#in a few places and i think it kinda works??

[inkpetrichor]

Nasty Dog! | Kuroo Tetsurou x f!reader

1.- Part one.

masterlist here<3

cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. smoking. cursing. smut. dry humping. dirty talking. power struggle. both you and kuroo are kinda feral. lemme know if i missed anything ;3 wc. 5.6k an. i blame this on sir mix-a-lot and my instagram fyp. enjoy<3 comments are appreciated <3

And when I catch a little kitty lookin', oh, so tough Bring hot water 'cause I might get stuck!

Nekoma wasn't huge, but it wasn't some tiny rundown school either. It wasn't a prestigious rich-kid academy like Fukurodani, but it wasn't a dump. You'd call it perfectly average—just balanced enough to create a decent social jungle. The school had its fair share of quiet nerds, top-ranking students, sports freaks, and, of course, the so-called delinquents, as adults liked to whisper whenever they saw kids with piercings, dyed hair, or a cigarette hanging from their lips.

You? You belonged in the latter category.

Which is why, during lunch break, you and your bestfriend Emi had a cigarette and a canned coffee for lunch, tucked into a secluded corner she'd found and claimed after a teacher caught you smoking behind the gym a week before and threw a fit about it, forcing you to find a better place.

You leaned against the sun-warmed brick, one boot crossed over the other as the late morning light sliced through the cracks between the buildings. The sky was too blue for how shitty the day had started.

"Inukai-sensei scolded you again? What a drag." Emi's voice broke through the idle silence, syrupy with a mix of concern and genuine amusement. She had her eyes closed and face looking up into the sky, bathing in the sun like a happy cat.

You nodded in response.

"Another lecture about skipping class and how I could amount to more and to 'please think of my future' and yeah... The usual." You waved a hand in the air as if you could swat away his voice. Just retelling it made your skin itch with anxiety. You patted your blazer for your cigarettes.

Emi let out a thoughtful hum. And opened her eyes to study you with a tilt of her head.

"Well, he's right. You used to get really good grades in first year..."

You shot her a disgusted look, scrunching your nose.

She laughed, brushing you off. "Hey, I'm just saying. Why waste your time with us anyway? Why don't you listen to Inukai-sensei and get your grades back up?"

"I just don't get the point of chasing 'academic success' All that effort just to end up working in some office that'll suck me dry and bury me under unpaid overtime like the rest of this country?" You scoffed, still patting your pockets. "Bullshit... Where are the fucking things?"

Emi rolled her eyes and reached into your bag, retrieving the familiar box with a practiced flick of her wrist. She stole one for herself, already slipping it between her glossy lips.

Emi was loud, pouty, and wore trouble like lip gloss. Shiny, sweet, and impossible to ignore, she floated through the chaos of Nekoma High with a glossy grin, a one too many questionable friends (one of them being you). The perfect image of a bleach-blonde puppy pretending to run with the big dogs.

But underneath the fake lashes and the too-short skirts, she was pure heart: loyal, messy, a little reckless, and your best friend.

She loved too fast, forgave too easily, and stuck to your side like her life depended on it. In a city full of knives disguised as smiles, Emi was an open wound— raw, real, and stupidly brave. A rare trait in Nekoma. You'd landed more than a few punches to protect her, and you were willing to land many more if it meant she was out of harm.

"You sound like such a snob, Y/N."

You snorted as she handed over the box.

"Thanks, babes," you whispered as you took it form her hands, pulling a cigarette out of the box. "Call me whatever you want. As long as I pass and graduate, the rest is useless." You bit down on the filter of your cigarette, patting your pockets again, this time in search of your lighter.

"Sure, sure. You've gotten enough lectures today. I've got my own problems anyway." Emi sighed, reaching into your left pocket and fishing out the lighter. She lit her own cigarette before handing it to you. You gave her a grateful nod. "Yasuo broke up with me. What's up with that?"

You didn't really hear her. Your lips parted just a little, cigarette hanging forgotten between your lips. Your gaze was already drifting toward something—someone—far more interesting.

Kuroo Tetsurou, striding across the schoolyard.

Broad shoulders, long legs, the kind of posture that said I know exactly who I am. His hair was a wild mess—bedhead in the most deliberate, devastating way, like he'd rolled out of someone else's bed and still looked hotter than anyone had a right to. It was all jagged spikes and volume, practically defying gravity, but somehow it worked for him.

Too well.

Next to him walked a shorter guy with a slouched posture and his eyes glued to his phone. But your eyes? Locked on Kuroo like a heat-seeking missile.

He turned his head slightly, talking to his friend with a lazy grin. You caught a glimpse of sharp, narrow eyes and a grin that looked like trouble. The kind of cocky smile that said he knew exactly what you were thinking and was daring you to think it louder.

Your heartbeat stuttered, then picked up like it was trying to break free from your chest.

Fuck, he was hot.

The kind of hot that made you want to do something reckless. Like ruin your academic record. Or make it better. Or crawl into his lap and ask him to tutor you in anything but math.

Eureka.

"Very cute," you muttered under your breath and lit up the smoke, eyes raking over him like he was your next bad decision wrapped in a school uniform.

(He was.)

Emi's voice rose in protest beside you. "Hey! Are you even listening to me?"

You crushed the flavor capsule between your teeth, a little too hard.

"Who's the hottie? Never seen him before..." you murmured, half to yourself, half to Emi—afraid that if you took your eyes from him, he'd vanish.

Emi's annoyed pout was immediately replaced by a curious squint. "Eh?"

"The tall one, next to the blondie," you pressed with a jerk of your chin in his direction, your body practically leaning forward like gravity itself was pulling you toward him. "You know him?"

Of course she did. Emi knew everyone.

She followed your line of sight—and her face lit up with recognition. "Oh! I do, he's the captain of the volleyball team... Tetsurou! Kuroo Tetsurou. He's in Class 5, I think."

"Kuroo Tetsurou-kun, huh?" You rolled the name over your tongue like candy, savoring every syllable. "Class 5... so hot and smart. I like."

You needed him.

Biblically.

You didn't notice Emi's wide-eyed stare as she put two and two together, looking between you and Kuroo with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

"Wait—seriously? Him?" she spluttered.

You shot her a glare, brows raised.

"Don't get me wrong," she rushed, "he is hot. And he does sports. And he's like, top of his class, I'm pretty sure. Pretty good catch... for a good girl."

You scoffed. "Pfff. Who's the snob now?"

"I'm just saying. I don't think he'd mingle with the likes of us. You could have any of the guys if you wanted."

You made a face like you'd tasted something sour. "The guys have no brains. And even less charm. Brain-eating bacteria would starve up there."

She blinked. "Brain-eating... what?"

You shrugged, lighting your cigarette with a smirk. "Besides, it's the chase that's exciting. He looks like a tough cookie. I like that."

Emi snorted. "Girl, if he's a cookie, you're a box of cheap cigs. You two don't mix."

But you weren't listening anymore.

Your sights were set, your interest fully piqued. Your mind was already spinning a thousand possibilities.

And right now? You wanted Kuroo Tetsurou under you.

Or on top of you.

Or really anywhere he wanted to be. But that was beside the point.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing on him like a predator sizing up prey.

"Magnetism, honey. Polar opposites attract... sometimes."

You took another drag, eyes back on Emi. "But no pain, no gain. Whaddaya think?"

"I think you're insane," Emi said, laughing, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But I love it when you get that crazy look in your eyes. It means a shitshow's about to happen."

"Thank you, babes."

"You know it. Always got your back."

"If you need someone dead, you know who to call." You winked, and she rolled her eyes with a smile.

"No new info there." She took her final drag, then ground the cigarette out under her shoe.

She turned back toward Kuroo and his friend. "Okay, but real talk—how're you gonna pull this off? You need a plan."

You mirrored her movement, flicking away your cigarette and pulling a tissue from your blazer pocket to pick it up.

"I'm working on one. Step zero is in motion." You handed her the crumpled tissue. "Pick up your butt or the teachers will know we smoke here now."

"Oh shit, you're right." She bent to grab the butt, mumbling as she moved. "You see? You're smart—Eh? Where are you—"

When she looked up, you were already walking.

Purpose in every step.

The distance between you and him closed with every beat of your heart, Emi's voice fading behind you as she scrambled to catch up. The sun hit your back. The breeze lifted your hair. And in your head?

You were already imagining his hands on your waist, his voice in your ear, the way that smirk might look beneath you.

He looked even taller up close.

Even hotter.

And you needed him like your lungs needed that next hit of nicotine.

The two boys stopped talking, eyes flicking up as you approached.

Kenma scrunched his nose immediately, catching a whiff of cigarette smoke before he could.

You looked up at Kuroo with a tilted head and a smirk.

"What's your name?" you asked, even though you already knew.

Conversation had to start somewhere.

You caught it—a flicker. His pupils dilated. A split-second widening of the eyes before suspicion slammed into place.

Cute.

Kuroo was already analyzing you. Running the odds. He couldn't quite place what your intentions were, but something about the way you looked at him told him it couldn't be anything good. His eyes narrowed, as though trying to peel back the layers of your carefully crafted nonchalance. He didn't trust easily, and people like you... well, you had a way of being unpredictable.

Kuroo knew you, or at least he had heard of you. You were infamous in ways that made most people wary, always getting into fights with girls and boys alike, to the point that more than one person he knew was outright afraid of you. Still, for some reason, the teachers—despite the rebellious streak you wore like armor—seemed to favor you. They kept trying to pull you out of whatever bumpy road you'd decided to drive down, but he couldn't see why.

You were... trouble. Big trouble.

But despite that, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. And damn it, he couldn't help but wonder if it was curiosity or something deeper that had him paying more attention to you than he probably should.

You were also lowkey hot to him—highkey, super pretty. But way too much trouble to pursue.

So, what the hell were you doing right in front of him?

"Kuroo Tetsurou," he answered, tone neutral.

"Nice. I'm—"

"Y/N," he interrupted. "Most people know you."

"Most people know about me." You caught the way Kenma cringed at your words. It made you smile.

There was a moment of silence between you, where you took your sweet time examining his features. His eyes flickered, maybe to keep his cool, maybe to hide the fact that he was intrigued—his eyebrows raised, like saying 'So... what do you want?'

But he was fronting. Freaking out on the inside. Still trying to make sense of you. He wasn't sure if you were about to punch him, kiss him, or just walk away. The worst part? He couldn't figure out which one he hated less.

Your unassuming smile made it hard to read you, but there was something in the way you looked at him he liked. Your eyes looked curious. Like a dog sniffing a possible friend.

Or a prey.

"Would you tutor me?" You saw Kuroo's eyes snap to Emi, whose jaw hit the floor the moment the words left your lips.

He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, tutor me. My homeroom teacher has been giving me shit about grades, and I'd like to graduate."

He shrugged. "Naturally."

Oh, so he was a smartass.

"Would you?"

"Why me?"

"Aren't you in class 5? That means you're smart."

He wasn't budging. His expression remained unconvinced, the flicker of suspicion in his eyes never fully disappeared. And then there was the look on Emi's face, like she was questioning your sanity. Yeah, that confirmed it—he was right.

This was bullshit. There had to be more to it than just grades.

"I'll pay you."

Both Kenma and Emi looked at you with wide, unblinking eyes. Kuroo's lips curled into a sly smirk. 

Now he was really curious. 

He leaned in just a little, intrigued. "How much?"

"1000 yen." Emi's eyes almost popped out of her head. Why were you willing to pay him?

"3000 yen." Kenma's face shot to Kuroo, equally shocked. Why was he raising the price?

Your smile grew. Why was this kinda hot?

"Are you trying to scam me, smart boy?"

"Pfft, that's a miscalculation, considering you'll be taking away my study time to help you out."

You raised an eyebrow.

He looked down at you like he didn't regret this conversation anymore.

And you looked up at him like you were about to set his entire world on fire.

"2500." You offered your final bid. His smirk widened.

"Y/N!" Emi whispered in urgency.

"Done."

Your smile grew. "Okay. Thursdays after class."

"After practice," he corrected, voice smooth.

You shrugged. That worked for you.

"Can I go watch?" you teased, flashing a cheeky grin.

"I'd rather not." His smirk deepened as a pout tugged at your lips. That look suited you.

"Fair. See you Thursday, smart boy~" You waved a hand at both of them as you turned to walk away.

Kuroo watched you go, still wearing that crooked grin—but now, there was something else behind it. Interest. Amusement. A flicker of intrigue he hadn't expected to feel on a Monday. You'd crashed into his day like a storm in lip gloss and leather, and now he couldn't stop wondering what the hell you really wanted from him.

Kenma nudged his elbow. "You're actually gonna tutor her?"

"She's paying," he replied, though his gaze was still on your retreating figure. "And she's... interesting."

"Interesting's one word for it," Kenma muttered, unamused.

Meanwhile, Emi was dragging you down the school grounds back to your little corner like you were a possessed doll, whisper-screaming at you in complete disbelief.

"What the actual hell was that?!"

"What?" you said, feigning innocence as you pulled out another cigarette, mostly for effect. "I got a tutor. Aren't you proud of me?"

"You just offered to pay the guy to spend time with you—and called him smart boy, by the way. That was a little cringe."

You exhaled with a grin, smoke curling past your lips. "And he didn't say no."

Emi looked like she wanted to peel her own face off, but she wore a shocked smile.

"You're insane," she whispered, like she couldn't believe you.

But you? You felt electric. Buzzing with adrenaline and reckless possibility.

Being honest, even you couldn't explain what had you this hooked in the first place. It wasn't like you to flirt, let alone sleep around—especially not with some guy you'd just met. You weren't even that experienced, really. Just good at faking it when you had to. You knew how to make guys back off, not draw them in. And you liked it that way—especially with a friend as stupidly pretty as Emi. 

Someone had to be the one with teeth.

But the second you laid eyes on Kuroo, something unfamiliar ignited in your chest. Hot. Sharp. Wild. It didn't feel like danger, not exactly—but it burned just the same. And without thinking twice, without looking back, you lunged toward it like instinct. Like hunger.

You weren't chasing chaos for the thrill this time.

You were chasing him.

And there wasn't a single part of you planning to stop.

When Thursday rolled around—and after confirming to Emi three separate times that yes, you were going to pay him, and yes, you were trying to fuck him—you actually paid attention in class. Took notes, too, so you didn't show up to tutoring empty-handed. Half-assed, sure, but it was something. You even waited for him outside school like you said you would.

The spring wind clawed at your jacket as you leaned against the weather-worn "Nekoma Metropolitan High School" sign, flicking ash from your cigarette like you weren't freezing your ass off. Rust crept along the metal edges, and the chain-link fence behind you rattled every time the breeze picked up. You looked every bit the part of a stray dog waiting to be fed—eyes sharp, restless, scanning for the only person you'd follow home.

You caught sight of him leaving the gym, towel slung around his neck, hair damp and a little more tousled than usual from practice. Of course he wasn't alone—Kenma trailed behind, glued to his phone, already scowling once he noticed you.

Kuroo slowed when he saw you, surprise flickering across his face. He clearly hadn't expected you to follow through on your offer, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he couldn't decide whether to be impressed or concerned. But once it was clear you were serious—and once you confirmed the study session was happening at your place—he tossed a quick goodbye over his shoulder and followed you through the alley-strewn veins of Tokyo.

Your apartment complex looked like it had seen better decades. Rusty stairwells, cracked concrete, the faint smell of piss, mildew, and something metallic hanging in the air like a permanent tenant. Neon light from a busted sign across the street flickered through your broken blinds. The building groaned when the wind pushed through its joints, and the elevator had been broken since forever. Kuroo took it all in with that quiet, unreadable look you'd noticed he got sometimes—eyes narrowed, thoughtful.

He didn't say anything. That was somehow worse.

Inside, the place wasn't much better. Cigarette smoke clung to the yellowing walls. A stained countertop, three empty ramen cups, a crumpled paper bag, and a scrawled note waited:

For your tutoring and anything else. I have a fight today. Grandma's at the pachinko. Behave.

It was scrawled in your dad's sloppy, half-illegible handwriting. Kuroo read it, then blinked slowly like he wasn't sure if he was impressed or deeply concerned.

You grabbed the bag, tossing the note into the dented trash bin with a smirk.

"A fight." he muttered, still processing as he followed you down the hall. His gaze drifted around your room like it was offering up pieces of you without permission—band posters, a half-broken fan, a low table in front of a dusty floor TV.

"My dad's a boxer," you explained, toeing off your slippers and throwing your bag onto the bed.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "And your grandma's a—"

"Pachinko enthusiast," you finished, grin crooked. "So we've got the place to ourselves until at least nine."

You thought he'd get the hint. His Adam's apple bobbed—nervous? Excited? You couldn't tell. But when he sat down cross-legged at your low table and pulled out his books like he was actually here to tutor you, you almost groaned aloud.

"So," he said, pulling a blue folder from his bag, "let's see what you're failing."

"You actually got my report card? That's commitment." you said, raising a brow.

He ignored your teasing as he flipped through the papers. "You're not failing anything, surprisingly. But your chem grades are garbage."

You flopped dramatically onto your bed. "I'm struggling."

"I see that," he muttered, pulling out a notebook. "Come on."

You sat up with a groan and dragged yourself to the table, grabbing a pen. He didn't look at you when you settled beside him, but you caught the slight shift in his posture when your knee bumped his. He cleared his throat and started explaining covalent bonds.

You half-listened. You watched his mouth move instead. His voice was smooth, confident. He was focused, leaning over your textbook, one hand pointing at a diagram, the other scribbling notes with clean, sharp handwriting. He smelled like cheap body spray, shampoo and faint sweat from practice.

Your hand slipped onto his thigh.

"Tetsurou-kun," you said, all syrup and heat, "you can't seriously think you're here to actually study, right?"

He froze. Swallowed. Then, to your shock, lifted his gaze with forced calm. "What am I?" he asked. "Some common whore you're gonna pay to fuck?"

The words cut sharper than you expected. Your smile faltered. You hadn't meant it like that. You weren't sure what you'd meant, actually. Suddently this whole thing felt a little shittier.

Your fingers twitched where they rested against his thigh, but you didn't pull them back.

"N-no," you muttered. "I just—" You exhaled, frustrated. "I didn't think this far ahead, okay?"

He watched you. Read through you. His expression softened a little, the edge in his voice gone. But he still didn't touch you.

You were about to say something else—maybe change the subject, maybe apologize—when he talked again, teasing.

"You actually want to learn this or not?"

You blinked, thrown off. "Huh?"

He held up the notebook. "Chemistry."

You stared at him. Then, grudgingly, nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

You leaned in, this time actually paying attention. Took notes. Bit your lip when he smirked at your compliments and felt your stomach tighten every time he laughed when you cursed at the confusing parts.

"Not gonna lie, you make this sound way easier than the teacher. What the fuck," you grumbled.

He seemed to like the praise, smiling beside you while he continued to explain. His voice settled into your ears like warm honey. When you answered his questions right, he smirked. When you got one wrong, he nudged you with his knee and explained it again, slower this time. You hated that he was good at this. That he made you want to keep going just to see the way his eyes lit up when you understood something.

Eventually, the lesson became background noise. Your focus shifted to the way his knee brushed yours, to the way he stole glances at your thighs like he didn't want to be caught but also didn't care enough to stop. To the way his fingers moved—long, elegant, tapping the page as he talked, not realising he was doing it. His mouth, his voice, his brain—God, this was so much worse than you'd planned. He was actually hot and smart.

You were openly staring at his lips when he finally noticed.

"What?" he asked, brow arching.

"Nothing," you said, leaning back with a slow smirk. "Just wondering how you make covalent bonds sound hot."

That got a laugh, rough and short. But his ears were a little pink.

"Thought you liked ionic bonds more," he teased with a raised brow.

"Don't get me wrong, ionic bonds are cool. Covalent bonds are... hot."

"That's a new one," he said, voice low. "Gonna start rating chemistry terms by sex appeal now? Want me to whisper 'intermolecular forces' next?"

You snorted. "Don't tempt me. I might actually learn something."

"Blasphemy," he said, mock-scandalized. "You learning? In my presence? Next thing I know you'll be asking about valence electrons like you mean it."

You sat up, leaned in, and closed the book between you with a soft thud.

"Okay, I was good. I listened. Took notes. Didn't even flirt for twenty straight minutes." You raised a brow. "Now, when are you gonna stop pretending this is actually about chemistry?"

That wiped the grin off his face—but not entirely. It curved at the corners, wry and knowing. His gaze didn't leave yours. You saw the fraying edges of restraint, the tension vibrating between you.

"Isn't it?" he asked, the words almost gentle.

But his pupils blew wide when they dropped to your lips. You caught it. And still, you didn't move. You weren't about to force it. A single "no" or even a flicker of hesitation from him and you were ready to throw in the towel, swallow your embarrassment for the rest of the session—maybe learn some more chemistry and then avoid him for the rest of your last school year. Hopefully, the rest of your life.

You let the silence hang a beat longer.

"Look..." you exhaled. "I'm not really good at this. I just pretend I am."

That caught him off guard.

He could tell—you were slick, but he was smart. Sharp enough to see through you and that overconfident persona you put on, but he hadn't expected you to admit it. Not like this. Not in your room, with his textbook sitting closed between your thighs. At least, he knew he wouldn't have.

You saw the shift immediately—his breath catching, his posture tightening ever so slightly.

"Huh," he said after a second. "Guess I'm not the only one bluffing their way through this study session."

"So you're saying you don't get turned on by covalent bonds?"

That earned a soft huff. He leaned forward, eyes sharp, voice low.

"Depends. Are you offering to share some electrons, or...?"

You laughed. His hand moved slowly, fingers brushing your hair behind your ear. And when he looked at you this time, it wasn't with that usual playful glint.

It was something raw. Like honesty.

"I like you," you admitted, tilting your head slightly. "But I don't really know what I'm doing."

"Good," he murmured. "Then we're even."

Then, slowly—finally—he leaned in to meet your lips.

Soft at first. Testing. But when you answered back—with a hunger he didn't expect—the leash snapped. His hand slid behind your neck, anchoring you against him as his mouth claimed yours. His tongue licked into your mouth with filthy, unhurried precision, dragging a whimper from your throat.

He kissed like he meant it. No fumbling. No hesitation.

You gasped when he tugged your hair just enough to tilt your head back, and the gasp melted into a moan when his other hand traced up your spine, pulling you closer—guiding you over to sit on his left thigh. Your fingers twisted into his shirt, clutching him like he was the only thing holding you up.

"You're all talk," he muttered against your lips, grinning when you shivered after a well-placed flex of his thigh. "But so am I."

You squeezed your eyes shut—dazed, aching, and a little embarrassed.

"...Shut up," you breathed, your usual sass caught somewhere between your throat and the pounding in your chest.

His smile turned downright wicked. His mouth dragged along your jaw, down your neck. You squirmed, knees bracketing his thigh as his hands slipped under your shirt, palms hot and rough against the bare skin of your back and waist.

"You don't have to act tough," he whispered, voice rough and reverent. "I think I like you more like this. Messy."

His mouth dipped to your collarbone, kissing and biting the sensitive skin. Every nerve in your body lit up.

Your head tilted back to give him more space, heart thudding so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. Your tough-girl act had fully melted now, replaced with the kind of hunger you'd been feeling since the first time you saw him—the kind of hunger you didn't know how to fake.

"God," you gasped. "You're not supposed to be good at this..."

He chuckled low in his throat, kissing a line down your chest. "Top of my class, remember?"

"Smart boy..." you growled—but it came out more like a broken, desperate plea. "If you don't—"

He cut you off with another kiss, deeper, devastating. His hands dragged up your stomach, slow and sure, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra with maddening patience.

You tried to shove him gently back, straddling his lap like you could wrestle some control back—but the second his dark, hungry gaze locked onto yours, you felt your composure crack.

"You sure you're inexperienced?" you asked, trying to tease—but your voice betrayed you, too breathless to land the hit.

He didn't even dignify it with a real answer. Just kissed you again, harder—tongue sweeping into your mouth like he fucking owned it. His hands clutched your hips like he was trying to brand himself into your bones, and after a small, involuntary moan slipped from your throat, you pulled back with a narrowed look, silently demanding a response.

He just shrugged. That maddening, smug little shrug. Like he hadn't just made your whole body tremble.

"I'm a fast learner," he said, trailing his mouth down your throat, voice dropping lower.

A shiver went up your spine as he bit down at your pulse point, and you whimpered, threading your fingers into his messy hair and tugging.

Still, you didn't stop him.

Didn't want to.

This was what you wanted, wasn't it? To see if all that cocky arrogance and big-dick energy were just a front.

And judging by the thick length of him, already hard beneath you and pressing snug under your embarrassingly wet core... You might've bitten off more than you could chew.

Kuroo unbuttoned your shirt slowly, peeled it off your shoulders, and tossed it aside—then paused for just a second.

His gaze was scorching.

Starving. Almost reverent.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed. "What a pain in the ass."

"Huh? Which one is it?" you whispered, smirking—until his mouth latched onto the top of your breast, sucking hard enough to make you tense a little. It burned in the best way—lingering and possessive.

He unclasped your bra like he'd done it a thousand times, and the second you were bare in front of him, his hands were everywhere—palming your tits, dragging his thumbs over your nipples until they were tight and sensitive. Squeezing. Claiming.

Then his mouth followed.

Hot. Wet. Perfect.

His tongue circled a nipple, then flicked it—slow at first, then rougher—and you arched with a soft, broken moan.

"Oh my god," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as your hips rolled. "You're dangerous."

He laughed against your skin, biting just enough to make you jolt. "Top of my class," he muttered again—infuriating, smug, hot as hell.

You rocked down harder, grinding against the hard bulge in his pants, and his breath stuttered. He gripped your hips tighter—bruising—guiding your movement with a low, wrecked groan.

"Fuuuck..." he breathed. "Do that again."

You did—and something snapped.

His hands shot down to unzip your skirt, and you let him, lifting your hips so he could drag it off and toss it somewhere on your floor, leaving you in nothing but lace panties. Bare thighs. Wet as hell.

He didn't even strip off his shirt, still fully clothed—his mouth just went right back to you, trailing down your chest with a reverent slowness that made your pulse jackhammer. You felt his lips, his tongue, worshipping every inch like it meant something, while little groans and moans escaped his lips as you rode him over his pants.

His lips were swollen, your skin flushed, legs wrapped around him as he rolled his hips into yours, pressing you harder against his thick cock. His hands moved over your body like he owned it—confident, thorough, maddeningly slow.

And every time you thought you had control, he took it back.

Faster.

Rougher.

More deliberate.

His grip bruised. His tongue fucked into your mouth like he was chasing a high. Your panties were soaked, clinging to your folds, and your clit throbbed with every subtle shift of your hips against him. You didn't even care how obvious it was.

You wanted him. All of him.

Every time you rocked down onto the thick bulge in his pants, you could feel the friction spark—sharp, maddening, electric. The tension inside you built in waves, tightening with each grind, pressure curling low in your belly, spiraling toward something reckless.

You were right on the edge, strung so tight you felt like you'd snap if he so much as exhaled too close.

And the worst part? He was trying to keep quiet. You could feel him trying—holding back. Swallowing grunts. Burying moans against your skin.

But they kept slipping out.

Low, desperate sounds tearing from his throat with each drag of your body against his cock. His breath caught every time you moved—hitching, stuttering, wrecked. You could feel it vibrate in his chest, in his mouth, in the fists he clenched on your hips like he was trying not to beg.

Oh you could only imagine he was a loud fucker.

Those sounds were unraveling you faster than anything else.

And still you kept grinding. Kept chasing the friction.

You were dizzy with it. Hot and wet and aching. So close you could barely breathe.

"Don't stop," you whispered—your voice low, needy. "Just... don't stop."

He froze.

Just for a beat. Just long enough to make your heart lurch.

Then he leaned in, lips ghosting over your throat, collarbone, jawline.

"Oh, I'm not stopping right now," he said, voice rough like a sin. "I'm just choosing when."

You scoffed, tried to grind again—but his grip locked you down, holding you in place like you weighed nothing.

"God, you're..." He cut himself off with a ragged breath as his fingers slipped under the waistband of your panties—just barely. Teasing. "Didn't know you were this fucking greedy."

"I'm not," you argued. "But you are. You're so—fuck—you're cocky."

He laughed—quiet and mean—and you felt it echo through his mouth as it dragged over your bare tits again, tongue leaving wet, hot trails.

"If I keep going..." he murmured, lips ghosting over one aching nipple, "...I'm not going to stop."

You looked down at him, lips parted, chest heaving. "That's not a problem."

But he just stared at you—hungry, calculating. Controlled to a fucking fault.

"You're paying me to tutor you," he said.

Calm. Dangerous. Like a warning—or like a reminder. To you. To himself. Maybe both.

"And you think this is a game."

Your stomach flipped. You didn't know if it was the way he said it—so calm and knowing—or the fact that he was absolutely right.

And then he leaned close, mouth brushing your ear, breath hot and voice fucking lethal.

"I'm not going to fuck you just because you're good at pretending you want me."

Your whole body locked.

Then his hand slid up between your legs, pressing against your clit—hard enough to make your spine curve, but still not enough to finish you.

"I'm going to make you mean it."

You moaned, hips bucking—but before you could chase it, he was already pulling away. Already lifting you off him.

Gone.

Just like that, the warmth of him was gone.

He stood, chest rising and falling, one hand dragging through his hair like he needed air. The other palmed his cock through his pants—thick, straining—not even trying to hide it.

"I'll see you next Thursday," he said, voice maddeningly even. "For chemistry."

Then he smirked.

And walked out.

Left you half-naked, flushed and aching, sitting on the floor of your room.

Ruined.

Fucking prick.

tags. taglist open! let me know in the comments <3

Next chapter↪ (coming soon<3)

[teruthecreator]

gimme 1 and 17 dialtown ☎️

hiiiii griffin i hope you're having a good time at graduation. probably not since u sent this ask but hey man i get i too was on my phone during graduation. anyway

1. the character everyone gets wrong

oh boy where do i start with this. i mean like. tee bee aych i feel like most people have a fundamental misunderstanding of randy. like he's not pathetic for pathetics sake he kind of intentionally puts himself in the worst situations imaginable to feed his worldview of everything being bad for Him specifically and no one else. the fandom kind of babygirls him? like treats him softer and generally makes him more of a shy uwu guy rather than a person stuck deeply in his own fractured worldview that is intentionally letting himself get worse. like randy's whole route is about making him realize his happiness is His Choice, His Decision and not a work of fate/luck/unseen outside force that he has to relinquish control to, and everyone just goes "yeah but what if we make him sopping wet uwu yaoibait guy with oliver".

speaking of oliver i feel like EEEEEEEEEVERYBODY makes him way too wacky and not actually grounded. like, despite his many odd mannerisms and such, he is still one of the few characters who has a job and is able to Maintain That throughout his route (though, of course, in the good route it changes). oliver is a pretty stable guy, all things considered. sure he talks funny and has a general inclination for the ridiculous, but a lot of people kinda coke him up and let him run loose like he's a wild animal. and i think it's more fun if you ground him in a place of reality and then let him play. instead of being the guy to drag people into stuff, let him be a part of a scenario and see what his reactions are. much more fun. also i feel like a lot of people forget how, like, awkward he is? like he tends to apologize when he says really outlandish/forward shit and seems to view Himself as a "freak" in a way that would suggest he's aware of how he stands in comparison to most people. like dude knows he's weird, and that's not Always a good thing.

and yknow what while im talking about the main dateables i would be remiss to bring up karen because like. WOW. i mean this is a problem with most fandom spaces unfortunately but the way people straightman her is so fucking sad. like people forget she literally quit her job on a Whim because someone vaguely suggested leaving and she went full throttle. karen is impulsive and karen makes bad decisions based on rash judgments and she is generally not that hard to goad into doing something stupid. i mean, she agreed to a date with gingi. twice! that takes some real loose grips on impulse control to just go along with that. like sure she is a bit more deadpan than, say, oliver, but she does have a sense of humor. she likes to use sarcasm! she has wit she has sass. also she is like. INSANELY jealous and i feel like a lot of people dont hone in on that aspect of her being the reason why she is sometimes so rash. she is fiercely protective of those she considers "hers". she wanted to Kill A Giraffe because gingi liked it. she is jealous she is rash she is impulsive PLAY IN THE SPACE STOP MAKING HER THE DEADPAN STRAIGHTMAN ITS SO BORINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

okay that's enough of that but just know i could've done it for every character

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

maybe i am insanely ridiculously biased but there should more content of mingus and norm. or just mingus. or norm. those two are SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO fascinating and i feel like people kinda gloss over that. like they're similar beasts in their rampant paranoia and flawed perspective on callum/the world and they butt heads about it like crazy. generally their dynamic is one of the most interesting parts of chapter 3 to me and i feel like there really isn't enough chapter 3-focused content out there. we should talk about these guys more. and if i have to stand on a podium and take a stand there should be more content of MINGUS. girl is the driving antagonist of AN ENTIRE ARC. BASICALLY THE WHOLE GAME IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT. AND NOOOOOO I DON'T SEE HER ANYWHERE. IS IT BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T FIT IN YOUR FOUND FAMILY DYNAMIC? IS IT BECAUSE SHE'S A WOMAN? I DON'T KNOW I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DIRECT YOU PEOPLE TOWARDS HER BUT I WANT TO. if my brain was functioning at the capacity it was last july i would've written ten million fics about her i have so many days. alas, i don't know if they'll ever happen... (but if people were curious i would gladly share)

but in a slightly more biased take, i think there needs to be more normingus in the world. how we were the chosen few to proclaim the good word of normingus is beyond me. like don't get me wrong i'm happy tryt had its impact but JESUS CHRIST I SHOULD NOT BE THE MOST POPULAR. SOMEONE ELSE COME TRY AND PLAY IN THE SPACE WITH ME. I CAN GIVE YOU IDEAS. I CAN GIVE YOU SO MANY IDEAS.

[bearforcecaptions]

"What's the matter, not enjoying quality time with your dad?" he asked, hoisting his backpack higher on one shoulder, his voice too casual to be real.

I turned away, my fists stuffed into my jacket pockets. "Don't," I muttered.

He sighed. "Come on, you can't still be mad about—"

"You're not my dad," I snapped, whipping around to face him.

He didn't even flinch. Just stood there, patient and heavyset, the way he always did now. Solid. Permanent. Like he belonged there.

Except he didn’t.

"You were my best friend," I said, voice low and burning. "You were the guy who used to sneak beers into my room, who stayed up late talking about how perfect my mom was. You were the one crashing on our couch after screwing up your life. You were—"

"I know," he said quietly.

"You were my best friend," I repeated, voice cracking just slightly. "And now you're... this."

I could see the strain around his eyes. The frustration he kept clamped down tight.

"I am your dad," he said, measured. "And I have been for a long time."

"No. You’re not. You made yourself my dad. You rewrote everything — my childhood, my memories, me." I shook my head. "You replaced my real father. You took his place. You took mine."

He let the words hang between us for a moment. Then he said, "I didn’t want to."

"Bullshit."

"I didn’t," he insisted, louder now. "I thought I could make it work. That you could adapt. That we could still be family."

"We're not," I said. "You think I can ever look at you and forget who you used to be? What you did?"

He looked away, jaw tight, beard bristling as he ground his teeth.

"It’s not fair," he muttered. "I just wanted a life with you. With her. But you—you won’t let me have it."

I stared him down, heart hammering. "You made this mess. You don't get to blame me for not playing along."

Something in him seemed to crack then. Not anger — not exactly. Something heavier.

His shoulders sagged, and when he spoke, his voice was rough. "That's why it has to be this way."

I felt the air around us shift. A prickling under my skin. I took a step back, instinct roaring at me that something terrible was about to happen. "No. No, don't you—"

It hit like a tidal wave.

I staggered, clutching my stomach. Heat radiated through my body, deep into the bones. My muscles tightened, thickened. My jacket strained against new bulk. Hair prickled along my arms, my jawline itching furiously as a beard burst into full growth in seconds.

I gasped, trying to fight it, to cling to who I was — but my thoughts were already unraveling. Memories twisted like knots being pulled loose.

I wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to—

I wasn’t—

I—

The world snapped sharply into place.

I straightened up, blinking a few times to clear the weird moment of dizziness. Everything felt normal again.

Dad smiled at me, that easy, familiar grin.

"You ready for the big interview tomorrow?" he asked.

I grinned back, feeling a jolt of excitement. "Yeah. Nervous, but... excited. Marketing division's a big deal."

"You’ll crush it," Dad said, clapping a firm hand on my back. "You've been working toward this for years. Just like I did. Hell, you practically grew up at that office."

I laughed. "Yeah, not gonna lie — kinda weird interviewing at the same place you work. Think anyone's gonna go easy on me?"

He snorted. "They better not. You're gonna earn it yourself, just like I did."

The bus pulled in behind us, and we started toward it. I barely noticed the way people glanced at us — two big, broad-shouldered men, moving with the same confident stride.

Dad slung an arm around my shoulder briefly, a quick, proud gesture.

I looked up to him. I always had.

And tomorrow, I was going to make him even prouder.

[signanothername]

I know I must suck at drawing art first before getting good, and that it's unavoidable, but it hurts to be bad at art, is there a way to make it hurt my soul less? 😭😭😭

Hmm

Honestly the only advice I can think of is to remember that you’ll always grow

What I mean is, even when you get really good at it, you will come back to what you once considered “good” and see it as “bad”

Not because you actually were “bad”, but because you grew even more and therefore, when you look back at older art, that growth is very apparent that it makes you think how much you’ve improved

I think us artists are very hypercritical about our work, that’s why it hurts to see our art and feel like we’re not good enough (take it from me as someone who’s very hypercritical hdhdhdh)

(Notice how I used “work” to refer to art? Yeah, that was subconscious, we kinda tend to take art too seriously than we really should)

So instead of looking at the present and thinking about how “bad” you are rn, how about you imagine the future and think about how much better you’ll be?

We also tend to be pessimistic, too focused on every detail and want so bad for our art to be good from the get go, which is normal, we love our craft and wish to be good at it

But what we don’t usually take into consideration, is that art is a skill, there is simply no way you’ll start good, EVEN if you’re already good

What I mean is, despite being a bit decent at art, even I tend to start drawing badly when I draw a character for the first time

That’s because I’m not used to drawing these characters, and my muscle memory is nonexistent, so when I draw them, they look funnily bad

Here’s an example

Another way to help, is that you actually need to SEE that improvement

So here’s the thing, I want you to make an artwork, then after a few months (preferably 3-4 months), redraw that same artwork, and keep on redrawing it every few months

That will give you a real tangible look into your progress, and you will be able to actually see how much you truly improved in all aspects of your art, and that by turn will make you very very happy with your art

You need to be a bit more gentle with yourself and your art, stop seeing art as a sort of timed skill that you need to improve on asap like there is some sort of invisible deadline, and take it like a nice relaxing stroll in your favorite place, you don’t need to be good to enjoy art

Enjoy the process, not the outcome, once you focus on how fun art is and less about how good or bad it is, you eventually forget about wanting to be good at art and enjoy art for what it is

And once you stop focusing on how good your art looks, it’ll only take a blink for you to realize how much you improved without truly realizing it

Of course, this is real life, it’s not all roses and rainbows, you will have times in your life where you feel so bad about your art, it’s completely normal, that’s called the learning curve

What I do when I feel bad about my art is take a break from it, like actually stop doing art all together and give myself a break by watching my favorite shows, learn other skills, do whatever else that isn’t connected to art, and once I feel better, I come back to art

Art isn’t your whole life, and sometimes, it’s ok to take a break from something you love to do something else, or take things slow <3

[breakmeoff]

Dopamine

pairing: jackson wang x fem!reader warnings: swearing, suggestive dialogue, angst, comfort, aftercare. smut: oral (m and f receiving), fingering, soft dom!jackson, usage of “daddy”, praise kink. kinda turned into mostly porn w/no plot - sry not sry. MDNI, 18+ only

word count: 3.1k

synopsis: the pressure of his new album was getting to him, and the only thing that would calm his frayed nerves was getting a hit of dopamine; precious time with you. note: trying something new here, so please bear with me while i get my footing. my initial thought was to write one-shots loosely based off of some of the lyrics in jackson's songs that inspire me. however, in falling down the rabbit hole that is pinterest, i have seen so many other pictures of him that are possibly making me want to write other versions of him (husband!jackson? dad!jackson?) not quite sure yet, but i am happy to hear any/all suggestions if you have them! as always, thx for reading :)

Masterlist

Sometime after midnight, you were curled up on the couch, unintentionally passed out while the television screen played some trashy reality show you’d fallen asleep to.  

The work week had already been draining, and so after two glasses of red wine and some greasy take out, all you wanted to do was turn your brain off.  So much so, you turned off all of the lights in your apartment before collapsing onto the sofa, and shut down your phone.

A few soft, methodical knocks rapped on your front door not far from the living area.  Blinking your eyes open slowly, you looked around the room in a daze trying to refamiliarize yourself with where you were when your attention fell back on the quiet noise.  

Pushing yourself up lazily from the couch, you adjusted your sleep shorts and tugged down your oversized hoodie as you meandered to the door.

With a quick peek through the peephole, you were surprised to see the visitor just outside.  Opening the door quickly, your eyes fell on the slumped over figure of your boyfriend, Jackson, leaning against the doorframe.  “Hey…” you murmured quietly, furrowing your brows at the state of him.

Wearing his signature baggy black jeans, black hoodie pulled over his messy hair and chunky black boots, you could barely see his eyes due to the shadow of the hood over them.

“Baby, what are you doing here so late?  What time is it anyway?”  Your voice was soft, gingerly reaching out to him to pull him inside your apartment.

“Almost 1 AM, sorry, you weren’t answering your phone…” he mumbled, shuffling his feet inside before kicking off his shoes and pulling his hood back.  “I just needed to be with you.”

“I… I turned my phone off, I’m the one who is sorry.  Didn’t mean to cut you out too,” you apologized, shutting the door softly behind you.

Taking a few steps forward, Jackson lifted his arms to slump around you, burrowing his nose into your neck, breathing you in.  Feeling the weight he was carrying, your arms wrapped comfortingly around his midsection.  

“Are you ok…?”  you whispered into his ear, placing a soft kiss to his temple.

“Yeah… no… I don’t know.  Lately I’m so caught up in the moment that I’m forgetting the big picture I think.”  He paused, pulling back a little bit to press his forehead against yours with a heavy sigh.  “There's so much in my head, can't put it down.”

“Pretty substantial stuff for so late on a Wednesday night,” you tried to tease quietly.  Pressing your lips to the tip of his nose, “why don’t you go sit on the couch and I’ll make you some tea?”

Jackson finally lifted his head, making his first real attempt at eye contact with you since he walked in.  “There’s just too much on my chest…” 

You placed a comforting palm above his heart, nodding empathetically.  “Go sit down, baby.”

Turning around, he made his way over to the sofa and leaned back against the cushions, tipping his head against the back while shutting his eyes.  

A few minutes later, you came over to sit beside him, handing him a warm mug of green tea.  Shifting his eyes back to you, he took the beverage gratefully and took a slow sip before placing it on the coffee table.

Snaking one of your arms around his shoulder, you softly began kneading at his muscles, trying to relax him quietly.  

Dipping his head forward with his eyes closed, he sighed gratifyingly, mumbling something about shoulders tight.

“Tell me what’s going on, what’s got you so stressed out?”  

“I think it’s the new album, there’s a lot of pressure to get it right.  And my team is insistent that I am out there promoting almost every fucking day…” Jackson said, shifting to lean his back against you, silently encouraging you to continue rubbing his shoulders.  

“Everything just feels like it’s getting heavy, and I’m not seeing anyone turn on the light at the end of the tunnel…”

Your deft fingers continued to caress his fatigued upper body, pressure changing from light touches to firmer strokes up the column of his neck.

“The initial reactions to Buck are positive though, right?”  You murmured quietly, trying to keep the level of your voice calming to match the rhythmic motions of your hands.

“Gratefully,” Jackson agreed, sighing deeply to the feeling of your careful ministrations.  

“Be kind to yourself, there’s a lot going on right now and I know it’s got to be so draining but you have to take care of yourself too.”  With his head resting back against your shoulder, you placed a feather-light kiss to the top of his hair.

Reaching for one of your hands, Jackson pulled it down to kiss the back of your hand softly before resting it flat on his chest.  “Truthfully, I’m here because I was craving some of your care…”

“Oh yeah?”  You playfully questioned, curling your fingers into the fabric of his shirt beneath your hand.

Craning to look back up at you, a mischievous glint in his eye becoming apparent in his dark, weary face.  “I need a little smoothing out the rough…”

“That so?”  Fingernails dragging slowly across his chest, applying just enough pressure to cause his breath to hitch.

Jackson sat up again, moving his back to lean against the couch cushions as he reached out for you, hands gripping your waist in an attempt to coax you into his lap. 

“...I want relief I know only you can provide,” he murmured, ghosting his breath over your wanting, parted lips.

“I want to feel your touch…” Jackson whispered against your neck, his hands digging into your thighs as he began rocking you against his growing arousal below you, achingly slow. “I want release…” 

With your eyes pinched shut and your head tipped back, you exhaled the sweetest moan as he began trailing the tip of his tongue down the side of your throat.  “Jacks…” you whimpered breathlessly, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

One of his hands meandered its way up your back, up to the base of your scalp where his lean digits curled your hair into a makeshift ponytail and gave it a commanding, possessive tug. 

With even more of your neck now exposed to him, he sucked at your heated flesh, leaving a deep rouge bruise in his wake, eliciting another desperate whine from you.

The air between you was thick, heady with anticipation and each touch ignited a heated spark between you.  “Fuck, I love when you beg for me…” Jackson groaned, nuzzling into you as both of his hands dropped to the bottom of your hoodie, inching it up your otherwise bare hips and waist.

“The noises you make are intoxicating,” he continued, his calloused palm creeping up enough to cup your now exposed breast.  “...you’re like a damn drug, one I can’t get enough of.”  His expert fingers lightly rolled over your nipple, causing it to harden instinctively under his careful touch.

“It’s like my body just knew where to go to get a fix…” he murmured, dotting kisses along your jaw, up to your mouth, finally melting his lips against yours in a slow, all-consuming manner.  “I came here to get some dopamine,” he confessed against your mouth.

“...to get a hit of my favorite addiction,” Jackson paused, leaning back just enough to fully remove the hoodie you were wearing, exposing your chest and upper body to him entirely.  Lifting his eyes to yours, wandering hands resting on your warm, flushed skin. “... you.” 

The intimacy of his words, so poetic and full of intensity, always did something to you.  Your mutual yearning for each other never wavered.

You began rocking your hips on top of him more fervently, applying more direct pressure of your damped heat on top of his erection below which was becoming harder by the second. 

Weaving your lips together, you pressed your bare chest against his torso, the flames of your internal fire stoking your hunger for him with every movement.

“Let me take care of you baby…” you hushed against his lips, your fingers now at the bottom of his own sweatshirt, pulling it and the tank below off at a teasingly slow rate, heightening his anticipation.  

Raking your fingertips down the expanse of his defined chest muscles and toned torso, thin red lines marking his flesh that would linger as a reminder of your touch, you pushed yourself off of his lap and fell to your knees between his legs.

Jackson stayed quiet while his gaze remained fixed on your face, his lips parted, watching your every move so intently.  Though when your fingers reached to the front of his jeans, you heard his sharp inhale when you unbuttoned his pants, and drug the zipper down.  

Leaning forward, eyes still locked in on his own, you pressed a soft kiss to the curve of him straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs.  Noting the small, growing damp spot near the head of his cock, you couldn’t stop yourself from dragging your tongue against it.  

“Fuck,” he exhaled, unable to look away.

Once your fingertips reached the waist of his clothes, Jackson lifted his hips just enough to help you slide everything off, his heavy erection now twitching before you.

Eagerly, you brought your soft palm to the head of his cock, smearing the precum that had collected there to drag down his shaft.

Teasingly, you placed a chaste kiss to the leaking tip of him before dragging your tongue all the way down his hard length and right back up before wrapping your plump lips around him. 

Shifting your weight to get more comfortable, you began bobbing your head up and down him languidly, enjoying the sound of his breath getting steadily heavier.

“Shit, my lady looks so pretty with my dick in her mouth…” he cooed, gingerly moving his hand to your forehead to brush away any unruly strands of hair out of your face.  

Your cheeks flushed a soft pink at his praises, which only encouraged you to take him further down your throat.  Noticing how his words affected you, his hand shifted to the back of your head and helped guide you down as far as you could go, nose pressing into his lower abdomen as a low moan reverberated around his cock.  

“Gooood girl,” he purred, holding your head still for a moment.  “Such a good fucking girl for me.”  Releasing his hold on you, you pulled back off of him completely, gasping for air as a sticky trail of drool connected your lower lip to the head of his dick.  

Wrapping his hand around your hair again, not to force you to move, but to hold you close and keep himself grounded, he became mesmerized by the rise and fall of your breasts with your deep inhales. 

You’d never felt truly desired before Jackson, and how he looked at you like you hung all of the stars in the sky - cherished, revered, loved.  

“So tasty…” you whispered, looking up at him through your eyelashes, bobbing your head back down his flushed cock.  “Want to make you feel so good, Daddy.” 

“Fuck, you could make it go all night and I’d die a happy man,” Jackson said, his voice gravely, low, hoarse.  

Even after years of being together, the pull he had over you was undeniable.  The heat of his gaze caused you to press your thighs together, becoming desperate for some sort of friction.

Closing your eyes, you placed one of your hands on the top of his thighs for stability as your free hand snaked down the front of your body and beneath your soaked panties.  

Noticing the hitch in your breath, Jackson’s eyes moved down to your hand, unable to see it beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts.  Groaning deeply, his hips instinctively lifted, chasing the exquisite feeling of you gagging around him.

“Oh is my girl feeling needy?”  he teased, his grip on your hair tightening, thrusting against the back of your throat in slow pumps.  “Go on, touch yourself… I know you’ve been waiting for me.”

Jackson’s words of approval made you moan around him, encouraging you to press your middle and index finger against your swollen nub, rubbing small circles against the bundle of nerves.

Pulling your lips off of his cock with a loud pop, you inhaled a sharp intake of breath at the sensation between your legs.  

“Fuck,” he whispered, watching your reactions.  Bringing his hand to the base of his dick, he began stroking himself with his free hand, his other still tangled in your hair.  “Finger yourself, let me hear how wet you are.”

“Yes Daddy,” you whined, dipping the same two fingers down your slit and into your throbbing pussy.  Building a slow rhythm, you pressed the heel of your palm against your clit as a wet, squelching sound could be heard from between your thighs.

Leaning forward again, you dipped your head between his muscular legs and dragged your tongue flat against one of his balls.  Hissing at the sudden feeling of your wet, warm breath, Jackson began twisting his hand faster up and down his length. 

Sucking one of them into your mouth, you twirled the tip of your tongue around the delicate flesh, unable to help your moaning. 

The feeling of your vibrations against his most sensitive area caused his grip in your hair to tighten, and he held your head closer against his body, writhing against you as his speed on his cock became erratic.  

“Such a filthy little girl for me, drooling all over me like you can’t get enough… you like it when you’ve got Daddy’s balls in your mouth, don’t you?”  

Nodding frantically, you let go of one and switched to the other, swirling your tongue around it as your fingers buried in your cunt increased their momentum. 

“You gonna cum from just your fingers, sweet girl?”  He asked, almost more demanded.  “Put your mouth back on my cock, you better suck Daddy dry before you fucking cum.”

The switch of his tone from soft and gentle to harsh and domineering was dizzying.  Doing as he demanded though, you took your place back higher on your knees, taking the length of his pulsing cock deep in the back of your mouth once again.

The sensations of Jackson fucking up into your mouth and the sloppy sound of your fingers moving in and out of your slick was becoming too much. 

Digging your fingernails into his thigh, grasping on for purchase, you began rubbing the palm of your hand more fervently against your clit, chasing your eminent release.  

Unable to speak with him so deep down your throat, you hallowed your cheeks and hummed a moan against him, doing all you could to push him over his looming edge.

“Gonna fucking cum princess…” he grunted out, holding your head against him as he bucked up into your mouth once, twice.  Tipping his head back, he left out a filthy, load moan as you felt his warm, sticky seed coating the back of your throat.  

Between the addictive sounds of his climax, the tangy taste of him on the back of your tongue, and the walls of your pussy fluttering around your fingers, you were so close. 

Jackson pulled himself out of your mouth, letting you catch your breath as you so desperately tried to push yourself over the edge.

Regaining his senses, he saw you struggling before him and without any warning, pushed you back onto the floor and ripped your shorts off your legs. 

Pulling your hand away from yourself and letting him manhandle you, you laid back flat against the carpet as Jackson pulled your legs over both of his shoulders and buried his face into your pussy.

“Oh my God, fuck fuck…” you cried, lifting your head just enough to watch him pull your clit between his lips and began sucking.  

Bringing one of his large hands between your thighs, he slipped two of his fingers into your slick walls, already so wet for him.  Curling them just right, and flicking his tongue against your sensitive nub, you started trembling under his touch.

“Gonna c-cum… Daddy please let me cum,” you begged, your fingers finding the back of his head for stability.  Groaning against you, he demanded with one simple word.  “Cum.” 

With his command, the pressure of his fingertips against that sweet spot deep inside you and his skillful tongue, you came hard, involuntarily grinding against his face. 

Jackson left his fingers still, buried inside you, and placed soft kisses against your clit as your body convulsed under the aftershocks of your intense release.

Gently, he released your legs back to the ground, soothingly massaging the tops of your thighs as you tried to catch your breath.  First licking his lips, he brought the back of one of his hands to wipe the remnants of your arousal from his mouth and leaned up to grab the blanket off the back of the couch. 

Laying down beside you, Jackson draped the blanket over both of your naked bodies.  Shifting so he was hovering halfway over you, he brought a hand up to brush the damp strands of hair away from your face and leaned in to kiss you gently.  

“You ok?”  He asked, barely above a whisper.  With a simple nod of your head, you turned to nuzzle into his neck, taking a deep breath.  “I was supposed to be the one taking care of you tonight,” you mumbled.

“Just being here, you telling me sweet nothings…” he paused, pressing his lips to the top of your head, “you got me all right.”

You hummed softly, wrapping an arm around his waist and tangling your legs between his.  “Really was just trying to be an ear for you to vent to, a shoulder to lean on.”

Jackson laughed low, “ain’t no time for talking when we’re tongue-tied.”

tag list: @angel-writes-here

let me know if you'd like to be added to any future jackson fics!

Masterlist

[illusionremember]

ngl it is almost funny to me that the time when Dean is the MOST adamant that Cas is not himself, is this last moment, when Cas is protecting Jack. Especially in comparison to the subtle reaction to Lucifer possessing Cas. With Casifer, Dean was just kinda like *hmm something's kinda off* but when Jack reached out to Cas from the womb and Cas decided to become his protector Dean is full-on "I did not recognize the guy staring back at me."

As if Cas, famous defector of his family and cause for a vulnerable figure that powerful cosmic forces have plans for but just wants to be left alone to live his life, is somehow unrecognizable for... siding with a vulnerable party with a lot of powerful players gunning for control over them.

In many ways to me this is a writing thing more than it is a Dean issue. In terms of Casifer, plot reasons dictate that Dean can't be TOO suspicious of him yet, because Dean needs to trust him enough to later allow Casifer to time-travel with him. They already had plans for the big reveal at that point and while Dean absolutely is and should be suspicious that something is off, the filmmakers erred on the side of subtlety.

Meanwhile, Dean's response to Cas protecting Jack echoes his terrified response to soulless!Sam before they realized what was wrong, calling Bobby in a panic because *who is this stranger and where is my brother*, which seems almost excessive? So I wanted to work through some of the difference in this scenario with Cas and fetus!Jack.

In the case of Cas protecting Jack, the perceived antichrist, I think there are a few reasons the alarm bells went off so strong. First, because Dean watched it happen right in front of him. The special effects in place when Jack reaches into people's minds is extremely visible and flashy. It reminds me a lot of the effects they used when Cas drew Sam's cage-scars out of Sam's mind and into his own. Which of course was followed by Cas' own hallucinations, catatonia, and extremely erratic behavior. In this case, that obvious exertion of power is followed immediately by Cas using powers he shouldn't have, and smiting Dagon.

Second, at this point, Dean is also accustomed to, when something IS off with Cas, it's usually a case of possession (the leviathans, Lucifer) or otherwise outside influence/brainwashing (Naomi, purgatory souls). And this time, as mentioned before, he watched it happen — so he's already on alert trying to figure out what the unborn antichrist even did to Cas.

Furthermore, the switchover in Cas' behavior feels very sudden. He goes from making it his mission most of this season to track down Lucifer and then Kelly Kline, to instead wanting to protect their offspring, which as far as any of them know at this point is apocalyptically dangerous. He seems... mostly like himself, but he's got that look again, the one of purpose and devotion, and it's directed in favor of something Dean perceives as an enemy. And he turns against Dean to do so. At this point in the series, Dean is usually the person that Cas would protect at the expense of all else, often to disastrous effects. He's not used to being at the opposite end of that.

So looking at it closer, it makes sense that all Dean's alarm bells have gone off with the Jack situation. I just wish a few more went off when Cas was possessed by Lucifer. Most of the other incidents, it's still Cas, he's just under the influence of one force or another - Heaven, Naomi, Jack, Leviathans & Purgatory Souls... But with Lucifer, he's literally not even there. And I wish they'd allowed Dean to pick up on that more than they did.

As a quick aside, the other time that we see a wrong!Cas who is wholly not Cas, is when it's Jimmy Novak. And he announced himself immediately to Dean and Sam, so we never got to see Dean figuring this out himself. Lucifer, on the other hand, puts effort into masking his presence, because if he has the Winchester's trust, he can use them and access their resources. That said, he limits his interactions with them as much as possible, trying his best to obscure their view of him, to protect the ruse.

People have mentioned that Casifer's hand landing on the wrong shoulder is the thing that tipped Dean off, but tbh, I feel like that's too subtle, especially compared to other differences — the most obvious of which, to me, is Casifer not wearing Cas' coat and suit jacket. Cas only ever changes his clothes up when something is up with him, so why doesn't this catch Dean's eye? Unless, we are to assume, Dean has seen Cas in other states of dress offscreen, in which case why do we not get to see that?? let my boy wear different oufits. Or how about the fact that, even if he is trying to mimic Cas' behavior and vocal tones (and kudos to Misha for the masterful way this is played), there's an emptiness there. An edge of playacting at being Castiel, but with none of Cas' warmth or earnestness.

I think perhaps, what this comes down to, is Dean's tenuous relationship with trust when it comes to Cas. There have been times where Cas was definitively not himself, like with Naomi. And there have been times where he WAS himself but went down the wrong sort of path with full best intentions, like S6. And through most of their friendship, Dean needs some sort of visible confirmation that Cas is compromised before he loses trust. In S6 that comes from catching Cas in a lie, and then confronting him to confirm.

In S8, however, coming on the heels of Godstiel/Leviathans/purgatory, Dean is still rebuilding trust, and i think the thing that cements it once again comes from Cas outright saying Naomi's name while attacking Dean. Suddenly he has confirmation that this isn't really Cas's choice, that someone else is pulling the strings, and he can throw his trust wholeheartedly behind Cas again.

We also have Rowena's attack dog spell, where Dean can see that Cas is influenced, and that makes him wary, but he knows that it isn't Cas' fault or his will. There's Godstiel, where he thinks that the Cas he knew has been consumed by his mission for power. The Leviathans, where Dean knows there are other creatures inside the vessel. And then the Jack incident. All of those have visible elements of outside influence.

And with every instance, Dean's first response is not necessarily to distrust Cas as a person, but rather to assume something is wrong, and that Cas is in trouble. So with Casifer, he clearly thinks something is off, but Casifer makes a point of avoiding the Winchesters whenever possible. So Dean doesn't catch on just how bad things are until Lucifer decides he doesn't need to keep playing with them and reveals himself. And he loses patience with that game pretty quickly.

TL;DR - don't mind me, just puzzling through Dean's different reactions to Castiel under the influence :P

Dean noticing something's wrong with Cas

[applenilune]

Trepidation | one -The file-

SUMMARY~ Three years ago a Colonel from the Deepspace Fleet was murdered by his wife, now, rumors about a mind controlling chip are circulating on the Fleet’s corridors, making the officers feel scared and unsafe. Colonel Caleb is assigned to find out if they are true. But, why is a murder case from three years ago related to rumors about a chip? What does the former Colonel wife knows about that? Can Caleb get to the bottom of the mystery, without getting too close and attached to her?

Pairing~ Caleb x fr

Rating~ M! Explicit!

Warnings for this chapter~ mentions of death, mental illness,blood and suicide.

Tags~ 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove, dark themes, slow burn, eventual smut, trauma, mental illness, slightly gore descriptions, manipulation, murder allegations, conspiracy, stalking (I’ll add more as I think of them)

A/N: HELLO! This is my first fic after Years without writing anything, but the chokehold that Caleb has on me is so strong that I needed to write something for him. I’m a huge fan of thriller/mystery/romance books so that’s why I wanted to write something kinda dark, also, something that I want to mention, English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes that I could have made but I hope it’s still understandable. ALSO, I’m approaching this fic as a “beginning of the toring chip”, so it’s not going to be a 100% accurate depiction of the chip that we saw on the game, but it still will be kinda related. To finish, the female character has no name so in this chapter I put it as y/n but I’m not really sure about it so, maybe I’ll change that later, let me know how you feel about that.

Almost everyone on the fleet knew what had happened with Colonel Davian Vayne, he was young, 27 years old when he died, he was extremely smart and capable of handling the officers on his command, he never hesitated when it came to take hard decisions on his department, all of his work was clean and in perfect order, maybe that’s why he had become colonel at such a young age, everyone knew and liked him, he had the perfectly life, he was wealthy, his parents owned a chain of very fancy and famous restaurants around Skyhaven, and with his status as colonel the money only kept growing, he was elegant and charming, tall and broad, his blonde hair and hazel eyes drew attention from all the woman on the fleet, he was the type of men who everyone respects, who everyone raised their eyes to look at. He seemed to have no flaws.

He was also married, his wife was a real estate agent, not everyone knew her at the fleet, they had only see her a couple of times when one of the fancy dinner parties took place and everyone was encouraged to bring someone along, to make the parties more fun and interesting, who wouldn’t want to know how was the life outside the farspace fleet job? who do you live with? who were you when you weren’t using the uniform?

Colonel Davian’s wife was really a lovely person, said by the few people that met her, the few times she was on one of the fleet’s dinner parties she was always engaged in small talks with everyone learning about her husband’s teammates and their families, talking about her job and her life as a colonel’s wife, she was beautiful, they said, her delicate features, big beautiful eyes, soft skin and long jet black hair made all the people turn to look at her when she entered a room.

They made the perfect couple, what else could you ask from a partner? They were both so painfully perfect.

So, it came as a shock when everyone found out that colonel Davian Vayne had died, or better said, was murdered, by his own wife.

People refused to believe it, there was no way, how could a woman like Y/N Vayne kill her husband on such an horrific way? But she did, there was no doubt about it, she was the only one there with him the night he died, there was no one else’s fingerprints or anything that could lead to believe that someone else did it, that someone had forced their way into their home and attacked him, and when the officers deployed by the fleet arrived at their home and saw her covered in blood they immediately arrested her.

The scene itself was heartbreaking, the living room of the fancy house was dimly lit, decorated on the most elegant furniture, everything remained dark and silent, the lights on the kitchen were the only ones on, the officers approached the area, and saw her, she was out of her mind, on her knees in a corner on the floor of the fancy kitchen crying uncontrollably and screaming in pain with a knife on her hand, she was hurting herself, like she was trying to kill herself too, trying to join her husband, making cuts all over her body, they attempted to calm her down but she was so out of herself that it took them a while to get the knife out of her hands. Her night gown was covered in blood, hers and her husband’s, and everything else in the kitchen was covered in blood too, like if someone had took a bucket full of blood and just splatter it around everything on the kitchen.

The colonel’s body laying lifeless on the floor, also surrounded by an insane amount of blood, his throat had been cut, really deep, it made everyone on the scene felt sick to their stomach.

When she was asked why she did it, she didn’t said anything, she refused to talk with anyone, locking herself inside her own mind, they seemed to have a perfect life, a beautiful dynamic between them, what reason could she possibly had to kill her husband in a really horrible way?

Everyone decided that she was just crazy, something must have snapped on her mind, for her to, all of a sudden, attack her husband and end his life so abruptly, specialists ran a few tests on her, and a few weeks after the murder she was put on trial for killing her husband, Davian Vayne, and condemned to life imprisonment, but since she was declared mentally ill and unstable, they put her on a mental facility, where she would spend the rest of her days.

That had happened three years ago, and even though when it happened it was all that people talked about in the fleet’s office, as time went on, it began to become less and less of a conversation topic. Until almost no one talked about it, until the events even started to morph into something that made no sense at all, no one talked about it anymore, unless someone brought out a memory about colonel Davian Vayne and his work, then all of the stories about the incident were talked on the corridors, people felt sorry about their story and then moved on with their lives.

The world kept moving, besides the lost of a lovable and capable colonel, there was nothing stopping the world from spinning, especially on the fleet, they had a beautiful memorial on his honor and then, that was it.

Since his wife had been convicted and the case had been closed, people just decided to move on, there were other cases, there were other problems, other wars that needed to be fought, other matters that needed to be addressed.

Work at the fleet kept coming so everyone just kinda forgot.

If it didn’t actually happened to anyone in your family or someone close to your heart, then it just became a corridor gossip, and those were never ending too, there was always someone else’s business to discuss, the adjutant did this, the first sergeant messed up the mission, the lieutenant cheated on his wife with the cafeteria girl, half of the battalion died on the deepspace tunnel, the captain was attacked by a wanderer that appeared at his office, etcetera.

People always talked, that was something undeniable. That’s what people do, no matter where you work at.

Recently on the corridors there had been a rumor spreading, people claimed that, there was a chip of some sort, being developed by some technology company that wanted to establish those chips on the fleet, or their officers, to be more exact, to control and keep them on the fleet’s track, wipe their brains clean so that they could write the actions of the employees using the chip, like robots, soulless machines devoted one hundred percent to their job, to make them do what they wanted. To keep the fleet pristine and flawless.

People were starting to get scared, word spreaded like wildfire and it started to affect the fleet’s image, the information wasn’t still out in the public eye, but if they didn’t stop it, it eventually will.

That’s why Caleb was sitting here, in the General’s office. He wanted him to dig deeper, to find out if the claims were true, he had been receiving comments from concerned people who wanted to know if that information was actually true, there was really a chip being created and designed specifically for mind control of the fleet’s employees?

Caleb had become Colonel just a few months after Colonel Vayne had passed away, now, he occupied the place he once had, the General had decided that Caleb was more than well prepared to take the place as the new Colonel, all his skills and knowledge, and all of the experience and decision making he had made on the deepspace tunnel were more than enough to prove that he was perfect for the position, yes, colonel Vayne had died, but they couldn’t leave his place empty, he had died, but the show must go on. The fleet needed to fill the position. And Caleb was the perfect choice. No one had doubts about it.

Caleb was sitting straight, his hands intertwined on his lap, his expression stoic as he listened to the General speaking to him across his desk. He had explained all of the concerns and lies that were being discussed amongst the officers and he thought to himself that it was an stupid rumor with no fundament, but he also understood the way that this could affect the work of the fleet. They wouldn’t want a collective panic surge forming in the minds of the employees. It would make them look weak. And that is the last thing the fleet wants, to look weak.

“As I’m sure you are aware Colonel, we cannot let this situation escalate more, if we let all of this nonsense talking continue, it will affect our performance as a whole. I need you to conduct an investigation about this, I know it’s not really your specific job but, I cannot let a lower range officer take care of this, you have my full trust, your work has been anything but perfect, so all of this, it has to be just between us, I don’t want this to grow bigger until we have full knowledge and control about it. When you’re done with the investigation, you report it directly to me”

“I understand sir, you don't have to worry” Caleb said with a calm demeanor “I will personally take care of it”

The general pushed an e-file pad that was sitting on his desk on Caleb’s direction, he had his hand placed over the file, not wanting Caleb to take it yet, until he had finished talking.

“This is a classified document, the information that resides in these pages is knowledge of a few people, not even you as a colonel, could have access to it, I’m giving it to you because the minute that these comments came into my ears, this file was the first thing that I thought about, I think it could help as a start”

“If you allow me sir,” Caleb said “You really think that this corridor conversations require a deep investigation?”

“People is getting startled, not even me as the fleet’s General had any sort of information regarding any sort of chip, we cannot leave anything to speculation, we need to maintain this corporation afloat, if there is any sort of mind controlling chip I want to know, we need to protect our people”

Caleb nodded, then the General release the folder and pushed further towards Caleb for him to grab it, then took a small piece of paper and wrote down the password Caleb would need to unlock the e-file pad, when Caleb took them, he stood from the chair and prepared to leave.

The General was really committed to his work, he was one of the few people on the fleet that actually cared about the people under his wings, more than the wellbeing and orders of the higher ups, Caleb thought to himself that, that was actually more of a weakness than strength, but he wasn’t the General…yet.

“I’ll start working on it right away sir” he said, as he saluted the general and then turn away to leave his office, when his hand was over the door handle the General said:

“Not a word about this to anyone Colonel, until we know what we’re actually dealing with. You and I are the only ones that know about this, let’s keep it that way.”

Caleb opened the door without responding, since it wasn’t actually necessary, and he stepped outside, this was the most odd request he had received, to him, all this situation made no sense, the officers were focusing on a stupid hallway gossip instead of doing their jobs, but since the General had asked him, he literally had no choice but to dig into it. And he was the best at his job.

Caleb walked expressionless straight to his office, people turned around to salute him, but he didn’t bother to respond or even look at them, when he arrived, he ordered his secretary to not interrupt him under any circumstances, the curiosity about knowing what was in that file that he was just granted access was itching on him, and also, he wanted to be finished with this nonsense as quick as possible, he locked the door behind him, and walked to sit on his chair, he placed the file on the desk and looked at it like hesitating for a second, what was he going to find out inside of it?

He opened the file, and when it asked him, he introduced the password the General had provided him to unlock the e-file pad. It opened, what it said on the first page on bold letters made him furrow his brows. What does this case had to do with the rumors about the chip? It made no sense, why was the General giving him this file?

FARSPACE FLEET INVESTIGATION BUREAU

CASE 00MI1608

RESTRICTED ACCESS

PLEASE RETURN THIS FILE IF YOU ARE ON LEVEL 08 OR BELOW

YOU WILL BE PROSECUTED

ASSASSINATION OF COLONEL DAVIAN VAYNE

AUGUST 2045

The murder of colonel Davian? He was killed three years ago, what his murder file had to do with a fucking mind controlling chip? He relaxed a little bit on the chair, the general had given this to him for a reason. He started reading the file to find out why.

The file had a lot of pages, this specific case was handled by the fleet itself because the victim was a high rank officer, Caleb was fixated on the information from minute one, it was like reading a suspense, thriller novel, everything was so intriguing to him.

The firsts pages of the file were about the night the murder had taken place, as it said, it was a quiet summer night, the Vayne’s were at home and all of the sudden something has snapped up in his wife, the investigators wrote that they were probably arguing about something in the kitchen, when Y/N Vayne suddenly decided that she had enough. Took one of the expensive chef knives that laid on the kitchen island and cut her husband’s throat.

Caleb moved onto the next pages, there were pictures of the crime scene, it was kinda like what the stories around the fleet were told, Davian was on the floor, his throat had been cut so deep that you could see the muscles tore open, the floor was so covered in blood that it was like if someone had moped it with a bucket full of blood.

Caleb was desensitized of watching this types of scenes, no one with a high position on the fleet wasn’t accustomed to this sort of stuff, you had to handle the hard situations, so he didn’t even flinch at the images.

The next few pages were images of Mrs. Vayne’s body, she had apparently been tryin to end her life too, there were cuts made by herself all over her body, her arms, legs, neck, stomach, almost everywhere. She wasn’t successful in her attempts of course but Caleb thought that that was a strange way of trying to kill yourself.

He continued reading the file.

After the colonel’s autopsy, there were physical and psychiatric tests that were conducted on his wife.

The doctors wrote that she refused to talk to anyone for almost a week, it was like she was in some kind of mental lockdown, almost like she refused to believe that this was her new reality. That she had killed her husband.

They had her arrested on the hospital, hands cuffed into the bed, but somehow when she was not being watched she broke free from the restraints and began hurting herself again, when the officers, nurses and doctors entered the room, she was again covered in blood, she was on a frenzy, she had a deep wound in the back of her neck, arms and legs, she had also bitten herself really hard, they searched the room, looking for whatever weapon she had used to do that to herself, but they found nothing.

After that incident she calmed down, it seemed like she had just waken up from a long dream or a coma, or so they thought because now, when she started to speak again, she began talking about how someone had been tracking her down, someone had been following her and watching her, and she also said that someone had implanted a chip on her body, and against her will, they made her kill her husband.

She had no full memory of the night it actually happened, only flashes of memories, she couldn’t explain what had driven her so numb or mad that she murdered her husband so brutally, but she kept repeating that this was not entirely her fault. That they needed to investigate further, that they needed to find out who had done that to her to find out who the real culprit was, but there was no evidence to back up any of those allegations. It was all her doing. And she was saying that only to escape the sentence.

Caleb had to read that again, She said someone had been watching her, put a chip on her body and were controlling her actions. Whoever did that to her, made her kill the colonel, her husband.

A chip.

A controlling chip.

Caleb had to stop for a moment, analyzing the situation, this was why the General had told him that it might be related to the chip rumors happening now. It made him feel, amused, desperate, desperate to know the truth, eager, excited, almost.

He didn’t like not having the full story but…He liked challenges, they were too…enticing. And mysteries, he liked those, and Y/N Vayne was buried in mystery so deep that he wanted to dig her up.

The rest of the file were the prosecutors notes, the case they built against her, so that they could give her a sentence, thanks to the test ran by the psychiatrist’s they had decided to put her on a mental facility, she was obviously sick on her brain, she was out of her mind. She just talked nonsense, right? It was all nonsense? Now he wasn’t so sure.

He knew what he had to do first, to get to the bottom of this entire situation.

He had to talk to her.

[k1ddiecat]

Littling tips from experience

I don't know if anyone who follows me needs this but it's been a few years now that I've embraced my small side and I've been thinking of compiling a list of things I've learned from experience (I'm ND and have a hard time doing things without knowing why). Especially for those of us who don't have an external caregiver (EC)

-Look at references for inspiration on how you can dress to feel more childish. Find a style and then chase it slowly as budget permits.

>Clothes

-Accessories and add-ons go a long way. Sometimes it's better to focus on finding clothes that fit and are comfy even though theyre simple. Simple is very fixable later with things like patches and other clothing layers

-Mind the materials of clothes. Figure out what feels the best and what you want to avoid.

-Get a meaauring tape and make and keep a record of your measurements for online clothes ordering.

>Pacifiers and Teethers

-Pacifier wipes make it much easier to keep them clean and clean before use. Worth it if affordable.

-Have something to keep them in thats easy to access ESPECIALLY if you live with unsupportives. I use a mug that has some paper towel or pacifier wipes at the bottom. I keep it on my nightstand and toss my paci in there when Im done using it and any passers by wouldn't get close enough to notice whats inside the mug. For more stealth get a taller cup.

-Try not to bite or chew on your pacifier. This is hard for me as I'm a stim chewer and silicone is my favorite :V but they really arent that durable.

-Maybe this is basic but make sure the size is right for you or your mouth will tire faster. A lot of the common adult size ones from Etsy run big due to the goals of the seller. I use Pacifierfixx pretty exclusively for their modest but adult size nipples and small sheilds which interfere less with my breathing

- Overalls have front pockets which are awesome for tucking pacis in. Excellent for those that live with unsupportives for a quick hiding place.

-You can also very easily get away with taking a pacifier with you into the movie theater by the way. If it's not crowded no one will see you with the lights off in there. Bonus; bring a teddy to sit with you and hold during the show.

>Bedtime

-Invest time into compiling audio to help sleep. Playlists and CD's of lullabyes, soft music are worth putting together. Peaceful visuals too.

-Create bedtime riutals and bother to keep them. Link bedtime subconciously with these rituals and not only will it help you sleep, it will help you go into bedtime with a positive attitude. Still working on this one myself.

>Diapers

-Diaper materials vary. I used to be clothback only due to them being better for my environment (hot weather, not very well climate controlled living space, close quarters with unsupportive people) and because I didn't like the crinkly shiny texture of the plasticbacks I'd encountered thus far. Now (more climate controlled living space, less tight quarters but still with unsupportives) I kinda lean towards plastic because I've found ones whose texture I enjoy. Also the level of crinkle varies between not only brand but model of diaper. Research beforehand is helpful along with ordering samples if you've got the money and patience.

-Get a changing mat. If you're not incontinent it doesn't need to be a "proper" waterproof one but you should have something you can use. Reason: it catches remnants of oil, cream, or powder if using and, if you lack an EC to change you, it's good to have under your feet or your bum when you take the diaper off.

-Whoever is changing you should wash hands after using a cream,oil, or powder BEFORE attatching the tapes. Tapes are finnicky. They will often only work once.

-If you do mess up the tapes, regular clear packing tape will help you. If it's still not totally secure I'd reccomend adding breif type underwear on top to keep it in place, obviously training pants will be your easiest to clean in case of a leak second to nylon and cotton last.

-Invest in suitable wipes especially if using your diaper. These are sold at drugstores with names like disposable washcloth/ cloth towel/ etc. Flushable wipes are not actually septic safe in quantities greater than one at a time and on top of that will fall apart more easily.

-Dispose of worn diapers with double bagging. Special medical disposal bags like those from Northshore make a great first layer bag especially if using, if you can spring for it. Otherwise this is a great time to use plastic grocery bags. Once double bagged try to get them to a dumpster asap. If you plan on starting diapers at all while living with unsupportives figure out before you even buy them where and when you can safely get them to a dumpster/bin that gets emptied into the truck directly

>Kitchen and Bathroom

-Invest in Bottle soap. If there is only one thing from this guide that you spring for, make it this. I think non littles should get some too. Not only is it unparalleled for breaking up milk and other hard to clean drink substances, but the gentle formula makes it much better than dish soap at washing out of the cup/bottle/etc without leaving a soapy taste. It's like 5 dollars and can last you a while.

-Keep a container or have a dedicated spot to keep dirty dishes/ bottles/ anything you don't want to leave in the dishwasher where unsuportives can see it. A designated spot makes it essier to remember to clean and all together means that when you get around to cleaning one thing, you'll likely clean them all.

- If you don't already, having foods that can help you take meds are a good idea. Pre-packaged is convenient and therefore motivating.

-If you have a little extra change, children's medicine and hygene products are good to keep on hand. Feeling little often combines with a desire to avoid adult stuff/adult life. Being able to choose the kid version will encourage you to take better care of yourself. Sometimes the kid's version is less effective at treating adult bodies but if it gets you to use it, it's better than nothing and, during times when you need to use the grown up stuff bribing with yummy food and drink via the last tip is a good way to 'trick' yourself into it.

-Look into what kids around the world eat and maybe find some new recipes that make you feel small while keeping things interesting.

>Recreation

- Make it easier. Go for the big crayons. Go for the simple crafts. Try the accessible versions of things whether you think you need it or not.

-Make it harder. Practice an alphabet or a language you aren't fluent in. Learn a more advanced version of something that interested you as a kid. It may not seem to be very regressive to work hard but bio kids try their best generally speaking. Sometimes it's good to remember what it was like to be new at things.

-Interact with other littles. This is a big one. Many irl events for littles are completely sfw, not hookup or dating spaces, and almost every single person I've met through these spaces are in it primarily or exclusively as a lifestyle aka they are age regressors by a different name. The practice of being a sfw little predates the internet 'age regression' subculture by a long while. There are a lot more of us out there than you may realize.

-Moodboards are good but it's healthy to see people of all shapes, sizes, ages, backgrounds etc. embracing their inner child. Especially if you have body dysmorphia about having a grown up body. Intentionally expose yourself to photos of other littles making the best of the body they have.

[kralierror404]

SIT DOWN CHAT. ITS RANT TIME.

What do you mean Alex started making his actual film when he was aroud 20 and then at age 27-28 he fucking dies. I cant. He was so young and it ruins me man, i gotta rant about my fave.

Alex seemed so determined and happy about making this movie, it had auditions, a trailer, a few recorded takes that never released, his “best” friend literally got cast as the main character for it!! - bro was so excited for ppl to audition for his project (you can hear it in his voice when hes talking to Brian abt asking Tim to try out). Alex also literally declined going to dinner so he could work on things for Marble Hornets. He had such a nice like friendgroup too Brian, Tim, Jay.

Like Alex pre-operator was probably the sweetest guy imo, he was proud of the people working with and for him, he cared about them (he says hes very proud of Jay and also asks Tim abt his like coughing), he was also quite patient i believe.

Then yk shit hits the fan over the 3 months Marble Hornets is being shot and he changes so so much its so insane - he gets paranoid and irritable and his passion isnt all there anymore :C which probably was really upsetting, and maybe caused some internal confusion and conflicting feelings in himself of: “Why cant i just be normal!?” meaning he’s kinda at war with himself. Also not to mention he was going through the operators effects alone at the time so its not like he could just bring it up without sounding crazy, he probably felt so alone and that no one would understand.

As we know he moves away, probably to hopefully escape whatever was happening to him and to put things behind him, to start over in a new place, where its safe and thats with Amy!. Now ive brought this up before but idc- he says on the phone to her

“Im gonna come visit you soon okay?”

“Okay.”

“And while im up there we might actually film a few things for Marble Hornets”

“Good i could use the company.”

“Actually uh..ive been thinking, i might try to transfer there after im done shooting all this.”

(That to me is Alex already planning to stop shooting it, already making plans to move with Amy but hes still unsure if he’ll be putting her in danger)

“For real?”

“Yeah, i mean the film program is better the one im at now so..i mean well thats what ive heard at least”

“Also i just dont like being this far away from you.”

(He says that so ominously but hes definitely like sure of himself and obviously Amy sees nothing wrong with it, she’s probably just happy that her boyfriend is going to come see her for the first time in..however long. Alex probably thinks he can keep her safe too)

MY POINT WITH THAT PHONE CALL ISS: His solution of escape was to 1. Burn the tapes and 2. Go to Amy to be safe but also to make sure SHES okay

Literally he thought that the operator and him murdering Brian would magically go away if he just left the area to be with someone who loved him, it was probably also his way of ignoring those things which all in all was a HORRIBLE coping mechanism (yk ignoring it) but heyy its Alex, he is not healthy. So, for 4 whole years he lives with Amy, away from everything and then WHOOPS Mr pale tall and skinny is there again to fuck up his day.

I honestly dont even wanna go in depth about how Alex mustve felt, how bad it must have hurt for his past to come back on him and find him somewhere he was meant to be okay. Also the way he probably killed Amy, did he make her feel secure then did it as she died in his arms? did she fight him? Amy does seem confrontational in a way- then he had to leave her behind, start anew AGAIN.

Except this time, he finds Jay has gotten himself involved and there is Alexs new goal, his new task that continues to drive him throughout the series that absolutely turns him into more of a horrible person: STOP THE SPREAD OF THE SICKNESS AND ‘SAVE’ EVERYONEE…except for that one guy he just killed while he was going insane.

One person i doubt he was trying to save eventually, was Brian, given that apparently Brian has been killed multiple times, instead Brian became like a pest getting in his way which makes sense. SO OVER THE COURSE OF 3-4 years, all this shit his happening and it gets to the point where Alex admits he thought HE was the problem (which in a way, he is), he shifts that blame onto Tim, then the big fight happens where they’re ultimately trying to kill eachother.

Alex is dying but as he is, he seems sorta sad, he fully believes he was doing the right thing and now, the only “right” thing to do, is die.

God its just his transition from making a silly student film and then 7 or 8 years later, dying due to an Eldritch being really messing up his and everyones life.

[alicelillianshaw]

Man, that was cute— Alice's eyes are still blurry with tears, but it's impossible to miss the way Jack's ears flush, dusted with pink following his eager question.

'Really? Can I see?'

“Sorry. You don’t have to show me. I just don’t remember seeing it.'

A chuckle escapes her.

"That's fine. It's just kinda hard to see if my arm isn't—"

Swallowing, Alice reaches for the hem of her shirt, tugging it upwards, raising her elbow simultaneously as she bares her rib-cage to Jack. It wasn't the largest tattoo, the majority of it covered by her arm. Alice ducks down to examine it rather than meet Jack's eyes.

Sure, he'd seen her in a bikini— but still.

Alice inhales, exhales, watches the delicate fossil bones expand and contract. "I had to do a lot of research for the scholarship, about 18th century science ... I ended up seeing this in person, actually, on a family vacation. But anyway— this was discovered only a few years after the Origin of Species was published. Most people didn't put any stock into the theory, or else they found it sacrilegious. Atheistic scientists didn't really believe that species could change slowly over time either. But then came this. The Berlin Specimen."

Alice uses her index finger to point out the soft, stippled ink surrounding the bone, her lips breaking into a grin.

"Feathers!"

Her gaze flits back down, but the smile is still attached.

"Those are full flight feathers and everything. Proof of concept. Proof of a transitional species, dinosaur into bird ...." Alice inhales. "Proof that life isn't static."

"Dinosaurs died out, but you look around and ... birds are everywhere."

Something warm washes over her face, and at last she drops the sweatshirt, huffing in self-conscious amusement. Heavy-handed with the metaphors, she knew. Change and growth, in the most literal since. But Alice's remembers being so struck by the delicate bones of the old, old, Archaeopteryx— they'd almost seen to glow in the muesum light. And then several years later, that imagery seemed to call out to Alice, feeling raw and different and vulnerable in all the changes she'd made.

"I just thought it looked really cool."

She hoped it didn't seem too silly to Jack. With a rough clearing of her throat, she smooths the hem.

'I think I’m where you were in college. Feeling some of the stuff that you felt.'

And— oh.

If that's true, now all Alice can think about is how badly she wishes she could somehow seize Jack and pull him out of that place. Because it's all just despair. And self-hatred. And feeling like your body was being puppeted by someone else; by something else.

It was the worst feeling in the world.

'There’s this really sick part of me that is glad all of this came out though.'

A crease forms between Alice's eyebrows, mouth softening as she listens.

'It felt like I was lying to people for a long time. Pretending to be someone I’m clearly not. Someone I was never capable of being. I tried to play the part. It didn’t work out, but… I don’t know. I think it’ll be fine one day, but I also think that maybe it won’t. At least I met you.'

Lying to people.

Pretending to be someone wasn't capable of being. Feeling like an imposter, a fraud, simply because he was struggling— simply because of a mistake, a chemical dependency that was hard to shed, and even harder to keep at bay.

"But that's not true,"

Alice hums.

"You're still really good at your job, Jack. You're still incredibly smart— still Ivy League educated, still one of the youngest congressmen ever to be elected. You aren't suddenly any less smart, or any less good at deciding policy, or any less good at speaking to others, making them feel heard."

There's something twisting in her chest; it hurts. Despite it all, Jack was just happy he'd met her.

"But ... I mean beyond all that? You're still a good person. You're still really kind. And you're still way too funny for your own good."

Alice huffs, lips quirking.

"If I met you six months ago, or I met you tomorrow, or I met you four years ago— it'd all be the same. You'd still be really kind to me. I'd still feel ... so strongly pulled to you. And appreciative."

Once again— it's as if Alice can't help it. Her hand extends again. Her fingers comb through his pair, pausing to press down against his scalp for a long second.

"If you decide you do want your life to look different, and not go back to the way it was, that's fine. But you already said this to me, kinda? About mistakes not negating everything else about you?"

A tremulous breath. The worst part of it was— Alice knew how it felt. She knew how deeply these thoughts wound around your subconscious, like a choking vine, and she knew untangling it took forever; sometimes, in the midst of that forever, it seemed futile. Effort just seemed pointlessly painful! Like a self-injury. Alice knows how much it hurts, how excruciating it is, and she thinks absently she'd absorb all of Jack's pain and go through everything all over again if it meant Jack wouldn't have to bear it.

"It was like that for me too, for a really long time. Thinking that things are just terrible forever."

Alice's thumb— careful and slow — rubs against Jack's cheekbone, silent assurance before her hand drops.

Alice was full of surprises. He already thought that she was brilliant, but as she detailed the subject matter of her scholarship winning essay… Jack really was in awe of her talent. It didn’t sound boring to Jack at all. He enjoyed history, and he would’ve enjoyed absorbing all of Alice’s observations and insights. She was clearly passionate about it.

“It doesn’t sound boring,” Jack blurted out with a shake of his head. “Not if you love it. And even if you didn’t… still not boring. I’d love to read it some day.”

Jack tried remembering Alice when they went swimming. Did he remember a tattoo? Honestly, he was so … starstruck, drooling, that he wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t.

“Really? Can I see?”

Jack’s ears turned a little pink. It could’ve been in a private area, so he rephrased. “Sorry. You don’t have to show me. I just don’t remember seeing it.”

Yeah. He didn’t want to be a fucking creep!

Alice already mattered so much to Jack. It felt a little ridiculous how much she mattered to him in such a short amount of time. He didn't want to ruin things, but sometimes, he couldn't control his own impulses. Clearly. It was just that... he felt very drawn to Alice. They weren’t that different. They enjoyed the same things. They struggled with some of the same feelings.

Alice insisted that it was the other way around. She touched on the blind trust that Jack had placed in her and the kindness that he’d displayed. God. He’d do it all over again, if he could. If Jack could go back to their first day of meeting, he wouldn’t have made her wait the thirty minutes until he felt like coming downstairs.

She reached forward, situated her fingers in between his hair. Jack’s eyes nearly fluttered shut. He felt so touch starved, for some reason. He hadn’t really noticed it until Alice came along. There was this urge to close his eyes and press the side of his face into her wrist.

“I think I’m where you were in college. Feeling some of the stuff that you felt.”

Jack exhaled slowly.

“I’ve really fucked up.”

His marriage and career were over. His team kept trying to do damage control, when Jack wasn’t even sure if he wanted that. Part of him wanted the world to hate him.

“There’s this really sick part of me that is glad all of this came out though.”

Over the last six months, Jack had convinced himself that he wasn’t a good person. He felt like an immature, privileged piece of shit who didn’t deserve his seat in office. And he’d started to feel that he’d always been that way. Rotten to the core. Superficial. And finally, everyone knew, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Now, the world saw him for who he was.

“It felt like I was lying to people for a long time. Pretending to be someone I’m clearly not. Someone I was never capable of being. I tried to play the part. It didn’t work out, but… I don’t know. I think it’ll be fine one day, but I also think that maybe it won’t. At least I met you.”

[araneapeixes]

ummm i found this puppy in the woods, do you think i should keep her

INPRNT

[havenshereagain]

Another week, another WIP Wednesday! Still working on my de-aged Tim fic, but I also have a fic that i banged out over 3k in two days? So there's a snippet of that as well (that fic's premise is most of the family finding out for the first time that Tim is immunocompromised, currently titled Tim's Spleen)

De-aged Tim

That seemed to do the trick because Tim nodded, though his eyes went distant in thought. The kid probably had a thousand questions, and was trying to figure out what order to ask them in. "Did my parents die?" he finally asked, and Jason's jaw dropped a bit. He then explained his thinking, "I mean, earlier you seemed surprised by the fact my parents went on trips a lot and I don't think my parents would stop traveling unless they had to, so either the company went under or they died. And I'm staying here, and Dick said it was my room not a guest room or something, so I probably live here, or at least did for a bit. The room seemed a little too clean for me to have been living here, but I'm an adult now, right? So I probably moved out, but I definitely did live here based on the pictures and stuff in the room. My parents dying is the only way it makes sense to me." Jason's jaw was just about on the floor from the kid's deductive reasoning.

Tim's Spleen

Tim's grip on the handlebars tightened again. "I knew it was serious," he murmured. Losing an organ, especially one vital to the immune system, was a big deal for a vigilante. It was important that his doctors and team know. "I've spoken with Leslie and Alfred about it. I just assumed at least Bruce and Dick had read the report."

Barbara sighed, and Tim could just imagine her pushing her glasses up to rub her face. "Dick's always been awful about reading reports," she said after a moment. Neither of them said anything about Bruce. What was there to say? The man was usually diligent about reports, this was an anomaly.

[telesodalite]

I love the idea that, whenever a Cybertronian space-faring vessel lands or docks within a predominantly non-Cybertronian space station or port, that it's required that they either confirm or deny whether their vessel is sentient or not before being permitted to land.

1. For proper accommodation and clarification, along with the chance for communication between the vessel and crews working the station/port.

2. Because there has been... incidents... incidents that have led to the requirement of the above reasons.

[the-pea-and-the-sun]

i am NOT making it offline god said online friends only

[krystaldeath]

Me: I actually think the reason why Leshy was in the Devolver Father’s Day post is cause in that specific picture he was a bartender giving a bunch of beer and that’s a classic Dad Drink so I don’t really think it was meant to imply he was a dad himself

Also me: imagines up his demigod butterfly-worm daughter who he got from a one night stand in his early godhood who still roams the deepest parts of Darkwood killing her own father’s followers

[abisalli]

I‘m currently working my way through some old comics and taking a lot of notes, so I’m gonna start being very annoying sorry

(and also make some panel redraws)