#writing: fics

[noritoshiikamo]

double the trouble [osamu miya x y/n x atsumu miya ft sakusa kiyoomi]

cw threesome (+1 not directly receiving), two c/ock one hole, female receiving, male receiving, penetrative intercourse, breeding kink, spitting, dubious breeding

back from hiatus to say that i take back whatever the fuck i said about miya twin bcs i have a full blown shelf of their merch im a whore idk man its porn with minor plot i just want to take both miya twin together, never in fight tho

osamu has been obsessed with the idea of breeding you since graduation. it grew more and more obsessive the moment he found out, not from you, but his own twin brother that you have been on birth control.

“yer didn’t know?”

the words out of the blonde was like a laugh to his own face. osamu eyed him, hands working fast on the onigiri pretending not a single word said he said is being taken at heart. he was insulted. huffing, silently cursing as the inside of the onigiri leaked from his own carelessness–he sat it aside, putting his own attention to the flapping mouth in front of him.

atsumu was like a schoolgirl giggling, “oh yer really didn’t know.”

his eyes squinted, “should i be concern ‘bout this?”

the twin shook his head, picking apart the mess he made on the table, “t’was that one time, long time ago even, i think it was before we grad or was it her first time. she said that yer came in her, she was blabbering mess, whaddaya think i was gonna do? let her cry?” osamu’s breath hitched. he knew about it. didn’t think it was a big deal– he would marry you in a heartbeat and you said it was sorted. when you said sorted, he thought it was between you and your friends, not you and his stupid brother. “it was one time thing, i got her the pill yer take after you bang and it did the thingy that makes you not pregnant, i don’t know. after than all i know is she went on her pills. and yer mad, knew it. and now she’s gonna get the brunt of it.”

there’s this saying in the miya household; when someone’s mad, you don’t think—you dodged.

“don’t be stupid. whaddaya think i am? dad?” osamu scoffed as his other half whimpered at the poor smushed onigiri on the floor. “i could never hurt her.”

“you better be,” atsumu warned, “or i’m telling mum on ya.”

and that was the end of the discussion—with atsumu at least. the conversation lingered in osamu’s head like a bad migraine. in the dark, glancing at your body breathing gently with your shut eyes, he rolled over burying his face against your neck. am i a bad husband, he whispered his thoughts against your skin, tightening his arms around you as his eyes lidded close.

“why would you be?”

he froze. his question was not meant to be answered. you were supposed to be sleeping, nuzzling in his arm not awake. “sorry,” he murmured, hushing you back to sleep hoping you would let it go. “samu, why would you be a bad husband?” your voice were soft, laced with hoarseness of sleep.

“was just thinking about what tsumu said. but it’s tsumu, it’s stupid, go to sleep.” your body stiffened, rolling off his arms until you were propped face to face with him. you could barely make the outline of his face from the darkness of the room but you could feel that you were taking on a different side now. “atsumu said what?” you asked again. he let off a soft scoff, “should i be concerned of how many secrets are yer hiding from me with my own brother?” he didn’t mean to take such an accusatory tone but it came out so off. it was a fight before he knew it. he should’ve keep his mouth shut. but it ended with you both sleeping away from each other and now, every morning, like a salt in the wound, osamu would see you popped the pills from the pack, eyes on him not even budging as you swallowed it down.

so it is your only secret with tsumu.

it’s not fair.

it was between you and him but it felt more like you and his brother.

“can we at least talk about it?”

you held the glass to your lips. you both had never talk about it. babies weren’t something you foreseen in your future for at least—10 years. there shouldn’t be any talks, he would just need to pump you up for at least 5 minutes and you will need to deal with it for 9 months.

“what’s there to talk about, osa? i’m not ready.”

he inched closer, pulling the cup away from your lips. you could feel the bitterness of the pills lingering in your mouth threatening a puke fest. “yer be a great mum, what part are you not ready? financially— i’ve made enough for you to retire from work. physically? i could wake up any time of the day-”

you scoffed, “that’s because of your insomnia which-” you held your fingers up to stop him from opening his mouth, “i told you to take care of it. and you didn’t. you couldn’t take care of yourself and you think a baby is easy?”

“make a deal with me,” osamu blurted out, hands on your hips as he pushed you against the counter, prisoning you, “i promise and if it didn’t work out, yer have my full support in this. you can decide any time or not at all.” you rolled your eyes, arms crossed against your chest. “give me a month. if the swimmers didn’t stuck and you’re not pregnant, i’ll leave it alone. i’ll let ya decide after that. no babies even.”

you never seen osamu so serious, almost too serious. but you ended up saying yes anyway. just to get him off your back. it couldn’t be that bad right? it had been close to two weeks of you being off the pills.

yet you almost threw your purse to his face.

“we didn’t agree on that.”

“baby li—”

“no!” you screeched, throwing one of the pillows off the chair to his face, before slumming your ass on it. your eyes fell on him before to the other two figures sitting across you. “i know you’re insane like your brother, i’m not surprise,” you said pointing to atsumu, but the fingers moved to his left, “but you, you are supposed to be the sane one.” kiyoomi’s lips pressed flat. the tension in the room were so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

“y/n-kun, you don’t understand.”

“no, you don’t understand. what kind of russian roulette are you guys trying to play with me?” you laughed, falling backward against the chair, “oh you’re driving me insane. is this why you were trying to convince me to have a baby? i know you both are competitive but not like this. i’m not an animal you can breed and i’ll push out an entire litter!” kiyoomi didn’t blame you. spring on you, ambushing with a sudden family meeting only to drop that they want you to carry their child. specifically wanting atsumu to fuck you raw isn’t what you expected for a family dinner. he stood up, walking toward you before sitting on the floor. the desperation in his face almost made you fold. you sighed.

“did the last egg transplant fail too?” you asked, watching as his bouncy curls to cover his face as he nodded. “we are running out of ideas, we are running out money. the tests were fine. we got tested, we were both fine and the sperms were healthy. the donor is okay too. we are running out of wits. if we are going the other way, i would rather tsumu fuck around with you than some other girls out there.” he plead, clutching on to your hands, “you don’t have to decide now but just please think about it, okay?” kiyoomi muttered wholeheartedly, it almost heartbreaking to see how excited his eyes glowed when you mouthed a silent okay. you looked up, your husband moved hesitantly, fear of another pillow thrown to his face. but you didn’t flinched as he took a seat on the floor beside him, resting his chin against your thighs. his arms around your bare legs, eyes fluttering as your fingers brushed his cheeks.

“how would this work anyway? i don’t exactly have how to guide on how to fuck my fruity brother in law in front of my own husband—god, this is not what i have in this year’s bingo card,” feeling the words vomiting out of your mouth felt surreal. you felt osamu’s hand caressing the inside of your leg, gently squeezing it. “i’ll be there. i’ll join you if you want too. we can take turn, whatever’s the most comfortable.”

you watched at the black haired ace shook his head. your brow shot up questioning his disagreement. “if you both take turns, chances are the previous sperms will get pushed out the next cock. it’s the defense mechanism. if samu fucks you first, his baby has little to none chances and i’m sure you wouldn’t want to go with tsumu first.” your head spun as the two dumbasses scrambled their thoughts. since when even samu ever focused in his classes. words were going in one ear and another, they didn’t even notice you had moved. your legs taken control moving softly against the carpet and before you knew, you were on atsumu’s lap, lips pressed first pushing him down on the sofa. the two em startled.

“well, i guess it’s her way?”

someone said but you couldn’t registered who. he kissed differently. maybe because it wasn’t his lips to kiss but he did it with least possessiveness. it was almost gentle, with his hand slowly around your waist. osamu flushed, he could feel blood rushing all over him, out of lust or shame who could know? if he would’ve gone back in time to when he was a teen, telling him that he was about to go down on a threesome, the younger would’ve laughed at him. osamu let you know his presence with his fingers around the waistband pulling your lower half bare.

you were startled, like being hit by a bucket of cold water but his lips never left you and soon you were losing article of clothes after another. your bare tits are suddenly in atsumu’s fist and you were fighting to close your legs when osamu’s fingers danced along your slit. you gasped when his lips moved to latch around your tits while the other’s spitting against your cunt. it was overwhelming. the first lick almost threw you off balance, arms shaking you felt down against the older brother. hold her down, someone said and you felt tsumu’s hand around your wrist pressing it down against your back. you whined, it hurts yet you could feel your husband’s tongue swirling around your slit, overwhelming it with pleasure.

atsumu moved from underneath you, belt clanking before the position changed again. your hand moved to grab his wrist, roughly yanking your head by hair until you were face to face his own growing cock. there’s a major difference between osamu and atsumu. tsumu’s little cleaner, well trimmed, surprisingly matching skin tone. his cock erected with a slight bank to the right, yet the print was just the same; thick and veiny. he asked you spit on it and you obliged, watching as the thick fluid spread down along his precum down the pink mushroom tip.

it was hard to focus on his order when the other was pushing you so close to edge. “f-fuck, samu slow i-” you cried, hand reaching backward hard against his head, but osamu wasn’t budging. he looked up, face flushed with his tongue inside your hole and his brother’s cock against his wife’s face. tsumu’s swollen pink tip brushed your lips, planting little kisses before a soft nudge pushed it deeper inside. the twin couldn’t hold the deep moan from the back of his throat, the rough pad of his palm running gently through your hair pushing you deeper. your tongue swirled around the length, feeling its prodding veins with the tip slowly inching deeper until your nose pressed against his base.

“christ, that’s fuckin’ deep.”

osamu shot down the smirk off his twin, flipping his finger off. his palm grabbed a handful of your ass, landing a playful smack. you let out a chortled moan, hands against the thigh as you struggled to catch a breath. tsumu took pity, pulling away with a soft pop. strings of saliva connected to your lips as you coughed, tears streaming down your cheek. your body shuddered, gripping the edge of the sofa. samu wasn’t stopping. not even to breath that it sent you into a mess. atsumu couldn’t explain the joy of seeing you looking up, in so much pleasure yet pleading for him for mercy. he didn’t know what possessed him, fingers grabbing your cheeks pushing it together until your mouth were apart and spitted in.

you barely had time to respond, not even osamu ever spitted in you. yet you couldn’t find any strength to bark back, forced to swallow as your knot snapped. your first orgasm was a blessing. your husband’s name came out your throat all choked up, eyes rolled back all atsumu could see was white. not a drop was wasted, osamu’s loud slurps echoed the room, lapping your slit through the orgasm. your muscle tensed, soothed by his palm running gently against the side of your thighs and he let go. his lips planted a sloppy wet kiss against your flesh before leaving a hand mark. "well, shit i didn't expect this to be that intense," you pant, slumping forward forehead buried in the soft cushion of the sofa. but the twins had better idea, you are not getting any rest.

you were trained for samu.

your cunt were made for him, he knows that; he made that happen. you knew him all back from school. high school sweetheart they said, not that you ever pride on your first time. you had been resident of inarizaki's dorm for years now, commuting was simply not an option and with your parents in the middle of divorce, you volunteered. daddy gave a lot of apologies in form of useless monetary value, including your own personal ground floor dorm. no roommates, two single beds pushed together and two wardrobes, you could almost taste what freedom meant without your parents. what school doesn't enjoy donations. teenagers are fully of hormones, enough that you were willing to sneak your boyfriend of one year in. it was good, enough for a second round before he had to excuse himself, but awkward as no one every tell you that sex wasn't like what porn had presented itself. that was also your first pregnancy scare that had you running for atsumu's help. after that it improved.

improved to the point that your fingers meant nothing but a slight squint in his eyes as he leaned over the kitchen counter enough to make you wet. you are meant for him. your body craved him.

your head spun, drowsy from your high as you let your husband lifted you up. you knew what rest between the valley of your ass was him growing, greedy cock. you felt conscious suddenly as your eyes met the blonde, skin tinting as you felt osamu's lips littered around the column of your neck. "she's different," you heard him speak, his beefy arms moved you again that you could see the angry leaking tip between your thigh, brushing against your cunt dangerously, "she likes her thighs caressed more than her side, her tits are more sensitive after her second orgasm, the sloppier, the better." you whined as his kisses turned into a full nipping fest, almost like he was marking her. you knew what he was doing. he was setting an expectation, a boundary, a reminder that he was about to share something he had never thought of sharing before. atsumu and osamu had been sharing almost everything in their lives, but you– you were strictly osamu's.

"samu, yer not jealous are you?" tsumu grinned, hand stroking along his spit covered cock

"m'not. you just have a habit of fucking up my stuff that i was willing to pretend i'm okay with,"you gasped as he suddenly yanked your head backward, your eyes locked. you almost couldn't hide the grin you had on your face as osamu leaned down to kiss you, "not this one. this one is mine. and yer not fucking this shit up."

the other half's grin couldn't be more annoying but you pushed it to the back of your head. that was easy to do especially when osamu was guiding your body, grinding your soaking cunt against his length. "yer okay baby?" he hummed his question against your bare skin. you nodded, breath hitching every time his tip hit your clit. "i think we are getting slightly impatient but i don't think you are ready, do you trust me?"

"yes, samu."

you could almost see the shit eating grin on his face, "that's my good girl."

soon the grinding was getting on your nerve, you wished you hid your whining better. but marriage life has trained osamu to catch these little things. when you wife is unhappy, you would do anything and everything to make it better. and what could be better more that to finally push himself in into your throbbing hole. just the tip in and you couldn't hide the satisfying chortles out of your throat. every inch in loosening the tense in your muscle until you were slumping against his chest, head against his shoulder. every time your trembling thighs itched to close from the overwhelming pleasure, osamu clicked his tongue. "don't be rude, y/n-san, we have a guest." you almost forgot the existence of the two people in the room.

everyone knows atsumu has always been into the best of both world. it wasn’t something he had explicitly hidden growing up. he enjoyed attention of any genders. to say that he was inexperienced was just plainly wrong. your body jolted as atsumu spread your thighs further. his body kept your legs apart, you could feel his cock brushing against your mount. osamu kept himself occupied, tainting your neck as atsumu kissed you. it was wet, full of tongue. he swallowed your moans, praised you with every stroke of the tongue. “god, i would fuck you dumb right now if osamu isn’t selfish,” he grinned, brushing your nose against his own playfully before moving away. he kissed your jaw, occupying the other side of your neck.

if you ever told a 16 years old you that one day, you’ll have the famous miya twin lapping, bruising and kissing your neck all at once, your younger self would call you a joke, in your dream maybe.

atsumu moved lower, licking your collarbone before finding solace by your aching tits. you never know how gentle he could be, cupping your flesh before his tongue enveloped your hardened bud. the way he looked up to you, tongue swirling along before pulling away with soft pop.

“c’mon samu, how fucking long are you going to blue ball me here,” the older twin whined.

“she’s not stretched enough,” osamu muttered, half moaning as his hips rutted deeper. the other twin shrugged as he spitted down against your aching cunt. “she will, i’ll make sure of that,” tsumu held his cock, tip catching the spit as he gently rub his cock along your clit. you looked up to your husband, sharing a nervous look. you watched as curses escaped his lips, forehead wrinkling in pleasure. his other hand moved against your jaw, his kiss was furious and full of lust. “focus on me,” he whispered against your lips, “yer gonna take that like a fucking champ.” he watched you intently. you know why, you could feel it. tsumu was pushing against your opening. your eyes widened, watered, fingers clawing against osamu’s arm as he was quick to cover your mouth. osamu did a great job loosening you up that tsumu’s tip slipped in so easily. you trashed weakly in his arm. your husband’s praises went in and out of your ears like a breeze. your brain were a fuzz, all you could think off is there were two cock in you.

it felt kind odd, to samu mostly, to be squeezed in a tight space with his twin’s cock pressing against his own. he didn’t dare to move. it was all on atsumu. there was a lot of spitting, gentle push and a whole lot of his thumb along your clit. the circles helped as he pushed half of himself in. “fuck,” you heard osamu groaned into your ear, face buried in the side of your head. you loved how red tainted his skin. even without moving, atsumu’s rocking hips were giving both of you enough friction of pleasure. the sofa creaked as atsumu rutted in, slick sound of your folds against the two cocks and his thumbs echoed the room. “m’cummin’-please,” your moans muffled. it was too much, the tight feeing of your cunt around it meant atsumu was actively fucking straight into your g-spot. another one of the twin’s hand pressed down on your belly pushing you down at angle, soft curse escaped his lips as he could feel himself against the skin.

“you’re soaking wet, y/n, fuck,” atsumu giggled, but his giggles grew when he realised. “fuck, samu, your wife is squirting,” every thrust, more liquid sprayed against pelvic. you weren’t just squirting, atsumu just send you through your second orgasm by sheathing his entire girth deep. you were hazy, head resting against osamu’s shoulder. you were still gripping against samu’s arm, head trying to figure out the words flying around the room.

“fuck, you’re all in? i almost fucking cum.”

“don’t blame me, she wasn’t fully stretch,” one of them said annoyingly, “it’s not helping that she was fucking cumming. it was hot tho, she fucking drenched me, what a cunt,” the praise came with a light tapping against your sensitive clit. the tapping turned into a full on rubbing, “what a good fucking cunt tho.”

“samu,” your call startled the twin.

he kissed your cheek, bringing your trembling palm against his cheeks, planting kisses on the soft pad, “yes baby, look at you. fuck, baby you look so good, i wish you could see it.”

“s’full,” you sniffled, “so s’full, move.”

the twin agreed, showering your skin with kisses and praises. the overwhelming feeling of your cunt stretching must felt uncomfortable. they let you set the pace. leaning against tsumu’s chest for support, samu held you by the hips as you slowly moved it upward. their cocks glistening in the mix of fluid and the strings of messes. you stopped just by the tip, the brothers held their breaths as your hips moved in. the room echoed with your combined moans. your tongue wrestled atsumu’s briefly before he pulled away, leaning back as he watched your hips rocked. his eyes darted between your tits and your cunt slapping against his pelvic.

impatience brewed between the two brothers.

“baby, if yer teasing us, it’s working but truth be told i can’t stand it,” osamu whined, gripping your ass, a small pout grew on your husbands’ face. “shut your face it’s full,” you snapped, clenching your walls as you fought the tensing knots in your belly. you heard a faint whistle and someone was talking about how you were about to cum again. you breath out, half hearted laugh echoed the room as you turned your head back, his grin annoyed you, “oh, f-fuck off, sakusa.” the way his name escaped your lips, the way your tongue enunciated every syllables send shivers down his spine. kiyoomi wanted to bark back, but he saw the shared glance between the twin.

your shocking scream were a payback he craved.

the twins took over, patience thinner than the knot that snapped the moment they jackhammered into you. they held you down, osamu’s hands around your waist while atsumu’s rough palm gripped your thighs down as they fucked you through your high. they took turn, atsumu in and osamu’s out. your nectar spurted everywhere, against their peck, down your thighs and pooling on the sofa underneath. you cried out, their names out like a prayer, begging for them to slow down. your cunt can take both of them in, its the pleasure was ridiculously unbearable. they were coaxing an orgasm after another from you.

your cries were louder, in kiyoomi’s head he couldn’t differentiate whether it was pain or pleasure. but you were a champ, taking two cocks straight into the same stretching holes he could see outline along your belly every time one pushed deep then the other. “s’much,” he heard but none of the brothers were slowing down, completely drunk out of their mind. kiyoomi closed in, brushing stray from your cheek, the sudden gentleness against your skin startled you. your eyes fluttered open, salty tears dripped down your flushed cheeks. your eyes were blown up, full of lust and pleasure. “omi,” you whined, “slower,” but he hushed you, brushing your lips lightly as your palms gripped his shirt in support. he felt an arm roaming along his body, clinking of belt soon followed and his pants loosened. “you’re doing good,” his word started, boxer down pooling around his legs as someone spitted on his half hard cock, “d’ya wanna feel good, i feel good,” he whined, fang grasped against your own swollen lips as a pair plump lips wrapped itself around his cock. he cupped your face rougher, teeth clashed as he kissed you hard.

kiyoomi was overwhelmed. strings of moans from his own husband and out of your mouth were drowsy. “fuck, y/n, i feel good,” he chuckled, running his hand through the soft blonde hair of atsumu, looking up obediently with cock in his mouth.

osamu was ninety percent horny, deep in focus in breeding his wife’s pussy faster than his twin. the other ten percent were completely laced in jealousy. how dare you moaned someone’s else name. his hand left your side trailing upward until it wrapped perfectly around the column of your neck, with enough space for his thumb to invade your plump lips. kiyoomi shot you a grin and wink, before looking down happily to his own husband’s bobbing head. his warm breath tickled your lobe, sending waves of spineless shivers along your arching back. “omi?” he whispered only enough for you to catch, shoving his cock greedily into your cunt, ignoring the dissatisfied whine of his twin. “i would’ve taken that polite little miyas whine out of your lips but omi?”

your glossy eyes met his droopy sharp gaze as you tilted back. with whatever space left, you tried to shake your head, tongue weighted down as you struggled to apologize. osamu’s grin grew, all he was looking down was his sorry wife, cunt and head drunk in cock, slurring words but was came out was just drool on the corner of your lips. you promised it was just thought–something that was just a flash of thoughts. you whined, teeth clenching down on his thumb as someone shifted. the speed changed again, rougher than he could feel your own thighs trembling against his own.

“samu, quit bullying her,” tsumu chuckled, taking a break from his own aching jaw, hands moving around his husband’s cock.

“i’m not bullying,” he stole a glance, kissing your cheeks, tasting the salty remnant against it as he nipped your skin light, “am i bullying you baby?” his spit covered palm gently tapped against your cheek. you gasped a no, shaking your head firmly. satisfied with your answer, his grip tightened around the neck to continue his little assault. “that’s my wife. my slutty little wife. it’s not ‘nough you have mine in but my twin also and you want a taste of omi’s cock too?” he clicked his tongue in disagreement, “my wife thinks she can take 3 cocks deep, you are already this numb and dumb with two, you think your pretty tight cunt can take another?” he loved it, the apology, the refusal, the begging look in your eyes.

two cocks in and your loyalty still stand with him.

that was like a stroke on his ego. especially when your cunt were spasming, tightening up around his cock as he milked you out of your umpteenth orgasm. your nails dug deep into his skin, sobbing out of your chest as you struggled to keep your conscious. he cut off the bullying, lavishing your neck with licks and kisses. his words were now gentler, full of praises. “baby,” he nuzzled against the crook, pressing against where your heartbeat were an erratic mess, “baby, m’gonna cum.” it wasn’t a request, but a promise.

atsumu’s moan echoed the same sentiment. his grip to your thighs tightened. omi was long gone, what was left was spurts of thick white fluid, painting his face a mess, some dribbling down his lips. their palms were roaming, grabbing your tits, your thighs with bruises bound to make its appearance when morning comes. samu was fully supporting your body. you were slurring their names, eyes half close aas you rested your forehead against your husband’s.

“s’good,” you chortled weakly, “cuminme please.”

osamu laughed, his own spine trembled in excitement, “okay baby, we’ll cum in you. get yer full with babies okay?” his cock twitched as you nodded excitedly, a small cute pout on your lips grew as you whine your exhaustion. his wife had just begged him to cum in her, that was everything he could ever wanted for the past few months. he just wanted to fuck all his cum deep in you.

“cummies, samu,” you whined, “tsumu!”

“close, i’m fucking close, fuck, if you keep clenching your cunt like that i’m gonna fucking burst, y/n.” tsumu spitted, grabbing a handful of your bouncing tits.

osamu was deep in dazed, focused in his thrusts. like hell atsumu was gonna let it happened. he deserved a baby of his own. omi deserved a baby. you could feel the competitiveness against your sore cervix. the loud fuck echoed the space as the older twin came first, his thighs trembled as he continued to cum, painting your walls white. his nail left a long mark against your thighs. osamu came after, just as the other slipped out half hard. his teeth dug deep against your shoulder as his hips jerked forward. you felt fuller than before.

you listened weakly as the twin bickered again. of how samu was wasting so much and the older forcing him to ensure to fuck every single drop in you. your body ached as your husband settled you on the sofa. pillow above your hips, you lowkey felt empty inside. the brothers looked confuse as you laughed, osamu called for you but you hushed him in haze.

“yer so nosy, shut up, i’m sleepy.”

osamu laughed, leaving you alone as he dragged his other half by his hair away.

it was a long year after.

your labour was a hefty 12 hours journey. to osamu, it was a wait worth his time. your baby is healthy seven pound, full term and naturally birthed baby.

atsumu and kiyoomi shared a defeated look, but a small smile grew on their face. “next time okay?” kiyoomi tightened the grip of his fingers against the blonde. he nodded weakly. the baby was a spitting image of you and osamu. your pretty cheeks and nose yet the baby’s eyes glowed in osamu’s greyish glint, small mouth and his natural dark hair. “she’s probably high on the drug, i hold samu and you snatched the baby, we’ll meet at the airport, deal?” atsumu whispered jokingly his plans to his partner. kiyoomi’s brows shot up. osamu could only shake his head, the smile on his face were permanent as he hugged your shoulder, watching as the baby snored softly against your arms. funny how half of kiyoomi’s heart almost agreed until he heard your soft voice calling for your husband.

you shared a look, you muttered a question, his heart skipped a beat as he nodded. osamu never held a baby before, not if you count his annoying twin brother. his palm trembled lightly as you placed the baby in his arms. a soft coos escaped the baby’s lips as they moved before easing against osamu’s chest, falling straight back to sleep. between the chaos, osamu didn’t realised that the baby had gripped onto his finger. his heart fluttered as the grip tightened.

“hello, it’s me, your papa.”

© all content belongs to noritoshiikamo. do not modify or repost.

taglist: @booksweet @duskamethyst @sassyeahhhh @honoredsatoru @cheolinn @savantsoulfinder @HannaS16 @ultgojo @akarisroom @kenkenmaaa - truth be told i forgot my taglist tbh woops

[faithforgottens]

𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆.

from the writer’s desk: i’d tell you i started this a year ago after deciding i needed closure on post - crying on newport beach about how i’m incapable of being loved but that would mean me unloading all over the dash, and nobody needs that. i’m just a girl, out here projecting like tomorrow’s not coming, and thought i’d share. please know that i love carol, i just had to pick a character that i didn’t have strong emotional attachment to in order to play my villain. motivation to continue this would be much appreciated, thnx.  summary: you’ve been stuck in carol’s web for nearly four months now, and you need a distraction before you go postal and commit a capital crime or worse, tell her you love her. fortunately for you, natasha’s willing to offer her services. contains: college!natasha x female reader —— warnings include toxic relationship dynamics that involve infidelity, gaslighting and cheating, marijuana use, alcohol consumption, nsfw content [ fingering, dirty talk ]. →  inbox status: OPEN                                        don’t repost my works anywhere.

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     am i gonna see you tonight?

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     :(

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     hellllllooooooooooo??

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     I WANNA SEE U I MISS UR PRETTY FACE

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN    💬     pls come tonight. it would mean everything to me

You’ve never claimed to be smart.

In fact, you’re pretty sure you have to fall on the opposite end of that spectrum in order to bother showing your face tonight at the behest of Carol fuckin’ Danvers. Satan. It’s the work of the goddamn devil pulling you from the clutches of your apartment’s comfortable silence where you’d be much better off riding through the nuanced gut-punching waves of disappointing Carol guilt instead of the hell storm that is being played once again by Carol guilt. You even put on eyeliner for such an occasion, because if you’re going to get fucked over (either physically, emotionally, or both), you might as well look good doing it.

Her name’s still lighting up your phone as the Uber drops you off at the curb, boasting a flood of pictures on Snapchat that illuminate the awaiting scene inside of the frat house through blurry streaks of glass bottles and marijuana smoke and the pale expanse of her neck where a glint of her gold necklace flashes is promised to you to do as you wish, leaving behind bruises or lip prints. It’s an enticing picture painted for you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think maybe tonight will be the night she tells you she’s free from the clutches of Maria, her perfectly sane girlfriend that you’ve only ever known through Carol’s jilted lens, and that she’ll even let you climb her like a tree in front of her friends.

Lucky you.

Except you do know better. In the pit of your stomach, you know the reality is that you are in closer proximity than Maria, which therefore makes you the most convenient piece of ass at Carol’s disposal, that Carol believes — and is likely right about how — you’re still wound tight enough around her finger to make you drop to your knees like a good little girl, blinded by her golden halo of hair and the whiskey-soaked taste of her lips and ready to excuse her shit treatment of you. That even feeling like you have her for the beat of a butterfly’s wings is worth your sanity. And despite it all, it isn’t enough to keep you away. It’s not enough to exile the parts of a masochistic heart beating in your chest that somehow loves her, even if the only part of you she loves is your willingness to show up for her.

Carol’s fraternity is co-ed, which means that between all of the brothers, their social circle extends to the farthest corners of the university — they consume a fair bit of your own, considering you have at least two classes a semester with Bucky, sit with them at Wanda’s softball games (mostly so you can talk shit about your high school ex that made the team), and rent study rooms at least once a month with Thor, Bruce, and Val to spiral into late night insanity while you all contemplate the meaning of life and attempt to memorize vocabulary words. You slip in through the door, bass thudding into your molars and the heavy blanket of smoke and sweat covers your bare shoulders as you weave your way through the house.

“Look who finally showed up!” Behind the counter in the kitchen is Sam Wilson, running position as makeshift bartender. You detour long enough for a vodka and Diet Coke, stopping next to the barstool that Bucky’s perched on. He tucks you underneath his arm for a side hug, other hand tipping his own solo cup back as he tries to drain the last bit of liquor down his throat.

They’re good friends to you. It’s why you hate doing this dance with Satan — because at some point, you feel that there’s going to be a tectonic shift between the two of you that dredges up a rift in the concrete and you don’t know who will be left on your side. You don’t know who you’ll be able to look in the eye and lie to about Carol, who would pick you over her. You don’t even know if any of them would believe you or would write you off as crazy as you’ve been writing yourself off as of late.

You tell yourself that you’re trying, goddammit, to shove that piece of yourself back into a locked drawer and enjoy the company of your friends.

“Anybody seen Danvers?” you pitch as nonchalantly as you know how, planting your elbows down onto the granite of the counter while you watch Sam mix your drink. He goes heavy on the vodka, which you quietly appreciate.

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, we’ve seen her alright.”

“She’s in the dining room trying to rally everyone into a round of strip beer pong,” Sam explains. “Last we saw, she got her shirt stuck in the chandelier.”

“The face of class, this fraternity,” you tease as Sam hands you your drink. He can’t help but laugh, a jovial, guttural noise that makes you smile, even though your stomach is currently in your throat.

You bid them farewell and snake through the living room, trying to avoid the furniture or the bodies of other people and almost always fail in avoiding both at the same time as you carve out a path to the dining room. It’s densely packed, which forebodes the game of beer pong that the boys mentioned. You try not to cut your elbows into the bones and flesh of others to make your way through, but your adrenaline is humming at the thought of seeing Carol, the thought of her body glowing in the house lights and the cut of her physique out on display for anyone, including you, to openly ogle without abandon.

“Goddamn, Danvers!” someone yells mirthfully. “Keep it in your pants!”

Whistling down to one thought, one track, your mind lasers in and you’re positive that the sharp point of your elbow nails T’Challa directly in the ribs as you finally make it to the inner lip of the circle around the dining room table. It’s desperate. You know it’s desperate. You'll care about it later, you’re sure, but for now, all that’s on your mind is her.

“For the love of fuck, I—” Someone stumbles back into you, dark hair in frizzy waves and the bill of their baseball cap nearly jabbing straight into your nose. Wanda Maximoff spins around, her eyes lightening up at the sight of you as she grabs onto your wrist to stable herself. “Oh! Hey, babe,” she says with a smile. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Me either,” you tell her, trying not to be blatant as you scan for Carol. “Carol didn’t tell me until last minute.”

“Boo,” Wanda pouts, before turning to yell over her shoulder, “Danvers! Fuck you!”

“Get in line!” Carol calls back, and your head locks in on where her voice comes from. Your stomach plunges into free fall when you see her: as promised, she’s standing around in her sports bra and jeans, white teeth glinting and blonde hair curling around onto her tanned shoulders, biceps on display and her arms snaked around — her.

Maria Hill, in the flesh, pressed against Carol’s side and her chin balanced on Carol’s shoulder as Carol makes a shot one-handed that successfully lands in a cup on the opposite end of the table. Carol cheers victoriously, and Maria kisses her cheek, and you notice that Carol’s hand on Maria’s side drifts down towards her ass.

All of Carol’s messages swim inside your mind, the ones where she assures you that it’s all real, that she and Hill are done, that Hill’s holding her back, that she’s felt things for you since the moment she laid eyes on you and just knew; the ones where she paints a beautiful picture of a future with you, the same picture she’s just doused in cheap spirits and ruined for the dozenth time. Your drink suddenly tastes like arsenic, heavy and uneven in your stomach, the room shrinking and heat crawling up your neck in an uncomfortable panic. You are going to be sick.

Wanda’s voice comes through in the midst of the ringing in your ears. Fuck you, Danvers.

It takes you a moment to realize that Wanda’s voice isn’t just a reverberation inside your mind, but is right in your ear. “Hey!” She calls your name again, and you finally snap your attention back to her. She scans over your face for a moment, eyebrows folding in the center of her brow. “You alright? Where’d you just go?”

The shock is fresh on your face, salt water from the crashing wave that’s irritating your eyes — you refuse to let yourself cry, here in front of everyone, because all that’s going to do is open the door to a conversation you don’t want to have, incite a fight with Carol that you’ll surely lose, leave you feeling even lower than you do at the moment. You shake your head, trying to shake whatever emotions that aren’t nonchalant off of your face. “Noth—nowhere,” you stammer, voice an octave higher than usual. Wanda’s perplexity only deepens. “More crowded than I thought. Got beer-splashed.”

Wanda breaks into a smile, seemingly buying your excuse. “C’mon, what’d you expect?” she ribs. It’s a loaded question, and if Wanda wasn’t Wanda, you’re sure it’d be enough to light your rapidly shorting fuse. The thin strain in your falsified smile must give something away, because she softens the slightest bit and wraps her arm around yours. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll kick your ass sideways in pool.”

You appreciatively take Wanda’s out, allowing her to guide you away from the Carol show and the crowd of people you have steeled yourself in order to not cry in front of and head with her towards the basement, which the frat has renovated into a lounge space with a giant television, sectional that is infamous for its hosting of The Threesome, and the pool table. It hasn’t garnered quite the same audience that the beer pong game has, but less people means you feel slightly less suffocated. Carol’s still got her foot on your throat, but down here, it’s easier to maneuver and act as though you haven’t just had yourself made a fool in front of everyone without them knowing.

Relieved for the little things, like elbow room, you sit down on the arm of the sectional and take a long drink from your cup — if you’re going to survive the rest of the night without your tail tucking between your legs (and you’re determined to further your self-sabotage by going the extra mile to ensure Carol knows she fucked up, even though it’s likely she doesn’t care) you’ll have to be drunker than this. Wanda adjusts her hat on her head and picks up a pool cue, glancing back over her shoulder at you. “Want someone to show you how it’s done?” she teases.

You lift your cup in acknowledgment, smile shedding off of your lips. “Go for it.”

As Wanda weasels her way into the current game of pool, you do a quick intake of who all’s downstairs. There’s a few of the brothers, a few of the brother’s dates, people that are otherwise background characters designed to make campus seem at capacity but not so many people that no one would notice if you threw up in the corner or worse, started crying. You purse your lips around the rim of your solo cup, scanning the company around the pool table. Wanda sidles up next to another one of her brothers, poking her with the pool cue. “Nat!” Wanda whines. “Give me room.”

Natasha Romanoff shuffles out of the way with the roll of her eyes. “Poke me with the stick again and it’s gonna go somewhere less than ideal.”

Wanda flicks her middle finger upright before hunching around the shape of the pool cue. “You don’t scare me, Natty.”

“Your funeral.”

Your eyes follow Natasha out of the way, and she feels their weight because the next thing you know, you’re off the cliffs and deep somewhere inside the greenery of her eyes. They’re pretty eyes, you idly note, and you find yourself mulling over Natasha Romanoff, as a person, as a concept, as Natasha. She’s the oldest of the girls in the fraternity, a senior to your junior, and she’s been around for so long that it’s hard to remember a time when she wasn’t there. It’s hard to imagine a room without her in it, a constant fixture on the mantel that you don’t even bother acknowledging it anymore.  

She cocks an eyebrow at you after what’s sure to be a long moment of staring, and Wanda, who is unfortunately more observant than you’d like to believe, begins laughing. “Am I interrupting this little staring contest?”

Natasha smirks. “I could win a staring contest and kick your ass at the same time, Maximoff.”

“Show off,” Wanda grumbles as she passes the pool cue over to Natasha. She then looks at you, and whatever grumpiness dissipates, her shit-eating grin returning. “Now, you on the other hand,” she preludes with a gesture towards you. “There’s no way.”

You drain the rest of your drink and discard the cup off to the side. "You talk a lot, Wan,” you inform her as you walk up to the side of the pool table. Wanda just grins as you turn to Natasha, gesturing for the pool cue. “Let me have a go.”

Natasha acquiesces and passes you the pool cue, giving you the space you need coupled with a low nod of encouragement. There are a few clusters of balls around the table and you’re trying to eye up a shot that’ll give you not only a handful of points, but will get Wanda off your back — even if you are grateful for the timing of her diversions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough; you can still hear the laughter and music through the walls from upstairs, a raucous noise that scatters your train of thought. Is it Carol? What’s she doing? What’s she whispering into Hill’s ear? Does she know you’re even here? Does she care? 

Probably not.

You take the shot without thinking, balls ricocheting off the sides of the pool table. Wanda barks out a laugh. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Just getting warmed up,” you say stiffly, handing the pool cue off.

Wanda’s face is alight with amusement, nodding slowly as she moves around the pool table for her next shot. “Okay.”

You’re too far in your head, and you know it. You’re content to linger on the outskirts of the game while everyone else that Wanda goes about recruiting takes their turn. It’s a few minutes or an hour before the cue ends up back in your hand, like a rickety sort of clockwork that is unexpected but also entirely predictable. You assess the situation and find a decent enough angle now that the game has progressed, significantly so.

You bend over slightly, eyes fixed on a blue ten that’s not too far from the cue. Before you can make the shot, you hear someone behind you muttering. “Do it like this.”

When you glance over your shoulder, it’s Natasha, only a few inches from where you stand, hands hesitating before she reaches out. “Back up,” she guides, her hands stationing on your hips and forcing you to take a half-shuffle of a step backwards. “And lift your elbow like this.” You’re clay and she shapes you how she wishes, her touch feather light. “Okay. Now try.”

You do exactly as she says, pool cue shooting from your hand and colliding with the cue ball. The ten you’ve had your eyes on sails into the pocket without any interference. 

“Nice shot, sweetheart,” Natasha says, her voice ghosting along the back of your spine. As you straighten up, you glance behind you, noticing the faint grin along the curve of her lips.

“Well that wasn’t sexual at all,” Wanda comments with a low whistle as the pool cue returns to her grip. “Do losers get laid still? I wouldn’t know.” With a toothy flash of a grin, she draws the cue back and makes another shot — you’re not entirely focused on her efforts, thanks to the gravity of Natasha’s sights still pressing deep into your skin.  

Wanda talks a big enough game that she recruits nearly everyone standing around the pool shot to give it a go, which provides a window of opportunity for Natasha to brush a hand along your shoulder and steal you away. “Up for a smoke?” she asks, and you nod. You allow her to lead the way out through the basement’s French doors, slipping outside into the backyard where the sky is dotted with stars, the air smells only the slightest bit cleaner, and the music is nothing but a dull pulse from inside the house.

Natasha steers you away from the patio where other fraternity brothers and their guests are sitting around, enjoying their drinks and laughing amongst their idle, stoned conversations around the fire pit. You follow her into the grass, trailing around the side of the house until the two of you don’t have any other company aside from each other and Thor’s knockout rose bushes that he takes great pride in.

She leans up against the wall, hands fishing in the pocket of her jacket for her lighter. For someone who’s devoted the rest of their evening to shooting metaphorical (or even literal) middle fingers in Carol’s direction, you’re still too far on edge to be nonchalant about any of it. The quiet is all consuming, maddening inside of your buzzing mind. Natasha produces a joint, embers burning on the end as she lights it and brings it up to her lips. You’re left to watch as she takes a long, casual drag, a cloud of smoke billowing from her lips on the exhale. Her wrist then extends, offering the joint up; if there is such a thing as too eager, you’d be the poster child for it, the way you pluck it from her fingers and take a hit.

“Something on your mind?” she asks, her voice a low drag of gravel against the muted bass thud inside of the house. You open an eye and glance over at her, her green eyes burning holes through you as she watches. 

“Eh,” you mutter half-heartedly with a shrug. “Not worth it.”

You pass the joint back to her after you take one more drag, your eyes fixed on the steady stream of smoke that you forcibly control the exit from your mouth. It’s nice to have control over something, you think, even if it is, to some degree, just seeing how long you can hold your breath. 

“Seems like you could use a distraction,” Natasha comments, fingers idly rolling the joint between her fingers as smoke still curls from the tip. 

You laugh, a low and guttural noise that’s passive at best. “Yeah, probably.”

Natasha turns so her entire body is facing you, and it doesn’t register, the way that she’s looking at you, until you feel her brush your hair off of your face. Your eyes fully open, somewhat surprised by the action, watching her carefully. Natasha’s a lot of things, but gentle isn’t one you’d readily associate with her. It’s almost like she’s handling you like glass, waiting for the right moment to shatter you. It’s a hiccup in your chest, a strange feeling washing over your body.

“Let me distract you, then.” She says it simply, like it’s the most logical conclusion to arrive at.

“Nat, what...”

“C’mere.” One of her hands encircles your wrist, guiding you closer. You follow wordlessly in her guidance, unsure of what she’s doing or what’s to come. She takes another hit of the joint, her eyes glowing the same way the end of the joint does, a low burning fire that seems to grow hotter the longer your eyes are connected. 

The hand holding your wrist slides up your body until she’s cupping your jaw, her thumb darting across the expanse of your face to swipe across your lips in a prompt to open them. She lowers the joint, bringing her face inches away from your own as her mouth forms a perfect circle and releases smoke. You’ve shotgunned weed before, but never at such a close proximity. Natasha breathes out and you breathe in, eyes fluttering shut at the intimacy of the moment. 

“Gonna let me distract you some more?” she whispers, and you barely register yourself nodding before her lips capture your own. Her mouth is plush and soft but nothing about her is gentle anymore — this is where she forces a spiderwebbing crack across your surface, the deft way in which she manipulates your lips to do exactly as she’d like, her tongue skating across the skin and opening your mouth to allow her access. You can’t help but to sigh into the kiss. She is exactly what she claims she is: a distraction, a welcome reprieve, and the golden halo around Carol’s head seems fuzzy and jilted now.

Natasha kisses you like she’s trying to set you on fire; at some point she has absconded the joint and ground out its remnants into the mulch, both her hands cupping your face as she boxes you in with her legs and adjusts the two of you so your back is now flush against the wall. “How’s this?” she murmurs against your ear, lips starting a descent down your neck that is feather light and the gentle scrape of her teeth.

“Very... very distracting,” you stammer out, fingers curling into fiery red hair. 

“Good,” Natasha hums, her mouth vibrating over a particularly sensitive spot on your collarbone that causes your grip in her hair to tighten. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be so far in your head.” 

You nod, thankful for the reward of her body pressing against yours. 

“What d’you say?” Her voice ghosts over your skin, and for a moment, you’re not sure what it is she’s asking. It takes a moment, the weed and the liquor clouding your mind, but the dig of Natasha’s blunt fingernails into your hips and the graze of her teeth along your skin serves as motivation. “Huh? What d’you say, princess?” 

“Thank you,” you gasp, the feeling of her mouth tightening around your skin wet and hot sending a glimmer of electricity down your spinal cord. Natasha chuckles, a dark and melodic noise that buzzes through your body. 

“You’re welcome,” she croons. “’S that all you needed? Or do you need more?”

More. It’s the knee jerk response you have, the way your world has narrowed down to just her and the scent of her heady perfume and each individual curve of muscle is now flush against you. Your eyes open only to see Natasha grinning like she’s the fuckin’ devil. 

Maybe you were misplaced somehow.

Natasha’s hands drag over your sides, up and down roughly as she kisses you and forces your legs farther apart so she’s able to snake one of her thighs in between them. She rucks your top up on the edges, fingers brushing over your skin in a delightful contrast to the cool evening air. Natasha is hot, her touch burning and singeing the skin wherever it moves. She’s painting you out of ashes and making you into something beautiful, something uniquely her own. Her hands slip underneath your shirt and you feel one hand trail upwards, fingers wrapping around your breast before squeezing. It elicits another tiny moan from you, which Natasha swallows down with a kiss. “Shh,” she hisses against your lips. “Be quiet.”

You arch into her touch as her fingers slip beneath the cup of your bra and pinch your nipple tight, another squeak of pleasure groaned into her mouth. It only encourages her further, the other hand of hers moving in the opposite direction. “Want me to touch you?” she whispers in your ear while you press your mouth into her shoulder, breath warm against your ear and her teeth just barely missing your earlobe. “Bet you’re not distracted now; only thing you and that pussy are thinking about is me, huh?”

“Fuck, Nat,” you mumble into her skin.

“Yeah you are,” she replies with a shit eating grin, your head tilting back until it roughly meets the back of the wall as her hand goes up your skirt. 

You’d been meticulous prior to coming over, thinking on whatever lone star trailing in the sky that you’d be seducing Carol tonight; you’d purposefully worn your skimpiest pair of underwear just to show her what she could have if she was with you. It’s only when you see the look on Natasha’s face, the way her pupils dilate and her jaw slackens the slightest bit as her fingers skim in between the folds of your thigh and vulva and feels lace that you feel something resembling satisfaction. “You came ready for a distraction, princess,” she grumbles, moving your underwear to the side and swiping her fingers through what is now sheer want dripping from you. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“N... Nat,” you whine, squirming around in the pursuit of pressure. “Touch me.”

She places the tip of her finger at your entrance, just barely teasing it in. “Ask nicely, honey.”

The words spill from your lips without thought. “Please, Nat, please touch me, fuck m—” She cuts you off as she slips her finger inside of you and you all but rocket up the side of the wall at the feeling. Her free hand, still underneath your shirt, wrestles out from beneath the fabric and is slapped over your mouth to muffle whatever noise you make.

“Thought I told you to be quiet,” she says between her gritted teeth. “Here.” She presses her index and middle fingers against your lips and you acquiesce, opening them wide enough to allow them to slip in. “Suck.”

You do as you’re told, happy to oblige as she begins to finger you. There’s nothing soft or sweet about the way she fucks you; she adds another finger and finds a steady rhythm, curling each time she’s knuckle deep inside of you just so she can be rewarded with you humming around the fingers in your mouth. It amuses her to some extent, the way her eyes have darkened and her mouth is slightly agape. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and considering how tight you are wound, you’re not going to last long.

"Clench around me, pretty girl,” she hisses amongst the other litany of dirty things she’s whispering in your ear. “Such a sweet pussy, does whatever I ask it to; what if I want this pussy all to myself? You gonna let me have it?”

You nod, Natasha withdrawing her fingers from your mouth before she hauls you in for the filthiest kiss of your life. “Fuck,” you whimper against her lips. “Yours, Nat, your pussy.”

“Yeah, I know. This is my pussy now, all tight and hot and wet and desperate just for me. This was what you needed, wasn’t it? Needed me to fuck you silly until you forget how to put one foot in front of the other.”

“Please, Nat, gonna...” 

“What?” she teases, her thumb flicking across your clit and you know that she’s doomed you, mind and body barreling down a track that there is no return from. “What, baby? Use your words.”

“Gonna come,” you manage to get out, and she fucking laughs.

“‘S right,” she agrees. “Gonna make this little pussy come all over my fingers, since I’m the only one who can. That right?” You nod; her fingers tighten in your hair and pull your head back so your neck is exposed for her. “C’mon, baby, wanna see you make a mess on my hand. Come for me like a good little slut. You know you want to.” You do, you do, and everything is bordering on the edge of too much the way Natasha is sucking your neck and rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Show me who’s pussy this is. Come.”

Another few thrusts and flicks of your clit and you are gone, Natasha bringing her mouth back to yours to swallow the keens and cries of you hitting your climax. The brick wall underneath you scratches at your shirt but it is a heavenly feeling, losing control underneath Natasha. She just smiles when she pulls away and you slump into her, perfectly sated. 

“That was hot,” she says with a wicked grin, pulling her fingers out of you. She doesn’t break eye contact as she brings them up to her lips, sucking your taste off of them. Her eyes alight with pleasure, a contented hum reverberating from her vocal cords. “Thanks, pretty girl.”

Beat that, Danvers.

[balrogballs]

i'm a writer irl (can't say who because my agent would rightfully put me into a blender and press the button if i go and out myself as "balrogballs") and honestly the funniest and most humiliating incident of my life was the time my finished manuscript triggered a plagiarism flag with the publisher for two lines of prose in my literary fiction novel...

.... which was word for word similar to a paragraph in a certain explicit work on FFN starring elrond and his batsman from the hobbit films, aka that one elf that looked like he ate panic attacks for breakfast (i forget his name but it's Figwit II) where the lord of imladris bends said twink over his writing desk and gives him the battering ram treatment.

and if you think i had to sit in front of one if the biggest publishing companies in the world and admit that it was, in fact, me who wrote the fic where the lord of imladris bends said twink over his writing desk and gives him the battering ram treatment in order to avoid being wrongly flagged for plagiarism, you would be absolutely correct.

(yes they published the book)

[roboticnebula]

Pros of re-reading your own fic

a good time;

Has exactly the tropes you like and the characterization you want to read;

Gratification: yes you did finish a thing and yes you did do good;

just a very fun time all around.

Cons of re-reading your own fic:

Is that another TYpO

[ekingston]

SO HERE IS THE WHOLE STORY (SO FAR).

I am on my knees begging you to reblog this post and to stop reblogging the original ones I sent out yesterday. This is the complete account with all the most recent info; the other one is just sending people down senselessly panicked avenues that no longer lead anywhere.

IN SHORT

Cliff Weitzman, CEO of Speechify and (aspiring?) voice actor, used AI to scrape thousands of popular, finished works off AO3 to list them on his own for-profit website and in his attached app. He did this without getting any kind of permission from the authors of said work or informing AO3. Obviously.

When fandom at large was made aware of his theft and started pushing back, Weitzman issued a non-apology on the original social media posts—using 

his dyslexia; 

his intent to implement a tip-system for the plagiarized authors; and 

a sudden willingness to take down the work of every author who saw my original social media posts and emailed him individually with a ‘valid’ claim,

as reasons we should allow him to continue monetizing fanwork for his own financial gain.

When we less-than-kindly refused, he took down his ‘apologies’ as well as his website (allegedly—it’s possible that our complaints to his web host, the deluge of emails he received or the unanticipated traffic brought it down, since there wasn’t any sort of official statement made about it), and when it came back up several hours later, all of the work formerly listed in the fan fiction category was no longer there. 

THE TAKEAWAYS

1. Cliff Weitzman (aka Ofek Weitzman) is a scumbag with no qualms about taking fanwork without permission, feeding it to AI and monetizing it for his own financial gain; 

2. Fandom can really get things done when it wants to, and 

3. Our fanworks appear to be hidden, but they’re NOT DELETED from Weitzman’s servers, and independently published, original works are still listed without the authors' permission. We need to hold this man responsible for his theft, keep an eye on both his current and future endeavors, and take action immediately when he crosses the line again. 

THE TIMELINE, THE DETAILS, THE SCREENSHOTS (behind the cut)

Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)

I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entirety—though, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywall—along with a link promising to take me—through an app downloadable on the Apple Store—to an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) weren’t working, I put ‘Kara Danvers’ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the covers—as well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratings—made it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice. 

I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and I’ve only ever had to deal with art theft—which has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was reposted—and I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.

After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work they’ve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobook’ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if they’d heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knight’s methods and decided to contact OTW’s legal department:

And then I went to bed.

By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:

@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.

That response came only an hour or so later: 

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointing—I doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasn’t eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.

I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.

A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)

A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious prices—though in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for free—my dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.

Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3—and, as a result, my original tumblr post—began taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didn’t screenshot in time so I’m sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit user’s screenshot, I didn’t see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)

After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether. 

It’s not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume it’s the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, you’re not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.

That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:

They were completed works;

They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and

They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.

If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!

I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.

I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.

Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back up—but the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***

That’s when several users—the ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that way—reported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.

Sooo—

We’re obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they aren’t actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasn’t willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them. 

This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg you—seriously, I’m on my knees here—to not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones you’ve kept in your ‘marked for later’ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and it’s our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.

Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.

THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):

*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, it’s pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you don’t steal some other kid’s art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didn’t want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so it’s clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that. 

**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: it’s even greasier than it looks at first glance. It’s not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover ‘art’, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that can’t be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had ‘found family’ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ and ‘love triangle’ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrape—not only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzman’s needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation. 

***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.

Again, please, please PLEASE reblog this post instead of the one I sent originally. All the information is here, and it's driving me nuts to see the old ones are still passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.

Thank you all so much.

[bebx]

"undoing this character's death would take away his sacrifice and character arc" girl I don't give a shit. I'm bringing him back through the power of ao3 fix-it fics and there's nothing you can do to stop me x

[whatsnewalycat]

Made this for u 💝

[yeehawpim]

a comic about fix-it fanfics

[chodzacaparodia]

It's frustrating that you can come up with the plot of an entire fic in just a few seconds, but writing it all down can take anywhere from never to forever.

[bluejay757]

[the-coffee-fandom]

Had to make a meme to describe me currently

[noritoshiikamo]

adepti energy [xiao x reader]

read part 1 here— so i have an brainrot of xiao as an adepti, able to share his energy for heal. i saw an art of ganyu healing injured xiao by sharing adepti energy and this shit lingers bro??

cw pregnant reader, talk of ab0rtion aka asshole xiao, sexual healing, penetrative sex, female receiving, mention of blood (and licking it)

maybe it was his mistake.

he warned you about this so much, every single hours spend, he reminded of the burden of his karma carried for years. but here he was, breathing the sweet, sweet scent of your hair, your head resting against his bare chest. you shivered, even with his arms tightening around your barely covered body, you refused to leave. after that night, he didn’t expect to ever cross path with you again. out of his own choice, he was avoiding you actively.

but you are smarter. perseverance kept you alive, yet it will kill you; if you don’t learn.

we are not meeting anymore

oh, now im just some girl you fucked and leave?

shut up

way to proof yourself, he thought, gently brushing strays off your face. how did we get here again, y/n? surely this isn’t the life you hoped for. you deserved better than someone who would only meet you once every few days just to fuck you on the cold, damp ground of some marsh. who would rather watch from far as you celebrate the lantern rite in the busiest night of liyue alone. the only keepsake he could gave was constellation of bruises and teeth marks along your body, while merchants lined up for your hand in marriage with the promise of the wealth the world could possibly gave. ignoring that in exchange of the whines and whimpers of pain he gave yet would ignore because this was your punishment.

you chose him, you bare the consequences.

yet, here you are. your moans were deafening and the way moonlight shone down on your skin as he drove you to your last breath were mesmerizing. he would argue and for some reason you would laugh. it drove him insane. for every ten bad shit crazy xiao gave to you, you turned it into a sweet core memory in his head. in his mind was only you.

your skin molded against his own. the way your heart seemed to match his rapid beating. sometimes when you kissed, you left a faint red stain against his lips, his cheeks, his neck down to— he bit the inside of his cheek, burying his nose deeper into your hair.

it was too late to say no.

what would morax said, if he knew that his general had left a girl blessed by the archon himself, alone yet full of his seed ready to blossom. by your words, his child was a size of sunsettia. he took the blame. he was blinded by selfishness and jealousy. you belong to him, yet wind carried whispers of the men who looked to steal of what belonged to the general. not once you fought; not when his fingers had mistaken your hair for the weed he was trying to grip, not when he berated you for mistaking that anyone could be better than him. it was never a love making, only fucks. you accepted that in the name of love. that was yours to blame.

you both made the mistakes, yet you are the one carrying it.

“you’ll get cold,” he warned as he helped you back into your clothes. he listened to how you whispered your discontent. you looked exhausted. his hands brushed the growing womb. it looked foreign, tight as if it was ready to burst. he let a long sigh. he muttered something about home, yet the reply is always the same.

you

you are my home

fucking cliche. the only time you ever fought was about the child. “get rid of it,” he said, not an ounce of hesitation. but you fought, you raised your voice, you threw your hands and feet. you are a home, but for the child, never xiao. he felt lost.

“i’ll rather die.”

his laughter broke the silent of the night, “the baby would kill you before you do.”

yet the determination in your eyes was the final nail to your coffin. never in years xiao knew what fear is, but that night he knew.

“so be it.”

home, he repeated again, insisting harder this time. you sat in exhaustion, lazy eyes watched as he dressed, wind breezing through his hair made you wondered if he will ever cut it shorter. he sat you up, brushing the dried grass of you, pulling clothes back in order. you swatted his hands away every time he got a little rough but accepted the hands to hoist you back on your feet. “my back’s getting worst,” you sighed softly, holding his hand for balance. you walked slowly, fingers intertwined. he couldn’t just teleport you away, not like how they were used too. “how are you feeling?” he asked, tightening the grip every time he felt you loosened. “i felt like i need a long hour of nap. m’so tired, can you just do that thingy?”

his brows shot up, “thingy?”

“yes, that–” you made a swoosh sound, imitating his teleportation. you watched as the corner of his lips moved into a smile. he stood his ground, shaking his head. “i don’t know if you can handle it.” you stopped, tugging weakly on his hand. it loosened the grip, he didn’t realise until he was few steps away. xiao studied you, glancing down on the hand that rested against your growing womb.

“me or the baby?”

he bit his tongue. there were so much things he wanted to say; but something should be left unspoken. karma would kill him and his baby would kill you. how romantic, the voice inside of him snide. you snorted, “if you worried so much about a baby, why didn’t it ever cross your mind that maybe i should pull out?” he frowned at your imitation, “you wanted to fill me up so badly and when you did, you chicken the fuck away from me. don’t you fucking run away from me.” you screamed as the general looked away, already taken a few steps away.

“what do you want me to do?”

“what?”

xiao turned around, his uninterested eyes bore cold gaze on you, “what do you want? do you want me to love the child?”

“yes, it’s your child too.”

“maybe in another life. maybe when it doesn’t kill you, maybe i would.”

your eyes widened. unbelievable, you wanted to say but the words laid heavy on your tongue. you wanted to burst, in tear and anger but exhaustion waved in. you let out a weak fine, before walking, brushing past him. “where the fuck-”

“home xiao,” it sounded cold, “i get it. we talked about this before and you wanted me to get rid of it. i said no, it like reading the same page of the same book over and over again. i’m tired.”

xiao raked his hair back blown by the wind, frustrated with your shift of emotion, “i meant to the inn, you can leave by dusk. it’s dangerous.”

you snapped, turning your heels around, “you don’t get to dictate shit to me. you said you don’t care, so act like it. you made your bed so lay in it. i’m nobody in your life, go wallow in your shitty karma’s a bitch bullshit, i’m tired,” you didn’t realise you were crying until you tasted the salty droplet against you lips. “i’m tired, xiao. goodbye.”

goodbye.

xiao was never good at goodbye, nor had he ever heard you said it to him. it was always see you later, i’ll be back tomorrow, but never goodbye. it seemed so permanent.

and it was. xiao didn’t see you the next day, nor the day after and the day after that. it had been a whole week. he had a visitor today however, his heart skipped a beat yet not in excitement but disappointment. “morax,” he muttered, bowing his head lightly in respect.

“busy?” the archon asked, eyes bored against the horizon, hands laced in the back. xiao refused to answer. “she’s not doing well,” the man continued, turning his head toward the general. he looked unfazed. xiao knew hows and whats, just never why he had always to choose such a stubborn girl to love.

“why would you-”he wanted to ask the archon, unsure of how could arrange his inquiry without ever doubting the archon’s decision. obedience was one of the reason that set him free and willingly followed the archon to war. “why would you do this? why would you blessed us–her with something so painful. if you are punishing me, do it to me. she’s innocent.”

“she tangled herself with a yaksha, she knew the risk. you knew the risk too so let me ask you, why would you do this, alatus? why would you blessed her with something so painful? something that you wouldn’t even accept.”

the general scoffed, “i never mingled with a human, how would i know that my human form could procreate? i’m old.”

morax smiled, “so would it stop you if you knew?”

the archon left, leaving the question heavy in the yaksha’s head. would he? he couldn’t think of any other woman in his life he was willing to have a child with other than you. yet why is he going through this excruciating fights and anger every time he sees your womb. he left soon after, the city was still bustling late at night. you never learn, he rolled his eyes as he pushed the sliding door open. regret washed over him as he cleared his throat. “i’m sorry-”

baizhu laughed, waving the yaksha off, “don’t worry. i’m just here for normal check up. did you know that the child is as big as lettuce. it is growing fast,” the doctor glanced at the mother as he put his tools aside. “are you sure the father is human?” xiao held his breath. you shrugged reaching for the glass of water, taking a long sip, ignoring the leering shadow in the corner of your eyes, “i don’t know. he doesn’t care much to tell me shit before he disappeared.”

the doctor nodded, taking a hint on your discontent, “keep taking the herbs in your tea, it should help with the nausea and the bleeding. spotting is normal, but reaching a week long is dangerous. let me know if the volume increase, you are home bound for now. i’ll sent qiqi to check on you tomorrow.” you didn’t move, sitting on the edge of the bed. baizhu excused himself closing the door behind him. you moved to get up, door needs to be locked but xiao was faster. the metal echoed as he twisted the knob.

“someone told me you weren’t doing okay.”

you let out a half laugh, cynical smile etched on your face. “the general knows mercy, who would’ve thought.”

“are you hurting yourself?” he asked bluntly, turning around. you rolled your eyes, shaking your head, playing with the rim of the glass. you braced yourself for the next question and surely enough it did come. “are the baby hurting you?” your eyes locked in a stare, sitting in such uncomfortable silence yet none of you dare to speak nor move. both of you knew the answer anyway. you didn’t realise how close he’d gotten to you until his hand pushed your jaws up, pushing away strays from your face. your lips hung a jar as you called out his name so softly but he hushed you. “don’t do this,” he said sternly, pulling the gloves off his fingers. his skin were calloused, from years of wars brushing gently again your cheeks. “don’t you fucking dare do that again,” he repeated, shaking from anger, “don’t you dare tell me goodbye, you understand me human?”

“okay, general.”

“i want to kiss you,” he asked bluntly, a soft snort escaped your lips in amusement. “i didn’t realise you were capable of asking,” you humored yourself with the redness that were forming on the tip of his ears. his body shuddered as your hand rested on his stomach. it moved until you were tugging on collar. you brought the general down to his knees, until you were looking eyes to eyes. “i’m disgusting. i just spend hours puking and bleeding,” you muttered but xiao didn’t care. why pull him down, if you were going to give excuses. he wants your lips, molded against his just like the first time you ever kissed. you whined against his lips, but the hands pulling your waist closer to the edge of the bed made you silent.

it was a starter.

a kiss was surely and intimate way to share your adepti energy.

pulling away, his eyes stared down your face. your lips were wet, strings of mess and you felt numb. your eyes were glistening, fully blown out iris staring down at him before your gaze softened. “you weren’t just kissing me,” he couldn’t help the grin on his face as you sat startled by what had just happened. “how many had kiss you like that, general?”

he wiped his own lips with the back of his hand, grimacing at the amount of saliva had leaked, he was just never that sloppy. “i never sha-kiss anyone like that before. i’ve seen some of the yakshas did it. sharing adepti energy is personal. i figure, if its hurting you, and if the child is half you and me, adepti energy could help ease your burden.” his words echoed in your mind in a jumbled up emotions, you lost your words. he continued, his hands moving your legs aside, the dress hitching upward until you sat bare against his face. your legs twitched. “they usually kissed, sometimes they licked the source of the pain, the wounds. other time, they fucked.” his warm breath tickled your aching core.

we fucked.

you struggled to swallow the lump in your throat as he looked up to you, his own pupil blown up, a small smile on his face as his cheek rested against the inside of your thighs. “when we meet, all this time, were you?” your mind remembered how almost every time you met in the night, you will always end up tangled up in his arms, writhing in pleasure. his light nod confirmed everything. xiao wasn’t slimy, he cared for you from start.

“w-what are you gonna do?”

his smile grew, “you tell me.”

your face flushed harder. “i’m still mad at you, you don’t get to play flirty with me like that,” you hissed but he shut you up, planting a kiss inside your thighs. “okay, y/n. just let me heal you and you’ll tell me later if you forgive me okay?”

your breath hitched.

xiao went down on you like a man desperate for relief. his tongue covered every inch of you. your stomach twisted in pleasure. if it weren’t because of the hands pinning your thighs down, you would’ve crushed his head. “x-xiao,” you cried, fingers woven against his hair but the general wasn’t budging. his eyes looked up to you as he released your clit with a soft pop. “is that okay?” he asked so innocently. you nodded, gasping out yeses, “but it’s t’much, please.”

he teased the swollen nub again, speeding up his flicks watching excitedly as your legs trembled before slowing down. “you tasted sweet, you’re getting close. release would help,” he muttered nonchalantly, tongue flat from your hole up to your clit, “let me have a taste, y/n.” that wasn’t a plea. contrast to whatever he was saying earlier, that was an order. his order went up your spine, sending all your hairs up. his fingers found yours, lacing it tightly. your pressure could never break his, but seeing you in the brink of breaking is his pleasure. you couldn’t think straight, not after a week of not seeing him, your body suddenly craved the release.

“x-xiao.”

his spine shuddered. he could taste it on his tongue, your sweet, sweet arousal and like a desperate man he drank. you cries were weak, thank you, thank you, thank you, your gratitude echoed the room. he lapped your release until your grip loosened and thighs stopped trembling. you grabbed him by the waist, breathless from your release yet you want more of him. “xiao, fuck me,” you whined your order, sharing kisses, tasting yourself on the tip of his tongue. “please?”

please, it echoed in his head as he nodded, pulling his clothes off. please, it echoed in his head as he pulled you closer to the edge, almost hanging of the bed but he held you still. please, it echoed again as he spitted on his own shaft, never breaking the eye contact, he love how feral your eyes were, high in his energy and lust.

“please,” it came out of his lips instead of yours this time as he rubbed the tip gently against your throbbing hole, “please stop running away from me. i’ll take care of you,” he didn’t wait for your answer as he pushed himself in. you gasped for air, knuckles turned white as you gripped the comforter underneath you. he didn’t move, panting from the pleasure. you kissed again, longer, longing to be attached from every single inch of the skin. you were tight against him, hugging every inch of him, he didn’t dare to move. “undress me,” you asked between his kisses.

your request felt intimate to him. like the lock on the door finally turning. xiao never undressed you, not that you ever let him. pulling the dress off, he took a moment to rest his warm hand against the growing womb. “he doesn’t move a lot at night,” you blurted out, watching his face contorted in confusion.

“he?”

you shrugged, “or she, i don’t know. can you move?” you arched your back, wiggling your ass against him. he let a soft huff, focusing his attention back to you. he watched you intently, how your eyes glistened with tears as he pulled and sheathed back in. he quickly grabbed you by the arm, pulling it around him before you could slam your head back. fuck, he never felt you gushed this much around his girth, dripping down his thighs. not that he would complain, he loves the way your walls fluttered against his shaft. you whined as his tip hit deeper.

“xiao,” you called again, fingers lacing against his hair.

“i only want you,” he gritted his teeth between the thrust, forehead knitted in pleasure. you wrapped your legs around his waist, whining your okays as you rested your forehead against each other. but you were drowsy in pleasure and he needed you to hear it. he grabbed the back of your neck, forcing your eyes on him. “don’t say goodbyes, don’t run away from me, don’t let me hear for the archon himself that you are hurting, i’ll hunt you down and fuck your conscious back into your thick skull. i need you.”

your lips curled in a lopsided grin, “say it again.”

he flushed, “i need you.”

“no, i meant-“ you grinned wider, “tell me that you’re going to fuck the hell out of me.”

you liked how the yaksha was blushing furiously. you prodded more, whining, begging of how you wanna hear it. not that his hips ever stopped moving, pushing air every second out of your lung. you just want to hear him said it again. “you’re insane,” he whispered against your lips, “am i not fucking the hell out out of you now?” your eyes widened as you let a squealed, pushed back from his grasp on the soft bad.

xiao preferred actions over words anyway.

your eyes rolled back, heels dug on the bed now as he sped his rhythm. “fuck, fuck, yes, xiao,” there we go again, his name, rolling out of your tongue so smooth. he kept his busy hand, thumbing your swollen clit while the other kept you from slipping away. you wanted it right, for him to fuck the hell out of you. “don’t run away now,” he scoffed, tightening his grip on your thighs, “stay still, y/n.”

your whines were loud and clear to him. he wasn’t sure to how much adepti energy he had nor how much you would need, but it sure as hell felt damn good to stay in your cunt. his hips snapped faster. he could stay here forever if he could, head thrown back as he cursed the archon.

xiao looked majestic.

feral, yet appeasing to your eyes. you couldn’t help but felt his energy, he is a yaksha after all. he was meant to be violent, it was the way he was raised. you licked your lips, eyeing beads of sweat glistening down the column of his neck. your body shuddered when his head snapped back, his half lidded eyes fell on you. “you’re clenching hard and you are staring, does nobody ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?” he cooed, head tilted to his side. he was teasing you. when you didn’t answer, too fazed to even string your words, he slowed down, clicking his tongue to your horror.

he pulled away, yanking on your arms. you whined at the emptiness he left, as he put you on your knees, facing the wall. he held your shoulder firmly, another on your hips until you gave him enough space to join you in the bed, hips aligned for him to push himself back in. your body jolted in pleasure, strangled moans came out of your throat as he felt you up in a new position.

“i want to see you,” you pouted.

he hummed, planting kisses all over your back. “you stared too much, you’ll get hazy and dumb, can’t have it that way,” his hips thrusted forward to meet your hips halfway, resuming your ‘treatment’. he kept another hand occupied against your growing tits, rolling the hardened buds. he let a soft curse out of his lips, realising how it no longer fit in his whole palm. it fascinated him how your body were changing by days, his cock twitched, thinking of days he could be exploring your body onwards.

your calls snapped him off his thoughts. pulling you by the neck, he looked down on your face. you had bitten through the skin of your lips as you came, shuddering in pleasure as xiao continued to fuck you through your high. with every thrust he could see his girth cover in white, glistening in your fluid. pussy still squelching and gushing echoing the small space. “archon, what the fuck did you do?” he brushed the blood away, tinting your lips red.

“s’tired,” you mumbled and he leaned down, kissing your lips, lapping your tiny cuts until what’s left was nothing.

“i’m so close, you want me to fill you up full?” he asked firmly, nuzzling his nose against your hair, planting soft kisses against your flushed ears. you nodded, mouthing a weak okay. “you sure? we can stop,” he teased, slowing his hips again. “your pleasantries are annoying, can you just fuck me?” you startled yourself with the words, glancing backward only to see amused face of your lover.

xiao laughed.

his laughter echoed the room, sight you had never seen before. he didn’t say anything, kissing a spot lower down your neck, agreeing silently. his thrusts were sloppier now, he was chasing his high. with your wall tensing up, tightening along his sensitive girth providing him a challenge to thrust forward. his brows knitted in pleasure, you could hear and feel his ragged breaths against your skin.

you closed your eyes, echoing the same pleasure. it wasn’t long, xiao could feel his own body tensing up, knot tensing in his stomach threatening to snap. “you’re mine, understand?” he didn’t wait for you to answer, you vowed to be his the moment you decided to die for the child. he was cumming, shooting ropes of his seeds deep inside your cunt like he had done before. the familiarity was a comfort. he eased his thrusts until you both sat frozen in each other arms. he struggled to catch a breath, seeing stars with every blink of his eyes, resting his cheeks flat against your back.

you didn’t speak, staring at him hazy as he sat you down. he checked every inch of you, not a bruise, not a scratch left untouched. his theory worked. he didn’t wait until you were down from the high, cleaning and dressing you up until he was sure that the eyes were staring back into his were normal. his energy subsided, xiao felt more exhausted than he usually was.

you stared deep into his dilated eyes.

“can i help you?” you asked bluntly, brushing his cheeks. he shook his head, nudging to the bed, “help me by resting. you need to rest.”

“your ey-“

he hushed you, “i’ll be okay.”

you finally felt the exhaustion crashing in the moment your head rest on the soft pillow. you didn’t feel nauseous. your yawn echoed the room. “i’ll rest if you stay.” he pulled his shirt over, glancing over your figure. “i will but i need to leave for a moment.” you squinted your eyes in annoyance, rolling away as your eyes slowly shut. “you’ll need more than fucking to make me accept your apology if you are not back.” you felt it, a kiss on your shoulder and a kiss on your head before all it left was dead silence.

but he did, despite an arm away on the bed.

your xiao were on the bed when morning came.

just like he had promised

© all content belongs to noritoshiikamo. do not modify or repost.

taglist: @cheolinn @duskamethyst @shadowarchon @crashed-wing @smuttyrb @boopolya @lilian-ch-s @akinokisetsu @ambieux @munsonsins -listen im using an one year old fic tag list so if it aint ya shit anymore its fine teehee

[frankierotwinkdeath]

Y’all want Taylor Swift to be gay so bad but you won’t even write femslash about her

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[the-bar-sinister]

This is your signal to let yourself write the deranged, uncomfortable, disgusting fiction that you've been thinking about.