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occamstfs · 1 day

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Start-Up

Gabriel hates the start-up he works for. Though this morning it seems there are more immediate things he should be concerned with as men something strange begins to change men around the world.

Couldn't let all these other authors have all this fun without me! Here's my own take on the theme of Viral Transformation! Now I did muddy the waters a bit by setting my virus story at a social media start up but I think it works haha! Do check out the stories by all the other amazing writers who took part!!! -Occam

There was something strange going on in the city today and Gabriel wasn’t quite sure what the cause was. It’s not like there’s a commotion or anything, on the contrary; the streets were quiet but there was just something sinister in the air. He works for a new social media start-up in the wake of most of the big platforms collapsing, succinctly named Web. Gabriel didn’t have a ton of faith in the app and was growing increasingly tired of dealing with the CEO’s inane demands but hey, as long as checks keep clearing.

Reuben’s, said CEO’s, most recent crusade was banning the use of any competing sites or networks on company property, which unfortunately includes Gabriel’s personal devices. Who knew start-ups could be so draconian, though when the rich boy in charge has a fleet of lawyers and the lowly programmer just needs to make ends meet that’s how it goes it seems. All this to say, Web is thus far incredibly unsuccessful as a news platform and poor Gabriel is unable to see the chaos going on in the city behind closed doors as he walks into work.

The programmer artfully misses chyrons scrolling past telling all men to stay indoors and not to make unnecessary journeys as he mindlessly scrolls on the app he has spent countless hours producing. “Ugh.” Gabriel rolls his eyes as he sees post after post from thoughtless gym bros. Reuben swears this is a massive demographic for them but the programmer has constantly spoken up to the contrary. What could they possibly gain by making yet another platform for men who could barely read. Any indulgence or encouragement towards this demographic was sure to push away more reasonable, serious people.

Eyes still glued to his phone in search of any shred of news, Gabriel doesn’t notice the state of the receptionist as he wanders past to take the elevator up to the office, “Morning Ron.” Only after a few seconds with no response does the coder finally tear his eyes away to see the young man in quite a disheveled state. He chokes back a gasp as he sees Ron quickly remove the hand that was shoved in his pants as he too only just notices the presence of his fellow man, “UHH Morning Gabe- I was just uhhh, getting something out of my pocket?” His rapid movement sends the sound of fabric tearing through the air as whatever remains of the button up he was wearing falls in pieces to the floor.

Desperate to put this encounter behind himself Gabriel mashes the close door button in the elevator. “Ron can’t have been masturbating just now.” he assures his reflection in the elevator doors. “He’s a good kid, smart kid.” He says of the man maybe five years his junior. Still, at the very least Gabriel is surprised that he came to work wearing clothes that clearly didn’t fit? He can’t help but summon the intimate look at Ron’s body he just received and can’t imagine how the receptionist bulked up so quickly? He can’t think of a single occasion of Ron mentioning going to the gym.

Elevator clicking ever upwards he figures Reuben must be to blame, first he wants lunkheads using our app and then he convinces employees to waste time at the gym. Ah! That stupid gym! Gabriel punches a fist into his own palm as in the back of his mind he remembers the CEO taking up valuable office space to create a company gym for any employees to make use of. One of the many ‘benefits’ of working on Web. “God I hate startups.”

The elevator doors clink open and Gabriel exits to find the office space seems to be a ghost town. No one is using cubicles and he only sees a few of his fellow department heads have made it in so far. He grumbles to himself, “God-damnit if today could have been work from home I’m leaving now…” Despite his irritation, he enters his office and immediately starts getting to work. Waiting on his desk is a short list of suggestions on how to improve the platform from Rueben, which he promptly discards with little ado. Checking his own to-do list for the day he finds a one on one scheduled with one of the few coworkers he actually respects, Alexander Blainely, head of marketing.

Most of the other executives were yes men, but Alexander seems to have an actual head on his shoulders. Gabriel always finds their meetings far more stimulating and productive than most other drudgery that goes on in this office. Returning into the open workspace, Gabriel shivers as he feels something in the air yet again. Completely unplaceable, it’s almost certainly nothing, but he remains on edge. His discomfort only grows as he nears his friend’s office and his hitherto directionless uneasiness finds a source. Hearing somethin a little more than disconcerting he whispers under his breath, “what the fuck? Is that moaning?”

Barely audible when he shuts the door of his own office and wanders into the otherwise silent suite, it increases in volume with each step towards that of Alexander’s quarters. Gabriel grits his teeth and rages in his own mind for trusting anyone in this god-forsaken venture to treat their job with a shred of dignity. Arriving at the door and confirming that the man is clearly exerting himself somehow with a clear disregard to decency in their shared workspace, Gabriel scrunches his face and takes a deep breath. Hesitating at the thought of catching someone he had thought was a compatriot in flagrante delicto, his ire overcomes his usual prudence and he barges in. Never could he be prepared for the sight that awaited him.

Alexander sits on his work desk masturbating with his eyes closed as he rapturously traces over a muscular body that Gabriel flat out knows he has never had before today. Tongue lolling out of his mouth and dripping with drool as if he were a dog, Gabriel can’t help but loose a gasp as he sees with every pump of his cock, with every fervent breath and heady gasp from Alex, his body is continuing to change.

Seconds pass and his skin browns with an unnatural tan under the LED lights in his office. Meanwhile he continues to surge larger, biceps already larger than when Gabriel stumbled in, the head of marketing’s shoulders pack on muscle as his neck thickens and his whole torso widens with strength. Thighs bulge meatier as his cock quivers higher, stretching inches further into the air as his already massive balls pulse larger. Gabriel’s gasp announcing his presence, the masturbating man opens his eyes and, almost as if it were a defense mechanism he loses control and cums.

Gabriel can’t tear his eyes away from the titan at the moment of his release. Every already massive muscle on his body expands as veins bulge out from the clear stress of the transformation. As load after load shoots out in inhumanly quick succession, Gabriel freezes as he sees facial hair and body hair that somehow already looks shaved begins to decorate his beyond masculine form. Sweat glistening off the man’s sculpted body makes him aware of the aura of musk that has clearly been filling this room, one that is impossibly similar to the general malaise that he has been assailing his senses all morning. Finally realizing what is happening in front of him, Gabriel slams the door shut and sprints down the hall, accompanied by nothing but his own gasps of exertion.

He doesn’t take a second to think until he’s safe back in the sanctum of his office. The only place since this morning where he hasn’t felt the dreadful haze that he only just became totally aware of. Hopefully safe here, he allows himself a moment of reflection, connecting his brief encounter with Ron and his unfortunate meeting with what can’t have been Alexander. “Fuck it.” He starts to pull out his cell to check the news but before he can make any progress, he realizes there is something warm and sticky on his shirt. Looking down to see what it is he immediately drops his phone and tears off his suit. God. Some of that must-be imposter’s cum got on his button up. He throws the shirt away and scrubs at his skin where the man’s fluids got on him with fury. Using hand sanitizer like it’s a cure he scrubs and scratches until his skin burns red and raw.

After he’s confident he’s done all he can to remove any trace of Alex from his body, Gabriel grabs the backup shirt he keeps in his desk for just an occasion as this. Or rather, in case he spills coffee on himself or some other accident that makes sense at all. His mind craving any degree of normalcy the thought of coffee stays with him. Oliver should be making it in about now. His pulse begins to quicken as he feels concern for the intern, in fact it’s racing far faster a tempo than it usually reaches at its most accelerate. Putting his hand on his wrist as concern for himself eclipses that of Oliver he finds both come to a head as his door opens and he falls out of his chair in shock.

“Jesus Oliver, knock next time!” The programmer shouts cowering behind his desk. Oliver quickly sets down his handful of mugs and goes to help his boss up, “So sorry Gabe! I just saw you were in and you usually don’t mind at all.” Standing up, Gabriel inches behind the intern and quietly closes the door, he looks Oliver up and down for anything out of the ordinary. “Are you, feeling alright Ollie?” The man purses his lips and pats himself down, clearly not in the same headspace of his usually stoic boss, “Well, I believe I am sir? Is, uhm, everything alright with you?” Oliver’s eyes flicker around the room seeing the discarded clothes and taking note of his boss sweating more than usual. In fact Oliver isn’t sure if he’s ever seen the man really sweat at all, “Did you want me to switch for an iced coffee?”

Gabriel rubs his face and is similarly shocked to find himself sweating, “Ugh. I think this job might be getting to me. Have you seen anyone else in the office today?” Oliver puffs his cheeks and looks at the mugs he set aside, “No actually? Now that you mention it, Ronnie wasn’t even downstairs which seemed weird. I mean he’s always on that grind to try and impress Rueben.” Gabe scratched his beard and grimaced, usually he’s quite adept at compartmentalizing, it’s how he hasn’t blown up at the CEO thus far. But the impossibility of what he saw in Alexander’s office has left him shaken. His heart rate begins to rise once more as his mind returns to that scene.

In fact, it’s not the only thing that begins to rise. Suddenly his uncontrollable mind latches onto the image of Alexander’s cock expanding and then blowing its load and Gabriel’s own cock begins to stir. His face burns with blush as he can’t help but dart his eyes to see his usually unimpressive cock begin to inch its way larger down his dress pants. For his part Oliver, used to taking verbal cues follows his boss’ eyeline and balks as he sees the man thoughtlessly go to grab it. Oliver is struck speechless as the ever stark programmer bites his lip and begins rubbing his cock through the linen pants, “Jesus, uh- Uhm- Sir!?”

Immediately alert he wipes his face and sucks up the drool that was apparently beginning to pool in his throat. Gabriel grabs a tissue and wipes his brow, fervently apologizing to the intern, “I am so sorry Oliver. I don’t know what…” Oliver quickly waves him off, not so much bothered by the behavior as surprised. “D- Don’t you worry about it Gabe, er sir. I’ll just be out here if you need me!” He backs into the door before stepping out with an awkward nod, leaving the coffee cups behind. Gabriel debates whether or not he should report himself to HR before he slams his fist against his desk chair as he remembers they haven’t an HR department.

Rage at his shitty start-up returning at an elevated degree he gets his head back in the game, despite the best attempts of his wanting package and balls growing bluer by the second. Concerned for whatever seems to be going on in this office, or worse in the world at large, he goes to the internet once more. Without much thought at all he opens Web and starts scrolling to find any information of use. Unfortunately for the higher functions in his mind the programmer is immediately assailed by the mindless user base he so disdains, and rather than feeling the ire he always does towards the dullards and hellions. Instead he finds himself possessed with a desire to drink in every last bulging muscle that presents itself.

Coworkers, friends, reporters- Everyone Gabriel has deemed worthy of attention on the nigh-worthless platform he is forced to use, even those who are straighter laced than Gabriel, have been posting smut on main. Industrious man he may be, the programmer is indeed but a man of flesh and blood, and that blood is rushing through him at a breakneck pace to give him the most intense erection he’s ever enjoyed.

It’s partially why he’s so adamant about diversifying their app, a weakness in himself for the male form; a weakness that whatever corruption that is beginning to rise within him is gleefully taking full advantage of. He tries to stay focused, return to his concerned research, but after taking a gasping breath he realizes that his own body has begun to produce the musky air that must be spreading the impossible changes he’s trying to get to the bottom of.

Staring at the bulging pecs and hairy asses of men he once respected, Gabe struggles to pay attention to anything but the cock begging for his attention as it begins to create a wet spot halfway down his leg. The zipper halfway undone by the growing beast alone is fully ripped asunder as Gabriel can’t help but full on masturbate in his office, just as he walked into Alexander doing but minutes ago. He tears off his button up with uncharacteristic aggression as it begins to impede his jacking off. As soon as his arms are exposed his attention leaves the app and begins to hone in on his own body. God has he always been so hot?

Gabriel flexes his biceps and smirks as he sees them peak higher than he’s ever imagined they could before now. Raising his arms also exposes his pits, a hotbed for musk and whatever impossible contagion hides within it. He forces his neck to crane down into his pit as sweat begins to stain the undershirt that is rapidly filled with new mass. Intended to be deliberately loose, pounds begin to pack onto his chest and push the garment to its brim, the cotton fabric sticks to his chest tight enough that it would be a struggle to get it off over his new pecs, hearing the sound of fabric straining his cock grows even harder at the idea that perhaps he won’t even need to take it off. He’ll just grow large enough that his massive body will destroy it for him.

This thought flitting through his mind, Gabirel loses whatever shred of self-control remains and goes all out in enjoying the changes happening to him. Rubbing his hands across his sweat-covered tank top and feeling the burning muscles building themselves underneath it. The sound of fabric straining and tearing fills him with pleasure he couldn’t fathom before now as he nears his first rapturous release. Sweat drips from his pits as they grow thicker and curls stretch further afield as to be ungovernable, ever focused on the task of spreading his scent. Steady streams of pre trail down his cock, lathering his hand as his whole body quivers with the anticipation of ecstasy.

Before it can arrive however he receives a scheduled video call from the man he wants to hear from less than any other. Clicking accept as he must, the disdain that Gabriel has always held for Rueben quickly comes to a head. Greeted with the image of a more muscular, just as juvenile, version of the CEO filling his screen, Gabriel can’t help but grit his teeth in rage. Hearing him laugh and flex as he begins playing with the special effects in Zoom, Gabriel doesn’t have a moment to realize that he’s continued to masturbate. Instead, much like when Alexander was surprised, his anger triggers him to cum immediately with no restraint, shooting loads all over the underside of the desk, his still thrusting hand, and the computer screen in front of him.

Rueben laughs even harder at the sight, his voice duller than ever as he chastises the programmer, “Yo bro huh! Don’t take out your anger on the little guy! You should head down to the company gym and put that aggression to good use bro huhuh!” Gabriel narrows his eyes as veins bulge in his neck. Unhappy that the CEO might have a point, he promptly slammed the shutdown button on his computer and stumbled to his feet, quite off balance from his powerful orgasm.

Quickly appraising his filthy condition, he shrugs at the cum covering his skintight clothes. Whatever, the gyms sure to be disgusting anyway, despite just enjoying release his cock bounces at the idea and he bites his lip to avoid smiling in excitement. Something at the back of his mind desperately begs for a second to realize he’s almost lost himself beyond measure. Unfortunately, with another deep breath of his own b.o. the man’s eyes fog over and he lumbers out of his office.

Turning with an awkward smile as he hears the head programmer’s office open Oliver starts to say, “Hey boss, hope your-” before his mouth falls agape at seeing the disheveled lug that wanders out. Still unsteady on his feet as they begin to tear the expensive leather shoes he had on, the man stumbles forward and catches himself on the intern’s shoulder. “Buh, sorry uh, Oll’” grimacing at the stain he left on the young man’s shirt, he wipes it in further and nods before heading off, “I’m uh… Gonna go check out the gym.” Oliver stares at what he can only guess is cum that his boss just smeared into his shirt before going off to the gym. Rather than confusion at his boss’ behavior or disgust at the surely hazardous substance on his shirt, he can’t help but sniff as something in the air begins to make him feel warm inside.

Sprinting down the emergency flight of stairs Gabriel leaves a cloud of musk in his wake as he works up more sweat than his body has ever produced before. Each bounding footstep skips an arbitrary amount of stairs as his legs lengthen. Quickly does he lose the few shreds of clothing that remained stuck to his growing form. After his feet finally burst from his shoes he leaves a clear trail of sweaty footprints that could surely be tracked by anyone who wanders past. Though any poor fool who should wander near enough to smell the slovenly detritus in Gabriel’s wake would likely find themselves lacking motivation to do anything but immediately lose their mind to senseless pleasure then and there.

Arriving in the gym Gabriel hungrily eyes the scene and is less than thrilled that he seems to be the only man present. Opting to throw on some clothes for no reason than to feel the friction of fabric against his sweaty skin he finds stained sweatpants littered on the floor and throws them on. After gratuitously appreciating his reflection and adding to the Pollock painting of stains that litter the posing mirror of their company gym, Gabe throws himself intuitively into every machine. He delights in the tension and pull of every straining muscle and grins through the pain as they bounce back larger than with every repetition.

He doesn’t spare half a thought about wiping down machines, and clearly whatever boorish louts used them previously didn’t either, much to his satisfaction. Each second of his body changing upstairs during his too brief session of self pleasure holds nothing towards the edification, the perfection, he enjoys now as he throws himself into a workout. It’s far more intense than his meager body should ever be able to maintain. Sweat drips from him like a waterfall as hair fans out across his form, rapidly expanding from shaved stubble into fluff that would hold and spread his scent for hours to come.

Taking a break to take a photo of his new beyond exuberant self, as he stands across from the mirror his cock instantly hardens and inches to its almost foot long length down the leg of his sweatpants. Immediately it begins dripping pre down his hairier thigh as he screams in bestial abandon. His brain is so far gone the idea of posting the steamy pics of his sweaty form on Web doesn’t even occur to him. Instead the only thoughts remaining to fill his mind are those to return to the gym and get back to the important mission of increasing his virile strength, or the even more pressing desire to fuck anything that moves. Unfortunately for him he can’t produce a single actionable step towards that end. So he shall simply enjoy his new body by his lonesome until some equally horny man stumbles into the company gym.

“God what is up with me today.” Back on the tenth floor Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose as he is overwhelmed with another headache. Ever since Gabriel paid him the brief visit on his way to the gym Oliver has been getting them with increasing frequency. He removed his shirt, not wanting to wear something fouled by whatever was covering his boss’ hands but the damage was already done. The idea that not wearing a shirt in the office is inappropriate moves further out of reach by the second. The intern scratches the back of his neck and grumbles as he feels a soreness in his arm and traps, paying no mind as his fingers trail through thicker hair spreads down from his hairline towards his shoulders. Typing away at his computer, each keypress moves slower than the last, his hands cramp as they suddenly bulge larger.

Taking the smallest second to appraise his changing form Ollie’s eyes widen as he sees there are two unmissable weights now hanging on his chest, sitting on a small gut that he has been making concerted efforts to do away with. Feeling up the new pecs he blushes as he feels stubble prickle his fingers. Rubbing them and feeling muscle give way to his thicker hands he can’t suppress the grin on his face as he feels the prickly hairs quickly thicken and curl longer, painting his chest with a beautiful forest of hair. His dick immediately surges to the largest size it can achieve in the confines of his dress pants.

Awash in feeling every new inch of his hairier, more powerful body Oliver stands up and gasps as he sees abs clearer than anything underneath the new layer of hair on his stomach. His knees give way as his hips uncontrollably thrust while he stares down at his form growing sexier by the second. He barely catches himself from falling with his right hand on the table as his body continues to hump his pants to no end, while his left trails across his body to discover the new surprises that cover each and every inch. Hesitant to trail towards the package bulging larger in his crotch, he traces his abs back up to his chest and rests on his clavicle. There does he find the greatest surprise yet, barely gracing the tips of his fingers, a beard beginning to push out on a face that has always been unfortunately clean shaven.

While it took browsing Web and the intrusion of his workplace enemy for Gabriel’s conscious mind to give in to the euphoria of being a new, greater man, the feeling of a beard inching thicker on Oliver’s face is more than enough to give himself over to anything. This alongside whatever corrupting virus is coursing through him to cause these changes, it’s no wonder he falls to the floor and begins thrusting a hole in his pants. His meaty thighs and monumental ass make light work of his dress pants as his cock angles itself upwards, out of the waistline of his impossibly tight underwear. Even while in the process of spraying load after load into the carpet of his office, his balls continue churning, always heavy and ever wanting more release. Ever demanding he find more avenues to spread his changes and heighten his own bliss.

Now laying on the floor, every exhilarating movement packs more pounds of muscle onto his bulging new body. More pressing than that however is the pelt making its mark everywhere it sees fit to spread. His pubes grow thick enough that no light shall ever touch the base of his cock again before they spread upwards to paint his stomach with dark curls. The deodorant he threw on this morning hasn’t a breath of a chance against the new musk that issues forth from his pits as the bushes therein grow thicker than that on his head before stretching outwards to connect with those new heady hairs he so delighted in on his chest. The hairs around his nipples grow thick enough almost to hide them as he continues frotting against the carpet.

His biceps burn with the effort of holding his body up as veins bulge down the diameter of his meaty arms, thick strands of hair quickly trailing behind to make clear his undeniable masculinity. He feels new curls itching against the back of the elastic band of his underwear as it only just hangs in there. Dark curls reach up the small of his back and quickly race to cover his ass cheeks like fuzz on a peach, creating a seamless jungle of curls from his hairy inner thighs to a dense thicket still inching higher on his back; growing into a forest perfect to be grabbed by anyone lucky enough to ride his prodigious cock.

After an especially vocal release, his shoulders burn as his traps bulge larger, which brings a certain someone’s touch to mind. Sniffing the air he finds himself in a haze of his own musk, though the musk smells awfully similar to that of the man who almost started masturbating in front of him. Following his more sensitive nose, the intern crawls over to Gabriel’s office and confirms his suspicions. Oliver smirks as he imagines that the horny freak is probaly equally wanting of a fuck buddy.

Pulling himself up to his feet on the doorway, he grunts as his knees wobble a bit and his cock tries to convince him that humping the floor is good enough. Staying strong and holding the human instinct that some things are worth the effort, he walks on feet hairier than paws and wider than flippers to the elevator where he begins a descent to the company gym. Snapping a picture to text his boss he smirks as he thinks despite what Gabriel always says, perhaps working in a start-up has some perks after all.

It isn’t clear precisely what happened on the Fall day when men across the Bay Area began changing into, well, sex-crazed beasts. Some assume it was some strange chemical leak. Others say that it was some spontaneous evolution, though to what end such pleasure seeking changes could help a species is unclear. Some particularly conspiracy-minded folks think the whole thing was a ploy by a Social Media startup that was taking off with men precisely like the ones who changed. Though at the end of the day it doesn’t quite matter how or why they changed but how to prevent it from spreading. Across the nation, men of every walk of life are rapidly changing despite taking the best precautions.

Closing gyms, quarantining those changing, racing to find any treatment to help those losing their minds and their bodies. Nothing seems to help as every day more men are blowing up with muscle, growing hairier with symptom spreading musk, and losing themselves to their uncontrollable lusts. At this point it’s seeming like there’s nothing that could possibly be done to stop the spread of changes, but hey, at least it seems like they’re happy.

#male tf #occam2000 #hair growth #mental change #musk tf #dumber #muscle tf #jockification #masculinization #male transformation

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lustlovehart · 23 hours

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Hard Stoned Gallery Dance

A/n: This was made like monthhsss ago, so I’m posting it as forgiveness for the lack of work i’ve been doing.

Pairing: [ Monster!Twst ] Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: Dancing is a beautiful past time, yet such a pretty act is ruined, when Malleus decides to let his affections for you run rampant. (Wc: 1.9k)

Warnings: Kissing & Licking, Murder/Death of Minor Characters (Not explicit), Possessive traits, Clinginess bordering obsession, a little blood, Biting/Marking

Your head leans itself on the rough surface of the stone wall. You’ve finished your objective for the day, so giving yourself this break is well deserved, ten minutes free of Crowley’s nagging is still freedom despite how it sounds. Your eyes can’t help but look up at the pretty blue sky, it stings to look at but you don’t mind the pain, seeing something so clear is worth it.

That cloud looks like a cat.

…

The taste of indulgence is quickly stripped out your grasp when the familiar sound of dragging stone resonates through the air, grating to your ears.

“Child of hunters, what may you be doing here?” His rock-hard face interrupts your view of the sky, green solid eyes look down on you as he casts a shadow on your visage.

Despite his body being made of pure stone, his eyes give a faint green glow, as if a bioluminescent moss grew there. His hair, his wings, and even his tail freely flowed as if he were just a regular Dragon hybrid. But alas, he is some sort of statue— Oh no not a statue, in his words a gargoyle.

You forgot about the difference one time and in turn, he gave you a 3-hour lecture on the difference between a grotesque and other gargoyles. Never again…

“I’m trying to hide from my boss.”

“Shall I be rid of him for you?” His mouth forms a little o as a small puff of a green flame releases from him.

“That would be a bad idea, I’d lose my source of income.” He quirks an eyebrow up at this., to be fair, you don’t think he has any clue what a “payday” is.

Despite his confusion, he lifts from his bowing form, a hand reaching out towards you in all its mossy glory. You’ve known him long enough to know what he wants.

A dance.

You don’t try to hide your exasperation as you take his invitation, albeit a bit slow. His stone body quickly pulls you up and into him. With how much tamer his form is compared to other beasts you know, it’s hard to remember that he’s part dragon, and even worse is part of the only few monsters who know magic.

So as of right now, this marks your third time dancing with one of the worst monstrosities currently on the bounty list. No maybe not one of the worst… From what you remember from Crowley’s ramblings (which isn’t much since you tune him out when possible) he’s probably the most dangerous.

You get the basic idea, but you’ve never truly seen for yourself why he’s considered so terrible. Is he not just a glorified water spout? Compared to a Kraken and an Incubus, surely his damage isn’t so grand to be warranted as the biggest beast to hunt.

“You’ll always be welcomed in my castle, you would not be short of accommodations either.” his hand rests upon your waist, pulling you closer than need be. His invasion of personal space is akin to a parasite leeching off its host, but you let him feed of you. Whether it’s from fear or a bond, you’re not decided.

Your movements are sluggish at best, but you can still remember the basic steps in the dance, your foot sloppily setting itself down where it should be, the occasional step on stone happening once or twice though.

“Considering the current state it’s in… is that even safe for me to walk in…? It looks like one good shout and the bricks holding the place together will crumble apart…”

“That is just the disguise we give it, as to not alert others of our presence. For you though, I’m willing to make it stand out if it makes you happy.” The hand lying on your waist retracts itself as he takes his other clawed limb and twirls you around, falling back into position when the spin is done.

“… I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes.” You know he’s not lying about that. You can distantly recall when a certain mystery monster had told you the tale of a longing dragon who perched himself at the opening of his window to wait for a certain hunter's return.

“Yes, he was so determined to be the first one to greet you, why he even stayed sat at the window for 5 months. It was quite endearing hehe.”

“Doesn’t it take hundreds of years for you to erode? Maybe it’ll take me 50 years to decide, by then I’ll be old and grey and you’ll be perfectly fine.” You take a step forward before the gargoyle's grip on your body tightens significantly, shrieking when he suddenly dips you down unprepared.

His freed hand takes your other arm and lifts it up to rest on his shoulder. Green sparkles are faintly flying around his lips as he slowly leans into the soft skin on your arm. His face leans in and presses chaste kisses on your limb, the gentle texture of his mouth catching you off guard as it tickles your body. Now you get it, he must’ve cast a spell to temporarily soften his lips.

He had attempted to kiss you once without taking this precaution, in turn, you gave him a face filled with discomfort at the stone texture that kept peppering you.

You can still remember the hurt face he had on when he saw your dislike towards his affections.

On his ninth kiss, his forked tongue peeks out from his mouth, licking a stripe up your skin. He finally lifts you up after the assault on your arm, his face only a few inches away from your own. It would’ve been quite the romantic atmosphere, had your nose not catch a sharp smell, and a horrible wretched one at that.

“You could be on your last breath and I’d still wait for an answer. But I hope that won’t happen.”

“Who knows, I work a dangerous job.” what is it?

The both of you twirl in unison despite the lack of music, your bodies in tandem as they move to just the sound of your surroundings. Though, your body is a little more sluggish than his own.

That stench… Is too familiar.

Eventually, your last steps fade out as you stop in your tracks.

“Is something wrong dear hunter?” Your grip on his shoulder fastens, if he was human you’re sure you would’ve broken his shoulder.

“What did you do?”

A smile is lit on his lips, his head tilting to the side, giving you such an innocent look, like he did nothing wrong.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“The smell… Iron… This whole time I thought it was just the smell of the forest. But…” You swiftly pull a dagger out from your side, throwing it past his shoulder, the tip of the steel piercing into what sounded like wood.

He doesn’t turn back, only continuing to smile at you, as if you’re the only existing thing here, or more accurately, the only thing he cares about.

The bark of the trunk splits in half, falling to the ground, revealing the source of the stench. The top of the tree isn’t green, it’s red and brown.

4 pairs of hands stick from the leaves.

“You… What did you do Malleus–?!“ he’s quick to twirl you again, his grip on you tighter than it’s ever been. Despite your protests, he continues dancing as if you hadn’t seen anything.

You’re suddenly stricken with the memory of your first meeting with the beast, blood coating his mouth when he looked at you, pure admiration when he had finally met the muse everyone spoke so dearly of.

“Malleus, you—!“

“Tell me, dear human, was it not you who spared me?” He dips you down. “Was it not you who saw a beaten beast and allowed him to live?” He lifts you up. “Even as you walked away with a piece of stone you let go of one who’s rendered thousands over the years,” he pulls you in. “Dead” every action with your body is harsh, but not enough to hurt you, never enough to hurt you.

Because why would he ever wish to harm you?

He’d much rather smother you in affection, even when you’re exerting all your energy to kill him as he hugs you.

“It’s because you…”

“Looked so human?” He continues to keep you close, impossibly so, your skin melting into his, not from fawness, but fear.

“How did you know-“

“You’ve spared so many of us because we made you feel something in the moment,” he must be referring to everyone else… The look you gave him is dazed, caught up in the thought of every other monster you let get away. His fingers cage your chin in between them. “But don’t forget what we are.” Sparkles fly, temporarily blinding you.

When you open your vision, you’re greeted by the sight of Malleus, with the appearance of what he looked like if he was human, or at least similar to a human.

His skin isn’t rough and solid, his breaths are warm, and his hair is soft and pretty rather than a soft moss.

His eyes are a nice green, a pretty green. A color you would’ve enjoyed more had he been a human. Such a lively color shouldn’t be backdropped by crimson, yet, it is.

Behind him, several other trees collapse on themself, revealing the other tops, the same as the tree you had just seen. Views of stray limbs and vaguely familiar faces of hunters invade your mind, panic setting as you finally realize a question you should’ve asked long ago…

Why was Malleus so far from his castle?

Before you can react, your ears hear a faint whisper, eyes going heavy as little pings of thorns claw at your shoes. The last thing you see and feel, is his face leaning towards you, his finger loosening itself from your chin.

In a blink of an eye, he’s no longer the human you spared, but the monster you let escape back into the wild.

The fiendish of smiles is graced on his lips. Not because of evil, but because his smile, is so love stricken.

All because of you.

“Seems the little birdy fled the nest without permission.” Your eyes slowly flutter open, the familiar figure of a man bowing on top of you. “Now, I’ll forgive you as we weren’t expecting such a beast to appear-“

He’s immediately cut off in his sentence when a searing pain cuts through his chin.

“Augh—! How could you kick me after I spent precious time searching for you!“

“You’re the reason I’m here in the first place…!“

“I didn’t do anything!“ Despite your annoyance towards Crowley and all he stands for in your life, you can’t deny if someone had seen this scene play out in front of them, they would assume you two to be a father and his bickering child.

You attempt to stand to your full height, faltering at the pings of pain in your ankle. You suck in a breath, looking down as you nurse hurt skin.

There are briar thorns wrapped around your leg, a single rose adorning the stems, and a gentle green hue that contrasts the pure black of the floral life.

“Oh my, what were you doing last night?”

“… Night?”

“You’ve been gone for 36 hours my birdie.”

You don’t feel any different… Save for the prickle of thorns and fresh bite on your arm.

… Fresh bite?

Despite the indent, it doesn’t hurt, it’s like, he left it there as a reminder of your failures, at least to you. It could very well be his way of staking his claim on your heart.

“It’s a shame you didn’t get him when you could’ve, with your connections, you could’ve spared us a huge loss today…” you’re cruelly reminded of the people that lay to waste hidden in the trees. “We should let today serve as a reminder of what you must do.”

Crowley doesn’t look happy at the sight of so many employees who failed their jobs, yet he doesn’t look grieved either.

You… Truly, you wish you weren’t so softhearted during your missions. Maybe then, this could’ve all been avoided.

A/n: Like I said, this piece was from so long a goo, so i’m so sorry if the plot isn’t to anyone liking, but if it is, i’m happy you enjoyed it!!

#monster!twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vesperwrites #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere malleus #yandere malleus draconia

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sonotpattismith · 2 days

Text

My Lost, Fearless Leader.

(Yuta Okkotsu x Reader)

As the men masqueraded, I hoped you’d return with your feet on the ground, tell me all that you’d learned, because love’s never lost once perspective is earned.

word count: 9k

warnings: angst, me never making it easy for poor Yuta

a/n: inspired by Peter by Taylor Swift. Lowkey a self-insert as I too am a therapist, tee hee. I hope y’all enjoy it, I absolutely love writing for Yuta even though I make him suffer every time 🥹🫶🏻

masterlist.

Dear Okkotsu,

I know you only landed last week, but you left me with so many questions when you said goodbye. At the risk of sounding too forward, I thought for a moment that you would kiss me before you left. You had a look in your eye, one I’d never seen before, and I even thought I saw you square your shoulders like you were about to charge into battle.

Inumaki offered to give me your number when I asked about you, but I feared too quick of a response if I were to text you. After all, I love to torture myself. Somehow a letter felt safer, more disconnected. Still, I hope you have the time to write back to me while you’re out there growing as you so desperately wanted to.

You still have me in your corner here in Tokyo.

With kind regards,

L/N.

Dear L/N,

I hope this letter gets to you soon, though I know it has some way to go— I don’t want to leave you waiting again. I wondered if I should just text you, but you’re right, maybe this is best for wimps like me who were too scared to kiss the girl they like before traveling oceans away. There’s more courage in me hiding behind a pen than I ever had standing in front of you.

No matter how badly I wanted to show you how I felt, I didn’t feel worthy enough when I looked at that scar on your face— one I should have been able to prevent. There’s so much for me to learn about this world, and Gojo-Sensei says Kenya is where I need to be. I trust him implicitly, and I only hope here I’ll be able to grow into someone worthy of coming back to all of you at Jujutsu High. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but I hope to become someone worthy enough to indulge myself in you as well.

I hope you can find it in you to wait for me all the way in your corner of Tokyo.

Respectfully,

Okkotsu.

Dear Okkotsu,

You were right, your letter did travel far, and after two weeks, I feared I may not ever hear back from you.

What happened with Geto Suguru wasn’t your fault, and, if I remember correctly, you were the one that saved all of us that night. It breaks my heart that you feel you don’t have a place here with us. I never thought you needed to prove yourself, and if that’s the only reason you went thousands of miles away— then you should board the next flight back over.

If I had known it was the scar on my face that stopped you, I would have covered it just for you. No one else around here is willing to take the blame for me when I break one of Maki’s spears— that alone should earn you a spot right beside me over here. Speaking of, I hope the bump on your forehead has gone down.

Luckily for the both of us, patience is my best virtue, but I do hope you don’t make me wait terribly long. You don’t have to be the strongest.

Holding my breath,

Y/N.

Dear L/N,

Maybe eventually I’ll work up the courage to call you, but our weeks of waiting in between will just have to do for now.

I think you’re beautiful— regardless of your scar, and I hope I didn’t send the wrong message when I said it’s what stopped me. I only meant that it reminded me of the kind of guy that deserves your attention, one that has brought about more good than he has bad in his life.

I’ve hurt so many people, and it wouldn’t be right of me not to try to make up for the wrongs I’ve caused. It’s only been a month, but Miguel has taught me so much, and I’ve seen so many wonderful things. I’m not sure if you’re interested, but I’m sending you some pictures of all my favorite parts.

I hope Maki has been merciful to you, and, yes, my bump is gone. Still, the little scar there reminds me of you each time I see it. So, I suppose I should thank her.

We’ve been talking so much about me, but I want to hear how you’re doing back in your corner of the world. How have your classes been going? I almost miss hearing everyone arguing with Gojo-Sensei every morning.

I don’t want to be the strongest, but I want to be strong enough to be worthy of you. The last thing I want is to keep you waiting too long, but however long it takes for me to be able to make a mark on those who have shown such faith in me.

Thinking of you,

Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

Surely that’s not you in that picture beside the giraffe? It’s only been two months— what are they feeding you over there? I had to do a triple take. You look well, Okkotsu.

I’m starting to wonder if it’s really you behind that ink. You were never so bold when you were here. Do you have a ghostwriter? I have my doubts, but I still hope all those thoughtful words really are coming from you.

I can see how hard you’ve been working, and I hope you’re beginning to find in yourself the pride I and all us here at home have always had in you. I don’t think anyone blames you for the unfairness that’s clung to you thus far, and no one expects you to make up for any of it— at least I know I don’t. If you really insist on doing so though, maybe you can start by giving me a call every once and a while? I’m sure you're busy, but I’d love to hear your voice again.

Classes have been going well. We’re almost going into our second year now, and everyone still talks so fondly of you. We wish you were here to start the year with us. I certainly miss having someone who was equally as clueless when it came to this world— it felt like you were the last shred of normalcy I was hanging onto. It’s okay though, I suppose I have some growing to do too.

Also, you don’t need to be so formal with me, I think you’ve earned the first name basis. Unless of course, you need to build up the courage for that, too.

I only felt it was fair to send some pictures of all of us here as well— though they’re nowhere near as badass as your safari photos. Please keep sending them— I’ll cherish the ones I have here for now though.

Still waiting for you,

Y/N.

Three months following Yuta’s departure from Tokyo, you first received an actual call from him. You had just turned in for the night, muscles aching from the mission you and Maki had just returned from only an hour or two prior. Truthfully, you were having a difficult time with the added responsibility that was accompanying your new year at Jujutsu High.

Last year, at the very least, you had Yuta there who seemed on a fairly level playing field with you. Still, he held more of a determination to move forward in his life as a sorcerer than you did. After your encounter with Geto Suguru that had left you partially blinded in your right eye, it was difficult for you to find that gusto you had when you first arrived.

The deep lulls of slumber had just begun to penetrate your exhausted mind, and you could swear a more pleasant dream was just beyond your reach. When your phone began vibrating underneath your still cool pillow, your brows furrowed at the intrusion. The sound caused an electric-like jolt in your body that had you shooting up as if someone had just pulled the fire alarm. Calming your racing heart, you reached down to snatch the device up. Your eyes squinted to adjust to the blue light emitting from the screen, and you saw a number you didn’t recognize. Under the caller location though, it indicated that it was coming from Kenya.

Sitting up with a gasp, you gaped down at the device, uncertain excitement bubbling in your stomach and up your chest. Without a second thought, you swiped to answer the call. Amidst your anticipation of who you thought might be on the other line, you forgot to greet the caller.

“Um… uh- hello?”

A smile spread across your cheeks at the sound of his timid voice.

“A call from Kenya,” You began teasingly, your voice still hoarse from sleep. “I wonder who it could be.”

There was an abrupt shuffling on the other line, and you could already picture him pacing around whatever space he was currently occupying.

“You got me!” Yuta quipped nervously, quickly checking the time on his phone upon hearing the sleepy tone that laced your voice. It wasn’t too late over in Tokyo, and he figured if he didn’t call you now while he still had the nerve to do it, he never would. Okkotsu had determined during his time in Kenya that his confidence somehow peaked right after a successful mission. Naturally, this was when he calculated it would be the best time to call you with the lowest possibility of making a stuttering fool of himself. “Di-Did I wake you? I can call back another-”

“After you took three months to gather all that courage up?” You joked with a fond smile, reaching down to toy with the corner of your pillow. Despite the fact that he couldn’t see you, you shook your head. “I think I can stay up for a few minutes.”

He was grateful, so eternally grateful that you couldn’t see the way the blood rushed up his neck and into his face. Pressing a cool hand against his cheek as if it would make the heat die down, he forced himself to sit on the edge of his bed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It had been too long already since he last spoke, and the silence on the call was becoming overbearing as he thought of anything to say.

“You there, Yuta?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m, uh-- still here.” The boy chuckled pathetically, pounding his balled up fist against his thigh, willing himself to quit being such a loser. Shooting up to begin his short trek around his room once again, he took a deep breath. “I-I wanted to thank you. You know, for writing to me the past few months. I think they’ve been kind of motivating me, actually.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, lying back down on your pillow to stare stupidly up at the ceiling of your dorm. In hearing that shy voice that you had been missing for so long, you had forgotten about the aching, abused muscles that had been assaulting you just minutes prior. In its place was the rushing endorphins of your child-like crush on the boy on the other line. “So, when you come back strong enough to beat Sensei’s ass, I can take partial credit, right?”

His soft laugh filled your once silent room, inciting the overwhelming butterflies in your stomach to erupt in a fluttering haze.

“It’ll all be you.” Yuta joked halfheartedly, rubbing the back of his neck in relief that he’d gotten past the awkward silence unscathed. He flopped back down onto his bed and looked out the window at the slowly setting sun. “Uh… speaking of Sensei, how is everything over there? The exchange event is coming up soon, right?”

This made your smile slowly wane.

“Yeah, it’s next month. There was some drama with the first years, but everyone else seems to be pretty excited.”

“Everyone else? It sounds like you’re not including yourself in there.”

You sighed gently. Yuta was always so determined about growing as a sorcerer, so these types of events were always right up his alley. Not to mention the manner in which he absolutely wiped out the sister school at last year’s event. It actually caused a bit of second-hand embarrassment to watch the whole ordeal play out— no matter how quickly it concluded. After the atrocities of the past few months though, you couldn’t find it within yourself to be excited for the goodwill event.

It wasn’t that long ago that you watched all your friends meet near death at the hands of Suguru Geto, and you weren’t too far behind. They had all seemingly moved on from it all so fast— all of them except for Yuta Okkotsu. It seemed that all it had done was given him more ammunition to spark his journey of self discovery. You wished it had had the same effect on you. In truth though, all it sparked was a fear that your life, along with your friends, was constantly at the mercy of a crueler fate than most your age would be subjected to.

It felt wrong. Yuta shouldn’t have felt the need to bear the weight of you and your friends’ injuries all on his own. He shouldn’t have needed to go off to search for some unknown answer to all the insecurities his grueling life had thrust upon him. Still, it was so important to him. You could see the way it gave him purpose, a will to keep going despite all that he’d been through. It wasn’t his fault, but you always wished you could have found that same purpose within slaying curses and putting your life on the line.

A soft call of your name on the other line pulled you from your self-depricating thoughts. Shaking your head, you attempted to lighten the mood.

“Last name again? So formal. I thought we were past that, Okkotsu.”

“Oh-- right, sorry.” He stammered out before trying your first name out on his lips. It was delicate in the way it rolled off his tongue, sending warmth straight through your chest. Recalling your sudden silence once his nerves subsided, his lips pulled pensively into a thin line. “Um, have you been doing okay? You know, since…”

Brows rising just a hair, you were shocked at how easily he read through your sudden change in tone. Your lip quivered into a slight frown. A deep breath was suddenly pushing down that biting urge you had to tear up.

“Yeah, I’ve been okay. Just… wish you were still here is all.” You confessed into the dark, lonely dorm room. “I think you were the only one who understood how overwhelming this all was.”

Yuta felt his chest constrict at your earnest confession. Part of him felt guilty for not being there, but he knew deep down that he was doing the right thing by building himself up before he allowed himself to come back— especially to you. Still, the boy knew where you were coming from. It wasn’t easy being the newcomer in a world where your peers had a fifteen year head start on.

The two of you understood each other—empathized with one another. You both strived to make sure the other was doing okay; whether that be sneaking out late at night to practice with one another in hopes you both wouldn’t make fools of yourselves in training the next day, or just being someone that the other could glance knowingly at when one of your classmates mentioned something it seemed that everyone else was privy to, except you two.

“I’m getting stronger everyday.” Yuta offered earnestly, a soft, empathetic smile playing on his lips— the kind you could just hear through his gentle tone. “And I know you are too. We’re gonna kick some major butt one day, y’know?”

The boy was relieved when your glittering laugh filled his speakers, and he found himself laughing along with you. A comfortable silence blanketed over you two, and for a moment it felt as though you were laying right beside him, your gentle breaths lighting a fire within his soul. The courage that he thought he had lost upon hearing your voice for the first time in months was slowly flooding back to him, and he began pensively rolling his bottom lip between his fingers.

“Hey,” Okkotsu called out feebly, resting his hand down on his chest and feeling his heart pounding against his fingers. Reaching down to your discarded letter beside him, he picked up the picture you’d sent along with it. It was of all the second years, and he wondered with a smile if you had Gojo-Sensei take it for you all, and, if so, how much he complained about not being included.

You stood in the middle of Inumaki and Maki, Panda standing proudly and towering behind you. His thumb reached out to graze softly over your face. In the photo, one of your hands was teasingly covering your right eye, and he blushed as he remembered your earlier conversation about that scar. You hummed in acknowledgment on the other line. “Did you mean it? You know… when you said you’d wait for me?”

“Did you mean it when you said you were gonna come back for me?” You countered quickly.

Yuta exhaled nervously, the churning in his chest making him feel as though he might pass out. Staring back at your smiling face in the photo, he nodded breathlessly.

“Of course, I meant it. I meant every word.”

“Then so did I.”

Yuta Okkotsu’s reassuring promise helped ground you in your studies of jujutsu for a while longer, but you could still feel the aching insistence in the back of your mind that told you this wasn’t where you were meant to be. Your friendship with the sorcerer continued to grow even over the thousands of miles that separated you.

He’d call you whenever he had the chance to, and you’d text him about updates on what all his friends had been up to without him. Although both Inumaki and Maki kept up with him regularly, he allowed you to retell stories he’d more often than not already heard from them.

He could tell that you were struggling to find and hold your place as a sorcerer. You always listened enthusiastically when he’d tell you about the new techniques he was learning or the missions he’d been sent on, nodding along on the other line and hanging onto every word he said. Still, when he’d await to hear the progress of your training or how your latest mission had gone, you didn’t have the same enthusiasm in your tone.

It had been almost a year since he’d been gone. The two of you had never implicitly discussed the nature of your relationship, but your lingering promise to each other seemed to be enough to keep your hearts locked safely away for the other’s return. As the months dragged on though, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was worth staying in the world of jujutsu that seemed to so expertly traumatize you and your peers.

You insisted on video calling him for once, eager to once again put a face to the voice that had been filling your every night for the past few months. Maybe, you thought to yourself, if you saw those warm, inviting eyes again paired with that timid smile, you’d find it in you to hold out just a bit longer.

“Ca-Can you see me?” Yuta’s ever anxious voice filled your quiet room once again. The palm of his hand briefly covered the camera before it was moved away, and it appeared as though he had propped you up on a dresser of some sort. He stepped back, hunching over so his face was still in the frame, staring hesitantly into the screen.

A brief exhale of disbelief left you at the sight of him. He had changed so much over the past year; from the inches he’d sprouted up, to the new broadness of his lean shoulders, right down to his more maturely parted hair as it swayed in his face.

His features appeared sharper than when you’d last seen him, a testament to how much he’d grown physically as well as mentally. The dark circles you remember being everpresent under his long, midnight-blue eyes seemed even more pronounced now, and you wondered just how hard this Miguel character had been working him. Despite his apparent lack of sleep though, he grinned cheerfully upon seeing your face.

Forgoing your previous concern, an ecstatic smile of your own lit up your face as you took him in. You had always thought he had a sort of innocent, gentle cuteness to him, but time and knowledge seemed to have morphed those characteristics into the sharp, hauntingly striking ghost of the boy you once knew presented before you. For the first time since knowing him, you thought you felt more nervous than he did at the moment.

“Wow! You look--” He paused, a slight flush filling his face, and suddenly he was that timid boy again, staring down at you with the false promise of a kiss. Your heart melted at the sight. Yuta was still looking nervously back at you, mouth hanging open as if his mind was running faster than his tongue could process. You raised your brows expectantly at him, hiding your amused smile. “Uh—pretty! You— you look really pretty.”

A soft blush fell across your cheeks.

“Thanks, Yuta.” You laughed softly, eyes fluttering across his face admiringly. “You look like you’ve… grown.”

“Oh, me?” He laughed skittishly, hand coming up to rustle through his jet black locks. His brows were furrowed slightly as he looked down at his own appearance as if he was only just now noticing the growth spurt he’d had in the past year. “Yeah! I guess—”

“Is that blood on your shirt?” You suddenly noticed, leaning forward so your squinting eyes could get a better look at the dark matter that clung to his white top. His eyes shot up to meet yours, and in an instant, his fumbling hands were working to unbutton his uniform shirt. It was no use though, the white t-shirt underneath was also stained through.

“Sorry, I just got back from a mission.” He admitted dejectedly, grabbing the phone and sitting on the floor, resting his back against the bed behind him. “I would’ve showered, but I didn’t want to keep you up too late.”

You sat back against your headboard tentatively. It was incredible to you how he was never phased by the violence and bloodshed that shrouded this lifestyle. There were so many nights that you lay awake, eyes unblinking as you tried to forget the horrors you’d witnessed just long enough to get some sleep.

“How do you do it, Yu?” You asked timidly.

Yuta took in the way your wide eyes glimmered with the threat of unspilled tears. There it was again— that underlying fear in your tone and demeanor that told him that something wasn’t quite right, and it hadn’t been right since you came so close to death.

“What do you mean, love?” He wasn’t sure where that term of endearment came from, maybe from the concern that had been pooling in him for months and had now suddenly burst upon seeing that broken look in your eyes. Either way, it was too late to take it back now.

“Act like everything’s normal when you come home covered in blood and guts and watch people die— watch your friends—”

“I’m doing this for my friends.” His response had a defensive edge to it, but his wide eyes were gentle, taking in your vulnerable state carefully. “And for the people I’ve had to watch die. Bad things will happen whether I’m a part of them or not. How can I sit back and do nothing when that’s all I’ve done my entire life?”

You suddenly felt small in your corner of the world. He was selfless, fearless, purposeful in his mission as a sorcerer, and you couldn’t fault him for it. Moreso, you faulted yourself for lacking that same drive.

“I just– sometimes I feel like this isn’t for me. I’m not like you, Yuta. I don’t think I’m strong enough for this. I’m not strong enough for this.”

Yuta continued to insist upon believing in your growth, just as you had believed in his. His persistence in your strength of character only served to break your heart more. You knew the deeper his faith in you ran, the more crushing his disappointment would be when you inevitably let him down.

In the weeks following your dismayed conversation with him, you weren’t answering his calls as often, afraid he would be on the other line hoping to hear of your growth and the things you’d overcome— but you had none to show for. You usually texted him with false excuses that you were on a mission, or that you were simply too tired to talk that night. No matter how hard you tried to pride yourself in your little victories, your faith in your abilities as a sorcerer was waning quickly before your eyes.

He had always said that he was the one undeserving of his place in this world— of his place beside you. The stronger he grew though, the more you only noticed the opposite.

It was a month after your phone call that you received a small package from Kenya, recognizing the stamp immediately as one of the various animal themed ones Yuta seemed to keep stockpiled just for you. Chewing at your bottom lip, a sense of guilt washed over you, knowing you hadn’t been keeping up with him as much as you once did. Despite this, he continued to try, desperate to get through to you somehow before you slipped from between his fingers all together.

Ripping open the orange, padded envelope, you overturned the contents onto your bed. The wooden beads of a bracelet clacked softly against one another as they fell upon the comforter, a letter landing gently atop it. You ran your fingers along the thin bracelet, thinking maybe if you concentrated long enough, you’d be able to feel the warmth of his fingers lingering from when he’d carefully placed it into the envelope for you. You picked up the accompanying letter.

Dear Y/N,

It seems like they’ve been keeping you really busy over there in your corner of the world! I had so much I wanted to tell you, but I thought maybe it’d be best to put it all into a letter so you could read it at a time that’s best for you.

Gojo-Sensei says that I’ll probably be coming back soon, maybe in the next couple of months even. If all goes well, I hope to be joining everyone for our final year. It’d be nice to all be together again. It’d be nice to actually see you again.

You don’t have to tell me everything, but I know you’ve been going through a hard time recently, and I’m sorry I’m not there to help you. You were wrong the other night on the phone— you are stronger than you think. This life isn’t easy, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re not fit for it just because it hurts you right now.

When I felt I had no strength left in me to keep going, it was you who lent me some of yours until I could stand again. I’m sending it back to you now, so please use it to keep moving forward until I can lend you some of mine. Please, keep waiting for me.

The beads on the bracelet I sent you represent all the things I wish for you. The red represent bravery and strength, the kind I know you have in you still. Until you find them though, let these be a reminder. The yellow are for growth, and until you can see it coming your way, let these motivate you.

I got one just like it for myself, so I can be reminded everyday of the things I love about you. I’ll keep it on me always, and I hope as you’re waiting that you’ll do the same.

Still yours,

Yuta.

Tears were streaming freely down your cheeks and staining the precious letter before you. With wobbling lips, you bit back a quiet sob as you carefully slipped the thin bracelet onto your wrist. Strength. Bravery. Growth. They were all pillars that seemed so far away from you, but Yuta was convinced you held them just within your grasp. If anything, the beads would serve as a reminder that someone important was counting on you, and you’d rather suffer the uphill battle than disappoint him.

The next morning, you woke early to speak with Gojo. He was lounging lazily in his large, plush chair, laptop sat carelessly on his lap when you came in. As if expecting you all along, he looked up from his bored typing to offer a sly smile— the type that told you he was always steps ahead of you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gojo greeted, closing his laptop and setting it haphazardly on his desk. Leaning back, he laced his fingers casually in his lap, jutting his chin toward the seat in front of him.

Hesitantly, you sat down. Your posture was rigid as you stared back at his half-covered face. Although your sensei had never given you a reason to fear him, you couldn’t help but feel anxious at the thought of how he might react to your request.

“I… I don’t know how to say this.”

He stayed silent, allowing you to collect your thoughts. The small smile tugging at his lips said he already knew what was plaguing your mind. Fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist, you were reminded of the importance that you stand your ground here.

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for being a sorcerer.” It was out there, and it hung heavily in the air around you. Looking down at your twiddling fingers, you felt that familiar lump building in your throat. Your sensei was silent before you. Glancing up at him through tear soaked eyes, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat. “I’m not like the others. I can’t bounce back like they do. It scares me; the death, the fighting, the loss— it terrifies me, Gojo. I can’t do it anymore. I-I just—”

“You’ve been struggling for a while now, haven’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question— an observation he’d been holding onto for some time. The older man wasn’t oblivious, he could see when his students were beginning to slip away; physically and mentally.

“How did you know?” You briefly wondered if Yuta had mentioned something to him during their regular check in calls, but you doubted it.

Standing abruptly from his chair, he strolled leisurely around the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You remind me of someone, is all.” Gojo’s cryptic message left more questions than answers. Though you had grown used to his dodgy answers and coded messages, now was really not the time. Before you could express your annoyance, he continued. “You’re not stuck, you know.”

Your mouth hung open as you stared at him in disbelief. Standing up to face him as he stared out the window, your mind was racing at the possibilities.

“You mean— I could leave? Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’d talk to the higher ups today for you if that’s really what you want.” Still, the edge in his tone indicated that he wasn’t about to let you off that easily. As if sensing your apprehension, he tilted his head playfully toward you, a fond smile on his face. “I’ve seen what this gig can do to people. I don’t need to see you fall victim to it too.”

“I mean— I…” You were stumbling over your words. For the past few years, you were sure that your future was set for you— one you were apprehensive about living, but one that was secure nonetheless. Where would you go from here?

Gojo hummed pensively— invitingly. God, how you wished he would just spit out what he clearly wanted so desperately to say. Of course, he always wanted his students to come to their own conclusions, set their own fates.

“The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.” The sensei announced dramatically, taking another lap around the room. You shivered at the mention of that night. He leaned toward you with a raised brow. “That’s when this all started, am I right? You almost died, if I remember correctly.”

“I would have if it hadn’t been for—”

“Yuta Okkotsu.” He cut you off, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips, and for a moment you thought you saw his head tilt down as if to look at the bracelet you were currently rolling between your fingers. Nodding softly, he continued. “Still, you cut it pretty close. Must have been traumatizing. Partially lost your sight, almost lost your friends, your life.”

You nodded silently, unsure of where he was going with this long winded rant. Of course, him giving you a simple out was just too easy for Gojo-Sensei’s ‘everything is a life lesson’ style of teaching.

“Tell you what, why don’t I set up a meeting for you to meet with a counselor? Someone who specializes in all our creepy-crawly problems?”

“Like… like therapy?” You questioned with furrowed brows. A therapist for sorcerers? You didn’t even know such a thing existed. Still, the prospect sparked a certain hope in your chest, one that the six eyes saw instantly. He didn’t bother to conceal his victorious smile.

“Yup. Nice, comfy couch and everything.” He advertised as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. His long fingers began typing purposefully against the screen before he looked up at you again. “Of course, she’s kind of running a one-man show, so her schedule is pretty tight. I can pull a few strings for you though.” His words rang in your mind with a faint echo. That suggestive, underlying tone in his voice, it was beginning to seep through, and your gut was telling you his suggestion was a lot more calculated than you would ever give him credit for. “That kind of work is in high demand, you know— what with all the new curses popping up since Itadori came along.”

Gojo was continuing to drop hints, but you had already heard him loud and clear. This was something he thought you could do— somewhere he knew you would fit within this hectic world. As a teacher, it was his job to train the up and coming sorcerers for the perils that lay ahead of them. In the same prospect though, he had also become incredibly adept at discovering their potential and nudging them toward it— even if it wasn’t as gently as he thought.

The following week you met with the therapist Gojo had supposedly pulled so many strings to get you in to see. She had a small office just minutes away from the school, and you wondered why she wasn’t on campus. She hadn’t suggested it to you first, though she was well aware of what Gojo was trying to do when he set up this meeting.

So, amidst your explanation of everything you had been experiencing since that night, you dropped in questions. How did she know this was the right path for her— how closely did she work with Jujutsu High— how did she get where she was?

By the gentle and encouraging manner in which she answered all of your questions, you had a gut feeling once again that Gojo had already been three steps ahead of you. You were set to transfer out of Jujutsu High the following week.

Your sensei funded your education through an outside university, who’s higher ups had connections with the school. Kaori, the god-sent sorcerer counselor who’d seemingly fallen from the heavens right when you needed her, was more than happy to take you under her wing as well. In truth, she was relieved to have some help around the office given the influx of referrals she’d been receiving recently.

Everything had been falling into place, yet there was still one last loose end you had yet to tie up from your life as a sorcerer. You looked down at the box of letters you’d kept over the past year or so from Yuta.

Following his last letter, and how determined he seemed to be that you would make it as a sorcerer— you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you had given up. After everything he’d done to grow himself into the man he was now, a fearless and loyal sword to his friends and the innocent— and you had given up. In the end, despite his insistence that it was him not worthy enough to stick around, you realized it had been you all along.

You weren’t worthy of Yuta Okkotsu.

Your trembling finger hovered over his contact, but you couldn’t do it. Clicking your phone off, you stared up at the ceiling of your now empty dorm room and allowed the hot tears to burn your cheeks, dripping down your neck and into the hem of your shirt. He was still finishing up his training, growing into a man he could be proud of, experiencing the things that made him feel alive. It would be selfish of you to drop this on him now.

Setting down the box on your desk, you pulled out a spare sheet of paper and sat down to draft your last prose to Yuta Okkotsu.

Dear Yuta,

By the time you’re reading this, I’m sure you will have already heard about my departure from Jujutsu High. I wanted to call you and tell you everything that’s been on my mind, to give you a proper goodbye, but I didn’t want to interrupt your progress overseas.

I wanted to thank you for the kindness you’ve shown me over the years. I’ll cherish each bit of it as long as I live. You kept me holding on through my lowest points, even if it wasn’t the life of sorcery that I was holding onto.

I know I’m cowardly, but I just couldn’t look you in the eyes and tell you that I had given up. You’ve worked so hard and sacrificed so much to hold your place here, and I suppose a part of me feels foolish for giving mine up so easily.

Your passion for undoing the wrongs in this world is so beautiful, and although I couldn’t share it with you, it only ever made me love you more. Please never take it for granted. Continue to fight to hold your place here, because you hold more power than you could ever come to know. I can feel it, even when you’re not here.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t wait for you.

Forever yours,

Y/N

When Yuta Okkotsu arrived back at Jujutsu High three months later, he had already been sitting on the news of your departure for two weeks. His friends thought it best to at least prepare him for when he returned, but he figured so much when you stopped responding to his calls and messages. No amount of preparation could have stopped the hole from opening up in his chest upon reading the letter you’d left in his dorm room. It sat neatly on his untouched pillow— a ghost that haunted him the second he stepped in.

He tried with fervor to be excited for his return, smiling along half heartedly when his friends shoved a party hat on his head and insisted upon celebrating all the birthdays they’d missed. Those haunting blue eyes only stared lifelessly at the cake before him, his soul still sat on the edge of his bed where he’d read your letter.

Forever yours.

Yuta wondered if those simple two words meant the door was open for him to swing in and come find you as he so ardently promised he would. Gojo-Sensei said you were happy though— working toward your place in the world. It was one he no longer felt he had a place in— not when his life consisted so wholly of the very things you were running from.

Months passed, and the both of you tried so desperately to move on. Despite being content in the roots your lives had sprouted, there was always a missing piece that stopped the both of you from blossoming. You always held your breath in hopes he’d come back to you like he said he would, and he always hoped you were still waiting for him despite his insistence that you were happier without him. The both of you were only kids when you’d carelessly thrown out such a vow, after all.

Gojo felt whole-heartedly confident in his whim to have Kaori train you. There was a spark in you, one that wanted to heal those that this world had so carelessly wounded, even if that meant you having to heal yourself first. In the end, it was the right decision, and he prided himself in the fact that there was a happy medium to keep your talents within the jujutsu world still while also fulfilling your purpose. There was a missing piece of the puzzle that lingered ever present though, and that was the infuriating case of you and Yuta Okkotsu.

It was getting depressing— watching the boy mope around pretending to not have the very obvious chip on his shoulder all the damn time. Your old sensei still kept up with you and your progress often, seeing as the school worked closely with Kaori to refer in need sorcerers on a regular basis.

Each time he’d pop in for a visit or called unexpectedly, you’d always ask how everyone back at the school was doing. Sure, you really did hope your old friends were doing okay, but you were really holding your breath for when he’d mention Yuta. Gojo always spoke of him so highly, and you couldn’t help but smile fondly each time, thinking of how proud you were at how much he’d accomplished— just as he said he would. Still, the six eyes never missed that morose glimmer in your eye as you’d nod along to his stories.

“Have you ever tried sleeping at night, or are those dark circles just a part of you now?”

Yuta was snapped from his stupor when his sensei dropped unceremoniously beside him as he looked on at his friends ahead of him. As if having just been reminded of his perpetual exhaustion, he reached up subconsciously to rub at those aforementioned dark eyes.

“Oh, haha,” Yuta’s halfhearted attempt at a laugh only served to drive Gojo’s purpose right home. “Yeah, guess my sleep schedule never really adjusted back to normal, huh?”

“You aren’t performing like you should be, Okkotsu.”

He gaped exasperatedly at his sensei, blinking a few times as if maybe he just hadn’t heard him correctly. Frankly, he had been kicking ass lately, and everyone around him knew it too. Still, if Gojo-Sensei was telling him he was falling behind, it was seemingly the only opinion that mattered. Even if it wore him down till only his skeleton remained, he would keep getting better until he could prove himself to the man who took a chance on him.

Already picking up on the look of determination on the boy’s face, Gojo put out a solemn ‘slow your roll’ hand in front of him. Sighing in amusement, the sensei thought the boy would crush a semi-truck between his hands if it’d make him grow— meant he could prove himself.

“Your mind isn’t here. Hasn’t been since you got back. I can tell, you know.”

Okkotsu’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. No matter how much he worked to train physically, to learn to control his cursed energy and techniques, there was always that one lingering barrier that seemed to keep him from reaching his potential. Of course, he knew he had been more distracted since your departure, but he figured— hoped— it would pass eventually. He thought maybe if he ignored it long enough, pushed down that frenzy to rip his hair out by the roots and bellow out every frustration he’d held in for allowing you to slip away, each day as the urge melted away into dreams of you at night that woke him with a crater in his chest— maybe eventually it would fade just as you did.

“Try to get some rest, clear your mind. Do what you gotta do.” Gojo emphasized, leaning down to tower over his apprehensive prodigy with a knowing smile. His covered eyes flicked down to where Yuta’s fingers were rolling the beads of his colorful bracelet pensively. He hummed in amusement. “You know, I know someone who has that same bracelet.”

His student perked up ever so subtly upon hearing this. The prying man quickly moved to grasp his wrist and inspect the bracelet closer. It made Yuta feel exposed, wanting to crawl under his covers and not come out again if it meant no one else would lay their eyes on the one connection he still had to you. Gulping thickly, he snatched his wrist back, covering the wooden jewelry protectively under his other hand.

“Oh, you know her, don’t you?” Satoru feigned remembrance, snapping his fingers dramatically. “She used to go here.”

The stunned boy stammered out your name in question. It still felt so natural, so effortless rolling off of his tongue despite the prolonged period that had passed since he’d uttered those syllables.

“Yeah! Saw it on her just last week.”

All the blood seemed to drain from Yuta Okkotsu’s face. His wide, haunting eyes suddenly transfixed hazily on the smiling man before him in a manner that would have been terrifying had it been directed at a stranger. You still wore the bracelet he got you? The prospect had his mind spinning, and his stomach churning anxiously. The poor guy looked as though he would short circuit at any moment; brows twitching into a deep furrow, the corners of his lips fluttering in uncertainty. He blinked a few times before looking up at his sensei with a new sense of determination clouding his eyes.

“Where did you say she went?”

Bingo!

The clock’s ticking mocked you menacing as you raced to finish your assessment notes within the hour. Kaori was always merciful with you, understanding that you were still learning and would likely take more time with things, but you couldn’t help but urge yourself to do better.

It had been almost a year that you had been studying while working alongside the counselor, and you had blossomed in a way you never thought would have been possible. Granted, you weren’t able to do any of what you had lovingly labeled as ‘the fun stuff’ yet, you had adjusted surprisingly well to the countless intake assessments and documentation your mentor had entrusted you with. Of course, it wasn’t the same as having a second counselor there with her, but anything helped ease the weight of her overwhelming caseload. She knew it was good experience for you too.

Despite her hectic schedule, Kaori still found time to meet with you often to check in regarding the struggles that brought you to her in the first place, insisting it would be a crucial step in your training as well. Slowly but surely, you were beginning to rebuild that confidence in yourself and your own purpose in this monstrous world. It felt cathartic, being a part of the process of healing for those torn down by the very things that hurt you so long ago as well. It was meaningful— fulfilling.

You wondered if this was how Yuta felt when he was out there, helping people as well, just in his own way. A sharp pang struck you each time your mind wandered too far though, and you were always quick to reel it back in.

Your bottom lip was caught ruthlessly between your teeth, and it seemed the clacking of your keyboard was fighting against the ticking of the clock for dominance. A small spark of defeat struck you as you heard the door of the office creak open. Looking up at the time, your brows furrowed in confusion. You were sure that you had already completed the last intake Kaori had scheduled for you today. Scrambling into the drawer beside you to pull out a new form, you hoped you would at least look somewhat prepared whenever the unexpected patient came to your desk.

“Hi, there!” You called out from your tucked away cubicle, fumbling to save the document you were working on. “I’m back here, you can come on in.”

Slow footsteps approached closer and closer before pausing in front of your desk. Pushing the hair from your eyes, you looked up with a warm, inviting smile.

Oh.

The smile on your face slowly faded as Yuta Okkotsu towered over your desk. It wasn’t the version of him you once knew; this one was taller, more refined, more calculated with the manner in which he held himself. His wide, midnight-blue eyes regarded you carefully, but his face revealed nothing. Your mouth opened and closed pathetically, your mind desperately trying to catch up with the way your day had suddenly progressed. Stepping forward, he calmly sank down into the chair in front of you, hands gripping the arms casually.

“Yu—”

“I heard you offer counseling for sorcerers, right?” He was suddenly smiling sweetly at you, but there was a controlled glint in his eyes— holding him back. Not allowing you to respond, he continued. “Well, I have some things to get off my chest, so it’s lucky I found you, huh?”

You sank back into your chair, allowing the papers in your hands to slip from your fingers and swoosh softly onto the desk. Nodding gently, you urged him to go on, anxiety balling up in the pit of your stomach. He launched off on a long-winded story, one you already knew like the back of your hand— you lived it, after all. Your already knowing the climax didn’t stop the furious blush that overtook you as he recalled the letter he’d found in his dorm upon his arrival back to Tokyo.

“She always had this sweet way of signing off all her letters to me.” Yuta recounted with a soft smile, eyes glimmering as they looked back at you. Yours, on the other hand, were holding back the dam of tears that had been building up for countless months. As the first tear slipped down your cheek, you saw his resolve start to crumble, gaze chasing the drop as it raced down your skin. His bottom lip trembled. “She signed that last one— she signed it off ‘forever yours’, but I never saw her again.”

“Yuta—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you weren’t happy?” He finally snapped, his own tears swimming in his eyes. Bracing his hands on the desk, he leaned forward desperately. “I would’ve understood, I would’ve—”

“I tried! I tried to tell you, but you were so sure that I was going to get through it. How was I supposed to look you in the eyes after you gave up so much of your life to train to be better? How was I supposed to tell you I was giving up?”

“You promised me!” His cry rang out in the quiet office, shoving his chair back to stand over you once again. You heard Kaori’s office door open abruptly, likely startled by the perceived altercation. Despite his dominating presence and lingering stance, you couldn’t find it in you to be intimidated by him. You shook your head softly toward your mentor, letting her know you were fine. As the door hesitantly shut once again, Yuta was sinking closer to you despairingly. “I would’ve come back for you— I wouldn’t have cared where I had to look, okay? I wouldn’t have cared that you left everything— but you weren’t supposed to leave me.”

His wounded tone finally caught up to you, and you let your head fall down onto your crumpled hands as you cried. Yuta sighed softly, almost regretting his stinging confession. Quickly looping around the desk, he settled down on his knees in front of you and turned you to face him.

“I’m sorry, Yuta.” You cried, falling into him as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you from your chair. He was stronger than you last remembered him being, but his touch was just as delicate. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Hey, it’s okay. We’re here now, right?” He assured gently, pulling you away from his chest so he could look at you with a smile, tears still clinging to his lashes. His cool hand ran down from your shoulder to your wrist, and he traced the bracelet that hadn’t come off your wrist since you received it. A soft flush covered his cheeks. “You kept it, huh?”

“You kept yours, too.” You laughed breathlessly, wiping at your cheeks with one hand and grasping his bracelet with the other.

“I told you, I always meant everything I said to you. I still do.” His words almost made you break down again, but you worried if you started boo-hoo crying again that Kaori might just burst through the door with more determination than she had last time.

So instead, you took a moment to glance over his matured face, shaking your head in amusement upon seeing those familiar dark circles still hanging under his eyes. Your heart clenched as your eyes ran across the small scar that Maki left on his forehead. When you met his gaze once again, it gave you pause. Yuta had that look in his eyes— the same one he had all those years ago before he left for Kenya. The rapid patter of your heart could be felt in your throat.

Despite your nerves, your lips twitched up into a knowing smile. You reached up tentatively to place a hand over your right eye, covering the scar that had stopped him all those years ago. He pursed his lips at this action and shook his head. In an instant, his long fingers were wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face.

“Don’t.” Yuta said simply before leaning down to capture your lips in his, more assuredly than his sixteen year old self ever could have dared to, but just as sweetly as the boy who promised to come back to you would have.

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captain-joongz · 3 days

Note

You know how Hongjoong has those fucking gorgeous thick thighs? Yeah I wanna leave marks on them so bad. Fuck hickeys on the neck, I want to give him hickeys on his thighs grrrrr

(If you write anything sub hongjoong please, idc what type but I dont read dom member ever cus it gives me the ick)

oooh anon you don't even know how much i understand you. do you remember when Hongjoong wore that striped crop top and light blue jeans? those pictures had me going crazy for his thighs and ass for days. our captain is just so well built~

and i'm definitely not opposed to writing sub!idols, it's a nice change for me and i am a switch (tho i mostly lean towards sub, but sometimes i get dominant streaks - especially with joong, hwa and yoongi, those guys drive me insane)

warnings: subby joong, marking, edging, begging, riding, unprotected sex

i go absolutely crazy for marks, so i fully understand your plight, and joongie just has such beautiful thighs and stomach, made for you to mark up as you please. i know i wouldn't be able to help myself

and whether we're talking about idol!joong or any other au, we know that our captain is just a helpless workaholic that will spend entire days working, dragging himself home just to sleep a few hours and then go right back to his job, and that puts a lot of strain on his psyche, so every now and then he needs a good caring for, a reminder that he can let go and someone will give him everything that he needs

that's where you come in, always ready to indulge your boyfriend and help him destress - and one of your favourite ways to do this is to have him all marked up writhing in pleasure under you, begging you for more and crying with how good he feels

his thighs are so strong and beautiful, and the honey-toned skin bruises so prettily, darkens to deep purple, and he responds even better when you take your teeth to his skin, leaving bite marks nicely encircling the dark dark bruises. but what's even better is how he tenses and jerks and jumps with every sharp prick of pain at a new mark made, whines and whimpers slipping out of his lips effortlessly

you always love to see how his eyes grow more and more hazy as he surrenders himself completely to the pleasure, giving up the reins and letting himself be carried by the flow. when he's really tired he always turns so sweet and pliant, all needy and teary-eyed, whimpering anytime your travelling hands brush over his perked up sensitive nipples or when your mean fingers dig into the bruised skin to draw out the burn

and even with his pretty cock all hard and red, wet and smattered in precum, you ignore it in favour of sucking and biting more spots into his abs - you're never satisfied until he's all covered in your spit and love, until there are tear tracks on his cheeks and drool slipping out the corner of his mouth without you even touching him where he wants it the most, cause that's when he's begging for you the sweetest

he'd want to cum so bad, and he wouldn't be shy to ask for it, countless whiney "please, please, please!" spilling out of his mouth, hands gripping into the bedding because he wouldn't dare displease you by touching where he's not supposed to

and when he was desperate, teary and marked up enough, you'd finally relent. the moment you finally sunk down on his cock would have him choking on his spit and moans, body tensing as he fought not to cum - he knew you wouldn't be happy about it, he still needed to earn your permission

whether you'd ride him quick and rough or slow and sensual would probably be up to your mood, but if he was really tired and just needing a release, you'd find it in yourself to take it easy on him, languidly rolling your hips on him and clenching your cunt around him to drive him closer to that peak

and he'd look so fucking beautiful under you like that, pretty tears tracking down his face, eyes hazy and mouth slack in pleasure, head thrown back, tits all bitten up. he'd be a vision, your vision, and you'd want nothing more than finally give him what he so desperately needed

after all, he'd been such a good boy for you, begged so prettily for you and worked so hard so he could spoil you, he deserved everything - and you'd tell him as much, smothering him in praises that would make him cry and whimper even more - he wanted nothing more than to be your good boy

"please, please, let me cum, i've been so good" he'd cry endlessly, and finally when you were also close you'd let him, allowing him to spill himself into you while you rode both your orgasms out. he'd cum with the most melodious relieved moans and then ragdoll into the sheets, completely sated and spent

and after wiping him clean, watching him slip in and out of content sleep and whispering more praises about how he pleased you so well, you'd finally settle in, pulling Hongjoong into your chest and petting his hair as he slipped off into the most comfortable sleep he had in a while

he could always count on you to give him just what he needed

our second ask, phew this one was so fun to write! everybody needs a little subby joong in their life, god just how much i want to spoil him and pamper him <3

hard hours continue!! don't be shy and come submit your own fantasies!

divider from @cafekitsune

#hard hours #ateez hard hours #ateez smut #hongjoong smut

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fastboatsmojito · 3 days

Text

Some Depraved Billy Butcher Smut

This is becoming a pattern I feel - it’s been a long day forgive me

18+ Smut btc, He’s pretty mean, like shove the side of your face into the brick wall of a building mean, you’re also pretty mean to him oops, almost dacryphilia but not quite ?? His hands are filthy for sure but you let him put them inside of you anyways <3 is that true love - This is incredibly self-indulgent and nasty - LOCK ME UP !!!!

Unfortunately drooling over the thought of yelling at butcher in some dark alley in the middle of a mission you’re supposed to be finishing 🧎HEAR ME OUT

——

You’re pissed off, yelling at him about being as careless as he always was, planting a hand firm on his chest and pushing him into the wall of some building you couldn’t care less about, all while he gave you some shitty excuse about doing ‘whatever it takes to get the job done’. You’re in his face, anger written all over your own while he waited for you to finish your lecture.

“Shouldn’t care so much about someone like me for fucks’ sake, so what if I get a little roughed up? It’s part of the job.” He explained, not really understanding the reason behind your protest nor caring to.

“Fuck you.” You said with a final glare, walking backwards and away from him as you took a few deep breaths to regain yourself, before quickly turning around and marching towards him when you heard him chuckle behind you.

“What the fuck are you laughing about?” He had quite the bad habit of not taking you seriously, on and off the job, and it only pissed you off further.

“Just a bit hard to take you seriously like this ‘s all” He was smiling like a fucking idiot when you walked back up to him, wordlessly threatening to slap him with a raised hand.

“Handsy, are we? Relax. Not a bad thing to be soft. It’s a good look on ya, hand to god.” He put a hand over his heart like he was promising when he said it, but you wouldn’t be surprised if his other hand was occupied with keeping two fingers crossed behind his back.

“You know you’re not my boss anymore, right? I might work with you but I follow M.M. You’re just some asshole I have to go on missions with now.” Your words didn’t carry the venom you tried to conjure out of yourself, disappointment that you were actually letting him get to you settling in.

“Ouch.” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he sauntered closer to you. “Why don’t we just get back to work, eh? Finish this little spat when we don’t have some D-lister supe up our asses?”

“Fuck that and fuck you, Butcher. I’m not going to work with a psycho that doesn’t care if he gets himself or his partner killed. I don’t have time for this shit, if you want to ruin your life do it on your own time. I’m done.” You spat before turning away again, this time stopped by him moving in front of you.

“Hang on just a second there, I might put myself in danger for this but I still protect you. Might have a shitty way of showin’ it but that’s the reason you’re not here alone. Think M.M would send me somewhere for no reason? You’re good enough to do the job alone just fine, but there’s about six Vaught cunts in there just waitin’ on you to walk in alone.” He stopped himself with a drop of his head while you stood in what you could only describe as confusion, a tinge of guilt in your stomach.

He raised his head after a moment of you not responding. “Come on.” He gestured back towards the building entrance, looking at you with something along the lines of remorse, a look you’d never seen on him.

Maybe it was the quiet, the only audible noises your own heartbeat in your ears and the low passing of cars on the street a few feet ahead of you. Maybe it was the moonlight lightly tracing over both of your outlines, giving the man in front of you a soft glow as he seemingly patiently waited on you. Maybe it was every other time you’ve wanted to say that to him, finally getting a response that wasn’t complete bullshit. Whatever it was, every possible excuse felt ultimately irrelevant by the time you shoved your lips into his own.

It was difficult to shock someone like Butcher, there was basically nothing you could say or do that he hadn’t heard or seen before, but you felt the hesitation from him anyway. It was just a second but the tension felt heavy right until the moment you felt him kissing you back. It wasn’t soft, you couldn’t possibly have expected it to be, his rough palms moving to your sides almost immediately.

—

You blinked away the tears threatening to spill over your lash line as he shoved your face into the brick wall in front of you, his other hand currently two fingers deep inside of you, to which you had no prior warning in true Billy Butcher fashion. It was no secret he was just as much a dick in the sex department as he was out of it, relentlessly teasing you like a fucking animal.

“Yellin’ at me get you this worked up, did it?” He covered your body with his own but that didn’t stop the urgency you felt to finish before someone walked out and saw you, your eyes closed as you focused on the feeling of his thick fingers hooking up up up and then back out again repeatedly, fast and rough just as his tongue had been in your mouth a moment before.

“Jesus-“ You gasped when his thoroughly soaked fingers retracted to rub tight circles over your clit. He was clearly in his element, you could practically feel the grin on his face right behind you.

“Not quite.”

———

#ovulating sorry guys #twenty drafts and requests and this is what I work on instead SORRY guys </3 #I don’t want to fix him I want him evil #he’s sooooo filthy disgusting freak nasty it’s insane #Mean Billy save me </3 #🌑 blurbs #billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher smut #the boys

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zuzuelectricbugaloo · 1 day

Text

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Pairing: Sans/Sans, Crepic, Cross/Epic

Rating: T

CW: I don’t believe any apply, but there is non-sexual grooming and bathing together.

Synopsis: A slightly hurt/comfort oneshot for @twinribbonz Chimera Cross AU. It’s about a month after Cross and Epic reunited. Cross feels useless and terrible, his broken wings and grimy body irritating him but he can’t do anything to help it. Or so he thought. Leave it to Epic to help Cross without the other feeling like a burden, the other skeleton determined to get it through Cross’s head that self-care is mandatory and Cross deserves all the self-indulgence he can give. It’s totally only because they’re best friends, nothing else.

Word Count: 10,459

Cross scratched at his arms whilst stalwartly ignoring the unwanted itchiness of his grimy feathers and scales. He shifted in place and rubbed at the few spots he could reach. No matter how much he scratched, the agitated feathers and scales continued to fester and burn. His limp wings caught on the ground of his enclosure below him. An unwanted weight that ached just as much as the rest of this new accursed form he called a body, that he wished he could just tear and rip them clean off.

He continued to scratch, razor shop distals harshly scraping bone against bone and sending down feathers falling one by one to the floor, while the angry buzzing in his skull grew from a quiet murmur to a reverberant roar. His chest vibrated while he unknowingly began to growl in discontent and bitter, repugnant tears welled in his sockets.

Dirt and old crusted magic has gathered within his feathers, his scales, and deep within the grooves of his bones. The sense of wrongness, at having objects wedged within the spaces of his distals and phalanges and betwixt sensitive bone bubbled and boiled in the back of his throat in a rageful, soundless scream.

Before he could give in to the impulsive urge and violently dismember himself of his upper extremities, a familiar deep, sonorous voice calls his name.

Cross perks up, his pain almost forgotten entirely, as his Soul skips a beat faster from the flood of warmth that fills his chest. He can’t quite smile — he feels far too uncomfortable — though his tempestuous glare does fall into something more relaxed.

Epic waddles into the enclosure he’d designed for Cross post-metamorphosis while carrying a large crate with contents Cross couldn’t immediately discern.

“Sup bruh!”

“Hey dude.”

A quiet ‘hup!’ and Epic sets the crate down with a thud onto the floor. He straightens and slaps his hands together in a dramatic show of dusting them off. “How’s my favorite bruh doing?”

Cross could complain that feels extremely uncomfortable and gross and utterly wrong in a body that no longer felt like his own. Epic’s presence was both a welcome reprieve and a pressing reminder of his discomforted state.

“Fine,” he decided.

Besides him, Epic is humming and bustling around. One moment he’s bending forward and taking things out of the crate and the next he’s fiddling with a panel of buttons with scribbled notes he’d installed into the wall.

Cross curiously inspected the assortment of items Epic had set out. “What’s all this for?”

“You’ve mentioned your feathers haven’t been feelin’ too good lately, so I did some research,” Epic answered as he removed his leather gloves and set them aside. He rolled up his sleeves and reached for another pair within his coat’s pocket, “And they recommended this is the best way to care for feathers like yours.”

Annoyance and guilt is a tumultuous concoction that roils in his nonexistent gut and combusts outward into a vexed growl before he could stop it. He tried to hide his limp wings further but they laid, broken and useless just like him, tucked into his sides from where his draconic bottom half sat. “I already told you and Chara both, they’ll heal on their own.”

“I know,” Epic soothed. “I won’t try an’ heal them. I just wanted to clean ‘em a bit, that’s all.” Epic’s smile falls at the corners as he gazes purposefully over his body. The inspection has Cross defensively straightening his back and feathers bristling before he can think of why he’d do that.

“Figured you probably weren’t feeling too great after not showering for a hot minute.”

With dawning horror and shame, Cross realizes he hadn’t exactly been able to bathe after…everything. Shit, he hopes he doesn’t smell that bad after a month.

When Epic’s turned back around to fiddle with his machinery, Cross takes a quick sniff under his left humerus and winces. Nope, he smelled that bad.

At least Epic had been kind enough to not make a face, or point out how awful he smelled.

“An’ I know how much you like keepin’ it spick and spiffy,” Epic continued and Cross swiftly snapped his arms back into place. “So I realized my buddy hasn’t really treated himself in a bit, and ya boi can’t let that criminally offensive injustice stand! Sooooo,” Epic twirled dramatically, his trenchcoat swaying behind him with a flourish as he posed and winked at Cross to shoot him double finger guns.

“I’ve been workin’ on a lil somethin’ I think you’ll like.” Epic’s sockets crinkle into upturned crescents as he beams and gestures to the panel. “Drumroll, please!”

Cross’s mouth quirked up in the corner as he indulged his best friends and pantomimed beating drums in midair as he droles, “dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun.”

Epic flicked a switch and suddenly, Cross feels a vibration in the air and startles, craning his torso to the side and up as he watches the walls shift and expand around him until there’s an entirely new room opened before him, and Cross can’t help but gape as he witnesses his enclosure’s transformation.

It was a wide thing, with high-vaulted bars Epic had hastily concocted with aid from both his blasters and gravity magic until he’d formed a loft large enough to provide Cross with a roof over his head. A makeshift bed compiled of mattresses lumped together to support Cross’s draconian body and a blanket that had taken Epic a day to sew until it could comfortably cover and tuck Cross in. He’d insisted he was fine and didn’t need any of this, especially since he didn’t even need a pillow when he could simply slump back onto his larger dragon to sleep.

But of course Epic insisted, and Cross was glad his token protest was taken in stride. The “bed” and blanket made him feel less like a beast, and regained a sense of normalcy again.

It helped that it smelled like him, that when Epic was gone Cross could bring the blanket up to his nose indent and inhale, slow and deep, his friend’s scent and calm as warmth and rightness filled him as cookies and sweets flooded his head. How the intent Epic had when he sewed the fabrics together was absorbed into the soft, plush cotton, the weight of the echoed feelings of care and the desire to help and reassurance I’m here from the comforter better than the sweetest lullaby when the imprints whispered genuine devotion from the Soul.

If Cross had thought crafting him a room and bed was unbearably kind of his best friend, then this was a magnanimous gesture of…he couldn’t say, for it had stolen his thoughts before it had a chance to even form into words.

When Epic flicked the switch and the walls shifted, they had transformed into a doorway that revealed a familiar bathhouse come to life. Intricate wooden structures and ornate decorations, including a painted scene of a lofty hilltop and clouds blowing in the wind. Polished floors pan over to a shower head high above the ceiling surrounded by an intricate system of cords and what he thinks is a sling. Over by the center of the room is a raised, deep tub made of polished wood.

This scene, excluding the shower area off to the side, was something straight out of a movie. In particular, a movie they’d seen during one of their anime marathons.

Bewildered, Cross glanced down at his friend. “Is…Is this Spirited Away?”

“Yeah!” Epic beamed up at him. “It’s supposed to look like one of the private baths in Yubaba’s bathhouse.”

“Like the one where Chihiro bathes the river spirit?”

“Nailed it in one, bud.”

Unsurprisingly, Cross is reminded of how incredible his best friend is, his chest feeling tight with fondness tinged in awe.

“I don’t…how did you find the time to do all this?” How had he not noticed? He’d literally been sleeping in the next room over.

“One of the many perks ‘bout not needin’ ta sleep too much,” Epic explained. “While you snooze and adorably loaf the night away, I got ta buildin’. Interior design isn't really my forte, I’ll admit, but Color’s surprisingly got a real knack for it. He helped me out with some of the schematics.”

Cross ignores the twinge of irritation at the mention of the pyro-afflicted skeleton. Big deal, so what if Epic had other friends he hung out with? He’s being ridiculous.

And it’s not like Epic made Color a special bathroom from one of their favorite movies, Cross smugly thought. And Cross was Epic’s best friend, not Color.

Still, it rubbed him the wrong way, the thought of Color leaning against Epic as they talked and looked over Epic’s work. His marrow boiled at the thought of Color placing his arm over Epic’s shoulders, or around his waist, scenting him—

An annoyed growl rumbled out his throat before he could stop it. He promptly leaned forward and pulled Epic into his arms. Already well used to Cross manhandling him, Epic simply gasped in surprise before relaxing as Cross nuzzled him, rubbing his skull all over and pressing his nasal aperture insistently into the grooves of Epic’s cervical vertebrae, the angled curve of his sharp jawline, rubbing until he was content Cross’s — and not Color’s — scent had been marked all over his best friend.

“That’s actually amazing, dude.” Cross murmured into Epic’s neck before he pulled back to grin, satisfied, at the other skeleton. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

Epic’s grin turns sheepish. He rubs the back of his hooded skull as Cross smiles at him. “Aw c’mon bro. Like I said, what kinda bestie would I be if I didn’t try an’ make ya happy?”

You already do.

The embers of warmth that flickered at the thought now blazed, an inferno of wonder.

“A-anyway!” Epic suddenly laughs, a pitch high for his smooth baritone, his cheekbones tinted violet. “Since you’re an absolute unit of a mad lad now, I thought we could have a spa day. Get you nice and pampered for a quick pick me up. And after the one you gave me, heh.” He chuckled at his joke.

Epic…Cross realized what he was doing.

He was trying to make Cross feel normal, feel comfortable in his body and how their relationship hadn’t changed at all despite Cross’s drastic change of himself.

It still wasn’t give and take. It was always give and care, nurture and cherish, trust and adore.

“So your job for today,” Epic patted the fluff adorning Cross’s exposed ribs. “As the coolest best pal in the history of ever, is to relax an’ treat yo’ self. If you don’t mind, I’m your personal self-care attendant for the day!” He gently ran his hand through the soft and snowy feathers. “I know it’d be hard for ya to clean this part, so I’ll help with that.”

As nice as the thought of Epic grooming him was, the imagery almost pulling a low purr out of him, Cross still felt shame swirl low in his abdomen.

“I don’t—” Cross hesitated. He wanted that, but it made him feel weak. Undeserving.

Useless.

“I—I feel like a burden.” How pathetic was he that he couldn’t even care for himself anymore? That he was making Epic take care of him.

How selfish was he that he liked it…

“Cross,” Epic’s stern voice throws him off. “You’re never a burden.”

“But—”

“Never.” Epic’s not having it. “I’m doing this because I want to, because I care about you.”

“And, again,” Epic grins, lifting his hands and reaching out for him and Cross instinctively reaching back, their hands slotting together like pieces of puzzle despite how Cross was now more than twice his size.

“What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t help my buddy out when he needs me?” Softer, he squeezes Cross’s hands, his covered thumbs stroking the back of Cross’s palms. “I wanna take care of you.”

Both of Epic’s eyes are open, white and violet eyelights gazing into Cross’s own orbs in an open display of vulnerability. It was a Soul melting sight, Cross’s chest becoming warm once more as Epic reveals one of the parts of himself that he hates the most to Cross.

“Let me take care of you,” Epic implored. A tingle travels up Cross’s spine.

Ambivalent towards himself, he’s torn between his hubris and exhaustion. Why was it always so easy to maintain a façade around others, but with Epic all it took was his sweet, earnest supplication, and Cross crumbled, desperate not to fall but he’d fallen anyway.

His mouth feels dry and there’s a fluttering in his nonexistent gut. He wants to say yes, to fall into the safety that was Epic and follow him wherever he’d lead them both. But his pride is always his undoing. “I’m not some baby to be coddled, I’m a soldier. I was the X-Event,” he spits out far harsher than he means to, “A threat to the very fabric of the multiverse itself.”

Epic nods. “I know.” He states it like it's a fact.

“I can take care of myself just fine.” No he can’t. He’s useless, just look at his broken wings and barbaric horrorshow amalgamation of a body.

“You can, and you do,” Epic agrees easily. “You’re phenomenal as you are Cross. I don’t doubt you’ll always be able to take care of yourself no matter what happens.”

“But we’re best friends, yeah?” Cross nods and Epic continues. “So we’ll always take care of each other. I want to take care of you always not ‘cause I think you’re incapable or impotent,”

How did Epic always know what he was thinking?

How could Epic read his unvoiced thoughts and feelings like a book, like Cross had always been a part of him and always will be?

He adores the solicitude as much as it terrifies him.

“It’s ‘cause you mean a lot to me.”

Iridescent alabaster and glittering violet orbs of life glisten within onyx voids. The loveliest stars Cross had ever seen, shining bright just for him as they waited patiently for him. Always patient, always kind.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cross’s voice comes out rougher than he means it to. “Same here.”

Those luminous mismatched eyelights impossibly brighten further as Epic’s smile stretched. “And it won’t just be you. I’ll join ya! Never been to a bathhouse myself so ‘m also pretty excited.”

Cross perked up. Epic would let Cross groom him?

He titters a happy chirp as Epic pats his side, a signal to let him down. Reluctantly, Cross leans down until he can set Epic back on his feet and onto the ground.

Cross realized something as Epic turned back to the panel. “Wait, how’re you gonna reach me?”

“With a little swing and a fling.” Epic pushes a button and a swing/like harness lowers itself from the ceiling to hang beside the scientist. He hooks himself into the harness and shoots Cross a wink before his thumb presses down on a different switch.

With a click he’s hoisted up until he’s brought to eye-level with a bewildered Cross. Giggling and idly kicking his legs in carefree asymmetric swings as he leans forward with a single digit to tap the front of Cross’s nose indent.

“Boop.” Cross blinked. “Like this.”

Epic fiddles with the controls on the harness to zoom around Cross, whose head jerks to the side to follow his movements. “So we can both sit back and relax.”

“Okay.” Cross’s Soulbeat quickened when Epic maneuvered himself down to the crate to scoop up a bucket full of various supplies. “First thing’s first, we gotta get all the gunk and debris stuck in your feathers out before we trim your wings. Not heal,” Epic hastily added before Cross could interject. “Just trim. To keep it from getting too long.”

Cross slowly nodded. Their length had been getting annoying. “Okay. What next?”

Epic’s hands softly stroke the feathers of Cross’s right side as he answers. “Then we get you soaped up and rinsed off in a shower to get the last of the muck off ya. And then get ya soaked river spirit style.”

Low, pleased purrs emit from his throat as Epic starts to weave his phalanges into the feathers of his right side, gently plucking and scraping off whatever dirt and unwanted waste he finds. Cross’s eyes slowly close instinctually as he relishes in the feeling of Epic’s careful ministrations against his body.

Cross’s voice was low when he questioned, “Why shower if we’re bathing anyway?”

“So you don’t lay in your own filth pretty much,” Epic’s humming paused as he explained. “And then you soak up all the fancy minerals from the bath. ‘S one reason why you stay in there for a while.” He plucked out a stick caught between Cross’s feathers and threw it to the side with a bemused expression. “‘Cause you wanna absorb all that good shit.”

“Skeletons soaking in hot, mineralized water…” Cross mused. “So, we’ll be making bone broth then.” Epic let out a startled bark of laughter, Cross’s mouth quirked upwards in a proud grin as his friend switched to another segment.

“LOL, more like cricket broth.”

It took him a second before he got it and Cross groaned with a roll of his eyelights. “I told you already,” Cross grumbled. “Dragon bod, I’m not an insect.”

“Technically y’are. Six limbs~” Epic retorted in a playful, sing-song voice.

“I’ll smack you with my tail.”

Epic’s decadent, silken, sonorous bass of a voice is going to be the death of him, even in jest, as he jokes, “Gonna whip me for bein’ disobedient?” Epic purred, meeting Cross’s gaze as he wiggled his boney brows and winked. “Kinky.”

Cross flushed purple and contemplated if bucking Epic off of him would be worth it or not. He was about to snark back when Epic’s leather glides across his hind leg’s feathers and dips down and betwixt them until he’s stroking his body itself.

The full-bodied shudder travels up and down his spine like he’d been zapped by electricity. Immediately after his head goes warm with the rest of him as his top half slumps forward slightly and he groans in sweet, sweet relief. That awful, incessant itch that had plagued him for weeks was finally being taken care of and oh, stars, he never knew how much he’d needed this until now.

“Poor thing,” Epic murmured under his breath. Unaware Cross’s hearing had sharpened with the rest of his senses and caught on. “This must’ve been a real bitch to deal with.”

Epic is methodical with his touch, each caress of his gentle hands running through Cross’s feathers sends a soothing sensation throughout his entire body. Rhythmic strokes and careful attention to every one of his snowy plumes evoke a sense of relaxation and trust so deep Cross could fall asleep upright from the bliss.

But as good as this felt, as nice as the tentative scratches against the heated flesh beneath his plumage was, Cross wanted more. He wanted to feel Epic’s hands, free from the gloves, run over his body and through his feathers entirely.

He wanted his mate to groom him proper, feel no physical barrier between them in this intimate moment of connection.

Cross flushed when he requests as casually as he can, “Can you take the gloves off?”

Epic pauses. His fingers retreat from the feathers they’d been stroking and Cross almost growls in vexation that he’d stopped those heavenly caresses. “Oh, sorry bruh.” Without a second thought Epic slid his gloves off and stuffed them in his coat pocket. “Must be uncomfortable feelin’ leather rubbin’ all over ya.”

Rhythmic strokes, gentle caresses, Epic’s rich voice full of warmth and deep with affection. “Better?” He asked.

Cross nodded, his rolling purrs drowning out all his remaining thoughts. “So much. Thanks, dude.”

“No worries bud.”

Epic hated his hands. Despised their mutilated appearance, hated exposing his hands because of the holes in the middle of his palms. Results that were forced on him by unwanted experimentation and made him resemble his bastard creator.

He should be ill at ease, from not only having them displayed but also touching someone dear to him.

But he can’t. And he isn’t. Instead, he feels content, fluttering warmth deep in his Soul and in his chest as Cross melts underneath Epic’s touch. It's like his Eye, how he only felt truly comfortable with raw vulnerability when it was with Cross. Something about his best friend just made it seem so easy.

Eventually, Epic reaches one of the limp wings. They’re mostly numb to Cross, but the skeleton tenses anyway when Epic begins to groom the wing at the plumage of the upper wing coverts.

Carefully, slowly, Epic gently plucks at and sifts through the feathers, far more tentative than with the feathers on Cross’s body. Sliding and gingerly pecking with his phalanges any clutter he finds and lets it fall to the floor as he maneuvers himself within his harness.

Cross preens, chirping happily when Epic swiftly moves from the down feathers to the primary and secondary coverts. Once he’s reached the tip, he pauses, stroking the feathers as he glances up at Cross.

“Is it alright if I start trimming?”

Cross doesn’t realize the affirmative he vocalized was a chirp and not a word. Epic nodded regardless, lifting the wing’s tip with one hand and holding a pair of scissors in the other. Epic made sure he lifted the plumage to clearly identify the feather shafts. He read to avoid cutting those to prevent injury. With the smaller feathers above the primary wings as his guide, Epic carefully began the process of trimming Cross’s wing.

Unfortunately for Cross, because his wings had been broken for weeks, he couldn’t fully enjoy the feeling of Epic’s grooming and now delicate trimming. Still, he could faintly feel Epic’s tender intent, and that was enough for Cross to watch in content as Epic cared for him.

Slow and careful, he cut, trimming the feathers one by one and meticulously making his way down the wingspan.

While Epic grooms him, Cross can’t help but think how nurturing Epic is towards him — this is no special case. He’s just always taken care of Cross in some way, some form. From movie nights to beach escapades, arcades, their regular hangouts. He’d always made Cross feel cared for without being a burden.

He thinks about how nurturing and kind Epic is to everyone, really, especially children. How Epic made something as troublesome as dealing with those tykes seem easy and even fun whenever he interacted with them. That made Cross think maybe he’d want to be a parent someday, if he had a partner as good as Epic.

He thought of how much kids like Palette and Goth adored Epic, calling him uncle and laughing like mad when Epic pretended to pull them over for speeding in his “Chick Mobile”, Epic adorned with aviator shades and a ridiculous glued on mustache as he chased after the cackling children with a rubber chicken.

“Officer Bruh reporting in! We got a Bruh-1-1, bruh! Get back here and stop resisting arrest!”

“You’ll never take us alive, copper!” Goth shouted while Palette turned to shoot at Epic with his bubble gun. Epic dramatically dodging and whooping in a series of acrobatics to avoid the harmless projectiles as though it was truly deadly.

“Yeah, these cookies are all ours!” Palette exclaimed and defiantly chewed on said stolen goodie. A bubble popped on Epic’s sweater.

He shouted, grasping at his chest before dramatically tumbling until he collapsed and spasmed on the ground. “Officer down! Officer down! Bleh,” Epic stuck his tongue out and went still, his hands placed over his chest as he pretended to be at rest.

The kids laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

All Cross did at the time was chuckle and film per Epic’s request for the kids’ parents later, unable to push his bright grin down or explain the fondness that turned his Soul into mush.

Unbidden, he thinks of how that moment was only one of many more, definitive proof that Epic would be an amazing parent. A compassionate father, better than his and Cross’s ever were.

He wondered if Epic would admire him if Cross got along with kids, too. If Epic would watch him as Cross would watch Epic, admiring and unbearably, unfathomably soft. As Epic joined the kids in their goofy, nonsensical misadventures. As Epic read to the Souls of the children lost that were bound to Color.

As Epic smiled down the bed in front of him, gently tucking in a protesting XChara that they weren’t technically a child, he didn’t need Epic to tuck them in. Epic simply nodded with understanding as he brushed XChara’s bangs out of their face and their eyes drooped shut. “I know. Sleep well, bud.”

Cross recalled a picnic they’d gone on, laying side by side and gazes tilted to the stars above as they talked about nothing and everything. How Epic had confided he’d always wanted kids of his own, but wanted to raise them alongside a loving partner. Yet he seemed undesirable to most and had set that dream aside into a little box of wishes within the blanket of the starry night. Maybe someday, he’d sighed. The stars glittered with his silent longing.

“We’ll still be best friends, right?” Cross’s voice wobbled when he’d thought of Epic distracted by a blurry lover and equally unknown expressions of Epic’s children in Cross’s mind. Dismissing Cross in favor of his better, more exciting romantic interest, strolling off with his arm around their waist and their children trailing after them. Leaving Cross behind.

Epic had laced their hands together and smiled at Cross with eyes as deep and profound as the ocean, the light of his Soul shining among the constellations of the night.

“Always,” he’d promised. “You and me against the world, forever and always, Cross.”

Cross had felt his chest tighten at the time. He’d stared at Epic while the older skeleton stared back into the sky before he eventually tore his gaze away to look up to the bright lights himself. Maybe someday, he’d agreed, their hands intertwined together

An insistent call of his name pulls Cross out of his thoughts. He blinks into clarity and turns to his left to see Epic, who’d been tapping Cross’s side to catch his attention.

“Yeah dude?”

“You’re all set bud.” Epic gestured to the side. “Wanna head on over? Last thing we need to do is shower and then we can soak the night away.”

“You too, yeah?”

“Sure am! But we oughta get you taken care of first big guy,” Epic swings around, fiddling with his panel and tapping away at buttons and switches as he spoke. “According to what I searched, you’re not ‘sposed to shampoo or soap feathers ‘cause it would make it too ‘oily’ and hard to fly. Buuuut,”

Epic spun around to face Cross once more as he hung in front of him. “You don’t wanna fly anytime soon right?”

With his useless wings? “Nope,” Cross agreed.

“So I’ll leave it up to you man. D’you wanna try out shampoo and conditioner or soap? I got a bunch of scents for both for ya to pick from.”

Epic baps his fist against a panel on the wall with a small thunk and Cross is gobsmacked when it opens with two shelves of bottles of various colors and shapes popping out. Cross would’ve questioned it but then he recalled something like that was also from the movie and dismissed his unasked question.

“Take your pick! I got your old favorite, cherry blossom, but a whole bunch of others too. There’s rose, coconut, chocolate, vanilla, elderflower, and—”

“Wait, Epic,” Cross interrupted. “If we’re gonna soak in a mineralized bath, wouldn’t these scents be pointless?”

“…” Epic visibly deflated. Cross tried not to laugh.

Violet paints his cheekbones as he purses his mouth and glances side to side. “…Nuh uh.”

“Thought about everything except that, huh,” Cross teased.

“Aw, maaaan,” Epic pouted. “There goes all my G.”

Cross patted him on his back. “It’s okay. I can just use them later, no worries.” He plucked out a bottle of rose scented body wash. “And these are just a few bottles. It’s not like you got buckets of these or anything right?”

Epic was silent.

“Dude!”

“What?! You’re huge!” Defensively Epic waved his arms to gesture to all of Cross. “I had to make sure I had enough that you could use and have variety!”

This time Cross did laugh, unable to resist when picturing what the poor cashiers’ baffled faces must’ve looked like when Epic bought a boatload of soaps and washes.

“Oh stars,” Cross chortled. “And they just—they just let you buy all that?”

“I mean, it’s the same place I get all my condoms, so I’m pretty sure they assumed I’m a sugar daddy or something.”

Cross lost it.

“Uh huh,” Epic droned while his best friend laughed so hard he cried. “Yuuuuuup. Laugh it up. Get it all out of your system. Uh huh.”

“Y-you didn’t even try to defend yourself? Mention how you use those as a gag?”

“What, and go, “hey, so, I’m not actually a sugar daddy plannin’ to get real freak-ayyy, but I need you to keep this on the down-low ‘cause I don’t want anyone to know ‘bout this,” and that doesn’t sound hella sketch to you? Nah, man, nah.”

Cross wheezed, his laughter so loud and hard his ribs ached. Once he’s calmed enough, his breathing no longer laborious and interrupted by only the occasional giggle, he wipes the tears gathered at the corners of his sockets away.

When his hands fall away from his eyes the sight of Epic smiling is revealed, his gaze tender and full of affection that has Cross’s nonexistent gut doing flips and confusion filling him at why he wants to break his gaze away from that tender look.

Mana rushed to his cheekbones. Somewhat embarrassed, he queried, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just…it’s been a while since you laughed like that.”

What? No, it couldn’t have. Epic always made him laugh like no one else did, why wouldn’t…?

Oh. Right.

His smile fell.

Cross hasn’t laughed that hard since he’d found Epic after…after whatever happened to him. That turned him into this.

His arms began to itch.

“Sorry, I got side-tracked.” Epic tapped at a bottle. “Did you pick one you wanna try?”

Quietly, “Chocolate, please.”

“Alright.” Epic tap taps, and then, he’s fluttering around Cross like he had earlier when grooming his wings, popping the bottle open and sliding it into the wall. A few mechanical wirrs later, a crane carrying a bucket slowly drifts side to side as it tilts, the scent of warm chocolate making Cross’s mouth water as the liquid soap is spread until his dragon body and wings are coated in the substance. Once it’s empty, it’s brought back into the wall, the panel closing shut behind it.

Cross shudders at the feeling, his feathers registering the cold and blocking the sensation from the heated flesh beneath the plumage only for a moment. Even so, his eyes burn. His sockets well with tears he forced himself to hold back as he blinked.

Epic’s habitual humming has picked up. He starts to gently lather the feathers as his phalanges glide between the individual plumes and shifts them apart to gently scrub the irritated flesh beneath.

Cross greedily soaks up his intent. Relishes the feeling of Epic gingerly scratching and scrubbing to remove stubborn bits of dirt and grime. He tries to force back the familiar sensation of his throat tightening up, of his face burning and liquid mana surging and pushing to be released.

“We’ll get you soaped up real good so all that’s left is a rinse.” Epic speaks but it’s hard to hear with the growing sound of his own inner voice reprimanding him. Scolding Cross to toughen up, repeating his soldier’s mantra “calm emotions, calm Soul.”

Don’t cry, this is supposed to be fun. This is supposed to be nice. Epic’s trying so hard to make things normal again, why can’t you do just this one thing right?

XGaster’s cold voice overlaps Epic’s, whatever he’s saying about his wings and if it hurts if he moves them a little is drowned out by that awful, cruel gaze and disinterested tone.

“Useless boy—”

He’s fine, everything’s fine. Don’t cry, don’t cry, Cross. You’re not a crybaby.

“—failed experiment—”

A cold, dark room. An observation table. His wrists shackled to the wall. A blur of crimson and his own soundless scream ringing in his skull. His legs, he couldn’t feel his legs!

“You are worthless to me, Sans.”

And just like everything else, he failed to do one thing.

Purple tears fell from his sockets in rivulets.

He was always useless.

“— good, think I got every — Cross?”

Epic zooms over, hands hovering beside Cross’s skull but hesitating to touch him. Cross can’t fight back the bitter sob but resolutely keeps his mouth shut. The garbled cry is followed by yet more tears.

Cross leans forward until his zygomas are cradled in Epic’s soothingly cold hands against his heated skull.

“Hey hey hey, buddy, what’s wrong? What happened?” Epic’s thumbs wiped the translucent purple magic as it poured out his eyes. “Did I touch you somewhere bad and it hurt? I’m so sorry, I can—”

“No, no, ‘s not you,” Cross sniffed, desperately trying to shove the tears back but they refused. Useless crybaby. “I-I, I just, I got—”

He couldn’t bear to look at his best friend’s face, the blatant concern and worry worsened the tight feeling in his chest and he was drowning in his tears, self-reproach and loathing bitter on his tongue and burning his aching throat.

When Cross tilted his skull in shame and looked down, he noticed Epic’s pants were covered in soap. In handprints missing circular center shaped prints.

He’d wiped his hands to cradle Cross like he was something precious, something too valuable to be sullied by soap.

Somehow that noetic sentiment breaks Cross further and he snarls. Trembling with rage and tears while Epic steadfastly held him as he fell apart.

“I hate this body,” Cross raged. His arms burned like they were on fire and something was tearing him apart from the inside out. “This—this isn’t me! This isn’t—!” Helpless, resentful tears welled in his sockets. “I hate it, Epic. I hate it!”

“I can’t fly, I can’t fix myself, I can’t even remember who did this to me or how this happened!”

Useless, useless, useless!

“I know, Cross.” His knuckles are brought to his mouth, the kiss a forlorn apology of understanding and empathetic sorrow. “I know.”

Cross’s massive body trembled and his chest heaved. The snarls tumbling out his clenched jaws feral and impossibly loud in the echo of the enclosed room.

Yet Epic held onto him anyway, undeterred and determined. His body used to fit perfectly in Cross’s arms, but now Cross could pin him down with his torso alone.

That thought made his jaws ache with an indiscernible urge to bite down, to sink his teeth into Epic and see if he’d try and fight Cross then no he wouldn’t he’d never hurt him, not now nor ever but Cross hurts, he wants to scream and cry and rage and tear himself apart until he’s got nothing left to give if it would only mean his agony stop—

It’s okay/I have you/I’m here/Come back to me

Cross blinked in surprise, shuddering from the abrupt sound of a familiar, beloved voice in his head and the tingle of pleasant, soothing cold running up his arms. He chirped in confusion, sockets slowly opening and closing until his rage subsided and Epic’s visage was clear before him.

A steady, persistent murmur. “Hey, sweetheart,” Epic’s voice greeted him. Cross realized Epic’s hands were insentently holding Cross’s wrist. Keeping Cross’s claws pressed up against Epic’s chest as something continues to beat below his sweater and emanate that soothing, delightful cold. Waves of Epic’s intent pour through that point of contact and rush up Cross’s arms and to his own steadily calming Soul.

It’s okay/Please come back/I'm here/Its okay sweetheart

Epic’s forehead was pressed against Cross’s and his other hand softly stroked his zygomatic arch. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Sweetheart? Cross?

“It’s okay, you’re safe. I promise. I have you, okay?” Slowly, Cross nodded. Unwilling to move too fast and remove the pointed contact between them. Unwilling to tear his gaze away from gentle ivory and violet lights.

“That’s it, Cross,” Epic smiled. The praise floods Cross’s system with a rush. His growls eased into comfortable, pleased purrs. “Good job bud.”

Yes, he was good. Cross’s tail thumped behind him a light sweep of a wag.

“There we go. That’s it. Just keep focusing on me, listen to my voice.”

How could he not? It was so lovely, the richest baritone Cross had ever heard. Smooth and decadent, better than any dark chocolate he’d tasted, silken and sonorous. Cross could listen to Epic speak for hours on end and he’d never grow weary of that melodic voice.

“Yeah, just like that.” Epic sighed and slumped forward, letting his arms fall back to pull Cross into a tight embrace. The anxiety and concern evaporated once Cross had calmed and now left the older skeleton feeling exhausted from the crash of adrenaline. “Jeez, bruh.”

Cross wrapped his arms around Epic, happy to hold his dearest friend close.

“You good?”

Cross nuzzled the back of Epic’s collar with a low purr. It took a moment for the question to register, and when it did, Cross forced his mouth to move. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, long as you’re okay,” Epic reassured. “Haven’t had to use the Soul for something like that for a while. But I kinda freaked when you tried to tear your arms off man.”

“I did?” Epic nodded. The movement caused his nose indent to rub against Cross’s neck.

“Yeah. You couldn’t hear me so I gambled. Glad it worked.”

“You called me sweetheart.” Butterflies fluttered through his chest at the reminder.

“Well, yeah,” Epic pulled back from the embrace to look into Cross’s eyes and defend himself. “‘Cause you’re sweet, an’ it helps talkin’ through things and being complimented—”

“No need to explain. You helped me the best way you could.”

“Yeah, exactly! You get it.”

“I do.” Cross smirked. “Sweetheart.”

Delight bloomed in Cross’s chest along with the tint of violet in Epic’s cheekbones. “Okay but when you say it, it sounds gay.”

“I’m bi.”

Epic snorted. “Bruh, I know.”

A persistent itch under his plumage. “As cute as you are flustered,” Cross grinned while Epic sputtered. “The soap is starting to dry and I’m getting kinda itchy—”

“Huh? Oh. Oh! Yeah, let’s get your rinsed off.” Epic pulled out of the hug completely as he zoomed around in his harness. Flicking switches and popping panels open until the shower head turns on and comfortably warm water gushes out in a pleasant stream onto Cross’s draconian half.

Epic handed him more of the bottle and a brush, saying he could go ahead and start drubbing himself off and Epic will help with other parts Cross can’t reach once he’s finished with his lower body.

The water is powerful enough that Epic didn’t need to do too much, fluttering in the air like a hummingbird as he brushed and smoothed Cross’s feathers and skin until he’s satisfied the soap had been washed out. Then he lowered himself to Cross’s scaled legs, brushing the powerful limbs while whistling a merry tune as Cross watched him from above in curious amusement.

The debris, trimmed feathers, and old scales pool and circle the drain. Already, Cross feels refreshed and like a brand new skeleton as he sees and feels vindictive pleasure as the filth that had bothered him for so long circles the drain.

Once Epic’s finished with his legs, he returns to Cross’s eye-level and gestures to his back. “Need any help?”

Cross could reach it just fine on his own, but since Epic offered…

He hands Epic the brush. “Yeah, thanks.”

“No prob.” Cross shivers as Epic carefully scrubs the back of his spine and ribs, cautiously dipping the brush between the grooves and purposefully keeping the pressure light to prevent any accidental mishaps with the sensitive bones.

“How do you feel?” Cross hummed.

“Much, much better,” Cross confessed. “I had no idea how much I missed showers ‘til now.”

“Mhmm.” Epic agreed, maneuvering the shower head to rinse Cross’s ribs. He checked to make sure he hadn’t missed any spots while he mused, “It’s the simple things that are often taken for granted most.”

For Epic, it was a peaceful night’s rest.

For Cross, it was his fully skeletal body.

Epic pulled back, the swing carrying him off of Cross’s side. “Aaaand you’re all set! Lookin’ squeaky clean and smellin’ great, bruh.” He patted Cross on the shoulder. “Why don’t ya go ahead and get comfy in the tub and I’ll join you after I rinse off here?”

Cross shook his head. “No.”

Epic’s smile fell at the corners before he righted them, brows furrowed in confusion. “No? Why not?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Uh, yeah? ‘S why I’m gonna shower,” Epic trailed off when Cross grabbed the hem of his sweater and lightly tugged once with a pointed look. Understanding dawned across his features. “Oh, ‘m fine bud, you don’t have ta—”

“I want to.” Cross insists. Satisfaction curls deep in his gut when his claw trails up Epic’s back, the sharpened talon-esque phalanges catching on the material of his cloak and how his sharpened hearing catches the audible gulp his best friend tried to hide. “You said I could earlier,” Cross reminds him, “That we’d be helping each other.”

“I did,” Epic agreed.

“Do you want me to see if I can grab you a set of shorts or…?”

“Nah, ‘s good,” Epic dismissed with a careless wave of his hand. “Put on a pair of swimming trunks under the usual pants just for today.”

“What? Why not just wear the trunks instead of pants in the first place?”

“Habit, I guess.”

“Okay then weirdo,” It was said far too fondly to be an insult. Cross tugged at Epic’s sweater. “Off we go.”

Epic chuckles and slips out the harness and onto Cross’s hip. Rolling his shoulders back and letting his coat fall onto Cross while the soldier watched with unusual anticipation.

“Heh,” the older skeleton’s grin is teasing as he hoists his sweater over his head. “Not gonna take me out to dinner first before you try to get me wet?” He sets the sweater beside his cloak, phalanges slipping into the hem of his waistband. “And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

“I am a gentleman.” Cross’s hand held onto Epic’s waist to keep him steady as he shook off his boots. Cross was surprised by how much his hand could hold, and wondered if both his hands were on Epic’s waist if his distal phalanx would touch. “See? I’m helpful.”

“The most helpful.” Epic concurred. With Cross’s support, he was able to shimmy out of his pants and sure enough, swim trunks obstructed his pelvis and part of his upper femurs from his view.

Not that Cross was staring or anything. They’d gone swimming before in the past. In fact, he recognized the familiar Dragonball themed swim trunks as soon as they’d peaked out from Epic’s waistband, orange and white with one of Epic’s favorite memes inscribed on the sides “IT’S OVER 9,000!”

Although his gaze was inexplicably drawn to the curve of Epic’s spine as he bent forward to remove his pants. To the curve of his pelvic wings and the way his ribs moved with his motions.

Epic stood up straight and Cross released him. He stayed within his space, though, just in case Epic slipped and fell off. His best friend scooped his pile of clothes up into his arms and into a ball, hoisted them over his head, and unceremoniously threw them with an enthusiastic “YEET” so they landed back into Cross’s enclosure with a bounce and spread apart.

With all too affectionate exasperation well used to Epic’s antics, Cross asked, “Why not just use your gravity magic and let it land?”

Epic smacked his hands together and tilted his skull up to Cross to wink as he shot him with double finger guns. “Y’know why, ‘cause it’s fun! Oh! You know what we should totally do?”

Epic’s eyelights gleamed in excitement. “I can set up a basketball hoop near the tub and you can toss me through it!”

“Why?”

“For the Kobe, bruh, the Kobe!”

Admittedly, it did sound like a fun idea, and though Cross would be more than happy to indulge Epic in his shenanigans, he was far more interested in grooming Epic as he’d done for him.

To show he’s a good potential mate

“Later,” Cross promised. “I wanna take care of you now.”

Cross would never tire of being the cause for Epic blushing. It was inexplicably gratifying, knowing that Epic’s lovely face would burn so sweet and pretty just for Cross when he wasn’t usually one so easy to fluster.

“Okie dokie.” Epic flexed his phalanges. His feet shuffled side to side in uncertainty. “Uh, are you okay with me sitting on you for this?”

“Yeah it’s fine. You’ve done it before.” Cross “loafing”, as Epic would call it, while they watched a movie or started a show. Playing a board game or eating together whenever Epic took a break from analyzing Cross’s magic.

They couldn’t cuddle before like they used to, not with Cross’s drastic change in size. So they made do with their new normal. Or at least Epic did, once he was certain Cross didn’t mind. Perhaps Cross would dislike it, if it were anyone else other than Epic.

“Alright alright alriiiight,” Epic drawled. Giggling after referencing one of his many favorite vocal stims. “But if ya ever do get uncomfy, lemme know an’ I’ll hop off.

“Sounds good.”

And with that, Epic began to scrub, flexing and bending his phalanges to catch anything caught between the grooves separating the phalanxes. Gradually working his way up to his metacarpals.

Cross imitated Epic’s earlier gestures, gently brushing all the hard to reach places whilst carefully avoiding exerting too much pressure behind his movements.

“It feels nice, right?” Cross hummed his agreement. “I could do this myself, but it just feels good when there’s someone else,” there’s a tone in Epic’s voice Cross couldn’t quite distinguish, like he’s trying to hint at or lead up to something but Cross didn’t know what.

His best friend had started scrubbing his legs, one knee bent to his chest and straight out with his leg extended. “Sure help makes it easier, but it’s not required.”

“Uh huh.” Cross gave him a once-over. Satisfied with his work but regretful that it was over so soon. It made sense, he supposed. Cross hadn’t bathed in a while unlike Epic, so of course he’d be dirtier.

Epic’s skull turned back at an angle to glance up at Cross. “I’m not useless for wanting some help cleaning up, am I?”

“What? No, of course not!” How could Epic say that? “You asking for help when you need it shows how self-aware you are. You’re not lesser or weak for reaching out.” Epic is incredible, the person he admired most. And that admiration came from years of knowing Epic and seeing for himself all the amazing things his best friend is capable of, and just how kind and good his Soul was.

“I think it shows how strong you are, that you know you can’t do everything alone and instead of wallowing in self-pity, you ask and—” Cross paused. Epic continued to watch him, waiting, expectant. “…Oh.” Now it was Cross’s turn to blush.

“There we go.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Not at all.” Epic refuted. “You’re just a little stubborn, sometimes.”

“You put up with me anyway.”

“You’re my best friend Criss-Cross,” Epic grinned. “You’re stuck with me for life, buddy. Ride or die ‘til the end my guy. Couldn’t get me away from ya for nothin’.”

Tener, light touches as fingers made of bone glided between the downy plumage of his wing. “An’ part of my sacred duty as best bud is makin’ sure you’re alright.”

All that remained unspoken filled the air between them, their bond knowing all too well what they meant without needing it said aloud.

Let me take care of you?

Cross hesitated. His inner demons were silent, put to rest by Epic’s steadfast compassion. Still, he…he couldn’t help but feel trepidation about fixing himself, anxious of too many unknown variables of what may happen. Particularly after the disasters of attempting to split his Soul during the time he’d been fused with XChara.

“Can we wait? Just a little longer?”

Yes. Wait for me.

Epic didn’t protest. “You're not in any pain, right?”

Cross shook his head and Epic slowly exhaled with a slow nod. “Okay. We can wait, then. Whenever you’re ready, Cross.”

I’ll always be here.

Grateful beyond measure for his friend, all Cross could do to convey his thanks was bend forward to press his forehead against Epic’s. “Thank you.”

Epic gently pressed back, smiling as they gazed into each other’s eyes. “I got ya.”

Always.

All too soon, Epic pulled away. He lowered the shower head down to his height to rinse himself off before he let go and let it return to its stationary position on the ceiling.

“Now c’mon! I’ve been wanting to soak for forever now,” he exaggerated. He held onto Cross’s arm as he moved, willing his draconic legs to stand and meander over to the tub.

“Alright alright, I’m going.”

“Yuss!” Epic posed, hand on his hip and arm outstretched. “Onward, to glory!”

“I feel glorious.” Cross deadpanned as he slowly settled onto his pair of knees. Epic eagerly slid down Cross’s side like a baseball player, whooping “yaba dabba doo!” while he slided down his tail. In an impressive display of acrobatics, Epic vaulted over the tub by using the walls as a springboard and stood by the wall, waiting to make sure Cross was watching him.

“Sooo, you remember how there’s a panel Chihiro had to whack to get the bath tokens to pop out?”

“Uh huh.” Epic pointed to the spot on the wall where painted clouds were formed into an “X” shape.

“Do a Britney and hit it baby one more time!”

Cross snickered and did just that. The panel popped open, red and black rectangular tokens with golden shapes hung by string.

“And pick whichever, they all come from the same source.”

Cross randomly selected the circle token and tugged, the wooden block disappearing upwards and away while the panel slowly closed itself up. He startled when he felt warm water, almost unbearably hot, started to pour from a bamboo tube. A few moments later he relaxed, the tension in his bones melting away the more his bones absorbed the heat.

The moment the water reached Cross’s lower ribs the flow abruptly stopped, the bamboo tube sliding up and into the wall. The panel clicked shut.

Cross waited, perking up while Epic strolled over the rim before he contorted, keeping his arms gripping the tub’s rim behind him while he dipped his legs in one by one until he was hanging over next to Cross. Cross felt a pang of disappointment that Epic was next to and not pressed up against him and slid his arm around his waist and cradled his entire left pelvic wing to pull him close.

It must’ve caught Epic off guard because he squeaked, limbs jerking slightly when Cross wrapped both his arms around Epic to loosely hug him close, Epic’s legs bracketing Cross’s hips while his hands shot out to support himself and gripped Cross’s shoulders tight.

“Whoa hey!” Epic babbled, zygomas burning with violet mana as Cross intently stared at him. “Uhhh. Hi there.”

Cross tilted his skull to the side in bemusement but greeted him nonetheless. “Hello.”

Epic’s eyelights darted to the side and back to Cross’s face, his flush deepening when Cross’s chest slowly began to rev up, the first pleased, low chirp tumbling out of him. He slid his hands down Cross’s humeri and paused at the junction between his radia and ulnas.

“I could just, uhm, sit next to you, y'know? O-on your back.”

This felt unbearably intimate. Soaking in a communal bath was one thing. Wrapped up in his friend’s arms while he stared at him like the cat that got the cream was another.

“You could.” Cross replied. “But I want to hold you.”

Epic wheezed on an embarrassed note of laughter. “Okay, yeah, sure. Whatever you want bud. Can I not straddle you while you do, though?”

Cross didn’t understand, he thought this was the perfect way to hold Epic and felt perfectly comfortable as is. But if Epic wasn’t, then he’d have to change it.

Reluctantly, Cross loosened his grip. Epic wiggled, sliding his legs back off and Cross felt a pang of loneliness from the missing weight, a mournful chirrup tightening his throat and disrupting his purrs.

Then Epic nuzzled into his side. His arms around Cross’s waist while he laid his head on Cross’s sternum and his purring resumed. “There we go. Didn’t mean to sound like we couldn’t cuddle,” Epic apologized. Cross affectionately rubbed his cheekbone against the top of his skull. “That was just, uh, a-a way to cuddle that’s a bit too much for friends, ‘s’all,” he explained.

Cross didn’t get it, couldn’t quite see why Epic got as flustered as he had despite Cross appreciating how adorable the demure expression was on him. It had felt right to Cross, yet another way they could embrace and be close, but he nodded anyway, satisfied he could still cradle his dearest friend. “Okay.”

All he knew for certain as he stared, uncomprehending, was how he felt. And all he felt was peaceful contentment.

“This is nice, huh?” Epic spoke up. “Weirdly quiet, I think, but nice.”

“Yeah.” Cross sniffed the air, curious about the different scents wafting off of the mineralized water. “What’d you put in here?”

Epic beamed. “I did some research, and nabbed some stuff like yuzu, bancha, and kuma bamboo grass,” Epic’s sockets slowly drifted shut as he relaxed, his ribcage beginning to vibrate beneath the water as his own instinctual purrs tried to escape. He resisted, his deep voice slightly hoarse while he continued his explanation, “since hot springs are natural, the minerals in them come from the Earth, right? So to make your own mineralized bath you gotta use herbs to try and mimic that, and those were the most popular ones I could find.”

“Cool.”

There wasn’t much to say after that, both best friends too relaxed, enjoying their shared embrace and the warmth of the water soothing away all their aches and pains as they held each other. A moment of shared vulnerability that feels both safe and nourishing.

“This was a wonderful idea,” Cross’s tone is low. It feels wrong to speak any louder than a quiet murmur, at this time. “Thanks dude.”

Epic’s eyes were closed when he answered. “Anytime, bruh. ‘S my job ta pamper ya.”

“Likewise.”

Cross continued to observe him as he laid against him. Epic was pliant beneath him. Both sockets closed and he’s quiet, apart from blissful purrs rumbling out of him that Cross matched. The soldier is pleased and all too smug at how his best friend let Cross groom him properly earlier just as Epic had done for him. And now he let him cradle him to his chest, near his Soul where it beat peacefully within his magic and out of sight.

After all, good mates take care of one another. And Epic was always so good, so kind to him. What a wonderful mate he is—

Cross laid his chin atop Epic’s skull and let his own sockets slowly drift to a close, his Soul full and happy, as he let the darkness close in. Letting himself sink below that pool of black and let himself be swallowed completely by the feelings of safety and comfort. Trusting Epic with all his Soul to keep them both safe as Cross finally let go.

When he awoke, it was to the wrong, wrong, wrong, feeling empty arms and his best friend nowhere in sight.

Cross’s voice warbles in panic, only to jolt and then promptly relaxed when he hears comforting coos and whistles and feels something warm and soft rub his back.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Cross let out an accusatory growl with narrowed sockets.

“I know, I’m sorry for leaving,” Epic consoled, gently rubbing him dry with the towel and Cross’s shoulders fall back from his hunched posture. “I wanted to get you dried off, ‘s not good to fall asleep wet. I’d just finished your back feathers when you woke up.”

Cross sniffed with a small “hmmph” but leaned into Epic’s open palm anyway and looped an arm around his waist with a small huff, noting with dissatisfaction that Epic had changed into his sleep shirt and bottoms. “Fine. Forgiven.”

“I’m glad. Now, up we go,” Cross’s sleepy gaze glanced around. His vision gradually clearing as he surveyed his surroundings. The tub had been drained and the lights dimmed. “It’s pretty late, so let’s get you to bed bud.”

“Okay.”

With wobbly legs, Cross eventually climbed out of the tub whilst holding onto Epic. Epic tapped a button on the side when they passed through the doorway and the walls shifted, closing shut behind them.

Cross climbed aboard his bed and circled around a few times. Once satiated, he folded his legs in. His mouth quirked up in the corners when he heard Epic’s quiet gush of “yuss, the sacred loaf!” He rocked forward and back, legs kneading the mattresses a few times before he settled. He twisted around and let his chest press onto the soft plumes of his back. Now that they were clean, the feeling of the soft feathers is a gentle caress that smelled like herbs and chocolate instead of smelly, scratchy pricks that scratched his face. He gazed up at Epic who sat beside him.

His best friend patted his back, tenderly rubbing a few times before he stood. “Goodnight, bud. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Epic turned around.

Protesting whines of dismay wobbled out when Cross realized Epic was trying to leave his Nest. He reached out with his claws, hooking it around Epic’s talus to stop him.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Everything was perfect, felt so right, when Epic was beside him.

“Don’t go,” Cross pleaded.

“I’ll be around, buddy.” Epic tried to placate him as he turned back to crouch in front of Cross and gently place his hands on the claw ensnaring his talus. “Y'know I don’t really sleep. I’m just gonna go check on Chara and then—”

“Please?”

Epic stopped.

“Please, sleep beside me?”

Mates Nested together.

Epic’s confliction melted away and Cross exhaled in quiet relief, grateful that his best friend would readily do anything for him if he gave the word. “…Okay,” he gently squeezed Cross’s claw. Understanding, Cross let go. “Lemme go grab my sleeping bag and,” Epic slowed when Cross pouted at him with dilated, imploring eyelights. “…You wanna cuddle me, don’t you?”

Low and slow, purrs revved right back up as Cross visibly brightened at Epic’s correct deduction. “Yes.”

Epic smiled, somewhat exasperated but not at all put out. “Okay. Lemme grab the blanket? I cleaned that too while you dozed.”

Cross nodded. With that affirmation, Epic’s violet eyelight flared, wisps of faint purple mana billowing out his socket and surrounding the large comforter to tug it off the floor and up onto Cross.

The soldier held his arm out and Epic easily slid into his embrace, circling Cross with his own arm and tucking himself against the other’s chest as the blanket covered both their shoulders.

Epic stroked Cross’s back while the other watched Epic dismiss the gravity magic and his eyes returned to normal “This good?”

“Perfect.”

Epic was in the Nest and in Cross’s arms, exactly where he belonged.

Safe and warm, Epic’s body and scent flooding his senses, Cross allowed his sockets to close once more.

“Goodnight, Cross.”

“Night, Epic.”

And fell asleep feeling cherished and loved cared for.

When Cross fell asleep Epic sighed. Moving his hand from Cross’s back and up to cradle his face, his thumb stroking the right cheekbone where Cross’s crimson scar remained.

He was worried about him. He knew recovery would be a long, slow battle, with Cross needing to heal from mental and physical trauma alike, but that didn’t mean Epic disliked that.

He wished he could’ve been there when Cross had disappeared, wished he could’ve protected him and stopped whatever had happened to him that turned him into a chimera.

If Epic had the chance to go back and switch places with Cross, he would’ve done it in a Soulbeat. Anything to keep his best friend safe and happy.

Cold, simmering rage boiled in his marrow, his dormant LV rising under his vengeful fury.

He wouldn't stop, wouldn't rest, until he found who’d done this to his friend and made them give Cross his body back. And if they couldn’t?

Epic was planning on letting them suffer long and slow, exactly like they’ve done to Cross, either way.

Cross sighed in his sleep, the adorable chirp and nuzzle he gave as he rubbed his nose indent with Epic’s washed away his rage and filled him with fond warmth instead. He nuzzled back, Soul melting when Cross smiled wide and happy from the gesture.

Later. Epic would deal with these thoughts later. Right now, he had more important things to do.

And that was letting Cross know how loved he was, when asleep or awake.

“I’ll take care of you, Cross.” Epic swore with all his heart and Soul. “For as long as you’ll let me.”

Until he was nothing but dust, this he swore.

#cross sans #epic sans #crepic #dude and bruh #epiccross #crepic fanfic #my writing #not my au #but I adore it #yall should absolutely check it out #and X’s writing #it’s all so good

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