#it feels like the space inside of my lungs has been flattened out. like i can still breathe but i just feel. drained.

[ahaura]

i managed not to start an argument or yell at my brother. and HE was the one who was told "not to get political at christmas" this time. 4948938493 XP granted

[piecksz]

another one. | (m)

pairings: connie springer x fem!reader x jean kirstein

warnings: nsfw, dub con, drunk sex, creampie, double penetration, public sex, possessive dominance, loss of virginity, anal sex, vaginal sex, fingering, slight humiliation, explicit language

words: 2.3k

summary: connie and jean take you out to a club as a change of scenery for you, but your careless fun quickly turns into a drunk hookup with your two best friends.

a/n: bear with me bc writing a threesome is hard as fuck but this has been sitting half-finished in my drafts for like two weeks and i needed it OUT!!

Jean’s back against the club’s door had the three of you stumbling out into the crisp air of fast approaching nightfall. The cold moved in only to meet your skin, made warm by the heat of your blood, the reaction to endless liquor you’d slugged until the bitter liquid began tasting like water.

You could feel the air moving through your lungs, squeaky and worrisome, as your jocund thoughts turned into dizzy confusion while Connie and Jean pressed you against the flat concrete of the wall. It only took one glance at Connie’s face, part desire, part mischief, to fully comprehend the situation you’d found yourself in.

Your soft cry was inundated with perverted laughter as Connie’s quick fingers hooked around the hem of your fitted dress, hoisting the fabric until it cinched around the bend of your hips. The frigid air was unforgiving as it lapped at the inside of your thighs, petting the exposed skin where Jean and Connie’s hands hadn’t touched.

“Come on, Y/N. Spread wide for us,” Connie soothed, mischievous hazel eyes polished with tangible lust, and once his silken lips attached to the hot stretch of your neck, you relinquished what little resistance you had and allowed your best friends to feel every curve and recess along your body.

Connie grinned lazily, grazing the tips of his fingers over the lace material that hugged the delicate skin between your legs. You parted them only slightly in response, the proximity of either men on your side hardly allowing you enough mobility. Connie’s movement was deliberate as he slid lithe fingers into your underwear, his touch skimming over your folds before dipping a finger between your slit to rub gently at your aching clit.

“God she’s so wet.” His voice was breathy as his trace traveled lower until his fingertip teased the outline of your cunt’s orifice.

“Yeah? You’re wet for us? What have you been thinking about, huh?” Jean questioned, his honeyed voice beckoning just below a whisper.

His mouth was warm against the taut side of your throat, drawing the tender skin between his teeth and sucking harshly, as though it was his intent to paint you with deep marks that would serve as a reminder that he’d been there. His hands moved swiftly in your periphery, sliding over the metal of his belt and unfastening it before impatiently tugging his cock out from the top of his black briefs.

Jean was already hard when he took himself in his palm, his swollen tip glossed with the glassy sheen of precum. He began working against his rigid length, slowly at first while he kneaded away the discomfort, and then his pace picked up until he was fucking the curve of his hand, lips sucking mildly at the bruised spots on your neck.

Your mind had been swimming since you three were on the dance floor, and you were moving wantonly with Connie and Jean as their tipsy hands roamed over your body, feeling you through the figure-hugging material of your dress.

You hadn’t been able to process what was happening fast enough, all you had been able to understand was that it felt nice, and your fog had caused you to forget what had happened in between.

Now your thoughts were inchoate as your brain tried to interpret what it could from your foggy vision, but seeing your friends bare and confident in their indecency didn’t help your disarray at all.

Your eyes drifted down to Jean’s hand, watching with parted lips while he flicked his wrist against his throbbing erection, and not that you’d previously given much thought to it, but he was bigger than you’d expected.

His skin was stretched tight over the expanse of his cock, thick and ribbed with veins, as he jerked himself off and moved in unrelenting strokes. Suddenly, your cheeks were aglow with embarrassment by your own drunk internal monologue.

Has he been hiding that in his pants the whole time?

“You’ve done a good job playing innocent, Y/N,” Jean teased, resting a sweaty palm at the base of your neck.

His grip was loose, but his partial strength was still enough to keep you constrained to the wall. His caress followed his stare and descended to your chest, palming over your breast before his fingers hooked around the fabric of your dress and your bra, pulling both down together to free a hardened nipple.

Your gasp bloomed as a pathetic whine that only intensified once Jean compromised his height, bending down to sweep his wet tongue over the stiff bead of your breast.

“You haven’t lost your virginity yet, have you?” Connie questioned, two fingers now perforating your tight hole.

You swallowed a desperate cry, your body writhing with the dual sensation of Connie’s fingers and Jean’s tongue. “No, not yet.”

Connie hummed. “Well, who better to lose it to than your best friends?”

Jean released your nipple from between his teeth to nod in concert. “Yeah, we’ll take care of you. Just relax.”

Your hands eased your tentative grasp on their forearms and traveled upwards so you could wrap your arms around their shoulders.

In one gentle pull you drew them in closer, sticky skin touching and sultry sighs marrying together, then you three locked eyes only for a moment, just long enough to reinforce the trust you held in them, and you nodded in submission.

“That’s it, good girl,” Connie praised, sliding his fingers into you once again, curling his digits against your tense walls. He flattened the heel of his palm against your clit, stimulating the swell of your cunt with the rhythmic twisting of his wrist.

Your skin began to tingle with a frenzy of static at the reception of your first orgasm, and the pit of your stomach gave host to the overwhelming buzz of ecstasy. Your breathing grew shallow and you shut your eyes with so much intensity that white dots flickered against the darkness of your lids.

“Please—” You begged to neither of them in particular, but your embrace on both of your friends tightened, and then your orgasm came as a technicolor blaze against your closed eyes.

Connie and Jean’s shifted to provide more support around your waist as your body went lax in their arms, and your unrestrained cry echoed slightly in the unguarded space of the alleyway.

“Fuck, you’re messy,” Connie remarked and withdrew his hand from between your thighs, an impish smile rippling across his languid expression, then he showed Jean the way your essence stretched into thin strings between his fingers whenever he spread them.

The two exchanged an unspoken counsel as though they both stumbled across the idea of how exciting it would be to watch you taste yourself off of Connie’s fingers, but then they waived their suggestion, figuring you weren’t yet ready to do something so obscene.

“Please, I need you guys so bad right now,” you pleaded once your rapture subsided, unaware of the vulgar fantasies that were brewing in your friends’ heads.

Jean’s hands toured over your partially bare chest to your sweaty thighs where Connie’s touch still lingered. “You want us to fuck you? How bad?”

“Badly, Jean. Please.” You looked at him from behind eyelashes damp with tears, and his eyebrows drew upwards in sympathy at the sight of you so tortured and desperate.

Connie quickly began unfastening the buttons of his pants, even with a slick grip. “You think you can take both of us at the same time?”

“Yes, please, just fuck me.” You exhaled heavily, quivering fingers trying to move the fabric of your underwear to the side, and once Jean detected your struggle, he dipped a careful hand between your legs to do it for you.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he responded to your plea, then he bent down to wrap a long arm around the back of your knee.

He brought your leg up to his side, allocating your remaining weight onto your other foot, and your insobriety had you teetering for balance before Jean’s other arm enclosed around your waist and Connie’s palms rested on your backside to hold you up.

Jean’s cock entered you first, slowly stretching out your undefiled hole until your hips met his pelvis. He didn’t move while he gauged your expression, eyes wound tightly in discomfort and lips tightened to keep yourself from complaining about the soreness while you tried to adjust to the foreign experience.

“You okay?” Jean asked through a heavy grunt, and he sighed in relief when you nodded and began undulating your hips back and forth gently against the stiffness of his length.

“I’m okay,” you murmured through a subtle grimace.

“Are you sure?” Connie added over your shoulder, sensing the way your muscles tensed. “Loosen up, it’ll hurt more if you tighten up like that.”

Your ears began to smolder with heat at your lack of experience. Jean and Connie now unexpectedly treating you as if you were fragile made you lean forward until your head rested shyly against Jean’s shoulder. “I said I’m fine,” you stressed.

Connie nodded, taking your words for what they were, and his hands reassuringly stroked the skin of your ass before he sunk himself into you from behind, eliciting a quiet whimper from your trembling lips.

The duo gave you a few generous seconds for you to attune yourself to their size, and then they began to move, rocking their hips upward into you with even-paced movement until your body was oscillating with the force of each thrust.

Your lightheaded whimpers provoked Jean and Connie, and each fraught cry resulted in the quickening of their tempo.

“Look at you taking our cocks so well,” Connie praised, his heavy breath fanning over the curve of your neck. “You haven’t been whoring around without telling us, have you Y/N?”

You shook your head, inhaling deeply as you dragged the thick sex-soiled air into your overworking lungs.

“I hope not,” Jean said in response through gruff moans. “You’re our girl right?” He looked down to spectate as his cock disappeared into your cunt and receded, glazed in a gossamer layer of your arousal, over and over again. “Tell us no one got to touch you before we did.”

Your confession came as a quiet moan which made Connie dig his hot fingertips into the pert curve of your ass.

“Say it, Y/N.”

“No one’s—No one’s touched me before.” Tears brimmed your eyes, and you felt your clench low, both holes pursing around the thick girths of your friends’ cocks. “I’m yours.”

“Again,” Connie urged as he pressed chaste kisses to the curve of your ear and teased the bone of your jawline with his tongue.

“I’m yours. I promise, I’m all yours.” Your voice hit a higher register as the throaty cry left your mouth, and desire perfumed the little space between all three bodies that continued rising to a place of release.

Jean drove his cock into you, his own eyes closed as he threw his head back and savored the overwhelming sensation, penetrating deeper each time until the slick sound of slippery skin became audible.

“Such a good girl,” he coaxed, his voice deep and rich as his throat bobbed with each word. “That’s right, your pretty holes are all ours.”

“You’re lucky. Getting fucked by two cocks for your first time,” Connie hissed through gritted teeth. “You should be thanking us, don’t you think?”

You swallow thickly. “Th—Thank you.”

“For what?” Jean slurred, amber eyes holding your lethargic gaze.

“Thank you, for fucking me. It feels so fucking good.”

You held them closer around their shoulders, your leg hugging Jean’s waist while the three of you coalesced and both of them verged on their consummation.

You grew motionless between both bodies, not from unease, but from the satisfaction of being pampered by your two best friends.

Jean’s hips grew still first as pleasure flowed through his cock in a series of twitches, and then his wave peaked. He pushed up into you one last time and released, his hot cum painting your walls in sticky white as he held back a deep groan you knew he wanted to liberate.

Connie’s orgasm was a lot less contrived, failing to hamper the pitchy moans that cracked through his throat as his balls tightened. He dug his fingers into your ass as his cock jerked with each spurt, filling you up and unlading every last drop of cum until he grew soft in your used hole.

When the two withdrew from your entrances, you caught a glimpse of the way their cocks glistened with their own milky essence in the dim orange light of the alleyway.

Jean freed your leg from the hook he had around your knee, and once you returned both feet to the ground you stumbled slightly before stabilizing yourself with the hand Connie reached out to steady you with.

“How are we gonna get home?” you muttered, now realizing that none of you were coherent enough to find your way back home on the subway like you’d done in order to get to the club.

You adjusted your underwear and reshaped your dress, pouting at the damp and unpleasant feeling between your legs, and you kept your thighs together in fear that your cum-filled holes would begin to leak.

Although the night was still young, you could tell that your friends were spent just the same.

Connie squinted at the bright light of his phone in the darkness of the back-street as he tucked himself back into his pants and attempted to button them back up with one hand.

“Nearest Uber is like, seven minutes,” he informed you two, his quick tapping against the screen meaning he was likely requesting the ride without either you or Jean confirming.

You hummed, making sure you looked presentable before beginning to shuffle towards the street while your friends followed your lead in silence, and you hoped that once you were back at your dorm and sober, the night’s events would be forgotten in the midst of your drunken stupor.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

"I don't fucking need you. I don't fucking need anyone."

(ideally said to reinforce an angry, apathetic façade)

CW: Panicked whumpee, trauma response, discussion of stabbing/murder, defiant/angry whumpee, referenced prostitution/dubcon, brief internal dehumanization reference

Jake Gets Stabbed: First Second Third Fourth

Also includes @nonsensicalwhump’s prompt ‘don’t fucking touch me’

There was an old backpack already in the closet when he moved into this place. It was worn around the edges, with safety pins all along the top because the zipper had long since broken, an olive green that might have been brighter, once upon a time. The bottom’s duct-taped in layers to hold it together. There are more safety pins holding seams together along the side, another strip of tape where there’s smeared permanent marker, too destroyed for Jameson to even read it.

The backpack looks like Jameson feels, wrecked and ruined and trying valiantly to stay together at the seams, only to come apart anyway.

He stuffs a package of goldfish crackers into the backpack on top of the three pairs of boxers and two shirts and one pair of pants he’s already put inside. Then he adds the bit of beef jerky he keeps up on the top shelf in the closet, where he has to climb onto a box to even reach it. 

His heart hammers in his chest, and when Allyn’s fingertips brush along his shoulder blades through his shirt he jerks away from them, shoving some granola bars in, too. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He snaps, but all he wants is to collapse back into their arms, let them tell him it’ll be okay again, and believe it.

But he can’t believe it.

Their rainshower voice is a lie, the taste of ozone and the relieved wash of cool water is a lie, it’s all a fucking lie and it always fucking was.

“Jameson, no one is asking you to leave,” They say, voice low and soothing, their hands out but not quite touching him now. He glances over his shoulder at those long, long fingers, graceful elegant hands made for gesturing at the parties they tell him about. Fingers entirely unlike his own, the pinky that won’t quite close all the way anymore, the scars layered over them from every time they were hit until they bled, until he begged for more.

“No one has to,” Jameson says, staring down at the empty space in the top of the backpack. Does he own so little? Does he even own any of this? He can’t take the carvings in the closet wall, and that’s most of what he even wants to take. His proof to himself that he was a person, however briefly, before he goes back out to lose it all over again. “I killed m-my fucking-... the person who believed I c-c-ould be better, I killed him-”

“He’s not dead,” They say softly, and their hair hangs over their face. It’s all mussed and frizzy, and he thinks they look even prettier and more handsome somehow, like they’ve rolled out of bed, even though he knows it’s because they’re worried, too worried to pull it back, too worried to care. “I, I heard them call a doctor. Someone’s going to sew it up and he’ll b-be-”

“He’ll bleed to fucking death because of me,” Jameson says, and the weight of it hits him now. He sits down on his bed but it’s more like he falls into it. It’s not his bed anymore, anyway. It’ll be some other rescue’s, someone more deserving than he’s ever been of regaining humanity.

Some other rescue will arrive and lay down here across from Allyn and maybe watch the moonlight move over their face while they look outside and think that no one in the world has ever been as lovely in silvery light as them, and Jameson will be out on the street fucking for cash or food or for ten minutes of safety from himself.

Unless he kills them.

He might.

He might do that, if he-... if he sees Robert in their faces, or Brute, or if he gets lost in himself again he could keep killing people and then he’s not any different, and it wasn’t just to escape and it wasn’t worth it, and from the second he walked away from Nanda’s house he was just going to turn into a killer, wasn’t he? And now he is one.

Now he’s-

Jameson leans over himself, pressing his forehead to his knees, feeling all the scars along his back stretch uncomfortably as he moves. He takes in slow, even breaths, fighting the despair that overwhelms him, buries, drowns him in what he’s done.

He’s just a hand, reaching out, but he’d thought he was reaching out for help. Instead he was holding a knife.

“I won’t let them kick you out,” Allyn says softly, but insistently, dropping to a crouch in front of him. Their hands still hover, wanting so badly to touch him, respecting that he doesn’t want them to. He can feel the warmth of them even so. Their hands are so close. “I promise. I’ll, I’ll convince them somehow to let you stay. We can figure this out, Jameson, you don’t have to be all by yourself.”

“It’s fine, I d-did it before, I can do it again. It’s fine.” Jameson talks into the fabric of his jeans, lets it muffle the emotion and flatten his words. His shoulders shake with a sob he catches before it ever leaves his throat. 

“Jameson, you know we don’t do well alone, you need-”

“I don’t fucking need anyone!” His head jerks up, meeting their gray eyes with his own dark brown. He can feel air move against his skin and realizes with some dull surprise he’s crying again. “I don’t-... I don’t fucking need a keeper, I don’t need... I don’t n-need anybody, I don’t need y-y... I don’t-”

He can’t tell that lie.

“Please don’t leave,” Allyn says, and their hands come to rest gently on either side of his face now, cool dry palms against his flushed damp skin. “Jameson. Please don’t leave me.”

“I tried to kill the first person to help me,” Jameson whispers. “The first person who didn’t ask for anything back. I tried to kill him.”

Allyn shakes their head. “You tried to kill R-... Robert, whoever that was. You tried to kill someone who hurt you. You didn’t know. If you leave, I-I’ll go with you, I can... I can go with you.”

“No you can’t. You don’t know how t-to handle shit out there, Allyn, it’d-...” He looks over their faces, the tears in their eyes, tears he caused, it’s his fault they want to cry. It’s his fault everyone in this house wants to cry, now, it’s his fault they bleed in every possible way. It’s his fault, for thinking he was ever more than just another rabid dog. 

“I’ll go anyway,” Allyn says, fiercely. Their voice pours on his tongue, it’s the taste of a raging rush of river, a flood in the middle of the night, washing out the dry earth. “I’ll go with you anyway, we’ll figure it out, Jameson, you and I. I won’t lose anyone else-... I won’t lose you.”

Jameson hitches in a breath that burns all the way down to his lungs, and his own hands rise, slowly, to rest over theirs. “But... it could happen again, Allyn. What if-... what if it happens again?”

“What if it does? So what? It’ll just be us, we can just run, we can do it.” Allyn just looks at him, with those tears starting to well up and run down their cheeks like the water he tastes when they speak.

He licks at his lips, forcing the words out with every ounce of strength he has left. “What if... what if n-next time it’s you?”

Allyn opens their mouth to respond only for there to be a soft rap at the doorframe, both of them turning to look. 

Jake’s boyfriend, the one who used to be like them, stands there. His wide blue eyes are nearly red from crying, and his face is as flushed as Jameson’s. To Jameson, his eyes seem cold and glittering, shattered glass. 

His voice tastes like pears when he speaks, and Jameson shudders wondering if there’s a needle slipped into the soft skin of the fruit. 

“Jameson?”

The two of them don’t move, except that Jameson curls his scarred, rough fingers over Allyn’s smooth hands and holds on as they drift down. He only looks at Kauri and says, his hoarse voice still thick with his own dread and guilt and fear, “Yeah?”

Kauri rakes a hand back through half-controlled black curls and takes a breath. “He’s all sewn up, and there’s some... someone Nat knows downstairs now, with Dr. Masood. They think-... I don’t know. Probably not going to, uh, to d-die.”

Jameson nods, his grip tightening on Allyn’s fingers, but the other rescue doesn’t pull away or flinch, only holds right back, just as tightly. “That’s-... good. Kauri, I, I didn’t know-”

“Yeah, I get it.” Kauri’s voice sharpens, and Jameson closes his eyes. Pear and razor blades, blood on his tongue, not like Nanda. This blood doesn’t taste like pleasure but guilt and regret. “I know-... I get it. Chris more... more or less explained it to me. But we need to talk.”

Allyn squares their shoulders, jaw settling. “It’s not his fault. You can’t blame him, he didn’t know-”

“I need to talk,” Kauri says with effort, “to Jameson.” His eyes go to the backpack packed on the bed, not yet closed up, the symbol of Jameson’s intent to run. Something changes in his expression, but Jameson can’t read it. “I need to talk to Jameson alone.”

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump @burtlederp

[thebibliosphere]

In case you’re wondering what it’s like to be in the ER right now for non Coronavirus symptoms, allow me to say on behalf of all the medical professionals in the US and indeed the entire world right now: STAY THE FUCK INSIDE AND ADHERE TO SOCIAL DISTANCING GUIDELINES AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE TO HELP FLATTEN THE CURVE AND REDUCE THE SPREAD OF INFECTION.

I experienced my first ever “thunder clap” (x) headache this morning, the pain was so intense it took away my ability to think. I couldn’t move, speak or even scream. It subsided in under 5 minutes, but those were the longest 5 minutes of my life, and I’ve had root canals done without anesthesia. I’ve fractured my spine, gotten up and carried on walking.

We called the nurse helpline only for them to say they’d call us back. They never did. ETD ended up driving me to the ER, where we debated going inside. The administrator told us we would need to separate, he couldn’t come any further than the red line marked on the floor. I was escorted through empty corridors toward a space that used to be inhabited by seating cubicles used for IV lines (can you tell I’ve been here a lot?), that had been turned into prefabricated rooms. The nurse leading me through the corridors had a walkie-talkie strapped to his front. He kept up a running commentary of where we were at all times. I asked him if it was because I might be contagious, and he told me frankly, yes.

I was asked several times if I had flu like symptoms, did I have a cough, did I have a fever. I told them I did not. They didn’t seem to know what to do with me. I was seen first by a junior doctor, who for reasons of importance later on, I need you to know looked like young John Mulaney 

“She doesn’t have flu symptoms, what should I do?” he whispered to the nurse from behind the plastic curtain separating me from the rest of the world. 

“Well what symptoms does she have?”

Stroke. Possibly. Or a brain bleed. It was possible, with my history of neck injury. My blood pressure certainly implied something was wrong. A senior doctor was called in, who re-performed the neurological testing, which was all fine. They continued to panic over my blood pressure, however, right up until I said “if you let me lie down I’m sure it will normalize.”

“Why?”

“We think I have POTS, I’m seeing Dr X at this hospital.”

“Why isn’t that in your medical file?”

“She doesn’t want to label me with a disability because of how she thinks it will negatively impact my outlook on life.”

“...as opposed to actually having POTS?!”

“Yes.”

Which was the first time I’ve ever actually heard a doctor say “What the fuck?” loudly and emphatically. In my head I nicknamed him Sassy Senior Doctor. It was evident he was standing on his last nerve and had stopped giving a shit about everything that wasn’t keeping people alive.

“What else is missing from your file?”

“Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and Mast Cell Activation Syndrome.”

“Oh my god why are those missing?!”

“Ehlers Danlos is a new diagnosis from outside [Network] and my files are pending release. MCAS was because the allergist at this hospital told me it’s a made up disease.”

“No it isn’t!”

“Tell that to the allergist.”

I was allowed to lie down and my blood pressure normalized. They concluded I was not having a stroke. 

It was during this conversation that junior doctor, Dr. Young Not John Mulaney, came back into the room, and the Nurse, not missing a beat said “looks like we’ve got a zebra*, not a horse in the hospital.”

They were all wearing masks, but Dr. Young Not John Mulaney’s facial expression was clear. Outside the plastic curtain, Sassy Senior Doctor made a sound something like what I imagine an owl being given the Heimlich maneuver would sound like. 

“We’re trying to figure out what to do with you.” Dr. YNJM said. “You’re the only patient in here not for respiratory problems.” 

I was once again asked if I had any flu like symptoms, or if anyone in my family had. “My husband’s had bronchitis for six weeks.”

“That’s too long to have bronchitis,” said the Sassy Senior Doctor. “What did they give him for it?”

“Prednisone.”

“Jesus H Christ. Is he staying home from work? What do you mean no? Is he an essential healthcare worker? No? Tell him to stay home. For his sake and yours. I don’t want to see you back in here with a collapsed lung...”

They consulted with a neurologist via tele-medicine, who said the excruciating burning sensation I described lancing through the side of my face, sounded like trigeminal neuralgia (x). “She needs to come see us. It might be TN, or it might be her neck pinched a nerve. EDS can be like that.”

“Can you take her right now?”

“Are you kidding?”

They could not take me right now. Apparently I will have to wait until we are not facing a global pandemic.

“Can you feel your hands?” Sassy Senior Doctor asked one more time. “Can you wiggle your toes? Can you grip my hands. Do you still not have any flu or flu like symptoms? No? Excellent, get the fuck out.”

The nurse assured me he meant it kindly, and I believed her. 

They prescribed me muscle relaxants I can’t take because of my EDS, but said it might help, in a pinch—no pun intended. 

“Stay home and stay safe” was the final parting advice I was given, and then they let the zebra out of the hospital.

---

*There is a common expression in the medical community: when you hear hoof beats, look for horses, not zebras, meaning that if a patient presents with X symptoms, they probably have the most likely diagnosis, which is Y. 

Unfortunately for chronic and genetic problems like Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, this means our health issues are often brushed off as mental health, life style choices, or sometimes maliciously as attention seeking. This has lead to the community adopting the Zebra as their mascot, because sometimes when you hear hoof beats, it’s worth looking for stripes.

[angelicyoongie]

desolate (9)

— summary: you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so, you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

— pairing: cat hybrid yoongi x human reader

— genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut

— word count: 5.2k

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Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part ten (M) Part eleven Part twelve Part thirteen Part fourteen (M)

The man gulps loudly, his eyes flying over your face in the darkness. Your body is frozen stiff with terror, your brain short-circuiting as he takes another step forward.

“C-can I help you with anything?” The man stutters, his squeaky voice somehow matching his lanky appearance. He seems surprisingly nervous to find you here, but it’s not like that does much to soothe your fears. You grasp his desk behind your back, rooting yourself in the feeling of the cold wood beneath your palms.

“My computer died, I don’t know how to fix it,” You say, praying he doesn’t hear the slight tremor in your voice.

“But it can wait until tomorrow, sorry for bugging you!” You push off the desk with a strained smile, quickly maneuvering around him as you start walking towards the door with hurried steps.

“N-no wait, I can help you!” The loud footsteps rushing up behind you makes your shoulders shoot up to your ears with tension, your flight or fight response begging you to get out of there as fast as possible. But the man reaches your side before you can make a choice, his breath slightly labored from the sprint he just did across the room.

“Sure,” You wince as he walks past you, his long legs already carrying him up the stairs. You make sure to keep some space between you as you follow him. It feels a little ridiculous considering he hasn’t actually done anything bad, but you learned long ago that it’s important to trust your gut, and you still don’t have an explanation as to why he has your things.

The man abruptly stops as he reaches the first cluster of desks on your floor, letting you pass him by to lead him over to your computer. “It just turned off and won’t come back on,” You give yourself an internal round of applause for how steady your voice sounds, despite your heart feeling like it’s about to jump out of your chest.

He gives you a curt nod, eyes glued to your desk as he slides down into your chair. You step back to give him room, following his movements carefully as he opens up a panel to look inside the consol. You let your eyes wander slightly, just enough to realize how odd this guy really is.

His clothes don’t match up with the uniform the IT department normally wears, and his hair seems to be too long. You’re honestly surprised he has managed to keep it at that length; your boss would surely throw a fit if he ever noticed. Even if you pushed all of those things aside, he still has this air of something being a little off surrounding him, and it’s enough to keep you feeling alert.

You’re shaken out of your thoughts as your screen suddenly lights up, the man shifting in your chair to stand. As he rises, the soft blue hue illuminating your desk catches on a weird pattern on his neck. You inch forward to get a better look, but his hair falls back down to cover it before you can see it properly. It’s probably just a tattoo of some kind, but you feel like the pattern looks oddly familiar for some reason.

“Y-you should try logging in and see if it works,” Another wave of unease washes over you as he turns his attention back to you. You’re not even sure if you have seen him blink yet. Pushing it into the back of your mind, you take a seat in front of him, all too aware of his presence just behind your back.

You quickly type in your information, fingers flying over the keyboard with a speed you didn’t even know you possessed. It feels like hours have passed before the screen finally changes to your homepage, but your relief is short-lived as the program you had been working in tries booting up and failing, again and again.

“I-it’s overworked. Y-you just need to close it down and fill in new information one by one,” You stiffen as the man reaches over your shoulder for the mouse, his other hand tapping away on the keyboard as he forcibly quits the program. You hold your breath as you feel his chest against your shoulders, his face way too close to yours for comfort.

Your lungs are burning for air when he finally pulls back, your hands wrapped together tightly in your lap.

“I-it should be okay now,” He stammers out, eyes gliding over your form one last time before he scurries out of your sight.

You collapse against the back of your chair, running your fingers through your hair as you take some deep breaths. You can still feel the ghost of his body against your own, the lingering coldness he seemed to be radiating. Sure - it’s getting closer and closer to winter, but how can someone be so cold? It doesn’t seem humanly possible.

You quickly snatch up your belongings, only tearing your eyes away from the entrance of the floor to make sure you’ve got everything. The more you learn about him, the more suspicious he becomes. Obviously him taking some stationary, acting weird and being cold isn’t enough to tell your boss about, but you decide you’re definitely going to be keeping an eye on him. Something just doesn’t sit right with you.

You practically run out of the office, the brisk air doing little to calm your mind as you hurry home.

.

You take a step back in surprise as you’re hit with a wall of warmth as soon as you open the door to your apartment. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Yoongi has been cranking up the heating while you’re at work. You sigh as you remove your shoes and coat, the electricity bill just adding to your long list of problems. While you would love to not have to worry about things like this and just let Yoongi do whatever he wants – the reality is that you can’t. Not unless you want the both of you to end up on the street.

“Yoongi?” You call out as you put away your purse. You’ve grown so used to Yoongi practically waiting for you at your door, or at least coming out to greet you, that not seeing or hearing him at all is weird.

“M’here,” A muffled voice comes from your bedroom, the sound barely making it past the tiny crack between the door and the frame. As you push it open, you’re greeted with the sight of Yoongi swaddled up in all the blankets you own, his furry cat ears barely peeking out on top of them.

“Comfortable?” You grin teasingly as you make your way over to your closet, pulling out some cozy clothes to change into. You feel like a magician as you try to pull out a sweater without knocking over everything on top of it. You ended up moving some clothes around to free up some space for Yoongi, but your already tiny closet doesn’t seem to be too happy about the change considering it threatens to spew out all of your clothes whenever you try to grab something.

“It’s cold,” Yoongi grumbles in response, his narrowed eyes barely visible underneath the mountain of blankets he’s surrounded himself with.

“It hasn’t grown that cold just overnight Yoongi,” You gesture over to his form, but Yoongi just huffs in response. You suppose it’s probably just a hybrid thing. Maybe he’s just more susceptible to the cold than you are.

“I don’t mind you taking all the blankets, but you can’t turn the heating up so high. It’s ..” You grimace, voice trailing off as you see Yoongi’s ears start to flatten. He probably can’t help it if he’s cold, and asking him to turn the heat down might just be cruel if his internal temperature is suddenly so wonky. Maybe you can just pick up some extra work somewhere else during the winter months.

“It’s too expensive. I forgot, I’m sorry,” Yoongi finally pokes his head fully out of the covers, the corner of his lips tugging downwards as he looks at you apologetically.

“It’s okay. A little extra heat is fine, just not on the highest setting,” You’re about to exit the room when you see the little shiver than seems to run through Yoongi’s body, the cat hybrid closing his eyes momentarily as it passes.

“Are you sick?! Is that why you’re feeling cold?” You hurry over to the bed, carefully placing your hand on Yoongi’s forehead to feel for his temperature. You almost hiss in surprise as you touch his skin, he’s absolutely freezing in comparison to you.

You feel Yoongi’s body stiffen under your touch, his eyes snapping up to yours as you flip your hand around. You were hoping you might just have cold hands from being outside but no, his temperature is definitely way lower than it should be.

“Why do you smell like that?” Yoongi’s voice is tense as he leans forward, his nostrils flaring slightly as he inhales your scent.

“Like what?” You turn your head to sniff your sweater, already moving back from Yoongi in case you happen to smell bad. But a cold hand shoots out of the blankets to grab yours before you can step away fully, Yoongi pulling you back. You’re practically kneeling on the bed in front of the cat hybrid, one hand almost touching his chest from how close he’s pulled you in.

“You smell like someone else,” He hisses. And oh, the realization hits you just a little too late. The IT guy must have left his scent on you when he touched you earlier. You watch as Yoongi shakes off his blankets, his tail bristling up as soon as it’s free.

“Oh,” You say dumbly as Yoongi’s expression darkens. You can’t figure out why he seems so upset – you can’t imagine that this is the first time you’ve ever come home smelling like another person. You hug Jihyo all the time after all.

“Oh?” He echoes, lips pressed into a firm line. “Are you not going to tell me who it was, kitten?”

Your mind goes blank at the nickname as Yoongi grabs a hold of your other hand, the movement so fast it makes you stumble forward on the bed. You swallow thickly as you find your hands pressed up against Yoongi’s chest, his pale fingers wrapped around your wrists. Yoongi watches you through hooded lids, his black cat ears twitching as he hears your shaky exhale.

“I-it’s not important. He’s not important,” You mutter, heat creeping up your neck as Yoongi’s tail brushes against your legs. You don’t want to mention the guy from work. You don’t have any hard evidence to show except for him being a little creepy, and you don’t want to worry Yoongi with it in case it pans out to be nothing more.  

“So it was a he,” A displeasured sound rumbles from Yoongi’s chest, the vibrations so strong you can feel it through the fabric of his shirt.

“Why does it matter?” You ask. Yoongi scoffs as he slowly inches closer, the look in his eyes bordering on predatory.

“Of course it matters,” Yoongi says, his face is so close you can count every eyelash. He pauses, eyes turning dark as they flicker down to your lips. “You should only smell like me, you’re my owner after all.”

“Owner?!” You choke, eyes widening in surprise at Yoongi’s nonchalant attitude. You had never thought of yourself as Yoongi’s owner – the idea of owning something that was even remotely human making you feel sick.

Yoongi only hums in response, fingers leaving your wrist to cup your cheek instead. “I belong to you, you belong to me. Isn’t that what you promised when you signed those papers at the shelter?”

Yoongi runs his thumb across your cheek, the touch so soft and delicate you wouldn’t even had known it was there, if it wasn’t for the trail of fire his fingertips leave behind on your skin.

“I thought you were a cat!” You sputter.

“And?” Yoongi’s hand slips from your face, a fingertip ghosting over the corner of your mouth before he drops it. His adverts his eyes with a frown, ears pinned back against his head as he leans back. Your face is burning, but at least the little distance he’s given you is enough to clear your mind from repeating Yoongi’s name over and over.

“I don’t want to own you, Yoongi. You’re a human being. It doesn’t work like that.” Yoongi’s grip loosens around your wrist, just enough to allow to you pull your hands back down into your lap.

“Fine, if you say so,” He hisses, hands scrambling to wrap the blankets back around himself once more. You slowly rise to your feet, your chest churning with uncertainty as you pick up the clothes you dropped on the floor earlier. You can feel Yoongi’s gaze burning into the side of your face through the small opening between the blankets.

“At least go wash off that stench.” He growls.

You don’t waste any time as you hurry out of the room, quickly closing the bathroom door behind you as you get inside. You rest your forehead against the wood, a string of low curses falling from your lips.

This whole situation has made you feel weird. Yoongi has never acted like this before, never been so obviouslyjealous of someone else touching you, and well, judging by the blush in your cheeks and the hard pounding of your heart, you kind of … like it. And you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that realization.

You groan in despair as you quickly strip off your clothes, hopping into the shower to wash off whatever scent might be left lingering on your skin. You find yourself outside of your bedroom door again in no time, hand resting on the doorknob uncertainly. It’s not like you can avoid Yoongi or the feelings that suddenly jumped you out of nowhere forever, you live together in a pretty tiny apartment after all. You open the door just enough to catch a glimpse of the pile of blankets, your voice soft as you call out to him.

“Have you eaten any dinner yet?” You get a grunt in response, and you take that as a firm ‘no’.  You’re pretty sure Yoongi must be coming down with something based on how freezing he feels to the touch and with how weird he’s acting, so you figure at least getting him to eat is important.

For the first time since Yoongi started warming up to you, you eat your dinners separately.

The cat hybrid refused your offer to come out into the living room, instead telling you to leave the bowl of soup just inside the door to your bedroom. You obliged of course, not wanting to pressure him if he doesn’t feel well, but you’ve grown so used to Yoongi’s company that it feels strangely empty eating alone again.

You swirl your spoon around absentmindedly, watching as the pieces of vegetables float around in your bowl. You know Yoongi is only at the other side of the door, but it feels too far – too lonely. You chew on your lip, annoyed with how clingy you’re acting. If you’re already feeling like this after just living together for a month, you don’t want to know how attached you’re going to become later. You don’t even know how long Yoongi will stay; he has nothing tying him down here. You’re just something in-between, just a place for him to crash at until it’s safe for him to leave. You push your bowl away with a sigh, your appetite spoiled.

A quick look at your phone confirms that it’s time to go to sleep unless you want to be a walking zombie tomorrow. And if you happen spend a little extra time in the bathroom getting ready for bed, in hopes that Yoongi will have transformed and gone to sleep by the time you’re done, then well that’s nobody’s business besides your own. But you should have known you wouldn’t be that lucky.

Your heart flips when you open the door, a very human looking Yoongi staring right back at you. He’s sprawled across your bed, using every inch for what it’s worth. You notice that the pile of blankets has been pushed down to the floor by his side.

“I’m staying here tonight,” He announces, his tail swishing languidly back and forth over your comforter as he watches you move around the room. The bowl you gave him earlier is empty, so thankfully he still has an appetite.

“Don’t you do that every night?” You ask, quirking an eyebrow. Yoongi hums, his pupils growing larger the more light you turn off. His eyes roam over your face unabashedly, the glint in his eyes matching the lazy smirk that grows on his lips.

“Sure .. but not like this.”

“Like what?” You step up next to the bed, pausing in confusion as Yoongi suddenly gets under the duvet. He usually always sleeps on top of it.

“I’m staying here the way I am now – ” Yoongi tilts his head, the challenge clear in his eyes as he makes himself comfortable in your bed, “Human.”

“The couch is breaking my back, so I refuse to sleep there. And it’s too cold for you, so don’t even think about it,” He looks smug, clearly having read your thoughts as they formed in your head.

“What about the rule?” You huff.

“That rule was technically broken the first time I woke up human in your bed,” Yoongi rolls his eyes as he impatiently pats the space next to him.

“Fine, just .. stay on your side,” You say as you pull back the cover, flicking off your bedside light as you climb into bed. You’ve barely laid down before you feel Yoongi’s tail brush against your calves, your sleepwear doing little to cover your legs.

“What did I just say?” You mumble, twisting your neck to look in Yoongi’s direction. You freeze as you find a pair of golden eyes staring back at you, the sliver of light coming from your window illuminating his eyes in the darkness.

“What? I’m on still on my side,” You can hear the teasing tilt to Yoongi’s voice as his tail swipes over your leg, the soft fur almost ticklish against your bare skin.

“Yoongi ..” Your words die in your throat as a cold hand wraps around yours under the covers. Yoongi easily slots your fingers together, golden eyes unblinking as he looks back at you.

“But I’m cold – No, I’m freezing,” He whines. Yeah, you think, Yoongi is definitely sick. There’s no way your grumpy hybrid roommate would ever sound so needy if he wasn’t.

You feel torn, and the fact that your fingers are itching to reach out and tug him closer just makes it even worse. Yoongi is obviously not in his right mind, and considering how your heart was trying to jump out of your chest earlier you have a sneaking feeling that your feelings for Yoongi aren’t all that platonic anymore. You don’t want to take the risk of making the friendship between you turn sour if he wakes up and regrets it in the morning. You’re not sure you can handle going back to how things were before.

“Please?” Yoongi softly adds, your resolve slowly chipping away for every pleading squeeze Yoongi gives your hand. You don’t need any light to imagine the puppy dog eyes he must be giving you in the darkness. You’re sure he could give Sana a run for her money.

“Only until you’re feeling warmer,” The words barely escape your lips before Yoongi brings you closer, his golden eyes glittering in the darkness. He expertly turns you over on your side as his arm snakes around your waist, fluffy tail wrapping around your leg. Yoongi tucks his face against the back of your neck with a content sigh, as shiver travelling down your spine as the puff of air hits your skin.

Your body locks up in shock, partly from having Yoongi pressed up against your back, but also from the icy feel of his skin. You definitely underestimated just how cold he was, it’s no wonder he was buried under so many blankets earlier.

“Thank you,” Yoongi mumbles against your hair, the arm around your waist tightening slightly. You can’t seem to form a coherent thought with Yoongi wrapped around you, but thankfully it doesn’t seem like he’s waiting for an answer.

It doesn’t take long before you hear the familiar broken purrs coming from Yoongi’s chest, the vibrations almost comforting against your back. As Yoongi’s breathing evens out, so does the tension in your body. He doesn’t feel as cold anymore, but that might be because you feel like you’re burning up from the inside out.

You would like to chalk it up to just being nervous because you haven’t been with anyone in a long time, but you know that isn’t true. You’re not nervous because someone is holding you, you’re nervous because that someone is Yoongi. You let out a soft sigh, Yoongi’s cat ears twitching against your jaw in response. You’re still not sure if this is the best idea, but it’s too late now. You’ll just have to deal with whatever outcome that will happen in the morning.

.

You wake up just in time to silence your alarm, your mind reeling to catch up as you feel soft breaths spill against your neck. It takes you a moment to realize that Yoongi is still cuddled up against your back, and another to realize how his temperature has shifted from freezing to boiling hot. You feel like you’re sleeping next to a furnace, and the drastic change worries you a lot more than what you would like to admit. It would probably be best to call in sick and stay home to make sure he’s okay, but then Jihyo would definitely be over after work to check on you, and that would probably just cause even more problems.

“I’m fine, you can go to work,” You let out a startled sound as Yoongi’s raspy voice fills your ears, the cat hybrid snuggling closer to your neck. You hear him inhale deeply, a happy rumble coming from his chest as he smells your mixed scents.

“You don’t feel fine to me Yoongi,” You desperately try to ignore how attractive his voice sounds, fighting to hold back the blush you can feel is starting to bloom on your cheeks.

“S’okay, nothing to worry about. Just need to sleep,” Yoongi untangles himself slowly, a low whine of protest escaping his lips as he flips around. He has never had to fight so hard with himself to let go, his instincts screaming at him to claim you.

You sit up to find that his ears are pinned back, his tail sliding from your legs to wrap around his own. He curls up into a ball, his hair plastered to the back of his neck. You gently lay a hand on his shoulder, but the wounded noise he lets out makes you snatch your hand back just as quickly.

“Please go,” Yoongi begs. “Don’t come back today. Stay with your friend and her dog,” Yoongi’s pained voice shifts into a growl at the mention of Jihyo and Sana. The sudden animosity in his voice almost gives you whiplash, but you have a sneaking suspicion he might be running a fever based on how hot he feels.

“Yoongi,” You hesitate. You can’t leave him alone if he’s sick, especially since you can’t take him to the hospital to get treated. He deserves to have someone to care for him.

“I said, go!” Yoongi whirls around so fast you almost tumble off the bed, the wild expression in Yoongi’s face making your stomach twist. His hair is sticking out to all sides, eyes blown out despite the light in the room. He reminds you of an animal ready to pounce as he lets out a loud hiss, his canines poking out over his lips.

You scramble out of bed, grabbing the first things you can see as you hurry out of the room. The moment you close the door behind you something smacks hard against it, Yoongi’s labored breathing sounding through from the other side. You’re about to open it to check if he’s okay when the lock clicks shut, and Yoongi lets out another growl.

“I wouldn’t want to stick around for too long if I were you kitten.”

You can’t remember the last time you got ready so quickly, only pausing in your quest to hurriedly pull out some food for Yoongi in case he gets hungry. While his sudden shift in demeanor scares you a little, you can’t help but worry. Something is definitely wrong, and while it might bring your early demise, you only have one person you trust enough to ask.

.

“I told you!” Sana chirps, her body seemingly a little confused if she should be happy or concerned that she’s been proven right. You waited until after work to spill the truth about Yoongi, not trusting the office to be a safe place to share any secrets.

Jihyo looks like she’s holding herself back from strangling you, a mix of anger and concern pulling her features tight.

“I thought you wanted me to get a hybrid?” You ask, leaning back in your chair as Jihyo points a shaking finger in your direction.

“Not like this y/n! You have no idea if Yoongi is telling you the truth. Maybe he’s just waiting for you to let your guard down so that he can murder you in your sleep!” She hisses, the action so similar to Yoongi it makes you feel even guiltier for leaving him alone at home.

“You and me both know he would’ve done that ages ago if that was the case,” You frown, anger lacing your voice at Jihyo’s ridiculous accusations. Jihyo crosses her arms with a huff.

“Scared,” Sana suddenly chimes in, her eyes glued to the table as you and Jihyo turn your attention to the dog hybrid. “He was scared. When I picked up the scent that was his strongest emotion,” She hangs her head, her white ears drooping down.

“I don’t think he would ever hurt y/n. He just seemed terrified that he would be exposed and thrown out,” You can see the guilt forming on Sana’s face, Jihyo reached out to comfort her immediately.

“It’s not your fault honey, you were just trying to protect my friend – your friend,” Jihyo pats Sana’s head comfortingly.

“I think he’s sick,” You mumble. “I can’t take him to get checked out in case they alert his owner, but I don’t know how to help him either. He looked really terrible when I left him,” Truth be told, you hadn’t been able to focus all day, your worry constantly eating away at your concentration.

Jihyo sighs, tiredly running a hand over her face as Sana leans against her shoulder.

“What kind of sick are we talking?”

“He was freezing yesterday, but when he woke up today he was burning up,” You miss the way Sana’s eyes light up in recognition, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.

“Oh, uh, anything else?” Jihyo’s voice grows weird, her eyes refusing to meet yours.

“I guess he’s been clingier lately? But I just thought that was him opening up more,” You bite your lip, trying to rack your brain to remember if Yoongi has been acting weird in any other way.

“Yesterday he was uhm, uncharacteristically jealous? He said I had someone else’s scent on me, and he seemed like he absolutely hated it,” You wince.

Jihyo chokes on her breath, Sana quickly excusing herself from the table to fetch her a glass of water. Your friend glares at Sana’s retreating back with a look of betrayal as her coughing ceases.

“Yoongi isn’t sick,” Jihyo clears her throat.

“Really?” You slump against your seat in relief, but it’s short-lived. That’s should be great news, so why does she look so concerned?

“Yeah, what he’s experiencing isn’t a sickness, but rather something all hybrids go through,” You nod uncertainly as Jihyo grimaces.

“Sana had those symptoms a little while after I brought her home too, it’s uh, their heat. Or in Yoongi’s case, his rut,” Jihyo says, her hands twisting on top of the table as she tries to figure out the best way to explain it.

“It happens naturally a few times a year, you can’t really do anything to stop it. Normally the symptoms are a lot milder than what you described, but I’m guessing Yoongi’s body might have suppressed his rut for a while if he wasn’t in a safe environment. So I think this might have been multiple ruts hitting him all at once,” You can’t help but feel a little pleased at Jihyo’s comment, that Yoongi must finally feel safe for his body to try to correct what has been pushed down for so long, but it’s quickly overtaking by concern.

“So it’s worse than just a normal rut then?” You ask. Jihyo nods in response.

“I’m obviously not a hybrid doctor, but I did a lot of research before I got Sana. Usually hybrids can do just fine on their own during their heats or ruts, they just have a heightened sex drive for a few days. But for Yoongi .. It’s probably really painful to go through it without a partner. And who knows how long it might last since it’s multiple ruts stacked into once.”

“Fuck,” You murmur. You should have done some research the moment you realized he was a hybrid. He shouldn’t have to suffer just because you’re ignorant of his needs. You might not be his legal owner, but you still took him in and practically promised him you would take care of him while he stayed with you.

“Is it too late to find a partner for him now?” You give Jihyo a pleading look, desperately hoping she might have the solution to your problems.

“No .. not really. I’m sure you could find a female cat hybrid somewhere that could be with him,” Jihyo watches you carefully as the words sink in, your heart being dragged to the bottom of your stomach along with them. While the thought of Yoongi being with someone else – and in your bed of all places – makes you feel terrible, this can’t be about you. Not when Yoongi is in pain.

“But even if you do find someone, it doesn’t mean he’ll accept them.” She pauses, eyes flickering over to Sana’s returning form before settling back on you.

“He might have already chosen a mate for his rut,” Sana sinks back into her seat besides Jihyo, the dog hybrid clasping one of your friend’s hands tightly between her own. Jihyo swallows hard, Sana giving her hand an encouraging squeeze.

“If his behavior is anything to go by .. I think Yoongi might have already chosen you.”

- - - - Oh uh, is that some incoming smut I'm smelling? Hope y'all are ready for a chapter that will mainly be 90% filth, aksjsj. And our resident creeper is just becoming more and more suspicious, isn't he? P.s. In case you’ve missed it, I’m doing a follower event where you can request prompt for me to fulfill! So definitely check that out here if that’s something that interests you.  Hope you’re all well and my inbox is always open if you want to chat about the story or just fics or life in general! See you all soon! <3

[butcherknives-remade]

Anonymous asked: Request for a reader(f! Or Nb!) patching up the sparda boys after they come home injured?

Tending to the Sparda men

ft. Gender Neutral Reader from the Devil May Cry Series

SFW - very fluffy

descriptions of blood/wounds

Dante

Although he regenerates skin cells, sinew, and bone on a molecular level that baffles you, when Dante saunters into the shop that day, you notice he has three long gashes like welted canyons serrated into the left side of his neck. The blood has coagulated, yet you see a rich shadow that taints the wound an unnatural purple.

When you ask, Dante waves you off with a sideways grin. Of course he does, you think. What were you expecting? Yet you catch the twist in his brows that expose the pain he’s masking, always blasé, and you refuse to let it slide even when he reminds you that hey, “My body heals itself, remember?”

When he removes his sword and jacket, you pull him into orbit to examine the wound. You can see the river of surrounding veins are a series of swollen blues. His skin seems pallid, and against the smattering of freckled blood stains, beads of sweat gleam.

Your concern is met with another dismissive click of his tongue. “Looks like I’m gettin’ old. Body’s slower on the uptake.” He shrugs. “Give it some time and it’ll be fine.”

Frankly, you don't care what he has to say. His jugular seems to pulsate with each heartbeat and even if he won’t tell you what happened, you’re still going to care for him; that’s your job, you say out loud. “So please sit down and let me do that?”

He doesn’t argue with you. His exhaustion is bruised beneath his eyes, so perhaps it’s a relief when he collapses on the couch. (He certainly seems to melt into the peeling leather.)

When you return, it’s with bandages and disinfectant, a clean cloth and a bowl of warm water; you place your items on the coffee table and sit at his left side while you survey the damage with clinical attention. “Seriously,” you say, wetting your cloth. “What did this to you?”

And Dante sighs through his nose as you gently dab his neck. “Hellhound.”

You pause, incredulous as you ask, “How?”

“Got me good,” he says with a derisive laugh. When you shoot him a warning glare, he raises his hands. “Look, I really don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine.”

You return to your work, diligent despite the concern that wraps icy fingers around your throat. “Does it hurt?”

His lips mesh together, his eyes sliding toward you. You can see the gears in his head turning as he weighs his options: Honesty or a bold-faced bluff? “Mm, I’d say... not as much as you seem to think.”

It takes roughly ten minutes until you feel satisfied. Until you place your bloody basin and cotton swabs down and observe the way his skin has begun to knit itself back together. Incredible. Anyone else would need stitches.

You’re so focused, you don’t catch the gentle smile twisting at the ends of his lips.

“How’s it looking, doc?” he asks as you squeeze preventative antibiotic - just in case he’s capable of getting an infection. “Will I live to see another day?”

You huff and cuff him gently on the arm as he snorts, but you find relief in his ability to jest through this. “Not if you keep giving me a hard time.”

He grins his mirth, yanking you into an unexpected embrace that steals the wind from your lungs. “Careful,” he says as you settle into his hold. “Who’ll patch me up if you try to kill me?”

You hum as if in thought. “You could always call your brother.”

This gets a laugh out of Dante. “Sure, so he can finish the job.”

“Finally,” you say with a chuckle.

“Finally,” he agrees.

And as you wrap your arms around him tighter, unbothered by the scent of his sweat and musk, you plant a feather kiss to his jaw. “Please be careful out there,” you tell him.

“So long as I have you,” he says as his lips brush against your crown, “I think I’ll be alright.”

Vergil

You don’t expect Vergil to burst into your home grasping the doorknob until his knuckles are white, his breathing ragged and teeth bared in agony. You startle and rise from your seat, at his side in a burst of horror. He’s bowed forward, hunched as he grapples for his torso, and you’re leading him inside with an arm around his waist.

Blood hammers through your ears. “What happened?” you ask, hurried, urging him to sit down.

“I miscalculated,” he grunts through his gritted jaw. “Arrived in a nest...” he swallows as you gingerly assist him into the recliner. “There were far too many.”

On his jacket you see blood staining the threading, yet when you reach for him, he jerks away. Your eyes flick up to meet his and within his guarded stare, you observe only the line of furrowed pain in that sea of otherwise unrelenting pride.

He says your name and you still your mind to listen. “Don’t trouble yourself. I only need time and I will heal.”

For a moment, you can’t help but endure the sting of rejection, yet you’re quick to recover; before anything else, he’s come here, to you, where he knows he’s safe to rest.

He trusts you. There are no words to express how profoundly this strikes your heart. It fills you, spreading like sunshine across the chords of your ribs until you buzz with breathless joy.

“Can I at least get you something?” You’re standing in front of him and you want nothing more than to be helpful, to show him how much you care, and as he studies you through his intensity, you are able to watch him make his conclusion. It’s a click in his irises; a spark of electric knowing.

“Your company.”

Heat floods your cheeks and with a nod, you take a seat at his side. You attempt to smother your smile, focusing instead on the way Vergil steals a moment of reprieve to close his eyes. Your worry lessens - you’re certain that he will recover.

“Will you take me with you next time?” you ask, intentionally quiet when you reach for his hand.

(He does not withdraw.)

His eyes part, that pale gaze shifting to observe you, mild and curious. “I wouldn’t actively seek to put you in danger.” His brow quirks. “I can heal. You may not.”

And while you know this is true, you wish he wouldn’t continue to venture on his own. Can he not take Dante? Nero? If he’s concerned with leading you to harm, surely his family can handle it? Yet you know Vergil too well, and with that comes the knowledge that he would rather take care of his own business because he thinks it’s easier than delegating tasks, or attempting to control two less malleable forces.

As your thumb strokes the back of his palm, you lean on your arm rest. “Can I make a request, then?” Although Vergil doesn’t answer, merely closing his eyes once more, you know that he’s listening. “Consider taking someone else with you? At least... Sometimes.”

He hums his acknowledgement. “Would it ease your fears?”

Your heart thrums. “Yes.”

Exhaling through his nose, he turns to look at you, and for a moment, he says nothing. He’s roving his eyes across your expression as if to read you, to piece together a detail he perhaps has missed, then finally, straightening his shoulders, he turns his palm over to press into yours. Your fingers lace.

“Then I suppose... I’ll consider it in the future.”

Nero

“For the last time, it’s not a big deal!” He tries to duck away but you’re persistent. “Ugh, quit it!”

“For heaven’s sake. Would you just stay still, Nero?”

You have your grip on his arm as you tug him toward you, but Nero has a stubborn heel in the carpet. His head is cast toward the wall but you can see him making a show of rolling his eyes regardless.

At least he’s fallen silent.

In your own tenacity, you crowd into his space and slide your hold to his hand. You have to use force to get him to relent, yet when he does, it’s with a long-suffering sigh that has you rolling your eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

“I’m not a -” but he catches himself, flushing, giving you a cantankerous stare before he scoffs and turns away once more.

Such a baby, you repeat to yourself.

There are a series of nicks in his knuckles from a particularly heavy-handed punch. His index finger is split open, a wound that spans across the entirety, and as you inspect it through the oozing blood, he huffs. “C’mon, seriously?”

“We need to wash it off,” you say with a sense of finality. “Come.”

And for all of his complaining, arguing, and - no matter what he says - whining, he follows you into your small bathroom where you twist the sink on. The water takes a moment to heat but when it does, you hold out your hand for his. He hesitates, lips flattened together, then wordlessly complies.

He stares at the flowing water rather than you, and in his expression, you can read the simmering shyness that he’s attempting to suppress behind a hardened glare.

“You shouldn’t fight me,” you tell him, patient despite the way he jerks in your hold as if burned. The water coasts along his knuckles, staining the sink a diluted crimson while you ghost the pads of your fingertips over the broken flesh. “I’m just trying to help.”

“But I’ll be fine,” he says, quiet against the rushing water. “I’ve been through way worse than this.”

“I know,” and you do. You’re peeking at him, smiling a touch while his muscles visibly ease. “But I’m here for you now and I hate seeing you hurt, so let me make it a big deal. Just a little bit. Please?”

A light brush of pink tints his face while he takes a sharp inhale, as if he’s irritated by the thought. You both know better. His eyes are giving him away and oh, they always do. There’s a glimmer of elation drawn there, the upturn of his brows belying the sweet spark of affection he feels.

You feel it, too.

“Here,” you say. “Keep your hand under the tap. I’m gonna grab some stuff to wrap your finger, okay?”

You slide past him, maneuvering through the tight space and tiled white walls to head toward your cabinet. Yet you get so far as the toilet before Nero’s snatching your wrist with his free hand, and when your gazes meet, his eyes dim with an outpouring of ardor that heats your cheeks.

“Thank you,” he says, and you tip your head with a demure smile. He gives you a sideways smile in return.

“You’re welcome.”

[starlightsearches]

College AU Hux for the 3 sentence fic?

Hello Lita! Thanks for the request!

I know that this is way more than be three paragraphs, but in my defense, I can’t count ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Requests are open ✨

Armitage Hux x Gender Neutral Reader College! AU

Warnings: Language and nothing else!

"Truth or dare?"

"This is childish—"

"Just answer the fuckin' question, Hux."

"Fine, truth."

The whole group groans, but Ren groans the loudest, ripping his head out of the lap of some girl Hux doesn't know the name of before pointing an accusatory finger in Hux's direction. "Seriously?"

Hux scoffs. "If you didn't want me to choose, then why did you ask?"

"Maybe he was hoping you'd branch out," Phasma says, crushing an empty beer can between her palms and tossing it over her shoulder. Hux's frown deepens—this was branching out. He hadn't even wanted to come to this party.

Still, it's not as bad as he imagined it would be. Ren and Phasma haven't abandoned him, and the crowd has been relatively tame, but there's always potential for embarrassment. If he sticks with truth, Ren might ask some horrible question as revenge.

"Fine, dare."

A slow smile spreads across Ren's face, and he leans back, looking up to the ceiling. "Let's see . . . I dare you to—" Everyone is silent, waiting, and Ren meets Hux's eyes with a cryptic expression.

"—spend ten minutes in that closet with . . ." he pauses, gazing at some distant point beyond Hux's shoulder. Ice grips at his heart; he doesn't want to look, but his head turns of its own accord.

Sweat beads at his temples when he sees what Ren is looking at—who Ren is looking at.

It's you.

There’s no humor in Ren’s eyes, when Hux turns back. No gotcha moment, no punchline. He's serious.

"No." His stomach rolls, heart pounding. Ren knew how much panic Hux went through just thinking about talking to you, and this? It was too much. Phasma rolls her eyes, but Ren looks delighted.

“Then you gotta strip and take a lap,” the girl next to Ren says, checking her nails before flattening Hux with a stare, “house rules.”

Hux can feel the heat rolling off his face, knows he’s probably turned as red as his hair. Ren looks at him with serious eyes, giving the subtlest of nods. He'd planned this from the beginning.

Hux stands on unsteady legs, moves through the crowd, in slow motion—like treading water. With every step closer he takes the beat of his heart becomes more pronounced until he's sure you can hear it, too.

You're perched on the armrest of some grubby couch, talking animatedly with some of your friends, but you pause the conversation when he arrives, offering him a casual smile, "Hey, Armitage."

He decides to tell the truth, or most of it, but he can't hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his name falling from your lips, repeating over, and over, and over.

"Okay," you agree as soon as he’s finished, shrugging your shoulders and passing the cup in your hand to your friend before you stand, "let's go."

"What?" He had thought you would say no—or maybe some part of him had hoped it, so that he could carry the weight of your rejection home on heavy shoulders. Instead, you take his hand in yours, weaving through the crowd with him in tow.

He keeps his eyes trained on the back of your head, ignoring the jeers and catcalls, and—loudest of all—the wolf-whistles Phasma and Ren add to the chorus. Relief only comes when the closet door closes. It's dark enough inside to hide his blush. Maybe you can still feel the heat of it, though, close as you are; closer than a brush in the dining hall, or a kismet collision outside the library.

“This isn’t so bad,” you whisper, your voice carrying over the muffled sounds of the party. He hums in agreement, unwilling to trust his voice. The smell of disinfectant permeates the space, and lavender laundry detergent—it’s full of cleaning supplies. There’s a vacuum propped against the wall next to him, stealing some of his precious, limited space.

“So,” you ask, bumping his shoulder with yours, sparks shooting up his arm from the contact, “what are you going to tell your friends about what happened here? I want to make sure we’re on the same page.” There’s a humorous lilt to your voice, a casual ease and he envies it—wishes he could pretend that this didn’t matter to him.

“The truth,” he says, not completely capable of hiding the bitterness in his voice, “nothing happened.”

You shift closer, your arm pressing more firmly against his in a way that is decidedly not accidental. “You could always lie. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m a terrible liar,” Hux responds, hoping you won’t hear the way his voice threatens to crack. It’s not true—he’s an excellent liar. He just couldn’t lie about this.

You watch him for a moment, the pressure of your gaze burning in the darkness before you reach out, holding his jaw in one careful hand. Your eyes meet, then you press your lips to his.

It’s a modest kiss, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he reacts—heart hammering, legs shaking, eyes wide open. Every part of him is stunned.

“There, now you won’t have to lie,” you whisper before you pull away, tone casual, but still unable to hide the shaking in your fingers as they slip from his skin.

He watches you fold in on yourself, suddenly shy. Everything falls into place.

You wanted this all along. Wanted him.

There aren’t words to tell you what he’s feeling, no language to communicate the hum that passes through his lungs, the live wire spark you’ve charged inside him. He has to tell you in other ways.

His hand fits neatly against your cheek, like interlocking puzzle pieces, your lips parting in surprise when they meet his. You melt against him, filled with a spark all your own.

It’s a kiss made for sunny picnics, lazy mornings, heartfelt confessions—completely absent of the sloppy heat one might expect in a closet at a party.

It’s perfect.

You rest your head against his shoulder, fitting yourself against him in a way that feels right. “When we get out of here do you want to maybe . . . go somewhere?”

He smiles in the darkness, kissing you again to show his agreement. He’d always hated parties.

Hux Tag List: @eyelash-curler, @thembohux, @writingletterstothefire, @catboykenobii, @missmadwoman, @evarinaandlat, @sitherin-mxschief, @imafatassmess, @toasterking, @rosevon7975, @holdurhuxbby, @armitages-galaxy, @dark-lord-of-the-simps, @daughterofaries, @mad-girl-without-a-box

Join my tag list here!

[cupidcreates]

Love You Equally

Chapter Thirty: Missing Items

Part 3: Camera Setup

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS NS//FW MATERIAL, VEIWER DESCRETION IS ADVISED

“What do you mean the camera’s didn’t capture any footage??”

The disbelief in Tamaki’s voice when Katsuki showed up to deliver the news later that day was palpable. Your worst fear had been confirmed; the cameras surrounding each and every one of your dorms had either been hacked to skip large chunks of footage, been broken just before the incident by some off-screen assailant, or had their footage erased all together. Any evidence you’d had of an intruder in your dorms was gone.

The school, thankfully, was taking the matter seriously and was upping security campus-wide. People in security uniforms patrolled the halls and streets of UA now, as well as stationed themselves outside the campus walls; community watchmen had been hired to patrol around the off-campus dorms as well.

Rumors about the cause of the increased security spread around campus like wildfire, but thankfully the administration was keeping tight-lipped on the whole situation; releasing an official statement that the increased security was due to concerns about drug movements through UA’s campus and out into the town. Most people seemed to buy it, and the fact that a lot of well-known plugs had cut back on their dealings only corroborated the story. The only people to know the truth of the matter - you, your soulmates, and your friends - weren’t keen on correcting anyone’s assumptions.

Needless to say the relief you felt when Saturday morning rolled around and you were able to get Yaoyorozu’s cameras from Jiro was immense. She walked you through the setup process and you spent the morning making the rounds to your soulmates dorms and housing helping them install the extra security.

Tamaki had decided to stay in his dorm for a while, to check it over and see if anything had gone missing in his month-long absence. You doubted there would be, as you were betting your stalker knew he’d been staying with you for a while, but you didn’t voice this opinion; it never hurt to be safe when dealing with potentially dangerous people. You bid him farewell with a kiss on the cheek and made your way through the winding hallways to Hitoshi’s dorm.

The door swung open the moment you arrived without you even having knocked, giving you the impression that he had been watching for you through the peephole. You stepped into his dorm and immediately noticed the drastic change that had occurred since you last visited him. Hitoshi was normally a very clean person, but now everything in his dorm was not only spotless but had at least a foot of distance separating it from everything else. There weren’t even books stacked on the shelf anymore, instead they were separated from one another by thin pieces of cardboard, colors alternating in a seven color pattern. No thought to space conservation, now if anything in his dorm was to be moved or go missing its absence would be immediately noticed.

“I uh- rearranged a bit”, Hitoshi said sheepishly from the doorway, closing the door and fastening his many locks, “I just wanted to be one-hundred percent sure I’d notice if something was missing or in a spot it shouldn’t be.”

“That’s smart,” you said as he crossed over to you, rubbing the back of his neck, “It can never hurt to be safe in a situation like this.”

“Definitely,” he said as you both moved into the living room, “Have you noticed anything else missing from your dorm since Wednesday?”

“No,” you said, discarding the cameras on the barren coffee table, “I’ve been keeping a close eye on everything but so far nothing has been missing.”

You sat down on the couch and Hitoshi plopped himself down next to you, flinging his arms over the back of the couch and letting his head roll back. You shifted to move yourself underneath his arm and laid your head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and brought his knuckles up to brush against your cheek.

“I just feel like they’re trying to lure us into a false sense of security,” Hitoshi said with a sigh “Like they’re planning something big for us and want us to have our guard down.”

You sit in silence for a moment, allowing yourself to be soothed by his caresses. You wrap one arm around Hitoshi and squeeze him in a facsimile of a hug.

“I really don’t like thinking about that, about what they could be planning next,” You sighed, “It really terrifies me. Is that what you think they want? To scare us?”

Hitoshi’s frown deepened and he signed, pulling away from you and standing up, “It probably is what they want,” he admitted, “especially if Monoma is behind all of this, which I’m now almost positive he is. This kind of thing is just his style.”

Hitoshi looked down at your worried face and his expression softened. “Listen kitten,” he said, bending down and titling your face up to look at him “Whatever he’s got planned next, whatever happens, I’ll be here for you okay? We’ll all stick together through this and make it out alright, alright? I promise you that.”

You smile as he comes in to capture your lips in a chaste kiss, “I believe you Toshi, thank you.”

Setting up Hitoshi’s cameras took longer than it did with your other four boyfriends, mostly because he needed to constantly be in some physical contact with you. Brushing his shoulder against yours, running his hands down your arms or your back, planting kisses on your face and neck, or even stopping you mid-action to pull you into a hug. You didn’t mind the attention, but you also couldn’t lie that this was abnormal for him. He wasn’t reserved with his affections like Katsuki was, but this was borderline Tamaki-levels of attachment.

You discarded your worries about his behavior as a result of multiple stresses; the stalker turned thief situation hit right before midterms were about to start up again, so undoubtedly Hitoshi would be a bit more clingy at this time.

You really didn’t think much of it at all, that was until you moved to the bedroom and were promptly thrown onto the bed, camera and setup pulled from your hands and swiftly discarded on a shelf by the door.

Hitoshi climbed atop you and flopped down, covering your entire body with his own and making your breath rush out of your lungs with a sharp whoosh. He buried his face in your neck and pushed his arms underneath your body, wrapping them around you and sighing. 

“Doing okay, Toshi?” You asked, pushing your hands up his shirt and rubbing his back in small soothing circles. He lifted his head and peppered your face with kisses. Gripping you tighter and using his thumbs to stroke your sides.

“I’m sorry,” he said in between kisses, “I’m sorry for this whole situation. It’s my fault, I should have blocked Monoma the second he contacted me, now he’s trying to fuck around with everyone to get back at me and I just-”

You covered Hitoshi’s mouth with your hand and pressed your forehead to his. “Hey,” you said sternly, “Don’t you apologize for what he’s done. None of what he’s done is your fault. It’s not your fault you tried to allow him back into your life and he fucked it up. Nothing that’s happened can be blamed on you and I don’t want to hear otherwise, alright?”

You removed your hand and captured his lips in a heated kiss before he could answer, he moaned into your mouth and swiped his tongue across your bottom lip. He pulled away and kissed the tip of your nose.

“Okay,” he said pressing his face back into your neck and sighing contentedly, “Okay, I’m sorry. And thank you, kitten.”

“Anytime,” you stroked your hands down his back and gripped his hips. You noticed that Hitoshi felt much less soft than he had before, his sides were now toned and hard with muscle that would give Katsuki a run for his money. Apparently he had bulked up over the past few months, and you had to wonder what brought about this change.

“Have you been working out recently?” You asked while pushing your hands between your bodies and tracing his hip bones, no longer covered by a layer of softness but now sharp and jutting out.

“A bit,” he replied, gasping sharply as you bent your fingers (as much as you could with them being squished between the both of you)  and ran your nails up his stomach. “Katsuki goes to the gym really early most mornings and I accompany him on the nights when I can’t sleep and accidentally stay up all- are you trying to start something Kitten?”

You grinned cheekily as your hands found their way back down to his hips and into his pants, stroking the insides of his thigh gently while being sure to get close, but not too close, to his crotch.

“Perhaps I am,” you retorted with an evil grin, “what are you going to do if I am? Going to finish it for me?”

A deep growl rumbled from Hitoshi’s chest as he grabbed both your wrists with one hand and pinned them up above your head, puncturing the movement with a harsh thrust that flattened your hands against his thighs and brushed his clothed cock right against your crotch.

“Oh I’ll finish it alright,” he purred in your ear sending shivers up your spine, “But only if you want me to, kitty-cat.”

“Oh yes,” you replied breathlessly, “I absolutely want you to finish it.”

He smirked, “That’s what I thought you’d say,” he said and caught your lips in a kiss, nipping your bottom lip hard and thrusting his tongue into your mouth as you gasped. Using the hand that wasn’t pinning your wrists above your head he unbuttoned your pants and pushed his hand downward into your underwear, quickly finding your clitoris and using two fingers to rub it in small circles.

You shuddered under his ministrations gasping and moaning into his mouth as he applied the perfect amount of pressure to your clit. You squirmed underneath him, feeling your cunt getting wetter with every passing moment he massaged you.

Just as you felt the pleasure start to build he pulled away, moving down your body and pulling both your pants and underwear with him. You had just a moment to gasp at the cool air hitting your skin before Hitoshi’s face was buried in your crotch; licking once over you entrance and letting his tongue slip inside your folds ever so slightly before suctioning his lips to your clit and massaging it.

You shuddered and cried out as he sucked and massaged your clit, his tongue swirling around it in a way that had you seeing stars. Every movement bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm and just as you felt yourself nearing your edge he pulled away once again. Moving off the bed and over to his nightstand and retrieving a condom from the top drawer.

You propped yourself up on your elbows as Hitsohi climbed back on top of you, undoing his pants and kissing you allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. He leaned into you, pushing your back flat against the mattress again as he rolled the condom onto his cock and prodded your wet entrance with his head.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” He asked, pulling back to look you in the eyes, “I want to make sure you’re alright with this before I-”

“Listen here,” you snapped, grabbing his face with both of your hands, “you’re not going to eat me out like that and not fuck me after it, alright? So please.”

Hitoshi hummed and caught you in another kiss, “Only since you asked so nicely, Kitten” he said, “But you need to let me know how you’re doing okay? Say yellow if it’s too much and red if you need me to stop all together, alright?”

“Yellow?” You asked as he sucked a hickey into your neck, “A-And red?” 

“Mhm,” Hitoshi hummed against your neck, moving one hand up to your breast and pinching your nipple lightly, “I need you to communicate when it’s too much; Green is good, Yellow is pull back, and Red is stop all together, you okay with that?”

“I-” you cut off with a gasp as he jerked his hips once and pushed the tip of his cock in and out of you swiftly, “I-I’m o-okay with t-that, y-yeah.”

“Are you sure Kitten?” He taunted, pushing the tip in again only to yank it right back out of you, “I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for-”

“God Hitoshi,” you groaned throwing your head back against the pillows, “Just fuck me already, please.”

Hitoshi took a moment to suck another hickey into your neck, pulling away only when the mark was sufficiently purple.

“As you wish Kitten,” He whispered in your ear before slamming his entire length inside of you.

Your back arched off the bed and you nearly screamed at the sudden intrusion. Hitoshi gave you no reprieve as he immediately set a back breaking pace, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise and impaling you on his cock repeatedly. You gripped the headboard and braced yourself against the onslaught, every thrust sending the head of Hitoshi’s cock directly into your g-spot. You wrapped your legs around his back and used them to push him even closer to you, forcing him to stay close and deep inside of you. Hitoshi removed one of his hands from your hips to press his thumb back into your clit, circling and pushing it with a practiced skill.

Your eyes rolled back into your skill as you took the pounding of your life, your orgasm fast approaching under his ministrations. It wouldn’t be long before you reached your peak, you grabbed his hips to keep him as deep inside you as you could, causing his movements to become harder and faster as he couldn’t pull away.

“Color,” He gasped out, “color, baby, how are you doing?”

“Green,” you all but screamed, “Green, green, green, please don’t stop I-”

You cut off as a particularly hard thrust sent you careening over the edge, orgasm hitting you with such force that stars flashed behind your eyelids and your whole body tensed.

Hitoshi groaned as you clenched around him, moving his hand back to your hips and fucking himself into you at an erratic pace, all semblance of rhythm forgotten as he chased his orgasm inside of you. One final thrust and and he stilled, shuddering as he came just moments after you.

You both collapsed with a huff, panting as you both came down from your post-orgasm high. Hitoshi peppered your face with kisses and slowly pulled himself out of you, leaving you feeling empty and sore.

Eventually Hitoshi spoke again, “A-are you okay Kitten? What color?”

“G-Green,” you stammered, bringing your leadened arms up around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek, “I’m so so green.”

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your nose, “I’m glad to hear it,” he relid.

You both lay for several moments longer, enjoying each other's embrace before you suddenly remembered why you’d come over here in the first place.

“Didn’t we have a camera to set up here?” you asked.

“We did,” he replied with a chuckle, “But I wanted to be sure we didn’t catch that on tape. Be a bit awkward to explain if we had to go through the footage in front of the administration.”

Masterlist

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[jasminau]

Drabbles

heres two drabbles that i started writing ages ago and haven’t had the motivation to finish (yet? i dont rly plan on completing them but who knows lol)

> Carvings — 610 words > A Poison Too Sweet — 690 words, nsfw

Carvings — nsfw (implied)

The shallow red scratches along my torso plead to become valleys, to drip with crimson liquid through the planes of flesh and leave deep scars that will mark the memory. Though I can’t push the knife further, my hand refuses to dig into my own flesh as if I’ve never been cut before, as if he hasn’t drawn this exact knife to my body countless times in the past. But the action of doing it myself is what has the knots in my stomach coiling with uncertainty. I find it strange, how I’d rather it be him who was running the sharp edge of the blade along my torso, nevermind how he becomes reckless with it, that whenever the knife splits my skin, he falls into a frenzy, how just one cut isn’t enough to sate the dark desire for blood within him. 

He sits across from me on the ragged couch, arms spread across the backrest with his knees spread, and although he appears relaxed, the twitch of his upper lip and drooping eyes tell me something’s off. Though from the atmosphere of the room when he walked in, how his footsteps landed heavier on the old floorboards and how he sucked the inside of his cheek, nipping at the scars, I could tell there was anger bubbling close to the surface. 

“Enough with the teasing - let’s see some blood,” 

Even with grave playfulness in the uneven tones of his voice, I know his patience is wearing thin — it always is —, but I can’t help but drop my hands to my sides, taking the knife far from making purchase in any accidental cuts it may bring. With the absence of the blade, there’s a quick breath of relief that leaves me, knots in my stomach slowly unwinding themselves, but they’re quick to tighten again upon watching his slight smile drop into a coarse glare.

His eyes must be filled with a paralysing poison, black ink that fills my veins, drawing me into an unmoving state where all I can do is wait for him to look away. But he doesn’t, staring up at me until I feel small, until I’m certain my knees will give out if he wants them to.

“Come here.” His arm drops from the backrest of the couch, hand smoothing out the material on his thigh to beckon me forward. Though his voice is grave, spikes of anger filling the space between us.

Any self-preservation would’ve told me not to, to stay as far away from him as possible when he’s barely containing the bubbling anger, but it’s too late. It was too late when he walked in and saw me lying stomach-down on the bed, half naked while playing with his knife in my hand. It was too late when he came over, ran his gloved hand along the back of my thigh, looking down at me with hungry desire. It was too late when he leaned down, whispering in my ear to give him a show. When I followed his instructions and positioned myself on the edge of the bed, arching my back unconsciously to show off my figure as I ran the blade along my torso. 

Although, I should have known shallow scratches wouldn’t have been enough for him. 

“Sweetheart, I think if you want to… stay in one piece, you’ll, ah, listen to what I say,”

A Poison Too Sweet — nsfw (oral)

My tongue creates a river of saliva as it slowly licks up his shaft, flattening out to cover as much of him as I can while my hand wraps around the tip, gently pulling with a slight rotation of my wrist. His eyes are on me, of course they are, but they seem to be drawing darker by the second. A dark abyss deepening until it’s like there’s nothing there at all, nothing pure. The black in his eyes harbour a darkness that only hatred fulfills. Hatred. Hunger. They’re completely hypnotising, so easy to get lost in. I try to search for truth when I look into his eyes, read into any hint of emotions, any sign of where his mind is, where it intends to go, but it’s like getting pulled deeper underwater. So determined on finding what is at the bottom before realising how far you’ve swam, how long it will take to swim back to the surface, the agonising burn in your lungs from the lack of oxygen. 

It’s not until the small drops of precum lather my tongue that I realise how deeply his eyes pull me in every time. I present this to him, too, before making a show out of spreading it over my lips, trying to coax any kind of reaction out of him. He hates the gentleness, but I know he loves seeing himself in me. I know he likes when his cum sits on my tongue, when he can watch me swallow it, when he can mark me as his. But I don’t want to make it so easy this time. The heat seeping from between my legs wants him to use me, my body begs for his touch, for the stretch only he gives, but I want it to be different this time. I want to see how far I can press him, see how much - or how little - it takes for him to push past my lips and bury himself deep in my throat. I know the anger within him boils at the surface, and it’s never taken much for that anger to spill over, but I’ve never tried it like this. Never when I was on my knees before him, big eyes looking up at him as if he were God himself with his precum spread over my lips.

“Ah. You want to play, do you?” 

Even with his voice gravely deep, rumbling from his chest, I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my lips. It’s a small act, one that I try to bathe in innocence, but he’s already seen the true meaning. Couldn’t miss it, with his eyes burning through my soul every time they land on me, with how they haven’t left my face ever since I got on my knees. He reads my thoughts as if I write them out in the air and present them to him, but as the silence slowly creeps closer from the corners of the room, I know the simple expression isn’t enough. 

“No,” I say, my voice so soft it hardly fends off the silence drawing closer to us. Keeping my eyes on his, I slowly run my tongue around the tip of his cock, collecting more precum that has started to drip.

“No?” My head is yanked back before I realise his hand has brushed through my hair, grip so tight he could pull it out from the roots if he wanted. “Maybe you should put that mouth to good use then, hm?” His voice sounds oddly calm as his fingernails begin to dip into my scalp, eyes searching for any hints of pain that might flash through my expression.

I feel inclined to dig deeper, self-preservation a long lost friend I was never interested in keeping in contact with. The toxicity tastes too sweet, and I want to devour it whole. I want to snatch the bait with both hands, pull the simmering anger out from within him just to breathe in the fruit of violence. I want to watch it ripen, I want to feel the aftershocks of his rage blossom on my skin.

[darkisrising]

You are someone else, I am still right here, by DarkIsRising

Thanks to @treescape for the prompt: Vaderwan: “Kill my feelings, kill my soul. Kill everything I am.”

Mature themes, dark, a little violent... Oh, boy, it’s baby’s first Vaderwan y’all! Read here or on ao3 

You are someone else, I am still right here

If ever there was a time for a well-executed escape, it would be right about now.

Now, when Obi-Wan is sitting on the cold, durasteel slab that serves as a cot, the kick of the regurgitated air supply coming through a vent too small to pass through and too high to attempt with his injuries (and maybe in his younger days he would have attempted it anyway, but he’s feeling too worn down by sands and suns to so much as make it an idle thought).

Now, when he can hear the echoing tread of regulation boots made heavier by body armor as troopers pass by his cell (and if he closes his eyes it’s almost like he’s back on the Negotiator, his men walking through the halls, and he tries not to think of how many could very well be his men because his heart can only ache with so much regret).

Now when he can feel the turbid miasma of darkness that chokes the Force with a fetid, acrid stink that is so near to the scent of sulphur that Obi-Wan can almost feel the heat of lava and the singe of a lightsaber as it bears down on him (and the screams sound in his ears, of a future denied them and a past that becomes blighted with every clash of their blades, as they do every night when sleep eludes him and every morning when meditation does, too).

But escaping is a dangerous game at present. And even were he to make it off this cruiser, where else is there to go but back to the same desert planet, the same skin-blistering heat, the same stretch of rolling, yellow dunes?

There’s sand on the floor. Even here it follows him and Obi-Wan stares at the grains of it, of where his boots and the boots of the stormtroopers that captured him have tracked this trace of Tatooine into his prison.

His eyes are still downcast as the door of his cell opens, as someone steps inside, and he can hear the grit of it as black boots—impeccably clean in a way he never could convince his restless apprentice to keep his as he grew—grind the sand underfoot.

“Hello, my dear,” Obi-Wan says. It’s been a while since he’s used this particular tone—insouciant in the face of certain death—yet it comes easily now. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand…” he gestures to his leg, the break of it plain in the strange angle of his knee.

“Oh, please, Master—” and that one word spoken in the mouth of this near-stranger does more to eviscerate him than any broken bone could hope to “—allow me.”

There’s no point in keeping his screams from ringing through the small room, no point in pretending that the agony he feels as his bones shift, and realign, and are made to grow together at an unnatural speed is anything less than absolute.

When it’s over Obi-Wan sags against the wall. A furious sweat dampens his forehead and his skin shivers with shock. Still, he digs deep into the teeth-clenched inner reserves of strength he’s had to cultivate over his life and in a thin, jaunty tone says: “Many thanks.”

Anakin snorts in dark amusement and then raises his hand. Obi-Wan is jerked forward, plucked into the air by an invisible grip until he is standing on his newly re-formed leg.

Tilting his head up, Obi-Wan forces himself to meet Anakin’s gaze: yellow where once a crystalline blue had been.

So much of him is still the same and that is it’s own cruelty.

“Two years, Obi-Wan,” he says, mouth flattened, and Obi-Wan could almost believe that it’s from disappointment. “That’s all it took me to find you.”

“You always were exceptionally efficient at anything you set your mind to, Anakin.”

“And you were always exceptionally arrogant, my master.” The door behind him closes and now Obi-Wan is alone in this cell with Anakin. He’s alone in this cell with Anakin and Anakin’s pressing darkness that winds through the empty spaces between them, doing more to burn away the breathable air than a fire ever could. “You know very well that is no longer my name.”

“You must forgive me. Where I’ve been living hasn’t afforded me the ability to stay current on galactic events,” he bluffs. “Tatooine is rather in the middle of nowhere, as I’m sure you remember. Is there something else you’d prefer I call you?”

“My name is Darth Vader.”

Obi-Wan lets the silence sit and then gives a careful, neutral: “Ah.” A muscle in Anakin’s jaw bulges as he his teeth grind together. “It’s lovely.”

The air turns more dense—more claustrophobic—as the weight of Anakin’s ire bears down on him. “You,” Anakin says, stepping closer and Obi-Wan holds his ground. “Are so—” Whatever he had been on the verge of saying is bitten away and then banished by a swift shake of his head. “What’s on Tatooine, old man?”

“Sand.” Obi-Wan says without thinking and he gets an invisible vise around his throat for it.

Anakin persists, stepping nearer, staring into his face and he’s close enough that Obi-Wan can see the industrial shuttle light cast a sheen on his eyelashes. “Why of all the planets in all the star systems did you choose that one?”

“The…” he pants through his swiftly closing airway. “Weather.”

“Try again.”

“Always...admired…” Flickers, like a gathering of gnats, are at the corner of his vision now and his lungs are burning for breath. “...Jawa culture…”

“Obi-Wan,” he chides, tightening his grip and this time Obi-Wan can only muster a sound—nothing like words and everything like the desperate last gasp of a dying body—as blackness eats away all that he sees.

He’s on the precipice of unconsciousness—a cliff’s edge that he is inching toward with every passing, choking second—when abruptly he’s released. He collapses in a heap, sputtering for air, and when his vision darkens again this time it’s because Anakin’s form is looming over him. Yellow eyes glint and gold flecked hair spills over his shoulder as he crouches over where Obi-Wan lays.

“Let’s try this again.”

“Must we?” Obi-Wan wheezes.

“Why were you on Tatooine?”

Any number of thoughts roll through his sluggish mind—obfuscations, goadings, taunts—but none of them will throw Anakin off his question for long. And, to his credit, it is an excellent question. It is the question that Obi-Wan most dreads he discovers the answer to. The reason he didn’t leave Mustafar to throw himself into the fray of battle once more. The reason for the hut in the dune sea and the quiet vigil he’s held on the Lars homestead and the yawning loneliness of desert nights beneath an impossible spill of stars. It's the reason, the one thing, that has kept him tethered to this mortal plane when so often the winds of Tatooine have beckoned for him to follow their howling call during a sandstorm and let them swallow him down.

But this.

This is what he was tasked with: the protection of a boy at any cost. At any cost, and his obfuscations and goadings and taunts might very well be the thing that strikes fire to the tinder of his former apprentice’s rage enough to kill him once and for all, but who will protect the boy, then?

He needs a distraction. One that will last.

He needs to enter the maw of the creature that Anakin has become and dwell there a while.

Anakin is kneeling now, coming ever closer, and there is one last gambit he can try. One last ploy that might very well break his spirit, his heart, his mind, even if it keeps him alive for years to come.

“Why were you on Tatooine, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan licks his chapped, split lips. He tastes the metal tang of blood and says, in a voice that is ruined by violence, “So that you could find me.”

Anakin recoils at that, jerking backwards as if he’s been slapped. “No,” he says. “No you were there for a reason. I know it. They must have sent you...”

The laugh that Obi-Wan huffs is real. “Who? Who is there left to send me anywhere?”

“The Council—”

“Is gone,” Obi-Wan says. “The Order is gone. I'm all that is left.” Obi-Wan grits his teeth against the bruises and bleeding, fights until he is on his knees. Anakin’s eyes widen as Obi-Wan pulls himself upright and now they are of a height. “Do with me what you will.”

Anakin’s mouth is soft when it finds him; warm when it falls open and he lets in a hungry, questing tongue as it seeks out the taste of Obi-Wan—shattered and battered and brought low—and Anakin savors them all with a moan. Obi-Wan wishes he were strong enough to keep his eyes open, but it’s easier to forget where he is—who he is—when there’s not so much light.

Arms wrap around Obi-Wan’s waist, holding fast and tight and he breaks away from their kiss to give a yell of agony at the pain Anakin’s questing hands mete. Anakin doesn’t notice, whispering instead into the vulnerable curve of Obi-Wan’s throat: “You know how much I’ve wanted this. For years and years I’ve wanted this.”

“I know.” Subtlety had never been a trait that Anakin had cared to nurture. There have been all the ‘fresher doors accidently left open as his padawan showered and all the cots claimed as Obi-Wan’s own inexplicably filled with the sleeping sprawl of a knight fresh from the field, and all the war zones where the only way to save Obi-Wan’s life was to shield him beneath the protective weight of General Skywalker’s body.

“You said it was forbidden.”

“It was.” And even though his cracked ribs sing and the places where blaster fire singed his flesh crack open to bleed again, Obi-Wan reaches up. He brings his arms around Anakin’s broad shoulders, and their bodies press together until there is only cloth and heat and dwindling time between them. “But who is left to stop us now?”

He lets himself be taken then, murmuring praises all the while because this is something Obi-Wan can do. He can become Anakin’s pet—his plaything—and maybe someday when the years have stripped Obi-Wan of his pride and his body has been broached by another so fiercely it is no longer his own to claim... maybe then he’ll look across a field of some new battle, some new planet, some new space station to see the blue eyes of another Skywalker, a new Skywalker, a Skywalker that has lived and grown and come into his own, and he’ll know it all will have been worth it.

[forestwater87]

(first apologies if this is a duplicate; I got a "bad request" notification the first time I tried to send this ask) but anyhow; I saw your tags on my Lucretia post and i am not sure how to reply to tags?? but i want to see your version of that scene! (if you still want to share) I love Lucretia very much and love to see other peoples' takes on her. anyway, I hope you are having a good day!

OH MY GOD YAY!! 

I mean, cool, whatever. I guess I could share a little bit of that fic. That’s fine.

(yayayayayayayay eeeeeeeeeee)

Okay, part of me wanted to blast you with the entire chapter, but that’s 25-ish pages so I’m forcing myself to show restraint here and only include the tail end. There’s a little bit of context missing, because it’s the last section of Chapter 10 of a fic that so far has at least 32 chapters, but I think it all makes sense. It’s basically just “here’s what happened in that cycle when everybody else was a statue person” and it was, you know, not a good time. (There’s some implied Magcretia, sorry not sorry.) 

Plus it’s really good. I know that sounds arrogant, but I’ve spent the last 4-5 years hating every word I’ve ever written, and I’m going to enjoy this confidence for as long as it chooses to stay.

So anyway, I hope you enjoy! 

There are no line breaks on tumblr anymore so this is the part where the actual writing starts:

When the Hunger arrived, it was a relief more than anything.

Lucretia had been in the middle of defending The Starblaster from a group of marauders climbing like ants all over the dented and hastily-repaired sides of the ship, trying to figure out if she could possibly shake them all free without having to resort to the magic she’d deduced made it possible for the court to find her, when the sky turned dark and everything went gray. 

And her first thought was, Oh thank Pan. (She wasn’t a religious person at all, but enough time with Merle had made the casual prayers second nature.) This nightmare was almost over. In less than an hour, she’d have her family back.

She was so close to seeing Magnus again.

“Fisher, get back in your tank!” she shouted, abandoning the shield she’d been summoning and sprinting to the helm — she’d spent so much time this year running for her life that she could race from one end of the ship to the other without becoming winded. None of the marauders had made it onto the deck, but she felt the air above her head crackle with a spell that blazed past, and as she reached the controls she heard the now-familiar amplified voice call, “You are under arrest for multiple counts of evading the authority of the co — what the hell’s going on here?”

Oh, great. All her friends were here. Now all she needed was for the boar and crocodile to make an appearance.

As the officer began to interrogate the marauders (his side of the conversation still blaring loud and clear), Lucretia took advantage of the confusion to throw the ship forward. She’d had enough foresight to keep the way in front of The Starblaster clear for just this purpose, and while a few hundred yards of ash-colored grass were flattened, she was able to get the ship into the air.

She pointed it up, away from the Hunger — up into space, into nothingness, into any universe except this one, somewhere she’d stared at and imagined but now was finally going into . . .

If she could get the damaged, shuddering ship up to speed and break through the atmosphere, that was.

If not, everything ended here.

A tentacle of swirling darkness stabbed into the ground inches away from her ship, forcing her to swerve hard and nearly lose her footing. She threw all her weight on the acceleration as more of the Hunger’s tentacles latched onto the planet, the labored roar of the engines nearly drowning out the screams of panic from the people below.

As The Starblaster rocketed over a shining city with strange statues and up into the sky, a whisper made Lucretia look around — before realizing it had come from inside her own head.

We’ve been looking for you.

She frowned, clutching at the helm even tighter. Was this some sort of new thing the Hunger could do, or one last awful trick played by this hostile planet?

Another whisper, louder and lower-pitched: You’ve been evading judgement for some time now.

A massive column of the Hunger collided with the planet directly in front of her. It was so close, she had no choice but to try and blow through it, even though that meant taking the biggest risk she had all year. But The Starblaster’s momentum was impossible to halt, and the mile-wide column was impossible to go around, so she gritted her teeth, hunched over the controls, and slammed on the accelerator.

The second she crossed into the Hunger, everything went silent and black.

Everything, that was, except for the whispers: 

Lucretia, you have always let others take action and responsibility while you sit back and watch. You tell yourself this is worthwhile, but you know it is a lie. And yet when it is smartest and safest to proceed with caution, you take the most reckless path, because you refuse to admit you might be wrong. Your past sins are sloth, envy, and pride. How do you plead?

How did she plead? She didn’t plead for much of anything, except to survive long enough to fly them into the next cycle. The Hunger buffeted at the ship, wrapping smaller tentacles around its sleek metal body and trying to keep it from plowing forward; it might kill her — kill them all — but not knowing what else to do, she used Mage Hand to open the nearest window without leaving the helm and cast Fire Shield around the ship. It was weak and flickering compared to the spells of protection Merle could create, but the Hunger fell back with deafening shrieks of pain as flames licked the air around The Starblaster. 

The awful whispers weren’t letting up, though, digging cold fingers deep into her mind and sending a chill shudder down through her very soul.

Your present sins are no less grave. You kill without remorse. You have allowed yourself to become vindictive and spiteful. You have not abandoned your past failings, but have added new ones since our initial audit. We see fit to add to your current list of transgressions the crime of wrath. How do you plead?

Suddenly there was a break in the shimmering darkness, a bolt of ash-gray sky widening like a tear in heavy fabric — and then she was through, outside of the Hunger and so far above the doomed planet that she couldn’t see the ground below. She let out a scream of triumph, the noise tearing like sandpaper along her exhausted and dry throat, and angled the ship until it was almost vertical. The Starblaster shot forward as though with one last burst of strength, shuddering as its engines were pushed to the absolute limit . . .

The ship suddenly jolted to a halt, mechanisms whirring like a swarm of angry bees.

Lucretia turned to the still-open window and saw the entire view had been replaced with blackness, oily-iridescent tentacles spilling into the ship as others wrapped around it. She threw all of her weight on the acceleration, but it didn’t move; then, after a single grinding moment, The Starblaster began to fly backward, pulled back toward the core of the Hunger. 

She could hear its gnashing teeth.

“NO!” The word exploded out of her, coming from somewhere far below conscious thought. She abandoned the helm just long enough to run to the window, ignoring the tentacles that curled around her ankles as she pointed her wand at the offshoot of the Hunger that had its hold on her, aiming for where the base met the rest of the massive column, and shot off a burst of lightning. There was another hideous wail and the tentacles around the ship shuddered and pulled away, just a slight loosening of their incredible grip.

Her entire body shaking with terror and fury, she pointed her wand at the same spot and cast Finger of Death. 

The screaming was like a sonic blast — a thousand million voices filled with rage and pain and fear — knocking her onto her back and sending her skidding across the bridge. She scrambled to her feet, stumbling over her robe and lurching to the helm. The sound of the engines returning to full blast was like the roar of a furious animal loosed from its cage, and the last of the Hunger fell back as the ship threw itself up into space. It felt like the air was shouting with every conceivable emotion.

As the panic subsided and her head cleared, she realized it wasn’t the air screaming; it was those whisperers.

So much rage. So much wrath.

No remorse.

No different than the monster she tries to flee.

They were growing louder with every word, overlapping and running together until she struggled to pick out individual phrases —

She betrays the people she supposedly loves most

She destroys a family — destroys the memory of the family

Robs them of themselves

Who has the right?

No one has the right

The sound was becoming unbearable, deafening. Her ears felt like they were leaking; she lifted her hand to one and her fingers came back covered in blood.

It didn’t make sense — it wasn’t an external sound — it wasn’t an external force, but something ripping her apart from within.

It was the sound of going mad. 

At that point she was barely able to understand anything 

leaves him to die in agony in a hell she helped create

takes advantage of the innocent who make the mistake of believing in her

such a sweet boy, and all you do is lie to him

do you think you can make these decisions for the world?

the heartbreak you will cause

the betrayal

pride — such unfathomable pride

the deaths you will cause

the lives you will ruin

the blood that stains your hands

coldhearted — cowardly

wrath — envy — sloth

pride

PRIDE

Our judgement is decided.

You have been found wanting.

Something hardened in her chest, calcifying her lungs and making it impossible to breathe. Lucretia doubled over, her hands scrabbling to keep the ship moving, as her flesh turned hard, brittle, the feeling like casting Stone Skin but somehow it’d gotten inside . . .

She couldn’t move her tongue. She couldn’t breathe. Blackness crowded the edge of her vision — not like she was blacking out, but like her eyes just suddenly weren’t there anymore

everything went wobbly, the universe becoming untethered just for a moment

And when it stabilized, she realized she could move again, see again. She took a deep, tremulous breath and turned back from the helm, sliding to the floor in a heap.

It was less than a second, before the I.P.R.E. crew fully materialized, but she didn’t see it happen. As soon as the surreal, smoky outlines of her friends wavered into being, she dropped her head in her hands, a sob she’d been holding back for months finally escaping her throat.

She did it.

Magnus’s hands closed around her upper arms and he gently tugged her into an embrace. She could feel the cool steel of the bridge under her knees, heard the voices of all her friends speaking all at once. She was dimly aware she was talking, mumbling nonsense to herself as she waited for the world to stop spinning.

The last thing she was aware of before slipping into unconsciousness was Magnus’s breath on her forehead and his warm fingers combing through her hair.

[twistedanddecayed]

Look At Me.

Summary: You’re done when Dean says you’re done. 

Characters: Dean x Reader.

Words: 2096

Warnings: Dirty talk, neck/throat grabbing (gif is a major hint at that taken from the upcoming movie 365 Dni), unprotected sex, male oral sex and fingering.

Not BETA’d so all typos are my own.  I don’t have a tag list, but if you’d like me to tag you in any upcoming work, let me know. 

_______

You should be in here alone but the moment the hot water had hit your body, it had woken you up in more than one way. Your hand had quickly slipped between your thighs once you’d cleaned yourself up, tracing over your folds until they slipped through and one low moan which you thought would have been silenced by the water had soon met his ears. He’d found you with one arm outstretched against the wall, your legs parted, fingers pumping into your cunt and the water spray occasionally hitting your clit - making your legs tremble and you bite your lip in a bid to be quiet. But Dean knew. Dean always seemed to know.

 You feel his cock at your ass, his hand covers yours and pulls your fingers from within you, only to replace them with his own long and thicker ones. He peppers kisses over your shoulder, grazing your skin with his teeth as he nibbles his way up to your neck and sucks gently over your pulse point. 

“What have I said about starting without me?”

“I hadn’t meant to.” 

“That’s what you always say.” He replies as your breath hitches as his fingers push into you fully until the knuckles of his fist are pressed flush against you.

“And I always mean it.”

“Which means you never learn,” he says before biting down a little harder, drawing a groan from you and has you bucking your hips back against him.

Water cascades down his back, steaming up the four glass walls which encase the two of you as his fingers pump in and out of you while his thumb brushes over your clit. You whimper his name, the single syllable rolls from your tongue and fills the small space as his fingers curve into a beckoning motion within you. He holds you there against him, writhing and desperate for release as he fucks you with his fingers. 

Reaching out, you press your palms against the shower walls as your legs begin to tremble, the heat that’s been building, laying thick in your belly ignites. The hot water makes you lightheaded and only adds to the overall sensation.

 “Please Dean,” you whine, arching your back and resting the back of your head against his shoulder. “Stop teasing and just make me cum.”

“For someone who hadn’t wanted me to join, you’re very demanding right now.” He slows his fingers on purpose, making you bite your tongue in an attempt to silence your protests. He’s waiting for you to complain, waiting for you to voice your annoyance purely so he can drag this out. You won’t bite. You won’t give him that and only when you remain silent does he say, “good girl.” His pace increases, his fingers driving into you once more at a pace that guarantees you to reach your climax at an alarming rate. “Come on princess, give me what I want.” 

Your legs part a little more, his thumb still rubbing circles against your clit but the ever so slight change in your position by doing so has his fingers entering you at a different angle, making your eyes flutter closed and the tightening in your belly to snap, your orgasm hitting with such force that no noise escapes your lips. You clench your eyes closed, your mouth falling open in a silent “oh” as your cunt pulses around his fingers, coating them thickly in your juices. “That’s my girl,” he says, his fingers continuing, not allowing you to recover and instead, builds you up to another within seconds. Your climax spurts over his hand and down your thighs, the arm wrapped around your waist now the only thing that holds you upright as your legs buckle under you completely.  

He gives you a moment to recoup your balance and ability to breathe normally before pulling his fingers from you, smearing your wetness over your thighs as he turns you around, his hand trailing up your body until it rests on your throat. Not hard, not enough to begin to make you feel choked but the mere presence of it there makes you want to feel it a little more. Your core squeezes at the thought of him applying more pressure. 

Dean scans your face, drinking in the sight of you, admiring the way you’ve come undone. Your eyes are still hazy and unfocused, your hair now damp from the heat and the spray of the shower. He waits for you to come back to him, to pull yourself out of the euphoric trance that he put you in. The second you can, you give him a smile. His hand relaxes, slips further up, gripping your jaw more than your neck now, his thumb smears over your lip and you can’t help but suck it into your mouth and swipe your tongue over it as you lock eyes with him, much like you would if you were sucking his cock. Dean loved it when you looked up at him as his dick filled your mouth. 

“Such a talented tongue you have there,” he praises.

“I could say the same for you. And fingers,” you add. You push his thumb from your lips,  dip your head and out of his grasp as you move past him. “Thanks for the morning wake up. The shower’s all yours.” 

“I don’t think so.” Dean’s tone is a warning. 

“I do.” you grin at him and attempt to give his face a light slap for good measure as you pass but he anticipates this, grabs your wrist before you can connect your hand to his flesh and grips the back of your neck with the other hand, spinning you around and forcing you to kiss him as he drops your wrist and pins you to him by splaying his hand over your lower back. 

He opens your mouth with his, forces his tongue against yours and kisses you hard and deep. The hand that was on the back of your neck moves upwards, gripping your skull as he continues to kiss you hard. Just as you’re beginning to feel breathless, almost dizzy from the way he claims your mouth and the heat from the water, he lets you go, his lips now no longer on yours though his hand still tangles within your hair. 

He pushes you down onto your knees, angles his cock towards you and pulls you towards it by your head. Your mouth opens before your lips meet the tip, your tongue swirling around where it can reach before he slips to the back of your throat and enters it without warning. Your eyes water, you slap his thighs in protest as your throat tightens and tries to expel him. He holds himself there for just a second or two more than he would usually before pulling back out and fucks your mouth in shallow thrusts. 

Each time he pulls out, leaving just the head of his cock remaining in your mouth, you circle your tongue over it, licking away the pre-cum which pearls there before flattening your tongue against his shaft once more as he pushes it towards your throat again. Both his hands lace through your hair, his hips rock back and forth like he’s sinking within your cunt. His eyes are fixed firmly on your mouth, watching as his thick cock disappears between your lips. Normally, he’d love to have you on the bed, your head hanging over the edge so that he can watch the bulge in your throat appear as he enters it, but this would have to do instead. 

The glass cage becomes hotter, the rough anti-slip tiles scrape against your knees but you say nothing - not that you could with his cock firmly buried within your mouth, several inches remain inside you with each thrust at all times.  You slacken your jaw, collect as much spit in your mouth as possible and when he thrusts forward, you hold his hips and sink your lips down his length and press your nose to his pubic bone, swallowing him completely. 

Dean hisses, tries not to buck his hips as a result of feeling your hot mouth envelope him but he can’t stop the grip his hands have in your hair or the string of cuss words that reach your ears as you look up at him. 

“Fuck,” he finishes, pulling you off his cock, spit dangles from your lips and you gulp in great lungfuls of air. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a little light-headed.”

You make an mmmm noise in agreement. “Would hate for you to pass out before you get to finish.”

“How sweet of you, doll.” He grins, holding out his hand to you. Taking it, you’re pulled to your feet quickly with Dean turning ever so slightly to switch off the shower before giving you a gentle shove towards the shower door. The cold air which greets you once opened hardens your nipples and causes goosebumps to erupt over your skin. You quickly dry your feet on the mat, not wanting to slip and head back to the bedroom. You’re two steps away from the bed when you’re pushed on to it. “Don’t bother turning over, “ he says, gripping where your thighs meet your hips and pulling you back so that you’re on all fours before him. 

Leaning forward, you push your ass in the air and your face down, resting your forehead against the mattress and pushing your weight into your forearms. Dean runs his fingers over your folds, your slick still soaking them, making it easy for him to push two fingers within you. 

“Such a beautiful pussy,” he comments, watching as his fingers thrust slowly into you. He opens them up in a scissoring motion, stretching your walls before slipping them back inside, thrusting deeply but not rushed. 

“Please Dean,” you push back, “just fuck me.”

His fingers pull from you and as you turn your face to look over your shoulder, you see him licking clean his digits as he angles his cock with his other hand and presses the head to your core. “Remember you asked for this.” He says and before you’re able to respond, he pushes into you, bottoming out. You push your face into the mattress, using it to muffle your cries as he digs his fingers in your hips and snaps his hips to yours, thrusting into you with each one feeling deeper than the last. 

You know he won’t last as long as he would usually, especially not after the way he’d fucked your mouth previously. His thrusts are unrelenting, seemingly for his own pleasure but does a fine job of satisfying you at the same time. While there’s nothing lovingly about the way he drills into you and knowing you won’t cum from this, each drag of his cock makes up for it. He feels so good in you that you don’t care that you won’t reach another orgasm. 

You manage to lift your head, your pants fill the air, long breathy sighs are all you can manage as he continues to bury himself within you in such a way, you’re unsure where one thrust ends and the next starts as they blur into one. The bed creaks under the weight of your bodies and the force of his thrusts which forces the headboard to slam against the wall. With a growl of your name, Dean digs his fingers into your hips and pushes himself into you until his balls are pressed firmly against your ass. You can feel the throbs of his cock as he fills you with hot, sticky cum. Pulling out, he climbs from the bed and rummages through the chest of drawers standing against the opposite wall and throws a pair of panties your way for you to put on. He swipes a pair of boxers, steps into them and pulls them up until they snap into place on his hips. 

Laying on your back, you feel a smirk spreading over your lips as you take in his physique, unable to help yourself as you say, “and you wonder why I’m unable to keep my hands to myself.”

Dean crosses the room, rests a hand on the bed either side of your body and stares you in the eye, “I do yes, because I know I’m more than capable of giving you better than you can give yourself. And if you dare to challenge me on that, you’re going to lose.”

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

Little Eden - Michael Langdon Oneshot

outpost!Michael x female!reader

Warnings: Light mentions of smut, some naughtiness and nakedness. Religious symbols and imagery! 

A/N: I’VE WRITTEN SOMETHING AGAIN! Inspiration struck me and I wanted to get this out of me in one sitting. It’s an idea that’s been done before, but I always had my own ideas on Eden, an angel and Michael’s new world. I hope you all enjoy this little piece, written slightly different for me.

Gif credit to whoever made it!

Her laugh tinkles through the corridors, floating around his heads and infecting his work. That little one, the only person in the entire Sanctuary who could pull the Antichrist away from his duties. His eye strays from the diagram of a new water treatment system, casting a once-over down her figure. Those delectable lips are spread in a smile, breasts swelling with exuberance. 

She is radiance and light.

She doesn’t belong. 

But Michael has fallen despite everything. 

HIs little angel saunters past them, dipping her eyes low as she passes him. They both know she’s on borrowed time. Every day she flaunts her purity under Michael’s nose is the noose tightening round her neck. His father hisses in his ears, night after night.

Destroy her.

Ruin her.

End her.

But Michael enjoys watching her too much. 

It’s a day of complete ordinariness. For once, there is nothing for Michael to attend to which means for the first time since the bombs fell he can kick back. Not that he knows how to any more. His eyeshadow blended and bold as ever, he steps out walking towards sacred ground. On the outskirts of the Sanctuary lies the nothing. It’s a space of complete emptiness beginning just beyond the third foyer where no sound reaches. The humans all avoid it, fearing the sheer blankness of nothing. Michael, however embraces the absolute stillness. His footsteps don’t echo, there’s no breeze or smells to hit his nose. 

But there’s something. Something that makes his skin tingle and his veins dance in excitement. It’s been a while since he’s felt the magical call of another akin to him. He picks up his pace, traversing the nothing space and then comes to a stop. His ears prick up, incapable of believing what he���s hearing. 

Water, water trickling into his nothingness. 

There is no water. Not since before the bombs.

As he ventures further, he can stop what Michael can only describe as a mirage. An oasis of beauty amongst the ruin and devastation. By now he’s far beyond anywhere a human would venture, the radiation would have burned away their lungs, the toxicity and acrid smells driving them back inside Michael’s haven. 

But not her. 

She stands with her back to him, hair waving in a light breeze. He creeps up on her, predatory smile in place. Finally, he has her in his grasp.

‘Nowhere to run, little one.’ He calls, watching her turn to face him. She’s prepared for him, leaving her mark upon his world. As if she has any say in what will become of Michael’s world. 

‘Do I look like I’m running?’ She’s cocky, an amused smirk on those lips. 

Michael steps closer, his eyes drifting to the grass now flattening under his boots. Shrubbery, trees and the occasional cluster of flowers are beginning to bloom all around him, the angel’s magic flourishing the longer she maintains this paradise. 

It’s been so long since he saw something as beautiful as she. 

He stops before her, forcing her to tilt her head up to look at him, ‘You understand that eventually your end would come.’ 

‘By your hand?’ She questions him still, ‘If you were going to end me, you’d have done it the moment you sensed my magic.’ 

‘Perhaps I do like indulging in you.’ He purrs, letting his eyes run over the black dress, so ill-fitting on someone like her. 

She represses a shudder, ‘You’re disgusting.’ 

A chortle bubbles from his chest, ‘Good.’ 

‘So your new world will have no life?’ She challenges, ‘No beauty or innocence or-’

‘It will have exactly what my father deems it should have.’ 

‘Then destroy it.’ She’s not scared of him, not once modicum of her flinches away as his fingers graze down her cheek. ‘Demolish everything I’ve just made.’ 

Behind her, a stream runs into small pond. Ripples ring outwards towards them as a bird dips low to take a drink. Michael’s mesmerised by the display before him. His fingers tighten as he lifts her up off the ground.

‘You think you can toy with me.’ He snarls, ‘You think pretty words and a spark will have me bowing to your whims? You think I don’t know what you are doing? What this is?’ 

She remains quiet, legs dangling as he chokes her. Michael lets go, watching her drop to the floor but he feels hollow. That part of him he thought was buried, that weak human part that lies dormant kicks down at the walls he’s constructed. It yearns for him to bury himself in the grass, to plunge into that pond and lose himself in Eden. 

She coils around him, rising on her tip toes to whisper in his ear. ‘Would it be so bad to just give in?’

His lip quivers and he’s done for. She appears before him, halo cresting above her head as she pulls his mouth to hers. Her breath ghosts over his lips, ‘Just let go with me. There’s still time.’ 

‘I can’t.’ He whispers back, hands clenching at his sides.

‘You can.’ She coaxes, hands resting on each of his cheeks. They’re stepping backwards, she’s pulling him towards the lake.

‘He won’t let me.’ 

‘But he will forgive you.’ She promises, closing their distance. Her kiss is fire, frenzied as Michael’s hands run up her sides. Her fingers tangle in his hair and then they’re falling together into the water. They surface together, still attached. Michael’s fingers push her wet hair back, her hands grasp onto his jacket like a life raft. He rips the front of her dress, carrying her in his arms and lying her upon the grassy bank. Her breasts heave under hiss fingers as he touches and gropes and tastes everything that he has longed for. She writhes under him, body reeling and surging upwards as she gives in to his every touch. He drives himself inside her, the two of them rutting as their breaths arc upwards into the smog-filled sky. They can both feel their magic, stroking and stoking each other. Flowers wither and burst into new life, phoenix-like as his angel cries in full completion. She clenches hard around him, sending Michael into euphoria as he gives himself to her completely. Her arms remains around him as they breathe together, afraid to let go, afraid of what happens when their union has ended. 

His head lies against her chest, he doesn’t know how long they lie together. Her fingers travel through his hair, her lips press to his forehead and Michael’s eyes slip shut. 

Maybe he can keep her, or at least make her fall as he has. 

‘This can’t happen again, can it?’ 

She considers his words, ‘I don’t see why not.’ 

‘We’re enemies. We’re meant to ruin each other.’ 

‘Consider me ruined.’ She smiles, ‘I liked it.’

He smiles at how naughty she can be. ‘I have to punish you for disobeying me.’ 

‘Give me five minutes then.’ 

He tugs at a stand of her hair, ‘I’m serious.’ 

‘As am I.’ She captures his eyes with hers and Michael forgets everything but her, ‘This can be between us. I won’t get in your way, but if the world is going to be re-made, let’s at least make it beautiful again.’ 

It’s a perfect idea. He lets the fantasy play out for too long, long enough for her to fall asleep in his arms. His heart glows, her surrender the greatest form of trust he’s seen from another in years. Not since his Mrs Mead. Michael looks out at Eden, they’re little corner of the world. 

He’s a selfish man. He knows he’s not strong enough to say no. Above anything else, Michael craves companionship as much as he craves his father’s love. 

Maybe he just craves love. 

‘We’ll do things your way.’ He murmurs, ‘My little snake.’ 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Tagging a couple of my babes, please share: @jimmlangdon @elizabeth-bennnett @blakewaterxx @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @langdvnshepherd @lvngdvns @wroteclassicaly @xavierplympton @ritualmichael​ @holylangdon​ @dailylangdon​

[zims-left-shoe]

Ackkk I love all your works so much I can’t even they're all so goooooood. Uh, I don’t know if this would be dumb but could you do a Zim x an anorexic reader? Like, the reader has it, and zim just kinda thinks it’s normal at first cause he’s adorably clueless sometimes? Sorry for bothering you haha

You’re not bothering me at all! Thank you for the kind words, it really means a lot. I also apologize for any inaccuracies, I did some baseline research, but we all know that pales in comparison to experience. I hope you enjoy this regardless. :)

Zim. He was an interesting one, to be sure. You could barely recall the circumstances under which you two had met, as life with him tended to move at a thousand miles per minute. You wouldn't complain, at times less opportunity to think made things a little bit easier. What you could remember is being new in town, not hoping for much. Your new home defied all of your expectations in the first five minutes as you had the pleasure of witnessing some guy duke it out with a green kid in the school parking lot before school. That night you had discovered them to live in your neighborhood, by happy accident, of course, as the two were fighting, coincidentally, outside your window. You couldn't help but take a peek. In that moment, you had figured out Zim's greatest secret, that he wasn't human. In hindsight, you thought it was obvious from the start, that you shouldn't have needed to see him without his poorly made disguise to realize. Oh well. From that moment forward, you had set out to become his friend. How cool would that be? Friends with a being from beyond the stars. Eventually, he had become tired of trying to shoo you away, and at some point or another, he even asked to be your boyfriend. Something about studying human courtship. You had agreed, because although it was rather embarrassing to admit, you had developed somewhat of a crush on the Irken. 

And here you were. You weren't exactly sure when, but the feelings had become less one sided as the relationship shifted to less of an experiment, and more of a commitment. Zim was actually quite expressive if you knew how to read him, and you had caught on to his attachment. How long had it been, a month? Two? Three? Again, your concept of time had ebbed away while you lived life in the fast lane, always jumping from one scheme to the next, going on a date one minute and setting a trap for Dib another. You didn't mind. It was a nice distraction from yourself. 

"Welcome home, son!" The Roboparents' cheery and, well, robotic voices broke you from your thoughts as they greeted you and your space boyfriend. The parental decoys stepped aside and retreated to their hangars, allowing you to follow Zim inside his home and alien base. You sprawled out across the couch, kicking your feet up on the armrests. You had been to his place so many times that you sometimes thought of it as your home away from home. Pulling out his contact lenses and discarding his wig, Zim joined you on the couch, pushing you out of the way so he could have a place to sit. 

"Hey, I was comfortable." You whined, elbowing him in the side. He doubled over, his strange yet fascinating alien tongue slipping out of his mouth as pain flashed on his face.

"Humans are so bony." He hissed out, clutching his side. You didn't think you had hit him that hard, and figured he was probably just being dramatic. He was the ultimate drama king, after all. 

"Maybe Irken organs are just too soft." A snicker escaped you, and you watched as his antennae flattened against his head, his eyes narrowing.

"Are you insulting my SUPERIOR Irken organs?!" His voice may have been raised, but it wasn't in anger. He was just trying to mess with you, in fact the pain hadn't been severe and had vanished as quickly as it presented itself. 

"Tell me, what would you do if I was?" This type of banter would occur quite often. You were convinced it was how Zim showed affection. After all, it happened between him and Dib frequently as well, and over time, and those two had morphed into frenemies rather than true rivals. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He muttered, crossing his arms and pushing out his bottom lip in a pout. This pulled a chuckle from you, he was such a baby all of the time. 

"Yes, I would. That's why I asked." You pressed him, knowing full well it would result in nothing. Your small talk tended to be teases that went round and round, never resolved, the threats always empty. 

"Well, too bad! Instead I will tell you what ingenious plan I have in store for the Dib-stink!" Just like you thought. He wouldn't even consider some sort of consequence for you, he didn't want to. 

"Oh, do tell." You had heard these plans a billion times, but you never got tired of listening to the endless list of plans to thwart Dib and conquer the human race. You knew they would all go unfulfilled, all of them did. There was a time when his 'mission' was still a priority for him, when he was serious about destroying Dib. But the longer you were in the picture, the less he cared about that. He couldn't feel himself gravitating away from the whole conquering the Earth business, but you sure could.

"As you know, I've been working on this substance in my lab that will-"

"GUESS WHO MADE WAFFLESSSS!!!" The door to the kitchen slammed open, revealing Zim's faithful robot companion, gripping a mixing bowl and stirring it furiously, batter splashing up the sides of the bowl. It was indecipherable if Zim was more irritated about being interrupted or waffle batter spilling all over the carpet. Before he could reprimand GIR for either, the robot began to scream again. "Come eat!" He stood there in his neon green doggy costume, the hood down to expose his robot head. He looked happy enough, his tongue (why he had one you would never know) peeking out from the corner of his mouth.

"No!" Zim waved him off, hoping he would go eat them himself. Unfortunately, that was not what happened. GIR burst into tears, screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. Clutching your ears, you felt your face instinctively scrunch up. Who knew one robot could be so loud? It was a miracle blood wasn't dripping from your ears. Luckily, Zim put an end to your misery. "FINE!! We will eat your waffles! Just, please be quiet!" He spoke through gritted teeth, his own hands grasping desperately at his antennae. 

"Yaaaayy!" As if nothing happened, GIR skipped away, humming to himself as he resumed mixing whatever contents remained in the bowl. A sigh slipped out as you rose from the couch to follow Zim into the kitchen. He was grumbling under his breath the whole time, of course. Taking a seat across from him at the small table, you wondered how often he was forced into doing this. His chin rested in his hand as he stared out through half-lidded eyes. The only way to describe him would be extremely bored. GIR set two plates down, one in front of each of you. He then brought over a tray of waffles, forking a generous stack onto Zim's plate and then moving over to you.

"Oh, uh, no thank you-" You tried to shove his hand away, the smell of the waffles making you sick. Not because they were poorly cooked. In fact, they smelled delicious. GIR paid no mind to your attempts to prevent him from laying several waffles onto your plate, returning to his position at the stove. No words passed between anyone as Zim forked bites of the sweet sustenance into his mouth in an almost monotonous manner. Clenching your lip between your teeth, your eyes became fixed on your own plate as you poked the stack with your fork. Syrup oozed from every place possible, creating an intoxicating and sickly sweet aroma that made your nose twitch. The longer you stared, the tighter your chest became, your toes curling in your shoes. It wasn't that you weren't hungry. Oh, you so were. Despite your body screaming that you were starving, you couldn't bring yourself to eat. Over time, you had managed to tune out your stomach's endless protests, eating as little as possible. 

"They aren't that bad, you know." Zim spoke through bites of waffle, eyeing you. He had been observing your staring contest with the food in front of you for a few moments, under the impression he understood your worries.

"I'm...sure they aren't." You mumbled, grip on your lip tightening as you felt your stomach growl. Shaking your head, you pushed your plate forward and towards the middle of the table. "I'm just not hungry." He nodded, not sensing anything off. He had no reason not to believe you. After all, he had seen you do this many times before. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he had ever seen you eat in front of him.

"Y/n, try some waffles!!" GIR scrambled over to where you sat, taking your fork and some waffle from the plate and moving it towards your face as a parent would do to a baby. You stood up abruptly, pushing GIR back in the process. You had absolutely no desire to be force fed waffles by an alien robot. 

"I forgot! I have some family stuff! I will see you tomorrow." You rushed out of the room, hurriedly grabbing your backpack from the living room and heading out the door, leaving an untouched plate of waffles in the middle of the table. Zim shrugged. Humans were weird.

(More under the cut)

-

Lunch. The worst part of the school day. Apparently humans enjoyed it. The only person who made it enjoyable for me just happened to be stuck in class for lunch, putting some finishing touches on a project or something. 

"Tch." My mouth was fixed in a frown as I approached Dib's table. Ever since spending my lunches with Y/n, it didn't feel right to sit alone. Everything was too quiet. I absolutely do not appreciate how admittedly lonely it feels. I dropped my tray, the sound of it clattering causing Dib to jump. 

"What do you want?" He stared through me, trying to be intimidating. I took a seat, and despite his attitude, he didn't stop me.

"To sit here."

"But why?" I stayed silent, bringing out my real lunch: the Irken lick stick things, which are apparently very similar to a certain human candy. I only took school lunches to look normal. "Oh, I see. Your lover not here?" He cooed, his tone teasing. 

"Shut it." I felt a growl rise in my throat. There was a time when I would refute that phrase; lover. I didn't have the energy for that anymore. "Where's the girl?" I asked, putting one of the sticks in my mouth.

"You mean my sister? Home sick. She's not actually sick, she just didn't want to come to school."

"Hm, fascinating." My words were dismissive, bored of this small talk already. Humans didn't like it either, so why did they partake in it? A silence settled between us as Dib picked up his spoon. I watched as he took a spoonful of the black liquid that passed as lunch and put it in his mouth, swallowing it. I couldn't lie, it intrigued me. Dib and Y/n's habits differed greatly. My current hypothesis was that humans were similar to Irkens, in the fact that they had no real need to eat, they only did it because they wanted to, just like my Tallest. Not eating being normal made the most sense to me, but the more I looked around the cafeteria, a minute amount of doubt settled in. Everyone was eating. Looking back to Dib as he continued to eat, he raised an eyebrow as he caught me staring.

"What?" There was a hint of self-consciousness. Clearly he was not liking how intently I was observing him.

"Why do you eat?" I asked, legitimately curious. He looked to be incredulously, as if he couldn't comprehend my words.

"Because we're not aliens, stupid. We need to in order to survive." He spoke between bites of toxic sludge.

"You do?" The words left my mouth almost immediately, feeling the curiosity only continue to bubble to the surface. Dib only stared at me as if I was utterly clueless. 

After a moment, he had decided that I was completely serious, and not just messing with him like I usually would. "How did you not know this, you've been on earth for how long now?" Folding my hands in front of my face, my eyes narrowed in thought. Things were not adding up. There were so many things about human culture that I clearly did not have a grasp on. To Dib, my lapse in understanding was worse than he thought.

"I just thought you were like Irkens, that you don't need to eat but you choose to."

"Why would you think that?" His words were broken by disbelieving laughter. There still seemed to be a part of him that couldn't believe this. I could tell he thought I was incompetent and horrible at my job. "It is unbelievable that you are an Irken elite." He shook his head, his stupid glasses slipping down his nose. He pushed them up with his fingers, a grin spreading across his face.

"Silence, Dib-thing!" If there weren't more pressing things on my mind, I would have made him suffer for that comment. Instead, I settled for a threatening hiss. "It's just, I've never seen Y/n eat before. They don't eat lunch, and anytime GIR offers them food they refuse."

"Yeah, well, I don't blame them for not wanting to eat this shit. I'm surprised my organs haven't melted yet." A chuckle fell from his stupid mouth. He shoveled in another spoonful, regardless of his words. "And I wouldn't trust GIR's cooking either." Even if all that is true, there was something that was still nagging at me. I couldn't let it go, there was something that just wasn't right with the situation.

"But even on dates...they won't eat. Are you sure this isn't normal?" I was surprised at how concern had crept into my voice. I was no longer confident in my theory, rather asking for confirmation that something was off. I thought it was normal. I know of several thousand races that don't require food, that get it from other things. Us Irkens are supplied them by our PAKs, we only eat for the taste. And there are some, very few, but still some, that don't like the taste of snacks, so they won't eat. They survive just fine, lasting as long as any Irken, hundreds and hundreds of years passing by no problem. Dib's cheeky attitude completely dissipated. The air felt heavy, my skin felt prickly, like bugs were crawling all over my arms and legs. 

"No, Zim. It's not." His voice was soft and quiet, a stark contrast to how he usually spoke to me. Fine. I'll admit it, I can be just a bit clueless when it comes to humans and their customs. But I am not stupid. I understand basic biological principals, I was a military scientist for years. If a living organism doesn't get sufficient nutrients, the only thing to come will be harmful consequences. 

"Oh." After a moment of sitting in silence, my entire body froze. I couldn't believe what I was even feeling. The stupid, filthy human that was only supposed to be a tool, a research-plaything, had turned out to be so much more. 

Irkens aren't supposed to care about anyone... I thought, clenching my fist so hard the joints audibly popped. We were always told in the academy that caring made us weak. That wasn't even the worst part. The scariest thing was that I found myself not wanting to stop caring.

-

You laid on your room floor, hand on your stomach. You couldn't help it. Your eyes drifted to the scale you kept under your bed. You tried to tear your eyes away from it, but you just couldn't. You didn't want to be this way, you knew it was bad, dangerous even. But at the same time, you couldn't grasp that you had a problem. You couldn't stop. You saw the statistics. You didn't want to become just another number, but you couldn't reach out. How could you? Just to have someone call you an attention whore? No thank you. You would rather suffer in silence, lying to everyone including yourself. Did you eat today? Of course! A smile on your face for others always, that grin fading every time you glanced in the mirror. Your eyes were like a funhouse mirror, constantly seeing yourself different than the reality. 

The only thing that seemed to brighten your day was Zim. He was a healthy distraction, and he never made you feel bad about yourself, surprisingly. He never chided you for looking too skinny, for not eating. You needed a push in the right direction, but you needed to be encouraged to get better, not harrassed into it. You needed to feel as if you had support, rather than pressure. 

The doorbell yanked you out of your mental spiral, but it did nothing for your anxiety. You were home alone, so you continued to lay there, hoping whoever it was would go away. However, that was not the case. After a few moments of silence, the doorbell was rung repeatedly, a constant stream of annoyance that flooded your ears. Muttering curses, you marched your way to the front door, opening it to reveal Zim standing there, uncharacteristically quiet. Immediately your mind went blank. Did you have plans that day? You didn't think so. If that was the case, then why was he on your front porch?

"Hello, human. May I come in?" You would have laughed if you were in the headspace for it. The scene before you was ridiculous, after all. Zim being polite? Couldn't be possible. And yet, he stood there on the step, clawed hands folded neatly in front of him, waiting patiently for your response, a cute and dopey expression lingering on his face. Now you were very concerned. You were even a bit worried that he had done something to his brain in his lab, that some sort of experiment may have gone horribly wrong. It wasn't that you hated nice and calm Zim, it was just...not right.

"Sure, I guess..." You stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him and leading him to your room. He had been there once or twice, but mostly, you both spent time at his place or around town, usually harassing Dib. You sunk down to the floor, Zim following suit. You weren't really in the mood to see him, or anyone at the moment, but you had suspected that, despite the well-mannered act, he would have let himself in regardless. Zim glanced around your room, and you couldn't help but dig your nails into the scratchy carpet. You just felt vulnerable. Deciding to ditch the discomfort, you made an effort at small talk. "So, anything interesting happen at lunch today?" You had already guessed that he would have gone to sit with Dib, you've seen how he despises being alone. Even though he claims to be this independent invader, you've found him to be actually quite needy when it comes to attention. 

"Why don't you eat?" Zim cut right to the chase, completely brushing off your own question. His voice was sugary sweet and innocent, and you knew his intentions were pure. His usual grating and over-excitable tone was missing. Still, you couldn't help but be taken aback by his query. He sat across from you, staring expectantly, waiting for an answer. He didn't seem to understand why that question was so difficult for you to answer. You didn't think you could answer. And so you both sat in silence, uncomfortably staring. Your eyes were fixed on the carpet, his on you. 

As he stared, he began to notice something for the first time. You were much thinner than your classmates. He had never noticed before, because he was the same way, it was something that was normal to him, but that was due to him being an Irken. Most Irkens were naturally built that way. 

"Zim…" You had finally spoken, mouth feeling drier than the desert. Your gaze was still locked on your floor, studying every minute speck of dust and dirt. You absolutely refused to look at him as you toyed with your fingers, nervously debating on how to respond, if you should respond. You thought he would never catch on, because nothing about your behavior seemed to have bothered him. It was all habits he was used to back on Irk. He didn't know any better, he had always been inept at grasping human normalcy. You were embarrassed that he had to see you like this, struggling so hard, unable to call for help.

For once in his life, Zim seemed to understand the nuances of a human. He'd seen that look before, it was all over his home planet. Irkens who felt as if they were completely disgusting when compared to others. It finally clicked for him. He understood that you hated your body. It was a concept he could grasp. Irkens had something similar. For them, the insecurities lie in height. For humans, it seemed, it was their weight. He may not know much about humans, but what he did know is that it didn't sit right with him to watch you go through what you were without anyone by your side. Irkens never considered the concept of comfort. Emotions were always a confusing subject to any Irken, especially Zim, who often wasn't concerned with how his actions affected others. In spite of all that, he found himself itching to give it ago. Watching you sit there and torture yourself made him feel as if he was losing his mind.

"Human. Listen to Zim. This probably won't mean much, but..." Zim reached out to you, pulling you into a hug, his arms wrapped around you protectively, as if trying to defend you from whatever threat you were faced with. You were once again shocked. Zim never liked to be too touchy feely. And in the rare occasions he wished for it, he would never initiate it. Zim, however, knew from his observations that sometimes physical affection made humans feel safe and loved. Thus, he figured he would give it a shot. "It doesn't matter what the outside looks like. It's all flesh and bone, completely uninteresting. The real intrigue is what's in here." He lightly pressed a claw into your chest and then to your forehead, hoping you got what he was trying to say. You couldn't help but melt at his uncharacteristic softness. You felt a single tear roll down your cheek, knowing that there would more likely than not be more to follow. 

"I..." Your voice was too shaky, so you trailed off, leaning into Zim's continued embrace. 

"Zim wants to assist in anyway he can." Both of you guessed that would be tough, but you were happy nonetheless that he seemed to genuinely care for your wellbeing. You figured that if he had known this wasn't normal human behavior, he would have instigated this talk a long time ago.

After a few more moments of staying silent, you thought you were collected enough to speak. Since Zim was being the most open you had ever witnessed in your time with him, you opted to be as well. "I love you, Zim." Immediately you felt his entire body tense around you, your face buried in his shoulder, just in case you would cry again. Zim was thankful for this, or you would have seen the way warmth flooded his face.

At first, he didn't know what to say. Love was never a thing on Irk. How could it be, when everyone was encoded with programming? There had been rumors of this fatal attraction, sure. But it had been widely decided on that anyone who felt this useless emotion was a defective. Besides, love would never benefit a militarian empire. Because of the stigma, love was never a word that was tossed around lightly on Irk, if at all. Just another thing to add onto the ever growing list of everything that made Zim a 'defective'.

"I...love you too, human."

[yesloverboy]

Neighborly (mgk!Tommy Lee x Reader) Part 7

summary: after your first official date at the pier, some ~tension~ is finally resolved and serious talks about the future ensue. 

word count: 3,304

[warnings: SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY PLEASE!!! plus alcohol, smoking, swearing drugs, and the usual yadda yadda yadda.]

note: uhhh, here it is! for anyone who is still sticking around in the crüe/classic rock fandom to read this old thing. I’m too ashamed to talk about how long it’s been since I’ve written anything for my crüe fam so I’ll just zip it for now. ily!

tags: @kwyloz, @lavendersoundbarrier, @scarecrowmax, @hxllywood-whxre, @totallynotkaibiased, @rogertaylur, @fatheadtheroger, @secretly-a-groupie, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @black-tights-black-heart @dirtysixxers, @abbysdogcollar, @valentines-in-london, @colsonbakersnoseringmain, @ccidk, @sharon6713, @myshakespeareandarling, @moon-beame, @carmineharry, @2dead2function, @lauravic, @amusicalprostituttee @lululovesgwtw @kingbouji3  @freakshow-jodie @anyasthoughts @chlobo6, @casualcomputerarbiter-blog @oldschoolimagineblog, @bandaid-rainbow​

 Tommy’s mouth dominates your own, each heated kiss dissolving another layer of tension. You cling to his shirt, afraid that your knees may give in from the sheer force of his affection. Despite his intensity, Tommy still caresses the sides of your face tenderly, his long thumb stroking your cheekbone with the same gentleness as the wind sauntering through your broken window. It reminds you of the first time he kissed you, with your thighs seated on his own and half a palette of blush on his cheeks.

 “Need you baby,” Tommy murmurs between kisses, “Say you need me, too.”

 Your face grows hot as Tommy’s mouth travels from your mouth to the hollow of your throat, his subtle nibbles and licks making your breathing ragged. As much as you wanted to take things slow, you can’t deny the way that your heart propels itself in Tommy’s direction, making you want to close even the tightest spaces between the two of you.

 “Oh Tommy, please,” you breathe, running your fingers through his long hair, “I need you–you know I need you.”

 Just as soon as he had begun, Tommy detaches his mouth from your neck, replacing it instead with a gentle hand. The heat pools between your legs as the grip of his fingers settles beneath your jawline, his firm yet loving touch holding you in place. You have no choice but to let your eyes dance in front of his stormy blue ones, your throat running dry in anticipation.

 “Do you mean that?” Tommy murmurs, his husky voice fading into the softness of uncertainty. 

 You nod frantically against his grasp with desperate hands clawing at the tail of Tommy’s shirt, pulling his chest flush against your own. Tommy’s hips involuntarily buck against yours, the slight friction against his clothed bulge causing a soft moan to fall from his lips. As his hot breath ghosts your open mouth, you decide you can no longer fight just how badly you want Tommy. Feeling brave, you grab the back of Tommy’s neck and reconnect your lips.  

 Tommy’s hand snakes tightly around your waist, cushioning your back as he lets the two of you fall into a heap on the mattress. As he hovers above your breathless form, a delicate hand begins to snake its way up your bare thigh and towards the hem of your night shirt. You squirm under his touch, his touch practically burning a hole into your sensitive flesh.

 “Is this okay, baby?” Tommy murmurs, his lips softly brushing against your own.

 With a fervent nod, you decide to quell any anxieties Tommy may still have by pulling the night shirt over your head and tossing onto the floor. Whatever boundaries that may have been left are finally torn down, leaving you lying bare before Tommy in nothing but a pair of silk panties.

 Tommy’s mouth falls open, his blue eyes bright as he takes the sight of you in. His eyes wander from your mussed hair to the way that the moonlight from your window bathes your supple skin in its pale glow. With a tentative hand, Tommy strokes the curve of your waist all the way down to your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers toy with the lacy edge of your panties. Strangely enough you don’t feel exposed or bashful, you feel seen. It’s almost as if someone were looking at you for the first time.

 “God, baby,” Tommy exhales, “I–I can’t even find the words.”

 “Then stop trying,” you tease, taking a fistful of his shirt collar in your hands and pulling him back down to your level.

 Tommy grins into your mouth as he falls on top of you once again, his lips connecting with yours intermittently as his hands finally begin to wander freely. You hum in contentment as a warm palm encompasses your breast, kneading the skin softly. Although you can’t deny that his tender grasp feels good– extremely good –the tension between you and Tommy has been eating at you from day one. Tangling your fingertips into Tommy’s wild hair, you give the strands a harsh tug, silently encouraging your fumbling, energetic boy to take things up a notch.

 Tommy moans in response, “Listen I was playing nice–” you suck in a breath as you watch his blue eyes darken, his free hand pointing a finger centimeters from your face, “but if that’s how you wanna play baby, I’ll play.”

 Arousal begins to soak through the fabric of your panties at Tommy’s words, making your blood buzz eagerly in your veins. Unable to control your impulses, you nip at Tommy’s finger, teeth snapping against the empty air as he reflexifly pulls back.

 Before you even know what’s happening, Tommy’s calloused hand has a firm grip on the column of your throat. The force of his hold jostles your head against the pillows, knocking the air from your lungs little by little. You arch into the touch, your own hand floundering to gain some sort of leverage against Tommy’s wrist.

 “Uh, oh,” you grin, voice straining against the weight of his hand “am I in trouble?”

 Tommy’s eyes are hungry, playful even, as he leans in closely, lips hovering just above the shell of your ear as the ends of his hair brush against your collarbone.

 “Why?” Tommy purs, “Do you wanna be?”

 Goosebumps erupt onto your skin as Tommy drags the tip of his nose from the tip of your ear down to the curve of your jaw. Releasing some of his hold on your throat, Tommy begins sucking on the delicate skin of your neck, each movement beginning as a kiss and ending with his teeth sinking into your flesh.

 You cry out in a mix of pain and pure pleasure, knowing for a fact that the angry red impressions of Tommy’s teeth would turn to a deep purple– bruising you, marking you. Tommy ignores your cries, instead snaking his free hand underneath the dainty silk of your panties. You gasp as a long finger begins to stroke your wet folds, every teasing movement brushing against your clit more and more each time. He slides your damp panties off of your thighs, the cool summer air chilling your exposed flesh.

 “Oh fuck, Tommy,” you murmur, “N-need, need more.”

 “What was that, baby girl?” he hums lowly, lips still attached to the hollow of your throat. “I couldn’t hear you.”

 Just as you’re about to bite back against Tommy’s sarcasm, he plunges a calloused finger inside of you, stroking upwards into your heat. As you pant and moan against him, Tommy loosens his grip on your throat just enough to allow your hips to desperately rut into his hand. A bead of sweat trickles down your temple, running down your neck and swimming through the valley of your trembling breast. Your skin, still warm from yours and Tommy’s day in the sun, is now sweltering with a desire so pure that you can’t imagine it distinguishing beyond this moment.

 “Fuck,” you gasp as Tommy slides a second finger inside of you, his long digits reaching uncharted parts of you that most men barely had the knowledge nor the skill to access. You’re unsure whether or not you can attribute the pleasure you’re feeling to Tommy’s experience, or the fact that every cell in your body seems to be hopelessly in love with him, but it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

 Your chest heaves out a steady tempo of moans, each one crescendoing towards your release. Tommy’s fingers pump relentlessly as your hands claw at the sheets for something, anything, to keep you grounded.

 “Oh Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” you cry as the heat from your core works its way up your chest and neck, clouding your vision.

 Tommy says nothing and instead, in a moment of pure intimacy, swallows your frantic words in a bruising kiss. Your back arches into his moving hand, his rhythm never ceasing as your orgasm hits like a tidal wave. Whining against his lips, you wrap your arms around his neck, not wanting to separate for even a moment. Tommy just holds you in place, his aching cock straining against his shorts and pressing against your inner thigh.

 As you come down from your high, you disconnect your lips from Tommy’s, feeling both dazed and completely enraptured at his ability to make you feel like that with just his hands. Is this what it’s like to be touched by someone you love? Your mind wanders as you meet his oceanic eyes again, wanting him to look expectant for his own release but instead finding nothing but adoration.

 “Tommy I–” you try to speak, but he just kisses you with his open mouth smiling. Pulling at his shirt, he relents for a moment, allowing you to yank it off his head and expose his tanned chest.

 You start to work at the button on his shorts, but he grips your face in his hands. “Baby, baby, baby,” he coos, the dominant fire in his eyes diminishing  for just a moment to get your attention, “You don’t gotta worry about me.”

 As much as his selflessness melts your heart, you use his softened demeanor to your advantage. Using whatever energy you can muster, you shove at Tommy’s chest and hoist your leg over his torso, effectively flattening his lanky frame onto the mattress. Tommy huffs out a laugh as his head connects with the plush duvet, his hands immediately coming to rest on your thighs as you straddle him. His fingers dig into your skin absentmindedly, leaving momentary imprints in their wake.

 Nails raking against his bare chest, you tisk your disapproval at him with a devilish smirk. “Oh no you don’t, drummer boy,” you giggle, “You’re not getting off the hook that easy.”

 “Come on baby, you know I want you–” Tommy hisses as you press yourself against his throbbing erection, “I just–ah fuck–know it’s a lot right now.”

 Instead of answering him, you sink down the length of his body, peppering kisses along his chest and stomach until you reach the edge of his denim shorts. All Tommy can do is moan helplessly as you tug them off his hips, allowing his flushed cock to spring free. Needless to say, he’s big– a lot bigger than you were expecting, and you begin to wonder just how you’re going to fit him in your mouth, let alone inside of your body.

 Experimentally, you grip his shaft, bringing the head of his aching cock to your lips. Your hot breath ghosts the tip as you give a gentle kitten lick, causing Tommy to twitch anxiously in your hand. Wrapping your lips around him slowly, Tommy lets out a tortured groan, his hand absentmindedly tangling itself in your hair as you look up at him through dark lashes.

 Without a second thought, you take more of him into your mouth and begin to bob your head to a steady rhythm. Whatever doesn’t fit in your mouth slides comfortably through your enclosed fingers, slick and wet with your saliva. Each time Tommy’s hips buck against the back of your throat, you stifle a gag; and, as much as you hate to admit it, the sloppy sound is just making you wetter by the second. His shuddering moans and deep gasps egg you on, creating a tempo that you’re more than happy to follow along with.

 Before Tommy’s hips start to stutter too much, he uses his hold on your hair to gently pull you off his cock. As always, Tommy’s grip is delicate, yet firm– letting you know that, while you may have had the upper hand for a moment, he was still the one in charge.

 “What’s the matter, baby?” you huff, a little disappointed that he didn’t let you finish him off.

 “As rad as that was baby girl,” Tommy grins, gripping your jaw tightly, “I think we would both prefer if I finished inside of you, don’t you think?” You nod eagerly, unabashedly expressing a want for Tommy that you had gotten so tired of concealing over the past month.  

 With that, Tommy regains control, gripping your smaller figure by the shoulders and firmly pushing you back into the pillows. Your eyes are wide, unable to get used to Tommy’s strength in spite of his wiry physique. It takes you back to earlier that day, when he had lifted you off the ground at the boardwalk. That moment seems so far away and yet, with Tommy hovering above you, you realize you want every day to be just the same. Broken window and all.

 Tommy leaves tender kisses on your collarbone, the ends of his chestnut hair, still crisp with seawater, tickling your skin. With steady hands he pushes your legs apart and looks up at you with eager eyes sparkling.

 “You ready baby?” he breathes, pupils black with arousal and cheeks flushed.

 Knotting your fingers in his hair, you pull him up to your awaiting mouth, drinking in the taste of him as his tongue mingles with yours. Lips parting for just a moment, you gaze up into his eyes, breathless. His heart beats in rhythm with yours, each helpless organ hammering against its respective ribcage, hopelessly reaching for the other.

 “Just fuck me already, pretty boy,” you tease, teeth sinking into your lip as your hand move down the expanse of his back. They finally settle at Tommy’s hips, guiding him forward to your dripping center. Your thighs clench with anticipation as a new coating of gooseflesh covers your skin.

 “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” Tommy murmurs, his cock rubbing teasingly along your folds, “Did I do this to you baby? Hmm?”

 Before you can muster enough self control to answer him, Tommy thrusts his cock inside of you. The sudden movement causes you to cry out in surprise, your nails clutching and scratching at his skin. Tommy’s exceptional length stretches you open deliciously, the burning sensation eliciting a pathetic whine from the back of your throat. Tommy is just as caught up in the moment as you are, his eyes fluttering closed as your walls tighten and pulse around him in arousal.

 “More Tommy, please,” you beg, shifting your hips to connect your bodies further. His head falls slack to meet yours, forehead pressing against your own as his hips finally roll back into your own. Mouth falling open, you reach up at Tommy as he pounds into you, your unsteady hands finding purchase at the nape of his neck.

 At the sound of your whimpers, Tommy regains the same dominance as before, fucking into you so hard that he has to use his free hand to steady himself against the wall behind your bed. Each thrust of his cock inside of you is punctuated with a hard kiss, his teeth pulling at your plush lips and tugging your mouth further into his.

 Tommy’s eyes fall onto your flushed face, your skin glowing with a sheen of sweat and moonlight as he coaxes your orgasm forward. “That’s it baby doll,” he grunts, parting his lips from yours to nip at your neck, “Keep taking me– just like that.”

 “It’s so good Tommy,” you babble, “So, so good.”

 As Tommy’s cock pierces even deeper into your cervix, his hands engulf your waist in a bruising grip, bringing you down onto him harder and faster than before. Your eyes roll back into your head as your vision clouds around the edges, the white hot feeling of your orgasm so close you can almost taste it.

 “That’s is, beautiful,” Tommy coos, his hot breath ghosting your ear, “Just let go, come for me.”

 As if on command, your orgasm completely overtakes you. The blood rushes from the tip of your toes to the nape of your neck, prickling your insides and propelling the air out of your lungs. Tommy follows close behind, the snapping of his hips sputtering unevenly as his cock twitches inside of you. With a few final, shallow thrusts Tommy’s cock pumps its release, filling you up to the brim. You’re still panting beneath him as he relaxes atop your abdomen, the weight of his warm body a comfort as your chests heave in unison.

 For a few blissful moments, the only sound between the two of you comes from the rise and fall of your labored breaths.The summer air is hot and balmy as it passes through your shattered window, its gentle gusts welcome on your glistening skin. After a while Tommy rolls off of you, his broad body flopping onto your old mattress with a boyish smile plastered across his face.

 Your body is too weary to sit up straight just yet, so your prop yourself up on one elbow to face Tommy directly. “What are you so smiley about, huh?” The question comes out as barely a whisper, your lungs still frantically trying to catch up to your falling adrenaline rush.

 With a long arm, Tommy reaches out to your bare shoulder, his fingers ghosting against your skin delicately. “I mean I did just nail the hottest babe in all of Los Angeles–no, wait! The world. The hottest girl in the world.” His sudden correction makes you giggle.

 Beaming at Tommy, you reach over and ruffle his sex induced bedhead. “Hottest girl in the world, huh? Can I put you down as my reference when I add that to my resumé?”

 Tommy’s face blushes a deep pink, his eyes averting in favor of gazing at the frayed stitching on your linens. Fidgeting, he begins wringing together his large hands, a smile still faint on his lips. “Well yeah, but, uh, only if you mark me down as you boyfriend, too.”

 His words bring you crashing back to the reality of the situation, reminding you that earlier that day–or was it the day before now?–was technically yours and Tommy’s first date. Falling onto your back, you pin your eyes to the ceiling, hoping that its popcorn texture might somehow form the right words to say. You reach blindly for Tommy's hand, tapping at his forearm until you find it. “Look,” you begin, your mouth speaking before you can even process the words, “You know that today was our first date–”

 “Second,” Tommy interjects. You turn your head to look at him and follow his  index finger to the clock on your dresser. 4:52 AM.

 “Okay, fine–second,” you huff out a laugh, “And I wanted to get to know you better, you know? As a friend, but now I think I realize...this has been you all along.”

 Tommy jolts up into a sitting position, eyes bulging in disbelief. “Wait, are you saying what I think you’re saying? Because I swear to God, Y/N if you’re fucking with me–”

 You tackle Tommy back down before he can even finish his sentence. “Yes, of course I’d put you down as my boyfriend, you fucking goof!”

 He rises to meet you, pressing light kisses over the valleys and contours of your face, leaving no territory uncharted by his unyielding affection. Never in all of your brief life has anyone made you feel this way. He gives you butterflies and yet you still want to see a future with him. It’s love, your brain screams, it has to be love. And who wouldn’t want a love like that? Tommy had already declared it days into knowing you, and you were finding it more and more difficult to resist the idea with each passing moment of bliss.

 “You know what that means, don’t you gorgeous?” Tommy grins.

 Brushing a few wild hairs away from his eyes, you quirk a curious eyebrow at Tommy’s giddy expression. “And what’s that?”

 “We gotta tell the band!”

Masterlist

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Three (Bad Ideas) - Part 2/3

Jensen Ackles x Jared Padalecki (pre-J2 x reader)

Word Count: ~3470

Warnings: It’s not super explicit, it doesn’t get much farther than some groping and grinding on-camera, but there’s some decidedly adult content here. 

A/N: The second part of the prequel to Everything. The first part is right over here. All my gratitude to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for the reading and encouragement, as always, and also for the J2 spamming esp. possessive!Jensen. 

“What, like, hot alien threesome?” Jensen laughs. 

“All those different species, with like. Droids. And fuckin’... Wookiees and shit.” Jared tries to make a Wookiee noise but he’s giggling too hard to get it out. In his defense, it’s two in the morning and he’s very drunk. 

“Hutt porn?”

“Hentai with actual tentacles! I mean, come on, you could scroll through category menus for hours.” 

Jensen snorts and shakes his head. “I always thought the green chick was hot.” 

“The twi’lek! Fuck yeah.” 

“You are such a dork,” Jensen laughs. He goes to elbow Jared, but Jared dodges, stumbles, and almost walks into a streetlamp. 

“Dude,” he splutters. “Dude, fuck, can you imagine… holy shit! If somebody liked to be choked, and -” 

“Hate to break it to you, but that barely counts as kinky in this universe,” Jensen says, with a wicked grin. 

Jared’s brain stores that away with a neon sign saying we are going to think about this later! but manages not to short out completely. 

“No, no, you know how Darth Vader -“ Jared stops in the middle of the sidewalk, mimicking the Force-choking gesture, trying to imitate a stern Vader-y expression and failing miserably. He clutches his stomach, wheezing with laughter. 

“Such a dork,” Jensen repeats, trying to hold back his laughter. “Get your ass moving, I’m fuckin’ freezing.” 

Jared falls back into step. “Your fault you’re already dressed for Austin.” 

“Vancouver in April might as well be Hoth,” Jensen says, and Jared cracks up all over again. 

“Who’s the dork now? I’m rubbing off on you!” he crows, and immediately adds, “That’s what she said.” 

Jensen huffs, mock-exasperated, but he sneaks a sideways look at Jared, grinning. 

One second they’re walking side by side, and the next, Jensen’s grabbing him, hand tight on Jared’s wrist as he crowds right into Jared’s space. Jared steps back instinctively, almost stumbles, but Jensen just follows, walking him backward with this wild-eyed intensity on his face. 

Jared’s back hits a cold brick wall. Jensen’s mouth is hot and desperate when it collides with his. 

The kiss is clumsy and messy and perfect, and it’s like Jared’s brain gets stuck in a loop: what, what, what, because they’re kissing, and he’s paralyzed by the shock for a long frozen moment while his stomach lurches and his heart pounds and his head spins. Then Jensen’s teeth catch on his lip, stinging in a way that sends electricity skittering along his synapses, jolting him back into the moment like a fucking AED. 

Jensen’s kissing him like he wants to devour him, sucking and biting like he could eat Jared alive, and Jared’s stomach flips with every ruthless drag of his teeth, every deep lush lick, every new brush of those pillowy lips. Jared pulls him in close and kisses him back with everything he’s got. 

Jensen slides both hands into Jared’s hair, strong fingers twining through the strands and tugging sharply just as his leg shoves up between Jared’s, and Jared lets out this ragged, needy moan, the most ridiculously slutty noise that’s ever escaped his lips. He should be embarrassed by how fucking desperate he sounds, but Jensen’s hips jerk forward, grinding up against him as he hisses out an answering curse. If Jared wasn’t being shoved up against the wall he’d probably fall the fuck down with the way his knees turn to jelly. 

Jensen pulls away. Before Jared’s brain can catch up with his body, he’s swaying forward in an attempt to follow his mouth. 

“Yeah?” Jensen growls. His voice is even deeper than usual, a barely-there rumble, and Jared shivers. 

Jared doesn’t know what the fucking question is, but he manages, “Yes.” 

There’s one more searing kiss, teeth and blistering heat, and then Jensen’s grabbing his wrist and tugging him away from the wall and down the quiet sidewalk. Jared feels like his muscles aren’t quite working right, floppy and uncoordinated as he staggers after Jensen. 

He can still feel the residual heat of Jensen’s body all down his front, and the Vancouver night feels even colder in the wake of all that fiery pressure. His lips are bruised and puffy. His skin is jumping with… god, he doesn’t even know what to call it: disbelief, lust, wonder, need, shock, too fucking much all at once, more than Jared can take. 

He sneaks a quick look at Jensen, and Jensen’s staring right back at him, eyes smoldering as he looks up through his lashes. He flicks his tongue out over his red, swollen lower lip and shoots Jared a little half-smile, and Jared has to stop again to reel Jensen in and kiss that smile until Jensen’s gasping against his mouth. 

“Bed,” Jensen says roughly. “I need to get you in a bed right fucking now.” 

“Yeah. Okay. Bed.” 

“You sure about this?” Jensen asks. He’s staring at Jared’s mouth again. 

Jared’s not sure what to say to that. Instead of admitting that no, he’s not sure about anything, and in fact he’s scared out of his damn mind, and this is probably a bad idea, he just ducks his head to kiss Jensen again.   

*

Jared’s spent so many hours reliving the feel of Jensen’s mouth against his, Jensen’s skin under his hands, Jensen’s low moan and shuddery sigh… there’s a million and one fragments of visceral gut-punch memory embedded in his nerve endings from the night Jared got drugged. 

He’s gotten better at pushing them away. At first it was every time, every time he got too close, every time he smelled Jensen; a feverish flash of sensation would hit him hard and fast. Now the memories mostly come out at night, when he’s alone. They’re still almost too intense to bear. 

It’s surreal, the way those memories pale in comparison to the real thing. 

Jensen’s on top of him, hips twisting, and they’re both hard in their jeans; they haven’t managed to stop touching long enough to get their clothes off, and the drag of too-rough denim-on-denim friction is driving Jared insane. The little growl in the back of Jensen’s throat is the same. The incredible mix of grace and aggression in the way he moves is the same. The way he makes Jared feel is the same: this all-consuming need through his body, fierce and dizzying, like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. 

He blamed it on the drugs, the electricity and mind-melting heat of the first time. He convinced himself that it was partly in his head, that it was the chemicals: the perfection of it, the way they slotted together like they were made for each other, the way every goddamn touch felt like a revelation. 

He was wrong on all counts. He feels drugged all over again. 

Jensen sits back on his heels abruptly, tugging his shirt over his head. Jared can barely take his eyes off the freckles and the muscles and the fucking hipbones long enough to deal with his own shirt, but it’s worth it when he pulls Jensen down again and feels all that smooth bare skin on his. 

Jared rakes his nails down Jensen’s shoulder blades and then flattens his hands on Jensen’s back to squeeze him closer, arching up, rolling his hips. Jensen pulls back just long enough to inhale, quick and sharp. 

“Sure about this?” Jared asks breathlessly. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Jensen says no, but he feels like he should ask. 

Jensen doesn’t answer. He ducks right back down, sinking his teeth into the spot under Jared’s ear that makes him whine and twitch. 

Jensen’s hand curls around the other side of his neck, thumb fitting right under the line of his jaw and forcing his head back, exposing his throat and leaving him at the mercy of Jensen’s mouth. Jensen’s tongue swirls over the skin he just bit, soothing the sting with a soft tickling lick, before nibbling the same spot again, gentler this time. Jared already feels strung-tight and shaky. 

He can feel how hard Jensen is, stiff heat straining against the front of his jeans, but Jensen’s taking his time. His fingers press harder, holding Jared down, holding him in place, and the pressure of his hand is doing devastating, crazy-making things to Jared’s insides. He nips and sucks and works sensitive patches of skin between his teeth until Jared’s twisting and gasping under him. 

Jared bucks up, frustrated, and grits out, “Please.” 

The way Jensen groans, low and helpless, might be the hottest thing Jared’s ever heard. He grinds down again, so fucking good Jared’s eyes roll back in his head, and then he finally pulls away, fingers sliding up from Jared’s neck to grip his hair instead. 

Jared blinks up at him. Even after all these years, he can’t believe it, sometimes; Jensen’s too beautiful to be real. He’s even more beautiful now, hair sticking up, lips swollen, looking down at Jared with his pupils blown and his cheeks flushed, something like surprise in his eyes. Jared’s too stunned to even wonder what his own face must look like. 

“Tell me what you want,” Jensen whispers. His voice is a barely-there rasp, steely and dark, and it makes Jared want to get on his knees, spread his legs, beg for anything and everything Jensen might choose to do to him. 

“You,” he manages. It’s always been the truth. 

*

Jared makes it less than forty-eight hours before he snaps. He’s in the car before he can think about it, driving the familiar roads to Jensen’s house on autopilot. 

He almost turns right around when he pulls into the driveway. The reality of what he’s doing sets in, and it’s so huge and overwhelming that there’s this rushing in his ears and this wheezing in his lungs and everything else fades away for a moment. He parks and leans forward, crossing his arms on the steering wheel and resting his forehead on them. He tries to breathe. 

Gonna see if I can catch an earlier flight. Just need to think.

Sorry.  

He woke up alone two days ago, and he’s read the note so many times since that it’s like those three sentences are just on a constant loop in the back of his head. He’s not sure he can face Jensen right now; hearing the words in person might just kill him. It was bad enough the first time. 

Don’t worry about it. What are brothers for? 

But at least that time there was an excuse. Jared could write off all his neediness, all his desperation, on drug-induced temporary insanity. 

Jensen must’ve just figured there was nothing wrong with a casual fuck. They were drunk, they were horny, they’d done it before, might as well. But then he’d seen the way Jared looked at him, and he must have finally realized. He panicked; that’s the only explanation Jared can think of. 

Jared knows himself. He knows that everything he feels shows in his expression, clear as fucking day, and if he didn’t have so much practice hiding that particular emotion, Jensen probably would’ve noticed a long time ago. Jared let his guard down that night, drunk, in the heat of the moment. Jensen must’ve seen it plastered all over his face. 

Thing is, though, Jared couldn’t live without his best friend. Doesn’t matter that he’s in love with Jensen. Doesn’t matter how he feels. The simple fact is, even if it’s never anything more than friendship, Jared needs Jensen in his life. If he screwed that up because of his stupid inconvenient feelings, if he really did scare Jensen away this time… well, he can’t think about that. That train of thought leads to cold sweats and sheer panic. 

Jared sits up. He grips the steering wheel, white-knuckled, then releases it, stretching out his fingers as he sighs. He looks guiltily at his hands. He stopped biting his fingernails a long time ago, but right now his nails are gnawed to the quick and his cuticles are edged with scabs. 

It’s eating him up inside. He feels raw and achy and shredded, and he needs to just bite the bullet and hear the words so that he can apologize. He has a whole speech planned out. Then maybe they can just go have a beer or something and it’ll all go back to normal. It has to go back to normal. 

Fuck. 

He grabs his phone and texts before he can think too hard about it: Can we talk? 

Jared sits up and looks at himself in the rearview mirror quickly. His eyes, sunken in bruised purple-blue rings, are puffy and red-rimmed. His hair is a greasy fucking mess, tangled where it peeks out from under his beanie. He looks like absolute shit. Doesn’t matter; Jensen’s seen him at his worst, and his looks aren’t really the point right now. 

His phone buzzes and Jared’s stomach lurches. 

Yes. I’ll come over. 

Jared almost chokes on his borderline-hysterical giggle. He gets out of the car, texting as he walks to the front door. 

Um okay but I’m maybe in your driveway?

He steels himself with a deep breath. The door swings open before he can knock. 

Unlike Jared, Jensen doesn’t usually wear his emotions on his face. It took time and trust before Jared could read the little nuances of his expressions, and he knew, even then, that it was just as much Jensen letting him in as Jared figuring him out. 

Now, though, Jensen might as well be a fucking billboard. He looks terrified and desperate and hopeful, and there’s something tender and familiar shining in his eyes. He looks just like Jared feels. 

Jared had a whole fucking speech planned, and he can’t remember a single word of it. He blinks, paralyzed, before taking one hesitant step forward. 

They both move at once, abrupt and clumsy, crashing into each other so hard it knocks the air from Jared’s lungs, and if he thought Jensen kissed him hungrily before, he’s starving now, teeth clashing and tongue plunging in deep, with this deep, gorgeous whine in the back of his throat when Jared just parts his lips and lets him take what he needs. 

Neither of them bother asking this time. They’re sure. 

*

It’s a bad idea and Jared knows it, even as he hauls Jensen in by the belt loops, but this is the longest he’s gone without kissing Jensen since they got together. He’s pretty sure he’s going to lose his goddamn mind before they make it to the last panel of the day. They’re near the green room in a relatively secluded little nook of the hallway, so at least there’s no danger of fans spotting them, but someone from the cast or Creation staff could walk by. It’s a stupid risk. 

They still haven’t told anybody. They want to try to keep it from the press, at first, for the sake of privacy, and there’s going to be a shitstorm of epic proportions when the fans find out, but they don’t have any illusions about being able to hide it from anybody involved in the show. Still, they wanted to at least tell the important people on their own terms, Singer and Speight and the ones whose opinions actually matter, before it gets out. They’d be assholes to let their friends hear it third-hand through the production gossip grapevine. 

But he’s not thinking about any of that. He’s not thinking at all, really. It’s the first time in over a week that Jared’s had to hold back, to be careful about how and when and where he touches Jensen, and it’s driving him a little bit crazy. 

Jensen’s feeling the same way, if the way he returns the kiss is any indication. He makes a rough, eager sound in the back of his throat and tucks his fingers into Jared’s back pockets, squeezing his ass and rocking up against him, before sliding his hands under the hem of Jared’s shirt to splay over his lower back and pull him closer. Jared runs his hands up Jensen’s arms, gripping his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex under his fingers. 

They break apart just an inch, enough to breathe, both of them panting, noses still brushing. Jared knows they should stop before they get caught, but he can’t bring himself to put any real space between their bodies. 

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to have you to myself again,” Jensen growls, and he pushes up on his tiptoes, lips right against Jared’s ear as he whispers, “Gonna bend you over the desk and make you watch in the mirror. Should see how pretty you look when I get my fingers in you.” 

Jared lets out a frustrated grunt, cock twitching as Jensen nips his earlobe. 

“You’re killing me,” he mutters. 

Jensen kisses him again, gentler this time, but it makes Jared shiver with the strain of holding back. 

Blame Jensen and his mouth for the way Jared’s so lost he doesn’t hear the door handle right across the hallway. He’s not sure what Jensen’s excuse is. 

He practically bites through Jensen’s lip with surprise when he hears the quick little gasp. Jensen stumbles back hurriedly, wiping his mouth, eyes huge in a way that would look comical if Jared didn’t feel icy all over with panic. 

“Oh thank fuck,” he breathes, when he sees who it is. He’s so relieved that it takes him a second to process the expression on her face; she’s bright red, looking down at her feet, flushing and avoiding eye contact instead of giving them shit about it like he would’ve expected. 

“Sorry,” she squeaks. “I’ll just… yeah. Give you some privacy.” 

She’s already bolting when Jared finds his voice again. 

“Wait,” he manages, and she grimaces as she turns to face them again. 

“We haven’t told anyone,” Jensen says. 

“Secret’s safe with me,” she says, with a too-bright smile, before she’s whirling around and rushing down the hall. 

Jared stares after her, puzzled, and more than a little disappointed. 

“What was that about?” he wonders out loud. “If it was anyone else I’d assume homophobic freakout, but…” 

“You really can’t figure out why she might not want to see you kissing someone?” Jensen asks sharply. His lips are swollen, red and shiny and distracting as hell. 

Jared’s heart is still pounding with the leftover adrenaline. He shakes his head, feeling slow and stupid. 

Jensen sighs. “Never mind.” 

“I should talk to her,” Jared says unhappily. “I… I missed her. I didn’t think -” 

Something that looks like hurt flashes through Jensen’s eyes. “We gotta get to the next panel. I’m sure you’ll see her tonight.” 

“Right. You’re right. Okay.” Jared runs his fingers through his hair and tucks it behind his ears. He feels fidgety and strange. 

Jensen grabs him, lightning-fast, and captures his mouth in one last kiss.

“Mine,” he whispers. 

“Yours,” Jared agrees softly. 

*

After the panel, Jared finds her right behind the stage, sitting cross-legged in the corner and rolling a water bottle between her palms, deep in thought. When he drops to the floor and sits next to her, nudging her with one elbow, she smiles at him warmly. There’s no trace of the awkwardness from earlier. The knot of anxiety in Jared’s chest loosens slightly. 

“When?” is all she says. 

“Hooked up again the night we wrapped, pulled our heads out of our asses two days later,” Jared says, grinning down at his lap. “You okay?” 

“Just surprised me, that’s all,” she says, studiously avoiding eye contact again. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be weird about it. Just felt bad interrupting.” 

“Missed you,” Jared says, honestly, and tilts over to rest his cheek on top of her head. She twists around and gives him a sideways hug, squeezing hard, and Jared feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. 

“Missed you too,” she whispers. “Happy for you.” 

*

She’s so soft under his hands. She melts into him and the kiss stretches like taffy, slow and sweet. He runs his hands up and down her sides, feeling how warm she is, and slides his palms down to cup her ass. 

“This is a bad idea,” she whispers, and then Jensen’s staring back at him, eyes flashing, furious. 

Jared wakes up, wrapped around Jensen under the thick hotel comforter, rock-hard and panting. Guilt twists in his stomach. He feels feverish with it, hot and cold all over. 

Jared lets out a shaky sigh, hips rocking forward ever so slightly; he can’t help himself. Jensen stirs and hums contentedly, squirming back against him. 

Jensen’s all he’s wanted for so fucking long. There’s something wrong with him, thinking about someone else when he has this. 

“Good dream?” Jensen whispers, his voice gravelly with sleep. 

“Yeah.”  

“What was it about?”

“You,” Jared lies. 

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Next part HERE. 

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