touyas-multi-purpose-saline

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

NSFW ALPHABET - CHISAKI KAI

cw: Overhaul is the Biggest Virgin Ever, Dom/Sub Undertones, Masturbation, Slight Exhibitionism, Cunnilingus, Thigh-Riding, Use of Toys, Slight Voyeurism, Slight Gendering (Fem), Cum, Descriptions of Positions, Overhaul is Also Kind of Creepy, Brat Taming, Orgasm Control, Paddling, Restraining / Restraints, Slight Teasing, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: This is a NSFW Alphabet, so there is honestly a mixed bag of NSFW themes. Be aware of that when you read this. Anyways, thanks for being patient! Exams have been hitting me hard and I've had to make multiple presentations. I hope you enjoy this! Remember, Overhaul is super weird and kind of creepy - but at least you love him!

word count: Approximately 3.2k words.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex.)

Depends on the situation—how rough was it? How messy was it? When? Where? All of these things are important to how Kai reacts. If he was too rough and hurt you, he’ll silently do whatever you need, but he won’t apologize. In a perfect world, Kai’d command you to come with him and bathe, and he’s adamant about how thoroughly you clean yourself. However, time and location matters. If it’s extremely late at night, or if he was irritated enough to have sex somewhere else besides the bedroom, he’ll sometimes sacrifice his proclivities just to be pragmatic, but don’t expect him to keep his sly and disgruntled comments to himself. 

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s.)

Stereotypical or not, Kai’s favorite part of his body is his hands. They’re how he does everything that matters to him. His whole life hinges upon whatever falls into the palms of his hands. And the way that your blood pounds to life underneath his fingertips is addicting, and he loves tracing his fingers all over your body to watch it physically react. He loves to see what he does to you from a simple touch, and he can feel what he does to you. 

As for his partner? Kai doesn’t really care about that stuff. If he’s attracted to you, then he’s attracted to you. However, Kai would be lying if he didn’t say he had a preference for your belly. It’s perfect to squeeze, to rest his head upon, to hold, to watch—he thinks it makes you look really womanly, so you better prepare yourself for really uncomfortable comments. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically.)

Always inside. He tried a couple of times to finish on your stomach, but he felt queasy whenever he watched it dribble down onto the bed sheets. Even if he’s not wearing a condom, he’s still not pulling out because he doesn’t want a bigger mess than he’s already going to have to handle seeing. Kai will also definitely order that you hold his cum inside, even if he knows that’s not how it works, but it makes him feel more in control of the situation and he’ll say you’re a bad girl if you don’t do it. 

D = Disinfectant secret (Pretty self explanatory: a dirty secret of theirs.)

Does he look like the kind of man to be ashamed about being clear on what he wants? Kai doesn’t have any dirty secrets. You know everything that he likes and wants, and he makes it known. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Kai was a complete and total virgin before you. He had never dated anyone, gone on a date, kissed, hugged, held hands, or even held eye contact with a woman longer than a few seconds. The first time you had sex with him was really awkward, but just because he was a virgin doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know how sex works. He never cared before he met you, but he definitely researched how to pleasure you and make you orgasm after he fell in love despite how it made his skin crawl, even if he isn’t as good in practice. Kai doesn’t give up, though, that’s not the type of man he is—just… don’t point it out or offer to help or show him how to do something because he’ll mutter that he knows what he’s doing, even if it’s already been over half an hour. 

F = Favorite position (This goes without saying.)

Anything where he’s on top. Kai doesn’t want to be on the bottom. The only time he’d even consider being on the bottom is if you beg him enough to ride him, but you have to promise to let him set the pace, to be the one with his hands on your hips and controlling each thrust. Even then, that’s rare. He likes missionary, as plain as it is, because it’s one of the best ways to cage someone and it’s the perfect angle for him to watch every little expression that crosses your face, to watch how you react to what he does and what he says. Kai also likes when you’re on your belly and he’s on top of you, chest again back, and he’s gripping your jaw with one hand and massaging your clit with the other. He just likes to be the one in control—regardless of the position. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? Etc.)

He’s not humorous. Kai might make a sleazy comment here or there, a condescending grin smeared across his face before he coos and thrusts in a way that has you gasping and forgetting what he’d said. Sometimes he makes rhetorical comments that make him chuckle about how much you’re enjoying yourself or how dedicated he is to you, but they’re not funny and you don’t comprehend some of what he says anyways because he murmurs them. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.)

Completely groomed and clean-shaven. However, yes, if he let it grow out, his bush would be just as curly and mahogany as the hair on his head. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Kai is oddly romantic in unintentionally creepy ways. He’ll have his fingers around your throat as if he were about to strangle you, but then he’s kissing against the shell of your ear and telling you that he likes feeling you swallow. If his fingers are buried inside of you, he’ll whisper that he can feel your pulse and how arousing it is. Kai also makes comments about how the both of you are perfect together, or how you belong completely to him, how you’re his Angel and he’s your God. He loves to remind you that you should feel honored and special because you’re the only person who will ever get to have him like this. Despite it all, Kai is still mean and vain, even if he’s looking at you with adoration in his eyes while he grinds into you. 

J = Jack off (Masturbation headcanon.)

Kai masturbated regularly because it’s healthy, but he didn’t have anyone on his brain or any fantasies whenever he did so until he met you. He jerks off more now that you’re together, and it’s definitely because he can’t comprehend or handle the sheer amount of emotions he feels in relation to you. He’s constantly overwhelmed by his attraction to you—before the two of you were together, he was constantly getting hard around you and having to excuse himself to masturbate. He gets extremely weird about you—in an endearing way, of course. Before he met you, Kai didn’t know how to properly masturbate. When he was going through puberty, he just rolled his palm across his erection and oddly fondled and squeezed until he orgasmed. Even once he was older, he didn’t look into pornography or educational sites because they grossed him out and made him nauseous, and he didn’t really have a totally prominent male father figure in his life who gave him decent advice that wasn’t generic. 

You really saved his life in this aspect. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks.)

Kai is definitely a brat tamer. He likes to put naughty girls in their place—this can include controlling your orgasm: when, how, if you cum. He’ll also paddle you, not spank. Kai insists there’s a difference, but you can’t focus on that whenever his belt is leaving welts across your cheeks. He enjoys dirty talk because he loves pointing out how much of a mewling mess he makes you, how you look, what he feels, how it all feels—and he’s so cold, stiff, and formal about everything he says, and it makes your heart twist in embarrassment and your toes curl in ecstasy. Kai loves making you use your words, loves hearing you ask exactly for what you want, wants to hear you say please and thank you. Even though he won’t call it roleplay, Kai enjoys whenever he treats you like a little angel who’s found a new heaven with him and he’s your god that’s making you feel things you never would have dreamed of. Kai also likes when he can pin you down, or keep those wrists and ankles bound so that it’s easier to hold you against his body. Another thing that gets Kai going is whenever he’s in a meeting or something, and he’ll purposefully pat his lap to signal that he wants you to sit on it no matter how squeamish it makes you. He loves to show people that you belong to him, and he likes to bounce his leg a little to hint that he wants you to try something, do it. Start casually grinding against his thigh, or wiggle yourself against his growing erection—Kai wants to see how far you go, how much of a needy little girl you become, and how much he’ll need to punish you later for whatever you do because how dare you let other men see you pleasuring yourself? Aren’t you dedicated to him or does he have to show you how to behave? He also likes being in public and displaying how much power he has over you, and he find ways to casually touch you—which it’s light petting of your inner thighs or your hips, or if he’s sitting across from you roughly rubbing the toe of his shoe against your cunt to make you whimper and gasp back tears. Just don’t be too loud, angel, those beautiful songs you make are just for his ears only. 

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do.)

Overall, Kai prefers that sex stays in the bedroom. However, he’s been known to throw caution to the wind and do whatever he needs at the moment. Kai has pinned you up against a wall, legs wrapped around his hips and arms tossed around his shoulders, while he thrusts into you just so that he can stare into your eyes and tell you just how upset it made him whenever another man stared at you a little too long. He’s also had you bent forward over his desk whenever he’s had a particularly infuriating conversation with a business partner, a lackey, or he’s hit a wall in his research—hives bubbling all over his skin and angry wheezes of air hissing from his teeth. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going.)

Unfortunately, a lot of things turn Kai on when it comes to you. He’s obviously not going to pounce on you while in the middle of a meeting or whenever you’re preparing dinner, but Kai will definitely stare at you creepily. It’s unsettling, but it’s not meant to be threatening. As stated earlier, he doesn’t know how to handle what he’s experiencing whenever he’s around you, so Kai is always on the cusp of being extremely aroused. 

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do; Turn-offs.)

Nothing with bodily waste, nothing involving actively spitting into one another’s mouth, nothing involving anal, nothing involving degradation for himself, and nothing involving him being the submissive one. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Kai’s not too crazy about receiving. It makes him feel like he’s not in as much control as he would like to be in. Feeling the flat of your tongue trail up the underside of his shaft before that pretty little mouth kisses down on his cock is amazing, yes, but it makes Kai into more of a whiny mess than it should—even whenever he’s the one moving your head—and he finds it humiliating. So he prefers giving. That way, he can control your pleasure, the sounds you make, how you beg, when you’ll cum—everything and more. He’s not the best at it because he’s constantly pressing too harshly or using his teeth on accident or he’s sucking too hard, but he’ll slurp and lap at your clit until you eventually do cum or you’re begging him that it’s too much to handle. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

Once again, it depends on the situation. Is he upset or angry? Then Kai’s got you slammed onto the bed underneath his frame, one hand connected to the back of your head while he quickly pounds into you. He’ll moan, and whine, and whimper, and he’s hyperventilating between glued teeth. He can also be rough whenever he’s slow and sensual, too. He likes to take things slow whenever he wants to drive you mad, even whenever his cock is throbbing, yearning, to be inside of you, to cum inside of you. Each thrust is definite, and it makes you gasp and choke for air whenever he withdraws and pushes back in. It’s these times that Kai likes to tease you, likes to talk dirty, and likes to remind you who you belong to. 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

They’re fine, Kai guesses. He doesn’t really like doing quickies because that usually implies that they might not happen in the bedroom, but he’ll settle if he has to. Sometimes they happen early in the morning, when he has only a few minutes before he has to get ready and head out for business-related shenanigans. Or they happen whenever he feels so full of emotion—whether good or bad—that he steals you away to have you for just a few moments. Kai will take what he can get basically. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Etc.)

As long as it doesn’t cross any of his turn-offs, Kai doesn’t necessarily care whether or not you two attempt something risky together. He’ll try anything until it makes him queasy or hives are powdering his face. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Kai can go for a few rounds, but time, place, circumstance, mood—all of that matters. Kai’s pretty quick to recover after orgasming, with a very small refractory period. Typically, he aims for a solid two rounds because it sends his head spiraling at the thought of being inside of you, but is fine with one. 

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

If the two of you are both naked and engaged in intercourse, Kai doesn’t want to use toys—it makes him feel self-conscious about his own skill, and jealous because he wants to be the one to make you orgasm. However, if he’s fully dressed and you’re completely naked, he loves to use toys on you because it makes him feel so dominant and powerful to watch you crumble and beg for his touch despite the sweet smile on his face telling you no. While he might not be too keen on public displays of affection, he gets a bizarre sense of satisfaction at being able to control you sexually in public. He’ll make you use a vibrator whenever the two of you are on a date or if he’s meeting someone for business related issues, and he’ll have a remote control tucked away in his pocket that he casually plays with to make things worse or better for you—typically worse. And no matter what, Kai isn’t too keen on using toys on himself. 

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease.) 

Teasing you is one of his favorite things to do. It’s the perfect time to be so mean, to breathe into your ear about how much he wants you, about what he wants to do to you, about how you’re already trembling even though he hasn’t even kissed you yet. However, he can only do this for so long. Kai can’t really hold back whenever he’s about to have sex with you, so he doesn’t make you wait for very long because it’s like a backhanded way to tease himself. Which, yeah, don’t you dare tease him, angel, you know what kind of man you make him into. 

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Kai is quiet and formal in person, but he’s so fucking loud in bed. He’s constantly moaning these beautiful and deep chords, these heavy notes filled with sounds from within the bottom of his chest. He’s whimpering, little staccato gasps playing on his lips as if he were sobbing. Crying out your name, growling about how good you are, how good this is, how good you make him feel. He’s panting, and he releases whines that make him sound pathetic, and they all blend into his dark chocolate voice, the one that’s baritone but yet so wispy and silvery. 

W = Wild card (A random headcanon for the character.) 

As ironic as it sounds, Kai is the messiest kisser you’ll ever meet. If there’s one thing you can’t teach him, it’s how to kiss. Perhaps it’s too involved, too intimate, too romantic, too many overwhelming things that Kai can’t possibly sift through the insanity it makes him feel. But he hasn’t improved since your kiss together. They’re all filled with slobber, saliva painted across your mouth, your chin, the ridge of your upper lip, the button of your nose, maybe lining the outskirts of your cheeks. He’s sucking your lips in, and it’s one of the few times that he’s begging for you to make him feel good. Sometimes he sips you in too hard, other times he’s chewing your lips, or he’s accidentally clicked your teeth together while he desperately swipes his tongue around. And it doesn’t matter if he’s going fast or slow, they’re all sloppy and immature. 

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes.)

The skin of Kai’s cock is a little darker than the rest, and his sac is decently sized and evenly balanced. He’s uncircumcised, and the color of his head has a slightly violet tint. Whenever he’s fully erect, he’s about 6.7 inches / 17.02 centimeters long. His girth is roughly 6.2 inches / 15.75 centimeters wide. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Before Kai met you, it was below average. He just masturbated if he felt that he was getting too pent up or if he figured it was a good time for a release, but he didn’t really have the urge to have sex. However, after he met you, it’s like he doesn’t know himself anymore. His libido is unpredictable now, but Kai almost never wants to not have sex with you. He’s unsure of himself, but it’s high with you. 

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards.)

For the last time, it depends on the situation. If he has work to return to, he doesn’t fall asleep. If he was angry and cornered you, then he’ll just be even more awake. If the two of you just spent a passionate evening making love in your room? Then he’ll want to make sure the both of you use the restroom, bathe, brush your teeth, change your clothes, and change the sheets before the both of you lay back down. After that, Kai’s all over you, and he only manages to fall asleep after you do, body on top of yours. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXXI. — YANDERE

cw: Yandere, Mentions of Violence / Torture, Usage of Quirks in a Horrific Manner, Character Death, Infantilization, Mentions of Abuse, Unhealthy Relationships, Overhaul is Insane, Possessive Thoughts / Behaviors, Obsessive Thoughts / Behaviors, Codependency, Graphic Descriptions of Gore, Implied Dub-Con / Non-Con, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Fem! Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: Wow! This is the final day! I'm so happy to have finally reached the end of Kinktober. I hope that all of you have enjoyed my work and I'm glad to have received the support I have! This is actually my fifth year of completing this challenge, but the first time I've ever done it with BNHA. Anyways, enjoy! I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.9k words.

Why are you doing this again? 

Oh, it doesn’t even really make sense, but there’s something about this all that makes your head spin. Dizzy, you’re dizzy, and your bare feet hurt whenever they thunder down the bleak and fluorescent hallways. The slap, the shuddering in the walls, it’s all so deafeningly loud in your head that you almost can’t comprehend it. Should you turn back? Your pace stumbles, but you push further. Would it be better if you turned back? Nothing seems like the right option now. If you turn around, you’ll have to stare down those cruel golden honey eyes, have to feel him put his hands on you, all over you, purposefully breaking and bending your body as a punishment, telling you how much it pains him to do this but you were the one who forced him for being so cold-hearted to him. But if you run away, there’s not even a solid chance that you’ll make it out, alive anyway. There are other big and evil men lurking here. You don’t know where they’re stationed, don’t know where they could be hiding, and if they find you, who knows what’ll happen? Would they hurt you? 

Only one person is allowed to hurt you. 

“Little girl, come out wherever you are. It’s not playtime right now.” 

Overhaul, no, Kai. He told you to call him Kai. He said only the most special and dearest person to his heart could call him Kai. And no one else could even fathom it. There’s a tingling in your toes, the pads of your fingers, and you can feel the irregular beating of your heart fracture and palpitate harder. 

His voice echoes throughout the hallways. Where is he? It feels like he’s nowhere but everywhere at once. Bile’s in your throat, and you have to catch your breath. You should really stop running away from him, but there’s a tiny doubt wallowing at the back of your neck. It had just been one time. But it felt weird, really weird, and you’re uncomfortable, maybe terrified even though that’s really harsh because you do care for him but he’s so bizarre and his touch feels so very mystical. He’s enchanting, you think. Is that why it’s hard to look away from him? Say no to him? You do everything that he asks. But what happened last night makes your thighs clench, makes your jaw tight, makes your eyes salty. Tears burn, they prickle like those sharp needles Kai always administers to you. Adrenaline, something’s coursing through you, sickly, a disease, and you wonder why you feel like each step you take makes the world spin in horizontal circles. One step you’re on the ceiling, the next you’re buried underground. Over and over, and those pearls in your eyes spill to the floor. 

“Coooome on, little angel. You’re usually such a good girl for me. But you’re making me angry.” 

Eyes are blown out wide, and your steps falter until you collapse to your knees, feet splayed behind you and hands loosely resting in your lap. Kai’s angry at you. He’s angry at you. Why did you run away from him? You should have stayed in his bedroom, shouldn’t have crept out whenever he was asleep. You love him, don’t you? That’s what you told him last night. You told him you loved him and then he pressed his mouth to yours, kissed you, and it felt really good but it made you squeamish and guilty because he’s evil and he would’ve hurt you if you said no. You had felt like you were going to throw up on him, but Kai’s hand fell on your hip and suddenly he was all over you. Shivers trace up your body, beginning at the base of your back, spinal fluid congeals and drenches, and you can feel it on your lower tummy too. Everything still feels so sticky, strange, and that heat you felt itches at the palms of your hands. Kai’s skin had felt so foreign underneath the flats of your hands, had felt silky but hot, and the sweat glazing underneath your fingertips still wets them. You can’t get the image out of your head. 

“Don’t you love me, angel? I don’t want to have to hurt you. Come to me and I’ll give you a reward.” 

You’re sobbing, choking on your own heavy saliva and gasping through whispers that you want to vocalize but can’t find the will to do so. There’s throbbing between your legs and you don’t know why, he’s disgusting, you’re not supposed to run from him, you’re afraid that he’ll push himself onto you again. It had felt that way last night, too, and you remember whenever Kai had grabbed your hands roughly and guided them wherever he wanted. He placed them on specific spots on his body, and on your body, and he told you those were the places that would make both of you feel good even though you didn’t want to let him pleasure you. But there’s a weak groaning in the back of your mind that remembers how Kai felt upon them. If you touched one of those spots right now while fantasizing about him, would it help you stop crying? There’s so much twisting happening in your belly, down in the places Kai had touched and left his welting mark, had shoved his cock inside, and there’s a reminder of smeared and dried gore on the inner sides of your thighs from his violence. You feel really weak, lightheaded, and your blood is pounding all throughout your being. The ripping and tearing you felt last night shreds in your ear like a motor, and you choke, bend forward, and vomit. Pale liquid is all over the floor before you, splattered, and your hair almost brushes the mess. Oh, Kai’s going to be even more mad. He hates messes. He’s going to hate you forever. He promised he loved you. But he hates messes more. 

“Little girl. Answer me. Answer me now. Say something. Say something or you won’t like what I’m going to do.” 

There’s a trembling in your bottom lip, but you can’t bring yourself to speak. Words lay flat on your tongue, but they just stew there. They’re sour, gross, and you want to tell him that you’re here and that you’re sorry and that you shouldn’t have run away from him and that you won’t do it again and that he can do whatever he wants to you.  He was the one who saved you from the streets whenever you had nowhere left to go. He was the one who held his hand out, curled it around your hesitant paw, and he drew you in. He saved you. Every part of you is his, everything you are belongs to him. You owe him that. Kai said that. He said that was why he loved you, why he needed to take off your clothes and show you how much you mean to him. When he cuts you, when he peels your scabs off, when he reforms your body in mirages—it’s how he shows his love. You’re helping him with something important, meaningful. And you need to go back to him. The words are almost ready to come out— 

“Okay. Okay, I get it. You don’t love me anymore, and I’ll have to show you how to be dedicated to me again.” 

Footsteps pause behind you. The clap of the soles of his shoes. You know he’s there but now you realize that it’s impossible to turn your head. Kai’s here. He’s here, and he starts to walk. Step, step, step, slow and calculated, and you can hear his haggard breathing. Had he been running? The crashing of his body off of the walls, basketballs in the net, round the rim, and you realize that everything Kai’s ever done has been a mesmerizing hallucination in your mind. So many things he’s done have disappeared from your mind, winked out, and you can only remember each and every tender caress, those odd smiles, pleasant words of praise, and you realize that your face is on fire. Powdering conflagrations, infernos that whip their tongues across your cheeks, lapping at the dip of apples underneath your eyes. You’re meant to be his. He doesn’t need to show you how to love him again because you never stopped. That resolve thaws your frozen body, and you tilt your head over your shoulder slowly, mouth open, breath hitched to speak. And then, 

Kai’s looming over you. Dark, shadowy, and you can’t see anything but his glowing eyes. He’s panting, insanely, frustrated, and his fists cinch and unfurl repeatedly. A skipping chuckle begins in the back of his throat, body awkwardly leaning back in a twitch, stiff, broken, mechanical, an off-key violin chord, and then he creaks as he leans forward and dangles over your shrinking form. 

“Do you really want to run away from me that badly?” 

A gasp, and you start shaking your head vehemently. 

“N—” 

Kai isn’t listening. 

“I have a way to keep you by my side forever. It’ll hurt both of us, but it’ll especially hurt me the most. Our bodies can be one together forever.” 

A line creases between your brows so suddenly that a headache thumps between the crown of your head. 

“Wh—” 

Kai’s head rolls and he flops both of his hands out, palms up. He’s not wearing his gloves. 

“Our bodies being one doesn't mean we won’t be autonomous molecularly. I don’t mind using myself if I really have to. It’s all for the plan.” 

What do those words mean? 

“K—” 

Those hands flip over, palms down, and his fingers skitter like cockroaches. 

“You won’t feel a thing. You’ll never have to feel a thing anymore. It’ll be pleasant for you. I’ll be the one to shoulder the burden, little girl. And I’ll never feel so whole like I’ll feel then. Isn’t that what you would want?” 

He’s not making sense. He’s scaring you. 

“Y—” 

Kai’s chuckling turns loud, and he’s laughing loudly in uncanny rhythms. His eyes have never looked fuller. 

“And it’ll truly be me that fixes everything. I’ll be the one to cure everything wrong with this world. As one, as mine, it’s me. Me, little girl.” 

His left hand stretches forward. You’re too afraid to flinch away, to run. You know something’s going to happen. There’s no stopping him. You’re whatever Kai wants you to be. You always have been. That’s why you let the curtain of his palm fall closer to your face. Even with the static, even with the chill that tickles the round of your neck, nibbling the shells of your ears, the quivering that fills you, even with Kai’s touch, heel of palm atop your forehead. You don’t know what comes next. But your flesh starts to wiggle like worms, you feel so light, and Kai’s adoring gaze starts to fade at the numbing pain that spreads throughout your body. There are no more thoughts in your head. Only cold acceptance. You close your eyes as your skin starts to flake off. 

“I’ll make sure you can never run away from me again, little angel. 

Just the two of us.” 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXX. - CLAUSTROPHILIA

cw: Claustrophilia, Tight Spaces, Pining, Forbidden Romance, Reader is Related to Overhaul, Mentions of Violence / Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Fem! Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: I wasn't going to write for Kurono whenever I first started making my Kinktober list, but this came to me in a vision, and I realized it would be good. I hope that you enjoy! I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1k words.

Hari shouldn’t be here. 

It’s dark, cramped, and it smells odd. It’s lemon, but it’s disinfectant, like a hospital room of a dying patient. If he moves wrong, he accidentally bumps into coats or a few boxes, maybe, he’s unsure of what’s in here. That’s not really his main focus though. All Hari can focus on is the ladyfingers drumming against his sternum, tracing across the seam of his lab coat. If he focused on it hard enough, Hari swears he could feel the heat emanating from their pads. 

“Please, Hari. I don’t want to leave here.” 

Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, hissing snakes slithering through the underbrush, scales glistening under bright moonlight. Hari swallows, he thinks, and he tries not to falter despite the way your fingers find a path to the hem of his hood. There’s something distinctly tired in your voice. 

“You have to.” 

A gasp of air tickles the shells of his ears, and he knows you’ve started crying. They’re soft tears that barely breach the surface, but Hari knows they’re there. Your breathing grows, little whimpers behind curled and glued lips. It’s almost enough to thaw his heart, but the frostbite shivers within his joints. Hari isn’t supposed to feel this way. The gang matters more. Kai matters more than this. His loyalty is interwoven with the Shie Hassaikai’s destiny. And yet, buried deep within that spiraling universe, is you. 

“Just a little bit longer then? I’m not ready.” 

Kai’s waiting, seeking you. Hari was supposed to locate you, but it landed him in a chase that locked him in with you, face to face, in this closet. You’d been trying to hide from Kai, and you had gotten so close to slipping away. Hari almost missed you, but you noticed him. It was sheer luck for him and utter destruction for you that he happened to be standing between the only exit and your fatigued form. His hands felt like hellfire, like they were being flayed alive, and he wonders how often your skin reflects those burns. You never really said no, never really fought back. Your loyalty to Kai rivaled his, but Hari supposes every human has a threshold they can handle before they crack. And he wonders if hundreds of days being sliced open and shaved clean for your flesh was truly your limit. 

Did you ever expect this would be your destiny whenever you were saved by the Boss as a child? 

Did you always feel that dread? 

Hari wonders if he should be just as loyal to you as he is to Kai, but Kai was your hero too. It only felt right to stand by your side behind Kai. And, even though it makes a pinion pinch the depths of his chest, tentacles coiling and flaring out, suctioning deep, Hari can’t help but wonder if he should have stretched and laced his hand to yours to form a protective backdrop for Kai. But your fate was always different from Hari’s. You were always untouchable, on another hierarchy above Hari, but still underneath Kai, underneath your brother. Hari’s cold. He’s unforgiving, unbending. But he wonders if you need someone other than Kai’s distant and calculating words—the way he’s so weird to you, with you, but Hari gets this sense of a grinding spark, something rivaling that cold. You would never be his, but he’s yours as much as he is Kai’s. So maybe, maybe that’s why he splinters. 

“A little while longer. You know that Kai’s going to get frustrated and come looking for us soon.” 

You sigh, and it’s relieved, curtained by acceptance, and the hand on Hari’s hood flits up. Fingers dance across his jawline, and he clenches. Hari knows he should push you away, but would this make things better for you? Would it help you cooperate? Hari feels years of staring at your fleeting form, watching you disappear into the darkness with your brother. Has he always felt like this? Has there always been something in him that flipped upside down whenever he thought about your glittery eyes? He doesn't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Hari doesn’t think about things like that because it made his head throb, made everything in him throb, and he knows you’ve always been too kind to him. Too kind to everyone. 

You must feel the same way about him. 

Maybe he’s not special. He’ll never compare to Kai, but maybe you don’t want that. And whenever your hand shifts, thumb tracing underneath the button of his nose, Hari can’t help but part his lips so he can let you in. You must feel it against the heel of your palm because you dip your thumb in, tracing the canyon below, and Hari opens his mouth a little wider so you can push further. Everything in him twists, the fires against his hands now conflagrations that consume him, and his back starts to relax against the wall. Your thumb isn’t as salty as he expected, no, it’s ivory. Clean. He should have expected that. Hari sucks it in more, and he’s purposefully rolling your thumb over the flat of his tongue. He doesn’t understand what you’re doing, doesn’t understand why he’s doing it either, but his heart is beating so fast and Hari thinks that maybe he understands why you don’t want to leave here. 

It’s dark, and the combined rhythm of your bodies makes it toasty warm, and Hari feels like he’s about to start floating on a cloud. It’s mystical in here, or it’s getting there, and Hari thinks about what’s going to happen to you once that door opens. There’s a twinge of guilt in his throat, he swallows thickly, heavy saliva, but it’s not enough to prevent your fate. Kai comes first. Always. You know that, Hari knows that. But his hand is still reaching for yours, that blurry child, and he can see those bright and wide eyes twinkle at him before things changed. Everything winks out into a fuzzy white, and Hari stands before you, staring at you, and he can see a looming figure not too far off behind you, but you don’t stop smiling. 

Was Hari ever special to you? 

He can’t help the inkling of desire. He’s gone, and both of his hands twitch before he quickly cups your face within his hold, and you pause. Everything pauses, that scalpel shining under fluorescence, and Hari draws you closer so he can kiss you. 

And he’ll hold your hand the next time Kai splits your body. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXIX. — EVIL TWIN

cw: Yandere Undertones, Mentions of Vomit, Teasing, Unhealthy Relationships, Quirkless AU meets Quirked AU, Implied Relationships with Touya and Overhaul, Blood, Violence, Mentions of Cauterizing, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Fem! Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: Haha, self indulgent once again! I was joking with my friends and that's how this came along. It's so wild, but I hope you enjoy. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 2.3k words.

He looks terrified whenever he falls before you. 

Kai’s looking up at you, his wide eyes dull but large in horror, face hollow, and his bottom lip is trembling. You repeat his expression, eyes wide but surprised. He’s different, strange. He’s wearing a pine green jacket lined by luscious cobalt tinged purple fur, one so heavy that it sags off of his body, ruffled at the fringes. One of his brows twitches, he has a small scar on his forehead, that’s odd, and you’re still staring him down. Everything else about him looks the same—formal clothes, that lavender gray tie still as bland as ever. It’s like he’s gasping for air, words death in his throat, and you glance further down. 

Where are his arms? 

You figure that would be rude to ask, so you open your mouth to question, 

“What are you doing here?” 

You already know how he ended up here—strange warbling, a rip in the fabric of time, warping colors, static, wailing, tires screeching, burning rubber, rot, ichor, and you’re seeing a world that’s crashing through a portal. There were voices, shouting, someone was calling out a name—“Dabi!”—electric blue turned dodger flames, high and smoky. You can still feel the heat on your face, and then, two bodies were flung through haphazardly. They bounced like basketballs, skidding across the floor of your bedroom before this Kai and that other man—Dabi?—rolled into one another. Dabi crashed into the side of your bed, bashing his head, but he didn’t even wince, and then Kai ended up before your feet. You’re staring at a man in a bizarre mask and a man with a posthumous hand splayed across his face, they yell again, and then the portal winks shut as if it were never even there. You blink. 

Kai begins sputtering. 

“I-I, I’m, you’re, b-but—” 

There are hives breaking out all over his face, red and screaming, and his eyes grow even more gaunt. You don’t interrupt him as he struggles to speak, but someone else does. 

“Heh. How precious.” 

You turn your head to the other voice, and it’s the Dabi guy. He’s limping as he stands, trench coat wavering, and you can’t help but stare in awe. There are these deep taupe burns on his body—arms, face, chest, neck. Staples? Or are they piercings? The metal glitters underneath the dim lights strung around your room. He stumbles, but catches himself against your bed and then chuckles. 

“You’re his girl, aren’t you? Can’t believe I’d ever get the chance to meet you in the real.” 

Dabi’s words don’t make sense, but then, 

“His girl? You’ve got the wrong Chisaki.” 

Dabi’s eyes are insanely large whenever he slowly pivots towards your bed, and you turn your head as well, and Touya is spread out across your mattress. There’s a glint of humor haunting his face, despite the confusion in his eyes. You glance at Dabi, back to Touya, and then to Dabi. Those teal eyes look so familiar. They look so similar, don’t they? Dabi’s hair is shadows, Touya’s are doves, but the two flow together. A line creases down your face, but you don’t say anything. You don’t get to anyway because, 

“Another me?” 

Your Kai sits up, having been laying properly on the furthest side of the bed away from Touya, and then he crawls the rest of the way towards you so that he can look down at the other version of himself. That Kai looks mortified, and there are emotions playing throughout his face, his body, his eyes that you can’t comprehend. Blood splatters to the floor—oh, it’s coming from his sleeves. Did he just lose his arms? Is that why he’s bleeding? 

Dabi chuckles before it shifts into a guffaw. 

“Oh. Ohhh, this is too good, huh, Overhaul? Your girl’s got a better you.” 

Overhaul? Dabi starts trekking forward in lumbering strides, like that spin cycle he took had more of an impact than he expressed, and he starts to crumble to the edge of the bed to sit right next to you. That Kai—should you call him Overhaul?—watches Dabi the whole time, those hives getting brighter, and tears are starting to well in the corner of his eyes. Your brows knit, you tilt your head, and you start to wonder what the fuck is happening. 

“Overhaul? Dabi? Are those your names?” 

Dabi shrugs, but Overhaul can only gape like a fish. 

“You can call me whatever you like. But this  guy’s got a complex according to the boss. But who knows? Maybe you can call him by his real name.” 

You draw back a little because Dabi’s started leaning closer, and his breath smells burnt and it doesn’t taste good when you swallow. He really does look an awful lot like Touya. Averting your gaze helps, and you murmur, 

“I’ll just call him Overhaul.” 

Overhaul’s breath hitches, and he starts genuinely crying. You blink, shocked, and you quickly turn to him and stretch your hands out. His whole body is an earthquake, he’s crunching in on himself, the blood pools farther, and you watch those hives mushroom. The palms of your hands grab him by the sides of his face, cupping it between, and you immediately start cooing.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

He’s not your Kai. The real Kai is pressing himself closer to you, thigh to thigh, and he starts to stare down Overhaul with an apathetic regard. You wonder what he’s thinking, but you don’t ask, and instead you focus on Overhaul. He may not be your Kai, yes, but he looks almost exactly like him. And he’s crying, and you can’t help the way your heart twists or your lips purse. Overhaul’s so pathetic, and you don’t know why, but you feel like you’re looking at a little boy who’s been told his whole world is ending. You wonder if it is, the blood grows, and you start to sink off the bed to squat before him. 

“I—We, you, I. I failed. E-Everyone. The Boss—P-Pops, a-ahhh, ahhh—” 

His words tumble into distraught yells that never really get that loud, but it’s enough for you to hit your knees and rub your thumbs over his temples. Overhaul isn’t even seeing you anymore, or maybe he is, and that’s why he starts gasping and sobbing harder. He’s choking on his own spit. Touya flops on the bed, belly down, you can hear the sound, and he whistles quietly. 

“Man. What’s up with him, other me?” 

Dabi is Touya, that’s what you figured, and Touya confirms it. They don’t say anything about it, but Dabi sounds disgruntled when he hums. 

“Apparently, he just lost everything he wasted his whole life on or something. They’re ‘bout to send him to the, uhhh, big bad prison. I think. Tartarus.” 

“Tartarus?” 

Touya sounds bored, Dabi does too, and he scoffs. 

“Right. Lemme guess. You don’t know what Quirks are either?” 

Kai speaks up. 

“You two come shooting through a portal, and you think we live in the same kind of  world?” 

Dabi chuffs. 

“Fair point, uh, Chisaki?” 

Overhaul doubles forward. You have to fall into his blood to keep a hold on him, and he lands perfectly within your embrace. His head is on your lap, and he’s awkwardly twisted onto his side. His sobbing gets harder, and notes of words scent out of his mouth, but they don’t have a fragrance and you just start to pet his hair comfortingly. He gags, you glance at Dabi. 

“Prison?” 

This makes Touya perk up a little before he slaps Kai on the knee, and the latter more than likely makes a face that sparks a stifled laugh out of Touya. 

“I always knew it would be you first.” 

“How relevant, Todoroki.”  

Dabi seems appalled for a moment, but he gets over himself and nods at you. 

“Prison, yeah. He’s a villaiiiiiin. And a, uh, uhh, yakuza. If that even really means anything.” 

Touya howls. 

“Yakuza! Chisaki, you’re a true Dame Da Ne Guy!” 

“Oh, ha ha, you’re so funny, Todoroki. How about I show you yakuza—” 

“Kai. Touya.” 

Their names shut them up, and they glance at your frustrated visage. They’re not taking this seriously, and honestly, you don’t want to either. But there’s a man crying before you, gaping with wounds, and another man who’s been burned alive being elusive with his answers. You’re getting annoyed, and more than bothered, and you groan whenever you address Dabi. 

“I don’t know what a Quirk is, but if you can use it to heal Overhaul, I’d really appreciate that.” 

Dabi’s face looks dangerous whenever he grins at you, a predator eyeing up prey, and he starts laughing in an odd rhythm. He starts to slink towards you by shuffling against the bed before he rolls to his knees, hands flattening against the floor, face to face, noses brushing against one another. You don’t flinch away, that sounds like a bad idea. Dabi’s grin goes rictus, deadly, and you feel a hotness begin to emanate from his body. It only takes a minute, a matchstick drummer hitting asphalt, and you watch as flames start to chant and flounce along his body. Both of your eyes stare at the blue electricity, at the crackling, at the way they whip and waltz, and Dabi tilts his head until his lips brush yours. The pruned flesh makes your eyes saucers, but he doesn’t kiss you. His flames congeal. 

“I’ll help him out. Why don’t you comfort him while I fix him?” 

His words are ominous, but the fire admires you, and so you start to wrap your arms around Overhaul to hoist him off of the floor. Maroon is everywhere. Snot is confetti down his face, curtaining his lips. He’s still muttering. 

“N-No Quirks. No Sh-Shie Hassai… kai. N-No, none, B-Boss. Heroes. Heroes… League. A-Angel? You…” 

Maybe those make sense back in his world, but you just keep petting the side of his head. This position is uncomfortable, and it’s not an easy one to maintain with the way Overhaul is bouncing on top of your lap. His shoulders are feral, and Dabi gets closer. 

“Yeah, your angel’s here. Might wanna memorize her face, boss. Who knows how long we’ll be here for? You ain’t ever seeing her again when we get back.” 

Overhaul’s sobbing does get louder now, and he’s screaming. Those deep chords pull at the violins in your chest, and you feel tight. Your muscles tense, your joints ache, and the thunder of pain within your sinuses makes you wince and exhale sharply. Overhaul’s too much like Kai. It doesn’t matter the differences. You can’t stand seeing Kai cry, can’t stand to see Overhaul cry. You don’t know anything about him. You don’t particularly care. Dabi’s words stab at you too, and you can hear Kai start to move behind you. His hands fall on your shoulders like he’s trying to ground himself, and you wonder what he’s thinking. Touya���s sobered up, he’s silent, but his presence is still there. You know he’s just observing. Everyone’s body in this room is so real, so full, and it’s like vibrations echoing underneath the shells of your flesh. 

Overhaul starts to retch. 

“Y-You said you were mine, angel. You—said you’d stay w-with me, and—you were supposed to help—the plan, Eri.” 

Dabi’s fire consumes. Overhaul’s agony is ferocious, and you watch Dabi’s hands slice for Overhaul’s arms. They slide underneath the empty sleeves, and you’re positive he’s burning whatever stumps are left. The wounds are being cauterized, you think, and Overhaul’s yells cough into vomit. He gets sick in your lap, you turn your nose up with a hint of discomfort, Touya emits a disgusted noise, and Kai’s grip tightens. Sizzling flesh, something tasty, flaky, it fills the air, it’s styrofoam, it’s peculiar, it’s obnoxious. Your head is reeling, and you notice Dabi’s pressing against your face again. Nose to nose, lips to lips, and his eyes start to lid as he hisses out a chuckle. 

“How’d another me get so lucky? I’m honestly jealous.” 

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond before his mouth is truly on yours, and he’s pecking you. Dabi’s kiss is gentle, unexpected for his attitude, for the way he’s torturing a man alive, cooking him, and he moves his jaw very cautiously. It’s like he’s never kissed anyone before. Maybe. You wonder if Touya is Dabi’s motivation. It feels wrong, you feel sin and guilt crawling all over you like diseased cockroaches, gossamer legs, tickling, but he’s Touya. Underneath those scars, those staples, those flames, it’s Touya. An inner animal of you growls, and it makes you eat his kiss up. Kai joins you, and Touya isn’t far behind. Both of them are on the floor now, hands all over you, touching your back, sides, hips, thighs, ears, and everything they can brush their fingertips over. 

And Overhaul is watching, leering, and he’s calling out to you in dying throes. 

“A-Angel—! Forever, you said f-forever! I’m—We’re m-married—us, a… sick, sick, s-sick villain. H-How—?” 

You are ignoring him over the fireworks, choosing Dabi’s fulfillment. Overhaul’s words are insanity, they’re downright obsessions; he must have never really been a nice man in his world. He’s nothing like your Kai. Just like Dabi’s nothing like your Touya. But that doesn’t mean you can’t refuse his affection, can’t stop caressing the shell of Overhaul’s ear. Down to jaw round, over the column of his neck, and Dabi’s tongue is tender whenever he does a tentative lick at your bottom lip. Dabi’s voice is so so so so ginger now. 

“I wonder if the other you would choose me over her husband.” 

The implications are too real, too weighty, so you just moan into Dabi’s kiss, the fingers on Overhaul’s head firm, and there is nothing but snapping firewood and convulsing mutterings. 

“Give her back. G-Give her back. Mine. She’s mine. She—She’ll help me. Give her—” 

Your hand slips down to cover Overhaul’s mouth. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXVIII. — DACRYPHILIA

cw: Dacryphilia, Post-MHA, Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of Past Abuse / Manipulation / Violence, Gross Descriptions of Bodily Fluids, Vomit, Begging, Yandere Undertones, Mind-Broken Behavior, Dub-Con, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Fem! Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: Oh, yes. I definitely enjoy Post-MHA Overhaul. It really reveals his true character, in my opinion. It goes to show everything was a persona and that he's never had a chance to be a true him. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.2k words.

Part of you starts to wonder what you ever did to deserve a fate like this. 

There’s an inkling of a memory, but it’s so faint, and you try to wink it out of your mind. You were in the wrong place, wrong time, meddled in business that wasn’t yours to begin with because you assumed there was some injustice happening, and then your life was forever altered. You were sent spiraling down a path away from humanity so far that you couldn’t even turn back around, the tide too strong, impossible to beat the oars to shift around, and you’ll keep sinking into heavy white caps. The horrors that you had seen, the times you were strapped down and helpless, the explosions of men who took the wrong step, crumbling dirt, the crying from a little girl that you couldn’t do anything but walk away from, a lock that clicked, the final chord to your freedom as your bedroom door closed. 

Maybe you should have fought back harder. Maybe you should have just lunged forward, teeth and claws bared, and ripped into whatever you could snag. Maybe you should have struggled until death cinched down your throat. Maybe you should have found a way to get yourself killed. 

That’s what you did to deserve a fate like this—you stood around uselessly, frozen and powerless, and what did it give you? 

A man laying atop of your body, head awkwardly buried within the crook of your neck, floundering over your nude body, pressing against your chest and belly in uncomfortable ways. His weight was odd, like he didn’t know how to move right anymore, like he was trying to find a way to roll himself into you that would make him disappear. Deep, deeper, and his breath hiccups in odd quarter notes between each thrust, each gasp he swallows. He’s never felt sloppier. You tilt your head to the side, wincing with each sharp thrust. 

“A-Angel. Angel. A-A-Ahhh… nnaa, —gel.” 

Over and over, like a mantra, like he never learned how to say any other words than that. That’s all he ever does anymore. Only says a few phrases, like he’s lost everything in him. I’m sorry. I failed. Forgive me. Angel. Over and over and over, and you’re starting to forget any poetry your tired and bleak mind ever lapped at. Can you wither with someone? Can you intertwine your bodies like overgrown weeds, mottled sap and moss across dusty windows, vines that twist with thorns, compressing to the lee of the stone? Is that what you desire most? Is that what you want? Would it be easier if you let your mind run silly and lose all comprehension just to be able to handle each thrust? Each moan? Each kiss? Each angel? How much longer can you hold off that inevitable? 

“Angel. Sorry. I can’t hold myself up.” 

You shake your head dismissively. 

“It’s okay, Kai. Let me help you.” 

Both of your hands leave his back, loosening, and Kai sucks in a shallow breath, accidentally leaning forward a bit too much to maintain your touch, but you just groan and squint your eyes. You can feel the liquid from his face, the wine and vinegar, it’s all over your neck and collar bone. He’s so gross. It’s going to be so gross to look at him again. He’s so solid, teeming with pathetic acceptance, all his will lost, and it strains your wrists whenever you try to hook your hands underneath his armpits and lift him. Your thumbs swivel to push, your hips meet his in rhythm for a few swings, and your knees pinch together to hoist your bodies up and together. Your back slams noisily against the pillow and headboard, but the pain doesn’t even register. All you can focus on is Kai’s face. 

So gaunt, so shadowy, so hollow. Those once beautiful eyes wide and spacey, golden ambers dulled into earthy pebbles. His long lashes flutter, decorated by large pearls, by tears that stream down the apples of his face. Torrential rains that flood into his snot and drool, thick and soupy, and you try to stifle the look of disgust that crosses your face whenever it congeals and starts to splatter across your body. He’s so gross. Maybe he was always this gross. 

You can’t believe you ever fell in love with him.

“A-Angel—” 

Oh, how romantic Kai sounds now. So needy, finding ways to groove himself into your embrace, your body, and his sex grows faster. All of your teeth are chowing down on your inner mouth, the walls tender and fruity, and you can feel a few splinters pop in the aftermath, iron sour. The head of Kai’s cock pierces in ways that you’d never think possible, stumbling over the ridges of your cunt, and you can’t help when you’re screaming behind a glued mouth. He’s crying, Kai is crying. He always cries when you have sex. You hate it. He tries to be tender, he tries to lay into you gently, he tries to find ways to make this seem like a slice of heaven—but you just think he’s a messy little boy who’ll throw up on your breasts after he cums and then lay his head atop his own filth while he begs you to tell him that you love him until he passes out. 

And with each passing thrust, you start to dwell on it. The longer you think, the further the dome of your head digs into the wall, the happier the thought makes you. Kai crying. No matter how pursy or slovenly Kai becomes with each gyration of his hips, with every deep moan that revs in the back of his throat, with the way he shoves himself forward to meet your static lips in a sloppy kiss. His sticky snot, opaque and stringy, dances across the brow of your lips, dangles down your faces, meets in the middle, and he’s working his jaw in rhythm with his thrusts. All of it is combining in your mind, and it makes you feel so giddy, and you realize you’ve finally lost it. You don’t love Kai anymore, but hearing him cry, apologize, make a mess of himself upon you, begging, fucking you, births glittery butterflies dancing within the cavity of your belly and you start giggling against Kai’s mouth. 

Your eyes are open, so are Kai’s, and you can see the expression on his face shift into something akin to confusion, but you really don’t care anymore. Another giggle before you’re returning Kai’s kiss fervently, and your hands are finding any place on his body to squeeze and grab, you’re massaging him, feeling his muscles and his ribs, and your feet chop out before they clasp together. You draw Kai in further, his disconsolate fluids drenching the both of you, and you’re moaning. 

You don’t like to think about the fate you've ended up with. 

But if Kai never stops crying, then it'll be one you deserve. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXVII. — DRY HUMPING

cw: Dry Humping, Teasing, Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Heavy Petting, Implied Backstory with Touya, Post-MHA, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: Yes, fluff for my favorite boy. I love him so much, ahhh. I hope you guys like this!

word count: Approximately 1.1k words.

His hands aren’t chilly, but they leave frostbite wherever he touches. You meet Touya’s gaze, that half-lidded grin that shows his crooked teeth off, and you roll your eyes. One of your hands stretches up, fingers splaying and at the ready so that you can start gently prodding at each individual tooth. You stick your fingers underneath the blankets of his mouth, rubbing over his ribbed gums, tracing the lines of each tooth, finding their gaps. Touya doesn’t break your stare, doesn’t look away, but humor’s in his eyes before he starts to chuckle. It’s deep, and you stop fiddling with him. You withdraw your hand, saliva stringing like guitars. 

“Like what ya see, dove?” 

You hum, nodding. 

“Yeah, those teeth of yours are like pearls underneath the deepest ocean.” 

Another chuckle, but it revs into a few bold laughs before Touya shakes his head and reaches for a water bottle next to the bed. He unscrews the cap, holds it between his thumb and index, and takes a fat swig. You wince. 

“C’mon, Touya, don’t drink that flavored mineral water shit. It’s like dishwater.” 

A few more hearty chugs, and Touya pops the bottle away with a satisfied gasp. 

“But I like the way she burns…” 

There’s a resigned sigh that leaves you before a sly grin dances across your face, and Touya arches a brow. He starts to put the bottle down while you use this moment to begin crawling further up Touya’s textured chest. The bottle clatters the rest of the way to the floor once your fingers tease over his collar bones, and you have a faint thought of spilled water that’s going to wet your socks once you step out of bed, and you wonder if Touya laid that trap on purpose as a cheap prank. His pruned hands curl around your body, muscle memory, and you can feel his frosty breath fan across your lips whenever you brush yours against his. That humor in his eyes twinkles into something more, something softer, and you wonder if things will always be like this. 

“If you’re getting plastered, then lemme have some.” 

Static electricity trickles against the shells of your lips whenever you press against Touya, and he groans instinctively. He’s always been so sensitive. His fingers flex into your skin, worming underneath the band of your underwear and slipping beneath the edge of your bra. The sensation makes you moan, and Touya swallows the sound up. He’s grinning, smiling into your kiss, and the burns on his lips warble against you. Both of your eyes roll, and you really do think about how special he is, how truly thankful you are to be in his arms. And you don’t care about anything other than rolling your hips into his, and Touya’s painfully hard already. He breaks the kiss, 

“Heh. Don’t think sis kept the liquor cabinet unlocked. Wanna rob a place?” 

A sigh that peters into a moan, and you’re not even nodding.

“Your fam’s already got us on house arrest. How’re we sneaking out?” 

Touya’s hips tilt into yours, he’s grinding. You follow his motion, repeat it, breathe it, chant it, and you’re both thrusting against each other with a breakbeat song that’s blasting on full volume. The column of Touya’s neck is sturdy whenever you bury your forehead against it. The burns are blurry when you open your eyes. 

“Poorly done disguise? I’m thinking All Dogs Go to Heaven style.” 

You throb, the pads of your fingertips ache and thunder. They beg to traverse Touya’s body, to grip against his already unfastened pants, to tug them down his thighs so you can grip his cock. 

“Okay, Charlie. Constantly cheating death, aren’t you?” 

It really does take everything in you to keep rolling against him. The thrill, the fascination, and you truly are praying that this moment never ends. Touya is so real against you, even though his body fluctuates hot and cold, even though he’s an atmosphere that never ever made sense to you, even though he’s a man that you want to be with, be a part of, crawl inside, staple whatever broken pieces of a heart he has. Your cunt cries, you cry, and tears are bubbling like soups to warm the soul, and Touya nuzzles his jawline against your head whenever he feels a few droplets splatter against his skin. Those fingers hoveling their nails tighten before they loosen so Touya can start massaging whatever flesh he can locate, can flatten his palms against. His thrusts speed up. 

“I was thinking that you should be the one wearing the mustache. How good are you at imitating my old man’s voice?” 

You start to giggle, and you lower the frequency of your voice. 

“Are you fucking kidding meeee?” 

Touya’s wriggling underneath you now, stifling his chuckles at your poor attempt, but he just thoughtfully hums and comments, 

“Could use a little more asshole, but you’ve got the spirit, dove.” 

Heartbeats pulsate throughout your entire frame, your core, and you feel like a snake coiling itself, preparing to strike, and you begin moaning in a song that has no true flow. Touya follows along, and he starts to hug you closer, embracing whatever sanctity the two of you share. 

“How about we imitate your little brother? Shouto? You could be the one standing on my shoulders.”

The hand Touya has underneath your bra slices down, running over the cleft of your ass, swooping to cup your cunt from behind so that he can position you higher onto his clothed cock. 

“Isn’t he in school right now?” 

You’re laughing softly, and Touya’s whimpering into the shell of your ear now, but you can feel him attempting to smile. The strain of his pants expands, and you can feel your engorged clit laying itself prostrate just so it can slide over his shaft. You’re chasing friction, pressure, and Touya is awkwardly hopping his hips off of the bed to slam further into you. 

“Makes it better. We need to get outta here to go to school.” 

The smile Touya’s attempting twists genuine. 

“It’s one in the morning.” 

The softness in your voice really leaves as laughter, and Touya’s hold is heavy, treasuring, and your eyes squint. Never. 

You never want to leave this moment. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXVI. — THREESOME (GUARDIAN ANGEL / FALLEN CHERUB AU)

cw: Threesome, Fingering, Yandere Undertones, Religious Undertones, Obsessive Thoughts / Behaviors, Possessive Thoughts / Behaviors, Quirkless AU, Violence / Violent Undertones, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: Oh, yes, a very self indulgent AU. I actually have quite a bit of lore about this AU. If you'd like to see more content from it, let me know! I'd be happy to write more for it. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.4k words.

“Hands off.”

Touya cackles a little before it tapers off into a chuckle, and he shakes his head softly. He leans to the side a smidge, and his arms shift  around your body to draw you closer to him. The back of your head rests against his chest—he doesn't have a beating heart, you’ve always thought that was ironic—and his lungs rattle whenever he breathes. Touya flicks a wrist so he can poke the bottom of your nose. 

“Woah, calm down, Chisaki. You’re being so haaaaaarsh right now.” 

There’s a hint of something to Touya’s lilt, but you don’t dwell on it. He’s trying to tease Kai, yeah, but it's always a deadly game. Kai doesn't like to be played with—he doesn't deal with nonsense, he doesn't waste his time on useless things that have no relation to his current goal—you. 

Kai has always been here for as long as you can remember. He told you that he was your guardian angel, whatever that means. It means that he’s always hovering over you, watching, leering, and you have to remain under his gaze, his care, and you’ll be with him until you die. You once asked Kai if he would be your guardian angel for eternity. He told you that there was only one way for that to happen because humans don’t have an afterlife—but then he refused to elaborate. Touya is nothing like Kai. 

“You’re not allowed to touch her. Get your filthy hands off.” 

Kai crawls forward, hands and knees, and those big wine hued feathers on his back flutter before they span out, flat. There’s this look in his golden honey eyes, piercing, predatory, and they’re seeing you in a way you’ve never felt before. His nude body glistens under the moon, but it’s not sweat. It’s something pure, something akin to tiny pearls, gems in the sand. Your cunt throbs, and you realize that you’ve never felt like this before. You’ve never even considered Kai like this—not even whenever you first begin developing sexual urges, whenever your hormones birthed and spiked, whenever you began touching yourself at night. Even whenever Kai would lay by your side at night while you masturbated, eyes open. 

Touya’s fingers drum on the sides of your waist. 

“C’mon. She wants it, pretty boy. We’re in love.” 

Touya had pierced you with that arrow of his—just a tiny little dot on your pinky, you hadn’t been paying attention, but you met his gaze, fell in love. That’s how those tricky arrows he carries work. He shouldn't even have them, but he intercepted your real cherub, murdered them. Touya never totally explained it, but he said he saw the perfect opportunity, and said Kai had been the perfect target. He’s a fallen cherub, his dove wings now raven. Touya had shot one of those arrows into Kai’s back, the heart-shaped head far into his flesh, digging underneath cloudy epidermis. Kai hadn’t screamed, hadn’t yelled, nothing, but he had been staring right at you. He’d been reprimanding you for attempting to invite someone over—they could hurt you, didn’t you know?—and he’d been so exposed. Touya wanted to fuck with him. It worked. Kai changed, morphed, and he was an antichrist that towered over your frame and demanded to be your lover. He was obsessed with you now—Touya said a guardian angel had never been hit by a cherub’s arrow, that’s why he wanted to attempt it to see the outcome, he had been giggling whenever he said that—and he was your lover now. 

But so was Touya. 

Kai growls. 

“You sacrilegious failure—what gave you the right to piece my human with your arrow?” 

Touya shrugs, and you can tell he’s smirking, you can feel it. 

“‘Cuz you’re so stuffy. I figured she would need a schmoozy lover instead a’ you.” 

Kai looks insane whenever he pounces forward. He’s between your knees, his claws are flexing and real, and his pupils are dilating. They grow and shrink, camera lenses, and you can tell he’s calculating the best way to tear out Touya’s throat, he’s done that before, his teeth glitter underneath your eyes. There are chainsaws and bullets in the back of his throat, animalistic sounds that make you shiver and tremble, but Kai doesn’t pay attention to that. He never quits imploring Touya, but his hands start trailing all over your legs. You barely have time to register Kai slipping a hand down between the line of your thighs so he can strum his fingers down your naked slit. A gasp leaves you, Touya tilts his head back and hums, and Kai shoves two fingers inside of you. 

Touya squeezes your arms whenever you scream. Kai hadn’t even warmed you up, hadn’t prepped you, he just took what he wanted, just put himself inside of you. Sometimes he does that, and you’re not wet enough to accommodate his long fingers but it doesn't seem to bother Kai. 

“She’s mine. Don’t you forget that. I was assigned to her. Me. You aren’t even supposed to be here.” 

Tears are welling in your eyes, spilling over the lips, trickling into the apples of your face, salty, soaking. Touya moves his hands, one cupping a breast and the other locating your barely pulsing clit. You’re not even that aroused right now. But you want them. You feel made for them both, like a wishbone shredded down the middle. Circles are rubbed into your clit, soft, delicate. It’s like Touya doesn’t want to force you. It’s a stark contrast to Kai’s furious pumping. He’s so ferocious, and the way his face keeps rippling back into wrinkles and snarls makes your knees weak. 

You’ve always been a little afraid of your guardian angel. 

“Yeah, well, sorry to let you down. She wants me here, don’t you, little dove?” 

You just limply nod. 

It makes Kai terrifying.

“Don’t say another word. She’s mine for the rest of eternity.” 

You blink. 

“Kai. You said we’d only be together until I died. I can be Touya’s until I die too, right?” 

Both pause to look at you. It’s an uncomfortable few seconds that stretch on so agonizingly, but Touya breaks the silence by guffawing. He laughs so hard that he shakes you, metal pops off of his face, he’s lost some of his staples, his burn scars shift, and the hand on your clit presses down harder. His accidental spit sprays on your shoulders.  

“Oh! Ohhh, pretty boy, you didn’t tell her?” 

You turn your head to stare at Touya. 

“Tell me what?” 

Touya’s teal twinkles.

“You gonna tell her or should I reveal your secrets?” 

Kai remains silent. 

“Touya. Touya, what are you talking about?” 

It’s like an explosion whenever Touya begins laughing again, blood trails from the corners of his eyes, and he begins jerking you off again. 

“How many times have you had sex with Chisaki? With me? A shit ton?” 

You’re awkward whenever you nod, but Touya eats it up. 

“Little dove, that means you’re like us now. You ain’t dying anytime soon.” 

He doesn’t elucidate further, but he doesn’t need to for the horror to start settling into your bone marrow. You’re sure you look horrified, and you are, that’s abhorring to hear, macabre, and you feel a tingling forlorn whisper tickle down from the shells of your ears down your flesh. It’s regret, but it’s sin, it’s accidents, it’s lies, it’s lust, it’s love, it’s everything and more. Touya’s fingers are deft, and you start moaning despite it all. Kai’s fingers are like dead weight inside of you, but they twitch, they twitch and suddenly you’ve never felt more on fire. You’re gasping, falling into Touya’s hold, and Kai starts to draw in closer. Both eyes wrench shut—you don’t want to look at them, but Kai whispers. 

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this, angel.” 

It doesn’t soothe you. 

Touya’s gone again. 

“Come off it, Chisaki. You’ve been lying to her since the day she was born.” 

Kai’s golden honey is sweet whenever you open your eyes, addicting, and it’s too sticky to escape, sinking in. 

“Because she was born to be mine.” 

His fingers start moving again, finally, and you see his hard cock bounce by a fraction. It’s hard to swallow. Touya’s laughs are driving into soft groans, and he’s just shaking his head and letting it rest within the cove of your neck. 

“Oh, dove. What have you gotten yourself into?” 

Wine wings expand out into the night. 

“I don’t know.” 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXV. — POWER IMBALANCE

cw: Power Imbalance, Implied Forced Relationship, Rape / Non-Con Elements, Dubious Consent, Forced Pregnancy / Implications of Forced Pregnancy, Manipulation, Delusional Behavior / Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere Undertones, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Fem! Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: What a drastic shift from yesterday. The Duality of Overhaul, or whatever you want to call it. I genuinely love applying him to different scenarios because he's a freak (said with an accentuated French accent). Hope you enjoy! I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.6k words.

His cock hurts. 

You gasp again, but it doesn’t do anything. Kai’s body is heavy and strong, and you can’t do anything but lay beneath him, pliable, willing. You’re never supposed to try to run away—always under him, always listening to him. Those rules are unspoken, but the way the smiles of his nails scrape into the bedsheets says it all. You have never tried to run away—wouldn’t work, anyway. There’s always some guard or whatever placed outside of the door to your bedroom. You can’t see their faces, just these terrifying plague masks that seem to elongate, become swords, become ways to cut you open until you’re a bleeding mess before their feet. It’s scary to look at the masked men for too long, they’re nothing but drones, robots, they’re replaceable. They’re just wraiths in the night that place a key into the lock of your door and twist. 

But sometimes you start to feel like them, too. You don’t know if you could beg them, don’t know if it would even work. They’re all so loyal to Kai; and if they’re not, then they fear him enough to do whatever he demands. You understand that feeling all too well. He’s delusional, always has been since you met him. Did you ever truly meet him? Were you a hostage or were you a doll? Had he been shopping for you on purpose? His cock punches against the arch beneath your womb, so ready, always willing to adjust for him. Another gasp, Kai groans. His muscles flex, these tendons and cords that seem to be tugged and strung along, pulleys and levers that you can’t help but stare at. He thrusts, rough, but slow enough that you’re able to catch your breath between each one. Sometimes he seems hesitant whenever he does this. 

You wonder why he even wants to have sex in the first place. 

Kai’s whispering nonsense that doesn’t mean a thing to you. Both of your eyes are lazy whenever you glance over his shoulder at the white walls. So bland, not a single hint of clutter. This is your room. Why can’t you decorate your own room? He says he loves you. He really does love you. Each thrust blends together now, a fruit smoothie iced and sweating, a sweet flavor that sours and molds. It’s driving you crazy. One of Kai’s hands starts to trail down the bed, hissing against the sheets, linen maybe, and you can’t help but inhale sharply whenever he wiggles the appendage between your bodies. Ah, okay. You see what he’s doing. 

“Your body always responds to me so well. It’s almost unbelievable to think about.” 

Fingertips locate your swollen clit, throbbing, dry, and he awkwardly begins to jerk it up and down to the rhythm of his thrusts. It’s instantly a brain killer, and everything starts to reel whenever he hits too fast, too hard, and it thunders against the bone. You can hear the sound in your head, a dull thwack of a taut rubber band, each flick. Kai’s scent fills your mind whenever you start gasping and wincing, something eucalyptus, something seasalt, acetaminophen. It’s so strong that you feel a pulse warble between your temples. You wish Kai wouldn’t speak to you whenever he lays into you. It’s uncomfortable. You just like to zone out, go into your own little world, think about this just being a late night masturbation session. He’s working your clit so well, you feel like you’re starting to get dizzy. A twilight carnival ride that the carnie refuses to stop, that just watches you go by round after round until there’s nothing but bile in the back of your throat and a blue sky that watches overhead. Kai speeds up. 

“You’re perfect for me, angel. No one would know how to love you properly. I can’t imagine someone else having you like this.” 

You’re not a virgin. You weren’t before you met him. You let him think whatever he wants. 

“I’ve been thinking about our future together recently. I’ve got a plan for us.” 

Horrifying, but Kai’s bringing you closer and closer to a release, so you attempt to ignore his words. But they fester. And they start to crawl into your ears like little maggots, like a soggy pumpkin dying in the winter, something after autumn, something that doesn’t feel quite right. 

“Each morning you take those medicines. I took one away recently. I’m sure you noticed that.” 

Yeah, you did. Typically he says those medicines are specific vitamins that you need to maintain your health because of the diet and lifestyle regimen he’s placed you on. He also sometimes gives you pain relief medicine if it was a particularly strenuous day. But the ones that are constant have dropped a brother recently. Yeah, you noticed. 

“Do you want to know what I took away?” 

Kai’s getting faster, each thrust is bouncing your body. You’re so buoyant, so up there in the world, the stratosphere, an orbital that won’t ever land. You’re biting your lip, feeling yourself being sawed into, split open, and Kai’s fingers are doing more than just jerking you up and down now. Left and right, quick circles, fast massages that have no genuine direction. They’re all the perfect motions, he’s hitting every little square inch that you need. Kai buries his head in the crook of your neck. You don’t answer him, but he takes your silence as an affirmative anyway. 

“Birth control.” 

Two words, but the ominous unsaid ones hover in their air over your bodies, monsters and nightmares that haunt your visions. Both of your eyes widen, reality starts to set in, you start to realize what you’re doing. You’re having sex with Kai. You’re having sex, and you haven’t cared, haven’t thought about it, you just forget where you are, leave until you cum, he cums, and then you forget about it once your eyes close and you enter a slumber that doesn’t rest you. It never occurred to you, never mattered, you never considered it—and now Kai’s brought a whole new factor into the equation of your conjoined bodies that has you panicking and gasping. Both hands start flinging around Kai. Slapping his back, arms, you’re lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging, you’re kicking your legs in a way that tries to squeeze his cock out, both of your knees slice out and away from his waist so that the soles of your feet can start to swipe out at his hips. 

“N-No. K-Kai, I don’t want to get pregnant. I don’t want—Kai, don’t—” 

Kai doesn’t slow down. 

“Shh. Just relax, angel. It’ll be great once I’m done.” 

It’s like you can never fight back. His hands remind you, the disconnected bones in your little toe remind you, vestigial, the sensation of his cock grinding and rolling inside of you reminds you. He always wins, but you can’t handle it. You don’t want this, genuine mortification is seeping into your bones, you’re losing it, you feel sick, the stratosphere is becoming hotter and you’re starting to gain your gravity back. You don’t stop trying to get him away from you. Kai growls, but it’s not enough of a warning to stop the primal neurosis in your mind, the antipathy. You don’t want children—especially not with Kai. You can’t—

“Don’t c-cum in me, Kai. Don’t finish in me, please, please, I beg of you, don’t, it’s not—” 

He’s not slowing, foot on the pedal and he’s gone, and the way he’s jerking you off isn’t stopping either. You’re close, he’s close, neither of you are going to last much longer, and Kai starts to groan until it turns into a wolfish growl. He snarls, and then his free hand snaps up. 

“Angel. Don’t say things like that.” 

The hand draws near, but you shake your head, gasping and crying out in distress, 

“Kai, don’t cum, pull out, please, pull out, no, no nooo, no, Kai, don’t, Kai, pull out, K-aaaai-auh—” 

Kai’s hand slaps onto your face, palm over mouth, and he pinches your nostrils shut. Your eyes blow out, and you’re struggling. There’s no breath in your lungs, oxygen melting into difluoride, and it burns, burns. And you can’t help it, but you keep worming your limbs, doing anything in your ability, but you're weak and the longer you extend your energy the worse it gets. Everything is starting to fade, a strange numbing that tingles and tickles, a weird humming noise playing in your eardrums. Black dots aren’t black dots, just little fleas that want to make you itch, want to feast on your blood, they’re not there. Kai’s outline blurs, becomes massive, and your body is twitching and jerking, you think, but there’s something coiling inside of you and it doesn’t last long. 

“I said don’t say things like that. It’ll be fine. You’re worrying too much. It’s like you don’t trust me. You don’t trust me, do you? This will help you start to trust me. Stop fighting me, angel.” 

What’s he saying? You don’t know. The words all turn into a soup that warms your heart, that keeps the cells in your body boiling, but you’re starting to get tense, there isn’t any temperature anymore, and you can feel yourself disappearing. The coiling turns, a snake in the ferns, and it strikes—you want to gasp, moan, but the world is spinning in gallops, footsteps into the forest. An explosion happens in you, but you’re too busy spasming. A quarter past midnight. 

“A-Angel, yes, like that. You want it too. Can’t you f-feel, ahhh, hhha, it? You’re, we’re, ahhh—” 

Kai stops, you can’t breathe. And it feels like a strange palpitating inside of your body. Together. 

“H-Ha haaa, yes, yyyesss, angel. Perfect. This’ll be perfect. You’ll see.” 

But your eyes are already closed. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXIV. — SENSORY DEPRIVATION

cw: Sensory Deprivation, Yandere Undertones, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, INCEST, Graphic Descriptions of Blood / Violence / Gore, Surgical Procedures, Gaslighting, Overhaul is Insane, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Fem! Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: Please, oh, please be mindful of these tags. This scenario is graphic, dark, unhealthy, and abusive. It is not okay. These thoughts, feelings, and emotions are based off of real trauma and experiences I have endured. Please do NOT let this fic alter any of your perceptions of boundaries, healthy relationships, or sex. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.7k words.

You can’t see. 

Kai tells you that it’s easier this way whenever he has to perform a particularly intense procedure. A silk blindfold is tied around your head, eyes head securely in their little shells, and you try to breathe. The lack of vision makes it worse sometimes. Even though you already know what Kai’s going to do to you, the anticipation skyrockets whenever you can’t watch him bring down the scalpel. You wonder why he always bothers with the blindfold whenever he knows it makes your muscles tremor, makes the blindfold soggy and washed up, makes your heartbeat forget who it is, makes the monitors circling the two of you like vultures blip like a sonar in the trenches of the blackest ocean. 

If Kai was just slicing off your skin like an orange peel like normal, your eyes would be wide open and staring down into your own flesh. Blood, tender red, muscles that never fully lose their color, never pale, and luscious wine of your cells, organs, vitality, life, personality, and the will to live pools in the gaping squares Kai has flayed away—dripping. You wouldn’t look him in the eye, wouldn’t beg, wouldn’t even flinch whenever he slices again. You quit doing that kind of stupid and useless stuff months ago. It doesn’t make him stop, and it puts Kai in a terrific mood whenever you so willingly and easily give into his every whim. And you always do. Every time. You love him. 

“You do so well for me, angel. Do you know how much I appreciate that?” 

Butter on pancakes, syrup drenching the plate. Kai knows the right words to say to make your heart flutter, monarchs in your stomach wild and free, struggling to break out of your stomach, proboscis like knives. He’s so sweet, too sweet to you, too sweet for whenever metal clatters against metal, a small breeze rolls over your nose, and you feel him home in. 

“Thank you, Kai.” 

He hums in response, and you feel it. Coolness pressing down on your lower stomach. You wonder what he’s doing today. It stings, it’s wet. Ah, some sort of sanitizing thing you guess. Or numbing spray. You’re not sure. Maybe both. More sounds, Kai is moving around, he’s grabbing things, and then you feel Kai’s hand on you. Metal on your navel, heavy, and a small breath of air hitches in the back of your throat. Then, straight. Kai makes a tiny incision, you wince, bite your tongue, but you don’t even jolt. Your body is still, but your mind is trying to crawl out of its barriers, the wall, the wall circling your every thought. The scalpel leaves, more shuffling, and something blunt prods at the slit. 

“I weighed the pros and cons of doing this manually or handling it myself, but I decided I didn’t really like the last option.” 

A line creases between your brows, push, and it feels like you’re about to explode. Whatever Kai’s doing, he’s placing some sort of tube in your body, and even though your organs don’t react, your skin does, your nerves do, you’re on fire, and chills tickle your toes and fingertips. What is he talking about now? 

“I don’t want there to be any barriers between us, but that’s not really practical at the moment. No, not at all. So I decided I’d have to do this for now.” 

It feels like eternity before the tube stops snaking into your body, flats of your nails bending backwards until you can touch your knuckles, the arms of the chair squeaking out underneath your grip. You’re scared even though you told yourself that you wouldn’t be. You promised Kai that he could do whatever he needed to you, whatever was necessary for his plan. You don't care about the plan, not one bit, never did, but it drives Kai, motivates him, it’s all his life. Consuming. If he needed to cut you up, entrails strewn around the room like christmas lights, if he needed that then he could do that to you if he wanted. So why do you still get scared? 

Is it because you can’t see him? Is it because he’s never said something quite like this? Is it because you think that maybe you don’t want to let Kai do this to you anymore? 

“If I used my Quirk on you, that might spoil it. Make it gross and dirty.” 

It? 

“K-Kai.” 

Dammit, you stuttered. A pause. Dread fills your body, air does too, you can feel it. You’re inflating, growing bigger, fuller, and you feel like a balloon close to popping. One needle, that’s all it’ll take. Cotton in your nostrils, oxygen in your eardrums, gauze on your tongue. Fatter, more, and your diaphragm rises. Is he filling you with something? You’re dizzy. He’s not talking. You shouldn’t have questioned him. You itch, the urge to tear off the blindfold is insane, but the reality of your decision is too dangerous to even attempt. Static is crawling all over your body, and so is Kai’s gaze. You can feel it. More fear. 

“Kai, spoil what?” 

It’s everywhere. You can hear the lack of his breathing, but you can hear the weight of yours. It’s THERE, and you want it to DISAPPEAR, and you think if you could look down at yourself that you’d be drifting away on a cloud, the zigzag hospital chair you’re strapped to just keeps morphing until it loses its shape. You’re losing it, you want Kai to say something, each one of your hair follicles prickle. And then, 

“Your uterus.” 

His hands move, you freeze, and then it’s nothing until it’s—

“M-My uterus? Why… Why would you need to do anything to that?” 

You’ve never had sex before. You don’t even think you want to. You’re too busy being whatever Kai wants you to be, laying underneath his everything and fulfilling his desires. You don’t understand why Kai would need to do anything like that to you—he’s, Kai is, Kai isn’t anything other than your—

Any barriers between us

Both of your eyes are wide before you actually do thrash. 

“Kai, what are you doing to me? What are you trying to accomplish out of this? What—” 

Kai slams both of his hands on your shoulders, pinning you back down to the hospital chair, but you fight against the added restraints, and terror is the only thing you can comprehend right now. What expression is on his face? All you can see in your mind are those golden honey eyes. You feel sick, nauseous, and the world is getting more and more twisted and you’re getting a little less weightless the longer Kai leaves his touch. 

“Angel, I don’t need you doing this. It’ll mess everything up. I don’t want to have to sedate you. This is a special time we share together, don’t you agree?” 

Ohh, nooo, not this. He can’t coo and sway you now, he can’t coddle you, he can’t rub his thumbs over your collar bones and laugh something wistful. 

“And after we’re done here today, we can become something more. Isn’t that exciting? We can finally consummate everything we’ve ever been.” 

There’s a distinct kind of scream that knocks the roof of your mouth up, but you just gasp through agape lips and whisper— 

“C-Consummate?” 

“Yeah.” 

That’s it. Kai’s hands are gone, the sound of the tube being grabbed and pulled isn’t something you register, you just—

“Kai, are you—what… are you implying that—?” 

A couple of buttons are pressed, the tube is set down, you think, something else is picked up. So much clattering, like thunder in your ears. Sharp smells, zesty lemon, clean, and you can’t breathe past the cloth on your eyes. Kai hums again. 

“Implying that we’re going to have sex?” 

You gulp. 

“Y-Yeah. Sex.” 

The edge of the scalpel is on your mound now. 

“Mhm. I’m going to have sex with you whenever I’m through.” 

Oh, you genuinely can’t breathe. Your lungs are so cinched, there’s pain in your shoulders, you can’t flee, can’t wriggle into the tiles of the floor, can’t hide, you’re naked in front of the man who’s cutting you open, bare and exposed for him. Always. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of his words. You feel awkward and humiliated now. You’ve never felt more hollow, never felt more alive, and you’ve never thought anything weird about letting Kai see you like this. Never, and that’s because—

“K-Kai-i. Please don’t s-say things like th-that. You’re my—my—” 

Slice, an actual yelp leaves you. 

“Brother? I am, aren’t I? But that’s the reason why we’re perfect for each other. Chisaki. We’re Chisaki. Everything about you has been made for me, of me, and I can’t just let you slip through my fingers.” 

Everything is spinning now, low iron, screaming reverberations, you’re sinking, the soul in you is sinking.

“N-No, no, no. I’m not a-attracted to you. I don’t want to have s-sex with you.” 

Kai chuckles. 

“Of course, you do. You’re just nervous, right? I should have expected that. It’ll be our first time together—our first times ever. Isn’t that special?” 

Sickness, disease, fevers, you’re on a rope, hanging, and you feel like if you could stretch your fingers out that you would grab that scalpel and stab yourself through your eyes, ears, gums, lungs. 

“That’s n-not it, Kai. Please, oh, God, please do not do anything to me. We’re not going to have s-sex.” 

The scalpel leaves, Kai sighs. He starts drumming his fingers on your thigh, silent. You see darkness, you see the light, you have no gravity anymore. 

“Don’t be difficult, angel. I’m going to give you a tubal ligation, and then we can have sex. That’s what we’re going to do and I’m no longer in the mood for any games. Be quiet now.” 

If you could explode, if he could just overhaul your entire being, you would let the blindfold consume you. 

A whimper. 

“K-Kai, p-please—” 

Kai shushes you, an angered lilt to his rhythm. 

“I said be quiet. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. You’ll want it too. You’re just being difficult.” 

Tears soak into the barrier separating Kai’s eyes from yours. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXIII. — CANNIBALISM (TRICKSTER AU)

cw: Cannibalism, Gore, Graphic Descriptions of Flesh, Begging, Homestuck Reference, Teasing, Slightly Out of Character Touya, Usage of Quirks, Trickster! Touya, Yandere Undertones, Implications of a Backstory with Touya, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Gender-Neutral Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: Yes, I was once a Homestuck fan, and Tricksters have forever left a mark on my brain. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.1k words.

“Do it! Do it!” 

You’re screaming, but Touya isn’t listening. He’s cackling, pressing your body to the hardwood floor, digging the dome of your head into the ground, stone, it hurts, and he’s getting loftier by the second. He’s colorful, blazing, a rainbow of colors that you squint and strain against, that makes you nauseous, carsick, and you’re choking on blood that isn’t even in the back of your throat. Saliva is thick, but Touya is real. His eyes are like moons, disco balls blasting hues spectrum red to red, and you wonder if he can truly see you in front of him. Touya’s grip tightens, but you shake your head. 

“No! Get off of me, Touya!” 

The words stay hidden behind glued teeth, a seal press that doesn’t want to pop loose because you see that strange glint in Touya’s eyes. You don’t know what it means, but you sure as hell don’t want to risk it. If you risk it, then it’s all over. You can’t open your mouth, no matter how hard he slams his thumb and index finger into the hovels of your jawbone. You think there are clouds around him, maybe more colors, sparkles, or glitter, or just a mirage of things that don’t quite make sense. A Quirk, somebody must have used their Quirk on him, but it’s terrifying. You don’t know how to fix him, what will make him stop. 

“Nuh-uh! Not until you open your mouth!”

You thrash at his squeal, and both of your legs are flailing and kicking out. Touya gets thrown off balance, but he decides to topple onto you and whine. 

“No!” 

“Big baby! Open your mouth!” 

He smells sweet, really sweet. He’s like a candy shop—he looks like candy. He’s drenched in it, candies of all kinds. Peppermint, gum, lollipops, mints, and so many more. They’re all over his body, skin a vibrant pink, hair a luscious green, and his eyes glow. They’re swirling with white worms, coiling, and you can’t help but find yourself sinking into their baby blue. He’s like a child, Touya’s acting like a child. His voice is still so deep, rough, but there’s a pitch to him that you haven’t heard in—in, you haven’t—

Touya uses his hold on your head to lift your body a fraction and pummel it back down. The thundering electricity, the momentary numbing sting, it fills your lungs and you can’t help it—you gasp. 

“Ha ha! You fell for it!” 

You don’t get the chance to comprehend what’s happening before Touya’s free hand is shoved into your mouth. Fingers wriggle in deep, you gag, and Touya starts petting the flat of your tongue a few strokes before he starts pushing something down your throat. It’s sweet, sour, spicy, bitter, and every other taste your weak mind could conjure—flesh, Touya’s flesh. When did he get that? Where did he pull that off of? His staples knock against the back of your teeth, you feel chipped, broken porcelain, and Touya just starts giggling like a little schoolgirl. He’s elated, joyful, and he leans over your body close enough, and you can feel him start to kick his feet into the air. His pressure on your body hurts, he’s suffocating you, but you’re too busy feeling the horror crawling under your skin. 

That slime of his flesh, it’s not there, it’s just your spit, and it melts in your mouth just like cotton candy. He’s candy, he’s genuine candy, and the thought is twisting your stomach. 

“Do you like it? Do ya? Say something!” 

You swallow, you don’t want to, but it happens and you start hiccuping. You just ate a piece of Touya’s flesh. You just—

“Fine. Then try another piece.” 

Touya doesn’t let you interject, he just retracts his fingers from your mouth, silly string tugging along like a ventriloquist against the fingertips, and you cough. The hefty gobs of saliva snap and slap your chin, neck, chest, and you wince. Touya doesn’t stop, he just hooks the fingers digging into your face in deep so that you can’t close your mouth again, and then he touches the burns on that arm. You stare in abhor, looking so frantically into Touya’s eyes, but there’s no thoughts staring back at you whenever he begins drumming his fingers against his limb. Once, twice, thrice, and the fourth measure is whenever he stops and claws. 

Nothing can describe the way your mind reels whenever you watch the smiles of his flat nails shovel into his flesh, underneath warbled and wrinkled burns, burns that are a mottled lavender, and pull. Touya flays his flesh off, peeling it like a newborn scab, and you watch pink, red, blue, and purple powder—sugar—spill from the wounds. He’s sand, he’s dust, he’s ash, and he’s pulling his flesh off like a piece of frazzled licorice. Touya just comes apart so easily, and he’s laughing, rocking his own socks off, and he’s swinging his head side to side like a seesaw, humming and singing the rhythm of some old children’s nursery rhyme. Both of your eyes are wide open, goodnight moon, and you can’t do anything as you watch Touya yank his flesh up and high, fruit by the foot, and you feel like you’re going to be sick. The scent of sweets, the sugar, the caramelized sodium, and Touya jerks off the piece of flesh like tape. 

It snaps, you can hear the sound, like a rubber band being thrummed, but the sound dies in the shells of your ears whenever Touya yelps and snaps his fingers forward like a viper. The longer rope of flesh flops around like a wet and soggy noodle, but it’s not the same, it’s dry, and white cream smears on the parts of your body that it touches. The sensations make you gag all over again, but that gives Touya ample opportunity to shove the flesh into your mouth, and down down down down the hatch it goes. He screams in delight. 

“Ohhh! Haha, if you like that, then you can eat the rest of me! But you have to promise you’ll take bites of me willingly if you want me to let you go! Okay, okay, you big baby? Eat me up! Eat me! I want you to eat me! Do it! Do it!” 

Candy floods your senses, blood sugar spikes, black splotches dot your vision, spasms, aches, and Touya’s begging is the last thing you see before rainbows sparkle into darkness—the flavor overwhelming, Touya, and 

“Eat me! Eat me eat me eat me eat me! Eaaaaaaaat meeee!” 

And his flavor is the last thing you remember. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXII. — EXHIBITIONISM

cw: Exhibitionism, Teasing, Fluff, Dirty Talk, Attempt at Humor, Monoma Being Monoma, Intercourse on a Balcony, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: This was for a good friend of mine because they are a simp. I hope you all enjoy too!

word count: Approximately 1.4k words.

“My! If only we were facing the plaza, my rose, so that I could watch everyone’s faces change into sheer jealousy. Oh, how great would that be?” 

A groan hasn’t left the back of your throat, but you swallow it down and dip your head down to let it dangle between your laced hands. Neito’s voice is hazy and sly while he speaks, while he slowly rolls his hips against yours in these teasing circles that make your back and feet arch. Both of your legs shiver, trembling underneath his every thrust, and you can’t help it whenever you’re falling back against each press forward. You’re horrified, but it feels too good to push Neito away and stumble back inside of the hotel room. 

You don’t remember even agreeing to this, but Neito had been so smooth, all grins and fluttering eyelashes, brushing his fingers through those lacy pale morning sun bangs, delicious periwinkle oozing between slit eyelids, and you were sand through the hourglass. He had so easily felled you, had wrapped those arms around your frame like a faux slow dance, and he’d carefully twirled and stalked the both of you through the room. So sweet, so kind, even with that boyish enthusiasm exuding through his pores, through the way he gobbled you up with his kind and dedicated words—and it wasn’t long before he had you where he wanted you: bottoms down, ass back on his cock, and both hands hoveling into your sides so he could yank and pull you however he needed while he caterwauled. 

“N-Neito, this is horrifying. Stop trying to d-draw attention t-to us!” 

Neito scoffs, faltering his hips purposefully before he angles into your cunt in a way that he knows drives you insane. A yelp escapes your lips, and you gasp, and the fire that tickles underneath your follicles makes you feel so silly, but you can only bite the inside of your lower mouth and grunt. 

“Attention is exactly what we need, dear! Those people down there in the park have no idea of the heaven before them. Why, I’d say they might not even be able to comprehend our beauty—our love.” 

You’re shaking your head, ready to say something, but Neito slams in deep and hard, another gasp, and it feels like an explosion of fumes and firecrackers sizzled and popped inside of you. The reaction keeps Neito grinding his hips there for a few moments, really massaging against that spot, and the smiles of his fingernails curve and start to dig in. The shuddering in your body is hard to fight, but you choke and sob, and you’re whining out—

“The p-people in the park p-probably don’t w-want to see t-two people getting it—”

Neito ends your rebuttal by taking a step closer to your body, really slotting himself between your barely spread legs. He leans over your back a little, the roll of his stomach resting perfectly against the swell of your ass. A cluck of a tongue later, and Neito is chuckling. 

“Nonsense. Who wouldn’t want to gaze upon your beauty? Oh, imagine them seeing you like this—seeing that it is me that is making you like this. I can’t believe anybody would just turn a blind eye to that!” 

“N-Neito, this is sexual m-misconduct—” 

Crack, and his cock is shoved so far inside of your cunt that you almost swear that Neito had found a way into your brain, your nasal cavity, your ear canals, your mouth, your throat, lungs, heart, stomach. Neito was everywhere and anywhere inside of you, and you bite your tongue and scream behind clenched teeth. Neito starts laughing, proudly, not mockingly, and his grip on you tightens before you feel him fling his upper body back, still nestled close to you. 

“This is marvelous, rose! Each sound I hear is like a symphony, but, of course, others aren’t as trained or maybe even cultured enough to grasp its integrity. If those civilians down there aren’t impressed by you, that must be why. Oh, how I just wish we could stay here all night just so that I can hear how I make you feel. Do you believe I couldn’t do that?” 

You start nodding your head, but you can only groan and moan, mewls and slobber dribbling out of your mouth. Neito laughs again, proud, and it honks a little into something cute near the end. The sound brings a smile tugging at each corner of your mouth, but Neito doesn’t give you the proper time to relish in his genuine music before one of his hands shoots down and cups your mound. 

“I mean, just look at you, honey, a mess underneath me—ohh, you really are honey, aren’t you? Sweet and inviting. A-Ahhh, ohh, I want us to stay like this the whole night!” 

Neito’s fingers catch against your clit fast, and he immediately presses down firmly. Another gasp, and your eyes wrench shut, tears prickling the edges and slipping through the bars of their flood gates. He’s rolling into you in all of the right ways, all of those tender and mindful ways. His hips are shifting to fit the position you need, the way you need to be plunged into to really drag you over the edge. And then, while he’s jerking you off, Neito starts hollering into the night. 

“Watching this—watching you cum, waiting to watch you cum is a sight that no one should miss! Don’t you understand how great it is, my rose? Ahhh, ah, ahh-oohh, yes, yes, I—I feel so powerful whenever the two of us are conjoined like this, whenever we’re intimate. How lucky am I? Hahaha!” 

He’s starting to whimper and whine now, mingled through his words like sugar and spice. The tugging of your clit increases, it becomes frantic, and the shove of his cock into your cunt does too, and soon it feels like everything around you is spinning. It’s so hot, you feel so hot even as Neito continues hooting and wailing into the night about how grand this is, about how anyone who crossed your paths should beg for more, to praise them for how good you two are together. And with each word, Neito grows more and more into breathy clacks of air that sound like mangled words, and he’s going so fast now. 

There’s a twist inside of you, there’s something budding underneath the pads of Neito’s fingers, and you feel him arch and swerve, and he’s finding himself against you. He’s starting to collapse, words all melted into gasping moans. You’re close, and you know he is too. Neito starts pounding into you in ways that make your whole body bounce, the railing of the balcony creaks, and it feels like your whole world is tumbling up the richter scale. Neito is there, he’s there, and you are too, and his tongue is lapping up your name, and Neito’s is a powdery drug that you cough and consume. And then—the shattering, you’re calling out his name, an echo in the night, and you feel your body raise up with each spasm of your cunt against Neito’s cock. 

“R-Rose, oh, oh, I-Iiiiiiiii!!” 

Neito’s hips dive into the icy hot waters one last time before he stills, and you know he’s orgasming. 

And the both of you stay like that for a few pausing moments, catching your breaths and basking in the moonlight, the sweat, the salt, the cozy wood of the park wafting overhead. You’re so gone, so fuckdrunk that your head hasn’t stopped thumping and pivoting, and you feel ready to just stutter and fall over—until, until—

“One more time, my precious treasure, let the people know who they should really be worshiping—” 

He releases a confused and bumbling laugh whenever you yell behind your glued teeth and sling your body against his, a roar and a cry for revenge on the tip of your tongue. 

“Boy, you get into that room now and lemme show you a thing or two!” 

Neito’s eyes are wide, glittering with emotion, and he starts losing his mind, insane and boisterous laughter spilling from his saucy lips before he acquiesces—the sounds you two share dying in the midnight air. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

Overhaul and me sneaking in a romantic moment from that ask prompt pleeeeaase ♥️♥️♥️

cw: Fluff, Awkward and Uncomfortable Situations, Overhaul is Creepy, Bad Attempts at Flirting, Attempt at Humor, Slightly Suggestive Near the End, Allusions to Past Kidnapping, Forced Girlfriend, Fem! Reader.

author's note: Woah, I hope you like this. Even in a "healthier" relationship with slightly nicer circumstances, Overhaul would still be painfully weird and it's definitely not attractive. This is also a fluffier scenario, and some of the things in here are based off of inside jokes with my friends. You'll see what I mean whenever you read. Please, this is not quite a canon Overhaul, but it's Overhaul being awkward in a relationship. Anyhow, hope you enjoy this, anon, it was fun! This is a prompt from "Soft OTP or Self Ship Prompts" and can be found here . REQUESTS ARE OPEN—CHECK PINNED POST.

word count: Approximately 2.8k words.

Crisp, sweet air wafts into your nostrils whenever you inhale. 

The laundry room is vacant, blindingly white, and the cold drafts of the air conditioner and the freshly moist notes of detergent are heavy. Both of your eyes are dim, but not sad. It’s not too bad in this room—mindlessly doing the laundry. The dryer had recently clicked off. You’d been in here waiting for about ten minutes for it to finally stop tumbling, and its shuddering halt was a relief and yet a looming foe. 

Secluded rooms like this were your saviors. They were perfect to hide yourself in, away from the rest of the rowdy and ominous occupants in this place. You know that the majority of them lurked in that weird and expansive basement, but there were times when you’d occasionally run into one of them. Each confrontation was unnerving, and you could see why they were here working for the yakuza. You don’t want to know why they’re here or what they’re doing here. 

Because you didn’t even want to be here either. 

You’re here for some stupid reason—or, well, maybe an unintentionally cruel one. The Boss here, or well, the former Boss had good intentions, you’re sure, but they weren’t carried out in the healthiest of ways. The Boss had been instructing his young ward or whatever to get out of his shell, to stop straying away from the path of gangster chivalry, to do more than just sit in his room making delusional schemes all day—or something like that. You’re not too clear on those details. The Boss had suggested a friend or a partner, you weren't sure which one at first, but you were chosen for some reason and now you’re stuck here until you simply implode. 

Chisaki—Kai? Overhaul? He’s been really strange with his names recently, so you’re not even sure what to call him anymore. You think he wants to be called Overhaul, and the thought makes your lips stretch into a tight line. What a loser. 

He has also been strange with your relationship. You’re positive you’re supposed to be some sort of forced girlfriend, or are you just a cover to keep up good appearances? He’s oddly present and overbearing, but then he’s distant and aloof at other times, so you can never truly tell what the purpose of being here is. Regardless of which purpose is the correct one, you’re honestly too afraid to ask for clarification. Something about knowing that truth makes rocks and coal settle within the pit of your stomach. Ignorance is bliss, after all. 

So that’s why you like doing household chores. They’re great distractions. Laundry is your favorite, and it’s toasty whenever you open the little circular door on the dryer and begin pulling out the clothes. You’re squatting on your haunches, a little wicker basket between your legs. The clothes release muted thuds whenever they fall into the basket’s grasp, and you’re humming along to the beat. You keep this up until a loose sock goes flying from its herd, and you deadpan and turn your body slightly to pick it up… only to gasp and nearly fall flat on your back. 

Overhaul is standing in the doorway. How long has he been there lurking? His eyes are wide, and you’re sure your expression mirrors his, and you quickly readjust yourself and spring to your feet. He blinks once, and then his hands slowly leave the pockets of his dress pants. A slow inhale slurps into his mouth before he speaks. 

“H—H… What’s… Uh. Are you—” 

He seems to flounder for a moment before he stops talking, catches his breath, and finally settles on, 

“Why hello there… Angel.” 

Those four words are a direct punch to your gullet, and you can’t believe your ears. Shock plasters across your face, which makes Overhaul blink and draw back a little. You can’t believe he just said that to you—especially in such a nasally and dorkish way! You can’t take this guy seriously. If you weren’t afraid it’d bite you in the ass, you’d burst out into insane guffaws and turn away from him just so you wouldn’t have to see his dumbfounded face. Someone had to have told him to say that. There’s just no way. 

Overhaul keeps standing there. 

You blink. Oh, fuck, you, 

“H-Hey, Overhaul. What’s up? Do you need something?” 

He scans the room for a moment before he crosses through the threshold. Dread is a disease in your heart, but you don’t fumble away because you don’t want to make him upset. Sure, he’s ridiculous and unbelievably bad at expressing his emotions, but a good girlfriend doesn’t try to put distance between herself and her boyfriend. You’ve learned that he really likes to go by romantic norms, as odd as it is. Appearances, once more? Who knows? But you decide that stiffening your knees, flexing your thighs, and wringing your hands is an excellent way to keep composure whenever Overhaul stops only a couple of steps away from you. 

“Yeah. I’m here to help you do the laundry.” 

You pause. 

“You are?” 

He nods before he gets closer, bends down, picks up the loose sock, and drops it into the basket. He glances at you whenever it falls into the rest of the lump, and it takes you a few seconds to regain yourself so that you can hum, nod, and quickly begin shoveling out the rest of the clothes. You don’t want this to last longer than it really should. Sour acid starts to pour onto your relatively decent mood, and it’s strictly because Overhaul’s here intruding on one of your few moments of peace and quiet. Once the clothes are fully out, you slam the lid to the dryer shut and stand up, basket held within your arms. Overhaul moves a little so that you can swivel around and place it onto a little table on the opposite side of the room, and you murmur a small thanks. 

Why does he have to be here? What’s the point of this? Is he just here to torment you in a very unorthodox way? 

Whenever the basket is on the table, Overhaul moves silently and stands by your side. You instinctively want to elbow him in the gut, but you know that’d be a bad idea. He’s staring at you, so you gulp and attempt to make polite conversation. 

“I appreciate that you’re here to… help me. I usually don’t have any help doing this.”

Overhaul’s eyes cut to the laundry before he carefully stretches his hand out to begin picking apart the clothes. 

“Do you want help more often?” 

Not really, but you don’t want to tell Overhaul that. There’s something odd to his tone, so you wonder if he’s implying more. Does he want to help you? Or are you slowly going to find yourself replaced by his lackeys so that you don’t have to do these chores anymore? Neither option sounds entirely pleasant, so you shrug. 

“It’s not really necessary. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but…” 

Overhaul turns his head slowly, and that elongated plague doctor mask seems to grow longer and longer with each passing second. He doesn’t bat an eye, doesn’t waver, he just calmly removes his hand so he can point to the basket of laundry and then leans closer. 

“You need it. I can tell you haven’t been regularly separating the lights and darks, you naughty girl.” 

He then waggles his index finger easily, but you just feel like you’ve frozen into sheer beeswax and acetone. He did not just call you that. You can handle angel, despite the way it makes your skin crawl; you can handle whenever he makes you go on awkward dates that end up with him staring at you by your bedroom door expecting you to be the one to make the first move to end the date, but then it just ends with you dismissing him with a smile and clumsily backing up into your room; you can handle whenever he does things for you that you really don’t need him to, like apply the correct amount of toothpaste to your toothbrush; and you can handle him trying to hold your hand before he ultimately breaks out into hives and stiffly turns away to tell you has he to go do “stuff” that clearly means he’s going to get weird about you and do things that you pointedly ignore in another room—but that? That? 

“Oh, um, ha ha ha… Um. Well, it’s only happened a couple of times. Really. I just. I get so distracted sometimes… um…” 

What can you tell him? You obviously don’t want to anger him, so your best option is to, 

“I just can’t stop thinking about you. You’re just so breathtaking.” 

Buttering him up may make his weird obsession and yet not-obsession with you worse, but please, let it turn him away from calling you a naughty girl again. 

Overhaul’s face lightens up, but it’s still frosty in that cold and stoic sort of way before he lowers his hand and gestures to the basket once more. 

“It’s a good thing I’m here to help you then. We can help keep our minds off of one another.” 

You made him worse. 

But you’ve made your own grave, so time to toss the pitchfork into oblivion and wallow around in the froth. An uneasy smile dances across your face before you curtly nod, hook your fingers around the lip of the basket, and yank it closer. Overhaul’s gaze hasn’t left your visage, so you do your best to ignore him and focus on carefully pulling out clothes. Two piles form, and you bounce your shoulder towards one. 

“Here. Would you help me fold those?” 

Overhaul follows your command, and another one of those painful comments leaves his mouth. 

“Sure. And maybe you can help me fold the fitted sheets.” 

You stop. 

“Excuse me?” 

His eyes shift onto the table, so you follow their trail and notice the bed sheets. They’re a crumpled mess and you should probably iron them before you fold them, but that suggestive lilt to Overhaul’s words is confusing and you’re already experiencing another slow and tedious death by being in his presence. You genuinely don’t want him to answer, but, 

“You know. It’d require both of us. We’d both have to hold two corners, and then… we’d have to…” 

Oh, noooooo! He’s getting weird again! Quick! Quick! 

“I’d need to iron them first, which is what I do after the main laundry is finished. I can fold them on my own though, so don’t exert yourself, really!” 

And then, another staring contest ensues. Metaphorical clocks tick, and Overhaul finally decides to begin handling the serving you dished to him. 

“Whatever you wish.” 

You don’t respond to that because you don’t want the conversation to continue because you know that it’s going to end with Overhaul saying a bunch of eccentric things that make you shiver and swallow hard. Luckily, it seems like Overhaul doesn’t mind working in silence. The lofty air of the laundry room offers a blanketing comfort again, and you’re able to almost immerse yourself with each article of clothing that’s completed. Each type of clothing gets their own stack, and you’re also mindful to separate your clothing from Overhaul’s. It’s another one of those things you don’t like to think about. There are so many other people here and yet, Overhaul only wants his and your clothing to share the same load. Sigh. 

Eventually, the pile you have has shrunk, and a quick survey to your side confirms that Overhaul’s already finished and is reaching into the basket. You patiently wait for him to fish through the clothes and move his arm because you know that he’s iffy on physical contact, but horror treads through your features whenever you notice what he’s grabbed. 

In his fist, he’s grabbed a handful of your undergarments. 

No. No, he did not. No. Oh, come on, you now have the distinct urge to burst into flames and ash. 

“H-Hey, I can do those, I mean, they’re—” 

“Yours?” 

Overhaul’s eyes seem to be more lidded than usual, as if he’s trying to play it cool, as if he’s trying to be dismissive to the fact that he’s making you nervous. The fact he’s even looking at you like that implies that knows what he’s doing. Normally, you wouldn’t care. You don’t have a sense of shame or humility like that, everyone wears undergarments. They’re natural. But Overhaul’s a huge creep. Even if it’s not even in the stereotypical sense. 

All of the times he’d clearly get bothered while stretching his trembling hand forward and recoiling it multiple times before he’d fix your shirt. All of the times he’d stand in your room helping you pick out an outfit and getting antsy on his feet if you pulled out something a little too spicy (which could literally mean a skirt, or a sundress, or a pair of jeans that were just too tight—actually, he would just shuffle at everything you held up to your body for him to judge). All of the times he’d watch you eat, jerking in his seat and leaning forward to wipe up anything that accidentally got on your face, or adjusting the napkins he made you place in your lap and tuck into the collar of your shirt. Oh, dawg, he’s such a fucking weirdo. 

So you don’t want him touching anything like your undergarments. 

And yet, 

“Well. Yes. I just figured that it would make sense for me to do that since I’m here, and—” 

Overhaul interrupts. 

“Don’t you do mine?” 

He’s pinned you against the wall, nails through your fluttering wings. 

“Well, I—” 

He brings the pile back to him, drops them on the table, and then begins sorting through them. 

“So these are perfectly acceptable for me to touch.” 

Did Overhaul have to put it like that? 

“I… I guess.” 

Now this is a battle to the death. You’re ripping out clothes from the basket faster than you were previously, and you’re trying to be dutiful in folding them neatly while being rushed by the panic eating away at your nervous system. The sooner you can get this over with, the sooner that Overhaul will leave you alone so that you can flop onto your bed and fizzle away from this excruciating social interaction. 

But it’s so terribly hard to ignore the way Overhaul seems to be going slower than the sands of an hourglass, like he’s meticulously observing every thread. His fingers trace over the seams and stretch the fabric out slightly, and it makes you so dizzy and sick that you nearly swell and trickle away into little bubbles. You don’t want to think about the motives of what he’s doing. Don’t want to know what he’s thinking. You just want to get really far away from him. 

So you can’t help whenever you hopefully glance to the exit, sad and droopy eyes glossy with puppy tears. 

And then you falter. 

There’s a guy standing slightly adjacent to the doorframe, he’s massive, and he’s wearing one of those masks on his face to let you know that it’s one of the men who works directly under Overhaul. You think you know him—Rumpah? Romba? Uh. Rappa? Yeah, Rappa sounds right. 

His mask seems to wrinkle into an excited smile before his giant fists thrust up by his chest. His ginger hair flounces with the movement, and the fluorescent lighting painting the hallway makes his gauntlets glimmer. Both of his thumbs poke upwards from his fists, and he jostles his hands slightly to emphasize his enthusiasm. 

You blink. And then you glance at Overhaul. You then meet Rappa with a disbelieving abhor. He nods happily. Your eyes are now fully rested on Overhaul, on the way he’s still fondling your undergarments in a hellish nightmare dimension manner. 

Stone grinding emits from your teeth whenever you clench your jaw and ploddingly swivel your head back to Rappa. This is his fault, isn’t it? You thought Overhaul walking into the room with that undoubtedly scripted greeting wasn’t normal. Rappa must have given him advice—and you’re waning into rage and the budding need for revenge. 

Whenever you glance at the doorway, Rappa’s gone. Vanished. Your shoulders draw together like curtains, and you take a hearty step away to chase after him and demand he tell you what he did to brainwash Overhaul, but then you hear, 

“This detergent really suits you.” 

So you wince, take a deep breath, and, 

“Thank you.” 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XXI. — SELF-HARM

cw: SELF-HARM, Gore, Graphic Descriptions of Bodily Harm, Violence, Threats, SUICIDE Threats, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Abusive Relationship, Body Horror, Blood, Graphic Descriptions of Human Body, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere, Slight Mention of Vomit, Controlling Overhaul, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. 18+ ONLY!

author's note: This day is extremely graphic and disturbing. This is not meant to be a healthy depiction of a mental illness of a self-harming individual. Overhaul is clearly unstable romantically and using violence against himself as a way to control the Reader. Please be considerate and kind to individuals who self-harm and do not let this form a stereotype. There are parts of this fic that are based on personal lived experiences. They were triggering and horrific. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any aspect! This is STRICTLY fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.6k words.

Boyfriend: Where are you? (13:52) 

Boyfriend: Answer your phone. (14:26) 

You missed a call from Boyfriend.

Boyfriend: Now. (14:28) 

Boyfriend: Where are you now? (14:49) 

You missed 2 calls from Boyfriend. 

Boyfriend: Where are you? (14:55) 

Boyfriend: Who are you with? (14:56) 

Boyfriend: Are you cheating on me? (14:56) 

Boyfriend: Tell me. (14:56) 

You missed 17 calls from Boyfriend. 

Boyfriend: Attachments: 3 Images. (15:31) 

Boyfriend: My blood pressure is getting dangerously high again. You’re the one doing this to me. If you were being a good girlfriend and answering me, I would be healthy. (15:32) 

You missed 24 calls from Boyfriend. 

Boyfriend: The thoughts are back. I’m getting sick. I’ll kill myself if you don’t answer. (15:59)

Boyfriend: Attachment: 1 Image. (16:00) 

Boyfriend: I’ll cut my throat in front of you. Answer me, or else you’ll be the one who killed me. (16:00) 

You missed 38 calls from Boyfriend. 

— 

A laugh echoes in the car whenever you fling yourself out, waving and howling with your friends. They bid you farewell, and all of you immediately do multiple really quick slaps of your thigh that end in waves goodbye. Your best friend snorts before honking the horn a couple of times, gripping the gear shift and putting it into reverse. You step back, watching them roll away from the tiny and cracked parking lot of your apartment complex. They accidentally hit a pothole, which makes all of you cackle whenever the car bounces, but you get a deadpan from your best friend before they kick it into drive and start to officially pull out. Watching them drive off, turning onto asphalt and speeding away, finally starts to cement the exhaustion seeping into your bones. 

Your hair feels gross whenever you swipe it back, sticky with chlorine and sunkisses. A groan leaves your lips before you slowly pivot around, scratching the dome of your head and yawning. The trek back to your pad sucks, and ascending the stairs sucks even more. But soon the stairwell ends with a scuff of your flip flops, and you’re hobbling towards your door. The sling backpack crossed over your chest feels heavier with each step, so you readjust it and sigh. Your sopping wet towel and swimsuit are in there, and it feels like the water weight never fully left them. Another groan, and you almost wail to the heavens whenever you realize your keys are stuck in the front zipper of the bag. With a heaving breath, you lazily swing it around and fumble with the zipper. 

You’re relieved to see your keys, wallet, sunglasses, and phone happily tucked in its confines. Great. Glad you didn’t misplace those—you're always doing that. You fish out the keys, but you don’t close the compartment again and don’t turn the bag around. Too much work, and you’re focused on dangling the keys and shoving your key into the lock and turning. It clicks, you smile with a million dollars, and you push the door open to cross the threshold. 

Ahh, home sweet home. The smell of candles and incense wafts into your nose despite being doused, and you can’t help but steal a few more breaths while you close the door with the sole of your flip flop and walk in. You kick off your flip flops while you struggle with removing your bag, but you manage to snag it off, so you toss your keys onto the key rack and start digging around for your wallet and phone. Your fingers curl around both, so you retrieve them and let your bag sag again. The coffee table coughs whenever you plop the wallet down, but you pay it no mind before you touch the screen of your phone. Since you left to go swimming, you kind of just chucked it in the backpack and kept it there, so you probably missed some notifications. There’s a slight sense of dread that itches at the back of your mind, but you feel weird thinking that. It’ll be fine. It’ll be— 

The screen lights up. 

The backpack thunders to the floor, basketballs hitting brick walls, and you stare in abhor at your phone. 

13 texts and 82 missed calls from—from, they’re from, from— 

Kai. 

That dread you’d felt really does start to sink into your pores, and the distinct feeling of needing to cry starts to crawl up your legs. Noo, no. This is the worst time yet. He’s never done this many calls or, you pause, he’s getting worse. Kai’s become so paranoid, so controlling—no, he’s thoughtful and caring, that's what he told you—of your life now. No. He’s just being considerate. He cares about you, but maybe it’s just a touch too overbearing. No, it’s not. You shouldn’t think things like that. Your hands are shaking. You can’t think. Oh, God, you can’t—

Kai left voicemail. He left. Voicemail. He. 

Your whole body is clenching whenever you unlock the screen and weakly locate your phone app, the red 82 a terrifying face to stare at. You swallow, you can’t swallow, you swallow, and click and head for the voicemail. 44 voicemails. You click on the first one. 

“You told me that you would always answer your phone if I called. Didn’t you say that you would always be there for me? Why are you ignoring me? You didn’t tell me you had plans today. Angel. Angel, I’m getting—Getting. Angel, I…” 

That one ended. Your mouth is cotton. Another one. 

“Yeah. You didn’t tell me you had plans. Do you see other men? Is there another man in your life? Am I just a piece of meat to you, angel? You’re more than that to me. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more. So why are you being so bad?” 

There are more. You randomly click this time. While the voicemail plays, you drop your notification screen down and start reading the text messages. Horror and dust dances in your gaze. 

“I feel like I’m about to get sick. I’ll find you. Did you think you could escape from me? Did you really think you could leave your husband, angel? I’ll make sure you can’t leave me anymore. I’ll slice your ligaments off. I’m so sick. I can’t feel my stomach. You’ve made me sick with your disease. Why are you doing this to me? I don’t want to hurt you. I. I think you don’t understand me. You’re—mine. Mine. We belong together—meant to be mine, my wife. I. I can’t let you escape anymore. I will—” 

You end the voicemail before it’s done—41 seconds out of 2 minutes and 57 seconds. The images of Kai’s bloodwork is a monster that has you petrified, frozen to stone and chalk underneath its penetration, underneath the reality. The numbers are rocketing up. You did that—you’re stressing him out, making him worried. Did you forget to tell him you were going swimming with your friends? Everything is spinning, choreographers and calibration. You stumble forward, falling to your knees, head whiskers away from splitting on the edge of the coffee table. You click on another—the last one.

“I have a better idea, angel.” 

Silence for 16 seconds before it ends. You feel like you can’t breathe, what was a comforting haze of burning wicks and scents becomes poisonous mustard that makes you hack and gag, cracking your ribs. Tears are already leaving your eyes, stinging your cheeks as you shakily open your texting app to finally respond to Kai. 

You don’t get the chance to before— 

Boyfriend: Attachments: 1 Image. (17:03) 

Boyfriend: Come to me right now and I’ll put it back to normal. (17:03) 

Vomit is in your throat, pouring lungs and heart out from the bars of your teeth, and you’re choking and sobbing. Frantic thrashes of your mind pump everywhere, mushrooming, and your eyes are peeled back into your head and your sight is glued to the screen. You start yelling, the sounds caught in your uvula, and you’re shuddering. 

Kai’s arm is on the screen. What was left of it. Mangled, twisted, dog bites and bitter and waxy burns. Parts of his flesh are flayed back, lolling like a tongue in warm summer air, and you hiccup. Blood is drenching his arms, his pants, his jacket, the floor, flecks of blood on his sneakers. You can see every single tendon, all of them strings, pale and taut, and they’re stretched out in vicious smiles, glaring at you. His bones are cracked, splintering like broken tree limbs, shooting high into the sky, dusty, moldy. Warped fingers, zigzags and bent upside down, his fingernails tearing off of the fruit and juicy as they dangle helplessly at the cuticles. Veins are slapping everywhere, tentacles, confetti on a piñata, the fat white and soggy. His muscles pinch together, rippling into shapes, triangles, squares, intricate bows over the gaping wounds, wrapped around the limb. 

And you’re gasping, clenching your stomach, bile in your nose, strings of pool water and snotty fireweeds over your top lip. Darkness, shadows, the house is sinking in on you, you’re mud in the ground, clay. 

Your phone throbs. 

You blink salt and saline. 

Boyfriend: Come home. (17:05) 

The phone clatters to the floor, shattering dreams, worms under your skin, twisting around and hopping to the door, to Kai, to your boyfriend, husband, to save him from being sick because of you, you’re claws and feral on the ground, Kai the only destination. 

And you don’t look back.

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XX. — BODY MODIFICATION

cw: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior / Thoughts, Possessive Behavior / Thoughts, Body Modification, Fondling, Grinding, Burning, Torture with Fire, Allusions to Kidnapping / Isolation, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: This is another character study of sorts. Also, song reference. I think I've used it before for him, but there are some lyrics to that song that I listen to that make me think of him. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1k words.

Touya’s hands are all over you whenever he straddles you, legs swung over both of your knees and elbows digging into the give underneath your cheeks. The pillow suffocates you whenever he flops over more, thoroughly trapping you underneath his weighty form. Touya’s laughing, or at least you think he is. There are strange bubbles of laughter glittering on the tip of his tongue, but they don’t make a sound whenever you listen. Both of your ears strain, but all that they manage to snag is Touya. 

“Do you like other men?” 

His voice is sly, hued by an emotion that you can’t identify, but you shake your head as best as you can, scratchy words screwing into your throat. 

“No. Why would I?” 

You listen to him hum, a tight rag squeezing itself into coils and slapping against a wall. Touya sits back further on his haunches, and the extra pressure to the back of your knees sends you buckling lower into the mattress. A gasp dies behind your front teeth, so you click your tongue and bite the walls of your mouth, the ribbed roof of your cavern. Touya sways, maybe, but he’s going side to side and you can hear those bubbles popping louder and louder. 

“Can I do something to you?”

Do you have a choice? There are balmy thunderstorms birthing underneath Touya’s icy hands, those lapis licks a matchstick, the peppermint phosphorus in his touch a reminder. You nod, turning your head to bite down onto the fabric of a pillow sheet. 

“Yeah.” 

Touya’s fingers seem to jolt to life, cockroaches scuttling in the darkness, and he’s trailing his hands up and down your body. Those metal staples hooked into his flesh catch against you in some areas, pinching, but you just gasp and focus on how they chill you. Touya’s pace speeds up.

“What are you most attracted to?” 

A line folds down the center of your face, but you don’t stop. 

“Romantically?” 

Touya’s smiles dig into your sides.

“All of the above.” 

He’s crazy.

“I don’t know. I just want to feel loved, I guess?” 

Touya doesn’t respond. He hasn’t stopped fondling you, hasn’t stopped tracing whatever outlines of pulses that he locates underneath him. He’s trying to feel better, hopefully, or he’s just losing himself within you again. You don’t even remember how you ended up here—how you ended up underneath him—you seem to be underneath him a lot, don’t you—you don’t even remember why you’re underneath him—underneath Touya. When was the last time you were allowed to leave this bed? Your foot wiggles absentmindedly, jingling, and the chain hooked around your ankle feels like it gained a few kilos. Does Touya remember? Should you ask? 

“Do I make you feel loved, princess?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’m trying. But you look at me like I’m a freak show sometimes. Heh. Do you know what that feels like?” 

Tears are in your eyes, but you don’t remember whenever they even sprang forth. Maybe they’ve always been there. The horizontal slant of your body, of the way it feels to tilt your head back by a fraction and locks gazes with a cigarette stained wall, it’s become your new everything. Touya is your new everything. 

“No.”

A laugh. You don’t like the implications. 

“We can feel like a freak show together. Maybe then I can look at you the same way I make you feel.” 

You don’t respond. You don’t respond because Touya’s hands immediately spark, the cocking of a gun and the hiss of a lit bomb, and the sounds combine, and the sensations are too overstimulating to think about. There are flames underneath his hands, underneath his nails, ferocious and comforting, and they start to mushroom around your body. Blue, blue blue blue fire, and Touya is grimacing—hopefully—you hope this is making him grimace. You’ll just picture that he's grimacing.  You’ll just picture anything other than the pain that starts to rip into your body, that feels like you’re being flamed, the intensity and the wriggling that your flesh does underneath that fire. Touya is hot, so hot, and you’re drooling and he’s laughing, his hands are touching anywhere he can find and he’s grinding his hips between the crease of your thighs. You’re moaning into the pillow, dying screams are howling whistles in the night, and Touya is leaning over you while he touches you. He’s feeling you up, dragging those irons down your body, wrinkling and pruning your flesh. 

“I’m going to make sure we are the same. I’ll feel so much better if we understand one another’s pain. Doesn’t that sound nice?” 

At that, Touya’s palms fully flatten against the small of your back. You can hear yourself sizzling, can feel your flesh char, can feel yourself becoming something that you aren’t. You turn to dust underneath Touya, you turn into the pain and chalk that he wants to play with, you turn into the canvas he needs to paint his lemon yellow sun and the dead in maroon blood. He’s groaning, he’s moaning blissfully too, and you can feel him angle his hips in a way that slides that growing erection between your thighs. Touya gyrates, and his elbows bend so he can start to puncture through the cavity of your acceptance and burn through the wax of your body. But you hope that you’re just the thing that Touya needs. 

And even though it hurts so bad, even though you wished that your relationship was normal and harmless, even though you wish Touya would take that cuff off of your leg and let you go, even though you’d rather scream and rip your own throat out instead of letting Touya rock his cock and mar your skin—you do it for him. Because that’s what he needs in life. Someone who will always stay dedicated to him. 

Touya’s moved up your legs until the head of his clothed cock prods against the cleft of your ass, and he’s thrusting away. He’s speaking to you, but the crackling of conflagrations are just owls on the wind, flutterings, and you can feel your eyes roll back into your head at the indescribable pain. You can feel yourself spinning because even though you’re being melted alive, the only thing you can focus on is making sure that Touya is happy. 

That whenever he gets done making you into what he needs, that Touya will always be happy. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XIX. — FACE-SITTING

cw: Face-Sitting, Teasing, Attempt at Humor, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: This is for a good friend of mine! I hope you guys enjoy. I think Rappa's very funny.

word count: Approximately 1.2k words.

The door nearly slams off of its hinges, creaking and swaying haphazardly, before a large figure trudges in and closes it—albeit not gently at all. You would have nearly jumped out of your skin, but you’re used to this by now. An aggravated sigh rings around the room before the lumbering figure starts stalking closer. You swivel around on your office chair, hands steepled and brows raised. 

“Everything okay, Kendou?” 

Another sigh of frustration. 

“No. Of course not.” 

Kendou’s answer is curt, and it translates into his movements. He’s quick to tear his mask off and toss it towards a bedside table, and his gloves are clicking and following immediately after. You rise out of your seat carefully, sure not to make too much noise because Kendou becomes a little mean and cold whenever he gets agitated and pissed off. You would tease him usually, but he seems unusually mad. Whenever he notices that you’re approaching him, Kendou’s shoulders sag a little and he meets you halfway. He exhales, but there’s no emotion behind it, and he clasps his hands. 

“Sorry. It’s nothing that you did. I was just tryna do what Overhaul said, but I got duped.” 

You tilt your head, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on Kendou’s forehead. 

“What happened?” 

Finally, Kendou sweeps his hands out in a grand gesture before he flings his body backwards, groaning the entire way down. His back connects to the bed that oh-so thankfully happened to be behind him, and the springs scream out in protest before his body bounces heavily a few times. He’s like jelly, and the sight of it makes your eyes bulge out of your head. Your mouth is open, ready to question him until— 

“It’s that damn new Overhaul’s girl. Everybody thinks she’s Quirkless, but I know the truth! It’s unbelievable the things I’ve seen.” 

Oh, this again. Kendou has ranted about Overhaul’s new sweet thing multiple times now. You’ve not had the pleasure to meet her personally, but you’re not really sure you want to. Apparently she’s managed to convince everyone pretty well… or perhaps Kendou’s just hallucinating. 

“Yes, you’ve mentioned her quite a bit lately. What did she do this time?” 

A strange mix between a strangle laugh and a choked sob reverberates in the back of his throat before he wails his answer out boisterously. 

“Those three blond boys again! She keeps summoning them! And she’s using them to slip past me to escape. The bathtub. The bathtub!” 

You blink. 

“Right, yeah. How could I forget the bathtub?” 

You shift your eyes because you’re not sure what response to supply, but Kendou just emits another strange sound and waves his hands around. 

“Forget the dame! I need some stress relief, babe.” 

Immediately you face him again. 

“Oh?” 

Kendou’s hands flop back down. 

“Yeah. Sit on my face right now.” 

The way Kendou doesn’t ask lets you know that he’s serious, so you don’t even attempt to refute him. He’s impatient, so you’re not even going to have a chance to hop in the shower or anything, so you just wince slightly before you start to peel your clothes off. Kendou tilts his head up a little so that he can watch, and you make sure to wipe the wince off and give him a coy little smile before you teasingly remove your top. Your bra easily catches along, and both articles of clothing are on the floor before your thumbs hook underneath the band of your bottoms and you start to sashay your hips while you lower them down your thighs. They fall the rest of the way to your ankles, but you don’t stop twirling your hips the entire way. Your hands are trailing up your belly whenever you casually step out of your bottoms and stalk towards him. 

Kendou’s already hard—you can see his erection straining against his baggy jeans the closer you approach. Seeing his cock already pulsing to life has electricity tingling underneath your nerves, so you pick up the pace. Your hands are on Kendou’s knees before you tap your fingertips against their curves, and then you start to fondle up his thighs while you crawl up and over him. Kendou loosely lets his hands splay across you, feeling and caressing whatever flesh he can while you cross him. It makes you bite your lip, one incisor poking out and the other rubbing against your mouth. His calloused hands feel terrific on you, the way they hiss, the way they feel so heavy and real against you, the way he grabs you. Kendou’s got your blood boiling, and your coy smile turns a little predatory. You chuckle. 

“You’re so eager, big boy. Have you been thinking about this?” 

Kendou grunts.

“All damn day. I hate being assigned to her. You’re an angel compared to that.” 

His comment sends more thunderstorms crackling down your body, and you moan quietly before you start to shimmy up. You straighten, attempting to fluidly lock your legs around his shoulders and neck without looking awkward. Kendou watches you, those golden hues on his face brilliant and shining. You can see emotions brimming to life in those pools of honey, and you can’t help the heat that blooms in your heart and blossoms out to your groin. Another moan, and your palms are sensually rolling down your breasts, thumbs flicking pert jewels, and then down your abdomen before they reach Kendou’s jawline. He leans into your touch, chest heaving and breath speeding, and your smile returns to its kindness whenever you coo and start to cradle his face. 

“I’ve been daydreaming about having you all day, too, Kendou. Can’t believe we both get what we want.” 

You wink, and Kendou releases a genuine chuckle and he smiles. He looks so handsome, broad and chiseled, whenever he does, and you flutter. Your cunt clenches, and you can already feel glaze smearing along your cunt’s lips. 

“Like a dream come true, doll. Now c’mon, I hate waiting.” 

Impatient like always, but you don’t mind indulging him after such a rough and arduous day. Your toes curl in delight, so you lift up on your knees and slowly ease your way down onto the lower half of Kendou’s face. He soon disappears, lidded eyes open and glossy with excitement. Kendou’s gaze never leaves yours, and the intimacy has you gasping—especially whenever he kisses your cunt. He fondles your lips, pulling and tugging, letting his tongue slip out of his mouth to swipe a few loose licks. Gasps keep slipping out of you, so you bite the inner wall of your bottom lips and groan into sealed teeth. 

He’s fluid like always, kissing you in ways that you would have never thought possible until you met him. That eager tongue doesn’t waste any time cleaning you before his mouth shifts, catching your now throbbing clit into his maw. It’s too much, and you cry out. Both of your eyes squint in ecstasy, but you don’t miss the mirth and twinkle that sparks alive in Kendou’s gaze. You moan.

“Kendou, don’t you mess with me or I’ll—” 

He slurps, cutting you off, and you soon regret your words—

After all, he’s quite the hungry man. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XVIII. — WET DREAM

cw: Wet Dream, Fingering, Only Partially Out of Character Overhaul, Slight Begging, Teasing, Attempt at Humor Near the End, Hinted Past Kidnapping and Unhealthy Relationship, Hinted Yandere, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: Oh, yeah, you'll definitely be able to tell Overhaul's out of character. Come on now, let Reader have a little fun. The ending wasn't meant to be a thing, but it's based on an inside joke my friends made in which Overhaul constantly sics Nemoto on you. As a side note for the slight dark content: I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable. Anyhow, enjoy!

word count: Approximately 1k words.

His fingertips burn whenever he traces them down your side, zigzagging softly before they carefully swerve around your hip to grab a handful of supple flesh. You gasp, incisors finding grooves within your bottom lip. His grip is unending, and he carefully drags your body flat against his groin. Your legs ensconced his hips, ankles crossed and feet like spears. His eyes never leave yours. 

“K-Kai, c’mon, I need you so bad.” 

One of his eyebrows arch, a gentle tug at the corner of his mouth. 

“What do you need from me?” 

A strange twinge of anxiety settles within your throat before it casually flunks into your lungs, heavy and foolish. Your teeth lack mercy, and your lip hurts, and you have to avert your gaze from Kai’s intensity. A pathetic mix between a moan and a whine reverberates in the back of your throat. 

“I… I need you to touch me.” 

He’s throbbing against your cunt, you can feel it. Kai’s so hard that it’s already piercing you, the weight of his cock is so much, too much, and you feel like your cunt’s mouth is trying to eat him whole, swallow him inside. He shifts a little, the hand squeezing your ass moving until it’s trailing down your thigh. 

“Where do you want me to touch you?” 

You can’t stand when Kai teases you like this—he already knows what you want, what you need. It’s insane, it’s insanity, and the way that it feels like needles and hydrogen peroxide are bubbling underneath every little thing he supplies is driving you mad. Wiggling your hips is weak, but it makes Kai tilt his head. His hand pauses, and you’ve made a dire mistake. An actual whine slips out of your throat, but it only makes a barely chuckle emit from Kai. 

“Well?” 

You whimper. 

“I need you to touch m-my clit. I need you to f-finger me. I just… need you to—to touch anywhere that you want.” 

A genuine grin crosses Kai’s face. 

“Good girl.” 

With that, Kai’s hand starts to waltz its way to its destination. He’s painstakingly calculating with every little step he makes his fingers dance, and you’re gasping and clenching around nothing with every passing second. Kai watches you, observing, and you know that grin is glittering with mirth and satisfaction by the time he reaches the crease between leg and belly. He drums the pads of his fingers there a few times, and you’re cocking your hips up, whimpering, squeezing your eyes and gritting your teeth. The electricity that’s fizzing underneath Kai and shooting to your brain makes you spiral, and you shake your head lightly. 

“C’mon, Kai. I can’t take it—” 

Another chuckle.

“What do we say whenever we want something, angel baby?” 

Your eyes roll back into your head, humiliation and embarrassment cracking to life, stone against stone, and it mushrooms out from your heart to your extremities. 

“P-Please.” 

Kai hums, his head almost horizontal. 

“Please what?” 

Moans and whines, the dying throes of empathy lost on your tongue. 

“Oh, Kai, please finger me already.” 

Kai’s head straightens, his visage bright and eager. 

“So demanding, but I’ll forgive my little angel for now.” 

Finally, finally, Kai gives in and sends his fingers strumming the strings of a guitar down the slit of your cunt. You’re soaking, chlorine and glaze, and it smears across the fat of your cunt whenever Kai starts to prod and mold his fingers in coves that take him. An estranged look curtains Kai’s face, and maybe a coo is on the edge of his breath, but he doesn’t say anything whenever he tilts his fingers and sheathes a couple of fingers in. Your cunt greedily slurps him in, hungry and feral, and your head throws back into cotton and clouds and thread and string and you wonder why you feel so dizzy and weightless. It feels like knives and flame are snake bites deep into you, and the walls of your cunt starts to shiver, and your clit has a heartbeat that doesn’t even feel possible anymore. 

Kai’s thumb graciously swipes a crescent moon until he catches your engorged clit, and you’re yelling. His thumb works your aching jewel in circles, rubbing and jerking, up and down, back and forth, side to side. Kai does everything you need to quickly urge your body forward, a plane with a sputtering engine, groaning and breathing Kai’s name like a proverb. More and more fingers join the original brothers, a band, and a clan is soon inside of you, stretching, pulling, and your head is on a loose lasso of ecstasy. You can feel him all the way in, you can taste the salt and dust underneath the smiles of his nails. Kai is sliding in, all, and all, and he’s conjoining until you don’t know where he begins and you end. 

It’s too much, you’re twisting, you’re stretching, ropes on your ankles and wrists, pulling, you can’t breathe. You’re close, Kai is close, he’s throbbing, he’s losing into you, you’re giving into him, he’s falling in, he’s crawling in—and you can’t take it, one more shiver, one more moan of Kai’s name, and you’re there, a pop, there, you’re there, close, Kai’s body is your own, and—and and, and—

~ 

Your hips are stiff whenever they cock upwards, toes curling, mouth ripped open in a wailing moan. Fingers dig into the bedsheet, shudders and tremors wracking through your body like a thunderstorm. You’re not even breathing, maybe you are, but your head is bouncing off of the walls and you can’t make sense of anything. The whips, the thrashes, of your orgasm have tears rolling down your cheeks. Kai’s face is melting from your sight into your peripherals, and stupid feelings and awkwardness and mortification start to slap your temples like a splitting headache. 

Oh, you can’t believe you just had a dream about your kidnapper. You can’t believe that—no way, you cannot have fantasies about him, you—

“What were you dreaming about?” 

Both of your eyes are wide before you carefully turn your head. 

Nemoto Shin is relaxed against a chair beside your bed, staring down at you. You stare, he stares, neither of you waver. And then, 

you scream. 

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XVII. — MASTURBATION

cw: Masturbation, Delusional Thoughts / Behaviors, Allusions to Stalking, Yandere, Obsessive Thoughts / Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Gender-Neutral Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: Oh, how I adore you, virgin Overhaul. Yes, I definitely think he is voluntarily celibate. So imagine what happens when he falls madly in love. Also, yeah, I did the stereotypical didn't develop hives thing—what about it? I love fiction. Anyhow—I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.6k words.

A sharp gasp tears through his mouth. Kai winces, squinting his eyes so hard until they sting, prickles of salt and saline tickling their rims. His teeth grit, and Kai tries to catch his breath. Both eyes slowly reopen, bleary and foggy, and he stares down. 

His cock is resting loosely in his cupped hand, fingers not even fully curled around his shaft. Kai feels ridiculous the longer he stares down at himself, but he doesn’t feel ridiculous enough to tuck his cock away. He’s throbbing, painfully so, and he can feel the heartbeat of his blood thrumming against his skin. Kai shifts awkwardly, and the toilet seat squeaks in protest. The sound is a bullet, and Kai flinches before he sighs in frustration and carefully leans back until he lays against the tank. The crown of his head digs into the wall. Unbelievable. Kai can’t believe he’s doing this. He’s never done anything like this before. It’s filthy. It’s gross. It’s—

Kai swipes his thumb across his phone, unlocking it. He’s deft, tapping away until he pulls up his photos and locates a very specific album. There’s hundred of photos there. Hundreds. But he knows which one he wants. He knows exactly where it is. He wants this photo right now. 

There.

A photo of you fills the screen, blurry and almost pixelated. It’s not the best quality because of how close it’s zoomed in, but Kai doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t even really need to look at this photo, but it helps the illusion. Kai remembers this day, this hour, this moment. He can still clearly see it in his mind—everything, Kai remembers every little detail. It’s one of his favorite photos of you. That beautiful smile, the way your face scrunches up, the outfit you’re wearing, that cute litte pose, the way it seems like the whole world revolves around you—the center of Kai’s universe. This photo may be lost in the hundreds of you in this album, but Kai can’t stop thinking about it. He always comes back to this one. 

And the longer he stares at the photo, the heavier his cock feels in his palm. Kai shifts again, sitting up a little straighter before he slowly curls his fingers fully around his shaft. Another quick gasp leaves him, but Kai exhales noisily and bites the inside of his cheek to prevent any premature noises from escaping. Even though he’s never done this before, Kai doesn’t want to feel like an amateur. Whenever Kai has you, he’ll have to do more than this, right? He needs to practice now. He needs to make you feel good. He makes sure his grip is firm enough before he caaaaaaaarefully drags his fist down. Intensity shoots from his cock all the way to his brain, an explosion that sends his eyes rolling back into his skull and his head thrashing against the wall. Kai’s eyes blow out of his brain, and he pauses, fist resting at the base of his shaft. 

He can do this. It’s all for you—all for the pretty cashier who accidentally brushed his wrist, the one who touched him so softly; the one who didn’t send blistering hives across his flesh, bubbling. You’d touched him—touched him, and it was something he’d never forget. Even now, months later, the skin underneath your fingertips still burned like a fever. He was on fire, insane, and it was that memory that spurred his hand on. Kai gasps again, and he momentarily pauses whenever his fingers slide his foreskin over his cockhead but quickly continues. Your smile, those teeth, and Kai’s rolling his wrist down again. Each little gyration of his hand is quicksilver in his body, silver and lead poisoning, something spreading like a wildfire. His chest is tight, he feels tight, Kai is lightheaded and it’s only been three pumps. 

He’s been stalking you for so long. Kai sheathes his teeth through the inside wall of his cheek so that he can force himself to keep going. He’s rubbing himself as best as he can, groaning and moaning behind melded teeth. Up and down, but his thighs are shaking. His whole body is shaking. He’s imagining your touch, imagining how it would feel for you to wrap your fingers around his cock and slowly work him off. How much longer does he need to stalk you? Kai’s right hand shoots to his face, and the phone escapes his grasp and falls onto the floor, clattering embarrassingly loud, just to slap his mouth before it covers his eyes, massages into his brow line before it lids his mouth again. His cock is like a war drum, harder and harder, louder and louder, and Kai feels like he’s about to implode, about to plaster out, guts and grits and dregs splattered across the bathroom. He doesn’t want to wait any longer. 

His hips meet each pump of his hand now—it’s like clockwork, he can't control it. He’s panting, mewling for breath, and tears are brimming to life in his eyes. A few loose ones start trickling down the apples of his face, boiling, and Kai is whimpering behind his palm. The smiles of his nails slice the skin around his mouth, but it doesn’t ground him. Kai knows almost everything about you. There’s the strange pressure building up underneath his belly, and it’s almost too much for Kai to take. He can’t breathe now, he’s holding his breath, but he doesn’t even know why he’s doing that. There’s disease in his lungs, but Kai doesn’t care. Smoke, ash, and candle wicks, and it doesn’t stop the twisting, the cottonmouth in his belly coiling itself, pink mouth exposed. You probably don’t even remember that Kai exists. When he glances to the floor to see his phone, a few fat rivulets of tears drip onto its screen, fogging up the already mystical photo. Kai’s  stare is imploring whenever he starts to focus on it again. 

How would you have sex? Would you want to be on top or would you want him to be on top? Would you submit to him? Would he have to use toys on you? What sort of fetishes do you have? What about kinks? What places would be the most sensitive to touch? What places would make you moan the loudest? 

Kai’s cock is wailing now, banging its desolate body against the walls of its cage, and his fist is hammering himself in. That pushing, that tourniquet, soggy and dry, is spinning and spinning, and Kai’s starting to feel so dizzy and weightless. His fist is a mile a minute, aching and tense. 

Would you touch him until time ended? Would you never take your eyes off of him? Would you dedicate yourself to him like he would you? Would you beg him to hide you away from the rest of this disease-ridden world for your own safety? Would you only look at him until you died? 

Airy and whiny moans are tumbling out of his mouth, spilling over the edge and splashing to the floor. Kai feels so close, he doesn’t even know what close is, but he feels something, it’s imminent and impending, it won’t last much longer. 

Would you love him? Kai loves you, loves you, and only you. You have to love him back. He’ll make you. You’ll have to see what you do to him. You’d like his collection of you. You need to love him back. Kai wants to know what it’ll be like to have sex with you. He wants to know what it’ll be like to be inside of you for the rest of your lives. Kai needs it. Needs it. He’ll die without it. 

Kai needs you so bad that he can taste the desire on his tongue, and it only takes one sparing glance at that image of you, and only a tiny tug at his cock, and Kai is yelling. Everything in him fulminates, mushrooming out of control, and tremors seize his body. He’s cumming, Kai is cumming. And he’s whimpering, crying so hard and dipping his head down until his chin almost touches his collar bones. He’s trembling, white plumes squirting out of his cock uselessly, making a disgusting mess on the linoleum, but he can't concentrate on that. He’s staring at that image of you. He’s sitting there naked on a toilet in a bathroom, but you’re out there not with him. You’re not with him. You’re not here. He’s by himself, pleasuring himself, hidden away in a bathroom. 

Throes of passion and pleasure are melting through him, pillowing him in things he’s never felt before, but his reality remains true. 

You’re not his. 

Kai’s cock throbs again, desperate. 

You’re not his. 

Kai feels like his head is turning circles, on a carousel that won’t stop, quicker and faster, and it’s keeping his body suctioned to its agony. His fist never unfurls from his cock, and he starts pumping again. Harder. And his teeth make this terrible sound whenever they slide together, but Kai is staring at his phone and he bends forward so he can quickly snatch it back up, and his thumb begins madly flicking through the hundreds of images of you. He doesn’t even have a destination in mind—just you. 

You’re not his. 

Yet.