inkblot22

[inkblot22]

Limerence and Apologies

No one asked for this but I need to put something out and I've been sitting on this for a LONG ass time. Morgan and Chihiro belong to @love-toxin or @yanverse and I've been very fond of him and Umi for a long, long time and used to check Ellie's page religiously. This is my tribute to you, thank you for being a big inspiration! (If you'd like me to remove the tag, just let me know) Dividers by @/cafekitsune

This fic is for: anyone who can handle it! Body parts and pronouns are kept neutral.

TW FOR: Kidnapping, DUBCON, "soft" yandere behavior, item insecurity, abusive/problematic family members and dynamics, mentions of tasing. If I've forgotten anything, please tell me!

You don’t know your roommate’s last name.

Alright, if you’re honest with yourself, he is not your roommate, but the nature of your relationship is strange to begin with, what with the whole taser fiasco and the not being able to leave, so it’s easier to pretend that you’re here on purpose and he is your roommate. 

He’s out right now, probably at work. Before he kissed you goodbye- yes, he kissed you goodbye- he seemed a bit… fragile. Like he was trying to hold himself together, but when you asked if he was alright, he laughed it off and told you that he’d come back as soon as possible and that Chihiro was coming over later as he grabbed his mobility cane. 

So you’re idly wondering about him. Morgan is a really sweet man, if you discount the whole taser fiasco, but Chihiro kind of freaks you out. They’re also sweet- possibly more so than Morgan, but there’s something a tad uncanny about them, and you can never feel very relaxed around them because of that. It’s wholly a you problem.

It dawned on you, however, that despite Chihiro telling you their last name, Morgan never has told you his. You suppose it’s just never come up in conversation, but he knows yours, so why don’t you know his?

Maybe it’s just another level of disconnect that you created to protect yourself after the taser fiasco. Really, it was your fault. You probably just startled him when you went to unlock the front door. Why wouldn’t he attack what he maybe thought was a home intruder with a concentrated jolt of electricity to the kidneys? He couldn’t see you and you didn’t announce yourself or that you were leaving.

Maybe it’s just you keeping distance where there shouldn’t be any. You call him your roommate, but the two of you function more like a long-term couple. You sleep in the same bed that he fucks you in, you share food and kisses, and despite his impairment, he swears up and down that he goes to work just so he can get excited about seeing you when he gets home.

So… maybe your roommate is a bit more than that. Just as you finish realizing that little factoid, you hear a knock at the door. You lost your phone around the same time that Morgan invited you over and insisted that you belonged here, so you get up, expecting to see Chihiro.

“Morgan’s still out- oh.” 

Much like Morgan’s last name, you don’t know this woman standing at the door. She smiles stiltedly at you and peers over your shoulder, as though expecting to see someone behind you. When she looks back at you, her smile is stretched a bit too wide.

“Hello… dear. I was under the impression that a young man named Morgan lived here?"

“Uh…?” You’re not sure what to say. Morgan lives here, but so do you, and he’s never… mentioned an older woman to you.

She pushes past you before you can formulate a better response to her question. Her brown eyes are devoid of warmth, and she looks around as though she belongs there.

“Wait a second, Morgan isn’t- he’s not here right now, so you’re going to have to come back later.” You approach the woman and try to give her a smile.

She looks at you like you’re stupid, then takes a seat on the couch, where you had been sitting before you got up, “I have time to wait.”

There’s no real way for you to ask Morgan about this, or, better yet, call the cops. Since you lost your phone and Chihiro isn’t here yet, you kind of just have to wait. You walk into the kitchenette and put on some hot water for tea, occasionally popping your head around the wall to see what this strange lady is doing. She’s watching you. You dislike that.

Morgan almost always knows where you are when he’s here, so you would think that you’d be used to the feeling of being watched, but since Morgan is blind, he doesn’t stare at you. He’ll have a hand on your leg, an arm around your shoulders if you’re close enough, but his presence is, more often than not, a comforting one. You would think otherwise, considering that he tased you, but he assured you it was a mistake, a one-time thing.

Whatever. The whole point is that Morgan is incapable of watching you in the manner that this woman is, and you don’t like it. It’s pissing you off, frankly. You decide to stay in the kitchen, if only to keep away from her for a moment longer. You dig some frozen quick-dinner out of the back of the freezer and pop it in the oven. As you’re waiting, you hear the sound of the front doorknob jiggling, and make a beeline for the door.

Obviously it’s Morgan. He’s humming under his breath and looks a bit taken aback when you wrench the door open. His surprise turns into a pleasant smile, a laugh in his voice.

“Well, I’m happy to see you t-” He begins, but you cover his mouth before he can finish the sentence. His large, warm hand comes up to cradle yours, impossibly gentle as he pulls it away from his face, “What’s gotten into you?”

“Th-there’s a lady?” You whisper back, “I opened the door ‘cause I thought Chihiro was here and she pushed her way in and I didn’t know what to do.”

Morgan makes possibly the scariest face you’ve ever seen him make. He’s usually smiling, but his face falls into an angry frown at the mention of the woman. He switches hands, holding yours with the one that he has his keys and mobility cane in, then gently eases you behind him. 

He’s usually something of a leisurely walker. He meanders, but right now, he storms into the living room, and the woman jumps, not expecting his sudden entrance. Her surprise turns into happiness, and you think that you’re kind of starting to pierce together the pieces.

“Oh, Morgan! My precious baby! How have you been?” She stands and walks towards Morgan, her hands outstretched.

The minute she gets a bit too close, Morgan frowns deeper and moves out of her range. His hand moves vaguely over his shoulder, where she just barely grazed with her fingertips, and he swings his mobility cane behind him until it taps you in the ankle, making sure you’re still there.

“What do you want?” He grits out, his voice the coldest you’ve ever heard. You place a hand on his arm and he tenses further.

The woman frowns, “Well, I just wanted to see my child.”

“Great. You’ve seen me. Goodbye.”

There’s a tense silence and the woman- Morgan’s mother- sighs, “You know, you don’t have to live this way. I’ve been doing some research and I know a good place, one that could help you so you’re no longer living in sin. I just want the best for you, Morgan. I care about you.”

Morgan reaches his arm back to grab you. His hand catches your wrist, then slides down to squeeze your palm before he lets out a sigh, “It’s time for you to leave. I don’t need help.”

You smell the lasagna you put in the oven. You know Morgan does as well, but he doesn’t say anything or make any indication of it. The woman sniffs and grabs her purse.

“You have my number if you need anything.” She places her hand on Morgan’s arm and he shakes her off. She looks at him as though he spat in her face and leaves, closing the door behind her.

Then there’s another tense silence. Morgan lets go of your hand and walks into the bedroom, and you listlessly pull the now-cooked frozen lasagna out of the oven, placing it on the counter before you walk into the bedroom behind Morgan.

“I’m here.” You announce.

He’s sitting on the bed in his silly dog-patterned boxers and gray socks, nothing else as he holds his head in his hands. You ease his hands out of his hair and take a seat on his lap, smiling at him even though he can’t see it.

“Are you alright?” You ask.

He looks tormented. His arm curls around your waist and he pulls you a little closer so he can rest his forehead on your shoulder.

His voice is rough when he speaks, “Did she do anything to you?”

“No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let her in.”

“I don’t blame you. I should have known she was gonna show up after she called me yesterday.” He mumbles, his nose pressed against your shoulder. “You mind calling Chihiro and asking them to pick up some new locks on their way here?”

“Oh, wow, I get to use your phone?” You tease, “Sure. I don’t mind.”

His cheeks flush at your benign teasing, but he smiles anyways, his lips brushing against your shoulder, “I think my phone is still in my pants on the other side of the bed.”

You mumble your understanding and crawl around Morgan’s stocky form, leaning over the side of the bed as you dig around in your roommate’s discarded jeans. You feel his hand trail up your calf and he sucks in a breath, unsureness dancing on his tongue. You cast a glance at him over your shoulder and dial Chihiro.

“Hello!” Chihiro is so sweet. Their voice as they sing their greeting is all the evidence you need, but as usual, there’s something a little… off about it.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Oh, it’s you! I’m doing well, how are you?” They ask.

“I’m doing okay.” Morgan’s hand rests on the swell of your ass, and you glance back at him again. It doesn’t deter him, since he can’t see the look on your face, “Uh, hey, are you still coming over?”

Chihiro hums, and Morgan’s wandering fingers hook in your bottoms, tugging them down as he crawls over you. His hands smooth over your ass and split your cheeks. He licks his fingers and trails them through the crack, nails first until he reaches your entrance, where he smears his spit almost lovingly.

“M-Morgan?” You mutter, still waiting for Chihiro’s response.

Morgan is grinning like a dirty pervert as he arches over your back and tugs his boxers down, resting his cock against your slightly slicked-up entrance. As he pushes in, he peppers kisses on as much of your skin as his lips can reach.

Chihiro’s hum stops abruptly and you can hear the smile in their voice, “I should be able to, yes. Unfortunately, I may be a little later than usual. Why do you ask?”

You swallow and try to speak evenly, “W-well, uh… M-Mor- Morgan…” You accidentally moan his name, having all the sense to be embarrassed but none of the sense to stop him as he places a hand on your hip and begins thrusting, “S-sorry, Morgan wanted to know if you were willing to pick up some new door locks?”

“Oh, I can do that. I was planning on stopping by the store regardless. The two of you only eat junk, ahaha!” 

You grimace at that, both because you’re almost certain you’ve never seen Chihiro eat a single thing, and also because Morgan is panting in your ear as he ruts into you. He kisses the shell of it.

“Keep talking.” He grunts.

Something about the tone of his voice sends a hot flush of… something, maybe shame, maybe arousal, probably both, up your spine. 

“Uh- ah, th-thank you, Chi-Chihiro!” The second you started talking, Morgan thrust faster, harder. Your voice cracked as you tried to keep composure, “Sorry- W-we both appreciate i-it…”

Chihiro giggled again, “Not to worry. Tell Morgan I said hello… although I’m certain he can hear me.”

Morgan’s hand came up to cup the one holding his phone, and as you slumped forward, you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Heh, guess I’m busted. Thanks again, Chihiro. My partner made something, I haven’t checked what yet, so maybe bring some drinks too? We’ll pay you back for this.”

Chihiro responded with something, likely a very polite, cheery, “Not to worry! We can make an event of it, it’ll be fun!” You don’t hear them. Your head is spinning too badly as Morgan fucks a you-shaped hole into the mattress.

You hear Morgan mumble, “Yup, seeya,” and then he’s on top of you again, his hands snaking up your sides as he kisses as much skin as he can handle.

You cry and moan, Morgan complimenting you under his own breathy noises, and then your orgasm hits you. You arch upwards into his touch, squealing and Morgan cradles you close, his lips at your jaw and his own climax chasing yours.

As the two of you slump, you weakly place a hand in Morgan’s unruly mop of hair and grunt, “What’s your last name?”

Morgan giggles like a gossipy schoolgirl, “Lane. Why?”

“Lane.” You repeat.

“Mmhmm… Did you want to share it?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help yourself, “That sounds kinda nice.”

Morgan squeaks and buries his face in your shoulder. You put your first name and his last name together, and it flows a lot better than you think it should.

[inkblot22]

Your latest yandere vil and rook fic remind me of a song called gallery piece by of montreal which is my favorite song. And everytime i read it, i always played that song. Love the similarities between the song and the fic😖

I like Of Montreal quite a bit and hadn't happened to ever hear that song all the way through. When I listen to music, it's typically by album? So first of all, thank you for sending me this!

Secondly, how eerie! It does feel a lot like that song! The sweet-tone but vile words are actually very on-brand for most of Pomefiore, imo, but goodness gracious! Perhaps it's a sign? A sign that I should listen to more Of Montreal?

[inkblot22]

take caree ink! everyone takes breaks/have personal things going on in their lives so don’t push yourself too hard okay?? >:0 I’m excited to see what you cook for us when you’re done with those requests so take extra time and care to ensure you deliver the work YOU want us to see :)!!

- epel felmier anon 🍎💜

Omg you're so sweet.

Good news: I have gotten past most of my problems. I am much safer where I am rn and now have stability! Bad news: I have way less time to write! But that's fine, since I can tap some thoughts on my commute to work and back and whenever I have a lil time! So thank you to everyone for your patience.

The blot has returned! Woohoo!

[inkblot22]

ur fanfic is always sooo good 🥺🤍🤍!! I’m so glad ur getting lots and lots of requests now!! makes me so happy bcs u deserve lots of asks and people enjoying ur yummy fics!! god that vil fic was SOO good I wanted to backhand vil for not putting seasoning in his food smh (but that’s the white in him speaking 🤣) more than him doing that to us with rook lmaoo rook was soo delicious and terrifying!! I loved reading about him and vil tagteaming reader and nonconning her together … it’s just fucking amazing and rook pushing past reader’s boundaries and forcing her to take all his length despite her pleas?? LOVE it … I love men who dgaf abt their s/o’s comfort in dark settings … and I loved the contrast between the two of them, although rook appeared to be the “saviour” among the two, he’s deep down a huge freak who enjoys seeing reader in pain, that pervert probs got off to the tears we shed bcs of vil I guarantee!

also that ask about what vil would do if we committed suicide bcs of him had me imagining him casting a spell to preserve our body like a pristine doll as we lay in a coffin similar to snow white … everyday talking to our corpse and ensuring we looked stunning even in death as he can’t accept the reality that we would be so ‘selfish’ to leave him behind like that … makes me think of necrophilia vil … but that can be a story for another time 🫣

- epel felmier anon 🍎💜

Okay you'll have to forgive me- I have the plague called vegetarianism and therefore forgot to add meat to the dish, but tbh.... it still worked because Vil is the type of bitch to keep off seasonings ("The oil will cause pimples and chili flakes cause your cheeks to become a touch too rosy. Salt? No, you'll get bloated. Pepper?!") As for the dynamic shift, I loved writing it. Sometimes the one who has your emotional needs in stone does not have your physical needs in stone... and vice versa.

As for necrophilia Vil... hmmm, okay, give me a few weeks tbh. I might feel a little crazy, a little silly... etc etc.

[inkblot22]

I'm glad you enjoyed it! To be honest, I'm very glad to hear that the plan worked. The mundane being immediately shattered is one of my favorite concepts ever. It's a jolt of chaos, a bolt of violence!

Also omg I was so worried about my portrayal of Ruggie so I'm also happy to hear that I got his personality a little bit, at least. Thank you for reading, by the way!

Play Hard Games, Win Soft Prizes

Gonna be absolutely so real with you, I have no idea what that title means. Maybe it'll make sense to someone. This is a request from @whenwewhereyounger. If you'd like me to remove that tag, I can do so, just let me know. Like I do for Leona fics where Farena and his canonically unnamed wife show up, I made up a name for Ruggie's grammy, just like her appearance.

Shoutout to my girlfriend for helping me with a concept that I was struggling with in this fic! Woohoo! I did so much freaking research for this one, scarred myself for life tbh, but hey, I found out a lot. So much. Also: does Ruggie's UM focused on physical or mental control, and, depending on which one, does it matter if the subject(s) are alive? Dividers by @/cafekitsune

This fic is for: Anyone who can handle it! The reader does have hair, but the length is never specified. Reader is Yuu/MC, like usual in my fics, but it is mostly implied more than anything else.

TW for: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, straight up murder and stalking in this one, everyone. Non-sexual nudity, blood and explicit gore, questionable usage of magic. Also so many words. There are 8763 words in this fic.

Ruggie is a mite conniving. You’d be lying if you said that most of Savanaclaw wasn’t, but Ruggie specifically is a calculating little bastard.

That’s rude. You know that’s rude. Ruggie does what he needs to do in order to survive. It’s something that has been drilled into him from the moment he saw the world, but you just wish he wouldn’t have invited you out here since he knows this area isn’t the safest.

Grim decided to hang out with the Octavinelle guys and you went with Ruggie for spring break. It was kind of nice, the trip there. The Afterglow is beautiful. You enjoyed yourself, it was fun and Ruggie has a wonderful sense of humor, or perhaps his laughter is just contagious. That and the sun on your skin as you traveled made for a wonderful time, actually.

No, your problems started when you got to his hometown. About as soon as you entered, something already felt off, like there were a hundred eyes watching you, waiting for something. Perhaps it was the odd shadow that seemed to be laying over the entire place, or maybe it was the occasional snicker or whisper that you thought you could hear in the eerie breeze. Whatever it was, you kind of felt like an asshole for judging his hometown so swiftly. He was sharing something deeply personal with you by even bringing you here. Ruggie is very emotionally intelligent, though, despite him being a piece of shit, so when he noticed your trepidation, he reached out and squeezed your hand.

“Are you nervous? Shyeheeheehee, don’t worry. I’m right here.” And he smiled, and you felt sort of relaxed. His smile always made you feel relaxed.

Nothing could be as relaxing when he showed you to his little home. It was nice, the walls made of dirt and a few very beautiful rugs on the inside, from what you could see. The roof was thatched, but beyond the light being streamed in by the afternoon sun, you couldn’t see very well inside the place after Ruggie opened the door. He poked his head in and pressed a hand against your belly, a silent “back up.”

You took a step back and sharply turned your head to the sound of a twig snapping. There wasn’t anything there, but you also couldn’t see the twig. For a place called the Afterglow, this area was honestly kind of shadowy. It was pretty unsettling, like a blanket that had a spider hidden in it somewhere, but you didn’t know where. You stared out into the dim distance and a gentle touch on your arm scared you out of your skin.

Ruggie’s hand retracted as he looked at you as though you'd lost it, “What’s wrong?”

“I- Sorry, I thought I heard something.”

“You did? I didn’t hear anything.”

You gave him a wide-eyed stare and he gave you one of those big grins that makes you feel like everything is going to be okay. His hand rested on your arm and he gave your bicep a gentle squeeze.

“Relax, okay? I’m right here.” With that, he led you inside and snapped his fingers, a few lights flickering on, “Grammy doesn’t seem to be home, which means you get to help me with dinner.”

“H-huh?”

“You can cook, I’ve tasted your food before, shyeheehee. C’mon.” He looped his fingers through yours again, leading you deeper into the house. As you walked, the lights behind you turned off so the ones in front of you could turn on. You belatedly realized that the electricity is reacting to Ruggie.

“No, I just- I don’t know what I would make. I mean, what does your grandmother even like?”

Ruggie gave you a sort of odd look and showed you to a kitchen, a basket with some fresh vegetables sitting on the counter. Ruggie opened the fridge and you stiffly approached the veggies.

“Hmmm, oh… Looks like we’re making pasta today. That sound good?” He asked you.

You nodded, still feeling a bit out of your element. Ruggie pointed to the veggies and smiled kindly.

“Do me a favor and start washing those? I can do most of the rest until Grammy shows up.”

You calmly looked around the kitchen for a large bowl and some baking soda, glancing back at Ruggie as he retrieved a pan and a few seasonings, clearly planning to brown the… honestly somewhat suspicious-looking slab of meat on the counter. He carefully cut the striped fur and underlying skin off of the steak and rubbed some seasonings into the meat itself, his ear twitching as he glanced back at you.

You fill your bowl with cool water, salt, and baking soda, then start washing the vegetables, “So… where is your grandmother?”

Ruggie snickers under his breath, “I’m not all-knowing.”

“Well… yeah, but I just figured she would have told you?”

“Nah. She’ll probably be back soon. Make sure you wash that celery twice, okay?”

You nod obediently and diligently tackle your task, only pausing as Ruggie plops the meat into a pan and leans back on his heels, whistling as his arms rest behind his head. He looks way more casual than usual, which is especially funny to you since his uniform is usually in some form of disarray because he moves around so much. You smile to yourself and re-wash the celery, then rinse all of the vegetables.

Ruggie’s whistling cuts off abruptly and his head jerks towards the direction of the entrance. You turn off the water, your blood chilling as you hear soft footsteps headed towards the kitchen. In other words, there was someone walking towards you. Ruggie went back to his lazy grin as he watched the meat, flipping it over a bit as a large, sinewy woman steps into view. 

She looks incredibly serious, and there’s a scar lining her face, from her jaw, straight across her nose and splitting the start of her left eyebrow. She has a pair of fuzzy, round ears, similarly to Ruggie, and freckles along her forearms. In her hair, there’s streaks of gray, but other than that, her hair is a soft, mousy brown. Just like Ruggie, she has those pretty crystal gray eyes, like the sky just after a nice rain. 

She curled her lip in a grin and pinched Ruggie’s side. He yelped, even though it didn’t look that harsh, but it must have surprised him.

Her voice is brusque, like she might smoke or she’s a lot older than she looks, “You didn’t tell me you were bringing your cute buddy along, whelp!” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you saw Ruggie’s tail wiggle. From what you’ve understood, that tends to be a sign that he wants to remove himself from a situation. The lady, who is very obviously Ruggie’s grandmother, approached you and jerked out a very firm looking hand as Ruggie awkwardly turned back to his cooking meat.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Vittoria Bucchi, though most folks around here call me Vita or Grammy. And you are?”

You stuttered out your name, tentatively grasping Vita’s hand in a handshake. She’s kind of a mountain of a woman. She’s a good handful of inches taller than Ruggie, and if she’s taller than Ruggie, she’s definitely taller than you. She’s got to at least be 6 feet tall.

Vita’s grin grew wider and she turned back to her grandson, scooping him up in what appeared to be a bone-crushing hug and kissing him on the cheek before she placed a small paper sack on the counter and took a step back. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of the two of you, and then she let out a sigh and put her hands on her hips.

“Well done, you two, but you both stink. Ruggie, darling, why don’t you take your little friend out to the showers? Grammy can take over from here.”

Ruggie seemed grateful for the out. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was blushing. He grabbed your hand and gave you a very unconvincing grin. Of course you followed him.

As soon as you’re in what you assume is the bedroom (there only seems to be one of those) he let out a little sigh and chuckled, “Uh… heh, sorry. I forgot to warn you that Grammy is kinda…”

“Energetic?” You offered, then shook your head as you watched Ruggie pick out some clothing, “I don’t mind. She seems really sweet. I was pretty scared when she just walked in and stared at me for a moment, but she’s very cool…”

There’s a moment as Ruggie doesn’t say anything. You felt the horrible need to fill the silence, so you continued speaking.

“Uh, I can… I can see where you get it from.” Your voice came out as more of a mumble, but you know Ruggie heard you. He has good ears.

He stood up and grinned, rubbing the back of his neck with two towels and some clothes rolled up inside of them, “Oh, you think so? Shyheehee, my cute underclassman thinks I’m cool!” He was teasing you, but the butterflies in your stomach didn’t account for that. Your mouth went dry and he nudged you with the back of his hand, guiding you to follow him.

The neighborhood kind of grows on you. Several kids ran up to Ruggie, all of them sporting the too-big ears that you often see on wild hyena pups and very shaggy hair. They cheer and dance around him and he takes it in stride, waving them off with the same thing his grandmother told you two, that he stinks and needs to take a shower. The kids all intermittently say that the water is probably going to be cold by now, but Ruggie shrugs.

You’re not mad about that. It’s honestly fine. Ruggie pulls you into a somewhat creepy, kind of large stall, and you can see a rather frightening-looking dead moth underneath the dividing wall. There’s no way that the water reaches all the way to the opposite wall, but it kind of makes sense, since there’s only tile just in front of the two shower heads before it transitions to the same wood that the stall walls are made of. There’s hooks on the wall opposite the shower heads, with nice little baskets underneath them. The heavy wooden stall door is locked securely. It’s a little strange that the wall with the door is a full-length wall, but the walls adjacent to it, other than the shower wall itself, only come down part way. There’s no roof.

When you turn back to Ruggie, he’s already hung up the towels, put the new clothing down, and is buck ass naked and fiddling with the shower controls. You stifle a gasp and his ear swivels towards you.

“Everything okay?” He asks, ever so innocently.

You are the one being weird. What’s a shower with your close friend? Nothing is going to happen. So you stripped down as well, stepping towards Ruggie as the water turned on. 

As soon as the water touched you, you squealed. It was, quite literally, a jet of freezing cold water on your bare ass. Ruggie bursts into raucous laughter and lathers his hair like the cold water doesn’t even bother him.

It took you a moment to get acclimated. There was a rattling at the stall door and Ruggie didn’t even bother turning around as he rinsed his hair, his hands keeping the water out of his ears, “Ocupado!”

Whoever was on the other side didn’t move until Ruggie walked over to get his towel, a kind of unimpressed look on his face aimed towards the door. The shadow under the door retreats and you bring your shower to an end and dry off as well. Ruggie leaned against the door, clad in a pair of loose shorts and a kind of baggy shirt, waiting on you. He’s been very long suffering with you, thus far, but he’s very easygoing, so you’re unsure if you can do much to change that. Not that you want to.

He’s offered you some of his own clothing, to borrow. Most of his stuff is a bit… the wrong size? So you can wear it comfortably enough. He’s not bulked up or incredibly tall like Jack, so it’s a nice, cool change to your school uniform that fits you well enough.

He smiled as you approached him, sighing airily as he grabbed your hand, “Ah, I feel so refreshed after that! Usually I get water in my ears, but I guess you’re my lucky charm today, shyeheehee!”

“I bet that’s even less pleasant when your hearing is so good.” You supplemented, politely making conversation.

Ruggie shrugged, lifting his arm to rest his hand in his wet hair, “Eh, it’s not that bad. Now, a bug flying in there is a completely different story.”

“Oh, I bet. I wish I could wiggle my ears like you can.” You’ve always admired Ruggie’s ears, but not really because you wanted to have your own look like that. You just thought they were a friendly shape. Ruggie’s honestly very cute.

He gave you a pleasant, closed-lipped smirk and opened the door to his home. It smelled amazing in there. Ruggie wandered to the bedroom and you followed the smell. Vita grinned at you as you entered. She’s got a gap in her front teeth, and cute little fangs like Ruggie has.

“You’re just in time, kiddo! Ruggie come back with you?”

“Uh… yes?”

She giggles, much like her grandson, and plates up the creamy-looking pasta, “Well, you better go get ‘em.”

You had no idea where to look, but you obediently went looking regardless. Your search through a dark house was not particularly fruitful. The lights didn’t turn on for you, as you have zero magical ability, so you crept through the house. This house is not particularly large, and as you walked, you made a mental map, of sorts. The main hallway opens into the living area, which is attached to the kitchen. The kitchen has two entrances, one that goes into the hallway and the other that is attached to the living area. In the hallway, there is at least one door. As you feel around for the second one, you stumble blindly into a dark room because there was no door. Your toes hurt from the way you stumbled. You regained your balance, and after taking a step, you heard a soft click, which made your blood freeze. You went stiff, waiting for a second click or some other noise, and then something touched your back and you shrieked.

Ruggie took a couple steps away from you, raising his hands as you shot him a nasty look.

“Where were you?” You frowned.

He simply laughed and grabbed your hand, guiding you back to the kitchen. Vita was waiting, patient as can be. She smiled and took a seat. Ruggie followed suit, and you followed Ruggie.

As you ate- which, by the way, was amazing even though you were certain the meat came from a zebra because it tasted gamey- you listened in on the conversation that Vita and Ruggie shared. You felt like a bystander, but a welcome one. This was a pocket of domesticity, despite how unusual it felt to be here.

“So, how’s school going, whelp?” Vita asks between bites.

Ruggie swallows and tilts his head so he can look at his grammy as he shovels food into his mouth, “It’s going okay. No trouble.”

“Mmm. You’re getting good grades?”

“Of course.”

You quietly ate as Vita’s eyes turned to you. Her eyes narrowed as she smiled, flicking between you and her grandson, “And you scored yourself a nice partner. They’re so polite!”

Ruggie coughed, then sat up a lot straighter than you’ve ever seen him sit up, “Uh, heh- Grammy, we aren’t dating.”

“You aren’t? What a shame. Maybe things’ll change soon.”

It was your turn to cough. You choked and a noodle came out of your nose. Ruggie and Vita just stared as you intensely wished to be anywhere but your seat at the table, and then Ruggie, very gently, incredibly gingerly, pulled the noodle out of your nose. It burned, but not as bad as the embarrassment, but Vita and Ruggie went back to eating as though that didn’t happen at all.

After dinner is over, Ruggie washed the dishes and you dried them. He kept laughing to himself. 

“What’s so funny?” As soon as the words left your mouth, you wished you could take them back.

Ruggie glanced up at you, those pretty sky-after-rain eyes narrowed in mirth, and then he did not mention the noodle incident at all, instead pointing at the little knob of bone that was inside the zebra steak earlier on a single plate. It’s fully cooked.

“Grammy left it out, ‘cause you’re human. I just thought it was funny.”

“I- I mean, I guess I could have eaten the marrow?” You placed the dishes in their places and Ruggie shrugged.

“Do you want the marrow?” Ruggie asked, a sort of sardonic tone to his voice.

“Not really.”

He nodded, then picked the little bone chunk up and popped it in his mouth. He casually grabbed the plate it was on and washed it. For a moment, you thought he was just sucking the marrow out of the bone, but then a horrible crunch resounded from his jaw and you just stared for a moment.

“Are… you okay?” You asked quietly.

Ruggie politely finished chewing, handing off the now-clean plate to you, and turned around so his back was to the counter, “Yeah.”

Okay. So he just… crunched on a bone. Wonderful. You silently made a note to never put your hand in his mouth and put the final plate away.

There was a comfortable silence as Ruggie stared out the window, and then he broke it, “So typically, Grammy takes one cot while I take the other. Do you want your own cot?”

“What?”

“To sleep on.” His lips quirked into a smile and you blinked a couple times.

“I don’t need my own cot. I usually sleep with Grim on my head anyway.”

Ruggie nodded and covered his chin with his knuckles as he snickers, “Shyeheeheehee! Well, I’m not as cute or compact as Grim, but if you want, we can share a cot.”

The two of you already shared a shower. Sharing a cot is honestly something of a step down, “That’s fine.”

Ruggie gives you that soothing grin and grabs your hand, “Promise I’m not a sleep fighter like Grammy. Let’s get to bed. Tomorrow I wanna give you the grand tour.”

So, of course you found yourself lying against Ruggie as he quietly snored. His grammy doesn’t snore, but you actually couldn’t tell if she was asleep or not. Before the two of you laid down to go to sleep, it was mutually and silently agreed that neither of you wanted to be a spoon, so you decided to lie shoulder to shoulder, but Ruggie is apparently a bit of a sleep cuddler, since as soon as he fell asleep, you were bundled against his chest. 

You weren’t really complaining. Ruggie is a piece of shit and emotionally intelligent, so you harbor the belief that he knows. You weren’t really subtle about your affection for him, but you weren’t overt either. You would share your lunch with him. You would forage on your down time, just hoping to catch a glimpse of him but often bumping into Jade. Whenever Crewel decided to have a shadowing class, where you had to look at what your upperclassmen were doing, you’d go to Ruggie’s side as soon as humanly possible. And now, here you were, having decided to stay the whole week of spring break with a guy who probably saw you as some kind of younger sibling.

Oh well. You closed your eyes and heard that clicking noise again. You sat up and Ruggie’s eyes opened, but you didn’t really think he was awake, since they closed after a moment of him staring through where you were. It was that thing that you’ve seen so many animals do. Grim did that too. It’s that protective thing that animals do when something slightly disturbs their rest. You had the thin hope that you didn’t fully wake him up as you stared into the darkness near the doorway. There was nothing there, and you’re not stupid enough to go wandering into the dark and chasing a noise. You laid back down, shutting your eyes as your head rested on Ruggie’s arm and shoulder.

Sleep didn’t come easy. It hadn’t ever since you ended up in Twisted Wonderland. You attributed this to the stress, honestly. You dreamt about the darkness, spreading like ink through cloth. It bleeds into the world around you and you see it crawling up your feet and ankles, as though you’re a ragdoll, something soft and made of cloth and being tainted. When it reaches your elbows, you felt something heavy in your stomach, bringing you to your knees. The ink crawled up your shoulders, to your neck, and your mouth opened, darkness spewing out of the depths of your very being. As you looked up into the dark sky, you had a resounding, loud thought within your dream, “Is this what overblotting feels like?”

You woke up to the sound of sniffling and someone shushing someone else, as well as a soft, rolling massage against the base of your ear. As you woke a bit more, you realize that you were the one crying, and Ruggie’s hand is massaging your neck as he shushed you like he was talking to a distraught child. 

“Shh, shh… It’s okay, you’re alright.” He whispers.

You rolled onto your back and looked up at the sunlight coming through the window, then back at Ruggie’s soft smile. Your head hurt, “What…?”

“You were crying in your sleep. Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. I’m good.”

Ruggie very obviously didn’t believe you, but he moved back and Vita appeared in the doorway, holding a steaming cup. She smiled and passed it down to Ruggie, who passed it to you.

It’s just hot water, but it’s relaxing and your headache eased as you sipped it, offering a sheepish grin to Ruggie and Vita, “Sorry. The… The crying doesn’t usually happen.”

Ruggie tilted his head and Vita’s ears flicked as she sighed. Both of them are wearing different clothing, Vita was wearing a sleeveless shirt and a pair of loose khaki shorts and Ruggie was wearing a sports jersey and a pair of basketball pants. 

Vita mumbled something about getting to work and left the room, and Ruggie placed a hand on your wrist. His hands were warm and he tilted his head, his voice soft, not even above a whisper as he gently squeezed your arm.

“You’re safe. With me, you’re safe.” He let go and stood up, stretching with a little whoop on his tongue, “Well, lemme find you something to wear. We gotta go soon!”

You stood up as well, far more comfortable in the house now that the shadows clung strictly to the corners of the walls and behind the doors, and took your still-warm, empty cup to the kitchen sink. You washed it, drying and putting it away before you returned and Ruggie promptly passed off a bundle of clothing to you and tweaked your nose.

“I’ll be right outside, okay? Shyeheeheehee, don’t have a heart attack without me.” He slumps out of the room.

Ruggie is a chronic sloucher. You thought it was kind of funny, really. He’d look a lot taller if he stood straight, but it was kind of cute. He doesn’t walk, he lopes. It’s cute.

You paused your fuzzy thoughts as you pulled the sweatpant shorts up your legs to shoot a look at the window. You could have sworn that you saw something from the corner of your eye. You stared at the window a moment longer, then quickly finished dressing, putting on the old tank top that Ruggie lent you.

You left the room in a bit of a haste, slamming into Ruggie. The impact knocked both of you down and Ruggie shot back up to help you up.

“Hey, what’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“I, uh, I saw something in the window?” It sounded stupid when you said it. You swallowed and shook your head, “Nevermind, I- it’s stupid, I’m just… seeing things.”

“It’s not stupid.” Ruggie reassured you, a smile on his face as he grabbed your arm to steady you, “You’ve got to trust your eyes and ears, right? What’d you see?”

You shook your head, “I didn’t get a good look.”

Ruggie nodded so understandingly that you almost burst into tears, his hand snaking down your arm so he could grasp your hand, “Alright. That’s fine. C’mon, I gotta show you around. You’re gonna feel something today, shyeheeheehee!”

You followed him around as he showed you the neighborhood. It’s actually rather large, considering. He explained that this section was mostly hyena beastmen, which might have been why you felt so freaked out at first. A lot of the littler neighbors, the kids, were more or less nocturnal. It’s a thing they grow out of as they adjust their schedules to tasks that usually operate during the day. The dim haze in the area persists, despite it being broad daylight out. 

Ruggie showed you to the showers again, then to the somewhat sparse community garden, where Vita happened to be. She waved and Ruggie squeezed your hand as the two of you waved back. A lot of these houses were falling apart, plenty of the neighbors wandering around looking overworked and overtired. You noticed some older kids, the human one looking kind of familiar with shaggy blond hair and green eyes while the other has black-streaked brown hair and hyena features and wide brown eyes, getting into a fist fight. You took a step forward to stop them and Ruggie stopped you with a hand on your belly.

“It’s fine. They’ll figure it out themselves. C’mon.” He led you away.

That didn’t sit well in your stomach, but this was Ruggie’s turf. Who knew? Maybe you’d have gotten stabbed by one of those kids. Anything can happen.

A chill runs up your back and you look around, noticing a man leaning against the shower stalls. You furrowed your brow and Ruggie turned to look at whatever had caught your eye.

“What is it?” He asked.

You shook your head. It wasn’t worth making a big fuss about some dude just minding his business. Ruggie showed you some kind of herb shed next? It was kind of hard to explain, but top to bottom, it was drying racks for herbs and mushrooms. And almost everything else is either houses or someone else’s property.

“What do you think?” He asked you with a kind of lopsided grin. 

“It’s not what I was expecting,” You admitted. This place was a part of Ruggie, of course it was, and even though this place wasn’t perfect, you don’t imagine the guy you have a crush on would be who he is without it, so you tack on, “It’s very home-like. People working together for the community. Plus, those were some really bomb herbs.”

Ruggie’s grin turns into a beaming smile and he tilts his head, his fist coming up to his chin as his shoulders jerk and he contains his giggle, “Shyeheehee, that’s big, coming from you. Well, since we’re up, we better get moving. There’s a nice little spot over there and I’d bet that there’s something worth foraging there.”

“I can forage!” The words spilled out of your mouth, making your cheeks burn, but Ruggie laughed it off, tweaking your nose again.

“I know that. C’mon.”

Ruggie walked off, and you followed him, that prickle on the back of your neck fading as you entered what seemed like an oasis in the middle of the desolate land that everyone lived in. There were a couple little kids napping in the two trees, two to a branch. You didn’t think he had seen them at first, but as he scanned the ground, Ruggie called up to them.

“Your parents wouldn’t be too happy if any of you fell.” He said, his tone rather neutral. 

The kids groaned but filed down the trunks regardless. There were eight of them, six girls and two boys. They’re all skinny and dirty, and a couple of them are tugging on their ears, a couple others sucking on their thumbs, some of them doing both. They’re the cutest little things you’ve ever seen. 

Ruggie spread his hands, “Not in the mood to play today, guys? Shyeheehee, I would think a bunch of active kids like you would be running around like crazy!”

All of the kids shook their heads, one of them, a sort of tall girl with her hair cropped short, spoke up, leaning back and forth with her arms limp in a dramatic display of exasperation, “No. It’s too hot today, Ruggie.”

“Too hot?” Ruggie said, sort of exaggeratedly.

You piped in, “Well, this area doesn’t have any scary crocodiles or whatever. How about hide and seek? Ruggie and I will look while we’re foraging, and you guys can go hide.”

Ruggie shot you an alarmingly pleased smile and nodded, “Shyeheehee, of course. But if we find you, you gotta help us find the rest of you… and help us forage.”

The kids didn’t seem very impressed. You smiled, “It beats doing nothing, doesn’t it?”

They seemed to concede, more or less, and you turned around to face one of the trees and started counting while Ruggie started looking for good forage. 

Once you got to twenty, all of the kids were gone. You walked over to Ruggie, who stood up, holding what appeared to be some kind of onion or leek, and nudged you with a dirt-covered hand. “Quick thinking.”

“Not really.”

Ruggie smirks and hunches back down, “Well, if you wanna go look for kids while I grab these onions, you can go ahead.”

Ruggie didn’t correct you when you said that this area wasn’t dangerous, so you chose to believe the implication. You wandered casually around the bushes, spotting four of the littler kids almost immediately. One of the boys fashioned a sort of breathing tube from a chunk of dried reed, but he seemed to forget that water is see-through, so when you reached in he jumped out of the pond and stomped his foot, shaking the water from his ears as he pouted. 

So, now that you had a troupe of five kids following you like ducklings, you wander towards the edge of the oasis. From where you stood, you could see that one of the boys and another girl had gotten bored and decided to help Ruggie dig up onions, but were mostly just making mud castles, which left just the big girl.

There weren’t really many places for a gangly kid to hide, but you looked up and, sure enough, you spotted her. You grin and point up at her.

“Alright, found you! But you won!”

The big girl doesn’t respond at all. She was staring away from you, into the brush and bramble. She just stares into it, flinching as the sound of a twig snapping crackles through the silent and still air. She quickly dropped down and cowered against your side. Children are familiar little creatures and can make friends as easily as breathing, so you weren’t entirely shocked by that, but her tail wagged once and the other five kids rushed towards where Ruggie was. You hold her as close as you can with mobility and rushed back toward Ruggie again.

Once you’re near Ruggie once more, you bent down and looked into the kid’s eyes, “What’s the matter?”

She looked up at you, her right ear twitching towards the direction she was staring in, and very solemnly whispered, “I heard someone in the leaves, new friend.”

You nodded, just as seriously, and squatted down so you could get more on her level, “I believe you. But I bet it was just someone looking for something good to eat later, like us. Are you still feeling hot?”

She nodded slowly and swiveled her torso side to side.

You smiled at her and tilted your head towards the gaggle of other kids all playing in the mud, “Your family might make you clean up before you go inside, but I bet that mud is nice and cold… And it makes some really nice castles.”

She gave you a sort of blank look and a soft little smile lit her face before she went over to bury her hands in the mud as well. You watched her go, Ruggie’s eyes catching yours in the corner of your vision. Was he watching you?

By the time the sun was high in the sky, Ruggie seemed satisfied with all the forage that you had collected, and the kids were sleepy and ready to go back to their respective homes. Whatever the big girl had seen in the bushes never showed itself.

That didn’t change the uneasiness that settled in your gut as you looked back towards the oasis. The kids ran ahead with Ruggie, who laughed and dodged their filthy little hands, and you cast one last look at the oasis.

You didn’t see anything. It was all greenery against the dim sky, nothing but green and the murky blue of the sky.

The sound of your name pulled you out of your staring, and you turned to see Ruggie standing a little ways away. He gave you a very sweet, concerned look, his eyes wide and ears pointed towards you. 

You shook your head and walked towards him. He was using his shirt as a makeshift basket, humming to himself as he led you back to the neighborhood.

Once the two of you got back, he put you on veggie-washing duty again while he made a quick roux. 

“Ahhh, what a good haul! I told those kids to come by later to get some soup. This is gonna be so good!” Ruggie sighed, very obviously pleased with himself.

“Oh? This is a lot of onions.”

“Yeah. We’re making onion soup. Don’t worry, it won’t be too pungent, shyeheehee!”

You heard the end of your sentence before you managed to register what you said, “Well, just don’t kiss me after you eat this.”

As soon as the sentence is punctuated, you paused, your movements halted entirely as your muscles locked and you glanced at Ruggie from the corner of your eye. The discomfort of stretching your eyes in that direction without turning your head made the whole thing more embarrassing. 

You let out a stilted laugh, “Uh, well, haha, I don’t- I mean-”

“Do you want me to kiss you?” There had to have been a shit eating grin on Ruggie’s face. You weren’t looking at him, but you can hear it in his voice, “Shyeheeheehee, my cute underclassman wants me to kiss them?”

That had you turning to face him, just in time for him to lean up on his toes and plant a kiss on your forehead. And then he laughed and turned back to his roux.

You liked Ruggie. He was a piece of shit, but he was emotionally intelligent, so you were certain he knew. As you carefully chopped up the wild onions and Ruggie stirred in some kind of broth and the other already chopped foraged vegetables, you thought about how you could still feel his lips on your forehead despite him standing several feet away from you. Being around him made you feel like a total space-case, your head floating up in the stars and the clouds, looking at the way the world glitters. Your feet were on the ground, of course, but you felt lighter when you were near him. 

These thoughts carry you as you took a seat next to Ruggie after the soup was done. You sat on a blanket that one of the kids brought over. One of the other kids managed to convince their mom to let them bring some bread out to enjoy the soup with, so in the center of your circle sat a chipped old porcelain plate with a small stack of sliced, white bread on it. The kids all chattered between themselves and Ruggie, but you were stuck, thinking about how soft his lips were on your forehead and how nice he always was to you. Perhaps it was just a habit for him to always be polite, but politeness didn’t usually consist of someone inviting you to stay spring break in their hometown. 

You tapped your fingertips on your forehead and the big girl from earlier tugged on your elbow.

“Friend, can you go get me just a little, itty bitty piece of sage? Please?” She asked, her bottom lip poking out.

You glanced at Ruggie, who shrugged and nodded, so you ruffled her hair and smiled, “Yeah, okay.”

The herb shed isn’t that far away. It’s out of sight of the picnic blanket, which did kind of frighten you, but you weren’t as freaked out as you were the first night. You opened the shed and jumped in fright as someone cleared their throat behind you. 

It’s that guy who you noticed earlier during Ruggie’s tour. He gave you a broad smile, the dim sunlight shining off of his bald head. He’s more ape than hyena. You offered him a polite smile and stepped to the side, holding a shriveled up sage leaf. The man didn’t enter the shed, simply looking at you.

“Hard out here for us.” He said.

You didn’t know what that meant. The way the man’s kind-looking eyes stared through you was disturbing, so you laughed awkwardly, “Uh… yeah. I’ll get out of your way.”

He nodded and you returned to the blanket. You couldn’t see the shed from where you were sitting, but you could almost still feel the strange man’s eyes on you.

You finished eating and helped clean up. You nearly dropped a bowl and Ruggie looked kind of concerned, but didn’t say anything about it. As you just stood there after putting away the last of the dishes and the kids all ran off, Ruggie rested his knuckles on your forehead.

“You’re kind of warm. C’mon, let’s hit the showers.”

“Oh, okay.”

Just like the first night but far more comfortable, you showered with Ruggie. The water was lukewarm this time, so it was a lot nicer, and after you got out, you did feel a lot cooler. The sun was low in the sky, just resting on the horizon. Ruggie grabbed your hand, squeezing it as the two of you walked back to his home.

Vita was back by now, but she had a few other ladies in the living area playing a card game. You stood by, idly, listening as they talked about Ruggie with him right there, asking him about sports but not listening to his answers, really. Vita’s eyes laser-focused on your hand in his and she shot you a grin before going back to scowling at her deck of cards.

About as soon as you got back to the bedroom, you noticed that you forgot your borrowed shorts.

“Ruggie, I forgot something.” You said, stowing the rest of the clothes.

Ruggie gave you a wide-eyed look and turned back to dressing up the cot, “Alright. You should hurry and go get them then. Grammy’s gonna be out tonight, so it’ll just be us.”

You were a bit curious, but you went back out to the showers. The sky was that same pitch black that it was on the first night, and as you walked, you felt those prickles on the back of your neck, like you were being followed. You looked behind you as you got to the showers. The single, weak lamp in front of the stall felt useless in the dark like this. You grabbed the balled-up shorts and stepped out of the safety of the light and into the inky blackness of the night.

Almost immediately, you felt like you were suffocating. It was like your nightmare. You could see a little bit in front of you, the moon affording you just the outline of the buildings. You tripped over your own feet as you stumbled into a run and returned to find Ruggie’s home completely dark.

You took a deep breath and reassured yourself that he had just decided to go to bed before you got back. Your hand presses against the wall as you walk, the only way for you to tell where you’re headed. Something in that room made a soft clicking noise. You froze for a moment.

When your blood stopped roaring in your ears, you whispered, “Ruggie?”

There was no response. A pressure against your back, like a weighted blanket and a harsh grip on your chin prevented you from trying to call out for Ruggie again. Your silent assailant swiveled and turned you so you’re facing the now open door.

You recognized the silhouette, the friendly shaped ears and messy hair, the sort of gangly build with the skinny limbs, but it’s his eyes that made your heart beat faster.

You didn’t know he had these. Tapetum lucidum, the lining in the back of his eyes that gives him a biologic advantage over stupid creatures that can’t see in the dark. It made for an eerie sight, though. He was a shadow standing in the door with two bright green, glowing dots for eyes. You wondered if this is what prey animals felt like when they saw wild dogs. He raised his hands up to put them behind his head, just a shadow in movement, and let out a big sigh.

“Grammy’s gonna be real mad if you get blood and whatever all over her floors. Let’s take this outside.”

The calm tone of Ruggie’s voice paired with his rather jarring appearance set a pit in your stomach. You couldn’t stop the sob that punched out of your chest.

You sounded as betrayed as you felt. “Ruggie? What’s-”

The man holding you clubbed you with something harder than a fist and dragged you out of the house, following Ruggie.

You cried the whole time. You didn’t even know where they were taking you, but this felt worse than a usual betrayal. You thrashed and sobbed and begged, only getting a quiet, “Knock it off,” from Ruggie’s direction.

You knew. You knew Ruggie was a duplicitous little snotbag and that he would eventually crush your heart in one way or another, but this is not the way you wanted. You wanted him to hurt you in a way that meant you could still be friends, where he told you that he didn’t see you the same way, where he tweaked your nose and watched as you cried. Not like this, not being dragged off by some stranger to who knows where. Your bawling was cut short by Ruggie clicking on a light and you being unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

You rolled over and shot the individuals looming above you the dirtiest look you could manage. Of course, one of them is Ruggie, staring down at you with the light above his head almost mockingly making him appear like a heavenly being. One of his eyes looks like it usually does, only a bit more dim, while the other only has that reflective lining in the back of the pupil visible, that eerie green glow pinned onto your face. The other individual is the bald man from earlier. You appeared to be in a sort of shed-like building. There was a shelf, casting the absence of light over you, as though you’d been covered in paint and left to rot.

Two shadowed figures and shadows below. It’s similar enough to your dream, the one where the darkness swallowed you whole.

Ruggie nudged the man with his elbow and held out his palm, his fingers waving back until the man dropped a stack of cash in it.

Your heart pumped so hard you could feel it in your throat and stomach simultaneously, “You sold me?”

“No.” Ruggie responded, flicking through the wad of money, “Just your organs.”

As if it wasn’t crushing enough. Your lips parted and your eyes were dry, but you felt as though a bucket of ice had just been dumped over your head. The bald man’s grin looked silver in this light as he angled his hand to reveal a standard kitchen knife, glinting in the shitty light of this shed and primed to slice into you.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of Ruggie as the man squatted down to sit on your stomach, couldn’t look away as the man crushed your windpipe with his giant hand.

You couldn’t stop looking at Ruggie as he leaned against the wall to watch for a moment, then cleared his throat and stood up straight, as though he was putting on a show for you in your final moments. Your vision was spotting out, considering that the bald guy was strangling you, but Ruggie spread his arms and grinned.

His voice was startlingly loud, overshadowing the sound of your own pulse as you struggled to breathe, “Both kings and hyenas are my friends! Laugh With Me!”

The man on top of you stiffened, then his hand on your neck relaxed as he sat up, his free hand joining the one on his knife as he raised the blade above his head.

As you stared up at the stranger, the creases in his jacket creating splotches of shadow that hid more of his face from your view, you tried to quickly come up with a way to brace yourself for the pain you would soon experience. Betrayal and heartbreak are not the same as getting your ribcage cracked open, not that you had extensive experience with one or the other. You squirmed, trying to get your arms out from under the man atop you, your eyes glued to the light streaked along the knife. The looming figure of the man atop you is stiff, and… you saw Ruggie doing much of the same from the corner of your eye.

For a moment, you thought that this is maybe what you deserve. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. You grow a festering affection for someone without integrity, he sells your organs and kills you so he doesn’t have to watch the guy supposed to be doing the job choke you to death. You let another powerful sob punch out of your chest and writhe, shutting your eyes so you don’t get tears in your ears from crying on your back.

You heard a dull noise. Kind of like a slab of meat getting cut, or someone putting their hand into a bag of pudding. Maybe the two of those noises combined. You waited for the pain, because you could feel something warm spreading along the base of your ribs. Maybe it just didn’t really hurt when you got stabbed. You’d be willing to accept that.

There was a moment before you opened your eyes. The first thing you saw was the terror in the bald man’s eyes as he sat on top of you. He sputtered and blood sprayed over your face. It cools on your face as you gape up at him. His knife is buried in his own gut.

In the still moment, you heard a quiet little laugh. It bounced off the walls until you couldn’t hear anything but the laughter. You turned your head and noticed Ruggie, his hands pressed fist to fist to abdomen, his face stretched in a hellish grin as he cackled. You can still only see one of his eyes clearly, the other still that little dot of reflection, a glowing green facet, looking right at you. His laughter calmed as he looked at you, a serene smile replacing the maddened grin he was wearing moments before. He made a quick jerking motion, pulling his hands up so his hands rested at the base of his own ribs, still holding an invisible knife. 

The man atop you spluttered again, pitching forward a bit as his blood gushed over you. It got in your eyes and nose, covered your mouth and ears, tainting your perception with a bitter copper coating. 

Ruggie theatrically threw his invisible knife to one side and tilted to the other. You weren’t sure if it was the motion Ruggie started or if it was the man just being dead, but you attacker hit the ground hard, the knife skittering to a stop on the other side.

The human body is fascinating. It always has been. You, having had a degree of understanding, thanks to being born into such a form, weren’t prepared at all to have a man disembowel himself while sitting on top of you. The sight set you into a hysteria. 

You could hear your own breathing, the reedy gasps for air you sucked in as you stared at the bald man’s organs and blood spreading across the floor. In all the scientific diagrams, they looked so different. The lungs were red, the heart was pink, the intestines were orange and purple. The diagrams lied to you, or perhaps you were too stupid to realize that the very simple vector diagrams that you’d always seen were color coded for your ease. The slick sacks of flesh spilling onto the ground before you with their sheen of blood were all varying shades of flesh. No bright colors, just peaches and reds and pinks, a thick, puss-looking yellow being tainted on the sides of the gash. Adipose resembles lemon curd, sort of. You could hear soft footsteps coming towards you. You had nearly forgotten Ruggie was here, even though he was the very maker of this nightmare. You felt one of his hands turning you over, rolling you so you were looking up at him.

The smile on his face was so sweet and kind, the type of smile you’d expect to see on a kid who had just gotten a kitten for their birthday. He brushed a hand along your hairline, his eyebrows furrowing. It made him look concerned. 

“Did you really think I’d trade you for money?” His smile took on an uncanny, eerie edge, and his eyes narrowed, “Shyeehee, maybe I should become an actor.”

You didn’t respond, staring up at him as he helped you sit up. He pressed a hand against your collarbone, sighing at the sanguine dampness left on his hand afterwards.

“Aw, that guy made such a mess. Don’t worry, we can take another shower.” Ruggie curled one of his arms around your shoulders, the opposite hand tilting your chin so he could look at your face. “I bet you’re pretty mad, huh?”

“Wh-What… why did you…?”

“I didn’t. The man who paid me for your organs has had his sights on you since we got here. Guess he got cursed or something and needed a fresh human heart.” Ruggie wrinkled his nose before smiling at you again, his fangs looking even sharper in this low light, “Grammy even noticed him. So yesterday morning, before you woke up, I tracked him down and made a little deal. He gets you, but I wanted to watch. Of course I was gonna just bleed him dry, shyeheeheehee!”

You had no idea what to say to that. You stared at Ruggie and he leaned close, his lips brushing against yours for a moment. The blood transferred from you to him resembled a kind of sick, clumpy lipgloss. Knowing that it’s blood makes it all far worse.

Ruggie sighed and leaned against you, still crouched beside you as you lay partially sprawled on the dusty floor, trying not to think about the dead body less than a foot away from you. His cheek pressed against your forehead, and he sighed again.

“Of course I couldn’t go through with it.” He almost sounded like he was more so talking to himself than to you, “You’ll always be safe with me.”

[inkblot22]

Limerence and Apologies

No one asked for this but I need to put something out and I've been sitting on this for a LONG ass time. Morgan and Chihiro belong to @love-toxin or @yanverse and I've been very fond of him and Umi for a long, long time and used to check Ellie's page religiously. This is my tribute to you, thank you for being a big inspiration! (If you'd like me to remove the tag, just let me know) Dividers by @/cafekitsune

This fic is for: anyone who can handle it! Body parts and pronouns are kept neutral.

TW FOR: Kidnapping, DUBCON, "soft" yandere behavior, item insecurity, abusive/problematic family members and dynamics, mentions of tasing. If I've forgotten anything, please tell me!

You don’t know your roommate’s last name.

Alright, if you’re honest with yourself, he is not your roommate, but the nature of your relationship is strange to begin with, what with the whole taser fiasco and the not being able to leave, so it’s easier to pretend that you’re here on purpose and he is your roommate. 

He’s out right now, probably at work. Before he kissed you goodbye- yes, he kissed you goodbye- he seemed a bit… fragile. Like he was trying to hold himself together, but when you asked if he was alright, he laughed it off and told you that he’d come back as soon as possible and that Chihiro was coming over later as he grabbed his mobility cane. 

So you’re idly wondering about him. Morgan is a really sweet man, if you discount the whole taser fiasco, but Chihiro kind of freaks you out. They’re also sweet- possibly more so than Morgan, but there’s something a tad uncanny about them, and you can never feel very relaxed around them because of that. It’s wholly a you problem.

It dawned on you, however, that despite Chihiro telling you their last name, Morgan never has told you his. You suppose it’s just never come up in conversation, but he knows yours, so why don’t you know his?

Maybe it’s just another level of disconnect that you created to protect yourself after the taser fiasco. Really, it was your fault. You probably just startled him when you went to unlock the front door. Why wouldn’t he attack what he maybe thought was a home intruder with a concentrated jolt of electricity to the kidneys? He couldn’t see you and you didn’t announce yourself or that you were leaving.

Maybe it’s just you keeping distance where there shouldn’t be any. You call him your roommate, but the two of you function more like a long-term couple. You sleep in the same bed that he fucks you in, you share food and kisses, and despite his impairment, he swears up and down that he goes to work just so he can get excited about seeing you when he gets home.

So… maybe your roommate is a bit more than that. Just as you finish realizing that little factoid, you hear a knock at the door. You lost your phone around the same time that Morgan invited you over and insisted that you belonged here, so you get up, expecting to see Chihiro.

“Morgan’s still out- oh.” 

Much like Morgan’s last name, you don’t know this woman standing at the door. She smiles stiltedly at you and peers over your shoulder, as though expecting to see someone behind you. When she looks back at you, her smile is stretched a bit too wide.

“Hello… dear. I was under the impression that a young man named Morgan lived here?"

“Uh…?” You’re not sure what to say. Morgan lives here, but so do you, and he’s never… mentioned an older woman to you.

She pushes past you before you can formulate a better response to her question. Her brown eyes are devoid of warmth, and she looks around as though she belongs there.

“Wait a second, Morgan isn’t- he’s not here right now, so you’re going to have to come back later.” You approach the woman and try to give her a smile.

She looks at you like you’re stupid, then takes a seat on the couch, where you had been sitting before you got up, “I have time to wait.”

There’s no real way for you to ask Morgan about this, or, better yet, call the cops. Since you lost your phone and Chihiro isn’t here yet, you kind of just have to wait. You walk into the kitchenette and put on some hot water for tea, occasionally popping your head around the wall to see what this strange lady is doing. She’s watching you. You dislike that.

Morgan almost always knows where you are when he’s here, so you would think that you’d be used to the feeling of being watched, but since Morgan is blind, he doesn’t stare at you. He’ll have a hand on your leg, an arm around your shoulders if you’re close enough, but his presence is, more often than not, a comforting one. You would think otherwise, considering that he tased you, but he assured you it was a mistake, a one-time thing.

Whatever. The whole point is that Morgan is incapable of watching you in the manner that this woman is, and you don’t like it. It’s pissing you off, frankly. You decide to stay in the kitchen, if only to keep away from her for a moment longer. You dig some frozen quick-dinner out of the back of the freezer and pop it in the oven. As you’re waiting, you hear the sound of the front doorknob jiggling, and make a beeline for the door.

Obviously it’s Morgan. He’s humming under his breath and looks a bit taken aback when you wrench the door open. His surprise turns into a pleasant smile, a laugh in his voice.

“Well, I’m happy to see you t-” He begins, but you cover his mouth before he can finish the sentence. His large, warm hand comes up to cradle yours, impossibly gentle as he pulls it away from his face, “What’s gotten into you?”

“Th-there’s a lady?” You whisper back, “I opened the door ‘cause I thought Chihiro was here and she pushed her way in and I didn’t know what to do.”

Morgan makes possibly the scariest face you’ve ever seen him make. He’s usually smiling, but his face falls into an angry frown at the mention of the woman. He switches hands, holding yours with the one that he has his keys and mobility cane in, then gently eases you behind him. 

He’s usually something of a leisurely walker. He meanders, but right now, he storms into the living room, and the woman jumps, not expecting his sudden entrance. Her surprise turns into happiness, and you think that you’re kind of starting to pierce together the pieces.

“Oh, Morgan! My precious baby! How have you been?” She stands and walks towards Morgan, her hands outstretched.

The minute she gets a bit too close, Morgan frowns deeper and moves out of her range. His hand moves vaguely over his shoulder, where she just barely grazed with her fingertips, and he swings his mobility cane behind him until it taps you in the ankle, making sure you’re still there.

“What do you want?” He grits out, his voice the coldest you’ve ever heard. You place a hand on his arm and he tenses further.

The woman frowns, “Well, I just wanted to see my child.”

“Great. You’ve seen me. Goodbye.”

There’s a tense silence and the woman- Morgan’s mother- sighs, “You know, you don’t have to live this way. I’ve been doing some research and I know a good place, one that could help you so you’re no longer living in sin. I just want the best for you, Morgan. I care about you.”

Morgan reaches his arm back to grab you. His hand catches your wrist, then slides down to squeeze your palm before he lets out a sigh, “It’s time for you to leave. I don’t need help.”

You smell the lasagna you put in the oven. You know Morgan does as well, but he doesn’t say anything or make any indication of it. The woman sniffs and grabs her purse.

“You have my number if you need anything.” She places her hand on Morgan’s arm and he shakes her off. She looks at him as though he spat in her face and leaves, closing the door behind her.

Then there’s another tense silence. Morgan lets go of your hand and walks into the bedroom, and you listlessly pull the now-cooked frozen lasagna out of the oven, placing it on the counter before you walk into the bedroom behind Morgan.

“I’m here.” You announce.

He’s sitting on the bed in his silly dog-patterned boxers and gray socks, nothing else as he holds his head in his hands. You ease his hands out of his hair and take a seat on his lap, smiling at him even though he can’t see it.

“Are you alright?” You ask.

He looks tormented. His arm curls around your waist and he pulls you a little closer so he can rest his forehead on your shoulder.

His voice is rough when he speaks, “Did she do anything to you?”

“No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let her in.”

“I don’t blame you. I should have known she was gonna show up after she called me yesterday.” He mumbles, his nose pressed against your shoulder. “You mind calling Chihiro and asking them to pick up some new locks on their way here?”

“Oh, wow, I get to use your phone?” You tease, “Sure. I don’t mind.”

His cheeks flush at your benign teasing, but he smiles anyways, his lips brushing against your shoulder, “I think my phone is still in my pants on the other side of the bed.”

You mumble your understanding and crawl around Morgan’s stocky form, leaning over the side of the bed as you dig around in your roommate’s discarded jeans. You feel his hand trail up your calf and he sucks in a breath, unsureness dancing on his tongue. You cast a glance at him over your shoulder and dial Chihiro.

“Hello!” Chihiro is so sweet. Their voice as they sing their greeting is all the evidence you need, but as usual, there’s something a little… off about it.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Oh, it’s you! I’m doing well, how are you?” They ask.

“I’m doing okay.” Morgan’s hand rests on the swell of your ass, and you glance back at him again. It doesn’t deter him, since he can’t see the look on your face, “Uh, hey, are you still coming over?”

Chihiro hums, and Morgan’s wandering fingers hook in your bottoms, tugging them down as he crawls over you. His hands smooth over your ass and split your cheeks. He licks his fingers and trails them through the crack, nails first until he reaches your entrance, where he smears his spit almost lovingly.

“M-Morgan?” You mutter, still waiting for Chihiro’s response.

Morgan is grinning like a dirty pervert as he arches over your back and tugs his boxers down, resting his cock against your slightly slicked-up entrance. As he pushes in, he peppers kisses on as much of your skin as his lips can reach.

Chihiro’s hum stops abruptly and you can hear the smile in their voice, “I should be able to, yes. Unfortunately, I may be a little later than usual. Why do you ask?”

You swallow and try to speak evenly, “W-well, uh… M-Mor- Morgan…” You accidentally moan his name, having all the sense to be embarrassed but none of the sense to stop him as he places a hand on your hip and begins thrusting, “S-sorry, Morgan wanted to know if you were willing to pick up some new door locks?”

“Oh, I can do that. I was planning on stopping by the store regardless. The two of you only eat junk, ahaha!” 

You grimace at that, both because you’re almost certain you’ve never seen Chihiro eat a single thing, and also because Morgan is panting in your ear as he ruts into you. He kisses the shell of it.

“Keep talking.” He grunts.

Something about the tone of his voice sends a hot flush of… something, maybe shame, maybe arousal, probably both, up your spine. 

“Uh- ah, th-thank you, Chi-Chihiro!” The second you started talking, Morgan thrust faster, harder. Your voice cracked as you tried to keep composure, “Sorry- W-we both appreciate i-it…”

Chihiro giggled again, “Not to worry. Tell Morgan I said hello… although I’m certain he can hear me.”

Morgan’s hand came up to cup the one holding his phone, and as you slumped forward, you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Heh, guess I’m busted. Thanks again, Chihiro. My partner made something, I haven’t checked what yet, so maybe bring some drinks too? We’ll pay you back for this.”

Chihiro responded with something, likely a very polite, cheery, “Not to worry! We can make an event of it, it’ll be fun!” You don’t hear them. Your head is spinning too badly as Morgan fucks a you-shaped hole into the mattress.

You hear Morgan mumble, “Yup, seeya,” and then he’s on top of you again, his hands snaking up your sides as he kisses as much skin as he can handle.

You cry and moan, Morgan complimenting you under his own breathy noises, and then your orgasm hits you. You arch upwards into his touch, squealing and Morgan cradles you close, his lips at your jaw and his own climax chasing yours.

As the two of you slump, you weakly place a hand in Morgan’s unruly mop of hair and grunt, “What’s your last name?”

Morgan giggles like a gossipy schoolgirl, “Lane. Why?”

“Lane.” You repeat.

“Mmhmm… Did you want to share it?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help yourself, “That sounds kinda nice.”

Morgan squeaks and buries his face in your shoulder. You put your first name and his last name together, and it flows a lot better than you think it should.

[inkblot22]

Minor Update; Nothing Bad

Hello!

So I haven't been very active on tumblr recently, not because I am no longer interested in writing horrible twst fanfiction but because I am a little bit busy with some personal things. I am closing requests but not the askbox, so if you decide to ignore that, just know it'll take me a long ass time to get to your request because I have like six or seven ones before you and I don't know the meaning of "taking it easy," so those requests will be getting the full deranged treatment (see literally any request I've worked on, especially this Ruggie fic. I spent days researching what hyena faces looked like as they aged so I could figure out what Vita's hair would be described as, which genuinely doesn't matter for the fic. Can't even say I'm dedicated to the craft, I'm just overly obsessive with little points. By the way, if you're not okay with gore, don't google image search that kind of thing {aging hyena faces, old hyena face} without a safe filter because it is NOT SAFE.)

I'd like to thank both my followers, one specific person who checks in with me to see if I'm alright because genuinely you are the sweetest, favorite askers (you know who you are,) and passerby for being so patient as I take this short hiatus. Once I come back, the main goal will be finishing that Epel series and getting those requests done. I'm particularly excited about the Ace one :D

Okay, that's about it, sorry for the rambling. Thank you again, and I'll be back soon!

[inkblot22]

Why tf did I just get 6 Tropical Aces in my most recent pulls? I should not have said out loud, "I'm really hoping for Floyd this time around, since he's my favorite of the two."

[inkblot22]

I was thinking, "Wow, Lilia is so supportive of his peers' creative explorations," for every single Culinary Crucible thus far and I just remembered that the man cannot cook and he likes the taste of potions. I bet he drinks his coffee with salt and vinegar. I bet he dips his cookies in a slurry made of ketchup, soy sauce, and peanut butter. He's like OM Solomon, if OM Solomon had redeeming qualities.

[inkblot22]

How would vil feel if we ended up commiting suicide somehow

I'm going to assume this is in relation to the fic I recently posted. The answer is going under a cut!

Vil would lose it. Everyone deals with grief in a different way, and with Vil, he'd become more cruel and easy to offend. He turns one of his late darling's old shirts into a pillow, using stuffing from the very same that they used to lay their head on, cut a lock of their hair and keep it in a locket, close to his heart, and I'm sure you can imagine that he'd get incredibly touchy at the very mention of them.

He's not one to brood but he starts brooding. Every so often, he seems fine (he's a good actor,) but then it's like a dark cloud is cast over the room. It's impossible to talk to him about it, since that's a point in which he is more likely to snap at someone.

To put it as simply as possible, he takes it very hard. Regardless of his brutal actions, I think he would be one of the few twst boys to actually love his darling in some capacity. He only swept up his darling so he could keep them safe, but now they're gone and under his care as well. It's a blow to both his heart and his ego, and it leads to many sleepless nights where he thinks of them.

[inkblot22]

Give You Something To Cry About

Yay, my time management skills continue to be straight ass. Sorry to the anon who has waited so patiently for this, and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write this depraved ball of snot. Headers by @/cafekitsune. Also don't believe everything you see on the internet, there's no scientific proof that certain things work for your skin. I think Vil would know that, considering.

This Fic Is For: Anyone who can handle it! Once again, I tried to make it as gn as possible, considering Rook's use of Franglais, but I'm delusional and will say I did exactly that. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, and no real allusions to specific body parts are made for them.

TW for DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, forced dieting, non/dubcon, mentions of death, questionable use of magic, captivity, someone has a case of dacryphilia and a strong sadist streak, won't say who, Rook Hunt because he freaks me out, unhealthy relationship dynamics, abuse, forced BDSM if you squint, I feel so bad for the reader in this one, toxic relationships, possibly OOC characters.

“I am not going to tell you again, my love.” Vil bends down to get in your face, already wearing his ceremonial robe and heels. He points a finger in your face, like you’re a small child or a dog, “If you continue to pick at your skin, I am going to let Rook punish you this time.”

You swallow and look away, and Vil pinches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head so you’re looking at him again. His violet eyes bore into you, and you swallow again.

He looks offended, almost, “Well? Have you forgotten basic manners? Speak.”

Your voice sounds dry and weak, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

He seems satisfied enough with that, moving around as he continues to prepare for whatever school-wide assembly is happening today. He elegantly tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs, scrolling through some page on his phone.

You remain standing where you are, turning your head to look out the window. It’s so pretty outside, but you only get to leave this room whenever Rook is watching you or Vil sends you on an errand. It’s always spring, never too hot, never too cold, but you’re sweating anyway.

Vil approaches you again and tilts your face back so you’re looking at him with a hand on your cheek. His eyes narrow a fraction.

“Your skin doesn’t seem to like this foundation. Make sure you discard it today; I’ll get you a new one.” He bends down again, this time to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He rubs his own together after pulling away and smudges his thumb over your bottom lip, “Hmm. What lipgloss is this?”

Your voice doesn’t sound so dry, but it still doesn’t sound like you, “Uh… The dark red one with the metallic purple? ‘Electric Berry’?

He’s silent for a second, just staring down at your lips as he cups your chin, and then he sighs and turns away, “It’s sticky. I’d tell you to wash your face and reapply your makeup, but that’d be a waste. Make sure you put on lip balm next time.”

You swallow, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

“I have to get going now. You’d better be at least halfway done with that list by the time I return.” He breezes towards the door and gives you a last, long look. He’s completely silent before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Your palms ache. You stiltedly wander towards the list pinned in the closet, glad to see it’s not insane today. All you need to do is tidy the bathroom and skim through Vil’s mail to see if it’s anything but hate mail or advertisements. Tack on getting rid of that foundation and that’s it, at least until he returns at lunch.

You relished this time to yourself, even if it was just cleaning or whatever else. Vil always said that motion is good for you, a structure does the mind good. You didn’t care much anymore. As you sat down to search through his mail, finding nothing but the usual hate mail and what appears to be a poem from Rook (why did he even mail that? He’s not even down the hall from this room,) you catch yourself craving something sweet.

The diet Vil has you on sucks. He has assured you that your body is lovely, and he is having you eat like this to help clear your skin, but really you just want something. Anything, you’d even take a breath mint over this lack of junk food. You’re young, what young person doesn’t enjoy gratuitously unhealthy food? A basket of french fries? Ice cream? 

You frown to yourself and toss the last of the mail into the recycle bin. You know he’s just going to check it over again anyway, but at least you’re moving around. That’s what he would say.

By the time you’re almost done scrubbing the tub, you hear the door open. You don’t want to go greet him, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything and keep cleaning, making sure to disinfect the non-slip mat that resembles a bunch of ugly gems glued together. 

You hear him clicking towards you, and his hand rests on your shoulder, “Going above and beyond today? I have lunch, come eat.”

You school your expression and stand up, pulling off your cleaning gloves and hanging them on the rim of the tub before you follow Vil. He ensconces himself in his desk chair, leaving you to awkwardly lift the stool near his vanity. He hates it when you push the furniture.

He clucks his tongue, not even looking at you, “Lift with your knees, darling. As much as I’d love to massage your back if you pull something, I simply don’t have the time.”

You can’t help it. You shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster as you lift with your knees, right as his eyes flick up to meet yours. You nearly drop the chair as his lips curl into a cold smirk.

“Do you have something to say?”

You hastily shake your head, “No, Vil-”

“Then don’t allow me to see that expression on your face again.” He bites, “Come sit down.”

You put the stool down a little harder than you mean to and take a seat beside Vil at his desk. He passes you your nice little container containing one of several things he gets you- a pile of leafy greens and chopped veggies on a bed of quinoa, fresh fruit, and a murky green smoothie topped with chia seeds.

 You don’t like chia seeds. They remind you of frog eggs- a bunch of slimy lumps, sliding down your throat. You accept the straw Vil passes to you and stir the smoothie before eating in silence.

Vil doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him for feeding you. Since he’s keeping you here, it’s pretty much the least he could do. Still, it doesn’t make up for hearing about his boring day.

“This morning’s assembly was complete and utter chaos, as usual.” He muses, sipping his own smoothie. It’s a soft purple. “It’s ridiculous. Those brutes never wear their robes correctly.”

You don’t respond. There’s two reasons: first of all, you don’t care, and secondly, there’s a knock at the door. Vil hums, as though he’s been waiting for someone, and turns to face the door.

“Who is it?”

That boisterous voice you are so used to hearing echoes past the door, “‘Tis I, Roi du Poison. I have come to join you for lunch.”

You can hear the smile in Vil’s voice, “Oh, of course. Come in.”

As Rook walks in, you feel a stab of jealousy in your chest. He takes a breezy seat on the loveseat in front of Vil’s bed and glances at you. You break eye contact and dully pick at your salad.

Vil treats Rook so nicely. He considers his feelings and opinions, although he doesn’t always listen. He speaks to him as though he’s a person. You suppose Vil’s obvious care for Rook trickles down to you in some capacity, but it hurts. Vil claims that the two of you are lovers, but really you’re more like a doll.

“Do you mind meeting me in the lab later on, Rook?”

Rook chuckles from where he is and you cast another glance at him. His eyes meet yours, again, and you look away, again.

“I can always make time for you, beautiful Vil.”

You lamely pick at the fruit, having finished the salad, before you decide to save it for last. You take a sip of your smoothie after stirring it again and openly recoil, trying not to cough. You didn’t smell it, but there must be ginger in there, because there’s a mellow burn alongside the bitterness from the kale. It makes your eyes water and settles in behind your nose.

“Mmm. Something wrong?” Vil smiles at you.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly so you don’t start crying. There’s not enough tears to fall, but taking your chances is stupid, “No, Vil. The ginger just caught me off guard.”

“Oh. My apologies, I should have warned you. I don’t want you catching a cold, and you’ve been a little irregular. The smoothie also has spinach, kale, avocado, chia seeds, and, of course, a little mango.”

You nod and force yourself to smile, taking another sip and soldiering past the rush of that aromatic pain in your sinuses. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” Vil turns away from you to speak to Rook again, “What else did you have planned?”

“I thought I might take a walk. It is a wonderful day, non?” There’s a slight mocking tone to Rook’s voice, “Hardly the type of day to be cooped up all day, hmm?”

Vil furrows his eyebrows as you choke down the last of the smoothie. His voice is curt, “You can say what you mean.”

“Est-ce que je peux? You are not very open to suggestion.”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, taking a deep sip of his smoothie before he places it on the coaster sitting upon his desk. He uncrosses his long legs and stands, walking over to sit with Rook on the loveseat. Rook watches him approach with a smile, the same pleasant one he usually wears before he shoots you a beaming grin and turns to look at Vil.

Their conversation is hushed, and you can’t really make out all of what they say. You can hear someone say your name, Vil’s tone swiftly turns vitriolic, then sweetens once more, and Rook chuckles under his breath. When their little meeting is over, Vil walks back over and finishes his smoothie before petting your head like you’re some kind of cat.

His hand strokes the crown of your head, then smooths over your cheek, he cups your jaw and thumbs over the swell of your lip, all while staring at you with a look you cannot read. And then he tilts his head, and smiles.

“Make sure you thank Rook. And you mistook a letter from my father as garbage.”

“Yes, Vil.” You reply obediently, “Sorry, Vil.”

He smiles. Your palms ache, and you have to bite back the urge to move, to peel at your cuticles or scratch the sides of your fingers.

“I’ll see you in class, Rook.” Vil says politely before he tilts your face up and pecks you on the lips.

You’re left alone with Rook. He doesn’t get up, not yet. You remain where you are, looking at your slippers. You hear Rook stand up and discard his garbage. You can feel him come up to stand behind you. 

“Has today been particulièrement difficile? My poor dear… You seem so sad today.” His arms wrap around you, looping them around your shoulders so they warm your collarbones like a scarf and he can rest his cheek against the back of your head. You hear him take a deep breath in.

With Vil, you don’t even try to speak anymore. You know he won’t really listen to you, because he knows better than you… But with Rook, as long as you wait a moment to make sure he is done speaking, he welcomes and even encourages you to speak your mind.

Your breath hitches and you swallow, “Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just having a bad day. It’s really been the same as usual.”

“Hmm.” Rook hums, completely devoid of emotion. You feel him turn his face so his nose is buried in your hair. He presses a kiss against your hair and sighs, “Ah, yes, the monotony of life is très épuisant, mmm?”

You wait for a second, then deliberately don’t answer the question in favor of asking your own, “Um, he said I should thank you?”

“Perhaps you should ask why more clearly. I have convinced our very own Vil to allow me to arrange a surprise for you.” Rook removes himself from your back and turns you around to face him, “And thus, I believe I have earned a kiss from you.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t get time to really back away or tell him to explain, as Rook squishes your cheeks with one of his gloved hands until your lips part.

His grip isn’t as harsh as Vil’s, but this is still something that only happens when you’re in more trouble than usual, so you involuntarily wince and close your eyes, cowering away from Rook as he dips his tongue into your mouth and slithers it between your teeth.

It is very easy to like Rook. He is passionate, and he’s far more kind to you than your supposed lover is. He’s intelligent and has an adonis-like form, and if not for the taste of blood on his tongue from whatever he ate for lunch or the grip he has on your face, maybe you would enjoy this kiss. But the big issue is that Rook honestly frightens you a little.

It’s absolutely not his fault, not entirely. Upon first meeting him, it was hard to tell if he was being genuine. He’s difficult to read, as he is often wearing the same set of expressions and his tone is always a bit melodramatic.

His hand releases your face to clamp around the base of your head, his tongue twisting in your mouth, pressing against the crevices in your teeth.

Not only is Rook hard to read, he is also uncannily observant and will not hesitate to ask somewhat invasive questions about his observations. The fact that he dresses in a way that conceals his mass is also disconcerting, as you were unaware that he had such a build until you saw him roll up his sleeve one time. You were aware Vil could do a lot of damage, but that was the day you realized that Rook was capable of doing about as much as Vil, if not more.

He purrs into your mouth, the vibrations feeling oh-so-wrong, and his other hand clamps down on your shoulder. He sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s not a good feeling, as he is literally stealing what little air is in your mouth. When you feel something feather light flutter against your lashes and cheek, you feel a bit confused for just a moment, not even a second, before you realize that Rook just blinked. His eyes are open. 

He pulls away and sighs, almost dreamily. You suppress your distressed sputtering, holding your breath as Rook stares at you.

“Ah, enough time has passed. I will need to leave you, mon lapin. Thank you for indulging me; your kiss was divine and tasted sweeter than the finest fruits!” He presses something into your palm and adjusts his hat before he casts you a wave and shuts the door.

You stand there, your lips drying out from the saliva left on them and your cheeks feeling a little odd from the way he was holding your face. You’re processing, because, ever as always, Rook is simulated spontaneity. So many things just happened, and you don’t… 

You blink a few times and look down at your aching palm stupidly. The crimson cellophane crinkles as you unclench your fist. He gave you a piece of candy.

Just looking at it makes you start crying. One second you’re staring wide-eyed at the little lump of sugar, and the next your vision is blurring and you’re crying off your makeup, plump tears cascading down your face. Your nose begins to run and you sniffle. You can’t find it in yourself to sob, because you’re mostly certain that these are happy tears. 

Unfortunately, you can’t eat the candy now. If you threw the wrapper away, Vil would notice it in the garbage and you’d get in trouble for “breaking your diet plan.” So you hide it in the very back corner of the drawer of Vil’s armoire. You’ll be tidying it on your own anyway, and Vil never reaches all the way into the back of it.

Once your tears have stopped, you stand up and go back to cleaning the bathroom. It’s spotless and smells like lavender and lemons about an hour before Vil gets back, so you decide to skim one of the books on the shelves. 

It’s not long before you’re bored with that as well. You carefully put the book back and wander over to the lattice window, staring out of it. The window, paired with your usual low mood, made you sort of feel like a bird in a very ornate cage. 

From where you are, about three stories up, you notice a familiar figure notching an arrow before he unnotches it and takes a knee. You blandly spectate as he fiddles with the bow.

Partway through him notching the arrow again, you see his hat tilt. He’s far away enough that you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel his stare. His gloved hand bends his brim and you jerk away from the window, only to bump into someone.

You don’t get to shriek, as a hand clamps over your mouth. It’s just Vil, but you don’t relax yet as he drags you towards the bed and deposits you there.

“How many times must I tell you to stay away from the window?”

He’s never once told you to stay away from the window. Not as far as you can recall, at least. Your lips tremble and you decide it’d be more wise to keep silent.

Vil glares down at you and you feel the rest of your body start to tremble. His lips curl into a displeased sneer, “You didn’t wash your face after crying?”

“N-no, Vil-”

“We do not stutter.” Vil hisses, bending to get in your face. He stares at you for a moment before standing straight again, “Speak up.”

You swallow and clench your hands into fists, “No… Vil. I… got rid of the foundation like you, um… asked me to. I wouldn’t have been able to redo-”

“Alright. Go wash your face.” Vil interrupts you again.

You jump up and rush into the bathroom, going through your skincare routine. You can feel Vil staring at you, your skin crawling under his gaze. As you rub moisturizer into your skin, Vil finally says something.

“Did Rook do something to you, darling?” His tone is soft, tentative.

You glance at him, blinking a few times. What does he mean by ‘something’? He did do something, but it wasn’t bad, or particularly different.

“Um… Not exactly.” You say, massaging your forehead.

“I see. What did he do?” 

You look down at the sink. You’re not saying anything about the candy. “Rook kissed me?”

“That should not be a question.” Vil says. You see him shake his head through your peripheral, “Would you like to change your clothes before I redo your makeup?”

You’d like to ask what he’s talking about, but instead, you look down at your clothing. You don’t have a proper Pomefiore uniform because you’re not a part of this dorm. You’re an interloper- or a caged bird.

You don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to say something wrong and unintentionally offend Vil. Your palms ache. You give him a confused look from where you are.

He doesn’t look impressed, but before he can say anything about you gaping at him, you speak up, “What… am I supposed to do?”

You’ve only seen Vil surprised a few times. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads, then sighs, “Well, I suppose I’d like to see you in something else. I’ll choose your outfit.”

That’s nothing new, he always does that. You wait in the bathroom for him to return. He strolls back in with a mockery of the Pomefiore uniform. There’s a deep purple cloak and capelet, which Vil drapes on the bed before handing you the actual clothes. It’s a very ruffled dress shirt, the long, puffy sleeves cinched into more ruffles at the wrist paired with a pair of black bloomer-style shorts. The buttons are all white and gold, marbled together. 

Vil leaves the bathroom and you change, neatly tucking your previous clothing away in the hamper. When you leave, as usual, Vil picks at your clothing, making sure it looks as good on you as he pleases, and then he steers you to sit down.

For however vicious he can be, Vil can be oddly gentle. For every time he grabs you roughly, his touch is feather-light ten more times. He hums a soft tune as he puts light makeup on you, just your eyes and lips, and then he drapes the cloak around your shoulders and places his hands on his hips.

“You look lovely. Go put on the pair of gold boots with the black decals.”

You do as told. He very likely wants to just take pictures of you or something so he can ask that Mira app about it.

Except when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t tell you to go sit in the loveseat or on the table near his window, no, he scoops you up and presses his forehead against your jaw.

“Oh, when did you put on this cologne? What a ravishing smell on you.” He presses a kiss on the column of your throat and breezes out of his dorm room's door.

Almost immediately, you go limp in his arms, like a doll. He never gave you explicit verbal permission to leave this room, so the curse he placed on you when he decided you should be his smashes into you like a giant wave at the beach.

Vil carries you all the way outside and looks at your face, then happily struts along the path behind the dorm. Since you can’t turn your head, you can only go off of the view of Vil’s neck and chin, the sky, and whatever you can hear.

“Ah, I am glad to see you did not change your mind, Roi du Poison. J'aurais été très déçue et triste pour notre chéri.” You hear Rook say. 

You can almost feel Vil get a mite warmer, “Yes, well. Hand me the basket. Since you want to make out with them and make them cry, you get to carry them as an apology.”

Rook happily scoops you out of Vil’s arms, giving you a cloying look as he strolls along. He and Vil chat as they walk, something not really worth listening in on, just boring musings about class and “this teacher did x” or “that student did y”. An insect lands on your cheek and you are incapable of batting it away or expressing your discomfort. Its legs tickle the peach fuzz on your face and you remain still, like a corpse.

Rook slides you into a seated position, posing you like a toy before shooing the bug off of your face. Now you can see that you’re in a clearing in the woods, seated on a picnic blanket. There’s a few lanterns staked into the ground, and Rook and Vil are busy with whatever is on the floor. You can’t look down, so your best guess is that it’s a picnic.

Vil leans over and snaps in your face, smiling kindly at you, “Now. If I release you, you are not going to run. You are not going to so much as consider running. We are going to have a nice picnic with no shenanigans from you.”

You can’t nod, so you just stare at him, trying to telepathically communicate.

He looks pleased enough, “Wonderful. I give you permission to leave our room.”

Your muscles relax and you look back, finding that you’re leaned against a log. The picnic spread is very nice, as well. It looks like finger sandwiches. You’re not expecting to get to eat one, as you haven’t had bread since Vil switched up your diet. Vil passes something to you.

“Oh.” You mumble, staring at the plate Vil hands you. 

It’s a sandwich. A very wonderful looking sandwich, cut into triangles and with the crusts still on. You blink at it a few times and look back up at Vil.

“Don’t expect this to be a pattern. This is a treat for good behavior.”

You look back down, “Yes, Vil.”

“There’s no need to remind them. They’re being obedient.” Rook’s voice is more firm than you expected to hear him ever speak. Usually his tone is buoyant, and you’ve never seen him outright pick a fight with Vil like this.

“Please. You give anyone an inch, they’ll take a mile.” Vil cuts back, then turns to you and pets your head like a dog or a cat again, “Eat your food, beautiful.”

You take a bite. Bread is just as good as you remember it. The air feels thick, like you’re in a bubble as Vil and Rook communicate through eye contact alone. Before you know it, your sandwich is gone and your hands are covered in crumbs. Rook, still staring at Vil with that happy little smile, wipes your hands and places a glass in your hands. Whatever is in it smells sweet. You take a tentative sip.

Were it Vil, you would have never drank whatever this is. It kind of tastes like a mellow mixed berry juice. It’s very pleasant, actually. Better than the potion Vil used to lace your food and drinks with. You smile into the cup and Vil snatches it from you.

He takes a sip and frowns, handing it back, “Mmm. I have an even better surprise.”

Rook pulls your legs into his lap and gently kneads your calves as you watch Vil rifle through the picnic basket. What is happening? You sip your juice and Vil produces a triangular container. He places a fork on top and hands it to you.

You finish the last of your juice and accept the box, looking conspiratorially at Rook. Something you can’t put your finger on dances in his eyes and he digs his thumb into your shin a little strongly. You flinch and cautiously open the box. It’s a piece of fluffy white cake, with even fluffier meringue and an uncannily perfect cherry wedged into it.

You look at Vil, expecting some kind of trick. Not that he’s ever done that before, usually he’d just take it from you or make some snide comment, things like that, but he and Rook are acting really strange today, 

“I know how much you long for junk food, so I spent some time after club activities today whipping up some angel food cake. It’s got agave instead of sugar so it won’t completely break your diet and your skin won’t suffer as much.”

Yeah, this is weird. The cake is good, though, it’s fluffy and sweet. You pace your bites so that Vil won’t make a comment and you can savor this. You can feel both of their eyes on you and it makes your skin crawl.

You lower the cake box and look at Vil, who looks a bit offended for just a second. The fleeting expression is replaced by a pleased little grin, the mauve lipstick making the curve of his lips all the more sinister in the dimming light.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, Vil.” You glance at the cake and then back at him, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Why?” Rook asks.

Your shoulders jerk as you turn your head to look at him. You weren’t expecting him to say anything. His chest swells in what appears to be a suppressed chuckle as he squeezes your knee. It seems his hands have climbed.

“Uh…” You swallow, “This is just… not what I’m used to.”

“The cake?” Vil looks hurt. Why does he look hurt?

You shake your head rapidly, “No! Oh- No, Vil. I… It’s just been so long since I’ve been out here…”

“Do you want to go inside, chéri?” Rook murmurs.

You do, but you also don’t really want to risk sounding ungrateful. Being outside has stressed you out more than you’d like to admit. You’re not really sure what to do because Vil has you trained like a dog, and none of what he’s hammered into you involves picnics. You’re scared.

Rooks eyes narrow as you just stare at him. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is throbbing, and on the other side of you, Vil sighs.

“Well, I’ll start cleaning up, then. When we get back, I expect you to take a seat on the bed.”

That sounds like what happens every time you get in trouble. A terror shudders through you and your eyes water a bit as you gnaw on your lip. Your palms ache as you fight to keep from picking at your cuticles. Vil packs up everything and Rook offers you a princely hand to help you up.

You can feel the calluses on his hands through his gloves as he essentially lifts you to your feet. You keep between Rook and Vil as you walk back to the dorm.

It’s quiet, since everyone else is winding down for bed. For a moment, you think you spot Epel, but you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of your old friends talk to you anymore. Not since Vil started having eyes for you.

Just as you were told, after taking off your boots you take a seat on the bed and retrieve the silver ruler from the side-table’s drawer. You place it beside you as you look down at your feet. You look down at the streaky bruises on the lighter skin on your palms and try not to start crying. It’s always worse when you cry.

He adds smacks by twos. Depending on what you did, you start with four or six, and then any time you flinch or pull away or make a loud noise, he adds two more. Last time, you spilled one of his nail polishes, and after watching you clean it up, you ended up getting ten lashes.

At least Rook didn’t do it then. He tries to make it quick but that just makes it hurt more. A tear slips down your cheek.

You don’t even know what you did. You tap the tear track dry with one fingertip and Vil and Rook fully enter the room.

“Why is the ruler out?” Vil asks, and then his voice goes sharp, “Are you crying?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Vil.” You sob.

“I don’t know why.” He grabs the ruler and shoves it away before you can raise your hands, “Go wash your face.”

You stand up and shakily do as told, returning to sit on the bed. Vil goes into the bathroom after you and Rook takes a seat next to you, his hand on your shoulder.

He smiles at you, rubbing your shoulder, “You are très précieux, chéri.”

You look at him in a state of hollow bewilderment as he brushes his cheek against yours and presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.

You hear the bathroom door close and a tired sigh from Vil, “Do you have no patience?”

Your head jerks to look at VIl, “Rook is…?”

“Yes, he’s joining us tonight.” Vil plucks the loop of his sleeve from his middle finger and loosens his belt. You get the feeling that the next words he says aren’t for you, “Well, go ahead.”

You feel Rook’s chuckle more than you hear it. With his lips against your neck, his hands begin to slide. The hand on your shoulder rests on the nape of your neck and his other hand slides down to your thigh, then up to your waist. You try not to cringe against his touch, but it’s difficult.

His hand slides down again as he trails his teeth against the back of your ear. His thumb hooks in your pants and starts yanking them down. You outright flinch.

“Wait-”

“Relax, darling.” Vil mumbles, hanging his clothing in the armoire.

You try. You absolutely try. Rook throws your bloomers aside and rests his hand on your lower belly for a moment. He sighs into your ear and reaches up to unclasp your buttons.

You feel stiff. You want to push him away but you can’t move. It’s as though your body is frozen. It’s not due to a curse, so the only possible solution is that you’re quite literally scared stiff. 

He pulls away your shirt and glances at Vil, “Are you prepared?”

“Please.” You can hear the smile on Vil’s lips as Rook turns back and kisses you again, his hand smoothing along your collarbone and shoulders.

Your underwear is the next to go. Of course it is. You fight to keep from breathing oddly, because you’re aware that if you pass out, Vil will get annoyed.

“Mmm.” The devil’s hand glides up your back and you fight back a shudder as Rook leans you backwards into his arms. “How are you feeling, darling?”

You’re honest, “I’m scared.”

“I thought you would say that.” Vil freely manhandles you, shifting you so you’re leaned chest to chest. He slides something off of the side table and passes it behind you, then cups your cheek, “You would save a lot of time and stress if you’d just learn to trust me.”

“I…” You hate him. You hate him so much. He keeps you here like a pet, and you don’t know how he’s supposed to expect you to treat him like a lover when he treats you the way he does. 

Before you can articulate an answer that pleases Vil, a wicked burn besets your sphincter and you clench your jaw. 

Vil’s voice is sharp, “Rook, please.”

You hear Rook make a noise underneath the harsh sound of blood rushing in your ears and your own heavy panting. Something cool oozes around the ring of your ass and you press your face against Vil’s chest. His robe is lazily tied, which is not particularly like him, and you can see his cock poking out where the fabric separates. You let out a strangled noise and Vil shushes you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Relax. I know, you weren’t prepared. Relax.” Vil soothes.

“I don’t mind if you remain tense, chéri. Mon plaisir n'en est que plus grand. And your little cries and whimpers sont terriblement mignons.” Rook mumbles behind you.

Rook is better than Vil in most areas, but once he gets his dick inside of you, it’s as though he forgets to be caring and kind. The tables flip, with Vil acting the part of a caring lover and Rook becoming a sadistic bully. You let out a ragged sob as Rook rolls his hips and Vil hisses something that you don’t quite catch.

It almost sounded like he was telling Rook to slow down. That very well could have been the case, as Rook eases back a bit and only shallowly thrusts.

Vil continues petting you, coaxing you so your cheek is pressed against his thigh. He is always a perfect warm. He is always perfect, so it sort of makes sense, but his skin is a pleasant temperature. He feels alive, a perfectly human temperature that tells you he’s breathing and his heart is beating. As he fingers through your hair, Rook gives a harsher than usual thrust and you cry out.

“Rook, if you’re impatient then you’re going to hurt them, and neither of us have the time to take care of them all day.” Vil chides, and then his tone softens as he rubs the space between your shoulders, “Are you ready for me as well, darling?” “What…?” You ask, blearily. Somewhere in the back of your awareness, you know what he wants, but you can feel Rook’s thrusts growing impatient and seeing as you weren’t given any prep, you’re in a bit too much shock to think straight.

“Mmm… You’re awfully cute but I need you to be a bit more lucid.” Vil snaps in your ear and resumes his petting, “This isn’t the first time, sweetheart. I’m not going to hold your hand.”

The soft tip of his member spreads his pre like lipgloss against your lips. As you shakily open your mouth, you figure you’re lucky that Vil doesn’t have a chaotic, unhealthy diet like Leona or Ace, that he doesn’t drink coffee for fun or often like Deuce does. The taste of his skin is lightly floral and dominantly human, likely thanks to the body lotion he applies daily. 

He hisses and presses against your forehead, “Ah-ah. You’re taking enough from Rook. Just the tip for me is fine.”

From behind, you hear Rook grumble under his breath, “Je n'en peux plus de cette merde…”

“Watch your- unf- watch your language, Rook.” Vil snarls, massaging the nape of your neck as you carefully lave your tongue over his glans.

Rook’s patience breaks, his hands clamping down on your waist, just above your hips. You have the sense to pull Vil’s cock out of your mouth as Rook begins battering into you.

As much as you feel okay about Rook, he is not a doting lover by nature. He’s mean and brutal, chasing his climax, and only after he cums does he bother to think about you or your needs. Your palms ache as you grab Vil’s member and gently tug on it. Vil flinches and snaps at you to get your attention.

You look to the side and for a second, as the pain ebbs, you assume you’re having an out of body experience, and then you realize that you’re staring into his vanity mirror. Rook’s hair exaggeratedly sways with his motion. He removed his hat but just haphazardly displaced the rest of his clothing. He’s not smiling, he’s making some sort of smug expression.

It’s funny. As Vil is satisfied with you weakly jerking him off, his touch gentle, Rook is wild on your other end. Every time you just barely begin to relax, he thrusts harder, which makes you tense and a spike of pain batters through you. 

You endure as best you can. You endure every day, enduring through eating the same unfulfilling food, enduring through walking on eggshells around Vil, enduring getting your palms beaten to hell for the most human of errors, so what’s getting sodomized in the face of everything else you can handle?

You bite back a shriek as a harsh pinch on your bottom, followed by a smack administered by Rook. He leans down and blows in your ear, snickering as he leans back, “I thought you had given up the ghost for a second there.”

Vil sucks in a breath and you quietly mumble against his thigh.

“Hmm? I didn’t hear you, mon chou.” Rook’s voice is almost mocking, like before.

“P-please… Rook, I can’t-”

“You can. You’ll live.” He grunts, the steady clap of your ass against his body punctuating his statement.

“It hurts.” You sniffle. You’re not particularly prone to crying, but, then again, Rook and Vil usually prepare you before deciding to fuck your ass.

You sob and Rook’s grasp tightens on your waist, a ragged moan punching out of his chest. He pulls your body flush to his and jerks his hips into you, drilling a bit harder for all of four or five thrusts. And then he’s no longer on you, and you feel your body getting shifted so your head is still in Vil’s lap but you’re lying prone.

You tilt Vil’s dick down to massage the head with your tongue and something warm drips on your back. You hear a noise of disgust from Vil, capped by a quiet moan.

“Absolutely not. All three of us are getting in the tub if you don’t clean that up right now.”

Rook chuckles and coos, “Hmm, but it looks so lovely. My alabaster essence creates a wonderful contrast with their soft and supple skin.”

A flush of humiliation crawls up the back of your neck and you hide your face against Vil’s belly, using your own arm to hide the other half. Vil shudders as he pushes your head down a bit, but his voice sounds incredulous.

“That’s vile. It doesn’t have any proven health benefits, you know that.”

You felt Rook’s hands spreading his semen into the skin on your back and your palms ache as Vil cums in your mouth. He doesn’t do that often, so it hits you like a shock.

You gag but force it down and Vil shoots up, fretting over you.

“Did you just swallow that?” He bends down to look into your eyes.

“Yes, Vil.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Vil snips, sounding much harsher than he might intend, “I’m going to run us a bath, alright, darling? I’ll make sure you can brush that icky stuff out of your mouth.”

It didn’t taste bad. Vil usually cums on your face as an incentive for you to wash your face very well after a day of wearing makeup, or he has you jerk him off until he cums, but the few other times you did taste it, it was the same as this time. It was mostly salty, not too bitter, likely from his good diet. Regardless, he breezes away and Rook gives your bottom a light tap. You stand up and glance at Rook, who is looking a bit disheveled but pretty pleased with himself.

“How are you feeling, cheri?”

“That hurt.” Your voice is quiet, and your throat is still lined with tears.

“Does it still hurt?” He smiles and tilts his head.

The sound of the tub running is thunderous even where you are. Vil would never tolerate you complaining, but Rook is amicable, “A little.”

“The bath will do you good, then. Come.”

You let Rook guide you into the bathroom, his hand on your elbow. As he undresses and joins Vil on the edge of the tub, you look down at your bruised hands and glance at the slowly closing bathroom door, then at Rook and Vil where they stand near the tub.

You can’t say you prefer either of them, really, but you don't get an opinion. Do dolls at tea parties get to ask for a different kind of tea?

[inkblot22]

i saw your requests are open! if possible could i have some yandere poly rook x reader x vil headcanons or oneshot? if you dont want to do poly then just vil is fine 🫶

Not me being scared that this ask was lost to the ether. Uh, hi, hello, howdy. I'm going to link this ask to the fic, because the fic is a little longer than I'd like and tumblr is fucky.

THE FIC IS HERE!!!

I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for being so patient with me!

[inkblot22]

Give You Something To Cry About

Yay, my time management skills continue to be straight ass. Sorry to the anon who has waited so patiently for this, and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write this depraved ball of snot. Headers by @/cafekitsune. Also don't believe everything you see on the internet, there's no scientific proof that certain things work for your skin. I think Vil would know that, considering.

This Fic Is For: Anyone who can handle it! Once again, I tried to make it as gn as possible, considering Rook's use of Franglais, but I'm delusional and will say I did exactly that. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, and no real allusions to specific body parts are made for them.

TW for DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, forced dieting, non/dubcon, mentions of death, questionable use of magic, captivity, someone has a case of dacryphilia and a strong sadist streak, won't say who, Rook Hunt because he freaks me out, unhealthy relationship dynamics, abuse, forced BDSM if you squint, I feel so bad for the reader in this one, toxic relationships, possibly OOC characters.

“I am not going to tell you again, my love.” Vil bends down to get in your face, already wearing his ceremonial robe and heels. He points a finger in your face, like you’re a small child or a dog, “If you continue to pick at your skin, I am going to let Rook punish you this time.”

You swallow and look away, and Vil pinches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head so you’re looking at him again. His violet eyes bore into you, and you swallow again.

He looks offended, almost, “Well? Have you forgotten basic manners? Speak.”

Your voice sounds dry and weak, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

He seems satisfied enough with that, moving around as he continues to prepare for whatever school-wide assembly is happening today. He elegantly tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs, scrolling through some page on his phone.

You remain standing where you are, turning your head to look out the window. It’s so pretty outside, but you only get to leave this room whenever Rook is watching you or Vil sends you on an errand. It’s always spring, never too hot, never too cold, but you’re sweating anyway.

Vil approaches you again and tilts your face back so you’re looking at him with a hand on your cheek. His eyes narrow a fraction.

“Your skin doesn’t seem to like this foundation. Make sure you discard it today; I’ll get you a new one.” He bends down again, this time to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He rubs his own together after pulling away and smudges his thumb over your bottom lip, “Hmm. What lipgloss is this?”

Your voice doesn’t sound so dry, but it still doesn’t sound like you, “Uh… The dark red one with the metallic purple? ‘Electric Berry’?

He’s silent for a second, just staring down at your lips as he cups your chin, and then he sighs and turns away, “It’s sticky. I’d tell you to wash your face and reapply your makeup, but that’d be a waste. Make sure you put on lip balm next time.”

You swallow, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”

“I have to get going now. You’d better be at least halfway done with that list by the time I return.” He breezes towards the door and gives you a last, long look. He’s completely silent before he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Your palms ache. You stiltedly wander towards the list pinned in the closet, glad to see it’s not insane today. All you need to do is tidy the bathroom and skim through Vil’s mail to see if it’s anything but hate mail or advertisements. Tack on getting rid of that foundation and that’s it, at least until he returns at lunch.

You relished this time to yourself, even if it was just cleaning or whatever else. Vil always said that motion is good for you, a structure does the mind good. You didn’t care much anymore. As you sat down to search through his mail, finding nothing but the usual hate mail and what appears to be a poem from Rook (why did he even mail that? He’s not even down the hall from this room,) you catch yourself craving something sweet.

The diet Vil has you on sucks. He has assured you that your body is lovely, and he is having you eat like this to help clear your skin, but really you just want something. Anything, you’d even take a breath mint over this lack of junk food. You’re young, what young person doesn’t enjoy gratuitously unhealthy food? A basket of french fries? Ice cream? 

You frown to yourself and toss the last of the mail into the recycle bin. You know he’s just going to check it over again anyway, but at least you’re moving around. That’s what he would say.

By the time you’re almost done scrubbing the tub, you hear the door open. You don’t want to go greet him, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything and keep cleaning, making sure to disinfect the non-slip mat that resembles a bunch of ugly gems glued together. 

You hear him clicking towards you, and his hand rests on your shoulder, “Going above and beyond today? I have lunch, come eat.”

You school your expression and stand up, pulling off your cleaning gloves and hanging them on the rim of the tub before you follow Vil. He ensconces himself in his desk chair, leaving you to awkwardly lift the stool near his vanity. He hates it when you push the furniture.

He clucks his tongue, not even looking at you, “Lift with your knees, darling. As much as I’d love to massage your back if you pull something, I simply don’t have the time.”

You can’t help it. You shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster as you lift with your knees, right as his eyes flick up to meet yours. You nearly drop the chair as his lips curl into a cold smirk.

“Do you have something to say?”

You hastily shake your head, “No, Vil-”

“Then don’t allow me to see that expression on your face again.” He bites, “Come sit down.”

You put the stool down a little harder than you mean to and take a seat beside Vil at his desk. He passes you your nice little container containing one of several things he gets you- a pile of leafy greens and chopped veggies on a bed of quinoa, fresh fruit, and a murky green smoothie topped with chia seeds.

 You don’t like chia seeds. They remind you of frog eggs- a bunch of slimy lumps, sliding down your throat. You accept the straw Vil passes to you and stir the smoothie before eating in silence.

Vil doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him for feeding you. Since he’s keeping you here, it’s pretty much the least he could do. Still, it doesn’t make up for hearing about his boring day.

“This morning’s assembly was complete and utter chaos, as usual.” He muses, sipping his own smoothie. It’s a soft purple. “It’s ridiculous. Those brutes never wear their robes correctly.”

You don’t respond. There’s two reasons: first of all, you don’t care, and secondly, there’s a knock at the door. Vil hums, as though he’s been waiting for someone, and turns to face the door.

“Who is it?”

That boisterous voice you are so used to hearing echoes past the door, “‘Tis I, Roi du Poison. I have come to join you for lunch.”

You can hear the smile in Vil’s voice, “Oh, of course. Come in.”

As Rook walks in, you feel a stab of jealousy in your chest. He takes a breezy seat on the loveseat in front of Vil’s bed and glances at you. You break eye contact and dully pick at your salad.

Vil treats Rook so nicely. He considers his feelings and opinions, although he doesn’t always listen. He speaks to him as though he’s a person. You suppose Vil’s obvious care for Rook trickles down to you in some capacity, but it hurts. Vil claims that the two of you are lovers, but really you’re more like a doll.

“Do you mind meeting me in the lab later on, Rook?”

Rook chuckles from where he is and you cast another glance at him. His eyes meet yours, again, and you look away, again.

“I can always make time for you, beautiful Vil.”

You lamely pick at the fruit, having finished the salad, before you decide to save it for last. You take a sip of your smoothie after stirring it again and openly recoil, trying not to cough. You didn’t smell it, but there must be ginger in there, because there’s a mellow burn alongside the bitterness from the kale. It makes your eyes water and settles in behind your nose.

“Mmm. Something wrong?” Vil smiles at you.

You shake your head, blinking rapidly so you don’t start crying. There’s not enough tears to fall, but taking your chances is stupid, “No, Vil. The ginger just caught me off guard.”

“Oh. My apologies, I should have warned you. I don’t want you catching a cold, and you’ve been a little irregular. The smoothie also has spinach, kale, avocado, chia seeds, and, of course, a little mango.”

You nod and force yourself to smile, taking another sip and soldiering past the rush of that aromatic pain in your sinuses. “Oh, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” Vil turns away from you to speak to Rook again, “What else did you have planned?”

“I thought I might take a walk. It is a wonderful day, non?” There’s a slight mocking tone to Rook’s voice, “Hardly the type of day to be cooped up all day, hmm?”

Vil furrows his eyebrows as you choke down the last of the smoothie. His voice is curt, “You can say what you mean.”

“Est-ce que je peux? You are not very open to suggestion.”

Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, taking a deep sip of his smoothie before he places it on the coaster sitting upon his desk. He uncrosses his long legs and stands, walking over to sit with Rook on the loveseat. Rook watches him approach with a smile, the same pleasant one he usually wears before he shoots you a beaming grin and turns to look at Vil.

Their conversation is hushed, and you can’t really make out all of what they say. You can hear someone say your name, Vil’s tone swiftly turns vitriolic, then sweetens once more, and Rook chuckles under his breath. When their little meeting is over, Vil walks back over and finishes his smoothie before petting your head like you’re some kind of cat.

His hand strokes the crown of your head, then smooths over your cheek, he cups your jaw and thumbs over the swell of your lip, all while staring at you with a look you cannot read. And then he tilts his head, and smiles.

“Make sure you thank Rook. And you mistook a letter from my father as garbage.”

“Yes, Vil.” You reply obediently, “Sorry, Vil.”

He smiles. Your palms ache, and you have to bite back the urge to move, to peel at your cuticles or scratch the sides of your fingers.

“I’ll see you in class, Rook.” Vil says politely before he tilts your face up and pecks you on the lips.

You’re left alone with Rook. He doesn’t get up, not yet. You remain where you are, looking at your slippers. You hear Rook stand up and discard his garbage. You can feel him come up to stand behind you. 

“Has today been particulièrement difficile? My poor dear… You seem so sad today.” His arms wrap around you, looping them around your shoulders so they warm your collarbones like a scarf and he can rest his cheek against the back of your head. You hear him take a deep breath in.

With Vil, you don’t even try to speak anymore. You know he won’t really listen to you, because he knows better than you… But with Rook, as long as you wait a moment to make sure he is done speaking, he welcomes and even encourages you to speak your mind.

Your breath hitches and you swallow, “Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just having a bad day. It’s really been the same as usual.”

“Hmm.” Rook hums, completely devoid of emotion. You feel him turn his face so his nose is buried in your hair. He presses a kiss against your hair and sighs, “Ah, yes, the monotony of life is très épuisant, mmm?”

You wait for a second, then deliberately don’t answer the question in favor of asking your own, “Um, he said I should thank you?”

“Perhaps you should ask why more clearly. I have convinced our very own Vil to allow me to arrange a surprise for you.” Rook removes himself from your back and turns you around to face him, “And thus, I believe I have earned a kiss from you.”

“Wait, what?” You don’t get time to really back away or tell him to explain, as Rook squishes your cheeks with one of his gloved hands until your lips part.

His grip isn’t as harsh as Vil’s, but this is still something that only happens when you’re in more trouble than usual, so you involuntarily wince and close your eyes, cowering away from Rook as he dips his tongue into your mouth and slithers it between your teeth.

It is very easy to like Rook. He is passionate, and he’s far more kind to you than your supposed lover is. He’s intelligent and has an adonis-like form, and if not for the taste of blood on his tongue from whatever he ate for lunch or the grip he has on your face, maybe you would enjoy this kiss. But the big issue is that Rook honestly frightens you a little.

It’s absolutely not his fault, not entirely. Upon first meeting him, it was hard to tell if he was being genuine. He’s difficult to read, as he is often wearing the same set of expressions and his tone is always a bit melodramatic.

His hand releases your face to clamp around the base of your head, his tongue twisting in your mouth, pressing against the crevices in your teeth.

Not only is Rook hard to read, he is also uncannily observant and will not hesitate to ask somewhat invasive questions about his observations. The fact that he dresses in a way that conceals his mass is also disconcerting, as you were unaware that he had such a build until you saw him roll up his sleeve one time. You were aware Vil could do a lot of damage, but that was the day you realized that Rook was capable of doing about as much as Vil, if not more.

He purrs into your mouth, the vibrations feeling oh-so-wrong, and his other hand clamps down on your shoulder. He sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s not a good feeling, as he is literally stealing what little air is in your mouth. When you feel something feather light flutter against your lashes and cheek, you feel a bit confused for just a moment, not even a second, before you realize that Rook just blinked. His eyes are open. 

He pulls away and sighs, almost dreamily. You suppress your distressed sputtering, holding your breath as Rook stares at you.

“Ah, enough time has passed. I will need to leave you, mon lapin. Thank you for indulging me; your kiss was divine and tasted sweeter than the finest fruits!” He presses something into your palm and adjusts his hat before he casts you a wave and shuts the door.

You stand there, your lips drying out from the saliva left on them and your cheeks feeling a little odd from the way he was holding your face. You’re processing, because, ever as always, Rook is simulated spontaneity. So many things just happened, and you don’t… 

You blink a few times and look down at your aching palm stupidly. The crimson cellophane crinkles as you unclench your fist. He gave you a piece of candy.

Just looking at it makes you start crying. One second you’re staring wide-eyed at the little lump of sugar, and the next your vision is blurring and you’re crying off your makeup, plump tears cascading down your face. Your nose begins to run and you sniffle. You can’t find it in yourself to sob, because you’re mostly certain that these are happy tears. 

Unfortunately, you can’t eat the candy now. If you threw the wrapper away, Vil would notice it in the garbage and you’d get in trouble for “breaking your diet plan.” So you hide it in the very back corner of the drawer of Vil’s armoire. You’ll be tidying it on your own anyway, and Vil never reaches all the way into the back of it.

Once your tears have stopped, you stand up and go back to cleaning the bathroom. It’s spotless and smells like lavender and lemons about an hour before Vil gets back, so you decide to skim one of the books on the shelves. 

It’s not long before you’re bored with that as well. You carefully put the book back and wander over to the lattice window, staring out of it. The window, paired with your usual low mood, made you sort of feel like a bird in a very ornate cage. 

From where you are, about three stories up, you notice a familiar figure notching an arrow before he unnotches it and takes a knee. You blandly spectate as he fiddles with the bow.

Partway through him notching the arrow again, you see his hat tilt. He’s far away enough that you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel his stare. His gloved hand bends his brim and you jerk away from the window, only to bump into someone.

You don’t get to shriek, as a hand clamps over your mouth. It’s just Vil, but you don’t relax yet as he drags you towards the bed and deposits you there.

“How many times must I tell you to stay away from the window?”

He’s never once told you to stay away from the window. Not as far as you can recall, at least. Your lips tremble and you decide it’d be more wise to keep silent.

Vil glares down at you and you feel the rest of your body start to tremble. His lips curl into a displeased sneer, “You didn’t wash your face after crying?”

“N-no, Vil-”

“We do not stutter.” Vil hisses, bending to get in your face. He stares at you for a moment before standing straight again, “Speak up.”

You swallow and clench your hands into fists, “No… Vil. I… got rid of the foundation like you, um… asked me to. I wouldn’t have been able to redo-”

“Alright. Go wash your face.” Vil interrupts you again.

You jump up and rush into the bathroom, going through your skincare routine. You can feel Vil staring at you, your skin crawling under his gaze. As you rub moisturizer into your skin, Vil finally says something.

“Did Rook do something to you, darling?” His tone is soft, tentative.

You glance at him, blinking a few times. What does he mean by ‘something’? He did do something, but it wasn’t bad, or particularly different.

“Um… Not exactly.” You say, massaging your forehead.

“I see. What did he do?” 

You look down at the sink. You’re not saying anything about the candy. “Rook kissed me?”

“That should not be a question.” Vil says. You see him shake his head through your peripheral, “Would you like to change your clothes before I redo your makeup?”

You’d like to ask what he’s talking about, but instead, you look down at your clothing. You don’t have a proper Pomefiore uniform because you’re not a part of this dorm. You’re an interloper- or a caged bird.

You don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to say something wrong and unintentionally offend Vil. Your palms ache. You give him a confused look from where you are.

He doesn’t look impressed, but before he can say anything about you gaping at him, you speak up, “What… am I supposed to do?”

You’ve only seen Vil surprised a few times. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads, then sighs, “Well, I suppose I’d like to see you in something else. I’ll choose your outfit.”

That’s nothing new, he always does that. You wait in the bathroom for him to return. He strolls back in with a mockery of the Pomefiore uniform. There’s a deep purple cloak and capelet, which Vil drapes on the bed before handing you the actual clothes. It’s a very ruffled dress shirt, the long, puffy sleeves cinched into more ruffles at the wrist paired with a pair of black bloomer-style shorts. The buttons are all white and gold, marbled together. 

Vil leaves the bathroom and you change, neatly tucking your previous clothing away in the hamper. When you leave, as usual, Vil picks at your clothing, making sure it looks as good on you as he pleases, and then he steers you to sit down.

For however vicious he can be, Vil can be oddly gentle. For every time he grabs you roughly, his touch is feather-light ten more times. He hums a soft tune as he puts light makeup on you, just your eyes and lips, and then he drapes the cloak around your shoulders and places his hands on his hips.

“You look lovely. Go put on the pair of gold boots with the black decals.”

You do as told. He very likely wants to just take pictures of you or something so he can ask that Mira app about it.

Except when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t tell you to go sit in the loveseat or on the table near his window, no, he scoops you up and presses his forehead against your jaw.

“Oh, when did you put on this cologne? What a ravishing smell on you.” He presses a kiss on the column of your throat and breezes out of his dorm room's door.

Almost immediately, you go limp in his arms, like a doll. He never gave you explicit verbal permission to leave this room, so the curse he placed on you when he decided you should be his smashes into you like a giant wave at the beach.

Vil carries you all the way outside and looks at your face, then happily struts along the path behind the dorm. Since you can’t turn your head, you can only go off of the view of Vil’s neck and chin, the sky, and whatever you can hear.

“Ah, I am glad to see you did not change your mind, Roi du Poison. J'aurais été très déçue et triste pour notre chéri.” You hear Rook say. 

You can almost feel Vil get a mite warmer, “Yes, well. Hand me the basket. Since you want to make out with them and make them cry, you get to carry them as an apology.”

Rook happily scoops you out of Vil’s arms, giving you a cloying look as he strolls along. He and Vil chat as they walk, something not really worth listening in on, just boring musings about class and “this teacher did x” or “that student did y”. An insect lands on your cheek and you are incapable of batting it away or expressing your discomfort. Its legs tickle the peach fuzz on your face and you remain still, like a corpse.

Rook slides you into a seated position, posing you like a toy before shooing the bug off of your face. Now you can see that you’re in a clearing in the woods, seated on a picnic blanket. There’s a few lanterns staked into the ground, and Rook and Vil are busy with whatever is on the floor. You can’t look down, so your best guess is that it’s a picnic.

Vil leans over and snaps in your face, smiling kindly at you, “Now. If I release you, you are not going to run. You are not going to so much as consider running. We are going to have a nice picnic with no shenanigans from you.”

You can’t nod, so you just stare at him, trying to telepathically communicate.

He looks pleased enough, “Wonderful. I give you permission to leave our room.”

Your muscles relax and you look back, finding that you’re leaned against a log. The picnic spread is very nice, as well. It looks like finger sandwiches. You’re not expecting to get to eat one, as you haven’t had bread since Vil switched up your diet. Vil passes something to you.

“Oh.” You mumble, staring at the plate Vil hands you. 

It’s a sandwich. A very wonderful looking sandwich, cut into triangles and with the crusts still on. You blink at it a few times and look back up at Vil.

“Don’t expect this to be a pattern. This is a treat for good behavior.”

You look back down, “Yes, Vil.”

“There’s no need to remind them. They’re being obedient.” Rook’s voice is more firm than you expected to hear him ever speak. Usually his tone is buoyant, and you’ve never seen him outright pick a fight with Vil like this.

“Please. You give anyone an inch, they’ll take a mile.” Vil cuts back, then turns to you and pets your head like a dog or a cat again, “Eat your food, beautiful.”

You take a bite. Bread is just as good as you remember it. The air feels thick, like you’re in a bubble as Vil and Rook communicate through eye contact alone. Before you know it, your sandwich is gone and your hands are covered in crumbs. Rook, still staring at Vil with that happy little smile, wipes your hands and places a glass in your hands. Whatever is in it smells sweet. You take a tentative sip.

Were it Vil, you would have never drank whatever this is. It kind of tastes like a mellow mixed berry juice. It’s very pleasant, actually. Better than the potion Vil used to lace your food and drinks with. You smile into the cup and Vil snatches it from you.

He takes a sip and frowns, handing it back, “Mmm. I have an even better surprise.”

Rook pulls your legs into his lap and gently kneads your calves as you watch Vil rifle through the picnic basket. What is happening? You sip your juice and Vil produces a triangular container. He places a fork on top and hands it to you.

You finish the last of your juice and accept the box, looking conspiratorially at Rook. Something you can’t put your finger on dances in his eyes and he digs his thumb into your shin a little strongly. You flinch and cautiously open the box. It’s a piece of fluffy white cake, with even fluffier meringue and an uncannily perfect cherry wedged into it.

You look at Vil, expecting some kind of trick. Not that he’s ever done that before, usually he’d just take it from you or make some snide comment, things like that, but he and Rook are acting really strange today, 

“I know how much you long for junk food, so I spent some time after club activities today whipping up some angel food cake. It’s got agave instead of sugar so it won’t completely break your diet and your skin won’t suffer as much.”

Yeah, this is weird. The cake is good, though, it’s fluffy and sweet. You pace your bites so that Vil won’t make a comment and you can savor this. You can feel both of their eyes on you and it makes your skin crawl.

You lower the cake box and look at Vil, who looks a bit offended for just a second. The fleeting expression is replaced by a pleased little grin, the mauve lipstick making the curve of his lips all the more sinister in the dimming light.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, Vil.” You glance at the cake and then back at him, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Why?” Rook asks.

Your shoulders jerk as you turn your head to look at him. You weren’t expecting him to say anything. His chest swells in what appears to be a suppressed chuckle as he squeezes your knee. It seems his hands have climbed.

“Uh…” You swallow, “This is just… not what I’m used to.”

“The cake?” Vil looks hurt. Why does he look hurt?

You shake your head rapidly, “No! Oh- No, Vil. I… It’s just been so long since I’ve been out here…”

“Do you want to go inside, chéri?” Rook murmurs.

You do, but you also don’t really want to risk sounding ungrateful. Being outside has stressed you out more than you’d like to admit. You’re not really sure what to do because Vil has you trained like a dog, and none of what he’s hammered into you involves picnics. You’re scared.

Rooks eyes narrow as you just stare at him. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is throbbing, and on the other side of you, Vil sighs.

“Well, I’ll start cleaning up, then. When we get back, I expect you to take a seat on the bed.”

That sounds like what happens every time you get in trouble. A terror shudders through you and your eyes water a bit as you gnaw on your lip. Your palms ache as you fight to keep from picking at your cuticles. Vil packs up everything and Rook offers you a princely hand to help you up.

You can feel the calluses on his hands through his gloves as he essentially lifts you to your feet. You keep between Rook and Vil as you walk back to the dorm.

It’s quiet, since everyone else is winding down for bed. For a moment, you think you spot Epel, but you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of your old friends talk to you anymore. Not since Vil started having eyes for you.

Just as you were told, after taking off your boots you take a seat on the bed and retrieve the silver ruler from the side-table’s drawer. You place it beside you as you look down at your feet. You look down at the streaky bruises on the lighter skin on your palms and try not to start crying. It’s always worse when you cry.

He adds smacks by twos. Depending on what you did, you start with four or six, and then any time you flinch or pull away or make a loud noise, he adds two more. Last time, you spilled one of his nail polishes, and after watching you clean it up, you ended up getting ten lashes.

At least Rook didn’t do it then. He tries to make it quick but that just makes it hurt more. A tear slips down your cheek.

You don’t even know what you did. You tap the tear track dry with one fingertip and Vil and Rook fully enter the room.

“Why is the ruler out?” Vil asks, and then his voice goes sharp, “Are you crying?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Vil.” You sob.

“I don’t know why.” He grabs the ruler and shoves it away before you can raise your hands, “Go wash your face.”

You stand up and shakily do as told, returning to sit on the bed. Vil goes into the bathroom after you and Rook takes a seat next to you, his hand on your shoulder.

He smiles at you, rubbing your shoulder, “You are très précieux, chéri.”

You look at him in a state of hollow bewilderment as he brushes his cheek against yours and presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.

You hear the bathroom door close and a tired sigh from Vil, “Do you have no patience?”

Your head jerks to look at VIl, “Rook is…?”

“Yes, he’s joining us tonight.” Vil plucks the loop of his sleeve from his middle finger and loosens his belt. You get the feeling that the next words he says aren’t for you, “Well, go ahead.”

You feel Rook’s chuckle more than you hear it. With his lips against your neck, his hands begin to slide. The hand on your shoulder rests on the nape of your neck and his other hand slides down to your thigh, then up to your waist. You try not to cringe against his touch, but it’s difficult.

His hand slides down again as he trails his teeth against the back of your ear. His thumb hooks in your pants and starts yanking them down. You outright flinch.

“Wait-”

“Relax, darling.” Vil mumbles, hanging his clothing in the armoire.

You try. You absolutely try. Rook throws your bloomers aside and rests his hand on your lower belly for a moment. He sighs into your ear and reaches up to unclasp your buttons.

You feel stiff. You want to push him away but you can’t move. It’s as though your body is frozen. It’s not due to a curse, so the only possible solution is that you’re quite literally scared stiff. 

He pulls away your shirt and glances at Vil, “Are you prepared?”

“Please.” You can hear the smile on Vil’s lips as Rook turns back and kisses you again, his hand smoothing along your collarbone and shoulders.

Your underwear is the next to go. Of course it is. You fight to keep from breathing oddly, because you’re aware that if you pass out, Vil will get annoyed.

“Mmm.” The devil’s hand glides up your back and you fight back a shudder as Rook leans you backwards into his arms. “How are you feeling, darling?”

You’re honest, “I’m scared.”

“I thought you would say that.” Vil freely manhandles you, shifting you so you’re leaned chest to chest. He slides something off of the side table and passes it behind you, then cups your cheek, “You would save a lot of time and stress if you’d just learn to trust me.”

“I…” You hate him. You hate him so much. He keeps you here like a pet, and you don’t know how he’s supposed to expect you to treat him like a lover when he treats you the way he does. 

Before you can articulate an answer that pleases Vil, a wicked burn besets your sphincter and you clench your jaw. 

Vil’s voice is sharp, “Rook, please.”

You hear Rook make a noise underneath the harsh sound of blood rushing in your ears and your own heavy panting. Something cool oozes around the ring of your ass and you press your face against Vil’s chest. His robe is lazily tied, which is not particularly like him, and you can see his cock poking out where the fabric separates. You let out a strangled noise and Vil shushes you, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Relax. I know, you weren’t prepared. Relax.” Vil soothes.

“I don’t mind if you remain tense, chéri. Mon plaisir n'en est que plus grand. And your little cries and whimpers sont terriblement mignons.” Rook mumbles behind you.

Rook is better than Vil in most areas, but once he gets his dick inside of you, it’s as though he forgets to be caring and kind. The tables flip, with Vil acting the part of a caring lover and Rook becoming a sadistic bully. You let out a ragged sob as Rook rolls his hips and Vil hisses something that you don’t quite catch.

It almost sounded like he was telling Rook to slow down. That very well could have been the case, as Rook eases back a bit and only shallowly thrusts.

Vil continues petting you, coaxing you so your cheek is pressed against his thigh. He is always a perfect warm. He is always perfect, so it sort of makes sense, but his skin is a pleasant temperature. He feels alive, a perfectly human temperature that tells you he’s breathing and his heart is beating. As he fingers through your hair, Rook gives a harsher than usual thrust and you cry out.

“Rook, if you’re impatient then you’re going to hurt them, and neither of us have the time to take care of them all day.” Vil chides, and then his tone softens as he rubs the space between your shoulders, “Are you ready for me as well, darling?” “What…?” You ask, blearily. Somewhere in the back of your awareness, you know what he wants, but you can feel Rook’s thrusts growing impatient and seeing as you weren’t given any prep, you’re in a bit too much shock to think straight.

“Mmm… You’re awfully cute but I need you to be a bit more lucid.” Vil snaps in your ear and resumes his petting, “This isn’t the first time, sweetheart. I’m not going to hold your hand.”

The soft tip of his member spreads his pre like lipgloss against your lips. As you shakily open your mouth, you figure you’re lucky that Vil doesn’t have a chaotic, unhealthy diet like Leona or Ace, that he doesn’t drink coffee for fun or often like Deuce does. The taste of his skin is lightly floral and dominantly human, likely thanks to the body lotion he applies daily. 

He hisses and presses against your forehead, “Ah-ah. You’re taking enough from Rook. Just the tip for me is fine.”

From behind, you hear Rook grumble under his breath, “Je n'en peux plus de cette merde…”

“Watch your- unf- watch your language, Rook.” Vil snarls, massaging the nape of your neck as you carefully lave your tongue over his glans.

Rook’s patience breaks, his hands clamping down on your waist, just above your hips. You have the sense to pull Vil’s cock out of your mouth as Rook begins battering into you.

As much as you feel okay about Rook, he is not a doting lover by nature. He’s mean and brutal, chasing his climax, and only after he cums does he bother to think about you or your needs. Your palms ache as you grab Vil’s member and gently tug on it. Vil flinches and snaps at you to get your attention.

You look to the side and for a second, as the pain ebbs, you assume you’re having an out of body experience, and then you realize that you’re staring into his vanity mirror. Rook’s hair exaggeratedly sways with his motion. He removed his hat but just haphazardly displaced the rest of his clothing. He’s not smiling, he’s making some sort of smug expression.

It’s funny. As Vil is satisfied with you weakly jerking him off, his touch gentle, Rook is wild on your other end. Every time you just barely begin to relax, he thrusts harder, which makes you tense and a spike of pain batters through you. 

You endure as best you can. You endure every day, enduring through eating the same unfulfilling food, enduring through walking on eggshells around Vil, enduring getting your palms beaten to hell for the most human of errors, so what’s getting sodomized in the face of everything else you can handle?

You bite back a shriek as a harsh pinch on your bottom, followed by a smack administered by Rook. He leans down and blows in your ear, snickering as he leans back, “I thought you had given up the ghost for a second there.”

Vil sucks in a breath and you quietly mumble against his thigh.

“Hmm? I didn’t hear you, mon chou.” Rook’s voice is almost mocking, like before.

“P-please… Rook, I can’t-”

“You can. You’ll live.” He grunts, the steady clap of your ass against his body punctuating his statement.

“It hurts.” You sniffle. You’re not particularly prone to crying, but, then again, Rook and Vil usually prepare you before deciding to fuck your ass.

You sob and Rook’s grasp tightens on your waist, a ragged moan punching out of his chest. He pulls your body flush to his and jerks his hips into you, drilling a bit harder for all of four or five thrusts. And then he’s no longer on you, and you feel your body getting shifted so your head is still in Vil’s lap but you’re lying prone.

You tilt Vil’s dick down to massage the head with your tongue and something warm drips on your back. You hear a noise of disgust from Vil, capped by a quiet moan.

“Absolutely not. All three of us are getting in the tub if you don’t clean that up right now.”

Rook chuckles and coos, “Hmm, but it looks so lovely. My alabaster essence creates a wonderful contrast with their soft and supple skin.”

A flush of humiliation crawls up the back of your neck and you hide your face against Vil’s belly, using your own arm to hide the other half. Vil shudders as he pushes your head down a bit, but his voice sounds incredulous.

“That’s vile. It doesn’t have any proven health benefits, you know that.”

You felt Rook’s hands spreading his semen into the skin on your back and your palms ache as Vil cums in your mouth. He doesn’t do that often, so it hits you like a shock.

You gag but force it down and Vil shoots up, fretting over you.

“Did you just swallow that?” He bends down to look into your eyes.

“Yes, Vil.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Vil snips, sounding much harsher than he might intend, “I’m going to run us a bath, alright, darling? I’ll make sure you can brush that icky stuff out of your mouth.”

It didn’t taste bad. Vil usually cums on your face as an incentive for you to wash your face very well after a day of wearing makeup, or he has you jerk him off until he cums, but the few other times you did taste it, it was the same as this time. It was mostly salty, not too bitter, likely from his good diet. Regardless, he breezes away and Rook gives your bottom a light tap. You stand up and glance at Rook, who is looking a bit disheveled but pretty pleased with himself.

“How are you feeling, cheri?”

“That hurt.” Your voice is quiet, and your throat is still lined with tears.

“Does it still hurt?” He smiles and tilts his head.

The sound of the tub running is thunderous even where you are. Vil would never tolerate you complaining, but Rook is amicable, “A little.”

“The bath will do you good, then. Come.”

You let Rook guide you into the bathroom, his hand on your elbow. As he undresses and joins Vil on the edge of the tub, you look down at your bruised hands and glance at the slowly closing bathroom door, then at Rook and Vil where they stand near the tub.

You can’t say you prefer either of them, really, but you don't get an opinion. Do dolls at tea parties get to ask for a different kind of tea?

[inkblot22]

//punishment/spanking kink

Thinking about really strict yans… you know when it comes to punishment, the dread of not knowing what will happen to you is one thing, but there's also something deliciously gut-churning about the thought of knowing exactly what will happen.

With someone whose punishments vary depending on how he feels, or are decided on the spot, the uncertainty can be both equally frightening while also comforting. You can tell yourself it won't be that bad, at least up to a certain point. You don't know, you don't have anything specific to fear.

But then you have those for whom you don't get that comfort. Rules and their corresponding punishments when violated are laid out for you very clearly from early on, you're told what will happen if you disobey each rule as he's giving you the rules themselves.

Some are arbitrary, some are highly specific, some are alarmingly vague. The punishments can be humiliating, painful, perverted… most are all of the above.

It's primarily corporeal — you get spanked regardless of the offense, that's the one consistent thing. He likes putting you over his knee. It's humiliating, it hurts, you squeal and squirm and the way your body tenses and the little sound you make with each swat to your ass is euphoric.

Even though it's the basis of most punishments, there's still details for different offenses. What you do determines how many you get, the instrument used… the only constant is that he never lets you keep any layers on. Even for the mildest offenses, your clothes are always hiked up or pulled down to your knees, each swat connecting to bare flesh, making your eyes water that much faster, you bite your lip to stifle the sounds.

Not doing something you were told to do generally is a lesser offense, just warranting his hand — doing something you weren't supposed to do, on the other hand, usually warrants a belt.

Talking to others when you've been specifically instructed to not do so is fifteen with a belt to your bare ass, little acts of spite such as jerking out of his grasp or putting on something other than what he set out for you to wear today — generally falling under the label of ’being a brat’ — is twenty with his hand. Failing to greet him at the door as you've been specifically instructed to do earns ten with the whipping cane he got just for you.

He has something worse — a wooden paddle, the kind with lots of holes in it, specifically designed to hurt. He keeps it visible in your room, up on the wall, a constant reminder. That, he says, is for when you try and run from him. Which is inevitable, you'll do it one day, he's certain. And when you do, you know exactly what you'll get. Isn't it nice, having such certainty? One day you'll get to know exactly what it feels like, coming down on your sensitive, soft flesh with full, enraged force. You'll be so cute, crying so much.

Even if you wanted to try and forget to make it less dreadful, you don't get much of a choice, as he expects you to memorize the specifics. That's part of the added humiliation factor — he doesn't just act immediately, instead making you tell him exactly what you did and recite what has to happen to you as a result… of course, only after you're already bent over, stumbling over your words as you tense at the feeling of his hand or the leather or wood gently brushing back and forth over the soft, sensitive flesh.

And if you can't remember, you get a few more added on with each incorrect guess until you get it right. He doesn't always make you count, though — generally, if it's over fifteen or so, he knows you'll be a blubbering sniffling mess long before it's even over, and he has some compassion for you, even if no amount of squealing and crying is going to make it stop any sooner. So after a few, it's okay that you lose count… unless he's in an especially poor, particularly sadistic mood, and makes you start over for it. That, at least, can be a bit unpredictable.

And while it accompanies every punishment, it's not always the only aspect of the punishment — different offenses get a secondary part tacked on.

If you backtalk him, you also take his cock down your throat to learn to use your mouth properly. You lie to him, you take his cock in your ass — double down on the lie and you only get your own spit for lube, multiple lies or particularly severe ones means multiple days with a nice thick piece of tape covering up your poor neglected pussy while he stuffs your ass with cum day in and day out until you're too sore to even walk. You ignore him — the one thing that seems to upset him more than anything — and you get a solid week of only using your throat and ass until you learn to show some respect.

You try and hide your body from him — when he's explicitly told you it's his property now — and you'll be naked at all times for the next week, and tied up with your arms and legs spread far apart to ensure you feel the vulnerability of exposure. You push him away when he's trying to be intimate with you, like the little brat you are? You'll orgasm until you cry, kicking and squirming and pulling against the restraints keeping your arms and legs apart, pushing the boundaries of your comprehension how something so good can become so overwhelming and sensitive as to be painful, the sensitive nubs on your chest and your clit so abused that the slightest touch makes your whole body jolt as you whimper.

You get each and every one of these punishments as promises. You know from the very beginning exactly what happens when you make these transgressions — and yet, the dumb little thing you are, you still do it, and you still try to run and fight it as if it's not unavoidable, as if you stand any chance of getting out of it, as if you don't know him well enough to know you won't get a single sliver of mercy… and as if you don't know that trying to run and fight only adds another punishment, as you've been told many times. Really, you're like a little pet, so foolish and predictable and adorable.

Even so, it's not as if you'll never know the sort of dread that uncertainty can bring… in the most extreme form possible. One day you'll inevitably do something even out of the bounds of what he planned for, something he never even anticipated you doing, such a severe transgression that for once, he doesn't know what to do, he has to come up with something that can even possibly be adequate for your misstep.

Yes, when you see his head slowly turn towards your shivering and huddled little form, eye twitching with an unprecedented disgust at your sheer audacity, you'll get to finally know that chill in your blood of being unsure of what he's going to do to you.

[inkblot22]

This post was going to be a poll but I've decided I don't care that much about the actual answer because I am god in this realm and, as god, I decide that prefect!reader hates chia seeds because if I'm basing their heights relative to my own (I'm 5'6 or roughly 167cm) then one food preference is not at all a big deal.

[inkblot22]

I've got the funniest hunch that a Scarabia fic would be a good idea. Analytics don't lie, or something.

[inkblot22]

I just read the azul request and your writing was so goooddd. If you don't mind, i'm curious what happened with their friendship after that. Is darling would end the friendship or forced to still in the friendship because her "kind" personality?

Thank you! I'm honestly planning on making time to do some more editing on that one because when I reread it, there are a few odd spacing incidents and typos.

Anyhow! I'll put this under the cut so that people who don't want to read about this don't have to scroll past a wall of text, but be warned that this is a little heavy:

So, before I get to the good stuff, in the original request said a people-pleaser and anxious darling, but people-pleasers are some of the most anxious people I know. They're constantly stepping all over themselves to allow others to treat them like a doormat. It's incredibly sad to watch, and while it can be mistaken for kindness, people-pleasing is more so indicative of a lack of self-respect. People-pleasers look for validation from others based on how strongly they dislike themselves, imo. So Azul's darling is... struggling.

Okay, on to the good stuff in headcanon format:

+ To put it very plainly: No, they're not friends anymore but that's not really the main issue.

+ So within the fic, there is a point in which Azul's darling just blindly signed a contract. If Azul is nothing else, he is a capitalist- to put it alternatively, he consistently takes advantage of other peoples' weaknesses and faults in order to benefit himself.

+ Because his darling never reads the contract, she doesn't get context and, therefore, neither do people who read that fic without coming to look at this post. I know this is a shit move on my part but this is a clarification thingy. His darling doesn't get to know that Azul mistook his fondness for her stroking his ego for him being in love with her, she doesn't get to know that he misunderstood her rambling at Jade for her having a crush on him, and she doesn't get to know that he wrote that contract, banking completely on her blind trust in him so she'd either just go along with the contents or not look at them at all.

+ Azul lucked tf out in that area, honestly. Within the contract are clauses upon clauses of legalese that forces his darling to remain by his side, unless Crowley finds a way to get her home (never going to happen) or she literally dies.

+ Of course, from his darling's POV, it'd be ridiculous to continue being friends with someone who, quite literally, raped her. Hopefully this post doesn't get me shadowbanned again becs I said the r-word. The issue comes in with her inability to get out.

+ She'd be tentative, more so than usual, because she would be stuck with someone who she immediately lost all respect for, but since she's stuck with him and, as previously established, has low self-esteem, there's a high chance that she will start to believe that she deserved it in some capacity.

+ Trauma manifests in really odd ways, and one of those ways is a ton of guilt. Bone-crushing, soul-rending guilt. Anxiety makes you believe some really weird stuff sometimes, so it's also very likely that she hyperfixates on one thing she did, blaming her own actions instead of the whole bastard who did this to her. Like, 'Oh, I shouldn't have mentioned birth control," or "I should have tried on the other outfit first, not this dress."

+ Obviously, Azul knows that her mental health is shit. He takes advantage of it throughout the whole fic, and it only makes sense that he continues to do so. One could even say that Azul never even saw her as a friend and only as a fancy accessory. She's arm candy, because unless there are some female teachers, she is the only woman on campus. That's a big flex, or something. Idk, men are weird.

+ Regardless, it's very hopeless for Azul's darling. He's scarily powerful in multiple fields and has connections everywhere. Even if she believed she had the ability to get out, she cannot. Hence the power imbalance tw in that fic.