Work Text:
The LUXIEM shared apartment was quiet on this rare off-day morning. No streams, no schedules, no obligations. Just five young men scattered across the living room like lazy cats in a sunbeam.
Luca Kaneshiro was in the corner, pumping iron with single-minded determination, his blonde hair damp with sweat. Ike Eveland had his nose buried in a leather-bound book, though his eyes kept drifting away from the page. Mysta Rias was sprawled across the armchair, phone in hand, thumb frozen mid-scroll. And Vox Akuma was in the kitchen, pretending to make tea while actually gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
They were all waiting. Watching. Loving.
The object of their collective affection was still half-asleep in his room. But they all knew—they all knew—that when Shu Yamino emerged, their carefully constructed composure would shatter.
Because they'd all agreed. Months ago. After a long, honest conversation that had left all of them raw and vulnerable. They loved Shu. All of them. Equally, desperately, impossibly. And Shu loved them back—in his own quiet, oblivious way.
The polycule was established. Shu was their center. Their sun. Their everything.
And Shu had no idea how much he affected them.
Three Weeks Ago. Shu's Room. Before Stream.
Vox had been summoned for his most sacred duty: corset assistance.
That was the first time Shu asked him to help since the corset’s string was a tad bit too short and he can’t reach it.
He'd entered Shu's room with his usual theatrical flair, ready to crack a joke about being a demon playing dress-up. But the words died in his throat.
Shu stood before the mirror, his back to Vox. He was wearing only the black corset—unlaced, hanging loose around his torso—and a pair of black tights. His bare back was on full display, lean muscle shifting under pale skin as he turned to look at Vox over his shoulder.
Those amethyst eyes—clear and bright as gemstones—met Vox's in the reflection.
"Vox, can you tighten it? I need it snug for stream."
Vox swallowed hard. "How snug?"
"As tight as you can get it. I trust you."
Trust. He trusted him. Vox was going to die.
He stepped behind Shu, his hands finding the laces. He pulled. The corset cinched. Shu's waist compressed.
He pulled again. Tighter. The fabric creaked.
He pulled a third time, and Shu's torso narrowed into an impossible hourglass—broad shoulders tapering to a waist that could barely be a handspan wide.
Vox's hands trembled. "Shu, this is—are you—can you breathe?"
Shu's voice came out calm and steady. "Tighter, Vox. It's not tight enough."
"Shu, I can't—this isn't—"
"One more pull. Please."
Please. He said please. Like it was nothing. Like he wasn't sculpting himself into something that would haunt Vox's dreams for eternity.
Vox pulled. The laces were flush. The corset was perfect.
Shu turned around, his waist now a sharp V shape from broad shoulders to narrow core. He smiled at Vox—that soft, innocent smile that had nothing to do with the inferno he'd just ignited.
"Thank you, Vox. You're always so helpful."
Vox stumbled backward. His mind was screaming. He's a succubus. He has to be. No mortal man can look like that. No mortal man can endure that without flinching. He's not human. He's something more.
He fled the room, nearly colliding with Luca, Ike, and Mysta, who had been peeking through the door crack.
They were frozen. Eyes wide. Mouths open.
Luca whispered: "His waist. It's—I saw it. Before he put the rest of his clothes on. It was small as fuck. How is HE so small?"
Ike was gripping his notebook. "I need to write that down. The proportions—they're impossible. They're the perfect embodiment of a well proportioned body."
Mysta was pale. "He didn't even flinch. He asked for more. More tightness. He's a fucking terrifying monster. A fucking beautiful, terrifying monster."
Vox had just nodded, his voice wrecked. "He's a succubus. He's our succubus. And we're all going to die if we don’t do anything about it. Holy shit."
Present Day. The Living Room.
Shu shuffled out of his room, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
He was wearing a white oversized wide-neck shirt that kept slipping off one shoulder, revealing the elegant lines of his collarbone. Paired with black tights that hugged every lean muscle of his legs.
He was barefoot. His amethyst eyes—crystal clear, devastatingly beautiful—were still half-lidded with sleep.
"Morning," he mumbled, and collapsed onto the couch between Luca and Vox.
All four of them stopped breathing.
-
Shu Yamino was comfortable.
That was the first thought that floated through his consciousness as he sank into the couch cushions, sandwiched between Luca's solid warmth on his left and Vox's broader presence on his right. The white shirt was soft against his skin—he'd bought it specifically because the neck was wide enough to feel almost weightless, and the fabric was so oversized that it felt like being wrapped in a cloud.
The tights were even better. They were snug in all the right places, hugging his legs without constricting them. He'd always loved tights. They made him feel... free. Light. Comfortable.
He stretched his legs out, pointing his toes, and felt the fabric shift against his calves. Perfect.
"Morning, Shu," Luca said, his voice unusually tight.
"Mm." Shu blinked slowly, his amethyst eyes still adjusting to the light. He could feel Luca's gaze on him—could feel all of them, actually. Their attention was a palpable weight, warm and familiar.
He loved them. All of them. So much it sometimes made his chest ache.
They'd talked about it, months ago. The polycule. The agreement. The commitment. It had been awkward at first—Shu had never expected four people to love him simultaneously, let alone to agree to share him. But they'd all sat down together, and they'd talked, and they'd decided that Shu was worth it.
He was worth it.
He still couldn't quite believe that sometimes.
But he trusted them. He loved them. And he knew—in his heart of hearts—that they loved him too.
Even if he didn't always understand why.
Shu shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and the wide neck of his shirt slipped off his shoulder. He didn't bother fixing it. It was just a shirt. Just his collarbone. Nothing important.
He heard someone inhale sharply. Probably Luca. Or maybe Ike. It was hard to tell.
"What are you all doing today?" Shu asked, his voice still soft with sleep. "I have a few hours before stream."
"We were just... relaxing," Mysta said from the armchair. His voice had a strange quality to it—strained, almost. "Watching you... I mean, watching nothing. Just. Relaxing."
Shu smiled at him, too sleepy to notice the verbal stumble. "That sounds nice."
He pushed himself up, feeling the tights shift against his thighs, and padded over to his gaming setup. Valorant was calling. He'd been on a winning streak yesterday, and he wanted to keep it going.
The others watched him go. He could feel their eyes on his back—on the way the tights moved with each step, on the way the white shirt swayed around his waist. He didn't think anything of it. They were always watching him. It was sweet. They cared about him.
They're so good to me, Shu thought as he settled into his gaming chair. I should do something nice for them later. Maybe make dinner. Or—
He booted up Valorant and the thoughts scattered. Focus took over. His fingers found the keyboard, his eyes found the screen, and he was gone.
Valorant was Shu's escape. The game demanded everything—reflexes, strategy, precision. And Shu had all of it in spades.
He locked in his agent. The match loaded. And he was off.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, a blur of motion that would have been impossible for anyone else. His aim was surgical—headshot after headshot, clutch play after clutch play. The enemy team didn't stand a chance.
He leaned forward as the game intensified, his concentration absolute. The white shirt gaped at the neck, revealing more of his collarbone. The tights hugged his thighs as he shifted in his seat.
He didn't notice.
He won the round with a clean ace, and he pumped his fist in celebration, stretching his arms above his head. The shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of bare midriff above the waistband of his tights.
"YES!" he shouted, his amethyst eyes bright with triumph.
He turned to the others, grinning. "Did you guys see that? I clutched!"
They were all staring at him.
Luca's knuckles were white where he gripped the couch cushion. Ike had completely abandoned his book. Mysta's phone had fallen to the floor. And Vox—Vox looked like he'd stopped breathing entirely.
Shu blinked. "What? Was it a bad play? I thought it was—"
"No," Vox said, his voice strangled. "It was... excellent. Top-tier. Grade-A clutchery."
"Mhm," Shu said, turning back to his screen. "Okay. One more match."
He queued up again, oblivious to the silent crisis unfolding behind him.
It wasn't until after his third match—another victory, another celebration, another stretch that made his shirt ride up—that Shu finally noticed something was off.
He'd stood up to get water, his bare feet padding across the floor. The kitchen was across the living room, and as he walked, he passed directly in front of all four of them.
Luca was staring at his arms. Ike was staring at his collarbone. Mysta was staring at his legs. Vox was staring at everything.
And they all looked tense. Like they were holding something back. Something important.
Shu paused mid-step, confusion flickering across his features. "Is everything okay? You all seem... stressed."
"We're fine," Luca said quickly. "Totally fine. Just. Thinking about things."
"What things?"
"Waist things," Mysta blurted, then immediately went red. "I mean—weird things. Random things. Not—not your waist specifically. Or—actually, yes. Your waist. Specifically. But not in a weird way. In a—"
"MYSTA," Vox cut him off. "Stop talking."
Mysta clamped his mouth shut.
Shu tilted his head, genuinely perplexed. His white shirt slipped off his shoulder again, and he absently pushed it back up—only for it to slide right back down.
"You're all acting strange," he observed. "Did something happen?"
"No," Ike said, his voice strained. "Nothing happened. We're just... appreciating the aesthetics of the moment."
"The aesthetics," Shu repeated, even more confused. "Okay. Well, I'm going to get water. Does anyone want anything?"
They all shook their heads in unison, too quickly.
Shu shrugged and continued to the kitchen, his tights hugging his legs, his shirt billowing behind him.
He didn't see the way they all collapsed into themselves the moment his back was turned.
Shu's POV:
They're so weird sometimes. But I love them. I love them so much. Maybe I should do something extra nice for them today. Maybe cook their favorite foods. Or—I could ask Vox to help me with the corset later. He always seems to enjoy that. He gets this look on his face—like he's seeing something amazing. It's sweet.
I'm so lucky.
He had no idea.
-
Luca Kaneshiro was supposed to be working out.
He'd been at it for over an hour—push-ups, curls, squats, the works. His muscles were burning, his skin was slick with sweat, and he should have been in the zone.
But he couldn't focus.
Because Shu Yamino was in the room.
And Shu was wearing that shirt. And thosetights. And he was stretching and leaning and—Luca was going to explode.
It had started innocently enough. Luca had been mid-curl when Shu shuffled out of his room, all sleep-soft and rumpled. The white shirt had slipped off one shoulder immediately, and Luca's brain had short-circuited.
But then Shu had stretched. And Luca had seen them.
The biceps.
They were subtle—lean, defined, the kind of muscle that came from actual functional strength rather than gym vanity. When Shu lifted his arms above his head, the fabric of the shirt had strained around his upper arms, and Luca had seen.
He's strong.
The thought had hit Luca like a freight train. He'd always known Shu was capable—he'd seen him carry Ike and his books up three flights of stairs without breaking a sweat. He'd seen him lift both Mysta and Vox off the couch during a particularly chaotic game night. But seeing it like this—seeing the evidence of that strength outlined in lean muscle—was something else entirely.
How does he hide that? Luca's mind was racing. How does he hide all that muscle under those flowy clothes? It's a crime. It's a war crime. Why would you hide that? Why would you—
Shu had stretched again, and Luca had watched the fabric of the shirt stretch across his biceps, and he'd made a decision.
He had to know. He had to see. He had to touch.
Luca dropped his dumbbell with a loud clang and marched over to the gaming setup.
"Shu. Flex."
Shu blinked up at him, his amethyst eyes wide and confused. "What?"
"Flex your arm. Right now. I need to see."
"Why?"
"Because I KNOW you're strong." Luca's voice was almost desperate. "I've seen you carry Ike AND his books up three whole flights of stairs. You never break a sweat. You hide it. WHY DO YOU HIDE IT?"
Shu tilted his head, genuinely perplexed. "I don't hide it. I just... don't think about it. It's not important."
Not important. He said it was NOT IMPORTANT.
Fuck.
Luca felt something in his chest crack.
"Not important?" he repeated, his voice pitching higher. "Shu. You have—" He gestured wildly at Shu's arm. "—THAT. And you're telling me it's not important?"
"I mean... it's just my arm. I use it for things. It's not a big deal."
"It IS a big deal!" Luca grabbed Shu's wrist, gently but firmly, and lifted his arm. With his other hand, he pressed lightly against Shu's bicep. It was firm under his fingers. Solid.Real.
"THAT. That right there. That's—you're—" Luca's voice cracked. "You could probably bench press me."
Shu laughed, soft and confused. "Luca, I definitely can't bench press you."
"You don't know that! You haven't tried!"
Shu's expression softened. He reached up with his free hand and patted Luca's head, his fingers gentle against Luca's sweat-damp hair.
"You're cute when you're excited."
Luca froze. His face went red. His mouth opened and closed like a fish.
He said I'm cute. He said I'm CUTE. And he's still looking at me with those amethyst eyes, and his arm is still under my hand, and I can feel his muscle, and I'm going to DIE.
Shu, completely oblivious, extracted his arm gently and turned back to his game. "I'm in the middle of a match, Luca. We can talk more later, okay?"
"Okay," Luca squeaked.
He retreated to his corner. His dumbbells were still on the floor. He didn't pick them up.
He just sat there, staring at Shu, watching the way his biceps moved under the loose white fabric. Watching the way the tights hugged his thighs. Watching the way he leaned forward and stretched and existed.
Luca's POV:
He's strong. He's SO strong. And he has no idea. He thinks it's not important. He thinks his biceps are just... arms. Just things he uses for carrying stuff. He doesn't know that when he flexes, I lose my mind. He doesn't know that when he lifts something heavy, I have to look away or I'll do something stupid.
I want to touch them again. I want to feel them under my fingers. I want to—
He's stretching again. LOOK AT THAT. That's not fair. That's so not fair. I've been working out for two hours, and he just sits there and has better arms than me. How is that possible? How is HE possible?
I love him. I love him so much it hurts. And he has no idea. He has LITERALLY no idea.
I need to sit down. I need to breathe. I need to—
Oh no. He's winning again. He's pumping his fist. He's showing me his biceps AGAIN.
I'm going to die.
Shu won his match and turned to the group, grinning. "Did you guys see that? I clutched!"
Luca nodded frantically. "Saw it. Saw everything. Especially the—the part where you—" He gestured vaguely at Shu's arms."—did that."
"Did what?"
"NOTHING. Never mind. Just. Great job."
Shu beamed at him—that soft, innocent smile that made Luca's heart stop.
"Thanks, Luca. You're always so supportive."
Supportive. He said I'm supportive. I'm going to cry. I'm going to cry AND explode.
Luca watched Shu turn back to his game, his biceps flexing as he gripped the mouse, and he made a silent vow.
I'm going to learn everything about him. Every muscle. Every strength. Every hidden thing. And one day—ONE DAY—I'm going to tell him exactly how I feel about all of it.
But first. I need to survive today.
And tomorrow.
And every day after that.
-
Ike Eveland was a writer.
He noticed details. It was his job, his passion, his curse. He cataloged the world in words and phrases, filing away observations for future use.
But right now, his entire catalog was consumed by one thing.
Shu Yamino's collarbone.
It had started the moment Shu had walked out of his room. The white shirt—that white shirt—was wide-necked, loose, and utterly infuriating. It kept slipping. Kept sliding. Kept revealing more and more of the elegant bone structure of Shu's shoulder.
Ike had counted seventeen times in the last hour. Seventeen times the shirt had slipped. Seventeen times he'd seen that delicate, sharp line of collarbone.
And he'd written three haikus about it.
Bone of light and grace,
Curve of marble, soft and sharp,
I cannot look away.
He'd scribbled that in his notebook. Then another. Then another.
White fabric betrays,
Sliding down to show the line,
I forget to breathe.
He was going to fill an entire notebook with collarbone poetry if this kept up.
Ike had tried to be subtle. He'd tried to focus on his book—a dense historical novel that usually absorbed him completely. But every time the book needed his attention, Shu's collarbone demanded it more.
It's just bones, he told himself. Everyone has collarbones. It's a normal anatomical feature. There's nothing special about—
The shirt slipped again.
Ike watched as the fabric slid down Shu's shoulder, revealing the perfect curve of his collarbone, the subtle shadow of the hollow beneath it, the delicate line where it met his neck.
There's nothing special about it, Ike's brain argued, even as his hand reached for his notebook again. Nothing special at all.
He wrote another haiku.
Finally, Ike couldn't take it anymore. He closed his book with a soft snap and walked over to the couch, where Shu had sprawled after finishing his latest Valorant match.
"You're wearing your collarbone again," Ike said, his voice carefully neutral.
Shu laughed. "That's not a thing, Ike."
"It is. It's a very specific thing." Ike sat down beside him, keeping his hands carefully in his lap. "You don't notice it, but it's very prominent. The way the light catches it. The way it moves when you breathe. The way—" He stopped himself. "It's... distracting."
Shu tilted his head, genuinely confused. "Is it? I never really think about it. It's just... bones."
Just bones.
Ike felt something in his chest twist.
"Just bones," he repeated, his voice faint. "Right. Just bones."
He watched Shu push himself up from the couch, the shirt slipping off his shoulder again. He watched the collarbone disappear and reappear with every movement. He watched those amethyst eyes blink sleepily, completely unaware of the devastation they were causing.
"Shu," Ike said, before he could stop himself. "Your shirt. It's—do you want me to adjust it for you?"
Shu looked down at his own shoulder, then back at Ike, utterly unbothered. "Oh, it's fine. It's just a shirt."
Just a shirt. He said it's just a shirt.
Ike's eye twitched.
"It keeps falling," he said, his voice strained. "Over and over. I've counted seventeen times in the last hour."
Shu blinked. "You counted?"
"I'm a writer. I notice things."
"That's... actually kind of sweet, Ike." Shu smiled at him—that soft, innocent smile that made Ike's heart stutter. "You always notice everything about everyone. It's one of the things I love about you."
He leaned in and rested his head on Ike's shoulder, his collarbone pressing against Ike's arm. Ike could feel the warmth of his skin, the smoothness of that bone he'd been obsessing over for the last hour.
He said he loves me. He said he loves that about me. And now his collarbone is on my arm, and I can't breathe, and I can't think, and I'm going to—
Ike's POV:
This is fine. This is completely fine. His collarbone is on my arm. That's a normal thing that happens between friends. Polycule members. People who are definitely NOT having a complete breakdown over a bone.
But it's not just a bone. It's HIS bone. His perfect, delicate, beautiful bone that he wears like it's nothing. Like it's just part of his body. Like he doesn't know that I've written haikus about it. Like he doesn't know that I've dreamed about tracing it with my fingers. Like he doesn't know that I want to—
He shifted. Now his collarbone is pressing harder against my arm. I can feel his heartbeat. I can feel his breath. I can feel EVERYTHING.
I need to write this down. I need to write ALL of this down. But I can't move. I can't breathe. I can't do anything but sit here and feel his collarbone against my arm and try not to spontaneously combust.
He's going to be the death of me. He's going to be the death of all of us. And he won't even know. He'll just sit there with his beautiful collarbone and his oblivious smile and wonder why we're all losing our minds.
I love him. I love him so much it hurts. And I wouldn't change a single thing.
Shu shifted again, snuggling closer to Ike's side. "You're really warm, Ike. I like this."
"Y-yeah?" Ike's voice cracked. "I'm—I'm glad."
He likes this. He likes being close to me. He likes my warmth. And his collarbone is STILL on my arm.
I'm never going to recover from this.
-
Mysta Rias was a detective.
It was his job—his persona—to notice things. To piece together clues. To solve mysteries.
And right now, he was solving the greatest mystery of his life.
How can one man be so attractive without trying?
It had been building all morning. The shirt. The tights. The stretches. The collarbone. Every time Shu moved, every time he breathed, every time he existed, Mysta felt another piece of his sanity crumble.
He'd been watching from the armchair, phone forgotten in his lap, eyes locked on Shu's form. He'd cataloged every detail: the way the tights hugged Shu's thighs, the way the white shirt gaped at the neck, the way those amethyst eyes sparkled when he won a match.
He's doing this on purpose, Mysta had told himself at first. He has to be. No one is this naturally attractive. He's a succubus. A literal succubus. He's draining my life force with every stretch.
But then he'd watched Shu more closely. He'd seen the genuine confusion in those crystal-clear eyes. He'd seen the way Shu blinked sleepily, unbothered by the chaos he was causing. He'd seen the way Shu pulled his shirt up absently, not realizing it was slipping off his shoulder again.
He's not doing it on purpose. That's the worst part. He's just... existing. Existing in that shirt and those tights and that smile, and we're all DYING.
Mysta had abandoned the armchair. He was standing by the kitchen island now, pretending to be interested in a bowl of fruit. But his eyes kept drifting to Shu.
Vox was beside him, also pretending. Neither of them was fooling anyone.
"Hey," Mysta whispered, leaning in. "Demon to demon. Is he doing this on purpose?"
Vox's voice was strained. "No. He has no idea. That's the tragedy."
"Then why does he look like that?" Mysta gestured helplessly at the couch, where Shu was sprawled in all his collarboned, tights-clad glory. "Why does he wear those tights? Why does that shirt keep—" He gestured vaguely. "—doing THAT?"
"Because he's comfortable. And apparently, comfort looks like a succubus in casual wear."
Mysta groaned. "He's a succubus. He has to be. A natural-born succubus who doesn't even know he's destroying us. Look at him. LOOK AT HIM."
They both looked.
Shu was stretching again, his arms above his head, the white shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of bare midriff above the waistband of his tights. His amethyst eyes were closed, his expression serene.
"I'm going to—" Mysta's voice cracked. "I need to—"
"We all need to," Vox cut him off. "But we can't. He's oblivious. We agreed. We don't pressure him. We wait."
"Waiting is KILLING ME." Mysta grabbed Vox's arm. "Look at his collarbone. LOOK AT IT. And his legs. And his—everything. I've been holding back for months, Vox. MONTHS. And now he's wearing THAT, and I'm supposed to just—just SIT HERE?"
Vox closed his eyes. "I know. I know. Do you think this is easy for me? He's awakening something primal, Mysta. Something alpha. And I can't do anything about it."
Mysta understood. He felt it too—that primal, possessive urge that made him want to protect Shu and claim Shu and worship Shu all at once. It was overwhelming. Terrifying. Exhilarating.
"He's a succubus," Mysta whispered. "Our succubus. And we're all going to die."
Mysta's POV:
I remember that day. Three weeks ago. The corset day.
We were all peeking through the door. I know we shouldn't have been. I know it was invasive. But we couldn't help it. We heard Vox go in, and we heard the laces tightening, and we just... looked.
And what we saw—
Shu's waist. Cinched and perfect and impossibly small. He kept asking for more. "Tighter, Vox." "One more pull." He didn't flinch. He didn't complain. He just... endured. Like it was nothing. Like his waist wasn't shrinking to something barely a handspan wide.
I thought I was hallucinating. I thought my detective brain was exaggerating. But no. I saw it. We ALL saw it. And now, watching him in that shirt and those tights, I can't stop thinking about it.
I can't stop thinking about HIM.
Mysta made a decision.
He walked over to the couch, his steps deliberate. Shu looked up at him, those amethyst eyes wide and curious.
"Hey, Shu," Mysta said, trying to sound casual. "Bet I can guess your waist size within two inches."
Shu blinked. "That's a weird bet, Mysta."
"Detective thing. I can estimate body measurements from visual cues. It's a professional skill."
"You don't have a license for that."
"I don't need one. I have eyes." He squinted, circling Shu like a shark. "I'm going to say... twenty-four inches."
Shu's composure cracked.
Just a fraction. A tiny, almost imperceptible flinch. His eyes widened. His cheeks flushed.
Gotcha.
Mysta's heart raced. He'd been right. Twenty-four inches. Twenty-four inches of perfection.
"Was I close?" Mysta asked, his voice honey-sweet.
Shu recovered quickly, his expression smoothing over. "I'm not telling you."
"Too late." Mysta grinned. "Your face already told me."
He looked away, his cheeks still pink, and Mysta felt a surge of triumph. And then—then he felt something else. Something softer. Something that made his chest ache.
He loves him. He loves him so much. And he knows his waist size now. He knows EVERYTHING. And he's still going to sit here and watch Shu be oblivious and beautiful and PERFECT.
I'm never going to recover from this.
-
Vox Akuma had lived for centuries.
He'd seen empires rise and fall. He'd watched civilizations crumble. He'd witnessed beauty beyond mortal comprehension.
But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for Shu Yamino in a white oversized shirt and black tights.
Vox had retreated to the kitchen after the morning's chaos, desperate for a moment of composure. He was supposed to be the smooth one. The charming one. The one who could handle anything with wit and grace.
But right now, he was gripping the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles were white, and his composure was in shambles.
He doesn't know, Vox's mind supplied unhelpfully. He has no idea. He's walking around in those tights like it's nothing. Like he's not the most beautiful creature you've ever seen. Like he's not awakening something primal in you—something alpha, something possessive, something that wants to protect him and claim him and worship him all at once.
You've been alive for centuries. You've controlled yourself through wars and famines and plagues. But this? This is harder. This is SO much harder.
Vox closed his eyes, and the memory hit him like a wave.
Three Weeks Ago. Shu's Room.
The laces had been in Vox's hands. Shu's bare back had been in front of him. And every pull of the corset had tightened something in Vox's chest.
"Tighter, Vox."
"Tighter."
"One more pull."
Vox remembered the sound of the fabric cinching. The way Shu's waist narrowed and narrowed until it was barely a handspan wide. The way Shu looked in the mirror—perfect, composed, utterly unbothered by the pressure.
He remembered the exact moment he'd realized Shu wasn't just attractive. He was devastating. He was a succubus in mortal form, and he didn't even know it.
"Thank you, Vox. You're always so helpful."
Vox had stumbled out of that room, nearly tripping over Luca, Ike, and Mysta, who'd been peeking through the door crack. Their faces were pale. Their eyes were wide.
"I saw it," Luca had whispered. "His waist. It's so small."
"How does he do that?" Ike had breathed.
"He's a monster," Mysta had said.
And Vox had just nodded, his voice wrecked. "He's a succubus. He's our succubus. And we're all going to die."
Back to the Present.
Vox opened his eyes. Shu was on the couch now, sprawled between Luca and Ike, his white shirt slipping off his shoulder again. Those amethyst eyes were watching something on his phone, oblivious to the three men surrounding him.
He asked me to tighten his corset once. He asked me to make him smaller. And I did. And I saw. And now I can't unsee. I can't unlove. I can't undo any of it.
And I don't want to.
Vox pushed off the counter and walked over to the group. He couldn't help it. He needed to be closer. Needed to be near the source of his obsession.
"Shu. Darling. Light of my very long existence."
Shu looked up, blinking those devastating amethyst eyes. "Yes, Vox?"
Vox gestured at the tights. "Those are—" He faltered. "—they're very... form-fitting."
Shu looked down at his own legs, then back up at Vox, utterly unbothered. "Oh, I know. I like them. They're comfortable. Don't you like comfortable clothes, Vox?"
Comfortable. He said comfortable.
Vox felt his soul leave his body.
"Yes," he managed. "Comfortable. That's... that's a word for it."
He sat down heavily on the arm of the couch, trying to compose himself. Shu, completely unaware, leaned against his leg. The warmth of him seeped through Vox's trousers.
"You seem tense, Vox," Shu said. "You should relax."
Vox laughed—a broken, desperate sound. "Relax. Yes. I'll do that. Right now."
Shu patted his knee. "I love you. You know that, right?"
And Vox shattered.
Vox's POV:
He loves me. He says it so casually. So easily. Like it's nothing. Like he hasn't just shattered every defense I've built over centuries.
I agreed to this polycule because I wanted him. All of me wanted all of him. But I didn't realize how much it would hurt—how much it would Ache—to love someone who doesn't know how lovable they are.
He's a succubus. He's our succubus. And I'm going to spend the rest of my existence proving to him just how much he means to all of us.
But first—I need to survive today. I need to survive this shirt. And these tights. And that collarbone. And that obliviously beautiful smile.
He asked me to tighten his corset once. He asked me to make him smaller. And I did. And I saw. And now I can't unsee. I can't unlove. I can't undo any of it.
I want to keep tightening that corset. I want to keep pulling those laces. I want to keep him safe and small and perfect and MINE. Ours. All of ours.
And I will. I will. Even if it kills me.
Shu shifted, and his white shirt slipped completely off his shoulder. The collarbone was fully visible now, and Vox couldn't look away.
"Vox? You're staring." Shu's voice was soft, curious.
"Of course I am," Vox said, his voice wrecked. "You're beautiful. You're always beautiful. And you have no idea. You have LITERALLY no idea."
Shu's cheeks flushed. "I—I'm not—"
"You are." Vox's voice was firm. "You're beautiful. And you're ours. And we're never letting you go."
Shu's amethyst eyes went wide, and his blush deepened, and Vox knew—knew with absolute certainty—that he'd spend the rest of eternity loving this oblivious, perfect, beautiful man.
-
Shu Yamino was confused.
He'd woken up comfortable. He'd put on his favorite shirt and tights. He'd played some Valorant. He'd won. Everything was perfect.
So why was everyone staring at him like he'd grown a second head?
It had started subtly. At first, Shu had thought it was just his imagination—the way Luca's eyes kept drifting to his arms, the way Ike's notebook was filled with scribbles he couldn't read, the way Mysta was muttering about "waist sizes," the way Vox looked like he was about to combust.
But as the morning wore on, the stares became impossible to ignore.
Shu had stood up to get water, and he'd heard them.
Luca: "His arms..."
Ike: "His collarbone..."
Mysta: "His legs..."
Vox: "Everything... I can't stop thinking about the corset. That day. His waist."
Shu had frozen mid-step.
The corset.
Suddenly, everything clicked into place.
Shu's POV:
Oh no. Oh NO.
They're not looking at me like I'm their boyfriend. They're looking at me like I'm—like I'm—
The shirt. The tights. The stretches. The—I WAS OBLIVIOUS. I WAS COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS.
I didn't know. I didn't realize. I was just being comfortable. I was just being me. I didn't mean to—I didn't—
And the corset. Vox mentioned the corset. They all saw that day? They were all watching? They saw how tight I made it? They saw—
WAIT.
Twenty-four inches. Mysta guessed twenty-four inches. And I reacted. I actually reacted. He SAW me react.
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.
My face is on fire. My entire face is on fire. I need to—I need to—
Shu turned around slowly. His face was burning. His amethyst eyes were wide, darting between all four of them.
"I—you—" He gestured vaguely at himself. "—were you all—this entire time?"
They all nodded. Simultaneously. Like they'd rehearsed it.
"YES," Luca said.
"Obviously," Ike added.
"Since forever," Mysta confirmed.
"Since the corset," Vox said, his voice wrecked. "Since you asked me to tighten it. Since I saw—" He gestured helplessly. "—everything."
Shu felt his cheeks burn even hotter. "The corset—you all SAW that?"
"We were peeking," Mysta admitted. "We shouldn't have been. But we—we couldn't help it."
"And you—" Shu looked at Vox. "—you told them? About my waist?"
"I didn't have to." Vox's voice was soft. "They saw. They all saw. And we've never been the same."
Shu's hands flew to his face. "Oh my god. Oh my GOD. I've been walking around in my comfortable clothes, thinking I was just—just being MYSELF, and you've all been—and I didn't—I was OBLIVIOUS—"
He felt arms wrap around him. Four sets of them, pulling him into a group hug.
"Shu." Luca's voice was gentle. "We're always looking at you like that. You just never notice."
"You're oblivious," Ike added, his voice warm. "Beautifully, frustratingly oblivious."
"We've been dying since you put on that shirt," Mysta said, his voice thick. "And those tights. And every time you stretched, we lost another year of our lives."
"You're a succubus, Shu." Vox's voice was wrecked. "A natural-born succubus who doesn't even know it. We agreed to this polycule because we all love you. And you make it so. Incredibly. Hard. The corset—that day—I've never been the same. And I saw it all. Every inch of that waist. And I've been obsessed ever since."
Shu lowered his hands. His amethyst eyes were glassy, shimmering with unshed tears.
"I didn't know," he whispered. "I really didn't know. I just—I like this shirt. I like these tights. I like the corset. I didn't think—I wasn't trying to—"
He looked up at them, his voice breaking.
"You all really think I'm... that?"
The Softening.
They surrounded him—not trapping him, just enveloping him. Four bodies, four hearts, four loves.
Luca took his hand. "We think you're everything."
Ike touched his shoulder gently. "We've always thought that."
Mysta bumped his hip. "You're the center of our universe, you idiot."
Vox cupped his face. "We love you. All of you. Every oblivious, comfortable, beautiful inch of you. And yes, we saw the corset. And yes, we've been obsessed with your waist ever since. But more than that—we're obsessed with YOU. The real you. The one who plays Valorant like a god and wears tights for comfort and doesn't know how stunning he is."
Shu's tears spilled over. He laughed—wet and broken and joyful.
"I love you too," he said. "I love all of you. I just—I didn't know—I thought I was just being me."
He took a shaky breath.
"If you want to know... about my waist... I can tell you. It's twenty-four inches. That's what it is. The corset just... makes it look smaller. But I don't need it with you. I don't need to hide."
The Laughter.
They all laughed—soft and relieved and full of love.
"We already knew," Mysta said. "I GUESSED it, remember? I'm a DETECTIVE."
"Your detective skills are terrifying," Luca said.
"Thank you," Mysta preened.
Shu shook his head, still laughing, his tears mixing with joy. "You're all ridiculous. You know that, right?"
"We're your ridiculous," Vox said, pulling him closer. "And you're ours. All of ours."
The five of them were squeezed together on the couch. Shu was in the center, still wearing his white shirt and black tights, his collarbone still visible, his waist still perfect.
But this time, he knew.
He knew about the corset. He knew about the peeking. He knew about everything.
And he didn't want to hide anymore.
He leaned into Luca's warmth, felt Ike's hand on his knee, heard Mysta's soft breathing, and felt Vox's arm around his shoulder.
"I'm the center of your universe," Shu said softly, testing the words. "I'm your love."
"Always have been," Luca murmured. "Always will be."
Shu smiled—genuine and soft and full of love.
"And I didn't even realize it," he said. "But now? Now I know. I know about the corset. I know about the peeking. I know about everything."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"And I'm going to spend the rest of my life showing you that I love you just as much. Even if I'm still oblivious to how much you want me."
Luca snorted. "You're never going to stop being oblivious."
"I know." Shu laughed. "But I'm okay with that."
He nestled deeper into the group hug, feeling safe and warm and loved.
Wait—no. That's a lie. I know now. I know EVERYTHING. And I'm never going to recover from the way they look at me.
But I don't want to recover. I want to stay here, in the middle of them, forever.
Tightened and loved and completely, utterly theirs.