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iwaasfairy · 2 years

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┌─ “ „ SLICE ─┐

tw. noncon ! , pseudo-cest, coercion, explicit gore ! , a lot of blood, body horror, side character death, serial murders, yandere, bodily harm, explicit descriptions of violence wordcount. 6.7k

a/n. day 3 of kinktober ♡♡♡ this counts for all of my fics, but for this one I feel like i have to say it extra loud, please read the warnings. i normally don't write stuff quite this explicit, and i really wanted to push myself a little with this one, and I know this isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea.

also, I hope I don't have to say this, but I'm not trying to glorify anything that happens in this fic. it's the closest to horror i'll probably get in my work, and it's meant to be horror. I'm not trying to romanticize this. inspired by the horror movies i've been watching and thank you miss @seijorhi for betaing. i hope you like this fic because i really liked writing it!! mwuah!

kuroo tetsuro x fem!reader

Toughness isn’t a trait that is well-respected enough in his humble opinion. It’s not the ability to claw your way out of a hole or the ability or relate that makes a person, but the ability to endure. It’s how he was raised, how he’s been since he was a child— and it’s the toughness that people have over any other living thing that he might just appreciate most about the human experience. It’s maybe no wonder then that he loves watching the toughness in people crawl out of them like a slow seep of oil spilling into a lake— polluting everything around it. After a while of lasting through pain, everything else rots away, and the only light left in people's eyes often is that they’ve endured this long.

It’s almost victorious, really; to watch it start to break out in people. There’s an art to it. A magic.

Until he snuffs that dying light out, of course.

It’s not like he doesn’t respect their struggle. But if this hunger is his cross to bear, then he’ll bear it. It’s one he’ll be damned to fuck up with some misplaced mercy. Mercy only causes liabilities. His scarred hands are cold as he slips the panties into his pant pocket, rubbing the wet fabric between his fingers, before he moves and wraps his hands around the wooden handle to lift it over his shoulder, before bringing it down again with sickening efficiency. The axe silences the last of the pitiful, pained humming in the air— with a heavy thump of bone giving in, it’s splattered across the polished stone of the bank. There’s not much left of her to identify.

And the water will clean it out as the level rises again. But still he takes a moment to sit by her side, staring out over the soft waves of the river, and takes a deep, long breath of the copper-tasting air. Wet blood drips off the blade of the axe along the thick coat of molasses-like proof of the ones before, and creates a perfectly shallow pool of red that runs down all the way to the water, before he lets the handle drop entirely from his grasp.

His breath comes out in floaty, little clouds that disperse so easily into the cold, and make his lashes damp. Away from all the bustle of the city, there’s an unmistakable peace that rings like home. It’s nice and quiet out here.

You remember losing your left front tooth to an almost uncanny amount. Among other things, it was the last truly long summer in Tokyo.

Your eyes are wide as you’re stood in the living room with your hands fisted into your skirt and your mouth open as Kenma’s fingers prod around your gums. Even though he washed his hands… you can’t help but pout and frown. “Nw- ii—dan,” you mumble softly, and watch as he pulls his fingers out with a grimace and wipes them on his shirt.

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute,” the brunet sighs, then slips the band around his wrist to tie his hair out of the way and sits back onto the back of the couch. “How’d this happen in the first place?” He prompts you to open your mouth again, watching with a slight smile as you loll your tongue out like a dog and try to speak with your mouth open, making a noise as your spit goes everywhere. “Put your tongue back, idiot. You’ll choke.”

“Bi—ss- an app—e -w.”

Kenma nii takes a deep breath as his face goes back to one of concentration, and you try your best to hold the instinct to wiggle your loose tooth like it’s a game. You’d get in Kenma’s way— and it’s plenty hard to get his help in the first place. But your brother seems focused enough on the task, if a little annoyed, even with his hands full of your spit. You’ll have to remember to thank him later. He fiddles around with it for a little more, before letting out an annoyed sound. “I can’t get a good grip on it.”

“I can try.”

Kuroo san speaks up from where he’s sat on the couch facing you two, staring at the way your face is scrunched up, half in amusement, half in concern. His big eyes are already pinpointing the issue in a way that only a meticulous person like he can, tongue trapped between his teeth. He only gets a shrug out of Kenma, but is quick enough to put the volleyball down and get up to where you’re standing. The noiret’s long legs carry him close, before he puts one hand on his knee to crouch down to you and pull you a few steps toward him.

And though Kuroo san is only a year older than your big brother, you’ve always found it somewhat odd to understand. For all the things that make them get along, they’re extremely different. Kuroo’s bright and bold and prods at people’s borders for sport. And well, Kenma… doesn’t. You’ve never really seen Kuroo as a neighborhood friend. He’s more like your big brother’s big brother, if anything. He spent the last three summers at your house, has slept over more times than you can count too. And you can count high.

His long legs bend until you’re just about face to face, and Kuroo’s natural smile puts you at ease just as well as Kenma can. Your big brother who you glance over to for confirmation, and who’s already let his attention go back to his game as he plops down into the couch. “No need to get comfortable, Kenma,” Kuroo says quickly, receiving a groan from the younger boy— but he doesn’t give it more attention. Instead he pats you on the head and then motions to his shoulder. “Hold on to me real tight, m‘kay? There’s going to be a little pinch.” You fist your hand into Kuroo’s red jacket automatically at his prompting, before he smiles and you mirror it.

And he then slides his thumb along your lip to pull it upward a little, before looking up at you. “Ready?” You nod before you think. Kuroo san’s quick to wipe his hands on his pants, breathe a soft ‘1, 2, 3,’ and just as easily yank the dangling tooth out of your skull with only a little noise of acknowledgement. “O~kay.” It’s more than a little pinch. It hurts. Hurts and feels weird and gross all at once.

The waterworks are activated before you can even think about it, tasting blood and salty tears all over your tongue as Kuroo inspects the damage. “Don’t cry, you did great!” He walks to the kitchen to fish the cupboards for a handkerchief, sticking it quickly under the tap before coming back to you with big steps. And though you’re still crying, his voice is pleasant as he nudges your face his way. “You’re fine, little bug, come here.” The blood is cleaned up and the rag pressed against it, and you hold it dutifully in place as he leans to pick you up and swings you onto his hip with a smile. He’s just … pleasant. You can’t explain it any better.

“Wanna watch your niisan and Tetsuro play?” he asks.

Again you find yourself nodding, and wipe your wet lashes— and spend the rest of that day watching the older boys play in the yard for the last free days before Kenma will be starting highschool. And swing your legs left and right each time either of them ask for some water, before hopping up and sprinting over with a small smile. You remember liking the heat of Tetsuro’s hand on your head, and the way your big brother lifts you into his neck with an almost-grin as he manages to make the older boy miss. You remember the split second of pure bliss falling asleep in a heap on the lawn with the both of them tuckered out from practice.

It’s only a couple days later they find the first girl, a middle schooler barely a few years your senior.

You only remember bits and pieces of the ones afterward. Life didn’t change too much for you, after all, but your parents were more vigilant after that. You weren’t allowed to go out without taking one of the guys with you, and Kenma would often walk you back from school. You were probably too young to understand fully why your mom would watch you come and go with such a concerned look on her face. She was worried… it was only natural.

But you suppose all that worrying didn’t save the next girl they found, because there was a next.

Another middle schooler, younger this time. There’s a memorial for her at the school across town, and though you don’t have to attend, her picture is plastered everywhere over your own school too. You can’t help but find something familiar in the soft smile, all bright eyed and friendly.

And you cling a little harder to Kenma’s hand that evening when you walk, leaning your head against his arm.

You also recall when the announcement of an evening curfew came blasting from the tv and how everyone around the table went a bit quieter. You didn’t use to eat dinner with the device playing before, but… you can’t help a parent’s worry. Your own happy chattering slowly drops off when even Kenma across from you turns to listen, and Kuroo falls quiet at the head of the table; your mom going a bit paler in the cheeks. ‘This morning, another young girl— Due to the recent events— curfew,’ only parts of it really enter the whirlwind of thoughts. Because you might not be old enough to fully understand, but you do see the way your mom stares at you with a sort of barely-hidden glaze, and how your father takes her hand to squeeze it.

Even Kenma nii, the world’s most unshakable person in your mind, puts his utensils down to get up for some water. It’s only Kuroo who dares break the awkward silence by clearing his voice, and saying the thing everyone’s thinking. “What a load of shit.” It lingers in the room like a badly worded joke, but you can tell, your mom agrees. “Instead of finding the guy doing it…” He doesn’t bother to hide the grimace as he scoops some more rice into his bowl, and Kenma returns to the table.

“Well, hopefully they will, soon.” Then your big brother pauses for a second, before he reaches over the table to pinch your nose softly, and sends you a hint of a smile. It’s starting to become a common sight, that melancholic expression people have when talking to you. The poor girl they show is yet another girl close enough to your age to make your chest feel a bit tighter, staring up at the tv as the reporter rambles. She’s cute, has the same pretty eyes as the last. She also reminds you a little of yourself— and that; that’s the thing that sets goosebumps erupting all over your skin. Biting your lip, picking at the ends of your hair for some kind of distraction.

You only look back down from the screen when Kuroo’s pinky softly brushes your own and pulls you back down to earth, and his golden eyes flick over your expression with a sad understanding, before he properly takes your hand to squeeze it.

Your mom is less good at concealing her concern, and the almost constant furrow in her brows doesn’t stir as the news finally moves on. Her pretty features are scrunched up as she forces a bit of food onto her fork. “Tetsuro kun, how about you sleep over? I don’t want you to go walking home alone tonight.”

It’s that night you stumble into the bathroom in the late hours to find the light on. As you peek in, you watch how Kuroo’s staring in the mirror with his hair a mess, no shirt, and seems so lost in thought he doesn’t even notice you until you push open the door further. “Kuroo san?”

His eyes narrow for just a moment, before he takes a deep breath at the sight of your form in the doorway. “Oh, it’s you. I… got up for a drink, and then I couldn’t sleep. A lot on my mind, you know.” His handsome face is a little puffy from rest, you can tell. He turns to you halfway to grin. “You’re a little overthinker too, hm? Did you know you talk when you’re dreaming?” You don’t know what to say to that, but it heats up your cheeks enough to make you feel, and look, doubly flustered.

“No, I didn’t… And I gotta pee, so-” You trail off as you watch Kuroo dry off his hands with slow, meticulous motions, before he hums. There’s scars all over his hands. Small ones, but also long lines like gashes, or scratched open skin, some newer than others. It makes for a pretty painful sight, criss crossed all over his palms, fingers, wrists. When he notices you stare, he only puts the towel away, but leaves his hands outstretched as if presenting them to you.

“Ah… scars from… receiving practice.” He’s smiling, but there’s something … It’s weird. You feel weird, hair on your arms standing up. It’s just the dark. It’s the dark. “Not pretty, is it? Looks a little scary.” Kuroo continues when you don’t speak, and wiggles his fingers.

But his eyes are so dim in this light you can’t read them, even zeroed in on your face. And your stomach turns, clearly upset. The news really is making you all anxious. And you’ve seen Kuroo in just as little clothing before, at the pool and at the beach, but… Your oversized, borrowed Nintendo shirt feels too sheer for how close the black haired boy is standing, or how rapidly your heart is patterning in your chest. Even if- he’s like a big brother- even if you know Kuroo doesn’t think like that, you can’t help but stare. And he must notice, because he slowly blinks. “What are you thinking?”

As he grabs the door handle, you back up to let him pass instinctively, and shake your head left to right. “Oh, just… It’s how you are, isn’t it? You always do things as well as you can.” It’s not a good answer, really, but Kuroo seems to take comfort in it anyway, and rests his hand onto your shoulder. Before he slides it up along your collarbone and up to your throat ever so slowly, gripping you there as if to hold you in place. You don’t dare breathe, let alone move as he seems to take all the time in the world appraising you, swiping his thumb along the vulnerable area.

“Give me a kiss?” You’re used to giving both of them goodnight kisses… but your muscles strain as you slowly press a peck to his soft cheek, before allowing him to wrap his other arm around your shoulders. He hums, sinks to your level to rest his lips to your forehead, and takes another long breath against your frozen state. He finally lets go after a few more frozen breaths, and wishes you goodnight for a second time that evening.

And it’s late, and definitely Kuroo looks a bit out of it, but you can’t calm down even in the safety of your own bed. That Kuroo is only one room over.

You don’t get much sleep that night.

“Tetsuro aniki~” you groan as the guy, who towers over you at the best of moments, wraps his long fingers around your hand and sways it left and right. His eyes shine with a soft glitter in the resting light of the afternoon, casting a golden edge around his figure. “I promised mom I’d head straight ho~me. And Kenma asked me to watch him beat the final boss too, so—”

“I’ll walk you home in a second,” Kuroo swears, dark hair a sweeping mess over his one eye. You kinda want to brush it back, and smack him in the back of the head for hauling you around. But you don’t, evidently, instead readjusting your bookbag and starting to fall into a lazy walk behind him as his grin goes from excited to triumphant so easily. As your eyes track the way his pants legs move with every step, you can’t help but giggle that he’s about to outgrow his highschool uniform. Not that he’ll need it for very much longer anyway. In a few months he’ll be going off to college, and then only months after that Kenma too. It’ll be weird.

You two walk in silence until you get to the less crowded streets of the Tokyo outskirts, and then a little past that too. It’s more open here, more room to breathe, to think. You know Tetsuro comes here often for his runs, and you can kind of see why. It’s in the way the lowering sun catches the river all the way along to the horizon, glittering brilliantly with golden and orange streaks. You let him pull you to a halt and push some quarters into a vending machine, as he lifts his shoulders and then drops them again. “Have you ever had a secret?” He doesn’t look at you while grabbing the drinks out of the tray, or even when he hands one to you and pops open the other.

But you suck your tongue and think, before opening your own. You childishly put your hand on your hip, and tilt your head. “If you’re trying to get me to air out my secrets it’s not going to work.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. Although…” Tetsuro chuckles, before glancing up at you. His sharp eyes have a frightening intensity for just a flash of a second, but it’s gone by the time he looks aside. “No, no, I’m being serious,” he confirms, and that smart mouth pulls up at the corners, “for now.”

“Hmm, well then. Are you thinking of any secret in particular?”

There’s a long silence. Filled with soft chirps of birds and wind, but long, long enough to have your mouth break open a sliver. Before you can speak though, the noiret blinks and stretches his arms above his head. “Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and smiles, and though it crinkles the sides of his eyes, you can’t help but feel like… there’s something dishonest about it. “Just thinking out loud.” He shrugs, and slurps at the can a little too obnoxiously, before walking back over to you to sit down on one of the street railings, long legs tucked under himself. “Let’s say you had a hypothetical secret though, an important one.”

“Mhm,” you respond.

“Then you wouldn’t tell anyone that secret, would you?”

There’s a few seconds of silence again, but this time you dare look up at Kuroo, focusing on the way his eyes travel along the landmarks of your face. It’s awfully intimate. You can’t help but think Kenma wouldn’t like this, whatever it is. “I guess it depends on what the secret is, and who it’s affecting. I don’t think I could keep a secret from nii nii, at the very least.” Tetsuro’s golden eyes glide down to your mouth as you talk, before he chuckles again, bites his lip, then rubs his hand along his chin. And hops off of the bar, swinging his arms around like he’s nervous. You don’t get it. “What?”

“You’re a clever one,” is all Tetsuro responds, pillowy lips keeping a soft smile. Then he walks back over to you with all his height and lean but defined muscle, so much more intense than usual. “You really are clever.” He leans down and grabs your face between his two hands to look into your eyes, before continuing in a softer tone as your heart beats out of control once again. “I like that about you.”

You hear an unfortunate amount about the next two girls found in the months following, and each fact people happen to mention over drinks, in the paper, while walking along the street makes you wish everyone would just shut up. Defiled and bruised, strangled, and skulls bashed in by a sharp, heavy object. They show the pictures on the news, not the gruesome ones, but enough of them to turn your stomach and make you want to dry heave on the lawn to get the taste out your mouth. One of the girls had been dead for almost 6 weeks, they estimated, was fished out of the river naked and blue and headless. You can only wonder why the hell it took them so long to find her, but you don’t stick around long enough to hear. A terrible fate. The pictures of their smiling faces are always just as bad though. It’s uncanny. Same hair, same eyes, similar age and same general shape—

Looking in the mirror is so much harder that night, pulling your hair down from your ponytail. Because you just can’t shake the feeling that… you’d fit his type, if he were to ever see you walking around Tokyo.

But you get lucky, apparently. Because for all the stories and morbid reminiscing people seem to love doing, you never run into the freak. And though you feel sorry for the victims, the fear slowly starts fading. Winter comes and passes, and by spring, Kuroo moves into his college dorms. You can tell it takes a toll on Kenma. You can’t lie and say you don’t miss him either. Everything’s different for you too, though. After the six girls in those three tense years, the culprit suddenly seems to vanish into thin air. One month goes by, four, eight, and there’s no more trace of him— no more crippling fear about having to wear a skirt to school, or glaring at every person you walk by.

Of course, any trail the police go after soon goes cold, and the loss of those girls lingers.

You’re already eighteen when you see Kuroo again for the first time in years… and resort to flinging yourself around his neck with a smile and a well deserved congratulations. His graduate cap looks good on him, as does the smile painted on his pretty lips. Kenma’s familiar scowl is nowhere to be found despite swearing up and down that rooming with Kuroo has been an absolute nightmare, and the blooming bouquet that Tetsuro has tucked under his arm is only half as bright and wonderful as he is.

As your family and Tetsuro’s mom head off to drive to a restaurant to celebrate, you stay behind with him for a little longer, watching. The boy you knew looks so different now. The same, but entirely foreign too. You don’t illusion yourself to think that he stayed the same in his years away, and neither did you for that matter. You can tell in the way he can’t seem to stop looking at you, that Tetsuro sees it too. As you walk side by side, the familiar banter also comes quickly. You’re a lot sharper now than you used to be. Better able to match his pace, and his arm is warm when he leans into you with a laugh. “No, no— but, you’ve always been something special.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t hesitate, just stares at your visage again. “You’ve always been… different to me, I don’t know. Since before I left, even.” You know your face is going hot in the cheeks, but there’s not a single thing you can do to stop it. It’s just… he smells so nice, familiar, and yet so much more grown, more mature than he was. He looks it too, buffed up a lot since middle and highschool— and though he was always huge compared to you, he feels even bigger. “You’ve changed so much though. Grew into yourself. It looks good on you,” he seems to mirror your thoughts, and sends your skin up in flames at that.

You let it hang in the air without a word though, because really, there’s nothing for you to say, right? He’s Kenma nii’s best friend. His longest lasting companion. Kuroo’s always been good at keeping you, and the conversation, going, so he breezes over it too. “Oh, I bought a house.”

“You bought a house?”

“Sure did,” he smiles, sliding his large hand around in his back pocket to pick out a set of keys that he presents to you a little too proudly.

But you’re more than glad to indulge him. “Shut up, no way. You capitalist scumbag.” Kuroo laughs with his whole body, and lets the joy crinkle up his eyes as his black mop of hair sweeps along his brows— before his hand lands alongside yours, and picks it up into his. Fingers tangle with yours so easily you’re almost lulled into believing that it really isn’t a big deal at all. But you know better.

“You’ll get it when you see the place.” Though you try to pull your hand out of his, he squeezes it a little harder when he notices, and doesn’t let his grin fade. “What? I can’t hold your hand?”

“Of course you can, but… I don’t know.”

“If you don’t know, then relax. Stop worrying.” You find yourself listening, much to Tetsuro’s amusement. He mulls the next words over for a few more seconds, before leaning into your ear much too close, and letting his lips brush the shell of your ear. “I missed having you around to drive me crazy.” Kenma nii is going to kill you for the thoughts you’re having.

You’re propped up onto the kitchen counter as Tetsuro talks, pouring more champagne, and most of the guilt is slowly melting away the longer the night goes on. Kenma had to get back home to stream a couple hours ago, and the family all went back right after dinner already— and you’re still giggling along with the noiret as he tells any story that comes to him from his time away. It’s damn near impossible not to get swept up in the excitement at the prospect of decorating, and throwing housewarming parties, and watching him start a real ‘grown up’ life.

“If you’re nice to me, I’ll allow you to take one of the rooms while you’re in uni,” he chuckles, his pretty mouth reaching at the glass for another sip. He’s close enough for you to smell his cologne and see each of the sparse freckles on his face, and how each passing second seems to bring him closer. So you laugh along before hopping off the counter, just to put some space between the two of you. Your hands are jittery, and brain fuzzy, and though it’s still Tetsuro aniki, you can’t get around the fact that things have changed.

So you turn and smile, walking backwards. “I’m going to go check out the rooms.”

“Hey,” he breathes, turning over his shoulder as you walk out of the living room, chuckling softly. “Don’t just go walking around another person’s house.”

“You tempted me with the room suggestion,” you call over your shoulder, swinging your arms as you walk down the hall and find the first door.

“Don’t snoop!” Kuroo laughs again, but doesn’t make any more effort to stop you. The first room is a bathroom you've already used earlier. But the hall continues around the corner. And you can hear Kuroo put away the champagne in the kitchen, so you have no doubt he’ll come after you in a second. You’re not actually snooping. The next door you open is a bedroom, neatly decorated, and instantly guess this must be his room. The room across from it is wide open and clean, only a couch and a tv placed in the corner for now, and some moving boxes shoved out of the way under the large window.

You move on to the next door to find a smaller little corner room, and look around to see even more moving stuff, closets not yet set up, a dismantled gaming desk, buckets of cables, the works. His home improvement gear and dumbbells are all strewn across the floor too. And at the end of the room, there’s another smaller little door, that you yank open for a broom closet, or maybe a small corner with a washing machine.

You hear Kuroo call your name from in the house. “Where are you?”

Everything stops.

Just that the air goes so cold you can barely feel your hands, or your face. Blood seeps from rags tossed into the old, mechanical sink, and a thick smell of iron and rot meets your nose. And sticky blood everywhere, on the floors, splattered on the wall, coating wooden furniture. There’s something that vaguely resembles a lower half, blood seeping from the holes in the almost-plastic like flesh. And her. The small room has no light, but you can recognize a human person when you need to.

The figure has her legs folded to fit the small space, eyes red and irritated and glazed with almost milky tears, and the side of her face has a gash from the top of her head down to her jaw deep enough to see bone. You stumble back and try not to gag, the nauseous feeling crawling down to your stomach and twisting. Her chest is still moving, but faintly, barely going up before it collapses with a stuttering, painful weeze. You want to sit down. You want to run. You want the horrible spinning in your head to stop. Her clothing is almost all ripped to shreds and stained dark blackish-brown, and with the way she’s positioned, you can also see… the raw, sticky, irritated mess that was left of her upper thighs.

“Oh my god,” you manage to whisper, before taking a deep breath and forcing your shaky legs to move towards her.

Your first instinct is to bend and grab at her face, trying to press on the wound; but the previously docile girl is quick to swing her arm and nick you with something sharp as she screams a horrible, animal-like squeal and slices your palm open. Dark blood sprays, you fall, the girl scrambles up over you. She doesn’t get far before she tumbles over with a gurgling, heart-bleeding noise, but gets to the door and starts dragging herself through the hall. You stare at your shaking palm in just as much shock, warm blood dripping down in thick drops from your wrist and fingers— but your legs carry you towards the noise anyway. You want to help. You want to help her, or she’ll die. Your blood is pounding against your skull. Everything else is blurred. Everything else is buzzing and vibrating with this awful noise of blaring anxiety.

You hear your name only vaguely, following down the dragged path of blood along the pristine wooden tiling, before you get to where she’s collapsed against the wall, and is breathing through the bubbling blood that spills from her mouth. There’s an awful, broken, pinched moan coming from her- like that of an animal that’s been left to the vultures. But you still put your hands under her arm and try to help her up, now starting to really feel the absolute searing pain of your hand with a pitched groan. It hurts. It hurts so much, and you’re so fucking shaky you’ve completely disoriented yourself. “It’s gonna be… oka—hngg,” you whine as your open wound moves around, you can feel it—

Suddenly, she pushes herself along on your body and tries to set off into another hobbled spurt, but is yanked back by her hair, before she’s shoved hard to the floor. She collapses into a sad heap, and a loud noise makes you jump. Her legs and arms fall limp instantly as the axe connects with a sickening noise, and blood splatters all over the room. It lifts again, dripping, and lands with a frightening amount of force— into the front of her head again.

The wet squelch doesn’t have anything over the crack of her skull and jaw being shattered, and the mess the red-coated axe makes of the lower half of her face, red blood and muck everywhere. You think you scream while you’re gagging— but you can’t hear it over the echo and the pounding and the terror. Your eyes are wide and bug-like as your legs give out and you drop back onto your ass, and the scene makes a big, round pool of blood on the floor.

“Shit,” he sighs out of breath, heaving over and resting his hands on his knees, “I forgot she was in there.” A soft sigh, and a dry chuckle. “Fuck.”

Your joints are locked, and your face is wet and hot and you’re sucking in more air than you can handle, as Kuroo— your Kuroo— straightens up, and looks around the room for you. He spots the gash in your hand first, because his relief just as quickly snaps into an expression of pure disgust as he looks at the heap of flesh and blood before him, her legs strewn wide open and battered body sadly left before him. And spits on it, kicking hard against her hip and sending the remains of her rolling onto the plush carpet. “Fucking bitch.” He lets the handle drop with a wooden clang, and rubs his face though. “Come here, baby, let me take a look.”

Your gasping isn’t enough to get him away from you, but you’re physically unable to do anything but lay there in terror, grasping your palm against the pain. Even with the threat of death kneeling before you, you can’t do more than sputter through your tears, vision completely wobbly and blurry. His gentle smile isn’t lost on you though, and you take a deep, wheezed breath. “You… you-y- ng-you—”

“Hey, hey, I’m doing this for you, okay? In all this time, I haven’t hurt you once. I haven’t hurt you once, have I? This is so I don’t hurt you, baby,” he says it all so casually, like anything he’s saying is making any sense at all; with his cheek red with splatters of blood, and his eyes a dark, dark pupil taking over the normally light irises. “It’s because I love you, you know that.” There’s so much on your mind. Your parents, Kenma, your memories— all of it makes a thick wrecking ball that slams into you so hard it knocks the air out of you.

It was him. All of them.

All those years… it was… You’re gonna puke. You can’t get enough air into your lungs to, or speak, or scream. You don’t want to die. You’ve spent your entire childhood afraid of a shadow around the corner, even though he was— Tetsuro puts his hands under your arms to pull you up from the floor in one fell swoop and places you on the couch, walking straight past the girl he brutalized to stare at your quivering lips and teary eyes, before taking a deep, long breath.

And though he smiles, there’s no gentleness there. None of the things you found so attractive about him just mere minutes ago. It’s nauseating, a vile, bitter feeling that makes your tongue feel like lead. “I feel this hunger towards you, you know,” he explains, gripping your hurt hand in his to inspect the flesh wound some more. “It’s, it’s really intense— and- and I don’t really know what to do with myself when I’m around you.” He leans in, long lashes basically brushing yours as he hovers his mouth over yours. “It’s not gonna be you though, ever. I swear, I’ll make sure of it. I just… want you so bad.”

His pink tongue swipes over his lips to get rid of the drying blood, before he pushes a soft kiss to your lips. “I want you.” When you don’t respond, his mouth crashes to yours, laying you down under him and letting his hand slide along your side as his tongue meets yours and he lets out a long moan into your mouth. “Oh, fuck. You get me so hard so quick.” His tongue is glad to claim anything it can take, even though you’re not moving, and huffing terrified whimpers into his mouth— it’s like it barely even registers.

He nudges your face up to his to kiss you messily, then down your neck as if following the trail of your tears, and to your collarbones. He props you up to hold your limp body against himself, and rolls his hips into you with a soft groan. “S-shit, good- g-girl. You feel me?” You do. His cock, even pressed against you through layers of clothing, is hard and swollen as he pushes his hips into you with needy motions, kisses along your ear, sucking marks into your throat. It rubs your pussy through your leggings, and makes your puffy cunt feel warm. It’s sickening that it seems to act completely without your doing— because you don’t want this.

If you could do any more right now than lay there and take it, you’d be clawing out of the window the second you could. Whatever fight it takes. But you’re frozen in miserable fear and your treacherous pussy is taking his rolling hips like it’s good enough. The press of his cock, and then his fingers over your pelvic area is too much, soft presses against the top of your slit exchanged for harder, direct touches as he thumbs at your clit. He knows what he’s doing, kissing your lips with softer, lazier kisses as he’s got you in his arms. “My sweet, little girl, you’re so fucking pretty. I’ll make you cum so hard you stop worrying.” He picks at the band of your pants, before slipping it over the curve of your ass and pulling them, and your underwear halfway down your legs.

There’s a cheeky smile on his lips as he pulls back to watch you, and groans long and hard at the sight of you. “You want my mouth or my cock?” He pulls your pussy open to rub the glossy wetness around, and grinds his cock against the inside of your push thighs a few more times, before breathing out your name. “You want to come on Tetsuro nii’s cock?” Your head hurts, and the way he spits on your pussy and rubs your clit up and down is so filthy and distracting you can barely take it.

“Tetsu-t-suro,” you manage to breathe out just a desperate whimper, but it has him groaning and gripping his cock through his slacks, then quickly shuffling them off down his thick thighs.

“I know, baby, I’ve got you. Gonna eat you out after, okay?” He pumps his heavy cock a few times up, before pressing the head to your warm hole. The head is so hot and spongy, and he rubs it down your slit and back up with almost scary patience. Because his eyes are wild and anything but patient, as he leans down to grab your cheeks and plant another kiss on you. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you. This is the best day of my fucking life, baby.”

Then he pushes himself up on your tits and squeezes them, rubbing your nipples between his fingers through your shirt. Lines himself up with a few smooth flicks of his swollen cockhead on your sensitive nub, and pushes in with a long grunt. “Oh, fuck me. That’s a— fucking tight little pussy.” He pushes his large cock all the way inside as he bites his bottom lip and one hand comes down to dig his fingertips into your ass, pulling you as far onto him as possible. The stretch aches, burns a little as he mumbles out your name— before pulling back and shoving himself back into the hot clutch of your belly. “Gonna fuck you until you beg me. Until you can’t cum anymore.”

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celestiall0tus · 6 months

Text

Luka Couffaine Notes - All That Remained

So, I think I see what issue I've had with Luka that I don't with Kagami. And, I ask your forgiveness for the blasphemy I'm about to speak. But you know what they say, right? Better to ask forgiveness than permission. So, let's crack into this.

With all due respect to Luka, he's a decent character in concept. However, from what I've seen, he's dreadfully bland. It's honestly hilarious seeing what a far cry he is in show versus what the fanon is. I've known this fact, but it really isn't until rewatching the older seasons that I see what my issue is. He was really just made to be for Marinette. He is the typical love interest catered to be for the main lead.

Now, there's nothing wrong with the original intention of a character being a love interest. One of my favorite characters, Sally Acorn, was originally intended to be a love interest for Sonic in the Archie Comics. However, for those that read the comics and know her, she became so much more. It's honestly arguable that the world of those comics was built for Sally and not Sonic. Sally became such a big part of the comics and her role was incredible, but she was still intended to be Sonic's love interest. Same goes for Kagami. She is a love interest for Adrien and rival to Marinette, but she feels so much more fleshed out. Like Sally, she's utilized so much more than Luka, which is a shame.

Luka, for all the potential he has, is nothing more than the would-be gold medal. He comes in to offer emotional support and be the rock for the main leads, but mostly Marinette. He is perfect for her, is everything she needs him to be. Day on the ice rink? He's a professional skater. Having trouble with your feelings? Shoulder to cry on and advice giver. She's feeling down and needs a pick me up that the girls can't give her? Enter stage right, Luka.

We see this even in their akumatizations. Luka is akumatized because of Marinette. It is only ever because of Marinette. Kagami did have her share of akumatizations because of Adrien, but for different reasons. Wanting a rematch, Lila, and Adrien lying. And let's not forget the cloud titan that was due to Marinette, not Adrien. Then there's Luka who was akumatized because of either an injustice to Marinette or wanting the fucking truth. (I'm not counting Migration. You all can fuck off with that. That was just bad writing all around that fucking episode.)

Doubling back on the bit about fleshed out. We see more with Kagami about who she is, her struggles, and so much more. We even see her GASP grow as a person. Whereas we have Luka. The man who is always kind, caring, protective, understanding, and patient. Well, that's all fine and all, but what else? What are his flaws? What are his weaknesses? What makes him human? I'm honestly reminded of the scene in Barbie the Nutcracker with the Rat King reading on the Sugar Plum Fairy and just being like "That's it?" Or in Swan Lake when Odette asks "What else?" and prince asshole asks "What else is there?"

You know, it kinda makes sense that when I see canon Luka, I just laugh. I don't see a character like I used to. I see a character with potential relegated to a glorified plot device. He only ever served as a way to advance the plot, which is a fucking sin. If Kagami was allowed to be important later on (which I get for what season 5 was) why couldn't we get that with Luka? I would have loved to have seen more than just a glorified plot device and, I wager, almost falls into the everyman trope. He is ordinary at the time we meet him. The one bit of normal in Marinette's life that we all honestly became attached to. Well, most of us anyway. Makes sense given his borderline blank slate personality of generic good traits.

It also makes sense why I latched onto the Luka in fanon. The entire fandom, all of y'all, make Luka such an interesting character. And I, for one, thank you all. We see more with these characters that don't get the spotlight, especially with Luka. It's amazing seeing what we do with him with the meager template provided by the show. Thank you.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #ml critical #miraculous critical #writing critical #ml analysis #writing analysis #analysis #character analysis #character critical #miraculous luka #luka miraculous #luka couffaine #mlb luka

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partysweatshirt · 4 months

Text

not to act like a main character about someone else's life events, but my 2nd most recent ex (the one that really Messed Me Up) got engaged over the weekend and I'm feeling a lot of feelings about it. Since I don't have a therapist y'all are going to hear my thoughts below:

this ex broke up with me in a hurtful way for a stupid and inconsiderate reason (and wrote me a letter 5 months later basically saying "sorry for my involvement in how the breakup went down, but I'm still right though", and it's unfair to me that the person who hurt me gets to win, so to speak.

It's been almost 2 years since we broke up, but since we're both leaders in our bible study group and neither of us wanted to leave I've had no choice but to have my ex still be in my life every week, which has made it really hard to get closure and move on. Earlier today he posted his engagement announcement in our group chat, and it hurt to see people happily congratulating them.

his fiancé is a shy, nice, mousy girl who doesn't have much of a personality, and just sticks to his side like glue at our group functions. she's very different than me, and that annoys me because it feels like that kind of girl is what most guys in my life seem to want (someone who will be a Yes Girl and never make any kind of fuss, the very picture of feminine goodness, etc). It makes me feel like the personality and traits that I was born with are just not things guys like.

This is the second time that an ex of mine has found their soulmate in the next girl that they dated after me. so once they're done with me, they suddenly find it in themselves to be good boyfriends and settle down.

I'm two years away from 30, and I know that it's not the end of the world if you get married in or after your 30's, but it just doesn't feel great to be at this point in life and have nothing to show for it relationship-wise. It feels like everyone else is moving forward in their lives and I'm still stuck in the same place. My last two relationships failed after 2 months, the one before that was pretty much a glorified friendship, and my first relationship was not healthy and went on way longer than it should have. So I really have no great experience to go off of for how to be in a good relationship! At this point I feel like the baggage I've accumulated from these relationships has made me a red flag, in a sense. I don't want to be the red flag that messes up a green flag.

Normally I would assume that I wouldn't be invited to the wedding since I'm an ex, but since we're both leaders in our group I'm wondering if he'll do an obligatory invite for the sake of group politics. I feel like if he didn't invite the one other leader that would come across as major shade, right? I don't know. I wouldn't want to go either way- just wondering.

Thanks for listening, I guess.

#TLDR I have a lot of baggage and I'm going to die alone

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littlenahsstuff · 3 years

Text

In love, I swear.

A/n Literally my first time writing actual fanfiction. This might be a flaming dumpster fire idk. I will persevere and cringe later, but for now, enjoy.

supreme!Cordelia Goode x reader

TW:nothing much, just a big old fluffernutter sandwich. A little angst. Swears I guess.

Synopsis: Cordelia has just recruited you to be a counselor at Robicheauxs and it's safe to say you are head over heels for the supreme. Unfortunately, you aren't the one to tell her.

You always thought that you weren't too special of a witch, you had the basic witchy spells down and specialized in the people who struggled on the inside... but in a more witchy sense. You also helped the witches who needed to get their powers more developed or who ones that are just behind in school. A sort of glorified counselor you suppose. It's sorta funny, especially since you aren't the most confident, how you can talk to all of the girls. When it boils down to it you are just a witchy gal searching for love. Specifically Cordelia's. It could never happen though.

Your love life wasn't the only area you lacked in before Robicheauxs, you had been struggling to find a job suited for your interests. Let's just say that you have a lifetime ban from one of the Mcdonalds in Louisiana. Fire and grease doesn't mix.

Of course, if it wasn't for dear, sweet, precious, Cordelia, you would be living on the streets. Luckily that didnt happen and so here you are today, three months in to your teaching position at Robicheauxs.

Oh, the moment, "You're hired. I look forward to expanding the academy's family and getting to know you better especially," left the Supremes lips, the better off you were.

And yet, even with all of the joy that comes with finally getting paid, there were the challenges as well. For starters, everyone was extremely nice to you, even though you kept mostly to yourself, there was this one person that made this heaven more hellish. Madison the bitch witch Montgomery.

You had been warned by Zoe, your closest confidante in this new place and also Madisons freaking girlfriend, that she was no pleasant peach. Never in all of your doubtful thoughts, had how bad it actually was crossed your mind. It was never the cockiness that got to you, you had a different appreciation for it than most. Found the confidence refreshing almost. No, no no no no. It was in fact, that she was constantly trying to dig up dirt on you.

"You're too much of a goody two shoes y/n," she once stated with a glare. The same day you had heard Zoe squabbling about something and your name came up. Your name and the fact Madison had stolen your wallet to look at your license. It turned up later on your bed stand.

Madison's a lover of Zoe and drama you've come to find out.

It's harmless though really, you dont mind the extra bit of attention that comes with it. Its flattering so no need to complain to anybody, especially not Cordelia.

Cordelia, mmm, yeah now shes the biggest threat here. She is the reason you got this job and might be the reason you lose it.

She once caught you with your doodle journal. It was a harmless question,

"Y/n, what're you drawing?" She looked over your shoulder. You almost jumped out of your skin and your sketchbook went flying.

"Oh dear, are you alright?" She worried her lips a bit. Her big, plump, kissable lips. Come on Y/n, get out of it.

"Yes," you squeaked. Sinking farther into the sofa. She chuckled her beautiful chuckle and sat on the couch arm.

"So, what was my favorite school counselor drawing just then?" She questioned. Glancing to the thrown book.

Your face went red.

"Uh-" you paused, come on you're making it a bigger deal than it has to be, "you." You couldn't look into her eyes.

She gazed at you at you and it felt like a hole was being burned into your skull.

"Okay," Cordelia said, leaving it at that. Stood up and made to walk away.

"Wait!" She paused and turned back to you, seeing you scramble to get your sketchbook.

"Yes?" Her eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I- don't you want to see it?" You said and you slapped yourself mentally for about the hundredth time she walked in.

She smiled softly at you, "Of course, I thought you didn't. You looked scared to death, like bambi."

"Okay," you flipped back towards the page and cringed. It wasn't your best peice. You could never capture her beauty right.

Her eyes scanned over it, widening before squinting with her grin.

"It's so good!" She gasped.

"Yes, that is Cordelia Goode," you joked in a monotone manner. She slapped your shoulder jokingly, making you snort.

"You nerd, I didn't mean it that way. Either way, you did a fantastic job! I wished I looked as good as you make me seem," she muttered the last bit, bit you heard it. It saddens you to remember the damage Fiona did.

"Hey, Cordy," you started. You realized that you used a nickname that Madison did, but she doesn't seem to care.

"You know what I think? I think that you're wrong. You see I just can't for the life of me get your soft proud loving smile right. Your eyes aren't as warm and glowing as they are in reality. I couldn't manage to picture the right placement for those worry lines or crowd feet you have. You might not like them, but to me they show that you worry and care and that you laugh at the stupidest of things, which is a trait I adore. You are more perfect than any Davinci or Van Gogh," you say. You don't like when your friends feel bad about themselves.

Cordelia's tearing up a bit and wiles it away. "Didn't know you were a goddamn poet too?" She joked with a giggle, "thanks y/n, sometimes I need to hear something like that."

"No problem Cordelia," I can't help it, you're my muse, is what you want to say.

"Well, I have some paperwork, but it was nice to see ya," she hurriedly excused and rushed out.

Unbeknownst to you, Madison was watching. She knew exactly how to get dirt on you now. She had something all along.

The next week you spent daydreaming about Cordy...elia, you couldnt help but go back to that conversation. You needed to be more discrete, way more descrete.

So you made sure to draw your crush no more. That didn't change the fact you forgot to destroy the evidence in writing.

You had slept in a little too late, so in a rush you were to get to your office. The reason you had being you daydreaming about Cordelia and yours faux life together a little too long.

A bunch of new juicy stuff for Madison as she snatched it from your bedside table. It was too easy really.

She opened it up to the first page. It acted like a normal diary, just stating checklists of things to do and things you did. The size was fairly large, so skipping a few pages till she got to the juicy stuff and the part where you actually did know Cordy wasn't harmful.

It was a barf fest of emotion. "Oh Cordelia is so awesome, oh I'm so lucky to work with Cordelia, oh my, I won't ever get a chance with Cordelia, she's the supreme!"

"Ew," Madison groaned, whipping out her phone.

Then she found it, the goldmine of confessions. It was all the way in the back, meaning you had wrote it recently.

"Dear, myself

Cordelia today caught me drawing a picture of herself and said something I didn't particularly enjoy listening about herself. I can't believe Fiona would send her into such a deep hatred of herself that even with her gone she's hurting. She's no mother. Cordelia is the love of my life, even if I'm not hers, she deserves all the love I can give. She's not broken, but she just needs someone to love her and I do. I promise to give her as much love as possible without her finding out what kind it really is, I'm in love, I swear.

Sincerely, Y/N."

So she snapped a picture of the page.

After school was over Cordelia was not expecting Madison to barge into her office. Let alone with something regarding YOU of all people.

"Cordy, I've got something to tell you about y/n!" Madison sang out, waving her phone in front of Cordelia's face as she sat on top her desk.

Madison was just careless with others and too carried g about herself. It was the perfect storm. The only person who could ever take it too far to just prove a point. That there was something wrong with you.

If Madison Montgomery had taken one moment to actually think about it, she was just jealous. Jealous that another person at the coven was better than her to Cordelia. She was one spoiled bitch growing up. Guess it backfired.

"What?" Cordelia questioned in concern, "Is she okay? Madison what did you do to her!?" Her thoughts raced, Madison's pranks often went a little too far. She did kill Misty.

"Now now Cordy, don't get your panties in a twist. Here read this," Madison demanded to her supreme, she shoved it into her face and Cordelia grabbed it.

Her eyes expected headlines on the news or a mugshot, but she realized it was just your writing.

"Madison," she warned.

"Come on, I know you can read!" Madison poked Cordelia's forehead, prompting a slap from the Supreme.

Ms. Goode exhaled, "Fine."

Her eyes fluttered over the words, brows furrowing with every sentence. She couldn't comprehend, could she read?? It seemed to her as if her brain was creating what she wanted to see, but no, you wrote it. Unfortunately.

Everything's silent. Then the thought flits across her head, you like her back.

"In love, I swear."

Oh she's mad. Not at you, no, she could never. Madison on the other hand better,

"Get out of my office right now," Cordelia whispered. Madison's smile faltered.

"What, didn't you want to know your feelings are reciprocated? Come on, I'm just trying to get you two to speed up the process." Madison hopped of the desk and sauntered out.

What has she done.

Cordelia was wracked with guilt for awhile, with no way to tell you either. How does one even go about telling someone they read their deepest darkest secrets. How!?

She couldn't, so she did what she could. She pulled away from you and into her work. All of those lunches spent together stopped. The nights in the green house gone. Reading together on the weekends by the fire, gone.

And it left you empty. You had no idea what you did, but you must've done something.

So you decided to confront her, you hadn't gone much sleep since, so you were literally and figuratively tired of all of this shit.

Your knock on the door startled Cordelia, but your presence startled her even more. Both of you looked like wrecks.

"Oh, Y/n! Please, come in," Cordelia gestured and you did, closing the door behind you.

It was then that you finally broke down.

"What did I do Delia!?" You sobbed, falling to your knees. Yes it was dramatic and not even you expected it but you were holding your emotions for so long.

"Oh," Cordelia briskly moved over to you, concern painted on her face. She was watching you carefully, you looked so fragile. Just like she had felt at times.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, "What did I do?" Her hand tilted your head towards her, but you still couldn't look into her brown eyes, opting for the floor. If you did, you probably wouldn't be able to look away.

"Y/n look at me sweetie," the nicknames never failed to make your heart soar. It was your weakness, your eyes met and they were glued there.

"What did I do?"

"Nothing nothing!" She took a deep breath, "I saw a page from your journal."

You froze, terror crept up your spine.

"Oh my god. Um Cordelia I am so sorry, you, wow I- god I'm so creepy! It's perfectly fine if you want to not be my friend or fire me. I didn't do it to be weird, it was how I expressed myself. I was trying to hide it I promise, i dont even know what happened!?"

"I'm gonna kill Madison, faster than my mother did," Cordelia groaned.

"Wh-" your brain malfunctions. Is-Is Cordelia kissing you? Right now?

Indeed she was and just like you dreamed about, her lips were so soft and her kiss gentle.

Maybe Madison could be forgiven... but not without a harsh talk.

"In love, I swear," she repeated in a whisper against your lips.

#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #cordelia goode x reader

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midnightmoonkiss · 4 years

Text

Esoteric.

Witch!Izuku Midoriya X Fem!Reader

Summary: What was a witch, exactly? Someone who casts spells? Dabbled in medicine? Fought in battles? You didn’t know. That was, until you met one.

WARNINGS!: Soft!Dom!Izuku, Face-sitting, Fingering, Potion-play

Category: Smut

Word Count: 7.3k (more than half is like.. pure smut..)

A/N: The final day of the Izumonth Collab!

P.S. I really love Witch!Izuku, idk if you can tell,,, Also, I made the witch!collage above! ‘Tis just to suck you into the mood. And sorry this was.. a bit late.. heheh,,,

Just To Clarify:

You’re both consenting adults

Witches, though actually fairly rare, are seen as common beings

Witches aren’t human

Fantasy-ish au!

Tag List:

@coupsieddori @desia2 @strwbrry-lia @my-bnha-things

Every castle has a witch.

It’s been that way for as long as you, or anyone else, could remember.

It was normal.

Mundane to some.

Just something you’d hear about time and time again.

They were workers, just like you.

But yet, that never stopped your sense of wonder.

They never were in plain sight, not for a peasant such as yourself, anyway.

It always brought up so many questions whenever you’d stop to think about it.

What did they look like?

Were they nice, or wicked?

How did their magic work?

What did they wear?

Depending on the kingdom, most witches were treated like royalty, especially those who worked in castles.

Of course, how could someone so powerful not have such a title?

It made you question if it was given out of fear, or respect.

It wasn’t until you met the witch of Thidel castle, the ever-so-generous Izuku Midoriya, that your questions were all willingly answered.

You truly weren’t anticipating meeting him during such a catastrophe of a day. Looking back, it was quite embarrassing.

You were the baker’s assistant, tasked with making the batter to elaborate sweets for the King’s ball that evening.

The flour was freshly ground from the mill, the vanilla was as pure as a white daisy, the sugar ever-so-sweet, eggs fetched that morning, everything was perfect.

In fact, everything was running all nice and smoothly, until the King decided to ask for triple the amount of baked goods he had originally requested.

Not only did that mean running to town and back in shoes already falling apart, but that also meant stirring and stirring and stirring until it felt as if your arms were on fire and about to melt off.

You were covered in ingredients and sweat, the other bakers and assistants were running around, spilling things on each other, and making large messes as they pulled their hair out to get everything done on time.

It was chaos.

And that’s when he showed up.

You forgot what he was originally there for, herbs, perhaps?

Batter smudged on your cheek, you were carrying a large sack of flour to the mixing station when the door opened.

You slipped comedically on an egg that had fallen on the floor, and of course, you had to slam into this sudden brick wall of a man.

White powder flew everywhere, and the clock stopped in your head as you watched in horror as the last bag of flour you had was just about to spill all over the dirty cobblestone.

That’s when you saw it for the first time.

Magic.

He had simply flicked his wrist and all of the flour was back in its bag, and such a high ranking individual was on his knees, sputtering apologies to you.

To you, of all people.

A lowly peasant.

It felt unreal.

But that was how you met him.

He looked up and the first image he had of you forever imprinted in his head was wild (H/C) hair coated in sweat and flour, cheeks smudged with chocolate and dried batter, eyes wide with panic, and cheeks a burning red.

He never let you live it down, the bastard.

That night at the ball, you met him again. He had the gall to note how you cleaned up fast, all while sheepishly smiling at you like you were the only girl in the room.

You wanted to punch him at the time. Or die of embarrassment. He was still the witch after all, and never before had someone so high class spoken to you before. You were filled with so many emotions that night, you were sure you were going to throw up.

Instead, you smiled, offered him a pastry, and walked away.

He just had to follow you, though.

His reason being, “I was looking for some entertainment at such a boring event.”

It had made you laugh, as IF you were any entertainment. From then on, though, after having spent an entire night chatting the time away, he was as hooked on you as you were with him.

Nowadays, you got to frequent his studies often.

A privilege not many had, as apparently- witches were quite stubborn with letting people into their sanctuary and touching their things.

Perhaps it was a possessive trait of theirs, one that kept them from misplacing important potions, books, and ingredients, but nevertheless you were absolutely honored to be allowed somewhere so.. otherworldly.

The King and his youngest son were the only ones besides yourself allowed in.

But stepping inside would always be a slap to the face, no matter how many times you actually did enter.

It wasn’t exactly clear to you how he did it, or how the witch before him did it, but the small study tucked away on the east wing of the castle wasn’t a small study at all.

The old, heavy brown door was signed with words of a language unknown to you and others, the hinges creaking ever so slightly as you pulled it open, only to be met with a two-story home inside.

Your nose was always immediately hit with the earthy scent of rain and plants, no doubt from the plethora of the heavenly greens hanging about the place, glowing orbs of light hovering near the ones doomed to never touch true sunlight.

The place was cluttered yet neat, parchments piling up in one corner, yet another where they laid organized.

It was almost like a different world crafted by steady and loving hands.

Old maps were tacked to one of the walls, scribbled writing and red circles pointing out certain areas of the land beyond the one you knew.

Witches apparently had their own realm, or at least, “a pocket of Earth hidden away from humans by magic”, as Izuku had thoughtfully explained one night as a thunderstorm raged on outside.

Old books smelling of age are scattered about, the large bookshelf barely able to contain them all.

Candles lit by a green flame surround a large wooden table, herbs such as chamomile, ginger, ginseng, valerian, lavender, and saffron are neatly placed by a bowl, wrapped in bundles. Clearly, he was going to try and make some more anti-depressant mixture for the prince again.

He was more of a naturalist when it came to the sick, unless worse came to worse.

He was essentially a glorified doctor who was far more knowledgeable on plants rather than bone structure and types of sickness.

He was a sweetheart who helped all he could.

Hell, he was even taken to some battles as a last defense.

Despite looking so innocent, with his baby fat still hugging his cheeks and freckles splattered all about, the definition of youth, he was quite powerful.

Scarily so.

You had heard hushed whispers from fellow servants about how he had taken down armies alone multiple times before, coming back with nothing but burns and a broken bone or two.

He was terrifying to those who didnt take a mere second to glance at him.

But those who did were greeted with nothing but a warm smile and the fleeting wave of a busy man.

It was a mystery how you had managed to capture his undivided attention, enough so that he had made you his, the plain-looking bracelet made from leather string holding an emerald sealed with magic signifying that.

You were untouchable.

Once gutted with fear, you walked the polished grounds of the castle freely.

After all, not even a King would so much as dare to harm witches beloved, lest he wanted to be burned alive by immortal flames and sent to the ninth level of hell.

A level solely made by strong users of the past, the ones who carved the road for witchery, having bent time itself to do so.

Truly terrifying how powerful they could be, but yet it was so mystifying.

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t spent nights wide awake listening to him ramble about their history, about how they came to be and how they flourished.

They didn’t start off as human-like creatures, they started off as a ball of magical light in a land filled with nothing.

It was said that witches built the Earth from the ground up until greed overtook the lands and the humans overpopulated them.

And yet, they work harmoniously together.

Humans fearful of their power, and witches just naturally seeking to help people and continue their craft in harmony with all those who share the lands they grew from scratch.

It truly was a peaceful existence they led, you couldn’t help but admire it.

Just like you always have.

Pulling the door shut, it locked behind you as you stepped over some paper with doodles, knowing better than to mess with his disorganized things without him in the room to see it.

Speaking of, you were asked here this evening, something about wanting to try out a new potion he had made.

He was always making new things, an inventor of sorts, but never one to have you as a test subject.

Of course, it piqued your curiosity and had you quickly cleaning up the mess you had made in the kitchen when the day was officially over just to get here as fast as you could.

The large window covered in vines holding a small couch beneath it glistened with the light of a crescent moon, casting the room lit with an array of colors in a cool glow.

Smoke from the candles blurred the light, only to collide with the wooden floor above them.

Humming, you grabbed an orb sitting on a side table, holding it in the moonbeams so it would absorb its brightness. A candlestick of sorts made from magic. You weren’t going to risk going into complete darkness again.

He was obviously not in his work area, so he was probably upstairs.

And so, as quietly as you could, you crept up the old stairs, holding your breath and biting your lip whenever you came to a creaky step. You wanted to scare him, or at the very least surprise him

He was so easy to scare, and he always made the cutest of noises when you did it.

It was hard not to try everytime you were given the chance.

Once you made it to the top, fingers clasped tightly around the carved wooden railing, you looked around the darkened hallway, searching for the room he’s most likely to be in.

None of them had any lights on, which was eerily odd.

He never was much a fan of complete darkness.

It only raised questions as to if he wasn’t here yet, or if he was leaving you high and dry.

No, he would never do such a thing. Perhaps you’re early?

Chewing on your thumbnail, you stood dead at the top of the stairs, waiting for a sign that he was here.

“BOO!”

“ARGGHH!” you shrieked, jumping away from the noise only to have your back slammed against the wall.

Horrified, you snapped your head to the direction of the noise, only to find a giddy Izuku covering his mouth with a leather-gloved hand, holding away his giggles.

Huffing, you placed a hand on your heart, ignoring the laughs that seeped out of him.

“Geeze, you scared me!” You chided, glaring up into his playful green eyes.

“Oh, like you weren’t trying to do the same to me just now.”

Laughing still, he bent down in front of you, offering you a hand to help you up.

Ever the gentleman.

Placing your palm into his own, he easily pulled you up to your feet, holding you against his muscular chest in a welcoming hug, to which you eagerly returned, arms wrapping around his slender waist.

Though you didn’t know the common body type of a witch, you had to admit, he was certainly buff. Not that you minded.

He could easily throw you over his broad shoulder, and you loved it.

Completely defenseless and vulnerable.

Oh, how sweet it was to trust fully in someone.

His foreign clothes were soaked in his familiar thick scent, the smell of the forest after it had just rained, dewdrops in the early morning sun, a hint of pine, and his own natural musk that always had your head spinning. He tends to travel the forests in the kingdom often, collecting natural herbs and stones he found interesting.

He had jars and jars of rocks and stones, sometimes cracking them open to reveal crystals tucked away inside. He’d always make little trinkets out of them, giving them to people he deemed as friends as a sign of gratitude. You only had one, made from the rarest crystal he had ever found, taaffeite.

“So, why did you need me?” You mumbled against his chest, cheek rubbing against his familiar warmth.

“Firstly, I always need you.” The sap.

“Mhmm..” you hummed out, letting him pull away and grab your hand, taking the glowing orb and tossing it up and down as he led you down the corridor.

“Secondly,” he trailed off, leaving the orb to float in the air as he unlocked his bedroom door, pulling you inside.

“It’s a bit of a personal thing I can only trust you with testing.”

Smiling to yourself, you sat down on the edge of his large bed, running your fingers over the soft wool that made up his thick comforter.

Never one to use dead animal pelts.

“Is that so?” Your eyes naturally follow his being as he walks around the room, shuffling through different materials before snapping his fingers to light the stone fireplace off on the other side of the room, providing more light, as well as warmth, so he could see where he was going and not trip on the books scattered across the floor.

He didn’t like the windows in his bedroom open at night.

“Y-yes..” he stuttered, fumbling around with a few glass jars on his desk, muttering to himself as he examines the label on each one. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, he turned back to you, proudly showing that he had found it before making his way back to the bed.

“What is that for?” Curious, your fingers brushed against the cool glass containing the shimmering magenta liquid as he sat beside you on the bed, mattress dipping enough from his weight that your sides knocked together.

“A few weeks ago, Shōto had asked a familiar question, if I possessed the ability to make every potion out there. Of course I- I can’t exactly, but I’ve enough skill to make some rather.. exotic potions. He questioned if I ever tried something different than just potions to heal the sick or offer beauty, and I haven’t. I don’t know why, but realizing that upset me. As if my skill set was limited to just some average joe healer,”

“Izuku..”

“So for a while now, I’ve been branching out. Trying different types of potions and having him as the tester.”

“Is that why he’s been acting different these days?”

“Precisely. I’m just lucky I haven’t gotten in trouble for turning him into a frog yet..” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his head as you took the glass from him to ogle it.

“So what is this then?”

“Um..” Embarrassment was creeping up his neck and resting on his cheeks as he averted his shy eyes, “I have a hunch of what it might do. But.. secret?”

You pout at him, “Shouldn’t I know what this is?”

“You’ll know soon! I promise it won’t harm you, darling.” Leaning down, he pecks a kiss on your cheek, large arm wrapping around your waist to pull you into a side hug.

Taking the glass from your hands, he pulled the cork out, glittery, pink mist floating out like smoke from a blown-out candle.

“So, what do you say? Will you try it?” It was almost as if he was giving you no option other than yes with those big puppy eyes of his staring into your soul.

Licking your lips, an action his eyes followed, you gulped the nervousness away.

What had you to fear? This was Izuku after all. Had he ever done you harm? Absolutely not.

You had no reason not to trust the man who held your heart.

“Alright.”

Joy lit up his face, smiling so widely his eyes crinkled.

Huffing out a laugh, you took the bottle from him again, curiously sniffing its fragrance.

“Chocolate and.. maca?” The scent was certainly familiarly tasty, having worked with the foods before, being a baker. Judging how the liquid didn’t resemble them at all, it was off-putting. How had he managed to trap such a delicate smell inside?

“Mhm! That’s right! Apparently, when made, the potion takes on a heavenly smell. Most are usually bitter.”

“Ahh..” Trailing off you eyed it up one last time before finally bringing it to your lips, a shiver running down your spine at just how cold the glass still was, despite being in a warm room.

Tilting the glass up, the liquid glimmering in the light of the fire traveled down the shoot, pouring into your awaiting mouth, feeling as if you were swallowing a runny syrup.

It had the slightest hint of sugar and cinnamon to its flavor, but nothing else. How odd.

Gulping it all down just to get it over with, your eyes that unknowingly closed fluttered open as he pulled the glass away.

Feeling perfectly fine, you stared up at him with confusion, about to speak before his lips cut you off, tongue poking out to lick the renaming liquid from the corner of your mouth.

The clink of the bottle being set down echoed around the room before his gloved palm delicately cupped your cheek, tilting your head as to deepen the kiss.

His tongue eagerly explored the wet cavern of your mouth, as if he was drinking the little essence from his own creation left over.

Pulling away with a wet pop, his forehead rested against yours, mesmerizing green eyes staring softly into your own, waiting.

Waiting for what was what you didn’t know, perhaps for the potion to take effect.

You were eager to find out just what it was, but you had a semblance of a guess considering the position you found yourself in.

“How do you feel?” he whispered breathlessly against your parted lips.

Just as you were about to reply, your words got caught in your throat as your body began to heat up in a familiar way.

“I..” You pant, grip on his cotton shirt tightening as your gut suddenly twisted with a burning need for HIM.

Your (E/C) eyes glaze over with lust in front of his own, pupils dilating as your body began to shake, whimpers escaping your throat.

Thighs rubbing together to offer friction you didn’t know you desperately craved until now, you looked at him helplessly, so close to falling apart if it weren’t for his large hand on the small of your back holding you close to his steady figure.

“I-I feel hot.. Izuku..”

You whined, chewing at your lip as you wiggled beneath his excited stare.

“Good.”

Suddenly, his lips connected with yours once more, drawing a stuttered moan from your throat at the contact you unknowingly began to crave more and more as your lips connected again and again.

You clung to him like a koala, kissing him fervently like you would never be able to again, desperate to have his undivided attention.

Hands sliding to your hips, he pulled you onto his lap, legs hugging his own as hot breaths mingled together with the wet sound of kisses.

“Ah..!” You squeaked against him, your hips involuntarily grinding down onto his crotch, greedily searching for the pleasure your body desperately craved.

“M-mmm.. Izu.. I-” Your apology was cut off with a nip to your neck, “Don’t apologize,” he scolded. Grip still on your hips, he pulled you down rougher against his hardening dick, his hips thrusting up to meet your own, eliciting a sharp cry from your being as your head threw back at the sudden pressure where you craved it most.

He was quick to chase your lips, dragging you back into your heated makeout, swallowing every moan you let out as you both humped each other like horny dogs, the eagerness from him only adding to the pool of moisture leaking out of your body.

The button on his trousers was rubbing deliciously against your clothed clit, making your hips stutter every so often as you fought to maintain that hard surface.

Saliva began to drip down the side of your mouth from the intense kissing, but you hadn’t a care in the world.

No, your mind was too fogged to even think about it.

All you craved was him.

Him.

You yearned for him like he’d been gone a decade, and your body acted on it in a way you were typically shy about.

Biting your lip, he pulled away from the kiss, dragging a whine of protest from you before he hushes you by licking the outer shell of your ear, breath fanning across it only adding to the tingles of excitement shooting down your arched spine. “Hush,” he commanded, and as if you couldn’t disobey him, your words of protest died on your tongue, leaving only a parted mouth and heavy breaths.

Licking down the column of your neck, nose brushing against you, he searched for that familiar sweet spot on you, teeth grazing your flesh.

Still grinding on his hard cock covered by pants, a wet spot no doubt leaking past the underwear you wore beneath your hiked up skirt and onto him, you gasp once he found the place he was looking for.

Smirking, he nibble gently, holding you still as you began to wiggle once more.

Your head tilted to the side to give him more room as he sucked on your skin, teeth repeatedly nibbling at your sensitive flesh. Biting down harshly, you cried out with pain and pleasure, hips grinding down so hard onto him he groaned, the vibration making your heart jump in your throat.

“A-ahh… hnng.!” Moans poured salaciously past your thoroughly kissed lips, holding onto him for dear life as he controlled your being with every fiber of his own.

A button on your blouse popped open, and your foggy gaze traveled down just to see his fingers expertly undoing each one without looking, letting your bare breasts bounce out above your corset.

Not giving you a second to cover yourself out of embarrassment, his large hand cupped one of your tits, massaging it gently just to feel the soft flesh as your chin rested against his grounding shoulder, small moans now directly in his awaiting ear.

“You’re such a good girl, (Y/N).” He praised, eyes filled with nothing but love as he got to watch your unusually heated body search for the pleasure it craved.

You were usually so shy in bed, but with this potion pumping through your veins, he hoped it’d help give you the confidence boost you needed.

Though, that wasn’t the only thing it did.

He was filled with anticipation, if his throbbing member was anything to go by.

Thumb circling around your cute, perky nipple, he took the bud between his thumb and forefinger, pulling gently and rolling it between them, dragging high pitched whines from you.

You couldn’t help but pull away from him again, body constantly shifting from the delicious pleasure you were being given.

Fully pulling your blouse off, he left your chest completely bare, giving him the chance to dip his head down and latch onto the opposite nipple, lathering it in attention with his warm muscle, sucking softly and continuously rolling your other nipple with his hand.

It left you craving more, fingers threading through his messy green curls, pulling as to not lose yourself, only eliciting yet another deep groan that vibrated on your skin.

Feeling yourself slowly start to come undone, you desperately ground against him, pants becoming high pitched and moans being louder.

He could tell you were getting close, and from grinding alone no less, it made him feel so damn good to know he could get you to come purely from grinding.

But he didn’t want you to cum like this.

Certainly not.

And so, he fell back on his back dragging you with him as his lips found yours again.

Gripping at the hem of your skirt, he yanked it down, pulling it off your legs. Using a little handy magic, he effortlessly pulled your own shoes off, already working your underwear down your quivering thighs, eyes zeroed in on the drip of wetness attaching your core to them for a split second before they were across the other side of the room.

Corsets were always his worst nightmare.

He couldnt think too clearly to untie the knot in the back as your now bare crotch rubbed against his own, so without thinking, he ripped it off, the bare display of strength having you keening against him.

“Princess,” he whispered against your lips, dragging your hips upwards, “please, sit on my face.”

How vulgar of him to say, with a smile no less, but nonetheless it scent a throb of want to your stomach, and you found yourself, once again, unable to disobey him.

Your body burned red from embarrassment as you crawled up his own still fully clothed one, but you weren’t given the chance to dwell on it before he moved your hips directly over his face, tongue poking out to lap at your dripping folds.

“Gaah..!” You cried, fingers digging into the blanket beneath him as your hips once again helplessly sought the pleasure you craved, unafraid to press down against him.

Your juices tasted so sweet, he eagerly lapped at you like a dog deprived of water.

He had to hold you still against his face, drinking in the image of your breasts jiggling like jelly with every shuttered breath you took, head flung back and eyes shut tight as you focused purely on the way the flat of his tongue licked you up like a sugary treat.

He couldn’t help but occasionally press a kiss against your sobbing flesh, teasingly avoiding your clit begging for attention each time you moved against his mouth.

Your cries of pleasure filled the room, only sending his mind into a state of hunger, wanting to drag every noise out of you he could, along with the loud licking that caused your essence to drip down his chin.

His aching cock was straining against the flimsy button of his pants, desperate to be released and buried deep inside your soul-sucking pussy again.

Tongue dipping inside you and lips pressing against your sensitive, pink labia, he ate you out with earnest, squeezing your hips tightly with his fingers as he fought to control himself from shoving you to the blankets and fucking you raw without finishing his dessert first.

A choked sob tore from your throat with his lips finally encased your puffy clit, the tip of his tongue tracing around the bundle of nerves before flattening his tongue against it.

Your hips bucked involuntarily against his face, pressing him harder against you just so you could cry out his name like a sinful prayer.

His heart was full of love for you as he observed your reaction did everything blissful he did.

You were in heaven, walking on clouds as wet squelches from your own body surrounded your ears.

“Z-Zuku..!” You cried as he sucked on your clit like candy, enjoying the rough treatment. The tip of his tongue traced his name possessively over your button, marking you as his forevermore, silently vowing to never let another man do the same.

“I-I’m close..!” You cried, tears of pleasure falling down your flushed cheeks, dripping onto the thighs squeezing his head like warm earmuffs.

He hummed against you, dragging his tongue across the expanse of your womanhood before enclosing around your clit again, lathering it in the attention you needed to be pulled over the edge.

Your thighs clenched around his head, his hair tickling you, body stilling as you screamed out in pleasure, back arching and giving him a lovely view of your demise.

You came on his tongue, the stimulation he gave you throughout your orgasm sending you higher and higher in that clouded head of yours.

When you finally came down and slumped forward, catching your breath, he licked up the mess you made, pulling away from your lower lips and running a tongue over his own to greedily savor your delectable taste.

Placing you off to the side, giving you a second to calm down,, he hurriedly shuffled out of his clothing, throwing his cloak, gloves, and various other things on his person to the floor, kicking his boots off that landed with a heavy thump, leaving his underwear on as he crawled over on top of you.

Dazed, you stared deliriously up at him, a bashful smile on your lips, watching as he wipes your juices away with the back of his wrist before licking it clean. He was so sinful and messy.

The warm fire crackling in the corner hugged at his soft skin, making his eyes blown wide with lost twinkle like starlight. He looked so in love as he stared at you as if you were the only person in the world.

Breathing heavily, you reached out for him, and he was happy to lean in so you could wrap your arms around his neck, toying with the shorter curls at his nape as he kissed you again, your taste still on his tongue as your tongues intertwined. You weakly fought against his intrusion, teasing, only for him to grab a handful of your ass, making you gasp and effectively losing the battle.

He flooded your being with everything he had, his scent, his love, his passion, adoration, everything.

His knowledge on your own sexual human anatomy astounded you, but always left you moaning against him, much to his utter pleasure.

His thumb circled your twitching clit, bringing your attention back to his actions and the way you clenched helplessly around thin air, waiting for him.

You hungrily eyed the bulge in his underwear, licking your lips at the spot of wetness where his dripping head was.

You wanted to feel him inside you again, to clench around the very thing that drove you insane other than his skillful touch.

“P-please..” You begged, detaching yourself from him, pleading for mercy under his sharp gaze as he soaked up your wrecked self.

He loved hearing you beg.

“Please what?” he drawled out, running his lips down the side of your face and neck, pressing kisses against your collarbone. Moving his thumb previously giving you what you desire to your thighs, he held them in his grasp just to feel your smooth, warm skin against his rough, scarred palms.

You whined, shimmying your hips to draw his attention to them. He ignored your advances, peering up at your face with a glare and crooked smile that shot sparks down your body, “Tell me.”

As if on cue, and unable to disobey his words that squeezed your heart, you sputtered a response, barely able to maintain eye contact, “P-please touch me..! M-more.. I, I need more, please! I want..” your breath was stolen from your lungs as he began to grind his clothed crotch against your wet core, “I want you! I w-want you to fuck me, please..! I- I can’t take it anymore.. Please, Izuku..!” More tears fell from your eyes, falling onto the mattress below you, “Please fuck me..!”

Happy with your response, but still not quite ready to give in, he pulled away, circling your clenching hole with his middle finger, watching as your head flew back with tears as you meekly thrust upwards.

As much as he wanted to pull himself out right now and fuck you until his bed broke from the sheer force, he couldn’t risk hurting you.

Even if the potion was designed to make you ready for everything sexual, willing to comply with his every demand, you still were his princess, his angel, and he was going to treat you like one.

He didn't want you to wake with the soreness of not being properly prepared, even if he could heal you a minute after. That minute of you crying from the pain that HE selfishly caused would always be stabbed into his heart, and he certainly didn't want that, nor you to experience it.

“Sorry, love..” he apologized, finally plunging his thick finger inside you after thoroughly coating it with your slick, moaning at how tight you were for him.

“Fuck..” he whispered under his breath, keeping your thighs splayed wide open as he sat back on his haunches to watch you react to him.

Your back was arched, begging for more as you gripped the sheets below you, cheek pressed against the mattress as low moans trickled out your sinful mouth like water.

Face hot, a boyish smile fell on his face as he added another finger, observing how you hotly throw your head back as he pressed against the spongy spot inside your walls.

“Aaahh..! T-there! R-right there..!”

“I know, darling, shh, shhh.” He cooed at you, curling his fingers against your G-spot with each thrust in and out of your sopping pussy. His fingers made wet clicks inside of you as they rubbed against your walls, dragging more and more moans out of you as you ground down on his large digits.

His eyes couldn’t leave the view of you sucking him back in every time he pulled his fingers out, it left him imagining more and more scenarios in his head.

God, how he wanted to destroy you.

Have you screaming his name so loudly you broke the sound barrier he had set up ages ago, letting all of the castle and its snobby guards know he was fucking the love of his life and doing it damn well.

He bet they would be jealous.

Those thoughts of it made his adrenaline spike, adding a third finger to the squelching party mixing your insides up, leaving you at their utter disposal.

Arousal poured from you like a steady stream, gushing down and leaving a wet puddle under your ass.

You were so wet for him it was hard to bear, but you felt so, so good.

Your mind was so muddled with lust, you couldn’t think straight, all that entered your mind was ‘more, more, more.’

You were being greedy, but you couldn’t help it.

Deciding you were prepped enough, his fingers pulled fully out of you, putting on a small display of licking them clean as you watched with wide, doe eyes, stuttering out about how dirty that was.

“More dirty than you using my face as a seat, my lady?” He teased, tucking his face into the crook of your neck.

“T-thats..”

He chuckles at your flustered response.

Pulling his underwear down, his cock slaps against his toned stomach, fully erect and dripping with precum.

Throwing them off to the side, he noticed the way your eyes greedily looked at his body, confidence burning his veins as he sees the impatience in your eyes as you stare at his member.

He was tempted to say, ‘like what you see?’ but he himself was far too eager and impatient to wait any longer.

Grabbing himself, he ran his thickness between your lips, gathering your arousal on him before leading himself to your entrance.

“Ready?” He asked whilst kissing the skin below your ear.

You nodded, hips wiggling in anticipation.

“A-ahh! Fuck!” You cried out as he fully sheathed himself inside you with one thrust, bottoming out immediately.

He bit at your skin, concealing the deep moan that rumbled in his chest as you strangled his weeping dick at last.

You were so intoxicating, you sweet aroma wafting off you with every breath.

Grinding himself inside of you, he waited patiently for you to adjust, leaving hickeys all over your skin with each passing second.

Gulping down air, you thrust upwards, dragging him out of his blissed-out state just to moan heavenly deeply in your ear.

“Naughty girl..” he seethed, making you giggle, only to be shut up as he pulled out and slammed his hips back into your own, drawing out a garbled moan.

Skin slapped wetly against skin with each rough thrust he relentlessly delivered, drinking up your cries for more.

Leaning back to watch you with hungry, dark green eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. He pinned your arms to the bed above your head, a punishment for catching him off guard.

His cock was truly a godsend, thick and long, curved upwards just to slam repeatedly into your soft g-spot over and over.

You could only hold on for dear life as he fucked you good and hard just like you wanted, just like you craved.

“O-Ohh!!! Izu!! Izuku-! Ahh.! F-fuck..!” You moaned with each thrust inside your wet self, body being pushed back from the sheer intensity of which he fucked you with.

He knew your body so well by now, he knew each and every way to make you fall apart by his own doing.

He knew how to break you in the most sinful way possible, and he loved it.

Your face was lewdly contorted with pleasure, eyes looking back, eyebrows pinched together, (H/C) baby hairs plastered to your sweaty forehead, and mouth gaping wide open so he could hear every slur of words and every noise you emitted.

He wanted to hear everything you had to say, every reaction to the way he fucked you.

He could feel you growing tighter around his throbbing cock, juices coating his thighs with each heavy thrust inside of you.

He loved how much he could turn you on, even if right now it was all thanks to the potion that added pink hearts to your innocent (E/C) eyes.

The same potion that had you openly moaning unashamedly, whereas you previously would have held them in by biting your lip and hands.

He was so happy to hear how good he made you feel.

At long last.

“(Y/N)..” he panted heavily, peering deeply into your glossy eyes, movements becoming more and more sloppy as he lost himself to the pleasure, a burning pressure building up in his gut with each shallow and deep thrust.

Falling down on top of you, he held you close to him, letting your arms go so you could dig your nails into the flesh of his toned, freckled back flexing with each movement.

The bed banged loudly against the wall, he momentarily worried it would leave a dent- but he couldn’t think about that now. Not when you were crying out his name so sweetly.

“I’m here, I’m here..” he soothed as you clung to him.

Your hips began to move in circles, drugging him with intense ecstasy as he thrusts into you. You kept him wanting more and more. He was addicted to you.

Pushing your legs back against the mattress, he reached so deep inside you, you swore you could feel his head kissing at your womb.

You were so helpless to the waves of infinite pleasure he washed you over with that all you could do was take it.

“You’re doing so.. hah… so good, baby..” he praised breathlessly.

“Gnnn! Gaahhah..! Izuku!!”

“Let me hear it.. let me hear you, princess.” He smiled against your skin as you let out an onslaught of sultry moans, fueling his inner fire.

“I’m..! I- gwaahhh..! I’m so c-close..!”

“Me too, me too..” He fervently pressed kisses to your cheek, letting his other hand travel down to coat his thumb in your spare wetness, just to rub circles on your puffy clit, applying the right amount of pressure that always drove you insane.

Drool dribbled down the side of your mouth as your tongue flopped out, breasts bouncing with each and every thrust, constantly captivating him as he could feel their softness against his pecs.

Holding you flushed against him, he let magic crackle to life on his hand, green sparks lighting up the area around the two of you just barely. His hand began to vibrate, magic he learned was good for massaging muscles, but of course, it had.. other uses..

The vibration against your clit, added to the pounding of his cock expertly slamming against your G-spot, sent your head flying back, white vision going black as your pussy strangled his cock like a python.

“Haaahh.! Aah!” You cried his name out so loudly it burned your throat, leaving you to cum harshly on his dick, the strange sensation of liquid squirting from your body making your mind go numb as all you were left with was burning hot stars in your eyes.

The display alone was enough to drag him over the edge as well, slamming his cock into you once more before warm ropes of cum spurted into you, completely coating your walls and spewing out from the sheer amount as he let out a silent moan.

His thighs twitched and his stomach felt empty when he finally came down from his high, the same time as you.

Love filled his gaze as you both peered into each other’s eyes, enraptured by the souls sealed within.

Heavy breaths blew past your lips, desperate to calm down your racing heart.

“How was it..?” He questioned lightly, moving hair out of your face so he could get a better look.

“How was… what..?” Your mind was still clouded. You hadn’t any idea how he could still think straight.

Giggling, he rubbed his nose lovingly against your own.

“The potion. Could you feel its effects..?”

Staring at him in bewilderment, it took a second to register his words.

The potion.. what had it done again..?

Oh..

You slapped a hand over your mouth, pulling away from him. “Oh gosh..!”

You were so embarrassed!

Gah, to be so loud!! You wanted to hide in a hole..!

“Don't be shy, my love,” He pleaded sweetly, placing a kiss on your sweaty forehead, “it’s just me.”

“That's the point!! I-it was embarrassing to- to be so.. lewd in f-front of you…”

“You say that, and yet I’m still deep inside you,”

“Izuku..!” You groaned, shoving his smiling face away with both hands, only for him to grab your hands and place gentle kisses on them.

“I.. I liked hearing you..” he flushed, bashfully looking away.

Though he could be quite the dominant man in bed, it was always endearing how he was still the shy witch you fell in love with at the end of the day.

“W-well I..” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, “Well I’ll be louder for now o-on then..!” Your declaration surprised him, shock resting on his features before he broke out in another smile, flopping on top of your sweaty body just to hug you to his own equally as sweaty body.

“I love you, (Y/N)..” he sighed blissfully, burying his nose in your hair as he cuddled you, the crackling of the blazing fire just now reaching his ears.

“I love you too, Izuku.”

Though he could be a handful at times, with his insistent drive to be better and push himself beyond his current limits, as well as running headfirst into danger and getting littered with scars, you still loved him.

You always would.

He was your kind witch, and you, his darling beloved.

And nothing would ever get between a witch and the one he called his.

…

….

“So, are you going to pull out? I feel a little messy.”

“In a minute..”

“Izu!”

748 notes · View notes

starshine583 · 4 years

Text

When One Thing Leads to Another

(Hey guys! This isn’t a fic, just an idea that I came up with and wanted to write about. Hope you all enjoy anyway!)

Flashing lights and blaring music. The perfect combination to either give someone a good time or a horrendous headache. Unfortunately, Felix was never known for partying; so he found himself suffering the latter. The pounding in his mind matched the beat of the speakers, and occasionally, a round of cheers and clinking glasses would spike the pain. Why did he agree to come here? He could be at home right now, reading a nice book in the quiet of his apartment. But no. He had to be at some ridiculous bar with his ridiculous cousin.

“Come to the club with us,” he’d said.

“It’ll be fun,” he’d said.

Felix rolled his eyes and tipped his glass up to his lips, letting the bitter taste of his Bourbon Sour slide over his tongue and down his throat. Stupid Adrien. Why did he insist on dragging Felix to places he didn’t want to go? Why did his mother have to coax him to not reject the offer? Couldn’t they let him be a troglodyte in peace?

He set his cup back on the napkin that was acting as a makeshift coaster and thumbed the side of the glass, feeling the cold sweat from the ice drip down. Felix was half tempted to press the drink to his forehead in hopes that it would ease some of the ache from his on-coming migraine. Perhaps he should ask the bartender for headache medicine. Or better yet, just go home. He’s been there for at least an hour or so. That should satisfy whatever itch Adrien needed to scratch by bringing him along, right?

Felix swiveled around in his bar stool, scanning over the dancing crowds. Normally, he could spot his cousin from a mile away due to his raging fans, but tonight, the lights were dim, save for the blinding strobe lights, and everyone there was probably drunk out of their minds already or close to it. No one would be recognizing him any time soon. That was one of the reasons they attended this particular club in the first place.

This plan to blend in, however, worked only too well, because now Felix couldn’t see Adrien either. Too many people were dancing and shuffling around in the unsteady darkness for him to catch a proper glimpse of the facial features or hair colors. If he wanted to find Adrien, he would have to venture into the belly of the beast himself.

Felix swiveled back around in his stool and crossed his arms across the counter with a huff. He’d rather stew in this corner all night than try to navigate amongst those drunken morons. Adrien had to come up for a drink at some point. So he would simply talk to him then.

Another bump on the counter rattled the stray glasses strewn across it, and Felix glances to the left. He expected to see a drunkard wobbling around or another shameless couple making out, but instead, he was met with the sight of a young woman. She appeared to be in her early twenties, certainly no older than himself, and quite displeased, if the quiet scowls and hissed curses were any indication.

In a huff, she yanked a handful of napkins out of the nearest dispenser and began furiously dabbing a dark spot on the front of her cocktail, party swing dress. Felix assumed it must have been a spill, which was a pity. The dress had a magnificent pattern. Specks of red that vaguely reminded him of a swarm of Ladybugs curled around the pink fabric from the bottom of the dress to the top, and the white sash that was pinned around her waist with a jeweled butterfly brought out the halo of white that surrounded each of the red specks. The combination gave the enchanting impression that the insects were glowing, which was impressive. Whoever created that intricate piece of clothing certainly had a gift.

After scrubbing the stain for a good five minutes, the woman let out a heavy sigh and set the crumpled napkins back on the counter. She then slid into one of the bar stools, leaving an open seat between them, and let her face drop into her hands with a groan. Her steam from a few minutes ago must have worn off, because the only thing he could see in her slumped posture now was exhaustion.

Felix averted his gaze to take another sip of his drink. At least he wasn’t the only one who saw this club as a place of torment.

“Bartender,” He heard the woman say, her voice almost drowned out completely by the music, “Get me a tequila shot, please. Just one for now.”

The bartender nodded at the request and began shuffling around behind the counter to mix the drink. Felix watched it unfold out of the corner of his eyes- one can only stare for so long before getting caught -and wondered how many shots she planned on taking. Tequila was a decently strong beverage when taken without caution. One too many, and you’ll find yourself passed out on the floor or hurling up something unseemly in the washroom. He hoped for her sake and everyone else’s that she didn’t get drunk and turn into one of those loud-mouthed fools. Because if she started rambling obnoxiously right in his ear, Felix might be inclined to finally snap and go on a murder spree, starting with Adrien.

The woman wasted no time downing the shot in one gulp, and the effects set it in immediately. A shudder ran over her body from the burning sensation, causing her to shake her head to counter it. Her raven hair twirled with the movement and curled around her shoulders and face, but she paid it little mind, merely brushing the locks back over her shoulder and out of the way.

“Come on, you can do this.” The woman muttered to herself as she fixed her short, slit, bell sleeves. “This is fine. We’re doing this for Adrien.”

Felix rose a brow. Was she talking to herself? How many drinks has she had exactly?

“Oh, Felix~!”

Thoughts of the woman were ripped away when he heard the coo of his name cutting through the crowd. Felix suppressed a groan, though he allowed a scowl to slip onto his lips. That would be Lila Rossi, his second headache. She was the one person he hated more than Bourgeois and his uncle combined. Why did Adrien even invite her? Was it pity? Blackmail? Another act of that false kindness of his?

Whatever the reason, Felix wasn’t going to turn around and acknowledge that lunatic. The people bustling, cheering, and lazily singing around him were bad enough. He did not need some cheap, over-glorified ‘model’ hanging off of him on top of that.

And yet, despite his efforts, Lila still managed to find him. She wrapped her arms around his neck with a sickly sweet laugh as though they were the best of friends or more, and it made him want to gag. Didn’t she have anything better to do than beg for his attention like some pathetic dog?

“There you are!” Lila sang, nuzzling her face against his. “Where have you been? I need a dancing partner.”

For once, Felix was glad that they were in a club, because there were no stuck-up business partners scrutinizing his every move. No one to chastise him when he shoved Lila off of his shoulders so hard that she almost bumped into another customer.

“Find your own dance partner.” He hissed.

Oh, if Lila’s expression didn’t give him the best form of twisted satisfaction. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Of course she did. Until now, they’d only interacted at formal events, where Felix was forced to resign himself to social etiquettes. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be more abrasive in a casual setting. Or, in this case, much more abrasive.

A light snort floated to his ears, and his gaze flicked to the left again. The raven-haired woman had a hand to her mouth, a slight smile peaking out as she stared at Lila. Was she laughing at them?

Lila cleared her throat, finally starting to recover. It took her long enough. He would think that she’d be used to rejection by now considering how often she must throw herself at other men.

“W-Well, I am trying to find one.” She said. “I just figured you might have more fun if you loosened up on the dance floor.”

Felix rolled his eyes. Hiding her gold-digging ways with feigned thoughtfulness. What a classic move. “You figured wrong. Go bother someone else.”

Irritation flickered across her features, but Felix hardly cared. He swiveled around in his bar stool again and ordered another Bourbon Sour, because at this point, he was going to need one. His disinterest in Lila couldn’t have been any clearer, but they both knew that she wasn’t going to let him go that easily. She proved that by sliding into the seat next to him with another plastered smile.

“I also came up to order another martini, but wow,” The brunette drawled, “you must really not like it here.”

Felix scoffed, downing the rest of his bourbon. She really couldn’t take no for an answer, could she? He couldn’t decide if that little trait derived from denial or stupidity. Did she think he was going to flip a switch and suddenly like her nasally voice or her sausage hair that she obviously spent way too much time styling?

“You know..” A suggestive smile curled onto Lila’s lips as she began walking her fingers down the counter towards him. “If you’re not having a good time, I could call a cab. We can go somewhere a little more.. quiet.”

Felix snatched her hand before it could reach him, ignoring the pained gasp that she let out. He would rather sign his entire company over to Gabriel himself than go anywhere with this hag.

He opened his mouth to retort- “Are you always this desperate or are you just that intoxicated already?” -when another voice interrupted them.

“Not to be rude, Lila, but I’m pretty sure going out with you would be more nauseating to him than drinking three shots in a row right after drinking two bottles of champagne.”

The mysterious, raven-haired woman. Felix shot her a glance for the fifth time that evening, a mix of surprised and intrigued as to how she would know enough about Rossi to claim such a thing. (Such an accurate thing)

The woman faced them with a small, amused smile, her chin resting on the back of her hand. All traces of her anxiety and nervousness were gone, replaced instead with confidence and smugness. It was an interesting change, but if it pulled Lila’s attention from him, he wouldn’t complain.

Lila’s body went rigid, her face flushing a deep scarlet from being called out, and she whirled around to face the woman, hands clenched at her sides. The woman stared back, silently daring the Italian to refute the statement that they both knew to be true. It was a bold gesture that was no doubt fueled by multiple, distasteful encounters. The two must know each other personally. (Her calling Lila by name was also a give-away to that fact)

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Lila bit off. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

The woman merely hummed, unimpressed. “Yes, I don’t think you ask for anyone’s opinion. That’s why you almost got hit with that restraining order the last time you tried flirting with one of the other models at work.”

So they work together.. that would explain the underlying tension. Felix has had plenty of unbearable coworkers. Did that mean the woman worked for the Gabriel brand, though? Why had he never heard of her before?

Lila bristled at the remark. “I- You- Ugh! Whatever!”

Furious, the brunette stormed off into the dancing crowd once again. Felix imagined she was either going to tattle to Adrien or find some other poor soul to ‘seduce’. Even so, he couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his lips. Lila unraveling like that wasn’t something he got to see often. It was a nice treat considering how his evening had been progressing.

That said..

“Thank you, but I don’t recall asking for your help.” He told the woman. If she was mingled in with Gabriel’s business, she might know who he is, and Felix didn’t want her thinking that he owed her something simply because she’d decided to meddle in someone else’s affairs.

Her eyes turned to him for the first time that night, sparkling light blue under the neon lights.

“No,” She mused, a softer, warmer smile playing at her lips, “I know you didn’t, and I’m sure you didn’t need it. That was kind of my own little revenge. We work together, ya know? She’s always such a pain.”

Felix hummed in agreement. That girl was definitely a thorn in anyone’s side. How she still managed to act as though she were the next big hit, he’ll never know. “Do you work for the Gabriel brand, then?”

She nodded, idly reaching up to fix the white, butterfly barrette that pinned up the left side of her bangs and hair. “Yeah, but I’m just one of the fashion designers. Not a model or anything.”

Felix let out a light scoff. She said that as though the fashion designers weren’t critical workers. Anyone can wear clothes, but fashion designers are the people who use their skills and creativity to bring life to the clothes that the models are wearing. They are severely under-appreciated, in his opinion.

And speaking of bringing life to clothes.. “Are you the one who designed that dress?”

A tinge of pink rose to her cheeks, and she smoothed out the skirt of her dress to avoid looking at him as she answered, “Yes, actually. It’s from my ‘Heroes of Paris’ collection. This was one of the dresses that I hand sewed, but Lila decided it would look better with a martini stain. I just hope I can wash it out..”

Felix glared at the crowd, remembering Lila’s comment about ordering another martini. No wonder the woman was so disgruntled about the stain. Buying a dress and ruining it was one thing, but working hard to make a dress and having someone else ruin it on purpose was another thing entirely.

“You could always sue.” He suggested as he took a swig of his freshly made Bourbon Sour. “That stain would easily count as intentional property damage to the company.”

The woman snorted and waved a dismissive hand at him. “Thanks for the idea, but it’s technically a prototype, anyway. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

“It sounds like she’s the one who caused trouble.” Felix pointed out. “If you insist on letting others walk all over you, then you’re not going to go far in the fashion world.”

She pressed her lips together, seeming displeased by the statement, but tilted her head in a nod. “I suppose that’s true..”

Felix nodded as well. Of course it was true. All types of business could be brutal, but the fashion world truly was something else. Every step forward needed to be fought for viciously taken. There was no room for trivial things like mercy or kindness.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” The woman spoke again, regaining his attention, “you’re Adrien’s cousin, right? Felix Culpa?”

Felix rose a brow. Great. So she did know him. Was this where the flirting started? He should have known better than to start small talk with someone associated with Rossi. ‘Sworn Enemies’ or not.

“That depends on which Adrien you are referring to.” He replied, subtly avoiding a straight answer.

“Adrien Agreste, of course.” She clarified. “He said he was bringing you along, but by the time I got here, I was told that you wandered off.”

Felix tisked. Of course his cousin would say that, but why would he tell her?

“Do you know him personally?”

“Well..” She twirled the tips of her hair, choosing her words carefully. “Yeah. I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging or anything, but we’ve been friends since highschool. I’ve actually been working as his personal stylist for a little under a year now.”

His personal stylist? Felix remembered reading about that somewhere.. Adrien mentioned her name at one point too while blabbing about how ‘excited’ he was for Felix’s visit. What was it again? It started with an M. Madeline? No. Margaret? Certainly not.. But it definitely had an ‘r’ somewhere. Marianne- Marie- Marin- Ah! Marinette. That’s what it was. Marinette Dupain-something.

"You’re Mlle Marinette then.” He said, a satisfied smile slipping onto his lips. Although the entirety of her last name escapes him- it definitely had a Chinese origin -he was at least able to recall her first name. That would save him the awkwardness of her knowing his name but him not knowing hers.

The woman’s eyes widened, proving that she was, in fact, Marinette. “You know me?”

Felix nodded. “Adrien wouldn’t stop pestering me about meeting you during my visit. He insisted that you were incredible, and that we would get along fetchingly.”

Another blush, this time deeply coating her cheeks and ears. “O-Oh.. I don’t know about incredible..”

He’d expected a coy smile and a swat of the hand to join the statement, giving way to the feigned modest, or at least for her to search out more praise- “Do you think I’m incredible?” -but none of that happened. Marinette simply brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced away, holding a faint, hidden smile. She was genuinely surprised by his words, and genuinely humble about them. It was.. refreshing. He didn’t socialize with people like this often.

“Does that mean you are Adrien’s cousin?” Marinette asked after a moment.

“I am,” He confirmed, seeing no reason to hide it any longer, “but I’m starting to regret it deeply. The places he’s been dragging me to have been, in a word-”

A man ran past them screaming at the top of his lungs, only to crash into something a few seconds later with a weak ‘ow’.

“-tumultuous.”

A giggle tumbled from Marinette’s lips. “I know what you mean. I’m more of a stay-at-home-and-lazily-sketch-on-the-couch kind of gal, but I couldn’t say no to Adrien. He’s been through a lot with his Father, so finally getting enough freedom to go out like this is probably a dream come true for him.”

Felix resisted the urge to scoff. Is that what Adrien’s calling this? Freedom? Because to him, it looked like his cousin was running off to places where he would not be held accountable for his actions. Granted, his misbehaviors towards anyone but his father never tended to have real consequences anyway, but there were other ways to gain freedom than choosing to associate with strangers who were steadily drinking away their inhibitions and discipline.

“To be honest,” Marinette continued, sparing a fond glance to the crowd, “I think he gets so invested in the dancing and the hype that he sort of forgets about us. It’s like his own, unique quiet place. I’m not sure that he’d even notice if we left until he was leaving the club himself.”

Felix perked up. Oh? “Do you really think that?”

Marinette’s gaze flicked back to him, surprised and a bit embarrassed at the question. “Oh- Well -I mean, no. It was just a joke, but.. He was dancing with Kagami last time I saw him so..”

“Wonderful.” Felix breathed, getting to his feet. If Adrien wasn’t going to remember him being there, he wouldn’t remember him leaving. That meant he didn’t have to wait for Adrien to approach the bar before making his exit.

He never thought Adrien and Tsurugi would make the best match, but if them getting together is what allowed him to leave, then he would accept her into the family whole heartedly.

“Woah- wait,” Marinette stood as well, a frowned tugging at the corner of her lips. “Are you leaving?”

Felix pulled a few bills out of his pocket and placed them on the counter for payment. “I’m here as a common courtesy. If Adrien won’t be bothered to remember my presence until he can hardly walk straight, then I see no reason to stay.”

“But you can’t go!” She insisted, moving in front of him to block his path. “Adrien was so excited about you coming.”

Felix gave her a flat look. “He was excited about partying. If he actually wants to spend quality time with me, he knows my hotel residence.”

He moved to get around her, but she moved with him, this time putting a hand on his forearm to keep him still.

“You at least need to tell him you’re leaving.”

Felix stared down at her, a mix of irritated and astonished by her audacity. This woman knew he was, knew the people he was connected to, and that, should he so choose, he could probably end her career right then and there. Yet there she stood, tall and firm, ordering him to do something without so much as breaking eye contact. That’s quite the risk.

Nevertheless, he had no intention of seeing Adrien before he left. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Felix was grasping at straws to get out of there. If he went to bid his farewells, his cousin would ask why. When Felix wouldn’t be able to come up with a valid reason other than “I hate it here”, Adrien would insist that he stay. He would probably force him to dance too, just to make sure he was ‘having a good time’. Felix, personally, didn’t want to partake in that, which left the option of fleeing without a word. It might make their upcoming photoshoot a bit difficult, but Felix was willing to push through those types of complications as opposed to these types of complications. Adrien will simply have to get over it. There was no other way out of this.

Unless..

Felix’s gaze shifted back to Marinette, a wonderfully awful idea popping into his mind.

“You said you wanted to leave here too, right?” He asked, lightly grabbing her wrist.

Marinette frowned. “What?”

Felix smirked as he spun on his heel to lead them into the crowd. “You’re going to be my ticket out of here.”

Marinette stuttered a bit while she stumbled behind him, and although he couldn’t see her face, he could hear the confusion in her voice when she asked, “Your ticket? What do you mean?”

Felix weaved through the dancing idiots and searched for golden blonde hair along with the black and red dress that Tsurugi had been wearing. If he knew his cousin- which he did -they would be somewhere near the center of the dance floor.

“You’re going to say that you're sick,” Felix explained as they walked, “and then I’ll say that I’m going to take you home. Once we’re both outside, we can part ways and actually enjoy our evening.”

“What?” Marinette blanched, tugging her wrist out of his grasp. “I’m not going to lie to Adrien!”

Felix turned around to argue when someone behind them bumped into Marinette’s back, accidentally pushing her forward. He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her up to steady her. The action brought her flush against his chest, but he was too focused on persuading her to mind the closeness.

“Don’t think of it as lying,” He said, “think of it as sparing his feelings. This way I can leave with Adrien thinking we had fun together. Would you rather I tell him that I’ve hated every second of being here?”

Marinette sighed. “Well, no-”

“Then it’s settled.” Felix replied, stepping away to bring her further into the crowd.

They found Adrien a few minutes later, and as expected, he was in the middle of the dance floor. Kagami was dancing with him, doing what looked to be a butchered version of the Tango. The two were laughing and snorting together, obviously drunk but having a good time. The sight only confirmed Felix’s belief that his presence wasn’t necessary.

Marinette started twisting her wrist in his hand again, but Felix ignored it as he pressed forward to approach the love-sick couple. If she didn’t want to get wrapped up in this, she shouldn’t have opened her mouth and forced him to come talk to Adrien before leaving.

“Adrien.” Felix called over the music, coming to a stop next to them.

The two continued dancing, blissfully unaware of their presence.

“Adrien!” Felix tried again.

Finally, Adrien paused, looking up at them from where he’d just dipped Kagami. It took a moment for the blonde to recognize them, but once he did, he flashed them both a sloppy smile and pulled Kagami back up to talk.

“Hey, Felix!” His cousin beamed. “I haven’t seen you all night! Where have you been?”

“Sitting at the bar.” Felix replied shortly. He tugged Marinette forward, who appeared rather uncomfortable at being thrown into the spotlight. “Meeting new friends.”

Adrien lit up. “Marinette! Have you been with Felix this whole time? I knew you guys would get along great!”

Marinette offered a nervous smile, but Felix spoke before she could. No sense in letting her back out by telling Adrien that she’s having a good time or something.

“Yes, she’s a wonderful conversationalist,” He said, letting go of her wrist to put a hand on her shoulder. They needed to look casual. “But I’m afraid she’s feeling a tad out of sorts at the moment. So I’m going to take her home.”

Adrien’s grin dropped immediately, fading into concern. “You’re not feeling well?”

She faltered. “Uhm- well-”

“It’s nothing serious.” Felix interrupted. “Just a small case of nausea. I’ve already called my driver to pick her up.”

Kagami stepped forward and placed a hand on Marinette’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm.. Are you sure you want to go home with Felix?”

“I assure you she-”

“I didn’t ask you, did I?” Kagami said sharply.

Felix narrowed his eyes. He should have known that Tsurugi would be his main obstacle. She didn’t confine herself to social etiquettes like carefully choosing one’s words in order to stay in the good graces of everyone around you. She wouldn’t hesitate to stop them if she thought Marinette didn’t want to leave with Felix. Therefore, he was going to need Marinette to confirm her desire to go, which meant she had to actively participate in this scheme.

His gaze flicked to the ravenette, only to find her staring up at him already. She was chewing on her lip and clearly deciding what to do. Felix subtly tilted his head in her direction and raised his eyebrows. He didn’t beg for things often, but he refused to come this close to victory only for it to be ripped out from under him because somebody had a heightened conscience.

Of course, he couldn’t plead with her aloud, since Tsurugi was still burning holes into his head, but the way Marinette squirmed implied that she knew exactly what he was trying to say.

Please.

She let out a small sigh, and Felix crossed his fingers.

“..Yes.” She answered, giving Felix a rush of relief. “Yes, I want him to take me home.”

Tsurugi searched Marinette’s expression for a moment, probably looking for fear or uncertainty, before turning to Felix. She gave him another glare, one that promised death. “You better treat her properly while you have her. If I hear about anything-”

Felix rolled his eyes. He wasn’t some barbarian. “She’ll be fine. We’ll see you at the next photoshoot.”

“Text me when you guys get home!” Adrien called after them.

Felix only gave a short nod over his shoulder before he started pushing Marinette back through the crowd. He was almost there. A few steps further, and this nightmare of a night would be over.

Felix pushed open the front door of the club and eagerly stepped outside. The cool, night air washed over him, and he drew in a deep, refreshing breath. He hadn’t realized how stuffy it was sitting in that crowd.

“This is so wrong.” Marinette mumbled behind him. “I should have just told them the truth.”

Aaaand the moment is ruined. Felix thought with a mental sigh. He looked up to the starry skies for patience, since he still needed her to go through with this until his driver arrived. Honestly, how did a young adult such as herself get so twisted up about a little, white lie? Everyone’s done it at least once in their life, even Adrien.

“The less they know, the better.” He said. “Besides, by the time they’re done drinking, they won’t even remember our little fib.”

“But-”

“Look.” Felix cut her off, saving himself from the lecture. “We can either go inside and apologize for something they truly won’t care for.. Or we can start walking before Rossi realizes we’ve left and tries to come after us.”

Marinette’s expression soured at the mention of Lila, just like he knew it would, and she glanced back at the club.

“..Let’s get going.”

Felix followed behind her with a small, triumphant smile. Finally! He escaped that wretched place, and now he got to roam the Parisian streets instead, which was infinitely better, in his opinion. Of course, anything was better than that club- except something involving Rossi -but Parisian streets always held a certain enchantment to them. The roads were never too crowded, save for the occasional groups of tourists, and the lights lining the building casted a soft, golden glow on the pavement. Even the Eiffel Tower was covered in lights.

Most importantly, though, Paris was quiet. Sure, there were car engines and snorting laughter, but it was faint, distant. Something he could easily ignore if he wanted.

The setting was quite contrary to the usually dark and dreary city in which he lived, but he enjoyed the change. Strolling through a place like this helped him relax and unwind, which he desperately needed to do. Those interactions with Adrien and Lila had pushed him to his limit.

“So what brings you to Paris?” Marinette asked curiously. “I heard you don’t visit often.”

Felix stared at the scenery a bit longer, before bringing his gaze back down to her. He didn’t necessarily feel like talking, but his ride would be there soon. He could indulge her for the moment as thanks.

“I’m here on business for my father. I have to do a photoshoot with Adrien for extra publicity and attend some parties that are being thrown by some of our business partners.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.” Marinette replied thoughtfully. “I’ve never been to a formal, business party.”

Felix heaved a sigh. “Pray that you never do. They are horribly bland, and anyone there is usually stuck too far up their rear end to have a decent conversation with.”

Marinette snorted at the comment. “They’re really that bad, huh?”

“Let’s just say that I would prefer going back to that bar as an employee than go to these business parties. At least there I can tell women to leave me alone. I swear they’ll latch onto you harder than a leach simply because they know that they can.”

A frown tugged at the corner of her lips, the previous humor of the topic slipping away as quickly as it came. “And you can’t do anything about it?”

Felix shook his head. “Not without being butchered by the press.”

“I think I’d rather be butchered..” Marinette muttered. He completely agreed. Unfortunately, snapping at the esteemed guests or possible daughter of a massive source of income for his father’s company is highly frowned upon, else Felix would have done so long ago.

“Can’t you get a consort?” She inquired. “If you had a date, that should keep the girls away, right?”

Felix almost laughed. “Escorts are normally used for pitiful old men who can’t get dates by themselves. An escort for myself would simply be foolish, and it would hardly deter any of the other women.”

Marinette hummed. She was thinking really hard about this, wasn’t she?

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to pretend to be your girlfriend?” She suggested. “If they thought you were dating someone, it shouldn’t be nearly as frowned upon to reject the other women openly.”

Felix clicked his tongue. “A tempting thought, but there’s one flaw.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t have any friends.” He informed her. “None that I could ask to perform such a roll, that is.”

The only female friends he had were his mother and Allegra, and Allegra was about to be married to Claude. Any other acquaintances he had were co-workers. One can imagine how that conversation would go.

“Excuse me, can you pretend to be my significant other because I wouldn’t actually want to date you in real life, but I need oxygen to live?”

Not ideal.

Aside from that, pretending to be in a relationship is something that can easily get out of hand. The position of power that his ‘girlfriend’ would be put in is not something Felix is willing to risk. She would be able to say anything about him, true or false, and the press would accept it as fact because they were ‘dating’. No thank you.

“Oh..” Marinette said softly. “I guess that does kind of ruin it, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed it does.” Felix agreed. “But if you get any more bright ideas, please, don’t hesitate to share. I’m all ears.”

Marinette shot him a look, as though she might smack him for the remark, but instead she glanced back down at the sidewalk.

Then she said something that forever changed the events of his visit.

“..What if I became your fake girlfriend?”

Felix nearly tripped over himself at the comment. He must have misheard her, right? No sane person would suggest that so casually. They were complete strangers, after all. How was he supposed to know if he could trust her? Better yet, would she be able to play the part if he did?

“I-It was just a thought!” She added hastily, noticing his baffled expression. “You don’t have to agree or anything. I just know how it is to be pushed into uncomfortable positions..”

Felix rose a brow. “While your.. generosity is appreciated, I don’t think you would be a good fit. You couldn’t even lie about being sick tonight without almost collapsing from guilt. What makes you think you can lie to an entire ballroom’s worth of people?”

Marinette pressed her lips into a thin line, her anxiety easily shifting to frustration. She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes into a glare as she said, “I did not almost collapse, and that was different. I was lying to a close friend for a personal, selfish reason. This time I’d be lying to help you get away from gold diggers.”

Felix hummed. Yes, that made perfect sense. Forgive him for being ignorant about the fact that lying was somehow morally correct in one situation but condemning in another.

“So what’s in it for you?”

Marinette’s brows knitted together. “Oh.. uhm.. I just thought it would help you out, but.. I guess I could show off my designs? Working with Gabriel has been a good start, but if I wear them at the parties, maybe they’ll get more popular?”

Felix tilted his head back and forth as he assessed her answer. An exchange of peace for an exchange of popularity. He could work with that. “But are you sure you can pull it off? As I said before, the women there aren’t easily swayed. You might have to pull some scandalous stunts to dissuade them.”

Marinette scoffed and crossed her arms. “Please. You think I won’t get my hands dirty if I need to?”

Felix shrugged. “Again. You were the one who couldn’t lie about being sick.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “You’re never going to let go of that now, are you?”

“Well, it is a bit telling of your nature.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.” She retorted. “Anyway, how scandalous are we talking? I assumed holding hands was a given, and most likely side hugging too. Did you expect us to do something more intimate than that?”

Felix slowed his pace to a stop and looked at her. “Of course. That’s why I asked if you were prepared.”

Wariness began creeping into her expression. “Okay.. then how intimate do you plan on getting?”

“Well,” Felix began, taking a step towards her, “we need to look deeply in love at best. There might be some extremes that I’ll need you to play along with. Say, for example, the hugging isn’t convincing them.”

Felix stepped forward again, causing Marinette to take a step back. He followed her, step after step, until her back touched the brick wall of a closed flower shop.

“Everyone’s watching,” He continued, setting his arm against the wall next to her, “waiting to see what we’ll do to prove we’re legitimate. Would you be willing to do what it takes?”

A blush bloomed across her freckled cheeks, but she shot him a skeptical look despite. “I doubt they’d be rude enough to insist we kiss in order to prove our ‘relationship’.”

Felix smirked. “No, but it would be implied and whispered of. Those are the same as speaking aloud when it comes to business parties.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“And that’s a ‘no’.” Felix replied, pushing himself back up and away from her. He hadn’t expected her to do anything, but it was a tad disappointing knowing that he couldn’t use her idea. Having the women hovering around him instead of crushing him would have been nice-

Marinette grabbed the collar of his light blue, button-up shirt, stopping Felix in his tracks. She gave him a small glare, and before he could ask what she was doing or what she wanted, the ravenette yanked him downwards, crushing their lips together.

Felix sucked in a breath, admittedly shocked, but he certainly didn’t pull away. No, he pulled her closer, cupping her cheek and deepening the kiss that she’d started. Marinette hummed slightly at the reciprocation and tilted her head to catch his lips fully. Her arms snaked up from his collar to around his neck, her dainty fingers raking through his hair.

Felix let out a soft moan, but just as he was about to wrap his arm around her waist, Marinette broke the kiss. She put a hand on his chest, gently pushing him away, and met his gaze with lidded eyes.

Oh, if he thought her eyes were blues before..

“I’m not sure why we’d have to ‘prove ourselves’ like this,” She muttered, “but I think I’ve proven that I’m more than capable of pulling it off if necessary.”

Felix brushed his thumb over his lips, wiping away some of the ruby red lipstick that she’d left on him.

“Mlle Marinette,” He said, only just managing to keep from looking at her sweet, soft lips, now swollen slightly from the kiss, “I believe we have ourselves a deal.”

This fake relationship thing might work out, after all.

#Felinette #Felix Culpa #Marinette #Fake-Dating AU #This was so much fun to write!#I can't believe I got it so long XD

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dailydestieldose · 3 years

Text

Reboot Head-canons

I’ve thought about this a lot, and here’s the thing:

Dean’s not biologically John’s son

Because of their blood types

Maybe Mary slept with one of John’s (much better) brothers

Shamelessnatural!!!!

And the narrating is Dean explaining that to somebody, hopefully briefly, maybe because of a complication with a case where he HAS to tell now.

Maybe he talks about how John knew, and that’s why he was always rougher on Dean, because Dean was a constant reminder of that betrayal, and that’s why Dean was raised a soldier and not as his son. Maybe Dean talks about how he figured it out in 5th grade. He had to do a project on his lineage and had to ask John questions about each family member, and none of his traits aligned with both his parents

Neither had green eyes and blonde hair, blood type disparities, eye flecks, etc. and Dean realizes, with how John was looking at him in that moment, with so much hatred. He talks about how John all but hated him, and always did, even when Mary was alive, but he tried not to let it show because FOR SOME REASON he couldn’t get himself to leave Mary, almost as if heaven itself was forcing him to stay and love her…

Dean talks about how he used to hate himself for it, but now he’s glad. He never met John’s brother, but he was kind, and if not for heaven’s cupid keeping John and Mary together, would’ve been legitimately good to Mary. And besides, Dean already has a dad. Bobby.

I want to see Dean talk about John’s homophobia and subtle sexism. About how much of a journey it was for Dean to unthink what John taught him. I want Dean to have friends in high school that all slowly come out as queer and we watch as Dean grapples with and then let’s go of his predjudice. I want a shameless scene like when the dad found Ian and Mickey together and I was Dean and his boyfriend to go live with Bobby.

I want them to talk about the times. Homosexuality was ILLEGAL for most of Dean’s life. I want him to talk about the fear. Friends being sent to conversion camps, helping them to run away, them being put on dangerous amounts of testosterone because people believed that it would “cure” the gay away. I want Dean to talk about the fear and the shame, but I want it to be like Hannah Gadsby on Netflix and her coming out speech. I want them to HONOR what it used to be like for queer people. When someone died of aids, cemeteries turned turn them down when their families asked to bury them there, hate crimes were rampant, police officers constantly raided and arrested queer spaces.

I want to see Dean being dropped off at a library as a preteen because it was public and free and John didn’t care about finding someone to watch him for now. And I want to see Dean find a book about the stonewall riots. I want him to narrate it like “Virtually Normal” by Andrew Sullivan.

I want Dean to talk about joining the football team, but sneaking behind John’s back to be a cheerleader. I want him to talk about his first love. I want him to talk about why he quit school and I want it to not be because he’s stupid. They need to show him going back to a library and educating himself, studying for his GED at night after hunts.

I want them to show Dean also wanting to get out of the life, but pushing it away because he had to keep Sammy safe. And when Sammy left for college, I want Dean to take stock of his life, and John to find Dean cuddling with Lee and watching tv, in love, and I want the shameless coming out fight scene.

And I want Dean and Lee to run away to Bobby’s after, and for Bobby (who Dean told years ago) to absolutely LAY INTO John about it. I want John to just agree to turn the other cheek, but for Dean to feel proud because Bobby accepts him. I want Dean and John to have a Boy Erased scene.

I want them to talk about how Dean was so in love and in beautiful relationships with his boyfriends through his teens that he could easily see himself quitting the life and settling down with them.

But chuck had to manipulate circumstances so that that never happened. I want Dean to lose love after love. And for him to MAKE himself grow cold to the idea. And then I want him to meet Cas. And Benny. And I want him to narrate how sometimes queer love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day. I want to watch him heal. So many queer people have to overcome similar trauma.

I don’t want it to end with Dean coming out. Why would that be the end? Queer narratives don’t revolve around straight people finding out we’re queer. I want them to just truthfully delve into what it was like for queer people, because it’s important, for us and for the characters.

I want them to show that queer experiences MATTER. TWO main characters can be queer and defy entire meta layers for that love. I want Dean to be narrating to Cas about how the men that Dean’s loved before taught him how beautiful queer love can be and that because they cared about Dean, Dean became so much more than god himself intended or could stop.

In other universes, Dean didn’t meet the same people, or at the right time, and so was never the man that Cas was capable of falling for. I want to see the shaping of Dean. But I want to see John (rightfully) posed as an obstacle that Dean had to overcome, both John’s immediate abuse and his legacy. Jensen has always very subtly played Dean as a victim of John’s abuse, and we know that he has issues with his own father. I do not truthfully believe that he would take this time to glorify John.

I, for one, am ready for this reboot, it’s about time Dean gets to break his silence.

#original #fuck john winchester #reboot #spn drama #bi dean #queer dean #gay cas #headcanons #original writing

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hongism · 4 years

Text

classified document: class system

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤: Do not read the information contained within this document if you are not a member of the Royal Military of Aurum. Reading the following information will put you at risk of imminent danger or death. If you have stumbled across this document by mistake, please report it to your local authorities. Honor and glory to our High King Alaric - may he rest in peace.

𝔑𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔦𝔢𝔰:

Normal people born without any special abilities or advantages, Normies are considered a dying breed of people who have little to no use in the world.

A harsh and cruel truth, many Normies work as simple workers or farmers on highly inhabited planets to avoid danger.

The Royal Military refuses to accept Normies into their squadrons and ranks as to keep their ranks limited to the best of the best.

Pirates, bandits, and the like tend to be Normies that want to break the expectations set of them. They do grunt work in the crews, always under the lead of a higher class. There is no known Normie pirate captain in the universe.

Normies tend to live out their lives staying in the sanctity of one planet, never exploring or setting foot into space unless captured and sold as a slave.

Normies are picked last when it comes to the slave trade, and many slave traders will avoid or lie about the Normies in their stock as to sell them off easier. They disguise them as Sirens more often than not, drawing crude and temporary tattoos on the back of the Normie to cover their lie as best they can.

The epitome of ‘normal’, Normies are considered to be ‘lesser’ people because they lack abilities like other classes.

𝔈𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔰:

Elitists are typically believed to belong to the upper class or have high rankings in society, however, elitists can come from any place in society. It is merely believed that they come from high society because of their title.

Elitists have high egos and arrogance because of the way their brains are wired. They believe themselves to be better than those around them who are not Elitists as well.

This arrogance causes divisions in class where Elitists from high societies look down upon and do not accept those from lower class societies.

Elitists have special abilities that aren’t seen to the naked eye. They tend to have elevated mental capacities and are naturally much smarter than other people, leading them to be able to lead well and be in positions of power.

Elitists have a special sense of how to operate ships and weaponry, as well as how to navigate. Skilled pilots and soldiers, many elitists are recruited into the military or to the government to be in positions of power.

They tend to have strong moral compasses and understandings of how to get what they want, thus they tend to be on the right side of the law and avoid dealing with pirates, mercenaries, or bandits.

A majority of the pirate and bandit population are Elitist defectors. This is due to their desire to reach the top and be better than those around them. If they see a leader failing to do his job, they will take it upon themselves to do the job and take matters into their own hands.

An Elitist can be found to have skewed morals; however, all Elitists are known to be crudely logical and will forgo emotions in favor of being rational when it comes to decision-making.

𝔅𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔨𝔢𝔯𝔰:

Berserkers are some of the most fearful and terrifying beings across the universe.

Known for their behemoth-like strength, many Berserkers also tend to share in short tempers and short fuses, leading to an explosive personality both in conversation and in the battlefield for pirates and the military.

The Royal Military has developed special weapons to help deflect Berserkers, using electrocution as a regular method of attack against Berserkers to debilitate them. This weapon can be considered to be a glorified stun gun - the Fulmensory Rifle.

Typical pirates on the other hand tend to not keep Berserkers in their crews simply because of their short tempers and the lack of need for physical strength when on a ship.

All Berserkers bear red eyes. No other class in the universe has this same gene trait. The general rule of thumb for the public is as follows: see red eyes, turn the other way.

Berserkers absorb the emotional auras of those around them and channel those emotions into violence and aggression.

They can be trained and conditioned over time to become insusceptible to these effects, but it is a long and arduous process. Physical conditioning with rods and rifles is a quicker and easier method.

𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔰:

Spectres are named as such for the quick speed and natural stealthy abilities. There one second and gone the next.

Very useful and promising for pirate crews, Spectres can use the shadows to their advantage in every way.

They bear only one power, but it proves to be an effective one - shrouding themselves with shadows to remain hidden in plain sight for long periods of time. This ability is quite draining and exhausting, and a Spectre will typically need a long recovery time after using this power.

They have a natural speed and agility, which proves useful for almost all situations. With this enhanced speed though, they tend to be more likely to fall ill or get injured more easily.

Spectres tend to be assassins because of their natural affinity for shadows and stealth, and the military uses them as such. They are perfect for covert units or assignments.

Pirates use Spectres for assassination and stealth missions, or thievery. Occasionally, pirates will use them for raiding missions, but never alone. They are typically always accompanied by people of other classes.

Spectres are most common among pirate and bandit crews as they are often taken young to be groomed into slaves as soon as possible. Many planets house so-called ‘Spectre Orphanages’ which are grooming stations for Spectre slaves.

Spectres are rarely given names — merely titles instead, similar to how Sirens are treated. Spectres are considered objects, weapons to be used for that purpose alone.

𝔖𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔰:

Sirens are a unique and dying breed of people as well, very few sirens are left in the universe, primarily due to the fact that pirates and the military capture sirens. Almost all remaining sirens are kept as slaves, used as objects to do their master’s bidding or used as a source of energy and power.

The military uses sirens as siphons for weaponry. Every siren is born with a special mark between their shoulder blades, the sweet spot for the military to plug in their machinery and siphon a siren’s powers.

The powers of a siren vary depending on the person. Some have been noted to read minds and emotions, although that seems to be a rare genetic mutation in sirens. Most have the ability to alter the density of objects and bodies, which is why sirens are so valuable to pirates and thieves. They can easily morph through objects, tear hearts out, or slip into places unnoticed.

It is said that five sirens together can unlock one of the universe’s most secret and valuable treasures, although no man has ever laid eyes on it or lived to tell anyone where the treasure may be. Captain Kim Hongjoong of The Horizon is reportedly in search of the treasure.

Each Siren bears a special title, a moniker assigned to them at birth in place of a real name, something akin to a status symbol.

Sirens are connected through the Dreamscape. Whenever a Siren is nearby, they go to the Dreamscape together and can meet each other in dreams.

Through the Dreamscape they can learn about each other and know what the other is thinking and feeling. It’s called a Siren’s Intuition in the real world, where a Siren can sense another’s distress and provide comfort. Comfort provided through the Dreamscape is considered to be far more potent and effective than real world comfort.

Find further information here

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samwrights · 4 years

Text

When You Wake

I literally cannot believe I wrote this. This was originally started to celebrate Yaku’s birthday (happy belated, my love), and to satisfy the requests for a Noya/Yaku threesome. Uh, don’t come for me. I couldn’t find inspiration in the normal hq world, so we’re making it weird. If y’all thought Between the Lines was long, this monstrosity is 13.2k words. 13,200 words, with a shameful, side amount that is smut. Literally, this is all just plot.

ear candy list is, surprisingly, on the smaller side.

⤞ Revenga - System of A Down ⤞ Violent Pornography - System of A Down ⤞ Question! - System of A Down

pairing: Yaku/Reader/Noya

w a r n i n g s//TW: rape, murder, blood consumption, mentions of getting roofied, gore, blood from wounds, supernatural AU, revenge, temporarily mute reader, reader is converted to a vampire without consent, dubcon, death, spitroasting, dirty talk, senpai kink. PLEASE read through these warnings over and over until it is clear to you that this is not going to be an easy read. The reader literally goes on a revenge spree. ⤞ THIS. IS NOT. AN EASY. READ.

Now that you have been thoroughly warned, enjoy.

The way media and films and television glorified and romanticized college parties never could have prepared you for the fateful encounter in the alleyway on a muggy August evening. Primarily, college parties were depicted as fun—drunk nights on the weekends with your girlfriends, maybe hook up with that cute boy from chemistry that somehow ended up with you grinding on him on the dance floor. Though, in some genres, college parties end up with the protagonist roofied and raped and follows how the heroine spirals and recovers. But it only was supposed to happen in the movies, right?

It wasn’t supposed to end with you halfway to death, knocking on Hell’s door with blood pooling around your lifeless body in a barely lit, bleak alleyway. It wasn’t supposed to end with warbles of light fading in and out of your vision as cars passed you by, unknowing there was someone in the alleyway between a closed down butcher shop and a florist who had already gone home for the evening. You were only in your early twenties with only two more years of university to compete—it wasn’t supposed to end yet.

“We can’t just leave her here.”

“I think she’s too far gone, Yaku. We were too late.”

The voices swirling around you were unfamiliar, or at least from what you could gather. In your condition, it was impossible to discern them in the first place—were they even real voices? They sounded entirely too angelic from what you could process in your catatonic state. Maybe they weren’t; maybe death had taken you without your knowledge and the jury that decided whether or not your soul would ascend to heaven was passing their judgment on you.

“I can save her, Noya.” One of the voices, presumably this Yaku character snarls back with urgency. It is the last thing you hear before your limp body is pulled from the concrete. The movement, regardless of how delicate, causing more blood to rush from your open wounds and draining any ounce of consciousness from your mind. “You mind trying to collect the fallout?”

Nishinoya, though shaking his head, gives a subtle grin that cannot be seen in the dead of the night. He pulls out a large mason jar from the satchel he’s carrying and places the mouth of the jar where blood is pouring out profusely from a knife wound. The man collecting the blood knew entirely too well that once his mate sets his mind to something, there was no changing it. Not that it served as a recurring issue; if anything, Noya was grateful for Yaku’s stubbornness considering it was that exact trait of his that had given the former his second chance at life.

The two of them move swiftly, trying to make it back to their hidden mansion, that was quite a distance away, in secret. Yaku is doing all that he can to make sure not to disturb your body so as not to open any wounds further that could force you to bleed out and meet the grim reaper. He wasn’t a very pleasant creature, but that was a story for another day. At the same time, Nishinoya is almost fighting to keep the same steadfast pace while simultaneously holding the now half full mason jar just under the knife wound. The blood was beginning to thicken, turning from bright red to a deep crimson as it oxidizes.

The moment they enter their private garden, Nishinoya busts down the door to their home with expertise, alerting the other members of their clan. “Akaashi!” He screeches, his voice bellowing out in decibels that should not be used unless trying to project a voice in an amphitheater with no microphone. Thank omniscient beings for noise cancelling enchantments. “We need you!” An almost timid, young looking man enters the foyer where Noya is still collecting blood and Yaku is holding your limp body in his arms.

“So that’s where you two have been,” Akaashi deadpans, unfazed by the steadily decaying girl. “Bring her to my room. You can store what blood you’ve gathered there while I remove the knife and get her patched up.” Though calm, the three of them move at breakneck speeds, laying you face down on an operating table while Akaashi suits up. From what he can tell, this was going to be a real mess, considering how deep the knife is. The three of them knew what was to come and what their designated roles in this moment were—Nishinoya was to separate the blood he had gathered from your body and ration them into IV bags, while Yaku was provide suction in case of a bleed out.

“We can save her, can’t we?” Yaku asks quietly, tools in hand.

“That will depend on her will to fight,” Akaashi says quietly, half due to concentration, half because he genuinely does not have a valid answer. “You’ve done this time and time again, Yaku. If anyone is going to save her, it’s going to be you.”

Upon coming to, the only muscles in your body that can move are your eyelids. Peeling them back as much as you can muster, you notice the only light filtering into whatever room you are currently residing in is coming from the blaring moonlight through an open window. The shadows around you make up areas and shapes that you are entirely unfamiliar with, causing you to sit up impulsively to make sense of your surroundings. A mistake on your part, as you are immediately met with a searing pain in your ribs. With further inspection from your droopy eyes, you learn that your torso is entirely bare, save for the copious amounts of medical grade bandages and gauze around your breasts and stomach. Blood pooled somewhere along your left shoulder blade where the pain felt the worst.

“You shouldn’t try to sit up right now.” The same voice you faintly remember from the alley, the one that didn’t want to leave you, before blacking out calls out from across the bedroom. The room is quite large from what you could tell and his smooth voice seems to be leagues away. “Lay back down before you bleed out again—I’ll change your bandages.” From the shadows, a man whom you presume to be Yaku emerges before you, perfect pale skin and sandy brown locks nearly reflecting in the moonlight as he approaches. His face, while incredibly handsome, is blank and is strictly business as he saunters near. Even as he is gingerly tearing off the tight bindings around you with next to no effort, his face remains nonplussed. Even as he washes the dried, crusty blackened blood off your bare chest, nothing. “Do you remember anything?” Yaku’s voice is quiet and somber as he asks his question. He takes your silence as a no.

Your mind is a hazy smog, trying to recall any type of memory at all. Rather than actual imagery, you see a white light when you close your eyes—you see colors you don’t remember seeing before, you hear crying. You hear your name. Not just your first name or a nickname either, you hear your entire given name along with your birthday, even the time of birth.

Any attempt to recall memories is interrupted by a sharp pain. You suck in a breath as Yaku tries to lift your arm to wrap the fresh bandages around your torso, causing him to grimace ever so slightly. This task was a bit easier for him when you were still unconscious, but nonetheless he is glad you’re awake. When the pain subsides, you peel your eyelids back once again, staring at the man sitting at the edge of the bed in wonder. Why was he tending to your wounds? How did he fit into the story? “You needn’t worry about that right now, [name],” he murmurs quietly, reintroducing the same delicate tone you heard before blacking out in the alley. Yaku can tell you��re wondering how he knew what to respond with and how he knew your name but, after a small deliberation, he decides it’s best not to overwhelm you right now. “Get some rest, little one,” he speaks again, “I’ll be here when you wake.” Before you know it, you’re out like a light once again.

Yaku exits his and Noya’s shared bedroom to dispose of the sullied bandages, only to be greeted to the sight of his mate leaning against the bannister closest to their room. “How’s she doing?” Yaku’s lips tighten, the seam becoming a hard line as his grimace deepens.

“She doesn’t remember anything but when I asked her if she did...”

“What?” Noya presses, perturbed at the silence. Very few things in their lives rendered Yaku speechless.

“She started seeing memories of her birth.” The two shorter leaders of the clan meander their way down the grandiose staircase in silence, each step accompanied by the dramatic chimes of a grand piano coming from the foyer. The music stops when they reach the bottom of the staircase, Sugawara pausing his fingers and quirking a brow at the couple. It was a rare occurrence to see both of them, or Nishinoya in the very least, look so morose.

“What’s got you guys looking so down? You look like someone just died.” The musician muses. Sugawara Koushi always did have the most twisted sense of humor—that was partially the reason that Yaku had kept him around. The other primary reason was solely for bragging rights and an inside joke between the clan because no matter how many times Sugawara introduced himself as Beethoven or Bach, people assumed that they all just meant he was talented. Not that it was literal and Sugawara was just a name he’d adopted when he earned another century of life.

“Ha ha,” Nishinoya drawls satirically, for both himself and for Yaku. The latter excuses himself, parting ways because he knows he can’t handle conversation right now. “Come on, Suga, that’s not funny. Yaku’s already taking this really hard and if we lose her...”

“Humans die all the time, Nishi. A conversion isn’t a guaranteed shot at a second life and Yaku knows that so why is he—“

“Because she was found just like I was. Wrong place at the wrong time and it ended with...” the shorter of the two can no longer find the words to speak. It didn’t matter how many centuries old everyone in the clan was, it didn’t matter that they had watched plagues take countless lives or even bared witness to some of Jack the Ripper’s victims—it was a different monster entirely to genuinely watch a person become prey to another human. “I hope she makes it through, if only to rip out the guys throat that stabbed her.”

Three months had passed since you had first woken up. Strength is returning to you little by little, though not enough for you to hold consciousness for more than a few minutes a day. Regardless, Yaku is relieved to see you making some form of progress, to see that you’re somewhat handling the conversion well. The head of the clan was almost always present when you did awake, though there were instances in which his partner, Nishinoya, had been the one to greet you.

Nishinoya was much more boisterous than his other half—much more talkative and, considering you haven’t found the strength to speak quite yet, that was entirely okay with you. You learned that Yaku and Nishinoya had been together a very long time and Yaku had saved his life ages ago, as the latter phrased it. In admiration, Noya mentions his partner’s abundance of patience—a skill that he himself lacked—and determination to see justice being served had swayed the younger of the two to continuously stand alongside him. Through these little vignettes of their life, however, Noya makes it a point to acknowledge the fact that he was once almost too overbearing for his senior, often intimidating him with just how open and blunt he was. “Nishi, are you boring her with details of our mundane life?” Yaku asks bemusedly as he enters the room you’d been resting in.

“Hey, we aren’t boring. I’m not boring you, am I?” Noya looks to your face, your expression not giving much away save for the light in your barely live eyes. It was far from mundane—if anything, hearing the stories made you so curious considering from just barely glancing with the two, they seemed to be a strange couple.

“We are,” Yaku confirms, though as to what, you aren’t sure. You were certain you hadn’t said anything aloud, considering you practically can’t. “Let’s just say I can hear your thoughts. It’s how we’ve been communicating with you.” The head of clan saunters over casually, sitting at the edge of the mattress opposite to his partner. Both of their rich, golden irises are gazing at you, gauging a reaction from you as he shares this bit of information. Weird, was the only way for you to describe it. Though Yaku didn’t need to read your mind to know that; the slightly panicked look on your face gave away your thoughts.

“Don’t think we don’t know about those vivid wet dreams you have of us—“

“Yū, you weren’t supposed to tell her that!”

“What? We’re all adults here—“

“Nishi, get out,” Yaku covers his face in utter horror, even more so as his partner exits the room laughing as he does so. Shameless Noya. The door closes, leaving you and Yaku alone—were he able to go red out of embarrassment, he probably would have. “I-I am so sorry about him.” Testing out the information that the man beside you supplied moments ago, you reassure him that it’s fine—that you have no control over your dreams and that he probably doesn’t have a way to turn off this strange ability. For a moment, he’s relieved because you seem to be accepting everything with grace thus far; maybe telling you the truth wasn’t going to be the worst case scenario.

But the thought of the truth makes Yaku hesitate—there was no way you were ready to handle the entirety of the truth. At the moment, you could barely handle your weekly check-ups with Akaashi—the household doctor. After a formal introduction, you learned that Akaashi was the one who patched up your wounds when you were first brought to the little mansion. From what you gathered, he was quiet and direct, kind even, but you hated the weekly visits. Not only was Yaku carrying you rather painful, as you’re still recovering from your injuries, but Akaashi had to do regular blood transfusions because, according to the young doctor that you swore could not have already completed medical school and residency, you had lost a lot of blood during the incident.

An incident in which you still can’t recall.

“It’ll come to you,” Yaku says morosely, probably responding in accordance to your thought. The man beside you gets up from the bed, holding his arms open to you, silently asking for permission to pick you up. “Sorry, I’ll try to be more gentle.” His arms are cold as he lifts you up, but all you can focus on is the throbbing in your back as he moves you. A sharp intake of breath leaves your lungs as Yaku supports you physically, adding gentle words of encouragement because he can almost feel how much pain you’re in. Every step down the steep staircase adds another metaphorical bruise to your tender skin, a small groan leaving your throat each time. And while you’re not uncomfortable with the idea of being in Yaku’s arms, you’re grateful when you’re laid down in Akaashi’s office along the leather exam seat.

“How are you feeling today, [name]?” The young doctor asks as he preps you for your blood transfusion. Much to your surprise, you feel hungry—ravenous, even—like you hadn’t eaten a meal in months. Maybe you hadn’t; it wouldn’t be that ridiculous to consider since your memory was a little shoddy.

“You’ll feel better after the transfusion,” Yaku reassures from the chair he’s sitting in beside the exam bed, “we’ll get some food in your system before we start your physical therapy.” There’s an interesting intonation in the way he speaks this, you notice. Like there’s an underlying joke or hidden agenda that you don’t quite understand, but at the same time, the strange phrasing doesn’t trigger your fight-or-flight system in any capacity. If anything, it just seems that Yaku wants to help you regain strength as best you can.

Though, that was currently proving to be a challenge as well. While you weren’t entirely sure how long ago your injuries occurred, you knew a decent amount of time had to have passed. One of your first check-up appointments with Akaashi led to the explanation of the muscle atrophy in your legs from lack of use. Once you slowly became acclimated to being awake for more than just a few minutes a day, Daichi was introduced to you as your physical therapist. He was another enigma—entirely too young to be as experienced as he was in his field, but you decided against questioning it—temporarily mute or not.

Being mute was another issue that was taking much longer than you liked. You hated only being able to communicate through Yaku’s inexplicable talent of being able to read your mind. There were many occasions in which you wanted to ask Akaashi about your condition and how bad of a state you had been brought to him in; how you wanted to ask Sugawara how he’d learned to play such a vast variety of melodies so expertly; how you wanted to tell Nishinoya that every time he tried to feed you a soup or something, it tasted foul and metallic no matter how fresh it was.

You’d have to wait until you found your voice again.

After your check-in with Akaashi, Yaku brings you to Daichi’s office just down the hallway. “Hey, there’s our little fighter.” Daichi was probably the kindest out of everyone in the household. He had a warmth to him that seemed to contrast his icy fingers when he’d hold and guide you for your therapy sessions—a little uncanny that everyone in this mansion had freezing finger tips. Maybe everyone had poor blood circulation?

From the opposite end of the room, Yaku stifles a laugh by biting his cheek. Glad to know that your deconstructed concept of time hadn’t waned on your sense of humor. Meanwhile, Daichi lays you gingerly on a mat on the ground with you back flat as he wraps a resistance band around one of his ankles, as well as your own. “Alright, [name], I’m gonna help you get your leg up and I want to see you pull your leg up as high as you can go, understood?” Five didn’t seem like a very large number, but for now it was the goal. If you could at least lift your legs five times, it was progress considering the severe muscle atrophy in your legs.

Some days, it was difficult for Yaku to sit with you through therapy. He can see the way you wince in pain because you’re trying to relearn and rebuild your muscle groups; other times he just wanted someone, anyone, to blurt out the truth about the situation and hope that it inspires you to push yourself to heal. Some days, it was difficult because Yaku found himself just wanting to hold you in his bed that you’d taken over while the two of you plot out the revenge you didn’t even know you needed. But it wasn’t always bad. There were days, like today, where the progress on your therapy was going much better than anyone in the clan anticipated. There were days where Yaku would ask what you remembered about...anything, and you would have some form of answer for him.

On those days, Yaku began to realize that your memories were coming in chronological order. From the first time you sat up or crawled, to your first word even. In fact, Yaku’s favorite moment that he’s witnessed thus far was watching your father teach you to take your very first steps—it seemed to recur during your therapy sessions, as if subconsciously encouraging you to try to walk again. Maybe that’s why today, you were able to provide Daichi with double the repetitions that he asked for—a sure sign that strength and muscle were returning to your legs. But even with what progress you’ve made so far, Yaku makes it a point to carry you back to your room and lay you back in bed to rest. As always, Yaku tucked you in as he spoke, “get some sleep, little one. I’ll be here when you wake,”

For weeks on end, dreams stop becoming dreams. Per usual, Yaku awaits in the corner opposite of the bed where you rest, allowing your memories-turned-dreams to flood his mind. Each night, they’re progressively becoming more and more clear—you’re able to recall outfits that you’d worn twenty years ago with perfect detail, scars and scrapes that your friends had, even when that one sock was in the corner of your closet from when you were seven. But the clearer these chronological dreams became, the less frequently you were waking up and it was beginning to worry the head of the clan. While you were still obtaining your weekly blood transfusions to help sustain your life, it seemed to be that they were no longer providing you with enough energy to move past your current stage of recovery. “Yaku, she needs to start feeding,” Akaashi had instructed him during a consultation.

“I still haven’t told her—“

“Come on, man, it’s been almost eight months,” the house doctor groans. There was no reason to coddle you anymore as your life-threatening wounds had already healed for the most part. Sure, there was still discomfort from your broken ribs but even those had almost entirely healed over; your physical therapy sessions and rehabilitation with Daichi were going rather well but, at this point, if you didn’t start getting more substance in your body, this would be the end of the line for you. Akaashi had advised him this for weeks now, but Yaku still hesitated. “We’ve got to tell her.”

“I know, I know. I just—“ the sandy brunette ruffles his claws through his mussed locks in frustration, “I think her power is developing. And I’m afraid if we drop the bomb on her now, it’s going to halt or hinder that progress.”

“Either tell her or feed her,” Akaashi bites, “if you don’t, she’s not going to have any power because she’s going to starve to death.” With that, Akaashi walks away because he has nothing left to argue at this point. While he may be the youngest of the brood, this made Akaashi the most volatile of the group. More often than not, he was relatively kind and patient, timid even, as he was in his human life, but also very stern and strict—all of it coming from a place of love. And Yaku, knowing the tremendous amounts of emotional pain that the former had received, the leader of the clan dare not disrespect him.

Rather than making it an argument, Yaku roams around the lodge to grab a couple bags of O negative out of storage before heading back to his room. Much to his surprise, Nishinoya is sitting at the edge of the bed already, a slight look of panic washing over his features. “Yaku, I think something is wrong.” Without another word, the creature in question hands the bags of blood to his mate before resting his forehead against yours—a sure fire way to make sure that the mental images he picked up from you were pristine and uninterrupted as you dreamed—ignoring the cold sweat beading on your forehead.

You were at the Pike house. It was the first week of the new college semester and your roommates had convinced you to tag along to a frat party they were invited to. The night was going along exactly like a corny romantic comedy—you had locked eyes with a man from across the dance floor. He was sweet—much kinder than others you had met that night. He grabbed you drink after drink, but your memory begins to go fuzzy after that despite being able to recall memories of your own birth or the stupid girl that picked on you when you were twelve and even the small pimple on her temple that you figured was probably making her insecure. So if you were able to recall these memories, dreams, whatever they were, with such perfect clarity, why could you not remember leaving that party? Did that mean he had been drugging your drinks? It was entirely possible, considering Pike wasn’t exactly known for their hospitality. You vaguely remember the man holding your hand firmly as the two of you weave and bob around people and being met with the sweltering humidity of a muggy August night and your roommates, Yukie and Kaori, were nowhere to be found.

You were dragged into a dimly lit alleyway, stumbling with every step that the man had nearly carried you by your wrist alone, reeking of trash that had been long overdue for pick up and maybe even rotting carcasses. It was difficult to tell considering the drugs you assume that had been placed in your system and it was even more difficult to recall the memories. Bits and pieces of your memory were coming back in patches—though the face of the man that had brought you there was not one of them. Nor were any of his friends that had joined in, appearing at the opening of the alleyway. You remember the sound of tearing fabric, salacious laughter of the group of men surrounding your body. You remember feeling searing pain as one held a knife to your throat, warning you that he would slit your throat if you tried to scream.

The threat was replaced in the form of one of the frat boys ramming a half-hard cock down your throat, knife still in place along the jugular vein, while every orifice and inch of your skin had been violated. Vaguely, you remember trying to bite down on the cock in your mouth and run away. The one that threatened to kill you had missed your throat when you ran and threw the knife into your back instead. Foul screeches of demeaning slander left their mouths as they kicked your ribs in at full force, as if the knife deep in your back wasn’t bad enough.

You remember them leaving your bare, naked body in the alley for death to take you.

You remember their faces.

Awakening with a start, you sit up abruptly, only to fall back into the pillow with a resonant clacking noise followed by a dull throb to your forehead. Yaku recoils, mostly out of shock rather than pain—maybe laying his head on yours wasn’t his finest moment. “You remember,” he balks after he’s recovered from the impact. You’re trying to scream, no sound leaving your lungs while tears barreled out from your eyes. Remember? Why was that a memory? Why did it have to be a memory?

Nishinoya acts hastily, tearing open one of the O negative packs and draining half the contents into his mouth and holding it there as he shoves Yaku out of the way. The smaller of the two slats his lips over your silently screaming mouth, puncturing a small wound to the inside of your lip with his teeth and letting the blood trickle in the hole. It feels like pudding trying to push through a sieve, the flavor of copper and iron tampered out by an earthy, meat flavor—maybe venison? The desire to scream fades away as well, rather being over taken to have whatever nourishment Noya is giving you to enter you more and more. Out of necessity, you mold your lips over his, sucking hard on his lip while wrapping your arms around him because it just didn’t seem that he could get close enough in this moment. Despite the fingers you have threaded in Nishinoya’s gelled locks, he pulls away with a shit-eating grin, his tongue swiping away at the trail of red liquid dripping from the seam of his lips. “Careful, might make a guy a fall in love with that kinda kiss.”

“M-more,” you croak out, deflecting the younger one’s flirty comment all together. Yaku and Noya’s eyes go wide upon hearing your voice for the first time. The former acts on instinct, downing the remaining contents of the bag in his partner’s hand before reenacting the same gesture as the latter. Yaku’s lips are much softer than his partners—or maybe it’s the quelling of whatever hunger that hadn’t been satiated that eased the desire. With Yaku, his tongue laves against the wound that Noya had made, coaxing the fluid to enter at a much more steadfast, intimate pace. Even well after he was done feeding you, Yaku sucked on your tongue, encouraging you to reciprocate, so as to get every drop. “W-What was t-that?” You pant out brokenly as soon as the two of you break apart. The question startles the two sitting at the edge of the bed—now that you had your voice somewhat back, Yaku no longer needed to communicate for you. That also meant he couldn’t control the flow of responses to not overwhelm you.

“I think it’s time you finally got your answers,” Noya mumbles, treading carefully as he looks at his partner. It was a silent reassurance that, no matter how this scenario proceeded, he would be here to support Yaku. To make you more comfortable, he adjusts the pillows behind you so that your back can rest properly along the headboard.

“M-my d-d-dreams?” Having just rediscovered your voice, it still came out in sharp, staccato-like whimpers, but the boys weren’t going to discourage you from speaking. Much like everything else Yaku had done in his life, he had done with patience and your recovery and rehabilitation were no different. But your throat was still raw and it still hurt to speak—thankfully with your mind rushing like a bullet train, Yaku was able to grasp the entirety of your question.

“I think they’re more memories than dreams.” His words come out like a condemning nail in a coffin—like a doctor telling you you only have a few months left to live—because that means everything you recalled from Pike house, the drinks, the party, the alley, all of it was real. “Noya and I found you that night barely clinging to life. Naked, soaked in blood and semen. You died that night, [name].” As he speaks, his cold finger tips traced along your breast until you feel the throbbing mound of flesh—a scar of where the knife had been thrown into you from the back and exited out the front. “The knife had gone through your aorta. Akaashi spent a long time trying to repair it but was unable to.”

Your body begins to tremble as silent sobs wrack through your body. You died? “S-so how ‘mi h-here?” Yaku looks over at Noya in discernible worry—not because the head was afraid of telling the truth, no. He was afraid how you would react to the truth. His partner looks at him poignantly, mentally reminding him that this was eerily similar to how Noya had reacted when he had learned the truth as well. Yaku’s head bobs in agreement, swallowing his hesitance before speaking again.

“I made you like me. Like the rest of us.” Your brows furrowed in confusion, suspicion even, because there’s no way that he’s saying what you think he’s saying. But rather than offering a verbal response, Yaku holds his hand out towards Noya, in which he places the other bag of O Negative in his palm. While the original plan was to just feed you once again, the second Yaku tears open the bag, the hunger you thought had eased returned at full force. You rip the bag out of his cold hands, elongated claws scratched at you as you do so, before you down the contents like a shotgunned beer before you could realize what you were doing.

“T-This is a joke, right?” You balk, voice clear as day due to the strength returning to your body once again from freshly consumed sustenance. But the tensions have gone down significantly, to the point where Noya feels relief and excuses himself to feed, leaving you in Yaku’s solitary care. Once the two of you are left alone, Yaku can only shake his head as he continues to press on with the truth. This had to be a cruel, sick joke. But it wasn’t funny and you certainly weren’t laughing. Yet Yaku had no reason to lie to you and the snack you had just consumed moments ago was meant to serve as a final nail in the metaphorical coffin to make you understand that he was telling the truth.

“We have been alive for centuries—storytellers dubbing our kind as vampires—but originally, we were simply called the Damned.” Yaku proceeds to go through the history, much like he had with all the others before you, because he feels the need to share the truth, needs to tell you that your death isn’t the end of your life but rather the beginning like it had for all those in clan. The most recent addition to the family was Akaashi. He was less than a century old, compared to the others. Akaashi had been tied to a tree and shot repeatedly, only to watch his lover drown to death, who had been tossed into the ocean before shortly before with a thirty pound weight attached to his ankle with his last few breaths. Yaku and Sugawara were the ones to set his nearly lifeless body free with the head of the clan performing Akashi’s conversion. This lead to the newborn to coming back to slaughter the community that decided to his partner needed to die for being a man in love.

Each of their stories was nearly identical. Sugawara, who apparently has been every major known classical musician in history hiding under the guise of his shapeshifter ability, and Daichi were hanged together for being a homosexual couple after their village had carved unsavory words on their bodies to remind their reincarnations of their sins. Yaku and Noya had saved each of them respectively, and allowed the two of them to go on a rampage to annihilate their executioners.

Lastly, or rather firstly, was Nishinoya himself. As Yaku goes into detail about transforming his partner, he tears up ever so slightly. And as you listen actively with no interruptions, no questions even, as he tells you about how Nishi was wrongly imprisoned for theft and how the other prisoners constantly violated and sodomized his body because he was smaller than the rest; how he ended his own life by ingesting whatever toxic chemicals he could find and how Yaku broke him out of prison to start a new life together. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” the aforementioned prisoner re-enters the room, a fragile smile on his thin lips as he takes a seat beside his partner. “So you finally told her?”

“B-but why m-me? Why not just let me die?”

“Do you not want revenge against the assholes that killed you a year ago, [ name ]?” Noya bit before Yaku could jump in. “They’re still alive after what they did to you—how is that fair?!”

A year?

You had died a year ago. How did your family take the news? Your roommates and best friends? Nishi was right—it wasn’t fair at all. Yaku raises a hand towards his partner in attempts to get him to calm down before he got too riled up about the situation and before he could get out the most important question. “I have to know, [ name ], if you want to continue on with this lifestyle or not before we proceed with the real rehabilitation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You tilt your head to your newfound savior. He said it so nonchalantly, as if learning how to walk or learning that your diet was blood wasn’t rehabilitation.

“Well, we have to teach you how to feed properly so your strength gets back up—unless you just want us to feed you for the rest of your eternal life.” Noya jokes, waggling his eyebrows suggestively in what you’ve come to understand is his typical, joking demeanor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Noya, can you maybe save the flirting for later?” Yaku grits out—once again slightly mortified. It brings laughter to the man in question; it was like rewatching his own life all over again, seeing him get flustered at the smallest amounts of forward affection. It was endearing, if anything.

“Sure. Let’s get [ name ] healthy first then.”

After coming to terms with your transformation and feeding more regularly, still off of a supply stock that the mansion carried, you were able to attend therapy sessions with Daichi more frequently. And while you hadn’t entirely regained muscle or use of your legs, you were able to at least stay awake more often than not. Rather than being cooped up in the bedroom, you found yourself lounging near the entryway where Sugawara would entertain you with the countless pieces he had written over the years. It was soothing and peaceful and Sugawara’s jovial personality kept you from spiraling into a deeper hole knowing that you died. It was still an insane concept, but the five men in your new home had worked hard to keep you sane. “Ready for your session?” Yaku asks gently as he takes a seat beside you on the luxurious sofa. He’s not as uptight as he was now that you knew the truth, though he still did get flustered when you would openly show affection. Even if it was something as simple as leaning your head on his shoulder like you were now.

“I think so,” doing what you could, you scooted and clambered onto Yaku’s lap, wrapping your arms around his neck firmly while your weakened lower limbs splayed across his lap. He tucks one arm under your knees while the other supports your back, effectively scooping you up and brings you to the kitchen where the blood stock is kept. You quirk a brow at the creature carrying you, knowing you’ve already had at least three bags since you woke up.

“Gotta get your strength up so you can recover faster,” is all he responds with before he sets you down on a bar stool. Yaku tears open the bag of O Negative and, much to your shock, he drinks half the contents without swallowing before his lips are on yours. One of his fangs finds purchase on the inside of your lip, sinking down and creating an opening for the blood to flow in for quicker delivery. Usually, Yaku would only have to feed you like this when you were in a weaker state, so it felt a bit out of place for him to be doing it right now, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. While the blood trickles into the wound, Yaku’s tongue swirls with yours intimately, coating the cavern with the liquid and he doesn’t stop until every ounce is clear from both of your mouths.

“Not complaining,” you say slowly, “but is there a particular reason you wanted to feed me instead of just letting my chug the bag?” As you ask your question, Yaku is draining the rest of the contents of the bag into his mouth before pulling you towards him in another kiss. The question is repeating over and over in your head, he can hear it loud and clear, but the other thoughts are spurring him on further. The thoughts of how Yaku’s touch makes you crave more, makes you want to feel his lips along your skin and his large hands gripping your thighs tightly. Sometimes he’s unsure whether or not you conveniently forget that he can read your mind, sometimes he wonders if you let your salacious thoughts run wild on purpose. His chest is heaving, deep intakes of breath are plunging through his nostrils despite the blood being long gone. He doesn’t want to stop but centuries of control are begging him to.

“We’re going somewhere today, after your PT,” Yaku pants out after he pulls away, tilting his head down because he can’t look at you right now—he’s afraid to. He needs to try to dampen whatever feral thoughts are running through your brain so that his own self-control doesn’t just get tossed out the window. “Noya and I are taking you out for your first hunt.”

“Uh, am I ready for that?” Shit, you can’t even walk in your own yet. Yaku laughs, grateful for the reprieve from your sexually charged thoughts when you point out the setback.

“That’s why the extra feeding tonight. I needed to make sure it was in your bloodstream so that you had enough strength for PT and the hunt,” Yaku adjusts you from barstool, scooping you into his arms once again to bring you to the mansion’s back garden. Daichi is standing a short distance away adorning a tight muscle tee and joggers, while Noya and Akaashi are sitting at the small table with cigars in hand. Yaku steadies you in front of Daichi, the latter holding onto your hands to make sure you don’t fall, before the former joins the rest the clan at the table. Sugawara emerges from inside the mansion as well, passing off a cigar to Yaku while lighting his own. It was uncomfortable in some capacity to have everybody watching—you couldn’t help but feel as if you were being critiqued on your performance.

“I’m going to be one step ahead of you, and I won’t let go, okay?” Daichi holds his arms out to give you space to take your first step. You take in a sharp breath, the scent of scent of cigars and pine trees overwhelming your nasal cavity. When did you sense of smell become that strong? With trembling limbs, you cling onto Daichi’s muscular forearms, praying to god you didn’t fall as you took a step forward.

“Hey, look!” Noya cheers from a distance, nudging Yaku in the stomach. “She took a step!” The excitement in his voice was evident because, after months of constant aid, Noya has come to have a soft spot for you almost as much as Yaku does. The two of them are watching, utterly enthralled with the way you’re only moving mere millimeters—but millimeters is better than nothing considering the muscle decay and atrophy that had taken place over the last year.

After the first few steps and curling your toes in blades of grass, your feet begin to relax as you tremble forward. Gripping Daichi with all the strength in your hands, you pick your right foot off the ground and place it forward. “That’s good, [ name ]! Gimme one more,” Daichi, a therapist in more ways than one, encourages you to continue moving, wanting to make sure both legs were receiving equal treatment. You repeat the motion with your left leg, taking two full steps. While not perfect, you kept moving forward with his guidance until his calves hit the stone wall of the garden fountain. Considering where you started, twenty five feet was a tremendous distance to cover. “You did amazing, [ name ].” The vampire holding onto you smiles big, pride swelling in chest like a father praising his daughter for taking first in a beauty pageant.

Yaku and Noya are by your side immediately in celebration, the latter much more overt with it as he’s hugging you and holding you up. “What do you think, Daichi? Is she strong enough to at least witness a hunt?” The former asks. Mentioning the “H” word again perks your ears up because a part of you almost wishes to not have to engage with whatever a hunt entails, but part of you also knows that this is your life now. Everything you thought you knew was no longer valid—this was your rebirth, your awakening.

“I think she’ll be okay if one of you carries her for it—“

“Ooh, I’ll do it!” Noya cheers almost too loudly in your ear as he’s still holding you. Without so much as a chance to offer a rebuttal, you’re swept up into his arms as he stands at full height before glancing at his mate. “Ready to go?” Yaku gives a nod, gripping tightly at the satchel over his shoulder before the three of you are off at breakneck speeds. They’re silent as they travel—perhaps because were they to open their mouths at this speed and velocity, they would be catching a whole lot of bugs in their mouths. To your surprise, the three of you end up outside ten-foot-tall brick walls and a chain link fence.

“This is a...”

“A prison,” Yaku answers simply, as if he were answering with what his favorite color was rather than his favorite meal, “considering our diet, we choose to collect our sustenance from those who do not deserve redemption.” There’s a malignant, dark twist in the headman’s words.

“Personally, I prefer going after the rapists and child molestors. Those bastards deserve to be drained of every ounce of blood.” Noya snarls—you could tell it was personal for him. But how could he tell? Surely it wasn’t just written on placards outside of prison cells.

“Easy. Walk in, ask them what they’re serving time for, and their minds fill in the blanks.” The foreboding you sensed from Yaku deepened even further; deepened to the point where it felt like a magnet drawing your eyes towards your savior. But he looked anything but. Yaku stood merely a few inches taller, his claws sharpening and turning black while red overtook the once golden hues of his irises. You look up at Noya curiously, wondering if he’ll undergo the same sort of transformation, but before you could even question it, the gold in his own eyes had already molded into crimson rings.

The three of you enter the building with ease, aiming for the top floor because, according to Nishi, that was where they kept the worst criminals. It played out exactly as Yaku said it would—ask them what they were imprisoned for and, if they were in captivity under the basis of rape, first or second degree murder, sexual assault, or anything involving a minor, he would sink his fangs into their jugular vein and drain them dry. Though he announces his satisfaction, he remains in this strange form that he has presented you with as Nishinoya passes you off into his arms.

The smaller of the two repeats the same process, taking down two prisoners of his own before taking the satchel off of his partner’s shoulder. Noya continues questioning prisoners, letting Yaku’s power of mind reading acting as the judgment call, before pulling out a small, sharp knife from the satchel and slitting each victim’s throat while holding them downcast like a gavel banging down the rule. As blood fountains from their necks, Nishinoya holds fresh IV bags over the openings to collect whatever comes out like rain. Was this how they ended up getting blood for you to feed over the past year. “Yes,” Yaku answers evenly, looking down at you with his crimson eyes, “but we were hoping to actually teach you how to feed tonight. Are you up for it?” Every nerve in your body seemed to scream no, like you shouldn’t be witnessing these events let alone doing it.

But your guts are telling you yes, yes this is now your way of survival. These men were horrid, their victims needed justice. You needed justice. Giving Yaku a small nod, he gives you instructions while the three of you search for your very first meal. Considering neither your fangs nor claws had grown in, as you were very much still a baby by all intents and purposes, Noya would have to incapacitate your prey for you while you bit the inside of your lip, reopening the same puncture wounds from earlier, to allow easier access for the nutrients to enter your body. Once they were out, Noya would puncture the jugular vein for you, while Yaku dipped you down far enough to feed.

Your lips latched on to the raw skin, hooking your own canines for leverage as you draw the blood from your dinner and the moment the warmth seeped into the opening, all doubts about what you were doing had flown out the window. You adjusted the way you’re sitting on your victim, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders as you continuously sucked every drop of life from him. “Did she just—“ Noya questions, not missing the fact that you had just moved your atrophied legs. And while Yaku is very aware of his mate’s balking, he can only focus on the way your lips mold against your meal’s neck or the muted slurping noises bubbling from your lungs like a woman starved. In a sense, that was quite literal. Noya looks over at his partner—silence wasn’t typical of Yaku when asked a question—but words are lost on him when he sees the way Yaku’s eyes are hungrily staring at your form and he’s unsure if its due to hunger or hunger. The moan that leaves your tongue when you finally pull away from the now empty body confirms the shorter one’s suspicions. “Not that seeing you turned on doesn’t turn me on, but you might wanna put that away, Morisuke.” Noya teases before walking towards you, the call of his given name causing Yaku to snap out of his stupor. Well fuck, he snarls bitterly in his head. He was gonna have to feed again, considering all the blood he had just consumed went straight to his cock.

You feel alive—more alive than you felt in ages. And despite your attempt being incredibly shaky, you managed to stand on your own two feet, using the wall to brace yourself. Noya rushes over to your side to try to hold you steady, asking if you’re alright. “I’m more than alright, Nishi, holy shit.” He has an arm under you, carefully bringing you back towards Yaku, though for the most part, you’re walking entirely on your own.

“So what, have you guys just been giving me snacks this whole time?” You sneer teasingly, though Yaku looks away because your accusation because it isn’t entirely wrong. The blood packs were indeed “snacks” but were usually only used to stave off hunts, that way they didn’t just decimate the prison on an every other day basis, but were also used as post coitus replenishments.

“One more?” Yaku coughs out, as if choking on his own spit. “We can do this one together, if you like.” He’s trying to be polite, despite the feral look in his eyes while also trying to calm down the lust and adrenaline running rampant in his system.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” As opposed to carrying you this time, Yaku flanks to your empty side, helping you walk between him and Noya until you came upon your next victim. This one was larger than the last few—stocky and skin marred with stories of a brutal past. No matter which way you looked at him, he looked bitter, and after asking him what he was in for, you figure he was a perfect candidate. After all, intentionally murdering his wife and three children was heinous by definition. Yaku approaches the much taller man, crouching ever so slightly in the event your meal tried to escape; not that he could even if he wanted to. The leader of the Damned was behind him in seconds, snapping his neck to disarm the threat that was his build.

To everyone’s surprise, you made your way over slowly to the now lifeless, six-foot-three prisoner while Yaku punctured holes on both sides of the victim’s neck, allowing the both of you to feed. It was oddly intimate, being so close to someone while sucking the literal life out of somebody. The lapping, sucking noises brought back salacious thoughts to the man beside you, and he’s doing all that he can just to avoid trading sustenance for an erection again. Meanwhile, Noya is watching both of you in amusement. Does his partner realize that he’s gingerly scraping his claws along your spine? Is it out of encouragement, or interest? Yu can’t quite tell, but he finds it entertaining nonetheless. Even more so when Yaku squirms at the throaty moan leaving your lungs when you pull away, lips plump with a bead of leftovers dripping from the seam of you mouth.

Either way, Nishinoya knows it won’t be long now until Yaku cracks. Despite the great amount of self-control he tends to exercise, Yaku is but a simple creature that cannot stave off his desires and Noya is no different. They were going to give way to their desires sooner rather than later, but they made a vow eons ago that revenge must always come first.

One year, three months, one week, and four days. That was how long it had been since you died in the alleyway. Today was the day those boys were going to die for what they did.

By now, you were fully functioning; walking on your own, feeding on your own. The only difference between you and the others was that you still slept, though not very much anymore, and according to Akaashi, it would be a trait that you would grow out of maybe two decades after your first century. That was actually the sole reason there was even a bed in the house—Nishinoya still slept merely because he enjoyed it. He wasn’t like the others who had found a passion project that kept him up around the clock, so more often than not, he would join you in bed. After all, it was originally his bed.

And more often than not, Yaku would sit in the spacious window sill while Noya wrapped his arms around you protectively in your shared slumber, as if to abide by the repeated mantra he had said over the last year—he’ll be there when you wake.

Your dreams are no longer memories, as you’ve got caught up to current events thanks to the playback speed that they paced themselves at. Now, you’re able to recall on every single event of your life that you’ve witnessed thus far with perfect detail—including the faces of your five murderers. Each of them belonged to your university Pike fraternity; two of them were a year older than you, two the same age, and the one who had the knife to your neck was a freshman not yet old enough to drink legally, but apparently old enough to to pull the metaphorical trigger and throw the knife that had gone through your entire body, severing your aorta in your heart.

After researching in the form of disguise, you learned that tonight Pi Kappa Epsilon would be holding their annual holiday gala; fancy words for a giant frat party for those who chose not to return to their hometowns for Christmas. Knowing how these events tend to function—it was relatively easy to sneak in, even with Nishinoya and Yaku flanking your sides. You flashed the doorman a crisp fifty, knowing males always had to pay a fee for entry while women always got in for free. The bouncer grins upon seeing you in a tight, red body-con dress, but the grin is immediately displaced when his eyes land on the two men beside you. Giving your best, most flirtatious smile, you grab both of their wrists before heading inside. “Don’t lose me, okay?” You yell over the pounding music.

“We won’t,” they say in unison. Noya gives you a reassuring smile, hand pressed against Yaku’s back gently, while the latter purses his lips together in discomfort. “Just keep talking to me through here,” he adds, pressing his cold lips to your forehead chastely, “and I’ll find you.” You give him a confident nod before you throw yourself into the throng of people to find your targets. It proved a bit of a challenge, considering the strobe lighting and the myriad of people—all of the men looked the same on top of that. But once your eyes narrowed in on the man you first lured you, it was game over.

Like a tiger ready to pounce, you sauntered over to him, pushing aside whomever he was with at the moment before wrapping your arms lewdly around his neck. He looks down at you skeptically, but otherwise pleased with the bold actions. From a short distance away, Yaku and Noya are hiding like wallflowers, listening to the resounding chant happening in your head that screamed to kill him. “You know,” Noya chimes in lowly, distracting Yaku from the way your hips are grinding and gyrating against the strange man’s, “we could just kill the entire fraternity.” Yaku shakes his head—Noya was always fond of the idea of revenge against all who were guilty by association. While the others in the clan gave into his persuasion, Yaku never found it amusing.

“What if they had no idea that their brother killed someone?”

“They probably bragged about it,” Noya grumbles. From his own experience, the shorter of the two liked to think that he knew how these people tended to operate.

“It’s go time.” Yaku says abruptly, eyes locked onto your retreating form as you pull one of your rapists by the tie and lead him out the frat house. The two Damned maneuver their way towards the quietest space, hunting for a window they can exit out of to follow you without garnering too much attention towards the situation. When they end up on the sidewalk outside of the Pike house, they see you parading—brokenly, complete with fake stumbles to allude to you being drugged again—the man by the tie until he shoves you into the same alleyway.

Close behind were four others, all built and stocky as they traveled in their pack and making their way towards the alley. You were cornered amongst trash and dead rats, the five of them trying to zero in on you, yet you showed no fear. Instead, you stood at full height with the addition of your stilettos, as your body transitioned into it’s more predatory form. “Remember me?” You ask sweetly, cracking your knuckles nonchalantly. Your hair that’s covering the ugly mound of flesh scarred over from your injury is swept over the opposite shoulder, giving them full view as your short, blackened claws graze over the skin. “Over a year ago, the five of you brought a woman to this alley, raped her and you,” a feral snarl leaves your lips as you point to the youngest fraternity brother, “threw a knife into her back that went all the way through her heart and killed her.”

The five of them begin looking over at each other, wondering who ratted out who considering they had never spoken of the night since it occurred. It was easy to avoid, considering the body was never found. There was never any evidence. “W-who are you?” The youngest one squawks out.

“Don’t remember?” Your head snaps in the direction to one of the older members. “I should have bit your dick off when I had the chance.” There’s no more room for talking, no room for rebuttal. Instead, you grab the same man you lured into the alley by the tie, bringing him close enough to snap his neck. When he was neither moving nor breathing, the remaining four began to back up.

“Yo, this bitch is crazy, let’s get out of here—“

“You think you’re just gonna get away?” Noya laughs dryly as it crescendoed into full volume, shaking the walls and mimicking an earthquake that did not expand beyond the walls of the alley. The remaining four fall to the ground, not prepared for such loud noises let alone a trembling earth to accompany the sound. Yaku shakes his head in utter disgust before the crimson ring in his eyes locks with the prey.

“Done eating, love?” He calls out, causing the four other frat boys to look over in horror at the “e” word. Once again, you’re standing at full height, the back of your hand wiping away the blood that had escaped from your mouth from your feeding.

“Not quite yet,” With every step you took, they trembled back, only to be met with your two saviors blocking their only exit. The youngest one is hiding all the way in the back, trepidation causing his bones to rattle within his skin as his back hits Yaku’s calf. “I’m still hungry.” Noya lets out a snort at this—he truly did love your sense of humor.

“You’re next.” Yaku looks down at the young boy, only nineteen-years-old, who had been your executioner. That same boy looks at the leader of the clan in horror, eyes wide because he never in a million years saw this as his end. Effortlessly, Yaku picks him up by the collar of his shirt before tossing him in your direction. Rather than catching him, you gathered your claws together to form a single point, driving the makeshift lance through the stomach of the one who had ended your life. Without verbalizing it, you gave the boys permission to feed on the other two—so long as it wasn’t the one that you had tried to bite down on when he rammed his cock in your mouth.

You had plans for him.

In the mean time, you pull the now lifeless body off of your bloodied hand, drinking down whatever was dripping down your arm before tossing him off to the side; you had one more pressing matter to deal with. The last of the boys—the dessert to your meal was pressed against the wall as he tried to run from this situation, watching in mortification as Yaku and Noya beheaded the other two brothers with their bare hands, feasting on their prey. “Like I said,” you sneered as you approached the last one, ripping off his pants and boxers much like he had when he violated your mouth. “I should have bit your dick off when I had the chance.”

And so you did.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” Yaku muses, having finished his meal, gawking at the way you had just left the last one along the wall with his penis bitten off all the way down to the base while you returned to the youngest member again, draining your murderer for all he was worth.

“I dunno, it’s kinda hot, babe.” Noya jokes, watching in amusement as well.

“I’m actually kinda full,” You shrug, having drained the stabber entirely—that put your body count to two full bodies. “D’you guys wanna have the last one? I got all I wanted from him.” At sound of your permission, Yaku approaches the last one with a predatory glare, not daring to break eye contact as he asked you one more question.

“[ name ], do you feel that justice been served?” With a nonplussed grimace, you gave a shrug.

“If anything, these assholes got the short end of the stick. They murder a girl they raped so she comes back from the dead and kills them all with two beautiful men by her side? Yeah, I’m happy with that.”

By the time you returned home, you were an entirely different creature. You felt...free. Like there was nothing else anchoring your dead heart, like you no longer had a tether to this world. Like you had no purpose.

So now what?

Silently you meander back to your shared bedroom to further contemplate your existence, the boys you left behind glancing at each other in concern. “Want me to talk to her? I might be able to better sympathize.” Noya asks quietly so that your now heightened hearing can’t quite pick up on the conversation. Regardless, Yaku shakes his head. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling and not just because of his ability to read minds.

“I’ve got a few things I want to say to her anyway.” Noya presses a tender kiss to his mates cheek before he flits away to hang out with Daichi as he normally does when he’s not with Yaku, while the head of the clan makes his way to the room. You’re lying in bed already, the dress and stilettos shed and traded for bare feet and a slip. Despite your back turned towards him, you feel the bed dip as he lays beside you, something atypical of Yaku. “How do you feel?” His voice is merely a whisper as he cautiously wraps an arm around your waist.

“Shouldn’t you know the answer?” You retort, but Yaku doesn’t recoil because he knows. He knows the sort of limbo you feel you’re placed in now that your postmortem mission had been carried out. What were you supposed to do for the rest of eternity besides act as an impromptu executioner, feeding off of the worst criminals within a hundred mile radius?

“Is that all you see us as?”

“No,” You say quietly. These Damned men had accomplished great things, from what you knew of them, in their lifetimes. Sugawara has continued composing even well after his other alias’ deaths, Akaashi has been working on a research piece for decades regarding cancer in the form of preventative measures rather than a cure, in addition to a cure. Daichi had participated in the Olympics a number of times, Yaku was once a politician in multiple countries and Nishinoya had worked closely with electronic developers over the years including Microsoft and Linux. “You guys have accomplished so much in your lifetimes, I just don’t want to be some sort of disappointment—“

“[ name ], we never knew were going to do those things. We just kept pushing on, finding out things we were passionate about and since we have unlimited time, we’ve had time to hone and perfect those skills.”

“What if I never do anything that great?” Yaku lets out a sigh, turning your now fully restored body around to face him and pressing his face into your neck. Over the duration of your rehabilitation process, he’d become so over protective of you, wanting what’s best for you in any capacity yet never fully being honest with himself.

“You have time to figure it out,” he mumbles into your own icy skin, lips tickling your veins. “Until then, just stay? With me?”

“Yaku...” he had never fully outright asked you to stay—only alluding to it in the past with talks of the future.

“I-I want you,” he whispers almost uncharacteristically. Being a diplomat, stuttering was not a thing that Yaku did very often. “To stay with us forever. To stay with me forever.” This is it, he figures. It’s now or never. Yaku can’t stand the idea of you leaving the clan, leaving him when he hadn’t yet had a taste of you, had you in any other form than a few mere kisses for feeding or in fantasies. Pulling away, Yaku shifts once again so that his arms are holding his weight above you, his lips ghosting intimately over yours.

Both of you are overly aware of the attraction that’s there—you knew of the daydreams you’d had of him throughout the year and with his ability, he was unwillingly subjected to them. Reaching up slightly, your lips press against his hungrily, your tongue immediately dancing along the seam of his lips, begging for permission to enter. Yaku doesn’t waste a second dropping the support from his arms in favor to press his body fully into yours because he’s been waiting for this moment. It’s evident in his fervent kiss, it’s evident in his ever present erection. A mewl warbles in your throat as you feel him grind against you.

Why the hell had you waited so long for this? Why did he wait so long for this?

There was no more waiting.

Breaking a part for a moment, you pull the slip off your torso hastily while Yaku unbuckles his belt and frees his lower half. Impatience floods you as you tear off the thin Henley he’s wearing, leaving the two of you entirely bare in front of each other. The large scar on your bosom that had made you self conscious for months suddenly felt dull in comparison as you’re met with the varying marks that marred Yaku’s skin. From what you could tell, they looked like whiplashes. “I need you now,” he pleads, ignoring your wandering thoughts as he hungrily pulls you in for another kiss. Though rather short lived, your overwhelmed with warmth and pulsing in your core as his fangs run along your neck before sucking lovingly at your collarbone.

“O-oh,” you moan out wantonly, clutching at his shoulders to keep yourself steady. With no preparation, not that you needed any, Yaku slowly sheaths his member inside of you, the girth stretching you deliciously. For a moment, the two of you remain still to bask in the reprieve you both felt, unaware of the third party member watching pleased in the lounge chair across from the bed. “Fuck,” you hiss out between your teeth as he’s pushing in inch after inch.

“You’re doing so good, princess,” for a moment, he’s impressed—taking eleven inches with little to no preparation can be torturous, and he knew that from experience. “Come on, baby take the last of it—oh fuck yeah,” Yaku groans out as soon as he’s balls deep within you. The two of you are still, enjoying the moment of togetherness before he bottoms out entirely in your sweet little hole. His hips move almost languidly so as not to hurt you but good lord for all that is unholy, is he holding back.

Soft whimpers leave your lungs each time his hips snap back into yours—why the hell hadn’t you fucked Yaku sooner?! A throaty chuckle grumbles in his chest at the thought. Even with him slamming his cock in you at half-force, his mind is intertwined with yours to the point where your thoughts feel like his own. “I had to take care of you princess, wanted to make sure you could handle me fucking you.”

“Then fuck me harder, ass-hat.”

“He likes it better when you call him senpai.” Nishinoya calls out from the opposite corner of the room, as if he wasn’t just leisurely watching his partner ream himself into your core. You let out a scream and at this point, you aren’t sure if it’s because Yaku have a particularly hard thrust with the head of his dick meeting with the edge of your womb or if Nishinoya’s presence surprised you. Even more so to see that he was stark naked, stroking his cock that he’s presenting to your mouth.

“Suck off your senpai, princess.” Yaku whispers devilishly in your ear, holding his cock still within you as he does so. Tentatively, you give a kitten lick to the head before you, testing out Nishinoya’s reaction to the motion before deeming him worthy. A soft grunt escapes him, his body more than welcoming of the sensation—but it just wasn’t enough for you.

“I need a better reaction than that, Nishi,” You joke.

A poor plan on your part.

The shorter of the two looks down at you curiously, a wicked twist of his lip displayed for you as he briefly tosses an amused look towards Yaku, to which the latter lets out a chuckle in addition to the shake of his head before he starts to withdraw his cock from within you. “How’s this for reaction?” Noya chirps before deftly wrapping his claws in your hair, slamming his engorged member down your throat while Yaku simultaneously thrusts back inside you. The carnal desires that had run rampant through your mind on occasion had built to this moment, built up the needy desire that the boys finally had the chance to release with you. “Yeah, you take that cock in your throat, baby. Show us how much you’ve wanted us from the start.”

Nishinoya is absolutely relentless as he repeatedly withdraws and replaces his erection in your mouth, pulling so far back as to have his tip tease and smear pre-cum along your lips, all the while chanting praise and how much he loves you; how much he’s dreamed of having you between him and Yaku. The latter can’t help the stuttering motion of his hips as he unabashedly strokes his member along your walls, the tip of dick all but moving into your womb. “Yeah, princess, take your senpais cocks so fucking good, yeah? You want us to fill all your holes with our fucking cum, don’t you?” You can only wail out around Nishinoya in your mouth in response, clenching and squeezing your pussy tightly around Yaku inside you. The clan head lets out a very audible groan at the abrupt friction. “Oh, fuck yeah. Fuck yeah, senpai’s gonna cum so fucking hard inside you, yeah yeah yeah.” Yaku is absolutely wrecking and ravaging your lower half while all the foul, salacious words leaving him were only serving to turn on his partner even more until the both of them hold still to empty their first loads inside you.

After a momentary reprieve, the two of them withdraw from you, the smallest whine leaving your lips at the distinct emptiness. Between pants, both of the males look to each other before letting out a laugh. “Princess,” Noya calls out from your left, golden eyes light and airy as they gaze at you, “did you think we were going to let you cum?”

“Y-yes?” Why wouldn’t they? Wasn’t that just normal, sex etiquette between partners?

“Oh no, love,” Yaku adds, “We’re gonna show you just how much we love you, gotta coat every inch of your skin in our fluids before you can even think about cumming.” Before you can blink, the boys are up again with Nishinoya taking his position with the tip of his still hardened member teasing the outer lips of your pussy. Meanwhile, Yaku makes it a point to slap your cheek with his own erection, making sure to keep your attention and focus on him. Simultaneously, they thrust into their respective orifices that they’ve traded—Yaku treating you much more delicately versus Noya who shoves his entire mast inside your depths.

“Oh damn, babe, you’re so fucking tight!” The latter howls, throwing his head back in ecstasy. Despite having identical lengths, Nishinoya was much more rough and rigid, your walls acclimating to every vein out of necessity before relentlessly pounding away at your insides. At his pace, your pussy doesn’t even have a chance to miss the feeling of fullness. Your voice is no longer coming out in moans or screams due to the damning pace—only in a broken staccato of warbles from the speed that Noya’s fucking you. “Yeah, baby? Gonna stay here with us forever and get dicked down every night? You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

But with the almost tender, loving way Yaku is holding your throat while repeatedly sliding his cock in from tip to base, there is no actual way you can reply. Instead, you let out grunts and cries of affirmation because you would stupid not to welcome the way these two were screwing you. It’s also more than just that.

These two, as well as the rest of the brood, had taken you in being inches from death, presented you with another opportunity for life that served as an opportunity for you to seek revenge, while caring for you and almost...loving you.

“We do,” Yaku bites, withdrawing his cock from your lips offended at the thought of almost, “love you, that is.” The hand that is cupping your throat moves to brush the backs of his claws along your jaw before pulling your chin and torso up so that Yaku can kiss you fully. There is no lust or wanton desire in this kiss—it’s love through and through that is simultaneously cold yet warm.

“You’ve been dreaming about us for a long time, princess,” Noya grits out, his peak approaching all too quickly with the way you’re clenching around him with no relief. He’s panting heavily, no longer caring about his need to assert his dominance in any capacity; all he can think about is cumming deep inside you while you cum around his thick cock. “We want to make your dreams come true.”

Yaku pulls away from the kiss in time to hear your cries—a delicacy he had never had the pleasure of knowing in a past life—as you cum with Noya. The latter is holding still for a brief moment before withdrawing, his spent body collapsing beside you. You’re sensitive, you realize, as Yaku slides back in to reclaim his space. Your walls are still trembling in the aftermath of your orgasm, but Yaku is much more gentle this time around. Pressing his body flush against yours, he wraps both his arms around you with one cradling your head, the other around your lower back to pull you as close as possible. His shallow moving thrusts in accompaniment to his pulsing girth are enough to trigger yet another orgasm in direct succession, and coercing his own orgasm. “Please stay, [ name ].” He mumbles into your hair as he feels his seed spurting within you. Though you supply no answer due to trying to catch your breath, you only nod in response. Yaku remains still inside you, so as if to seal both his and his partner’s emission within you with his own softening cock, smiling at the simple fact that you had nodded in response. “Get some rest, little one,” He adds, adjusting so that he’s on the opposite side of you and a now sleeping Noya. “We’ll be here when you wake.”

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