#previous captivity

[oddsconvert]

Shattered #11 - One Small Step

Previous / Masterlist

CW: whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, vampire caretaker, reference to vampire whumper, previous abuse torture & captivity, bloodbag whumpee, recovery & rescue, mention of death, paranoia, drugs/medication, medical examination, loss of speech, loss of autonomy, disability/immobility, broken bones (please let me know if I've missed any!)

---

Declan doesn’t remember eating his last few meals. He doesn’t remember much of the past few days at all. It’s all a blur; flashes of movement, dull throbs of pain, voices murmuring through the fog. But the meals must have happened. The tray always comes and goes like clockwork: like the sun rising and setting, like the door creaking open and closed.

It’s always the human - Lucas. Thankfully.

Declan drifts in and out during those visits, but there are moments when he surfaces just long enough to see him. Lucas, perched on the edge of the bed, voice soft and steady. As if he’s afraid to startle a wild animal. While he coaxes spoonful's of food past cracked lips, he talks to Declan. Not at him, not down to him - but to him. Man to man. Even if Declan can’t talk back. Even when he’s away with the fairies.

It’s one of the only things that still makes him feel like a person, and not just a body rotting in a bed.

Lucas never rushes him. He doesn’t flinch when Declan chokes, nor sigh when food dribbles down his chin. He just wipes it away with care, not pity - trying to return a small piece of the dignity the world stole from him.

Declan hasn’t seen much of his new master lately. Not that he wants to. August has become more shadow than vampire - slipping in and out of the room, barely there, never lingering. The doctor (or whatever the hell the bloodsucker pretends to be) only skulks in once a day at best now. Always at odd hours, when the light outside is waning.

He moves with faux concern and hollow pity that boils Declan’s blood. Declan doesn’t need or want August’s pity. He needs humanity. Pity does nothing for him now but remind him how far he’s fallen.

The vampire is eerily quiet during his visits. He doesn’t quite meet Declan’s eyes the way he used to. He goes about his business in that maddeningly clinical silence: adjusting IV lines, checking vitals, swapping out fluid bags to keep Declan from crashing, tweaking the pain meds that dull the edge but never truly take it away.

There’s always this careful composure about him, like he’s trying to be harmless. Maybe the guilt is finally eating August alive. As it should. He thinks a downcast gaze and soft voice will make up for what he is.

It won’t. Nothing could ever make up for what August is putting Declan through.

Declan’s ears prick at the bedroom door groaning open, followed by the jarring squeak of patent leather shoes. His stomach knots so sharply it nearly makes him double over the side of the bed and vomit. Every muscle braces without his permission. Before his eyes even dart to the door, he already knows who is there… or what is there. The chill in the air always slips in with it. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Declan. I hope I haven’t woken you?” 

Oh, he’s sorry. Of course he is. Always so sorry, always so gentle. Declan half wishes August would hurry up and get it over with. Drop the act, stop dancing around, and sink his fangs into Declan’s throat. That would be mercy. Not this cruel charade of safety and freedom they keep peddling. At least then, Declan would know his place, and the rules he’d be bound to obey. Afterall, he knows how to be a good little blood bag. Vince made sure of that.

The leech comes closer, too close for comfort. He drags the chair out from its place at the window and settles by Declan’s bedside. Declan weakly jerks sideways in the bed, every movement igniting pain as he forces his wasted frame as far as the mattress will allow. 

Declan watches, wide-eyed and unblinking. He tracks any and every miniscule movement, from the twitch of a finger to the flare of a nostril. His heart slams against his ribs hard enough to hurt. This is the most attention he has had from the monster in days. So why now? What does August want from him now?

“How are you feeling? Are - Are you comfortable? You seem a little more alert today,” August notes, those beady-red eyes sweeping over him. “That’s good. That’s positive! You’re making steady progress.”

Declan doesn’t blink, doesn’t dare breathe. He’s trapped in the cold grip of fear. Fight is a far away thought. Flight? Impossible. So he freezes. Muscles locked, breath caught. Goggle-eyed and pupils blown to the size of the moon.

August sinks in his seat, fingers raking through his hair as a worn sigh escapes. His gaze lingers on Declan, something like concern flickering in his eyes, but Declan doesn’t believe it. Not even for a fraction of a second. He can’t feel it, and he sure as hell can’t trust it.

“I suppose it’s best if I just get on with it? ‘Rip the band-aid off,’ as Lucas says…”, August muses, rubbing the back of his neck.

Finally.

Relief floods Declan, but then devastation hits him just as fast. This is it. What Declan has been dreading and yet exactly what he’s been waiting for, since the second he was revived. August is going to drink him down to the marrow, wring him dry like a rag. Finish what Vince started. He’s not the human Lucas led him to believe he could be again, but the prey he was always meant to be. He squeezes his bloodshot eyes shut, tears pressing free and rolling down his gaunt cheeks. 

Declan knew it was all a matter of time, the truth would come out sooner or later. At least he can say he never fell for their lies or bought into their make-believe world. How could he? In what world would a vampire have business nursing food back from the dead? It was never out of altruism or empathy. It was always for greed and sustenance. 

His arm - the twig-like arm with cannulas still sticking out - viciously trembles as he lifts it, offering it outstretched to August. God help him, he can’t stop the tears spilling, hot and fast. But isn’t this exactly what he’s been asking for? For the vampire to make this make sense? To use Declan as he was always meant to be used? 

No. He’s never wanted any of this. All he’s ever hoped for, begged for, clung to - was survival. Declan isn’t offering his blood out of the goodness of his heart or out of freedom of choice…it’s surrender. It’s all he can do to accept the fate he can’t outrun. If only they had left him for dead. Let mother nature do her work. They didn’t save him, no matter how tightly they cling to that lie. They snatched Declan from the peace of a grave and forced his soul back into the cage of his broken body. 

Declan holds his breath hostage, bracing for the all too-familiar pain of the bite. The pierce of razor-sharp fangs, the dizzying sensation of blood whooshing from his veins, the rush of weakness that comes with it. His body tenses, every nerve wound tight as a wire. When fingers brush his arm, Declan jumps, a choked cry slipping free before he can gulp it down. 

But…there’s no bite. If anything, August’s touch is hesitant and featherlight.

Declan opens his eyes, brows twitched in confusion and blinking through the burn of tears. August isn’t pouncing on him with hunger, tearing him apart like a wild animal. He’s gently guiding Declan’s arm away, and back down. The vampire is so careful, like Declan’s made of glass and with one wrong move, will splinter in his palms.

None of this makes a lick of sense. It’s a nightmare Declan can’t wake up from.

“No-” the vampire’s voice cracks, feigning hurt, “Please don’t. Never that, Declan. I swear, I’ll never ask that of you. Not now, not ever. I’ll say it a thousand times more. Ten thousand times more. For forever. If that’s what you need.”

Declan’s brain is going to implode. It can’t make sense of this insanity. A vampire turning down blood? A lion sparing a zebra? The way August looks at Declan like he’s a small, helpless animal, but not prey snared in a trap?  It should be a relief. It should be comforting. But all Declan feels is deep confusion and disorientation, like the floor’s been pulled out from underneath him. 

He wants to believe it. God, some fractured part of Declan aches to believe August. It would be every prayer answered at once. He can’t. The damage runs far too deep, and the pain is all he has left to rely on. In his gut, a voice screams at him; don’t you dare fall in its trap.

“I - I was only going to ask if I could assess your range of motion today. Only if you’re okay with that, Declan. Just a few simple tests to see how your body’s healing.”

Declan frowns, his face etched with deep suspicion. ‘Assess’? ‘Test’? Like he’s some guinea pig in August’s mad experiment? 

“I’d like to determine where we should begin with your physical rehabilitation,” August clarifies. “What your body can handle, what it’s forgotten, what it can relearn. It will let us see where we need to work on building you back up.”

Ah. Of course. It all falls into place. Build him back up to break him back down again. That’s been the vampire’s motive all along.  It’s no fun breaking something that’s already broken, is it? No-one wants to play with broken toys. Declan remembers Vince telling him that terror sweetened his blood. Adrenaline made it somehow richer. It clicks. This leech only wants to bring the light back to his eyes, so he can watch as he snuffs it out all over again. As if Declan hasn’t endured enough cruelty for a million lifetimes. 

“I’m sure you don’t want to stay bedridden forever.”

No. You don’t want me to stay bedridden. Declan’s no fool, he can read between the lines. August wants Declan to be effortless. He doesn’t want the burden and mess that comes along as part of the deal with his new bloodbag. If Declan gets back on his feet, it will be a breeze from there on out. No complications and no need to pretend to ‘care’. Just a supply to feed from and nothing more - nothing for August to worry about beyond the next meal.

“This will help. We can help. We’ll take it slow, gentle, but we will get you back on your feet,”  August insists, as if willing the words to be true. 

A bitter laugh threatens to rise in Declan’s chest. The idea that August wants to help is so damn laughable it makes his insides twist. None of this is for Declan - it’s all for August’s own convenience. It’s manipulation wrapped in the promise of freedom.

But still... what if? 

The desire to move itches beneath Declan’s skin. He could be more than this shell lying in a bed, idly watching the world pass him by and waiting to be used and abused. What if there’s a chance he could regain his strength? Stand? Walk again? 

Declan nods his approval and August’s face lights up. Good. Let August think his plan is working, and the promise of healing is enough to win him over. Declan will get steadier and stronger, until the trembling stops and the fog lifts. Not because the leech wants him functional, not because he was told to, but because he needs to. Declan will be the one to drag himself out of this pit and no one else. 

He’ll fight his way back, not for August - but for his mum, his dad, Lacey, and finally, for himself.

August rises, knees cracking as he stands. “I’ll need to move the blanket. Is that alright?” he asks, already lowering his hands to pluck it away but waiting for an answer. Declan performs an uncertain nod, even as his skin breaks out in hives. There’s nothing that can prepare him for this vulnerability - to leave himself exposed to the vampire. This blanket has been his one line of defence, albeit a futile barrier between them. And now it’s being whisked from his hands.

August peels the blanket away, exposing Declan’s thin and trembling body to the cold air. Both of them gawk down at his body in horror. It’s a roadmap of all he’s survived. Bruises in every shade that don’t want to fade. Joints swollen and stiff, muscles withered away from disuse. Deep, jagged scars slashed all over. Skin shriveled over bone.

He sees it in August’s face. The moment of pause. The way his jaw tightens. Declan doesn’t need a mirror - he can see the damage written in the vampire’s unease.

“Alright,” August says after an unsteady breath. “We’ll begin small, okay? I’m going to ask you to lift your arms, one at a time.”

Declan’s mind is already spiraling, trepidation creeping in. He can’t help the way his body recoils when the vampire leans the slightest bit closer. Every instinct screams at him to pull away. Where there’s a vampire, there’s always pain. When August reaches out to touch his arm again, that instinct overpowers every ounce of his will. Declan lurches back, flinching like he’s been struck. 

“Hey, hey-” August gasps, pausing mid-reach to hold his hands up surrender style, “I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean to startle you. I can… I can bring Lucas in, if it would help? Would that help you feel more at ease?”

Declan doesn’t want to admit how much the thought of seeing Lucas brings him comfort. For all he knows, Lucas is in on this cruel facade, or at the very least - deep under the vampire’s enthrallment. But it does comfort Declan. More than anything. More than these gentle touches and soft voices, all the apologies and promises he knows August has no plan to keep. Lucas brings the humanity and compassion to the table. He is the only one who could ever begin to understand Declan in ways August never will.

Declan nods ‘yes’, and this time eagerly. 

"Okay. Give me one moment”.  August shuffles to the door but not without casting a regretful glance back at Declan. A few hushed words exchange outside, then Lucas is there with him. And suddenly the room is warm again. Declan can breathe again. As little as he can afford to lend his trust, he trusts that Lucas will protect him. 

Lucas comes and perches on the edge of Declan’s bed, as he usually does. He pats Declan reassuringly on the shoulder, and it’s not lost on him how he doesn’t jump out of his skin at the slightest touch. Not with Lucas. Being this close to him doesn’t feel as suffocating as it does with the vampire. 

“It’s alright, mate. I’m here. You’re safe and sound. Promise”, Lucas vows.

Mate. Is Declan really that desperate for connection that his heart flutters at that word alone? And from a stranger? Despair and isolation is all he has known for a decade. Is it so terribly wrong to want someone to rely on? To believe that someone might be there to catch him when he falls, or as it seems, pick him up from where he’s fallen? 

August crouches slightly, bringing himself level with the bed. “Are you ready to start?”. Declan swallows hard, but nods his permission. “Let’s start with your right arm. Just see where you can raise it to. I’ll help you, but don’t push past any pain or discomfort, okay? Let me know if or when it hurts”. He offers a hand, palm up, open and waiting. Declan doesn’t take it. It just hangs between them. He glares at the vampire’s palm like it will burn him. Instinctively, he edges closer to Lucas, creating more distance between himself and August.

Lucas watches their silent standoff. “Declan? Declan? Do you want to hold my hand?”. He opens his hand, resting it gently on the bed between them. “Only if it helps,” he says, and then adds, with a lopsided cheeky smile, “Mine’s warm. Bit of a novelty, I reckon.”

And then - just barely - Declan’s lips twitch. A small, worn-out smile tugs at the corners. He lets out the smallest breath of a laugh, but it’s mostly just air and exhaustion. He thinks of the touch he’s grown used to; so cold and cruel. Those vicious words and callous hands that have been hellbent on melting his mind and breaking his will.

Slowly, Declan’s fingers unfurl. When his hand finally makes contact with Lucas’s, the world around him seems to pause. This is what he’s been craving. Breath and life, heart and soul. Lucas’s hands are warm - like touch should be. Not ice-cold like the vampire’s when they snatch him by the arm, or squeeze his throat. Declan’s eyes flutter closed, trying to hold onto this feeling. His fingers weakly grip Lucas’s hand, though he can’t make any words form, or voice the desperate longing in his chest. But it doesn’t matter. He knows Lucas doesn’t need him to speak. Lucas understands. It feels like a lifeline.

“You’ve got this. I’ve got you. It’s all gonna be okay,” Lucas reassures, “and please - trust me when I say you can trust August. We’re on your side, both of us are. ”

Now that can’t be true. Lucas can’t be on his side and August’s side at the same time. He’s either with him, or against him. Humans or vampires. There’s no inbetween, there can’t be.  If Lucas were truly on Declan’s side, he would have helped him escape by now. He’d be home, nursed in the comfort of his own bed, with his loved ones by his bedside and not this parasite. The dam breaks, the doubt seeps back in. His fingers twitch loose in Lucas’ hand. Not quite letting go, but not gripping for dear life anymore.

"Whenever you’re ready, Declan. Try to lift your arm slowly now, straight up towards the ceiling, as far as feels comfortable”, August instructs.

Declan grits his teeth and tries. It feels like dragging dead weight. His shoulder aches in protest, muscles fluttering and resisting the motion. The joint feels stiff and foreign. Through a surge of determination, he stretches his arm overhead, even as it trembles from the strain.

"Good job! You’re doing well!" August praises, though it lands wrong and comes off patronising. Like he’s talking to a pet. "No sharp pain shooting down your arm? No numbness?"August checks, watching carefully.

Declan shakes his head, his jaw clenched so tight it’s a wonder his teeth don’t crack. Of course it hurts. Everything always hurts. But it's nothing new. Nothing he can't handle. Pain is baseline now.

August lightly supports Declan’s forearm, guiding the movement back down with a steadier hand. “Let’s try again, together this time. Follow my lead.”

They repeat the motion with each arm - once, twice, three times - August feeling for resistance, gauging Declan’s strength and coordination with each attempt.  Sweat beads along Declan’s brow, and his body shakes with effort, but he doesn’t quit. August bends and straightens Declan’s elbows, then moves to his wrists, turning his palms up and down, checking the stiff joints. Finally, he tests each finger, guiding them to flex and extend. 

Next, August shifts his support, one hand braced at Declan’s lower back, while the other slides around his waist to help lift him up in the bed slightly. “Alright, we’re going to sit up now. I’ve got you, you can lean on me for support.”

The weakness in his spine and slowness in his muscles make the simple act of lifting his chest feel like a monumental task, leaving August to compensate and haul him upwards. Sitting upright doesn’t feel nearly as unbearable as it once did. It’s almost... comfortable? No, not comfortable - he’s so used to agony, anything but feels like bliss. But not excruciating, either. His chest expands with air that doesn’t feel quite as suffocating as before. He’s not sure how long he’s been here in his new prison - days, weeks, maybe more? But he knows he’s not the same as when he first arrived. 

“Lean forward for me?”

He doesn’t really wait for Declan’s approval this time; August is already slowly guiding him through the motion. Declan’s back arches unwillingly, pulling at scarred, stiffened muscles. A flash of sharp pain tears through his abdomen, and he gasps out involuntarily.

August stops immediately, easing him back.

Declan feels more fragile with each passing second. Energy drains out of him like water through a sieve. Every inch of movement feels like an assault - joints grinding, muscles shrieking and bones threatening to shatter. His body is a wreck. But at least, it’s a wreck that still moves, even if only just. 

“May I examine your legs now, Declan?”  August asks. 

Declan steels himself, forcing his body to turn and attempting to swing his legs off the side of the bed. Every movement is sluggish, like wading through mud. His arms tremble under the weight of his own body. There’s not an ounce of strength left in them, no leverage to lift or balance himself. He falters, shoulders slumping, and before he can tip sideways, Lucas is there on one side, August on the other. Together, they maneuver him into place. Humiliation flushes Declan’s cheeks. 

“Can you try to bend your knee?” August asks, his voice soft as his hands guide Declan’s leg into a half-bent position. His muscles refuse to cooperate. It takes everything in him to move his leg at all, and when August applies the lightest pressure to coax it further, Declan’s body refuses. His muscles spasm without warning, shaking under the stress of such simple movements. His knees threaten to lock out, his feet twitch weakly. 

“I know,” August murmurs apologetically, sensing his resistance. “I know. I’m so sorry, I know this is a lot. You’re doing really well.”

There’s no trace of impatience or irritation but Declan knows it’s coming. The moment when his body completely fails him, when his weakness shows itself too plainly. And that’s when August will... what? Discard him? Hurt him? He doesn’t know. August hasn’t hurt him… yet. 

Declan’s breath hitches as August continues, carefully working his leg a little further with gentle manipulation. Every push is met with the same resistance, his muscles tremble in frustration, barely yielding. The ache in his thigh intensifies ten-fold.

“Just a little more, Declan. I know it’s hard,” August encourages, moving to the other leg to repeat.

But he doesn’t know. August couldn’t know. How could August ever begin to understand what Declan is going through, what his kind has put Declan through? What does he know about waking up in a body that barely feels like yours, about dragging yourself through the wreckage someone else left you in?

And with each movement, Declan feels bottomless frustration. He wants to push through it all, wants to prove to himself that he’s still capable, still him. But with every bend, every stretch, the body that was once his home feels so distant.

"Okay," August says, adjusting Declan’s posture with a steady hand at his back. "We’re nearly done. Now we’re going to try something a little harder, I’m afraid. I’m going to help you stand - just for a few seconds, to test your balance."

Stand?! Declan’s pulse spikes, panic flashing through him. He desperately shakes his head, eyes wide, pleading ‘please no’. There’s no way. Not yet.  His legs feel like jelly. He’ll collapse like a tonne of bricks. He looks to Lucas in search for an ally, for someone to defend him and put a stop to this madness.

Lucas steps up and moves to stand in front of Declan, gently taking his shaking hands. “I’ve got you. We won’t let you fall. We’ll do it together. Lean into me as much as you need. Even if you can only use your legs a little - I’ve got the rest.”

Slowly, painfully, with Lucas bearing more of his weight than Declan cares to admit, his body shifts. Every muscle screams in agonised protest. Before his feet even touch the floor, both Lucas and August are on him, hands steadying and lifting. It takes all three of them, working in sync, just to get him upright.

His feet find the ground. His knees buckle beneath him. His core shakes, chest heaving. But somehow, impossibly, he’s vertical. Assisted, swaying, gasping for breath…but miraculously, standing up. 

Then it happens. 

The second Declan tries to bear any weight on his right foot, white-hot pain shoots up his leg like a live wire. His body instantly crumples, the ankle twisting uselessly beneath him. A strangled noise; half gasp, half growl - tears from his throat as he collapses. August moves fast, dipping to catch him under his arms before he hits the ground hard.

“Easy, easy! Don’t try to move, Declan!” August frets, voice full of urgency, “Lucas, I think - I think it’s his ankle. Help me lift him back up, slow.”

Declan can barely breathe, each ragged inhale a struggle. The busted ankle pulses and throbs with fresh agony. Failure overwhelms him as Lucas and August haul him back onto the bed. The reality of it sinks in deeper - he’s not where he thought he’d be, not even close. He’s trapped in this broken body. He’ll never be whole again. He’ll never make it home. 

August doesn’t let go immediately. He keeps one steadying hand on Declan’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. That’s why we test these things. Now we know.”

Declan squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself not to react, not to show how much it feels like he’s drowning. He used to stand without thought. Walk without hesitation. Run like the wind to catch the bus when he was late for his university lectures. He can barely remember what it feels like to be alive in his own body.

August kneels by the bed again, rolling up the loose fabric at Declan’s ankle. His fingers gently press against Declan’s foot, careful not to aggravate any injury. He seems to know exactly what he’s looking for. Feeling for crooked bones, how the scar tissue has thickened in places and how his ankle is slightly tilted. August’s fingers trace the uneven contours of poorly knitted bone. Even through gentle pressure, Declan winces and whimpers. 

His foot is too stiff, the tendons too tight. When August shifts his grip, Declan's ankle fights against him.

"Did you break your ankle quite a while back, Declan?" August questions. Declan doesn’t look at him. Only nods solemnly.

"It's not just weak," August mutters, half to himself, still feeling pressure points. "It’s completely misaligned. This was never treated. It hasn’t healed correctly-”

But Declan doesn’t hear the rest. He’s already gone. Dragged under by the memory that claws him down without warning.

Suddenly, he’s back down in that basement. The stench of mildew and iron infests his nostrils. He hears it again - the wet, splintering crack of bone shattering under his own impossible force, the sound that never really left him. All-consuming pain rips through him. His screams choked off by the cloth stuffed in his mouth, his wrists shredded raw against chains that wouldn’t give, no matter how hard he fought. The terror and the helplessness - it never left him.

Declan blinks hard, dragging himself back to the present. August is glaring into his soul. His brows are drawn tight, and his eyes are wide with a kind of dawning horror? Like pieces are falling into place, and he doesn’t like the shape they’re making.

“...Did…Did you? Declan, was it an accident? Before? Or…Or was it…was it him?”

The word lands hard. It’s not what August said, but how he said it. Spat it out like poison, like he won’t even dare speak his name. It seems so personal? Declan’s never heard that from him before. Contempt. Hatred, even. For Vince? What reason could he possibly have to hate Vince? Do they have history?

A tear slips down Declan’s cheek, the memory won’t stop playing over and over in his head. He quickly dabs his wet cheek with his sleeve.

“H-....H-im,” Declan croaks, his voice strained and Adam's apple fluttering.

August’s expression changes in stages. First, horror. Then it morphs to anger. He turns his face away for a second, breathing through it. When he looks back at Declan, the storm is still there although buried beneath a mask of calm. His posture straightens. His voice, when it comes, is quieter. Measured. But there’s a tension in it, a tightness in his throat that he can’t hide. 

“This injury, this kind of misalignment - over time, it ruins your balance, wears on the joint, builds pressure in the soft tissue. That will explain why it’s still so painful. Why it gave out on you. It can be corrected. But not easily. The bone would have to be re-broken, reset, and then bound and supported properly-”

August pauses. Declan’s eyes are already glassy with panic. He flinches at the word re-break. He already doesn’t trust August as far as he could throw him - less than that. He fears every word that leaves the vampire’s mouth, every slight movement could be the next time pain comes disguised as help.

And now August is standing there, calmly suggesting they break his already broken bone. Never. Never in a million years would he let August touch him like that. Let him hurt him under the guise of healing. Let him have that kind of power over him. Not again.

“But we won’t even think about touching it until you say so,” August continues, “And even if you never feel ready for that, that’s okay too. I just want you to know that it is an option. Down the line. Until then, we need to work around it - strengthen everything else. Protect it as best we can."

“I know it’s a lot to take in, mate,”  Lucas chimes in, “And we know how shit-scary this all is for you. But August is right. We’re not gonna force you into anything. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. We’ll find ways to work with what you’ve got for now.”

Declan collapses, mentally and physically spent, the last of his strength seeping away.  He slumps back against the pillows. His entire body hums with exertion and exhaustion, as if he’s run a marathon while barely moving at all. The wreckage of his mind and body just feels neverending.

"We'll figure it out," August says simply. "One small step at a time."

“D- D - o…ne?” Declan rasps, voice scratching his throat on the way out. 

August nods, a small reassuring smile on his face. “All done. Thank you, Declan. Truly. I know how utterly exhausting and testing that must have been for you. But I have a clearer picture to work with now. We can begin working on some exercises together to build your strength and mobility. It’ll take time, but we’ll move at your pace. And we’ll get there.”

---

Declan will work with them. Not because they’ve earnt his trust, and certainly not because he wants to work with them. But because he has no choice. His survival demands and depends on it. He’ll bite down the pain, suffer whatever humiliation and put up with the vampire’s constant prodding and poking. He’ll let them test his limits, and then push him past them - if it means getting him closer to normality.

Because when he can walk, he’ll run - and he’ll never look back.

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@idkmansomeusername @whuarri  @33-sdtr-45 @pigeonwhumps @canislycaon24 @the-whumpers-grimm  @damienxozmoze @predacon-skydrift @morning-star-whump @neverthelass @chaotic-gremlin-system @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @androgynousqueenie @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @fiifii000 @that-one-small-world @dandelionsanddaydreams23 @sodacreampuff @cupcakes-and-pain @topsheepstudent @mylovelyme @anonfromcanada @astrokea @turn-the-tables-on-them @bloodredfountainpen @fleur-a-whump @tobiaslut @melpomenelamusa @demetercabingreen-thumb @hellodecisionparalysis @jay--o @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @jumpywhumpywriter

[patroclusdefencesquad]

top five iconic Damen moments go. If there’s too many give me top ten. This is urgent scientific research.

oh my god you are so lucky i have a long train journey today so here we go, in no particular order because hell if that is possible :

when he threw a mf broadsword. a sword that is meant to be swung with two hands (!!). and he just casually yeeted it from the back of a horse. into a guy who was about to kill his enemy who wasn't even his lover yet

kingsmeet. kingsmeet was the Pinnacle of the man. he broke his country's most sacred rules without even fucking hesitating out of sheer rage and love at what had been done to laurent get this man fucking husband of the year

obviously it has to be "i speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart" no man has ever been so stupid and yet so sexy

every moment in book three where he's like "did i fucking stutter."

"damen rose from the throne, and put his hand to the gold brooch at his shoulder. his garment dropped, and the crowd roared their approval" cock out and thriving. king

when he chose laurent he literally chose laurent over his kingdom he was prepared to sacrifice it all for him this MAN

when he was screaming crying throwing up at having to tell laurent who he was and laurent was just like "i know." sksjsks you dumb fucking bitch OF COURSE HE KNEW everything you now know about this man and you think he doesn't know the man who killed his brother god i love you how can a man be so smart and yet so. so

"i think if i gave you my heart, you would treat it tenderly" sobbing. literally sobbing on a train. he's so sweet he's so gentle he loves laurent so much. he's so. so. also that scene where he tells laurent if auguste hadn't died he still would have courted him. once he starts loving laurent he literally cannot conceive of a world where he does not love him i'm crying

he's beefy. it's not an iconic moment it's just his natural state of being but it's iconic to ME. his arms could hold me so good. his tits are as big as his heart. his ass? bouncing. his thighs? could crush me and i'd welcome it

his dimple :')

there we go it started out as a list of iconic damen moments it ended as me rambling about everything i love about him what can i say he lives in my head rent free i'll never find a man like him

[broccolicheddarchicken]

the palace at Arles is always described as so ornate, and since Vere is clearly meant to be inspired by France, my mental image of the palace is colored by my trip to the palace of Versailles.

I’ve only been to Versailles once in my life, but it was beautiful. The hall of mirrors was absolutely stunning. That being said, honestly, a lot of the smaller rooms kind of blend together, so a lot of trip is forgotten. but what I DO remember clearly is that the place was gigantic and embellished and hard to navigate. Damen’s confusion being led through the halls? Relatable.

then I remember the one captive prince quote where Damen is like “this entire place is so decorated that it’s actually hurting my eyes”. while obviously Versailles isn’t a 1:1 match for the palace at Arles… if they’re similar at ALL, I get it buddy. Damen, I feel you. I feel you 100%

imagine you lived your whole life with the #minimalist aesthetic and now you are subjected to this (admittedly beautiful, but overwhelming) place

alternatively, imagine this being your house. this is where you grew up. You and your older brother ran down these halls together. insanity. No wonder Laurent’s pissed all the time, he’s got a 24/7 migraine from visual overstimulation

(side note: I also remember the gardens, and there were plenty of little nooks and crannies formed in the hedges that one could do all sorts of depraved things in, with semi-privacy. so that’s also consistent with Arles lol)

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 30

Let's see what Payge and Nicolai have been up to! We met them on Day 12, which this post references and continues from! They also showed their faces on Day 16 and Day 26, should you want to see more of them <3

Content warnings for: the slightest moment of nail whump, creepy whumper, and painful wound cleaning.

Recovery

Payge had been confined to the basement bedroom for… two days now. This was the third. He awoke the same way each morning so far. The same padded cuffs kept him in bed on the mattress by his hands and feet, only mercifully allowing him to change positions.

The first day, Nicolai had sat down and trimmed his nails.

“Of course I have to, dove. I know you’ll come up with a thousand keen solutions, and it’s my job to think of each one before you do.” They gestured for his hand then, and he handed it over reluctantly. 

“I wasn’t thinking of that…” They trimmed his thumb down, leaving the thinnest sliver of white at the edge.

“Of course not. But you would have.” The pointer nail was cut even closer, if there was such a possibility. 

“For Christ’s sake, leave a bit of nail! They aren’t used to being so short.”

“Don’t ask my permission for your delinquency, Payge. I wouldn’t have to take such precautions if you would accept my care.”

“I am, aren’t I?” He protested, false hope in his voice.

“You should have seen yourself on the table.”

A full-body shudder shook his hand and caused them to clip too far. 

“Come on!” He pulled his hand away and observed the nick as it slowly wept a single drop of blood. Nicolai snatched it back and continued their work.

“You’ve had worse. On the table, for example.” They had the foresight to grip his wrist hard before he flinched again. 

“Forgive me for never wanting to remember that.”

“Well, I don’t plan on letting you forget.”

He did remember. Every night. Payge was a side sleeper now. 

The second day, Nicolai changed his bandages.

“Sure you don’t want to look? You could have supervised access to a mirror.”

“I’m sure.” 

“Well, then.” 

They turned on the tap, slowly adjusting the temperature before filling a bowl. A rag was dipped in, wrung out, and pressed over the bandages to moisten them before unwrapping.

“Aren’t you grateful I’m not ripping this off with the scabs, dove?”

“...I am. Thank you,” Payge whispered.

The dressings only tugged mildly at a few stubborn parts. Probably where they cut deeper, he thought, and just as quickly shoved the idea away. A separate rag pressed against his bare skin, starting at the edge of the wound. 

He caught a glimpse of it at some point: stained various shades of brown, red, and something on the yellow spectrum.

“It’s not infected, is it?” An infected wound of that size… it spelled a death sentence without medical intervention.

“No, no. Just severe.” 

Each fiber of the cloth was tangible as it pressed him into the back of the chair, scratching whenever Nicolai adjusted it.

“It’s looking lovely so far. Red suits you.”

“My mom always said it clashed.” She had, really. Always said he looked better in neutrals. Burgundy or merlot, orange blossom or cream. Not red.

“Nonsense. Nothing could clash with you, dove.” 

“Sweet-talking me gets you nowhere.”

“I quite enjoy it, actually. Sweet-talking you is a favorite pastime of mine.” The rag drifted over his collarbones, tracing them absentmindedly, before it returned to the bowl to soak. After they were done, Nicolai would disappear upstairs and bleach them, rinse, and fold them up like new for next time. They’d made him help before.

A brown bottle emerged from the cabinet and tipped onto a third cloth.

“Oy, you told me peroxide only makes scars worse.” Payge held up a hand and pointed at the offender, as if it could be anything else.

“Yes. Put that hand down.”

“Did you forget? You try to minimize a lot of those.” A glare told him he was pushing his luck.

“You’d be a fool to think I worked so long and hard on nothing. I wouldn’t do that to you without reason.” 

He held his tongue on the truths that itched to spew forth, too aware of his current position. 

He’d felt the burn of that the rest of the day, especially when Nicolai refused to rinse it with water. Even the unharmed skin around seemed inflamed.

And this morning Payge was still wearing the shirt they’d dressed him in. Breathable, flexible fabric that zipped up to his neck in the back, still tight enough to compress his torso. He could reach it if he tried, but it would be a chore. The point of the barrier, of course.

He was stuck in bed until they came down and unlocked the cuffs. But it wasn’t all bad.

The windowless room could only be lit by the switch next to the door. At all other times, a projection shone on the popcorn ceiling. A window into a fishtank, towers of kelp swaying as different species swam by. A simple night light in the nearest outlet created the illusion, shooting light out when it didn’t detect another source.

It was strangely comforting. 

So long as he glanced up at it from his side.

[mklinaaa]

somewhere in hell

hennike: not to mention they'll lose delpha

theomedes: my child never caused such trouble, he became great war leader!

aleron: well we can't all be great war leaders!

theomedes: no, your son had to be a CROSS DRESSER-

[monstersofsilence]

on an unrelated note

LIES OF P DLC COMES OUT THIS SUMMER

I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THAT FOR LIKE FOREVER!

I AM SO FREAKIN' HAPPY ;O;

[pethfics]

ESCAFLOWNE WEEK 2021 DAY 4: ROYALTY/THE LOVERS (Parts 1 and 2)

*This fountain is a crucial set piece.

Title: Aston Captives

Summary: 

Dryden Fassa finds an unlikely kindred spirit in the former Strategos of Zaibach as they realize they have both been enchanted by an Aston princess.

Musical Inspiration: 1, 2, 3

Note:

I've had the idea for this fic since at least 2018.  Here is the Dryden and Folken buddy story that grew from a one-shot to a trilogy. Such fun to write though. Dryden is one of my favorite characters because he is such a cool cat and a refreshing contrast against the brash and serious major male characters. He is always fun to write and I think he and Folken would get along swimmingly so it was great to write a scene for them to just hang out and discover what they have in common. This is my favorite piece for this week. I finally get to indulge in my ships and it is glorious.

[mayashesfly]

Currently thinking about this comic-turned-writing about Makoto and the Previous CEO I made, and I want to share some thoughts I have when I made this.

In the comic form of this writing I had in my head, Makoto stays at the left side of the comic while the Previous CEO stays at the ride side.

Clearly, there isn't a lot of words in its writing form. Since I originally envisioned this as a comic, I didn't want to clutter the main words I want to convey with it by adding needless lines.

I like to think that the Previous CEO was the first one to see who Makoto truly is behind that mask. However, it's left up to interpretation whether or not the Previous CEO recognized his face.

What is more important after is

Makoto closing his eyes near the Previous CEO while he can fully see that Makoto had his guard down is supposed to signify that Makoto trusts him.

It also serves as a contrast to whenever Makoto had his eyes closed during his confrontation with Yuma- that he was in turmoil. Before he opened his eyes to Yuma and saw Yuma for who he truly is.

In one case, he was at peace closing his eyes and deluding himself that everything is right when the CEO was at his side. But on another, he could no longer close his eyes peacefully and delude himself that everything was right until he was able to confront the truth and stare directly at his mirror- his original.

We know that apparently, Makoto and the Previous CEO used to drink together, so I wanted to give focus on that by signifying how it made them become close to one another and eventually joining together.

(I like to think that the CEO, knowing full well that Makoto is cautious, purposefully slushed himself so he would feel more safer at divulging information about himself because, well, the CEO is drunk ain't he? It's not like he would remember. It's weird I know, but nothing says trusting yourself to someone near you than getting slushed to the face)

Also, hee hoo, pact mentioned :D

Even if the two of them agreed, the two of them have different reasons to why they agreed. For the Previous CEO, what's more important for him is Amaterasu Corporation, putting Makoto in charge would help with that. While for Makoto, what's more important to him is Kanai Ward which his position as the new CEO of Amaterasu Corporation would help with.

"For Kanai ward" being repeated three times in this drabble while "For Amaterasu Corporation" only being said once is supposed to signify how Makoto has lived for three years while the Previous CEO was only there for one year in his life.

His echoing words "For Kanai Ward" no longer having a response and partner compared to than before.

In this scene, no longer does Makoto sit at the left side of the room, but rather at the right side of the room now.

The left side of the room is left vacant. Empty, Without another person there to talk to.

Empty, Without another glass to pour wine into.

CEO. Makoto Kagutsuchi.

The three words that describe him. Now.

Yet a period divides Makoto Kagutsuchi from the CEO.

He is Makoto Kagusutchi, the CEO of Amaterasu Corporation now.

Yet why does a period divide him?

[victor-v]

i need someone to understand me, my sister's partner looks exactly like damen, he's 50 but i saw him live (and have photos of him) at 28 dressed as disney's hercules and the resemblance is uncanny. the thing is that he kinda disgusts me because of his personality and i'm...... trying to pretend to forget his face but also every time i see the polish covers i remember. shit

[crackheadwithanbuckethead]

Currently freaking out over the Rio movie. Like what the fuck do you mean there will never be an another movie that makes me feel so many complex emotions over endangered birds? It makes me sad to think i will never know a movie that makes me feel the eay rio does, it was my childhood comfort.

Shit hit the fan? I would watch Rio

Was freaking out over something? Put on Rio and i would be calm

I rewatched Rio last year during this time and tbh I had felt so much second hand embarassement because for some reason thats a thing i feel the most when watching movies but fuck that i still loved the movie . The nostalgia factor might have been working overtime but i was too stressed from exams to give a fuck

Anyway the verdict is that the nostalgia factor had me in a death grip and i will forever love the Rio movie, and probabky forever be conflicted on the nostalgia factor and how good the movie actually is.

[aparticularbandit]

Of A Fatal Captivity: Day One (I)

Summary: When do they decide that she can’t leave? That they’re going to keep her there no matter what she wants? That’s the day her captivity begins. Is that today?

Some of you will think that this beginning is a gimmick. Up to you! Think what you want! (It’s not a gimmick more than anything else in writing is a gimmick, which is to say, of course, it’s a gimmick, because that’s all writing is, really, isn’t it? A bunch of gimmicks? Some of them more successful than others? Isn’t that why we have tropes? The trappings of a Tragedy to tell us whether that’s really what the story is or not? (Do you know the story you’re in?))

Enough games.

You’re here for something better than that.

Or: Junko Enoshima’s factory reset may or may not be going as planned, and Ryoko Otonashi has plenty of things to say about that. Or will, once she realizes what’s going on.

Chapter Rating: M for Graphic Imagery. Fic Rating: M for Danganronpa reasons.

TW for Graphic Imagery.

AO3

previous chapter | next chapter

Book One

Four FIVE Days Ago.

Day Ten (of an….  Oh, who cares anymore?  It’s over.  It’s over.)

Kyoko stares up at stars winking at her through a sky far blacker than anything she has ever known and takes a deep breath of thickly polluted air and feels despair.

It’s an odd sort of feeling.

Not that she’s never felt it before – she has – but it’s different this time.  Like something ice cold – the way a corpse feels, maybe, when she comes across it far later than she should, when all of the warmth has drained from its body and it’s just starting to turn – pools in the center of her chest, just where her heart should be, and spreads out slowly through her veins, as though it might reach her already aching fingertips.  She can’t breathe through the ice beneath her skin, can’t breathe staring up at a sky she’d thought she would never see again, can’t breathe as the rocket-fueled mecha Monokuma disappears like the twinle of a winking star into that same sky, black on black on black.

Despair.

Kyoko knew she couldn’t save Junko from Byakuya’s mind wipe.  She arrived too late for that; she and Toko both knew Byakuya would already have started whatever literal mind game he was playing with Junko before they made it, before Kyoko even got through the door.  That was expected. It wasn’t an acceptable loss, but it was at least an expected one, one from which they could recover.

What wasn’t expected was a giant mecha Monokuma exploding through the roof.

What wasn’t expected was a girl Kyoko barely remembers stealing Junko away.

What wasn’t expected was—

Interfering with the memory erasure could lead to permanent brain damage.  Wasn’t that what Byakuya said?  And what could be more interference than a giant mecha Monokuma dropping down from the sky and literally ripping Junko out of her cradle?  There’s no coming back from that, there’s no regaining Junko from that, there’s no hope that they might possibly have her back to something even remotely approaching normal – they stole her, and now they can do whatever they want with her when she wakes (if she wakes!), and—

The worst is the realization that Junko….  Junko planned this.  She’d known it would happen even before wiping Kyoko’s memories.  She’d—

“I really did love you.  I really did.”

Kyoko’s throat cuts off.  It burns, raw.  She doesn’t cry because she doesn’t cry (not since Yui), because even if he’s been knocked out, Byakuya is still right there, and Hina’s….  Hina’s somewhere.  Besides, if she didn’t cry over Makoto, she sure isn’t going to cry over Junko Enoshima.  That would be so stupid.

So stupid.

Kyoko clenches her hand into a fist so tight that the leather of her glove creaks.  Her gaze drops from the sky, and she forces herself to draw another smoke-filled breath.

Junko said she was going to die.

Fair enough.

She died.

Just like she wanted.

“...maybe, eventually, you’ll see me again, too.  If you keep your promise, anyway.”

Kyoko can’t think about that right now.

Right now, she needs to get out of the wreckage Junko and her Ultimate Despair left behind.

Right now, she needs to find Hina.

Right now, she—

“M-M-Master!”

Toko races into the room, indestructible, sprints across the misshapen bits of concrete, dances around sparks and machinery that is somehow on fire, and cradles Byakuya in her arms.  There’s a sharp cut across his forehead and blood (red blood) smeared across it, only growing more smeared as Toko brushes his hair out of his face.  His glasses are gone, smashed under debris.  Like this, he almost looks normal.

Almost.

Toko’s gaze doesn’t leave Byakuya to glare at Kyoko as she desperately tries to lift his body with her noodle arms, but there’s venom in her voice when she says, “What. did. you. do?”

“Look around you, Toko.”  Kyoko stumbles away from her, closer to the door, closer to where she’d been standing with Hina when the Monokuma dropped.  Her eyes sweep the wreckage as she does. “Do you really think I could do something like this?”

“I-I-I wasn’t here!  I don’t know!”  Toko struggles with Byakuya, unable to move him.  She tucks her arms under his armpits and tries to drag him backwards, making it only a few steps back before she catches sight of the nearest broken wire still shooting sparks and gives up.  (There’s a soft crack as she drags him.  But there are a lot of sounds around them right now.)  “A little help?” she calls out.  “Please?”

But Kyoko isn’t paying attention to her.  Kyoko’s paying attention to the other cracks, the shifts in the concrete, the wires and the sparks and the bits of flame, and the singular hand outstretched from beneath a huge, huge piece of—

Kyoko isn’t strong.  She has never been strong, and the nerve damage in her hands hasn’t helped with that.  But something in her snaps, something in her rips her own muscles as she grabs the chunk of concrete, as she heaves, as she digs in her broken heels, as she shoves it off of Hina’s body.  (She’s done this before, and it tore her hands apart, and it’s tearing them apart again, and she was supposed to learn from it, and she didn’t learn anything at all, and it’s happening again, and it’s happening worse, and it’s—)  The cold within her spreads, another numb stronger than the disconnect she normally needs for examining bodies, as she sees Hina, broken, before her.

(She doesn’t see Hina.  She sees Yui.  She—)

Blood trickles dark and red from one corner of Hina’s lips.  Even from a non-medical professional, it’s clear that her spine has been shattered from the crooked way she lays along the ground, not that it matters much when her right arm has been smashed off, shards of bone sticking out through shorn muscle into nothing, not that that matters when Hina’s eyes are already starting to glaze over, their light fading.  And yet still, she speaks, her voice a rasping creak, “K…K…Kyo…ko…?”

She shuts off.

She has to shut off.

To survive, she has to shut off.

(She can’t do this again.  Not again.)

It isn’t fair to Hina.  It isn’t.

But it’s not like she has any control over this sort of thing.

(She does.  She does.)

“I’m here.”  Kyoko kneels down in the debris, takes Hina’s remaining hand in her own broken one, and gives it as gentle a squeeze as she can.  “I’m here.”

Hina searches above her, either not seeing Kyoko or not able to focus on her.  “I…I…I didn’t…I didn’t think…I didn’t….”

Kyoko brushes a hand through Hina’s hair, torn from its ponytail, and traces her fingers along her face.  “It’s okay,” she murmurs, even though it isn’t, even though it hasn’t been for a very long time, even though it might never be again.  “You’re okay.”

That’s another lie.

“We couldn’t have known.”

That’s not.

Hina laughs – or tries to – but it turns into coughing.  So much blood.  So much blood, enough that it spatters a bit onto Kyoko’s face.  (She doesn’t wipe it off.)  “It…it…it was…was nice,” she struggles to say, her voice fading with every word, “to see…the…the stars….”

She doesn’t say anything else.

For a moment, Kyoko doesn’t move.  She just kneels, holding Hina’s remaining hand in her own, running her thumb comfortingly along her skin, as Hina takes in that halting, stuttering sharp last breath emblematic of death – once, twice, then no more – as her body struggles to maintain what her brain has already given up.  (Habit.  Muscle memory.  A refusal of belief.)  Then Hina’s jaw hangs open, gravity pulling it down now that she doesn’t have anything to hold it in place.  Someone else might reach over to close her eyes, but Kyoko leaves them open.

So she can see the stars.

(A body has been discovered!)

Then Kyoko stands, brushes the dirt from her skirt, smearing the deep red blood spattered across it, and turns to Toko, who continues to struggle with Byakuya.  She hears another crack, sharper this time, as she walks over to her, carefully avoiding the wires and sparks, and sits down next to her.  “Go get Hiro,” she says.  “I’ll keep an eye on—”

“You g-g-get him!” Toko interrupts, spitting the words out.  “I can protect Master b-b-better than y-you!”

After a brief consideration of current events and, more importantly, what Toko can do if something else should happen, Kyoko acquiesces.  She nods.  “Stay focused on him,” she says as she stands again.  “You won’t like what you might see elsewhere.”

Toko glares at her.

“And quit trying to move him without help.  You might make things worse.”

Kyoko feels Toko’s continued glare on her as she leaves, but she doesn’t hear any extra shuffling, which means she’s listened, at least.  She doesn’t spare another glance for Hina’s corpse as she passes it by.  Attachments like this will do her no good.  Hina is dead.  She needs to accept this.  To let it go.

And yet.

Kyoko pauses just inside of the tunnel leading out of the now quite destroyed room.  She turns, bends down, and finds that small plush bear buried beneath the rubble.  His torn red eye somehow seems even more torn, as though the fabric sewn beneath the hole is beginning to bleed through, and the black, covered with dirt and dust, seems softer, lighter, while the white seems stained from overuse.  Hiro will panic, if he sees this.  (Hiro is panicking already.  Kyoko doesn’t need to hear him to know that.)

She stares at the bear, brushes it off, and then tucks it into the inside pocket of her jacket.

Only then does she go.

~

Kyoko finds Hiro running about in the main hall, scurrying from one room to the other in his panic, yelling with his arms raised high above his head and his chunky sandals clunking along the floor.  She calmly walks over to intercept him (it’s easy to be calm when she’s numb) and places a hand on his shoulder to still him.  “Hiro.”

“AAAAAHHHH!”

Hiro jumps in his skin, bounds away from her, and whirls about with his hands up in some sort of attempt at a martial arts defensive stance.  “Don’t hurt me!” he says, eyes squinted shut.  “I know kung fu!”

Kyoko stares at him as he tries, blindly, to attack forward before easily stepping out of the way.  “Hiro.”

Hiro’s eyes snap open at the sound of her voice, which he somehow hadn’t recognized before in his panic.  “Kyokyo!”  He rushes forward and grabs her in his arms.  “I was so scared!  And now you’re here!”

“Hiro.”  Kyoko tenses at his touch and carefully disentangles herself from him.  “I know that calm is not easy for you in our current situation, but I need you to remain calm.”

“Calm?  Me?  I’m always calm!”  Hiro crosses his arms and fakes a laugh.  “I’m 100% sure that I’ll survive whatever’s going on!”  Then he leans forward, eyes still wild.  “But the explosion?  There was an explosion, Kyokyo!  And you’re—”  His eyes grow even wilder.  “You’re covered in blood, Kyokyo—”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Huh?  But Kyokyo is—”

“Please don’t call me that,” Kyoko repeats, firm, as she grits her teeth together.  “Ever.”  She waits, waits for another counter to her words, but when Hiro doesn’t say anything else (surprisingly), she continues.  “Byakuya tried to erase Junko’s memories.  A mecha Monokuma—”

“A mecha Monokuma?!?!?!?!” Hiro echoes in a high-pitched shriek, jumping back again with his hands in front of his face.  “Say it ain’t so!”

Kyoko ignores this.  “—broke through the ceiling, allowing a few of Junko’s associates to take her with them.”  She takes a sharp breath in through her teeth.  “Hina is dead.  Byakuya is hurt and unconscious.  Toko needs your help to—”

“Hina’s….”  Hiro cuts her off, voice soft.  “Hina’s dead?

There are a lot of things Kyoko could say in this moment.  She could explain what happened in more, excruciating detail.  She could say just how she found Hina after everything.  She could mention that maybe, if she’d searched for Hina first, instead of focusing on the giant Monokuma and the people who’d came for Junko and Junko herself, she might have gotten to Hina in time to—

To what?  She isn’t the Ultimate Nurse.  Even if she’d gotten Hina out from under the fallen rubble faster, there was nothing she could have done.  Nothing.

(Mikan was the Ultimate Nurse.  Kyoko remembers that.  She could have done something.  But she wouldn’t.)

((This is wishful thinking, Kyoko.  Mikan couldn’t have saved Hina.  Not from that.  No one could have.  Hina was dead the moment she betrayed you.))

“Yes,” Kyoko says instead, with all the finality of saying it during the previous incarnation of the Game (A body has been—), only there’s no Blackened, no one to punish for Hina’s death.  (It wasn’t a murder.  Junko may have planned for all of this, but it wasn’t a—)  She tucks her hair back behind one ear, brushes her fingers through the much shorter pieces that once held a braid before Jack cut it off (she should have the ribbon, and now that’s gone, too, because she’d never had the occasion to go back for it), and then brings her fingers back sticky with a bit of Hina’s blood.  Her ears ring.  “We need to get Byakuya out.”

“Yeah.  Okay.”  Hiro crosses his arms with a perplexed expression.  “So, uh.  Where were you?”

~

It’s just as they make the turn into the last tunnel that Kyoko remembers.

“The door to the future will open before then.” “About halfway, I’d say.  Halfway through the story.” Her eyes widen.

“They’re just through there.”  Kyoko gestures to the broken door at the end of the tunnel.  There’s no need for a code anymore, which is good because Hiro is so overcome to be exploring the secret tunnels that she’s not sure he would remember it to get in.  “Can you make it from here?”

Hiro pauses halfway to the door and turns back to her, blinking in confusion.  “Yeah, but…but what are you doing?”

Kyoko doesn’t respond with any sort of chagrin, but there’s something of Junko in her when she says, “The same thing I do every time, Hiro.”  She can’t quite complete the reference – she’s not the sort to try and take over the world, unlike some people she could name – but there’s something warm and almost comforting about saying it.  Something that breaks her heart.

But she’s not thinking about that.

As she turns away, Kyoko hears Hiro behind her, “Yeah, but what is that?”

Honestly, sometimes there’s no helping people.

~

For all that a huge mecha Monokuma smashed through part of the school, the rest of it doesn’t seem too terribly damaged.  It’s as though whoever designed the old building – or, at least, whoever created all of the hidden tunnels and passageways in the first place – wanted that particular room, meant for experimentation, segmented away from everything else.  So Kyoko makes her way through the rest of the building back to the Data Processing Room, back to the Monokuma Room, and back down the hatch without any particular trouble.

And finds the mirai door – the future door – wide open.

Inside, Kyoko sees two people.  One of them is a boy with fluffy white hair and a thick chain about his neck who she has never seen before, leaning into a chair with a curious, bemused expression on his face, his hand on his chin.  She looks at him and senses nothing but discomfort.  Of course, she does not dismiss him outright, but her gaze is drawn much faster, much stronger to the other, to the boy who is supposed to be dead.

“Makoto?”

He startles, having not noticed her entrance, and looks up at her, an awkward sort of smile crossing his face.  “Kyokyo!  I, uh.  I didn’t die!”  He bites his lower lip and scratches the back of his neck.  “Sorry?”

Kyoko stares at him.  Blinks.  Tries to process.

There’s just so much.  Too much.  Happening all at once and all together.

Her brain short circuits.

“What…what did you call me?”

[oriharakaoru]

my summer reading, more or less in order (excludes fanfics)

[lovescened]

-Bylthe baird, if my body could speak

[machabre]

It's just the vibe I get from the way he moves (esp. during some kicks) but I bet Bryan has impeccable balance, he could probably walk some surprisingly narrow surfaces, no problem

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

Giant Emerald Pill-Millipede: when these enormous millipedes are all rolled up, their bodies can be as big as a baseball, a tennis ball, or a small orange

This species (Zoosphaerium neptunus) is commonly known as a giant emerald pill-millipede. The females can measure up to 90mm long (roughly 3.5 inches), making this the largest species of pill-millipede in the world.

There is a significant degree of sexual dimorphism in this species, with the males measuring only about 45mm (1.8 inches) long -- roughly half the size of the females.

Giant emerald pill-millipedes are found only in Madagascar, which is home to several endemic species of giant pill-millipedes (order Sphaerotheriida). The Malagasy name for giant pill-millipedes is "Tainkintana," which means "shooting-star."

Pill-millipedes use conglobation as a defense mechanism, which means that they can curl their bodies up into a spherical shape so that their dorsal plates form a protective shield around the softer, more vulnerable parts of their bodies, just like an actual pill-bug or a "roly-poly."

When they roll themselves up completely, they look almost like gently polished chunks of malachite, emerald, or jade.

Giant emerald pill-millipedes will sometimes form large swarms that travel together as a group. This is the only species of giant pill-millipede that engages in any sort of swarming behavior, and the purpose of that behavior is still unclear. The swarms often contain thousands of individuals, with almost all of them moving in the same direction, even when there is no physical contact that might allow the millipedes to "herd" one another along.

Their swarming behavior also has some very peculiar features, as this article explains:

During swarming, Zoosphaerium neptunus individuals pay little attention to their surroundings; many specimens were observed walking straight into and drowning in small puddles. Some swarms even display ‘cliché lemming behaviour:' in Marojejy, a large part of a swarm walked into and drowned in a small river.

No single specimen was observed walking ‘against the current,' all specimens were moving in the same direction (southeast), even when not in contact with one another.

Of 273 randomly collected individuals, 105 were males, while 168 were females. The males were 8.3 - 14.1 mm wide (average width 10.4 mm). According to the inner horns of the posterior telopods, all males were sexually mature. The females were 9.95 - 15.4 mm wide (average width 11.4 mm). All females displayed non sclerotized vulvae and were sexually immature.

Some researchers argue that the swarming serves as a defense mechanism, providing a layer of protection (or at least some cryptic cover) against local predators, but the swarming behavior is still poorly understood.

Important Note: I just want to remind everyone that these animals belong in their own natural habitat -- they should not be trapped, bought/sold, traded, shipped, collected, or kept as pets. This particular species does not survive well in captivity, either, and the demand for these "exotic" invertebrates is putting the wild populations in jeopardy. The previous article discusses those issues, too:

Another possible threat for Z. neptunus swarms are collections for the pet trade. There exists a large demand in Japan, Europe and North America for 'green -eyed monsters’ as pets. Giant pill -millipedes from Madagascar unfortunately have a very short survival time in terraria. The species is specialized on low-energy food (dead leaves), and adapted to the cool climates (<20°C) of the highlands. Specimens in terraria often starve to death quickly.

So I know that they're adorable and really, really fascinating...but let's just let them be their chunky, adorable little selves out in the wild where they belong.

Sources & More Info:

European Journal of Taxonomy: Seven New Giant Pill-Millipede Species and New Records of the Genus Zoosphaerium from Madagascar

Madagascar Conservation & Development: Swarming Behavior in the World's Largest Giant Pill-Millipede, Z. neptunus, and its Implication for Conservation Efforts

Bonn Zoological Bulletin Supplementum: The Giant Millipedes, Order Sphaerotheriida (an Annotated Species Catalogue) (PDF)

African Invertebrates: Madagascar's Living Giants: Discovery of Five New Species of Endemic Giant Pill-Millipedes from Madagascar (PDF)

[wild-jackalope]

First time having sex is awkward!

pairing :: Virgin!Megumi x Virgin!Reader

warning :: college/university AU, awkward sex, safe sex (finally), lingerie stuff, fingering, slight overstim, very soft, would you hate me if I said this wasn’t rly proof read, need this out of my drafts asap

note :: very inspired by @sonotpattismith fic Hold Me And Explore Me, here’s the link!

For the years you’ve been friends with Megumi you’ve never ever known him to discuss a single intimate topic. For the five months you’ve been in a relationship with him, that fact never changed.

Megumi was a prude, basically.

It wasn’t as though you were one to spill secrets about your personal moments either. Occasionally you’d let the odd story slip when drunk (mainly letting loose some poor experiences being felt up during your younger years of dating), but other than that, you kept your mouth shut.

So when Maki asked you a completely out of pocket question, both you and your boyfriend turned to ice.

“Have the two of you even fucked yet?”

No. Of course you haven’t. You hadn’t even come close! Despite the air being thickened by everyone’s collective drunkenness, you felt a small part of you would resent Maki for the rest of your life after putting you in this situation.

Your jaw slacked open and you took in a breath. The truth lilting on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t ask personal questions like that.” Megumi cut, to everyone’s collective disappointment, they groaned. Somewhat tipsy himself, Megumi still had the clarity to get the others off your scent and thankfully his harsh words had sent them on another chatting spree devoid of your sex life.

Maki, keen gaze still locked on both you and Megumi, muttered a swift. “Guess you haven’t put that set to use, huh.” Before taking a sip of her vodka mix.

You flushed immediately, embarrassment mixing with the warm alcohol in your bloodstream, coating your cheeks a deep plum colour. Mortification filling your wide eyes, you glanced at Megumi who held an unbothered expression, one of boredom and calm.

But for a split second, his dark blues swiped over you and you caught the slightest hint of curiosity in his narrow gaze. What set?

You snapped your head forward, neck aching from the whiplash.

The ‘set’ Maki was referring to, was bought during a shopping trip Nobara invited both of you to. She needed a refill on her skincare items, Maki needed a new set of sports bras and you needed an excuse to leave your dorm room.

Maki’s chosen store was the closest, so the three of you headed there first. Inside, your eyes caught on the walls covered with expensive underwear made of lace and silk hanging on thin mannequins.

“I should get a new bra, too, my favourites are getting worn out.” Nobara mumbled, looking at the odd racks assembled by colour and size.

A particularly captivating bodysuit grabbed your attention; a smooth ivory piece decorated with straps and shining gemstones, having tuffs of silk peak out of the sides like a skirt and wings. The shiny fabric called to rest comfortably against your skin. It was the most expensive, being shown off at the front of the store to lure young women who wanted to wrap their pretty bodies and show off to their boyfriends. Just like you.

“That one’s too cutesy.” Nobara uttered, following your tranced gaze. “Lingerie is a scam anyway, truth is men don’t even care. They just take it off.”

That was right, Nobara had had sex. Unlike you.

“Would you… help me pick something nice out?” You asked, a gentle and shy invitation.

Despite her previous slander of lingerie, her cheeks glowed in excitement. “Sure. For you and Fushiguro, right?”

“I guess so.” You kindly but nervously replied. Nobara lead you deeper into the store, coming to a back wall with more designs, all notably darker with plenty more lace.

She gazed over the options. “What do you usually like to wear?” She asked.

“I don’t know— nothing?” You responded, awkward hand lifting to fiddle with a purple bralet.

Nobara side eyed you, giving a suspicious look before she asked— much too casually. “First time?”

“Yes.” You nodded, the fabric of the bralet suddenly becoming very interesting!

“First time with Fushiguro, or?” Her trail lilted delicately, hopefully displaying herself as a safe person to spill your secrets to.

“First, first time.” You uttered quietly.

In a quick swish, Nobara grabbed your shoulders and pulled you to her. “Seriously?” She asked.

“Yes, seriously. Is it hard to believe?” You frowned, too mortified for her questioning.

She nodded. “Yes! You’re a total catch.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve never done anything.” You added, hands defensively rising to your chest. “I’ve been in relationships before, I’ve—” you lowered your voice. “I’ve fooled around.”

“Oh I bet you have.” She added, grin replacing her surprised gape.

“Stop it, you’re so embarrassing.” You pushed against her shoulder, freeing yourself from her death grip.

“Okay, first set, first set.” Mind now back to the mission, she returned to the racks of bras and thongs. “You should have something simple, but sexy. Black, too.”

“Why black?” Plenty of other colours filled the store.

“Fushiguro likes dark things, so he’ll like black on you.” The sensible explanation left her with a shrug.

Would that really be the case? Would Megumi look at your body being cupped by expensive black fabric and yearn for you? You could hardly imagine it. Megumi was never eager for anything, he was the type of guy to react to things with tame calmness. Would he blush? Reach to touch you? Kiss you?

Nobara handed you a neat, black matching bra and thong. “Go try this on.” She instructed, offering you an encouraging smile.

Face to face with your lewdly dressed body and flushed expression in the dressing room only made your anxiousness grow. Nobara had picked a beautiful set, a nicely patterned lace bra broken up by thick black straps pushed up your boobs, coined by a gemstone hanging off the middle. Small ripples of black sheer peaked from the supportive boning, similarly decorating the thin black straps curving around your hips holding up the lacy thong which too, had a gemstone hanging off the centre.

Fuck, Nobara had good taste.

But despite the fact you bought the matching underwear a month ago, nothing came of it. You’d worn it every single time you saw Megumi; a casual date at the park, an afternoon out at the movies, a night in lounging around. Just in case, you had thought, just in case something happens.

And because you wore them everytime you saw Megumi, they clung to your body now, at the very party Maki judged you for not having shown them off yet.

You sipped at your bitter alcohol mix, avoiding both the stares of your boyfriend and your friend. Nobara’s chanting became a welcome distraction, telling Yuji to ‘drink drink drink!’ Down his can of rum. Everyone cheered at his final gulp, including you.

Megumi, however, remained silent.

When the night came to a tired end (at about two in the morning), Megumi and yourself walked to your dorm in a sobering stumbled.

Arms around his neck, you brought Megumi into the plush bed with you, planting messy kisses along his hairline and laughing about the mischief of the night. “Itadori is going to be so hungover.” You muttered.

“Hm.” He thoughtlessly replied, craning his head so your lips made contact with his instead. He leaned over you, slowly letting his body sink into yours and sandwiching you between the bed and him.

In these moments of privacy you felt closest to Megumi. He’d unabashedly pull you in, kiss you and hold you tight.

You hummed against his lips, bringing your hands up to rake your nails through his hair, a trick you knew would immediately cause him to go soft against you, and he did, waist falling between your legs and hands twitching against your sides. He groaned softly and you wished you could record the sound and add it to a private playlist.

Chasing the mild heat in your abdomen, you furthered the kisses shared, moving into making out instead of peppery pecks. He followed you, daring to nip at your bottom lip (a habit he’d picked up from the one time you did it to him).

Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling his warmth in closer. That shift was what made both your clothed sexes connect. Jolted by the feeling, Megumi slipped from your lips to your ear, whispering a breathy command.

“Show me your set.”

He wasn’t even quite sure what he was asking, but he had an idea, a lewd idea. He knew he needed to know what Maki was talking about, what she knew about his girlfriend that he didn’t.

You gulped, an audible squeak catching in your throat. “You really want to see?” You asked.

He nodded silently, watching your every move as you hesitantly lifted your shirt up and over your head. His narrow eyes grew wide at the sight of your tits cupped by the stunning black garment. You hid in the pillow behind you, digging half your face into the plush at his bewildered expression.

Megumi’s hand had already began moving without him thinking. In what seemed like slow motion, his large palm came to fit around your boob. His thumb rubbed over the soft lace and because of its thin fabric, you gasped as it tickled your sensitive middle.

The noise sobered Megumi from his drunk, tranced state and he pulled his hand away like it had acted on its own free will. He sat up, eyes concentrated on your flushed, messy figure. Fuck, he was so in love with you it hurt.

“I should go.” He uttered softly, pressing a curt kiss to your head.

“What? But—” You babbled something, voice cracking.

“This isn’t a good time, it’s late, you’re drunk.” He reassured your rejection with another kiss.

“You won’t stay?” You asked, leaving you as more of a plea.

“Not tonight.” He finished. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You were then left empty and cold, and despite wrapping yourself in layers of blankets, you felt as naked as ever. The question what was wrong with you? Pulling you into a drunkenly tear filled sleep.

The next morning, the barking of your third alarm pulled you from your slumber. You smacked at the screen of your phone, lifting your now throbbing head from the sweet embrace of your pillow.

Almost immediately Megumi’s rejection of you last night reminded you why your eyes were so crusty with dried tears. However, you didn’t have much time to linger on it, already being late for your morning lecture.

Lunch was when you saw Megumi next. You were reading over your papers in the yard with a furrowed brow, your phone to your ear.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” You asked.

“I mean I don’t know! You’ve know Fushiguro pretty much the same amount of time I have, why don’t you know if he’s had sex?” Nobara snapped back, voice slightly fuzzy through your phone. “Oh, let’s not forget the fact you’re also his girlfriend!”

“I know, I just— ugh. Why is this so complicated?” You huffed.

“It really isn’t, girl. You’re just making it complicated.” She added back, unfiltered judgment in her tone.

“I know, I know.” You were weak before her unwavering moral superiority.

“Talk to him. Neither of you did anything wrong, he was probably still drunk and didn’t want to show you he had whisky dick or maybe he is a virgin and was just too nervous to fuck you.” You wondered for a brief moment who Nobara was around that could hear her talk about your (lack of) sex life.

“I doubt it.” You murmured. Finally your eyes caught the tall shadow that was Megumi and you fiddle to catch your phone as it dropped from your hand. “I gotta go, he’s here. Bye!”

One hand deep in his pocket and the other carrying a bag bloated with book, Megumi walked to you, standing tall over your sitting self.

“Nobara?” He asked, head jutting towards your phone.

“Yup, she uh— just won’t stop calling me.” You breathily laughed, stupidly covering the fact you had been the one calling her nonstop.

His careful eyes surveyed you, immediately grabbing something was amiss. “Hungover?”

Lord knew you weren’t going to bring up last night if he didn’t. You’d rather let it die in the past. “I was this morning, but I’m alright now.” You offered a kind, but forced smile. “You okay?” You returned, gazing up at him.

With the baggy top you’d hurriedly put on this morning, Megumi could see past the collar, eyes catching the familiar black bra. You were so rushed this morning, you didn’t have time to change it. His heart squeezed painfully, hand twitching as it recalled the feeling of the fabric. The same hand that fucked his dick until he came thinking of you once he was alone. Fuck, he was pathetic. “I’m fine.” He gritted. Even through the drunk haze of the prior night, that memory of you below him was as clear as day in his mind.

“You’ve got baseball this afternoon, right? Do you want to come over afterwards?” You asked.

“I can, why?” So you could show him more of your gorgeous body?

“Just to hangout, n’ chat.” You added, as casually as possible. Technically you weren’t lying.

“I’ll come.” He assured. His hands lifted to touch you, but Megumi decided better, shoving it back into his pocket. “Will I see you at practice?”

“I’ll be there.” You smiled.

You’d watched Megumi play baseball since he was young, having been one of his biggest supporters (besides Gojo, of course) since you two became friends. You’d love to watch him play, sitting on a nearby bench with a book to read or your computer to finish an assignment.

Megumi had never admitted it out loud, but before each swing of his bat, he’d gaze out into the empty audience chairs to catch a glimpse of you. You were always there, always looking at him.

It never failed to make his heart swell, even after the two of you began dating, seeing you sit there just for him was the kind of loyalty that made Megumi obsessed with you.

Today, though, it seemed Megumi had more on his mind than he usually did. It was so obvious in the way he played. He was distracted.

On the walk back to your dorm, you could tell he was clearly unimpressed by himself.

Once inside, you excused yourself to the bathroom just to freshen up.

Reflecting from your mirror like a ghost haunting you, hung your cleanly washed thong. Now dry and ready to be worn. Maybe, just maybe, finally ready to be seen. The old habit still clawed you, just in case, you thought, just in case something happens.

You slipped out of the bathroom, a sudden nervousness taking you. “Hey, can we talk?” You asked, finding a seat next to Megumi on your bed.

His furrowed expression disappeared the moment he heard your tone and his eyes lifted to you expectantly. You inhaled.

“I’ve got to tell you something.” You stated, voice wavering despite your desire to sound sure.

“Yeah?”

“I’m a virgin.” You finally uttered.

“Oh, okay.” You could hear in his voice, the slightest hint of bewilderment. Mostly at the suddenness.

“I’ve never had a dick in me, okay? So I’m nervous.” You let the words out like Megumi had you tied up, forcing a confession out of you. A tight pause filled the air as you let the weight of your secret fill the room.

“Why are you so embarrassed? It’s not like I’ve had sex, either.” Megumi’s narrow eyes squinted at his furrowed brow. His cheeks tinted pink, clearly out of his comfort zone to admit this.

“You haven’t?” You felt free of an imaginary weight that lifted from your chest.

“Yes? You’ve been my only girlfriend, I assumed you would’ve just guessed.”

“So nothing? No hookups or anything?”

“Not my thing.”

Your chest bubbled with a freeing excitement. You’d have to thank Nobara later and let her know she’s the goddess of advice. “Thank God, I was so worried.” You exhaled.

“Worried?” His hand came to grasp your arm. Had he seriously done something to make you worry?

“When you left last night, I thought I did something wrong or—”

Fuck. Of course. “No, you didn’t.” He squeezed your arm. He was just an idiot, a drunk, horny idiot. “It was the alcohol, I didn’t think it was a good idea. You didn’t do anything. You were perfect.” His eyes avoided you, cheeks growing darker.

Was he embarrassed? You kissed his jaw, eagerly planting a peck free of doubt.

The kiss seemed to break him from his mumbling as he adjusted your aim, pulling your chin up and kissing your lips. He kissed you again, and you could feel it in his affection too, an excitement to explore you, be the first to learn your body.

To reach his lips better, you moved to straddle Megumi, planting yourself on his lap and letting yourself be enveloped by his affection.

He pulled you down with him as his back fell into the mattress and as you rocked on his lap, you felt the line of his dick through his pants.

Then reality hit you. You two were going to do it. You sat up, blinking at the boy beneath you.

“…Hey.” You peeped, a stupid joking tone wrapping your words.

“Hey.” Megumi replied, his own words threaded with dull awkwardness.

“Do you.. come here often?” You continued, hands fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

He exhaled sharply, amused. “I do.”

“Same.” You nodded slowly. Another flustered moment of silence passed over you.

Megumi’s mind seemed clouded and unbothered by the pause, eyes becoming focused on your shirt. You could guess what he was thinking about.

“I’m wearing it again.” You muttered. His eyes flickered to you, holding an intense gaze you’d only seen him have in serious situations of concentration. “Do you want to see?”

His jaw clenched, and he nodded once. “Yes.”

You offered your shirt to him, prompting him to be the one to take it off you. His thick hands took the fabric, slowly pulling it up and over your head. His eyes caught on the black set again. Now, his gaze weakened, still tense but clouded by a soft desire.

Finally letting in to what he really wanted to do to you the previous night, Megumi sat up, cradling your abdomen to keep you stilled on top of him as he pressed a kiss to the skin that spilled out of your bra. He lightly sucked, no doubt hoping to leave a red mark.

“Megumi.” You softly murmured. The sound pricked his ears like a melody. He continued, more driven kissing and sucking up until he reached your collar bone and cheek.

Face just below your own, Megumi gazed up at you with his usually bored eyes, but currently they were anything but, holding a softness for you that could only be explained away by love. Riddle in the blue of his irises held the deep specks of lust. You wanted more, wanted to see his eyes flutter from pleasure.

Megumi’s thoughts similarly danced along the same trail as your own but despite his somewhat tame expression they were nasty compared to your own. Mostly, they lingered south. His fingers hooked the sides of your pants.

“I want to see the bottom pair.” He murmured, fierce eyes pinning you to his command.

“O-Okay.” You shyly huffed, moving back so Megumi could undress you with more ease. His eyes lingered on your own as he slid off your bottoms, like a boy closing his eyes as he opened his birthday gift so he could be more surprised by the reveal of it fully unwrapped in front of him. As much as you wanted to shy from his gaze, you couldn’t.

Finally your pants were off, tossed off the bed with your shirt. You watched his gaze flicker to your thong, and you shivered at the exposure. He leaned in, hands resting on your knees in an attempt to let you know he wanted them open, you didn’t comply, far too embarrassed. “Pretty.” He muttered. The swarm of butterflies in your stomach fluttered uncontrollably.

One of his hands snaked down your thigh, coming to grasp the gemstone hanging from the front strap. He twisted it between his thumb and index finger, and you badly wished it he’d play with your clit like that.

Then, his hand dragged over the lace fabric, so dangerously close to your bundle of nerves that your legs creaked opened on pure instinct. Megumi huffed at your bodies desire to be touched, taking the moment of weakness to slip himself between your legs.

Lower now, his fingers dared to slide over your clit. You gasped and his hand stunted.

“Feel okay?” He breathed, lust kissed eyes glowering at you. Don’t make him stop, not yet. Not when he was finally able to feel you.

“Feels good.” You murmured. Megumi’s jaw slacked and he panted a suppressed grunt at your pathetic words. Almost immediately he continued the motion, familiarising himself with what spots of your cunt would made you hiccup and your tummy twitch. “M-Megumi.” You whined with no real purpose behind your plea.

Hot, it was becoming too hot. He left your pussy for a second, pulling off his shirt and tossing it like he had your pants. Your cheeks blazed at his thin but muscled body. You’d only ever caught sight of his abs on a windy day, never had you seen his bare chest before. His skin was so smooth and light, your fingers begged to memories each curve and bump.

He closed the space between you, coming to press messy pecks on your lips whilst his hand returned to your cunt. Your hands rested against his thudding chest, letting yourself fall into the bedding.

“I can feel your heart beat.” You huffed, somewhat excited by the rapid pace. “Nervous?” You asked, a teasing prod.

“Eager.” He corrected, collecting your lips in another kiss.

His ring and index calmly slid up and down, the tips of his fingers daring over the patch of wet forming around your sex. You wanted to do the same, wanted so desperately to feel more of his body, but your nails stilled, dug into his chest waiting for some kind of permission you couldn’t even ask for.

And Megumi, the utter mind reader, took your wrist with his free hand and led you on a trail down his abdomen. He must’ve felt your hesitancy and made the move for you, that, or he was desperate to feel your hands wander over his body.

And your featherlight fingers curved over the dips of his abs. In reaction to your sweet touch, you felt his rubbing become messy and he pressed hard against your clit. You gasped into his mouth, nails scraping against his tight stomach and his jaw clenched tight, swallowing a grunt.

“More, Megs, please.” You blurted, hole dripping and utterly prepped for whatever Megumi wanted to stuff inside you.

He remained somewhat levelheaded, thinking that if he fucked you now, he’d cum too quick and this would be all over. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you unsatisfied. So despite his aching cock, his fingers dipped under your thong and circled your weeping cunt. He was going to savour every single second.

Slowly, he pushed past the rings of your wet chasm. And fuck. His fingers and dick must’ve been connected, because he could’ve sworn he felt the ghost of your inside around him just like they were around his fingers.

His cock twitched, leaking a fat blob of precum. “Shit.” The way your pussy jumped at his curse didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Oh God— Megumi, hng.” Your legs weakened, turning to jelly at the feeling of his warm fingers pressing against your tight, sensitive walls. Megumi’s two digits were thicker and rugged from gripping a bat all his life, the perfect size and texture against your trembling insides and otherworldly compared to your own.

“Good?” He asked.

“Yea— mhm.” Your eyes fluttered shut, hands hesitating over Megumi’s torso until they gripped his tensed arms.

His mouth hung open, too distracted by massaging your insides to dedicate his lips to you. Hot pants filled your mouth as you desperately kissed him, each breath of his slowly filling with grunts to the symphony of your whines. Each moan from you battered his dick, making it pulse painfully for you.

His fingers chased your twitching hips, pushing in deeper each time you squirmed from the sensation. Until the tips of his fingers slid against the spongey sweet spot inside of you that was hidden in the curve of your chasm.

“Right there!” You squealed, the hight of your voice surprising both of you. “Curl your fingers— Mh! just like that.”

He did so, pushing his digits against the sweet spot, lightly pressing and smoothing over the area. You trembled beneath him, clinging to his body like he was your life support.

Megumi loved every second of it, watching your body contort from just his fingers. He just wanted to watch you like this, utterly drunk on pleasure, for forever.

He wanted to make cum so badly it was driving him mad.

“Ohh, please don’t stop.” How could he? Your pussy had just begun clenching around him so gorgeously, tightening like the building orgasm inside you.

Megumi had only realised you’d cum after you yelped his name and your walls sucked on his fingers, trying to milk them of cum. He wanted so badly to feel the sensation around his cock.

“Hng— thank you, thank you.” You babbled embarrassingly, kissing along Megumi’s throat.

He couldn’t stand it anymore, the lack of you around his dick, uncomfortably he palmed his boxers, trying to adjusted his blood filled cock.

The trance of afterglow seemed to subside as you gazed over Megumi’s frustration. Although you were undone, you still craved more of him inside your fuzzy chasm. “More?” You asked, an invitation.

Megumi nodded, thanking the heavens you weren’t done with him. His hand dug into the wallet in his pant pocket, digging out a condom. He pulled it out, half pruned fingers covered in your slick attempting to tear it open.

It was like you’d been slapped in the face with the curt realisation that he had prepared for this. Just as you went to buy lingerie, Megumi had gone and bought condoms. He must’ve thought it could’ve happened at any moment to keep one in his wallet.

He brought the wrapper to his teeth, being frustrated with his inability to open it and tore it open with his clenched teeth. You sucked in a breath at his flimsy eagerness.

The bashfulness that came with revealing himself seemed to skip Megumi’s mind, as he pulled down his baggy pants to let his leaking cock free of the fabric.

Your eyes shot up to the ceiling, needing to look elsewhere as you heard him slide on the plastic birth control. From the glimpse you did catch you could tell he was thin and long. Your attention dived back down once you left a gentle hand rest on your hip, his thumb rubbing over the bone.

His eyes, once you met them, held a simple question; are you ready?

You nodded, closing your eyelids and bracing for his length. However the feeling never came, only his lips as they trailed from your tummy, over your bra and up to your lips.

Your hands cradled his head, nails dragging across his scalp and he grunted. This felt familiar, the feeling of his body softening against yours as you pressed simple kisses onto one another’s lips. Through the intimacy, you felt Megumi readjust, pulling your underwear to the side and lining his tip against your sopping sex.

Closer now, you hugged him through the stress. He slowly sunk into you, the plastic of the condom feeling cool against your hot insides. “Fuck.” He hissed, nipping at your bottom lip.

You sobbed, letting the sensation of being filled by your boyfriend feed your mouth with curses.

He entered slowly, just as much for you as it was for him. His face, flushed red and eyes fluttering in pleasure. You not far from the same, mouth agape with lewd noises spewing out.

He bottomed out when your hips met, taking a brief minute to calm your collective gasps. You gazed down, drowsily taking in the enrapturing sight of you two being connected. Megumi moaned weakly at your smitten stare, feeling himself fall apart from inside you.

“S’okay?” He asked.

“Y-Yes, you can move.” You permitted desperately.

He drawled his hips out carefully, rolling inwards again. Your insides still buzzed from his fingers, raw and sensitive to his filling cock. He could feel you spasm around him, forcing friction when he desperately needed you to be still so he didn’t cum prematurely.

Another breathless curse left him as his length dived back into you. “Oh fuck— I love you.” You gaped at the words, wondering suddenly was that the first time he’s ever said that?

He rolled his hips again, breaking up your quick declaration. “Love— mh— you.”

He cradled you, pulling your body in with his unlikely strength as he fucked you gently. You’d never felt so close to another person before, having him so deep within you, filling your body with pleasure.

Megumi had lost most of his composure, becoming a vocal mess as he humped into your heavenly insides.

“So tight.” He uttered into your skin. “S’perfect.” He kissed your skin, sucking hard hickies into your chest and neck.

“Mnh— love you, hng.” You repeated, too cock drunk to babble anything else.

Messier now, his hip rolls became somewhat frantic, chasing the building mountain of his orgasm. “S-Shit— I’m gonna cum.” The statement rolled off his tongue in a pathetic whine, another crack from his usual composure.

“Don’t s-stop! Please, Gumi ahh.” You were already being worked to your second orgasm, you couldn’t bare to be emptied of him before you reached your high. Your legs wrapped around him, keeping Megumi in.

“Ngh— fffuck.” He plowed harder now, his cock tip perfectly fucking against your sweet spot. Suddenly his tame thrusts became a stuttering mess as he muffled your name into your shoulder.

You could feel him orgasm, feel his cock jerk, feel his cum bloat the tip of the condom inside you.

Noticing him slow, you rolled your hips, desperately fucking yourself onto his mid-orgasm dick.

His hands smack at your sides, attempting you to pull you off his overstimulated dick.

“Almost almost almost—” You pleaded.

With what he had left in him, Megumi took your hips and helped you grind yourself on his cock. He bit your shoulder, muffling the pained moans leaving him.

“Fuck!” You squeaked, his dick slid over your g-spot again, finally bringing you to your spine tingling orgasm. Your insides spasmed around Megumi’s dick, and he whined at the feeling, growing painfully hard again.

Your body went limp, as did the tight hold you had on Megumi. Both your bodies sat panting, utterly fucked out and glistening with sweat.

Raising from you, Megumi looked over your flushed, messy state, his cock still warm fitted inside you. He savoured the sight, thinking that if he could take a photo of this, he’d keep it in his wallet.

“We should shower.” He murmured, painting kisses along your shoulder.

“Mhm, okay.” You nodded.

Fuzzy insides retracting as Megumi slipped from you, you sighed longingly, whilst he grunted, disappointed he couldn’t live inside you.

You groggily sat up, kissing him before attempting to move off the bed but Megumi kept you back, hooking a finger around the strap of your bra.

“How much was the set?” He asked.

“Uhm, not much, Nobara helped me pay for it so—”

“I’ll buy you another one.”

The heat that had just left your cheeks suddenly returned.