xxx

you gently raise me to your mouth and play with my upper lip.

[m1chaelis]

the night ignores that wish and brings morning.

⛓️ hello, i'm seb. i'm 21, he/him. i'm an employed college graduate and i write in my free time, which is what this blog is for. 🪽 🐈‍⬛ as a rule my writing is 16+, and specifically adult content is marked as such. please exercise caution. i try to tag everything appropriately, so if you aren't interested in something, please avoid it for your own sake. i write darkfic. 🪦 🐦‍⬛ my rentry can be found here. my main is @dontplaydumb. 🖤 minorisato -> icebeeam -> m1chaelis.

[m1chaelis]

in a single moment, breaking down

ivantilluka // alien stage // wc: 6029 // warnings: drinking and second hand embarrassment mostly // notes: this is based on the school au, unrequited hyuluka. yaaay angst

Hyuna invites him.

Hyuna invites him because Hyuna invites him to everything. Hyuna wants him to get out and meet more people, make more friends. Luka knows why she does this– Hyuna is going to move very far away one day, after graduation, with all her other fun friends, and Luka isn’t coming, so he needs to stop relying on her. Neither of them will acknowledge it, will voice that reason, but they both know it. As much as it makes sense, it still twists his insides to know.

Luka doesn’t normally go to parties, is the thing. He’s not sure he’d even know what to do at one. But Hyuna wants him to come– she practically begs him, even, to please come. And as much as Luka feels like he doesn’t really want to, he can’t keep denying Hyuna.

When Friday night comes, Hyuna and Hyunwoo both pick him up outside of his dorm. He’s wearing the same thing he’d always wear– his glasses, button-up, jeans. Their car is beat up and falling apart but he gets in and it’s comfortable, the fuzz of the backseat is a nice, familiar texture. The AC chugs, and with it comes the scent of linen from the same old clip-on air freshener Hyuna has been buying since she was 16 and first got the junker. It smells fine– not clinical, but clean, not medical enough to bother him.

Hyuna throws him a hello and starts going on about the party they’re going to, sort of giving Luka the run-down. “It’s at the frat house up on Stray road– not Phi Ep, I know you’ve heard of that one.” (Luka has not.) “It’s at Lambda’s house, they’re the gay frat.” (Gay frat? Do you need to be gay to be initiated?) “They just tend to be like… safer than the average party.” (She does not elaborate.) “There’s going to be alcohol but you do not need to drink. It’s actually probably better to avoid it since this is your first party. Especially if someone offers it to you.” (Hyunwoo nods along with this.) “You know not to take any like, mysterious pills. But also if someone offers you a blunt or cigarettes don’t take those either. I know you don’t smoke but like still.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” Luka tells her. She laughs, and turns to Hyunwoo, critiquing his music choice. Luka doesn’t really talk for the rest of the ride.

When they pull up, there are approximately seven other cars outside at minimum, which feels like a lot, but then Luka sees the amount of people on the porch alone and he’s confused how so many people could fit into so few cars. Do people’s parents drop them off at parties? That feels ridiculous. If he ever brought the possibility up to Heperu… Well, he wouldn’t do that anyway, he supposes.

Hyuna grabs hold of his hand, carefully pulling him up the driveway and past the people on the porch. Luka adjusts his glasses only to stare down at the ground– he very suddenly gets the feeling that everyone is looking at him. Yeah. Hi. Don’t mind me. Hyuna pulls him into the building as Hyunwoo trails behind them, stopping every now and then to talk to the people around them. Luka surveys the room to the best of his ability– it’s kind of dark? It’d be easier to see if they turned on more lights, but there’s just a few lamps of different colours. Frankly bad bass-laden music is pumping through a dollar store speaker in a corner of the room, and he can see– Sua? He thinks? She doesn’t seem like the type to go to parties, from what he knows about her, but then he sees Mizi on her arm and it makes a little more sense. Hyuna seems to also spot them, and she drags Luka over.

“Mizi!” Hyuna shouts over the music, catching the pinkette’s attention. Mizi lights up seeing Hyuna, letting out an omg hiiiiii as they give each other a one-armed hug. They start talking, and they’re closer to the speaker now, so Luka can only half-hear it over the music. He’s pretty sure they’re talking about the recent cheer competition that Mizi was at, which he’s not exactly interested in, so he instead turns his attention to Sua.

Sua gives him a half-smile. He returns it. “Were you also dragged here?” She asks, not yelling but loud enough to be heard, and she sounds a little more mirthful than her expression would indicate.

He nods, gesturing to Hyuna. “Her idea.”

Sua chuckles a little. “Mizi wanted me to come. It’s not too bad.” Luka sort of takes that as a good omen. If Sua– the quiet little library assistant– can have fun at a party, surely Luka can enjoy it. At minimum, surely he won’t want to kill himself.

They talk for a bit– not about anything remotely interesting, Luka just asking how her classes have been going really, before Sua is pulled away by Mizi. Both of them migrate further into the house, and so Luka figures he should turn back to Hyuna. Only, when he does so, Hyuna has completely disappeared. Likely saw one of her other friends and took off– and he can’t seem to spot Hyunwoo, either.

That’s. Bad. He’d sort of internally structured his whole night around the expectation that he’dd be glued to Hyuna the whole time. With her being gone, he’s not sure what to do, and he quickly sticks to the closest wall. It’s not like he knows anyone here– well, he knows Hyuna, and Hyunwoo, and Mizi and Sua. But Mizi and Sua just left to make out in the corner and Hyuna and Hyunwoo have both vanished into the air. So he’s a little lost. He moves along the wall, away from the mass of people, hoping that he can find a slightly quieter spot– he’s not so foolish to think he can find a spot to actually be alone in a crowded frat house. He ends up closer to the kitchen, where there are seemingly four hundred jocks (exaggeration) all in their letterman jackets pounding four hundred beers (not an exaggeration) one after the other. He definitely doesn’t wanna be here, either.

He spots one– easy to spot because he’s taller than all the rest– standing off to the side, not actually drinking. The emo (?) kid on his arm is dual-wielding a drink and a cigarette, though. They both make eye contact with him. The jock smiles at him, giving a polite wave, even though Luka is certain he’s never met this man before. The goth (?) kid just kind of tilts his head at Luka, as though regarding him curiously. Why are you here? That look asks. Sort of out of place. And Luka hopes the fearful expression he inevitably makes back conveys I’m not sure why I’m here either.

Luka doesn’t wave back, he just turns back around, leaving the kitchen. Don’t even worry about it. He’s still hugging the wall as he tries to make his way towards the exit. He can’t find Hyuna still, he feels like a lost child, and he remembered he actually has homework to do, so it’s time to go. Very fun but he’ll be leaving now. He reaches for his phone, very willing to just call a lyft to get back to his dorm, but someone grabs his hand as he reaches behind himself. Luka whips his head around, yanking his hand away, feeling his heart rate spike slightly in a way he isn’t used to.

It’s the fucking emo (?) kid.

“Yo,” he starts, and Luka almost feels offended. He furrows his brows, wanting to snap at the other– don’t touch me, he wants to start, and then maybe, what do you want, I’m leaving. But he doesn’t do that, because he needs to survive another year in the same college as these people and Hyuna really, really wants him to make friends. So he doesn’t do that.

“Hi?” He asks, squinting at the goth (?) in a way that hopefully portrays his confusion.

“Yo,” the other repeats. His silver hair shines with the multi-colour light of the party reflecting onto it, green and teal hues. It looks almost glittery. The music dies down, the song changing as he continues. “You’re in my psych class. Psychology of Art and Creativity.”

Luka raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t know if he’d ever seen this person before, but he also doesn’t pay attention to many people in his classes– he prefers to just keep his head down, focusing on his notes and his work. Which is really what he ought to be doing right now– they have an exam coming up in that class, now that he thinks about it. Luka should be in his quiet solo dorm, (thank you lifelong health issues,) studying and studying and studying. But instead he’s here. Talking to a cross-faded punk (?) boy. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve seen you,” Luka tells him.

The boy shrugs. “I sit in the back,” he explains. “I’ve drawn you.”

Luka startles a bit, shaking his head slightly and blinking away his surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve drawn you,” he repeats. “Oh my god you don’t know my name. Wait. Okay. I’m Till. I’ve drawn you,” Till repeats for a third time, and he sort of extends his hand, which Luka hesitantly shakes. “You’re not gonna dap me up?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Luka grimaces.

Till snorts, looking down at the ground and then back up at Luka. “You’re funny, okay. It’s like–” he grabs Luka’s hand again, and Luka is slightly uncomfortable, but he really does not want to make a scene, so he just sort of lets his hand go limp. “You like– you grab– are your fingers purple?”

Okay, now Luka snatches his hand back. “I have a medical condition,” he explains, though he knows it’s beyond pointless to try and explain this to a drunk man.

Luka glances behind Till to see the same jock from earlier trotting up to them. He has black hair which falls down in front of one of his eyes, and it looks like he has a snaggletooth which pokes out between his lips. He places a hand on Till’s shoulder, drawing the shorter’s attention back up to him. Till seems happy to see the taller. “I told you not to get too far from me,” the jock chuckles, before turning to Luka. “I’m so sorry about him. He can’t handle his alcohol.”

“Yes I can,” Till huffs. “I was telling him– I’ve drawn him.”

The jock tilts his head, seeming to think for a second, before pointing at Luka. Till nods. The jock lights up, and Luka can’t help but find that he seems to resemble a dog like that. “Oh my gosh, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ivan. Till talks about you a lot.”

“It’s not a lot!” Till counters. “That makes it sound weird.”

It already sounded weird, Luka thinks, but he can’t exactly process all this information coming to him at once. “Evan?” He questions, squinting up at the taller.

“No, ee-vahn. It’s Slavic,” the jock explains. “Don’t worry, some of my teammates still get it wrong.”

That seems shitty. You work with those people for months and they still can’t pronounce your name? Luka wants to question, but he keeps quiet. “I’m Luka.”

“That’s a nice name,” Ivan tells him, and his eyes squint a little when he smiles. He seems… genuine, in a way that feels both calculated and vulnerable. “Sorry for coming up to you out of nowhere. Is this your first party?”

It seems insanely obvious, to the point that asking feels redundant, but Luka doesn’t voice this either. “Yes, it is,” he sighs. “I… came with someone, but I can’t find her. She knows more people than me.”

Ivan laughs a little. “You looked sort of confused when we saw you in the kitchen.”

“You should see my drawings,” Till interrupts, bringing them back to the initial topic. “They’re in my dorm. We can go to my dorm.”

“Till,” Ivan clicks his tongue. Till is definitely not in his right mind, inviting someone who is basically a stranger back to his room– doesn’t he have a roommate? “You don’t need to. Our dorm is on campus, so it’s a little out of the way.”

Luka notes the use of the word our, blinking. Ivan says this like he doesn’t actually mind the idea of taking someone who they barely know back to his and Till’s room. “I live on campus too,” Luka says, and it slowly dawns on him that if he does take the two up on this offer, that’s his ticket out of the overcrowded and underinteresting party. He’ll just… call Hyuna later and tell her he caught a ride. She’ll barely believe it, but he doesn’t want to drag her away from the party when she’s almost certainly busy having fun. “I… am kind of curious,” he admits.

He is basically just using this as an excuse to get back on campus, but the part about him being curious is true. He’s never had someone draw him before– he didn’t realize Till observed him that closely. Luka didn’t even know Till until, what, ten minutes ago? This concept is foreign and fascinating to him, to observe someone you don’t know in such a way. Luka had studied Hyuna– Hyuna had been a constant in his life, so he, of course, could tell you every quirk of her expressions– the way she closes her eyes when she laughs, how she twitches when she’s angry. But Luka has known Hyuna forever. He would never put that thought into a stranger, would he?

Though, he supposes that’s what he’s been doing, thinking about how Ivan squints when he smiles and how Till furrows his brows when he stares.

“I can drive us there, if you’re okay with it,” Ivan explains, taking a step forward, closer to Luka. “We took my car to get here in the first place.” (“I could drive,” Till huffs, and everyone ignores him.) “The other guys can call an uber.”

Luka gulps. Accepting an offer to go to the dorm of two complete strangers is… definitely not his best idea, but staying at the party isn’t looking tempting either. And. Well. Till is drunk, so if they were going to assault or kill him, Till probably would have blabbed about it already. “Yeah,” he says simply, looking down at the ground. Ivan places a hand on Till’s back, leading the shorter through the crowd, and Luka follows alongside them.

Once they’re outside, Luka takes a deep breath. He didn’t realize how awful the air was inside until he had access to clean, fresh air. It was so stagnant, smelling purely of booze, and he almost gets nauseous when the outside air washes over him in contrast. Ivan doesn’t stop to wait, more focused on helping the drunk man to his car, black and far newer looking than Hyuna’s. It’s only as Luka is sliding into the backseat while Ivan helps fasten Till into the passenger seat that Luka works up the courage to ask, “So, are you two…”

Ivan exhales a chuckle. “Dating, yeah. Don’t worry, you’re okay to ask.” Luka nods, though Ivan doesn’t see it. Ivan gets Till settled in and gets into the driver's seat. “What about you? You said you came with someone, but if you lost her, I’m assuming she’s not your girlfriend.”

Luka glances away. Ivan’s a bit forward, isn’t he? It’s a bit of a sensitive topic for Luka– he had liked her, when they were younger. She was the first person to introduce him to a lot of things when he was out of the hospital. She helped him get away from Heperu. She was kind and gave him attention when a lot of people simply passed him by. He had tried to confess his feelings to her when they were in middle school, which was a mistake. Not only did he get rejected (turns out she likes women,) but it had borderline ruined their relationship. They talked distinctly less for the rest of that school year, and when they did really talk again, Luka swore he was over it, he had totally moved on. It was only half true.

He’d gotten better about it over the years– they’re in college now, you know. He likes to think he’s actually 100% over it now. But it hurts to remember that time in the same way it hurts to know that one day Hyuna is going to leave, really leave. She’s his safe person, and one day she’s going to disappear. That’s why she wanted him to go to the party in the first place.

“No,” Luka tells him. “She’s not.”

“So are you single, then?” Ivan asks, glancing at him through the mirror.

Luka squints, adjusting his glasses. He’s not sure why Ivan cares. “Yes, I am.”

“Huh. Thought you’d be dating someone,” Ivan accentuates. “You’re pretty.”

Luka startles. That’s– he’s never really been called pretty before. Hyuna said he was pretty, when they were children, but that’s different. Beyond that, it’s odd to hear it coming from Ivan. “I’m not sure how your boyfriend would feel about you saying that,” he huffs.

Ivan only laughs. “The guy who drew you hundreds of times and talks about that pretty guy in my psych class all the time? Right, he’d be so upset.” Till doesn’t say anything– he may be asleep, or distracted.

Luka just huffs, furrowing his brows, looking out the window. The rest of the ride is quiet.

When they pull back onto campus, turning down a windy little road, Ivan pulls into one of the lots very close to his dorm. Luka doesn’t drive himself, but he knows those parking passes aren’t cheap. He unbuckles, opening the door for Luka like a little gentleman, and Luka slides out, shutting the door behind him as Ivan moves to help Till out of the passenger seat. Till was asleep, apparently, and he seems a little more steady after taking the short nap. Luka fiddles with his hands as Till and Ivan have a quiet back and forth, before Ivan turns to the blonde, giving a thumbs up, and they start the trek towards their dorm.

Ivan and Till live in one of the sophomore dorms– so they’re both only a little younger than Luka, a junior. It has five floors, and Ivan and Till are at the very top, at the very end of the hall. It seems run-down compared to the dorm Luka was in– his building, where the solo rooms were for the medically complicated students, was always kept very clean, in tip-top shape. It perturbs him slightly that he sees an abandoned sock and crumbs littering the hallway, that the lights are dim, as though they may burn out any day now. He’s all too happy to get out of the dirty hallway and into Ivan and Till’s… controlled mess of a room.

Luka surveys it from the doorway, unsure of what to do with himself. He can tell who’s side is whose– Till’s has an easel set up, with paint bottles all strewn about his desk. There are sketchbooks piled on his chair, and a basket of mostly-black laundry next to his bed. His bed is unmade. Ivan’s, in contrast, has a pristine looking bed, but his desk is covered in looseleaf paper and unorganized notebooks, and three different open soda cans. What the hell is that about. At minimum, the floor is clear.

Till basically immediately plops into Ivan’s bed, nuzzling into the pillow there, not bothering to pull the blankets over himself. Ivan chuckles, watching him do this, and then goes to Till’s pile of sketchbooks. Luka didn’t notice it at first, but leaning against Till’s desk is a black portfolio case. Makes sense, he must be an art major. Luka has no idea what Ivan’s major is, though– he can’t tell just by looking. He’s pulled away from pondering it by the man himself, who directs Luka’s attention to an open sketchbook.

Luka is greeted by himself. The sketch of him, done in light pencil strokes, is masterful, with each stroke being carefully placed, and he can feel his heart become almost lighter, looking at how much detail and time clearly went into the piece. Luka has no idea how Till was able to look at him long enough to manage such a well-done piece, but he can’t help but be impressed. “It’s beautiful,” he breathes. “I had no idea.” It’s almost a romanticized version of himself– Till made him look too beautiful, drawing each curl to twirl around Luka’s head in a way that compliments his facial structure more than they ever could in real life. The only thing that’s odd is that Till draws him without glasses.

Luka points to his eyes, and he’s about to question Ivan as to why exactly Till does this, but Ivan beats him to it. “He doesn’t know how to draw glasses,” Ivan chuckles.

That seems absurd, to Luka. Till is talented enough to basically draw Luka as though he’s an angel, but he can’t draw glasses. As Luka is contemplating this, Till calls from Ivan’s bed, “Don’t flip too far.”

“I won’t,” Ivan chuckles. Luka looks up at him questioningly, almost concerned. What exactly is in the sketchbook? Ivan flips one page, and it reveals smaller headshots, also of Luka. Some halfbody shots of him in his button-ups. It looks like Till made an attempt to draw the glasses, in these ones, but they look comical and out of place– blocky rectangles sat atop delicately detailed features. He really can’t draw them. 

Till makes a noise, and Ivan moves from hovering over Luka’s shoulder to being at his boyfriend’s side. Till is mumbling about needing something, probably water, and Ivan is petting his silver hair softly. It’s cute. They clearly like each other. Luka, being nosey, uses this gentle and intimate moment to flip to the next page of the sketchbook.

There’s a naked image of himself, drawn in those same careful and gentle strokes that depicted the first image. He’s drawn out in such a way that he looks shy, one arm over his bare chest, grabbing his own shoulder, the other reaching down to bashfully and conveniently cover his privates. His hip bones and collarbone jut out a bit in a way that Luka never noticed if they did in real life. He never put that thought into his own appearance, but clearly Till did. There are words scrawled across the bottom in barely legible handwriting– handsome psych guy. Luka lets out a startled noise seeing it.

Ivan snaps his head back around, and Till sits up suddenly, before leaning down again and holding his head in his hands. Ivan rushes over to Luka, quickly taking the sketchbook out of his hands and slamming it shut, and setting it back down onto the top of the pile. “I am so sorry!” Ivan grimaces, as though he drew it. “You were not supposed to see that one, I am so sorry.”

“Oh my goddddddd,” Till drawls. “Oh my goddddddd. Killing myself.”

“Killing yourself?!” Luka parrots, befuddled. “You’re the one who drew it! You invited me back to your dorm specifically so I could see!” He sounds angry, but he’s really not. He’s… oddly flattered, that someone put that much thought into his appearance that they would draw him in such a way.

He feels something inside of him twist. Is he really that lonely? That a borderline stranger drawing a nude portrait of him is flattering? Is he that desperate for companionship, for someone to look at him that way? He’d only ever put thought or stock into his relationship with Hyuna, and that wasn’t going anywhere. It was never going to go anywhere, and he knew that, he accepted that. But still, he clung to her. And that led to him getting to the point that he’s at now– where genuine strangers thinking of him in such a way had him feeling more flattered than disturbed. And then that twisting turns into a stabbing sort of pain when his brain very unhelpfully adds on, and they’re taken. By each other. 

This, too, is a dead end.

Luka collects himself. “It’s very well done,” he admits, looking away. “I’m impressed by your technical skill. And…” he shouldn’t admit this, really. He should turn tail and run from the two perverts that have kidnapped him. “I’m flattered, by how you draw me. It’s so… angelic?” He settles on, though he isn’t sure about his own word choice. “It almost doesn’t even look like me.”

“You don’t think so?” Till questions, raising his head from his hands only to stare at Luka, confused.

“Well… well, no?” Luka huffs. Why is he getting embarrassed? They should be embarrassed for harboring these images of him. Still, he feels a flush coming across his face. “I’m not this pretty in real life.”

“Okay, well,” Ivan starts, “as someone who never even saw you before now, I personally think you are that pretty in real life.”

Luka furrows his brows, eye twitching, looking up at the taller. “Don’t say that,” he tells the jock, trying to sound commanding. He’s sure he just sounds flustered.

“Why not?” Ivan questions, as genuine as he was earlier, however real that actually was.

“What’s your goal here?!” Luka snaps, fiddling with his hands in front of him. “You– you bring me back to your dorm, show me this stuff, you’ve been complimenting me this whole time, but you’re both dating already, I don’t see the point of pursuing me when you already have each other!” Luka lets out, all in one breath. It actually leaves him a little winded, not helped by the lump rising in his throat. “I just don’t understand what either of you are getting at.”

Till seems to sober up a bit at this, rising from Ivan’s bed, swinging his legs over the side. “I mean… a date, I guess?”

That doesn’t help. It helps so little, in fact, that Luka breaks, and he actually starts crying embarrassingly, standing in the middle of their dorm. “Stop messing with me,” he commands, removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes as Ivan and Till just stare at him, uncertain of how to proceed. “This isn’t– it’s not funny,” Luka sobs.

Till is stood at Ivan’s side now, and the two glance at each other as Luka sniffles and tries to control himself. He’s being ridiculous– what was he even hoping would happen? All he wanted was to get out of the party, away from everything, away from the evidence of his lack of friends and away from the evidence that Hyuna didn’t need him. Did he secretly want the two to sweep him off his feet, to take him in? Why did his heart flutter so when he saw the drawings of himself? How stupid could he be?

Hesitantly, like he isn’t sure it’s the right decision to make, Ivan reaches out, wrapping his arms around the blonde, and Luka hates the contact but he leans into it at the same time. “There, there,” Ivan tries, and Till rubs his back gently. “We aren’t messing with you. We really aren’t. You’re so pretty, Luka.”

“Ivan was right, I talk about you all the time,” Till explains, “When I showed him the drawings, he immediately wanted to know more about you.”

Luka just lets the words wash over him as he sort of pathetically sobs into Ivan’s chest. He’s not hugging back, just standing there. He’s trying to remember the last time he was hugged– and just like that, he’s back in time. Heperu’s fingers are tangled into his curls and he presses Luka into a facsimile of a hug, going back and forth between praise and ridicule, each in the same breath. You can hold your breath a little longer, can’t you, Luka? You’re so sweet, if only you could listen. Back then, Luka had hugged Heperu back, desperate for any sort of comfort from his caregiver. In the present day, Luka shakily raises his hands to grip at Ivan’s jacket, trying to emulate the action. It’s something.

“You’re okay,” Ivan coos, “you’re okay. I’m really so sorry. We weren’t trying to do anything. We’re not trying to pressure you into anything. We genuinely think you’re beautiful, Luka.”

Luka sniffles, and pulls his head away enough that he can tilt his gaze upwards, looking at Ivan. He’s not sure what to say. Ivan looks down at him, and then to Till. Till shrugs. Ivan turns back to Luka. “Luka, do you wanna sit for a minute?”

Luka nods into Ivan’s chest, and the two help Luka move to Till’s bed, and he carefully sits on it. He grabs at Till’s comforter, and it’s a good texture, it’s soft. The bed itself feels softer than his own, like Till might have a mattress pad. Luka, thinking back to his own bed, with the bare minimum of sheets-blanket-pillow, decides that Till’s bed, with two pillows, a comfortable blanket and even a few stuffed animals, is much better. “You can lay down if you want, I don’t really care if your shoes get on my bed,” Till tells him. Luka sort of leans over onto the sheets, but he still keeps his legs off the side. Everything is blurry– where did he put his glasses? The concern leaves him quickly, though, as the blurry mass that is Till returns a hand to Luka’s head, ruffling his hair.

“We really genuinely weren’t gonna do anything,” Ivan repeats. “We just… wanted to connect with you, really.”

“I wanted to show you my drawings,” Till huffs. “Which is kind of stupid, in retrospect.”

“It’s fine,” Luka sniffles. “I’m genuinely flattered. I just…” His voice is quiet, like he’s nervous to express his thoughts. He’s still thinking back to when he was younger– his medical issues made it so that his voice was often too quiet to be heard anyway, but it did not help that Heperu had very strict rules regarding speaking out of turn. “I just don’t see the point when you’re both already dating.”

“Because you’re hot,” Till states bluntly, his hand still gently raking through Luka’s hair. “And me and my also-hot boyfriend are in agreement that you’re hot. Oh no, another hot guy. What am I gonna do with two hot guys.” He’s being terribly sarcastic.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Ivan huffs at his boyfriend. “But… yes, we both found you attractive.”

Luka squints up at the blurry Ivan. “You never even saw me before tonight.”

“But Till’s drawings are very realistic, no?”

Luka can’t deny that. He saw for himself how good the drawings were– makes sense, for an art major. He still thinks that Till maybe made him look a little too pretty, and in that sense, it is unrealistic, but the majority of Luka’s features were copied exactly, from the structure of his cheekbones to the shape of his nose to the way he parts his hair. “So you both find me pretty.” The both of them hum in agreement. “And you both… wanted to meet me? And go on a date? When you had never seen me before, never even met me? What if I’m a serial killer?”

“I don’t think a serial killer would have burst into tears in our dorm room,” Till states, and Luka can’t quite see it but he’s sure the silver haired boy rolled his eyes.

“Also,” Ivan adds, “our dorm room would be a terrible place to kill us. It’s our dorm room. We’d be found immediately. You ought to try a lake.”

“I’m not actually going to kill you people,” Luka grits through his teeth.

“Then there’s nothing to be worried about!” And Ivan’s mass moves, bending down, and then Luka’s glasses are sliding back on and he can see again. Ivan is doing that squinting smile that he did earlier– the sort of smile of a man who is exceptionally pleased with himself. Luka feels his face start to heat up again slightly with how close Ivan is to him, their faces merely inches apart, only for all three of them to startle as Luka’s phone starts loudly ringing, the basic Samsung ringtone resounding throughout the room.

Luka sits up, answering it without looking as Till and Ivan collect themselves. “He-hello?”

“Luka!” Hyuna’s voice rings out, “I’ve been texting you! Me and Hyunwoo are leaving the party now, we can’t find you. Where the heck are you?”

Luka moves his phone so he can quickly check the time. Two in the morning already. He has a nine AM class the next morning. Yikes. “I, uh,” he sniffles again. “I’m actually back on campus already.”

“You are?!” Hyuna sounds surprised, and she’s speaking loudly, like there might still be music playing and she’s trying to be heard over it. “Did you meet people? Did you catch a ride? Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt right?”

Emotionally hurt slightly, yes. But that’s not what she means. “No, I’m– I’m okay, I… made friends?” He can’t help how confused he sounds, needing to put a label to what exactly Ivan and Till are to him. Borderline-strangers-who-want-to-romance-him doesn’t roll off the tongue as well. “They, uhm, gave me a ride. I’m in their dorm now.”

“You have the pepper spray I gave you, right?”

Till and Ivan look at each other, suddenly seeming a bit concerned. “Hyuna, you never gave me pepper spray,” Luka sighs. “But I don’t– I don’t need to pepper spray them, they’re normal.”

“Oh my god, I totally meant to give you pepper spray,” she chuckles slightly. “Okay, well, be careful okay? Me and Hyunwoo are gonna be coming back soon, we’re probably just gonna go to our dorms and crash.”

Luka nods, though Hyuna can’t see it. “Sounds good. Uh. Bye.”

“Bye-bye, Luka!” And then the hangup chime plays. Luka sets his phone in his lap, just looking down at it.

“Thanks for not pepper spraying us,” Till huffs, crossing his arms.

Luka sighs, standing from Till’s bed. His legs feel weirdly stiff and uncomfortable. “I said I don’t have any on me,” he explains. “I really should get back to my dorm soon, though. I didn’t realize it was so late, and I have an early class.”

“You could stay overnight,” Ivan offers. “I don’t think either of us would really mind.”

Luka glances over the two of them. He’s almost tempted to take them up on the offer, to stay here, in this comfortable bed with two people who have shown him more outward affection than he’s received in years. In this dorm with the soft lighting and the art of him, the pictures that were drawn out of sheer admiration. He still has so many questions– he’s stumbled into this and now he wants to know more, not only about their feelings towards him, but about the two as people. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He needs to go back to his dorm and clear his head.

What he does do is he gives Ivan and Till his phone number. He tries to act nonchalant about it, like it’s no big deal, but there’s no denying the way the two seem to glow when he offers it up.

After he leaves, not even before he’s out of the building itself, he’s added to a group chat with the two of them, and he enters their contacts. They’re the first contacts he’s entered outside of Heperu, Hyuna and Hyunwoo.

Once he’s back in his own dorm, he wastes no time in stripping down to his boxers and collapsing onto the bed. He’s out in seconds, and he doesn’t wake up in time for his nine AM class, either.

[m1chaelis]

i'll be damned if i see you with some other man.

kuroshitsuji // sebaclaude // wc: 3949 // warnings: NSFT, consensual but not safe or sane, physical (and some verbal) abuse. // notes: modern au, sebastian is in a graduate program. they're both in like their mid-20s here.

Claude doesn’t usually care, is the thing.

He and Sebastian have had this arrangement for… over five years, at this point. At least since they were in high school. The silent agreement that most people bored them, and they, at the very minimum, had each other. They weren’t dating, that was far too romantic a term for it. People who were dating, who were in a romantic relationship, they didn’t act the way Claude and Sebastian did towards each other. People are concerned enough when Sebastian explains his bruises as an “aggressive roommate”– “aggressive boyfriend” gets the cops showing up at your house because complete strangers called them.

They weren’t romantically involved, but they also didn’t hate each other, despite what public perception might gleam. First of all, half of those bruises were consensual. Sometimes Sebastian wants to be smacked around, that was part of their unspoken agreement, part of their little arrangement. Sometimes Sebastian just gets pissy and hits Claude first, and well, Claude isn’t going to not hit back. And sometimes it would end in full-blown fist fights, where by the time they’re covered in bruises and cuts and marks they don’t really remember why they’re fighting, just that they are fighting. Usually then Sebastian, with a black eye and a grip on his own shoulder, will ask if Claude wants a beer and he’ll say he doesn’t drink that shit and then he’ll be on the couch drinking one anyway while Sebastian blows him.

That had started when they were still in high school– Sebastian was actually the one to propose it, in a way. And by that Claude really means that he sort of went out of his way to start a fight with the other, and an hour later, on the floor, dripping sweat, Sebastian had smiled, saying “We should do this again.”

So they did. And it became readily clear that the fighting was a sex thing. Sebastian had notably been around their school and back, and he’d once explained that it didn’t do him any good. “It’s all just boring,” he’d said. “Everyone wants the same thing. It doesn’t matter who it is. I just got tall really fast and now everyone just– do I look like a top?” He’d asked honestly, and Claude replied something along the lines of you have dick-sucking lips, and then they started fighting again. And once they were done smacking each other around, Sebastian had continued, “I like the fighting. But hitting hookups makes you look like a freak.”

“You are a freak.”

Sebastian ignored that. “It adds to it. Makes it feel better.”

At the same time, Claude suspected that maybe Sebastian just liked fighting, even outside of sex. Maybe it helped get his feelings out. Claude was never really good with that– another reason that it’d be inaccurate to call their relationship romantic, he had no idea what romance really felt like. It was less that he was in love with Sebastian and more that he had an intense preoccupation with the other, which got annoying, at times. But Sebastian, Sebastian seemed to feel everything at twice the intensity anyone else would. Claude had seen Sebastian blow up before, and the fact that the shorter often went out of his way to hide such feelings was more of a service to the general public, Claude figured. Maybe getting into fights helped a little.

It felt good, for Claude, frankly. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Maybe the feeling of power he got from being able to best the other. Maybe there was a pavlovian effect in that it usually ended in sex, so he ended up enjoying it that way. But sometimes, he found himself thinking that he liked being able to deliver a message through it. At times, it was easier to fight than to talk.

This is sort of one of those times. Because Claude doesn’t normally care, is the thing. Sebastian is attractive, and people turn to look at him, and Sebastian doesn’t look back. Claude couldn’t give less of a shit if people lusted over the other because he ultimately knew that Sebastian would never, not in a hundred years, go for them. But it’s different when the person lusting over him is in their apartment.

Claude had pulled Sebastian into the shorter’s “bedroom”– not that he ever actually used it as such. Having separate beds was basically a complete waste of money, as Sebastian spent most time either on the floor (in Claude’s room) or in Claude’s bed (also, obviously, in Claude’s room.) “What were you thinking,” he’d asked, and he can’t help the end coming out in a hiss, as much as he’s trying to sound controlled.

Sebastian just sighs. “We needed a place to work, and the entire campus is filled with undergraduates,” he explains. “It’s finals season, you know that. The library is crowded.”

“So you brought him here?” 

“I don’t see what you’re so worried about,” Sebastian furrows his eyebrows. “It’s not like there’s anything incriminating just laying around. He’s coming to do our project. We aren’t gonna fuck on the couch.”

Claude feels his eye twitch, and he slaps Sebastian on the cheek, not as hard as he could but hard enough that Sebastian’s head snaps to the side, eyes widening in surprise before he blinks, gathering himself. Claude can see how he licks his teeth beneath his lips. It’s our space, he wants to say. Our existence is incriminating.

“If you’re so worried,” Sebastian huffs, and Claude can see how his fists ball at his sides, clenching and unclenching. He wants to hit back so bad. He wants to hit back so bad and he’s struggling not to. “Then maybe you should hold back on what you just did.”

Claude grinds his teeth. Someone else shouldn’t be in our space. But that doesn’t end up communicated, one way or another.

Sebastian drags himself away, rubbing the heel of his palm to the red mark on his face. It’s definitely going to be noticeable that that spot is more red than before, so he’s probably running through excuses as he makes his way back to the couch, where William is waiting for him.

William is. Fine. Claude was pretty sure that he was a business student, he just had that vibe about him, always dressed like he was ready to go to a nine to five, but no, apparently he and Sebastian were both in the psychology program. Undoubtedly, William was focused on the scientific aspects– what parts of the brain did what, how different incidents and chemicals affect brain functioning, how that changes people. Maybe William could tell both of them which wires were crossed to make them think that beating each other is sexy.

He’s not going to ask, though, because it’s not William’s business, and at the same time, Claude can see how William’s gaze is fixed on Sebastian, which he is distinctly more focused on. Claude pretends to be doing work at their seldom-used dining table just so he can keep an ear out for what’s going on, and occasionally spare glances at the pair, just to see William’s heavy focus all placed on Claude’s– on Sebastian. They’re not going to fuck on the couch, Sebastian had said as much, but it sure seems like William wouldn’t mind that idea.

Claude recognizes the way that William looks at Sebastian from when they were in high school. It was the look of a man realizing he’d never really considered having sex with other men before, but that he was considering it now, and didn’t quite mind the idea. Most certainly, Claude had once stared at Sebastian that same way, but that was years ago. They both had grown since then– at minimum, they had changed.

He tossed that word around in his head. Changed. He remembers not caring if Sebastian slept with other men when they were in high school. He likes to think he still doesn’t care, but does it have to be in their apartment? That’s his only complaint, he tells himself. He’s just also really starting to second-guess if that’s the truth.

Claude finds the idea prickling at his skin in a way he doesn’t like and isn’t familiar with, and he is absolutely horrified when he throws a glance back and is met with William’s hand gently resting on Sebastian’s thigh. Sebastian isn’t staring at it, nor is he saying anything about it, but his eyes flick to meet Claude’s and as fast as Claude tries to look away, it’s clear that Sebastian knows.

They spend two hours working on their project. Sebastian is all polite when William’s leaving– at some point, Sebastian’s little cardigan that he wears– which reads to Claude’s disturbed mind as basically indistinguishable from lingerie– had come off, and from that point on William’s eyes basically didn’t leave the other’s arms, decorated with simple bracelets and little cuts and with a nice layer of muscle, unless it was absolutely necessary. Claude found himself almost impressed that William could still hold a conversation like that, and beyond that, that he was shameless enough to so obviously lust over Sebastian when the man’s “roommate” was right there. Maybe he doesn’t realize he was being obvious, poor man just now learning things about himself.

The first thing that Sebastian says after locking their door back up is “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” And the first thing Claude does is punch him in the jaw. 

Sebastian reels back with the force of it, the back of his head smacking against the wood of their door, and he hisses at the sting of it, reaching his hand back to hold the sensitive spot, tentatively pressing his fingers to it. “Fucker,” he spits, and Claude’s shaking, pulling back to hit him again, but Sebastian beats him to it, landing a hit directly on the man’s collarbone, which aches and stings in a way that actually takes him out for a second.

The shorter hits him again, this time closer to his chest, and Claude doesn’t let that throw him the way the first hit did, harshly digging his fingers into Sebastian’s shoulder, punching the shorter man in the stomach repeatedly, until Sebastian is wheezing and reaching up to cover his mouth, like he’s about to vomit. Sebastian somehow, in this agony, is able to quickly stab his knee directly into Claude’s midsection, which catches the man so off-guard that he doubles over, before regaining himself and smacking a balled fist as hard as he can down onto Sebastian’s shoulder, which causes the man to lose his balance, falling to his knees.

Immediately, Claude tangles a hand into Sebastian’s hair, pulling the man forward, shoving Sebastian’s face against his clothed erection. Claude’s not even sure when he got hard, but he’s not surprised he did.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Sebastian spits, mouth still pressed into the fabric, muffling his words slightly. The movement of his mouth only serves to make Claude harder, the words themselves doing nothing to dissuade his arousal. “I cannot believe how fucking–”

Claude grits his teeth, and he pulls Sebastian back only to slap him directly across the face, harder than he had earlier, to the point that he’s certain if it wasn’t for his grip on the man’s head, Sebastian would have gone flying onto his side. Shut up, it tells him, and thankfully Sebastian does so as Claude positions his head back to mouth at his crotch.

Using his free hand, which still stings a bit from the harsh contact with Sebastian’s face– turning a beautiful shade of red– Claude reaches down, unzipping himself and hurriedly pushing down his boxers just enough for his cock to fall out, resting against Sebastian’s face. “You’re so bothersome,” Sebastian breathes, but his eyes are lidded in the way that tells Claude that he isn’t really that upset.

“I wouldn’t be bothersome if you weren’t a whore,” Claude huffs, his breath shaking as Sebastian wraps a hand around his member, the shorter’s tongue coming out to swipe along the underside of Claude’s cock. “You love the attention.”

“And you hate it,” Sebastian hums. “William didn’t do anything.”

Claude glares down at the other, and he again pulls Sebastian away to smack him, taking advantage of the way his mouth falls open from the pain to shove himself into Sebastian’s throat. The shorter gags on it, his longer bangs falling out of Claude’s hold and in front of his eyes, and he moves his hands to brace on Claude’s thighs, almost trying to fight back against it. “He wanted to,” Claude tells him, teeth clenched, “I could tell by how he looked at you.” Sebastian tries to protest despite his mouth being occupied. As it stands, the noises only elicit a groan of pleasure from Claude.

Sebastian is still trying to protest this, Claude can tell, but all he can really hear is humming and muffled noises between the obscene gluk gluk of Claude’s cock hitting the back of his throat. Claude’s grip tightens, using his leverage to guide Sebastian’s head up and down, up and down, and still, Sebastian’s balled fists hit against Claude’s legs. He can take it. Claude can be much harsher than this. Sebastian ought to be thankful, really.

“Did you do it on purpose?” Claude asks, and he can’t help how breathy he is, how his chest heaves as Sebastian glares up at him between his lashes. “Did you bring him back here knowing how bad he wanted you? Did you know I would see it?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows furrow in a way that asks what the fuck are you talking about.

“Don’t pretend,” Claude breathes, and he gives a particularly sharp thrust that causes Sebastian’s eyes to blow wide, watering, and suddenly the fists aren’t balled anymore, but rather they’re scrambling to hold onto Claude’s thighs, begging for purchase. “You saw how he looked at you. You saw–” Claude inhales sharply, through his teeth. “He would’ve taken you if I wasn’t there.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows tilt upwards in an almost concerned expression, or perhaps flustered, as a blush takes over his cheeks and he glances away. Maybe he did notice. Even if Sebastian didn’t invite William over with that in mind, even if it was genuinely just to work on their project, it was impossible that Sebastian did not notice how William’s gaze fixated on him, his arms, his eyes. Those same blood-rust eyes that looked up at Claude now in some facsimile of an apology.

“You won’t get any sympathy from me,” Claude hisses, and again, sharply forces his cock further into Sebastian’s mouth.

He fucks into Sebastian’s mouth with little care for the other– Sebastian digs his nails into Claude’s jeans, and Claude can hear how he struggles to breathe through his nose. That alone has him struggling to not cum on the spot. He’s shaking, trying to keep his breaths from sounding so laboured, but it’s hard when Sebastian is looking up at him like that, eyes squinted and teary, pleading with him to slow down.

Claude gives a few more deep thrusts before using his grip on Sebastian’s skull to drag the shorter off of him. He shudders, feeling how Sebastian’s tongue drags across the underside as he comes off and immediately reaches up to cover his mouth, gasping and heaving. He inhales far too quickly, too desperate for air, and he ends up doubling over in a coughing fit, choking on the air and squirming in Claude’s grip.

“Go on,” Claude tells him, rubbing himself against the shorter’s face, just in case Sebastian somehow forgot. “With your hands.”

Sebastian glares at him, but he does as he’s told, taking a tentative grip of Claude’s member and moving up, down, up, down, these weak, slow little movements. It’s agonizing, and Claude adjusts to yank at Sebastian’s hair, which seems to kick him into gear, and his hand speeds up.

Claude hums as he does this. “Did you imagine doing this with William? Be honest.”

Sebastian glances up at him, and then down again. “No, I didn’t. I don’t see why you’re so–”

“Ah,” Claude cuts him off. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

Huffing, the shorter grits his teeth. “No, I hadn’t thought about it.”

“He thought about it,” Claude sighs. “I could tell. And you were just teasing him that whole time, weren’t you?” Sebastian looks like he wants to protest this, but he doesn’t. “You could tell he wanted you. Anyone could. And you wanted him to think about it.”

“But I didn’t think about it,” Sebastian counters. “That’s the important part.” Thereby admitting that he did notice, and he was doing it on purpose.

“You’re such a slut,” Claude tells him, venom dripping from every word. “I don’t recall William being involved with us.”

“Suddenly, you care so much about me,” Sebastian grumbles, wrist slowing down again. He genuinely looks exhausted down there. If he wanted to stop genuinely, he would have indicated such. Claude figured he would, anyway. He bristles at the comment– if he didn’t care about Sebastian, if he found the man boring, they wouldn’t be here.

“I care about things that are mine,” he elects to say, “I care about my property.”

Sebastian huffs something that sounds like a laugh. “Right.”

It’s awkward. It’s weird. Sebastian looks tired.

“Get up,” Claude snaps at him, and Sebastian again tilts his gaze to the other, eyebrows quirking in a question, but he does so, hands– wet and gross– moving to boost him off the floor– ew, he’s going to need to clean that, ew– and Sebastian stretches himself out, standing. They’re closer in height than Claude remembered. He always sort of prided himself on being taller, but Sebastian is only maybe an inch or so beneath him. Not nearly enough for the average person to notice. “Come on.”

Normally, Claude would just tell Sebastian exactly where he expected the man to be, and Sebastian would end up there. But now he grabs at Sebastian’s wrist, pulling the man along to his– not Claude’s but Sebastian’s– room, to his bed which is perfectly made and untouched, so rarely used. Claude pulls him along, the two of them falling into the sheets, and Sebastian looks at him with intense confusion.

“My room?” Sebastian questions, and Claude nods, adjusting the two of them. He flipped Sebastian so that the other was beneath him, and Sebastian just stared up at him, still deeply confused. Claude had one knee between the shorter’s legs, moving to brush the long strands of hair out of Sebastian’s face, the other hand braced on his chest. “Why here?”

Claude removes his hand from Sebastian’s chest only briefly, pushing up his glasses. “You’re questioning my judgement?”

“You’re always on about the texture of my blankets,” Sebastian explains, brows furrowing in something not dissimilar to frustration.

Claude actually… didn’t realize that Sebastian had picked up on it. “I don’t talk about it that much,” he defends himself. They’re an objectively garbage texture. It’s the kind of mass-produced bed set you buy for twenty dollars online, just so your mattress isn’t completely bare, with half the fibers being repurposed plastic. Claude has better taste than that, frankly, but also he likes to think he has a more sensitive touch. Quickly, noticing how Sebastian’s mouth quirks in that same frustration, he gets away from defending himself. “You actually noticed, though.”

“Yes, Claude,” Sebastian grits out. “We have been living together for a year and you never use my room.”

“That’s not why I don’t use your room,” Claude tries to explain, and before he can continue, Sebastian’s eyes twitch in this way that indicates he’s going to punch Claude– the same way, each time, and before Claude can actually react to this stimulus, Sebastian’s fist is connecting with his nose– with the fucking bridge of his glasses, no less.

Claude reels his head back, and he wasn’t going to keep hitting Sebastian, but he almost instinctually winds back, slapping the man across the face for the umpteenth time that night. Sebastian’s head snaps to the side, connecting with the pillow, but he must have been anticipating it with how quickly he regains control of himself, starting to thrash underneath Claude and trying to grab at the man’s face. Like he’s trying to pull the skin off. He succeeds in getting Claude’s glasses off his face, anyway. They’re likely bent from the abuse, but Claude isn’t worried about that, wrapping his hands around Sebastian’s throat.

He’s pressing down. You aren’t supposed to just press down, that’s how you kill people. But he’s pressing down, and Sebastian can clearly tell that that is not the correct way to choke someone, because his eyes are blown wide and he’s immediately trying to pry Claude’s hands away, breathlessly repeating sorry, sorry, wait, I’m sorry.

“You’re going to listen,” Claude lets out, clenching his teeth so hard he’s sure they’ll shatter. Everything is a little blurry, with his glasses abandoned somewhere on the bed, he can see that he is holding Sebastian down and he can see the blur of Sebastian’s hands trying desperately to escape from the grip and he can vaguely see Sebastian’s mouth moving as he silently begs. “You’re going to listen.”

Sebastian’s hands are still gripping at Claude’s own, but they aren’t attempting to free himself with such fervor. Maybe he’s passing out. Maybe Claude wants him to pass out.

“I don’t not use your room because of your bed set, though it is atrocious,” Claude explains. “I don’t use your room because– because I feel like by using my room, I have control over you. I like using my room because if you sleep in my bed, that makes you mine.” He’s just talking. He has no idea if what he’s saying actually makes sense. “Mine, and only mine, and no one else has any say in that. No one else.” Sebastian is gasping. Claude loosens his grip just slightly, enough to hear Sebastian’s breath even out slightly. He clenches his eyes shut. “William does not own you. And he should not be looking at you like that when you’re– you’re mine.”

Sebastian grips at Claude’s wrist. He digs his fingers in. “Claude,” he can just barely gasp out, and Claude feels his entire being flutter with joy. Sheer joy.

“William does not give you what you need,” Claude sighs. “No one does except me. And entertaining him is a waste of your time.” He relaxes his grip, and the air comes rushing back to Sebastian in such a rush that his head lolls and he again coughs, far weaker than he had before. “That’s why I got jealous. Because you’re wasting your time.”

Sebastian rubs at his neck as Claude feels for his glasses, eventually finding them. They don’t seem bent, miraculously. “You think you own me?” He asks, and he sounds almost amused. Claude was the one person who didn’t bore him. It was more of a point of pride than he remembered it being.

“I know I do,” Claude assured him. “I’m certain.”

Sebastian hums, and Claude puts his glasses back on. It’s now that Claude finds that Sebastian looks quite pretty like this, hair tussled, clothes messy and bruises decorating his skin, leaning back on those pure black sheets that Claude hates. Claude can see, now, that Sebastian is smiling at him. “Do you think you can prove it?”

Claude leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Sebastian’s soft lips, and then he pulls back, and slaps him again.

[m1chaelis]

gonna go ahead and make this post with my new tags, it'll also obvs be in the tags on my pinned post. haven't redone the rentry yet we'll get there.

#❄️ i wrote something! -> #🐦‍⬛ shards # 🐕 prompts! -> #☁️ daydreams #🌨️ zines/projects! -> #🐈‍⬛ contracts #🏔️ poetry! -> i no longer intend to post any poems, so at least for now, this tag does not have a replacement. #🐾 message from sasha! -> #🪶 call my name #🫐 headcanons! -> #🥀 such ideas

[m1chaelis]

icebeeam -> m1chaelis. gonna be retheming over the next few days

[m1chaelis]

do you wanna know what the good, good, bad things all feel like?

twisted wonderland // oc x crowley // wc: 3489 // warnings: NSFT, dubcon cause crowley is BEYOND out of it // notes: for day 8 of kinktober, "oviposition." this is with my boyfriend's yuusona, who is a grown man janitor.

Crowley feels. Weird.

He’s sort of aimlessly wandering the halls of Night Raven College. Classes have been long since over– most students are either off in clubs, or have retired to their dorms. Because of that, not many students are around. This is fine– he’s not exactly sure what he’s looking for anyway.

He sees Trein stepping out of his lecture hall, briefcase full of notes resting on the floor. Lucius is, as is typical, resting in his master’s arms. The door to the lecture hall clicks shut, locking, and Trein bends down just enough to pick up the case. In doing so, he catches Crowley out of the corner of his eye. “Headmage,” he nods in greeting, and Crowley gives a half-hearted wave in response. The elder tilts his head to the side a bit, glancing up and down Crowley’s form. “What’s wrong with you?”

Crowley blinks repeatedly, lifting a hand to carefully touch his forehead. “Do I not look well?” He questions, sighing.

“Not at all,” Trein huffs. “You look ill. I’d hope that all of the… commotion recently, isn’t taking it’s toll on you.”

He’s referring to the overblots. He is almost certainly referring to the overblots. Crowley doesn’t know how it keeps happening. He’d been running the school for hundreds of years, and yet he’s never had a student– let alone three– overblot in his presence. He can’t help but feel like there’s something very horrible coming, but his head pounds when he tries to consider such a thing. Likely because of… whatever’s going on with him. He’s still not sure what that is, either. “I wouldn’t say so,” Crowley tells Trein, waving off his concern. “I should be fine. I believe I’m just tired today.”

Trein turns his nose up, and Lucius lets out a little meow. “Well, don’t waste your time wandering. Go and get some rest. For the headmage to be in such a disheveled state is completely unacceptable,” he expresses, voice clipped. Crowley knows that Trein is just concerned– if he wasn’t concerned, he wouldn’t bother asking Crowley how he was feeling at all. Crowley nods, assuring Trein that he will definitely go and rest as soon as possible, and also fix himself up, ‘cause he didn’t really know he looked that bad, and Trein turns, making his way home.

Crowley said that, but he finds himself wandering still anyway. It seemed like he was badly spacing out every few minutes, and when his eyes decided to work again, he was somewhere else. It was when he noticed the sun almost completely set outside that he kicked himself– what are you even wandering for, go back to your office.

As he’s trudging back to his office, though, he starts to feel… worse. A lot worse. His insides are clenching and cramping to such an extent that he actually finds it hard to walk. His cane isn’t enough to keep him held upright, and he actually starts bracing himself against the wall as he continues. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. He’s almost there, isn’t he? He feels lost again. The hallways are dark.

And then he spaces out again. And when he comes to, he’s on the floor. He feels shifting inside of him. Something is very, very wrong.

“Headmage?” A voice calls, and Crowley exhaustedly lolls his head over in what he thinks is it’s direction. In the distance, quickly trotting up to his side is–

“Yury,” Crowley lets out, his voice weak. He’s taking big, heaving breaths.

Yury Vytesnit had come to the school only a few months prior, whisked away by the carriage seemingly purely by accident. The mirror had not been willing to put him back– this one belongs nowhere. Crowley remembered the look on Yury’s face as he heard such a thing. Crowley may have expected disappointment, sadness, heartbreak, even– but instead, he looked resigned. Almost like he expected such a thing. Of course, Crowley, the kind-hearted headmage he fancied himself, couldn’t just leave the man to fend for himself. If he truly did come from another world– which it did seem he was being honest about– then that would basically be leaving him to die.

He’s a grown human man, well into his 30s, so calling him a student was a bit of a stretch, really only applicable in that he was living in Ramshackle. No, instead of making him a student, Crowley gave him a job. He’s a hard worker, and makes a damn fine janitor, if Crowley may say so. He was a pleasant man, knew a little bit about everything, and quite a lot about a select few things. Crowley found himself completely incapable of guessing just what, exactly, Yury knew and didn’t know. Sometimes he overestimated– more often, however, he vastly, vastly underestimated. When asking how in the world Yury achieved such knowledge, he would just blush, glance away, smile in a somewhat awkward manner. “I’m really not that smart,” he would say, but then not elaborate any further.

He was compelling. An objectively interesting figure, and a kind person, to boot. And right now, he was the only person who could possibly help Crowley with whatever was happening to him.

“What on Earth is going on?” Yury asked, his concern glaringly apparent as he knelt down to Crowley’s side, slithering an arm around the headmage’s back, carefully propping him up. He was trying to be helpful, doing this, but the position ended up squeezing Crowley’s middle uncomfortably, causing more shifting to happen inside, drawing a sharp inhale and wince from the headmage. “Crowley?”

“I– something–” he felt faint, and without even realizing he was doing it he leaned over, almost collapsing into Yury’s grasp, his own arms trailing up, finding their way around the janitor’s shoulders. “Something’s wrong,” he let out, “something’s– inside–”

“Inside?” Yury echoed, eyes widening in confusion, as all of a sudden, Grim came up on the both of them.

“What’s wrong, why’d you run off?” Grim asks, but he gets a look at Crowley and seems to understand. “Say, what’s wrong with him? Headmage isn’t about to go crazy-berzerker-mode, right? ‘Cause if he is, you may wanna stand back, actually.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Yury tells the monster, though his gaze never leaves Crowley’s face. It’s actually… really nice, having this attention on him. And Yury is so pretty, too. Hm. “Grim, will you run ahead and make sure no one is, uh… between here and the nearest janitorial closet?”

“Janitorial closet?!” Grim questions, “You mean where we just came from?! Like, yeah, I’ll do it, but shouldn’t he go to the infirmary?!”

“Grim, please,” Yury begs, “I think I know what’s going on. We just need a smaller area, okay?”

“Alright, fine!” Grim groans, quickly pouncing off. Crowley doesn’t know what direction– he’s not really able to pay that much attention, at the moment. Yury gently, like he’s sort of not sure if he’s allowed, starts removing Crowley’s hat, his coat, and– though he does hesitate before doing so– the headmage’s mask, carefully removing it from his face as though it was made out of porcelain and could break merely upon touching it. As though Crowley may suddenly burst back to life and scold him. Maybe, were he his usual self, he’d feel a bit more defensive about it, but like this, he couldn’t bother to care. Instead, he allowed Yury to gently remove each article, allowed the man to softly brush his hair out of his face. After a moment of them sitting like that, huddled together, Grim’s voice called down the hallway. “Hey, coast’s clear!”

Delicately, Yury begins to lift Crowley up, using his arm around the headmage’s back for leverage. It takes all of the strength in Crowley’s body to start walking, as Grim hurriedly pounces back to the pair. “Thanks,” Yury huffs. “Can you grab his clothes and stuff and just sit them outside the closet? I’m gonna… take him in there. For privacy,” he explains. Grim seems confused about why Yury would do this, but he doesn’t voice any complaints, simply agreeing to do so. Yury turns his attention back to Crowley, then. “It’ll be okay, headmage. We’re almost there.”

Crowley tried to nod, but basically all of his energy was going to his legs. Even then, it was more like Yury was just dragging him along, which if he had the brainpower to, he would feel bad about. He blinks, and before he really knows it, he’s carefully laid on the floor of a janitorial closet, propped up against a few wet floor signs. It’s not exactly comfortable, but he can’t be too concerned about that at the moment, as his insides twist and contort.

“I think I know what’s happening,” Yury explained to him, removing his jacket and pulling on a pair of black rubber gloves. “I– I’m gonna need you to let me take your pants off.”

Snapping back to reality, eyes shooting up to meet Yury’s, Crowley shook his head, trying to gather some sense. “I’m– what?” Here he thought Yury was this gentle, kind man.

“Okay I know that sounds really awful,” Yury grimaces, “that sounds really bad. And to be clear, if you don’t want me to do this for you, then I’ll gladly wait outside until it’s all over. But– but I basically raised chickens when I was little, and I think– I think you’re about to lay eggs.”

Crowley blinked up at Yury. “What?”

“It doesn’t just happen with chickens, plenty of birds lay eggs without them being fertilized, so please don’t worry about that, they’re most likely not alive.” Most likely was not exactly as comforting as Yury seemed to want it to be. “What I’m basically going to do, if you’ll allow me, is try to guide them out of you. But if you don’t want me to do that, then I won’t.”

“I…” Crowley starts, rubbing his hand over his forehead, trying to comprehend the words that Yury is bombarding him with. He’s dripping sweat. “It… Eggs?”

“I’m going to help get them out of you,” Yury says simply, looking directly into Crowley’s eyes. Was the janitor always so pretty? “As long as you’re okay with that.”

“Yes,” Crowley proclaims, waving his hand off of his head. His insides are killing him. “Yes, yes. Fix it.”

Yury nods at him, sinking to his knees. He leans over Crowley, his gloved hands carefully making their way to the headmage’s belt, unbuckling it. Crowley can barely process what’s going on, but he doesn’t question it. If Yury wants to get in his pants he’s pretty okay with that, actually. He is? He didn’t realize he was. Okay, new information about himself. The janitor starts shuffling down the headmage’s pants carefully, moving them down, down, down, until they’re around Crowley’s ankles.

He doesn’t have half the mind to be embarrassed about it, but he probably ought to be. His half-hard cock rests between his thighs, spread just slightly. He keeps his arms over his eyes, as though that may help his pounding head, so he can’t quite see how Yury looks down at him. Yury’s eyes fixate on his cock for a second, and he thinks he ought to look away, but Crowley’s privates are kind of what he’s here for. Yury shuffles so he can get better contact with the area. “Crowley,” he starts, his voice soft, and he coughs into his fist, clearing his throat. “I’m going to move you so I can help them out easier. Is that okay?”

Crowley nods, hands still covering his face, but he lets out something between a moan and a yelp as Yury adjusts him, lifting his legs up, pressing them into the headmage’s chest. The movement causes his shirt and vest to be pushed up, exposing his midriff. Crowley moves a hand down, sort of absently grabbing one of his thighs, trying to keep it held up. He’s being helpful, isn’t he?

“Oh,” Yury lets out, and then Crowley can feel the shorter’s hands at his behind, keeping him spread open. He sounds in awe, like he almost didn’t even mean to let that noise out, he just couldn’t help it. “You have… you have a cloaca.”

“Hwuh?” Crowley confusedly huffs, finally removing his arms from his eyes, looking down at Yury. There’s a blush spread all over the shorter’s face. That’s… fair. “My butt?”

“It’s… A cloaca? Like birds have.” Yury glances up, his eyes meeting Crowley’s for a second before he quickly looks back down out of sheer embarrassment. “Uh, birds have them for… waste. And reproduction.”

Crowley blinks at him, trying to piece this together. “Bird anatomy.”

“Don’t– don’t tell me you didn’t know you had this?” Yury questions, grimacing, but he’s still blushing like nothing else. “Is this the first time this has ever happened? That would explain why you were in such bad shape.”

“It…” Is it? That’s a good question. A better question than Crowley anticipated. He’s older than he thinks he is– and he thinks he’s several hundred years old. He knows that much, at least. But he knows– he figures, really– that he must be older than that. Waking up in the middle of the woods as a fully grown man implies he had years before him. How many, he just doesn’t know. He can’t remember. Maybe he did have eggs before. Maybe this is normal and he’s actually weird in that he hasn’t had them. “I don’t know,” he settles on, almost guilty that he doesn’t have a better answer.

“That’s alright,” Yury tells him, “your head is probably really not doing well at the moment, so don’t worry about it, okay? But, uh, yeah. Bird anatomy.”

“I thought that was just my butt,” Crowley sighs weakly. “Is it bad?”

“No!” Yury quickly shouts, before heavily gulping, getting a grip of himself. “No, no. It’s not bad. It means uh, you’ll have an easier time laying eggs than someone without a cloaca. So. That’s good?” He sounds like he doesn’t know how comforting that is. It actually causes Crowley to let out the smallest chuckle, which seems to encourage him.

Softly at first, Yury places a hand on Crowley’s abdomen, pressing down. Crowley can’t help the litany of noises that follow– soft moans of both pain and pleasure tumble out of his lips before he can stop them, feeling how the– the eggs– move around inside him. Yury’s hands press down in such a way that it seems like he’s feeling around for the eggs inside him, trying to push them further down, forcing them through Crowley. It hurts, it really hurts. But… at the same time, it’s starting to feel kind of good. It’s nice just having Yury touching him. Is he getting hard?

“I see one,” Yury breathes, staring down at Crowley’s opening. He sounds excited. Crowley’s cock twitches as he watches how Yury’s eyes light up. Yury seems to notice this, and his hand that’s not pressing down on the headmage’s stomach moves to wrap around his cock, rubbing up and down, causing Crowley’s hips to suddenly buck upwards as he lets out a loud cry. “I see one,” Yury repeats. “It’s small. Oh, it’s so small. All this over just a little clutch?”

It doesn’t feel small, Crowley wants to say, his hole– cloaca, apparently– squeezing and clenching around the foreign object descending through it. It keeps it from actually ever getting to his entrance. Feels pretty big. And then, beyond that, the horrifying realization that by the Seven, there’s more.

He can’t vocalize any of this. All he can muster out is long, drawn-out moans as he continues to uselessly squeeze around them, thrusting his hips into Yury’s touch. It’s good. It’s actually… nice, even. Yury, staring intently down at Crowley’s cloaca, which is struggling to force the egg out, moves the hand on Crowley’s midsection to instead go down, running his fingers around Crowley’s entrance. The headmage’s head rolls back as he shouts. Yury coos at him, shushing him softly, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s thigh. “Relax for me,” Yury tells him, “you can do it. I know you can do it.”

Crowley’s not sure he can. Every bit of him feels intense, overly sensitive. Like every nerve ending is firing at once. Still, he shakes, unable to control his own movements. He pants, and he thinks he might be begging, but it’s completely unintelligible. What is he begging for, even? To get the eggs out? For Yury to touch him more? To cum?

It might be to cum, actually. He can feel himself completely tensed, every part of him feeling tight, like he could explode at any second.

“Poor thing,” Yury smiles at him. “I know, it’s uncomfortable.” He must think that Crowley is begging to finally have the eggs out. That would help, probably, maybe, but it’s not what he wants at the exact moment. “I’ll get it out of you, okay? I don’t think just guiding them is working.”

Wait, what?

Before Crowley can really process that, Yury has shoved two fingers into the opening, causing the headmage to scream, and all he can do is repeat Yury’s name over and over, sobbing as he’s bombarded by sheer sensation. The shorter feels around inside Crowley, scissoring open the hole to allow for more room as he starts to dig inside, fingers wrapping around the bottom end of the egg. About as carefully as he can, he starts pulling the egg– and his fingers– out.

And Crowley cums.

He spasms as the egg is removed, thrashing, shouting, Yury Yury Yury as he comes undone in front of the shorter, every part of his body tensing and untensing. His eyes clench shut so tight that he sees spots and stars behind them– he grasps for anything, grabbing at the boxes surrounding them full of nebulous cleaners, slamming his hands against them, his legs kicking out. In the throes of his pleasure, two more eggs follow, sliding out of him and onto the ground beneath them.

When he cracks open his eyes, he’s greeted by the sight of not only them, but cum splattered all over his midriff– some even getting on his vest. That’s… not good. Some of his senses steadily come back to him. He’s going to need to get that dry-cleaned. Oh god, he’s in a fucking closet in the middle of the school. He’s thankful that his pants aren’t ruined because he’s gonna need to pull those up and shamefully stumble back to his office. And then proceed to do a bunch of research on how his own body works so he never has to deal with this again–

“Three whole eggs,” Yury wistfully sighs, dragging Crowley out of his thoughts and back into the present. “They’re so cute.” He’s gathered them up in his arms, holding them carefully, like precious jewels. They aren’t even alive, right? He’d said himself that they’re unfertilized.

“I’m so sorry,” Crowley breathlessly apologizes. “I didn’t mean to– to drag you into–”

“Oh, nonsense,” Yury smiles. He sets the eggs next to them, using some of the extra cleaning rags as a bit of a cushion for them. “I’m happy to help. I like you a lot, you know.”

Crowley blushes at that. He’s not sure how to respond. He suddenly feels far more vulnerable, half-naked and without even his mask to keep him covered. Yury just watched him lay eggs and yet he’s embarrassed about the janitor liking him. “I like you too,” Crowley huffs out, looking away, coughing into his fist. It’s no big deal. “Still, I’m sorry for all of this. I… appreciate you helping.” He lifts himself so that he’s sitting upright, his back horribly stiff. As he does, he glances down, seeing. Seeing. “Do you… want help with that?”

Yury blushes. “Oh, uh. Ahaha.” He glances away. “I mean, you don’t need to? You’re probably exhausted, after all that.”

Yes, Crowley is exhausted. It’s the most tired he’s felt in ages, his body feeling as though it’s lagging behind. Still, he drags himself up, shifting so that he’s crawled up to Yury, wrapping his arms around the janitor’s neck. “I would like to,” he whispers, trying to sound seductive, but he might just sound tired. “You helped me. I would like to help you.”

Yury swallows audibly. He gently, unsurely braces his hands on Crowley’s hips. “Really?”

Crowley doesn’t audibly respond, instead planting a kiss on Yury’s neck. Then another, then another.

“Maybe we’ll make fertilized ones this time,” Yury chuckles, in a very nervous way, in between soft gasps. “Have little chicks of our own.”

Crowley almost gets up and leaves, hearing that– he’s not interested in having any more eggs any time soon– but the thought of it is so sweet that he decides to let it slide.

[m1chaelis]

i tell you all the time, i'll sell you for a dime.

twisted wonderland // crewley // wc: 1013 // warnings: NSFT, asphyxiation // notes: i wrote this for day 12, "boss/employee dynamic," and i was thinking "oh i could use this for the asphyxiation day also" before realizing i do not have an asphyxiation day.

“Apologies, the headmage is out at the moment,” Crewel answers, his voice polite and clipped, his fingers lazily grip the handle of the phone, his eyes focused on Crowley beneath him. The headmage’s glowing irises bore up at Crewel, anxiously waiting for the phone call to finish. His nails dig into Crewel’s thighs. “Can I take a message? …No? Alright. Feel free to call back later. Have a nice day.”

The receiver is placed down back onto it’s stand, and Crowley feels himself physically relax as he hears it clicking into place. He’d let out a sigh of relief if his mouth wasn’t busy, wrapped around Crewel’s cock, the head hitting the roof of his mouth. His mask not removed, merely pushed up enough to not interrupt their activity, or bump uncomfortably into the other’s midsection.

Crewel’s gloved hand returns to Crowley’s dark hair, gripping a handful of it tightly. He drags Crowley back by his hair, causing the headmage to wince, pulling off of Crewel with a pop. The potionologist sneers down at him. “I don’t recall telling you to stop, mutt.”

“You cannot possibly expect me to keep going when you’re on the phone,” Crowley grimaces, moving his hands down from Crewel’s thighs to instead brace on his knees. “You could have just let it go to to voicemail. They would call back anyway.”

“I’m sure they would!” Crewel spat, his grip on Crowley’s hair only tightening. “I was not exactly picking up to spare you the trouble. I’m not organizing your schedule for you.” He drags Crowley back closer, rubbing his cock against the headmage’s face. Crowley scrunches his face as the mix of saliva and pre-cum coats his face. It’s kinda getting on his mask. And in his hair. He’s gonna need a shower after this. “Clearly,” Crewel accentuates, dragging Crowley out of his thoughts, back into the moment. “My training for you has not been intensive enough!”

The hand not gripping Crowley’s hair quite suddenly reaches down, in-between his own legs, suddenly gripping at Crowley’s tie, yanking it up. With one hand still clutching his hair, it does not drag the headmage upwards with it, instead just choking him. The air is punched out of him, and he rapidly starts trying to inhale more, sputtering and coughing as he moves to claw at his tie, trying to loosen it at all, to allow him some literal breathing room. With Crewel pulling it the way he is, though, he’s not able to, instead just aimlessly scratching at it. Tears start to well up in his eyes, his mouth falling open as he keep trying to just get air. 

“Through your nose,” Crewel commands, the hand in Crowley’s hair petting absently, still keeping him pressed to the floor. “Through your nose, dog.”

Crowley’s heart is pounding in his ears, and he can just barely hear Crewel over it. He tries following the instruction, genuinely tries his hardest, and it only helps a little. He knows that if he was in real danger, Crewel would stop immediately, and would take Crowley to a hospital himself. (Not like they could go to the infirmary– if students saw Crowley with bruises on his neck, being doted on by Crewel, that would most definitely raise suspicion.)  Still, despite knowing that this was the case, his body continuously screamed panic, panic, panic. Breathing through his nose only helped so much. He bit his lips closed, trying to focus.

“No, no,” Crewel’s eyebrows furrow, letting go of Crowley’s hair only to smack the top of his head. “Keep your mouth open. You can do this,” Crewel tells him, and he’s stern, his demands are clear, but at the same time, he’s cooing at Crowley in a way. His hand moves to guide his cock back to Crowley’s lips. “Open.”

Crowley inhales sharply through his nose, letting his mouth fall open enough for Crewel to nudge his dick back inside. “That’s it,” Crewel sighs, as Crowley’s thoughts just repeat through your nose, through your nose, through your nose over and over again. “That’s it. Good dog.”

Mercifully, Crewel drops Crowley’s tie, bracing both hands on the sides of Crowley’s head. All at once, air comes rushing back to Crowley, and it doesn’t mix well with the dick in his mouth. He chokes on it, on the air, on Crewel, coughing around it, and he tries to pull back, to pull off of it, but Crewel holds him there, holds him in place. He’s still cooing at Crowley, his voice so kind, too kind for how he’s treating the headmage. He twirls his fingers into Crowley’s hair as Crowley just spasms around him. “Nose,” Crewel repeats, and Crowley quickly swallows around the potionologist, trying to gather himself. He started crying, at some point. He’s only noticing that now. “So pretty. So pretty.”

Once Crowley has– for the most part– stopped shaking, once he’s mostly fine, Crewel uses his grip on his head to guide him along his length, taking in more and more of it. It almost feels easier, after having the shit choked out of him. Crowley runs his tongue along the underside of it, his hands finally returning to Crewel’s thighs.

“There you go,” Crewel smirks down at him. “See, I knew you could do it. I knew you could take it for me. You can be a good dog, when you try.”

Crowley sniffles. He can feel the tears, saliva and pre-cum all grossly drying on his face, but he’s far more distracted by the burning in his lungs and throat. And, embarrassingly, by how hard he is, his cock uncomfortably straining against his slacks.

“Now,” Crewel starts, certainly not concerned with Crowley’s hard-on, “if we’re still at this when that nice person calls back, I don’t expect you to stop. I expect you to keep going. Is that understood, dog?”

Crowley nods. Well, nods as much as he can with a dick in his mouth. He can be a good dog. And maybe if he’s exceptionally good, Crewel will actually let him get off.

[m1chaelis]

you think it's slop, it's lame? 'cause i'm a flopping shame?

twisted wonderland // mallidia // wc: 901 // warnings: about as nsft as a chatfic can get // notes: sorry i'm jumping around so much with the prompts. taking them out as ideas come to me mostly. day 10 for kinktober, "sexting."

– //gl00murai is online.

– //Mal.D is online.

Mal.D: Hello.

gl00murai: shouldve known u would just make ur user ur name

gl00murai: but uh hiii

Mal.D: I don’t see why it tells you not to use your name. I am the user, and it is my name.

gl00murai: riiiiiight

gl00murai: no ur honestly so based 4 that

Mal.D: “Based?”

gl00murai: like ur right. ur correct. good take

Mal.D: I see.

Mal.D: Why did you want me to use this program specifically, instead of just our phone numbers?

gl00murai: a lot of reasons ngl

gl00murai: im on my laptop a lot more than my phone & with this i can text you on my laptop

gl00murai: also this app is more secure in case u decide to text any1 else

gl00murai: also i can do this

[//gl00murai sent a spoilered image.]

Mal.D: Oh.

Mal.D: You’re texting me while naked?

gl00murai: is this not sexy i can put my pants back on

Mal.D: Was it supposed to be sexy?

gl00murai: kms

Mal.D: I’m moreso just confused why you’re naked. It’s 3pm.

gl00murai: im just demonstratiiiiingggg that you can censor photoooosss nothing eeeelseeee

[//Mal.D sent a spoilered image.]

Mal.D: Like this?

gl00murai: censoring a peace sign is kinda funny

gl00murai: no more peace. only hatred and war

Mal.D: That is funny.

Mal.D: Should I have also sent myself naked?

gl00murai: uh

gl00murai: well u dont have 2?? only if you want really

gl00murai: i thought itd be sexier when i did it

gl00murai: ngl i dont mean to offend you but i fully expect you to take like fullbody mirror shots completely naked

gl00murai: like those loser chads on dating apps

[//Mal.D sent a spoilered image.]

Mal.D: I’m not getting completely naked. It’s 3pm.

gl00murai: OH

gl00murai: THATS

Mal.D: ?

Mal.D: Is something wrong?

gl00murai: I WASNT EXPECTINF YOU TO ACTUALLY

Mal.D: What do you know about dating apps?

gl00murai: THAT WAS AN EXAMPLE I WASNT EXPECTING YOU TO ACTUALLY SEND SKMETHING

Mal.D: Of course I would. It’s reciprocal.

Mal.D: Should I not have? I can delete it, I think.

gl00murai: u think

gl00murai: but also no plz dont delete it

gl00murai: that would interrupt my staring at it

Mal.D: Shroud.

gl00murai: soz should i not say that

Mal.D: Do you want to see more?

gl00murai: holy shit Yes

gl00murai: like please acksually

Mal.D: This is a little silly to me. You see me like this any time we have sex in person. We could physically meet up and actually do this very easily.

gl00murai: u dont get it. now i have this photo forever

[//Mal.D sent a spoilered image.]

gl00murai: NOW I HAVE THESE PHOTOS FOREVER

gl00murai: ur so hot im serious

gl00murai: idk how i lucked out with u

gl00murai: SSR pull

Mal.D: I’m not sure I know what that means.

gl00murai: its ok hottie we’ll get there

gl00murai: is it um

gl00murai: can i like

gl00murai: touch myself

gl00murai: looking at these

Mal.D: You may. I was under the impression you were already.

gl00murai: hg

gl00murai: HahaYeah Okay Cool Thankyou

Mal.D: You should send a photo of yourself doing so, I think.

gl00murai: oh so when IM doijg it then you get the appeal yea okay

gl00murai: thatwas a joke plz dont leave

[//gl00murai sent a spoilered image.]

Mal.D: You’re quite pretty.

gl00murai: charmer

[//Mal.D sent a spoilered image.]

gl00murai: seven above

gl00murai: i always forget how  fucking big u are

Mal.D: It’s really nothing special.

gl00murai: you have SPINES and a KNOT dude i think its pretty special

Mal.D: This is normal for fae!

gl00murai: not for anyone else!!! let me admire it!!!

Mal.D: I’d hope you’ll be doing more than just admiring it.

Mal.D: I know you can.

gl00murai: hhn

gl00murai: god this is so embarrassing i was not expecting this to be so embarrassing

gl00murai: this is like amplifying the most embarrassing part of sex

Mal.D: Being looked at?

gl00murai: no the talking.

gl00murai: i was hoping id be better at this over text

Mal.D: I think you’re doing fine.

Mal.D: I can talk just fine, if you’ll allow me.

gl00murai: handsome

gl00murai: yyeah go for it

Mal.D: The photo you took for me is so beautiful. I can so clearly imagine reaching out to touch you. I want to open you with my fingers, and watch as you squirm underneath me as I make you open more and more for me. I want to sink myself into you and I want to watch your face, see how you shake, as I fuck you.

gl00murai: ohh shit

gl00murai: ur good at this ur rwally

gl00murai: i wan t that too i want you to fuck me so bad mal

gl00murai: my own fingers arent enough

Mal.D: Please show me Shroud.

gl00murai: shhit

gl00murai: fucj okay i can. i can trry

[//gl00murai sent an attached image.]

gl00murai: ssoz fuck i forgot 2 censir it that time

gl00murai: plus its so shaky damn that photo sux im sorry

Mal.D: Don’t delete it.

gl00murai: oh uh

gl00murai: okkay

Mal.D: Don’t move.

gl00murai: okay?

Mal.D: I’m coming over.

gl00murai: OH OKAY

gl00murai: yes understood housewarden yes sir

– //Mal.D is offline.

– //gl00murai is offline.

[m1chaelis]

don't try to run, there's nowhere to hide.

twisted wonderland // oc x sebek // wc: 886 // warnings: kinda prelude to nsft, warning is there in case. dubcon if you squint but not really. // notes: half a loredrop for coffyn's signature spell, half kinktober day 6, "hypnotism."

“Aren’t you cute,” Coffyn hums, stroking Sebek’s hair softly. It looks cute pushed back, sure, but they gently claw his bangs back to cover his forehead. He looks nice, this way. He has this soft blush on his face, lips pursed as he looks up into Coffyn’s eyes. He’s clearly nervous, but does not stop Coffyn, his arms still carefully wrapped around their middle as he kneels to them, Coffyn themself planted at the edge of their bed. They look down at him with a somewhat smug look– right where they want him.

“You’re certain this is alright?” He questions, in possibly the quietest voice he can muster. In Coffyn’s room like this, it’s not like they really had to worry about him being too loud– thankfully, as they aren’t certain he could control it, even if they wanted him to.

“It’s beyond alright,” Coffyn smiles. “Why, do you… not want to?” If he changed his mind that was fine, but they had been pretty certain that this was what Sebek was aiming for.

“I do, don’t get me wrong,” Sebek explains, glancing off to the side. He’s normally so sure of himself– seeing him all nervous was such a nice change of pace. Very cute. “I just… now that we’re here, I worry about what Malleus would think.”

“Malleus?!” Coffyn shouts, face contorting all of a sudden into some mix of confusion and fury, tearing their hands away from Sebek’s head. Now? He’s thinking of Malleus right now, when he’s supposed to be focusing on Coffyn?! “Why– why in the world are you thinking– what has you worried about Malleus?!”

“Because,” Sebek begins to explain, grimacing, “I’m supposed to be Malleus’ knight. I took an oath to serve him always. If I do this with you, then… wouldn’t that be betraying his lordship?” He asks, genuinely so concerned about this. Coffyn sighs. It makes sense, why he would be worried about this, but they still find themself frustrated. Something ugly twists and turns inside them, a hole rotting in their chest where their heart ought to be.

“You really want this?” Coffyn asks, just for clarity. “Genuinely, truly, you want to be with me in this way? I need complete honesty here.”

“I do!” Sebek shouts, moving his arms from Coffyn’s middle to instead take both of their hands into his own, quickly pressing a rather dramatic kiss to them. “I do, really! I want to have sex with you.”

There’s his direct manner that Coffyn is so used to. “Alright,” they huff. “Lean up a bit.” Sebek does so unquestioningly, and Coffyn grabs the sides of his face with their hands, holding him in place. “You’re lucky. You’re going to receive True Love’s Kiss.” Before Sebek can react, they press their lips to his forehead.

All at once, Sebek slumps a bit, only held up by Coffyn’s grip on his head. Coffyn is certain that Sebek’s eyesight has completely left him, the world becoming a complete mix of soft pastels and swirls. His gaze stared off distantly, even as Coffyn tilted his head so that he was technically looking them in the eye. “Listen to me,” Coffyn commands, voice firm but in a way still gentle. “For the next… I don’t know. Hour. 2 hours. You aren’t going to think of Malleus once. You’re not going to worry about his opinions on our… proclivities. You aren’t going to think about the oath you took to him once. You’re just going to focus on this, and us, and if you like it or not. Understand?”

Sebek sort of absently nodded in agreement, and Coffyn nodded back at him, despite him being unable to see it. They kissed his head once more, and pulled back to see him blinking awake, the pleasant pastel clouds leaving his vision. He moved one hand, initially limp at his sides, to touch his head where Coffyn had kissed him. “I’m so sorry,” he let out, sounding a bit confused. “I– I think I may have spaced out for a bit.”

Coffyn chuckles a bit, gently stroking Sebek’s cheek with one hand, the other moving to return to petting his hair. “You’re completely alright,” they smile at him. “People tend to get a little distracted staring at me.” They give him a wink, trying to be cute. “Still, are you feeling okay? Are you worried about anything?”

Sebek seems to genuinely consider this question, eyes trailing around as he searches his own mind for what he could possibly be nervous about. “I don’t think so,” he eventually lands on. “I don’t feel very worried. Perhaps I was just… staring. That’s a bit rude of me, isn’t it?”

“Oh, not at all,” Coffyn smiles wide, absolutely delighted. “I’m quite happy that you find me so beautiful so as to just stare at me.”

“I’m glad,” Sebek exhales, looking far more relaxed than he had before. Good, Coffyn thought. No more thinking about other people, his attention just entirely focused on Coffyn.

As Sebek leaned upwards, beginning to plant the softest little kisses on Coffyn’s exposed neck, trailing down to their collarbone, they thought they might like if things were always this way– if everyone stopped worrying about each other and just only paid attention to them.

What a dream that would be.

[m1chaelis]

open up and enable, put your cards on the table

twisted wonderland // rookvil // wc: 407 // warnings: NSFT // notes: this was written for day 4 of kinktober like months ago and i literally just realized i never posted it oops. also my first time writing rookvil so maybe a liiiittle ooc. i'm better now i promise

“Quit that,” Vil huffs, tapping the riding crop against the top of Rook’s head. “If you move around too much, I’m going to fall.”

“Apologies, mon Poison,” Rook chuckles, and tries harder to keep himself held upright. Vil was a bit taller than him, yes, but not one bit heavier than the Vice Housewarden. And besides, this was his duty, beyond that, something he wanted to do. He wanted to indulge Vil, in all of the ways he was able, whenever he was able. If that meant currently letting Vil use him like a chair because he “was tired” and there were “no chairs around” (possibly a lie, but who cares,) then Rook would do that. He’d do it ten times over, even.

He didn’t question why Vil just… had a riding crop on him. Weirder things had happened than his Housewarden and true love keeping some form of punishment handy. Really, if Vil wanted to use the item on him whenever and wherever he pleased, Rook wouldn’t even be mad about it. Whatever made Vil happy, whatever gave his attention to Vil’s eyes.

“I just want you to try a little harder,” Vil huffs, crossing his legs. Perhaps in Rook’s trailing thoughts, he’d started to slip a bit, and he adjusted again, propping the taller back up. “If you don’t, you know there’ll be consequences.”

Right, of course. Rook held long in his memory the one time Vil had used his signature spell as a punishment– Fairest One of All had made it so that Rook was basically constantly edged until some specific criterion was met. It sounded nice on paper, but a punishment initially intended to last no longer than a few hours went on to last a few days because of how specific the reversal criteria was. Rook was, naturally, not exactly in the mood to revisit the spell’s capabilities as a neutering device, nor as a proper method of delivering punishment. He’d take the riding crop over that any day, thank you.

Rook held himself firm, doing his absolute best to not move even an inch, lest his Housewarden chastise him again. Even a centimeter was too much for le Roi du Poison– in this as in all things, Vil expected and demanded utter perfection of him, and Rook would provide in spades.

Rook was Vil’s lover first, a sharpshooter second, and a photographer third. He would deliver no less than absolute perfection.

[m1chaelis]

literally my entire queue is nsft guys i promise i write more than just smut i just have a LOT of ideas for smut at the moment

[m1chaelis]

i am the thing that i can't control; press my flesh

twisted wonderland // oc x oc // wc: 1239 // warnings: NSFT, dubcon, sex pollen fic. // notes: i'm gonna be kinda jumping around with these prompts, but this is for prompt 23 of selfcest fest, "potion mishap," and day 19 of kinktober, "mind break." technically coffyn and bryer are different characters but they're both my sonas, based on me, so it's selfcest in that way. hooray

also sorry bonus disclaimer ;; none of the content i write of coffyn and bryer together is canon to either of their stories/lore. in their own universes the other doesn't exist. this is just for fun!

“I’m not sure what I expected,” Coffyn sighs, pinching the bridge of their nose, “but it wasn’t… this.”

Bryer didn’t have the functioning brainpower at the moment to think about how genuinely disappointed Coffyn sounded with him. If he did, he surely would have been beyond upset, heartbroken, even, seeing how frustrated Coffyn was gazing down at him. But no. As he clung to the second-year’s leg, all he could think about was the contact of his hard-on pressing against their uniform slacks, rubbing up and down, with a litany of “please please please, dear seven, please” tumbling out of his mouth with every breath, shiny uniform loafers squeaking as he shook and squirmed against the floor of the alchemy lab.

“I haven’t even used my signature spell on you,” Coffyn sighed, running a hand through their bangs, trying to keep the hair out of their face. “Imagine if I did. Then you’d be in even worse shape. How would you deal with that? Do you really expect me to help you?” They sneered, moving their leg as though trying to kick Bryer, though they did not try very hard, and Bryer only seemed to enjoy the movement, moaning as their leg rubbed up against him. “How did this even happen?” Coffyn demanded, “do you even have the capability to answer that?”

“Please,” Bryer mindlessly repeated, still just shifting, humping Coffyn’s leg.

Coffyn furrowed their eyebrows, lips curving into a snarl as Bryer continued. “This is pathetic, you know. Genuinely pathetic.” Of course, Bryer seemed used to being pathetic. This sort of behaviour was almost certainly not out of the ordinary, likely no different than what they got up to in Diasomnia. Their eyes twitched as they recalled how attached at the hip Bryer seemed to be to Malleus. Pathetic. “I could leave you here, you know,” Coffyn spat.

“Don’t!” Bryer suddenly exclaimed, possibly the loudest Coffyn has ever heard him. He seemed to always talk just barely above a mumble– sometimes just downright mumbling and unintelligible. The people who needed to hear him would hear him, but it always left Coffyn wondering exactly what he was saying, what he was thinking. Was he talking about them behind their back, was something to often be considered, before they would chock it up to being far too concerned with the thoughts and opinions of a genuine literal nobody. “Don’t. Please don’t, please. I– I need, don’t go. I need.”

Coffyn clicked their tongue. “Please, please, please. Is that all you can say? If you really need something from me oh-so bad, you ought to be begging for it, nice and proper!” Truly, Coffyn ought to hurry up if they do intend to help him, and they know that– doing this in the middle of the alchemy classroom after hours was not a good idea, and if they were found out, they’d without a doubt be expelled. But the very cruel and jealous part of their brain insisted it would be fine to drag it out just a little longer, to make Bryer work for it, as a payback of sorts. “Go on, use your whole chest when you ask for what you want!”

“I want– I want you to touch m-me,” Bryer heaved, still quiet, but better, as at least he was using real words now. “Please, please let me– I need to– I need to cum, please. I need to– to feel you, please?”

A bit unspecific, Coffyn thought, letting out a heavy sigh, but they figured it was better than nothing. And given how completely out of it Bryer seemed, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his hips jutted and shuddered against them, teeth digging into his bottom lip, this was likely the best Coffyn was going to get.

Coffyn squatted down, forcing Bryer to shift as well, finally unwrapping his arms from their leg, instead weakly planting his hands on the floor surrounding them. Bryer leaned over Coffyn, like this, their faces pretty close together. It was a bit embarrassing for the Pomefiore student, especially considering just how much Bryer was panting, blushing, letting out the softest little gasps and moans, whining for more contact. “Relax,” Coffyn instructed, voice a bit harsh. “I can’t believe you’re so worked up. Genuinely, how did this even happen?”

“It–” Bryer swallowed, clearly trying so hard to garner the words he needed to communicate just what exactly was happening, how it had happened. “It, the? The potion, it–”

“You’re joking,” Coffyn huffed. “This is all happening because you messed up a potion?” Bryer nodded, causing Coffyn to let out a groan. “Aren’t you Diasomnia students supposed to be, like, exceptionally magically gifted? And yet you can’t even make a single potion correctly?”

“M’ sorry,” Bryer whimpered, “did my best, b– but.”

Coffyn grumbled, “Well, there’s nothing to be done about it. It seems you’re entirely reliant on me to help you.” They positioned themself so that they were eye-level with Bryer, pushing the third year back a bit, and using their other hand to actually undo Bryer’s uniform pants, pulling them down enough so that Bryer’s cock can be freed from its constraints, and as Bryer lets out a sigh finally feeling it freed to the air around them, Coffyn lets out a groan. “You’re kidding me.”

“H-whuh?” Bryer lets out, a simple confused noise, moving his hands to cover his face. “Uh, what?”

“It’s– are you– you fae,” Coffyn exasperatedly complains, “I cannot believe– of course you couldn’t tell me about this. Of course you couldn’t. Look at you, you barely remember your fucking name right now,” they spit. “Of course you don’t have the functioning braincells to tell me you have thorns on your dick!” Coffyn smacks a hand against the third year’s chest. “How do you expect me to– to jack you off, like this?!”

“Yours doesn’t…?” Bryer sighs questioningly, and then, “Uh, gloves?”

“This is the least sexy sex I’ve ever had,” Coffyn announces. “Here I thought you might actually look a tiny, teeny, ittsy-bittsy bit cute all pathetic and messed up like this, but no, the mood is completely ruined. If this pokes through my gloves you will be paying for my replacements,” they proclaim. Bryer will likely completely forget that he agreed to this, but he does nod very quickly, so Coffyn continues, carefully wrapping their gloved hand around Bryer’s… thorn-dick.

Bryer lets out a loud moan at that, his hips bucking upward into Coffyn’s grip, the thorns dragging against the leather of their gloves. It’s… uncomfortable, sure, but it doesn’t really hurt as much as Coffyn thought it might, so they allow Bryer to continue, thrusting up into Coffyn’s grip again and again. A complete lack of grace or control in his movements, just driven by pure desire and instinct. He looks some odd combination of alluring and laughable in his desperation.

“Seven above,” Coffyn breathes, not even moving their hand, just letting Bryer continue. “Maybe I do see the appeal with you,” they admit, thankful that Bryer seems too busy moaning and contorting to pay their words much mind.

“Coffyn,” Bryer moans, and unfortunately, their name does sound just a little too nice coming from Bryer’s lips.

“I hate you,” Coffyn grimaces. They don’t, really; it’s plainly untrue. They wouldn’t be doing this if they really hated Bryer, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I really hate you.”

[m1chaelis]

screw that, forget about that- i don't wanna think about anything like that!

twisted wonderland // lilia x crowley // wc: 3491 // warnings: NSFT, angst, dubcon // notes: yes i think lilia fucked raverne and meleanor. yes also i think crowley lost all his memories. days 11 + 20 for kinktober, intox & teacher/student dynamic.

Lilia is sat in Crowley’s office, arms crossed, legs crossed, huffing in frustration as Crowley messes with his hands, trying to explain this to Lilia. Lilia is sitting across from him, on the other side of his desk. “I know you’re concerned about it,” Crowley explains. “With the preparations for the entrance ceremony being so hectic, you must understand that we’re doing the best we can.”

“He’s bad with technology,” Lilia complains. “Can’t you just send a paper invitation instead of relying on all this technology? You know we barely use all that in the Valley.”

“More students are likely to see a technological invitation than a paper one,” Crowley tries, extending his hands and gesticulating as he continues. “A paper invitation would be distinctly more likely to be lost, forgotten, or destroyed, so having a technological invitation keeps it from getting tampered with.”

“Right, it skips all of the trouble, unless they never see it!” Lilia shouts. “This is his last year before he goes off on his research placement! You can’t make sure that he actually gets the invitation just once?” Lilia looks exasperated, quite upset, gesturing vaguely off into the distance as though pointing towards the Diasomnia dorm. “He’s had those robes sitting in his closet for two years. He wants to wear them. Surely you remember how the Thorn Fairy was scorned by her lack of invitation, and the consequences that followed?”

“Lilia,” Crowley counters, sounding quite stern all of a sudden. “I hope you aren’t trying to threaten me.”

“Frankly, headmage,” Lilia sighs, “you don’t exactly scare me. But no, I am not trying to threaten you. I am just making it clear that you are doing him– doing all of Diasomnia, even– an extreme disservice by being so blatantly unconcerned with one of your housewardens being continuously forgotten for important events such as this.”

Crowley actually removes his hat, letting out a sigh and shaking his bangs out of his eyesight. “Mr. Vanrouge, I promise you that I am concerned with his inclusion. Please don’t think I take pride in Housewarden Draconia being excluded from our events– we want him to be involved as much as you do.”

Frustrated, Lilia balled his hands into fists in his lap. “If you wanted him to be involved to the extent that I do, you would actually try! Make it work!” And then, before he can even really help himself, he shouts out, “You should be trying harder for him, he’s your s–”

And then he stops dead. Crowley is staring at him wide-eyed, his glowing yellow irises boring directly into Lilia’s own. Blood red.

“Lilia,” Crowley starts, but–

“No,” Lilia cements, rising from his chair so fast that it scoots backwards, squeaking loudly against the floor. Crowley raises from his own chair, half reaching out to him. “No. This– this conversation is over.”

And he turns on his heel, stomping out of the room, bats following behind him as always. The door slams shut, and Crowley buries his head into his hands, sighing.

~~~~

Crowley had seen Lilia outside the context of Night Raven College only once. It was the night after the entrance ceremony, two years prior– the first year Lilia had attended the school. The arrangement was odd, objectively. Lilia had only agreed to let Malleus come to the school under the condition not only that his son, Silver, also be allowed in, but that he was allowed in, treated as a student, allowed to look over the two. Crowley had agreed– Malleus was likely the most powerful mage in the world, and Lilia and Silver themselves were no slouches. He allowed it.

And then the night after they were accepted into the school, Lilia was out at a tavern getting completely hammered.

Crowley was there– well, of course he was there. He was the headmage and getting everything organized was quite the feat. He deserved a break. Crewel was there because Crewel was the one who told him that he deserved a break, and because he wanted to get completely hammered himself. Crewel was actually the one to notice Lilia first, pointing him out to the headmage. “Isn’t he a student?” Crewel had asked, “Should he be drinking here?”

Of course, Crowley knew that Lilia was far older than he appeared, but still, he rose from where he was seated and went over to the counter, gently placing a hand on Lilia’s shoulder. The fae– the student– whipped around to face him, his eyes wide, slits of pupils staring with a harsh focus into Crowley’s own. He looked visibly on-edge, maybe a little agitated, but once he seems to recognize Crowley, he relaxes, smiling wide, showing off his fangs to the headmage. A single bat flapped around, above his head. “Crowley!” He greets, waving a bit limply at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh. Actually wanted to ask you that,” Crowley started, bowing his head a bit in greeting. He lifted a hand to his chin, scratching it as he questioned, “What are you doing here, Mr. Vanrouge?”

“Ohhhh,” Lilia started, drawing the sound out. “Crowley, I’m so happy Malleus got into this school. He’s so excited about it. He misses Silver for now, of course, and I’m going to be going home often still to see him, definitely, yes, but he’s so excited!” That was surprising, to the headmage– Malleus hadn’t even been at the ceremony, so he’d gotten the impression that his acceptance didn’t matter much to him. Apparently, this was completely the opposite of how he felt. “This is– this is going to be such a good opportunity for him, it really is.”

“I’m glad you think so, Mr. Vanrouge,” Crowley smiled. It wasn’t often that he really heard how much the students were happy to be accepted. Hearing Lilia voice his excitement was honestly nice. “It will be wonderful to see both of you on the campus. But, uh… That doesn’t explain, really,” he pointed at Lilia’s spot at the counter, circling it in the air, “why you’re here.”

“Well, it’s a celebration, isn’t it?” Lilia smiled, lifting his– almost comically large– mug to his lips, taking a large gulp. “Besides, it’s not like I’m not old enough!”

Lilia laughed as he said this, and Crowley found himself chuckling also, before looking back at his own table, where Crewel was staring knives into him. He was probably questioning why Crowley wasn’t reprimanding a student for drinking. “Of course, I know that,” Crowley nervously smiled down at the student, “but don’t you think it looks a little odd, for a student to be… drinking rather heavily, completely unaccompanied?”

Lilia tilted his head to the side, seeming to consider this for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t be unaccompanied if you joined me,” he figures, smiling up at headmage in such a way that his fangs seem to poke out of his lips.

Crowley’s eyes widened a bit at the proposition, and he grimaced a little. “I would love to…” he started, trailing off a bit, quickly glancing back to his initial table. Almost thankfully, Crewel seemed entirely distracted, his attention whisked away by one of the many other men in the tavern. He looked decently focused on this other man, and Crowley found himself sighing. Of course, the third reason Crewel was along with him, picking up someone. Crowley really should’ve figured, but he didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. “Well, yes, I’d love to,” Crowley sighed, taking the seat next to the student.

Lilia passed his mug over to the headmage, who gladly lifted it, taking a large gulp. And then he choked on it. “Is this straight whiskey?” Crowley asked, looking down into the mug, seeming to study it. Lilia only laughed in response.

~~~~

Three hours later, they were stumbling their way back to campus. Crewel had actually left before them– he seemed to not even notice that Lilia, the student, was still there, just saying a quick goodbye to Crowley as he was dragged along by one of the men he’d flirted with that night– or two? Maybe two. Crowley was pretty drunk at that point himself, so he wasn’t exactly sure. That probably makes him a bad friend? He’ll check up with Crewel when he gets back to the school, certainly.

Lilia is a lot shorter than him, easily a foot shorter, so his tired arms can’t quite reach up to Crowley’s shoulders, instead bracing on his waist, wrapping around him in half of a hug. Crowley’s own arm rests on Lilia’s shoulders, lazily slung over him. They’re struggling pretty bad. Crowley was not dressed to the extent he would be at school, missing his hat and his overcoat, but still, it was very possible he’d be recognized, which created a bit of anxiety in his mind. Being recognized at a bar was one thing– he was hundreds of years old, he could go out for a drink every now and then if he wanted. Walking home with what appeared to be a student would be… worse. Still, he couldn’t just make Lilia walk back on his own–  it’s not like they were going to different places.

“I haven’t gone out like this in ageeees,” Lilia giggled, leaning into Crowley’s middle. “Not in, oh, 200 years? Maybe? Not– not since I’ve been taking care of the boys,” he explained. “You’re so fun to drink with,” he told the headmage, and then proceeded to nuzzle his head into the taller.

Crowley hummed a bit at the contact. It was actually quite nice. “I go out with Crewel every so often,” he sighed, “but I always end up ditched. Like tonight.”

“I didn’t even notice him!” Lilia laughed, “I was too focused on you.” And then he looked up at Crowley, and Crowley looked down at him, his red eyes glinting in the moonlight, and all of a sudden Lilia got this… somewhat nostalgic look on his face. His laughing quieted, but he still held a smile, as oddly somber as it may have appeared. “You look really familiar,” he let out, murmuring, the words slurring together a bit.

“Do I?” Crowley asked, tilting his head to the side. “I’m not sure who you’d confuse me for. I haven’t met many others who wear a mask like I do.”

“It’s less that,” Lilia tells him, squinting up at him, as though trying to study him. “It’s more… your eyes, your hair, your face. You look like…”

He got quiet at that, smile completely disappearing off of his face. “Lilia?” Crowley questioned, abandoning the honorifics.

“You look like Raverne,” he said, voice soft, gentle, nervous. “A lot like him. That’s so strange, isn’t it?”

“Raverne?” Crowley repeated, confused, leaning down, closer to Lilia. He’d heard that name before, somewhere, he knew it, but wherever he heard it was escaping him. Blame the alcohol, he supposed. “I’m– I’m not sure I know–”

Lilia lifted his arms, suddenly wrapping both of them around Crowley’s neck, getting onto his tip-toes to do so. Crowley let out a surprised noise as Lilia did so, and as their positions shifted, he braced his own hands on Lilia’s sides to steady himself. The fae let out a hum of some sort, and doesn’t it look like he’s almost blushing, the pink of his cheeks matching his hair, which looks so soft, and his eyes looking up at Crowley like rubies, and– “You look a lot like him,” Lilia repeats, and with Crowley leaning down and he himself leaning up, their faces are far too close together, and–

And Lilia lifts himself onto his toes as much as he can, pressing a kiss directly to Crowley’s lips.

Crowley knows that this is bad. He was worried about just walking with a student, let alone having one kiss him. He should push Lilia off of him, really. He should make it clear that this isn’t okay. Mr. Vanrouge, you’re a student, he should say, this is completely inappropriate on so many levels, I shouldn’t even have been drinking with you, this is wrong. He should say all of that. But he doesn’t. He removes his mask, looping the string around a belt loop so he doesn’t need to worry about it. Lilia’s eyes widen, staring up at the man above him. Crowley didn’t pay much thought to his face when he wasn’t wearing the mask, but undoubtedly, all Lilia is seeing is the man he remembers, this ghost of a memory.

What Crowley does, instead of telling Lilia how horribly inappropriate this whole thing is, is he leans down further, kissing Lilia back, on his lips.

Things escalate quickly from there. Lilia grabs the sides of Crowley’s face with both hands, running his own tongue along Crowley’s lips, and the headmage opens his mouth, allowing Lilia inside. The fae lets out a soft gasp, running his tongue against Crowley’s, who moans at the feeling. Lilia’s hands migrate from around his neck to his chest, running his hands against Crowley’s chest. Seven above, when was the last time he had been touched like this? Crowley reciprocates, moving his hands to rest on Lilia’s hips as they kiss. Is he hard? He thinks he might be hard. Is this really all it takes, now?

Lilia can definitely tell, his hands moving down Crowley’s chest to the waistband of his slacks, tugging at them. Crowley gently leans up, separating himself from the fae. “Hold on,” he breathes, finding himself much more out of breath from just the kissing than he had expected. “Hold on. Not– not right here.”

“No one is around,” Lilia counters.

“Not right now,” Crowley sighs, “but if someone saw–”

“Here,” Lilia huffs, grabbing Crowley’s wrist, pulling him along. The shops they were walking past had long since closed, all their windows dark. Lilia quickly found a space between two of them that was wide enough for both of them to fit, and he dragged Crowley into the space. Hurriedly, even a bit roughly, Crowley was pushed against a wall, and Lilia dropped down onto his knees, quickly undoing the headmage’s belt buckle, unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks, pulling them down enough to expose Crowley’s cock.

Crowley sharply inhaled as he was exposed to the cool night air, and then let out a loud moan, tangling his fingers into Lilia’s hair as the bat fae wrapped a hand around the base of it, beginning a harsh pace as he stroked it up, down, up, down. “L-Lilia,” Crowley breathed, reaching his other hand up to cover his mouth. “Lilia, oh, please–” he moaned, arching into the contact.

“It’s been so long,” Lilia sighed, “since I’ve been able to do something like this. Is it good?” He asked, glancing up at Crowley, who nodded down at him. The back of his mind gnaws at him– they shouldn’t be doing this. Lilia, no matter how old he is, is his student. But oh, it feels so nice, the shorter’s hands wrapped around him, his breath hot against Crowley’s member. Having received confirmation from Crowley, Lilia shifts, removing his hand. This draws a rather embarrassing whine from the headmage only for it to morph into a startled moan as Lilia quickly replaces his hand with his mouth, wrapping around the head of Crowley’s cock and then sinking down, down, down.

“Lilia!” Crowley shouted, head rolling back at overwhelming sensation. His eyes rolled back, mouth staying parted, heaving breaths and moans falling out as Lilia continued. The fae’s teeth just barely grazed against the skin there, and each time it did, it caused another shudder to run down Crowley’s spine. Lilia hummed around it, which, of course, only intensified these feelings.

He was able to fit a surprising amount in his mouth, delegating one hand to rubbing at the bit he couldn’t get in, the other hand bracing against Crowley’s hip. He pulled off of it, a string of saliva still connecting him to the appendage, panting for air. “So big,” Lilia hummed. Crowley wasn’t sure if it was so much that he was big or that Lilia was small, but he didn’t bother to interrogate it. Lilia continued to run his hand over it as he panted, pressing kisses all over it between his breaths.

“Oh, please,” Crowley sighed, swallowing heavily as he looked down at the shorter. Lilia really was pretty, even in such a dirty context. His hair was as soft as Crowley thought it looked, and despite how drunk both of them were, he still got the feeling that Lilia’s eyes stared past his skin, right into his heart. Lilia’s eyes were the eyes of a predator. He looked beautiful, in that way. “Lilia, please, could I– I want to fuck you.”

Lilia looked up at Crowley with wide eyes, his face so very red, but he nodded, shakily raising up from his knees, stumbling a bit as they changed positions. The fae stood against the wall, taking a good second to undo his own slacks, pushing them down enough so that Crowley could lift his legs, giving him access. One of Lilia’s legs was lifted around Crowley’s waist as the headmage rubbed himself against Lilia’s hole a bit aimlessly, trying to use his own pre-cum to at least create a bit of lubrication for the smaller. Lilia whimpered, “Raverne, please.”

It gives Crowley pause. Somehow, in the tangle of instinct they had turned into, he’d seemed to forget that Lilia wasn’t thinking of this as sex with him. Every time Lilia saw Crowley, he saw someone else. Some part of that hurts.

Not like Crowley is going to stop. He’s come this far, and he’s still pretty interested in having sex for the first time in ages. He lifts Lilia’s other leg, bracing him, and begins to push himself into Lilia’s ass. The smaller’s mouth drops open as he lets out a long, drawn-out moan, legs shaking around Crowley’s waist as he opens up for the taller man.

Crowley shudders, seating himself fully inside Lilia, and then he pauses. Both of them haven’t done this in a long time. He stays still, giving Lilia time to adjust to the feeling, until the fae starts to wiggle his hips against him. “Come on,” he huffs.

Not wanting to wait anymore himself, Crowley slowly dragged himself out, feeling how Lilia’s walls clenched around him, and Lilia loudly moans at the feeling, his arms wrapping around Crowley’s shoulders and nails digging into his shirt. All at once, Crowley slams himself back inside, and Lilia jumps, screaming, yowling and clenching oh-so tightly around Crowley’s cock in a way that is absolutely heavenly. His voice breaks as noises just slip loose, as Crowley continuously slams in and out, loud slapping noises resounding around them.

“Raverne!” Lilia shouts, sobbing as Crowley continues his harsh pace. It starts to annoy Crowley as Lilia continues to say that name again, again, again. Raverne, Raverne, Raverne. He thinks, though, that even if he tried to explain this to Lilia, it wouldn’t do much good, with how completely out of it the shorter was. “Raverne, more, please– please!”

He can’t say anything about it. But still, still, he’s frustrated. He moves his hands from holding up Lilia’s legs to grip at his hips, his nails digging into the exposed skin, forcing Lilia’s hips back to meet each thrust. You like this so much, Crowley finds himself thinking. It’s not Raverne doing this to you. It’s me.

The name reverberates in his mind, ringing like a bell. Not Raverne. Dire Crowley.

Lilia cries out continuously as Crowley fucks him. Any concerns about Lilia being his student are entirely gone– no, he’s far more concerned with somehow proving something to the fae. That he can be as good, if not better, than Lilia’s memory.

Better than a ghost.

~~~~

Lilia is asleep in his arms. Crowley doesn’t blame him, he kinda wants to pass out too.

Crowley was expecting Lilia’s sleeping form to be heavier, but no. He slotted nicely into Crowley’s care, the headmage having redressed the both of them after their… interaction.

He wasn’t beating himself up during the event, but he’s beating himself up now. Lilia is his student. Beyond that, they’re both trashed. Or they were, anyway– Crowley felt pretty fucking sober now. What was he thinking? What is wrong with him?

He’s going to take Lilia back to Diasomnia, and he’s going to hand him off to Malleus– hopefully, if he’s still awake, ‘cause it’d be very intrusive to go lay Lilia down in his room himself– and hopefully, in the morning, Lilia will think it was all a dream. He met Crowley at the bar, got drunk, and went home, and he had a wonderful dream about having some extremely intense sex with Raverne. 

And Lilia won’t look at him that way anymore. And they’ll never bring it up again.

He thought so, anyway.

[m1chaelis]

like a virgin alice.

twisted wonderland // oc x malleus // wc: 1826 // warnings: VERY nsft // notes: i have queen of hearts - royal scandal brainrot. pwp, malleus has a dragon dick. i genuinely tried to keep the language as nonbinary as possible. we can say this is for day 5 + 30 of kinktober last year if we want!

Coffyn is gathered up in Malleus’ arms. They shudder against him, gasping for breath as his fingers caress their insides. The wet sounds combine with their panting to create a cacophony of lewd noises, Malleus’ own breath shockingly steady as he works his fingers in and out of Coffyn’s sex.

They feel completely disheveled in Malleus’ grip– still majorly clothed, both of them covered by their school uniforms. Malleus’ hand was rather unceremoniously shoved down Coffyn’s pants, while Coffyn’s own hands gripped tightly at Malleus’ uniform jacket, knuckles turning white from how hard they were holding onto him. They bit their lips hard, trying to keep their noises inside, but it did little to help, small whines and whimpers still escaping. Malleus’ hand– the one which was not busy with Coffyn’s nether region– kept a hold on their back, holding them steady as they leaned forward into his chest.

“You’re doing so beautifully,” Malleus sighed. “Taking my fingers so well. You look absolutely gorgeous like this.”

“Mah–” Coffyn started, barely even able to get his name out, huffing and puffing with each syllable. “Malleus, pluh– please, please–”

“I know,” Malleus cooed, his voice so sweet in a way that was almost condescending. “You’re so overwhelmed, aren’t you? It’s okay. You’re doing so well.” Coffyn sniffled as Malleus continued, his fingers practically digging within them, trying to hit deeper. Every millimeter he was able to manage garnered another series of pleading gasps and muffled moans from the shorter. “You want so much more, don’t you?”

Coffyn huffed, clenching their teeth, trying so hard to stay quiet. It was a futile endeavour. “Malleus,” they grit out, “Malleus, I– I need–”

It was a lot. It was truly a lot. Coffyn had never really… done this before. Coffyn had kissed, of course they had, their signature spell required it. They’d even kissed with tongue– a nameless boy, once. Hear he goes to Royal Sword now, whatever, that’s nice. But this– this was a lot. Coffyn had never gotten within the ballpark of what they were doing with Malleus. Not that it was bad, just a bit overwhelming. Despite this, they found themself leaning into it, wanting more. Voicing that was so much, though. Asking Malleus for more of the contact they so desperately ached for– for a more intense form of such contact, even– it was so embarrassing, wasn’t it?

“You can do it,” Malleus sighed, looking down at their writhing form, gazing into their eyes. Initially, he had thought they were a nice brown colour, but upon closer inspection they seemed to shine a rust-red hue. Perhaps just the lighting. “You can do it. Tell me what you want.”

Agitated, Coffyn gently hit Malleus with their balled fist– not trying to hurt him, just trying to communicate that this was embarrassing. They couldn’t do so vocally, anyway. They looked down, burying their face into Malleus’ chest, only for Malleus to remove his hand from their back, moving to tilt their head back up. “Don’t look away,” he instructed, not commanding but more so strict– soft but firm. Most of him seemed to be that way. “Don’t look away from me.”

“Malleus,” Coffyn groaned, looking up at the fae as he ran a thumb over their lips. He seemed to shudder, doing so, his gaze shaking back and forth from their eyes to their mouth. They looked at him in such a pleading manner– surely, he had to know. He had to know what he was doing to them, what they wanted. Judging by his expression– wide-eyed, his slits of pupils gazing at them oh so hungrily, mouth slightly agape, a blush coating his cheeks– he had to want it too. “Malleus, I– more, I want– I want you.”

Malleus likely wanted them to say more, but if he did, he abandoned such desires. He quite jarringly removed his fingers from inside of Coffyn’s sex, causing the shorter to let out a sharp whine, and without intending to they fell forward into Malleus. He gently– with his gross hand, ew– held them up as he leaned up onto his knees, and the hand not holding Coffyn upright was used to shakily unbutton his uniform slacks, pulling them down just enough to expose his undergarments. A simple black pair with a… noticable outline. Coffyn heaved, eyes shooting wide at the sight of it. That seems. Hm.

“It’s big,” they gawk, rather uncouthly staring down at the bulge. Malleus paid this no mind, pulling Coffyn back towards himself. He carefully undid Coffyn’s own pants, beginning to pull them down. They yelped in surprise at the feeling, somewhat instinctively moving to cover their crotch with their hands, which caused the fae to let out a chuckle. He continued to pull them down, down, down enough so as to expose Coffyn completely. They clenched their eyes shut tightly, face heating up rapidly, moving their hands to cover their face instead, as Malleus carefully laid them onto their back, removing their uniform pants.

“You’re okay,” Malleus hummed, leaning in to plant a kiss to the hands currently covering Coffyn’s face. They spread their fingers just enough to see Malleus through them. “You’re okay. I’m going to…” He inhaled sharply, eyes drifting down from Coffyn’s face to their crotch. He fixated on it for a moment. “I’m going to… be careful. I’m going to try to be careful.”

The key words there seemed to be try to. He pushed down his undergarments, his own cock being freed to the air around them. Something about it looked… odd? But Coffyn didn’t have the time to interrogate it. He rather rapidly, with one hand, lined himself up with Coffyn, his hips seeming to shake a bit as he pushed the head inside. Coffyn let out a loud moan as they parted for him, quickly adjusting, legs flailing, moving to wrap their arms around Malleus’ neck. Malleus studied their face as he pushed into them, slowly, slowly. It remained at the front of Coffyn’s mind that, putting aside Malleus’ own fingers, this was the first time anything had ever been inside them. Malleus knew this too– that had to be the whole reason he was trying to be careful.

Again. Trying to. It was going… a bit poorly, as the more he gazed at Coffyn’s straining features it seemed he gradually lost more and more control over himself. His hips stuttered, each tiny movement sliding more and more of his member into Coffyn until he was doing it on purpose, more and more of himself reaching inside them, and he was too excited, even just glancing at him Coffyn could see he was getting far too excited and then–

And then Coffyn screamed, all of Malleus inside of them at once. They screamed, and then they let out a heaved sob, because it’s big, and it’s a lot, it almost hurts, and it’s overwhelming, and by the seven, it’s good. 

“Coffyn,” Malleus sighs, his voice so soft and gentle, juxtaposed to the absolutely insane things going on inside of Coffyn. It’s– there’s a lot of feelings that Coffyn did not expect to have the first time they had sex. Namely, uh, a weird bulb feeling thing at the end, and something poking into their inner walls. “Coffyn, so pretty,” Malleus lets out, moving to stroke Coffyn’s hair so softly as he stays put for a good moment, giving them time to adjust, but they weren’t entirely certain the adjusting would be happening, because of the– weird??? Things???

They inhale sharply through clenched teeth, clinging onto Malleus’ uniform jacket. “What is going on with your penis,” they force out all at once, a singular burst of air. It was good, yes, but it was weird, and Coffyn was not expecting it to be weird.

“It’s… What?” Malleus questions, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Your– your dick,” Coffyn glances away.

Malleus’ expression suddenly morphs into concern. “Is it bad?”

“No! No,” Coffyn huffs, running a hand through their bangs, trying to keep the hair out of their face. “It’s not– it’s not bad but it feels like there’s– uh, a circle– a sphere. At the end. And it’s– it’s poking me?” They grimace, trying to explain it while also coping with how their mind has been rapidly melted. Taking their brain apart and putting it back together.

Malleus blushes, seeming to realize what they’re talking about. “I– that’s, um. That’s normal,” he assures them, but he sounds horribly embarrassed, like he didn’t consider that this was something he would have to explain. “Or– or normal for fae. I don’t know if it’s– humans might not have those. I didn’t consider that it may be…” He audibly swallowed, and then coughed, clearing his throat. “Humans might not have those,” he repeated.

“What, uhm…” Coffyn glanced to the side, then back. “What are those?”

Malleus glanced away, covering his face with one hand. “It’s… scales. And. A knot.”

Coffyn squinted, staring up at Malleus. “Please elaborate further.”

“They’re meant to help, um… keep it inside,” Malleus softly explained, looking anywhere but at Coffyn as he did so. He had been so enraptured with them, forcing them to look at him even when they were embarrassed, but when he’s embarrassed, oh no, stop the presses. “When mating. It’s important to… it helps make sure that if I were with a… a female, then…”

Coffyn gapes up at Malleus as he explains, eyes blown wide. “Oh,” they let out. “Uh. Well.”

“We can stop,” Malleus offers. “We can drop it all now. I won’t– I won’t hold it against you,” he explains, “if you’re uncomfortable with this, I completely understand. I won’t make you keep doing this if you feel uncertain.”

“I mean, you better not,” Coffyn huffs, “but– but no. I mean, yes? I want to keep going.” Malleus tilts his head questioningly, so they continue, “it’s… humans don’t have those, no. But I want to keep going. It’s–” their face feels so hot, as they quiet a bit, hunching up their shoulders as though trying to hide. “It feels good, honestly.”

Malleus looks like he’s trying not to smile. Like he’s trying to hold it in. “Is that so?” He asks, leaning forward. His movement causes the scales to shift inside Coffyn, causing them to wince a bit, letting out a soft gasp. The longer the scales remain inside Coffyn, the less they feel pokey and intrusive. They scratch somewhat pleasantly against their walls, nothing painful. Malleus presses a kiss to Coffyn’s lips, gentle and sweet, and then he’s pulling out, slow and steady, and Coffyn lets out a sigh and a moan as it drags inside them. It’s nice. It’s good.

“You look so beautiful,” Malleus sighs, dragging himself in, out, in and out again. Coffyn adjusts to wrap their arms around Malleus’ neck, leaning up to give him a kiss. And then another, and then another.

It’s nice.

[m1chaelis]

hey hey, i'll make you listen over and over again!

twisted wonderland // oc x oc // wc: 1323 // warnings: NA // notes: more of my oc coffyn, this time actually shipped with my boyfriend's oc (octavinelle, based on red riding hood) named krasnys volk!

Krasnys has a delivery for them.

“Azul asked me to drop this off for you,” he smiles, a sweet and awkward look. He’s shaking a little. Coffyn is glowering at him, squinting, like this is some weird fucked up mind game and not literally Krasnys’ job. “It’s, uh.” He swallows, hefting the basket back up, lifting its flap. Inside is… cake? Coffyn goes from glaring at Krasnys to glaring at the cake. “Jade made it for the menu today, but then Floyd ate most of it, and so… we can’t sell just one slice…”

“So I’m an afterthought,” Coffyn clicks their tongue, but they do take the plastic container the cake rests in from the basket. “I’m glad to take it off your hands, don’t get me wrong.”

“I don’t think it’s that you were an afterthought,” Krasnys tries to explain. “I think if that was the case, Jade and Azul would’ve just eaten this one themselves.”

“That’s true…” Coffyn sighs, cracking open the container and observing the cake. “I don’t even know if I can eat this, to be honest with you. What do you know about it?”

“What do I know about it…?” Krasnys asks, tilting his head, perplexed at the question. “Well, it’s, uh. Chocolate?” He uses the hand not lifting the basket to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. He looks so nervous to be interacting with Coffyn at all. Like he doesn’t want to, like he wants to just run away and go hide back in Octavinelle. Well, he can’t. He can think they’re scary or ugly or intimidating as much as he wants, he’s going to do his job and answer all of Coffyn’s questions. Of which they have many.

“I really prefer yellow cake,” they explain, “but chocolate is fine. What is the frosting made out of? Beyond that, what flavour is the frosting? Is it dyed, or does the colour come from the ingredients?” Their eyes bore up at Krasnys. “Were the ingredients sourced ethically?”

“Asking Azul to do anything ethically is asking a bit much,” Krasnys frowns, rather blunt, before seeming to remember himself, clearing his throat. “I can’t make any promises on where the ingredients came from,” he starts, placing a hand over his heart– something he undoubtedly picked up from Jade, as Coffyn has seen Jade do that exact movement many, many times. “But I can tell you that it’s a whipped frosting, so it’s very light, fluffy. It’s not dyed– the colour comes from blueberries and raspberries both being mixed together to flavour the frosting.” Coffyn nods along as Krasnys explains. He knows what he’s giving out, at least. “It was made simply by combining heavy whipping cream, sugar, vanilla extract and the crushed berries.”

“I see,” Coffyn smiles. “I can’t eat this.”

Krasnys balks, eyes widening suddenly. He shakes his head, hand falling from his chest, trying to shake off the surprise. “I– I’m sorry? Why not?” Coffyn extends the cake back to him, which he gently takes. “It’s– I mean, I can… give it to someone else, but– but why?”

“I don’t like whipped frosting,” they shrug, crossing their arms. “Azul should know that. I have never once ordered a cake from the Mostro Lounge made with whipped frosting.”

Krasnys sighs, rubbing his temple with the palm of his hand, his fingers tangling a bit into his curled hair. “Right. I mean…” Another sigh. “I don’t want to defend Azul really, or give him too much credit, he’s definitely not the best boss in the world, but he’s really not the person keeping track of who orders what. That’s more Floyd and Jade, and the other servers.”

Coffyn places their hands on their hips, rolling their eyes. “Oh, come on. I go there all the time. If Jade doesn’t know, then that’s not better.”

Krasnys’ eye twitches, looking down at Coffyn. Unfortunately, they find themself thinking that he looks a little cute when he’s frustrated. They quickly stamp that thought out, remembering that they are very not happy with Octavinelle as a whole at the moment. Stupid Azul not renewing their stupid contract. Casually ruining their life. “You’re very particular,” Krasnys says simply. “I am a little surprised that Jade wouldn’t remember that, if you really are there so often.”

“Yes!” Coffyn agrees. “Yes, thank you. Horrible customer service, truly,” they huff, “that he would forget such a thing. Zero stars.”

“But you aren’t a customer,” Krasnys frowns down at them. “This was a gift, which you’re being quite rude about. Getting free things from any of them is very valuable,” He’s scowling in such a way that Coffyn can see his teeth– sharp. Oddly sharp. “You really should be more thankful. Of course, if you don’t want any more gifts, I’ll gladly tell them that.”

Coffyn worries at the insides of their lips. This is weird. They were in control of this whole situation until just now. And the worst part is that Krasnys is right– that whole dorm, but especially the housewarden and his right hand man, they don’t do anything for free. Receiving a gift from them signifies being in their good graces– it’s genuinely valuable. As mad as Coffyn may be at them, and as much as Coffyn is definitely not going to actually eat the cake, it does matter that it was delivered to them completely free of charge.

Krasnys has a point, and he looks kind of handsome making it. Coffyn grinds their teeth. “No,” they grit out. “Give it here.”

“Oh? And here I thought you weren’t going to eat it,” Krasnys hums, handing it back to them. Coffyn snatches it away, and the plastic digs into their hands uncomfortably with how quick they grab it.

“I’m not,” Coffyn hisses, “but it would be rude of me to deny a gift when they– when you went out of your way to bring it here. I’m sure the trek was very annoying,” they huff. “So yes, I’ll do you a huge, ultra-massive favour and make the trip worthwhile. And if Jade or Azul ask, you tell them I ate the whole thing right in front of you and I absolutely loved it and they can give me all their afterthought cake that they ever have, ever.”

“That’s definitely overselling it,” Krasnys murmurs, but he seems to relax a bit. He’s not scowling anymore, which is almost a shame. “But yes, thank you so very much. Very happy you are doing me the big favour of… letting me do my job. So I don’t get fired.”

Coffyn rolls their eyes. “Yes, you’re very very welcome.” And then, “you’re in the class before mine, aren’t you? 2-A?”

Krasnys blinks down at them, the same confused look returning to his face. “Am I? I’ve never paid attention to anyone in the classes before or after me.”

Figures. Coffyn huffs, stomping a heel, resting the plastic container in their arms. “Well! You ought to start paying attention,” they declare, turning their nose up and projecting their voice, trying to exude some level of superiority. It probably doesn’t work to the amount they intended, given that Krasnys is a good bit taller than them. “Being inattentive now will cost you later in life. Besides, the more you pay attention, the more you’ll see me!”

“Is that a reward?” Krasnys actually chuckles, and again, Coffyn can see his teeth, the soft white light of Pomefiore’s lounge glinting off of them. Coffyn can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not– they’re a little distracted by his laugh. It’s nice. Why is it nice! How dare he!

“It is!” They proclaim. “It is a reward! So you’d better start paying attention!” They turn, quickly retreating from the conversation. They lost ground, and it seemed like they never recovered. “Goodbye, delivery boy!”

Krasnys sighs, but if he says anything in response, Coffyn got out of there too fast to hear it.

[m1chaelis]

throw them all away, let me hold you at last

twisted wonderland // oc x malleus // wc: 1997 // warnings: self-image issues // notes: more of coffyn and their little harem army teehee. i love malleus too much you know i had to get him in there.

Coffyn is curled up in their casket. Sobbing.

Ugly sobbing– they’re so ugly when they cry. Their school uniform is stained as they rub at their eyes, the tears just won’t stop. They’re so ugly. They’re being ridiculous, honestly– get over it. Get over it. Get yourself the fuck together. You’re grown.

The casket is comforting to them. Their room is almost too open– too much free space. They feel more comfortable in a small area like this. The casket is a bit away from the Ramshackle dorm, not too far, and no, it’s not really “Coffyn’s” casket, but it’s completely empty, and they figure if someone else was using it, it wouldn’t be out in the open, now would it? The wind whirling around the casket doesn’t bother them– inside the old wood, they’re mostly protected from it. A storm may come soon. Maybe if the rain pours around them, it’ll be like they were never crying at all.

They have a small blanket underneath them, so as to keep the splintering wood from poking into their uniform. Also just to make it a little more comfortable to rest in. They just can’t stop crying– it’s pathetic. It’s just making them more upset.

“I don’t believe you’ve died yet,” a voice calls, and quickly, Coffyn jolts upright. They rub their eyes and nose, suck in a deep breath, bite the inside of their cheek to swallow any noise they might be making, to steady their expression. “I can’t see why you’d make home in a coffin when you are not dead.”

Coffyn rolls their eyes, sniffling harshly, still rubbing their eyes. “‘s not a coffin,” they choose to focus on, “it’s a casket. There’s a difference.”

“Do tell,” the voice questions, and Coffyn whips around to see– oh.

“You’re…” They sniffle again. The green vest gives it away. “You’re the Diasomnia housewarden.”

“I am,” the voice responds, attached to a tall man. Exceptionally tall, in fact, with the horns sprouting from the top of his head only make him seem taller. His hair is pure black, trailing down his shoulders. “I’d love to know the difference between a casket and a coffin,” he smiles down at them, and all of a sudden Coffyn feels even more pathetic with Malleus Draconia, of all people, looking down at them. Isn’t he like, the most powerful mage in the school, or something?

“A casket has four sides,” they explain, averting their gaze back to the ground. The grass around Ramshackle is so interesting, isn’t it? “A coffin has six.”

“So this is a casket,” Malleus nods along, arms folded behind his back, as he squats down next to Coffyn. “And you are a Coffyn.”

“Me?” They question, furrowing their eyebrows. “Well, that’s– it’s my name. Coffyn.” They glance back up at Malleus, but can’t hold his gaze for long. It’s intense, almost as though the housewarden is peering straight through him. “How do you know my name? I’m in Pomefiore.”

“Yes, I can tell,” Malleus smiles. “As a housewarden, it’s important for me to familiarize myself with many students, including ones outside of my own dorm.” Coffyn nods along as he explains, but after a second of him treating this as the real explanation, he chuckles. “Well, that’s part of it. In truth, I’ve heard a lot about you from some of my fellow housewardens.”

Coffyn whips their head back up, straightening up suddenly. “What do you mean?!” They ask, rather accusatory. “Who’s been talking about me?!”

Malleus brings a hand to his chin, seeming to run through his thoughts. “Well, your own, Vil Schoenheit. He talks of you quite often. Beyond him… Ashengrotto does, as well. Kingscholar, too.”

“Azul and Leona?” They ask, questioningly. “Why would they– why would Vil, even. I’m surely not interesting enough to warrant them talking about me like that,” Coffyn sighs. “There’s nothing special enough about me to really call for that.”

“You don’t believe so?” Malleus probes. “I’ll admit I wasn’t sure myself why they were so adamant in discussing you. It did not help that– when I did try to ask– I was told, in no uncertain terms, that it was simply none of my business.” He seemed to glare at the ground as he recalled this. “I’d expect nothing less from Kingscholar, admittedly, but that attitude from Schoenheit and Ashengrotto is… odd. I was told rather directly to keep myself out of it.” He then turns back up to Coffyn, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips. “Of course, seeing you alone out here like this, I figure it would be okay for me to at least check on you.”

Coffyn sighs, relaxing back into the casket. Is it drizzling? It feels like it’s drizzling. “Well, you’ve checked on me, and I’m fine, so.”

“I actually haven’t checked on you, really,” Malleus folds his arms. “You explained the difference between a casket and a coffin to me, but I assume that has little to do with why you’re crying.”

Coffyn sighs. “No. I was not crying about the differences between caskets and coffins.”

“I would appreciate it if you could tell me what has made you so upset,” Malleus explains, moving to prop his elbow up on one of his thighs, resting his chin in his hand. “Perhaps I could do something to help you.”

Rolling their eyes, “I really doubt it.” Coffyn pauses for a moment, before letting out a hefty sigh. “You aren’t going to leave until I tell you, though, aren’t you?”

“No, I will not be.”

Coffyn groans under their breath, once again pulling themself upright. “My contract with Azul is null and void and he’s not willing to redo it,” they explain. “He says it’s unethical. Beyond that, Vil isn’t willing to use his magic to help me either. So I’m stuck.” They bite their bottom lip. “I tried asking Jade if he would convince Azul to redo our contract, but he won’t, ‘cause he thinks I shouldn’t have even made a contract in the first place. Floyd is useless, Rook is useless, Epel is useless, my own magic is useless,” they grit their teeth together. “And I’m ugly. I’m ugly and no one is listening to me at all! So yes, I’m pretty upset!”

Malleus is staring down at them. “You aren’t ugly.”

“Oh, please,” Coffyn clicks their tongue, glaring up at the housewarden. “Don’t bother lying to me. I– I know I’m ugly. That’s why everyone was talking about me, right? That’s probably why Azul doesn’t want to redo the contract. He thinks I’m disgusting.” They raise their hand to their mouth, biting at their thumb. “So does Jade, and Vil, and Leona, and everyone!”

“I don’t think you’re ugly,” Malleus states, looking at them dead in the eye. “I really doubt everyone else does. But I don’t.”

Malleus says it so earnestly. It almost frustrates Coffyn more, how honest he is about it. But something inside Coffyn just can’t believe him. “Stop,” they command, trying to sound firm, despite the whole in his chest eating away at his stability. “Stop.”

“You can be as frustrated as you want, but I will not change my mind,” Malleus states simply.

“Stop it!”

“The others weren’t talking about how ugly you may be. They were…” He pauses, seeming to consider his next words very carefully. “They hold you much more highly than you think they do.”

“Just stop!” They demand, and their voice wavers as they do. They pull their knees up to their chest, burying their head. “Stop it, or I’m– I’m gonna curse you! I’m so serious I’ll put a curse on you and I’ll never ever take it back.”

“You can try,” Malleus shrugs, seemingly quite confident that it won’t work. He doesn’t even seem defensive, or the slightest bit frightened. He just knows he’ll be fine. This, in turn, drains Coffyn’s own confidence in their magical ability from them. Coffyn slumps a bit, all of their limbs feeling suddenly like they’ve been turned to jelly. They just sit there, sniffling. The rain has picked up a bit, pitter-pattering on their head, down their bangs and over their face. Malleus, if he has noticed it, pays it no mind. “Why are you out here, in a casket?” He asks, after a few moments of silence. “Your dorm is certainly more comfortable to rest in.”

“Too big,” Coffyn explains simply, sighing. “I like small spaces. And this one is relatively quiet and lonely. Not many people out here.” They lift their head, staring at Malleus. They have no more tears to cry, really, just glaring at him with puffy red eyes. They undoubtedly look awful like this. “Usually, anyway,” they elaborate. “Why were you out here, anyway? Don’t you have better things to do in your own dorm?”

“I also like how quiet this area is,” Malleus explains. “Sometimes I like to go on a walk around this dorm. It helps to clear my head. Besides, I’ve recently become friendly with the housewarden of Ramshackle.”

Coffyn grimaces. “That guy?” They question. “Really?”

Malleus lets out a pleased huff. “Well, they’re quite kind, when you get to know them.” He turns to glance back in the direction of the dorm. They’re a bit far out from it, but it’s still visible, far off in the distance. “I’m not sure they will stay so kind, once they learn who I am, but I’m enjoying our conversation in the meantime.”

He sounds almost… disappointed, at the prospect of this person suddenly deciding they don’t like him anymore. It’s odd. In their entire conversation, Malleus seemed nothing short of confident. It tugs at Coffyn’s heart in a way they can’t quite place. “Well,” they concede, “if you’re ever left wanting for someone to talk to, I’m around.” They place their hands on the sides of the casket, propping themself up as Malleus turns back towards them. “You’re far better conversation than half the people in my own dorm, so…” They try to play it off a bit, glancing away. This is weird. This is weird, right?

“Better conversation?” Malleus parrots, and Coffyn nods. As they do, a wide smile spreads over his face, and he actually bursts into laughter. Loud, boisterous laughter. They find themself thinking it’s a nice sound. The rain pouring onto their head is hopefully enough distraction from their undoubtedly stupid expression. Not like Malleus isn’t also getting drenched. “I’ll admit,” he states, hand on his chest, as though he’s trying to contain his laughter, and then he whips his head one direction, wet bangs getting out of his face. He has… something or other, on his forehead. Hm. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been told such a thing before. Not by anyone outside of my own dorm, at minimum.”

“Well,” Coffyn huffs, finally standing from the casket. The longer they stay in the rain, the longer they’re going to spend drying off their hair, clothes, blanket, everything, they figure. “You have officially been told by me, a Pomefiore student. So.” They gather the blanket from the casket into their arms. Squishy and wet. Gross. “We should really get out of this rain.”

“I’ll be going to see the Ramshackle housewarden before I do,” Malleus explains, also standing. He extends his hand to Coffyn, which they take, using him as a brace to step out of the casket and onto the wet grass. “Perhaps I’ll be paying you a visit sometime soon, though.”

Coffyn looks up at him, nodding, brushing their own bangs out of their face. “Right,” they swallow, “that. Yes. Cool.” Are they blushing? This is weird! This is objectively weird. “I’ll be going now!” They hastily announce, releasing Malleus’ hand and spinning on their heel to return to Pomefiore. “Goodbye!”

They can’t see if Malleus waves them off, but they find his laughter resounding through their head as they make their escape.

Completely ridiculous. He didn’t help at all.

[m1chaelis]

the moon gets sad when you cry

twisted wonderland // mallidia // wc: 2343 // warnings: nsftish at the start then it gets stupid. warning is there to be safe. // notes: i heart projecting my skin condition onto characters. this is mostly fluff

Malleus is touching him.

Idia’s arms are covering his face. He’s trying so hard to focus on how it feels to be touched by Malleus– to have his claws just gently raking over his skin, underneath his boxers. Idia watches as they leave little red marks, and when Malleus moves his hand, the boxers ride up again. Give it ten minutes and he’ll be scratching those spots till they bleed. Fuckin’. Oops, he supposes. It hasn’t even happened yet. “Fucking oops?” Is that all he has to say? Is he serious? Malleus is touching him. He came all the way to Diasomnia from Ignihyde and braved asking Lilia for directions to Malleus’ personal bedroom for this. He wants this, dammit, focus.

It’s pretty nice, actually, the gentle scratching. Malleus’ hands rest on his hips in an awkward sort of way– not that it’s his fault, it’s really more Idia’s. They’re jutting out awkwardly– tall and lanky, far too boney. He can’t be comfortable to do this with. He should’ve kept his jacket on at least, or something, that would kind of cushion it– though Malleus would just push it up, wouldn’t he? By the seven, focus!

“Shroud?” Malleus questions, his voice soft and quiet. It makes Idia jump anyway. His ass was not focused. Malleus pulls back a bit, seeing how Idia jumps, and he hates that, like, really badly hates it. He moves one of his arms from his face to wrap around Malleus’ shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to make it clear he wants the taller to stay right where he is. “You seem… distracted.”

“Haha.” Idia starts. Awkwardly. He’s trying to have sex. “Uh. No, no. Not distracted. What gave you that impression?” Probably the fact that he’s sweating more from nerves than he is from any of the actual touching going on.

“You were… biting your lip very hard. And making these little… noises?” He WAS?? He didn’t even realize he was doing that. Malleus sounds about as confused by this as Idia is, which is cool, or mortifying, or some other third thing.

“No, uh. Sorry. I didn’t… I had no idea I was making noises,” he admits. “I mean, well, I hope i’m making, like, good noises. ‘Cause– ‘cause of what we’re doing. But I– I didn’t, like, realize. That I was.” He looks up at Malleus, hoping the housewarden understands what he’s trying to get at. Malleus just stares back at him, unblinking. Someone please kill him. “It wasn’t… it probably wasn’t good noises. If you’re worried.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Malleus agrees. He sighs, and leans to sit back, Idia’s limp arm simply falling from his shoulder as he does. “I don’t want to force you to do this if you don’t feel like you can, Shroud.”

“F-Force me??” Idia asks, hoping the bewilderment comes across in his voice. “No, that’s– Malleus, you aren’t forcing me at all. I’m worried I’m forcing you, more than anything.”

Malleus squints at him, which is a fairly appropriate response. “I came to you with this proposition first, though. You couldn’t be forcing me.”

“No, I mean– well, yes, that is what happened. But what if I pressured you into thinking you had to be the one to do that?” Idia explains, dragging himself to sit upright. He crosses his arms loosely, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I don’t wanna make you feel like you need to do all this junk for me.”

“You consider our proclivities to be junk?” Malleus asks, and he sounds a little peeved there.

Idia quickly waves his hands in front of him, panic seizing most of his senses all at once. “No! No, no, they aren’t junk at all, that’s not even a little bit what I meant! Not at all! I just– I just don’t want you to do stuff for me if you don’t want to!”

Malleus sighs. “Shroud, you really aren’t forcing me to do anything. I came to you because I wanted to. Because I desired you. Is that truly so hard to believe?”

“Uhm, yeah?” Idia responds, before he can catch himself, and then he proceeds to slap a hand over his mouth, because he did not mean to say that out loud, and he’s a dumbass. What else is new.

Again, Malleus squints at him. “Why is this hard to believe? Do I have such a reputation that it’s impossible to imagine me wanting such things as this?” And then he kind of crosses his arms, all frustrated and pissed off, and it’s actually kinda sexy when he does it, it looks kinda pathetic when Idia does it ‘cause he’s so completely unmuscular, but when Malleus does it it seems to highlight the muscle he has, really cements how he could just totally manhandle Idia if he wanted to– fucking hell, focus!

“No! You can– you can want whatever you want, Malleus, it’s not you. It’s. It’s me.” And doesn’t that just sound fucking stupid to say out loud? But he has to, ‘cause Idia kinda really likes Malleus. If Malleus leaves this thinking he’s the one at fault, not only does Idia lose his boyfriend, but Malleus may put a curse on his whole lineage. A second curse. A worse curse, even. His lineage ends with him anyway, but that’s still not preferable– whatever. “It’s just… I’m not really attractive? I’m kinda fugly. And I’m all like. Lanky. And weird. And you’re not any of that stuff, you’re super attractive, and pretty decently built, and you’re weird but in a good way, in a way that I like, so it’s hard to imagine you would want to do anything like this with me, yeah.” He shrugs as he explains. “Not because you can’t want sex or something, just ‘cause… why would you want it with me.”

Malleus seems to consider this information deeply as it’s presented to him. He raises a clawed hand to his chin. “So it’s more that… you find yourself unattractive?”

Idia swallows. “I mean, yeah. That’s part of it.”

“And you think, because of that, that I should find you unattractive.”

“Yeah, basically,” Idia sighs, exhaustedly raising his palm to his forehead. He’s getting a headache trying to explain all of this. He shouldn’t even be bothering Malleus with it anyway, right? It’s not like it ultimately matters to him. Malleus wants to have a good time when he spends time with Idia, if Idia spends the whole time being depressing, Malleus isn’t gonna want to date him anymore. It really is that simple. He scratches his hip. “I want to… have sex with you. I liked when you were touching me. But I kept getting distracted ‘cause I kinda can’t believe that you actually find me hot enough for this.” He scratches his hip again.

Hm.

“I don’t find you unattractive, though,” Malleus explains, and he has a sort of stern look on his face. Idia knows that Malleus isn’t really mad when he looks like that, more like he’s just trying to be straightforward in his explanation. Idia scratches his hip again. And then again. It’s itchy. “I think you’re extremely handsome, in all honesty.”

“That’s really nice…” Idia starts, and now he’s nervous for a different reason. His hip is really itchy, huh.

“I truly find you to be the most stunning person on the planet– you are, in more ways than not, like a bright star to me,” Malleus continues. “A star may even not be the best comparison. Your beauty is truly a once in a lifetime sight to behold.”

Malleus is being so nice right now. Like so, so nice. And Idia would love to focus on it, but he’s too busy ruining things for himself. He keeps scratching his hip. “That’s– I really appreciate that, Malleus, I think you’re really handsome too, I just–”

“I want you to really understand this,” Malleus then takes his hand– the hand that isn’t scratching his hip. Does he even notice that Idia is doing that? “I need you to understand this. Don’t ever think that I don’t find you attractive– that I don’t find you desirable. I do.” He presses a kiss to Idia’s hand, there. It’s exceedingly romantic and actually fills Idia with hundreds of butterflies all at once. He may throw up. “What I want, more than anything, is to truly show you how desirable I find you, in all aspects. I want to do this any way that I can.”

“Malleus if we don’t stop right now I may or may not go into anaphylactic shock,” Idia announces, completely unromantically and in one singular burst of air that leaves him kind of panting and heaving and actually maybe on the verge of freaking the fuck out in a much more severe way.

Malleus drops his hand, seems to drop everything in his brain, staring at Idia with wide eyes. “May or may not??” He asks, followed promptly by, “What’s wrong, what’s going on?”

Idia scoots back enough to rip down his boxers– not, like, not entirely. He’s not trying to flash Malleus. Just enough that he can see the telltale red lines and splotches which are rapidly getting more pronounced the more he scratches them. Which he keeps doing. He’s trying to force his hand away, which is difficult.

“Are you okay?” Malleus asks, genuinely sounding extremely worried, looking down at the red welts all over Idia’s hip, spreading further to the rest of his side. “What is that?”

“They’re, uh. I have a skin condition. I didn’t think–” he scratches it again. Fucking stop, dude. “It’s like, pressure activated? Things scratch and press against me and then I start hiving.”

Malleus looks down at the welts again, grimacing. “Is that my fault?” He asks, sounding weirdly pathetic about it, like he’s a child scared of getting in trouble. “I didn’t mean to do that, how do we make them go away?”

“It’s– it’s not really your fault, I should’ve taken my medicine before I got here, honestly,” Idia chuckles, trying to wave this off. “It’s really NBD. I just need to take my medicine now, and they’ll go away.”

Malleus nods, reaching down to pull Idia’s bag up to the bed. Idia nods a thank you at him and begins rifling through it.

“If you don’t find your medicine, are you going to go into anaphylactic shock?” Malleus asks, watching intently as Idia unzips every pocket of the bag.

“Maybe? I actually don’t know,” Idia confesses, “I’ve never really researched it. Ortho told me it could happen.” Which sounded smarter to say inside his head. Ortho is a child. A child with basically unlimited internet connection, sure, but still a child. Anything he told Idia could either come from an actual medical journal or his own very biased opinions. Ortho probably just told Idia it could happen because he wanted his older brother to be careful, actually. That’s probably the extent of it. Probably.

He’s still scratching himself when he realizes that his medicine is 100% not in his bag. “FML,” he says out loud, which means nothing to Malleus, and so he elaborates, “it’s not in here. I need to go back to Ignihyde and get it.”

Malleus clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary,” he tells Idia, dismissively waving his hand. He gets up, walks to his bedroom door. Right when Idia thinks that he housewarden is actually going to just straight up kick him out, or tell him to die and go fuck himself all at once, Malleus cracks open the door just enough so that he can shout “SEBEK!” at the top of his lungs.

As though it was a spell, the freshman showed up not two seconds later. “Yes, Malleus, your highness!” He announces, loud enough that Idia can hear him from still inside Malleus’ room. “Whatever you require, I will see to it to the best of my ability!”

“That’s nice,” Malleus tells him, in a way that Idia thinks is a little condescending, but Sebek seems to not pick up on. “Listen carefully. You need to go to Ignihyde, you need to find the younger Shroud, and you need to inform him that Idia needs his medicine immediately. You aren’t to return to Diasomnia until you have it.”

Straight-up banning him from the dorm until he gets Idia’s nebulous allergy medicine feels a little harsh, in Idia’s opinion, but Sebek doesn’t even question it. “Of course, Malleus, your highness! I’ll be back here with it in no time!” And just as quickly as he’s appeared, he’s gone.

“Kind of impressive that you have real people who will just do that for you,” Idia huffs, knees pulled back up to his chest. He’s scraping at the itchy area even still. “You aren’t gonna kick me out?”

“No?” Malleus tells him, sounding confused himself. “You’re to stay here so that I can keep an eye on you,” he explains. He crawls back into the bed. It probably made Sebek’s day that not only did he get to do something for Malleus, he also got a small peak of the fae not wearing a shirt. Idia gets to look at him like this more than Sebek does, which is sort of a point of pride for him. “I don’t want anything to happen to you until he gets back. This way, I can be certain nothing will.”

That’s… really sweet actually. Malleus pulls Idia’s legs back down so that he can slide between them, lacing his arms around the shorter’s back. Idia, unsure of what to do with his own arms aside from scratch himself– which, if he does continuously, will lead to bleeding, he knows– awkwardly pats Malleus’ head between his horns, causing him to let out… a purr? A purr. Like a cat.

Idia is pretty fine staying like this, actually. Even after Sebek comes back with the medicine, he’d like to.

But saying that out loud is so embarrassing, isn’t it?