#but at the same time every time I draw them I hands cry for mercy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ieirism · 7 months

Text

crybaby.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

setting: modern au

genre: smut and fluff

contains: brother’s best friend gojo, protective older brother geto, use of pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart), unprotected sex, slightly mean gojo (but he ends up soft and sweet, I promise), dirty talk, overstimulation, mutual pining, dacryphilia, oral (f receiving), cheesy and happy ending <3

summary: satoru had promised suguru that there'd be no funny business while he takes care of his heartbroken baby sister... but he's never been the greatest at keeping promises.

“Stop being so mean to her, Satoru.” Satoru looks over at his best friend, who's clicking his tongue in disapproval, with a nonchalant grin.

“Not my fault she’s such a crybaby, Suguru.”

“Come on.” Suguru shoots him a warning look. “That’s my little sister you're talking about.”

“Hey, hey,” Satoru laughs, raising his hands in mock defense. “You gotta teach her how to grow thicker skin. Not my problem.”

“Every time you come over, she ends up crying.” The black-haired man sighs. “Don’t be a jerk just for one moment, won’t you?”

“Mmh, no promises.” Satoru grins. Sue him, he’s simply too addicted to the way your face scrunches up indignantly whenever he teases you, the futile yet endearing clenching of your small fists at your side, and most of all, the uncontrollable blubbers that leave your lips as tears roll down your cheeks.

Years later, you’re still the same. Just a little crybaby coming apart at the seams, completely at Gojo Satoru’s mercy.

“S-Satoru…” The high-pitched whine of his name only elicits a laugh from the man between your legs, sending shock waves of pleasure shooting through your body.

“Baby, you gotta stop movin’ so much.” Satoru’s large hands grip your thighs, holding them firmly in place as he continues to feast on your dripping pussy. “Gotta let me eat you properly.” He punctuates his point with a loud suck on your clit that has you mewling and twitching under his hold.

“T-Too much!” You sob, hands curling into the silky white stands on his head, tugging uselessly. “S’too much, S-Satoru…”

“You wanna take my cock later, princess?” He hums against your cunt, licking a hot stripe up your slit, chuckling as he watches your pussy clench around nothing. His gaze lazily travels upwards, greeted with the sight of you nodding furiously as tears stream down your cheeks.

“Yes,” you plead with wide, teary eyes. “N-need you.” Satoru smirks.

“Then be a good girl and let me prep you,” he coos, before diving right back between your folds, enjoying the broken sob that leaves your lips as he draws zigzags across your swollen clit.

“I really don’t understand you,” Suguru bristles, frustration evident by the way his eyebrows furrow as he eyes Satoru.

“Hmm?” Satoru looks at him with feigned innocence. “Whatever could you be talking about, dear Suguru?”

“You’re unbelievable.” He sighs. “Those gifts you bought her… they’re worth almost a million yen. What the hell is wrong with you, really.”

“Well, you told me I made her cry.” The white-haired man shrugged. “I had to make up for it, didn’t I?” Suguru squints suspiciously, at a brief loss for words.

“...You are not normal,” he finally scoffs.

“Of course not,” Satoru agrees, unfazed.

“You can’t keep doing this. You’re gonna end up spoiling her.”

“And what’s so bad about that?”

“Gimme another one, baby.” He’s faintly aware that if he makes you cum again, you really might pass out. However, he can’t really bring himself to be too concerned about that, not when he’s quickly becoming addicted to the taste of your dripping cunt and cries of pleasure.

“C-Can’t, I can’t — “ You sob, entire body shaking around his mouth; you’re so sensitive.

“You can,” he insists between hungry slurps, not letting any of your arousal go to waste. “Fuck…” You’re so sweet. Just how did he survive this long without having a taste of you?

“Please…” You’re still shy, trying your best to stifle your cries even as they fall in a steady stream from your trembling lips. Each loud squelch of your sopping pussy still has you cringing a little, not to mention the embarrassment that washes over you every time you catch a glimpse of your juices all over Satoru’s face.

“Don’t hold back anymore, sweetheart.” He reaches up to grab your wrists, pulling them away from your mouth even as you blubber out a weak protest. “Wanna hear you this time, say it loud. Say my name when you cum.” One more combined thrust of his fingers, deep into your hole with a flick of his tongue across your clit has you creaming on his lips for the fourth time.

“S-Satoru!” You’re unable to control the beautifully loud whine of his name as Satoru greets your orgasm eagerly, savoring every last drop of your release on his tongue.

“You made her cry again.” Suguru says, rolling his eyes as he approaches his best friend at their meeting spot.

“Huh?” Satoru raises a brow. “Haven’t even seen her since two weeks ago. What’d I do?”

“She’s sad you’re moving away.” Suguru tuts. “Can’t imagine why. Probably because she won’t be able to use you for your wallet anymore.”

“You implyin’ I’m just a wallet to her?” Satoru exclaims, a little offended. The black-haired man shoots him a deadpan glare.

“You know you’re not. But even you’re not enough of an asshole to use that against her.”

“It’s just college,” Satoru muses. “Kid thinks I won’t be back for her?”

“In two years she’ll be going off to college too.” Suguru shrugs. “She’ll get over you.”

“What a cruel thing to say.” Satoru laughs it off, ignoring the small flicker of jealousy that flares to life deep in his chest.

Satoru watches as your chest heaves up and down, in your effort to try to recover from the multiple orgasms he had just given you. You’re lying limp on your bed, unable to move save for the periodic twitching of your thighs.

“Sorry, princess, was that too much?” He’s teasing, but there’s a genuine edge of concern to his voice as he cups your cheek in his hand. You nod, a few tears falling down your face. “Aww, forgive me. You’ll forgive me, right?” In response, you tug weakly on his shirt collar, asking him to come closer. He relents, allowing you to drag him down towards you. Satoru’s about to ask what you need, before you suddenly tilt your head upwards to kiss him.

Satoru lets out a small noise of surprise as your soft lips press against his, hesitant at first, but deepening once your fingers find further purchase in his shirt, gripping tightly. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you up into his lap.

You kiss him a little clumsily, still boneless from your release but Satoru doesn’t mind. Doesn’t mind at all, of course, when your lips are so soft against his, and he can swallow every quiet whimper that escapes you.

“Satoru…” Your voice is raspy and small, but your eyes are wild as you cling helplessly to him. “A-Am… Am I ready yet?” His jaw goes slack in awe at the adorable, troubled expression on your face. Your lips are swollen into a permanent pout now as you look up at him with those wide doe eyes that always had him weak.

“...Think you are,” he heaves, realizing that he’s just as fucked out as you are. It takes everything in him to hold back the urge to just take you.

“She’s grown up.” Satoru raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise at the pictures that Suguru shows him. Your family had recently gone on vacation, so Suguru had been gone for an entire week, leaving his best friend and roommate all alone.

“That’s what you’re looking at?” Suguru shoots him an annoyed look.

“Oh,” says Satoru, glancing back at the picture. “Uh, nice waterfall.”

“One of the seven natural wonders of the world and all you can see is my baby sister.” Suguru exhales deeply.

“What? You can’t blame me too much. Kid’s changed,” the white-haired man shoots defensively.

“She’s twenty, not sixteen anymore. Of course, she’s changed.” Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I know that, I just…” Satoru pauses, glancing back at the picture. You’re still tiny, only reaching up to your brother’s, and by extension his, chest. Your face has matured, though, baby fat gone from your cheeks. That didn’t stop you from being any less adorable, though — your smile is as radiant as ever. He can’t help but let a small smile of his own slip onto his face.

“Hopeless,” Suguru mutters in disbelief. “Hopeless, the both of you.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

Satoru lets you unbutton his shirt, watching in amusement as your eyes narrow with focus as each button pops open, slowly revealing more and more of his skin.

“Um…” You’re nervous. It’s plain as day from the way your lip wobbles as your eyes sweep down the view of his chiseled chest and torso, only to end at the prominent bulge in his slacks.

“You sure you’re okay with this, princess?” He cups your chin in his hand, gently tilting your face to look straight at him. “Need to rest?”

“N-No!” You protest immediately, shaking your head. “I…” You glance back down at his erection, a flicker of desire in your eyes. “I need…” You trail off, unable to say it.

“Okay.” If he was feeling meaner, he would make you tell him exactly what you want. But he wants to be nice today, especially since you’ve already cried so much for him. “Okay, baby. Don’t worry, you’ll have it. Can you unzip me? Can you do that for me?” You hesitate for a moment. Satoru briefly wonders if he’s perhaps pushed you a bit too hard.

But then you’re reaching for him, small hands finding the top of his pants and slowly undoing the button. Your fingers close around his zipper, slowly tugging it down.

“Good girl.” He pecks your forehead. “Take me out of my boxers, alright?” As his angry, swollen cock springs free from his underwear, you can’t contain your gasp.

“Oh…” The soft sound leaves you almost involuntarily as you stare and wonder at how the hell that’s gonna fit in you. He’s thick and long, rock hard and dripping with pre-cum. You slowly wrap your own hand around his cock, lips parting as your fingers fail to meet in the middle. Your own pussy clenches in a combination of fear and excitement.

“See why I needed to prepare you, now?”

“Sorry to spring this onto you all of a sudden, especially since you just got into town.” Suguru sighs over the phone.

“Don’t worry about it. If you’re not around to take care of her, duty falls on me,” says Satoru as he reverses his car out of the parking lot, heading to the location Suguru had sent him.

“Let me know when she’s home safe. Tell her I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, will do.”

A pause.

“And… no funny business, got it?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“I’m serious, Satoru. She just confronted her asshole cheater ex. She doesn’t need you drooling all over her right now.”

“Relax, dude. I’m not that desperate.” Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

His conversation with Suguru lies in the back of his mind, forgotten, as Satoru places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Lay back and relax for me, sweetheart.” You immediately obey, laying yourself down on your bed, heart beating fast in anticipation.

“S’gonna hurt, right?” you ask softly.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve gotten you ready, see?” Satoru comforts you, brushing his fingers against the wetness still soaking your entrance.

“Oh.” Tears suddenly well in your eyes. “Um, s-sorry, it just always hurt with him…”

“What?” Satoru’s eyes darken, unsure if you mean what he thinks you do.

“He just…” You bite your lip, trying not to let your tears fall. “H-He just p-put it in, y’know?” His heart drops in his stomach. Two years, two whole fucking years with that asshole, and he had never given you proper foreplay? No wonder you were so sensitive and responsive to his touch, your body had never received the attention it’s always deserved.

“Baby.” Satoru squeezes your hand, fighting down the urge to find that asshole and beat him up. That could come later. Right now, he has to focus on you. “It’s not gonna be that way this time. Not with me. Okay?” You nod, squeezing his hand in return.

“O-Okay.”

It’s the first time he’s seen you in person in four years, and here you are in the passenger seat of his car, crying your eyes out.

You feel absolutely humiliated. You had called Suguru to ask him to pick you up from your ex-boyfriend’s house after you dumped him, but he had told you he couldn’t.

“I’ll send someone to get you. Hang tight,” he’d said.

You just didn’t know it was going to be Gojo Satoru, who hadn’t returned to your hometown since he graduated high school.

“I’m gonna bring you home,” Satoru had told you, getting out of the driver’s seat to open the car door for you. “Relax, okay? You’re safe now.” He had buckled your seatbelt for you before settling in himself, starting the engine without another word.

The car ride back to your house is silent, save for the continuous sniffles that wrack your body as you try your best to stop your tears. Satoru silently puts a box of tissues in your lap at some point, and your heart stutters at the action.

You’ve known for many years now, that you never got over your first love.

Clothes fully discarded, Satoru lowers himself on top of you, enamored with the way you shyly glance down at`his cock, gaze wavering for a moment before slowly looking back up at him, eyes begging for him to do something.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” He brushes his fingers, tender and gentle, across your cheek. You nod, hand curling around his bicep.

“Kiss me,” you request, and he gladly obliges, leaning down to peck your lips.

“M’gonna go slow,” he tells you. “You want me to stop, hit me real hard — “ He smacks his own chest. “ — Right here. Got it?”

“I won’t,” you say bravely, eyes glimmering with determination. “I… I can take it.” Satoru laughs quietly.

“Alright, princess. Don’t act all cute, you’re just rilin’ me up now.” You smile, a little mischievously.

“Oh, you caught me.”

“Fuck…” Satoru groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “You’re gonna kill me.” His fat tip taps against your clit once, twice. You gasp, eyes going glossy as you feel your swollen pussy clench desperately around nothing.

“Satoru,” you plead. “P-Please…”

“I’ll give you what you need. Relax for me…” He aligns his tip with your entrance, prodding between your folds. Inch by inch, he sinks his cock into your warm, throbbing cunt, almost blacking out himself at the sensation of your tight, velvety walls clamping around his cock.

“A-Ah…!” You whine, gripping his bicep and squeezing your eyes shut. The stretch is almost too much, but the delicious sensation of being filled to the brim has you seeing stars.

“You okay?” Satoru pants, willing himself to stop from splitting you open on his cock to check on you.

“Yes,” you whimper. “Yes, a-ah, please k-keep going…” Satoru rests his head in the crook of your neck as he continues to push himself in, enjoying the soft, labored whimpers as you take more and more of him, deep into your sopping hole.

“Almost there,” he coos. “Almost there, princess…” After what feels like an eternity, he finally sheaths the last of him in you, biting at your shoulder as he finally, finally feels exactly the sensation of being one with you.

“Drink. You’ll feel better.” Satoru places a glass of water in your hand as he leads you to your living room couch. You stubbornly refuse to look at him, letting the glass sit uselessly in your hand as you stare down at your lap.

He sighs, not sure what he should do. He’s never been good at comforting others, let alone his friends’ kid sisters. He knows you’re not a kid anymore, you’re a full grown adult, but the way you’re sulking and ignoring him says otherwise. Still, his fondness for you wins above all else as he takes the water back and puts it on the coffee table, letting you sit in silence.

”You gonna be okay by yourself?” he asks instead. Satoru doesn’t want to leave you alone, but he’s not sure if his presence will even help. He hasn’t been an active part of your life in years, and he has a feeling that this incredibly vulnerable moment isn’t the best time to barge back in. You don’t reply, twiddling your thumbs.

“Call me if you need anything,” Satoru says hesitantly. “You have my number, right?” No response. “I’m gonna write it down for you.” He finds a spare stack of Post-Its and does just that. You don’t react even when he sticks the note right on top of your forehead, in a shitty attempt to lighten your mood. Your deadpan glare, so much like your brother’s tells him it did not work.

“Suguru’s gonna be back tomorrow,” he tells you, taking the note off and soothing the annoyed crease between your eyebrows. “Go get some rest now, yeah?” You look away. Satoru sighs. Seeing you upset like this hurts him way more than he would like to admit. “M’gonna leave. Get to bed soon.” He pats the top of your head, just like he always used to do, which always made you whine when he messed up your hair. You’re quiet now, not a peep of complaint leaving you.

He really misses hearing your voice.

“Bye, then.” Satoru’s about to turn around and leave, but you do something that seems to shock both of you. Your fingers curl and grab onto the hem of his collared shirt, stopping him in his tracks. He stares down at you in surprise, trying to process the sight of your small, thin fingers holding onto him for dear life.

“Stay.” The one word was enough to crumble his self-control.

You’re struggling to adjust to his size; he can tell from the way you’re digging your nails into his arm and the trembling of your thighs around his waist. Satoru stays still, waiting for your permission to go any further, right hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip.

“Don’t stress yourself, baby, just tell me what you want, when you want it,” he murmurs against your neck, waiting patiently, torturously, for permission to move.

You’re so overwhelmed by the sensation of being stuffed full; Satoru is much bigger than your ex-boyfriend and yet, the feeling isn’t painful. It’s so good, a throbbing ache that extends outwards from your core all the way to the top of your head and the tip of your toes. You can hardly form thoughts, let alone words, as your pussy stretches around him, trying to accommodate the sheer size of his cock.

A few more moments pass, and you feel like you’re going crazy. The feeling of being so, so full is one that you’ve never felt before, but you think you’re already addicted. Your thighs flex instinctively, closing tighter around Satoru’s waist and pushing his cock even deeper, pressing right against your sweet spot. You mewl, wrapping your arms around his neck, silently begging to be closer to him.

Satoru leans into the kiss you give him, groaning as your walls suddenly clench once around him, brain filling with nothing but white noise. “Fuck,” he grits out against your lips. “Fuck, baby, I don’t know how much longer — “

“Move.” Your command is quiet. Satoru almost wonders if he’s misheard you. But one look into your pleading, begging eyes confirms what you want. Unable to hold back any longer, he pulls his hips upwards, snapping right back into you with one long, hard thrust. You cry out, nails sinking into his shoulder blades.“M-More,” you whisper. “Need more.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Satoru’s at a loss for words and actions as you stood on your tiptoes, reaching up and bringing his head down to kiss him. His arms instinctively wrap around your waist to steady you, craning his neck to allow you better access — oh shit, what the hell is he doing?

He lets go of you like he’s touched something on fire, pulling back from the kiss. As your heels land back on the ground with a soft thud, he’s greeted by the sight of you looking like you’re about to cry again. “Wait — “ He reaches for you, but retracts his hand; he’s not sure if he can trust himself to stay in line. His heart is beating so fast, you had just kissed him, completely out of the blue.

Satoru knew about your crush on him when the two of you were younger. You started having feelings for him when you were thirteen and he was fifteen, making it painfully obvious. You followed him and Suguru around like a lost puppy whenever he came over, despite Satoru’s constant teasing.

He thought your actions were funny at first, becoming the root of his continued teasing. Despite still making you cry all the time, you always came right back to greet him with a smile upon his very next visit. After a while, Satoru looked at you with fondness, in the way that one would gaze at a small animal. You were harmless, sweet, and so very adorable.

Satoru didn’t return your feelings at the time. You were just Suguru’s kid sister that he liked to toy with sometimes. You were awfully cute when you were mad.

But now, as you look up at him with desperation and longing, his heart clenches faintly in his chest. You’re so, so beautiful — the pictures Suguru had showed him hadn’t done you justice in the slightest. You somehow look so enchantingly gorgeous at this moment, even with tears glistening in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

Would you hit him if he tried to wipe away your tears?

He never gets to find out, because you speak his name softly, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Satoru leans down to carefully listen to what you have to say. “W-Want you.”

“So good, so fuckin’ good for me, princess,” Satoru groans, reveling in the dizzying heat of your pussy as he drags his cock in and out of your walls, fucking you at a steady pace. “You feel me in there? You feel me in your little cunt?”

“Y-Yes,” you manage to sob out between moans, each rough snap of his hips into you melting your brain into jelly just a little more.

“What a perfect lil pussy,” He chuckles as you squeal after a rather rough thrust, the loud squelch of your hole sucking him in echoing through the room. “No sane person in this world would ever give this up this tight wet cunt.” You whine at his filthy words, drool dripping out of the side of your mouth as Satoru continues to ram into you, faster, harder.

“Satoru!” You’re crying out his name over and over, legs wrapped firmly around his waist, pushing him deeper and deeper. “S-Satoru, I-I — “

“You likin’ this, baby? Tell me how much you like this,” he coos into your ear, hand reaching down to rub at your swollen clit.

“I l-like it s-so much, i-it’s so ahh…! I-it’s so good,” you sob out. You never thought sex could feel like this — you never understood why the people around you were so obsessed with it, especially with the treatment you received from your ex.

Now, though, as each rut of Satoru’s dick into your cunt kisses your sweet spot, you get it. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forget this feeling of being filled by cock so brutally sweet.

“Hold on.” Satoru had tried to protest, he really had. You’d just broken up with your boyfriend. Like Suguru said, the last thing you needed was any funny business. “Listen — “ He sighs out your name, making your bottom lip wobble. “You have to go rest, don’t be reckless.”

“Please.” You tug at his sleeve, staring at him with that puppy-eyed look that always gets you what you want. He really had spoiled you, hadn’t he?

“Not now,” he tried to reason with you. “You’re still hurting, you’re not in the right mind.” You glare at him.

“Who’re you to say m’not in the right mind?” you whine. “I…” You suddenly seem to lose your confidence, staring down at the floor. “...I only ever wanted you.”

“What?” Satoru stares, wide-eyed, at your confession.

“Know you don’t want me that way,” you continue, voice small. “But I… don’t care.” You sniffle. “Don’t care, Satoru. Just want you.”

And when you tug desperately at his shirt again, this time, Satoru is too far gone.

“Fuck, I’m close.” He growls into your neck, his pace picking up as he chases after his release, He coaxes you to join him, thumbing at your clit and cooing for you to “Let go, cum for me, c’mon. Cream all over my cock, princess.”

The only sounds in the room are a symphony of your moans and the slick sounds of his cock pushing in and out of your hole as a coil forms deep in your gut, threatening to snap at any moment. You feel tears stain your cheeks as Satoru’s pace increases, pounding into you so deep you can practically feel him in your throat.

“S-Satoru, I’m g-gonna — !” You cut yourself off with a loud, lewd moan, cunt clenching down hard around him as you come undone for the fifth time just this night. You swear you lose consciousness for a second, lost in the euphoric feeling of your release as your swollen pussy throbs in satisfaction.

“Shit..“ A few quick, shallow thrusts later, Satoru finishes as well, thick ropes of cum splurting into your womb, filling you with a warm sensation.

“A-Ah…” you whimper out, pussy fluttering weakly around his softening cock, which is still fully sheathed inside you. A white ring remains on his dick as he gently pulls himself off of you, cum dripping from your spent pussy onto the sheets. Satoru tuts, placing a pillow under your hips so you won’t leak.

You’re only faintly aware of what he’s doing as he leaves briefly and returns with a warm, wet towel, gently asking you to open your legs for him. You obey, but you’re so exhausted you can’t help it as your eyes droop shut. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Satoru leaning forward to peck your forehead, praising you for taking him so well.

You wake up a few hours later to sunlight streaming through your bedroom window, making you squint a little as you sit up in bed. You immediately gasp at the ache between your legs, and the soreness racing up and down your body.

Memories of the previous night come flooding back as a sleepy groan sounds from next to you. Satoru stirs, awakened by your panicked sound, asking softly, “You okay, baby?”

Oh god. Shit. Fuck. You actually had sex with Gojo Satoru.

“Hmm?” He looks a little concerned at your lack of response, pulling you against him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You in pain? Sorry, did my best to clean you up and everything.” Only then do you realize that the place between your thighs is no longer sticky, and that you’re wearing a fresh set of underwear with Satoru’s unbuttoned shirt wrapped around you.

“...What did we do?” You whisper in a muddled mixture of shock and amazement.

“You regret it?” he asks carefully, pulling back a little to gauge your reaction. You shake your head vehemently, snuggling back close to him. You breathe in his scent, eyes fluttering closed. You feel so right at home in his arms.

“No.” You ponder for a bit. “But it’s never gonna happen again, right?” Satoru’s breath catches in his throat.

“What?”

“I know last night might’ve given you the wrong impression.” You swallow hard, trying to contain the feelings bubbling up within you. Satoru just looks so beautiful under the morning sun, his crystal blue eyes glittering in the light. You know you’re not mistaken, you’ve never been so sure about it — you love him. “I don’t… do this. Thank you for being with me for this one night, but…” you trail off.

“Hey, hey.” You’re crying again, and this time, Satoru wipes the tears off your cheek, cupping your face between his hands. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Don’t want just this from you,” you continue vaguely, looking away shamefully. “But I don’t… I don’t expect you to want the same.” He stills at your words, trying to decipher them properly.

“You still in love with me?” He deciphered them spot on, but that doesn’t stop a humiliated squeak from leaving you. You’re huffing, face on fire with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment.

“F-Fine, whatever! You know already, so…” You look away, gnawing at your lower lip. “That’s w-why — “

“Don’t really know why you’re so upset, princess,” he cuts you off, pulling you out of the downward spiral he sees you’re about to fall into. “Think…” Satoru pauses to swipe at a tear at the corner of your eyes. “Still such a crybaby,” he can’t help but say, watching with amusement as you scowl at him with all the ferocity of an angry kitten.

“Ugh, jerk! Four years later and you still can’t take me seriously, God, why do I even bo — “ He cuts you off again, this time with a kiss. When he pulls away, he’s smiling gently, chuckling at your dumbfounded expression.

“Think I love you too,” he finishes. “So you’ve got nothing to worry about.” A few moments pass.

“...Are you fucking with me?” You look him dead in the eye.

“Technically, I already did,” he replies cheerfully. You look at him in disbelief. “Okay, sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Let me spell it out for you.” Satoru holds you close to him, tracing slow, comforting circles along your back. “Be my girlfriend?”

You answer him with a kiss of your own.

Suguru sighs, fishing in his pocket for his house keys as he approaches the front door. He’s worried about you; although the bastard had cheated on you and deserved to have you dump him, he knows you’re still probably heartbroken.

Or at least a little heartbroken. Suguru’s aware you never really that into your ex, if your drunk phone calls about how much you miss Satoru were enough evidence. Hiding those from his best friend was tough work; he would have to sit in the bathroom or the closet with his headphones and speak as quietly and carefully as possible to not rouse any suspicion.

Either way, he knows you definitely need some cheering up right now. He’s brought you a box of cupcakes from your favorite bakery, hoping it would be enough to at least get you in a talking mood.

Imagine his surprise when he opens the door and the first thing he sees is Gojo Satoru. Not only is Gojo Satoru standing in his kitchen, but he’s wearing Suguru’s apron, a gift from you many Christmases ago. To make things worse, he’s nearly butt naked under it, only wearing a pair of boxers that are — wait a second, are those Suguru’s as well?

“Oh hey, Suguru!” If Satoru is nervous or embarrassed, he plays it off well as he turns around and waves, flashing the stupid, faded picture of Remy from Ratatouille on his apron right in Suguru’s face. “You hungry? Was just makin’ some eggs.”

“What the actual fuck,” Suguru grits out, putting two and two together as you choose that moment to wander out into the kitchen, wearing nothing but an unfamiliar collared button down that reaches down nearly to your knees. Satoru’s.

“S-Sugu.” Your eyes go round, stopping in your tracks. No one speaks for a moment. Satoru’s still happily cooking eggs. Suguru’s expression is stone cold. You’re staring at your brother with embarrassment written all over your face.

“Baby, you ready for food?” Satoru steps away from the stove to wrap an arm around your waist, smooching you on top of your head. You make a stuttered noise under your breath, glancing back at your brother.

Suguru’s smiling now, but not in the traditional sense. He looks almost maniacal as he slowly places the box of cupcakes on the table before locking eyes with Satoru. Finally, the white-haired man has enough shame for his casual grin to falter.

“What happened to no funny business?”

Satoru is forced to abandon the stove, running away from a fuming Suguru chasing after him with the first thing he could find on the dining table — a carrot.

“Sugu, stop, it’s okay — “ Your pleas fall on deaf ears as your brother is hell-bent on finding a way to murder his best friend with a vegetable. You sigh deeply, moving to go after them when you suddenly smell something burning. Your head snaps to where the eggs Satoru was cooking are now sitting blackened over the flame.

Needless to say, the first morning with Gojo Satoru as your official boyfriend was far from perfect.

Thankfully, you would have many, many more mornings with him, each more wonderful than the last, that this one quickly faded from importance.

But not from Suguru’s.

“I still remember,” Suguru says, clearing his throat for dramatic effect. “When I opened the door on that one morning, and you were not only in my house, but you were half-naked wearing my apron and my underwear — “

Satoru groans as the audience bursts into laughter at his best man’s speech, burying his face in your shoulder. You’re giggling right along with them, sparing your new husband a peck on the cheek as his best friend continues to tear him apart.

“Then you had the audacity to pretend nothing was wrong — “

Satoru knew he would never live this down, but he had zero regrets. Not when you’re sitting right next to him in a pretty white dress holding his hand under the table.

“Well.” Suguru looks over at him, raising a brow. “Got anything to say?” Satoru takes the mic from him, face splitting into a shit-eating grin as he says two words:

“Worth it.”

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo smut #jjk smut #gojo x you #reader insert #female reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios

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justcallmesakira · 2 months

Note

Omgomgomgomg Sakira for your Valentines event, can I request Angst prompt 11 (''Soulless roses purge from my mouth, with your lips on another womans one'') for reader and Dazai please? I'm a sucker for unrequited love owueuaisha but please take your time with this request! 💖

"Soulless roses purge from my mouth, with your lips om another womans one"

Prompt 11

Sypnosis: Really, hanahaki symptoms for a man who flirts with every single woman? How pathetic and foolish can you be?...

Genre: full angst

Dazai x reader

Warnings: vomiting obv since its hanahaki disease, no comfort(?), implied jealousy, suicide, slight implication to "No longer human", happy ending!!! :D

A/N: Tysm silver for requesting!! i tried my best to finish it in time but i am very sick rn so---i decided to give a happy ending since i was feeling merciful today :33

»~⋆ Hanahaki Syndrome˚⋆« -Shiki Miyoshino 𝟎:𝟑𝟒 〇────── 𝟎:𝟓𝟖 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻ ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

You loved him, alot actually.

But was he yours to begin with? Did you really believe he could be yours?

Dazai was sort of a playboy you knew. Everyone in the agency warned you about his tactics and charms.

"Dont worry, kunikida-kun! i am not going to fall in love with dazai, hes just a collegue at the end of the day!" You replied to kunikida when he warned you about the bandaged man. "Still, y/n I know you probably wont even get in contact with that guy, but i will just remind you of that womanaizer" Kunikida said with a serious tone, he was not very angry or anything but simple putting out care for you.

But did you listen? Because those petals say otherwise.

You entered the cafe downstairs with a beaming smile. You made Dazai a bento box today, if anything you even used various food items to draw out Dazai`s pretty face over the rice.

“Ah Bella!!! I can’t believe it, you should totally come to my apartment tonight”

You were expecting the same waitress he would flirt with everyday but to your surprise when your eyes met the couple sitting on one of the tables, you were shocked.

A woman, perhaps a bit older than the man flirting himself, pretty amber eyes and shiny long black hair.

You couldn’t decide whether you should go up to dazai and give him the gift you worked hard on or just leave them be. You hated it when he flirted with other women..a bit too much.

it hurts you, really it did to see him with someone other than you. Were you not worthy of him? Were you just an another girl who was the bandaged man’s doll to toy around with? Were those moments when he excitedly held your hands just a lie? Were those missions you protected him with your life just for the agency..?

Was coughing out all your pain in flowers really worth it? For him? For Dazai Osamu? For your ‘only love’?

No! It couldn’t be! Of course he would love you! Dazai would surely give you all the affection and love you needed, right?

While you were lost in your thoughts all of a sudden the pain you were feeling in your head started to form in your heart, and that heart dropped down to your stomach which instantly made you drop the bag and run to the washroom, the urge to puke coming out of your mouth.

Your steps slowed down as you reached the basin

"Oh god this isn`t happening, shit shit"

cough cough

Petals of a crimson rose chunked out of your mouth forcefully as you kept coughing, You swore you could feel a lump feeling in your throat as if a huge, full bloomed sweetbriar would pour out of you and into the sink.

You wanted to cry, why did this hurt. This feeling of being unheld and sore for someone else's touch and love who will probably never even look at you in the same light,,,It hurt more then the never ending fir you were currently expreriencing.

After an painful epiisode of coughing , a huge floret perhaps the size of a human eye lumped out of your throat which left you panting as your knees felt weak against the counter and you washed you face with some water.

The pain was so unbearable you had to fight the urge to rip off ur throat. Just looking at your reflection on the mirror lets you see why Dazai doesnt want you.

"Y/N-chan!! are you alright?" a familiar voice of a young tiger boy calls out to which you reply, "Ah! dont worry A-atsushi-kun i am A-OK!!"

Your voice shouts back cheerfully still, the sickness could be heard in your tone even after you go out and see dazai with a cheeky smile holding the bento box in his hand. He seemed to have found your little gift.

"Y/NNNNN!!! you seem sick ya alright? Also is this for me?? Your so sweet yknow! i could almost give out my heart to you!" The man says with stars in his eyes, quite the pretty set of eyes you thought. "Ah- thats r-right dazai i made it specifically for you, i really..really hope you like it" you somehow blurt out, god was it agonizing to know that that sweet soft smile doesn`t belong to you even if its a mask, a mere fake smile.

It hurts...alot to know this harsh reality.

Why were you so weak? You had questioned yourself each time your pathetic condition got worse, each a new shade of crimson indicating it was getting worse.

The day went normal, the ladies` man flirting with the woman from the bar across the street from what you had heard her name was Tsuneko, a pretty girl with a pretty smile, Oh how badly you wished you were in her place. In her shoes, laughing and sneaking off to who knows where with that bandaged man.

Atsushi noticed your drowsy eyes and gloomy demeaner but didn`t comment anything only stopping by a few times to check whether you were okay or not, he was sweet and caring, he really was.

Too bad you didn`t listen to everyones words.

During lunch hour you saw how dazai opened your bento box which you put your heart to with care and started munching on a crab leg, he loved crabs.

You were happy even for a moment that atleast his hue on his cheek brightened until you realized a certain someone was accompanying him.

It was like a illness blooming from a dying wilted seed.

Slowly dazai placed a chunk of the seasoned crab on her tongue, Tsuneko.

"Wow, Osamu this is really good did your friend make this?" she inquired in delight. "I know? god shes so sweet!" the man snickered and continued to talk more about his friends, or so what he calls them.

By time you had seen how intimate they got, their secret walks, the night, everything just because how dazai told you how he found the perfect suicide partner.

Tsuneko Tsuneko, Tsuneko, Tsuneko...

Everything was about her yet you still couldn`t loathe the deary couple, they looked like actual soulmates. Who were you to interfere?

You had a little crush now your hating on some sweet woman, seriously how pathetic can love really make you be you had wondered on your final moments.

Days turned into weeks

Flirts turned into touches,

Petals turned into full bloomed roses.

And still your heart didn`t stop beating rapidly around him, even though you tried avoiding him can your love for him be avoided?

It was painful, how longer, why did god allow you to love.

You coughed out another rose on your bathroom sink, a black one this time. The colour of mourning, whereas you mourn for your dead love, one which wilted away like a sad rose in a garden of white lilies long ago yet you still water it. It has been so long that you had beared with this pain, everyone`s hearts have its limits.

You could only feel tears brimming down your face like a glistening waterfall as your legs gave in to the soreness of your body and the aching of your throat.

"Why..dazai, why me..."

It was time...

Dazai and Tsuneko shared many similarities, in which both of them were poor, unhappy souls. Both of them shared lots and lots of conversations which escalated to a funs and giggles to words of a deeper route.

You could have also conversed with him, but he had already deemed you to be a normal and simple daisy, not a beautiful roseate with petals growing out of passion for him.

"Tsuneko, join me in a double suicide, if i have to die i want to die with the woman of my dreams." Dazai declared to her, holding her soft hands in his dry bandaged ones. It seemed the whether will deteriote like a corpse today by the way the clouds are looking.

Both of them stood on the sandy meadows of yokohams grounds with tsuneko in a delightful expression.

"Oh dazai, yes, yes lets do it dazai for i too am sick of this body" Tsuneko smiled, a dead smile. Tsuneko loved dazai and maybe he loved her back too so it would only be appropriate for them to die together.

And as the two lovers slowly collided with the water, your body stood with grace in a flowing white dress slid upon your scarred body.

"Soulless roses purge from my mouth with your lips on another womans one." you tune out softly in despair and a voice of shallowness which you wish you could use to sing for dazai and for him to look at you the way he looked at Tsuneko when she sang on the bar stage.

Your eyes were empty, you can finally be free like a bird in the sky with no strings of a human heart attached with you. The blood splattered on your dress made you looked etheral with your open hair flowing in the harsh wind under the grey skies.

A set of bare feet on the bridge`s railing. Pitch black empty eyes, a rosy and murdered dress and at least...Peace.

You fell hard onto the lake, you were used to this though. This bottomless deep sea of emptiness was nothing compared to the sea of agony you felt when you saw him.

Two bodies were later found at the lake, both gone cold from the freeze of the atmosphere.

A woman was also found it was indicated that she tried to end her life for her eyes seemed to be filled with agony when the poilce found her and somewhat saved her.

"Dazai, my...baby dazai" the woman sniffed and cried on the ground with sirens being loud in the background.

"Ma`am would you please tell me who this dazai is and what is your name?" a female police calmly asked the hysterical woman on the ground.

"Tsuneko.." sniff sniff "Dazai, we promised..to die together, why..?" she cried bitterly. There was only her who they found but after a few moments just when they were about to send tsuneko to the poilce officer they found two corpses run cold from the freezing water.

A brown haired man with a beige coat and another young woman with a gorgeous white dress and blood splattered all over the fabric, it seemed like she vomitted out the blood.

"They.. hahh. They were meant for each other weren`t they..." tsuneko said with a somewhat tired yet relived smile. Its true she was disappointed she couldn`t die with her loved but at least she got to see two people who had coughed out flowers of kinds for each other get intangled, even in death.

Even though both the corpses went cold somehow a glow of light and passion radiated from them for both of them had a smile on their faces infact another thing they identified which was common was that in the pockets of both bodies were an overflowing amount of sooty crimson roses.

The petals weren`t worth all the fight but at least you knew that the same person you coughed for had the same condition.

A/N: Fun Fact Fiction time! (i luv doing these lol-): If you didnt know, tsuneko is actually a character from Dazai Osamus book "No longer human". She was the one who commited double suicide with Oba but oba was the one who survived and tsuneko died which mean..yknow :)

Divider crds!: @plutism

Tags!: @silverbladexyz @saelique @atlasnessie @biscuits-spooky-corner @tojifile @ruanais @riiwrites @tsuunara @typcallysid14 @heartsfourdazai @elizais (Do let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my taglist in my inbox!)

#sakira!#bungou stray dogs #sakiras writing notebook!!!#bungou gay dogs #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #bsd stuff #bsd dazai #dazai angst #hanahaki disease #valentines sweetheart event #unrequited love #heartbreak #osamu dazai x reader #osamu dazai

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lottiecrabie · 2 months

Note

if ur still doing these lol... matty and george anything smut ... but in general just like angry sex or taking frustration out on you.... maybe ..

i had a funny quip when i started this but It’s lost now

the album isn’t turning out. it all needs tweaking; the vocals, the instruments, the mere bones of it. the lyrics are changed again and again, the same turn of phrase transformed until it comes back to its original form. you make a funny quip about it, but it seldomly seems relevant by the way they react.

you’re getting restless by the time george pipes, ‘control your girl.’ it’s a bit ridiculous, you’re as much matty’s as george’s, but the effect is the same. matty forces you on his knee, gripping your hip as he peers at the computer.

you rub yourself on matty’s knee, still obedient as they ignore you. whatever they’re working; you didn’t get out of bed to get nothing. the hem of the jeans hit you just right. you fall back on matty’s chest, puppeteering his hand on your chest, groping your own breast with his digits. you feel his breath hitch in his throat as you moan, grinding quicker and harder on his thigh.

george and matty try to ignore you, stubborn, but you’re so pretty and ready and needy, scattered moans blooming from your lips, that you easily draw them out of their heads.

matty rubs two fingers around your nipple first, kissing up your jaw. ‘dirty girl,’ he whispers, and you giggle in agreement.

‘think our slut needs some attention,’ george says next, and you twist a sloppy grin to him. his hand finds your lonely breast, playing with it.

your tired hips are soon relieved of their duty. first you’re mindlessly bucking on matty’s lap, and next you’re bent over the console. you smirk at the instruments beyond the glass, as if you won some sort of game.

george pushes your skirt past your hips, dipping his fingers in your underwear. you push against every button you can get your hand under, petty.

‘fuck,’ matty moans, dipping his head and entering your wet hole, thrusting his tongue in and out as george rubs your clit.

you’re easily overwhelmed by all of it, screaming their name, building and building that sinful pleasure in you. you think it’s so simple; and it almost is, until they retreat out of you, vengeful and sticky. you turn around with a gasp.

george licks his thumb, smirking. you pout, trying to bargain with some merciful parts of them, though you know how few of them exist. they like you exactly like this: wanton, begging, needy. drooling and moaning and dirty, so ready you’d do anything for their cocks.

‘c’mon,’ you plead, already kneeling. matty still sits in his chair and you go for him first, spotting weakness. ‘i need you so fucking bad.’

‘is that so?’ matty says, pushing your hair off your forehead as you work his belt. he throws a funny look george’s way. ‘george, i think our slut is getting desperate.’

‘it’s cos you don’t treat her right enough.’

‘me?’ matty gasps. ‘she’s always satisfied when i leave her.’ and then, for once, he looks down and acknowledges, ‘right, baby? say how much you want me.’

actions speak louder than words, and you take his hard cock in your mouth instead of saying anything. you bob up and down eagerly, drawing your cheeks in until matty makes a familiar moan. you watch as he rolls his eyes, puffy breaths leaving his lips, hand drawing through his hair.

‘fucking hell,’ he mutters.

‘real satisfied,’ george mocks, working at your underwear. ‘guess i have to do everything myself.’ he rubs your clit over your underwear. you moan around matty’s length, a crude swear leaving his lips.

you bob your head rhythmically until you falter, feeling george’s length press against your heat. you throw a look, pleading, and he grins at you. your wet heat welcomes him home, almost begging, as he enters you.

‘shit, i can’t get over this.’ george hits you deep, thrusting and thrusting until you want to cry for him.

you moan around matty’s length, making him shiver. ‘feel her?’ george taunts.

‘yes.’

‘our fucking slut.’

‘she’s so ready for us, isn’t she?’ matty makes eye contact with you, almost cooing as he watches your open gaze. ‘would do anything we ask.’

george hums. ‘ask her to arch her hips, then.’

‘you heard him.’

you do so dutifully, arching your back as george hits you just right. euphoria pumps through you. their breaths ring in your ear, muffled moans that strike true through you. you want to scream, and cry, and call their names. everything in you tenses.

‘finish soon,’ george says. ‘she’s gonna come and i want her to clean my cock.’

‘greedy,’ matty calls, and you can’t tell if he’s talking to you. you make a sound still, gagging on his dick dutifully. your clit tightens, ready. ‘make her come, then. want to feel her scream.’

you make a faraway moan, but it feels like you’re entirely ignored from this situation. pulled every which way, demanding you’re here and there. you scream, moan, cry. matty strokes a hand through your hair while george rubs at your clit, and it’s the mix of it that has you coming around their cocks.

‘shit,’ matty screams. george laughs above the sound, still pumping into you.

your orgasm rocks up through you. you barely make sense as matty pumps once, twice, and comes in your mouth. you’re even less aware as your head hangs limply on his thigh, catching your breath, while george comes inside you. you say his name, maybe. the shape of it at least.

the world feels far and wide. matty catches his breath, laughing, ‘can this be added to the song?’

#i’m drunk in a spoons Nothing can be faulted to me!!!#blurb #matty healy smut #george daniel smut #george daniel x reader x matty healy #ask

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softmanolia · 4 days

Text

Walk im Nature - Part 2

The burning in my lips would now turn the grunts and moans into wails and soft cries. Sqeeuzing out more milk from my breasts I would use it as a lubricant, bringing it down to my entrance and massaging it around the tight skin. I would probably resist a couple of pushes rather torturously in the believe that if I let the head sit there a bit it would help my poor pussy adjust to the stretch before I pushed on again to get to the widest part. Little would I know that I was already at the widest part, lips so far sretched they were already rubbing up against my thighs. I was unnecessarily torturing myself, but that's what happens I guess if you can't see your own pussy past that huge belly. The next contraction would not have mercy on me. I would slowly push the head out unsure if my skin had ripped at this point or not. At this point I would probanly slowly slip down the tree onto my back until only my shoulders and head remained propped up. Having strained unforgivingly for the past 2 hours my strength would probably slowly subside. Laying down now and reaching between my legs I would feel the head. It would be huge. My breasts would leak on their own now, milk trickling down my sides. Another contraction would come over me, but my progress would probably be close to none at this point. No matter how big the head was, the shoulders would be wider. Catching my breath I would try to gather some strength. Maybe a change in positions? But could I even move now with this huge head between my thighs? Another push and I would try to help along with my hands this time pushing down on my belly. No progress. Reluctantly I would realize that I had to get up. I needed gravity. Rolling to my side and then slowly making it on all fours I would hold on to the tree for support and slowly get up on my feet, the head stuck firmly in my pussy like an enormous plug. As the next contraction would come I would find myself instinctively arching my back and throwing my head back. "I should bend my knees" I would think, but the burning pain of my lips stretching above and beyond their limit would force me on my tippie-toes. How ironic it would be, knowing that this baby was fucked into me in almost this exact same position. Standing up, my arched back pushing my bare titts into the wall infront of me. Hands held captive behind my back in a stern hold, hair being pulled down tightly with the other hand. Getting pounded relentlessly, up on my tippie-toes crying out loud in sync with every thrust, losing myself in extasy. Look at me now 9 months later, I would think. Screaming from the top of my lungs now, I would feel the shoulders finally passing through my stretched out hole, which was nothing more than a giant red burning circle at this point, reaching from anus to thigh to clit to thigh and back to anus. Reaching between my legs I would catch my baby as I gave it one last push. All my birth fluids would gush out freely now, deflating my belly and relieving me of all that weight. Falling back down on my knees with a big crying baby in my arms, I would bring it to my breast, helping them latch onto those nipples that have been impatiently waiting to be milked since the beginning of this journey. As they suckle eagerly on my titts, I would finish what I had started hours ago. Drawing careful circles on my clit with my free hand I would have an orgasm like no other before. The sun would be up and shining bright now. The sense of peace prevailing

#pregnancy #birth kink #giving birth #crowning #birth fiction #birth fic #labor kink

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factorialsotherfandoms · 5 months

Text

Tumblr selected Missa to get impaled and messed up, and, really, who am I to object when given such things. I... hope I didn't mess this up too badly. Specifically one of the characters I do not know well. I just don't watch late enough. ^^; Did also consider a fantasy AU where Missa was getting executed, but then I remembered I have groceries to buy and other stuff I need to write today, so we stuck with basic bitch hours.

TW: temporary character death (AKA minecraft respawns, but they hurt for the drama and consequences), mercy killing (infinite lives and respawns and so this is very different to an irl one)

Missa has a run in with a code monster. Or should that be is run through by one?

It comes so fast. One moment Missa is having an awkward but enjoyable picnic, catching up finally with Roier while Cellbit and Richarlyson chase each other across the grass, and the next it is raining. Thunder, lightning, and rain.

In seconds Roier is on his feet and Cellbit is dragging Richarlyson back towards the two of them; Missa follows suit, remembers the warnings, and pulls out the only weapon he has on him - the gift from Etoiles.

Cellbit is saying something to his son in Portuguese, Missa only catching the odd word as he watches Roier check the skies. Whatever is being said the boy objects fiercely, shaking his head and stamping his foot and clinging to his father's leg.

Missa leaves them be, looking out the opposite way to Roier. He isn't sure what he's looking for, but he does hear Roier's yell.

Turning to look... He can see why it's called a code monster.

Cellbit swears and draws his own weapon, yelling at Richarlyson once again and moving into a defensive position. Missa does the same, though will admit to tucking himself a bit behind Roier as he does.

There's a few seconds, and the fight begins; it's about all Missa can do to not get hit, even the egg with them showing him up. He's tempted to just hide and wait it out, but... But if nothing else he can throw potions and pick people off the ground. Roier and Cellbit don't quite have the creature in hand, but they are keeping it occupied well enough - Missa grabs Richarlyson's hand, and tugs him /away/ from the fighting.

It's only because he has Richarlyson in his hand, and he is looking for if people need help, that Missa spots the second code monster, almost sneaking up on them from the treeline.

There isn't time to do much of anything, the monster already too close, its sword already in hand - Missa pushes Richarlyson behind himself, and screams at the boy to warp.

He has no idea if he understands the panicked Spanish Missa yells, but it's all he has time for; the code monster is right there, and Missa hears Roier yelling 'oh shit' as he notices it, and he raises his sword and pretends he knows how to use it.

It's not really worth the attempt - the code monster's sword is long, and sharp, and cleaves Missa's armour in two as it pierces deep and through his chest.

In his few remaining moments of true clarity, Missa hears the sound of Richarlyson warping - finally escaping.

And then

he falls.

"Missa, Missa!" Quick hands catch him, sharply twisting him onto his side and cushioning his head, making sure nothing touches the blade. "Breathe, idiot!"

It isn't okay - it isn't, it isn't, it isn't! There's a sword through his chest and when he tries to follow the instructions, tries to be good, tries to breathe, all that happens is he weakly splatters blood across the grass. The movement shifts the sword - and, oh, he wasn't sure he could still get enough air in him to scream.

There's swearing - so much swearing - and Missa's scream settles into a despairing sob. Once, twice, and why is he crying /now/, why is he crying now when every hitch of his chest causes more and more flesh to be broken, blood to be poured, damage to be done. Missa tries, he tries to get himself under control, he promises he does! But the wound is agony, and what else can he even do?

Nothing, he can do nothing.

The wound is a death sentence, but not enough to kill him quickly. It would be, if someone would do him the mercy of ripping the sword out, but no - no, they aren't doing that, instead Roier is knelt infront of him face pale and hands flailing as he tries to fix the wounds, while Bad and a very tired looking Etoiles fight off the code monster - when did those two arrive Missa doesn't remember those two arriving - while Cellbit kneels at Roier's side and suggests - not unkindly - that maybe it would be better to die and respawn, it's okay, they'll watch his stuff.

It already hurts. It already hurts and hurts and hurts, and Missa knows if he dies it will be even worse, but he's going to die anyway - he knows it. He just doesn't want the pain, he never wants the pain, just let him be, let him breathe, let him stop spitting up blood, blood, blood with every breath he manages to force into his lungs.

Death on Quesadilla Island is cheap, it's temporary, but still it hurts so badly.

Missa meets Cellbit's eyes, and gives the slightest nod.

Cellbit's expression shifts from pain to apology to completely blank as he pulls a knife from his belt, and flashes it across Missa's throat.

He isn't alive long enough to Roier's scream.

---

Missa wakes with a start, back in his bed - oh, in the bed in his children's room. He lies there, trying to breathe, trying to banish the agony in his now-healed chest. His communicator is bussing furiously, but for now all he can do is ride out the pain and try remember how to breathe.

There's soft, sleepy noises from beside him; Philza, unaware of the rain or the panic or the blood rolls over in his sleep, mumbling something as an arm and a wing wrap across Missa's chest.

"Philza?" he manages to mumble out in a squeak, shuddering with the word.

There's more mumbling, but his husband absently props himself up on an elbow, rubbing at his eyes as he asks "Missa?"

"Philza, I-" Missa's words cut off in a sob as another wave of pain ripples through him and oh sweet death this is a bad respawn - a terrible way to die.

That wakes Philza up more; Missa feels him sit up, hears him ask what happened, sobs as his head is pulled across and onto Philza's lap. Another horrible wave comes, and he distracts himself listening to Philza's unhappy hum, and the sound of quick fingers typing.

"It's okay," comes as the communicator is folded away. "You're safe now."

Missa can't say anything, voice tied up in pain and tears and fresh agony in his chest. Every hiccup is fire, but the sobs keep coming anyway. It feels like dying all over again - if he didn't know better, Missa would say that he was.

Philza weaves their hands - their fingers - together, and gently shushes him, "the code's gone; the eggs are all safe, and the code's gone. Roier's just grabbing Richas, then he'll bring your stuff over. Everything's okay."

It's not okay - it /hurts/. Missa whines, trying to communicate that; Philza leans down to press his forehead against Missa's cheek, while his hands seek their way to Missa's chest, and begin massaging the area where the sword had been.

"I know it hurts," Philza's breath tickles Missa's ear. "I'm so, so sorry... But you've got this, king; it'll be over soon."

Healing always hurts more than bleeding, and respawning more than dying in the first place. He's glad it was him and not Richarlyson - the eggs don't come back like he does - but that's the only bit he can be glad about.

Well, maybe also that Cellbit really knows what he's doing, because for all his chest can only be felt in shades of fire, the wound on his neck is already fully healed and dead.

Missa keeps crying and Philza keeps holding him, until eventually the pain fades. It's still there - it will be for hours if not days - but it's just an ache now. Philza's fingers linger on the new scar, before reaching to the windowledge at his side of the bed, and passing Missa a glass of water.

He sips at it; the water is room temperature, and disgusting, but it's real.

"You feeling okay?" Philza asks, watching close.

"Hurt," is about what Missa can manage, drained and exhausted and in pain.

"I'll bet; codes are a bitch," wearing nothing but a long shirt, Philza slips off the bed. He walks over to his backpack, and returns with a bowl of noodles. "Chayanne made these a bit ago. Should still be warm; get some food in you, king."

Missa accepts the offering, hands shaking as he eats his own boy's food. It's in that he thinks, and he remembers, and he asks, "wait, Chayanne?!"

"All safe," Philza slips back onto the bed, and shows Missa a screen. After a second it flickers on, showing Chayanne and Tallulah peacefully asleep in the basement. "Checked it as soon as I realised what was up."

He traces the forms of the children with his fingers, and eats the noodles as cleanly as he can. The two of them sit quietly as he does, Philza's head resting on his shoulder, and arm looped loosely across his back.

Just as he puts the bowl down, Missa hears the warpstone outside, and yelling, and then a knock at the door.

"I opened it for you!" Philza yells back.

Seconds later there are more people than space in their tiny little house; Richarlyson hops up on the bed, pressing against Missa's side as he furiously scribbles on a sign, and Roier kneels beside it, checking on the scar - both his chest and his throat - with fury in his eyes and no words on his lips.

After leaving a bag with Missa's things in it, Cellbit lingers in the doorway. He hesitates even when Philza waves him inside, only stepping just enough for the door to close.

Roier's fingers come up towards Missa's neck. He grabs them, knits their hands together, and brings both to his lap.

This problem... this problem Missa can see.

"It's okay," he speaks quietly, hoping only Roier and not the translator will hear. "I asked him to."

Roier's eyes harden, "he still shouldn't have."

"I- I wasn't going to live," Missa says, absolute certainty in his veins.

Roier's fingers squeeze around his, and Missa watches as the mask is reconstructed. Cellbit watches them like a man who knows the conversation isn't over, and is dreading the rest - but he's lost the fear that he might not win.

"Thank you, for saving Richarlyson," Cellbit says, plucking his son up off the bed just as he finishes a sign asking if Missa is okay.

Missa is absolutely not okay; all three adults watch him with doubt in their eyes as he smiles at the boy and says, "it hurt, but it's all better now - see?"

Richarlyson is not nearly so careful when he touches the scar; Missa holds in the flinch, and wishes for his own son.

Philza must see because he starts to tap his foot; a minute or two of exhausting conversation and giving reassurances later, Missa watches his husband herd their guests out of the door, thanking them for the visit and reminding them that he wants back to sleep.

Guests shooed, Philza returns, taking Missa's hands as he collapses onto the bed.

"You actually ok?" he asks.

"Still hurts," Missa admits, lying down and curling towards his husband.

"Poor thing," Philza replies, tugging him closer - into a hug - and wrapping them both in one tattered wing. "Anything I can do to help? Before I go back to sleep because, Chirst dude, I care about you but I am not supposed to be awake at these hours."

Missa laughs a little, warmed by the confession that Philza cares, even if he ignores all the rest. He shakes his head, and tucks his chin over Philza's head.

"I'll sleep it off," he promises.

"Alright," comes the reply. "See you in the morning. If you need anything, just kick me awake."

Missa won't - he'll let Philza peacefully sleep - but he appreciates the thought. Instead he steals the camera plate from his pocket, setting it to the downstairs room before resting it on the pillow.

On the screen, he can see Chayanne - and Tallulah - sleep, occasionally shifting but never waking.

He pulls Philza closer to himself, putting pressure against the still sharp pain in his chest. It warms it, it soothes it, just as watching their children sleep does to his mind.

Missa's not quite tired yet, but he accepts the adrenaline, and just lets himself drift.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp missa #qsmp philza #qsmp roier #qsmp cellbit #qsmp richarlyson #trigger warnings in post #stab stab stab times!!!

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matchbet-allofthetime · 3 days

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So now that we’ve established that we’re feral for Boone depravity around here, I’d love to hear your thoughts on how losing Carla affects his romance with Courier. Would he be scared of losing them? Over protective? Maybe some frantic, worshipful sex for reassurance that Courier’s safe and here with him?

Oh, he'd be utterly insatiable, for one.

This man is both a horndog and a man with enough stamina to literally go through the night- and day, if you let him.

He's also deeply protective- and reassuring as hell. Gives it as much as he needs it.

Boone rambles under the cut :P

-losing Carla was the hardest thing he'd ever been through by the time him and the Courier met, but after the events of the Big MT and the Sierra Madre in particular? He didn't let the Courier leave his side for weeks, if not months.

-he's protective- and terrified to lose another person.

- in-game, he expresses fears of losing more people, saying it's better if the Courier didn't get close to him, and that Boone should keep away from the Courier in much the same way. it reads as if he thinks death follows him, which isn't an uncommon phobia for a soldier, especially one who's lost their lover because they had to mercy kill them

-that alone can be taken in the way that he generally has that fear, but I think it can also be taken as him knowing the Courier is the type of person he can see himself falling for, or perhaps already is, and he doesn't want to lose someone else he loves

-he's protective to the point of a more independent Courier- or less social- probably getting into a screaming match with him until everything spills out and he's both angry and sobbing about how he's not trying to be up their ass, he's just terrified

-i think it'd end in him crying for hours into their chest and holding them as closely as he can until he exhausts himself

-it's incredibly difficult for him to come to terms with how he feels and he starts to draw away until he's confronted. more the type to try to get his words out, have them choke up on his throat, and then just yank the Courier into a myriad of hungry, meaningful, sloppy kisses

Now onto the way this translates to fucking the Courier:

-he's more than hungry, and he gets pent up primarily because he either forgets to rub one out every once in a while, or just straight-up ignores the need in lieu of more pressing matters

-the first few times, it's frantic and messy, sloppy and loud, and he can't keep his mouth shut for once. for a man who's usually so quiet, he's a mess of whimpers and tears of pleasure, and you can watch those green eyes go hazy and glossy as he fucks you- that is, if your mind can process shit with the way his hips move in a steady, quick pace.

-he's faster than his massive frame suggests, and it does NOT end after one round or even four. he'll wear himself out before starting up slowly again, and sometimes, he'll just keep going past all the overstimulation because it feels really good and he can't get enough

-he WILL eat the Courier out or suck them off for hours, regardless of whatever they have to do come morning, and that just gives him more time to show them he cares. if his words don't say it well enough, his actions definitely will.

-he's the type to require holding hands with the Courier for the first couple of times, and even after years of being together, he'd do it whenever he could

-whether it's missionary and they're holding hands, or the Courier is bent over and Boone keeps his hand over their own, or he pins their own hand to their belly as he fucks them- he's not picky, but he'll have the silent reassurance that they're there with him, and he'll give that in return

-worships with kisses and deep, soft murmurs right into skin. he'll sit there for ages and ages worshiping the expanse of the Courier's skin, keeping them pressed as closely to him as he can

-he only fucks fast when he's angry, extremely pent up, or they ask for it; otherwise, he's got languid, but hard movements. occasionally, he'll lose himself in the moment and his mind sorta shuts off and he'll fuck fast and sweet that way, and it normally ends in soft pink bruises on the Courier. he kisses all the pain away later <3

-again, he's the teasing type, just not the first few times. The courier has to let him open himself back up slowly, and it takes a little time. But once that happens? Oh boy, what a ride

-he's damn near insatiable, if not downright constantly horny. It's just how he is- the man has a libido easily influenced by the intensity of his emotions and the extremes of his moods, and he really, really goddamn loves the Courier. It kinda just translates from "I love them so much I'd kill for them" to "mm, doesn't matter that we're in the middle of the desert, I will fuck them here and now"

-he does bite, but it's normally little nips and nibbles unless he's cumming and locks his jaw

-this man can and will go feral at times and it's the best thing ever. the courier gives him any excuse to fuck, and Boone takes it. that can be as simple as showing a little extra skin because it's hot out, so be wary, because he'll fuck the courier in front of just about anyone just about anywhere after long enough together if you let him

-he likes to cage himself over them, protecting them in a way. it's a mindless habit that becomes a comfort to both him and the Courier, and frankly, he's never going to stop

-he'll tease and say things like "you're trembling- that mean I'm fucking you good enough?" pretty often, but understand he will never say anything rude even in the name of play. he is not going to even risk it being the 'wrong' day for degradation, so don't ask. he will, however, use sweet nicknames that melt you

-yank his dog tags. please, yank his tags. whether it's in public to signal you need him close, you want to fuck, you're anxious, or when you're already fucking- doesn't matter, pull em. it gets him going and also makes him feel wanted

-let him worship you, but worship him in return. tell him all the things about him that get you going or the things you think are most beautiful about him. it'll leave him breathless and he very well might cry as you do it, but it's because he's overwhelmed by the mix of tenderness and pleasure

-will trace his name and praises into the Courier's skin, especially into their tummy when he kisses their shoulder

-the Courier is as much Boone's as Boone is the Courier's, and that's final. ride or die with him- and while you're at it, ride him, won't you? he'll make damn sure it's worth your while

#there's so much more in my head but i can't word any of it between me going feral for him #anon I love you sm sndjfjfj #craig boone #boone fnv #fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #asks

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manias-wordcount · 2 years

Text

Angel’s Hand (Tomura Shigaraki)

Kinktober 2022 Day Eight: Cockwarming

𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗢𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗲: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 || 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 || 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

“Tomura…is this your new healer?”

You don’t know how long it's been.

“Yes, Master. That’s right.”

But you know it’s long enough for you to remember how to feel good again.

“And she’s perfect.”

It’s shameful how you’re instinctively clenching up at Tomura’s hissed compliment. But after days and days, weeks and weeks, or perhaps even months of this treatment, how could you not? You couldn’t. Not if you wanted to live. And certainly not if you wanted to tell yourself the truth. And it was about time that you accepted it. That you truly accepted it. That after all the screaming and crying and trying to escape their wretched dive bar-shaped prison, you would find yourself willingly wrapping your arms around the leader of the League of Villian's lean shoulders. That you would willingly let him whisper filthy, depraved promises in your ear that you have to take as gospel.

That you would willingly sit on his cock like a pretty little pet that wears nothing but her Master’s favorite hoodies while he holds a meeting with the true man in charge.

“That’s good to hear Tomura. I know she was giving you trouble earlier.” His words- the words of Tomura’s masters send the same shivers down your spine that Tomura does whenever he’s furious. It’s the feeling that makes you feel like you’re just some spoiled little animal for them to train. A feeling that nobody wants to get rid of you- but oh, if they could just do something to let their anger out. Then you would really learn. But you did. You learned all too well in your time here. And based on the fact that it seems Tomura and his master talk about you, it looks like your lessons didn’t come from the scary mind of the man behind so much carnage. “I am happy to see she has calmed down. It looks like my advice worked. I hope she has proved useful so far.”

They came from a mind far sinister.

“She has, Master. You were right Master. I just had to be gentle- just like you said.” This time, Tomura’s purr comes directly into your ear. You can’t help but squeak at the warm breath fanning over your skin, but four fingers come to rest on your bare waist to keep you from jostling too much. There’s laughter in the smirk Tomura gives you. Almost as if your only choice of survival is funny to him. But you shouldn’t kid yourself. It’s not that your suffering is funny to him. It’s that you just might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “And now? Angel-chan comes to me.”

Or at least, the best thing that’s ever happened to his dick.

And you want to shout at him. You want to scream at them. You want to yell and cry and tell him that he was never gentle with you. That none of them were ever gentle with you. The bruises from throwing you around. The burns from pulling you every which way. The emotional damage from when your quick wasn’t acting the way they needed it to. And the stupid little cuts that happened just because it was “fun.” Just because someone thought you were pretty when you bled. They were never gentle. They were never kind. They were never nice. They never let you have peace. Or mercy. Or happiness. Or anything that wasn’t them.

But you don’t. You don’t, you don’t, you don’t. You shout. You don’t scream. You don’t yell or cry or tell him all that still bubbles up inside of you despite your rapidly dying will to fight. Because Tomura’s dry and cracked and disgusting lips just landed on the spot that never fails to pull even the softest of moans out of you. And out of those four fingers, three of them rise from your skin. Just so he can draw small shapes into your skin. Just so he could play pretend boyfriend and not your captor. Just so he could whisper to you how it’s your cunt that’s squeezing around him so tightly and not your fingers wrapping around his neck-

How long have you been here for? Too long to still dream of things like that. Dreams that would never work. Dreams you could never do.

They learned how to break you down so quickly. Just so they could build you up in their image. All the research they did about you. The research that you’ve only heard about through meager whispers and hushed voices- it must have worked. They needed a healer so they looked for one who wouldn’t play the hero. One who wouldn’t fight until the last breath. One who realized that playing into their sick and twisted lifestyle would be better than dying by their even sicker and even more twisted hands.

Hands that kill but hands that feed you. Hands that brush your hair. Hands that cook and clean and hold you. But hands that will never be gentle. Hands that you will never call gentle. Because they’re the hands that pass you around like you’re property. Hands that abuse you when your heals are slow and not as loving as an early summer’s morning touch. Hands that took you away from all that you loved and knew and cared about. And hands that will continue to do those same exact things. To you. And to others. For a long, long time.

So you should be listening to what these two vile, vile villains speak about. You should be eavesdropping on their future plans to take over this and to destroy that. You should, you should, you should. But you were meant to heal. Not harm. You were meant for scratches and scraps. Not toppling empires. Not saving worlds. And certainly not killing villains. Not with hands like these. Not with your hands that only want to heal.

So for now, you’ll bury continue to bury your face in Tomura’s shoulder, and you’ll try not to think about the fact that the hair tickling your skin is improving- and it’s likely because you said something. The same way you’ll try to ignore the memories of Dabi’s face this morning when you told him you liked the new jacket he got you when the hideout got too cold at night- it’s a jacket that mirrors one of his own. The same way you’ll try to forget about the at-home spa day that you were going to have with Magne and Himiko whenever Tomura was through with his meeting.

The same way you’ll try to tell yourself that they’re no longer humans. That they’re all just monsters. Monsters that aren’t capable of happiness or mercy or peace. Monsters that will never be gentle.

But as the fingers on your skin start tracing letters, you can’t help but think. And as the fingers on your skin start spelling out “I L-O-V-E Y-O-U”, you can’t help but hope. Because there’s that part of you- the part that studied all yourself so you could save lives- that believes that there might be a chance. A chance that maybe, just maybe, you could teach him to be gentle. That you could teach them all to be gentle. And who knows? Maybe one day, their hands that only harm….

…maybe they’ll learn how to heal too.

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xticklemeemox · 2 months

Text

The Love You Want: III, Part Three

Masterlist

TLYW: I

TLYW: II

TLYW: III, Part Two (Previous chapter)

TLYW: III, Part Four (Next chapter)

AO3 Version

Word Count: 10,333 or something

I am ngl I made that last part with the drumming up, I don't even know if ST has a song where II uses all those parts of a drumset at the same time.

Writing slow burn hard they just love each other in my head already I can't do this, fast burn it is... that is mainly a bunch of yearning

Fic under cut :::)

For the few days Vessel is sick, II and III remain a constant at his side. He is grateful for their presences, but- He doesn't know what to do with their clear affection and care.

Vessel allows them to hold him, his body half strewn over their laps as either II or III hold him as close as he'll allow. Even sick as he is, Vessel grows distressed whenever they try to hold him in places near his chest or neck, not allowing either of them to even hold his forearm in attempts to deter them from his wrists. They hold him as he cries from the pain of his migraine, as his body aches.

He is cool against their stomachs even as his fever runs rampant under his skin, most prominently felt on his forehead. They wiped his tears and shushed him gently, so soothingly that sometimes it made Vessel cry harder, taking turns watching over him when one needed to sleep or eat.

III was still so new, but he settled in so easily with them, eager to talk Vessel's ear off at any hour of the day. To keep him company when everyone knows Vessel gets no reprieve from this sickness. Every day they would show Vessel a new drawing of a different flower, the one worded meaning written below or to the side. They were in increasingly better quality, Vessel notices, as III very slowly improves their skills with traditional art. It was touching, for III to sit next to Vessel with Vessel's book on flower languages open next to them, carefully inking lines into a spare of Vessel's notebooks.

Vessel had gifted it to them when III dejectedly realized that they had nothing to draw with here. They didn't even think about it while at the store.

III hugs Vessel, then, and if Vessel's heart was in his chest, it would have stopped. Vessel doesn't push III away. He is so warm, head leaning against Vessel's own and arms wrapping securely around him. When III pulls away after a few seconds, it kills Vessel to write out a request for no hugs, unable to meet III's confused, but understanding gaze.

Vessel wants III to hug him again, and again, and again until Vessel is sick of it though he's sure he would never tire of III's warmth wrapped around him. Wonders what it would be like if II hugged him. If he was even tall enough for Vessel to comfortably rest his chin on the top of his head. Vessel wants to pull II to himself, wrap him securely in his arms-

III isn't what Vessel expects. II wasn't either.

III redo's the braid in his hair, even as it gets gross with oils and tears until finally the both of them help Vessel into the bath, giving him the mercy of keeping on his underwear, as uncomfortable as the sensation is. It should be mortifying, to let someone else care for him this way but II was there the last time he was sick, and III never shows any judgment, not even with the full scope of Vessel's self-harm scarring on display.

Vessel likes the way he feels cared for when II washes his hair and III fills the silence with idle chatter and jokes that are sometimes the furthest thing from funny yet never at someone else's expense. Vessel tries to pretend his metaphorical heart doesn't flutter when III brushes a finger under each of his six eyes in wonder, tries to pretend he doesn't flinch away when that same careful hand reminds him of someone else as it brushes his jaw in something a bit too close to grabbing it.

III pulls away with a quiet apology and doesn't comment on it, only squeezes Vessel's hand and goes back to talking about their budding plans to start a garden. They help him dry off as Vessel looks down with an embarrassed blush the entire time, leaving him for only a moment to change into dry underwear and pajamas.

III can't stop staring, glad Vessel is too embarrassed and staring resolutely at the wall to notice because II certainly does. II smiles knowingly at III as he rebandages Vessel's arm and thighs, and the shorter man is thankful that there hasn't been any more cuts added. He supposes its the one good thing about Vessel being too sick to move around much.

II brushes his hair when his arms shake from the effort and lets III show II how to re-braid the damp strands.

II makes Vessel soup, even knowing he doesn't need it. Vessel appreciates it anyway. He can't remember when someone had made him a meal before II, and it makes II happy to see Vessel eat it.

II and III only speak of the weakness of the vines all throughout the house down in the kitchen, where they are sure Vessel won't hear. They're hesitant to leave him alone, even for a moment, but its hard not to notice the lack of movement of the vines when usually they react so keenly to Vessel's emotions, and II is quick to point it out when they're alone. They're listless, like they're weighed down, only moving like they used to when Vessel leaves the room with help from one of the others, reaching out to him, brushing his arms and legs and catching gently in his hair as though to caress the unruly strands. III is a little bit in awe, to truly see something so supernatural, even though they had accepted a God, had undergone and seen the results of their own transformation into a vessel of that God.

As Vessel's sickness wears off, he tries to speak less and less, not from a lack of trying, but because it hurts. As the days drag on, his tongue aches like its on fire, and eventually he is afraid to move his mouth at all. On the third day, Vessel is in the middle of listening to II talk about a new style he wanted to incorporate into his drumming while III also listens in rapt attention, laying on his stomach with his hands under his chin, feet kicking leisurely. Their masks lay piled atop one another on Vessel's nightstand. It hit suddenly, the spike of pain lancing through his tongue.

Iron fills his mouth and Vessel nearly leaps off the bed, stumbling instead, to reach the trashcan that he hasn't needed as often the past few days as his stomach settled.

Blood spills out of his mouth like a river, the taste of iron coating every inch of his mouth unceasingly. II and III exclaim his name in shock and worry, II hopping off the bed and pulling Vessel's face into his hands, carefully keeping his hands away from Vessel's jaw. He turns it this way and that, inspecting him for any obvious wounds.

Vessel lets his tongue spill over his lips to show where it hurts at II's prompting and both II and III stare in confusion at the appendage. It drips blood over his chin onto the floor, split right down the middle about halfway into his mouth.

"Your tongues' been split." III says, an odd expression of interest on his face.

Vessel tilts his head in confusion, head still held in II's careful hands. The touch is soothing, and Vessel basks in it. "A change from Sleep, maybe? Where the split begins, your tongue fades into a black at the tips. " II inquires, contemplative.

Grim realization settles over Vessel's features, but there is no regret to be found in the bond, only acceptance.

The blood spilling from his lips begins to darken as black seeps into the red. It mixes together, swirling like the stars in the sky.

"Your... Vessel, your blood is- black is mixing with the red." III states unsurely, leaning closer to get a better look.

Some emotion they don't have time to try and name raises to concerning heights and Vessel pulls away from II with an expression of great distress.

II and III share a look of concern, a silent conversation passing between their bond with ease. They really need to have that talk with Vessel, they both know that if they do, so many things will come to light, if Vessel will only speak of them.

Vessel needs to see. He doesn't care if the knife gets taken away, he has others. He needs to see, see what using something that wasn't his has done to his blood. He doesn't regret a fucking thing but he needs to see with his own eyes what he has done to himself, in the same way he loves to watch the blood drip down his skin with some morbid fascination at the glimpse into what he looks like on the inside.

Before either II or III can figure out what he's doing, Vessel is pulling a blade from under his mattress and slicing into his arm as they cry out his name in alarm.

Blood spills immediately, and distantly, Vessel knows he went deeper than he normally would've.

Like III said, it is human red mixed with pitch black, swirling together like oil and water, never mixing to become entirely one color.

III pulls the blade out of Vessel's hand with haste, cutting themself on the sharp edge, throwing it somewhere Vessel doesn't care to follow. II is already trying to staunch the bleeding with one of Vessel's blankets.

Vessel's bond does not change to anything like shock, only a little more realization as he watches, entranced by the sight of his own blood.

"Sleep's blood." Vessel manages, though its slurred and far more quiet than usual.

He looks up and all six eyes zero in on the blood on III's hand, dripping slowly between the cracks of their fingers as they try to hide it.

Clarity bleeds into the mess of Vessel's mind.

He slams the door of his bond shut and III cannot stop the tears that fall from their eyes at Vessel being gone, even if he is right in front of them.

"I-" Vessel starts, "S- orry. Sorry. Sorry." He repeats, unable to stop the tears that well in his eyes and slip over.

They drip onto his shirt and the blanket where his blood is seeping through. "Sorry, sorry, sorry-"

III shakes their head frantically, "Not your fault, Vessel. I'm the one who grabbed the bladed part of the knife like an idiot."

II cannot speak, cannot form a word and shove it past his lips because he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that if a single noise escapes him, he will break down into sobs that will never cease. So he keeps his lips tightly shut, biting on the lower one to remain silent. He has to be strong, for both Vessel and III's sake. They are upset by the proceedings and so II needs to remain calm in the face of the storm, for their sakes. For them. No matter how he wants to cry, no matter how it causes his throat to ache or his eyes to sting.

He has to be strong for them.

Vessel lets III hold his hand with their injured one, as III holds his available hand to Vessel's bleeding forearm with help from the now ruined blanket. They both fall silent while II leaves to get a medkid he keeps in a few places throughout the house. He'll have to show III where they're all hidden, II thinks grimly as he picks up the pocket knife III had thrown, pocketing it.

III cannot feel Vessel's guilt at making them cry, at hurting them. Its all consuming, eating away at his mind with such force he wants to claw out of his own skin. He wants to apologize, over and over and over again with the hope that III can forgive him.

When II comes back, Vessel insists that II wrap up III's hand first. He holds his arm close to himself, refusing II no matter what he says. II is desperate to get bandages on Vessel's arm and III just the same, so III offers up his hand quickly to get it over with faster.

Vessel apologized with every wince, a repetitive 'sorry, sorry, sorry' that only further saddened II and III. III was trying desperately to reassure him that it wasn't his fault but it was like talking to a brick wall as Vessel stared at III's hand with unseeing eyes still leaking tears even after the injury was bandaged up.

It wasn't a bad wound, all things considered, but Vessel just wouldn't stop staring with wide eyes that screamed of his shame. III excused himself to take the bloody blanket to the washroom as II began on Vessel's arm and as soon as that door closed behind him, still feeling Vessel's gaze on their back, III rushed down the stairs and all but collapsed into the washroom door after closing it as quietly as they could, struggling to keep his sobs quiet.

The blanket is still held tightly in his hands, and when III can see the blurry crimson and black stains still wet beneath their fingers, they drop the blanket to the floor as though burned by the plush fabric.

They do not want to look at it, covered in Vessel's blood as it is, and it makes III sick to look at. It was one thing to see Vessel's scars and watch II rebandage the healing cuts on Vessel's thighs and arms and hips-

To watch as Vessel so casually cut into his own arm without even hesitating- To watch as blood beaded slowly at first on the surface, then started dripping down as it all gathered at the opening of the wound-

Every time III closes their eyes they can see that exact moment, imprinted into their eyelids-

III sobs harder, struggling to breathe through their nose as he hiccups, hiding his face in their hands. Even as Vessel's bond is closed -He's gone, he's gone, Vessel is dead, III can't feel him, he's dead- , III is glad for II, who keeps the bond open so III can feel he's alive, though he's upset, as upset as III is and still holding strong to the mask of courage he's wearing for Vessel's sake.

Waves of reassurance are stemming from II's bond and III latches onto those feelings like a lifeline, trying his damn best to send the same thing back even though he can barely think through the red bleeding behind their eyes.

Red was III's favorite color. Of his memories from Before, they can remember wearing it often, and how they always wished to dye their hair a bright firetruck red color but could never commit to it.

Red reminds him of blood, now. He wonders if he'll grow to hate it.

As III's sobbing dies down and they gain control over themselves, they venture back up to Vessel's room after grabbing a clean blanket from the cupboard. They nearly scream when Elvira, who had taken residence in that very cupboard whose door had apparently not been closed all the way, meows and blinks bright eyes up at III that seem to glow in the darkness. III picks her up along with the blanket she lays on. When they knock, it is II who tells them to come in. Said man has taken residence towards the middle of Vessel's bed as the taller man lays on his side, half on top of II with their head buried in his stomach, hiding his face from view. Vessel's arm is noticeably bandaged, laid across the material of II's shirt that Vessel doesn't occupy, hand fisted in the material so tightly its like Vessel fears II will disappear. II lifts the arm not occupied holding Vessel close to beckon III closer, and III couldn't stop himself if they tried.

Elvira jumps down from III's arms and makes her way to lay against Vessel's back, rubbing contentedly along the length of his spine before settling down with her tail flicking back and forth.

III crawls onto the bed and takes up residence on II's other side, laying the blanket over all three of them, II laying his arm over III's shoulders to pull them closer. II's chest is warm under III's head as III reaches out and grabs Vessel's hand with his injured one. Vessel doesn't pull away, doesn't make a sound or move at all except to blink slowly at III, like he's not all there in his own head. Even so, he squeezes back, entwining their fingers together, careful of each of their claws.

III notices something for the first time then, notices that while he and II have long, sharp black nails, Vessel's are shaped a little differently. His are sharper, curved down only slightly. III glances to Elvira, whose tail he can still see as it slowly flicks back and forth as it lays over Vessel's hip. Vessel and Elvira's nails kind of look similar, in a way II and III's don't. He lets the thought linger in the back of his mind, focusing back in on Vessel and II beside them.

The bond remains shut, but III can feel Vessel's skin on his own now, the touch grounding him to the reality that Vessel is alive, Vessel is okay.

None of them keep track of how long they lay there until II, forever the sleepiest one out of the two of them who can sleep, eventually succumbs to exhaustion and begins snoring lightly. III forces themselves to stay awake for Vessel's sake, but after a while, can feel their eyes begin to droop in exhaustion as well. For as much as the Second and Third Vessels don't need sleep, human emotions are taxing at least and utterly draining at worst, and the last couple hours have been an exhausting affair.

"Sleep." Vessel says, and at first, III thinks he is calling out to their God.

That is not the intent behind Vessel's words, and he refuses to use that power unless its required for their health. Vessel really is only urging III to sleep because the other is tired, and does not need to stay awake to keep Vessel company. Already, Vessel is coming back to himself from where his mind had half slipped away from his body. He'll be back soon.

Though III shakes their head in refusal, it is only a few moments more that their eyes are slipping closed for the final time, succumbing to their exhaustion much like II had.

Vessel is content to bask in both II and III's touch, and listen to the soothing sounds of their respective breathing, II's snoring, and the occasional sniffle from Elvira at his back when she kicks him in her sleep.

Feeling III's bandaged hand in Vessel's kind of makes him want to die.

Both II and III have nightmares that night.

Vessel eats them and feels sick, disgusted with himself when they're both about him dying, covered in his own blood with numerous wounds in his arms or his thighs or both. He can never tell them what he does. They wouldn't understand.

The nightmares taste delicious, sliding down his throat so easily and settling in his stomach. Vessel is satisfied, and yet, he craves more. More.

The next morning, as the edges of the sun peek through the corners of Vessel's blackout curtains, Vessel slips out of bed, the chill of the room seeping into his bones as he leaves the warmth of the others, grabbing his mask from his nightstand and buckling it on. That warmth leaves his skin in minutes, and Vessel wants to get back in bed and bask in II and III's bodyheat, but he has something he wants to do.

His most recent journal full of lyrics sits on his dresser, and Vessel grabs it, then one of his many pens that lay about.

Gifts always seemed to placate his past partners, even if II and III were merely close friends. Friends.

Vessel is silent as a wraith as he heads downstairs, Elvira trailing after him, thankfully only meowing when they get to the bottom of the stairs. Vessel goes around turning all the lamps off first, which had all gotten left on the night before. Then he makes sure to feed Elvira, who rubs against his leg the entire time he's fixing up her food. After giving her a few careful pets on the head, he heads off.

In the kitchen, he makes tea for both II and III. A floral sort for II that Vessel sees him using often, and a sweeter blend for III, that Vessel adds far too much sugar into. Vessel likes his coffee sweet, but even he thinks the sheer amount III uses in their teas and coffee is pushing it.

He carefully pens two notes, one for each of them, wasting a few pages of his notebook to get the wording for III's as close to what Vessel wants as possible, even if he still overthinks the whole thing he has planned. As he places both of their drinks on an older silver platter that has begun to show signs of age, II's bond clears of sleep, while III's remains fuzzy.

Vessel realizes suddenly that his bond is shut off when II's panic strikes through him, distant, and Vessel can feel the faint, faint impression of II tugging on his side of the bond in frantic question. Vessel's own bond is locked shut, but he opens it a crack, so II can feel his presence again. II's bond calms immediately, and if Vessel concentrates, he can feel the relief II is purposefully sending Vessel. Guilt churns Vessel's stomach. He really hurt II yesterday, didn't he?

An idea strikes him, and Vessel tears off a couple small pieces of paper from his notebook again. Before each drink, laid in front of them, he draws a little smiley face with six dots for eyes, and their names right next to them.

II is still in bed when Vessel pushes open his door. When Vessel enters, II looks over from where he is running his fingers through III's curls. It would be comical how small II looks with III laid beside him, their head still on II's chest, if it didn't make Vessel so sad to see.

Vessel wants to be close to them that way. He's not sure when his feelings evolved from some mix of envy and jealousy into just wanting to hold both of them. Perhaps somewhere between just caring for III and loving them the same as he loves II.

"What's this, Ves?" II asks, keeping quiet so as to not wake III.

"Apology." Vessel replies, sidestepping a stack of books with grace and coming to a stop at his bedside.

He holds out the platter, and while II takes his drink, he smiles wide, but his eyes are sad. "You don't need to apologize, Vessel, I told you already. I- I- just please don't do that again. You scared me. Scared us. But thank you, for the tea. It's just as I like it." II corrects himself, voice as soft as his smile.

Vessel looks away with all six eyes, before forcing himself to meet II's kind gaze with one pair while another watches the slow rise and fall of III's chest. "Sorry. Won't hurt in front of you again." He manages, the words coming out a little slurred, but its the most he's managed in a while.

"That isn't what I meant, Ves. I'd prefer you not to hurt yourself at all." II takes a careful sip, and sighs when Vessel averts his gaze again.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't apologize. I-" II pauses, releasing a long breath before gently jostling III after setting down his mug. "Three, Ves made you tea."

III doesn't stir the first time, nor the second, but the third time II shakes his shoulder finally works. They blink their eyes open, pretty blues surrounded by endless black, squinting with sleep still.

Their mug is still steaming as Vessel holds the platter out, and when their eyes light up at the sight and they shoot up, Vessel cannot help the blush or the widening of his eyes, nor the tiny little subconscious smile that pulls at one side of his lips involuntarily. III is just so pretty.

Vessel is still looking at II, and he is also struck dumb by the others beauty. Why did Sleep have to pick such pretty vessels? It wasn't good for Vessel's heart. He knows if he could feel it in his chest, it would be thumping wildly.

III grabs the little note first, with the smiley face. They're smiling when they show II, who holds up his own little drawing. Vessel's face feels hot, and its not because of the fever he'd gotten over.

They both compliment it, laughing lightly and saying how cute it is, how accurate, and somehow Vessel's face grows even warmer.

III takes the mug with both hands, then, and without a care for the temperature, takes a large gulp. They smile afterwards, a big grin that radiates the same happiness Vessel can feel faintly through the bond, "Just how I like it. Thanks, Ves!"

III laughs when Vessel blushes up to his ears again, and Vessel folds his arms in front of himself, using the platter as a barrier, holding it tightly. While taking greedy sips of their drink, Vessel takes a moment to sit beside them on the bed, taking pleasure in the way they make room for him and also get closer at the same time. Their knees all touch as II and III sit cross legged, while Vessel bends one knee and lets the other hang off the bed.

It's comfortable, as he finds things usually are with these two. Vessel is free to simply... exist, here, in this house. II and III never yell at him for making too much noise, or when he asks to hold their hands. Their touch is always gentle, never crossing the line into painful. They're- They're both so gentle with him in ways he isn't used to.

Vessel has never loved someone who was gentle with him. He always seemed to gravitate towards people who treated him like he was used to, treated him with familiar pain and anger. II and III are nothing like the people he fell for before. He is glad for it.

Realizing this only solidifies Vessel's resolve to give them those notes, to do what he's going to, despite the thought making him nervous. It won't be much different from the contact you allow now, Vessel tells himself.

Vessel loves them, he knows. Somewhere deep inside, Vessel hopes II loves him like he says he does. Hopes that maybe III can love him like Vessel can see he loves II.

So Vessel listens as II asks for opinions on what meal he should prepare later that night, listens as III makes corny jokes that are sometimes so stupid that they all laugh anyway. Vessel gives his own input on things, with short sentences that are becoming easier and easier to say, and feels as though he is heard, he is seen, and he is not in trouble for it.

His smiles come easier and easier the longer he spends with them, and Vessel could not be more thankful to Sleep for bringing both of them to him than in that moment.

Vessel waits until the afternoon to enact the second part of his plan, going in search of the others when he's sure they're apart. He finds III first, the other in the practice room with all the lamps turned on, strumming at their bass to one of Vessel and II's songs. They're good, even if they don't have all the parts down yet. The bandage seems to be limiting the things they can do with the injured hand picking at the strings, and Vessel still feels so guilty.

III looks up when the door squeaks as Vessel pushes it open enough to get through, smiling when they see Vessel. "Hey, Ves! I was just finishing up in here before I go to water my plants! Did you need the room, or want to practice together? I know we haven't practiced as a group yet."

"Ah, no, I- Was looking for you. Want to give you something." Vessel stumbles over his words, a little surprised that III looked so happy at the sight of him.

"Oh, what is it?" III asks as he sets the bass aside carefully, standing and meeting Vessel halfway.

'Thank you for the flowers you left me on those receipts, but if anyone's smile were like sunshine, it would be yours. I've wanted to tell you.' Vessel hands over the note, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks hidden by his mask.

When III sees what Vessel has written, taking a couple minutes to squint at the elegant cursive writing, they grin brightly, leaning closer with a glint in his eye. Vessel leans closer on instinct, not quite realizing that their foreheads are nearly touching. "You're adorable, Sugar. I plan on giving you many more in the future, to go with all the ones I gave you while you were sick. And real ones, eventually! Alas, my children need watering, I'll see you in a little while."

With a sly little grin and a peck against the cheek of Vessel's mask, III bounds off with a skip in their step but not before they get to see Vessel's pointed ears turn red. They grin triumphantly as they bounce off and Vessel is left reeling.

When Vessel regains his composure, he sets off to find II. His blush is still prominent when Vessel finds him in the altar room, cleaning the offering table of invisible dust. Vessel's heartbeat pounds in his ears with his nerves, though it must be only him that hears it, since II seems none the wiser. It's a curious thing, one that Vessel doesn't want to think about.

Vessel glances at the sigil on the wall that contains his beating heart, but can't stomach looking at it for long due to the phantom pains of ripping it out creeping up on him.

"Ves? Everything alright?" II asks when he notices him, putting down the rag they were using, uncrouching and walking towards Vessel, a cutely concerned expression on his face.

Vessel does not allow himself to back out, does not let himself over think it any longer. He hands over the folded note, watching intently as II opens and then reads the single word written.

'Hug? :::)'

II looks up at Vessel with wide, disbelieving eyes, but there is excitement there too. Vessel opens his arms wide in invitation and there is no hesitation on II's part to collide with Vessel, almost knocking both of them to the ground. II is laughing, happiness surging down the bond like a tidal wave. Vessel huffs out a laugh of his own, wrapping his arms a little tighter around II.

Vessel didn't know someone could be so happy to simply... hug him. Not even with any skin touching.

Vessel had put on many, many layers of his thickest clothing, and it was greatly uncomfortable, but he wanted to hug II, just once, so he doesn't mind. II holds Vessel tightly, arms wrapped around his waist, and even then, II is keeping away from Vessel's chest, leaning his head into the space nearest Vessel's shoulder.

Vessel is swimming in elation, utterly content and happy and his heartbeat thumps in his ears and there are butterflies in his chest. Vessel adores II. Utterly adores him, body and soul.

II is one of his beloveds. Vessel would die for him, kill for him. Vessel- Vessel thinks he might have wanted to live for him if death was permanent for him anymore.

II is warm, so warm, and hugging him feels right. Right in the same way his mask brings him comfort, in the same way III's voice makes him happy to hear, just as II's does.

Vessel wants to cry, wants to hold II tighter, to never let him go. Vessel wants II to open him up and climb in to where his heart used to rest. Its where he and III already reside anyway.

Where Vessel's heart used to be, II and III have made a home, whether they know it or not. Vessel wants to live in every breath II and III inhale and exhale.

Vessel and II hold each other for what feels like hours, but must have only been minutes. Despite his initial contentment, Vessel grows more and more anxious the longer he hears his heartbeat. He worries that II, if he can even hear it at all, may begin to wonder why the thumpthumpthump isn't sounding from Vessel's chest, but under the floorboards and in the walls.

Vessel forces himself to start pulling away. He relishes in II hesitating to begin doing the same, hopes with everything in him that the happiness he felt from II was real, that the disappointment II is broadcasting distantly down the bond is real, that Vessel's mind is only playing tricks on him.

Vessel wants II to love him so badly he aches with it, but Vessel is a coward who is stuck under the abuse he suffered, who doesn't know what it means to be loved.

Vessel excuses himself, blurting out an excuse that he had an idea for a song, glad for his mask to hide his tears, even if his smile is true. Vessel... doesn't know what he's feeling. He's sad, happy, confused and filled with all consuming yearning.

II stares after Vessel, his own longing mirrored in the bond. Vessel wants to hold II again, but his heart stops him. It beats under his feet like a drum as he escapes the altar room, flustered and crying and elated and about to crumble under his fear of the unknown.

Vessel escapes to the practice room to transfer his emotions onto the worn keys of his piano.

After that, Vessel recovers quickly. They all paint smiles on their faces in the hopes of reassuring one another. Vessel quickly regains his usual health, though his migraine has only devolved into a headache but he is quite used to those.

He knows that if they decide it is time to give up the caring act, then he at least wants to make sure III's hand remains cared for. He can do that much, at least. It was his fault, after all.

He expects things to change, for III to lessen the casual touches but they continue to lean on him when standing near each other. They continue to ask to hold his hand, they continue knocking on Vessel's door to talk or read together.

III continues drawing him flowers, talking over his plans for the garden he wants to put out in the front of the manor. Vessel helps them design the layout, such as which flowers they'll put where, with occasional input from II. During one of these planning sessions, III asks Vessel if he'd like to help him with the garden itself, even after it was completed. Vessel couldn't refuse, not when III was looking at him with a big, hopeful grin and shining eyes.

Every drawing Vessel gets from III is pinned next to the original receipts with the utmost care. Every time Vessel leaves his room, the sight causes a smile to pull involuntarily at his lips.

II and III do not leave Vessel to rot under the weight of his negative emotions even if they cannot feel them. They comfort him in small ways, always reaching out to help, and it is only right Vessel does the same to the best of his ability.

It is a struggle to navigate III's outgoing personality, when louder noises or sudden movements cause Vessel to flinch or go silent, when he had been working so hard to get used to his new tongue and speak around the thorns wrapped around his throat at the same time.

Vessel does not want III to stop being themselves. All he wants it to get used to them, used to the way they live because Vessel does not want them to leave. Vessel doesn't want to keep letting those in his past, people whose faces he can't fucking remember, taint what he is creating with II and III but he is afraid. Always so afraid.

Faceless, nameless people haunt his every move, his body, his blood, their actions are ingrained in his soul. He is nothing without them, they made him who he is.

It is easier to forget what they did when II and III are nothing like them.

III worms himself into Vessel's heart so easily, with pretty smiles, jokes, and an exuberant personality. It feels like they belong there, beside II, in Vessel's heart. He can't recall a time when he felt this way, safe, in someone else's presence. Its easy to feel safe when II holds his hand or smiles when Vessel enters a room. It is easy to feel safe when III sits on Vessel's bed and goes over all the different plants they saw that morning, showing Vessel the rough sketches of his favorites.

The house seems to notice the change in Vessel's heart, and it's only been a little while since III arrived.

When III loses something, and he loses things often, he always seems to find it after a few minutes, returned to whatever surface is closest. II explains that its just the house, and that things don't stay missing long, that the vines are sentient and react to all of them, but not quite the way they react to Vessel.

Vessel knows better. He knows what lies in the altar room, what beats through the walls and floorboards though it is not apparent unless he is in the altar room itself.

He knows exactly why the house helps them.

Vessel always has fallen in love quickly, with the entirety of his heart.

III is flabbergasted. Utterly appalled.

"Who organized this nightmare?!" They exclaim, waving a hand at the entirety of one of the living room walls, lined with bookshelves, which are filled to the brim with books.

"Well, we didn't really... organize anything. Vessel just stuck them all down here because I told him he couldn't keep them all in his room. Some are mine, but since there wasn't any order to them, I also just stuck them wherever." II explains, sheepish.

Looking at all the bookshelves, he realizes it is a bit of a mess. There is no order to any of the placements, not to mention a lot of the books are just stacked on top of one another until they can't fit on a shelf any longer and are placed on a different one.

III sighs in mock exasperation before beginning to sort. II offers to help but III shuts him down quickly with a pointed glare at the rest of the mess. II sits back down and simply stays nearby, watching and keeping III company.

III arranges all the books on the shelves in alphabetical order by authors last name and in sections based on genre, dedicating specific bookshelves to each of them living there. It takes hours, and when they are finally done, they ask about Vessel's room.

"As I said, I told him he couldn't keep any more than seven stacks because he trips over them all the time. Nearly split his head open- Well, I'm exaggerating but he scared the shit out of me. Anyway, he now stacks them all as tall as they'll go before toppling while sticking to my seven stack rule. I'm sure you noticed them in his room while we were taking care of him."

III grimaces, remembering how they, too, had tripped one night while going to the bathroom when he was watching over a sick Vessel. Even with the night vision, they were half-asleep and their coordination was a bit off. The whole stack had fallen over, some of the pages in a couple of them getting folded, and Vessel had only waved III's panicked apologies off with a tiny, half-hearted smile.

Vessel didn't tell them that his books had often been put through worse intentionally, by others, long before Sleep came to him. That folded pages was far better than torn pages, or books where entire chapters had been purposefully ripped out. Hateful words written in with permanent marker or scribbles left everywhere.

II had always been careful with both Vessel's and his own books, and Vessel knew III did not trip intentionally, and made sure to tell III that much, at least. III's smile came out a little wobbly, and when they came back from the restroom, they had scooted as close to Vessel as the other would allow.

"Do you think he'd mind if we brought all of 'em down here?"

II takes a minute to ponder the question but ultimately decides that he doesn't think Vessel would mind at all.

III goes to ask, a little nervous but not sure why. When he knocks on Vessel's door, pushing it more open a moment later when Vessel tells them to come in, III does not let himself falter.

Vessel is laying on his bed, Elvira curled on his chest with his hand in her fur as she purrs up a storm. Vessel slides one pair of eyes to look at III curiously, keeping the top pair closed and the bottom pair eyeing Elvira with clear affection. They're adorable, and III wishes very suddenly they had a phone, wanting desperately to capture the moment.

"Hey Ves, I was organizing the books downstairs and wanted to know if you'd mind me putting yours down there as well?"

Vessel tilts his head just slightly, the action coming across a little odd as he is still laying down, but he nods easily. He bites his lip when III smiles, opening all six eyes to look at III properly, before asking shyly, "Can I keep a couple of the ones I'm currently reading in here?"

"Of course!" III exclaims, a little sad that Vessel looked so nervous to ask for something so ordinary, "Keep whichever ones you want, I don't mind. I'm gonna start taking some down, I hope you don't mind me coming in and out for a bit."

"I'll help, they're my books." Vessel says before turning one set of eyes to stare down at Elvira forlornly, "Gotta get up, Ellie."

The cat meows in complaint, stretching out over Vessel's chest further. Vessel picks her up as he sits up, her body hanging limply in his hands as he holds her so gently, meowing in docile outrage. The small, misshapen braid in his hair falls into view, II's work that Vessel had refused the shorter man upon him asking to take it out because it looked 'awful.' A few more tiny braids have been woven into other parts of Vessel's fluffy mess, III's additions that they are very proud of. If II's hair were longer, III would love to add braids in his too, but will settle for the both of them torturing Vessel with II's practicing. III and Vessel match, with the braids, and III feels warm at the thought, giddy even.

Vessel apologizes again and sets her down, where she immediately hops off the bed and runs out of the room past III's feet.

III watches her go with a smile before bending down to pick up as many books as they can carry. His and Vessel's longer arms allow them to nearly carry a stack each, and III tries their hardest not to drop any as they head down the staircase. Glancing at Vessel as he follows them, III concluded Vessel is surprisingly elegant for a man that trips over his own items so often. He's noticed it often enough in the way Vessel moves about the house, silent and lithe. He's pretty, always so pretty.

When they bring down those stacks, II follows them back up without a word, only a loving brush of his fingers against III and Vessel's shoulders as he breezes past them. II makes a comment that somehow, Vessel had accumulated more books since the last time II was in there, and there were more of them strewn about under his bed and on his desk.

Vessel blushes in mild embarrassment at being caught as he hurriedly puts his mask on, avoiding II's disappointed gaze.

Things go quicker then, as II is easily able to carry more books than they can. III makes it a game to see how many they can stack in II's arms before he loses one or II's arms get tired. No strength limit was reached before all the books were taken downstairs, II not having broken a sweat, but he had dropped at least four making his way down the staircase. Vessel had snorted quietly, an action quite unlike him, but III supposes they also thought it was funny to watch II be swamped by books that he couldn't really see past, stacked as high as they were in his arms, laughing easily and with his whole chest at II's expense with nothing but pure affection. Vessel and II glanced at each other with little smiles as they looked at their Third.

After all the books are brought down, III thanks II first, giving him a peck on the cheek. II blushes but kisses III's cheek back, right over one of their little freckles which had slowly been growing into the shape of a question mark.

Vessel is a bit jealous, but III, despite not being able to feel it as Vessel's bond is almost entirely shut off from them, quells it quickly when they walk over to Vessel, kissing his masked cheek and calling him Sugar again as they thank him for helping.

Vessel stammers out a response, too flustered to pay much attention to what was said, excusing himself, cheeks burning as the vines on the walls writhe gently, reaching out in III's direction longingly.

III laughs quietly when he's sure Vessel won't hear and assume it was out of cruelty, leaning into II who has come up to lean half against their side and back. "You're far bolder than I am."

"He's just so pretty when he blushes. I can't help it." III admits, turning around to wrap II in a hug, enjoying how the action sends mutual contentment lazily down their open bond.

They melt into each other easily, "He is pretty when he blushes. Too bad his mask covers it most of the time."

"Yeah, but the blush always spreads to his ears if I get him flustered enough, so its still kinda visible! Well worth it if I can get him to smile too."

II hums an agreement, closing his eyes as he takes in III's heartbeat and the rise and fall of their chest. III lets the hug linger for a few minutes, happily enjoying II's warmth and swaying them back and forth a little while they hold one another.

"I'm gonna make labels." III decides suddenly after a few minutes, "For each of our shelves, I mean."

III pulls way to begin writing out little notes to tape onto each bookshelf. Each section, if whoever owns the shelf or shelves has multiple genres, are given a piece of paper taped over.

They do their own first, and since they mainly read dystopian and sci-fi, it's pretty easy, adding an upside down question mark to represent themself. II's shelves get a big label with the Roman numerals for II, like his name, and a pair of crude drumsticks, and then taped to the right of his name something for the genre, 'II's Gothic horror.' Vessel only has textbooks, so that's what III puts on Vessel's shelves, of which he has quite a few, filled to bursting even after being organized. III adds a little, six eyed smiley face next to Vessel's name on his label, because it's cute, like Vessel himself.

"So, do we just not need phones?" III asks, as he begins rearranging the books on the lower shelves of one of Vessel's bookcases, after realizing they did that shelf wrong.

II smiles sheepishly, "Vessel never said anything and I was kind of leaning into the mystical messenger of a God thing. Didn't think phones fit that, uh, vibe."

"We should definitely get phones. Vessel turns his bond off, and doesn't seem to like going into town with us. It would be best if we had something to communicate with! I think he'd feel better about it too."

"Also, I need photos of you both to admire when I'm sad." III states bluntly, a bright grin directed up at II.

II blushes down his neck but laughs anyway, letting it fade out before stating seriously, "You can just come to either one of us. I'll never refuse you and I'd imagine Vessel wouldn't, even if the physical contact would be limited."

"Let me rephrase. I need photos of you both to admire whenever I want. Just to have them. You're both very pretty and I need physical evidence to carry on my person." III jokes, but in reality, they know they're not joking at all.

II snorts, but doesn't say anything further, only shakes his head in amusement, letting III continue working.

When the organizing is done, II comes to stand next to III to get a better look. III leans their arm on II's head, gently, without much of their weight and II only looks mildly put upon. III gives II a kiss on the cheek, a shy little smile afterwards. II returns it, getting on his tiptoes to kiss their cheek in return.

"The little drawings next to our names are cute." II says as III places their arm on his head again.

"Thank you. Oh! I'm getting a gaming console. As much as I love to read, I love gaming just as much."

"Sure, not like we're wanting for money. Sleep has us set for eternity with that credit card Vessel holds on to. Never played any games myself though."

"Oh, you have got to try NieR: Automata! I- Hm, I think I was only on the second ending but that shit is painful but so, so good. Soundtrack is one of the best I've ever heard."

"Maybe we can rope Vessel into watching you play then." II agrees, interested.

"Hell yeah, this game is going to make us all cry, just you wait."

The first practice session they have as a band is the most chaotic one to date. All three of them were trying to get the feel of how they wanted their music to go with a bass added in to the mix. Vessel couldn't quite sing yet, struggling with his voice still, and so they decided to work on his piano segments and how II was going to incorporate his drumming into the song they were working on.

Fiddling with the tuning on his bass while Vessel sat at his piano playing the song, III was half-watching II playing a drumbeat full of hi-hats and fast bass drum kicks, casually as though it was second nature.

When II moved to play a beat on the medium tom, his drumstick slipped out of his hand due to the speed at which he was drumming. As it flung towards the wall, silver glinted in the lights of the practice room as it spun, transforming into a battle ax with a spray of golden sparks. It barely misses III, who lets out a loud shout of alarm, jumping back and falling on his ass while simultaneously trying to protect their bass.

Vessel startles at the sound, hunching into himself and slamming his fingers into the keys of his piano, creating a discordant sound at the same time the battle ax made a loud thwack as it struck the wall.

II looks down to find that his other drumstick has transformed in his hand as well, and put a fucking hole through his snare drum.

Everyone stares in silence, stunned by what has just occurred. There was something to be said about vessels of a God having strange eyes or skin that turns pitch black, or literal fangs. It was something else entirely for an everyday item that II has used his entire life to suddenly turn into a deadly weapon while in use. It was something else entirely for said deadly weapon to break through a drum head as though it were paper. It was something else entirely for said deadly weapon to get launched in the direction of someone he cared for, barely miss them, and get stuck in the wall five inches deep.

"What the fuck." II states, with a blank expression.

They all continue to stare, looking back and forth between the wall and II's broken snare, as though II hadn't said a word. II wonders if they sit and stare at the weapons long enough, they'll turn back into drumsticks like nothing ever happened. He wonders if this was a dream given to them by Sleep-

Ah. II has an idea.

II reaches out and tugs on the bond in his chest that leads to his God, so different from the ones he shares with Vessel and III, and yet so similar. He does not tug with the same intensity or aggression as he did before, but Sleep is clearly displeased all the same when they answer his call.

"While not as disrespectful as the last time you called upon me, I am quite disappointed, my Second. What is it you have called me for?" Sleep's voices bounce around the practice room, displeasure clear as day.

"Why- Why in the everloving fuck did my damn drumsticks turn into axes?" If there was a way to exclaim something with utmost feeling while having the most dead expression in the world, II would have accomplished it.

"It is a gift. You ate the apple of Eden, and it has granted you abilities." Sleep states, indifferent to the confusion his vessels share.

Vessel turns his head away, refusing to look anyone in the eye, or even in their general direction. He is well aware what the apple of Eden is, but to find out the others ate it as well is... unsettling. His heartbeat thumps on his tongue, and its like he can still taste it, still feel the texture of his own heart as he bit into it.

II glances at Vessel and takes a gamble. At worst, the God can correct him and he'll apologize to Vessel for assuming things without first asking for a proper answer. Its besides the point as to whether Vessel would answer in the first place.

"Is it like Vessel's ability to put people to sleep?" II asks, and purposefully does not glance at Vessel as he does so.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vessel stiffen further, going rigid as a corpse. Ah, so II was right. He should feel satisfied at the confirmation of his theory, but he is only profoundly saddened.

"That ability is not my Firsts. It is not meant to be wielded by anyone but myself. It is a dangerous ability, much like the Firsts penchant for-" Sleep pauses, and everyone turns to look at Vessel as he frantically shakes his head, six eyes begging Sleep not to say anything.

"As I was saying, you have all been granted a gift by eating the apple of Eden. It is only a matter of unlocking them." Sleep continues as though He had never even mentioned another dangerous ability that Vessel is using, "My First and Third ate the entire apple, so their gifts will be stronger. You, my Second, ate everything but the core. Transforming your drumsticks into weapons of battle will likely be the extent of your gift alongside your superior strength."

II will not be forgetting the God's slip up. III either, from the way they squint in displeasure, their brow furrowing alongside the thinning of their lips.

"My... strength?"

"Yes, you are far stronger than any human ought to be. Especially one of your... stature. You're quite vertically challenged for males of your species."

III cannot stop the laugh that spills from their lips, a little high pitched and unsure. Even Vessel, who has remained silent and tense, manages a small, silent huff of a laugh.

"Yes, well, thank you for answering my question, Sleep. That was all I wanted." II bites out, flustered as his brows furrowed in something akin to anger, perhaps outrage.

There is a laugh that echoes around them, sounding as though it was from a man and a woman, a child and an elder, fading into nothingness.

With an answer given, the silence wears off quickly.

"Sorry Vessel, didn't mean to scare you, but that sure scared the fuck outta me." III apologizes, and Vessel slowly untenses, glancing nervously at the weapon in the wall with one pair of eyes, III as they finally stand from the floor, and the last pair on II.

Plucking the ax out of his snare as though it weighed nothing, II walks over to grab the other from the wall. Despite how deeply its stuck, he pulls it out with ease. The weapons look right in his hands, as though he was always meant to wield them.

"Suppose I'll be keeping these in my room until I figure out how to turn them back." II mutters, before heading to the door, bond radiating fervent upset.

III has wandered over to Vessel, trying to coax the other into standing. He remains frozen in his seat, two pairs of eyes now watching II as the last set watches III. Through his mask, which he continues to wear nigh on constantly, unlike the others who do not feel the need to hide around people they care for so deeply, his expression is hidden from view. Without the bond, without being able to see his face, Vessel's feelings remain a mystery.

"Vessel," II stops just before the door as III silently rejoices Vessel letting them hold his hand, "I'm not upset with you, to be completely honest so you don't think I'm angry. I'm upset you hid something dangerous to your health from me, and clearly there is still more I've not been told. I just- I want to talk it over with you."

Vessel loses some of the tension in his shoulders, then, disbelieving relief creeping into the cracks of his soul. He knows he cannot avoid this, no matter how he wants to.

"Tomorrow." Vessel states, hoping that if he gets it over with faster, the longer he'll have to pick up the pieces of his heart when they learn what Vessel has done for them.

He knows they will not be grateful. They do not seem to like anything Vessel does that puts his body in harms way. Its something Vessel doesn't understand, but has grown to expect from them.

As the day turns into night, Vessel emerges from the practice room he had insisted on staying in, long after II left, no matter how III tried to convince him to go rest or come out for dinner, even just to be near while the others ate.

Quiet laughter can be heard as Vessel makes his way into the upstairs sitting room. He pauses at the top of the staircase to listen as III giggles at something II has said. It makes him smile, but also causes sadness to weigh heavily on his chest.

III opens their door to leave his room, an empty mug in hand, just as Vessel turns to head to his room.

"Vessel!" III sounds so excited, so happy to see him, and Vessel wants to believe he's reading their faint emotions right in the bond so badly.

"Did you want to sleep with Two and I tonight? We've got room!"

The vines on the walls tremble with Vessel's heart, his longing and desire. Vessel glances at III's hand, hanging limply at their side. The bandage is starkly visible. Shame fills him up, foul like tar, burning the back of his throat.

Vessel shakes his head. Vessel... doesn't want to refuse. But he is afraid they'll notice his lack of heartbeat. He's too afraid of the outcome of tomorrow. Perhaps he should bask in the affection they are willing to give him before they take it away but Vessel is a coward.

The hope Vessel felt faintly through the bond crumbles, but III smiles anyway, a wobbly thing that Vessel can tell they're barely holding up, "Okay, um, we'll- we'll see you in the morning then?"

Vessel gives a shaky smile back, unable to help himself as he walks forward, moving his mask up a little to leave room between it and his skin, taking III's hand and placing it under the mask on his cheek. Vessel leans into it, closing all six eyes for a moment, before pulling away, dropping III's hand and fixing his mask at the same time.

"See you in the morning."

III stares after Vessel as he turns away, not seeing II come to lean against III's door frame.

"'Night Ves." II calls out quietly, but Vessel doesnt turn around, no matter how he wants to.

They both watch him go, desperately hoping he'll turn back around and join them anyway.

He parrots the saying even quieter before his door shuts behind him firmly, hoping they don't notice the tears dripping down his chin.

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