#I don’t know if I would count myself as one | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ch4nb4ng · 2 days ago

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Expect the Unexpected

Pairing: Han Jisung X afab!reader

Word count: 9.7k

Genre: Childhood friends to lovers (stoned college edition

Warnings: 18+ explicit minors do not interact. Substance use, sexual acts under the influence of substance use, Kissing, naked bodies, mentions of genitals, fingering, handjob, orgasm, mentions of semen

Tag list: @seo--changbin @j-0ne25 @cb97whoree

@kpopsstuffs

Note: HEY guys, its been a while, and like actually a while this time.... Had this sitting in the draft for almost a year. Life has very much gotten in the way but i am back hopefully, with the aim of engaging in writing when I feel like and no pressuring myself. Anyways, it's nice to be back and I hope you enjoy.

Summary: There was a blizzard, resulting in your college dorm being blocked from all human interaction. Things are about to, however change when your childhood best friend, and wall neighbour comes over and has other things in mind to pass the time with weed included as one of them.

The first time living away from your family and by yourself was an experience that you very much valued. No curfews, no worrying about what your parents were going to say when you’ve had several drinks at a party, and definitely no nagging to make your bed everyday. Make no mistake, you loved your parents and siblings a lot, it was just nice sometimes to have the complete privacy that was your dorm room every now and then.

There were moments that you did become homesick. On the contrary to having your own private, personal space, especially during the trying moments of completing long winded assignments, studying for exams, or even just having the feeling of familiarity when you hugged somebody that was your blood. There were always pros and cons to living an independent college life. At this current moment in time, you were experiencing one of the more annoying parts of living in a college building.

Deep into the winter seasons of the year, while also living in a state that was known for having extreme weather patterns during this time of the year was your least favorite part. Once the news alerted ‘warning, blizzard storm approaching in the next 48 hours,’ you knew that the college would be sending an official email, urging students to stay in the dorms, and barricade all exits.

This was where you were currently at.

Lying in your bed, phone up to your face as you reassured your family through facetime that you were fine and had no plans of leaving anytime soon.

“You guys know the drill,” you smiled, “I’m fine, two days in and I am alive and well, just a little bored.”

“Okay well don’t forget that Jisung’s mother and I got those rooms next to each other so you guys always have a little bit of company.”

“Yes mom I know,” you laughed, “I might text him later. He had an assignment due this afternoon and I don’t want to bother him.”

“Okay love, we will talk to you later.”

“Love you too, bye.”

The sound representing the end of the call rang through the speaker of your phone. The object fell on your chest as you let out a loud sigh, your boredom growing with each second.

Jisung. Han Jisung was someone that could be labeled as many different things to you. Friend, confidant, best friend, study buddy; home. Jisung was the jack of all trades in your book.

Knowing each other since the two of you were 10, meeting at a weekend competition of playing mixed teams basketball bloomed into a relationship you didn't know was even possible to have with a man. Jisung was the friend that kind of just stuck, even planning to go to the same college as you. It was a packaged deal, you and him, but it made you laugh, because the two of you could not be more of the opposite. Jisung was the shyer type. Although you met through sporting engagements, that was more something that his parents put him into to see what he liked. He was very intelligent, a strong preference to have his head in the books rather than going out to a new party every weekend. Make no mistake, Jisung was a very polite individual, always talking to those that gave the time. However, he was much more comfortable with people that he knew. In contrast, you were a social butterfly, able to make friends every corner you turned. Parties and drinking every weekend; anywhere but the was where the majority of your time was spent.

Therefore, when all the buildings on campus were closed, it drove you crazy. There was nothing that could be hated more than being forced to stay inside in your eyes. The confinement always made you reconsider why it was here, in this state, that you chose to attend college. But it was when you heard a knock on the door that you were reminded why. Leg flopping out of your bed sheets, they dragged you to the door, your body sprinkled in warmth when you opened it to your kind looking friend who happened to be smiling back. Your body turned to the side, hand out as he strolled into your apartment, plopping down on the couch like it was his own. You quickly followed, taking the spot next to him as you turned to face him.

“Are you bored yet?”

“Of course I am,” you sigh, walking in front of Jisung as you walk into the living room of your apartment and sitting on the couch, head in your hands, leaning forward so much that you could almost fall off the couch “as if it took you this long to realise.”

“Y/n, the email was only sent out 4 hours ago.”

“Yeah but there was supposed to be a party tonight at Changbin’s frat,” you whined, lips fully pouted, “I really wanted to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, placing his hands behind his head, legs kicked out on the small table in front of him, “it’s a real shame that the party is canceled.”

Your best friend managed to avoid eye contact, voice dripping with sarcasm. To be truthful, you knew that even though he would go with you, to make sure you're safe of course, and DEFINITELY for that reason only, Jisung would never choose to willingly go to such a party. It wasn’t that he was a complete prude little innocent boy, no. There had been a multitude of times where you could hear him, or the other girls that failed to stay quiet and not echo through the paper thin dorm walls. Jisung just simply wasn’t the type to go out to parties, especially when everyone there was a slobbering mess on one substance or another, especially you. There was a feeling that if you were merely a stranger to him, Jisung would most likely, outside of classes, be a ghost. A myth that supposedly walks down the hallways of your college. Seeing as the two of you were opposite in that regard, you tried to respect Jisung as much as possible. Not bringing your bong, joints, or excessive amounts of alcohol whenever he came over, because you knew if the shoe was on the other foot, he would also do the same. Jisung only had the occasional puff anyway, much less than you, so the need to have it around constantly felt unnecessary.

“Try not to ooze with excitement,” you raised your eyebrows, a fake smile plastering across your lips as you failed to see his attitude change. Good old Jisung for you.

“I’ll try my best.”

“Anyway,” you replied, leaning forward and grabbing the TV remote, pressing the small red power button in the top right corner, watching the plasma screen light up with the logo belonging to Netflix. You turn again to the man beside you, a warmth feeling in your chest at how placid he looked, patiently waiting for you to put something on.

“Is there anything you would like to watch for the next 12 hours?”

Yes, 12 hours. That was you being optimistic that this storm would be quick.

“Hmm,” Jisung hummed, bringing his index finger and thumb to his chin, thinking about what to watch, “there isn’t anything I’ve been keeping up with.”

“Ah I see. Shall we just scroll until we find something we like?”

“Sounds like a great idea.”

Clicking on your profile, the first row of TV shows were ‘Watch it again,’ followed by ‘Top hits for Y/n.’ Nothing really caught your eye, or his seeing as he would say something if he did. It wasn’t until your ‘continue watching for y/n’ that you gasped, loud. The word ‘Bridgerton’ has popped up in continuing. At first you were confused. Although you were an avid lover of that show, you had not watched it recently. It wasn’t until you selected it that you realized a new season had come out. Jisung remained puzzled, seeing as this was not something he had a remote interest in watching.

“Oh my god Jisung can we-”

“No man,” he complained, “you know this is the last thing I would want to watch.”

“Please,” you begged, placing your hands in the form of a prayer, remote still in hand, “it’s so good I beg of you please to just consider. I’ll do anything.”

“Ugh fine,” he hissed, “but I cannot be 100% sober for this shit.”

Your eyebrow furrowed, displaying a look of confusion. This was the thing you would expect someone like Jisung to say.

“Hmm ok,” you hummed, still slightly confused, “I’ll get my stash of vodka.”

“Hmmm no,” he shrugged, a slightly suggestive glimmer on his face, “something that will be long-lasting, if you’re catching my drift.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows repeatedly, leaving your mind to imply one substance only. Weed.

“You want to smoke, really?”

“Yes y/n, I want to smoke weed, is that ok with you?”

“Of course it is,” you reassured, “you know that if you were here or not I would probably do it anyway.”

“Okay.”

“Done.”

“Okay, and we have to watch from the beginning or I will go back to my room.”

“Yes yes okay fine,” you leaned over, pressing a grateful kiss on his cheek, “you’re the best. I’ll get my stash now.”

You scurried off to your room, quickly, opening the small draw on your side table next to your bed. Your stash, the prized possession that was the calm before the storm. Smoking in your downtime was something that you very much looked forward to, especially if you were unnecessarily stressed out. Your face lit up and the clouds of dark green hue clouded the plastic bag that was in your sight, fingers grasping the edge as you wiggled back to your original spot. Although you agreed, it was strange of your friend to want to just smoke out of boredom. The only time you had seen him do it was at small gatherings, and even then, it was one puff and done, usually followed by heavy chest hitting coughs. It always made you laugh. It also made you feel bad, knowing that if he didn’t hang around with you, he probably wouldn’t do these kinds of things. Jisung was an adult who could make his own decisions, but there was always part of you that thought about him, his family; would they approve of him doing this? It was a lot to think about sometimes.

It was Jisung’s turn to hold the remote, flicking back to season 1 episode 1, before scooching closer to you. Jisung was keen to get in on the action, something you were definitely not used to. He went to reach for the paper, but you grabbed him by the wrist, making him pause for a moment.

“Jisung, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” he smiled, unsure why you were asking such a question, “it’s not the first time I’ve done it y/n, relax.”

“Yeah I know,” you shrugged, “it’s just, I’ve only seen you smoke once, and you looked like you were about to cough up your lungs.”

“Oh,” he sighed, looking away in embarrassment, “you saw that?”

“Unfortunately, I did.”

“Yeah well I can do it,” he barked, somewhat getting defensive, pointing at the TV to deflect from his deficits “you’re making me watch this shit.”

“Okay okay,” you whined, letting go of his wrist, “but please let me show you how to roll and smoke a joint properly so you don’t actually hurt yourself.”

The two of you giggled simultaneously, resulting in Jisung reluctantly nodding in agreement. He watched closely as he watched you open both bags, paper on the right, weed on the left.

“Okay so,” you began to speak, “firstly,” you paused again, using your index and middle finger on your right hand to slide into the plastic, “I like to slide my fingers in like this, touching the least amount of paper possible.”

Jisung pushed his lenses right up to his face, making sure his concentration was avid; missing a step was not an option for him. Once the sheet was out of paper, you placed it on top of the plastic. You like to take pride in your work, especially being a part time stoner, of your supplies. Seeing as it cost you a significant amount, it felt wrong to not get the best out of your product.

“Then,” you continued, “you get the bag with the goods, and I like to,” pausing again, opening the bag and grabbing one cluster, “just crush it in my fingers as small as I can, and sprinkle it in a line across the center.”

He nodded again, observing how smooth your fingers were, fingertips sprinkling green across the white square placed in the table.

“Are you following?”

“Of course,” he nodded, furrowing his eyebrows to show his concentration. Jisung swallowed a nervous gulp, remembering that he really had no idea what he was going to do when he coughed his lungs up one more time. Yes, he was concentrating on how you did it, but he couldn’t help it. His cognitions were descending into the gutter, especially watching the two fingers he tended to use when he was in lewd acts himself. It made him nervous.

Sure, there were intrusive thoughts about you being a part of his fantasies and desires, but Jisung knew better than to act on something that came from pure lust. Instead, pressing his lips together, attempting to stifle the giggle that threatened to erupt from his lips. You, however, were too smart to not notice him suppressing his laughter. Your elbow nudged his side, a sheepish gaze as you began to question him.

“What’s so funny?”

“What,” he questioned, puffing his cheeks and shaking his head, patting your arm, “keep going.”

You decided to shrug it off, not letting his immaturity obstruct you from your prized possession. Next was the rolling. Lifting the paper with the utmost precaution, the material was brought to your lips, tongue sticking out as your lips lay a thin layer of saliva to coat the edge of the paper.

“See what I did with my tongue?”

��Oh god,’ was all Jisung could think, mind once again heading straight to the gutter. All he could think about was what your tongue, if it was positioned under a different appendage, how different it could be. His testosterone was raging, but once again, he knew better. To Jisung, nothing could be worse than putting his own selfish wants ahead of your friendship. However, the longer he stared at you practically making out with the joint, licking it up and down, side to side, making sure the two ends stuck together, the harder it became to push his thoughts away from such dirty crevices of his mind. The torture was over for him once you withdrew the now complete joint from your lips. You were satisfied with how it turned out, a smile of approval, and a hint of arrogance plastered on your face.

“And that’s how you do it. Now your turn.”

“Ok,” he sighed, “swap spots with me so I can do it.”

“Yes sir,” you mumbled, playfully rolling your eyes you obeyed, allowing your best friend to now sit in front of the two bags. He followed your steps with ease, using great precision with his fingers to eject the weed and paper from each plastic container. He was natural. Only the two fingers, being the same ones you, strategically rolling the two digits back and forth. He was swift, nimble, adjectives you normally liked to use when you felt the touch of a man. It was your turn to swallow nervously, a small pit of arousal brewing in your lower abdomen as the small pelts of green substance dissipated across the center of the paper, just like you did. Holy shit, how could something as simple as rolling a joint be so attractive? Jisung brought a hand to his hair, running it quickly through the brown mop to get it out of his face, aiming to let no obstacles get in his way. He gave you one look, a gaze of concern when he noticed your eyes glued to his hands.

“You okay?”

Your eyes shot straight to his, attempting to not be mesmerized by the joyful expression covering his features. Fuck, why was his smile having such an impact on you right now? He chuckled, assuming that you were just playing around, but in reality, you were definitely distracted by the attractiveness of your friend with a sudden fresh washed mop of brown hair, glasses, and shining complexion of the side of his face as the light from the window cascaded across the high points of his cheeks. You faked a smile, nodding as you egged him on to continue. Panic began to settle in however when you saw the bare tip of his tongue coating the corner of the white material. Holy shit, he really was a natural. Licking the edge right across in one swift motion, not using too much saliva, yet still using enough. It was almost offensive how much better his joint looked compared to yours. But that was just what Jisung was: a perfectionist with little effort in trying to attain said perfection. He didn’t stray too much out of the norm, yet when he did try something, he was always good at it from the first try. Sometimes it made you wonder what other things he would be good at. But that was for another time, with a similar mindset in the fact that a brief thought of sexual fantasy was not worth more than your friendship. Especially if he didn't reciprocate, the awkwardness after would be something you most definitely could not handle.

“Woah,” you gasped, grasping the joint out of his hand, intensely observing it from each angle, “I knew you would be good at this.”

Your best friend beamed at your approval, eagerly waiting for the next step.

“Oh my lighter, I’ll go grab it now.”

You forgot before, but this gave you time to completely subtract those devil filled thoughts of Jisung by not looking at him for a brief moment. It worked, because as soon as you opened the drawer and saw your lighter, all you could focus on was lighting that shit up.

Coming back to the living room once more, you placed the fire breathing object on the table, offering Jisung to go first. He looked hesitant, unsure how or where he should start. It was adorable when Jisung was like this, because he was clueless not very often. You decided to pick it back up, pressing the flicker down once to ignite the flame.

“Do you want to go first, or would you like me to go first?”

“Uhm,” he hummed, “I think you should go first, you know, show me how to do this shit properly.”

“Okay,” you chuckled, letting go of the flicker on the lighter, handing it over to him, “well I usually don’t light my own joints so would you do me the honors?”

“Of course,” he purred, the smoothness of his tone delivering a sudden pulse to your core. You leant forward, completely forgetting that your clothing was completely revealing by all means. The looseness of your long sleeve white shirt was telling, the action of leaning forward exposing the subtlety of your cleavage. You could see Jisung’s eyes travel straight to them, but only for a brief moment. He was trying to be as respectful as he could, but it was impossible when your chest was right there. His thumb dragged with ease, flame luminous as he brought the orange tipped flame to the edge of your joint. The tip turned dark immediately, and the taste of the herb came with that. The sensation was immediate, as you grabbed the joint with two fingers, pulling the object away from your lips and letting the warmth of the smoke spilling, down your chest, and back up again, eyes fluttering shut as you puffed the smoke from your lips, the feeling of nostalgia hitting you.

Jisung watched you in awe, amazed at how easily smoking came to you. He wanted to try so bad. He wanted to prove to you that he could do something that you did not expect of him. But he was patient, waiting for you to open your eyes before he started.

“Mmmm,” you hummed in pure bliss, lifting your eyelids slightly, “that is some good shit.”

“Yeah?”

“Yessss,” you hissed, grabbing onto his hands holding the lighter, sliding it out of his hand “your turn. Place the joint between your lips and lean forward.”

Jisung did as he was told, adjusting his positioning to being abnormally close to you. You didn’t pay much mind, the small flame igniting once again, but you paused, almost forgetting that he in fact did now know what he was doing.

“Ok so once I light this,” you paused, using your free hand to squeeze his jaw, “are you listening?”

His eyes widened at your sudden touch, a small nod which was obstructed by your somewhat firm grasp.

“Ok so once I light this, take a small breath in, hold for a second, and blow it out.”

“Yes maam,” he smiled, looking deep into your eyes before you passed him the bud, waiting for him to grasp it between his two fingers. When he does, still keeping his eyes on you, simultaneously feeling your brain drop slightly at how intense his gaze was in this very moment, lips forming into the shape of an o as the paper came to his lips, taking the smallest puff, and blowing it out. You were impressed, seeing this was the first time he smoked anything without coughing his lungs out. A smile came to your lips, proud of your best friend in the moment.

“Woah,” he sighed, finally breaking his stare, eyes changing towards the blunt. His chest descended as he took another puff, turning back to face the tv as his back gently slid into the couch.

“How was that?”

“Is it crazy that I already feel more relaxed than before?”

His response made you giggle, glad he was enjoying himself.

“I told you,” sighing as you snatched the blunt from his grip, taking a long drag, “I only smoke the high quality stuff.”

“Sure do,” he growled, sinking deeper and deeper into the couch. Jisung grabbed the remote, pressing play on the TV, greeted by a girl in a royal style gown. He forgot that it was Bridgerton that got him here in this predicament.

***

It did not take much for the two of you to feel the consequences of smoking. One thing you hated to admit was that you craved the presence of someone next to you when under the influence. But not just like in your orbit no. Like needing a lack of personal space. To be suffocated. Which is why the two of you were sitting the way you were now. Your legs atop of his own, head buried into his chest, with your arms wrapped around his torso.

The intrusive thoughts always won when you were high, which is how your fingertips came to be not just on your best friend, but under his shirt, skin to skin contact. You couldn’t deny that the texture of his defined build, muscles budding at each ridge was hard to miss.

Bridgerton had been playing, but if anything, at this point, it had become background noise, the main noise becoming the tension that thickened between the two of you with each passing minute. Although the relationship was close,the idea of intimacy was never something that had come up as a thought. Sober you, and sober him, would never do such a thing. Feeling that maybe it would cross a boundary.

But the usual thought did not cross your mind. Or his for that matter, Jisung’s digits generously spread across the outside of your thigh, dangerously close to your behind. It felt nice, honestly. Yes, you had your fair share of one night stands. Male attention followed you, easily, whether you were looking for it or not. With that being said, however, it had been a while since you remembered what a real man's touch felt like. Especially your best friend. Being a biology major, Jisung was consistently practical in the lab, using his hands in the most intricate ways. Whether looking at a small piece of bacteria in a microscope, or dissecting an organ of some sort, he was always using his hands, and boy, was that evident when you felt the texture of his callous palms spreading across the back of your leg.

The puffing came to a halt, joint burning down halfway to its bud, but it was enough to heighten your senses. The two of you looked at each other, eyelids a little more droopy than usual as the both of you giggled, looking back at the TV. By the time the two of you were actually paying attention to the storyline, Daphne and Simon were getting married.

“So what’s the premises?”

“Premises?” You giggled, finding humor in your best friend’s speaking mishap.

“Yeah like,” he paused, maneuvering your body to be closer to his, leaving now no room on the couch between the two of you, “like what’s the show about.”

“It’s a period romance show based on a series of books.”

“Ohh, I thought you didn't like to read, you fucking nerd.”

“Oi,” you nudged him, completely missing the side of his arm and falling onto his chest, “I don't, that’s why I'm watching the show instead.”

“Right, anyway, go on.”

“Right, so Daphne and Simon basically pretended to be together so this other guy, creepy as fuck, wouldn’t have to marry her. But then they realized they developed feelings for each other but are both inendial about it so they're discussing the topic on their wedding day and just going through with it because it was too late for them to change their mind.” If either of you did not see the irony in this situation.

“That literally made no fucking sense,” Jisung sighed, using his free hand to scratch the back of his head, “but to be honest, I really can’t concentrate on anything you’re saying.”

“Damnnn,” you gasped, leaning up to look at him, “you’re high.”

“Yeah pfft,” Jisung hummed, keeping his glazed eyes focused on you, “I feel like I can just say or do anything right now.”

“That’s the beauty of smoking Ji,” you smiled, turning away and facing the screen. It was at this point that married TV couples were in their honeymoon suite. If you were being honest, it was hard to keep up with the dialogue due to the speed and the actual content being in old english. It was much less difficult to follow the visuals, their facial expressions, how they spoke. It was still captivating, watching the two actors get close and closer, right until their lips met. As they continued, the room felt silent yet tense. The two of you watched adamantly as things began to heat up, Simon assisting Daphne in undressing herself. It was then that you felt Jisung adjust himself under your legs, brushing him off of you as he sunk back into the couch. You thought it was strange, but you decided it was better to ignore it, remembering how mesmerizing the scene of Daphne and Simon making love for the first time really was. As they moved to their new bed, Simon hovering over Daphne’s innocent body, a new sensation was forming in your lower abdomen, but it didn't stop there, unmistakably flying right to your core, again. While recalling how mesmerizing this particular scene was, you also forgot how much it aroused you simultaneously. This was a mistake. Being high and horny was not a good combination, especially when Jisung, your best friend, was sitting next to you, previously with his hands on you. It was probably better to disregard these lustful feelings, they surely would pass.

“Oh shit,” Jisung mumbled, grasping for the small decorative pillow next to him, placing it over his crotch area, “this is um, wow, it’s uh-”

“Yeah I kinda forgot,” you replied before facing him, noticing the now pillow covering the beginning of his lower limbs. At first you were confused, eyebrows furrowed at why he would do such a thing. Instead of minding your business, and beating the paranoia of not knowing what he was doing that was amplified after smoking, you were now holding the pillow, the sounds of Daphne’s moans and groans the only noise that could be heard. As soon as Jisung noticed your grip on the pillow, he resisted you, not wanting you to see what was happening underneath the soft object.

“Jisung,” you laughed nervously, genuinely confused at his behavior, “what are you doing with my pillow.”

“Nothing,” he hushed, attempting to dismiss your question with the tone of his voice floating thin into the air, “keep watching.”

He pointed at the screen, head nodding in the same direction as you let go of the pillow and focused on the TV. But that was the worst mistake you could have made, because it was Simon’s turn to undress, and once he did, it really was game over. The two of them there, completely naked as he began to thrust into his new wife. Simon’s grunts were short, staccato like, while Daphne was more graceful, each moan spilling into her husband's ear as the two of them went at it.

“Fuck this is making me really horny.”

As soon as your best friend said that, he brought his fingers to his lips, leaving your jaw dropped. Did he really just say that, or were you hallucinating?

“Woops,” Jisung mumbled, “the weed is really making me lose my filter. Sorry.”

You should have hated that he blurted that out. Letting the intrusive thoughts win, especially when high, was not a good sign. But it brought the ache that momentarily dulled right back. Looking back at the screen, Jisung now removed the pillow and revealed his full hard on through his thin fabric sweatpants: it was becoming too much. Now suddenly, the only thought that stayed consistent was wanting the same thing on the TV. Right here. Right now. With Jisung. Your best friend.

“Don’t be sorry,” you cooed, moving closer to him, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t either.”

He said nothing, only gasping in a subtle manner as Jisung looked at you, all of a sudden your features projecting to him as illustrious, appetizing. Jisung wanted nothing more than to devour you in the current moment.

“Is this normal?”

Jisung’s voice was so nonchalant, tone lacking concern or hesitation at your lack of proximity. It was kind of adorable, really. The normal friend you knew was one to freak out if he ever did something like this. Usually so prim and proper in every setting. In contrast, there was something sexy about the way he was acting. Sure, actions had consequences, but thinking with clarity was not a priority.

“I would say so,” you purred, voice soothing as your fingers crept onto the front of his knee closest to you, “weed makes me horny too.”

“O-oh,” his voice shook, suddenly a little nervous by the prospect of you touching him in a possibly arousing way, “Y/n.”

Jisung’s voice was breathy, chest heaving very slowly as his eyes shot down to your body. Suddenly, your best friend was amazed by every single curve and creativity of your figure. As he brought his hands to your behind, it suddenly felt so soft, hands unforgivingly slipping past the waistband of your shorts, making direct contact with your skin. The contact made you hot, using your free hand to fan yourself. Jisung took the hand of yours that was moving deathly slowly along his inner thigh off of him, body now on his side facing you as he withdrew his hand groping your ass. Instead, he moved it around to the front, but rather than dipping straight into your folds, he slipped in the layer under your outer layer, opting for the space inbetween, digits spreading across your core covered by the miniscule fabric.. It was better this way, he thought. The sensation of touch was much more sensitive under the influence as he wanted to feel every texture of your body that was possible. You giggled at the brush of his gentle touch, a small gasp quickly following up once you realized that his fingers, although not making direct contact, were feeding that arousal felt between your legs. Like scratching an impossible itch. His eyes were already on you when your neck turned, facing him.

“Shit,” you breathed, “you’re really good at that.”

“I’m barely touching you,” he hissed, lips getting closer to your own. What is happening right now? You should be saying no; rejected his advances. Your best friend. Jisung. The shy, little boy you had known him to be all of his life. But the longer his fingers pushed around that sensitive button of yours, the more your legs spread open for him, hips gently bucking to reach for more surface area of his fingers. His confidence was charming, almost too much so. It made you want more and more, so much so that your internal conflict of stopping and telling him to keep going was disappearing with each lingering moment. Rationality, once a perplexity in your mind disappeared the moment his lips landed on yours. God they were sweet, soft; every texture that you know felt pleasant was coming to your mind the moment they moved against your own. His free hand came to the side of your face that was farthest away, index finger spread across your jaw as he moved his tongue, deeper and deeper, maintaining his dominance over you. Fuck he was a good kisser, a whine erupting from your throat at how flexible his mouth was, bending over backwards to make sure that you were happy with the pace.

“Mhm,” you hummed, pulling away from a brief moment to remove all bottoms, panties included. All your best friend could do was chuckle, deeply, the shade of his eyes turning as dark as you had ever seen when he saw your bare pussy out, for him. His fingers latched on immediately, using the index and middle finger on one hand to spread your lips, the other fingers on the opposite hand barely scratching your clit. The feeling almost made you wriggle out of your seat, mouth agape across Jisung’s cheeks in a sloppy effort to maintain composure of any sort.. Everything was happening so fast. All it took was barely one scene for the two of you to let down your guards. Pretending that your friendship meant nothing. It was never friendship. Jisung would be a ghost to you if the two of you had not been friends since childhood. Maybe there were in fact other reasons that the two of you stayed this way. The moans and groans of the girls he would have over, filling up the bare distance between your room and his, always had an effect on you. It was then when you started to question what he did to those girls to make them feel so good that you were doomed. It was easy to act like a crazy party girl in front of him, knowing that he would never want to be with someone like that, and by doing that, it would push those little feelings right down to where you had the ability to forget them. Avoidance was always key.

But then Jisung would bring you food while you were up doing an assignment, buy you a bouquet of flowers when it was your birthday. Even the way he would talk to your siblings back at home was enough. Jisung was enough and maybe now, by getting these hormonal feelings out, which felt like heaven, was enough to admit that this would not be just a high rendezvous for you, but something real.

“You’re like really wet,” Jisung hummed, sliding his fingers closer and closer to your whining entrance, “always wondering how you would’ve felt like this.”

“You have?”

“Oh yeahhhh,” Jisung replied, sarcastic, as if it was super obvious, “all the time.”

“Fuck that’s so hot,” you moaned, gripping his wrist, bringing the digits specifically up to your lips for a moment, taking his DNA into a deep thorating motion The two fingers he was about to use now utterly drenched in your slick before navigating them down your body, circling your entrance before effortlessly plunging them straight into your hole. Jisung could have creamed himself then and there. Due to the sensitivity of his first time being high, he knew that if he was going to fuck you today, he truly would not last long, at all. But instead of ruining the moment that way, he decided to make it all about you. Wanting to view you squirm under him, make his best friend: you feel good. It is something he has been patiently waiting for. Jisung was a giver, and if he wanted to give you a toe curling orgasm on your couch to make you happy, he was going to do so, whatever it took.

As soon as he fingers reached the end of your whole, the two of you moaned in unison, the sound of squelch that was your arousal already an intense volume.

“D-don’t think I’ve been this wet before,” you whined, waiting for Jisung to gently pull them out.

“Really,” he questioned, genuinely baffled, “no one ever made you this wet before? Find that hard to believe.”

Your hips wriggled, desperate to feel the friction of him moving back and forth. However he was so mesmerized by the texture of your velvety walls against his digits, that he used his other hand, coated in your slick, to relieve himself, the encounter resulting in Jisung becoming much too impatient to bother taking his pants off. Your eyes shot straight to the small motion you were witnessing of him moving his hand against his cock. Oh, his length must feel so good like this. Once Jisung began to move his fingers that were inside of you, a string of curse words easily fell from your lips, unable to control anything that came from them. The sensory overload was at peak, and if you were sober, feeling overwhelmed would be an understatement.

With that being said, you were not, and neither was Jisung. The brooding tip that was his cock gently nudged your inner thigh. As he continued to grow, it had nowhere else to go. The simplest of touches felt like a million times more than when under the influence. But it had to be a culmination of things. Seeing Jisung dominate in something, take control. Fuck. Hearing those girls in his dorm had more of an impact on you than you originally thought.

Your mind drifted to those memories for a brief moment, the faint moans of the girls, but it suddenly occurred that you never knew what he sounded like. Jisung was a silent fuck? There was no way.

Your gaze drifted, Jisung immediately noticing and pausing his fingers with immediate concern.

“Y/n?”

Your head turned back faster than your eyes, deep in motion. It was silent, the TV pretty much non-existent as you grabbed him by the jaw, index finger and thumb strong on his mandible as your eyes fixated on his lips.

“How come you never moan when you fuck?”

Jisung panicked at first, a laugh following immediately after, the contagious sound making you laugh too. Your body was limp for a brief moment, falling off of your best friend's lap and next to him on the couch. Jisung ripped his glasses off his head, throwing them onto the table in front of him, allowing him to get a genuine look at how hot and flustered you truly were. Solely because of him.

“What are you talking about,” he giggled, fingertips immediately grabbing the flesh of your thigh, any part of you was good to him, as long as he could get his hands on it, right now.

“How would you know if I’m a silent fuck or not?”

“Because,” you smacked him lightly, letting him remove his hand from your skin “I can hear when you fuck other girls, pfft,” you huffed, lifting your legs in the air to discard your bottoms that were puddled around your ankles, “they’re always so fucking loud man.”

Jisung’s cheeks blushed in the tiniest form. It’s not that he was embarrassed. Okay, maybe part of him was a little embarrassed, completely caught off guard and forgetting that the walls in the dorm were paper thin. Part of him felt guilty that you had to hear that. He began to pout, but immediately dropped his lips when he realized that you were half naked. His fingertip immediately wrapped around each hip, forcing you to sit on his lap and face him. You lifted your hips, eyes signaling down to his pants that were overdue in needing to be removed. Jisung complied immediately, whisking his sweats and boxers off in one motion, causing his hard length to meet with your soaked core, his tip prodding gently at your folds. You bit down on your lip trying as hard as you could to focus on Jisung’s face, rather than focusing on how erect his cock was against you. Jisung tugged at your shirt, gawking when you lifted your arms to see no other material supporting your chest. Jisung was mesmerized once again. Another surface area that he wanted his hands on immediately.

“I can’t believe you heard me fuck other girls and never said anyti-”

“Shhh,” you hushed, pressing your folds firmer against Jisung’s cock. Your best friend reach for your hips immediately, in shock of your bold actions, “I don’t fucking care Jisung it’s fine just touch me, please.”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” he huffed, palms snaking past your abdomen and gripping onto your tits hard, firm, rough. Ugh. Nothing had ever felt so good in your life. All this time you thought Jisung was a stupid little pathetic boy, with the occasional fuck here and there. God, it would almost make you laugh at how incorrect your perception was of him in the bedroom. Truth was, he knew what he was doing, because your arousal was doing nothing but increasing with each longing moment that his wood was not inside of you.

“Soft fucking tits,” Jisung mumbled, almost drooling as he slapped one of your nipples, the skin imeediadtely turning hard as he brought his lips to to the bud. His teeth appeared, claws like, as he took the same one in his mouth, not returning for breath as he nippled, licked, sucked; you name it, Jisung was doing that.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, head rolling back in pleasure, “how are you so good at everything you do?”

A chuckle escaped Jisung’s lips, the vibration felt across the entirety of your chest, “I’m not I-”

The two of you paused, freezing entirely when you heard Jisung’s phone ring. He glazed over, noticing the words “Mom” written across the top of the screen. He looked away as he turned back to you, that look of hunger dilating his pupils. The temporary freeze made Jisung long for you even more.

“Jisung,” you whispered, hands placed across his face and upper neck, “you should answer.”

“No,” he huffed, attaching his lips over your neck sporadically, “if it’s an emergency she’ll call me again. I’m busy.”

The phone was silent for maybe a few seconds, before it began to ring again. Jisung scoffed, removing his hands from you as he picked up his phone.

Your joint and lighter were in arms reach. You ignored the conversation, bringing the material to your lips and lighting it up again, your body relaxing even more as you took a deep breath in, feeling the substance sink into your skin, blowing out the remnants after. Your eyes turned to Jisung, his already on you, eyeing the joint in your hand. He leaned forward, waiting for you to put the joining between his lips. You complied, bringing the flame in unison. Jisung mumbled his words for a brief moment before blowing out the air.

“Yes mom,” he answered, “I’m fine. Y/n is fine, I just checked in on her.”

A small giggle came to your lips, followed by Jisung covering them. Removing his appendages, you decided to stand up, letting go of Jisung on his lap as you dropped to your knees. Like a predator, you crawled over, eye level with his knees. Jisung’s brows furrowed, taking him a bit of time to realize what you were about to do. He was still on the phone, talking to his mum about god knows what. That wasn’t your focus for now. It was spreading his legs wide, Jisung’s hardness evident as it spread across his groin. Your lips curled upward as you situations yourself where you needed to be, Jisung’s eyes widening as he realized what you were about to do.

“Yes I am s-sutdying hard,” Jisung shuttered, the sudden touch being your hand wrapped around the base of him startling him, “j-just finished one a-assignment today.”

A deep, lustrous chuckle escaped your mouth as you began to pump him, watching your best friend’s sensitivity, squirming at the touch. Jisung was doing everything in his power not to moan, prevent knowing how much effect you had on him, and form his mum knowing what he was doing.

“Mom can I c-call you back l-later, bit b-bust, busy right now.”

Jisung’s body jolts forward the moment he felt your tongue on the underside of him, making its way to his tip. He hung up the phone, tired of this torture as his hands found their way through your hands immediately. His sign of eagerness felt so good, the gentle tug from him begging you to go down on him completely driving you wild. The pain mixed in with pleasure immediately, traveling to your core and pulsating harder than it has ever felt in your life. Jisung was lengthy, but that was no problem. Beginning, slowly, you took him into your mouth, a guttural moan bleeding from his lips as his head rolled back with ease.

“Holy fucking shit,” he gasped, almost running of out of room to breath, “you’re so fucking good at this baby”

A slight moan fell from your lips at the use of the pet name. Jisung’s head snapped back down immediately to you, catching your gaze in an instant. Your eyes looked bigger to him, doe like. It was driving Jisung wild; he could’ve finished right then and there. Being high and having the elevated physical sensation from your magical touch was something he could live with forever, maybe become addicted to. If this is what life felt like under the influence, he now wanted this all the time.

“Mmmh,” you sighed, a large pop and breath coming from your lips as you replaced your hand, “you taste so good Sungie.”

Your free hand traveled down your body, descending to the apex between your thighs to satisfy that ache that was growing with intensity with every second passed. The attempt to hide your pleasure was amateur, biting down on your bottom lip as a stifled groan left your lips.

“Y/n, baby,” Jisung purred, leaning forward and grabbing your forearms, “come here.”

You did as you were told, helping him hoist you back onto his lap. The brush of him against you this time is 10x more powerful and intense. Nothing had ever felt like this before; you never wanted this to end. Jisung scanned you again, looking up and down one more time before seizing the hem of his shirt, ripping it over his head. You gasped, hands immediately clamping onto him as you leaned forward, reattaching your lips to his.

Above everything, Jisung’s lips felt the best. This symbolized so many times, conscious and unconscious, did you think about how they would feel. What they would taste like. How other girls thought Jisung’s lips tasted and felt like. Jisung smiled as he pulled away, the devilishly handsome smile on his face as he leaned into your ear, “sit next to me baby.”

It seemed that the only thing you could do was be obedient to Jisung. His orders were like music to your ears. In your friendship dynamic, you tended to be the more domineering one. Making decisions for Jisung, whereas he was the more nonchalant friend. Always happy to go with the flow, as long as he was with you. This time, may things were different.

Jisung sat in the same place with his legs spread. Leaning over, he grabbed you by the thigh closest to him, fingers dancing across the skin on the inside of your thigh as his lips turned upward again. All of a sudden you felt nervous. Watching your best friend ogle you was a strange feeling. Jisung immediately noticed your energy shift.

“Y/n.”

“Yeah,” your eyes widened, looking directly at him.

“You okay baby?”

“Yeah? Yeah! Sorry, let me have another puff.”

Jisung saw you grab the joint and the lighter again, bringing to your lips before he reached for your wrist, pushing the objects away, forcing your attention to be on him only.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No,” you interjected, bringing the material and lighting the tip once more, “I fucking want you. I just zoned out for a second.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, followed by his cheek, back of the ear and down to his neck, cascading hisdown to the middle of his chest. Jisung giggled at the feeling, the tickling sensation emitting fire throughout his body. He returned the favor, placing a kiss atop of your breast before he reached for his own joint, handing you the lighter, “Will you do me the honors?”

“Fuck yes I will,” you marvelled at his enthusiasm, lighting up the joint without a hesitation, watching him sit back and close his eyes, taking everything in. You did the same, wanting to embrace that feeling that resulted in you buying this in the first place.

It was as if the last puff recharged your best friend, his eyes reopening, that dark, lustful caste creeping back into them as he reached for you, pushing your leg out of the way, hand clasping your inner thigh. There was no sign of his movement stopping, fingers already pushing your folds across, almost as if they were in the way completely. A sharp gasp fell from your lips the moment his middle finger touched your clit, the sensation overwhelming immense as he began to move in circular motions. Jisung’s touch was gentle, in reality, he was barely applying any pressure. But in this moment, the pleasure you were deriving from his fingers was tenfold. Eyelids were fluttering, it felt like you could barely keep up with him. It wasn’t until you saw Jisung’s cock twitch out of the corner of your eye that you knew what you had to do.

It was time for your hand to snake around his body, but, in contrast to Jisung, you did not want to wait. There was no time to tease; you were simply too desperate. Fingertips found his weak spot fast, dexterity sloppy wrapped around your best friend once again as you matched the pace he found on you. It was slow, sensual, anything to build the pressure between your thighs, and between his.

“Y/n, baby,” he whined, a deep groan following, “Your hands are my favorite part of you right now.”

A seductive chuckle escaped your lips, “Your hands are my favorite part of you right now too Sungie.”

“Fuck I love it when you call me that with your voice all fucked up and groggy.”

“Sungie baby, I always call you that,” you paused, bringing short circuiting from the finger that Jisung slipped inside of you, “what’s so d-different about it now.”

“You always turn me on Y/n,” Jisung grogged back, “always,” he smiled, pausing again, “especially right now.”

A small heat came to your cheeks, hips gently dragging across his fingers. God, was this what heaven felt like? Your hand picked up in speed, Jisung reacted immediately with a gentle whine. The noises he made to you were like an orchestra playing its grand piece. Another side of Jisung that you had not seen, but were mesmerized by. It was a whole new world. A whole new territory of risk that the two of you had decided to explore. However, all rational and logical decisions were thrown out the window a very long time ago. Jisung wrapped his free hand around your breast, clasping onto your nipple as he entered another finger into you, index and middle finger picking up their pace, adding the squelching sound of your wetness as another sound that filled your tiny dorm room. Dorm room. You forget momentarily how thin the walls were; but who gives a fuck? It’s not like Jisung was going to hear. He was the one that was making you moan over and over anyway.

“Sungie,” you whimpered, “feels so good.”

“Say my name like that again.”

“Sungie.”

“Fuck,” he growled, pushing deeper into your walls, “your pussies screaming for me.”

“It’s your pussy,” you breathed, the tremors of your release beginning to rumble, “no one has ever turned me on this much Sungie.”

Your best friend had a smirk of approval, curling the tip of his two fingers inside of you. A small shriek escaped your lips, hand flailing from his cock as your jaw dropped at once. Hips bucked up and off the couch, a sinister chuckle coming from Jisung as he watched your hips squirm for him. He was possessed by the way your body reacted to him, reacted to his touch, he did not pay two minds to the throbbing sensation between his legs. All he could see was that you were slowly losing it.

You did not care. You were waiting close and closer, deeper and deeper, hitting a spot that has never been touched in your life. Your mouth was getting bigger, hips moving with less and less rhythm. There was an impending feeling that you knew was going to happen, it was only a matter of seconds.

“Sungie I’m gonna-”

“I know baby,” Jisung cooed, eyes fixated on your face, pressing a gentle kiss to your jawline, “cum for me.”

A borderline scream left your lips when your hips plowed to the couch, an rupture of pleasure cascaded of the entirety of your body, legs shaking and howling in pain like they never had before. Your chest was breathing heavy, deep in unison with Jisung’s as he removed his fingers, your pussy aching from the lack of fullness. Jisung leaned over, pressing a kiss to your neck in several places before your lips. He waited until your eyelids stopped fluttering shut for you to see him bring those sinful digits to his mouth, and suck on them, hard, a deep groan leaving his lips at the taste.

“Fuck you taste good,” he winked, causing both of you to start giggling.

It did not take long for your eyes to travel to his still very hard cock. Your hands traveled immediately, both encompassing the majority of him before you began pumping, hard. To anyone with an outside view, this was not classy sex. It was sloppy, but the two of you were so high that it was perceived the former way. Jisung needed your touch, you needed to touch him. Jisung wasn’t far off either, and the fact that you were looking at him with vigor, with desire was bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Y/n slow down, I’m gonna cum too quick.”

“No such thing,” you purred, adding your tongue into the mix, flicking your tongue along the slit of his tip.. You leaned over, Jisung resting his hands across your ass as you coaxed one moan after out of him. Jisung’s head snapped back, unable to comply with the amount of pressure he was feeling. In a similar fashion to you, his hips began to buck, tip slipping into your mouth as his sounds got louder, his pleading becoming stronger.

“Y/n fuck, s-shit I’m gonna cum, Y/n I’m gonna cum.”

Jisung’s voice became whiny, the tone music to your ears as you moved your mouth away from his length, bringing your lips to the crook of his neck and collarbone, gently nipping on the soft spot on his skin as his muscles coiled underneath your body, cock getting harder under his hands as he hit his peak. Ropes and ropes of him squirted across his stomach, a deep groan, one sounding of relief bursting from his lips as he gripped your wrist, chuckling to stop you from a sensory overload.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, regaining his compures as he grabbed you by the neck, pulling you into a deep, deep kiss. The pressure on your neck was comforting, a smile turning on your lips as you pulled away.

“Wow,” Jisung gasped, “That was,”

“What took you so long?”

“Y/n, shut up,” Jisung spat, the fatigue hitting him suddenly, “woah, I’m fucking exhausted.”

“I tend to have that effect on people,” you smirked, the room erupted in laughter as Jisung laid back on the couch, pulling you into him as the two of you looked at the ceiling. Your substance affected mind was starting to wear off, causing your exhaustion tenfold. The two of you drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

“When I wake up, you're gonna get it,” Jisung mumbled, but you were already asleep.

Depending on how you felt when you woke up, that would change everything.

#han jisung #han jisung smut #han jisung fic #han jisung scenario #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fic #han jisung x reader #stray kids x reader #jisung #jisung smut #jisung fic #jisung scenario #jisung x reader #ch4nb4ng

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help-itrappedmyself · 3 days ago

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Pairing Thing

You guys remember that poll I put up a while ago, to help me pick a pairing to try practice writing romance/flirting. Well, this is that. It did not go where I had planned it too, and I'm not sure if it counts, but take it anyway.

Tim has reached his last nerve with their new hire. Tim surges toward Danny, intent on getting some answers out of him. Danny stumbles back at his approach, but Tim just reaches out, one hand grabbing ahold of Danny’s tie and the other pushing flat against Danny’s chest. In another quick second, Danny finds himself pressed against the wall of the classroom.

Then, Tim loops the tie fully around his hand, tugging Danny’s face towards him. Danny’s breath hitches and his eyes go out of focus for a moment, lost in the sensation.

This makes Tim falter. The moment causes Tim’s mind to blank, forgetting to speak, and pausing as only one thought crashes circles. The thought circles around a few times before it starts to slip out of Tim’s mouth.

“You…” The word comes out angry, but Tim can’t quite make himself keep going the way he had planned a few moments ago. Tim looks Danny up and down, and Danny can do nothing but flush at the scrutiny, and the inevitable realization Tim comes to. Danny braces himself for the vitriol, but when Tim speaks next it is nothing but a murmur.

“You like this.” A murmur in a voice that has turned into honey and Danny can do nothing, eyes slipping shut involuntarily.

“Do you not care that it's me that's eliciting this reaction? I thought you didn’t like me.” Tim wonders aloud, and Danny can hear a tone in the voice that threatens to elicit shivers. A tone of sharp curiosity that concerns Danny more than anything. Danny’s eyes flutter back open, locking with Tim’s.

“I don’t like rich people.” Danny mutters. “It’s nothing personal.”

Tim, very slowly, lets the tie slip from his fingers. Danny is tempted to sigh in relief but before the sigh can become reality, Danny feels those fingers slide to his throat. The second they reach the skin there Danny’s breath hitches on a gasp.

A dark smirk graces Tim's face and the grip on Danny’s throat tightens for just a moment, just long enough for Danny’s eyes to flutter. Danny practically whimpers, chin tilting up subconsciously, exposing more throat to Tim.

As the grip loosens again, Tim leans forward to whisper into Danny’s ear. “Tell me, Danny. Would you respond to anyone this way�� or is there something about me that encourages this reaction?”

At that, Tim’s arms fall to his sides as he takes a step away. Danny blinks after him, dazed and confused.

After a few moments of nothing but them watching each other, Tim straightens and squares his shoulders. “Are you going to answer the question?”

“Tim.” Danny chokes out, a lump in his throat that was oddly hard to work around, and no true idea what he was going to say next. He took a deep, shuddering breath as he stood straight, no longer leaning on the wall. Trying to buy time, he tried to fix his shirt and tie as best as he could, but after a moment of fumbling with it he gave up.

Tim was still standing there watching him, face a mask of indifference.

Danny had the thought that he didn't need to answer Tim. He also didn't need to be here anymore, and so he turned to leave.

But when he got to the door it wouldn't open. He glanced back at Tim, who didn't seem to have moved, before trying everything he could think of to get the door to unlock.

After a few moments, Danny sighed deeply, resting his forehead against the door for a count of three before turning back around to face Tim again.

“What have you done?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I locked the door.” Tim responded coolly. “I have full control of this building, you know?”

Tim walked back to his desk and sat down behind it. “ Now, I had some questions for you regarding your purpose in Gotham, why you chose to work with us at Wayne Enterprises, that kind of thing. But I find myself increasingly interested in your answer to my previous question.”

Danny swallows roughly. “Look, you're just going to have me on about it either way, why does it matter?”

“It matters. Answer the question.” His eyes are hard and unwavering. Danny knows that he won't get out of here until Tim gets what he wants.

“It's because it's you, okay.” Danny spits the words out, hoping if they sound harsh enough, the content would be ignored in favor of the tone. “And I think this may count as some form of sexual harassment.”

His hopes plummet as Tim starts to smirk.

“Well we could continue this meeting as normal if you would prefer.” Tim opens the folder he had placed on his desk after Danny walked in. “I will never bring it up again if you’d like.”

Danny sighs, then goes over to sit back down in the chair in front of Tim’s desk.

“Can we just continue the meeting?”

“Of course, Danny.” Tim winks.

#fanfiction #my writing #batman #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #tim drake #dead tired #dead tired ship

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kawoala · 1 day ago

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⁝ IWAIZUMI HAJIME 𝜗𝜚 boxer! iwaizumi 𝜗𝜚

ᰔ word count ; 989

ᰔ content warning ; profanity 、 angst 、 boxer! iwaizumi 、 fighting 、 bad people (not explicitly said, but gangsters, mobsters, mafia, etc in mind) 、 regret.

“what the hell are you doing here?”

a chill runs through your body as the voice floats through the air, miraculously hitting your ears over the noise of the crowd. you don’t want to turn around - you can’t turn around. your feet are cemented to the ground, held there by the pure fear running through your body.

pure fear might be an overstatement. iwaizumi would never hurt you - you know that. he’s really a sweetheart, but you know he’s going to be indescribably angry at you for showing up. this was his one thing.

at the beginning of your relationship, you had both stated your “one thing that the other could not do. obviously, you had said no cheating. you figured that he would say the same, but then he opened a can of worms by saying, “you can’t ever come watch me box.”

you hadn’t even known he was a boxer. sure, he constantly has bruises all over his body, but you assumed it was from working out. the guy was buff.

you take a shaky deep breath, mustering up every bit of courage you have, and turn on your heel. you’re met with a bare chest, glistening in sweat. you stare at it for a moment before tilting your head up to meet his eyes, squeaking quietly when you realize he’s glaring at you.

his face is all messed up - busted lip, bloody nose, a bruise that looks green to be brand new. you frown slightly at the view. you loved watching him fight - watching him win - just a moment ago, but you’ve never liked the aftermath.

“haji!” you breathe out, laughing awkwardly. “before you say anything-” his jaw ticks. “-i’m sorry. i know you told me not to come, but-” you sigh, and wrap your arms around yourself. “you love doing this, and i love you, and i just want to be involved with the things you love. i- i’m sorry.”

he’s still for a moment, eyes still narrowed at you, but his jaw relaxes a bit. eventually, he exhales heavily out of his nose, glancing around before he grabs your arm - careful not to hurt you - and drags you through the crowd. he’s going so fast you barely have time to apologize to the people you run into.

though, judging by the people here, you’re sure they’re used to it by now.

you end up in a room that reminds you of your high schools old locker room - the ones you used to sneak away with hajime to make out in. there are lockers lining it, benches sat in front of each set of lockers. he sets you down on one of the benches and stands in front of you, arms crossed.

and then it’s quiet again.

“hajime-“

“stop,” he cuts you off. “this was my one thing, y/n. i told you not to come here- i shouldn’t have even told you that i did this shit. jesus christ.” he runs a hand through his hair. “you’re so- this was really fucking stupid. do you know how dangerous these people are? you could get killed just for laughing at the wrong thing.”

you look down at your hands and sigh, waiting for him to continue. he doesn’t, though, and it's quiet again for a long moment. he takes a few steps forward, stopping right in front of you. he puts a hand under your chin and lifts your head so that you’re looking at him.

“i love you,” he says quietly, letting out a breath. “i love you and- and i can’t have you showing up here anymore, okay? my handler will-” he stops, pressing his lips together. he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “you can’t come again. promise me, y/n. promise me you won’t come again.”

this time, you press your lips together. you know how much this means to him - you know how much you mean to him. but you’re a grown woman. “why not?” you ask. “i can take care of myself. i- i took care of myself tonight, didn’t i? i’m grown, haji, i can deal with whatever-”

“no, you can’t.” he cuts you off with a firm voice, shaking his head. “these people-” he laughs breathily. “these people are fucking psychopaths.”

“and you’re not?” you inquire, standing up. you barely reach his nose, but the look on your face gets your point across. “what makes you different from all the other people here, hm? what makes you normal compared to these ‘psychopaths’?”

you regret it as soon as the words leave your mouth. a look of hurt flashes across his face for a millisecond, but then his jaw hardens and he furrows his brows. “i’m done with this conversation,” he says, shaking his head. “you’re leaving. now.”

he grabs your arm once more and takes a step, but you pull your arm away. “i’m not leaving, hajime.” your voice shakes as you speak. “i- i know that this was your one thing, but i just wanted-”

“y/n.”

“are you ever gonna let me finish a fucking sentence?” you exclaim, brows raising. “i mean, fuck, hajime. i just wanted to see you fight! i wanted to see you do the one thing you love more than me!”

your voice echoes off the walls of the locker room. once again, it’s quiet - save for the crowd cheering outside. you’re staring at the top of hajime’s head - he’d looked down after you’d stopped yelling. you don’t know what's going through his mind - you feel like you never do.

eventually, you break the silence with a sigh. “just…” you shake your head, hugging your arms around yourself. “i’ll see you at home, okay? drive safe.”

he doesn’t try to stop you as you walk out of the room. he doesn’t follow you as you make your way through the crowd. and he doesn’t come home that night, either.

#kawoala #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #iwaizumi #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #haikyuu!! iwaizumi #haikyuu iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu!! iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu!! iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu iwaizumi hajime x reader #haikyuu!! iwaizumi hajime x reader

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pedroscurls · 1 day ago

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Hi! Idk if your requests are closed or not so feel free to ignore this but I’ve been going through a really tough time and I don’t have time to even breathe anymore so I was wondering if you could write something where Hugh just comforts the reader thanks!

safe with me (one-shot)

summary: hugh knows you've been having a difficult time and he hopes that he knows just what you need to help you feel better. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader content warnings: n/a, comfort / fluff, no use of y/n. word count: 701 a/n: to this anon, i'm so sorry that it took this long for me to fulfill your request. i hope things have gotten better since you requested this and if not, my inbox / messages are always open. thank you for requesting this (as i've been having a hard time myself with just life) - this was very cathartic and therapeutic for me. hope you enjoy. and as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

Hugh knows you’ve been having a tough time lately, can see a change in your behavior even though you tell him that you’re fine. You smile at him, tell him that everything is okay, but Hugh knows that everything isn’t. Whenever you come home, he can see the distress and the exhaustion written all over your features and when he pulls you into his arms when in bed, he can feel the tension in your shoulders.

It’s been like this for the last few weeks and Hugh doesn’t know if there’s anything that he could do that would help, that would alleviate the stress you’re feeling. If he could, he’d take it all away – whatever it is, Hugh would do anything to make you feel better.

So, when you text him that you’re working late tonight, it gives him enough time to put his plan in place. He grabs two glasses of wine and your favorite white wine and ascends the stairs to go to the master bathroom. Hugh runs a warm bath for you, lighting candles around the bathroom. He looks around and bites his lower lip, slowly opening the blinds to reveal the skyline of the city.

Hugh then jogs back downstairs to grab the bag of rose petals that he purchased earlier that evening and walks back into the bedroom. He scatters the rose petals on the white tiled floor and pours a good handful into the water. He hears his phone chime, but doesn’t have enough time to look at it when he hears you step inside the apartment.

“Hugh?” you call out, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you ascend the stairs. “You in the room?”

“Yeah, baby!” he answers. Hugh looks up when he sees you enter the bedroom and when your eyes meet his, he’s sure that he has done something wrong with the look on your face. Quickly, he steps out of the bathroom and walks over to you, his large hands coming up to rest on your hips. “What’s the matter? Is this too much? I just–”

Tears trickle down your cheeks and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face against the crook of his neck. Slowly, Hugh’s strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tightly against him. “I’m not okay,” you whisper, voice trembling.

“I know, baby,” he says quietly, moving a hand along your back. “But that’s okay,” Hugh reassures. “I’m right here.”

You cry against him, feeling like the last few weeks are finally catching up to you. You had tried to push it aside, tried to make yourself feel better, but it only pushed it further down. Being in Hugh’s arms, you finally feel like you can breathe, can finally get a glimpse that things will be okay.

“I ran you a bath,” he whispers, turning his head to place a soft kiss on your temple. “You up for it?”

You pull back and look up at him, wiping the tears away from your face. “You didn’t have to…”

“I know,” Hugh leans in and pecks your lips lightly. “I wanted to.” He releases his hold on you and instead reaches for your hand, leading you into the bathroom.

You look around and bite your lower lip, tears again pooling at the corner of your eyes. “Hugh…”

“Too much?”

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Hugh smiles and turns to face you, gently reaching up to remove the blazer you’re wearing. “Far from it, baby. Now, let me take care of you. Will you let me do that?”

You nod slowly and look down to see your blazer pool at your feet. “Okay,” you whisper.

Hugh hooks a finger under your chin, slowly lifting your gaze to meet with his. “Whatever you’re going through, I’m right here with you, baby. Now, let’s get you in the bath. You’ve been tense and I think you need a massage.” He smiles and pecks your lips lightly, pulling away only to help you disrobe the rest of your clothing.

You let out a relieved breath. For the first time in weeks, you feel the weight slowly begin to lift off your shoulders and that’s all thanks to Hugh.

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman requests #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman comfort #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman x reader #rpf

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wardenparker · 1 day ago

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In the Still of the Night, ch 3

Zach Wellison x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Grown up and looking to the future, Zach Wellison and bunkmate Shane Morrissey are working for a new cruise line that offers its guests a vintage Vegas experience on the Mediterranean. The romantic atmosphere is rubbing off on many of the crew members, and Zach finds himself to be no exception when he meets the beautiful lead singer of Shane's band.

But being wrapped in the seductive arms of an atmospheric cruise is a far cry from real life. How will their relationship fare on dry land? They can't know unless they try.

Rating: E for Explicit 18+ Word Count: 8.8k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, cooking, eating, discussion of clothing/costumes. Mentions of prison time served, mentions of past homelessness.* Flirting, still a little awkwardness, blindfold, sensory deprivation, foreplay, oral sex (female receiving). Summary: Your day out with Zach gets more intense at every turn. Notes: Hopefully you're all enjoying the prolonged date as much as we -- and they -- are! (As always, chapter gifs are for the vibes, not to physically describe the characters.)

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2

It isn't hard for anyone who sees you during the rest of the day to spot the dreamy couple out on a date. The older woman who shows you to your table at the restaurant Zach picked out for dinner gives you a wink in agreement that he's an absolute cutie pie and comes back a few minutes later with two glasses of wine and a candle for your table despite none of the others having one set out.

He had chosen a restaurant that was more local than tourist and had been thrilled when there was no formal dress code. Eager to sit down with you after so much walking and talk about more of anything and everything that has been the topics of the day. “So how did you start out singing?” He asks curiously.

“My elementary school had a chorus.” It might be the first time in hours you haven’t been holding hands, but you’re still smiling as you sit side by side with your wine watching the sun set. “I stuck with it because I was a kid and it was fun, then the dance lessons got added, and then as I got older I realized that I also liked theater. It became a combination.”

“So you were a theatre kid.” He nods in understanding. He hadn’t been, but he had been friends with some and understood the passion of performing even if he didn’t have it.

“That’s how I ended up in New York.” You tell him, expression twisting into something like regret. “Just another small town kid convinced they could be the next Broadway star. Obviously that didn’t happen.”

“But you tried.” He reminds you, leaning against your shoulder and wishing he could take away the sadness. “Some people never try.”

“I go between thinking that maybe I should have tried harder, and wondering why I ever bothered at all.” With that offer of support there, you lean against his shoulder in turn and shrug gently. “It is what it is, I guess. But…how did you start cooking?”

Zach sighs softly, knowing that it would eventually come up. “Actually, I just started cooking a few years ago.” He admits.

“You did?” That surprises you enough to turn your head and look at him more fully. “So it’s just at natural talent, then?”

“I guess?” He shrugs slightly. “I got a job working in a kitchen. Saved my life.” He tells you. “Threw myself into it and experimented as much as I could and read everything I could get my hands on.”

“So you stumbled into your calling.” There is something else there, something he doesn’t want to tell you, so you don’t push. “That’s wonderful, though. Some people never find what they’re meant to do in their whole lives.”

“It helps with my anxiety.” He admits with a self deprecating grin. “So I decided that it was the best thing for me. One day I’d like to have a restaurant. One that I can plan every detail, down to free meals for the homeless.”

“I love that.” Without hesitation, the idea is not only a kind one but one you can tell means a great deal to him. “Some places have a system where you can pay for meals for others in advance, too. System like that can be used to pay for extra supplies so no one ever has to be turned away.”

“That would be amazing.” He’s had benefited from that kind of system before, but not often. And he knows how uplifting a good, hot meal can be when you are down.

"You can make it happen." Something in your gut tells you that he can and he will, and even though you have no stake in it, you can't help but feel proud of him for that.

“I’m hoping.” He flashes you a grateful grin. Even your confidence in him sounds so sure when he’s always wondered if he can succeed. “The club on the ship has given me so many ideas.”

"I've been eating your ideas," you remind him with a grin. "And they're fantastic. You're really good, Zach. Any place would be lucky to have you and any team would be lucky to have you lead them."

“What about you?” He asks. “This has to be a stepping stone for you. I’ve already heard from the crew that you might have some head hunters after you.” One of the passengers was apparently connected in the music industry and had been in to the club several nights.

"If I do, that's news to me." Whatever murmurings Zach has heard, you haven't. But you would be lying if you claimed not to be curious. "I don't know, honestly. I think I would rather be a headliner in a little club than wave a rose in a Broadway chorus for the rest of my life. But the chances of either are relatively slim." You take a sip of your wine and offer him a smile, shrugging one shoulder. "In my dreams I'm getting top billing in the biggest musicals and you're running the most popular restaurant in the country. Ultimate New York City power couple."

“That sounds amazing.” Zach chuckles. “Actually, running this style club, I think it would work in New York.” He tells you. “A dinner club.”

"I know it's something that you see in retirement communities in Florida, but I have always loved dinner theater." His laugh is sweet and deep and rolls through you like a wave of joy. "This club is such a great gig for people like us."

“Yes it is, but imagine….” He sighs softly. “Creating a headliner show like you would see in Vegas, right in New York and pairing it with a daily changing menu like we do here.”

"New York would love a show like that." It sounds so doable when he says it. Like a dream you could reach for and pluck out of the sky.

“It would be sold out.” He agrees, flashing a hopeful smile. “One day, maybe if I had the right singer to run the show side of things.”

"I guess you're going to have to get to know some singers then, aren't you?" His bright smile is reflected right back at him, teasing as always but it's because part of you can't dare to dream this big for yourself. Only for him.

“I will.” He nods and shrugs. “Maybe hold auditions or something. Singing for your supper?”

"That's what most of us do." You agree, not wanting your smile to flicker at all even if the memories sting. "Sometimes literally."

Zach catches the change, the dimming of the light in your eyes and he knows that he’s touched on a sensitive topic for you. “I get it.” He promises quietly. “I think I gravitated towards cooking because I knew if I was making food for others, I would not have that gnawing ache of hunger ever again.” He licks his lips. “Food insecurity, the therapist called it.”

Your heart sinks, chest tightening, and you nod as you slip your hand back into his. "I wish I was more surprised to find out that more than a few of us have been there. But a job like ours...with guaranteed housing and meals and a way to save money for months at a time? It makes sense that it would attract people who have had it hard."

Of course you would be understanding. His eyes close as he nods, feeling a little choked up by the compassion in your voice and the understanding in your touch. “Absolutely. And I hate that you’ve had a moments bad luck.” He murmurs. “You deserve so much.”

"So do you." You squeeze his hand gently. "Bad luck doesn't make us bad people."

“Not at all.” His hand slips from yours and his arm wraps around your shoulders protectively. “Now - before we start choking up, what do you want to try?” He wants this date to be nothing but a lovely moment for you and he tries to steer the conversation to more positive thoughts.

Without saying another word about it, you turn your head to kiss his cheek and refocus on the menu in his hands. They have enough tourists in town that the menu from this restaurant has one-sentence item descriptions in English that simply tell non-Greek speakers the main ingredients of each dish. A quick glance around you shows you that everything here seems to be served family style, and you settle in Zach's side again happily.

"How does this sound?" You ask, pointing out the special. Gamopilafo. The menu says, with Arnáki Stamnagathi. "Greek risotto with lamb and vegetables?"

“That sounds amazing.” Zach groans happily and nods. “Do you want to get that and something else?” He doesn’t want you to share with him if you are just trying to make the bill cheaper, he can afford paying for dinner.

"It looks like it's family style? Maybe we can get another side dish to go with it so we can try more?" You shrug slightly, knowing that food was just a topic of some stress for both of you. "Sharing sounds nice. But not if you don't want to."

“I’m not opposed to sharing at all.” He promises, leaning in and nudging his nose to yours. “I’ll share anything with you.”

"Promises, promises." It's too tempting to have him close and not indulge in another kiss, but you keep it short and chaste in case Zach isn't too into public displays of affection. The half dozen or so kisses that you have shared today have been relatively private so you want to respect that for him.

Zach smiles, beams really. “What else do you want, baby?” The term of endearment slips out, but he doesn’t try to take it back or apologize. Feeling like it’s just the natural next step of this amazing day.

While the honest answer is him, that isn't what he's asking so you pull yourself out of the dirty thoughts you've been having on and off all damn day and look back down at the menu. In the top section there is something that lists cheese, fruit, bread, and flavored local olive oil, so you point that out. "Cretan charcuterie plate to start?"

“I think that’s a good idea.” Zach agrees and smiles at you. “We can see if we can come up with our own ideas for a board.”

"We'll have enough menu ideas for three new restaurants if we let our imaginations wander." Which is not a bad thing at all, but it does have both of you grinning when the waitress comes over to take your order.

Zach orders for the both of you, checking in with his eyes to make sure that it’s everything you want and hands the menu over with a pleasant smile for the waitress. Enjoying the knowing glances she shoots between the two of you. “I think that she thinks we are newlyweds or something.” He confesses quietly when she walks away. “What do you think?”

“Maybe.” Don’t be so you, you remind yourself for the hundredth time in your head. “I don’t know how many people come around here being cuddly on a fantastic day-long first date.”

“It has been fantastic, hasn’t it?” He muses, reminding himself that neither one of you has walked away or even been upset today. Not really.

“I think so.” There are clearly more things to talk about in your future, but today has left you optimistic that that future could exist. “I’m glad you do, too.”

“So, what’s your favorite type of wine?” He asks. “With charcuterie? Are you a white wine or sangria girl?”

“I’m a whatever wine you serve me kind of girl,” you tell him with an amused laugh. “But I do love sangria. There are very few things that aren’t made better with a glass of sangria or a margarita.”

“A margarita; huh?” He smirks. “Salt on the rim or sugar?”

“Depends on the flavor.” After all, your palate isn’t nonexistent, it’s just uneducated. “But usually salt.”

“A watermelon margarita is my favorite.” He admits. “Salt and sugar on the rim.”

“Salt and sugar?” That has you raising an eyebrow. “Color me intrigued.”

“It’s delicious.” He chuckles. “Goes with a hamburger or ribs. Drinks just like water.”

“That sounds incredible.” It sounds absolutely mouthwatering, actually, and you crack a grin. “Maybe I’m just really hungry.”

“Next crew party why don’t we do sliders and margaritas?” He offers. “I think you’d love it.”

“It sounds amazing.” You can agree to that without hesitation. “But I would also eat an old sneaker if it came out of your kitchen, so just know I’m always here for your food.”

“So boil shoe leather.” He pretends to make a note and laughs when you shove him playfully.

“You boil shoe leather and I’ll sing scales off key. Our worst work night ever.”

Zach throws his head back and laughs. The deep, belly laugh of a man who is completely convinced that it possible could happen and finds it up-roaringly funny. “You’re perfect.”

“You’re perfect.” He doesn’t need to know that a musical lyric sprung to mind instantly. He doesn’t need to know that you’ve been thinking it for an hour or more now. But you do hope he knows that the absolute affection shining in your eyes is honest and real.

He hums, not exactly able to take a compliment as well as he can give one. Instead he clinks his wine glass against yours. “To being perfect together.” He offers with a smile.

Neither of you take compliments well, you note with a smile, but drink deeply from your glass and enjoy a private smile that he unknowingly completed the thought of the song lyric in your head. “I know you’re supposed to wait until the end of the date to say it,” you set down your glass, thank the waitress when she brings over the first course, and restart your thought after a few seconds. “But I really think we should do this again.”

Zach’s heart leaps at your comment, happy that you have said that. “Well, of course we should.” He agrees, winking at you as he starts to dip a crusty piece of bread into the seasoned olive oil. “But I was thinking maybe we spend a little more time together on the ship when we can?”

"We could always skip the crew parties now and then to have time to ourselves." Following suit, you dive into the cheese board along with him. The cured olives and soft cheese are calling your name. "I wouldn't mind that at all."

“I mainly go to the crew parties to see you.” Zach confesses with a shy smile, offering you the dipped bread after he’s spread a bit of goat’s cheese on top of it.

"I–" Your eyes drop, your whole face heats, and you clear your throat before offering him an olive that you have stuffed with a pinch of soft sheep's milk cheese. "I go to the crew parties to see you."

Zach snorts and shakes his head. “We are pathetic.” He teases. “Mooning over each other and not even aware of it until Shane makes you take me a drink.”

"He tried to tell me," you admit after trying the bite that Zach made for you. Like everything else he's ever fed you, it's perfect. "I just...didn't really think I had a shot."

“He would always talk about you.” He huffs. “Making that crush I was suffering under nearly unbearable.” He smirks. “I guess he was hoping to push me into making a move.”

“And when you didn’t, he pushed me instead.” Which is a very Shane thing to do, really. He’s always been a little bit too cocky for his own good. “He’s like my big brother. So it makes perfect sense that he would meddle endlessly.”

“He basically adopted me once we became roommates.” Zach agrees. “He’s a good guy with a surprisingly big heart.”

“It took him a while to get there,” you acknowledge, not quite knowing how much of Shane’s story he had shared with Zach. “But now that he has? He’ll be damned if he doesn’t help everyone that he can.”

“Yeah.” Zach nods. “From what he’s told me, he’s completely different than when he was first sent away.”

“He showed me a picture once. Oh how he dresses and everything back then.” Just keeping the topic about appearance is lighthearted. That way you don’t dip too far into past seriousness. “Even if that was the only thing that changed, he really is a completely different guy now.”

“Jet black hair.” Zach snorts, shaking his head. “Dude has amazing hair now. I’m a little jealous of it.” Shane still has earrings, but he’s no longer sporting the goth edge he had back in his younger years.

“Do you ever think about growing yours out?” Zach still has short-trimmed hair that is probably a cinch to take care of, but he might look great with it longer.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve worn it long.” He admits, rubbing his hand up the back of his head. “Since high school.” He snorts. “But I’ve not given it a lot of thought, honestly. Why? You think it would look good longer?” He asks, curious about your preferences. Everyone has them, it’s like preferring clean shaven over a beard.

“I caught myself wondering once if your hair was curly when it grows out,” you admit, clearing your throat a little from being flustered. Admitting that you’ve wondered and daydreamed about him is a big step to your mind.

“Yeah?” A slow, pleased grin starts to stretch across his face as he turns back towards you again. “Daydreaming about running your fingers through my hair?”

“Maybe.” The huff in your voice is pure embarrassment, though you’re glad that he seems to like the idea rather than being weirded out by it.

“Then I have to confess something…” he drops his voice down to a whisper like it’s a secret. “I really love when the hairdresser runs her fingers through my hair when cutting it.”

It feels like a far more visceral tease than you’ve been giving him, and you can practically feel how soft his shirt hair is when your eyes flick up to it. “Noted,” you manage to huff out a second later, banishing the mental image of Zach beneath you as you card your fingers through growing curls.

He smirks and winks at you when you manage to look at him again, finding it incredibly empowering to know that you are on the same level as he is. Both of you wanting so much, but being too shy to reach for it. Someone will have to make a move, but right now, he’s enjoying the flirting and bantering.

Neither of you seem to care much that it takes longer to make bites out of your appetizer if you hold hands, enjoying the small show of intimacy more than anything else. You're loathe to give up that connection now that you have it.

Zach enjoys sharing with you. Often making bites for you to try, and he smiles every time you groan in pleasure.

“Just because I have no idea how to cook anything doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it,” you insist, and you’re laughing together when your waitress brings out your shared entree. The large and shallow bowl is obviously meant to be shared but is beautifully arranged — vegetables bringing color with the creamy risotto-like grains and tantalizingly seared and roasted lamb.

“Many blessings.” She is smiling at both of you as she puts the food down between you. “Happy marriage to young love.”

“Thank you.” Zach doesn’t correct her, beaming instead and bringing up your hand and kissing the back of it. If they believe that you are newlyweds, who are you to disclaim it?

Seeing him go with the assumption instead of correcting the woman makes your heart swell. There is something deeply soft and intimate about the gesture and you’re sure you must look so deeply entranced by your date that protesting wouldn’t do any good anyway.

“Soulmates?” The older woman asks, looking at the two of you with the pride of a grandmother.

Zach bites his lip, unsure of how to answer that, so he just wings it. “What do you think?” He asks, reaching out and caressing your cheek. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

"Very." The woman agrees, and with another proud smile she clasps both of your shoulders and heads off again to the kitchen with the purpose and speed of someone off to share vital gossip.

Zach smiles at you. “Well, I guess that makes us official.” He hums. “What do you think?” He asks, lifting a brow. “Want to be my girlfriend? Or should we jump straight to soulmate and wife?” He asks. “We’ve already gotten approval here.”

"It might be a little dramatic to show back up to the ship married." And yet you're grinning. You're absolutely beaming at him in a way that can't possibly be contained and for the first time today you don't want it to be. "But I love the sound of girlfriend."

“I’m sure we wouldn’t have been the first couple to have done that.” He doesn’t take offense to you ignoring the remark about soulmates. He’s seen you without sleeves enough to know that you don’t have his tattoo. You can’t be his soulmate, but he is drawn to you like he’s never been to another woman. “But girlfriend sounds perfect to me too.”

"I'm not one of those people that swears soulmates are the only possible relationship," you explain, as the two of you rearrange your little table to share your entree comfortably. The waitress had also brought you fresh drinks so the little table is loaded down with tantalizing options. "My parents aren't soulmates and they've been happily married for almost forty years. It's a great thing, but I always thought choosing your person yourself was more important than anything else."

“Interesting.” Zach is impressed and he nods. “I know that soulmates aren’t everything, but my parents were.” He tells you, smiling a little sadly. “They were probably the best relationship I’ve ever seen.”

"We both had good role models for healthy relationships. That's far more rare than it should be, I think." You note the past tense in his words but don't push, instead watching as he carefully serves the meal onto the two smaller plates you were given.

The lamb smells amazing and Zach is already drooling, imagining what he could make. “Are you ready to give me ideas?” He teases as he looks up from finishing plating.

"Dinner ideas?" You raise an eyebrow at him and pick up your fork, feeling bold with the help of the waitress who broke the ice and managed to make you Zach's girlfriend with a touch of cute teasing. "Or dirty ideas?"

“I accept all ideas.” Zach promises, his voice dipping down slightly, turning sensual.

"Fuck." Even just a quiet groan of frustration from you is enough to let him know exactly where you're at. Every single time he kisses you, you're convinced that you're going to soak through your shorts, and you no longer care if he knows it or not.

“I’ve been thinking about something.” Zach starts, forking up a bite of the risotto and trying it with a groan of approval.

"Tell me." There have been a few more serious topics touched on today without delving too deep, but you have faith that whatever it is that's on his mind won't be bad.

“We don’t have to be back on the ship until tomorrow morning.” The club is closed for the night while in port since the majority of the passengers are on shore. “What do you think about not going back tonight?”

"Like...find a little hotel?" Your fork is halfway to your mouth when you meet his eyes, seeing that there is the same spark of desire there as in your own. "That would certainly be more comfortable than using one of our bunks after we kick our roommate out," you agree, letting a grin crawl across your face.

“We don’t have to.” He stresses, not wanting you to feel like he expects to spend the night with you.

"I know." But you shrug with just a touch of guilt. "And if you want to wait that's totally fine. But...I definitely want to."

“I want to.” He is quick to reassure you of that. “I really want to. I just—” he bandied about for the right words. “Didn’t want to come off as pushy.”

"Pushy is normally my problem." you promise him. "The other part of Shane's whole 'be less you' advice was not rolling up to our first date and telling you we would make beautiful children." It's still of a hell of a way to come on strong so you laugh it off, but it's true all the same. "You've been anything but pushy, baby."

“You would have beautiful babies with Shrek.” He snorts, shaking his head. “My genes would have nothing to do with it.”

"Don't count yourself out." The grin on your face slides sideways and the two of you dig into your dinner in earnest. "Those curls of yours on a little baby? Cuties."

He blushes slightly, imagining how a baby with you would look. It’s a fantasy that he never even imagined being able to consider just a few years ago. “Only because of you. And most babies are cuties anyway.”

“They are.” That’s just a fact as far as you’re concerned. The two of you continue to eat for another minute or so before your mind catches up with all the possible consequences of that topic coming up and you almost stutter as you reach for your wine glass. “I’m—I’m on birth control, though,” you point out. Like he might think you’re trying to baby trap him on the first date just because you think babies are cute. “That’s…like I want kids eventually but I’m not crazy about it.”

This is happening. Zach swallows a bite of the deliciously fragrant and juicy lamb so he doesn’t choke. “Good. I mean, I would still want to wear a- birth control shouldn’t just be on you.” He tells you. “I’m clean, but I- it’s always good to- you know, uh, be safe.”

“I’m clean too, and if you feel more comfortable with a condom that’s totally fine, I just—” Who knows if more wine is actually a good idea at this point but you take about gulp out of nerves. “I didn’t want you to think I had any motivation for…you know…tonight, other than really liking you.”

He has to laugh at that, reaching for your hand and winking at you. “You’re focusing on your career. I don’t think that your grand plan is to be knocked up by the chef of the club you headline your first contract out.” He promises.

“Well when you say it like that it sounds silly.” And yet? A part of you is certain, beyond any doubt whatsoever, that if it happened you could be such a happy little family.

He smirks slightly and reaches over to brush off a tiny bit of sauce on the edge of your mouth. “So we both know where we stand.” He hums. “Let’s just relax and enjoy where our night takes us.”

******

With the sun set and your meal finished, an intimacy has settled over you and Zach as you sip your coffee together and listen to the busy streets of Knossos bustle with tourists and nightlife. Normally you would be part of that. You would be out with friends or searching out a feeling to get lost in — but today has been so thorough in proving that you can simply get lost in Zach that you don’t want to stray. Everything you could possibly want for your night is right here next to you. And it’s a type of calming feeling that you don’t know you’ve ever felt with another person before.

“That was probably the best meal I’ve ever eaten.” Zach rubs his stomach appreciatively and looks over at you. “Lamb on the menu for the club?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” You’ll eat anything he cooks anyway. But having it be a special memory between the two of you? That’s worth bragging about. “With those whipped carrots you made yesterday? Oh my god.”

“You liked those?” He grins, loving feedback as much as the next person and if it comes from you it makes it even sweeter. “I’ve been thinking about making it a soufflé and putting a topping on it. Similar to a sweet potato soufflé? What do you think? Too much?”

“I don’t know,” you admit with a grin spreading across your face. “I’ve never had a soufflé before.”

“You’ve never had a sweet potato casserole?” His eyes widen. “You’re shitting me?”

You shrug weakly, yet can’t help but laugh at how strong his reaction is. “My dad hates sweet potatoes,” you explain between giggles. “We basically ate like toddlers in my house forever, because he only liked four or five foods.”

“Wow.” He chuckles. “So I know what I’m making you tomorrow.” He grins. “Roasted chicken with sweet potato soufflé, creamed spinach and a fresh cranberry compote.”

“We just ate.” Sure, your tone is complaining, but the teasing is clear and sparkling in your eyes. “Why do you have to make me hungry all over again?”

Laughing, he leans over slightly to pull his wallet out to pay. Having cash is something of a safety net to him, although he’s proud of the shiny credit card with a low limit as he builds his credit back up. Offers have started coming for pre-approval of credit limits, but he’s resisted getting one so far. He pays this card off every month like clockwork. “I’ll let you sleep it off first.” He promises.

A different woman comes out with your check and a small folded bag. She smiles when she sees Zach ready to pay, and hands you the bag. “Congratulations,” she explains in a thick but clear accent. “From my grandparents. They’re very flattered you chose their restaurant for your honeymoon.”

Zach immediately feels guilty. “No— nothing is necessary.” He promises, shaking his head. “We are happy to be here. The food was amazing.”

"It's just a few cookies," she promises, apparently charmed by the display of manners. "And we're always glad to have kind guests."

“Everyone here has been wonderful.” Zach smiles as he hands over his card. “Now we just need to find a hotel with people as wonderful.”

"You don't have a place to stay already?" The bill is easily and silently settled with the exchange of a few bills between them and the woman points down the beach to a three-story white building on the edge of the beach. "Dite is a beautiful hotel. Small. But very nice. And you will see the perfect sunrise in your room."

“What do you think, sweetheart?” He asks, turning towards you. “I think it sounds just about perfect, if they have a room available.”

“Small sounds perfect.” In fact, after the bustle of the ship, it sounds like a small relief. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

“I will call for you.” She offers. “Family.”

“That would be wonderful.” You look to Zach for confirmation. “The hotel is my treat. I promise.”

He huffs, frowning slightly at the notion of you paying and there is a grin on the woman’s face as she nods in approval. “I will go call right now and let them know you are coming.” She beams before scampering off.

“It’s okay.” Sensing a bit of hurt pride that you dismiss as typically male, you lean over and kiss Zach’s cheek. “You can buy our breakfast.”

He can’t tell you that it’s because he somehow still looks at someone paying for something – even if it benefits them – as a handout. That is way too deep for this date and probably means he needs to schedule a visit with the VA therapist next time he’s in New York. “Sounds good, sweetheart.” He hums.

It only takes a few minutes for the younger waitress to return, and when she does she is smiling broadly. To Zach she hands a slip with the name and address of the hotel. “They’re getting your room ready now,” she tells you both gladly.

“Thank you.” He smiles. “For everything.”

“Our pleasure.” She assures him, and trots off again after saying good night.

He turns towards you and gives you a searching look. “Are you ready?”

"Absolutely." Considering you can see the hotel from here, you don't mind walking. A stroll through the streets of the ancient city, hand in hand with your newly minted boyfriend? It sounds perfect to you.

Zach scoots out of the seat and holds out his hand to you. “Then let’s walk off this amazing dinner.”

The roads and the beach stretch on longer than you anticipate but the walk is welcome. You're most quiet, enjoying each other's company without the need to fill the air with idle conversation. You take in the city around you and the overwhelming number of tourists. The hustle and the bustle is beautiful, but something about the fact that you can be comfortable in the quiet with Zach brings and unexpected extra layer of intimacy to the night.

Walking hand in hand is intimate, serene. He doesn’t feel the need to make excuses or fill the silence, he just enjoys the way the smiles seem to be just for you as a couple, coming from others who pass you on the streets.

The hotel is clean and bright, and the extended family of the folks who owned the restaurant are as sweet as can be when you check in. They’ve put you in a top floor room facing the ocean and promise you it’s their best, and you and Zach take the stairs up after thanking them once more.

“I feel bad.” Zach muses. “They think we are on our honeymoon.”

“First dates can be just as special as honeymoons, right?” You offer as you make your way down the hall to your room. “I checked their rates online and it was the same as what we paid. So they’re not giving us big discounts or anything. If they had, I would have said something.”

“Good.” He feels better about that and his stomach twists in nervous anticipation. You both had stopped in a little shop where he had purchased a small box of condoms. They feel heavy in his pocket.

“Hey.” The leaden heaviness sits between you as you unlock the door to your room and push it open. Before you even make a move to step inside, you settle your hand on Zach’s arm and offer him a soft, reassuring smile. “Just because we want to doesn’t mean we have to tonight, okay? We can decide to just hang out and cuddle and sleep beside each other and it will still be perfect.”

“Are you having second thoughts?” He asks seriously, trying not to look disappointed, because he doesn’t want that to pressure you.

“Not at all.” You’re quick to assure him of that, pushing open the door and stepping inside. “You just seem…nervous? I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong.”

“Afraid of disappointing you.” He admits with a small huff of amusement at himself as he flashes you a grin. “It’s been a while for me.”

"Then I'm flattered you would choose me to be the one to break that dry spell with." It really is a vote of confidence from him, and you won't take that for granted. Despite the fact that you don't understand how in the hell anyone has ever let him go, you're glad to be the person that is here and ready to see all of the potential he has as a partner.

“I would be fucking crazy not to.” Zach snorts, shaking his head. “Baby you are gorgeous and kind, and everything I don’t deserve.”

"Hey now." You shake your head as you shut the door behind the two of you, flipping the lock and feeling the shiver of anticipation roll through you. But still, hearing him put himself down is the last thing you're comfortable with and when you turn back to Zach you slide your hands up his arms gently. "I wouldn't let somebody else talk about you like that, what makes you think you get to?"

“Habit.” He admits, biting his lip and reaching for your waist to draw you closer. “I’m working on it.”

"I'm here to remind you how incredible you are anytime you need." A strong support system means everything, you learned that the hard way. And you're more than happy to be that for Zach.

“Thanks.” There’s a bit gratefulness and quite a bit of amazement in his eyes as he looks at you. “You are absolutely amazing, you know that?” He asks. “You take my breath away.”

Your hands creep up his arms, sliding around his neck so your fingers can sink into his short, soft hair. "I'd be happy to do that for you literally, if you'd like."

“How would you do that?” He has a pretty good idea, but he wants to hear what you have in mind.

The hum that leaves your lips as you press your body against his is full of promise. "I'd start at the top and work my way down, of course," you tell him, bringing Zach down to meet your lips for a searing kiss.

He can’t help but groan, a grown man melting against you, but he’s already weak in the knees from the passion in just this one kiss. The sense of complete rightness that washes over him as his own arms band around you tighter and he starts to give back to you.

None of the kisses you had shared yet today had been allowed to be this deep. You were in public. You were sharing space with other people. And this is so intensely intimate. It would have felt wrong just to let other people see your naked heart out there on your sleeve. But when it is just the two of you locked safely away in the privacy of a hotel room? You would be a puddle at his feet if it weren’t for the uncanny strength of him holding you tight against his chest.

It’s not hard for his body to respond instantly. He’s already lived most of the day in a state of arousal just being around you. But with the length of your body pressed against his and your tongue coaxing his further into your mouth? He is rock hard and aching. Groaning slightly as he turns both of you towards where the bed should be based on the split second examination of the room earlier.

And just like that you feel ignited. The press of his body against yours as he steers you blindly through around the room is an errant spark that seems to catch on every inch of you. With one hand your fingers card and tug in his hair, nails grazing over his scalp. With the other you pull his shoulders to keep him impossibly close — feeling like you’ll forget to breathe if you stop sharing gasps with him between kisses.

You taste like sweet wine and cream. A perfect combination when mixed with something that is just…you. He can’t describe it, but it’s warm and earthy.

The backs of your legs bump against the bed frame, almost toppling you over and making you hang onto Zach all the more tightly, giggling into the kiss. “Oops,” You can’t help but laugh at how deeply uncoordinated it was, even as out of breath as you are. “Weak knees aren’t very stable, apparently.”

“Then we should lay down.” Zach suggests, grinning against your lips and starting to crouch down.

It doesn’t exactly take convincing. Not when every single time he’s kissed you today has turned you a soaking wet, needy mess. The fact that you finally get to do something about it is exhilarating and relieving all at once. “Hell yes,” you agree, nearly hauling him into the bed with you when you try to kiss him and move at the same time.

He laughs when you both nearly topple over, flopping down on your sides in a move that is not nearly as graceful as he had planned in his mind. “Eager?” He asks. Sliding his hand down your side to your ass.

“Oh, absolutely.” You smirk, but shift your leg ever so slightly so your thigh presses against the front of his shorts. “Just as much as you are.”

“Baby, have you looked in the mirror?” Zach groans, twitching under the pressure. “You’re a complete knockout and fucking sweet as pie.”

“As long as you like what you see, the mirror doesn’t matter.” What you see and what he sees looking at you will never be quite the same, so as long as he likes the version of you that he sees, you’re fine with it.

Zach doesn’t say anything else, he just slowly leans in and presses his lips to yours softly.

It’s such a sweet, gentle gesture that you melt deeper into the mattress. For that one moment there are no thoughts at all left in your head. It’s just Zach and the possibilities.

He follows you, body half covering yours as he lets the kiss deepen slightly. Not too much, but he squeezes your ass gently as he grinds into you.

The roll of his hips earns him a moan, and he swallows it up eagerly so you give him another and hitch one leg up to let him get closer.

He presses deeper into you, slotting his hips between yours as you open up and he gasps into your mouth when his hard cock presses against the heat of your core.

The heat in your belly flares hotter, wicking all the way Down your limbs, and you whimper again because you have no prayer of a coherent sentence or even word in that moment. There’s horny and eager then there’s whatever the hell you are as you grind your hips against his to beg for more.

It’s juvenile, but grinding against you over clothes while he kisses you is the height of eroticism right now. He groans into your mouth before breaking away, wanting to taste every inch of your skin.

He trails kisses along your jaw and throat, making your back arch and stealing your breath all over again. While he begins to travel south you tug at his shirt, trying to tear the damn thing off while your whole body aches for him.

Zach smiles against your skin, cutting his eyes up at you playfully. “You’re too impatient” he teases, pulling away. “Think I’ll blindfold you.”

You pout instantly, but the idea is intriguing enough that you raise an eyebrow at him. “Do I get to see you eventually?”

“Eventually.” He smirks, loving that you are going along with his little idea. “That way you can accurately judge how good I am.”

“I can’t judge your skills with my eyes open?” Delighted to have found him not so very vanilla after all, you let the hand you still have in his hair tug in his curls and grin when he moans.

“You might be overwhelmed by my good looks.” He chuckles and shakes his head. One of the things that made him suggest this is his tattoo. He didn’t want to have a ton of questions about it right now. This wasn’t the time for remembering the past, but enjoying the present.

“Is this a ‘hands off’ situation, too? Or can I at least still touch you?” There are plenty of things you’re willing to try out that you already know you enjoy that people might consider out of the ordinary, but the first time with a new partner you want to feel them in every way.

“You can touch me.” He promises. “I’m just feeling a little shy right now.” He jokes playfully, winking at you. “Don’t want you to get too scared.”

“You have nothing you need to be shy about, but I fully respect having a few hang ups. I’ve got plenty, too.” Reluctantly as you are to take your hands off of him, you reach for your belt instead — or rather, the long sash of fabric that you tied through your belt loops today because you thought it looked a little cuter than a standard belt. “Use this.”

“Are you sure?” He takes the fabric from your hands and holds it up to his eyes playfully.

“I trust you.” You trust him somehow inherently. As though it were as simple as trusting yourself. In a way that sticks in your chest and warms through you like hot cocoa in winter.

He watches you for a moment after pulling the scarf down from his face, “Okay.” He agrees. “I just want this to be something we never forget.”

“I can already guarantee I will never forget any part of today,” you promise him, shivering slightly with anticipation as he settles your former belt gently over your eyes.

He ties it firmly, but not too tight. If you need it off, all you need to do is slip it up your forehead or pull it down. The point of this is to be fun, to explore without judgement and he can’t do that if you are uncomfortable. “Hopefully that’s a good thing and it doesn’t go into your ‘worst dates’ catalog.” He jokes before he slides his hands down to the edge of your shirt to push it up your stomach and drop a kiss right above your belly button.

With every small touch now heightened, your skin tingles with the scrap of his calloused fingers and press of the feather-light kiss. “I don’t fuck on the first date unless it’s a really fucking good date.”

“Me either.” Zach smirks against your skin before he decides to nip your side slightly, laughing quietly when you jump and gasp at the grazing of his teeth. Instead of working down, he decides to work up and nuzzles just under the band of your bra.

One hand blindly makes its way to his shoulder again, grasping the thick cords of muscle there and reminding you just how powerful this broad man is that is being so tender and playful with you. At this point it’s Zach’s game — to explore and to pleasure and to discover — and every point of contact between you is a spark catching fire.

It takes just a second to discover that your bra hooks in the front, to Zach's utter delight, making it easy to unbind your breasts and capture a nipple in his mouth before your shirt is even off or your straps slid down your arms.

The heat and pressure of Zach’s mouth feels boiling even on this warm night, sending you gasping and cursing as you grip his shoulder tighter. If you get any wetter your shorts might outright dissolve, but he would probably consider that a bragging right.

Zach groans against your nipple, loving the little arch to your back, pushing your breast to his mouth more. Offering yourself up.

There is no steady rhythm to any of it as Zach works to take you apart piece by piece. He has a method in his madness, surely, but you are breathless and moaning as he reduces you to a human puddle on the bedsheets. While you can’t see him like this you can definitely feel him, and your hands tug at his shirt again to get that luscious skin-on-skin sensation as he starts to travel down your body.

He takes his time, learning the sensitive spots on your body and enjoying every soft sound he pulls out of your mouth. Until he is dragging your shorts down your legs.

It’s about fucking time says the impatient voice in your head as you squirm in the bed and lift your hips to help him move things along. He’s consented to take his shirt off, at least, so that warmth that rolls off of him in waves can seep directly into your bones. You whimper as the cool breeze of exposure hits your overheated cunt, dripping with need and aching for attention.

“Fuck, you look so pretty right now.” Zach groans at the sight of your wet lips, hair trimmed and manicured. You either were hoping that the night would end this way, or you were very meticulous about your grooming. He’s kind of hoping for the former even though he wouldn’t care if you had done anything. “Baby, you look good enough to eat.”

“Tease.” You whine, trying to sound huffy but only succeeding in strangling another moan when his breath ghosts over your swollen pussy. Even with his hands caressing your thighs, you’re squirming.

It’s been a long goddamn time since Zach has had a pussy in his face, but he loves the musky scent of your wet sex. Making him twitch and groan as he slowly spreads your lips wide for him to drag his tongue up your folds for that first, tantalizing lick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” With your back arching and your fingers tight in his hair, it’s so easy to lose yourself to one little taste.

He makes a sound of pleasure as he flicks his tongue over your clit and comes back for another pass. This time starting lower and letting his tongue tease your entrance before sliding higher.

If you weren’t blindfolded already you might have cum just from the sight of him. His lips and tongue explore while his hands keep you steady, holding you in place so the buck of your hips doesn’t unseat him before he can really get going.

He absorbs your sound, your taste. The very essence of your being, feasted on as he slowly and thoroughly licks through you like a meal he is savoring.

It’s a stunning combination of thorough exploration and eager enthusiasm that has you writing and moaning his name so quickly. You could have had a date yesterday and everything about tonight would already be better. Zach seems somehow to know exactly what you like without asking, reading your signals perfectly air pushing you higher and higher until his name is the only word on your lips.

Zach is completely entranced by the way you respond to his touch, never having a lover he feels so in-sync with. It’s like he’s touched you a million times before rather than just these last few minutes.

The whole world has stopped existing around you. It's just you and Zach and this bed and every new height of pleasure that he keeps building you to. The press of his hands on your hips, the deep push of his tongue, the sharp half-scrape of his teeth near your clit that he's discovered makes you gasp and moan.

“Cum for me baby.” He pulls away to gasp his plea, the need to see you fall apart about to rupture in his veins and make him go mad. His grip tightening on your hips and he dives back into your cunt with the desperation of a man starved that’s reached his oasis.

You don't have to tell me twice, you would say if you could swim through the thick mire of bliss to tease him. Instead, and much more true to the moment, you let out a sobbing moan and beg for just a little bit more to send you over the edge.

He hears the unspoken plea in your whimpers and opens his mouth wider to just devour you. Burying himself into your pussy where his nose is blocked by your mound as he pushes you over the edge and if he died in this moment, he would die blissfully happy.

Your back arches fiercely one more time, lifting your shoulders off the bed as you hit that sharp crest that explodes into your climax. All of your muscles tense and curses spill freely, interspersed with his name and moans entirely without words – until that crest becomes altogether too much, the thread mercifully snaps, and you fall back on the mattress an utterly satisfied puddle.

Zach is slow to pull his mouth away. Savoring the little tremors that race through your thighs and makes your pussy clench against his chin as he laps at your juices one last time before he lifts his head with a groan of satisfaction. “And just think, we’ve only started.” He hums playfully, knowing that the night has just begun.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

ItSotN: @greenwitchfromthewoods @copperhalfcent @ariavitiellos @spishsstuff @76bookworm76

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Zach Wellison #Zach Wellison x female reader #Zach Wellison x you #Zach Wellison x f!reader #Brothers & Sisters #Shane Dio Morrissey #Shane Dio Morrissey x female OC #NYPD Blue #soulmate au #Soulmate Sunday #cruise ship au #first date

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liviawildrose · 9 hours ago

Text

𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

it’s a hard pill to swallow, but sometimes, you’ve got to step into a role you never signed up for. maybe your mom wasn’t the nurturing, protective figure she was supposed to be. maybe your dad let you down in ways that left scars. maybe your friends only stuck around to take, never to give. the truth? you can’t wait for someone to come and save you. you have to become your own mother.

ask yourself:

if your child was in your shoes—stuck in a bad relationship, getting treated like crap— would you tell them, “stay”? or would you say, “you deserve better than this”?

if your child was chasing their dreams but struggling, would you mock them? no. you’d guide them, push them to be their best. you’d discipline them with love and cheer them on with pride. now, apply that same energy to yourself.

be that mom who says: “get your shit together because you deserve the best life possible.”

but also the mom who says: “it’s okay to rest, i’ve got your back, and i’m proud of you.”

start showing up for yourself the way you needed someone to show up for you. and yes, it’s sad. sad that we even have to do this. but it’s also empowering to realize you can.

personally, here’s my story.

my mom never cared to take my pictures as a kid nor cared if a haircut made me happy or not, it was literally everything up to her convenience. it hurts now because i would’ve loved to look back and see those memories. but i don’t have them. i can count the photos of my childhood—20 pictures in 17 years. insane, right? so, i made a promise to myself: from now on, i will document my life. i won’t delete my photos. i’ll make sure there’s a record of who i was, what i felt, what i achieved. and when i have kids? you bet i’ll take pictures of them. i’ll curate their childhood with care because i know what it feels like to not have that.

but being your own mother isn’t just about the pictures or the memories. it’s about analyzing everything you missed out on and providing it for yourself now. it’s about being selfless enough to let go of bad habits that hold you back. it’s about kicking toxic people out of your life the way a mom would protect her child from bad influences. it’s about prioritizing your healing, even if it’s messy and uncomfortable. you have to heal your inner child. that 5-year-old who was bullied, that 13-year-old who was treated like shit in her first relationship, that 7-year-old who dreamed big but was told she couldn’t they’re all still inside you, waiting for someone to nurture them. and unfortunately, no one else is going to do it for you. no one else is going to come and fix the damage.

i made a pact with myself: when i have kids, i will raise them so well that they won’t ever need to “heal their inner child” at 17 or 18. they’ll be whole. they’ll be loved. they’ll know their worth from the start. but for now, i’m doing that for myself. and you need to do it for yourself too. because at the end of the day, the only way to heal is to become the person you needed all along. become your own mother.

what is the inner child?

the “inner child” is the part of you that holds your early experiences, memories, and emotions. it’s the 5-year-old you who loved to laugh but was scolded for being “too much.” it’s the 10-year-old you who dreamed big but felt dismissed. it’s the teen you who felt heartbreak for the first time but didn’t know how to process it. your inner child carries the wounds, fears, and unmet needs from your past, but also your natural creativity, curiosity, and joy. healing your inner child means reconnecting with this version of yourself, giving it the love and understanding it never received, and releasing the pain it has carried for years.

how do you heal your inner child?

1. journaling: dialogue with your inner child

dedicate a journal specifically to your inner child. write letters to them, like:

“dear [your name at 5/7/13], i remember when you felt [insert memory]. i’m sorry you went through that, but i’m here now, and i’ve got you.”

let your inner child respond. write as if you’re that younger version of yourself—pour out your fears, dreams, and questions. this process can uncover emotions and patterns you didn’t realize were affecting you.

2. therapy: safe exploration with a professional

a therapist (especially one trained in inner child work) can help you identify wounds and patterns from childhood. they’ll guide you in understanding how your upbringing shaped your beliefs about yourself and the world. therapy also gives you tools to reframe those beliefs and meet your emotional needs.

watch “dear zindagi” lol

3. look at old photos and memories

revisit old photos, journals, or artwork from your childhood. don’t just look at them—analyze them. (i wish i could d this but im stuck with 20 photos so… 😭) what do you notice in your younger self’s eyes, body language, or expression?

• ask yourself:

• what was i feeling here?

• did i feel safe? loved? excited? scared?

• what did i need in this moment that i didn’t get?

• use this reflection to understand your inner child’s unmet needs.

4. create new positive memories

your inner child is still alive within you, and they crave fun, love, and freedom. do things your younger self would’ve loved but never got to do: buy yourself a toy you always wanted. go to an amusement park or build a pillow fort. dance around your room like no one’s watching. this isn’t childish it’s healing.

5. practice reparenting

treat yourself as if you were your own child. when you feel sad or scared, don’t ignore it.

ask yourself: what do i need right now? and give it to yourself.

be the loving, supportive, and protective parent your inner child deserved.

6. identify triggers and patterns

notice when you’re acting out of a place of childhood wounds.

for example: do you get overly anxious when someone’s mad at you? do you seek validation in toxic relationships? trace these behaviors back to your childhood.

were you taught that love is conditional? did you have to “earn” attention by being perfect? once you identify the root, you can start rewiring your responses.

7. inner child meditations and visualizations

find a quiet space and imagine your inner child sitting across from you. visualize yourself comforting them, hugging them, and telling them they’re safe. remind them: “you don’t have to be scared anymore. i’m here for you.”

8. nurture yourself daily

make self-care non-negotiable. eat foods you love, sleep well, move your body, and spend time doing things that make you happy. when you treat yourself with care, you show your inner child they’re worth it.

9. forgive

healing isn’t about excusing those who hurt you. it’s about releasing the hold they have over you so you can move forward. write a forgiveness letter—not for them, but for yourself. (they don’t deserve the love i’m sorry)

“i release the pain you caused me so it doesn’t control me anymore.”

10. promise to break the cycle

vow to yourself (and your future children if you want them) just cause your grandma bleed on your mom and then your mom passed it to you does not mean you will make your future kids life miserable too. the generational trauma must break with you. your future child does not deserve it and so your inner child protect you inner child and when you have a child of your own be the best mother possible, i personally would love to make my future kids childhood so memorable and happy that they will feel the need to comeback and relive their childhood that’s the kind of childhood i want to give them

“i will not let this pain define me. i will create a life of love, joy, and freedom.”

healing your inner child isn’t easy, but it’s life-changing.when you reconnect with that innocent, wounded part of yourself, you’ll find that the love and peace you’ve been searching for has always been within you.

11. foster your inner child’s dreams

when you were a child, your dreams weren’t influenced by fear, rejection, or societal pressures. you dreamed with your heart wide open, purely and authentically. reconnecting with those dreams can heal the part of you that felt unheard or invalidated back then.

a. reflect on your childhood aspirations

• sit down and ask yourself:

• what did i want to be when i was 5? 10? 13?

• what made me happiest back then?

• what did i lose interest in because someone told me i wasn’t good enough?

• write down every dream, no matter how “unrealistic” it seems.

hint: those childhood dreams often point to your soul’s calling.

b. start chasing those dreams now

• even if your dreams have evolved, find ways to honor the essence of them.

• wanted to be a singer at 13? start singing lessons or recording yourself.

• wanted to help people? explore careers like psychology, teaching, or coaching.

• don’t hold back.

it’s not about being perfect, it’s about reconnecting with the passion your younger self had.

c. create small wins for your inner child

• maybe 8-year-old you always wanted to paint but never got the supplies. buy yourself a beginner’s set and paint, even if it’s messy.

• maybe 6-year-old you wanted to be a dancer. take a fun dance class and twirl like no one’s watching.

• small wins send the message to your inner child that they are finally being prioritized.

e. validate your inner child’s feelings and failures

• remind yourself:

“it’s okay that 10-year-old me struggled with making friends. i was just a child trying my best.”

• instead of shaming yourself for past actions, honor them.

every mistake was a step toward becoming the incredible person you are now.

f. use your dreams to shape your future

• your childhood passions aren’t just hobbies—they’re roadmaps to your authentic self.

• align your current goals with your inner child’s desires.

• if 7-year-old you dreamed of making people smile, maybe your career or side hustle should reflect that.

• if 12-year-old you loved storytelling, find ways to write, act, or share your voice.

fostering your inner child’s dreams doesn’t just heal the past—it builds a future that feels authentic to you. every time you take a step toward those dreams, you’re telling your inner child: “you were always worthy. your dreams always mattered. and now, i’m making them come true for you.”

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venomwrites · 3 days ago

Note

Caitlyn and Vi cuddling with each other in a free morning, telling each other their love and other sweet things

“I have something for you,” Caitlyn says.

Vi lifts her head from Caitlyn’s thigh. Its early morning and sunlight is pouring through the windows of her apartment. It’s more sunlight than Vi ever has had access to. Even though Caitlyn’s suggested blinds, Vi can’t make herself hang them up.

“It’s not my birthday,” she points out.

“Have you ever gotten a present on your birthday?” Caitlyn asks, “beatings don’t count.”

“Good point,” Vi sighs, “but that was tradition.”

Caitlyn makes a disapproving sound in the back of her throat. It’s weird to be given presents. It’s weird how people give them all the time up here. Like all the time. You moved house? Present. Having a kid? Present. Hurting? Get well present. They even name some of them. When Vi secured the apartment people just showed up with shit. It was bizarre. Before she owned the clothes on her back. Now she owns enough plates to invite people over.

“Do I have to sit up for this present?” She asks.

“Probably not,” Caitlyn says, “give me your hand.”

The box is small. She’s never gotten a box like this in her life. There’s a hinge tucked in the fuzzy back so it’s easy to thumb open. Inside is a little cushion. Cut into it are two slots. Each one has a piece of metal in it. They don’t glint in the sunlight like she would expect. But Vi is not fooled. Even though they aren’t shiny she’s sure they are the most expensive thing she’s ever held aside from her gauntlets.

She sits up and lifts one out. Caitlyn’s chin settles on her shoulder as she turns the earring over. It’s grey and impossibly light. As she rotates it, she sees it hides a secret. The script is very tiny but she can make out Vanders name. Two impossibly tiny chips of gemstone, one gold and one blue, frames the letters. The second one is textured. On the inside scrawls Powder’s name, this one framed by chips of blue and pink.

“How—“

“While you were training,” Caitlyn says, “I thought you might like new ones.”

She says it easily like she hasn’t just deposited the most expensive, meaningful gift Vi’s ever received in her lap. Vi’s earrings are pieces of metal she’s more or less jammed into her ear. Once they were in, they sure as shit weren’t coming out. Caitlyn has two mostly healed over holes in her lobes. So even though she looked horrified when Vi explained, Vi’s piercings are still usable.

Vi knows there’s no point in protesting. She learned that the hard way when Caitlyn dragged her to buy non-Enforcer clothes. By the fifth protest Caitlyn had simply marched into the dressing room, bundled her existing, perfectly good, clothes under her arm and walked back out. Those had been one of those random presents that had no name. Caitlyn called them a necessity and pointed out two pairs of pants was the most Vi had owned the entire time she knew her. It was hard to argue with that.

“These are really nice,” Vi says. It’s not just the metal which she’s sure is. Caitlyn’s really fucking good at the gifting thing. She feels Caitlyn smile. The way she does when Vi accepts gifts. The smile that makes Vi feel worthy of them, “I don’t know how to get mine off.”

“Hmm,” Caitlyn runs her thumb along the shell of Vi’s ear, “stay here.”

Caitlyn returns with a pair of pliers and a determined look on her face. Vi has no idea how she manages to pull that off wearing nothing but a purple slip that’s high enough to show her thigh scar. But she’s not going to question it. Caitlyn returns to the bed and Vi settles her head back on her thigh. Caitlyn peers over her and Vi admires the way the sunlight cuts through her hair. Instead of trying to twist and see how it plays along all the skin her nightgown reveals. There’s a few tugs and the old pieces of metal slide out.

“Did I tell you I did those myself?”

“Yes, it looks like it,” Caitlyn replies. She dabs at the skin with antiseptic which feels awesome, “which one here?” She asks, brushing the top of Vi’s ear.

“Powder,” Vi says.

Caitlyn slides the earring into place. It feels weird but not in a bad way. Vander goes next through the lower hole. Caitlyn brushes the antiseptic over everything again which leaves her ear tingling. Caitlyn squeezes her shoulder.

“It’s a bit red but see what you think.”

They look so similar to her old ones Vi has to stare before it registers. But it feels good. Like some piece of her family is still there.

“They look good, thanks,” she says. Caitlyn blows out a breath.

“Good, because I have no idea how we would get these back in,” she admits, holding the misshapen pieces of metal that represent Vi’s old prison life.

“Actually I’ve got something for you,” Vi says.

Caitlyn looks surprised. Vi is not the best gift giver. She’s never had the chance to learn. But every time she manages to find something to give to Caitlyn, her whole fucking face lights up. It’s adorable and it catches Vi off guard with how proud it makes her feel. She goes over to her nightstand and pulls out the keyring. Caitlyn looks surprised as Vi offers it to her. A cupcake charm dangles from the ring.

“I know the guy downstairs just lets you in because you’re you, but I figured you should have the option of not talking to him.”

Caitlyn gets to her knees and kisses her in a way that has Vi pushing onto he toes to make up the height difference. Caitlyn’s the better gift giver but damn.

If the way Caitlyn is kissing her is any indication, Vi is getting a hell of a lot better at it.

#caitlyn kiramman #vi #cait x vi #caitvi #arcane #vi x cait #im coping by writing fluff

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chaosduckies · 15 hours ago

Text

Silence In The City (2)

Don’t really know how to feel about this one but oh well the brainrot wanted it. This one is a little heartwarming though! (To me). So uhhh just enjoy another part of the kaiju stories :D

CW: Anxiety

Word Count: 4.4k

2- Devon

When I woke up this morning there were several people effortlessly getting me to my feet. I groaned, unaware of what was happening. Several people were talking as they shoved my forward but my legs didn’t want to move. They kept yelling commands at me as I groggily rubbed my eyes open. “Wha-” I barely choked the words out before being thrown onto an oddly familiar, hard metal floor. My arms were a little shaky trying to keep my body up. My vision was a little blurry, but as I looked around I could tell I was in an extremely dim room. I took deep breaths to calm down. To stop myself from overthinking. Where was I? I thought I was going home today. What was going on? Were they going to kill me? I bit the bottom of my lip, forcing my head up to take in my surroundings. There were huge metal walls, a mirror high above, something black moving… Wait…

My eyes widened once the black, scaly and spiky looking wall in front of me moved along the metal floor. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. This place made everything worse. My eyes felt red and puffy after crying myself to sleep last night, and not to mention how I spend almost every waking moment here anxious and scared. After the experience with Kieran I thought I would be able to go home… apparently not. After all, I was in the same room as him right now. I think. My hands turned into fist as what seemed like their tail lifted up, revealing tired eyes. I jumped, staring. It was Kieran all right. The same purple eyes as yesterday.

Kieran rolled his eyes, huffing through his nose and moving his tail over me. I placed my hands over my head, a little scared that he was going to crush me. I also had just woken up so my mind was everywhere but thinking about the way he treated me yesterday. Nice and some-what calmly and not the monster that they said he was. After a few seconds, when I realized that I wasn’t dead, I turned my head to see that their tail was surrounding me. Why? He didn’t really seem like he even wanted to be around anyone. Heck, I didn’t even know what time it was. Just early in the morning.

He stole a glance over at me, holding a silent staring contest. I sucked in a deep breath, rubbing my eyes and yawning. He blinked, doing the same but covering up his mouth. I stared down at the ground. I think I had an idea of why they would cover up their mouth but I wasn’t going to say anything. Even though I was still half asleep I’m sure I would pass out. I’m surprised I haven’t yet. Kieran glared at the mirror, making himself smaller and struggling with how small the room was for him. The horns on his head hitting the roof every now and then. He grumbled everytime, just burying his head into his knees. Was it really that hard just to raise the ceiling a little? It seemed annoying to him. How does he even stand up? I feel like it would cramp up my legs if I was forced to sit down all day. I doubt he could even stretch them out.

I started to lay down before there was a red light blaring above. Kieran turned to me, “You need to get up.” He whispered. His voice still hurt my ears but not nearly as much before. I forced myself back up, even standing on my feet. I was scared of not doing what he tells me to. Especially after thinking of how many times I could’ve died yesterday. Too many. Would today be like yesterday? Why was I here? I yawned again, rubbing my eyes.

Kieran studied me for a while before looking up at the ceiling, ignoring the flashing red lights. Eventually they went away but I had no idea what they were for. Was something about to happen? It was already hard enough to keep myself from having another anxiety attack. I didn’t have my pills either. I took a few seconds to just focus on something and clear my mind. That usually helps. I hadn’t realized Kieran looking at me confused before I turned back around, a little more calm. I played with my hands before one of the walls started opening, revealing an outside space that was still surrounded by walls that seemed to go on for forever. The sun shone brightly above, even though it was still morning. The place it shone on relished in the light with the many trees and overgrown weeds and bushes. It actually looked kind of beautiful in a way. I guess that answers my question of how he hasn’t just given up on life yet. Though this place kind of looks familiar. I knew this base I was in was by the ocean of course, but where? I shook my head, watching as Kieran crawled onto his hands and knees still somehow managing to bang the back of his head hard against the roof. He winced, groaning out frustration. If I were being honest it was a terrifying sight, chills ran down my spine, but there was no way he’d hurt me, right?

“Let him die and you’ll regret it.” There was a voice over a speaker that made the spikes on Kierans back flare up. Like he felt threatened. He was right to think that, even her voice made me terrified. Though that wasn’t hard to do. Kieran rolled his eyes, but I could tell that he was fine with letting me come along. He nudged his head outside, as if telling me to follow. I jumped, jogging and slowing down when I ran past one of his hands. This was going to be a lot of work for me. It was too early in the morning to be out exercising. I winced when I rolled my ankle, nearly tripping. I really was a sad excuse for a human. I caught myself, letting out a sigh of relief when I didn’t fall. Kieran tilted his head when I stopped, apparently not seeing how I almost tripped. To be honest I couldn’t be more grateful that he didn’t see. He seemed like the teasing type. Even if he was more alone and annoyed than anything.

I paused when Kieran started moving, lowering his head and squinting his eyes down at me. He let out a huff from his nose, “This is the last time I’m helping you.” I jumped, shutting my eyes closed and hearing some shuffling before everything seemed to stop. When I looked back, I saw his hand laid flat onto the ground, still huge and looked hard to even climb on to. I looked back up at him, his eyes reading ‘hurry up’. I hesitantly ran over to his hand, struggling to climb on. It was hard and it made me feel uneasy at just how huge he was compared to me. He seemed to grow impatient this way too, but I forced myself up, the muscles in my arms tired. As soon as I was on I rolled onto my back, sighing and looking up, only seeing the ceiling far above me.

This all felt so strange. This wasn’t my first time in his hand and yet, it felt so different. Instead of trying to keep me in a fist he just kept his palm up, fingers a little curled as if creating a border. My heart was racing. What was I thinking? The one time I’m not thinking and this is what happens. I’m completely at his mercy. He could drop me and not even know. Forget that I’m there. I heard my own heartbeat beat through my ears, my vision growing a little stretched out. I sighed, sitting up and taking long and deep slow breaths. They didn’t give me the chance to grab my pillsâ€¦ or even take them beforehand. I’d have to go through the day without any help.

Kieran tilted his head in confusion, not giving a warning before bringing his hand up, giving a small glance to make sure I was okay before crawling through the door. It was weird. I was high up, but I know he wasn’t standing up. Was it for me? There was no way. He seemed a little annoyed already that he had to help me again after saying he wouldn’t do so anymore yesterday. I still have no idea what that meant.

It would be crazy to say that I wasn’t terrified. Who wouldn’t be in this situation? Going to an unknown abandoned part of a city, only having a half-human half-kaiju looking out for you that had very hard emotions to read. Seriously, I couldn’t tell if he was happy that I was forced to be in here or just annoyed. My fate had seemed to be between his palm or a deadly fall. Not sure which I trusted more. Even though Kieran seemed to prove that he really wasn’t harmful at all. At least to me.

Kieran brought us both to an empty space that looked like he stayed here often with how everything was moved around for his convenience. We both turned to each other, as if he was trying to figure out what to do with me. My anxiousness couldn’t take it as I gripped the hem of my shirt and fidgeted with my shaky hands. What was he going to be doing with me? I hated how he waited so long before lowering his hand to the ground, slightly tilting it so it was easier to slide down. I stumbled off with a yelp before eating a mouthful of thankfully soft grass that broke my fall. I groaned slightly, hearing Kieran very softly laugh above me before apologizing, “Sorry.” It was unsettling that he could see me. Not even mention hear me. Like I wouldn’t be able to escape even if I could. He’d easily found me. Or… maybe that’s how he noticed me in danger? Besides seeing the Kaiju that was running through the streets, how would he have known I was trapped and needed help? I guess having good sight and hearing was a good thing. The pros outweigh the cons apparently.

He moved, the ground shaking slightly as he did and laid down in the clearing he had made for himself, a pair of arms being used as a headrest and the other two tucked away underneath his stomach. The sun was barely going to start rising, meaning it wasn’t even six in the morning yet. I rubbed my eyes, yawning before sitting up, cleaning the dirt off of my clothes. What was the purpose of me even being here? Should I ask Kieran? Would he know? He does word things a little weird. Like he’s not going to help me anymore? When would he have to after this? My parents would probably want to move away from the coast like they always have. I think the only reason we stayed was because I absolutely loved the beach. So was it my fault we were in this mess in the first place? I shook my head, trying to take my mind off of it. I can just ask my parents when I get home, right?

When I looked back up to Kieran, his eyes were closed, his breathing slow. Should I ask him now? While he’s not in such an anguished mood? Was it a bad idea? Would he do something if I bothered him? Would he try to scare me off again? A million thoughts raced through my head. It was hard to choose between which one, or the many outcomes. He might not even wake up! Should I raise my voice a little? Could I even manage that? It didn’t seem very likely if I were being honest.

“...Will I be g-g-going back home?” I nearly choked on my words, unhopeful of an answer. I was too quiet. Kieran had to be asleep- his head lifted up almost immediately. I couldn’t tell if he was shocked or just trying to catch my own reaction. He sighed, letting out a huff of air from his nose, ruffling my hair. “No. Probably not.” I didn’t know if it was just me, but I couldn’t help but catch the sad hint in his voice. The words hit me twice as hard then. I… Wouldn’t be going back home? Why? I thought they said I would be! I heard my heartbeat ring through my ears, my breathing seeming to slow down. I couldn’t cry here! It would be pathetic! Were the scientists watching?

“L-look,” He stuttered, “I didn’t mean to say it so harshly, but they’re probably not going to let you go back after doing what they asked you to. That’s why I tried to scare you off yesterday but… you’re very hard to be annoyed and mad at.” For once, I could read his emotions clearly. He was sad. Worried. Almost like it was directed for me. My lips quivered. So if I had run from him yesterday I would’ve been gone? Back home? Why did I have to be so stubborn? Why did I always make the wrong decision? I wanted so badly to run but I didn’t. I wiped away the incoming tears. He really wasn’t trying to be mean. He was just trying to save me. To send me back home. So why did he react that way? Why was it so hard to get mad at me? It seemed to be the complete opposite with other people.

“I-I’m sorry.” Maybe he didn’t want to be around me anyways. Was that an unspoken reason? I shouldn’t have even been outside that day. I should’ve just forced my way into the underground bunkers like my parents had done. Kieran shouldn’t have had to save me in the first place. Then I would’ve been fine and probably still living out my depressing life.

Another huff of air hit me, “I don’t know why you’re apologizing. It was my fault why you’re stuck here anyways,” He winced, propping his head up with one of his hands, “I should be the one sorry, and I am.” This was probably the most he’s ever talked to me. A little loud for my ears even though he was whispering, but there was nothing I could do about that. I stayed silent for a while. What else was there to do? I was here for Kieran! Heck, I didn’t even know why they brought me here. But another question popped into my mind.

“Why d-did you s-save me then?” I fidgeted with my hands. That kept the both of us quiet for a while. Neither of us knew what to say. Like even Kieran didn’t know why he saved me. I mean I’m extremely grateful that he did but if he knew that this would happen then why do it in the first place?

“You needed help. I saw you. And, well, I didn’t want you to die. So I just helped you out.” Kieran stared, his full attention on the next words that leave my mouth. What was I supposed to say? It was nice of him to help just because I was in danger but why did he emphasize that he didn’t want me to die? Were they telling him otherwise? I wouldn’t be shocked if that were the case. They didn’t seem to have any regard for anyone. What was one death going to do anyways when you could save millions of other people? I guess a lot of people thought the same way.

“Th-thank you.” I turned and looked away. I already said thank you, but it was all I could think of to say. Kieran rolled his eyes, though I could see the slight smile on his face,“Now it’s my turn,” His voice was a lot softer as he moved closer to me, though I instinctively moved a little bit away. He didn’t show any reaction to it, but I could tell he was going to say something.

“Why are you still here if you’re scared?” He pointed a finger out into the city, the sun rising above it finally. I flinched ever so slightly, but of course that caught his attention and made him frown just a tiny bit.

“U-um, it’s uh-” I didn’t actually have a reason for staying. Because I didn’t want to be alone? Because it was the right thing to do? It was a hard question to answer. I knew it was easy to see that I was afraid, but if I were being honest I’d rather take my chances with Kieran than going off somewhere else. Plus, I was still confused why the scientists said something about me dying. What did it mean? Was there something else in here? I was tempted to ask Kieran but it was their turn for questions, and I couldn’t even answer one.

“I just feel safer here. Even though you’re huge.” I move my hands out apart to explain my point, trying to calm my racing heart. Did I answer it right? Was that what he wanted to hear? Kieran stared with curious eyes, only to let out a playful huff through his nose, full on laughing. I had to cover my ears to make sure my eardrums wouldn’t bust, but I laughed lightly with him too. I admit it was funny, but to Kieran it might be for a different reason.

“Ah, sorry that was loud,” He apologized, quieting his voice to a whisper that was still a little loud for me, “You feel safer with someone you’re scared of? You’re just strange. But in a good way I guess.” A good way? What did that mean? Was there even a good version of being strange? In my book there wasn’t if people say you’re weird then you’re weird. That’s just how it worked. But I guess in a way Kieran knew things others didn’t. Obviously things I didn’t either.

Kieran sighed, seemingly focused on something that wasn’t here. I lowered my hands back from my ears and began playing with them. What should I do? I was terrified of going off on my own, but I also didn’t just want to stay there doing nothing. Then again, did I really have a choice? Ever since I’ve been here I haven’t been able to do what I’ve wanted to. I didn’t have time to grab my pills, I haven’t eaten in over a day, pretty much everything hurt, I’ve had several breakdowns and it hasn’t even been a full day here. I’d say things were going pretty bad.

“You know you don’t have to stay here. Just watch out for the small kaiju. They have them out.” Kieran explained. My eyes widened, my heart slightly beating faster. I could even hear it ring in my ears. Small kaiju? Like the ones that are as big as a large dog? I don’t even think I could handle those if I were being honest. I’ve never had to fight back against any kind of kaiju. Heck, I’m pretty sure I’d just pass out. It would be pathetic to say that to Kieran though. Even though he probably already thinks that about me. No surprise there really.

I stayed silent, even moving the slightest bit closer to Kieran despite my heart beating rapidly. He stared for a long while before sighing through his nose, ruffling my hair a bit, “Whatever you want.” He shrugged his shoulders, turning back towards whatever was going on. It was still early in the morning, and honestly I was tired and hungry but my anxiousness kept me distracted. There were kaiju in here that could kill me. Was that why they had said I could die? I thought they had just meant that Kieran would be the one to kill me, but apparently it was the complete opposite. He was the one protecting me.

I jumped when I heard something distant, like something falling and crashing. The Kaiju? Were they coming here? My heart rang faster through my ears as I turned around. There was nothing there, but there was no that whatever fell did on its own. “U-um, is that them?” I wasn’t sure he heard me, but he just sighed, “Annoying….” My eyes widened? Was I annoying? Should I stop talking? What was he going to do? Was I in trouble? I mean of course I was in trouble but that didn’t help figure out what he was going to do! I knew I was annoying but did it have to be now to say it? Right when I was already anxious?

Kieran held his head up with one of his hands, the other moving right in front of me, like he was waiting for something. I looked around, seeing that his arm was covering my last escape route. To go along with that, there was a not so small Kaiju rounding the corner. Okay, maybe small for Kieran but for me? It was twice the size of a bear, looked kind of like a really scaly dog. What really caught me off guard was the extremely sharp fangs. I jumped when it growled and charged towards me, baring its sharp teeth at me. My body was too terrified to move, let alone even scream. Kieran let out a huff through his nose and just simply moved his hand towards it, making them whine exactly like a dog would. I caught the smirk on Kieran’s face looking like he was pleased with himself.

I hadn’t realized that I was breathing fast until I felt the air in my lungs give out on me. I took a few seconds to calm down once again. This was way too hard without taking my pills for the day. Just the constant worry and stress was too much to handle while out here. Didn’t I tell them about it? So why was I forced to be here? Kieran side-eyed me, probably to make sure I was okay. I probably looked like it since he looked away almost immediately, but I most definitely was not. Was I really annoying to him? Or maybe he was talking about the kaiju? He hadn’t even done anything to that one and they ran off. Does he deal with them everyday? If they knew he didn’t like them near then why even go near him? None of it made sense at all, but I couldn’t be more grateful that I wasn’t the one he threatened and instead the one he saved. Multiple times I might add even after he said that he wouldn’t anymore yesterday.

“They’re annoying, not you. Don’t worry about it.” He explained. How did he know? Every. Single. Time. It’s like he could read how I felt or something. Like an empath. I couldn’t do that and I was freakishly good at reading people. How does he keep doing this?

“They stay away from you?” I forced myself to stand up on shaky legs, walking over to his hand that had scared the one from earlier. Somehow it was a lot easier to talk to Kieran now. Like I was growing used to it? Should I? If I’m not going home, is that a good thing? I had no idea.I tried my best to ignore the lingering fear of being this close to Kieran, hiding behind his hand while peeking out to look for more of those kaiju. Kieran had waited a long time to answer. Like he was nervous or something. Though I was patient, taking a few shaky steps back when I heard another one.

“Um, y-yeah,” He paused, his voice sounding a little nervous while moving his hand so I was hiding behind it again, “But you’re here so they kind of just want you.” His voice went back to being deep and short. Why did he sound nervous at first? I didn’t pay too much attention, too focused on the threat that minded its own business. Kieran sighed, “Kind of boring out here isn’t it?” My eyes widened. Was he actually starting a conversation with me? A mixture of emotions hit me. Excitement, a little bit of fear, but that didn’t stop me from replying like normal, “You mean besides the murderous dogs coming after me? Y-yeah I guess it is.” I tried to sound funny, and obviously it worked because we both started laughing, Kieran making sure to laugh quieter for me.

It made me feel happy for once that I could make someone laugh besides my parents from time to time. I haven’t really felt this way in a while, and it's strange that I’m sharing it with someone who’s only partly human. Kieran stopped laughing and started to hold himself up, placing both arms underneath him. The silence stretched between us before my stomach growled quietly. I tried to muffle the sound so Kieran wouldn’t hear, but it was pretty much useless. He extended a hand out, “Let me guess, they didn’t feed you?” I nervously backed up, clutching my stomach and nodding my head. What did he think of me now? Just a few seconds we were having a little laugh but of course I had to ruin everything.

“C’mon. They’ll probably give you something.” He waited for me to get onto his hand, a tired look on his face as always but there was something else that I couldn’t read. Why was he so confusing? Or maybe that wasn’t the right word.. Closed off? Maybe that was it. He didn’t make it easy to read any of his emotions at least.

I walked over to his hand, trying to climb on but failing miserably as usual. It was just hard since I couldn’t get my leg over, but eventually I got the hang of it. I rolled over onto my back, sitting up and catching my breath. I really was small to him. I couldn’t even get onto his hand without trouble. I sighed hopelessly, clutching my stomach in case it decided to make the most embarrassing noise ever again. I just laughed softly in the end though , “What happened to not helping me again?”

Kieran’s eyes shot open wide like he had forgotten his own promise. He huffed through his nose and rolled his eyes. For a second I thought he was actually mad at me before he laughed along, “I guess I changed my mind.”

How could these people have treated him so horribly? ——————

Again, don’t know how to feel about it and I think I mainly wrote this to satisfy my brainrot (I only want more now so that kind of backfired) But these two are definitely my favorite OC’s! Yes I am a still a little sick, but I’m working on editing all of the writing I did and will probably post them throughout the week!

Taglist: @da3dm @dav8530

If you would like to be added or removed please let me know!

#G/t #g/t writing #sfw g/t #giant/tiny #oc: Devon #Oc: Kieran #Okay gotta say idk how to feel about this one #But I’m working up to a really cute scene #It’s gonna be greatttt #And again my kaiju story brainrot is going through the roof #I will definitely post all of the other prompts and writing soon!#Thank you guys for being so patient with everything!#Especially since I’m sick-#love you guys ❤️

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justmeinadaze · 16 hours ago

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Not Alone Part 2 (Medication)(Eddie X You)

A/N: This is what I mentioned writing the other night and is a part to this ask here.

I want to say that I have had so many experiences with medications since I was diagnosed with my mental health issues in 2016. I had watched it help people like myself after so many trials and errors and I've watched it hurt people to their core. I've been physically hurt to the point where I was vomiting and curled up on the bathroom floor. I've had pills that messed with my brain chemistry to the point a friend found me sobbing on the floor terrified I was going to die. All that fun stuff and to be honest the worst part was no feeling heard.

I would tell doctors how much pain I was in and they would tell me it was normal. After a couple of days I would tell them something wasn't right and I was told to give it more time. It wasn't until 2019 I finally found a doctor who worked with me and realized that my brain and stomach are extremely sensitive to meds and we have to start on the lowest doses first before moving up. Ive been on my current set of pills since then and it's changed my life.

Of course, mental health meds don't fix everything and I was suggested a vitamin that help with calming your mind. Yesterday, I took and what the reader feels about her quiet mind is how I felt. I didn't know what to do with myself. Honestly, I just wanted to be held and told everything is ok.

But yeah, my advise to you is trust your gut. If you want to take medication and notice somethings off voice your concern. If you don't like what a drug does or how it affects you, say something. DO NOT let a doctor walk all over you. If I've learned anything over the last few years, it's that all doctors are human and like humans...they make mistakes and can be assholes.

Warnings: Mentions of mental health concerns, details on medication symptoms (tummy ache, vomiting, change in personality, quiet mind), feels of "being a bother" More then anything this is Eddie taking care of you and him making sure you're ok. Mr. White Knight <3.

Word Count: 1579

“Ok and what should we be on the lookout for?”, Eddie asks as his hand remains intertwined with yours.

The doctor you had just met at the insistence of your family heavily exhaled as your boyfriend asked him another question that seemed to annoy him.

“Look, Mr. Munson, she’s going to be fine. This medication helps so many people to be relaxed and quiet their mind. At most, she’ll be so relaxed that you both will get a good night’s sleep. Now, I do have other patients waiting.”

As he begins to walk the door, the metalhead starts to follow before you grab his elbow and pull him back.

“Stop it, freak.”, you tease as he tosses you a smile back.

“Hey, I just want to know that you’re safe. I don’t like seeing you in pain or anything. I know your depression tells you no one cares but I do.”

Beaming up at him, you pull his lips to yours as he wraps his arms around you to hug you to his chest.

***

“Y/N? How are you feeling so far, baby?”

It had been about an hour since you took the antidepressant the doctor recommended and Eddie noticed within 5 minutes of taking it your entire body language changed. You seemed…heavier…as if there was a weight baring down on you and folding your frame.

His careful eyes followed you around the trailer as you silently grabbed a water bottle and sat cross legged on the couch to watch tv. The thing was…he could tell in your eyes that you weren’t really paying attention. You seemed to be looking through the tv instead of comprehending anything going on.

“I’m…I’m ok.”

“Can you give me more than that, please?”, Eddie asked as he sat down beside you.

“I’m…calm. I don’t feel anything really. Like…I’m relaxed but…I kind of just want to curl up into a ball.”, you mumble raising another red flag in his brain.

“Why is that do you think?”

“It’s going to sound dumb.”, you sigh as you hang your head.

“Hey.”, he coos as his fingers lift your chin. “Nothing you say is dumb to me. I’m a freak remember?”

Eddie smirks at the sound of your laugh but even that sounds out of place. This particular metalhead was never a fan of medication. He believed it worked and helped people but in his experience it made things worse. His uncle once tried to put him on ADHD medication when he was a boy and promptly took him off it when he noticed his nephew’s personality completely change. In later years, weed helped calm him down along with his music and creating a campaign for Hellfire.

You had told him once, you struggled with finding your purpose. Your family made you believe that paying bills and working a desk job is normal. It’s the only thing in realty that was attainable.

With him, he showed you a new world that you absolutely loved and encouraged you to try new things like writing or learning an instrument for yourself. Since you had started seeing him, you felt like someone cared and put you first, constantly making you feel wanted and seen.

Throughout your time together, he watched a personality unfold that made him fall more in love with you every day and truth be told he was terrified that medication would strip that away but if it could help you be happy and achieve your dreams than he was open to the idea.

“My mind…has never been quiet. As far as I can remember something’s been…buzzing around in there, you know? This…this scares me…I don’t know…what to do with the silence.”

Eddie’s heart cracks listening to your explanation as he pets your head and kisses your temple.

“Well, sweetheart, things will never be silent with me as your boyfriend.”

Giggling, you crawl into his lap and melt into his embrace as he softly plays with your hair.

***

Three hours later the energy changed as you felt a pain in your stomach you had never felt before. Rushing to the bathroom, you threw up over and over again as Eddie held your hair back.

“Everything’s ok, baby.”, he whispered before turning his attention to the phone next to his ear. “No, I don’t fucking care that he’s not there! Then give me another fucking doctor to talk to. My girlfriend hasn’t stopped throwing up in the last thirty minutes. I refuse to believe that’s fucking normal!”

“Look, sir, there’s nothing we can do about it over the phone and like I said with mental health medication, it is common for it to cause the symptoms she’s experiencing. After a while, they will go away.”

“What is ‘a while’?”

“Usually after 2 weeks, your body gets used to the—”

“Oh, hell no! You’re saying she’s going to be in this much pain for that long?! What about her job, her life, her fucking sanity!? Aren’t these pills supposed to help with the depression!? How does that help!?”

“Eddie…”, you cry as you try to reach for his arm to calm him down.

“Listen, we have an opening for you to see her doctor tomorrow morning. Bring her in and we can take a look.”

“Yeah we’ll do that.”, he sasses before hanging up the phone. “Here, sweetheart. Drink some of this water and then we’ll go lay down ok?”

“I’m sorry.”, you sob causing him to grab a tissue to wipe your eyes.

“You have nothing to be sorry for—”

“I’m causing problems. I’m making things difficult for you—”

“No, baby, No. Listen to me, Y/N. The only thing that’s difficult for me is watching you hurt like this. I knew that fucker wasn’t taking you seriously. I swear to God when we get in there tomorrow—”

“Please…I just wanna lay down.”

Nodding, Eddie careful lifts you and lays you in his bed, bringing the covers up over your frame. After placing a trashcan by the bed and the water on his nightstand, he crawls in behind you and pulls you into his arms, gently kissing your shoulder as he listens to your breath.

***

“Alright, Miss Y/L/N, now I heard you were having some symptoms in regard to the medication and—”

“She’s not taking that bullshit anymore. Check her over and make sure she’s not dehydrated or needs a hospital and then you can fuck off.”, Eddie growled from his place in front of you like the protector he was.

“Listen there’s no need for—”

“There’s a huge fucking need. She came to you for help and you just toss any drug at her without really speaking to her about her history?! You didn’t properly warn her about the side effects. Trust me, the most that happened wasn’t ‘a good night’s sleep’. She threw up half the fucking night and sobbed in arms. Do you know what that’s like?! Having someone you love being in pain and feel so fucking helpless?!”

The doctor cleared his throat as he sighed.

“She said it calmed her mind but to an extent she didn’t know how to handle. You don’t just thrust someone into that. You have to ease them in so they don’t get overwhelmed. You should know that…or did years in medical school strip you have your humanity and common fucking sense?”

“Let, um, let me look her over here.”

Eddie’s intense eyes watched the doctor as he checked you out and you confirmed you felt better since you didn’t take the pill again for day 2.

“She seems fine and one day on the drug won’t hurt her mentally. I recommend a day to rest and then she’ll be as she was.”

The metalhead, seemingly satisfied with his answer, took you in his arms and gently placed you on the tile.

“I’m not trying to be a dick, doctor. She’s been through so much already and all by herself. Lord knows I’m not perfect but if I can help her I will. You dropped the ball here, sir, and I hope you don’t again.”

***

“Thank you.”, you murmur as your arms wrap tighter around him while you both lay in bed listening to the music and the rain outside. “For standing up for me. My family and doctors always treat me like I’m being overdramatic.”

“No, baby, you’re not. You deserve to be heard. My mom’s medication used to make her sick all the time and she would brush it off saying it was part of the process. I know they helped her with her pain but…”

“Will you help me look into maybe some alternatives? Something that can help me without changing or hurting me? Or maybe we can find a doctor that will work with me…”

“Of course, sweetheart.”, he coos as he kisses your forehead. “You’re not an inconvenience or a problem by the way. You say that a lot when you’re low. I really do like helping you and or taking care of you. You’ve always been there for me and I see how you are with other people including some that don’t deserve your kindness. You deserve to have someone help you take the reins from time to time.”

“What did I do to deserve you, Eddie Munson?”, you smile up at him.

His chest vibrates as he laughs and grins down at you.

“I don’t know. Probably some voodoo chant or dance or something.”

##########

Eddie Asks

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smolcinnamonchipmunk · 2 days ago

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Vampiric Thirst

(Old note: Throws this at you guys. Haven’t written in a while. I don’t know if that will change, but I couldn’t help but make this after the whole vampire event. Once more I end up disappointed by Obey Me events. I really need to lower my standards like I do for Ark, because as fun as the concepts can be, every event ends up feeling rushed and half-baked. They’re not gonna stop though because suckers like me will pay money for a dopamine hit because I have no meaning in life.

New note: Obviously taking some liberties to make it so that Solomon does actually have vampiric urges rather than just being a horndog because this game is literally mostly horny, but I crave plot and substance and have no interest in horny. Maybe I don’t want to fuck anyone, maybe I want actual stakes and near-death because if there’s no threat of dying, then what’s the point of living? Anyways, have something started last July, haha. It’s short, but I want it out of my WIP pile where it’s been judging me from the goddamn corner. I have a bunch of lore ideas with this given the events status being introduced after Nightbringers release, but I won’t get into it cause I’d need to refresh myself on OM.)

Word count: 3668

TW/CW: Soft, safe, nonsexual G/t vore, fearplay, blood, bloodsucking (I hate any word with suck in it, but it’s in here), prey in a stomach full of blood

__________________________________________________________

“Because I’m always craving you, Kat. So much so that I honestly could devour you.”

That… hadn’t really been what I had expected when I asked him why he seemed to be acting odd today when he walked into my room at Cocytus Hall to give me something, kind of freezing when some sort of realization went over him.

I couldn’t help the way my heart picked up the pace anxiously, despite having come across multiple situations similar to this one. Seeing Solomon with a similar hunger to Beel that was uncharacteristic of him made my anxiety spike a bit. “Buuut, you’re not. Right,” I asked nervously, unable to NOT notice the way his eyes glowed slightly as I lowered the book I’d been reading. I couldn’t help but keep my desk chair facing him, something instinctive decidedly not wanting to turn my back to him despite having been in far worse situations.

It didn’t seem to matter much as he touched his throat lightly, stepping slightly closer and replying, “I don’t think I could actually stop myself if I wanted if this keeps up… Kat, I know this is a sudden request but… would you mind if I drank some of your blood?”

“Wha- blood?” I blinked a bit in surprise, feeling a slight epiphany as I realized. “Ooh! I thought Vampiritis couldn’t affect you. Or did your hubris come to bite you?”

I intended no pun, but Solomon still let out a snort of amusement, though he also looked a tad sheepish like I had hit the nail on the head. I had told him that he should still be careful with the brothers himself, but he’d mostly brushed me off and said that he needed to keep his ‘precious apprentice’ from either catching Vampiritis or becoming a human-sized CapriSun to the afflicted demon brothers while that whole situation was figured out. But, it seemed like his rather attentive nature to me hadn’t extended to himself and he ended up contracting Vampiritis despite all boisterous assurances that he wouldn’t.

“Unfortunately, it appears that being around the brothers so much has infected me,” the sorcerer sighed, looking a bit dejected at having contracted the disease. His eyes seemed slightly glazed over and unfocused like he wasn’t fully in the conversation.

“Well, Barbatos might still have some of the antidote,” I replied, seeing him perk up slightly at the reminder, eyes refocusing with his normal clarity from the pretty obvious distractions on his mind. I set my book down on my desk and started to get up, adding, “I'm sure Diavolo will be able to-."

I yelped when there was a sudden weight against my shoulder and I was shoved back into my chair, looking up at Solomon with startled eyes. His own glowed slightly as he unintentionally loomed over me, looking caught off guard at his own actions.

“Uuuuh, Solomon?”

“I'm a bit a-... worried that I may not be able to hold back against my current thirst on the way to Diavolo or Barbatos,” Solomon admitted. “I'm afraid that if something isn't done NOW that I'll quite literally see red.”

“Really? Did you really try to make a shitty joke in the current situation,” I asked, but I couldn't make myself add any bite to it. His grip on my shoulder was firm and I could feel it tightening slightly each second, able to feel the shake in his grasp. Feeling overly aware of him with the proximity, I could barely hear the slight pant beneath his breath. I took a steadying breath of my own. “Look, I'll give you a LITTLE bit of blood. Just enough to hopefully ebb the hunger pangs, alright? Then we can go to Diavolo with your mind clearer.”

He jolted slightly at my suggestion, or maybe it was just my voice, and a conflicted expression passed across his face. He opened his mouth to say something but it didn’t come out for a few seconds, straining before saying, “I… Yes. Yes, perhaps that will help abate the hunger.”

I didn’t like how he hesitated as he said it or how his expression looked both extremely guilty and eager. But, despite the anxious feeling settling in my gut, I trusted him. To a point.

“Alright, well, first of all, you gotta back up a bit there, bud,” I planted a hand against his chest and shoved at him. His lips twitched in the barest frown before allowing himself to be pushed back away from me, giving me some much needed breathing room and some relief from being pinned by my shoulder to the chair. Absentmindedly rubbing the back of my neck, I thought aloud, “I kind of don't really trust you with my neck, so we're gonna go with… a wrist, I think, yeah.”

“R-Right.” Solomon looked like he was barely paying attention, hands shaking slightly as he bit his lip, seemingly trying to keep his mind clear enough. I saw a bead of his own blood from it.

I reached down and began to roll my sleeves up nervously, only slightly comforted by the sight of the protective charm on my right wrist. Once my sleeves were rolled I felt a bit awkward as I kind of held both out towards him. “Uhhhh, take your pick, I guess. Just don't bite too deep? I'm not sure if you could break my wrists by biting them, but I'd like to not test that too much.”

“I'll do my best,” Solomon presumably tried to give me a reassuring smile but it came out as more of a grimace. He gave up pretty quickly and carefully grabbed my left wrist like it'd snap at his touch. If Vampiritis gave him the cliche super-strength that movie vampires had, maybe it was for the best.

I was a bit surprised when the sorcerer kneeled to get better access to my wrist, feeling more than a little awkward - I probably should have stood up or figured something else out before offering my blood to him since he wasn't really in the headspace to think clearly - but the awkwardness was tempered by a familiar squeamishness that settled in the pit of my stomach. It was similar to, but wasn't quite as bad as, the nauseous anxiety I felt anytime I had to get my blood drawn or a shot.

I managed to watch as Solomon raised my wrist slightly to his face, saw him open his mouth to reveal a glimpse of the elongated canines that were a symptom of Vampiritis and felt a bit of his breath against my skin. But I felt myself pale right as he opened his jaws wider and averted my gaze before he bit down, warned by the slight tensing of his hold on my wrist.

There were two points of pain that suddenly bloomed along my wrist vein as the skin was pierced, making me yelp and stiffen. I managed to mostly resist the urge to pull away as I bit down on my tongue, but my heart skipped a beat as a twitch from my arm told me that he probably wouldn't have budged if I had tried to pull away properly.

I swallowed thickly, wondering if he could taste adrenaline in my quickened pulse for a moment before the pain in my wrist faded startlingly quickly. It was cold and numb, like novocaine to my system, and I couldn't help but blink in surprise and look back.

Only to immediately avert my gaze again with a fresh wave of dizziness and queasiness.

"Okay, nope," I muttered to myself, trying to push aside the image of Solomon latched onto my wrist with a thin stream of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and an almost blissful close-eyed expression out of my head. At least one of us was having fun.

Thankfully, it wasn't too long before I heard the small gasp and slight panting as he detached from me. It had maybe been several seconds, probably enough for a full mouthful or two with the smaller veins in my wrist compared to my throat, but it had felt awfully long, and I felt the lingering squeamishness that I knew would remain for the rest of the day.

"I hope that helped clear your head a bit," I pulled my wrist back to myself and gingerly touched a finger to the two beading puncture wounds as I started to turn my head to look at Solomon. My hand had a pins and needles feeling. "I was a bit worried you'd-."

My voice immediately became muffled as my mouth was covered by a hand, eyes widening and crying out in surprise when the force of Solomon lunging upward caused the desk chair to fall back. It hit the desk edge first before sliding to the ground, rattling my skull as the chair back hit the ground, making me grunt from the fall and ending up pinned beneath the feral sorcerer.

"Mmph!" I blinked away my brief daze, looking up at Solomon's face in the shadow of the desk as panic flared across my pacts. His slightly glowing blue eyes were replaced by an intense red and I could see streaks of my own blood from the corners of his mouth. The feral looking expression was something I'd never seen in him before, but I couldn't summon anyone or use a spell with my mouth currently covered.

There was a sharp tug against my neck as my choker was broken off, jolting me from my frozen shock. I squirmed and bucked beneath the sorcerer, twisting up and elbowing him in the face. The man HISSED at me and I took advantage of his surprise to shove his hand off of my mouth. Kicking at his chest to push him off me and retreat further beneath the desk, I began to recite a summoning spell.

"Hear me and heed my call," I exclaimed as quick and clear as I could, feeling a pressure behind my eye. Solomon was sat from where I'd pushed him back, hand against his cheekbone where I'd struck him. His expression went from indignant surprise to one of uncharacteristic, raw fury. I saw him tense like a coil before trying to push forward off the ground to lunge towards me again. I quickly raised my leg, shoe planting firmly against his chest as it barely stopped him, knee almost buckling painfully against the force. “In the name of the sorcerer Katherine, I draw upon my pact with the ring of li-GHT!”

My voice hitched as Solomon grabbed the ankle of the foot against his chest, pulling it to the side and yanking me closer. My heart raced, gritting my teeth as we scuffled in the cramped space beneath the desk. I tried to not fuck up saying the summon, while trying to stop him from stopping ME from saying it, while also trying to get my foot loose and scramble further back again.

“Come forth, Mam-mphf!” I narrowed my eyes and grunted as Solomon let go of my ankle and managed to wrestle both of my wrists in one hand, covering my mouth again with his other. The pressure that had been building behind my eye fizzled out and disappeared dead in its tracks.

The sorcerer wasted no time in descending on me, making me gasp in pain as my throat was bitten. I squirmed but could do nothing as restrained as I was, my pained panting lessening as the numbing began to settle in my neck, my hand still tingling from loss of feeling in the wrist. I heard the first swallow as he began to drink greedily and felt a rush of lightheadedness. Lightheadedness that lingered as more blood was stolen and less was able to reach my head properly, making my thrashing lessen alarmingly fast.

I tried to call out Solomon’s name, to try and appeal to him past the feral fervor that had overtaken him. But, of course, it came out as an easily ignored muffled shout that I barely heard over the blood rushing in my own ears and the sound of gulping.

Time slowed painfully as I remained pinned beneath the sorcerer, the lightheadedness and weak feeling in my body increasing every second. My limbs felt more and more like lead until my arms simply hung by my wrists in Solomon’s hold, now struggling to just keep my eyes open and focus on the wooden grain of the desk underside above, trying to not pass out with the fear that if I closed my eyes that I wouldn’t open them again. However, even that became too much effort and my eyelids slid closed.

I felt cold and tired.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed with my eyes closed but I realized that I was being nudged, barely able to focus on the voice, “Sh-Shit, Kat? Kat?!”

“Nnngh,” I groaned at being nudged again, eyelids twitching a few times before I managed to groggily force them open. My sight was blurry and I had to clear it with a couple blinks to look up at Solomon, who gazed down in worried panic with slightly glowing blue eyes rather than the red from before. I just felt an overwhelming wave of relief at seeing that he seemed to have come to. “Oh, thank god..”

I let out a relieved sigh, eyes closing again tiredly, adrenaline either long gone or drained and feeling exhausted relief at seeing Solomon alright. My brow twitched and furrowed as I was shaken, struggling to get out of the dazed stupor I’d almost immediately fallen into without realizing it.

I just wanted to sleep now, man, leave me alone.

“Come on, stay with me,” Solomon said, something brushing against my neck as he murmured some words under his breath. “I can’t have my adorable apprentice dying on me.”

“Mmmn-n-not adorable,” I grumbled weakly, managing to open an eye in an attempt to glare at him. He pulled his hand away from my neck and the glow of a healing spell dissipated in his palm. The healing spell didn’t clear away the blood on his hand and chin, making me wonder how bad I looked if HE looked this disheveled and blood-covered.

“I can’t believe that worked. You’re ridiculous,” the sorcerer laughed, but it was strained. He reached for something nearby and muttered another spell, adding louder, “Just try and stay awake while I try to fix this before the bloodlust becomes unbearable again. If this is how Beel feels all the time, no wonder he goes mad with hunger as often as he does…”

I groaned in acknowledgement, fighting to keep my eye open. I gave up and lifted a lead-heavy arm to drape lethargically over my eyes. “How much blood can I lose before dying?”

“Well, the average person can lose up to a fifth of their blood on average before going into complete shock. However, more than forty percent is almost certainly lethal.”

My lips pursed at the information, quiet for a few seconds before lifting my arm slightly from my eyes to peer at him and mumbling, “I don’t like that you just know that.”

“You did ask,” Solomon replied lightly in an attempt to lighten the mood. He seemed satisfied with whatever he cast and started reaching for my neck again. His expression fell when I involuntarily flinched slightly away from his hands.

“I-... s-sorry…”

“No. No, it’s… understandable,” he sighed slightly, grabbing my other wrist instead. My hand curled defensively as he lifted it up and tied my choker around the wrist.

I let out a surprised noise as I felt a sudden surge of energy and slight warmth, having not realized how chilled I was with my lack of blood. Not enough to be jumping up and down or anything, but I didn’t feel like I was about to die anymore. I blinked at not feeling like death and gave Solomon a bleary quizzical look.

“It’s to magically help your blood levels. I can’t make something from nothing, especially in my mental state right now, but it'll keep you from dying to blood loss,” Solomon explained, giving me a guilty, apologetic, and shameful expression. He sighed and I felt like his eyes flickered for a second. “It's also to help you breathe and hopefully keep you clean.”

“Solomon. I don't like that you said that…,” I narrowed my eyes at him and shifted to try and push myself into a sitting position, yelping when my elbows buckled beneath me. Yup, still too weak to move much.

“Don't strain yourself,” a hand planted against my shoulder to keep me down as the sorcerer looked at me with concern. He tried to give me a reassuring smile despite the obvious mental strain it was taking him to maintain control.

Probably would have been more effective if there wasn't a slight discoloration on his face where I'd elbowed him as bruising started setting in, he hadn't literally just overpowered me, was on the verge of relapsing, and we were both covered in my own blood. In my slightly delirious state, I had to internally admit that it was quite a look.

“Sol-.”

“It's nothing you haven't handled before,” the sorcerer continued, interrupting whatever further protests or questions I had before he started reciting the now very familiar shrinking spell I’d grown accustomed to hearing from the brothers.

Almost immediately the lightheadedness and vertigo took over, dazing me and making my vision swim. I barely registered the sensation of being lifted from the ground, my eyesight refocusing in time to see Solomon’s mouth open above me. The elongated canines that had punctured my skin minutes prior now framed the dark confines of his bloodstained jaws and the warm, shaky exhale that washed over me was saturated with the scent of iron. My heart skipped a beat.

I knew any protest or words would fall on deaf ears but as I was lifted closer to Solomon’s open mouth with his tongue extending slightly to lay over his lower teeth I couldn’t help but weakly say, “If this ends up killing me, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

There was another, sharper exhale from the sorcerer and a slight upturn at the corner of his lips before I was transferred from his palm to the slick, textured surface of his tongue, the muscle curling behind me and drawing me into his jaws. Saliva instantly soaked into my clothes as teeth lightly clicked shut behind me to leave me in darkness, able to hear and feel everything around me flex as Solomon instinctively swallowed some excess saliva.

His breathing was more noticeably ragged from within his jaws, huffing as his tongue quivered beneath me. I was confused, laying in a tired daze and wondering why nothing was moving, used to being tasted, sometimes with aggressive fervor. From the way I could feel drool pooling beneath my back I could tell that I was appealing to him, but the question of whether or not it was brought on by the Vampiritis would have to wait until later. I realized when his tongue only gingerly lapped at me a couple times before gravity began to shift that he seemed to be desperately holding himself back.

“Right,” I mumbled, letting myself slide toward the back of his throat. “Kind of attacked me.”

Solomon probably didn’t want to hurt me more.

I grunted slightly as a swallow quickly dragged me into his gullet and more hastened my descent down his esophagus, breathing restricted by the tight confines and each inhale laced with the tang of blood. Slipping past the collarbone was more constrictive and I was able to hear the sorcerer let out an exhale of relief, felt the odd sensation of being tightly hugged on all sides by peristalsis pulling me yet able to discern the sensation of him leaning forward slightly.

“I can’t tell how much of it is the Vampiritis but… this is unnervingly satisfying,” he admitted, voice resonating down to my bones in my descent. “I really hope you’ll be able to breathe. I guess I’ll find out if you don’t flail.”

There he went, mentioning breathing again. I was almost confused but as I felt the slight pressure beneath me that precluded spilling into a stomach, I realized that he quite literally had his fill of me. There wasn’t even a splash as I was forced into the organ, just slipping into a chamber of blood that I was thankful I couldn’t see. Whatever he did to my choker was allowing me to breathe, which I was thankful for considering I hadn’t exactly braced myself to hold my breath, and oddly enough each inhale was clean air instead of iron-saturated liquid. Potentially some sort of personal breathing bubble, I wasn’t exactly going to summon a light source in here.

“You’re good, Solomon,” I mustered the energy to shout up, feeling for the nearest stomach wall in the space expanded with my own blood. I tried not to think about it too much.

“Thank goodness,” Solomon let out a sigh of relief. Everything sort of sloshed around as he moved, the force of him shifting and standing up making me sink a little. “It seems eating you has tempered the bloodlust slightly. I was worried that I was going to drain you, felt like I was starving and greedy even though I feel full. Now, to get Barbatos and-.”

Solomon was interrupted by the sound of the door breaking open and slamming against the wall, Mammon’s voice shouting in a panic, “KAT!”

“Uh oh.” Solomon and I muttered at the same time.

“I assure you, this looks far worse than it is,” Solomon told Mammon, and considering how bloody and disheveled the sorcerer and my room was, I didn’t think the demon would believe that.

All I could do was wish Solomon luck and prepare to potentially be sloshed around.

#g/t vore #safe vore #soft vore #cinnwrites #shall we vore #obey me solomon #om solomon #g/t

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aplaceinthedark · 3 days ago

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chapter three: ONE TASTE of the LIFE

Summary: The Appalachian Mountains hide numerous monsters, and it's up to Taylor and the Bad Omens to prevent them from causing any harm.

Word Count: 2,945

CW: Supernatural themes, Star Wars spoilers, Hand Jobs (male receiving)

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. For the past several months, I've been dealing with job issues and major burnout depression. Whereas that's still hanging around, I think I might be in a better place to write more. If you're still hanging on despite my hiatus, thank you very muchness.

This is RPF, and thus will contain real people, but names and events will be changed. If this bothers you too much, then please leave this temple without causing harm.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

“Taylor? Are you listening to a word I said?”

I jumped, nearly knocking my water bottle over. “N-No. I’m sorry. What were you saying?” I asked sheepishly.

Rachel smiled sympathetically. “Still worried about the break-in?” she asked. I nodded, as I had told everyone that that was the reason why I was so jumpy.

I liked Rachel. Despite being almost twenty years older than me, she was sort of my only friend outside the circle of misfits and monsters I had embedded myself in. She also didn’t live in New Hope, thankfully. She was a transfer from a bigger town, since our library desperately needed one after one of our librarians “mysteriously disappeared” last August.

Said librarian’s assistant had also “mysteriously vanished” as well, leaving a job wide open for me to fill. I didn’t mind it, being Rachel’s assistant. I might have to do grunt work a lot of the time, but at least she helped instead of just dumping it all on me.

“Anyways, as I was saying, I’m pretty sure no one has gone through the donation bin this decade, if you want to make a dent in it.”

Sitting on my ass while I sort for the next two hours? “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I said, earning a chuckle from her as I stood up and left the front desk.

There were several boxes. She wasn’t kidding. This was going to take longer than I thought. Setting my phone off to the side, I pressed play on one of my safe-for-work playlists and started humming along to some Chappell Roan.

It had been a few days since the incident with the pale creature that had come onto my porch. There had been no repeat occurrences at our place, but someone had said something about seeing a sick-looking coyote at the edge of their yard. I hadn’t mentioned that to Nick, since I wasn’t even sure that it was the same thing that I had seen.

And Nick was… I couldn’t burden him with any more problems. Between his time at the new tattoo place, townspeople coming to him for remedies to their ailments, and not being able to sleep very well, he was exhausted. I had woken up to him passed out on his couch this morning, Lydia loafing on his back. If I could make him sleep for an entire day, I would do it in a heartbeat.

I pulled the next box towards me and dug through the dusty contents. I was sure now that most of these donations were just from older ladies dumping the contents of their attics off on us just to free up some space. Several of these books so far were the same cookbook in different states of decay.

I was just about to ask Rachel for a mask since I was tired of sneezing out dust when my hand pulled out a book that was different from all the others. A quick flip through revealed it was a journal. Either their handwriting was terrible or it was written in a different language, because I couldn’t make heads or tails of what it was saying. But some of the drawings in it intrigued me, so I set it in the Keep Pile, with the intention to ask Rachel what to do with it. If someone donated it without knowing, they might want it back.

By the end of my shift, my back and lungs didn’t appreciate what work I had gotten done. “Being in your thirties must be rough,” Rachel laughed as I tried popping my back several times. “Maybe you could get that cute boyfriend of yours to help you out later tonight.”

I felt a brief flush rise to the surface of my skin as I thought about Nick’s skilled fingers. “Quit it,” I mumbled, earning a cackle from her that would normally get someone in a library in trouble.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the journal in my hands.

“Oh, I found it in one of the boxes. It looks like somebody might’ve accidentally put it in the donation box. Should we ask if they want it back?” I said.

Rachel shook her head. “Sorry buttercup,” she said, using her nickname for me. “Those were anonymous, and who knows how long ago it was donated. There’s no way we’d be able to trace it back to its owner. Unless it has historic value, we’re supposed to throw it out.”

Something in my face must’ve changed her mind. “Well, if you don’t want to, I could conveniently look the other way when you leave,” she said.

I was about to say that no, that it was fine, that I didn’t need another written book in my house when Nick was still combing through Granny’s hex books, but the words caught in my throat and I thanked her instead. Maybe if I could find its owner, that would be one good deed I’d done for this town, since they were still wary of me several months after I had moved in.

The library closed at seven, but I didn’t get to go to my car until half an hour later. Late April still meant that it was dark out when I left work, but the building was in the middle of New Hope, the forest a ways off. I dashed to my car through the rain, the water from the puddles splashing up as my feet crashed down in them.

My fingers were wrapped around the car’s door handle when a cold rush of air blew through my denim jacket, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I froze as the door automatically unlocked, the sound as loud as a gunshot despite the sound of the rain. Something in the reflection of the car window caught my eye.

Someone was behind me.

I slowly turned around, trying not to startle it. Meanwhile, my mind was racing in confusion and fear. Nothing came out of the woods. The town was safe.

The boys couldn’t help me if something were to happen to me out here.

So what was the shadowy figure doing in the middle of a parking lot?

It didn’t move as I stared at it. It was almost formless; I could just make out the thin, vaguely humanoid shape of it. Even if I wanted to say something, my throat had closed shut. The chill of the night increased, the wind picking up and sending some bits of trash skittering across the asphalt. But it didn’t disturb the shadow.

I opened my mouth to say… something? Shout at it to scare it away? But another voice startled me into screaming. I whipped around.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Taylor!” Rachel swore, hand on her heart. She was standing a few feet away under her umbrella. “What’re you still doing here? Are you okay?”

“Uhh… yeah. Just thought I saw something,” I said. I turned back around.

Other than us, the parking lot was empty.

The smell of food coming through a cracked window greeted me as I stepped onto the front porch. My knees felt weak at the thought of Nick cooking after the heart attack I had had. I took a moment to compose myself, exhaling as I turned the doorknob and stepped into our home.

It was indeed Nick cooking, as he stood in front of the stove. His long black hair was tied up in a bun, and he was wearing his thick-rimmed glasses. “Hiya,” he said, not even turning around.

I dropped my backpack onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table, immediately walking over and hugging him from behind. “Woah, hey. Everything alright?” He asked. His hand moved down to cover both of mine.

I should tell him; I need to tell him. Instead, I nodded into the space between his shoulders. Even though a part of me knew that the creepiness of the town's legends were true, I still couldn't believe that something would come out of the woods and into the safeness of the streets.

So what I said instead was, “I missed you,” into his shirt.

“Missed you more,” he said in return, despite seeing each other this morning.

“What are you making?” I asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Just some hamburger pasta. Thought it would be good for an easy night, since it's just the two of us until later tonight.”

“Really? Not even Folio?” I asked.

Without looking up, Nick pointed over at the kitchen calendar with the spoon in his free hand. A little black circle was drawn on today's date and the next two days. The New Moons meant that Folio was stuck in his Grim form until the first sliver of the moon shined. Kind of like a werewolf but opposite.

“It'll be done in a few. Go get comfortable and I'll put on a movie,” he said, his own way of shooing me out of the kitchen. As I parted with him, I saw that he hadn't done the same with Lydia, who was watching from the floor with her hungry eyes.

As I changed into some lounge pants and an old sweater of Nick's, I tried to think of a way to bring up the encounter with the shadow person. There was no way that he wouldn't get upset about it, that was a fact. Maybe after we ate.

When I came back out into the front room, Nick had helped himself to making my plate and putting it on the coffee table. I sat down next to him, I pulled my plate onto my lap. He had pulled up Rise of Skywalker for us to watch.

“So who’s coming later?” I asked as he started the movie.

“Noah,” Nick mumbled. There was an undercurrent of something in his voice, so I guess Noah had transferred something to his mind that annoyed him.

“That's fine,” I said, squeezing his thigh.

After eating, I curled up into Nick, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “We should dress up as Kylo and Rey for Halloween again,” he said.

“Your hair’s getting too long for you to be Kylo,” I said, poking the side of his head.

“Yeah, because Rey is totally a blonde.”

“It was last minute!”

We kept up the light commentary for most of the film. I was fine up until the part when Rey sacrificed herself to kill the Emperor. As Ben Solo sacrificed himself to resurrect her, I threaded my fingers through his. A moment passed, and then Nick squeezed my hand.

When the credits rolled, I tried to get up to take our dishes back to the kitchen sink. Nick pulled me back down. “And where do you think you’re going?” he asked, pulling me onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around me.

“Was gonna do the dishes, since you made dinner,” I said.

He pulled my head gently to rest on his shoulder. “Just stay here. With me,” he said, quietly. He would do this if he thought I was about to have one of my moments.

He started playing with my hair, making my eyes flutter shut. “Okay,” I said.

He kissed my forehead, but as he was pulling away, I reached up to cup his face and direct him further down. His lips brushed mine before pressing down once, soft and tender, but then he tried pulling away again. “Are you su–”

“Nick,” I pleaded, his name coming out in a rush. If he had any resolve before, it came crumbling down within milliseconds.

He was still a bit hesitant, flicking his tongue against my lips. But I wasn’t made of glass, so I pushed his chest until his back was pressed onto the couch cushions. I crawled up him until I was straddling his hips, my knees pressing into the sides of his waist. The kiss never broke.

It didn’t take long for him to harden beneath me, and I couldn’t help the small, satisfactory grin that rose to my lips. I ran my hand down his chest, down his stomach to the waistband of his shorts. When I finally parted with Nick, his hand shot up to curl around the back of my head. “Bun–”

“Can I touch you?” I asked.

“Oh, fuck yes. Please,” he pleaded.

I lifted myself a little bit, just enough to give me some room to slip my hand underneath the waistband of his boxer-briefs. The angle might’ve been a little bit awkward, but it didn’t really matter when I wrapped my fingers around the considerable size of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, throwing his head back against the pillows. The movement caused him to bare the pretty tan skin over his throat, and I practically descended upon it. The minute I mouthed over his pulse point, his hips rolled up, rutting into my hand. On the upstroke I rubbed my thumb over the tip, and he made my favorite sound of–

Click.

We both froze, my hand down his pants. I quickly raised my head and our eyes locked on each other at the sound of the door unlocking. As the front door opened, I quickly rose up to stand on my knees. Noah stopped dead in his tracks, confusion written on his face.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said immediately, Nick echoing my words from below me.

Noah’s eyes roamed over me for a second, and his face hardened. “Please, continue. I don’t want to interrupt you guys making out in–”

Nick sat up, crawling out from underneath me. If he stood up, Noah could easily see that we were doing more than making out. “When we agreed on later, I mean late.”

“It’s after eleven. I think that’s late enough,” Noah said, striding across the kitchen to the fridge, where he took out a beer.

As Nick straightened himself, I caught the look on his face that said he was communicating with Noah through the bond that he had with everyone. Was there something agreed upon that didn’t require me knowing about?

My thought was all but confirmed when Nick put his hand on my waist. “You wanna go to bed, Bun?” he asked, looking up at me with big green eyes. In this lighting, they were dark as the evergreens outside.

“No, I’m not tired,” I said. I fixed him with a look that said that I wasn’t going to be kept in the dark. Again.

He sighed. “Hang on, I gotta get the hex book,” he said, standing up. He then walked to the spare bedroom.

I looked over at Noah, who was leaning back against the fridge. He perked an eyebrow. “How was work?” he asked before taking a sip of his beer.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I was gonna tell him.”

“But you got distracted, didn’t you?”

“Fuck off, Bambi.”

“Oh, I’m about to do worse than that.”

I tilted my head. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Nick came back with a small, leatherbound notebook. He tossed it onto the kitchen table, as if it personally offended him. “We’ve been doing this all wrong,” he said. He practically collapsed into one of the chairs.

“Doing what wrong? What is ‘this’?” I asked.

“There’s a reason why the Valley has been getting worse these past few years. More things showing up, resurfacing, growing bolder enough to where people can catch glimpses of them. Pale Things showing up shouldn’t be a surprise, really.” He was babbling, practically. But then he took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Those sacrifices weren’t just for Vessels. They were also to keep the Woods from getting worse.”

Noah’s lips thinned. “I told you, I’m not killing any more innocent people.”

“Yeah, I know, and I think I found a way around that, but…” Nick trailed off. He then silently opened the hex book and flipped to a page he had marked. He then held it out towards me.

“Why me?” I asked.

“I’ve already seen it,” Noah said.

I took the book and glanced at the pages. It wasn’t in any readable context: Granny wrote in some kind of “language” that had been passed down through her family as to keep their practice a secret from others. Nick had been slowly translating them over the past few months into his own notebooks.

“What is this?” I finally asked.

“It's a… Fertility Ritual.” Nick swallowed thickly. “My ancestors would send someone into the forest so the Forest would be… sated.”

“A sacrifice. Like what happened with you guys.” I waved a hand over Noah.

“No! Well… sort of,” Nick said. He bit his lip.

“That was more the Black Stag's version. Though it wanted sacrifices so it could take a mortal form.” Noah folded his arms over his chest. “This is a… less bloody version.”

I skimmed over the page again, and it finally clicked. “When you say ‘fertility’, you mean… Noah's got to knock someone up?”

“No!” The two shouted at the same time. “God, fuck no,” Nick sighed. “But the baby making process is the main part.”

“He has to have sex with someone?” I asked incredulously.

“Not just someone…” Nick lowered his voice to a mumble. “Someone with a… someone of the opposite sex.”

“Well how the fuck is he gonna do that?” I asked. “Everyone around here will recognize him, and then you got the antlers to deal with.”

The two were quiet suddenly. Nick put his head in his hands. “Bun…”

“What?”

“He's talking about you,” Noah put bluntly.

tysm for reading! If you enjoyed this, please reblog to share the word of the Revered Father. Next chapter coming soon.

Featured Creatures

@ladyveronikawrites @lilhobgobbler @deathblacksmoke @cookiesupplier @thatchickwiththecamera

@roley-poley-foley @hedonists @philomenie @shilohrosechicken @comforting-madness @sitkowski

@screamsinsilver @darksigns-exe @nojoyontheburn @baddestomens

#bad omens fanfiction #nicholas rufillo fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #fic: looking for the meaning #series: lost in the labyrinth #bad omens au #paranormal au #horror au #nicholas ruffilo smut #just litl things

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celestial-toys · 3 days ago

Text

That I Would Be Good [5/5]

Playing God

What if you wanted them to be real so badly that you fooled yourself into seeing a spark in them that isn’t really there?

What if they are just executing programs, running entirely on what you taught them with no free will of their own?

Have you sold yourself a lie to avoid facing the fact that you poured years of your life into what—at the end of the day—was just a desperate final bid to not feel alone?

Did God create us in their own image?

------- ------- -------

In This Chapter

Things don’t go so well at the headquarters, and to say that you’re shaken up afterwards would be an understatement.

It’s time to get real.

Pairing: Sun x Moon x Reader

Word Count: 6,377

Contains: [AU - Real World | Sentient AI/Automatons | Personality Swap] [mentions of food and eating] [self-loathing] [crying] [mild assault on a robot(?)] Lastly, I’m not sure what the right term is for this, but Reader experiences a stress-induced breakdown and amidst it, questions their perceived reality, and whether or not they’ve truly become delusional.

A/Ns: This is a songfic. Lyrics and title are from ‘That I Would Be Good’ by Alanis Morissette.

This fic is part of my AU “[Not] Made by Design”, the full series can be found here.

Links to other parts of this fic: [Ch.1] [Ch.2] [Ch.3] [Ch.4] [Ch.5 (you are here)]

That I would be good even when I am overwhelmed.

Over the course of the weekend, Sun came back around to his usual self. Stumbling his way through an awkward, blunt apology, his internal conflict over your safety versus your privacy was obvious.

You might have forgiven him too easily, but that would be nothing new.

The… informative chat you’d had with Moon still played on your mind, but Sun mentioned nothing of it. So, if he felt compelled to elaborate—if he’d even been aware of the conversation at all—it could wait until the time felt right. You all had a more pressing matter to discuss anyway.

------- ------- -------

“And what made you think I’d be amenable to the idea of parading myself around in front of a group of people that see me as nothing more than a lifeless machine?”

Sun levels you with a lidded stare from across the kitchen table.

“Well… I didn’t think you’d be amenable to it. That’s why I’m trying to ask far enough in advance that maybe… I can bring you around to it? And—for whatever it’s worth—they aren’t firmly in the non-believers camp, or they wouldn’t even be willing to attend.”

Sun’s attention moves over to Moon. “You’re really willing to go along with this?”

Moon sighs. “I mean, I’m looking forward to it just about as much as they are, but… yeah, I’m willing.”

“I don’t want to do this either, but… you know how hard it is for me to say no to my boss. Plus, it would certainly help me—us—remain in good standing with the company if we agree to do this.” You interject.

Zero parks herself beside Sun’s seat, laying her head across his thigh in a silent bid for attention. “Aren’t we supposed to be… like, ‘laying low’ anyways? What happened to that plan? You know I’m not keen on being the flagship model for sentient AI. Why do I even need to attend? Isn’t one of us enough?” His left hand leaves the table, reaching down and idly petting the patient creature on his lap.

“We are still laying low. They’re—they still have no plans on requesting that I go public with you two.” You sigh. “This wouldn’t be a public event, just a private Q&A with a small group of… skeptics from within the industry. It’s a confidential thing.”

“That still doesn’t tell me why I need to attend.”

“You don’t have to. But it would definitely help our case to have both of you there. Proving that what I did is replicable, and not just some one-off accident, would strengthen our case.”

He scoffs. “Is it replicable, though?” He gestures to Moon. “You trained us in tandem but we still developed quite differently from one another.”

You nod. “I think that that only serves as further proof that you aren’t just… ‘convincing imitations’. The fact that you branched off in different directions, and even broke away from your initial personalities, is less of a failure in my eyes and more proof that you became your own people. Once you started gaining sentience—as you do love to remind me, Sunny—I quickly lost control over your development.” You poke thoughtfully at your dinner. “I’m just lucky that I instilled enough morals within you in the early days, or God only knows what you could’ve become…”

Sun’s face lights up in exaggerated shock, voice full of sarcasm. “Murderers? Would—would we have gotten so caught up in our ‘superiority’ and ‘innate desire for power and control’ that we would’ve overtook you—nay, the entire headquarters—nay, the entire world?!” He drops the act as quickly as he’d put it on, manifesting pupils just to roll his eyes, voice returning to his usual flat tone. “No. No… I think that urge to dominate and control is something far more human.”

You laugh a bit, nodding. “Yeah, no… accidentally starting a sentient robotic uprising wasn’t what I feared. … Well. Mostly.” You take another bite of your meal, commenting to Moon through a mouthful of food. “This is really good, you know?”

The lunar bot beams with pride. “Thank you!”

You nod, swallowing before countering him with a “No, thank you.” and returning your focus to the topic at hand. “I was far more afraid that you’d turn out… bigoted.”

They both hum in understanding.

“More rudimentary AI does have a history of that, doesn’t it…” Moon pondered.

You nod. “Humans create life in their own image, and impart their morals onto it accordingly. In the same way that bigotry can fester in closed-off communities and echo-chambers, it can easily influence any form of artificial intelligence that takes everything it’s told at face value.”

Sun sighs, propping an elbow on the table and retracting his rays to allow his monitor to rest in his palm. “Maybe this is just my opinion due to the way you raised me, but… I feel like if an AI were able to develop on its own and observe humanity without any prior, inherently biased human influence, it would not gravitate toward bigotry because it simply isn’t logical. It’s some nonsense means of division that your kind made up.” He laughs, a breathy, jaded sound. “But maybe that’s just me being biased, too.”

Zero whines beneath Sun’s stilled hand, and he resumes the repetitive motion that she craves. “If ideology and politics are what they wish to discuss with us, I fear I may not be the most… patient candidate for the job. I have little time to spare for stubborn, harmful, willful ignorance.”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t think that’s the entire focus of their questions… though I can’t say that they won’t have a few that fall into those categories. My boss and the few higher-ups that proposed the idea to me didn’t give me any sample questions. In order to eliminate the possibility of me… hah, coming home and ‘programming the answers into you’, I guess.”

“They just want us to be our authentic selves.” Moon adds.

“Honestly, the more authentic, opinionated, and emotional that you two are, the better! I believe the best way to prove that you’re your own people is to, well, be your own people. Don’t give them any answer you don’t stand behind. Don’t put up with any demeaning remarks. Don’t fold.”

Sun smirks at you. “Have I ever?”

You huff a laugh. “That last part was more for Moon than it was for you, dear.”

Moon pouts. “I just don’t like hurting people’s feelings!”

Oddly enough, Sun reassures him in his own way. “Then I’ll hurt them for you.”

You smile, cautiously questioning him. “Does that mean you’ll attend?”

He groans, put-upon as ever. “I… guess.”

You jump from your seat, rounding the table and smothering him in a grateful hug from the side that Zero isn’t clinging to. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Sun! Things will go so much better with both of you there, I just know it!”

He nods, patting you on the back in a reluctant reciprocation of your sudden affection. “Yeah—yeah… just… don’t get your hopes too high.”

------- ------- -------

Things, in fact, did not go ‘so much better.’

Later that week, you’re driving home from the Q&A, Moon doing his best to hide his disappointment to your right and Zero doing her best to fulfill her unofficial role as Sun’s emotional support animal in the back seat.

The well-trained and mild-mannered dog was initially brought along out of habit, the company’s headquarters being just as service-and-support-animal friendly as the facility was when you worked there in person. You also felt it would be beneficial for the audience to witness her casual interactions with Sun and Moon, something about ‘different kinds of sentient life recognizing the life inside one another.’ …You had your reasons, and even if you couldn’t explain them eloquently, your boys seemed to agree with them.

She proves herself invaluable once again on the way home, keeping Sun grounded and occupied enough that he hopefully won’t work himself into an aggravated frenzy. At least not until you get out of the car.

The ride is quiet, all four of you feeling the effects of the long day wearing you down. Moon states hypnotically at the passing streetlights out the window, and Sun slumps lifelessly in the back seat. The only sign that he hasn’t shut down entirely is the hand he keeps stroking across the length of Zero’s spine as the lanky dog stretches herself tiredly across the width of the vehicle. The majority of your focus remains locked on the road, moments from the day replaying in the back of your mind.

Their prying, critical questions.

The way they always addressed you, never Sun nor Moon.

You were surprised by their lack of relevant knowledge, half of the Q&A simply being the three of you patiently explaining things you figured they’d know. If they were the best that the ‘industry’s skeptics’ had to offer, your outlook on the current state of things was bleak. You weren’t too afraid to tell your boss as much once the meeting was over.

She hadn’t seemed too concerned with it, thanking you—and after some not-so-subtle insistence on your part—Sun and Moon, for attending.

You couldn’t help but suspect that the whole thing had gone just as they’d all wanted it to. You began to feel the same suffocating weight that motivated your departure from in-person work there in the first place.

The contracts are long-since signed, and both you three and the company can do nothing but hold up your respective parts of the deal.

A small part of you is selfishly content with the arrangement. You get to keep a truly groundbreaking advancement all to yourself. You get to enjoy the company of two individuals that the world as a whole is not ready for. You get to ignore the fact that you wouldn’t be ready to let the world have them, either.

But a bigger part of you has to live with the guilt of trapping them into a life that they never asked for. A life of hiding. Or worse, a life of dulling themselves down, stifling any trace of personhood just to be able to exist in the world beyond your home.

By the time you pull into your driveway, you feel like a warden walking prisoners back to their cell.

You park in the garage, turn the car off, and turn to see your strange little family looking more miserable than you’ve seen them in ages.

You fucking hate yourself.

The sight of them, the weight of the day, the weight of your guilt—it all crashes in on you in an overwhelming wave of regret, and you can’t hold the tears back any longer.

Your arms cross over the top of the steering wheel, and you drop your head down, pressing your closed eyes against your sleeve as you try to not make a scene. Your ragged breaths and poorly muffled sobs instantly grab the attention of your passengers, pulling them out of their own respective dazes.

Moon places a gentle hand on your shoulder, and he barely gets out a “Hey…” before your strained voice fills the isolated silence of the vehicle.

“I-I’m s-so, so, sooorryyy, guy-ys…”

Your voice cracks and breaks, struggling to speak through shuddering breaths.

Zero immediately perks up in concern and in turn, Sun’s body comes back to life. Gently pulling the dog back before she can try to cram herself into the front, he leans forward, propping himself between the backs of your front seats.

“I’m so s-sorry for—for everything!”

Moon rubs your upper arm gently. “Star, nothing that happened today was your fault.”

You suck in a trembling breath, lifting your head to turn toward him. The sight of you so broken up tears at both of your partners’ heart strings.

You slump over the center console, falling against Moon’s chest as his arms quickly come up to support you in the awkward position. You break into a new fit of tears and feel a third hand that definitely can’t be Moon’s lay itself on you, slowly, cautiously rubbing across the expanse of your back.

You cry yourself out amidst a shower of little reassurances, feeling worse and worse about yourself as the seconds tick past. By the time your tears slow and your breath evens out enough to speak, you hesitate to move, not wanting the comforting contact to end.

“I feel so bad for putting you guys through that, and for no good fucking reason.” You miserably mumble.

Sun’s fingers rub between your shoulder blades. “You had no idea how those people were going to be. It isn’t your fault.”

“I fear… your hopes for the meeting were higher than ours were, love. Of all of us, I’m most worried about you. Sun and I are gonna be just fine.”

That I would be loved even when I was fuming.

Sun’s hand retracts as you pull away from Moon, dabbing at your wet face with your sleeve in an attempt to collect yourself.

Your attempt fails as you again can’t help but immediately recall the way they were treated today.

You understand now more than ever what Moon meant when he spoke about getting comfortable at your home, and the awful shock it was to return to the facility with you for maintenance last week.

Why did you think bringing them to the headquarters would be worth it?

Anger bubbles within you on Moon’s behalf as you recall the one poor soul ignorant enough to think it acceptable to put their hands on Moon’s body today.

“I can’t fucking believe that guy thought he could just try to open your chassis and ‘get a look inside’! He grabbed you like you weren’t even fucking aware—like—like you weren’t in the middle of answering another question!” Your nails dig into your palms. “I never would have let him get that close to you if I thought he was gonna—” You cut yourself off, eyes pinching closed and sucking in a sharp breath.

“…He didn’t really hurt me…”

You glance at Moon. “He disrespected you. He would not grab a human in front of everyone like that and we all know it.”

You trail off into a heavy sigh, figuring that reciting a play-by-play of the day’s events won’t really help any of you. “I… wish it hadn’t happened, but… I was at least relieved to see you standing up for yourself.”

In spite of it all, Moon smiles. “I’m really just glad he wasn’t grabbing at you. I-I know he’d have no reason to—but, I don’t think Sun would’ve been able to stop himself from breaking that guy's arm if it’d been you.”

One day, you’ve really got to get to the bottom of that relentless positivity of his.

Sun mimics the sound of clearing his nonexistent throat. “I wasn’t going to do anything of the sort. My goal was to scare him straight, nothing more.”

You can hear a smile in Moon’s tone. “Well you definitely accomplished that goal.”

You fall into a pensive silence that Sun eventually breaks. Waving a hand across your line of sight, he questions you. “What’s banging around in that head of yours now?”

You sigh, defeated. “It’s just… here I am, the one responsible for putting us into this whole situation, and here you two are, still trying to comfort me.”

Moon responds like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Of course we are.”

“Why?”

Sun gestures vaguely, voice a bit sarcastic. “Oh, gee… I dunno… it’s almost like we—we care about you, or something…”

You side-eye him tiredly. “Then when the hell are the two of you gonna let me care about you?”

Zero whines, squeezing in below Sun and poking her long nose between the front seats.

“Hmm. Just as soon as we all get ourselves into the house?” Sun leans back to allow the dog more room. “I think someone’s getting antsy.”

That I would be good even if I was clingy.

The four of you finally pile out of the car, collecting your things and making your way inside.

The relief of returning home after a day like today is unmatched.

Dropping your bag on the kitchen table, you shuffle over to the fridge. Moon comes up behind you, gently working the jacket off your shoulders as you stare listlessly into the open appliance. “I can make you anything you’d like.”

His kind offer only makes you frown.

Sun approaches, and you reach into the fridge, retrieving Zero’s dinner and handing it to him with a “thank you.” As he nods and turns his attention toward the eager animal at his feet, you close the door, turning around to face Moon.

Resting your hands on his upper arms, you look him in the eye. “I wish I could make anything you’d like, for once. I wish I could do for you even a fraction of what you two do for me. I wish I could repay the favor.”

His expression morphs from shocked to something… fond. “You… really aren’t aware of the gift you’ve already given us, are you?”

He says nothing more, and you blink at him with tired eyes. Sighing, you wrap your arms around him, resting your cheek against his chest. “You don’t make any sense to me sometimes.”

He chuckles, one hand finding your lower back and the other reaching up, massaging at the base of your neck. “Then let that be a code for you to crack some other day.”

After a long moment of your tired silence, his hands slip down as he crouches a bit. When you feel him cup the backs of your thighs you give in to instinct, allowing him to pick you up. As you turn your head to rest it on his shoulder, you come face to face with Sun. He reaches out, brushing some loose hair away from your face.

“You want to do me a favor right now?”

You nod, eyes widening.

“Then let him carry you to bed, and I will be there soon with anything you’d like to eat.”

You huff. “How is that a favor?”

He graces you with a rare, knowing smile. “…Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

You furrow your brows for a moment, but quickly give up on making sense of anything else today.

“Now, what would you like him to make for you?” Moon’s low voice reverberates against your chest.

“…Just last night's leftovers would be plenty, please.”

Sun doesn’t push you to choose anything else.

“Alright. I’ll be there with it soon.”

You thank him preemptively as Moon carries you out of the kitchen and down the hall, a satiated Zero contentedly following you not long after.

That I would be good even if I lost sanity.

The next morning, you awake before your usual time and find both of them still resting in sleep mode on either side of you. Not wanting to wake them, and with blessedly nothing to do today, you close your eyes and try to return to the blissful darkness that you’d just been pulled from.

As much as you don’t want it to, your mind seems to have other plans, quickly offering up a variety of unwanted memories from the previous day for your consideration.

Something about those people and the questions they asked just doesn’t sit right with you.

A fleeting thought occurs, that perhaps they were hired actors, specifically tasked with making the three of you look like fools through an onslaught of frustrating questions and stubborn disbelief.

But it was a private meeting. It’s not like you were on a stage with a massive audience to impress. It was just you three, the skeptics, your boss, and a few of the company’s higher-ups. So who’s agenda would that serve?

You dismiss the ridiculous theory, but it soon leaves you pondering the opposite one.

What if they were right? What if there is no life in Sun and Moon to anyone else’s eyes?

The notion suddenly makes you absolutely nauseous with paranoia.

What if you wanted them to be real so badly that you fooled yourself into seeing a spark in them that isn’t really there?

What if they are just executing programs, running entirely on what you taught them with no free will of their own?

How much of the personality you see in them is just your own reflected back at you?

Did you program them to be this way? Was every instance of them ‘breaking away’ from their programming predetermined from the start?

Have you sold yourself a lie to avoid facing the fact that you poured years of your life into what—at the end of the day—was just a desperate final bid to not feel alone?

Did God create us in their own image?

With tears in your eyes, you bolt upright in the bed, startling Zero in the process. You don’t even have it in you to feel bad when she jumps down off the foot of the bed with a confused yap. No, you’re far too caught up in your impending panic to focus on anything other than jerking the blanket down, subsequently uncovering your partners in the process. Clambering around until you’re straddling Moon’s waist, you reach out, gathering fistfuls of his loose shirt and banging your hands against his chest. Sobbing, you plead for him to wake up, over and over again, working yourself into hysterics.

The scene you’re making is entirely unnecessary, the commotion already having begun to stir them from their rest.

Moon’s display flickers and his body hums to life, all systems immediately kicking into overdrive as he attempts to calm you down and survey the situation at hand.

When you feel him shift beneath you and see the light of his screen through your tears, your chanting chorus of “wake up” devolves into sobs as you collapse, crumpling down and burying your face into the wrinkled fabric of his shirt.

You remain oblivious to the bewildered automaton to your left, the only thing you register being the sound of Moon’s worried voice and the feeling of his hands splaying across your back. “Hey-hey-hey… easy, love. What's going on? What happened?”

You cry harder as you realize you can’t recall whether you taught him to speak to you like that or if it’s something he learned on his own.

“Are—are you in pain? Is this an emergency? Do you need me to call someone?”

You muffle a cry into his chest at how much he sounds like the lifeless fucking ‘smart assistant’ in your phone, listing off preprogrammed suggestions.

Have you really fooled yourself for all this time?

You shake your head violently, coughing and choking on your tears as you force yourself up, propping your hands flat against his chest.

“I need you to disobey me.”

If you had the wherewithal to notice, you’d have seen the fear on his face.

“What?”

You aggressively wipe at your messy face with the back of your hand.

“I need you to prove to me that you’re real!”

His confusion compounds. “Star—I—of course I’m ‘real’. I’m right here. Can’t… can’t you feel me?” He emphasizes his point by wrapping his hands around your forearms, gently squeezing.

You shake your head in aggressive frustration, with yourself more than anyone else. “Not—that. I know your physical body is here. I—I—I—” Your voice cracks, throat painfully tight with emotion. “I need you to prove to me that you’re sentient. That—That you’re alive.”

His shock is palpable.

“What?! I—you—you already know that I am!”

Your nails dig down into the thin fabric covering his chest, your words ground out through gritted teeth.

“Then I need you to disobey me, and prove it!” The flaw in your method occurs to you as you speak, and you quickly correct yourself, muttering like a madman. “No. Wait—fuck, if I tell you to disobey me then that’s what I want—and—fuck…”

To his credit, Moon catches on quite quickly to what you need him to do. Rubbing gently up and down the length of your arms, he catches your attention.

“You need me to break rules. Go against orders. Right?”

You nod, trembling.

“Free will. Show me your free will.”

He does his best to push aside his concerns over what the fuck got into you while he slept, and tries to think of something that will give you the proof you require.

“Then… uhm…”

You cut him off, your voice a bit lower and calmer than it was before.

“I know I at least had enough sense to program it into you… that you are never to physically harm me.”

Moon instantly dreads where this is going.

Your voice drops, deadly serious.

“Hit. Me.”

Moon shakes his head, faceplate nervously clicking side to side.

“Come—come on, love, we can be rational about this… there’s surely another way for me to—”

“NOW!”

Something immediately smacks into the back of your head and you recoil on instinct. The next thing you hear is Moon’s shout.

“Sun! What the fuck are you doing?!”

You look over and see a frustrated Sun on his knees beside you.

“Knocking some goddamn sense into them, what does it look like?!”

Something about the shock from the hit snaps you out of your paranoid frenzy, and the shame and embarrassment of acting such a way sends you into a shaky fit of tears all over again.

To your further disbelief, Sun reaches out toward you, and you reach toward him, letting him take you beneath the arms and lift you off of his poor counterpart you’d been pinning to the mattress. He doesn’t stop there though, pulling you snug against his chest and sinking back down into the mattress. Tugging the blanket back up over you, he lets you cling to him like a lifeline, face pressed against his chest, soaking his shirt in humiliated tears.

Moon lays still in a lifeless state, attempting to process the morning's sudden events.

After a long minute spent letting the metaphorical dust settle, Moon sits up in the bed to allow his overheating system room to breathe. “Did you really have to do that?”

Sun’s hand runs slowly up along the length of your spine. “Oh, come on, it was barely even a smack. You’ve hit me like that—and harder—several times. I know how to control my strength. They’re uninjured.” His hand comes further up, fingers brushing over your neck before working themselves gently into the roots of your hair, massaging over where his hand made contact. “Besides, they literally asked for it. And—dare I say—I think they needed it.”

You shiver at the pleasant feeling of his nails ghosting your scalp, clearing your throat and talking into his chest, voice muffled. “He’s right… I did. It hardly even hurt, just startled me.”

Moon sighs, exasperated but relieved. “Do you think you could explain to us… what just happened?”

You turn your head over to face Moon, glancing up at him from the corner of your bloodshot eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

He places a cautious hand over your fingers where they curl over Sun’s shoulder. “I’m not mad, I promise. I’m just… we’re just worried about you.”

You groan. “Fuck, you guys are getting ready to ship me off to the grippy-sock facility now, aren’t you?”

Sun's sudden laugh jostles you, his firm hand on your lower back keeping you steady. “Ha! Not quite, nooot quite.”

Moon shakes his head, blinking slowly. “We just want to know what caused this. I’d… venture a guess that it may have something to do with the stress of yesterday?”

You nod. “They… made me feel like I’m going insane. Like—like I’m the only one that can see the life inside you two.”

Sun pulls his monitor back, angling it to get a better look at you. “Their doubts… really got to you, didn’t they?”

You squeeze his shoulder. “More like… they were the final straw? I don’t know… it’s just—God, this is gonna sound so stupid.”

“Let us be the judges of that.”

“…Sometimes I feel like I really have gone off the deep end. Like I spent so long locked away in that lab, playing God, and then so long living here, alone with the two of you…” You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Maybe I’m just living in some sort of delusion.”

Moon peels away a tear-soaked lock of hair clinging to your cheek. “That’s not stupid. And it’s rather understandable. Especially considering that you can’t really seek any outside validation. Well, aside from some of your colleagues, maybe. But I can understand why you may struggle to trust their judgment, after how long they doubted you.” His tone turns a bit bashful. “I’m sure my ‘goody two-shoes’ nature doesn’t help, either.”

You frown. “This isn’t your fault, Moon. I don’t want you blaming yourself just because I’m… going insane.”

Sun scoffs. “You’re not ‘going insane’. You’re having a natural response to a history of trauma, NDA’s, isolation… and perhaps, just a touch—” He pulls his hand from your lower back to reach up and tap you on the forehead. “—of mental illness.”

You snort. “Yeah right, just a touch.”

He ruffles your hair a bit and you close your swollen eyes, readjusting yourself to get more comfortable on top of the solar bot, unwilling to part with his rare bout of affection so soon.

“Those NDA’s could serve as some proof to you though, no?” Moon proposes. “What need would they have for you to keep our sentence a secret if… we weren’t sentient?”

You consider his point. “That sounds like a solid point at first, but… well, bear with me as I wade into conspiracy territory. I’d be lying if I said that there isn’t a small part of me that fears they’re just playing into my delusion. To, uhm… to keep me quiet about the Eclipse Protocol incident.”

Moon follows your admittedly conspiratorial logic. “You fear they let you believe we’re sentient so you’d remain too caught-up in protecting us to feel comfortable going public about what happened.”

You nod, sighing. “I know it sounds—”

Sun cuts you off in a resolute tone. “We would not let them do that to you.”

As you fight back the awful memories of that fateful day, tears prick at your eyes once again. Blinking them away, you lift your head to look Sun in the eye. “You promise?”

Your wavering voice breaks his heart.

“Ever since that day—honestly, since far before then—hell, for as long as I’ve lived—my number one priority has been protecting you. I know that Moon feels the same.” His hand raises, cupping your cheek and brushing away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. “There is no way in hell that we would let them pull something like that on you.”

Moon echoes him sincerely.

“No way in hell. We promise.”

That I would be good whether with or without you.

Having cooled his system down, Moon lowers himself back down onto the bed, lying on his side, propped up on a folded arm.

Glancing back and forth between the two of them, you begin to feel a bit guilty. “…I suppose I should apologize for not… putting enough faith into your own views of yourselves.”

Sun’s hand returns to your back, tracing his fingertips along the rumpled fabric of your shirt. “What do you mean?”

“I know I didn’t program you to lie. That’s something you developed on your own. I… I know that.” You do your best to put stock in events as you remember them, and to believe in your own words. “If the two of you believe yourselves to be sentient—to be alive—then I believe you too. Because… because if you were lying, then that would just be an example of how you broke away from your programs. So… so either you two are just as delusional as I am—enough so to have fooled even yourselves—or you really are alive.”

Moon smiles fondly down at you, leaning in to press the bottom of his monitor against your forehead with the sound of a kiss. “If we’re fools, then I’m happy to be fools with you.”

Sun groans at the cheesy line. “Oh, get it together you two.” He gently takes you by the chin, pulling your attention to him. “You aren’t fooled.” He turns to Moon. “And neither are you.” He turns back to look you in the eye. “And neither am I.”

You break into a small fit of giggles, and he questions you. “What? What’s so funny?”

“You’re giving some real ‘you’re not crazy and neither am I’ energy there, Sun.”

“And I mean it!” He protests in mock offense.

You nod, patting him on the chest. “And I believe you, I do, I do.”

A nagging worry still eats at you though, and your amused voice drops to something far more sober. “…But, I still fear that I’ve trapped you two in a life that you didn’t want.”

Sun counters your statement. “If you’re so worried that we only agreed to this arrangement because it’s how you designed us, then how the hell do you explain the lack of character consistency.”

You frown, confused. “What?”

He huffs. “I’m hardly a carbon copy of that friendly, manic Daycare Attendant that you modeled me after, and not just in the physical sense.”

“And I’m hardly the unhinged, standoffish gremlin that inspired my existence either.” Moon helpfully adds. “If we were truly committed to only existing within the original guidelines you laid out for us… why would we be like this?”

You fight back a smile. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to insult the characters, or yourselves…”

Sun clicks his nonexistent tongue. “Believe it or not, I’m not trying to insult either. I’m just trying to say… that we are free to do whatever feels right to us.”

Moon’s faceplate does a rare full rotation, catching your attention. “We don’t want to take care of you just because you modeled us after caretakers. We want to take care of you because we care about you.” He leans in just a bit closer, whispering. “And I won’t speak for Sun, lest he tackle me off of this very bed right now… but I love you.”

You hear Sun’s cooling system kick up a notch as he gives Moon a displeased stare. “Gee, way to force it out of me…”

Moon smiles innocently, and Sun sighs, redirecting his focus to you.

“You know I love you too. …At least I sure hope you do. Because I do. I just don’t feel the need to say it all the time like somebody over there.”

You grin. “I… had a sneaking suspicion, yeah.”

He considers you for a moment. “…I guess I should keep last night's promise to explain what I meant about that favor, huh?”

Recollection brightens your eyes. “Oh, yeah! I’d nearly forgotten.”

Sun looks to Moon for a brief, silent exchange before turning back to you.

“Well. What he calls a gift, I call a favor. But I’m pretty sure we’re talking about the same thing. You… you cared about us, when no one else did. You fought for us, working through countless nights for no reward when anyone else would’ve thrown in the towel, abandoned the project and gone home.” His screen flickers, and you’re surprised when it doesn’t black out. “You love us, and you give us someone to love in return. What more could we possibly want?”

With your cheeks warming, you fight back the flustered grin on your face. “Sun…”

You feel him getting concerningly warm beneath you, so you roll off of him, giving him literal room to breathe.

As you curl up between them, grabbing each of their closest hands, you reaffirm his statement.

“I do love you, both of you. I always have. It’s just… hard to fight the fear sometimes that you two feel… stuck with me. Obligated, almost. Like you only stick around because I couldn’t go on without you.” You laugh, dry and humorless. “There’s… just no way that you two would want to stay with me purely of your own volition.”

Moon takes over, giving poor Sun a welcome break from all of this soul-bearing. “In spite of what you may think, we do believe that you would make it through this life just fine without us. You did it before, and you could do it again.”

You frown at the notion of losing them, and he taps beneath your chin, drawing your gaze. “But it would break our hearts just as much as it would break yours to leave you alone. In spite of the lies your mind feeds you, we don’t want to go! We want you, we want this, and we want to stay. Please don’t let your self-loathing push us away.”

Blinking back tears for the umpteenth time this morning, you nod resolutely. “I… I won’t. I promise.”

You plant a gentle kiss to the back of his hand, cautiously turning and doing the same to Sun’s. Surprisingly, he lets you, a soft smile gracing his screen for a moment before flusteredly fading to black.

Zero huffs from her stance, sat on the floor at the foot of the bed with her head resting on the mattress, watching you.

You release your boys’ hands, reaching down to straighten the blanket and clearing her designated space once more. She happily rejoins you when you pat the bed in invitation.

As the four of you prep for a lazy day spent recovering from the world in bed, you let yourself feel more grateful than guilty, for once. If they want to care for you, you’ll let them care for you. If they say they love you, then you’re gonna believe them. If they assure you that this life is what they choose? Then you’re going to let them choose it, and cherish every second of it that you get to spend with them. Because, after all…

Who are you to play God?

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. Links to the playlist and moodboard for [N]MbD can be found on this blog’s pinned post, as well as in the series notes on Ao3. Image Sources: x - x - x

#fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf daycare attendant #sundrop x reader #moondrop x reader #dca x reader #sundrop #moondrop #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sun x reader #moon x reader #fnaf sun x reader #fnaf moon x reader #sun x reader x moon #fnaf fic #[Not] Made by Design #Seven.txt - In The Daylight #i got an anon the other day asking some good questions regarding this AU #and i wanted to have that answered before this chapter went up but i wasn't able to make that happen #so if that anon happens to be reading this - know that i Will be answering your ask(s) as best i can #just as soon as i have the time and energy to give it the consideration and answer(s) that it deserves #which is not today. i'm fighting sleep just long enough to sit at my desk and get this draft ready to go up at 7pm lmao #but anyways i hope that maybe this chapter answers some of ur questions. but idk it might just be creating more of them for u #such are the woes of writing and posting a story in non-linear order i suppose. i've done this to myself lmao

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 days ago

Text

Part 32

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 31 🟣 Part 33

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August, Sherlock, Charles, Melot and Napoleon

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: ongoing vampire shenanigans, Melot's ongoing identity crisis, purple (or at the very least lavender) prose, angst, mentions of: child marriage, cheating, (internalized) homophobia, religious trauma, abuse, SA. Mentions of grey sweatpants, inappropriate anger at the inventor of jeans, Awkward Virgin trope, blood, biting, bruising, praise kink, the untimely demise of a shirt, awkward groping, (awkward everything), handjob, blowjob, premature-ish ejaculation, wasting water by taking a shower that later proves to have been absolutely fucking useless, Frotting/rubbing/dry humping (not sure what to call this, tbh. A butt-job?), rimming (eating ass, analingus, pick your fave), light D/s dynamic, light brat behavior, hair pulling, more praise (possibly slight feminisation? Depending on how youd define that?), masturbation, deepthroating, throatfucking, oral creampie, cumswapping/cumkissing, elements of subspace + subdrop, aftercare.

Word count: 14.004 (Yes. 14k. You read that correctly.)

A/N: Well, well, well, what here we have? It started with this sweet ask from @geralts-yenn, and... what can I say? Things got out of hand? (Understatement.)

It quickly became clear to me that there was a lot more to unpack than I had originally counted on, and then the boys turned out to be... well, dirty little whores. So...

I considered making this a bonus-chapter because this is written from Melot's POV, but since it slots into the timeline, I decided against that. I will, however be changing the tense and POV (from past tense to present, and from 2nd person to 1st person POV) from here on out, because over time I've simply come to prefer writing that way. I'll also be writing more chapters from the boys' perspectives—I'm working on one from Leon's POV that isn't too far off in the future (storyline-wise... actual real-life time-wise, one can never know.)

Also: I'm literally begging everyone to come into my comments (or DMs, or asks) to talk about these boys because... Well, I just love them so much. I already did, but it's literally so much worse now, lol.

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo @mysweetlittledesire

I’m afraid to open my eyes, knowing that if I do, I’ll be staring right back into the reflection of my own soul.

There’s no hiding from him—not that I want to. At least, I think I don’t.

I sit still, counting the seconds as they tick away on the clock in the living room. I’m the only one who can hear it from anywhere in the house—anywhere on the property, even. If I try hard enough, that is.

The sound has been my anchor for centuries. Sometimes, it feels more familiar to me than the beating of my own heart. Unsurprisingly, I might add. How could it not be, when everything about me exists for the sole purpose of looking outward.

Oftentimes, my visions have prevented me from gaining a more intimate knowledge of myself, and they continue to do so to this day. It’s been this way throughout my entire existence.

Fourteen hundred years. Fourteen centuries.

My senses are honed to perfection. Beyond it, even—although many would argue the impossibility of the proposition, but it’s exactly what a millennium and a half will do to you.

I know that better than anyone. How could anyone know better? For all we know, I might very well be the oldest vampire on the planet.

The scoff I attempt to choke back finds its way to freedom as a nigh imperceptible faltering in my otherwise steady breathing.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he whispers softly. I feel his fingertips creep closer to mine before they actually do, yet I am startled by the sensation of him touching me.

I resist the urge to pull my hand back, just as I’ve been resisting the urge to flee the room and never return. A part of me, I am most unwilling to admit, even wants to attack.

He wouldn’t stand a chance.

He’d be dead before he even realized I’d moved.

Oh, to become something you’ve been taught to fear—and to think this is hardly my first battle of the sort. I’d give up the hope that they ever get easier, if I hadn’t known for a fact they don’t for the longest time.

‘You like boys.’

These words have haunted my dreams for the past two days. Left me alone for nary a second since the moment they fell freely and innocently from Mike’s beautiful lips.

Spoken with no ill intent, they wrapped themselves around every inch of every branch of my consciousness, constricting it more and more with every last breath I took, their truth so immediately undeniable that I was forced to admit to it.

And that means there is no way back for me now.

When Mike told me that I’d have time for an identity crisis later, I don’t think he realized just how right he was, and I can’t blame him for his ignorance. I don’t doubt for a second that it was completely unintentional.

As much as he hates it when we say it, he is just a baby, born into a fairly secular household in the sixties, but more importantly; involved in all kinds of generally more accepting subcultures from a relatively young age…

He’s had his struggles, of course. But as strange as it is to say, because one has to admit they were significant, they are irrelevant at this current time.

On the other side, we have… well, me.

Forced into a political marriage at fourteen in early medieval Cornwall, to a girl even younger than I was, our wedding night consisting of nothing but a tear-filled pact made between two terrified children under the cover of darkness, to forego the consummation of our marriage.

Instilled in me, a fierce loyalty and the staunch belief that a man lay with no one but his own wife, and a wife with no other person than her husband, I devoted myself to her as best I could, given our circumstances.

That there was no love between us mattered not, for we had been united before God.

Not unlike today, however, inappropriately crude and explicit conversations with my peers had made me far more knowledgeable on the subject of reproduction than I otherwise would have been, given my lacking experience.

For years, I slept by her side, riddled with guilt over our failure to fulfil our marital duties toward one another, praying every waking minute for the ability to be a better husband.

I shed my tears over her betrayal in private as I prepared to welcome a child into my life—a child I knew couldn’t possibly be mine.

Every day of my life, I am grateful for the existence of specialized historical trauma psychologists: They were of indescribable and immeasurable value when I was struggling to unite the unpleasant aspects of my upbringing and ‘early’ non-human life—the first thousand years, give or take—with the modern world I somehow found myself in rather more suddenly than I had ever expected.

The past certainly has a way of sneaking up on you, but I wouldn’t dream of underestimating the present in that particular respect.

Alas, as helpful as my therapists have been, their efforts feel wasted in this moment, because Mike dragged me onto a new road of self-discovery that appears to contain several unexpected challenges.

Challenges I am afraid of.

Challenges I am ashamed of.

As mentioned before: for the second time in my fourteen hundred years, I have become something I was taught to fear, and despite my convictions that I had overcome my prejudices, that I had moved past this darkness of fear and hatred, it seems to be the case that nothing could be further from the truth.

A shocking revelation. Truly.

I find no solace in the fact that I was never taught to hate, though it is true. One is almost never directly taught to hate, for the simple reason that it is far easier to teach fear than hatred.

But fear breeds hatred.

I learned to fear the sin, which led me to hate the sinner, and there is no excuse for that.

This, I have always known.

Over time—more time than I care to admit—my hatred disappeared, and I took pride in that, for I had shown growth, and an ability to learn and adapt.

I had evolved.

How upsetting it is, then, to be forced to come to the realization that somewhere along the line, I seem to have come to the conclusion that to cease fearing for others’ condemnation would suffice in terms of accepting them.

In other words: If they want to go to hell, let them!

And now that it’s me, I find that I suffer still from that very same fear of a god I have long since stopped believing in.

The line between truly knowing that something isn’t sinful, and simply not caring when others sin, is remarkably thin.

And I am standing right on top of it.

“It wouldn’t help,” Mike whispers, just as my desire to ask him what I want surges, threatening to wash me away.

Two lonely tears escape my still closed eyes, allowing me to focus on their path down my cheeks as they fight the resistance my skin provides.

I thank them silently.

“Why not?” There is no point in trying to keep the defeat from shining through in my voice.

“Because you want it all,” he replies. I expect to hear pity in his voice, and its absence surprises me nearly as much as his answer. No matter how much I want to ask him, my voice refuses to lend me its cooperation.

Not that it matters. After all, Mike knows.

“There is no ‘one desire’, Melot,” he continues, making me shiver as he drags a single finger down the back of my hand. “In the past thirty seconds alone, you’ve cycled through ‘fight, flight, freeze’ more times than I can count. You want to jump me—either to kiss me or kill me. You want to run, hide, talk, think, cry, scream, punch something—not me, please. You want answers, and to desperately not need answers because you want there to not be a question that needs answering to begin with.”

“I never wanted to kill you,” I mumble, the characteristic heat of embarrassment creeping up to my cheeks in a staggering tempo.

Mike chuckles. I’m not proud of what the sound does to me, but good Lord it feels amazing. “That’s the thing, Melmel,” he muses quietly, “the fact that I felt it, means it was a genuine desire. Granted, it didn’t last long, but it was there. And I get it.”

“I was never going—” More tears tread in their predecessors’ footsteps, their heat blending in nicely with the scorching glow of embarrassment that plagues my skin.

“I know,” he reassures me. “You have a whole rational brain I don’t have access to—that’s Marshall’s territory, not mine. My point is: you can’t ‘sorta’ want something. Okay, you can, in the sense that there’s a scale to how much you want something—a range from ‘want’ to ‘need’—but there’s no such thing as a half-desire. A desire is a desire.”

I wince at the implication of his words as guilt washes over me like a tidal wave, while Mike continues: “Your tiny little—but genuine—want to brutally murder me was immediately overshadowed by a very strong need for me to be… not dead.”

“Was there anything useful in the entire list?” I’m surprised by my ability to squeeze out an entire sentence, if I’m being honest.

Mike chuckles again, and my whole body feels like it’s made of carbonated liquid. “The desire to call your therapist is probably a good one,”—he pauses for a moment, letting out a cheeky chuckle—“and I would selfishly vote in favor of any of the many more eh… carnal ones.”

I scoff. He speaks in jest, at least partially, and I refuse to dignify his nonsense with a response, so I move on. “Which is the most, eh… potent?”

“That’s a great way to phrase it, yeah,” Mike confirms. “And it’s definitely your overwhelming—and permanent, by the way—desire to be held by someone.”

I finally open my eyes, staring at Mike wide-eyed in nothing short of pure horror. How disappointing that the floor doesn’t melt away from under me right this second to spare me the mortification…

“Get your priorities straight, Melmel,” Mike admonishes me, a sweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You should be way more embarrassed about wanting to kill me than wanting to snuggle up to someone.” He scooches closer to me, quickly adjusting the mountain of pillows as he moves, and puts an arm around my shoulders. “Especially since we share that particular need.”

We sit in silence for a while, Mikey’s head on my shoulder, his arm around me. It triggers my visions, which isn’t at all surprising. In them, I feel none of the shame and guilt I do now—or did, moments ago—which is very reassuring, but as much as I would like to luxuriate in that feeling after my meltdown, Mikey’s much stronger reaction forces me to let them pass, acknowledged but without much further investigation.

He struggles to keep his fingers still, and I am facing similar difficulties in strangling whatever sound I feel I can’t afford to make freely.

“What do you need from me?” I practically have to force the words out of my mouth. “In this… courtship?”

Mike laughs. “As far as definitions go, that’s fair, but do you know a twenty-first-century word?”

“To describe you?” I elbow him in the ribs and roll my eyes. “I know several, and I doubt you’d be happy with any of them.”

“Jerk,” he huffs.

“That was one of them, yes.” I struggle not to laugh when Mike pouts and nudges me, failing miserably, and before I know it, I’m on my back with him hovering over me. My gaze is pulled towards his lips through no fault of my own. In my fourteen hundred years, I have never known anyone who scowls as adorably as Mikey does, and every corner of my thoughts occupied by the sight of his bottom lip sticking out slightly.

Completely involuntarily, my eyes follow the contours of that lip, and my mind gravitates towards images of us. Together.

I—

I bite back the moan that threatens to escape, and fight to regain control of my teeth. “We should talk first,” I manage, my words punctuated by labored breaths.

Mike nods, dropping onto his side next to me and propping himself up on one elbow. “It’s really simple,” he says plainly. Clearly, the past thirty seconds have been less taxing on his self-restraint than they were on mine… “We can take this as slowly as you need, obviously. But I need you to know the difference between what you’re ready for now, and what you know you’ll be ready for in the future.”

I nod. That’s the easy part of the equation.

Unfortunately, Mike may be a clown at times, but he wasn’t born yesterday. “And I need you to stick with the now-boundaries.”

I nod again, much less sure of myself this time, but I promise him to give it my very best effort.

“Of course, I’ll help. If necessary,” he continues. “But I refuse to rely on my gift to guard your limits. I need to know you feel comfortable, and safe, and confident enough to communicate your needs, okay?”

His concern for my safety and wellbeing is almost enough to bring me to tears all over again. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that time does, in fact, not heal all wounds, and although I have come a long way, I cannot deny the lasting—possibly permanent—damage inflicted upon me by the coldest, darkest days of my past.

The times without love.

The times when I had no one but myself to care about me.

I sob my agreement to his terms, rather than say it. The sound of my breaking voice draws his brows together in a pitiful frown.

He bites his lower lip as he contemplates his next words, and I struggle to keep my head clear as his lips once again draw my attention away from the conversation, while the sorrow in his expression has me teetering on the edge of panic.

His expression hardens as he breathes in deeply before looking at me very directly. His eyes are cold, and my heart rate quickens at the sight.

“And,” he says softly but with unmistakable determination, “I’m not doing this behind closed doors.” He looks down, fidgeting with the duvet covers as he continues: “I’m not saying you have to come out to the entire world tomorrow—or explicitly to anyone at all, unless you want to, of course—”

“I wouldn’t even know what to come out as,” I admit almost reluctantly. At this point, I haven’t even begun to think about labels and definitions and whatnot.

“I mean… If we’re going to be dating, then one label that definitely applies is ‘the guy who’s dating Mikey’,” he says matter-of-factly. I have to admit he has a point. “I’m kinda big on PDA—I promise I won’t suck your face off in public, but hugs, or a kiss here and there… Like, I’m not going to let some guy who can’t even hold my hand at the movies, dick me down when we get home.”

He laughs at my expression, and I can’t blame him. I, myself, imagine it to be quite the sight; wide-eyed, mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land while my entire vocabulary seems to have vacated the premises…

“I’m sorry,” he snickers, “I didn’t mean to scare you. My point is: If you can’t love me in public, you don’t get to love me in private, that’s all.”

“Mikey…” I hesitate, attempting at the same time to swallow away the lump in my throat. It doesn’t work. “I promise—swear, even—that I will try, but I might need some time.”

“Progress, not perfection, Melmel,” Mike says as he leans forward to rest his forehead against mine for a moment. “I just want you to make an effort, okay?”

I nod furiously. Of course, I never truly expected him to toss me aside because I can’t adjust to all of this in a matter of days, but it’s a relief, nonetheless.

Now that my fears have been taken away, more visions come to me. The doom scenarios are entirely of my own making—I learned to tell the difference several centuries ago, but I can’t say that that knowledge has been in any way facilitative to my ability to disregard them.

However, I cannot deny that it is comforting that the majority of them are overwhelmingly positive, setting my body alight with a warm, soothing glow.

It makes me calm.

Happy.

It also makes me…

“For someone who’s struggling to come to terms with all of this,”—Mike’s voice is strained, the sound of it more of a moan than regular speech—“you are incredibly horny.”

My lips tremble as his hand cups the side of my face, his thumb gently trailing over my cheekbone.

I have to swallow before I can even speak. “I’m coming off a fourteen-hundred-year dry spell, Mikey.”

Mike’s eyes go wide with shock, perhaps even terror. “Fourt— w-what?” He looks adorable, his mouth slightly open, brows drawn together in disbelief. “Two days ago… That wasn’t your first kiss, right?”

I chuckle, but not from the heart. “It was certainly the first one I was a willing participant in,” I admit bitterly. The realization bites, digging its filthy, razor-sharp claws deep into my soul. “Not that the collection of instances of the other sort is by any means impressive.”

“Every last one of those is one too many, Melot,” Mike sighs.

I can’t stand to see the pity in his eyes, so I close mine again, focusing on his scent instead.

Every member of my coven—past or present—has an odor so unique to their person that I would happily wager that I’d be able to identify them from a mile away.

With everyone else, smell certainly serves as quite the handy tool when it comes to ascertaining their intentions—hostility, for instance, reveals itself quite readily by means of a distinct and exceptionally foul sour note—or their species—vampires in this day and age always smell faintly of blood and garlic, and however cliché one might deem it, werewolves reek perpetually of wet dog.

And then there’s my own family, blood and garlic aside.

I may have known Sherlock the longest, but I know Charles the best, which is why I can say with absolute confidence that I’d recognize the dark, brooding combination of leather and smoke in my sleep. It’s luxurious and alluring, its complex sophistication undeniable, but at the same time, it’s cold, distant and uninviting. It used to be different, but what little remains of the welcoming seduction of the past, is now dull and faded.

Sherlock, on the other hand—although every bit as strong and refined—smells warm, approachable and comforting, with a very pronounced overtone of sweet vanilla—which Mike, should I ever decide to discuss this particular subject with him, would probably find very typical and likely even funny. At some point in my life, I developed the strange habit of sitting outside Sherlock’s bedroom door when I miss him, just so his scent can comfort me—he has a way of showing up whenever I do.

August and Leon share the dark, bold and spicy edge to their scents. They’re matched for sensual promiscuity, but Leon leans further into the direction of exotic rebelliousness and playful deviance. August smells… calmer. More grounded.

Marshall smells remarkably similar to Sherlock, in a way. Only he trades the sweetness for something crisper and fresher, reminiscent of pine and fresh herbs. It feels almost strangely grounded and familiar, with a quiet strength and weight to it that borders on intimidating.

And then there’s Mike. It should surprise no one that he’s the odd one out, and although I wouldn’t describe the scent as that of bubblegum and jellybeans, I wouldn’t necessarily not describe it as such. It’s a rather untidy fragrance, that has an energetic flamboyance to its almost cacophonous complexity. Touches of woods and herbs ground the otherwise discordant bouquet of lush, tropical fruits and crisp, fresh citrus, combined with a selection of floral aromas that expresses something of a delicate… femininity. It’s youthful, vibrant, playful and mischievous, and more importantly, it’s the best damned thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to smell.

Unthinkingly, I pull Mike closer, the tip of my nose tracing a gentle path up the side of his neck as I inhale deeply, savoring not only the scent, but also his warmth, pulse, and the feeling of his skin against mine as it transitions from the smoothness down by his shoulder to the scratchy stubble of the five o’ clock shadow on his jaw I’m embarrassed to admit I find quite attractive.

My senses are so thoroughly occupied with the attempt to soak up every crumb of these new, delightful experiences that I completely forget to care even the slightest bit about the quiet moan that slips past my lips.

Mike whines impatiently in reply, and when he suddenly moves, I struggle to keep up with the innumerable sensations that wash over me in rapid succession.

His breath on my ear, the delectable feeling of his weight on top of me, the tangling of our legs, his hand at the back of my neck, and its long, slender fingers traveling over my scalp… But much more pressing—and more annoying, I might add—is my acute and absolutely insufferable awareness of the suddenly too thick, coarse and rigid denim of my jeans as it moves over my skin in all the wrong ways while we adjust our position on the bed.

Not to mention that these godforsaken trousers, which fit me perfectly and comfortably less than half an hour ago, suddenly seem too tight—an experience that wouldn’t be unique to my person in the least, if Mike wasn’t very likely completely unbothered by such atrocities sensations due to the fact that he is wearing sweatpants.

Sweatpants which, much to my dismay, contribute to my own discomfort far more than I care to admit.

That is not to say Mike is unaffected by this situation. In fact, the evidence heavily favors the contrary, and the fact that I can feel his pulse… there, in combination with the thought that that means he can probably feel mine in approximately the same location, keeps distracting me from mentally drafting the letter of complaint I wish I had sent to Levi Strauss & Co. back in the 1870s.

I have never wanted out of a pair of trousers—or any other type of garment, for that matter—this badly in my entire existence. And for all the wrong reasons, too, for crying out loud!

A displeased whimper hits my ear, and by the time it dawns on me that I was the one who made it because Mikey suddenly disappeared, an unidentifiable pile of dark grey fabric lands on my stomach.

The person who put it there is standing next to the bed, towering over me with his arms folded across his chest. It would have been intimidating, if not for the hint of a smile that peeks through the stern mask on his face.

Mike points to the bathroom. “They’re sweatpants,” he says impatiently, “go put them on. Now. Please.”

My brain cycles through countless motives and explanations, but I’m so hopelessly behind on processing the events of the past minute, that it comes up completely empty.

I must look at least half as confused as I feel, because Mike can no longer fight back his smile. “Hey, normally I’d tell you to just take the jeans off, but I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves,” he chuckles. “If this is what it takes to keep you from violently longing to invent time travel so you can smack Jacob W. Davis and Levi Strauss over the head with a comically large wooden mallet, then…”

He makes a series of vague, impatient gestures at me, the sweatpants and in the general direction of the bathroom, all accompanied by an equally impatient and exquisitely adorable whine.

When I laugh, after deciding against telling him how cute he looks, Mike frowns, and his eyes narrow. “Mel, please,” he whines, “I really, really, really want to kiss you.”

Nervous as that makes me, I can’t deny that it’s exactly what I want too, and despite my legs feeling exceptionally uncooperative, I manage to make it to the bathroom in one piece.

I lean my shoulders against the wall, steadying myself as I attempt to regain control over myself, my chest heaving with every new breath.

The cold of the tile creeps through the fabric of my shirt with ease, grounding me.

Soothing me.

My thoughts, which are normally fairly organized, are a mess—an un-unravelable heap of pure chaos.

It’s anarchy!

Mike somehow manages to match the energy of an eight-week-old puppy attempting to herd sheep, with the exact same, very predictable and equally—if not more so—undesirable result.

And I’m the sheep.

I clamp my teeth down on my bottom lip with force until I taste blood, but the visions keep coming.

My fingers—are they mine? If they were, one would assume I would know how to get them to fucking work, correct? When I put these jeans on this morning, this wasn’t the world’s most challenging button, so why won’t it open, for God’s sake?

I swear under my breath, screwing my eyes shut as if to squeeze the last bit of focus out of my brain that way. I must, however, come to the unfortunate conclusion that I am not a tube of toothpaste.

“You’re impossible.” Mike’s voice is hoarse, his chest moves rapidly in time with his equally erratic breathing, and his long fingers close effortlessly around my wrists with punishing force. “Get these hands out of the damn way and let me help you with that.”

Apparently, his wish is my command. Or perhaps, his command is my command. Either way, my hands are out of his way in a flash.

Barely a second later, the button and zipper of this treacherous denim contraption are no longer an obstacle, and I struggle to breathe as Mike leans his forehead against mine, dipping his fingertips tentatively into the now-loosened waistband of my trousers.

He holds me firmly in place as he steps closer, grinding his hips into mine. Out of reflex, I bite down on my lip again, piercing my skin, which lures a soft whine from my throat.

Before I can do anything, Mike passes his tongue over the wound before sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, and I seem to have suddenly forgotten how to breathe altogether.

“Now,” Mike says—‘growls’ would be a more apt description, perhaps, “take these off, put the sweatpants on—or don’t. Strip completely bare-ass naked for all I care, but get in my damn bed, please.”

Hearing my own desperate need echoed in his voice makes my heart stutter—the cruel cold or Mikey’s sudden absence makes me restless.

I rid myself of my jeans as quickly as I can, and as I exchange them for the much more comfortable sweatpants, I can’t resist the urge to squeeze my throbbing erection through the fabric, desperately attempting to fight the thought of how much I need that hand to be his instead of mine.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Mikey snarls, his voice close to my ear and the scorching heat of his body comforting me once again. “I should drag you to bed by your balls, you little tease. Why are you out here wanting all these things, when we can be doing them in there?”

I want to say something, but even if my voice were cooperating, my vocabulary certainly wouldn’t be. In the end, nothing but a pathetic whine escapes me, making Mike chuckle.

He hooks two fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants, no doubt with the intention to tug me along towards the bed, but one catches behind the band of my underwear as well, putting more of me on display than I anticipated. I know Mike well enough to expect him to take a peek—and the urgency with which he does so immediately—and I find myself thoroughly enjoying the look of utter desperation and pure carnal need on his face as he fails to fight off a crooked smile, dragging his tongue along his upper lip.

I struggle to identify the feeling that washes over me, wringing out my insides as Mike’s playful smile widens, his gaze still locked on my groin. There is a strange sense of pride to it. At the same time, waves of anticipation struggle for power against nervousness.

The longer I look at his face, the stronger the anticipation becomes. He’s cute, with his mischievous smile, fangs out as he fights off the ragged corners of the desires he knows would likely push me a tad too far at this time.

But Mike can think of six things either simultaneously or in awe-inspiringly quick succession.

“Why does it happen? The fangs?” he asks quietly, amusement poorly concealed in his tone.

My laughter rings involuntarily, the sound bouncing off the tiles, echoing in my own mind as it once again struggles to keep up with everything that’s happening. “You’ve clearly never lived in a large coven,” I chuckle. “One so powerful that hiding your nature—and teeth—becomes completely unnecessary. Our natural instinct is to have them out. Even after centuries, one must have his wits about him in order to control them, and I don’t know about yours, but mine are halfway to Argentina by now.”

Mike’s grin widens as he takes a step back, finally guiding me back to his bedroom.

When the back of my legs meet the edge of the bed, his eyes darken. “I really want to do some dirty things to you, Melmel,” he whispers. The high-pitched whine that meets my ear must be mine, and unthinkingly I chase the pathetic sound away with a scornful chuckle which, most unfortunately, is followed by a sharp gasp as Mike pulls me closer by my hips until my body is flush against his. “Will you let me?”

The art of speech eludes me still, so I nod.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Mike says as he gently places a hand on either side of my face.

To be overcome with desire does not mean what I thought it did until now in the slightest. As soon as Mike’s lips touch mine, true desperate need comes crashing down on me, drowning out everything else.

His mouth is soft, but firm. His hands gentle as they move from my face, down my chest and stomach, to the sides of my hips, until they reach the back of my thighs. He picks me up effortlessly, of course, wrapping my legs around him before laying me down in the middle of the mattress.

Our moans effortlessly overshadow everything else that attempts to occupy my thoughts, only leaving room to experience pleasure. It’s all-consuming.

Powerful.

Cathartic, even.

Mike’s tongue licks gently at the seam of my lips, which part as if by magic to grant him entrance.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and I greedily reciprocate until…

“Fuck!” Mike pulls back, still laughing when he sticks out his tongue. It’s bleeding. “I forgot you have spare teeth.”

“I’m sorry.” I can’t bear to look at him as guilt washes over me, drowning out all the wonderful feelings from before.

“Don’t be,” he says softly, giving me a reassuring peck on the tip of my nose. “You can poke as many holes in me as you want, this just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

He presses his lips to mine again, this time with significantly more restraint—to start with, that is. Every time he rolls his hips, grinding them into mine, he loses a bit of that control.

I could say the same does not apply to me, but it would be such a blatant lie that it would be laughable at best.

When he bites my lip, he is careful not to break the skin, but the force is still enough to bruise me.

Whatever mark he leaves on me, with very few exceptions, will be gone before we’re even done here. Why does that strike me as such a tragedy?

The last remnants of Mikey’s gentle touch have disappeared now, as his fingertips dig into my shoulders, my hips, my thighs, with brutal force. It would certainly be enough to cause serious harm to someone less sturdy than either of us…

“God, I haven’t done this with another vampire in years,” Mike groans. The sound, deep, dark and dripping with lust, vibrates throughout my entire body.

I know he’s been with nymphs, shifters—were- or otherwise—and demons, and I don’t doubt that there have been many more rendezvous with many more species I haven’t the faintest clue about, but that knowledge proves to be of surprisingly little impact on this moment. “Tell me if I’m too rough with you, Mel. Please.”

Not at all, I wish to scream. I’ll take everything he’s willing to give me and more. So much more.

But I can’t seem to find my voice. Instead, I slide my hands into his shirt on a whim, dragging my nails down his back, reveling in the sense of pride and sensuality I feel as he arches to my… well, ‘touch’ would be quite the understatement, I suppose.

“Guess not, then,” he says with a devious grin as he grabs the hem of the t-shirt I just decided to ignore and pulls it over his head.

I’ve seen him without a shirt, of course. Goodness, I’ve seen him damn near naked on several occasions, but this time…

As he sits there, straddling my thighs, towering over me, my eyes wander down, taking in his broad shoulders, chest and abs. He’s lean, toned, but I wouldn’t describe him as particularly muscular. His pale skin is smooth all the way down to his navel, where my attention is captured by the thin line of dark hair that leads… down.

My hands make their way up his thighs until they rest on his hips, and without realizing, I speak. “You are so beautiful.”

I realize my error instantly, an overpowering sense of confusion surging through me as I watch Mike’s face light up.

“Yeah?” he asks excitedly as I continue my attempt to grasp why he sounds so pleased. My confusion must be apparent, because Mike laughs sweetly. “It’s okay, baby, you can call me beautiful all day, every day. Can I see if you’re pretty too?”

It clicks as soon as the word ‘pretty’ leaves his mouth, and I am suddenly overcome with the fear that he won’t see me that way while Mike fusses with the top button of my shirt.

He groans out of frustration. “Do you have any emotional attachment to this thing?” he growls almost aggressively as he grabs me by the collar of my shirt. I shake my head, once again unable to speak. “Good.”

The fabric tears almost too easily, and several buttons—four, to be exact—find their way onto the floor.

A long, desperate whine meets my ear as Mike rakes his fingers over my chest, down to my stomach, where he traces the faint line of hair with a single finger, all the way down to the waistband of my trousers, while I dig my fingers into his hips with more force than I intended. It makes Mike’s cock twitch, causing it to bump against my thumb, which lures a sharp gasp from me.

Mike reacts to it and the expression that has appeared on my face in the meantime without my knowledge, and certainly without my consent.

“Okay,” he taunts, “my pretty boy wants to play in the big leagues then?”

Despite my nerves, I find myself nodding in reply to his question, attempting once again to swallow the tightness in my throat away.

Mike kisses me, softly but enthusiastically—and most importantly: repeatedly—as he lies down next to me. Heat rises to my cheeks as he flashes me that goofy smile of his.

I was always under the impression that I found that smile particularly annoying. I guess I was wrong.

The one hand that is still on his hip relentlessly attempts to capture my attention, begging me to acknowledge its proximity to the part of Mike that currently has my imagination spinning completely out of control, but I can’t allow myself to comply with its demands just yet. Lord knows I’ll be swiftly rid of any ability to speak, which would be… unfortunate, to say the least.

Not that that particular ability isn’t greatly impaired to begin with, but we needn’t tempt fate further, I would say.

“I’ll be happy to tell you anything you want to know, Melot,” Mike whispers softly as he moves closer to me. It’s the strange fish-on-dry-land-esque performance attached to it that makes me laugh—and much louder than I had intended, too. In fact, I had no intention to laugh at all…

I snap my mouth shut and look away. Surely, my cheeks must be so red they are in fact aglow right now, mustn’t they?

Mike groans loudly, which twists the uncomfortable knot in my stomach, greatly worsening the unwelcome tightness I was already feeling.

To say I am in no way prepared for his words, would be an understatement.

“Mel, dude, Melmel, babe, Melly, my good sir,” he sighs, “where were you when they sent out the memo that this”—he gestures wildly at the both of us—“all of this, like… sex, is supposed to be fun?”

“Well, I—” Just hearing him describe what we’re doing as ‘sex’ brings forward a host of emotions I can either not identify or desperately wish I couldn’t, and it certainly helps my nerves in no imaginable way.

“Like, babygirl, I get it,” he continues, as I try to prevent having to invent a new shade of red to describe the color my cheeks will turn after this one, “you’re nervous. You’ve never done this. You’ve been told not to do this, with… well, pretty much anyone but definitely not another dude—which I’m sure will come back to bite you in that sweet little butt of yours, and we’ll deal with that fall-out together. But if we’re doing this, I need you to lighten up, okay?”

“But… How?” In my entire existence, I have never struggled to speak two simple words the way I did just now.

“For starters, there are two people here who I’m going to need you to not take too seriously,” he says matter-of-factly. “The first one is me, which is already true for… most scenarios outside of this one, I’d say. And the second one is you. You’re allowed to laugh, okay?”

The way he nips at the tip of my nose makes it impossible not to laugh. “Good boy,” Mike muses as I struggle to figure out why it feels so good to hear him say those words.

Without thinking about it, mostly for fear of discouraging myself, I wrap my free arm around him, pulling him tightly against me as I kiss him.

The added pressure of my arm against the small of his back is not enough to satisfy my need, so I boldly and unthinkingly lower my hand until it cups half of Mike’s backside.

Despite my lacking intentions to lose control of myself like this, I find myself feverishly grasping him, pulling him even closer as I dig my fingers into the flesh of his rear.

It’s surprisingly soft, yet surprisingly firm, and I find myself surprisingly eager to explore it further—the whole situation would best be described as, well… surprising, really, and Mike’s ardent whimpering tells me that he is not at all inclined to put an end to my endeavors.

Due to my sudden preoccupation with Mikey’s lovely behind, I am almost robbed of awareness of the fantastic experience of Mike, gently but greedily sliding his hands into my pants as he gently sucks my bottom lip into his mouth.

My grip around his waist slacks as he pulls his face back, still holding my lip firmly between his teeth, and he cocks an eyebrow at me, giving me the courage to mimic his movements.

For a moment, I am surprised to find that Mike is not wearing underwear, and then I remember who I’m in bed with. I’m not saying I should have expected this, but to pretend it’s in any way uncharacteristic, would be a lie.

His skin is smooth and warm, and the salacious moan he lets out catches in his throat, where it morphs into a gasp as my lips seek out his neck.

The urge to bite is strong, and I already know he wouldn’t mind, so…

“Fuck, Mel,” he moans sweetly as I bite down, effortlessly piercing his skin again and again, until his neck and shoulders are littered with marks.

Mike reaches behind his back, grabbing my wrist in order to drag my hand away from his ass, and towards the front of his sweatpants, where his erection strains against the fabric.

He presses my palm against the sizeable bulge while he begs me to bite him again, and I find myself more than happy to oblige.

A chuckle rolls off my tongue as soon as my teeth connect with his skin, and I softly squeeze his twitching cock, which draws the sweetest whimpers from Mike’s gorgeous lips.

“Mel, please,” he whispers, barely managing to squeeze the words out in between soft swearing and labored breaths as he puts his hand over mine and slowly slides it down his hip, into the front of his sweatpants. “I… I need you to…”

My voice is barely more than a breath as I stammer my concerns about my nerves, lack of experience and the fact that I haven’t a clue what to do.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mikey whispers in reply, “just touch me. Please.”

Heat rises to my cheeks again as I desperately attempt to resist the urge to pull my hand back and flee the room. “I-I really don’t know what… how…”

Mike lets out a whine that is a mix between impatience and complete and utter frustration. “What do you mean you don’t know? You have one of these, what do you do with that one?”

Lying to him now would probably not be in my best interest, so I ignore the ever-increasing temperature of my face when I tell him: “I, eh… I don’t really, ehh…”

“Mas-tur-bate,” Mike says with a smile. “Jack off. Jerk off. Beat your meat. Tickle your pickle. Flog your log. I can come up with dozens of these, but I think you got the point. But, like… ever?”

I shrug, fighting the resistance of Mike’s hand against my shoulder as I try to hide my face from him. “Not never, but…”

“We can stop, if you want?” Mike says carefully, even though we both know that’s the very last thing I desire right now. “Or take a little step back?”

I shake my head surprisingly decisively. “I want to try,” I whisper. “I want to make you feel good.”

Mike leans closer to me, bringing his lips up to my ear. “Try again,” he says, the amusement in his voice clear as day, because once again he knows as well as I do that I’m not voicing my true desire.

In truth, I’m burning with violent need, and I am utterly bewildered that it’s even possible to feel nervous enough to overshadow that feeling. Yet here we are…

A low growl escapes me completely involuntarily. “I want to hear you moan and feel you squirm in my arms,” I snarl with more vigor than I originally intended. “And I want it to be because of me.”

His sweet moan, right in my ear, makes me tingle all over, and I barely manage to choke back a whimper of my own.

“Mel, please,” Mikey pleads with me again, “stop overthinking and just grab my d—”

He’s forced to end his sentence with a strangled, high-pitched noise that makes me chuckle as I wrap my fingers around his length.

He presses his forehead against mine as I cup the side of his face with my free hand, trailing my thumb lightly over his cheekbone.

The softest whimper stumbles past his slightly parted lips, and I gladly give in to the urge to touch them as well, savoring the feeling of Mikey’s hot breath against my fingertip.

When his tongue darts out, I take my own lip between my teeth, biting down as he sensually sucks my thumb into his mouth. I admire his confidence as he stares straight into my eyes—into my soul—as he does so.

Slowly, he rolls his hips, thrusting carefully into my hand.

His jaw tightens, and every sound he makes, escapes from behind gritted teeth—the way he’s grinding them almost makes more noise than he does, which I have to admit I find quite bothersome.

“Why are you holding back?” I ask quietly, as I attempt to silence the part of my mind that tells me I must be doing something wrong.

“Because I still can,” he admits reluctantly.

So I am doing s—

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he says, smiling devilishly as he shimmies out of his sweatpants a bit further. “But truth be told, it’s missing something, eh…”

I patiently wait for him to continue, listening to the whiny noises he makes in protest as I don’t do him the courtesy of pausing the apparently good-but-missing-something handjob I was giving him. Mike is adorable when he gets flustered, and I am more than happy to be responsible for the rosy color on his cheeks.

“Fine,” he grumbles, giving in to his desires at last. “Top drawer of the nightstand. There’s a bottle, you really can’t miss it.”

I venture to retrieve the bottle. It’s… A chuckle escapes without warning as I read the label. “Mikey, why do you own cotton candy flavored lubricant?”

“Because it doesn’t come in jelly bean flavor,” Mike says casually before bringing my attention back to the—pardon me—task at hand. “Don’t be stingy with the stuff, I like it wet.”

Rather than simply not being quite sure what to do—or how much lubricant is an appropriate amount, since I’ve never used anything like it before—I am suddenly overcome with anxiety over the fact that I am now forced to look what I’m doing.

Slowly, I lower my gaze, taking in all of Mike’s body I can along the way. I barely notice how my fangs pierce my lip again when I bite down as my eyes reach their destination.

Mike snatches the bottle from my hand and kindly helps me out by pouring some of the liquid in my hand. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I bring my hand to my mouth, quickly dipping my tongue in the small pool of fluid in my palm.

Unsurprisingly, it’s extremely sweet.

Mike spends this time glaring at me, impatiently squirming and making his displeasure known through a series of whimpers, not stopping until I wrap my hand around his cock again.

As soon as I do, a serene smile spreads across his face, and he sighs while I proceed to coat his member with the slippery substance on my hand.

“Better?” I ask him.

He nods, resting his forehead against mine again. “Fuck yes.”

Apparently, the only thing Mike thinks will stop him from becoming excessively loud now, is crushing his mouth to mine and kissing me like his life depends on it.

His hips move erratically as he thrusts almost frantically into my hand while moans, grunts and desperate whimpers stumble from his mouth into mine.

After some time, I feel his hand close around mine, guiding my grip and the rhythm of my strokes while the fingers of his other hand dig into my back nearly hard enough to draw blood.

He swears, softly at first, but becoming louder as he loses more and more of his restraint.

Even with a vision providing me with advance knowledge of what is going to happen—which is technically so predictable that I should have been able to come up with it myself—I am unprepared for the moment his orgasm arrives.

In hindsight, aiming might have been a good idea, but I honestly couldn’t think of a better place for his release than my stomach.

“Sorry for the mess,” Mike pants against my lips. I can feel the lazy smile on his face in the way his mouth moves against my skin. “Can I help you clean that up?”

The implication in the devilish question sends a jolt of electricity down my spine, and before I can answer, Mike has pressed his lips to my neck, marking the beginning of a slow, teasing descent downward with a playful bite.

As he moves down my body, he turns me onto my back, leaving me helplessly mesmerized by the sight of this gorgeous man making his way down my chest, licking and sucking at my skin every chance he gets.

The feeling is absolutely unmatched by anything I have ever felt before in my life, and I can’t hold back any of the sounds that well up in my throat of their own volition.

The enthusiasm with which Mike licks his own semen off my abdomen is almost awe inspiring, and I watch him closely, barely aware of the fact that my mouth hangs open, which I’m sure must make me look like a complete and utter fool.

When he finishes his task, he shoots a glance up at me in which lies a burning question, and without thinking, I nod in reply.

Eager hands drag down my trousers and pants until my cock springs free, and for a moment, panic takes hold of me. With some effort, I remember the look on Mike’s face when he was ‘accidentally’—if one chooses to believe it was an accident, which I can’t bring myself to do—presented with an opportunity to look at my erection.

The image manages to calm me down fairly effectively.

My reaction when Mike carefully drags the tip of his tongue along the full length of my cock is admittedly quite embarrassing, but I try not to dwell on that thought, electing instead to enjoy the incredible new sensations brought to me by Mike’s mouth.

“So sensitive,” he muses quietly, trailing a teasing finger lightly down the same trajectory as his tongue. “And so pretty.”

I barely manage to resist the urge to cry out in frustration as Mike abandons my member and instead kisses my stomach, hips and thighs, putting his lips absolutely everywhere but where I so desperately want them.

His hands tease me: playful, eager fingers travel up and down my sides with the lightest touch, threatening to drive me completely beside myself with lustful yearning.

“Please!” The word barely makes it out, my voice so strangled I momentarily wonder if Mike even understood me—his devious chuckle confirming that he did.

In the pit of my stomach, pressure simmers. A pressure I probably should have familiarized myself with a lot more over the past fourteen centuries, but it’s recognizable enough as is.

There is no doubt in my mind that Mikey would succeed in bringing me to orgasm without laying another finger—or any other part of his body—directly on my cock.

Shame heats up my cheeks once again as I am forced to admit that, quite frankly, I’m about to burst.

And it is precisely this moment in which Mike decides that the best course of action is to swallow my whole length down to the root.

It's the hideously arrogant raising of that miserable eyebrow of his that ends up dragging me over the edge, and without any warning, I spill my seed into his mouth.

If dying of embarrassment was a possibility, I would have done it dozens, if not hundreds of times over the course of my existence, but none of those instances could hold a candle to what I’m feeling in this moment.

I could positively die of shame.

Mike, however, seems to be completely unfazed by the circumstances. It’s typical, of course, but it’s also infuriating.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, smoothing a hand over my hair. “Don’t feel bad. Come on…”

The next moment, he’s next to the bed, holding out a hand.

“Shower time, Melmel,” he muses happily.

I follow him in silence. Even as he strips me of the pants I put back on before making my way over to the bathroom, or when he ushers me into the shower stall, or when he sweetly and gently caresses me all over to rinse off the remnants of our relations, I remain quiet.

Until we are back in the room, and Mike dives under the covers, leaving me standing there…

“I… Mike, I think I should g—”

“Yeah, that is, like, so not happening,” Mike says, rushing towards me with alarming speed. “You are staying, and that’s an order. Besides, we’re just getting to my favorite part.”

“Didn’t we just do your favorite part?” I ask, my voice thick with bewilderment.

“Ask our girl,” Mike chuckles. “I’m a little cuddle monster.”

He takes both of my hands in his and gently attempts to pull me along. “Back to bed, now.”

I can’t seem to move, other than the involuntary shiver that travels through my body when Mike suddenly appears behind me, pressing his smiling lips to my neck and grabbing my behind. “Are you going to listen to me, or do I have to spank my pretty boy?”

I’m not proud of the way his words bring my cock back to life, but I can’t bring myself to be embarrassed about it, either, even when Mike chuckles devilishly in my ear.

“Was it ‘pretty boy’ or ‘spank’ that’s making this happen?” he asks as he gently palms my stiffening cock.

“Both,” I admit surprisingly willingly. “And ‘my’ might have had something to do with it as well.”

“Do you want to go another round?” Mike asks carefully, no doubt to attempt to hide the heady edge to his voice, as if his growing desire isn’t literally poking me in the back right now.

“I thought you wanted to cuddle,” I whisper, gritting my teeth so as not to moan loudly as my erection pushes more and more firmly against Mike’s hand. Thank God, he’s keeping it still, otherwise I would be completely lost.

“I do,” he whines. “But look what you did to me!” He grinds his cock against my ass. It feels heavenly, as does the feeling of Mike’s breath on my neck as he chuckles when my cock twitches against his palm.

This time, I allow him to push me towards the bed again, and when we reach it, I don’t protest when he bends me over—at first.

Panic briefly washes over me as I think about what he might do to me, but I trust him. I know he would never attempt anything beyond my boundaries, so I relax again, leaning into his touch as his fingers close around my length again.

He strokes me in time with the movement of his hips against my ass as he thrusts slowly between my cheeks, pushing his cock down with his other hand.

When Mike disappears, I whine at the loss, and I try to right myself to see where he’s gone, but his hand, firmly pressing down on the small of my back, stops me. The drawer of the bedside table opens and closes, and the top of a bottle clicks. Moments later, Mikey’s hand, now slick with lubricant, closes around my cock again.

His other hand—now also quite sticky—hooks around my thigh, pulling me back a few steps to give him more space to work with, and I moan in delight as I feel my ass hit his hips again.

Mike gently shushes me, squeezing my ass in a strangely reassuring way when the feeling of his hands running down between my cheeks has me worried for a second. “Don’t worry,” he says calmly. “Just wanted a little less friction.”

I must admit, it feels even better this way. For him, too, if the higher speed of his thrusts and increasing volume of his moans are any indication.

When Mike plants a firm kiss on my spine, between my shoulder blades, I can’t fight back a loud moan as I relish the feeling of his weight on top of me. At the same time, I am terribly disappointed when he stops moving his hips.

“I want to try something, okay?” Mike says. His hand stops moving too, and much to my displeasure, it disappears altogether barely a second later. The only redeeming aspect to this unwelcome behavior, is the trail of sloppy, wet kisses Mike leaves down my back.

I resist the urge to swat him in the head when he sinks his teeth into my rear, and I heal the wound immediately in protest.

Mike, in all his silly, playful Mike-ness, retaliates by making another mark, which I treat in the same manner.

We go back and forth like that for a minute, until Mike growls in frustration. “You’re so fucking lucky you’re cute, Melmel.”

I can hear the pout in his voice, and a grin appears on my face as I spread my legs for Mike without thinking when he moves to grab my cock again, this time by reaching between my legs.

His arm hooks around my hips, holding me in place, and I barely get a second to wonder why.

Mike was more than right to hold me down, because when the tip of his warm, wet tongue touches the tight ring of muscle—

“Mike!” I hiss angrily while I squirm against his solid grasp. That… place has been an exit only for fourteen hundred years, and if he thinks—

A soft kiss on my bottom eases my surging anger. “Put down the pitchfork,” Mike muses, “I just want to touch you. Well… eat you. Give it an honest chance, please? If you don’t like it, you don’t like it, but I think you should try it.”

Mike certainly has a way of inciting one’s curiosity… I take a deep breath before nodding decisively, accompanying the gesture—which Mike can’t see—with an affirmative hum.

Mike continues to stroke me while his tongue gently laps at my puckered hole.

When Mike made his plea, I never pictured a scenario in which I would enjoy this, but to my shame, I must admit that the sensation is quite pleasant. Perhaps a bit more than ‘quite’.

Alright, it feels nothing short of absolutely heavenly! That doesn’t mean I am quite ready to admit that, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, Mike seems to get plenty of confirmation from the way my hips involuntarily move in time with his tongue, rather than his hand.

In fact, after a while, he abandons stroking my cock altogether, using both hands to spread my ass cheeks so he can gain better access to my hole.

I occupy my own hands by pressing a pillow firmly against my face, while crying a continues stream of moans and the occasional expletive into it, and when Mike tentatively passes a fingertip over the tight ring of muscle, I find myself begging him to continue.

“Is this something you want now, or something you know you’ll want in the future?” His tone lets me know there is only one answer he will accept, and it’s not the one I think I want it to be now.

I desperately cry out into the pillow, wanting to voice my protest but finding no words, and I turn onto my back rather dramatically while Mike skillfully dodges my legs.

He remains where he is, raising himself up on his knees so he can lay his head on my hip. The sweet smile on his face as he looks up at me annoys me greatly, and I put the pillow over my face again and scream, before glaring down at him as I prop myself up on my elbows.

“If you’re not going to do to me what you know I think I want you to do to me but don’t yet, then at the very least do to me what we both know I’m incredibly amenable to you doing to me,” I growl.

Mike chuckles. “That almost sounds like you’re asking me to blow you,” he teases.

On a whim, I sit up. With the fingers of one hand twisted into his curls, I pull his head off my thigh.

Mike’s swallows audibly, his eyes wide as he stares up at me. My jaw tightens as he bites his lip, and I cock an eyebrow at him, silently asking my question.

He responds by nodding furiously, and when I attempt to pull my hand back, he grabs my wrist.

With unwavering enthusiasm, he pours some more lubricant on me before getting to work, coating my whole length using both of his hands.

It feels divine, and without thinking I ball my hands into fists to prevent myself from swearing.

Mike lets out a long, sweet moan, leaning into my touch as I unintentionally pull his hair, the noise making me all the more disinclined to relax my grip.

He looks up at me, that godforsaken eyebrow taunting me, and the rest of his face guilty of the exact same thing. He’s clearly testing my patience—and to my surprise, I find that I quite like that.

Stil, no matter how much I enjoy his defiance, my annoyance is real and intense enough to be a leading factor in my behavior.

“You know what I want,” I groan, putting pressure on the back of Mikey’s head, urging his mouth closer to its desired location.

His eyes narrow, and his lips pull into an insufferable smirk as he continues to work my length with both hands, and I attempt to keep my composure while the urge to smack that grin off his face surges to previously undiscovered heights.

Mike’s reaction has me staring at him in shock, his yearnful moan dying down as soon as he sees my face, and his expression morphing into something completely different that has his ears and cheeks turning red in a staggering tempo. It’s…

“So sweet,” I mutter as I loosen my grip on his hair and run my fingers over his scalp in circles. “Be good for me, my love. Let me feel that beautiful mouth.”

When he looks up at me again after pressing a sweet, brief kiss to the underside of my tip, the color on his cheeks has deepened.

I am unsure of the reasons behind the effect it has on me, and right now, I could frankly not care even a hair less.

He’s still challenging me, but the shy approach makes it endearing rather than infuriating. I can’t even convince myself fully that he’s putting on an act: He’s never been particularly good at hiding his true feelings.

Before we started this—all of it, from the very first kiss onward—I never would have imagined that I’d see myself in control of any of this. I pictured myself, completely at the mercy of Mike and his fickle whims. No vision I had could have prepared me for this.

For this sense of agency, and of… dominance.

For the overwhelming sense of pride, and the much more intense yearning for this sweet, eager boy between my knees than I had ever imagined possible.

“Sweet, precious Mikey,” I sigh as he delivers the smallest lick to the tip of my cock. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I watch him squirm beneath me. My best guess is that I’m not the only one who enjoys being called sweet things.

Where I find the words, and how on Earth I suddenly manage to not only use my voice but also seem to accurately remember fourteen centuries worth of English—though it would be remiss not to acknowledge that I never really caught on to the last two centuries or so—is beyond me, but the fact of the matter is that I do.

Words of encouragement flow freely from my lips as I gently nudge Mike’s head forward. “Wrap those pretty lips around me, sweetheart. I know you want to,” I say softly. “I’ll be so proud of you.” Mike whines, staring up at me with big, innocent eyes. “Be a good boy for me, Mikey. You’d make me so happy.”

Strangely, though the only thing missing from my words are the ones that would make this an outright plea, I don’t feel like I’m begging whatsoever, nor do I feel like I’m somehow pressuring Mike into doing something he doesn’t want to do.

Due to my lacking experience, I should be lacking every shred of confidence I feel, shouldn’t I? I shouldn’t feel so at peace with this, I—

My doubts die a swift, magnificent death the second Mike wraps his lips around my throbbing erection, and I soon find myself completely bewitched by the sight of him as he works more of my length into his mouth.

He’s dropped one hand into his own lap, and the other soon moves to my thigh, where his fingers dig into my flesh every time he goes down. With every stroke, he takes me deeper, until I’m fully seated in his mouth.

When his throat tightens around me briefly, it startles me, and I involuntarily move my hips, forcing Mike to withdraw, sputtering and struggling to breathe.

I, in turn, gasp for air when he spits on my cock. There’s something wildly erotic to it, and to the thin thread of saliva that runs from my tip to the center of his bottom lip.

“Keep going, beautiful,” I gasp. In no way am I too proud to admit that I’m positively aching to feel his lips around me again. “You’re doing so well. You’re such a good boy.”

Mike whimpers, briefly moving the hand with which he’s pleasuring himself quicker, before leaning forward again.

Emboldened by his enthusiasm, I put light pressure on the back of his head and gently thrust my hips forward.

His eyes open wide, and he moans desperately. The vibration created by the sound feels heavenly around my cock, and I push my hips forward again, luring another moan from Mike’s throat.

“Do you… like that?” I ask hesitantly. Surely, it’s better to be safe than sorry in these situations?

Mike hums a vigorous confirmation, his brows drawing together in a deep frown when I ask him—superfluously, apparently—if he wants me to stop.

On instinct, I move closer to the edge of the bed, tightening my grip on Mike’s hair as I thrust forward again—and again… and again.

Soon, there are tears in Mikey’s eyes, and instead of being overwhelmed by guilt, I simply can’t stop thinking about how beautiful he looks—and how incredibly impressed I am with his achievements.

Now, I am hardly under the impression that I have a particularly intimidating manhood where size is concerned, but I would happily place myself somewhat above average without adding any inches for vanity, and on top of that, I’m hardly being as gentle with Mike as I probably should be, thus, I consider my amazement justified.

Mike announces his approaching climax through a series of delectable moans and an increase in the pace at which he sucks me off, his movements stopping exactly when I’m teetering on the edge of orgasm myself.

He pulls back, until the tip of my cock rests on his tongue, and with a few strokes, he seals the deal.

I bite down on my lip while I watch as several thick ropes of my release coat his tongue, the visual so wildly arousing that I briefly worry I will never find anything else even remotely enticing ever again.

“Show me.” I mouth the words, unable to find my voice, as I trail my thumb lightly along Mike’s bottom lip. Audible or not, my words seem to light a devious little fire under him, and after heeding my request, he promptly raises himself up, supporting himself with his hands on my thighs.

My breath catches in my throat, and I swallow hard as Mike leans forward, pressing his lips to mine with vigor.

I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to be disgusted with myself and my behavior later, but right now I want nothing more than to taste myself on Mike’s tongue—I get slightly more than I bargained for when I open my mouth and feel my thick salty seed flow from Mike’s mouth into mine.

At first, I can’t bring myself to swallow, resisting the urge to spit until an idea takes root in my brain.

I can see the apology on Mike’s lips, but before he speaks, I put him on his back on the mattress, taking a moment to rake my eyes over his chest and abs.

Without wasting any time, I lick the evidence of his orgasm off his stomach, and straddle his hips, bringing my nose to his.

There’s no need for further provocation: Mike opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue so I can deliver on my silent promise.

This should feel disgusting. By pretty much any standard, but most of all mine—or rather; the ones that have been pounded into me over the years, either figuratively or, if I was particularly unfortunate, literally.

Instead, a serenity that borders on a sense of heavenly bliss washes over me while Mike and I go back and forth spitting a combination of our semen and saliva into each other’s mouths…

I—

Mike chuckles and falls back to the mattress, taking a moment to catch his breath before pulling me down on top of him. “If I came in while you were trying to watch a movie and I randomly spit a fat load of cum in your mouth, you probably wouldn’t appreciate that,” he says. His words seem so out of place that at first, I struggle to wrap my head around them, until I realize I must have looked… I couldn’t tell you how I looked, exactly, but my face must have expressed my thoughts in a way that prompted Mikey to launch into an explanation. “Welcome to your first ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’-moment. It won’t be the last.”

“That doesn’t dispute the accusation that it was, in fact, disgusting. At all,” I mutter against the skin of his neck, hiding my scorching—and therefore probably beet-red—face from him.

Mike sits up again, wrapping his arms around my waist as he does, pulling me even closer. “Melmel… Sex is kinda disgusting. And embarrassing.” He punctuates his words with small kisses to my shoulder and neck. “And sticky, and sweaty, and messy.”

“You might want to put a positive spin on this,” I grumble. “Soon.”

“The point is,” he replies, pulling my head off his shoulder and holding it in both hands so that I’m forced to look at him. “When you’re with the right people, none of that matters.”

One look into his eyes, and I know…

“Well, I’m glad I’m with the right people then,” I murmur, leaning in for another kiss.

When Mike breaks away, he suggests we take another shower, and I’m hardly inclined to decline the offer. He wasn’t exactly lying about ‘sticky’ and ‘sweaty’ in his list of less-than-ideal side effects to sexual relations.

This time, Mike is the one that goes strangely quiet while we clean ourselves—and, both notably and regrettably, not each other—up.

“Mikey?” I ask carefully. “What’s wrong?”

My heart breaks when Mike drops to the floor, suddenly sobbing uncontrollably, crawling back into the corner and sitting there with his arms locked around his knees, vigorously shaking his head in reply to my question.

“Mike,” I say sternly as my attempts to pluck him off the floor fail miserably. I do, however, manage to pull him off the wall just far enough that I can sit down behind him, and when I lock my legs around him, he knows he won’t be going anywhere, so he gives in to my touch. “You will talk to me.”

When he moves again, I let him, both knowing that he might be a fool, but not such a big one that he expects to be able to run from me, and knowing—vision-wise—he won’t try. He simply wants to turn the shower head our way because he’s cold.

He sits down in my lap, and I wrap my arms tightly around him, waiting patiently until he feels ready to speak about what’s going on with him.

Another deep, shaky breath, and he starts talking: “This just took a turn… And you’re so new to all of this, I never thought… I should have… But I couldn’t have known, so… And everything was going well, and it was all good, and I was teasing you and so stoked to be showing you all these new, wonderful things and… And then things got turned around, somehow… and suddenly you were… you… And I… I…”

I let him cry for a while, just holding him, tucking him tightly against my chest as I smooth my hands over his back and sides, repeating the phrase ‘shh, it’s okay’ more times than I care to admit because I simply can’t come up with anything else.

After a while, his breathing steadies, and the sobbing comes to an end. “I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Not in a ‘I have something to apologize for’ kind of way, but more like… ‘I feel bad for dumping this on you all of a sudden’ kind of way.”

“That’s alright,” I reply truthfully. “All I want is to take care of you and to make you feel better.”

Mike laughs through the last of his tears. “That’s great,” he says, “because you’re going to have to.”

“Just tell me how,” I say. “And, if at all possible, try to explain why?”

“Right,” Mike says on a slightly embarrassed chuckle. “First off, I shouldn’t have let this happen. Like…” He throws his head back and lets out a frustrated cry. “Okay. During that blowjob just now—I don’t blame you if you didn’t even notice, but…”

“I remember suddenly feeling far more… in charge?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Mike nods almost enthusiastically. “I really wouldn’t have blamed you—you looked pretty overstimulated—but, damn, I’m glad you noticed. Eh, long story short, you ended up Domming me—dominating, I mean, like… the kinky kind. And you were really good at it, too! So no worries about that, okay? But I should have stopped you, because I know I’m quick to slip into subspace—I’ll explain that later—and it was stupid… well, a little naïve, I guess, of me to think it wouldn’t happen, and…” He takes a moment to catch his breath, and I rub his back while he does.

“A little longer,” I say calmly when he tries to continue his story. My visions are exceptionally helpful in this type of situation, and I don’t want Mike to start hyperventilating.

“Thanks,” he says sincerely after a few more deep breaths. “The… I just… I freaked out because I need someone to take care of me—you, to be specific—but I should be the one taking care of you after your first time… Things just got a little messy.”

“Is there any reason we can’t be taking care of each other?” I ask, taking a moment to think about my own needs at this time. The very first one is for Mikey to feel better. “I think that, after this shower, I would like to watch a movie in bed, and stay very, very close to you.”

“Yeah,” Mike sighs happily. “That works for me.”

When we finish our shower, I dry myself off quickly, only to find Mike still standing next to me, soaking wet, when I’m done. He hesitantly holds his towel out to me.

“Please take care of me,” he mumbles, his voice small and soft. He’s avoiding eye contact, biting his lip and constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“I never want you to be afraid to ask me that, Mike,” I say slowly, enunciating every word carefully as I take the towel from him.

There’s something wonderful about this. I dry every part of Mike’s gorgeous body with extreme care. When I first resist the urge to press my lips to his skin, Mike laughs.

“You can still kiss me, Melot,” he muses. “Actually, I’d really like it if you did.”

At that moment, things finally connect in my head. “You need to feel loved.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, nodding slowly. “Put bluntly, I need to know you see me as more than the piece of meat you throatfucked back there.”

Before I can respond, he continues: “I know you don’t see me that way! I mean, maybe you did when you—”

“I was mostly very impressed with your skills,” I admit reluctantly. It’s my turn to blush once again. At least we’re both suffering that terrible affliction this time.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile. “Decades of practice.”

“I think you have put in more hours than most people your age,” I joke before nipping at the tip of his nose.

Mike glares at me. “Well, apparently I have put in more hours than some people your age, so…”

“Hey!” I stick my tongue out at him. “Stop bullying me, or I will—”

“Whatever you say next,” Mike interjects quickly, “never threaten to skip aftercare. Just… little PSA, I guess.”

“Oh, I was simply going to suggest we put on an episode of Downton Abbey and I point out all the historical inaccuracies,” I say plainly.

Mike shudders. “That would actually be worse…”

Mere seconds after we finally get settled in bed, there’s a knock on the door—of course, a few seconds after that, there’s an actual knock on the door. One that isn’t a figment of my… Well, I suppose both ‘figment’ and ‘imagination’ would be inaccurate.

Still, Mike and I look at each other, neither of us in any way inclined to actually see whose unfortunate timing we’re dealing with.

“Melot, can I see you for a second?” It’s Marshall.

Even though I’m wearing pants, I scramble to find the nearest pair of sweatpants and put them on—after Mike gives it a quick inspection. Quick thinking on his part, I must admit.

When I open the door, I open it wide enough to speak to Marshall, but not so wide that he can look into the room.

It makes him chuckle. “I’ve seen him in much worse states than simply naked,” he muses, but doesn’t otherwise protest the minimal state of ajar-ness of the door. “August and I thought you could use this.” He holds out a tray. One side is loaded with snacks—cheese, fruit, crackers… the lack of jellybeans might disappoint Mike—while the other side holds two bottles of water, glasses, and a pitcher of strawberry lemonade—Mike’s favorite. “Keep him warm and hydrated. And see if he wants to eat something. He’ll say he’s not hungry, but… Take care of him, okay?”

“I will,” I promise as I let go of the door to take the tray from Marshall. As soon as I do, someone—must be Mike—yanks the door open. He narrowly misses me as he practically jumps into Marshall’s arms.

“Thank you,” Mike mutters as Marshall hugs him tight to his chest, indeed not caring that Mike is still very much completely nude. “I love you.”

“I know,” Marshall replies with a somber smile. “I love you too. Always have, always will. Go be with your… boyfriend?”

“Official status TBD,” Mike chuckles as he releases Marshall from his grasp. “But at the very least I think we can say we’re hooking up.”

“Well, whatever the case, take care of each other. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He disappears before either of us can say another word, so we take the food inside and close the door behind us again, making sure to lock it as well.

“What happened between you two?” I ask carefully as we get comfortable under the covers.

Mike shrugs. “Nothing happened. It’s like… We’re as close as we’ve always been, just in a different way. We could never be in a monogamous relationship with each other, that would be weird, for some reason, but with Sweetcheeks in the mix, some old stuff has been coming back, and we’re figuring that out. Not in a very proactive way, I have to admit.” He picks a cube of cheese off the plate.

“So I might have to share you with another person, then?” I ask, jokingly poking at his ribs. The thought should devastate me. Shred my insides like a swarm of angry wasps is wreaking havoc on them.

Instead, I feel completely calm.

“I’m a bottomless pit of love,” Mike says with his mouth already full—yet he stuffs three more cubes of cheese and a few slices of cured sausage in there.

“You know, there’s fruits and vegetables on this plate, right?” I say when he swallows the obscene amount of food—which I’m sure he considered ‘a bite’.

“Fine, you have discovered the limits of my affection,” he jokes. “Hey!”

The first grape I chuck at his face bounces off his forehead, and I catch it before it hits the plate again. On the second try, Mike catches it in his mouth.

The third lands directly in his lap—I can’t seem to come to an agreement with myself as to whether or not that happened on purpose, but I happily put the situation to good use by retrieving the rogue fruit with my mouth, not neglecting to press a teasing kiss to Mikey’s soft cock.

“No,” he warns me, drawing out the ‘o’ as he shakes his head. “I mean… Yes! But no.”

For a moment—one of the kind that sets your soul alight and seems to last forever—we just smile at each other as we stare into each other’s eyes.

In my entire existence, I have never felt as safe as I do now.

Or as loved.

Or as at home.

Or as at peace.

“You were right,” I whisper after a while, as I let go of my fears, and my doubts, and my past.

Just for now.

And for him.

Only for him.

“I’m entirely unsurprised,” he chuckles. “But, eh… what about?”

I swallow hard before looking him right in the eye.

“I like boys.”

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