of the men shrugged it off, calling you a tease or a “stuck up bitch”, but one pair of lustful eyes lingered—the same pair that were getting dangerously close. Just a few more strides and—

“Caught ‘ya!”, he growled. 

The fowl stench of alcohol mixed with the alpha’s licorice like musk made your stomach lurch. You struggled in his grasp, screaming, flailing your arms and kicking wildly until you landed a good hit on your assailant who didn’t appreciate it at all. 

“Stupid bitch” he grunts, wrapping his hands around your strands and bashing your head against the brick wall. Pain blooms in your skull and you feel yourself quickly losing consciousness but before darkness consumed you—you don’t miss the emergence of an earthy aroma soured with anger followed by a blur of green. 

Then nothing. 

A scent reminiscent of lush forest meadows and the sound of light tapping and beeping pulls you from your slumber. It was a welcomed change from the potent odor emitting from that feral alpha last night. The memory overcomes any lingering drowsiness, and you bolt upright. 

The tapping stops.

The sudden movement proved un-advantageous. Bile rose in your throat with dark spots clouding your vision. A figure emerges from the corner of the dimly lit room reaching your side in a fraction of a second. His scarred hand holds a basin to your face, and you ungraciously empty the contents of your stomach. It’s painful and unsightly. You search for something to ground yourself settling for his thick wrist while you sob and dry heave over the container. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” His voice was soft and soothing, but still held confidence. “I am here”.  Soft purrs rumbled from the alpha’s chest, while you retched beside him. Moments later, the alpha placed the basin on the bedside table and brought a damp towel to your face. Gently, he cleaned your face. It wasn’t until the cloth left your skin that your eyes fluttered open settling on the stranger. 

A gorgeous set of gemstone visionaries met your own. Sparkling with warmth and a hint of mischief and slightly covered by forest green strands from his messy undercut. Plush pink lips were pulled a slight smirk, highlighting the trademark dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks. 

“You’re… You’re— Deku” he finished for you, flashing a close-eyed smile. “And you’re (Y/N) (L/N), recessive omega, correct?” 

You blinked. “I- yes … How did you—

“Well, you dropped your purse during the attack, and I got your name from your ID card. As for your second gender, sweetheart a beta would smell you even with all the suppressants they have you on. What happened to your blockers?”

An inexplicable feeling of shame was brought on by his furrowed brow and sudden condescending tone.

“I didn’t take them this morning… I forgot”, you tried to look anywhere but his face. You could feel the disapproval in his stare.

The alpha shook his head and frowned.

“That was extremely reckless. An unmarked omega with a scent as strong as yours should never leave the house without some form of suppressant.” He paused, leaning forward to sniff your hair. “Do you not have a partner or anyone to check on you?” 

 Your face felt extremely hot as you shook your head “no”.

“I see...” he continued with a smirk, “Do I need to inform the nurse that you lack a babysitter?” 

“A b-babysitter!?!? I don’t need a—I’m not a baby!” you sputtered, gaping at the large man. He brought a finger to your chin and closed your mouth, earning a cute squeak at the contact. “Oh? But big girls wouldn’t forget to take their blockers, especially if they’re going to be out so late. Do you understand what could’ve happened if I wasn’t patrolling the area?”

“Yes but—

“So, you knew better but still didn’t do better. That doesn’t sound like an adult thing to do.” He cooed; lips upturned to mimic your pout.

“No!” you snapped, ignoring the Pro-Hero’s raised brow. “That’s not it! I never usually forget, it was just a busy morning and I live close to my job, so I didn’t think it be a big deal but then my boss kept asking me to stay and it got later and later, and—

“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re not only forgetful but a pushover as well?” He stated matter-of-factly.

“Wha— y-you’re mean”

 Izuku wouldn’t admit it, but he loved the way your bottom lip trembled and your eyes watered due to his words. You looked like a defiant child. Absolutely helpless and in need of a caretaker. A hero. 

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to hurt your little feelings, but it’s my job as a hero to make sure that people are safe. Don’t you not want me to do my job?”

More guilt. Here was the number 1 hero trying to ensure your safety, but you were acting like a little brat. Maybe you aren’t a “big girl”.

“m’sorry” your voice was small, but he obviously heard you, humming for you to continue. “I didn’t mean to sound rude. It’s just that I have really bad luck and it’s frustrating that I always get in these positions. Thank you for saving me though, Mr. Deku”.

That’s interesting, he thought, hoping you’d elaborate on what you meant by “bad luck” but when you didn’t continue, he just smiled.

“Just doing my job!”.

A few weeks have passed, and things progressed normally. Izuku found himself thinking of you from time to time but it’s fleeting. He’ll catch himself visualizing those pouty lips upturned into a frown as he scolded you and sometimes, he imagined your deliciously sweet scent. Like right now, as he patrolled the streets his senses were suddenly flooded with your delicate saccharine aroma. It was a welcomed distraction from the repetition of his route since things had been slow today. His inner alpha grew restless from the blossoming scent that seemed to get stronger and stronger.

The observant hero scanned the area but saw no immediate signs of you. It wasn’t until he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply that he realized that you were two streets over in the college district, so he started to head in your direction. Your scent wasn’t as potent as it was during your first encounter, a sign that you’d remembered your blockers, but it would be impossible for him to miss since it was embedded in his mind. 

Turning the corner, he saw you frantically running up the sidewalk towards one of the university buildings. A report folder was clutched in your fingers with your bag propped haphazardly on your shoulder. It was apparent that you were a student and running late. You babbled frantically into the phone that was balanced between your ear and shoulder, so engrossed in the conversation that you didn’t notice a speeding car until it was blaring its horn after you walked into the streets without looking. You stared at the vehicle like a deer in headlights, unable to do anything but accept your doom. But then electricity crackled in the air, and you were whirled to the safety of the university stairs. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this”, the hero smirked down at you. It was comical watching the little gears turning in your head realizing that Deku had saved your life yet again. There wasn’t much time to admire him in the hospital but right now you were close enough to count each freckle in the diamond formation on his cheeks. He was so handsome. And it felt so good in his arms. So safe. 

“I— You were interrupted by the ringing of your phone. “Shit!” you cursed, pushing off the hero and running towards the doors. “Thanks, Mr. Deku!

“And then there was one” Deku muttered, slightly pissed at your rudeness. This was the second time he’d saved your life. Where was your gratitude? Entitled brat, he thought. What he wouldn’t give for a chance to correct your behavior. 

A week later, incognito Deku was heading out to enjoy the day. It was his first off day in weeks, and he decided to treat himself to a nice meal. He decided on a western style café/bakery that Kirishima had recommended a few weeks ago. Upon entering, he was immediately met with your confectionary scent. Izuku remembered that you worked at a restaurant and since you weren’t Japanese, he assumed that this was your place of employment. 

Izuku approached the dining counter, waiting to be served, and was pleasantly surprised when you came from the back to take his order. 

“Welcome! What can I get started for you today?” you chirped sweetly. 

“Hmm—a proper thanks would be nice”. You stilled at the familiarity of the voice, squinting at the unknown patron. Izuku pulled his mask down revealing his familiar array of freckles and pretty plump lips. “Its you” you smiled, leaning forward with your elbows against the counter. The action presented your exposed cleavage nicely and Izuku found himself licking his lips. “It’s me” he rasped, eyes traveling between your chest and face. 

The action did not go unnoticed, but you chose not to comment. Probably just a coincidence, you naively thought.

“Well, thanks for saving my life twice, Mr. Deku” you whispered his hero name with a coy smile playing on your glossy lips. It sounded so sweet.  “It was my pleasure, (y/n)” he whispered your name in a similar fashion while taking your hand in his larger one and running his thumb over your wrist, and you visibly shivered at the contact.

“s-so” you stammered, pulling your hand to wipe against your apron, “what would you like?” 

You he wanted to say but you were already flustered. He hummed and tapped his cheek, “I have a taste for something sweet.” His eyes dipped back to your cleavage, and he licked his lips. “Any suggestions?”

Now you definitely weren’t imagining that. 

“U-um well, w-we have lots of desserts, l bake some of them”.

 That piqued his interest. 

“Oh?” he asked, and you nodded. “Mmhmm, it’s a hobby of mines and my boss lets me try out different recipes. Today’s special is Strawberry Rhubarb pie but with a twist!” you declared proudly. “A twist you say?” he mused, leaning over the counter and reveling in your giddiness. You leaned forward and put your lips close to his ear, covering your mouth with your hand. “I add a sprig of mint for freshness” you whisper, tickling the shell of his ear. “It’s my secret ingredient”.

Fuck you were adorable. All excited like a child presenting a new skill to their parent. It took a lot of willpower to stop his cock from straining against his jeans, but he managed. 

Deku leaned back with a smirk, “Well then, it’s settled. I’m gonna have a taste of your little pie”.

Three slices of pie and a pitcher of coffee later Deku had learned that you were an international student at the university’s business school and had dreams of owning a restaurant one day. You’d also disclosed that you didn’t really enjoy your job, but you didn’t have any financial support. Pretty much helpless and alone, forced to work a crappy job so you wouldn’t get kicked out of your even crappier apartment. On a lighter note, you told him some of the things that you were into, and he found that you two had a lot of common interests. It was a pleasant surprise that you were a bit of a “fan girl” and he happened to be your favorite. 

“Like it’s just my luck that I meet my all-time favorite person while I’m moments away from death”.

Midoriya frowned when you told him of all the different mishaps you’d gotten into the past few weeks. He counted 23 times that could’ve resulted in serious bodily injury or worse. The alpha wanted to just put you in a little bubble and keep you safe from yourself. 

“Have you ever thought about— oh shit”! 

Somehow, you’d managed to trip over air and spilled the pitcher of coffee on his hand as you were going for a refill. 

“Oh! Ohmygodimsosorry!” You scrambled to wipe his hands clean but ended up spilling more on his pants. The situation was quickly becoming a spectacle, customers snickering, and passersby pointed through the windows. You were so embarrassed and could feel yourself unraveling. 

The kitchen door slammed open and out walked your supervisor. He was fuming. Throwing out a string of curses before his eyes even landed on you. Tears welled in your eyes as you braced yourself for the routine berating that you’d get every time you messed up during your shift.

“You useless fucking omega!” He seethed, “Can’t do anything right. What are you good for besides laying on your back?”

Midoriya was furious and was itching to use black whip and yank out his weak beta fangs one by one, but he noticed the change in your scent and saw the way your body shook in fear and shame. He was on you in an instant. Pulling you against his chest and releasing calming pheromones. His hood came off in the process making the crowd gasp when they saw his green curls.

Long story short— he broke your ex-supervisor’s hand, told him you quit, and carried you bridal style all the way to his home. He explained that you would never be setting foot in that place again and that he’d be taking care of you from now own. When you tried to protest between sniffles, he just shushed you and pressed your face closer to his chest. 

You were now sitting in the bathtub while Deku rinsed conditioner from your freshly detangled hair. Izuku kneeled behind the tub with his chin resting on your shoulder. He was content. Humming softly as the pads of his fingers traced your skin. Neither of you spoke. His hands felt so good on your skin—it was easy to just “let go” like he suggested when he first undressed you. Your heavy eyes had shut at some point but fluttered open when his hand ventured down to part your thighs.

Izuku nuzzled against your neck just as his fingers slipped through your sticky folds to circle your clit. Soft kisses pressed against your skin left a burning trail down to your scent glands. His tongue rolled against the flesh eliciting needy whimpers and whines. You bared your neck—encouraging his musings, gasping when sharp fangs began to prick your skin. The hero chuckled darkly loving the way you melted for him. So pliant. So perfect. 

“Being so good for me right. So good. Spread those legs a little more, that’s right. So pretty” He cooed sweetly, “Love takin’ care of you like this. You like it too, don’t you baby?” A particularly lewd moan was the only response you could muster given the fact that he’d just slipped a thick digit in your needy hole. “ ‘course y’do, bunny. ooo—you got so t-tight just then. Wanna be my little bunny?” Izuku suckled at your glands sending your omega into a frenzy. She was screaming, crying, desperate for him. You wanted him so bad that you could taste it. “Please ‘zuku. Wan’ it back. Need it, Alpha” you hiccuped, grinding your cunt against the heel of his hand. “Want it all. Wanna cum. Wan’ your cock. Wanna be yours, mark me please al-ahhh~~

Sharp fangs pierced your skin immediately sending you over the edge. Izuku suckled at the mark, prolonging your climax. Your body eventually settled in the pink tinged water, exhausted. Your eyes fluttered shut but you felt something hard prodding at your lips.

“Say ahh, bunny”.

Taglist| @xogabbiexo , @yo-nn , @plussizeficchick , @m00nchildthings , @mhathotfic , @7inaa , @namjoonswifeyy , @tenyaiidasslut , @urfavsinna , @megumischubbycheeks , @unsatisfiedanddisappointed , @erenyeagerswhore , @tsukihime25 , @endeavours-jockstrap

[thecameronchronicles]

Safe Haven

TW: Mentions of assault. Angst due to this. Soft smut with current boyfriend, Pope. Emotional. Language.

SUMMARY: After Pope comes upon words written in your journal, your entire relationship seems to change. 

WORD COUNT: 2500

*Requested*

Anonymous asked:

TRIGGER WARNING SA BELOW

I completely understand if this is something you do not want to write but I thought I might as well ask. Anyways, you have been dating one of the obx guys for a while (anyone but not John b, I ship him and Sarah too much haha) and you have been wanting to take the next step and have sex, and you can tell your boyfriend wants too as well (although he would never say that, but he doesn’t wonder in his mind why not) and one day he comes over (either your parents let him in or he lets himself in since you guys have been together a while and you tell him to just come in) and when he comes to your room he sees you’re in the bathroom and finds a journal on your bed. He of course doesn’t want to invade your privacy but looking at the open page won’t hurt right? It’s just one page? And the page it’s flipped to is you talking about your ex boyfriend assaulting you. (Either you find him reading it or a few days later when you guys are alone he asks if you want to talk about anything and reassures you that you can tell him anything and kind of hints that he saw your journal) and maybe a time jump when you’re ready to have sex and it’s very sweet and soft.

*SO I CHANGED THE DETAILS OF THE LOCATION FOR THE SAKE OF IT MAKING SENSE WITH WHO I CHOSE FOR THIS (POPE). I FEEL LIKE IF IT WAS JJ OR RAFE, THE EX WOULDN’T BE BREATHING WHEREAS POPE WOULD JUST WANT TO MAKE SURE YOU WERE ALRIGHT. HOPE YOU ENJOY!

Safe Haven

No matter where you were, it was a guarantee that this journal was within a one foot radius of you. This was because it was an outlet to the things you didn’t want to put on anybody else’s shoulders, even your loving boyfriend, Pope. And it was because of your protectiveness of this journal that when it fell overboard the HMS Pogue by JJ’s negligence, he was quick to move and retrieve it. Cursing as he tried to shake off the water from ruining what he knew meant so much to you, he would fan out the pages to try and keep the ink from smudging. But upon doing so, his eyes came upon a word that stilled him in his tracks, one that made his blood boil, and one that also made his gaze swell with tears. 

Rape. 

Because of this, his eyes were gluttonous to know the details, learning of just why it was you two hadn’t committed to each other in this way, despite the fact you’d been together long enough to do everything else. But the further he read, the more his heart twisted as he learned of all of the times you had wanted him to know your love for him through making love, only to be fearful you would be ‘bad’ or ‘freak out’ due to your experience with your ex. Even though everybody knew that things with your ex had ended badly, the only one to know the details would be Pope, by the unintentional discovery of the words written by your own hand. 

“I think I got all of-” You returned to the boat with the requested snacks in hand as Kiara and Sarah held the libations and sunscreen. But when your eyes rose to Pope, the expression over his face was enough for you to understand what he’d read. And for this, he would look at you with a mix of shame for allowing his curiosity to get the best of him but also pity and sympathy for what you’d endured on your own. 

Even if he couldn’t understand it himself, he knew the effect this must have on your heart, far too loving to be bruised by something so wicked. It was because of this that his affection was set in a mix of reservation and excess throughout the rest of this day. Not wanting to embarrass you by discussing the details aloud before the other pogues who were in tune but choosing indifference to what seemed a sole issue between you and Pope, he would keep his arm wrapped around you throughout the rest of the day, keeping you warm and to his chest, until you returned to The Chateau.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He finally asked after you’d sat on the edge of the bed, fingers on the fringes of your damp journal, suddenly no longer seeming as the security blanket it may have, even that very morning. But in truth, nothing seemed to. You felt more vulnerable than you’d ever felt. But he was quick to try and rectify it by moving onto his knees and taking your wrists in his hands, learning you had been hiding tears. 

“I don’t want to force you to talk about anything, but please…please understand that there is NO rush for anything…” He carried his hand to your cheek, brushing away one of those rogue tears as you collected his wrist. 

“That’s the problem. I want to…I trust you. I know you’d never hurt me, Pope…”

“Never…” He validated as you bobbed your head in agreement. 

“But I just keep seeing it. Feeling him…” 

“Hey hey hey…it’s alright. Okay? The only thing I ever want from you is for you to be happy. I just want to take care of you…because you mean everything to me. You always have…” You wrapped your arms around the back of his shoulders and neck, his body quick to respond to this embrace as you now stood, forced on the tips of your toes due to his height, as he buried himself into your shoulder. 

“I can’t change what’s happened to you. But I can promise it will never happen again.” 

“I know, Pope. I know…” You remained in this hold for so long that your calves ached and your feet had tensed, but it was a side effect you’d gladly have if it meant remaining this close to him. As his arms supplied a comfort nothing else seemed to. Not therapy. Not even that journal. He was your safe haven.

And ever since this moment, you felt a bit more ready each time you were together. Even if making that leap had been on both of your minds, something caught in flirtatious holds and teasing traces, he would always retract with a smile and a soft kiss to your cheek. Until one day, you pulled him back towards you. 

“Pope?”

“Yeah?” You bit your bottom lip as he lingered on the edge of the bed where he’d been reading to you, one of his favorite Fitzgerald classics as you ran your fingers through his hair and along his jaw, the touches affecting him in a specific way all their own. Having now finished his chapter, he’d pulled upwards to get a drink, offering you one, before feeling your small fingers try to wrap around his strong bicep.

But where the words would fail you, you would just pull him down towards you, a slow kiss interrupted by his smirk. Licking his lips for a moment as you’d break apart, your fingers were careful as you led him back into you, his hands immediately magnetizing to your hips, before you attempted to pull him onto you. 

“I uhm…I’m sorry…” He apologized as a blush fell over his cheeks, a growth behind his shorts having made him retract backwards, “How about I go take a quick shower and then we-”

“No…” You swallowed hard as he would offer a look of patient consideration, eyes traveling in every other direction in thought, before returning to you for a continuation. But instead, you would just move to the buttons of his shirt, pulling them free until your fingers caused it to drape away from his shoulders. 

“Are you-”

“I’m sure…I’ve thought about it so much I could go crazy over it. But I…I trust you, Pope…” You carried your hands to his cheeks, tears behind your eyes for just how much admiration you had for him. 

“I…I love you…” These words hadn’t been spoken between you yet, only hinted, always felt, but never stated. Which made this moment that much sweeter until he dropped his head. Your eyes came closed as you wondered if you’d ruined the moment, a notion he noticed as he was quick to amend your anxieties. 

“I wanted to say it first…” Your smile widened. 

“I love you too…So much…I just want to be everything for you…Like you are for me…” 

“You are…”

“Which is why I don’t want you to do this because you think I expect it. I want it to be because it’s what YOU want. I'll wait as long as you need-”

“I’ve thought about it SO much…And I want to…” His eyes closed in relief and lust, but also nervousness in his passions coming across too strongly for how he’d thought of this with you in such repetition.

“If you want to stop at any time, you tell me, okay? I need you to promise me-”

“I promise.”

“I swear to God, baby, I’ll take care of you…every way you’ll let me.” You nodded as you led him back to your lips, a dizzying series of kisses that had you present on your back in a slow succession as his hands were careful to climb your body. 

As if in preparation for an abrupt cessation, he would trace your skin with such slow caution that you would be prompted to lead the moment more than simply enjoying it. But you were still able to. Because in prior instances with him when those thoughts from your ex would invade your perfect moment with your loving boyfriend, he could sense your tension and change the subject, no matter how difficult it would be for him to walk away with that distracting ache between his legs. You came first. And he showed this. Constantly. But now, you wanted everything you could offer one another, as his touch was an eraser to replace the harsh hold and horrible memories from a past no longer important when paired with Pope. 

His lips drew lines across your jaw and down your neck, as you were undressed. The newly revealed skin was appreciated by his kisses until his lips came to your breasts. His eyes would remain to you as he took each one with care, slowly fondling the soft skin within his palms and brushing hsi thumbs over your nipples as you bit your bottom lip at the sight equally as sweet as it was erotic. 

“I love you so damn much…” He spoke into your skin as he descended between your breasts and down your stomach, peppering kisses along his descent, until coming to your pants and underwear. 

“I can’t make you forget…but I intend to replace every one of those memories for you…With love…” He kissed your hip, his fingers slipping your panties from your waist, until you were completely exposed to him. Without a word, he kissed from your thigh inwards, brushing his bottom lip against your folds as your eyes fluttered backwards. 

“There won’t be an inch of your body that doesn’t know me…And you’ll never question how much I love you…And I’ll prove it often if I have to…” He explained. 

“But for right now…just let me show you how I can make you feel good for me…” He offered a single nod for final validation as you copied this action before feeling him slowly acclimate himself to your sex. With the slow savor of his tongue came the slowest and deepest moans from your throat as your fingers traced along his arms reaching upwards to your breasts and then down to stabilize your hips, but not with aggression as would be expected from force, but with compassion. 

It wouldn’t take long until he had you trembling around him, his hands having now moved to your thighs to pull them apart as he could consume you in depth, his tongue having now made quick flicks over your swollen clit that pulsed for his mouth and his alone. Your breath only able to speak his name before you would drag him to your mouth. 

“I want you, Pope…Please…”

“Are you absolutely sure, because I’ll stop whenever you need, but it’ll be a bit more difficult after I-”

“I’m positive. Please, Pope, I want to feel you-I want, I want it to be with you…” He nodded, yoru fingers assisting his shorts from his body. 

“If it hurts or ANYTHING-stop me…promise-”

“I promise…” You mewled as he would move himself between your folds, preparing you with the sensation of his soft skin, before pushing his length slowly inside of you. The flashes of your past were silenced by his slow movements and kindness behind his touch as he validated each small motion with either an ‘I love you’, ‘are you okay’, or a soft trace of kiss. 

By the time you’d built to that orgasm, bodies a blur of love and lust made by his motions, you no longer held a memory aside from what you were making together. 

“Fuck…” He groaned into your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin as his hands fisted in the sheets beneath you. 

“Pope…I’m…I’m so close…Oh my God…I’m…mmm…”

“Come for me, baby…I want to make you come for me…” With these words, you would lead his hand to your clit, finalizing that final action necessary before you buckled beneath him and felt those waves of pleasure wash through you. The rush of warmth and increased slickness drove him deeper and faster inside of you, all in loving compassion, even as his selfish neediness was on the forefront, he still kept his grip soft, before your orgasm pulled his own. 

“Shit, baby-” He grunted, body trembling over your own before he would move quickly to carry his hands to your face. 

“Are you alright? Was I too-”

“You were perfect.” You aided his clear anxieties as he would offer a single smile before licking his lips until kissing the space between your breasts and falling at your side, taking you into him. 

“I love you so much, baby…” He explained while tracing your arm, the rushing sound of his heart stabilizing beneath you acting as a lullaby of sorts to your suddenly heavy eyes. 

“I love you too, Pope.” And with the softest kiss to your head, you would fall asleep in the arms of the man you loved, his touch the medicine of your darkened past as this left behind by the renewed hope found in his embrace and the lover only he could offer.

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae

[bemylord]

Naoya has a misogyny complex, and you know exactly how to fix it. 

TW/kinks: noncon??, oral [male!receive], choking/gagging, degradation, first time, nicknames [lord], edging, marking, misogyny | modern, servant + grammar errors.

A/N: okii my excuse is his appearance. but you were able to get him to be gentle with you <3 i wanted ~7 or 8k but then i deleted the moments because i thought they were boring and so it came out to 5k.

m.list | word count: 5k |

Being a servant of the Zenin Clan without having any cursed energy sucks: every day you heard as Naoya and his father degrade you; the Clan hates ordinary people like you, Toji, and Maki. You were born without cursed energy equates to worthlessness. If Maki was able to become a shaman of the second rank, and a man became a Sorcerer Killer - your family had sold you to the Zenin family and you had no choice.

You’ve been here almost since you were little: you’ve been treated without the slightest respect, negligible disobedience, any hint of revolt or improper behavior - and you will have a punishment.

Even if you’re a young lady - an immoral, lacking in moral principles Naoya could do whatever he wants to do. If he’s been in a good mood [rare occasions], he orders you to bathe, wash him thoroughly and his clothes, and serve him as a Lord - humiliating.

“Women. How is disgusting it is to be a woman. Especially not to have cursed energy in the world where you have to survive. More wine.”

“Yes, my Lord.“ You poured an expensive, aged wine into his glass, returning to washing his shoulders. For the moment you wanted to touch him with a sponge, his stern gaze has stopped you.

"Nude yourself."

You stood frozen, hesitating what to do - not knowing what you should do. Your heart has stuck in your throat as your movements completely stopped themselves; his imperious and severe voice makes you shudder in your knees - does he really want to do that?

You're wearing a casual, somewhat pitiful maid's outfit - a white, shabby shirt, and a black knee-length skirt. Naoya's stern gaze is still focusing on your feminine charms. Don't play dumb - your Lord can notice the way you're bending over right so he could see your rolling breasts and a glimpse of the areolas of your nipples, by his long-standing order not to wear underwear.

Slowly unbuttoning your shirt, you shouldn't have to hesitate to do his bidding. Your body is in the prime of life - a toned body, due to daily physical activity, you have such a pretty face to somehow charming your Lord to keep him from killing you. When your clothes were off, you looked into his eyes - he wasn't happy with your hesitation.

Your breasts could perfectly fit in his large palms, thus he could fully embrace the volume and squeeze between the phalanges of his finger aroused nipples. You were still hesitating to take off the skirt.

"I thought I told you to nude yourself."

"Yes, s-sorry, my Lord."

Unbuckling the belt, you gulped, glancing cursorily from your lord to the clothes. The hot blood rushed to your cheeks, painting the skin into pastel pink color, as his hand reached to your body; a gesture of urging closer, running his hand along your belly to the cleavage between your breasts. Now, you're totally naked. The soft sound of falling material startled you a little and you had a quick look on the man: as if a predator who has a target on a young prey, Naoya ogles at your chest, full of mirth - you are always such a dutiful servant.

"You're scared of me? Good. This way you'll be more docile to my requests."

Yes, you are terrified of this man's orders and tasks; in a flash - he can kill you without regret or remorse. When he reached to touch your clit, someone had knocked on the door. Fuck - he whispered quietly, making a tsk sound. Come in.

You flinched, wanted to cover your naked body with your hands, yet Naoya glared at you menacingly: don't you dare, woman. The word "woman" from his mouth had the connotation of being negative, derogatory, rather than indicative of gender. Women - like trash to him; such small, humiliating creatures. You've had enough of it - despite being a servant in his shitty Clan, you deserve to be treated like a human being.

"Enough of it," you say in your mind. "His misogyny, his attitude toward me - I'm going to fix that, whatever it takes."

A woman entered into the spacious bathroom, looked around at the lord, and said something about an upcoming meeting about his position - he will be the new top of the clan. He will be the 27th head of Zenin family. Namely, he will take full charge of everything and everyone; his impertinence will know no bounds. Even now, listening to a middle-aged woman speak, he allows himself to touch your crotch, guiding a middle finger on your folds. He smirks, finding your moisten entrance - you miserable whore, turned on by someone looking at you nude or from his long finger toying your clit and along your folds?

"After I become the head, you will be my sex toy. Now get out of here."

It's been a few days since your last contact, you've already started to think that he had forgotten about his last words you will be my sex toy. One thought of returning back to the bathroom or even pick at him causes goosebumps all over your body. You didn't have a choice but obey your devilishly awful lord. You aren't ready to be a toy for him - you're fed up with being in this house and serving him. Your palm had slipped down to your crotch, touching yourself through your clothes - why was it hot in there then? His finger had caressed your slit briefly, but you managed to become pliable toward his caresses.

He has a misogyny complex and you're about to fix that. You wobble, passing by his bedroom - soon, you will be there, standing on your knees all naked and malleable, doing his new tasks. You swallowed with terror, kinda anticipating for the next future. Any day now, Naoya will order his other servants to prepare you.

Lately, you've been waking up in fear, trembling from nightmares - your life is going downhill. This shitty blond man has absolutely no bounds neither moral principles, he thinks If you're his servant - you would do anything for your Master, wouldn't you? Late at the night, you allowed yourself to touch your little clit, not knowing exactly how to please your urge, pretending it's his fingers. You were tracing little circles on the clit to your folds, leaving the best part to him.

Lord his status dropped from your mouth unconsciously as your fingers kept tracing on your bug. Muted whimpers were escaping from your lips, filling the warm summer room simultaneously with a yearning to taste him as soon as possible, and slightly squelching noises from the wet hole. In the morning, you always regret having such filthy thoughts. You're gonna be no one, but his toy for play.

You woke up to a knock on the door, instantly running over to open it. One of the servants stood on the threshold, holding a white, silk dress. You glanced with fear in your eyes into the woman's eyes, which were also filled with sadness - everyone knew what that meant. Other women were sort of happy of the Naoya's choice - they're also frightened of becoming a toy; your knees trembled a little as you uncertainly raised your head, taking the dress.

"Lord ordered me to prepare you," she said. "Y/n-san, please, follow this way."

The woman leads you into the bathroom, prepared in advance: the warm water radiates in small clouds of steam, soaring above the room. She murmured how sorry she is, she said you're going to be okay, repeating his phrases: "For him, women - are nothing. Please, obey your Lord."

She pulled the sleeve of your nightgown down, forcing you to take off your clothes. You slowly unbutton your shirt, plunging into the water. The woman got behind you to raffle your hair and wash you. You breathe deep and slow, attempting to manage your thoughts - this night will long and full of pain. Naoya will do it tonight.

"Do," you make a brief pause, trying to combine words into sentences. "W-what he'll do with me, Keya-san?"

"Which is what a man should do. Turn you into a woman." she brushes your wet hair, puts a handful of shampoo on your hair, preparing it for the evening. "Lord Naoya has chosen you as a girl for the night. Be grateful."

You can't. You're not able to be grateful; you already have a plan for how to fix his misogyny. He was brought up with the notion that a woman was born to procreate or be a servant for her man, nothing more.

"He's in the good mood today, he might be good with you."

"Lord? In the good mood? Something new."

You're driving palms on your shoulders and down, touching your nipples. You still remember the sensation of his fingertips on your nipples, how he guided them to your crotch; the hot feeling inside stirred up again. You aren't supposed to feel this - he's going to rip you, fuck you dumb on his bed, turning you into the woman. And you inevitably will provide your body to your Lord, won't you?

To live as a servant now sounds like a daydream to you, namely - share a bed with the leader, subsequently, nurture his offspring, then, if you give birth to a healthy boy, you will become his wife - not probable, but there is hope. You're tired of living in a state of fear, you had decided to come up with a plan, if it doesn't work - death will sound like a reward.

In conclusion, you can already hear his bitter chuckle as he mocks you, driving you to a frenzy. Your stomach cramps at the thought of his agitated organ - his stamina surpasses most men since he was trained as a shaman from an early age.

The water pleasantly relaxed your body, releasing your consciousness from lustful thoughts. A middle-aged woman giving you a relaxing massage, sort of thankful that you will be the head's concubine. You are a young girl in the prime of your life who will become his fucked toy until the moment your belly is filled with his seed, then his pups. You're brainrot kept thinking about the ongoing night:

"Nude, slut. Oh, you're crying? Crying because of my thick cock, what a shame. Did you ask your Lord to stop? Who are you to tell me what to do? You just my toy to play."

His mocking giggle and tone cause you to shiver from just a simple thought of how Naoya would rip your hymen. The worst - you don't know what to expect: your hands traveling from your neck to your pristine crotch; your breathing becomes quicker and the tears blur the clarity of your vision. The endeavor to catch your breath is wipe out - "calm down, calm down, calm down", - you say in your mind. "You're strong girl, you will come through it; just relax and calm down."

The night is not far off, and the terror is getting worse by the second. The clock announces a quarter to ten when the lord has already been in his bedroom and you are outside the door of the room. You're wearing a white, semi-fitted dress that reaches to your knees, underneath the dress is only the naked, pristine body that the lord will feel tonight. You turn to the woman, your head showing "thank you, I'll take it from here," and you see her hurriedly walking away.

Behind by the door on your own, clutching the hem of the white dress with your fists. As bewitched, your feet haven't moved: as if you've been stuck at the ground, from the moment you had arrived here. Behind the door - is your worst nightmare, making your heart freeze somewhere in the throat.

You knew he could hear your rapid heartbeat, how your arms shaking to knock; he's an experienced sorcerer, he felt your attendance at the long corridor. You hesitate to knock, wobble to be in the lord's bedroom, and stare into his emeralds [!idk his color, so let it be green pls] eyes brimming with dominance and authority. You knocked twice, waiting for his order to come.

"Come in."

After overheard his strict voice your skin had gotten goosebumps, slowly entering the candlelit room. Naoya sits at the edge of the bed, glancing at the figure approaching him; he covered in a white robe, showing off his torso. He smirked, looking at your precious body.

"My little sex toy," he started with a low voice. "On your knees."

"I'm not your toy."

You stand in front of his spread legs, noticing his boner. You sicked of his attitude, his prejudice against women being only good for having children - makes you cringe.

"Say it again, whore."

"My Lord, I'm here to convince you. You can kill me If you want, but I-" you slowly approached toward him, touching his shoulders with your pads. "I can give you pleasure."

"I give you one minute to convince, next - I'll take you by force, toy."

Without wasting the time you sat on his knees, feeling his hands tie around your body; you knew one minute isn't enough to complete your idea, that's why you pull Naoya into a passionate, lingering kiss. Your hands traveled from his broad shoulders to his chest, outlining his pumped-up chest and abs, running the fingertips under his garment.

He placed a palm on your butt check, rising up the hem of the dress whilst his other hand has grabbed your breast through the fabric. He's amused by your audacity to act like that, therefore he gave you a minute to prove your courage; he secretly adores how your pads found themselves on his lower abs, tracing to his pubic.

The blond man lifted the dress, guiding his finger to your little clit. From the touch you succumbed forward, meeting with his chest.

"How sensitive you are, toy." you'd pulled away from his lips and stood on your knees. His eyes never left yours, watching as you uncertainly touching the raised glans through the material. You gulp, lose the remains of your confidence when he looks at you threateningly, moving his palms away from his cock. "I didn't tell you to stop." As you wanted to touch the base, his strict voice stopped you.

"Show me that you are worthy of my cock."

Pulling to the side of the robe you've discovered a huge dick, with a drop of ejaculation the pink tip. On the side of the penis is bulging a vein, probably from the anticipation of your mouth on it; you ran a glance at his soaring chest, the way his muscles on his arms rolling over as he clutched the sheet against your heated breath on his glans. Come on, do it.

You circled the head tantalizingly with your tongue, tasting the saltish flavor of ejaculate, letting the cock into your mouth, marveling at its size - how could it fit inside you? But the clarity of consciousness is clouded by the thought of continuing than the personal safety of your pussy. And do you want to stop sucking his dick when a man's palm helps you push the organ in further; you curl your eyebrows against the bridge of your nose, trying to relax your throat. You're mooing in an overwhelming sensation that spreads vibrations throughout his penis.

You suck assiduously and deeply - as a shaman would probably love: slowly, wetting every inch with saliva and playing with the bulging veins on the sides, trying diligently to comfort him with luscious blowjobs. Your gaze flickers from cock to emerald predatory eyes, keeping your palms on the man's strong hips, you continue to swallow the organ deeper, letting the head down to the tonsils, feeling the reflex of the unexpected collision, as the tears in the corners of your eyes begin to collect gradually, rolling down the soft cheeks - as Naoya loves.

Naoya places one palm on your silky hair, pulling the strands together in a fist, thrusting as deep as he can on his cock, hearing you choke on the length of it, but not resisting, just squeezing your eyes tightly shut, satisfying his need. You are either a masochist or you clearly love submission. Perhaps it's both - one doesn't really interfere with the other. His thick cock fills your mouth, making the shaman smirk, watching his organ disappear and reappear; your upturned nose lightly tickles the blond man's pubic hair, and in response, the latter plunges its full length all the way to your tonsils.

As you heard his muted, hoarse moan you traced the muscle on his balls: obviously, they're full of sperm. He could fill all your holes with whitish liquid and still, he'd be full of semen in his balls. Abstaining from touching his own erection gives him an opportunity to accumulate plenty of sperm in his balls, which he will generously put in your belly.

Naoya looks at you from the top, having a divine view for observing his cock sinking into your mouth, too big for your throat, as your tongue inside playing with the frenulum and veins. Such a good toy for him - you are too good to destroy you. One minute turned into five or more as your throat ached to take a thick head, gradually slowing the tempo down.

"You are taking my cock so well, mm, maybe I'll give the chance, doll."

His cock is throbbing inside your mouth, yet he doesn't release the stream of sperm - he endures to fill your insides. He wants to keep his member inside your tight and redden, due to the friction, walls, thus you could warm him all night, want to bury his tip in the mixed of his and yours liquid.

Suddenly, the butterflies started to boil in your stomach when you heard the nickname he had called you. And, oh crap, he looks so hot now: he aimlessly dipped his fingers into his barely damp strands, raffles his blond hair, and tosses his head back. Droplets of sweat had begun to collect on his muscles - the prolonged abstinence was taking its toll. He is being amused by your spirit and ability to take the length to your tonsil, good puppy will have a reward for sucking the cock so diligently.

"On my knees, toy." You didn't falter, quickly jumped on his legs. "As I will be the first, I don't want to see your tears - you will become disgusting to me."

He leaned you forward thus your ass cheeks were in the air; in front of you, you noticed a large mirror revealing a view of the two figures. You felt how his finger touches your moisten hole whilst another is toying with your puffy clit. Be a good girl for your Lord you bit your lower lips unconsciously, eagerly anticipating to have a sensation of his long finger inside your walls - you wanted to fill as his digits will be stretching your pristine core, masterfully touching the spongy coil in your stomach making to gulping of the overwhelming feeling.

"My Lord" your tone is not the same as last time - the way you pronounced his status was more confident. The tone sounded demanding and audacious, - as Naoya peeped at your face through the mirror. "Please, touch me."

"You seem to have forgotten that you're just a toy." He slapped your ass check once, guiding fingers from your asshole to the slit. "My obedient little sex toy."

You couldn't contradict him, only letting out a silent mooing when his fingers are back on your crotch. His fingers slowly circle around the little bump making you lose your breath at the man's skillful hands. You feel yourself flowing, restraining a ragged sigh as he pushes his phalanx of fingers inside. You can feel the boiling feeling inside you about to burst out, even though he's only just begun - one of the shaman's techniques? He feels the extreme tightness as your walls squeeze a long finger, adjusting to the feeling. He aims to beat all the moans out of you, to be the one who brings you to your limits and impregnates you.

A couple of hours ago, you'd have said you'd never let him finger-fuck you - now you're contradicting yourself: as soon as your legs start rocking back for more sensation, he added one more finger, stretching your gooey walls. The heat spreads throughout your body as Naoya finds the tidbit inside you again, touching it with his fingertips over and over again, building an orgasm in you. You can't do anything but clench the sheet in your fists and let your subconscious switch off as his palm gently strokes your buttock, the shaman doing his best to enter into a drooling mess.

"Pathetic. You want to cum, don't you? Your pussy is constricting me excessively, am I giving you pleasure?"

The man mocks you, and in the reflection of the mirror, you see him smirking, drenching his fingers in you, and sending tremors down your spine. You wriggle like a snake, trying to dodge his thumb on your clit. You close your eyelids tightly, trying to hold back the boiling sensation as your juices moisten the blond's fingertips and you feel his cock literally wailing from the lack of attention. It amuses him how desperately you shrink back, keeping the thrill inside.

"Your duty is to serve me and accept my sperm."

"Yes, my Lord."

You whimper, watching yourself cry, as your lips let out an elongated moan as the heat is sent to your lower body, spreading arousal. You're wracked with orgasmic spasms as he continues to pound the remainder of your juices through your climax. He grins as his ears caress your whimper, literally laughing and filling the room with his superiority, along with your scent. Naoya palpates your insides, still feeling you pulsing to his sharp thrusts.

To think about it - a few days ago you were scared to the bones of this shitty man, from now on, you're shifting your legs back for getting more attention, letting out a dulcet whimper as your lord generously rewarding your tight pussy. Not to mention about how he's amused by your attitude - you're going to have his pups. You are going to be such a good little wifey for him. Your mind has blurred at the moment when he sent the climax through your body - it might be a drug you should have to be careful or else you might get an addiction.

You're focusing on how good Naoya has made you feel only using his digits. He pulled out his drenched fingers into translucent liquid, reaching out to you. Without wobbling you take his digits in your mouth, tasting yourself; you cringe at your flavor, trying to turn away from the fingers.

"Don't like your own flavor? I'll make you love it."

He pulls you up on the bed with a tug, pushing your buttocks apart, putting his cock up to the entrance. You should have played with yourself a little hours earlier, so his cock comes through more gently. Without warning, his organ finds itself inside the still untouched walls of your cock, feeling you swallow it with the first thrust. He tosses his head back and with a growl makes another thrust, enjoying the tightness.

You can contradict your thoughts, which swarm like a buzzing in your head, but you can't contradict your arousal-you're damn well beckoned by him. It's even silly to deny it - his thick, hot cock fits your tight pussy perfectly, in fact, that's why he gets used to you, not wanting to leave your hole.

You could swear how you feel his bulging veins, the way his head touches your cervix and the way his balls, full of sperm, strike the folds. He's full of energy to fertilize you, his inexhaustible power surging and his instincts screaming in his head: you'll make her yours right? she takes you so well.

"God, you accept me so well, I'm contemplating giving you my seed." You are biting your lip as his palms stroke your thighs and move to your hair, pulling you closer to him. You arch your back too much to feel his hot breath near your ear lobe. "I'll put the babies right here," he traces your belly with his finger and places one of your hands on your belly.

You clenched as your palm felt the bulging lower abdomen from behind his huge cock. It felt like he was going to rip you. His movements are slow at first, but deep, but as soon as he sees the eager and frustrated look you're giving him, his hips pump into you, knocking husky moans out of you. In the reflection of the mirror, you see Naoya holding you by the neck, his cock disappearing into you and leaving there rough kisses to your cervix, your breasts bouncing up and down due to the thrusts against your skin-slapping.

Candles had once created a romantic atmosphere that took it to the next level. In an instant, you find yourself face pressed into the pillows as his hand leaves a red mark on your buttocks.

"Oh, fuck, you're going to be such a sweet wifey, fuck, fuck," he utters in a semi-delirious tone as the feeling of a fitful orgasm blows his mind. He reaches for your hair again and wraps it around his fist, pulling your neck closer for the purpose of leaving a few hickey bites on your soft skin.

He thrusts into you harder, feeling his own climax come crashing down on him. He tries to hold onto the blazing feeling for as long as possible, crinkling when the excitement is about to overwhelm him.

"Turn around." he pulls out with a pop-sounding cock, peering at how a small lump of the white liquid has encircled his size. "Suck it."

You turn around again, your lips wrapping around the head and feeling the combined taste of the fluids. The salty taste is unpleasant, making you wrinkle, wanting to let the organ out of your mouth sooner. Your throat is still throbbing from the big cock that Naoya has thrust up to your tonsils.

You take it up to the halfway point, release it with a smacking sound and lick your lips, the organ throbbing from your lack of mouth, putting it back inside in a matter of milliseconds, grabbing at your hair. His cock throbbed and he filled the bedroom with a hoarse groan with a stream ending in your mouth. You choke, tears again collecting in the corners of your eyes due to the enormous length. There's enough cum to fill your entire mouth; some drops drip down your chin as he releases your hair, letting you gasp for breath.

"I don't seem to have satisfied you, do I?"

You lick, run your finger down your chin and lick it off. Such a gesture doesn't bode well-Naoya wraps his palms around your face, brings you closer to his and pulls you in for a quick but intoxicating kiss. He gives you a second of caress before he starts insulting you again.

"You want praise? Do you want me to say your name?"

You nod, placing your hands on his wrists, gazing into the eyes across from him - still, your plan partly worked.

"If you make it through one more round, I'll probably fulfill one whim of yours, okay?"

taggie-taggie: @laraazoldyck @luminly @gojo-satorus-wife @palebrownie @clxdyskiess @zeninini @ticklemypetertingle @jotazinha @mrskomatsu @certified-dilfhunter @sublimelawyerpersonaland @htmlbitxh @my8asf @mayonnaise-consumer @itsmychocolatemilk

[kuroo-shitsurou]

Auxilium (College!Xiao x College!Reader)

TW: mentions blood, depression, anxiety

note: it's my first time writing and posting something on tumblr so im sorry if it's bad!! reader is gn hehe.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick. Humans make decisions that eventually shape their personalities. What does a new year have anything to do with that? Does a change in the year automatically make you a good person? Does it make you less of an asshole than you might already be? He never really understood.

He found it rather silly, actually. Whenever a new year rolls around, Xiao would mutter silent curses to himself because he'd write the wrong year on his papers. Other than that, there wasn't any significant changes he made in his daily routine. He was still the same Xiao; The same anxious, mildly depressed, and coffee-high art major Xiao.

Now, Xiao was a respected figure in their college (or at least, that's what he was told). He was one of the most talented artists at Tokyo University, and professors have been eyeing him for a scholarship overseas (he, along with his brooding and mysterious senior, Diluc). His keen eye for details always produce great results as most of his portraits are featured in the university's gallery of students' greatest works. Not to mention, one of his larger canvas works were displayed at the Tokyo Museum, making him one of the youngest artists to have their art showcased there.

Admittedly, Xiao was aware of how people admired his talent. Unfortunately, due to a rough childhood where his parents barely showed him any love and affection, he had trouble reflecting his true emotions onto other people. That's why other art majors often labelled him as a self-absorbed, egotistical prick.

Xiao was the last person you'd want to compliment. It's not that he'd be a dick about it or that he'd scowl at you and act as if he was better than you in every way possible. It wasn't like that at all. It's simply because Xiao doesn't know how to handle compliments. He'll still keep his stoic face, lips pressed in a straight line, but deep inside, he'd be flustered to bits. He'd try to internalize his reply, stitching together the right words to express his gratitude, but it would always take him a few minutes. The person who complimented him would've already left after he finally constructed the sentence in his head. Not that he wasn't used to it

This led to Xiao earning his current reputation, as stated earlier. He was already expecting the rest of his college years to be spent alone in his studio, working on his artworks during the wee hours of the night, high on the fumes of his paint palette and his exhausted coffee machine.

Until you came.

Kaoru was... eccentric. You were loud, you were moody. He felt like you'd be the type of person he'd hate dealing with just because you was unpredictable. You were like the rain, and Xiao hated the rain.

He must have an Archon's cursed tongue, because he got paired up with you during the first semester of their second year in college. You were a familiar name to him, as you were in the same course since the first year, but he barely knew anything about you since you were in different classes.

"Hey, Xiao! I'm _____. I hope we can be good friends by the end of the semester!" His memory of your bright smile still remains vivid in his head. He wasn't really a brooding type like Diluc, but Xiao liked to believed that he presented himself as a silent person who had no intentions of interacting with other people. So, how were you so bubbly around him? Because she was forced to do so? You were to be his partner for the whole semester, after all. Maybe it was all formalities. Yeah, that's probably it.

"Hm." Xiao gave a nod in her direction, acknowledging your existence. you heard from your friends that the young artist didn't have a pleasing personality, but you weren't expecting to be shutdown from the get-go.

"Mind if I sit beside you?"

Again, a light nod.

You felt the awkward tension between you and Xiao, and you hated it. You were a person who hated it when people are uncomfortable in your presence. You didn't want to be a bother, and you did your best to make everyone like you. Not that you were a people pleaser, nor an attention hog, but you just wanted to get along with everyone.

The lecture was going to begin in twenty minutes, so the lecture hall was yet to be filled with people. You took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the amber eyed man beside you, who was typing away on his laptop. Something about color theory and how it affects the perspective of people on different art types? You couldn't really see that well. He was a fast typer.

"So, Xiao, I heard that your painting was displayed in the Tokyo Museum last year. It must have been an honor. I was at the unveiling last year and I saw it up-close." You started off, testing the waters.

"And what did you think of it?" Xiao cringed internally. He meant to genuinely ask for your feedback regarding his art, but it sounded so harsh that he wanted to punch himself when he saw you wince (or maybe you shuddered because it was cold and you were wearing a sleeveless top? His nerves were getting the better of him at this point).

"Well, a lot of my friends told me that it wasn't anything special,"

Ouch.

"It was a large canvas. I can still remember how it looks. But, maybe that's because I'm at the museum every two weeks," You laughed. You noticed how Xiao's breathing noticeably changed after you started your sentence, and you have to admit that it sounded a bit too mean.

"You know, Xiao. My friends told me that your art was simple. Anyone could have done it. But honestly, they couldn't be more wrong. I love how your piece was painted. Auxilium. I'll never forget what you called it. That's... Help, right?"

At first, Xiao didn't want to listen to this person ramble about an art piece he made during one of the lowest points of his life.

His anti-depressants had run out during that one Christmas. It was 2:47 in the morning. He had morning classes the following day. He had a project to submit, but he was unable to continue working because of the unbearable pain in his chest. His head was throbbing. Voices were invading his mind. Flashbacks of his parents' negligence taunted him. He rushed to grab a glass of water, chugging it down in almost three chugs. He slammed the glass back onto the counter, smashing it into tiny little splinters and cutting himself in the process. His hand was bleeding, there were bits of glass on his counter and on his floor, but he couldn't care less. He was heaving, his breathing was unsteady, he wanted to die right then and there. His vision became blurry, but he rushed back to his studio.

With a bleeding hand, he picked up his brush and began to tear into his canvas. Not literally, but he started to create strokes onto the blank canvas. Different colors, different textures (he swore some of his blood got blended in with the area where he painted the sunrise, but it's fine. No one was going to notice, right?). He screamed and cried, wanting to throw the entire easel out his window.

It was Christmas. He was alone in his apartment. His anti-depressants ran out. He was having a panic attack.

That night led him to having one of the worst breakdowns he could remember, but he also ended up with a gorgeous painting that nabbed him a place in the Tokyo Museum.

"Help," Your voice echoed in his ears, snapping him out of his trance.

"People can tell me that it's nothing more than a simple painting, but the way that the sunrise was only showing in a segmented part of the canvas? The way that there were hints of red? It kind of reminded me how a new day can resemble hope but still contain hurt. Like, the promise of a fresh start isn't guaranteed a good one, right?"

Your words rang in his ears like a gong being hit continuously. He wanted to cry. People always complimented him and congratulated him about being recognized by art critics and national museums, but none of them ever really stopped to talk to him about his art. They were there for his recognition- not his work.

"I mean, you could begin with a fresh start, but wouldn't the remnants of yesterday still take a toll on your tomorrow?"

"Hm. Interesting take. To be honest, those specks could have been my blood." Xiao spoke up, to your surprise. A small smile formed on your face. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"My hand was cut up when I was painting that," He added quietly, not mentioning why his hand was in that state. "I think I accidentally added too much concentrated red. I couldn't blend it out the way I originally planned."

"Oh? But that makes it all the more great, though!" You beamed, "Maybe it was an Archon guiding you? I don't really believe in that stuff, but acknowledging some divine intervention once in a while can't be all bad, no?" You laughed.

"I guess you're right." For the first time in a while, Xiao actually gave someone else a small smile. It wasn't really a smile per se, but his lips curved even the slightest bit upward, and you decided that it was a win for you.

-

Fast forward to the second semester of their third year.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick.

It had been years since he was clinically-diagnosed with mild depression. So, why was he still that way? Shouldn't new years help him be a better person? Or something like that. Why was he still like this?

Late February meant the end of one semester, and the start of another.

What else did that mean?

His semestral feedback report (he refused to call it a report card. What was he, high school?).

"Xiao? Are you here? I bought almond tofu from Xiangling's place. Sorry for barging in, you weren't answering my calls." He heard your voice from the kitchen and he glanced at the clock on his studio's wall.

1:37 AM.

You were at Xiangling's place because you were working on a report about the history of acrylic paints or whatever it was. You were supposed to go home, but you still dropped by his apartment. He checked his phone.

[ 14 missed calls. ]

Yikes.

"I'm here." He answered meekly, but loud enough for you to hear. He felt tired. Defeated, maybe. He was blankly staring at the canvas in front of him. He has sketched the base of your face and upper body. He was planning on painting a portrait of his beloved to decorate his room with, but he couldn't find the energy to continue.

He could hear the soft "thud"s of your feet walking from the kitchen towards the studio, but he tuned it out with an annoying static he could only hear in his head.

Fuck. Where are they?

He rushed to the drawer next to his easels and rummaged around in a panic.

Where the fuck are they?

He kept a few anti-depressants in his studio because he spends most of his time here and he didn't have time to rush to the kitchen to get them if he ever got a panic attack.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly, throwing the contents of his desk onto the floor. Some of his paintbrushes scattered on the wooden floor of his studio, marking the wood various colors. Maybe they're going to stain, but he didn't really care.

Xiao heard the footsteps retreating until he couldn't hear anything else except the constant ringing in his ears. It was annoying. It was loud. It started to make him want to split his head open.

"_____," He whispered, feeling his chest hurt and his throat tighten. The passageways helping him breathe seemed to close themselves, giving him a hard time and mocking him. It was coming back again.

Tears started to flood his vision, and they rolled down his red cheeks. He took the ponytail out of his hair and used two hands to tug at his locks starting from the roots. His breathing patterns became more erratic, but he tried his best to stay calm.

His knees and legs felt like jelly. He had to lean against the desk to avoid from toppling over.

Why? Why again? Why now? Why when you were here?

He screamed. It was loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but his care for any external entities was out the window the moment his eyes became blurry with tears.

Even though he was leaning against the desk, his legs still couldn't hold the weight of his entire body. His knees dropped to the floor, and he swore he must've dented the wood below, but he paid no mind to it. His knees were also aching, but he could deal with that later. He bent down and pressed his forehead to the floor.

"_____," He whispered again, longing for his partner. "Auxilium."

"Xiao?" The voice was muffled. His eyes were glued to the floor in front of him, but he knew it was you.

"Xiao, stay with me, honey." There was a hint of panic evident in your voice, but he was glad that you didn't let that get the best of you. You was still somewhat calm.

You kneeled down beside him, helping him back to an upright position.

"Honey, you left these on the counter outside." You handed him two tablets of his anti-depressants, and he gladly placed them in his mouth. You also gave him a glass of water, and he downed it in two swift gulps. Afraid that he might underestimate his strength, he returned the glass back to you instead of setting it down himself, nodding at you in the process.

You got into a more comfortable position where you rested your back against the wall, and you guided Xiao to follow you. It was a difficult task; He was very sensitive during his panic attacks.

His semestral feedback reports always made him anxious. He didn't have to please his parents anymore since he moved out years ago, but Xiao had this nagging feeling inside of him to do better with his academics. Nobody was really pressuring him to be a straight-A student, but did he feel like he needed to be? Who was he trying to prove himself to anyway? You knew about his sever panic attacks and how they were more active if he had a big event coming up. The first time you had to deal with it, you were still stiff and trying to learn how you could help. Now, you takes pride in yourself for being able to handle him in the ways you know would help him the most.

"Here you go, I've got you." You cooed, assisting him with moving. You laid his head flat on her lap and she began stroking his beautiful, tousled forest green locks. The highlights he had under the first layer of his hair started to fade, and you made a mental note to take him to a salon so they could get their highlights redone.

"You know, I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay lately," You started speaking, as if Xiao wasn't about to have a full-on panic attack. "Yellow would have to be one of my favorite songs. I guess it's kinda cheesy, but can you blame me?"

You used your free hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you." You began singing, voice just above a whisper.

"And everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow."

Xiao was a reserved person who had a hard time dealing with other people because of his inferiority complex that sprouted when he was young.

"I came along, I wrote a song for you."

He didn't have love and affection growing up. He didn't know how to be the best person to talk to. He had poor communication skills. He was a mess, to be honest.

"And all the things you do. And it was called yellow."

You were the first person who looked past his rough and tough exterior. You were the person who showed interest not just in his name- but in him as a whole.

"So when I took my turn, what a thing to've done."

"Thank you," He murmured silently, noticing that the ringing in his ears vanished. His throat was beginning to open again, and he could finally feel the steady heartbeat he had in his chest.

"And it was all yellow."

Xiao curled himself into a ball, burying his face in your clothed stomach. You smelled a bit like smoke (maybe you ate yakiniku at Xiangling's?) and your faded cologne. It smelled like home. It washed a sense of relief over his entire being. He felt safe. He felt secure. He was being held like a child, but he didn't really mind. Maybe he needed this.

"Your skin. Oh yeah, your skin and bones,"

You craned your neck downwards to look at Xiao's figure. He finally looked peaceful. You knew about his rough past. You knew about the trauma he had to go through, but you chose to look past it because you knew that he was just afraid and... alone. He needed someone to be there for him, and you would rather the world die than leave him alone ever again.

"Turn into something beautiful."

You noticed how his chest started a rhythmic pattern of ups and downs. His breathing was finally steady. He looked at peace. He looked like he was right at home.

"Do you know? You know I love you so."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched him sleep in your lap. How could anyone think that this softie was an asshole?

"You know I love you so."

You barely whispered the last part of the song, but it was loud enough for his heart to hear it. Xiao hated when things were unpredictable; that's why he hated the rain. But now, maybe the idea of rain wasn't so bad. Especially since you were his rain.

"I love you, Xiao."

At that moment, you knew that the involuntary smile on Xiao's face was a response that contained more emotions than his words could ever bear.

"I love you too."

[chocolate-parfait]

Yay, askbox is open! I hope that means requests too, if not please ignore this and sorry. But could I request another angst? Could I please ask for headcannons for Dazai (and the others could be either Theo, Vincent, Leo, Comte, Will or Arthot, you can choose two, 'cause I can't XD) who find their S/Os suicide note? You can take it wherever you want from there. Thank you so much, love your works <3 Have a grwat day!

Hi @robin-the-enby !! I'm happy to see you in my inbox again, and although this took me embarrassingly long (my procrastination tendencies and school got the better of me :,)), I'm more than happy to provide something that will help with your coping! Despite it all, I hope that you'll get better soon and hang on a while longer. I'm sure this prolonged pandemic has had negative effects on most people's mental health, but remember that we'll get through this in one way or the other! Stay strong and keep fighting, if it gets too much don't hesitate to take a break and go easy on yourself❤

Halfway through I realized I was writing scenarios instead of simple headcanons ,, I was too engrossed in writing to realize it oops 🧍‍♀️ 🧍‍♀️ 🧍‍♀️

Finding MC'S suicide note - Ikevamp headcanons (Dazai, Arthur & Leonardo)

(TW; suicide / mentions of self-harm / major character death / blood)

(CW; slight and inaccurate spoilers for Dazai's past)

For those who'd like to avoid specific contents, this is what I wrote for each suitor:

Dazai - MC is unconscious and bleeding, I didn't specify whether they survive or not

Arthur - MC is stopped before they can do anything, survives

Leonardo - MC isn't stopped in time, dies

Dazai

It was as if history was repeating itself. The message, the bloodied sheets and the unconscious body. The only different thing was perhaps.... him. It was a him that had experienced true happiness, a him that had learned forgiveness, a him that knew better than retort to suicide as a way of repentance. And yet... was it not enough? Dazai's mind swirled with the pungent thoughts of his own fate as he ran with your body in his arms. He ran, and ran, and ran, passing by a seemingly endless succession of hallways and wooden doors.

Never before did he wish your room was closer to Arthur's, as he felt your body grow colder and his clothes dampen with blood with each step forward. And yet the stars that were now adorning the night sky's black cape, seemed to be offering their compassion to him, for when Dazai burst into the writer's room he saw him sitting at his desk, completely sober and still functioning in the middle of the night.

Arthur slightly turned in his chair, and as he was about to comment with displeasure how rude it was of the man to come into his room completely unannounced, his mouth was left agape and eyes wide open, wordlessly staring at your limp and seemingly unmoving body as the smell of blood hit his nostrils in mere seconds.

"What in the Heavens happened-?!" Arthur abruptly stood up, leaving his half-finished manuscript forgotten on the table, rushing closer to check your pulse. The two novelists had never liked each other, a difference in life choices maybe, but it surely was not a hate that could surpass even the most perilous of situations, particularly because you were an outsider to their rivalry. As such, Arthur did not hesitate to put to good use all his medical knowledge, carefully rushing through every step to avoid the worst.

Seconds slowly transformed into hours, although Dazai was convinced time had stopped ever since the moment he had found you on your bed, utterly frozen in a state of unconsciousness with a crumpled letter of apologies laying on the bloodied sheets. The only thing that perhaps gave him the slightest hint to time’s passing was the way he could feel the blood on his chest and hands grow drier as the night morphed into the day.

As the first rays of light poked from behind the thick curtain of the doctor’s room, Dazai sat by his bed, right next to you, silent and outwardly calm, although dazed in the raging storm inside his heart.

Perhaps this was what Destiny itself had decided for him. Perhaps it was wrong of him to blame casualty instead of himself. His old, stupid self, who hadn’t learnt a single thing from past mistakes. But as his fellow vampire’s warm hand came to rest on his shoulder, Dazai decided to delay all judgment about his negligence until the Gods determined your fate.

Arthur

Staring at the familiar handwriting, Arthur felt his whole body grow numb, as if someone had thrown him in the darkest depths of the ocean, leaving him to suffocate under the overwhelming weight of the waters above.

He had noticed the worsening of your symptoms, but he had never imagined you'd go to these lengths. He had gravely underestimated your condition, and he could already hear the old ghosts of his past laughing at him, pointing their fingers while mocking him. But now, he had no time to worry about his own lack of foresight; his priority was getting to you in time, so that all could be fixed, hopefully.

Scanning the writing on your tear-stained note, his brain started listing all the possible places where you could've gone with a speed that would leave speechless even Sherlock Holmes himself. The writing was hurried and scrambled, meaning that it was a sudden decision. The city was too far away and bustling with people that could interfere, so it was an unlikely location. As he was running around the mansion in search of you, he passed in front of the terrace on the last floor; there, he saw your clothes swirling in the wind, and your figure standing on the stone railing.

He almost crashed against the glass door as he launched himself forward with extreme speed. You were there, looking down and slightly trembling. You were scared, as it was normal, but if death frightened you so, then what pain would be so strong to push you in its embrace? To drive you away from his warm arms and into the eternal darkness? Was such a painful experience worth the possible relief?

"MC!!!" Arthur shouted out of instinct with his whole lungs, like a volcano erupting in all its fury. A few steps later and you were falling backwards, your back colliding with his chest as he harshly pulled you to him. It all happened so fast that you didn't even have the time to turn your head and look at him. Now that you were on the ground, safely locked in his embrace, everything slowly sank in.

His voice came out choked and trembling. "W-what were you thinking-?!" He was trying so hard to hold everything back; the tears, the sobs, the anger in his voice. He was angry at himself, and you were not the target of his resentment, but he realized that it could be easily misunderstood by someone in your situation. Taking a deep breath and turning you around, he stared deeply into your pained eyes, softening his iron-like grip on your forearms.

His voice now steadier yet gentle with affection and worry added:"Love, I'm sorry for not noticing all of this sooner. I'm sorry for not helping you enough. Still, I want to be of some use to you, I want to be there for you.” A sharp breath interrupted his speech, maybe from him, you or perhaps both of you. “…So please, please rely on me; whenever you feel like you can't do it anymore, whenever you feel like you have enough of life, give me the chance to help you."

Seconds later, you burst into tears, sobbing confused "I'm sorry"s in the crook of his neck. Arthur slowly caressed your hair soothingly, as his heart continued to painfully hammer against his chest. He knew this was not going to be an easy nor a short journey; it was going to take time, and it would be hard, but he wouldn't give up on you no matter what. Through thick and thin, the way you did for him, he was going to support you the whole way.

"I love you more than anything in the world, MC." he added at last, hugging you tightly.

Leonardo

The deafening sound of crickets did not reach the man’s ears. He couldn’t hear anything but the fast pumping of his own blood in his veins. A heartbeat that had never and would never stop; stronger than anyone else’s, but also alone. The sound of his heart was utterly lonely, the only one under the white gazebo, now shrouded in the darkness of the night.

How much he would give not to hear it anymore, to put an end to it right then and there. But he couldn’t. And as Fate loved torturing him endlessly, he was now once more deprived of a person he loved. But this time was different than the countless others before. He thought he had gotten used to the company offered by Death herself, and it had been long ever since tears burned within his eyes, as if made of fire.

Between his arms laid a lifeless body, utterly still and deprived of any warmth. It seemed like mere moments had passed when Leonardo was contentedly caressing your hair as a tired yet relaxed sigh fell from a pair crimson lips, which whispered some loving words before blooming into a smile. Now, they were pale and slightly agape, a cold frown sculpted onto the body’s face. Perhaps he had gotten so used to the passage of time that he did not pay it more mind. Perhaps all his memories took place too long ago, and perhaps things had changed considerably from those happy moments you shared.

Leonardo’s expression subconsciously mimicked your own, one that would remain in his mind for who knows how long, and he did not dare to move away, sitting there with you for the very last moments of his eternally long life. He tried not to think about the way his heart lurched in his chest like a ship at sea during a storm when he found your note. Your handwriting, calm and precise as if it was a decision you had made long ago; where was his mind wandering off to while you were deciding to seal your own fate?

Silently strangling all those whirling thoughts in his head until they died down, leaving him in a deathly silence, he lovingly bid you farewell with a final kiss to your lips.

“Hopefully, we’ll meet in another life.”

“Next time, I won’t let this happen again”

Suffering was human, but he had learnt all too well how contagious pain could be. And yet, he now found himself isolated in his grievance, for you weren’t with him anymore.

[somebody-909]

Yeong-gi was arrested as a kid [I Love Yoo Theory]

In celebration of the return of my favourite webtoon, I thought I'd share the theory I shared on reddit a while ago about our favourite red head (revamped with pictures and extra discussion). This theory was eventually pretty much proven correct in Episode 112.

TLDR: Allusions to violent behaviour, a bad period of time where Yeong-gi was away, and stigmatized treatment resembling how you treat a criminal, lead me to believe that Yeong-gi, having been deeply affected by the events with his mother, developed violent behaviour, that resulted in legal trouble of some sort. He was then sent "away" somewhere for some time, likely either juvie or a rehabilitation centre of sorts for juvenile delinquents.

1. "How long has it been since you got out?"

In episode 16, when Kousuke visits Yeong-gi at Mrs. Lochlainn's (Yeong-gi's granny) place, he asks:

"How long has it been since you got out? Four years, maybe five? I'll stop for today. I know you don't like being reminded of what happened back then."

This suggests that Yeong-gi "got out" of some place/institution. The words "got out" are also quite ominous... (I would even argue that it implies being "locked" away). I find it hard to believe he would be using this for something that wasn't incredibly unpleasant/hard for Yeong-gi to get through. Kousuke proceeds to say, "Four years, maybe five? I'll stop for today. I know you don't like being reminded of what happened back then," confirming this implication.

I have seen a few possible interpretations of where Yeong-gi might've been "away" for a while. I personally think it's most likely something legal (juvie or juvenile delinquent related rehab), although others believe it might've been a mental institution, and others think it was a boarding school.

I see how "got out" could be used for the first two options easily, but the last one is a bit more shaky. "... since you left boarding school" might be a more natural way of referring to that, since it would have to be a really bad boarding school to refer to it in the way Kousuke does.

The following clues lean more towards Yeong-gi being away due to criminal reasons, however.

2. Treated like a delinquent.

The next clue and the biggest is how everyone treats Yeong-gi. His family treats him like a delinquent (I choose this word specifically because of its connotations... not just a troubled, hopeless kid... but more a kid you can't trust because he will be irresponsible and bad).

In episode 19, the students talk about how Yeong-gi hangs out with Soushi (who they think is a delinquent as seen in episode 20 probably bc he's a brown guy with a scar tbh TT)

"His family's got some great connections, that's the only reason I'm being friendly with the dude."

"But what's the point in doing that? He only hangs out with this delinquent from another school."

"You're joking..."

"I'm not! I saw him! Got a scar too... probably got it from a fight..."

"So it's true what they say then... Him being..."

"Shh! Don't say it out loud!"

They think Yeong-gi is hanging out with and is friends with a delinquent who they associate with having been violent. They immediately ask, "So is it true what they say then … Him being …"

What kind of rumour would they think is true if they saw Yeong-gi hanging out with a "thug"?

It would make sense to finish that question with "So is it true what they say then … Him being a criminal" or "a delinquent".

If we were to go with the mental hospital theory, it might work if they said "him being violent" but that doesn't really work as well here in relation to Soushi being a "delinquent."

There is a bit of nuance between what they would associate with someone with a criminal history, in comparison to someone who had been admitted to an institution for mental health issues, even if both possibilities were linked to violent outbursts.

As for his family, they treat him terribly. Like he's a screw up, a troublemaker. Not so much like someone with mental illness. I think by this point its clear that Yeong-gi made a big mistake, but what would be so bad that they treat him like this?

3. Hints of being "away" and having a criminal past.

There are several subtle hints that indicate Yeong-gi did have a criminal past of sorts. Or at least spent some time away.

Episode 79 - significant criminal past

When Yeong-gi and his father meet the lawyer about the assault and drug case in episode 79, the lawyer says:

"Your son does not have a significant criminal past."

Why not just say that he doesn't have "a criminal past" at all, period? Now this seems negligible, but Quimchee has used very subtle hints like this in the past so I wouldn't put it past her (eg. Yui calling Yeong-gi, "kid," and Kousuke "son," to indicate she is related to Kousuke and not Yeong-gi).

Episode 79 - Hansuke couldn't get to know Yeong-gi

Kousuke's cousin, Hansuke, states that he never got to know Yeong-gi back in their college days because:

"I was busy with my residency and [Yeong-gi] was… you know… "

This alludes to Yeong-gi having been unable to hang out because he had something going on...

Kousuke's Corner 2 and Episode 72 - a year behind

Yeong-gi is also a year older than Shin-Ae and his twelfth grade peers... Having any sort of legal trouble could cause a kid to flunk a year.

References to violent behaviour

In Episode 51, Kousuke mocks Yeong-gi, stating that he can have his assistant bring his punching bag if he needed an outlet for his frustrations.

Not being in "control" of his emotions is a recurring motif, with Yeong-gi's family members and even with himself.

Affinity for physical fitness (boxing) as a coping mechanism

I think it's significant that after being alluded to having had violent behaviour, his coping mechanism is something very physical. Boxing, interestingly, imitates violence.

Thematically fits with the end of the Black and White Formal arc

This is more my personal opinion... But I think Yeong-gi punching that pos Sangchul after constantly being passive aggressively criticized for violent behaviour is... cruelly fitting. Him being arrested and possibly repeating what had once happened, and after he had constantly been told not to repeat it, would be a sad parallel to what he once had to deal with.

Possible alternative explanations

TW: mentions of poor mental health and suicide attempts

I think it's most certain that Yeong-gi had legal trouble of some sort, likely due to a violent altercation, and that he was sent somewhere as a result of this incident.

Where he was actually sent to as a result, however, is a bit more shaky.

Since it was a minor criminal past, it's possible could've been simply arrested and not been sent to juvie at all. If his father was heavily involved in his life, he would likely have intervened if juvie became a possibility.

There are some who speculate Yeong-gi had very poor mental health, likely due to what happened with his mother and may have even attempted suicide. While this is possible, there isn't a lot to indicate past depressive or suicidal tendencies. For sure, his violent behaviour was coupled with poor mental health... but not necessarily poor mental health of this nature. I also feel that there is some nuance in how people would talk to Yeong-gi if his time away was precipitated by a suicide attempt. Someone who had self-harming tendencies isn't treated like a thug. Someone who beat up a kid might be though. (depressive tendencies could've been coupled with violence that caused his time "away," but once again, there is not a lot to really hint at severe depressive behaviours).

There are also theories of foster care, if his mother died (which seems to be the most likely scenario with her). I don't think this is the case because we have seen a young Yeong-gi interact with a young Kousuke. The two brothers (and their parents) were aware of each other. There is also his nana.

I think the most likely scenario is that Yeong-gi, having been deeply affected by the events with his mother, developed violent behaviour, that resulted in legal trouble of some sort.

He was then sent somewhere as a result: either juvie or a rehabilitation centre of sorts for juvenile delinquents, or an asylum (due to aggression issues). Regardless, it must have been tied to a violent incident, resulting in legal action and detention and possibly a follow up mental health related thing (rehab/asylum).

Episode 112's confirmation:

There is a vague flashback alluding to a period of time where Yeong-gi was in trouble, specifically stating

"Poor kid. No one is going to want him."

"Why not?"

"...Behavioural and aggression issues".

This alludes both to Yeong-gi getting into trouble for hurting someone, AND for being guardian-less for a period of time (no one "wanting him" seems to reference foster care or adoption).

Later in the episode, Yeong-gi's classmates gossip and say:

"Wasn't he at a detention centre for a bit?"

"I thought he was in an asylum?"

"He was sent somewhere for sure..."

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Lucifer/Reader commission for the very lovely, very creative @pyrokittyowo​, with just a couple hints of Yandere!Diavolo. I really do love writing for him, if only because he’s got all the time and resources in the world to make everyone’s life a living *hell*, and nothing better to do than put his heart into it. What else could you ask for in a man?

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: (Minor) Physical Violence, Manipulation, Abusive Relationships, and Dehumanization.

Diavolo couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy feeling superior.

It was an odd sensation. He was a demon, for all intents and purposes, but it was hard to feel like one, regardless of how often he tried to do so. It was the disorientation that came from being the strongest of your kind but still living so far below the next step, more powerful than those that surrounded you but unable to reach another level, one where he’d certainly be eclipsed by monsters who didn’t carry the same regard demons did for other living, breathing creatures. Diavolo didn’t think of himself as above the average creature, but the idea would arise in his subconscious from time to time, nagging and irritating and refusing to drown until it was acknowledged, even if dismissal always followed his admission. He was strong, and he was powerful and he was capable, but he never let it affect his ego, not when doing so would only push him further away from his subjects, as it had with his father and every ruler before him. Still, he knew the limits of his control, and he was keenly aware of all the many beasts and brutes went about their never-ending lives within those limits.

With this in mind, Diavolo’s annoyance upon seeing one of his most obedient pets start to walk along the edge of that boundary was understandable.

Diavolo had always prided himself on not having to keep Lucifer on a tight leash. The man was loyal to a fault, the reason behind his dedication long-since having become more of an excuse than a binding contract. Lucifer didn’t have to be given orders, anymore, there wasn’t a need for threats of discipline or the poorly veiled warnings that’d dominated the early stages of their relationship, not when he seemed to think of paperwork and politics as a hobby to be enjoyed rather than a responsibility to be dreaded. He was useful, hell, he was one of the few people Diavolo might call an equal, but this wasn’t the time to get sentimental. Not when Lucifer’s attention seemed to wander more and more with each passing day.

Even now, he seemed distracted, his eyes only ever occasionally meeting Diavolo’s. Instead, they darted around the ballroom anxiously, first to the flute of champagne in his hand, then to the tiled floor then a nearby staircase then anything, as long as he didn’t have to linger on it for more than a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be uncomfortable during Diavolo’s parties, his guests and all their many fangs and talons caused more than enough unease for the average visitor, but it was unheard of for Lucifer to fall into a similar discontent. His feathers were beginning to ruffle unconsciously, his secondary wings already curling towards his chest, and his posture was no better, too rigid to mean anything good. If it’d been anyone else, Diavolo might’ve shrugged it off and suffered through a one-sided conversation, but it was Lucifer, his confidante, his willing servant, his friend. If something was bothering him, Diavolo was sure he wanted to know.

So, he glanced in the general direction of Lucifer’s temporary focus, clicked his tongue, and frowned knowingly. “You’d tell me if Mammon got his hands on the key to my vault again, wouldn’t you?” He asked, flatly, aiming to keep his tone as serious as possible. “I’d hate to have to find another of my treasures ‘relocated’ to the House of Lamentation, especially after the fuss it caused.”

Lucifer jumped to alertness, shoulders squaring defensively and his gaze sharpening to a glare as he stuttered out something incomprehensible, stopping to compose himself before giving a coherent response. “We had a talk about that, last time,” Lucifer assured, his fingers flexing around his glass’ neck. “He won’t try anything, this time, I’ve made sure of it. As long as he values having the same number of limbs he had this morning, I mean.”

“And I’m sure your methods were effective, as always.” Diavolo gave Lucifer a minute to flush and fluster, but he pulled his companion out of his stupor with a hearty laugh, Diavolo nudging him gently with his elbow as Lucifer took to sulking. “But something is bothering you,” He confirmed, only pausing for a brief moment to allow Lucifer the courtesy of a nod. “Might as well tell me, Luci’. You know I’m not going to let it go until you do.”

Lucifer let out a long, labored sigh, but didn’t struggle before giving in. Silently, his concentration shifted, turning towards the ballroom’s center, where assorted couples were dancing and talking and doing whatever couples chose to do when music and drinks were in abundance. It took him a second or two to settle, his eyes eventually landing on you, already in the arms of one of Lucifer’s brothers, completely unaware of the agony you were causing him.

Diavolo couldn’t say he saw Lucifer’s reasoning. If he was a pet, you were a bug, something insignificant and defenseless in the grand scheme of things. With all the trouble you got yourself into, you should’ve been caught under someone’s heel and crushed months ago, but Diavolo was never one to refuse entertainment. And yet, if he was to trust the fury suddenly smeared across Lucifer’s expression, he would’ve thought you were the most unignorable pest across the three realms. “The exchange student?” He asked, absentmindedly. “You’re not going to tell me you let a human drive you into such a state, are you?”

“It’s an… unfortunate affliction.” As Lucifer’s eyes followed you, he only seemed to grow more agitated. He twitched when you smiled, flinched when you laughed, and when you pulled away from your partner, curtsying with an unsteady grace, Lucifer’s hold on his glass grew tighter, tighter, tighter, the flute eventually cracking and splintering, shards digging into Lucifer’s gloved hand and the translucent fluid beginning to leak out. If he noticed, though, he didn’t intend to show it, only gritting his teeth and giving an explanation. “It’s… It’s annoying, when she insists on lowering herself to their standards. I love my brothers, I do, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head and scoffing, as if he was still trying to dismiss whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind. “Am I supposed to watch this? It’s disgusting, it’s infuriating, it makes me want to do something unpleasant, My Lord.”

Although Diavolo doubted the sincerity of Lucifer’s declaration, he recognized that tone, that foolish, irrational anger. The awareness of power and the willingness to put it on display, the desire to use it on something smaller and weaker than himself. Diavolo felt his grin broaden, a solution to more than one of his problems arising. He could only chuckle, resting his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder as his open wounds began to drip and bleed.

“I know exactly how you feel, my friend.”

~

“He’s been acting strange, lately. I was just wondering if you’d noticed.”

You were no more impressive in person. When Diavolo approached you, your reactions had been so pitifully predictable, your demeanor vulnerable and unsuspecting, prey in every sense of the word. You’d been assigned to clean your homeroom after hours, a fortunate coincidence on Diavolo’s part, and he’d sent Lucifer off on some trivial, time-consuming task he wouldn’t be done with any time soon. When he finally addressed his concerns, you were all wide-eyes and parted lips, curling around the broom in your hands whenever he mentioned your companion’s name. But, if you considered Diavolo a threat, you were smart enough not to say it. A wise decision, really. He wanted this to go as smoothly as you did.

“No stranger than usual,” You said, tossing the wooden handle from hand to hand. You didn’t try to hide your anxiety. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. He’s never been normal, to me.”

Diavolo knew what you were talking about. He’d bandaged Lucifer’s hand the night before while being thoroughly educated on just how not normal the relationship between you and Lucifer happened to be. He simply pursed his lips, letting his gaze bore into you as he replied. “What do you mean? You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders dropping in some personal show of complacency. “I know how close you two are, but he scares me,” You admitted, your reluctance only momentary. “He loses control of himself, sometimes, I get it, but it’s not just when he’s in a rage. Ever since we made our pact, he’s been touching me more often, and saying these... these things. I can’t really explain it, but whenever he looks at me-” You stopped without warning, cutting yourself off. As if the only words you were capable of using were those you’d already convinced yourself not to speak aloud. “He’s controlling. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like he gets off on backing me into a corner and making me beg to be left alone.”

You looked towards him when you finished, searching for any traces of sympathy you could get, and Diavolo did his best to indulge you. He was still trying to figure out how he felt about your… dynamic, with Lucifer. He understood the temptation. Even now, alone and standing in front of a man you didn’t trust, you made no effort to protect yourself, exposed to any demonic being that wandered in and helpless, despite how adamantly you insisted you weren’t. With someone as stifling as Lucifer, such negligence must’ve been intolerable. But, he wasn’t Lucifer, and for now, you were more of a distraction than a pastime. Something that needed to be dealt with promptly and played with later on.

“I can take care of that. He goes through a rebellious phase, every now and then, but it’s nothing he can’t be snapped out of.” He smiled, delicately, putting on a grin not unlike the one he’d used with your counterpart.

“But, it’ll be much easier for both of us if you lend me a hand.”

~

Diavolo was the only one speaking.

The conversation was tense, at first, but existent. In the cramped walls of his office, both you and Lucifer had done your best to give suitable (albeit bland) responses whenever they were called for, more Lucifer than yourself. Your voice had been smothered by Lucifer’s gaze, intense and burning into you until you were rendered quiet, and his own words becoming less and less as more of his focus was dedicated to drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair and biting at his bottom lip and growing more impatient. You’d lied to him, to get here, promised that you were going back to the House of Lamentation and insisted that you’d never think of trying to run around behind his back, which was, evidently, untrue. You weren’t sure which he found more maddening, the violation of his control or your willingness to break out of it. You weren’t sure which he’d you punish you for more violently.

It didn’t matter, honestly.

You’d have scars for both, tomorrow morning.

So consumed by your own demise, you didn’t notice when Diavolo’s voice went quiet, too, leaving the room in a tense, frigid silence, as purposeful as it was terrible. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but it might as well’ve been years with the anxiety suddenly racking over your nerves. Luckily, Diavolo didn’t let it go on for very long, breaking the stillness with a crisp, defined knock to his desk, a familiar grin stretching across his lips. You rose, right on cue, suddenly more uncomfortable in your own skin than you’d ever been before. It didn’t feel any better to take your place on his side, separated from Lucifer by a mahogany desk and a small mountain of paperwork, but you were glad to be standing. It was part of a plan, and plans meant security. They meant you knew what was going to happen next.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised when that security was ripped away, as fast and as carelessly as any time before.

Diavolo was supposed to confront Lucifer about his treatment of a valued exchange student. He was supposed to be professional, and strict, and move you into an empty dorm in Purgatory Hall, just to show that he could distance you from Lucifer, if he deemed it necessary. Lucifer was supposed to pout and argue and agree, and that was supposed to be it, that’s all that was supposed to happen. Still, your shock was muted as a strong arm looped around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into Diavolo’s lap, holding you there when the reflex to push yourself away and struggle took over. You threw your elbow into his chest, taking hold of his bicep and attempting to drag yourself away, but your efforts were made in vain, Diavolo only laughing and bringing his free hand up, letting it come to rest on your shoulder. A nail, a talon, really, sharp and pointed and blood-thirsty, tapped twice against your jugular, and you froze, not wanting to find out how easy it would be for him to drive them through your flesh.

Lucifer’s reaction was instantaneous. His mouth opened, something hushed and vile slipping out, and he clambered out of his chair with a shameless desperation, but haulted as soon as he was on his feet. A mix of instinct and common sense fueled him, his anger, his self-restraint. The overwhelming desire to stop someone else from putting their hands on something he so obviously considered his, but the prevailing knowledge that trying to take you back by force would only lead to hands too broken to do so. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d been through this, with Diavolo. He certainly seemed experienced, when it came to holding himself back.

“Why?” He spat, the question blunt, but dripping with something venomous. He took a step forward, slowly, moving to edge around the obscuring desk. Diavolo didn’t stop him, his grin only turning towards a smirk as he watched Lucifer make his cautious approach. “I’m not going to let your hurt--”

“I won’t have to hurt her.” Your breath hitched in your lungs as the hand on your shoulder slipped downwards, trailing over the shape of your collarbone before trailing its way to your neck, rubbing an apologetic circle into the edge of your jaw before taking your throat in a vice-grip, not choking but ready to. You were suddenly made aware of just how small you were, compared to both men, Diavolo’s palm pressing against the length of your throat and his fingers struggling to fit without forcing your head back. You didn’t doubt a thoughtless movement or jerk too sudden would be enough to crush anything vital. “I don’t want to hurt her, but you’re not giving me a choice.” He paused, pouting, tilting his head to the side and drawing attention to just how badly you’d started to shake. “It’d be a shame if I had to do something drastic to some poor human because of your actions.”

Lucifer locked his jaw into place, his fists clenching at his sides. “I haven’t taken action, yet. If I’ve done something to offend you, I apologize, but my feelings for (Y/n) aren’t…” He bit his own tongue, running a hand through his hair, searching for a distraction that refused to make itself apparent. “She doesn’t have anything to do with us. You understand that, don’t you? (Y/n)  doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.”

“I’d like to believe you.” He let out a ragged exhale, as if the thought had been weighing on him. He wasn’t the one with claws pressed against his skin, though, a thin, red line slowly forming along the side of your neck as Diavolo dragged his thumb lazily over your skin, leaving a muted, stinging pain in its wake. “I worry about you, sometimes, Lucifer. You’re so helpful, and I’d hate to lose you to some uncontrolled obsession. But, I fear you’d come to resent me if I deprived you of your vices completely.” Another squeeze, this one testing, teasing. As if you and him were in on a joke, some parody of a bastardized friendly scheme. “That’s why (Y/n) is going to fall under my protection, from now on. When I’m confident in your loyalty, you can carry on with your little courting ritual. I’ll even give you two a room in my estate, somewhere more private. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Privacy?”

Lucifer only glowered. “And if I don’t agree?”

At this, Diavolo chuckled. He chuckled, then he laughed, then he took you by the throat, lifting you off his lap and letting you sputter and cough and suffocate as he held you in place, ignoring your attempts to loosen his grip. Lucifer moved to lunge forward, to tear you away and take solace in whatever survived, but Diavolo just shook his head, something in your neck cracking as he clenched down. “I don’t take kindly to defiance. You should know that better than anyone, and you should know how little I care for being challenged. Either you get down on your knees and bow, or-” He dropped you, abruptly, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you’d gotten a decent breath in, fingers were entangled in your hair, jerking you upward and forcing a meek, pathetic whimper through your lips. You couldn’t tell whether Lucifer was concerned for your wellbeing, or jealous that he hadn’t been the one to elicit such a pitiful sound. “Or, I break your favorite toy and no one gets to play. It’d be a shame to give something so disobedient an easy way out, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, if it means you step into line.”

He released you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look, to move, to do anything but catch your breath and hide, your face soon buried in his coat. You heard rustling, the thud of something solid hitting the wooden floor, but those noises were distant, drowned out by something dark and dominant, as overpowering as it was oppressing.

You wondered if you’d ever be able to hear something other than Diavolo’s laughter again.

[contre-qui-rose]

n/s/f/w

i dont know how to write,,, smut,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, but.

tw for knifeplay, safewording, mild flashback

“Bren.”

Eodwulf’s voice echoes in the room as he palms a hand across his face, cupping the side of it and rubbing a soft line against his cheek bone.

He leans into the touch, and Wulf pulls back.

“Now, schatz – are you going to be good?”

He blinks up at him, time soft between his fingers.

Eodwulf taps, twice, against his cheek, and he hums.

“You want to be good, don’t you, Bren. Be so good, good for us, hm?”

Wulf’s smiling.

The smile turns sharper as he turns the blade over in his hands.

“Astrid, are you ready yet?”

She had drawn a curtain across the room. Gauzy fabric that he could push through with a gust, if he had use of his hands.

He doesn’t.

That’s part of this.

“Wulf, darling, stop being so impatient. We do have all night, ja?”

The curtain is tugged aside, and he drinks in the sight of her.

Her daggers are sheathed at her sides, supple leather draped across her thighs, her shift ending barely an inch below the handles.

She smiles at him with too many teeth, and her eyes are sharper than Eodwulf’s.

He swallows past the fondness in his throat.

Astrid creeps closer, and she draws a dagger out in a fluid motion.

It’s not one of her normal ones.

This one is sharper. More controlled.

Less poisoned, essentially.

There’s the feather-light touch of the blade, along his bare knee, and he stiffens in the chair.

He’s not restrained, not really. He’s holding his hands behind his back, in a position that’s comfortable for his shoulders.

The only pain he feels right now is the beginnings of an ache from where he’s kneeling on the cushion Wulf had laid out, earlier.

That’s going to change.

Astrid scratches a line across his thigh. It doesn’t even draw blood, but it stings.

This is control, and letting them have it.

Giving up, in a sense.

Letting go.

Astrid draws a few more lines across his thighs, and he flinches imperceptibly at the light touch of the blade as it passes, each line stinging in the cooler air of the room.

She stops, and lays her hand across his thigh.

He sucks in a breath as the pain intensifies, and she smiles up at him, eyes hooded.

Eodwulf, behind him now, murmurs, “Color?” into his ear.

“Grun.”

Eodwulf’s breath blossoms in a shell of warmth over his ear, and he shivers.

Immediately, Astrid’s hands pause with the knife, and she raises her eyebrow, tucking a flyaway hair from her forehead with an absent motion.

“What,” she says, eyes dark, “Did we say about moving?”

She puts the flat side of the dagger against his cheek – she’s careful, but the hint of pain is still there, and he stills.

She pats the side of his face.

“Good, Bren.”

His name on her tongue is something precious.

She shifts around to his back, and the grip he has on where he’s holding his left wrist behind him tightens, almost involuntarily.

She traces a line of controlled fire across his back, and he feels a bead of blood start to trail down as she nicks over one of his scars.

She doesn’t stop, because he doesn’t react, and another line blooms into being under that one.

Wulf kneels in front of him, palming himself through his smallclothes, and smiles, beautiful and bright against the pain he’s starting to slip into like a well-worn jacket.

“I wish you could see yourself, Bren. Hurting and pretty. Ours.”

He grins a little wider.

“So good for us, Bren.”

His eyelids flutter, and his grip tightens even more as Astrid switches, suddenly, from the biting edge of the blade to the dull one, tracing soft swirls around the scratches on his back.

He’s halfway to hard, now, and Eodwulf eyes him.

He hisses as another line of pain comes into light on his back, and after a moment there are Astrid’s fingers, dry and rough, tracing around it.

He wants to –

Compared to what he’s been through before, this pain is nothing. Like stepping into a bramble patch without long pants, like closing his fingers around hidden thorns.

But at this moment –

Astrid tracing lines of blood across his back. Eodwulf staring at him, drinking in the sight of him, words of praise and excitement and anticipation building a castle in his mouth – it’s –

He breathes in, solid and then shaky on the exhale.

As Astrid’s dagger catches on another one of his scars, for a second –

For a second, it’s too much, and he’s not here.

Not here with his partners, and their praise –

The drifting he was starting to settle into snaps into sickening clarity, and he drops his hands, fingers coming up to move in jerky movements in his lap as he chokes on another breath.

Eodwulf, across, from him, snaps out, “Rot,” but the knife is already out of Astrid’s hands, placed against the side table as she moves to the front, slipping in front of him to kneel down next to Eodwulf, hands raised, palms empty and pointed towards the sky.

He stares at them, eyes wild, and then closes his eyes, curling in on himself.

Stupid.

He can’t even – can’t even do this, can’t even be good for them, all he’s ever been is bad and that’s what he’s being now –

He chokes on another breath and blinks his eyes open, swaying on the spot as he lets the adrenaline drain out of him.

Astrid’s hands are there, immediate, and she steadies him as dizziness threatens to send him tumbling to the floor.

Astrid’s hand settles against his cheek again and he leans into it, breath slowing.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and Astrid taps him reproachfully on his cheek.

“You don’t need to apologize, liebling, you did nothing wrong. So good for us –“

She wraps an arm around his shoulders, and tugs him gently towards the bed, getting him up and nestled in the mess of blankets, Wulf trailing after her.

She holds out a hand, and Wulf hands her a minor healing potion without her having to ask.

“Do you want the potion?”

He shakes his head, and then hesitates.

Now that he’s calmer, the pain is negligible, but –

“You can say yes, Bren. It’s not an issue.”

He’d rather it not – rather them be gone, than have to deal with it later.

He puts his palm out, and Astrid carefully hands him the already uncorked vial.

It tastes like shit, but most healing potions do, and he sighs as he feels the cuts close on his thigh and back.

Wulf cuddles up next to him, and takes the vial, placing it on the side table.

Astrid scratches a hand through his hair, and he gives her a low hum.

“So,” she half-whispers, “Not that, then.”

“I’m sorry,” he starts, and Eodwulf taps his knee.

He rolls his eyes, still panicky, but calmer now, surrounded by the warmth of his partners on all sides.

“It was just – you nicked one of the scars from before, and the combination of that, and the kneeling, and – it was just too similar.”

Astrid places a gentle kiss on his hair, and he sighs again.

“I didn’t consider that. I should have –“

“It’s fine, Astrid. I thought I was going to be good.”

He nestles in a little closer to her, and Wulf shifts even closer to accommodate the movement.

“Not your fault,” he murmurs, and he closes his eyes, relaxing and safe in their embrace.

Maybe something else, next time.

Maybe – without the knives.

They, all three of them, probably have enough scars.

“Talk about it in a bit?” Eodwulf suggests, and he and Astrid hum an affirmative almost in unison.

It’s warm.

The bed is soft.

And they’re together, and they’re safe, and he loves them.

Broken edges and all.