First and foremost, I will not delete this or @eruriotica without warning. These will stay up until I decide otherwise, and then I will announce their impending doom.

I have gone away from this platform and the social interactions here. I log in once a month at most, and more often don’t login in at all for a few. Mostly, I am found on twitter for fandom stuff; all my writing (with the except of maybe a few drabbles) can be found on AO3.

Where am I going? As my university studies really pick up on my concentration, I’m moving away from time sinks like this one, that rely so much on browsing or scrolling. For rambling thoughts on a mix of personal, university, and fandom, check out my dreamwidth. I’m resurrecting a journal that has sat empty for a year and a half; I am finding that this style of “social media” is more my speed (and I’m going to show my age a little— it’s because places like livejournal were where I first met fandom on a public library computer, back when I was reading the Star Wars novels in 2005).

“What a whore.”

Nanaba does her best not to betray her feelings, does her best not to flinch. She remains tall where she waits, scrolling through her phone until the tram comes. Several meters away, a group of her classmates are baiting for her attention: she knows this, because they do it so often that it should be boring by now. It should, but it isn’t, because it still stings her a little.

One of the other omegas snickers, “Look at her pretending she can’t hear us.”

Erwin has cuffs and belts with hooks and clips: he puts the two pets together for a nap. Being slightly taller, Nana is made to cradle Levi, the leather strapped around their wrists, waists, thighs, and ankles chained together. Naked in the summer heat. Ear plugs, weighted blindfolds, steadfast immobility meant to calm his anxious little ones. He can desensitise Nana to the deprivation so long as Levi anchors her. Erwin wants to give her the gift back, the ability to trust again. It’s a slow process.

Mike teaches the little runaway how to clean the guns before he teaches her how to shoot. His hands eclipse Nanaba’s own when he takes them and shows her what to do the first time. Just making sure she gets them cleaned properly, he tells himself. He wants to feel nothing but mentorship in the touch.

He sets up targets with some old aluminium cans he still has in the shed. In the afternoon chill, she’s got the Carhartt jacket zipped all the way up, her skirt attempting to billow in the breeze. He brings her into his half-embrace, into his bosom, his hands dictating the motions of her wrists. She’s so small under his touch. He could break her; sometimes he feels like even his shadow weighs more than she does with a full belly or sopping wet.

All Levi knows is that she got fucked up by a bad Dom for a couple of years. He doesn’t know the specifics, but as the summer flits on, he begins to understand why Erwin had cautioned Levi endlessly before agreeing to obedience training.

Erwin is in the middle of training them how to beg for dessert after dinner; Levi and Nana are on their knees, hands curved down like paws, whimpering in the backs of their throats, when Erwin opens his mouth and teases, “I can’t hear you.” And Nana collapses down like a controlled demolition, hands covering her ears, playful puppy sounds morphing into terrified whines.

Grabbing hold of the hand around her throat, Nanaba fights to breathe. He always gets a little carried away when he finds her foolishly uncovered and without a nightlight to scare him away. In fact, her drapes are pulled shut, blocking out the moonlight and stars, casting her bedroom into the perfect atmosphere on this deep winter night. In her sleep, she had roughed up her blankets, leaving herself exposed to him when he came creeping out from under her bed, and without a light to send him scurrying away, she had become weak (and willing) prey.

“Please,” she wheezes, legs tightening around his waist. She’s close. She can hear the way his cock churns wet inside of her, can feel her cum pooling and cooling in the sheets around her ass.

He answers with a growl and a wicked motion that stuffs him up into her cunt, and then her back arches as endorphins burst through her body. When Nanaba sinks down limp, legs loosening around him, he releases her throat and slides out from between her legs. He’s fed from her pleasure and means to go back beneath her bed, but she grabs his arm.

“Stay until the sun comes up,” she whispers. No need for persuasion, though. He immediately rearranges her, moving her blissed rag doll body to his liking until the demon settles down, big spoon. One huge, clawed hand massages the bruises forming a collar that she wishes were more than just burst blood vessels.

“Is this why you summon me?” He asks, voice like brimstone and hellfire and fondness.

They form an induced fit. When they are together, they bind to one another. Nanaba’s nature is already sweet and submissive, but she’s an obedient bitch of a lapdog with Erwin. She lays her head in his lap and begs so convincingly for her destruction at his hand, for the achingly tight shackles of his control.

“I love when you hurt me,” she whispers, nearly whines if she were a decibel or two louder. “Please, sir, please hurt me some more.”

“Sweet pet,” he always promises, rubbing out the angry red scalp were he’d grabbed fists of sweaty curls when he was beating her. “Could I ever deny a good girl like you?”

Kenny’s not used to seeing her all dolled up like this. He sits beside Petra, watching her expertly edit the footage they spent the last hour capturing, something she calls a muck bang or something. He’s still not certain what the purpose of these types of videos are, but this is how she makes her living and he’s happy enough to help out.

Despite always presenting a made-up face for youtube and the instapicture thing, Petra usually has a fresh face. Most of the time. Even when Kenny takes her out to dinner, she doesn’t wear as much make-up as he sees on her social media.

“Boyfriend feeds me dinner while we answer Qs,” Petra mumbles as she types out the video title. There’d been a lot of the usual ones they get in real life: why the age gap? Are you really dating or is he just a sugar daddy? That one gets him laughing. He’s just an old grizzled cop on a salary; Petra easily makes twice as much, something he can’t quite wrap his head around even a year into this. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t need him for anything. But she says she loves him and by god, he kinda loves the pipsqueak, too.

“How about this one?” She asks, pulling up a screenshot for the video still where Kenny was joking here comes the airplane and she had burst out with giggles. “I’ll even use the plane and baby emojis.”

A question he heard during his last year at grammar school becomes deja vu during his final year at high school: “Why do you always eat lunch with your sister?”

As children, they’d done it because Nana was scared to be in the cafeteria, and the only way her teachers could get her to sit and eat was if Mike was with her. Then she grew out of it, and for a while, she was her own social person.

But her first year at high school is a big year, and Mike’s a comfortable sophomore in the student body, so he lets her cling to him again like when they were younger. Somewhere in all that clinging, he becomes increasingly aware that she’s not his real sister, even though everyone thinks so. And rightfully so, since his dad married her mom when they were ten and eleven.

By his senior (her junior) year of high school, people have stopped asking why Mike is so close to Nanaba. It’s just become an expectation: wherever he is, she can be found.

The football team, in the fashion of aggressive teenage boys, is embarassing themselves tonight, but Mike’s not paying particular attention, not with Nana wrapped up in his letterman jacket with him. She’s warm, unbearably warm. He tries not to press against her too obviously, but he can’t help himself, he gets a good grind in anytime they shift a little too much.

They head back home before the game is over, knowing that their school will lose. Their parents are, in recurrent fashion, absent. So the teenagers, in their well-formed habit, are twisted up in bed together, Nana’s quiet moans held between them. No one knows they’re sexually active, let alone that they’re fucking each other. There’s a breather between each round, and by the time they shower and fall asleep in separate beds, midnight approaches. But still, he sneaks into her room for one last coupling before skulking into his own bed just in time to hear keys at the front door.

At breakfast, their parents feign interest into their school, their lives. Mike pretends to give pursuit of a made-up girl in his history class, but the way Nana bites her bottom lip and looks forlorn makes even the lie burn in his veins.

“Does it make you jealous?” He quietly asks afterward, when they’re in the hallway space between their respective bedrooms.

“No,” Nanaba pretends.

Erwin brings home a little rat and at first, Mike don’t want shit to do with it. But he gets a good view of what Erwin’s cock does in his throat and soon, Mike can’t find a reason not to let Levi in, even just a lil’ bit. He don’t start by puttin’ his dick down the man’s throat. No, he starts by pettin’ him.

Levi got a certain way of being abrasive like a self-defense mechanism, but when Mike gets his massive hands on that undercut, the tiny noirette lets his head fall back, lets his eyes close, and Mike swears he can hear him fuckin’ purring and shit. When the three of ‘em are all tucked up in bed with wind and snow outside, when Levi’s a warm bundle beside him, Mike’ll loop his arms around the man’s shoulders and coax him up onto a bare chest, feelin’ that skin on skin goodness. Levi’ll sometimes wake up that way, his drool poolin’ between Mike’s pecs.

It ain’t Mike that makes the first proposal. He comes in on Erwin fucking Levi’s brains out all over the kitchen counters and Erwin grits between edged teeth, “Levi, suck his cock.”

Mike ain’t even hard yet when Levi’s shakin’ fingers is fiddlin’ with his belt and gulping down a half-chub. Ain’t take long though for Mike to watch the way his glans bulges out on the down stroke.