#which means the bleed from the right side of the room can no longer be removed

[unintentionalseductress]

The Spaces In Between

Warnings: MDNI, sex, threesome, DVP, creampies, cum tasting, mentions of death, angst, Zayne mildly bullying Dawnbreaker Summary: A celestial event strands you in Dawnbreaker's reality. With him and Zayen in such close quarters, things get a litte wild. A/n: This blog used to be called nanamiscocksleeve! Hello everyone! Here is it, as promised! I will say, this took way longer than expected. Due to some not so fun real life stuff, I had to balance out writing this in between but it's here. Not really proofread.

A streak of moonlight peeks through the cracked glass windowpane, getting lost in the brightness of the well-lit living room. You shuffle uncomfortably on the sofa as your eyes flick back and forth between the two men on opposite sides of the coffee table. Your mind tries to rationalize the situation, attempting to convince you that stranger situations have happened, yet none come to mind as you wait in an achingly familiar living room that you simultaneously have and haven’t been in before.

Zayne eyes the man facing him with suspicion, his slim fingertips interlocked contemplatively as though trying to judge his next move. The other man eyes him with an identical expression of cautious appraisal. His resemblance to Zayne was slightly unnerving, from the part of his hair down to the last strand of whiskey bleeding into the green of his irises. 

His clothes were all black, save for the tie, which had small white polka dots on it, and his brow was furrowed as he looked at you and Zayne. You clear your throat and attempt to break the silence.

“Sir,” you say, and the man turns his head in your direction. “I’m very sorry that we’ve intruded on your house. But you must understand, we’re just as confused as you are.” You look at Zayne, who imperceptibly nods his head in agreement. Taking encouragement from this, you continue. 

“It’s all such a blur. See, Zayne and I were out, trying to look at the lunar eclipse.” You nod towards the window, where the faintest glimpse of the moon was visible, tinged slightly red from the eclipse. “And the next second, we were at your door. Now, I’m not sure why Zayne’s fingerprint was able to open it, but to be honest, this house bears an uncanny resemblance to his.”

You laugh, realizing you sounded crazy, then deciding this night couldn’t get any worse, you attempt a jab at humor. “You two don’t know each other, do you? I mean, you could pass as twins.” You smile, then falter as both men stare stonily at each other. A moment passes before Zayne speaks. 

“Know isn’t the right word,” he says in a strained voice, keeping his eyes trained on his doppelganger.

“Agreed,” the man says, his voice identical to Zayne’s intonations. “If anything, we are a figment of each other’s imaginations.”

“Huh?” Confusion scrunches your face.

“I don’t see him often, but he sometimes appears in my dreams.” Zayne’s shoulders are tense, and his jaw is tight. “You’re called Dawnbreaker, correct?”

At the mention of the name, the man’s head jerks up sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Where did you hear that from?”

“That’s what the people call you, whenever you appear in my dreams.” 

“Dreams?” Dawnbreaker scoffs. “Or nightmares?” 

Zayne’s hand forms a fist, and you look at him empathetically. “Zayne.” You cover his hand with yours, and strangely, Dawnbreaker’s gaze briefly flicks to your interlaced fingers before returning to your face. 

“You’ve been having nightmares?”

Zayne sighs. “Not all the time. But when I do have a nightmare, he’s always there.” Zayne jerks his chin at Dawnbreaker.

“What happens in your nightmares, Zayne?” you ask probingly, hoping he wouldn’t brush you off. Zayne’s eyes finally make contact with yours and there’s worry in their depths. 

“It’s the same thing. I’ll be doing normal things, like going to work, texting you, and planning an evening together. But I can feel him, right at the periphery. Watching. Then the point of view changes. I’m no longer looking at things with my own eyes but with his.” Zayne looks aggrieved as he recounts his nightmares. 

“And each time, I hear begging voices, asking him to help them with their pain. And you killed them.” Zayne’s words are accusatorily and flung at Dawnbreaker, who remains impassive. A chill runs down your spine. You look at the man who could have been a clone of your compassionate boyfriend, and it seems impossible. This man couldn’t be a killer. Could he?

Sadness gathers in Dawnbreaker’s eyes, and he averts his gaze. “I did it to ease their pain. Little can be done when the transformation has gotten that bad.”

“Transformation?” Morbid curiosity fills you, and you look at Dawnbreaker beseechingly, waiting for him to defend himself against Zayne’s accusation.

Dawnbreaker’s expression is unyielding as he assesses Zayne. “It must be so easy for you to judge when you live in an ideal world where Wanderers aren’t a source of infection.” 

“Judge?” Zayne’s eyes narrow. “I’d hardly call killing people needing judgment.”

“They were in pain. In your world, your happy, safe world, Wanderers aren’t causes of illness. They can cause destruction, sure, but do they bring disease to your city, like they did to mine?” Dawnbreaker gestures outside his window, where you can just make out the grim silhouette of his version of Linkon City. 

“Wanderers don’t carry disease-” Zayne begins, but Dawnbreaker cuts him off. 

“They do in my world. And there’s no cure. Once you’re infected, you begin to change into a Wanderer. The process is painful. There’s no slowing it down. You think I’m killing humans for sport? I did those people a merciful favor.”

Zayne is silen,t but it’s obvious he’s shaken by this information. His gaze wanders to Dawnbreaker’s hands, which bear faint, discolored, lines that run across the backs before being lost to the hem of his jacket sleeves. Uncomfortably, he rubs the back of his neck, giving himself time to think.

“If you could end someone’s pain, wouldn’t you do it? Knowing they will suffer, will lose their humanity once the transformation is complete, isn’t a clean death better than being hunted like a beast?”

You consider his words in stunned silence, shuffling awkwardly next to Zayne. 

“I don’t turn up in your dreams intentionally.” Dawnbreaker’s voice cuts through the quiet, and both you and Zayne look at him sharply. 

“Oh?” Zayne asks with a hint of disbelief. 

“It’s out of my hands. I dream when you dream. And your dreams…” Dawnbreaker sighs, as though wondering if he should admit this or not. “Your dreams…are my only respite.” There’s longing in his tone, and you feel a stab of sympathy for him.

Zayne blinks, clearly at a loss for words. “Respite?” he asks, disconcerted. 

“Yes. Similar to how you see things through my eyes, I can also see your world through yours.” Dawnbreaker’s expression is so solemn that it makes your heart clench. If Zayne had ever looked that way, you’d instantly be pulling him into a hug. It took every ounce of willpower for you to not comfort Dawnbreaker, because despite it all, you didn’t know him, no matter how much he looked like Zayne. 

“I see you going about your day at Akso Hospital. Greeting your coworkers. By the way, I’m also a doctor.” Dawnbreaker adds this last bit of information as an afterthought. He hesitates before continuing. “And…you and I…bear the same name.”

Zayne’s lips part, but no sound comes out as he processes this tidbit. Unperturbed, Dawnbreaker continues. 

“Before I was called Dawnbreaker, I was known as Dr. Zayne. Your dreams…allow me to see what my world could have been like if the Wanderers hadn’t caused a plague.”

A pang of sympathy punches you in the gut, and it’s clear that Dawnbreaker’s words are affecting Zayne too. His eyes have softened as he regards what has been said. 

“I’m essentially an alternate version of you, Zayne,” Dawnbreaker continues. “Now, I’m not sure how you ended up in my world. It hardly matters. But, may I say something, if you’ll allow it?”

Zayne nods, listening intently. 

“Everything you have in your life. Your job, your friends. Her.” Dawnbreaker gestures towards you, and your heart skips a beat. “Don’t take them for granted. You have everything I can only wish for.” 

His face carries a haunting expression that makes you ache deep within. What was it in his voice? Regret? Grief? Anguish? They all seemed to mix into something unique as he articulates his tale, like a little songbird vocalizing over a graveyard. 

“I know at least in this world, I have to walk my path alone. I will never know the peace you get to experience every day. I didn’t intend to don this mantle of Dawnbreaker. But I was given very little choice in the matter. I didn’t want to be a killer. But knowing what happens to captured Wanderers that were formerly humans…they’re taken away, experimented on, before being stripped for parts, and disposed of like garbage. At least with what I do…”

Dawnbreaker reflexively opens his palm and stares at it, wondering, before continuing in a more resolved voice. “I’m able to grant them a dignified death. Their bodies remain intact and human enough that their families can give them a proper funeral.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m no hero. But I believe this is the best outcome they could have asked for.”

You swallow, feeling a lump in your throat as you do so. Zayne had gone quiet, his mouth a grim line. Beneath the shock and skepticism, you see a familiar flicker of empathy come into his face, the kind he reserved for critical patients without a positive outcome.  Somehow, you felt like an outsider as you watched the two men in silence. There was an inexplicable bond between them, and it felt like in the game of circumstance, Dawnbreaker had drawn the short end of the stick. Their roles could have been easily reversed. 

Then what? Would it be Zayne sitting opposite you while Dawnbreaker held your hand? Even their scars were identical, each dip of mottled skin exactly placed. You felt for the poor man, trapped in this nightmare that he couldn’t escape. Zayne, at least, got a reprieve when he woke up. You wondered what happened in Dawnbreaker’s dreams on the nights Zayne didn’t have nightmares. Did he sleep dreamlessly? Was that more blissful than peering into a world where it felt like Zayne got everything that he didn’t dare to even think of?

You’re interrupted from your train of thought by Dawnbreaker who suddenly stands up. “It’s late,” he says shortly. 

“Are you kicking us out?” Zayne asks tartly, as though he’d been preparing for the boot. Dawnbreaker tsks and shakes his head no.

“Don’t be ridiculous. At this time of night? The Wanderers would pick your bones clean before you even made it to the end of the road.” He looks conflicted, then seemingly finding no other justification, says, “You can stay in the guestroom until you figure out how to get back.”

“Are you sure? We wouldn’t want to intrude.” The words slip out of your lips, and Dawnbreaker looks at you with such intensity that you flush. 

“I’d rather not have my doppelganger wandering the roads. It could get very difficult to explain. Stay here for the time being. We’ll figure this out.”

“Thank you,” Zayne says the words with quiet sincerity. “I understand this isn’t ideal.”

“It’s not,” Dawnbreaker agrees easily, and it almost makes you laugh. “Come, I’ll show you where the guestroom is.”

Zayne raises an eyebrow, and this time, you fail to stifle the giggle. Clearly, being told where the guestroom was in his own house was pushing Zayne to his limit. Dawnbreaker’s expression remains neutral but you can’t help but notice the redness in his ears, the same reaction Zayne has when he’s embarrassed.

“We can find it by ourselves, thank you,” Zayne says magnanimously, and Dawnbreaker nods awkwardly. 

“Well, good night then.” Zayne takes your hand and starts to lead you away, and you steal a glance over your shoulder at Dawnbreaker who watches you with a look of longing.

“Sleep well,” he says, and that’s the last thing you hear from him before Zayne closes and locks the bedroom door. 

Once inside the privacy of the room, Zayne sinks onto the mattress, covering his face with his hands. Sensing the stress he’s carrying, you sit next to him and knead his shoulders, hoping to relieve some of his tension. 

“Zayne,” you murmur soothingly, trying to get as close to him as possible. He removes his hands, and you’re startled to see the beginnings of anxiety settling into them, his pupils dilating. 

There’s a tinge of distress in his voice as he speaks.

“I don’t remember when I first started seeing Dawnbreaker in my dreams. But each time, all I can remember is being scared. I never imagined that I’d meet him face-to-face. I thought he was something that only existed in my imagination. Like the boogeyman that small children believe is hiding in their closet. I didn’t think he was real.” 

You feel your heart clench at the sight of Zayne like this and embrace him, pressing into his back as your arms wrap around his chest. “Yes, I can imagine how disturbing this must be for you.”

“It was one thing to have him exist only in my dreams. Now I find out he’s not only real, but also an alternate version of me? He has my name, he lives in my house, he’s even a doctor. What next? Is he dating an alternate version of you in this world?” 

You frown, trying to imagine what you might be like in this dimension. “He didn’t mention an alternate version of me. And Zayne,” you add in a quieter voice, “I don’t think he has anyone in his life.”

Zayne contemplates your words. “What makes you say that?”

“All that talk about not taking the people in your life for granted, including me. I think he’s been by himself for quite some time. It can’t be easy, living with that kind of loneliness. You had Greyson and Yvonne, and even Dr. Noah to talk to. I think Dawnbreaker is alone. Like, alone.” You emphasize the word, and after a moment, Zayne nods his head in understanding.

“That part about him doing the mercy killings for humans. Do you think it’s true that they turn into Wanderers in this world?”

“I don’t see why he would lie about that.” 

Broodingly, Zayne continues to speak as though he’s trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his mind. “It must be awful for him, though. Being a doctor yet unable to save all those people. I know if I were in that situation, I’d definitely find it weighing on my conscience.”

“You feel bad for him.” You state the obvious plainly.

“Of course I do. But at the same time, he makes me uneasy.”

You nod, then press a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Well, we’re stuck here. Worrying doesn’t make any sense. And it doesn’t look like he means us any harm. We’ll find our way out of here.”

Zayne hums, then covers your hands with his. You smile wanly, and Zayne feels the movement against his skin, your warm breath steadying him. “Let’s try to get some sleep. We’ll figure things out in the morning.”

You nod and allow Zayne to pull you under the covers, his hand resting on your back as he draws as close as he can. 

“I’m glad I’m not alone,” he mumbles against your hair, and after some time, Zayne manages to fall asleep.

You, on the other hand, struggle. Unwilling to pull away from Zayne’s grasp, you remain as still as you can, but your mind is rolling over the recent events in your head like a washing machine. You understood Zayne’s initial intimidation when it came to Dawnbreaker. No one ever wanted to meet the object of their nightmares. But at the same time, you couldn’t stop thinking about Dawnbreaker’s existence.

Some part of you pitied him.  You wondered what it must feel like to be the person people find to meet their ultimate end. And with no one to talk to, hiding his identity, and pretending he was a normal person, how was Dawnbreaker even functioning on the whole? 

Then there was the fact that he and Zane were absolute physical copies of each other. It was a double whammy, at least for you, to see the face of the person you loved so dearly in so much torment. When you had met Zayne, you hadn’t imagined loving anyone else as fiercely as you loved him. Zayne was yours, inextricably, irrevocably, inexplicably. You understood killing, because deep down, you knew you’d kill for Zayne. Anything that tried to harm him would need to go through you. But how were you supposed to protect him, console him, from himself?

Dawnbreaker didn’t seem like a threat, but the fear in Zayne’s body was real. You hear the sound of his peaceful breathing, and your heart constricts. The most precious thing in your life was asleep in your arms. And his twin was right outside that door. 

You’re not sure how long you were awake, but soon a fragile light filtered through the curtains. Dawn had broken on Dawnbreaker’s house. You carefully pull away from Zayne’s embrace and pad out of the room. 

You almost jump in shock when you see Dawnbreaker seated on the sofa with a cup of coffee in his hands. His eyes look at you over wire-rimmed glasses, appearing vexed.

“Why do you keep reacting like I don’t live here?” he asks dryly, setting his coffee down. You blush, realizing he was right, although you couldn’t quite explain why you were so jittery around him; he hadn’t shown any behavior thus far to do so. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just…Zayne’s asleep in the bedroom, and then I find you in here. It’s all very uncanny.”

Dawnbreaker nods then gestures at the living room. “Would you like to sit?”

You hesitate, then gingerly sit down at the same spot you were in last night.

“Why are you up so early? Don’t tell me you’re a night owl.”

“An astute observation.” Dawnbreaker’s lips twitch, and he sips more coffee. “I have an early shift at the hospital.”

“Ah. You and Zayne are alike in that manner.” You glance out the glass doors that lead to the balcony. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up and he’s already left for work. Barely makes a sound.”

“How considerate of him. I imagine it would be more difficult for him to leave if you’re awake.”

You frown at the comment. “Why’s that?”

Dawnbreaker seems to consider his words before carefully continuing. “Well, I think that if you were awake, he’d be very tempted to stay and talk. Or perhaps do nothing and just hold your hand. It’s not easy to leave behind the person you love, no matter how short or temporary it may be. At least, that’s how I’d feel.”

As the last few words leave his lips, Dawnbreaker’s eyes widen, and he hastily busies himself with his coffee cup. You observe a faint flush creeping up his neck and into his ears. 

He drains his cup then straightens. Avoiding eye contact, he briskly says, “I’m not sure what my schedule looks like. But I’ll definitely be back tonight. There’s food in the fridge. And please don’t go outside. This isn’t the Linkon City you’re used to.”

Before you could respond, Dawnbreaker had already grabbed his coat and was at the door. It clicks shut, and you’re left in silence, wondering what had just happened. 

The day was spent in a whirlwind of thought. Towards the evening, your brain felt like a dried sponge left in the sun for too long, wrinkled and desiccated, as you went through the events with Zayne again. 

“Zayne, please,” you begged, looking for a break. “We have talked and talked and talked, and I can’t think of anything else to add.” You lie back on the sofa, shielding your face from the rays of the setting sun.

“You made me try resonating with random things in the house, hoping it would cause a tear in between the dimensions, and nothing worked. As remarkable as the situation is, Dawnbreaker’s house is a normal house, with perfectly normal items.”

Nonplussed, Zayne looks at your supine form and sighs. “You’re right, as much as I hate to admit it. We’ve been at this for hours. Let’s refresh our minds. Would you like some tea?”

Zayne walks into the kitchen to boil the kettle. “What time did Dawnbreaker say he’d be back?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. He didn’t mention.” 

“Hmph. If he got pulled into a last-minute surgery…” His eyes flick to the large clock mounted on the wall. “We can forget about seeing him before midnight.”

Right on cue, you hear a ping from the front door as it unlocks, revealing Dawnbreaker, who’s holding several bags.

“Did you go shopping?” You ask him as he sets them down on the living room carpet. He nods, his glasses slightly askew. He sniffs the air curiously.

“Tea? How delightful,” he comments before seeing Zayne standing before the stove. Zayne raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes, I know how to brew tea,” he says patronizingly, and Dawnbreaker scoffs, but doesn’t comment. Even though Dawnbreaker posed them no threat, Zayne still seemed to be wary of the man. 

“I picked up a few things for both of you.” Dawnbreaker hands you the bags, and you peek inside, spying toiletries and some clothes. 

“Thank you,” you say gratefully. 

“I had to guess some of your sizes, so my apologies if some things don’t fit quite right.”

Zayne carries a tray laden with 3 cups of steaming tea and puts them on the coffee table. When Dawnbreaker stares at him, Zayne smirks, some of his usual sass coming back.

“Despite our introductions, I’m not a barbarian.” He pushes a cup towards Dawnbreaker, who sips it with dignity.

“You said it, not me,” he says stiffl,y and Zayne rolls his eyes before settling next to you. He rummages through the bags.

“I’d Venmo you but…I don’t think my bank supports interdimensional transactions,” he quips, and miraculously, Dawnbreaker smiles at him. You feel hope blossom in your chest as you see the small interaction, and there’s a brief moment of peace, until Zayne looks further into the bag and his eyes darken. 

“Why did you buy panties for my girlfriend?” Zayne asks in quiet anger as he tears his gaze away from the bag, glaring at Dawnbreaker.

Dawnbreaker calmly puts down the teacup, although he looks chagrined. You, on the other hand, would have turned a brilliant shade of red.

“He didn’t!” You look at Dawnbreaker. “Did you?”

With an effort, Dawnbreaker manages to compose his voice into a tone of practicality. “Zayne, be serious. It’s an essential item she’ll need. I wasn’t exactly out buying thongs.” 

“Ok, stop it! Both of you.” You snatch the bag from Zayne’s hand, blushing furiously, but you weren’t sure who you were upset with. You direct your words at both of them.

“Dawnbreaker, thank you, but you should have asked first. And Zayne,” you round on him, and Zayne’s eyes widen at your demeanor. “Thank you for being chivalrous, but I did need new underwear anyway. Now, if you two don’t mind, I’d rather not be here if all you’re going to do is try to one-up each other!”

And with that, you flee, but not before you hear Zayne address the elephant in the room. 

“How did you know what kind to buy anyway?” His voice is dripping with distaste, and you freeze in the hallway where they can’t see you. Dawnbreaker responds after a gap in a constrained voice. 

“You always dream about the same ones. It wasn’t hard.” 

You cover your mouth to muffle the groan of humiliation that leaves your throat before disappearing into the guestroom. After what felt like an eternity, you hear the door being cracked, and Zayne enters. He looks sheepishly at you while you stare crossly at him from the bed.

“I’m sorry if I overreacted.” He mumbles and gathers you in his arms. You’re about to reply snarkily, but feel the bite drain out of you as his chin rests on top of your head. 

“I thought you’d come sooner. Were you guys still talking after I left?”

Zayne’s embrace tightens suddenly, and you look at him curiously.

“What?”

Zayne looks conflicted as to whether or not to tell you, and you give him a little shake. “C’mon! Nothing could top being given panties from a stranger.”

He runs a hand down the back of his neck. “You might be surprised.”

You freeze. “What?”

Zayne looks uncomfortable, his eyes darting about the room as though trying to decide what to fix his gaze on. You push him away and flash him a warning look. Giving up, he divulges the information. 

“I was asking him what other…things he saw in my dreams.”

You freeze. “...Oh.” Dreading the answer, you ask anyway. “And?”

Zayne looks ashamed as he admits the words. “Well, I dream of you. A lot to be honest.” He smiles reassuringly, but it’s feeble in quality. “And sometimes those dreams aren’t…PG.”

Your heartbeat quickens, and you avert your eyes, although you didn’t find this surprising. “Well, that’s normal, right? Couples sometimes dream…spicy things about each other.”

“Yes, but…You’re completely naked in my dreams. And I’ve dreamt of us making love, of…giving you oral.” Zayne’s face is a brilliant shade of siren red, and he fiddles with the edge of the blanket. “And Dawnbreaker has unknowingly been privy to those dreams.”

You feel all the color drain from your face. “What?” You point at the closed door. “Dawnbreaker has seen me naked?”

Zayne nods emphatically, and you cover your face in shame, wishing the earth would swallow you whole.

“Oh my god! That’s so…so…” You struggle to think of a word.

“Violating?” Zayne suggests, and you nod vigorously. 

“Yes! I mean…that’s so disturbing, watching your dreams, those dreams, like it’s some kind of adult video! How can I face him? How-” You cut off abruptly as you notice Zayne’s lacking demeanor.

“Why aren’t you angrier?” You ask, and there’s conflict in his expression.

“I completely understand your reaction. And it’s valid, 100% warranted. I felt the exact way you’re feeling right now when he told me. However…” His voice trails, and you press him.

“Yes?”

“I genuinely don’t think he did it on purpose. I mean…he has no control over it. He only saw it because I was dreaming it. And it’s difficult to wake up from a dream. You get what I’m saying?”

You take a moment to consider, feeling chills ripple down your body at the thought that a man you had met less than a day ago knew intimately how your body looked. You cross your arms, as though trying to cover yourself, like Dawnbreaker could somehow see you right now. 

“Dawnbreaker and I spoke at length, and he explained himself and his situation. He doesn’t mean any harm. It just so happens to be a set of rare and unique circumstances.” Zayne reaches out to pull you back against him, and you do so willingly. 

“I was thinking about what you said yesterday. About him being lonely. After our talk today, I’m starting to think you’re right. He has been on his own for quite a while.” His hand caresses your back. “I don’t like that he knows what you look like. But at the same time, it’s out of his hands.”

You hide your face in Zayne’s neck as he speaks. He sighs, and it ruffles your hair. “Just pretend it was me.”

“Excuse me?” You squawk, dumbfounded. 

“I mean. Technically speaking, he is me. Perhaps, we can deal with this by pretending it was me? Does that make you feel a little better?”

You consider, and strangely enough, it does. Thinking of Dawnbreaker as an interdimensional version of Zayne made it less awkward than thinking of him as a stranger. “Yeah. It’s just another you.” Your nose settles into the slope of his shoulder, and he tenderly strokes your hair. 

“For the record, I’m also very weirded out by this situation. I feel like a voyeur and an exhibitionist at the same time.”

You burst out laughing, feeling your shoulders shake with pure mirth. After all the gathering tension, it was freeing to laugh like this.“Ah, so I’m dating a pervert.” You wrap your arms around his neck. “How unfortunate.”

There’s humor in Zayne’s eyes as he pulls you closer. “I can only blame you. You bring it out in me.”

You're surprised by the fluid movement of his lips as they trail down your neck, leaving a kiss that feels like a feather was brushed against your skin. You twitch at the tickling sensation, then inhale sharply as Zayne leaves a wet, open-mouthed kiss just below your ear. 

 “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “But after all that talking with Dawnbreaker. I need to know you’re mine.”  His hands gently trace the contours of your body, slipping under the hem of your shirt and cupping your breasts, sending sparks of heat into your system. You don’t protest as the blood rushes into your ears, humming in your veins, coming alive under his experienced touch. 

“Zayne…” His name is a whisper as you feel the familiar rise of liquid heat in your belly, and the quickening of your heartbeat. 

“Nothing has made sense in the last 24 hours. But you make sense.” He sucks your neck, leaving a small, red, bruise. “I need you.”

It’s how he says it, with that tone like he’s drowning, and you’re a breath of fresh air bringing him back from the depths. You hiss as he leaves another mark. 

“Sorry.” Zayne soothes the sting with a soft, wet lick. “You’re mine. No matter who’s seen you.” 

Possessiveness spills into his tone, and he swipes the pads of his thumbs in circles over your pebbled nipples. Tingles begin at the tips and radiate down your spine, your limbs, and your sex. A familiar throb starts to grow between your legs, and you sigh, an uncontrollable little mewl falling from your lips.

Self-conscious, your eyes fly open, and you cover your mouth. Caught between semi-arousal and the need for decency, you glance at the closed door. “Zayne.” You cup his cheeks. 

“What if Dawnbreaker hears us?” You knew the only reason you mentioned it was because you were relying on Zayne’s impressive ability to control and rein in both your flowing desires. If he wasn’t interested in maintaining decorum, your own will would be swept away like sand under the tide. Zayne’s eyes are darkening at the edges, his breath becoming ragged, and he pinches your nipples with the perfect pressure that has you squeezing your eyes shut and letting out another helpless noise of pleasure. 

“Let him,” he growls, bringing a surge of stunned arousal into your belly. Zayne leans you down on the bed, lifting your shirt up to suckle. When he lets go, the little peak is moist with his spit. 

“The dreams apparently don’t come with sound.” 

You slept soundly that night, exhausted from Zayne’s passionate lovemaking. When you woke up, your limbs were tangled up with Zayne’s, held possessively against him while his breath fluttered your hair. Your body was covered in bite marks, and you felt your face flush as you remembered everything; the teasing touches and perfectly learned movements of his fingers as he had brought you to the edge over and over. Your reluctance to be vocal had somehow fueled his determination, and your inhibitions had all but vanished as he’d deliciously licked and nibbled every part of you until you were a mewling mess of pleasure under him. 

Your body still had that wonderful ache of being used, and as you stretch, your internal muscles instinctively squeeze together as something slippery shifts inside you. Zayne had no reservations last night, his rigid length plunging into you in a sweet rhythm of ecstasy, spilling himself into you each time until your slit was messy and slick from your couplings. 

It was rare to see him like this, throwing caution to the wind and letting himself finish inside you without protection. Your stomach growled noisily, and you realized you hadn’t eaten last night. 

The clock on the wall showed that it was around 5:30 in the morning. Early enough that Dawnbreaker might not be up yet. You couldn’t bear to face him knowing that he would have heard everything that happened last night. You try to use Zayne’s suggestion of pretending Dawnbreaker was just another him, but the thought just made things worse given the cisrcumstances, the idea of someone listening to your most intimate moments.

You wonder if Dawnbreaker had been appalled by the noise. Or if he had found it welcoming. The latter sends a rush down your spine, a curious thrill filling your being at the thought. Had he tried to ignore it? Or would the noise have turned him on? And if it had, was he the type to touch himself? 

You shake yourself mentally, feeling shame at your indecent thoughts. Another pang of hunger shoots through you, and you carefully get up from the bed. Your clothes from last night were scattered all over the floor, and you resignedly pull out the fresh ones from the bag Dawnbreaker had brought in last night, feeling the irony as you tug on the fresh cotton panties. 

Once dressed, you silently slip into the hallway, thanking the gods when you see the living room is empty. Only the rustling of leaves from the tree outside could be heard. You find some instant ramen in one of the cabinets, boil the water, and let it sit. You had just taken a few forkfuls when you heard noise in the hallway, and you whipped around to see Dawnbreaker come into view, fully dressed for his day.

He freezes when he sees you, then blinks, eyes flicking away as he tries to appear nonchalant, deftly turning on the coffeemaker, grabbing a cup, and drumming his fingers impatiently on the counter as he waits. You slurp your noodles, trying to ignore the increasing thumps of your heartbeat and the prickly heat creeping down from the nape of your neck. 

The silence drags on deafeningly, until, unable to take it anymore, you mumble, “Nice morning, isn’t it?”

Dawnbraker appeared to be fascinated with his coffeemaker as he didn’t look up as it started to gurgle and the aromatic liquid began to pool into the carafe. Acting unconcerned, he says, “It’s a usual morning, I’d say. But I understand why it’s good for you.”

You unexpectedly inhale the broth, spluttering undignifiedly as you choke, tears welling in your eyes as you set down the ramen. Instantly, a glass of water is handed to you, and you gulp it down gratefully. 

“I’m sorry,” you offer, unable to look at him from the embarrassment. Your whole body felt like it was being twisted and knotted on the inside, and the prickling had now slithered down from the nape of your neck and spread out along your spine and limbs, causing goosebumps to erupt in its wake. Then, seemingly unable to control yourself, you add, “I hope we didn’t disturb you last night.”

Dawnbreaker adds milk to his coffee and sips. “I barely heard anything once I put on my headphones.” When he lowers the coffee cup, you could have sworn he was gritting his teeth. “Was the bed comfortable?”

Your back stiffens, and you jerk your head in the other direction. “I realize we’re in your house, but what happens between me and Zayne behind closed doors is none of your concern.”

“Do you normally get it on in strangers’ bedrooms?” Dawnbreaker quips back, and you flush again, chastised. “Or are you under the impression that Zayne’s house and mine have the same rules?”

“It didn’t seem like you would mind, given how you’ve been snooping around in Zayne’s dreams.” Your words are harsh and taunting, intended to shame him. Your appetite had all but vanished, and you throw away the remainder of the ramen into the trash, intending to escape the kitchen when all of a sudden, you’re spun around, strong arms caging you in against the wall.

“Oh, but I don’t have a choice there, do I?” Dawnbreaker is barely a few inches away from you, his broad physique looming over you. “I only see what your Zayne shows me, I’m afraid.”

There’s a strange, mocking, ironical tone as he speaks. “Sometimes I wonder if he was aware of my presence and dreamt what he did to show off what he had. Trust me, I could map out every feature of your body from memory. That’s how often he dreams of you naked.”

His hand trails down your cheek, the gesture surprisingly tender as his eyes gaze into yours, and strangely, you realize you’re not struggling to free yourself. The familiarity between Dawnbreaker and Zayne had all but obliterated your fight-or-flight instincts. His lips were at eye-level, and you suddenly felt curious about how they would feel pressed against yours; would they feel like Zayne’s? Or someone else’s?

His fingers stroke across your jaw, then down your neck, a teasing tickle of digits that stirs up a delicious feeling of desire deep within. Some confine in the back of your mind is aware that you’d just been made love to a few hours ago, Zayne’s seed still buried inside your cunt, but a carnal yearning had been ignited from the moment Dawnbreaker put his hands on you.

His hand pauses in its journey going south towards your collarbone, and when those green irises flick back to you, he smirks.

“Oh, the number of times I’ve seen you making this expression,” he murmurs, his cheek rubbing yours. “You’re turned on, aren’t you?” His lips replace his cheek, and you shiver at the feeling. 

“You were making an utterly delightful sound last night. I wonder what was happening for you to make such a noise.” Dawnbreaker’s breath tickles your ear as he places a little kiss just under it, and you let out a weak little whimper even as your brain begs you for a modicum of restraint.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Your eyes snap open as you hear the same voice that was whispering provocatively to you coming from the entrance to the kitchen. Your heart stops as Zayne comes into view, his expression impassive. Mouth dry, you watch as he approaches while Dawnbreaker doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder. He and Dawnbreaker corral you, leaving no room for an exit. 

“If you were referring to that adorable little chirp she makes, you need to do this.” Zayne unabashedly leans forward to nip your ear, then gently draws the lobe into his mouth, sucking, and as he said, your eyes flutter closed and the chirp leaves your lips with a hint of desperation. 

Your body felt strangely heavy, a fog falling over any rationality you might be harboring. A jolt of arousal shocks your body, reaching the deepest part of your core when you finally open your eyes and see Dawnbreaker watching intently, hunger in every line of his face. 

“Like this?” he asks before he repeats the action on your other ear, and you let out the same chirp, reddening at the realization. It felt like an out-of-body experience, feeling these mouths on you, yet unable to differentiate which belonged to whom. It was like being double-teamed by Zayne, the texture and pulls from the lips identical. 

Your hands, which had been tense, one on each of their chests, were slackening, letting them draw closer to you. The chirps become a moan as they both lick their way down the smooth column of your neck, marking the delicate skin with their teeth. 

“Someone’s enjoying themself,” Zayne teases, feeling a buzz flooding his veins as he watches your reactions. There was something undeniably erotic about what was unfolding in front of his eyes. The thought of sharing you with another man? Unbearable. But sharing you with himself? It was like the universe had created a solution. If he could have replicated himself he would have, for the sake of your pleasure. His cock hardens at the thought of watching you writhe on his clone’s tongue while he squeezed and played with your nipples. An unrealized fantasy was awakening inside of him, and your response was bringing it alive for him. 

Briefly breaking contact with your skin, Zayne glances at Dawnbreaker. “Don’t you have to be at work?”

“I can clear my schedule,” Dawnbreaker says huskily, and it feels like a million butterflies are alive inside your stomach, their wings creating more tingling sensations of arousal that scurry into every corner of your being. 

Before you can say anything, Zayne scoops you up into his arms and carries you, not into the guestroom, but further down the hall into Dawnbreaker’s room, or what would have been his room in your world. He lays you down delicately, settling to one side and stroking your arm, stoking the flames of your steadily growing passion. When Dawnbreaker hesitantly joins, he seems unsure of what to do, shooting Zayne a look of uncertainty. 

One of Zayne’s hands grips your chin, leaning your face up to his for a kiss, and you moan longingly into his mouth at the contact, his lips parting to allow space for your exploring tongue. 

“Are you ok?” he asks, and when you nod your approval, he directs your face towards Dawnbreaker, who finally covers your lips with his. 

It was a unique experience, almost as if Zayne had pulled you back into a kiss for a second time, but you could sense the subtle differences in his technique. It was more reminiscent of an earlier Zayne, when you had first started dating, and he had shyly kissed you, inexperience showing as he’d clumsily made out with you. It was endearingly sweet, and you thought you’d never encounter it again. Yet here it was, and it made you giddy that you could feel this first kiss again. 

Dawnbreaker was in a trance, trying his best to keep his raging emotions under control as he let the kiss speak for him. Night after night, watching you with Zayne, wondering if he could ever experience what he had. Now here you were, warm and reactive in his arms. He can feel you trying to teach him, your mouth guiding his as he’s drawn into the sensuality of everything. He timidly touches his tongue against your parted slit and he’s rewarded with the feeling of the wet slip of your tongue against his as you draw it into your mouth. His hand haltingly rests on your knee, fingers gripping into the skin where it leads into your thigh. 

You break the kiss as Zayne licks the nape of your neck, giving a squeaky suck to the delicate skin as his hand busy themselves with the hem of your top. Effortlessly, he pulls it off, revealing your bare upper half to Dawnbreaker’s hungry gaze.

Your nipples harden under their watchful eyes, pebbling proudly from arousal, as you try not to appear too eager at the thought of having them both in bed. A sigh escapes you as Dawnbreaker traces the very edge of one of the round buds, his touch feather-light. 

“She does enjoy having them played with,” Zayne remarks in a low voice as he demonstrates his point by gently tweaking your nipples with just enough pressure to make you squirm. Dawnbreaker’s lips parted at the sight, like he was imagining how they would feel and taste in his mouth. Your movements press your back more firmly into Zayne’s chest, and he rests his chin on top of your head as your core moistened and fluttered with anticipation, the squeezes on your nipples sending waves of pleasure into your clit which pulses between your folds. 

Zayne’s hands ghost the undersides of your breasts, then cup them and push them up, the tender flesh filling his palms as they’re put at Dawnbreaker’s eye level like an offering. Delighted shock jolts through you as, with a groan, Dawnbreaker’s head closes the gap and his lips brush against one of the hardened peaks before sucking it into his mouth. Your body jerks at the warmth and wetness as Zayne continues to play with your other nipple, the dual sensations contrastingly distinct, Zayne’s calloused fingers on one, Dawnbreaker’s pliant tongue on the other, pushing you to a point of no return. 

Shallow pants flow from your open mouth as the last vestiges of sensibility drain from your mind, your hand cupping the back of Dawnbreaker’s head to hold him in place. His tongue was curious, laving your nipple with care, his eyes flicking up to your face now and then to gauge your reaction to his suckling, and the action sends a plume of warmth rushing from your gut into your spine. When his teeth delicately graze the swollen nub, you moan helplessly, feeling surrender overpowering your willing body. 

Just as you think you’re finding your equilibrium, Zayne catches you off guard and begins to work on your free nipple with his tongue, his little sucks causing a dizzying sensation that steals the breath from your lungs. 

Your body knew who was who, yet it didn’t seem to mind as long as it was being pleasured. Your eyes close almost languidly, your breathing slowing at the sheer eroticism of the scene unfolding before you. Coherent thoughts are slowly wiped from your brain, leaving it a mush of want and need, operating on the most primal instincts you could muster.

Dawnbreaker releases your nipple, then draws a line with his tongue between the valley of your breasts, his teeth scraping over your bellybutton, your powerless noises causing his heartbeat to quicken, his cock painfully hard in his formal trousers. Observing his journey south, Zayne follows suit and licks your shoulders, biting into the crook of your neck and zealously squeezing your swollen mounds enticingly.

When Zayne’s hands ghost down towards your waist, you suck in a breath as he deftly undoes the drawstring of your shorts. Your bottom rises to help him pull the garment down, and Dawnbreaker takes over, dragging your panties off. He observes the white stain left behind and brings it to his nose to inhale, and your eyes quickly dart away, unable to take the embarrassment. 

“That’s not just her you smell,” Zayne says with a touch of satisfaction, and Dawnbreaker’s eyes narrow. 

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you check for yourself?” Zayne offers, and you realize what his intentions were, yet you’re unable to stop Dawnbreaker from nudging apart your thighs, desperately clenching your hole as tightly as possible, but to no avail.

The slippery arousal that had built inside you had caused more of Zayne’s seed to leak, and the milky white fluid was spilling onto the sheets, leaving damp marks as it left your body. 

“Oh fuck…” Dawnbreaker’s eyes grew animalistic. “How is she this insatiable?”

“It’s not her fault.” Zayne pets your hair as he speaks. “The thought of both of us has put her body into a heightened state of arousal. You should be proud of yourself.”

You squeak as Zayne shifts your body with his, helping you rest between his long legs as he keeps yours spread apart, his long fingers parting your swollen lips with care to reveal the sticky, dripping labia to Dawnbreaker’s probing gaze. You turn your head, trying to hide in the safety of Zayne’s chest, and he chuckles at your response.

“What’s the matter? You weren’t complaining when you were being stretched wide and filled last night.”

You let out a whimper of mortification, which only grows as Dawnbreaker, emboldened by the sight, adds in a throaty growl, “Certainly not. You were begging, clear as day, for more. What’s the point in acting demure now when the proof is in the pudding?”

Your hips wriggle as Dawnbreaker strokes the edge of your entrance, gathering some of the viscous fluid that was slipping out of your already well used cunt. 

Zayne watches with fascinated interest, then, unable to resist goading Dawnbreaker, asks him, “Have you ever given oral to a woman before?”

Pink dusts Dawnbreaker’s cheeks as he looks at you with unconcealed greed. “I didn’t want anyone else,” he says simply in a strained voice, and Zayne hums as if expressing his approval.

“Well then, this shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.” Zayne settles against the headboard as he holds you in place. “I think we taste the same.”

An array of expressions crosses Dawnbreaker’s face as he processes Zayne’s words. “How am I supposed to know that?” 

“It’s just logic and common sense. But I suppose if we wanted to test it…” His voice trails, and you jerk as Dawnbreaker brings his coated finger to your lips. You obediently part them and suck, tasting the tang of your pussy along with the ashy taste that was purely Zayne. 

“Remember that flavor,” Zayne purrs in your ear. “We’ll need you to confirm if we taste identical.” You flush even as you wantonly suck Dawnbreaker’s fingertip clean, and he withdraws it, now glistening with your saliva. 

With the smooth expertise of a medical professional, Dawnbreaker gently brings the finger onto your clit which had swollen conspicuously, pulsing as he pets it delicately and a strangled noise leaves you. Zayne’s fingers tighten into your flesh, indenting the fat on your thighs.

“Patience. You know the best things happen if you wait.”

Dawnbreaker runs circles over your clit and keeps glancing at Zayne as though seeking his approval, something that amused him greatly.

“Try applying a little more pressure on it,” he says, swelling with the fulfilling idea that he was the expert on your pleasure. When you let out a lingering, keening moan, he kisses your hair.

“I know. I know. But remember, it’s his first time. He’ll get the hang of it.”

As Dawnbreaker familiarizes himself with your body’s reactions, he steadily increases the speed on your clit and you writhe, wrinkling the sheets and rocking your hips to relieve the gripping ache that was growing inside. 

Zayne makes another jab at Dawnbreaker. “Are you scared you’ll taste me? Is that why you’re not using your mouth?”

Temporarily stunned at the question, Dawnbreaker gapes at Zayne who smirks. “Although fingering works fine, you’re better off giving her oral. It’s softer. And leaves your hand free to do other things.”

Glaring at Zayne and determined to prove him wrong, Dawnbreaker willfully lies between your spread legs, and your belly rises and falls in tense anticipation as you wait for his tongue. As it finally wedges its way between your folds, you cry out, your senses on edge as he catches the base of your clit, dragging it wetly upwards, certain that he could taste Zayne on your membranes.

The indecency of the entire act catches up to you, causing your face to screw up in pleasure as your clit is covered by the warm, wet, muscle, laving it tenderly. Dawnbreaker reaches up to cup your breast, kneading it as he gratifies you, and you’re stuck in limbo between wanting to fall into the abyss of lust, but also hearing the disapproving clicks Zayne keeps making.

“There’s a better use for your hands,” he mumbles impatiently, and before you realize what’s happening, you feel two fingers slip into your slick channel, widening your muscles on their girth. Daring to crack your eyes open, you see Zayne’s arm crossing over your body and his wrist crooked as he contributes to your building desperation.

The world slips away in a haze as you focus solely only what you can perceive; Dawnbreaker’s mouth on your clit, and Zayne’s fingers buried in your hole, both of them contributing to your pending orgasm in different, yet united ways. As Dawnbreaker maintains his deliberate licks, Zayne curls his fingertips into that spongy patch of nerves, teasing them relentlessly, both men reducing you to nothing but a being focused solely on climaxing and disintegrating into dust. 

You don’t care how loud you are, nor how tightly your walls clench Zayne’s fingers as your body arches and moves as it needs, closing the gap between yourself and the peak. 

In a moment of chaotic relief, you feel the familiar tingling deep within before a blinding spiral of delight claims you, your pussy contracting wetly, squelching as Zayne continues to thrust his fingers persistently as Dawnbreaker licks you through the aftershock rippling through your system. 

Both men are watching the sight of you losing control almost reverently, every last cry a testament to their effect on you. Dawnbreaker’s lips glisten with your juices, which he swipes away with his tongue lasciviously. The loss of Zayne’s fingers are felt keenly as he removes them from your cunt, the walls quivering in protest. 

Sweat had beaded on your forehead, your breathing harsh and uneven as you tried to float back down to earth. You’re acutely aware as Zayne and Dawnbreaker settle at your sides, affectionately nuzzling you and calming your frayed nerves. 

“Hope you’re not too worn yet, darling,” Zayne coos at you as he pushes back strands of hair from your face. “We have another comparison for you to make.”

They continue to nuzzle into you as though each were trying to imprint their scent on you.  

“If you’re comfortable, I think Dawnbreaker should do the honors this time. He’s already getting sloppy seconds, it’s only fair, don’t you think?” Zayne asks almost playfully, and you give him a pleading look, his filthy dialogue only edging you further along this path of depravity. 

Dawnbreaker looks uncertain, but as Zayne gently nudges you towards him, your inhibitions vanish, and you find the strength to straddle him and begin to undo his tie and buttons. Dawnbreaker’s body is tense as he resists the urge to devour you whole, his fingers clenching the bedsheets as he waits for you to finish undressing him. His breath hitches as you trail lingering kisses down his chest, nipping his skin as your hands busy themselves with his zipper.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but when you finally free him, Dawnbreaker’s cock stands at attention slit already beaded with precum from the engorged head. You wisely keep your thoughts to yourself, but Zayne could have guessed them; it too was identical in size, shape, and coloration to him, and you teasingly lean down to swipe your tongue against his tip, savoring the taste of him. Knowing exactly how much of Dawmbreaker you can take without gagging, you set your mouth to work, slurping him in and hollowing your cheeks to suction around his aching erection.

Dawnbreaker hisses in approval, his hand tugging at your hair as you work on him, his abs rigid as he watches you bobbing along on his dick. Zayne can barely contain himself as he watches, the sight of you pleasuring his pseudo-self so unbearably stimulating, and with a quiet rustle, he slips his cock out of pants and starts pumping himself, remembering the soft feeling of your mouth and turned on by Dawnbreaker’s deep grunts. 

Dawnbreaker finds a small strand of restraint and stills you, damned if he orgasmed before he had the chance to experience your pussy. He knew he wouldn’t be able to bear Zayne’s egotistical expression if he did. 

“Please.” Dawnbreaker rasps. “Use me.”

The soft command issued with that tone of urgency was all it took for you to adjust yourself over him, then with a sigh, you start to sink on his cock, and Dawnbreaker’s eyes widen at the sensation. A deep, guttural noise leaves him as he throws his head back, marveling at the warmth and how your walls expanded to accommodate him seamlessly, sliding down and taking him to the hilt.

Feeling full and comfortable with the familiar cock inside you, you start to ride, your tits bouncing as you do so, watching Dawnbreaker’s captivated face as he experiences his first time. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding your movements on him as his eyes close in bliss.

Dreams were a pale offering when he was experiencing you in this way. Dreams didn’t capture how flushed your cheeks were, the way your lips were parted, and the soft, breathy moans that were floating from them. He’s dying to kiss you again, his arms tightening around you as he gives in and does so. You pause mid-stroke to kiss him with concentration, and Zayne finally sees his window. 

As you lie down on Dawnbreaker’s chest, reeled in by his kiss, Zayne discards his pants and underwear, joining you on the bed and gently prying your ass cheeks apart, observing how your full hole was tightening around Dawnbreaker’s length. He grasps himself by the base, notching his tip towards your tight pussy and you free yourself from Dawnbreaker’s lips and let out a small whimper of discomfort as Zayne pushes in.

It wasn’t painful but you feel your limits being tested, your cunt being split apart as Zayne slides on top of Dawnbreaker’s cock, joining him inside your snug sex. His breathing is ragged as he kisses your back, praising you and offering soothing words as you adjust around both of them, before he thrusts into you, the stroke making you and Dawnbreaker jolt in response.

The sensation was so tight and Dawnbreaker pushes his hips up against you in response, the dual cocks stroking and hitting every inch of your gummy channel. Impaled and unable to do anything except receive them, you steady yourself on Dawnbreaker’s chest, hands splaying out on his pecs as the three of you push each other into heady levels of ecstasy.

The room fills with grunts and mewls, and the sounds of your sloppy cunt as their cocks pound into it, the wet friction of skin rubbing on skin a lewd addition to your arousal. You’re barely holding on, feeling sweetly lightheaded as they use you, their hands wandering all over, groping your tits, your ass, their lips leaving stray kisses all over your body.

Giddy with the knowledge that you were filled to the brim with the two of the same cock, your body automatically becomes receptive, sighing and gasping your pleasure, trusting them to wreck you into a beautiful mess. 

Dawnbreaker’s hips stutter, and his jaw is clenched, and you recognize the signs of an impending orgasm. You stroke his hair encouragingly. 

“Cum for me. It’s ok to let go…”

And those words spoken with that beseeching tone have Dawnbreaker falling apart, his balls tightening before releasing his load deep inside you. Not too soon, Zayne, also overwhelmed by the stimulation, lets out a growl as he gives one final thrust and spurts of thick cum escape from his tip. 

Their combined cream oozes out of you, the slippery feeling only adding to the debauchery as they ease out of you. Without missing a beat, Zayne scoops some of the leaking fluids onto his fingers and brings them up to your lips for a taste.

“Well?” he asks expectantly, waiting for your answer as Dawnbreaker tries to catch his breath underneath you. 

You lick your lips clean, considering. 

“No difference,” you remark, and both men visibly loosen up. 

“Exactly the same, my dear men.” 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

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[howlingmod]

chance x healer reader fed up with his bullshit.. they beg for him to stop gambling and he's just "no just watch chance never loses" and then dies because their gun explodes with weakness C and they don't even care that the killer is ripping them apart they're just glaring at his body chance is the most annoying guything on EARTH and reader just puts up with his bullshit because they love him (they're going to kill him if they get unforsakened) "hey hun, so my gun MAYYY have exploded can i be healed please-" "i JUST healed you the fuck you MEAN you're bleeding out"

summary - chance x healer!reader

misc - reader has the staff of healing which is said to get power from the greek god of medicine so That's why there's mentions of praying . smile. also more pining than anything sorryyy

-Where Elliot and Dusekkar freely gave out heals, you were far more strategic with yours. It wasn't because you were heartless or didn't hear the pleas of your teammates, but with how long it took to build enough energy and use your staff, you couldn't afford to make the wrong choice. You could save someone's life last second where the others would have to hope the victim could power through.

-This didn't stop people from asking though. Usually, they were pretty understanding. Similarly to Dusekkar, using your staff required a significant amount of your own energy, energy that was better suited as a last-resort. Usually, they'd ask, understand when you declined, and then stick qround you for protection until you could find Elliot or Builderman.

-Chance was different though. He hadn't made much of an impression on you at the cabin that first time, maybe a little proud but you didn't hear enough to feel you could judge him yet. So, your very first impression of him would come when he bothered you for healing.

"Hey, you mind giving me a hand?" He smiled despite his words slipping through grit teeth. He was clutching his side, blood spilling over his hand and soaking the fabric. You heard him shamble all the way here, only waiting to ensure it was a survivor.

You'd only looked him over for a second longer before you'd nodded. He was in critical enough condition you could consider this a safe solution. Everyone had been doing well thus far and there were only a few more generators to repair.

"Stand still."

He barely had enough time to right himself, stumbling when he shot straight up, before you got to work. Instinctively, he closed his eyes, sinking into the comforting feeling washing over him. It was somewhere between warm and cold, simultaneously the cool relief of dipping into the ocean on a hot day and the burning embrace of a fire in the cold winter months. It was over too soon for him to come to a conclusion.

"You should be better now. Come see me if your wounds should start to reappear," you ordered bluntly, leaving no room for argument. You'd turned on your heel, making your way out of the delapitated building you'd hid away in.

For a few moments, he stared at your back as you left, watching you shrink into the distance. He spared a look at his side, seeing how the skin had come back together as if nothing had ever marred it in the first place. Then he looked back at you.

"Hey, wait up!"

You looked over your shoulder, finding the gambler chasing after you.

"Two's better than one, right? I'd say we've got better odds sticking together," he grinned at you, half out of breath. You only stared back, sparing him a small hum of acknowledgement, before you continued walking, him now matching your pace.

-It was a sweet enough encounter, if it weren't for all the repeats after the fact. You'd began to wonder if your staff had some sort strange psychological effects you'd never noticed before, because every time you'd heal him it seemed he made a time to show off his aim.

-You'd heal him and then shortly thereafter, he'd try and stun the killer from half a mile away as they chased someone else, and then A) he'd miss and draw the ire of the killer, B) his gun would jam, C) he would hit the target, of D) it would explode and require healing.

-It was D more often than you thought possible. The first few times you'd bit your tongue and healed him anyway, it was a dire situation and it could save his life if the killer came for the noise, but that only lasted a few times.

-Chance had taken to sticking to your side whenever you went out. You hadn't minded that much, he was fine enough company and you figured it was safer to be around someone than to be alone. It was more the chaos he brought with him that was the issue.

-He tried to tone it down after you first denied healing. His gun had worked this time but he still missed, leading the killer to tunnel in on him (and by extension you) until you two could eventually shake them off your tail. You'd been lucky enough to remain unharmed, the killer was significantly more focused on punishing Chance than you, but that didn't remove the severity of the situation.

Chance was slumped against the wall, hands clutched over his sides. He panted but refused to say anything, mouth dry with guilt. You had yet to say anything either, sitting and catching your own breath. Another hard pang of pain ripped through him and he hissed, clenching his jaw.

"Do you ... y'think you could-"

"No. I healed you earlier, you shouldn't have gotten into that situation."

He nodded stiffly, all the courge he'd used to ask leaving him.

"I'll go look for a medkit, but that's all I offer."

He nodded again, just a twitch of the head this time.

He watched you slip out the doorway and disappear, holding his breath until your footsteps vanished. Guilt ate away at his stomach with even more vigor, he could have gotten you both killed. It was lucky that they'd only gotten him, he isn't sure he could forgive himself if you got caught in the crossfire. He was being stupid, getting your attention in all the wrong ways.

-From then on, he was a little smarter about the way he acted. He wouldn't shoot the killer until he was closer, more involved, where the stun would actually matter. He'd try and keep an eye out for medkits, keeping one for himself whenever he did come across them. He helped with generators more. He tried to watch out for the killer when you were busy.

-It was a little desperate on his part, maybe a little overly sweet, but he really just wanted to make it up to you. He didn't want you to dislike him just because of a crazy misplay. He needed to get into your good graces somehow, and if that meant he had to bust his ass being cartoonishly helpful, he'd do it, no matter how embarassing.

-Even at the cabin, he'd gotten sweeter on you. He'd sit next to you at dinner, he'd go on and on with stories about his life before coming here to you, both good and bad (though you sensed even in the bad ones he embellished a few details to make himself look better).

-He'd keep you company where you'd previously stayed alone, joining you at your altar.

"You know, this kinda reminds me of this church I used to pass by all the-"

"Chance."

"My bad."

-You'd noticed the changes but hadn't said anything about it to him, not wanting to risk him changing back to being more abrasive and thrill-seeking in a bid for your favor. It was sweet, if a little corny.

-He would keep going with it, embarassing himself with overly sappy gestures until you'd finally say something to him, until some kind of progress had been made that told him it was all worth it. He could only imagine what it'd be.

-It was just another night where everyone had gathered into the main living room of the cabin, waiting for dinner to be done. You sat next to him because he insisted and he took up the whole couch himself otherwise. He did all of the talking, including you through references to things you'd done or said in the past while you relaxed. He barely even noticed when you'd gone completely still until you leaned onto him.

-He looked over, being met with shut eyes and quiet snoring. The stifled cheering and wild hand gestures were almost enough to wake you up, much to his displeasure.

[lyn31]

Zayne Immediate Disorder (Extended)

Summary:

After the Prison Warden, Zayne, of Linkon City help you get away from the prison, yes indeed, what a mess. You thought he'll do the same not long after you get out, oh but how wrong you are... He has different plans in mind.

Ao3 link

Extra/Part 2

CW: Drug use (Frenzy Enhancer), Light dom/sub.

Notes:

Disclaimer: The first half on this fics are mainly from Zayne's new card, Immediate Disorder, which another reason why it's so long.... and I also use some of the line here and there to match the "canon" a bit more but the rest are all mine :) So if you don't want to get spoiler, even when it's not all here, better read his story first, but if you don't mind, go ahead and enjoy! And I would like to thank all my friend for helping me with feedback, I appreciate it very much! :D Shout out to @ccelestara You help me a lot girl!

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Your flight is delayed until this evening. Thanks to the delay, you receive a call from your ex-subordinate. It’s about the Warden.

All of Linkon is in an uproar because of it.

The Warden, Zayne, is the SSS-Class Praedator, Galen—the serial killer authorities have been pursuing for years.

As the perpetrator was responsible for multiple deaths, Zayne’s trial will take place with all of Linkon watching. A new era is on the horizon, and his execution will mark its beginning.

Why would a serial killer, whom they couldn’t catch for five years, only be exposed now? Unless… You pause, lost in thought.

You take a sharp breath, suddenly struck by a realization you don’t like. Inhaling deeply, you leave your home, slamming the door behind you with more force than intended. Your pace quickens until you break into a run.

You need to see Zayne one last time. You need to hear the truth from him. You need to know—can he truly end everything without regret?

And then without you realizing it, you arrive.

Though no longer an enforcer, flashing your old badge is enough to get you past the unsuspecting guards. You navigate the prison’s corridors along a path you’ve walked countless times before. You make your way to the second floor.

Zayne has shut himself away in the interrogation room—the very same room where the two of you once said your goodbyes.

You push the door open, and there he is—the familiar figure you haven’t seen in a long time.

Hearing you enter, he turns around. His hazel eyes widen for a brief second before settling back into their usual calm gaze.

“I recall you saying you’d be on a plane this morning.”

Holding back a snort, you say, “So you deliberately waited until this evening to release the news. That way, I wouldn’t find out?”

“Your presence here means my plan has failed.”

“Your plan?” Your throat tightens. Your fists clench so tightly that they start to hurt.

“You never intended to survive this. You’ve been planning to end it all… including yourself.”

Looking at you quietly, he says. “Every TV channel, newspaper, and radio station are announcing it. A new era will arrive with the next dawn. Linkon is finally on the right path. The murders and crimes of the past must be erased.”

Zayne shifts his gaze to the side before looking back at you.

“I thought you, as an enforcer, would understand that criminals must be punished for their past deeds.”

Your chest tightens for a brief moment before you speak, your voice steady but weighed down. “The criminal has been punished. The Praedators and ordinary people get to live in peace. Linkon City will enter a new era. But what about you?”

Without waiting for his answer, you take a step closer.

“Zayne, have you gained anything from this?”

Another step. Your fists clench tighter, your breathing grows unsteady. The faint space between you disappears, and your shadow bleeds into his.

“Don’t you want anything in this life? Stop talking about Linkon, the virus, and the solution. I want to know about you, Zayne. Have you ever wanted anything for yourself?”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Zayne watches you for a moment. His voice lowers. “Are you here just to ask me that question?”

You take another step. Now, you’re so close you can practically feel his breath on your skin.

“What if I said yes? Would you answer me then?”

Just as you reach for him, he flinches. A groan escapes him, and his brows furrow.

“You should go,” he says breathlessly, avoiding your gaze.

“No, I won’t leave until you answer me. But Zayne… are you?”

You reach out again, this time feeling the heat of his skin before he pulls away.

He’s about to go into a frenzy.

“I told you, you should go.” Zayne’s breathing grows ragged. His chest rises and falls rapidly, rattling the chains around his clothes.

“No. I refuse.” You turn toward the door and lock it.

Walking back to him, you scan the room. The interrogation tools from your last visit are still here—including the muzzles and chains.

“They say that when a Praedator goes into a frenzy, the desire to have what they truly want overwhelms them.”

Stepping closer, you ask, “Zayne, have you ever gone into a frenzy before?”

“No.”

He starts to take a step back but stops, steadying his breath. He looks at you. “I know how to control myself.”

“You implanted an activator in yourself, didn’t you?”

At this, his brows furrow slightly—his frustration breaking through his usual stoic expression.

“But that doesn’t mean a Praedator like me won’t harm the person standing in front of them.”

“I won’t become a Praedator.”

“You’ll die.”

“You already ‘killed’ me once before.” The corner of your mouth curls up. “You accused me of trying to assassinate the Warden. I never got the chance to see if I actually could.”

As you speak, you grab a chain from the wall.

"Do you always have to restrain yourself?" You wrap the chain around his wrist.

He scoffs. "Is that what you want me to do?"

"No. At least, that's not what I want right now."

Zayne point out with his gaze at the muzzle on the wall. You take the muzzle and carefully secure it around Zayne’s head. He doesn’t resist.

You hesitate for a moment, watching him. He allows you to restrain him without a fight. A strange feeling settles in your chest—confusion, concern. Why is he letting this happen? That’s what you instinctively think, but you know the answer already.

Then without a word, Zayne grabs another chain and hands it to you. His gaze sharpens, and his breathing grows ragged.

Fastening the chain around his wrist, you hear his low, breathless voice. "If you’re trying to break someone’s chains… don’t be afraid of the danger they’ll bring." Even in this situation, you can still hear his teasing tone.

Trailing your finger from his wrist to his chest, you push him back toward the interrogation chair.

"Wasn’t I supposed to die here anyway?" You smirk hearing your own question.

Near the chair, on a small table, something shiny catches your eye, reflecting the faint light that manages to seep into the closed-off interrogation room. You head toward the table and just miss when Zayne tries to grab you. You push him back down before continuing toward the table.

"You should leave while you still can," He warns, his voice low and more breathless than before.

You pick up the syringe filled with orange liquid from the table—the Frenzy Enhancer and you walk back toward the chair. Zayne’s intense gaze follows your every move.

"You’re only going to hurt yourself more by fighting to stay in control, you know."

Slowly, you place a hand on his shoulder. He shudders under your touch as you trace your fingers from the leather strap on his shoulder to the choker around his neck. Then, with a swift motion, you grab his jaw, forcing his head back to expose more of his neck.

He groans, his eyes flicking to the syringe in your hand.

"…Frenzy Enhancer? You’re going to use that on me?" He scoffs, but you can hear the amusement in his voice, laced with something unreadable.

"Yes. The Warden should be well aware of how it affects the Praedators."

The corner of his lips curls up. He doesn’t even bother hiding his amusement now. His gaze dares you, challenges you.

Without hesitation, you sink the needle into his heated skin, injecting the drug. He groans, and his breathing quickens even more than before. His skin burns even hotter beneath your fingers.

As you step back to give him some breathing room, you say, "Stop holding yourself back. You need to confront your true self."

His breathing grows heavier, each inhale pressing harder against the leather strap bound across his chest. The belt creaks under the pressure, groaning, straining to contain something unstoppable.

His muscles flex, his body straining against the restraint. His breath turns into low, guttural sounds, his entire frame trembling with suppressed force.

Then—a sharp snap.

The leather gives way, splitting apart as his chest heaves forward. The torn strap dangles uselessly at his sides, his breath ragged and uneven. His gaze lifts to you—dark, unrestrained, filled with something dangerous.

Involuntarily, you swallow hard. Slowly, you walk to his other side. His eyes follow your every move, scanning you like a predator sizing up his prey. His gaze sweeps over you—sharp, deliberate, assessing every detail. You meet his eyes, and in that moment, you know.

Taking a bold step directly in front of him, you place your hand on his thigh and kneel right in front of him, your fingers tightening just slightly as you quickly spread his legs apart. His breath hitches, a low gasp slipping past his lips, his chest heaving harder.

"Don’t worry…" you say, your voice calm yet full of intent, "I’ll take good care of you."

His eyes darken, his smirk widening, full of danger and amusement.

"You want me to submit…"

Before you can move, you hear the chains rattle; the sound growing louder as his hand shoots out, gripping your waist and pulling you onto his lap. The sudden shift in position takes you by surprise, and you gasp, your breath hitching in your throat. His lips brush against your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "Let me take what I desire first."

The air shifts—sudden, electric. Then his lips crash into yours with fierce urgency, stealing any coherent thought you might’ve had. You freeze for a split second, your heart hammering in your chest as his breath mingles with yours. The heat from his body sears through the thin fabric between you, making you shiver. His fingers dig into your sides, possessive and firm, as he deepens the kiss, pressing you against him with a force that leaves no space between you.

A soft moan escapes you before you can stop it, and it seems to only spur him on. His teeth graze your bottom lip, the sting making your body react before your mind has time to process. The pull of his kiss shifts from desperate to coaxing, urging you to match his intensity. You reach up, your hand slipping into his hair, fingers tangling in the strands, pulling him closer, desperate for more. The urgency inside you flares, a sharp need that only grows as he deepens the kiss. You’re not sure where he ends and you begin—every nerve in your body is alive, and it's all him.

His other hand tangles in your hair, tugging lightly, sending a different bolt of electricity straight down your spine, and you can feel your whole body arch into him, your chest tight with anticipation. Every touch, every pull seems to unlock something inside you, the heat pooling in your stomach, burning, aching for more. You don’t want to stop, don’t want to pull away.

The kiss is messy and consuming, like he’s starved for it, and you feel that hunger mirroring your own. His tongue sweeps past your lips, claiming everything he wants, but it's not just him—you're just as lost, just as hungry for him. Every breath you take is laced with desire, every beat of your heart screaming for more, and yet, you’re caught in a whirlwind of want, unable to think, unable to pull away.

When he pulls back, his lips hover close, and you can see a wildness in his eyes, filled with raw desire. His voice is barely a whisper, but carries an edge that sends a shiver down your spine. "You should’ve known... submission can be dangerous."

Your pulse is still racing, your breath uneven, and your body tingles with the lingering heat of his touch. You place your hand on his bare chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath your palm, matching the frantic beat of your heart. The raw intensity of his gaze makes your insides tighten with anticipation, a strange mix of fear and longing that twists deep inside you. Then, instinctively, your hand slides up his forearm, fingers grazing the firm muscle, needing to ground yourself.

“Where’s your Activator?” you ask, your voice a little breathless. You try to steady yourself, but it betrays the rush of desire coursing through you.

The moment the words leave your mouth, you catch the glimmer of a smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips, a knowing, teasing expression that sends a jolt through your chest. With a ragged breath, he leans in closer, and before you can react, he grabs your wrist, guiding your hand back to his chest, pressing it against him with an urgency that makes your heart race even faster.

“Why don’t you… touch me and find out?” he murmurs, the words carrying an invitation—and a challenge—that makes everything inside you tighten in hunger. The electricity between you crackles yet again as if he knows just how much you’re aching for him, how much you want to feel him under your fingertips.

Without missing a beat, you move your hand, slowly at first, tracing the curve of his collarbone, your fingers grazing his skin as you feel him tense under your touch. The air between you thickens with the tension. You follow the path down his chest, lingering on his abs as a soft groan escapes him, the sound igniting a pulse of heat between your legs. You catch his gaze, locking onto it, and the rawness of his desire fuels the embers of your own. Your pulse races, your body aching to feel more of him, but you hold the moment—enjoying the power of teasing him just as much as he teases you.

He breathes out in frustration, his voice a low rasp. “You’re teasing me… It’s still not enough…”

So you don’t stop. Your hand keeps moving, creeping below his waistband, your fingers brushing ever so lightly against the growing heat beneath his pants. His breath catches, and your lips curl into a soft, teasing smile. As you raise an eyebrow, you sense the tension shift in him, but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a silent challenge in his eyes, before leaning in, his lips brushing your ear as his breath sends a shiver through you.

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as his kisses trail down your jaw, down your neck—his lips warm against your skin. Every touch, every kiss from him yet again sends that jolts of electricity that you start to familiar with yet still very exhilarating, making you want him even more. And yet, when your hand continues its descent, feeling the evidence of his desire, growing more demanding beneath your touch, you know he feels the same way as you.

A low groan escapes him when his lips move to your earlobe, nipping it just enough to make your body tremble. You almost lose your focus, distracted by the sensation, but your hand keeps moving. Your fingers graze lower, slowly, but with purpose, pressing against him just enough to make him gasp.

His hand grabs your chin, tilting it upward, and his lips hover over yours for a brief, teasing moment before he nibbles your bottom lip. He pulls back slightly, and his gaze darkens with amusement. “What will you do next?”

Oh you know what you'll do next. With a quick, decisive motion, you push him back, watching the way he almost falls against the chair's backrest. The glint in his eyes tells you he enjoys the challenge just as much as you do, and you feel a surge of excitement at the thought of making him wait.

Your hand moves swiftly from his chest to his waist, fingers finding the firmness of him between his legs. The sudden contact makes him shudder, and you smile as his eyes glaze over, fixating on your chest. Before he can lean in, you push him back again, your other hand placed firmly on his chest, eyes locking with his, silently telling him to wait for his turn.

The moment you break eye contact, a rush of heat floods through your body. No matter how hard you try to play it cool, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that you’re perched on his lap. The heat between your legs only grows hotter, and you have to fight the urge to grind against him. You try to regain control—at least to mask your reaction—locking your gaze with his once more. His want is undeniable, simmering in the charged air between you, and the thrill of holding onto even a sliver of control sends a surge of adrenaline through your veins.

You keep your hand on his chest, fingers brushing over his skin, sending small shocks of electricity through him. You don’t break eye contact. Every small movement, every slight press of your hand on his chest makes the tension grow thick and suffocating, but you relish in it—holding him at bay just a little longer. You feel the control shift, your power growing with each moment you keep him waiting.

Focusing back on the task at hand, you press your palm against him, feeling the heat radiating through his clothes. Slowly, you begin to move your hand, applying enough pressure to tease, but not enough to satisfy. His breathing sharpens, chest rising and falling beneath your touch as he tries to keep his composure.

“Do you like that, Zayne?” you whisper, glancing up at him. His response is a ragged exhale, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the armrest.

You keep the slow rhythm, dragging your hand up and down, making him twitch under your touch with every stroke. Each pass, each movement makes him shudder, even so, you hold back, savoring the power of the moment.

You pull your hand back, the sudden absence making Zayne’s gaze snap to you, his eyes burning with need. You feel the tension in the air shift yet again, but you don’t give him the release he craves. Instead, you grab his choker, tugging him closer. His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. For a brief moment, your gazes lock, tension crackling between you like a live wire. His jaw tightens, and his fingers flex as he tilts his head, silently inviting you to continue.

“You want to break it, don’t you?” Zayne’s voice is breathless, a dare in every word. The challenge hangs between you, a crackling tension that sets every nerve in your body alight with excitement.

You push him back with deliberate force, watching as he leans fully into the chair. The satisfaction of making him wait, of holding the control, sends a rush of heat through you. The choker snaps free in your hand, and you stare at it for a beat, your heart pounding as the moment stretches out. Without a word, you toss it aside. The silence between you deepens, thick and charged with raw tension.

“Patience,” you murmur, your voice low and commanding, each syllable deliberate. Your fingers work the muzzle loose, and as it falls away, he just stares at you—breath ragged, eyes wild with hunger. A mix of nerves and excitement coils in your stomach, sharper than you expected. Even though it’s an open muzzle, seeing him without it now sends a thrill through you.

A slow smirk curves your lips. “Much better.”

He exhales a shaky breath, a grin tugging at his lips. “Impressive,” he says, his voice rough with both admiration and something darker.

“But it’s my turn,” he grunts, the words thick with intent. His grip tightens as he surges forward, claiming the moment with a desperate intensity that steals the air from your lungs.

Before you can react, Zayne’s lips are on yours again, urgent, but this kiss is slower, deliberate—a demand as much as a plea. His lips trail down your jaw, your neck, the curve of your collarbone, every touch igniting a new wave of heat inside you. His tongue flicks against your skin, teasing and tasting, before his teeth follow, nipping just hard enough to make you gasp, your body instinctively arching into him as your hips grind against his thigh in reflex, finally. A low grunt rumbles in his chest, his grip tightening on your waist, urging you to do it again. Heat floods through you, a shuddering breath escaping as the friction sends a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you.

His hand finds your wrists, yanking them behind your back with swift ease, and you gasp at the sudden restraint. The vulnerability of it, the way he controls you without hesitation, sends a sharp thrill racing down your spine. His grip tightens, holding both your wrists effortlessly with one hand, while his other settles firmly on your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he keeps you locked in place.

His eyes lock onto yours, dark and commanding, as he urges your hips to move again, guiding you with slow, deliberate pressure. "Just like that," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. A shiver courses through you, each roll of your hips sending a rush of heat that leaves you breathless, your body tightening in response to his touch.

Zayne’s mouth is relentless, teasing you with soft, lingering kisses just above your exposed skin, his tongue flicking over the fabric of your shirt, tracing slow, deliberate circles. You shudder, your body reacting, but he refuses to give you what you want. His grip on your wrist behind your back remains firm, the restraint heightening every sensation, making your pulse race even faster. Every near-miss, every brush against your skin makes your body ache with want—his refusal only fuels your desire, making you want to push back against him, to make him feel the same urgency you do.

Then, at last, his lips close around your hardened peak, sucking gently at first, then harder. His teeth graze you, sending a sharp pulse of pleasure straight to your core. You cry out softly, your body trembling in his lap, your wrists straining against his grip, the rawness of the moment pushing you closer to the edge.

Your soft cry draws a ragged groan from Zayne, his breath unsteady, his grip tightening as he struggles to maintain control. But it’s slipping—you feel it in the tremble of his hand on your wrist, in the roughness of his kisses, in the ferocity of his desire.

And then, as if he can’t hold back any longer, Zayne snaps. The hand on your waist jerks away, his fingers wrapping around the chain on his wrist with a brutal tug. The metal gives way with a harsh, violent snap, fragments scattering beside you, the sound almost deafening. His hand is back on you instantly, roaming over your waist with an urgent, almost frantic need that sends a shiver through your entire body. Everything shifts. His control is shattered, his restraint gone, and in that instant, all that’s left is the hunger that burns between you.

His gaze burns into you, intense and untamed, his breath uneven as he draws you between his legs. One hand tangles in your hair, yanking you closer, while the other seizes your waist, guiding you down to the floor with a force that leaves no room for resistance. The raw urgency in his movements, the primal need that drives him now, sends a thrill of excitement coursing through you. Even in the moment's chaos, there’s a flicker of control—just enough to ensure you’re steady beneath him, but it’s the kind of control that makes your pulse race, knowing he’s ready to push you past any limits.

His voice drops, low and thick with heat, as his eyes lock onto yours. “Now, there’s only one thing left to do.” His voice is ragged, barely restrained, each word tumbling out like a need he can no longer contain, sending a shiver straight through you. His gaze never wavers, his intensity pressing down on you like a weight, leaving you breathless and craving what comes next.

For a moment, you do nothing but stare back at him, breath catching in your throat as you feel the weight of his gaze. It’s a challenge, a silent command—and you can feel your body respond to it, every nerve alive with anticipation.

You swallow hard, your eyes dropping to his waist. “So that’s where the Activator is…” you murmur, the words are soft but thick with meaning. Zayne follows your gaze, then drags his eyes back up to your face, to your body, his gaze darkening as he notices the hardened peak beneath your shirt.

Without hesitation, he leans down, capturing it with his mouth. His tongue twirls around you, his lips warm and demanding, making you gasp at the sensation. Your body writhes beneath him, your heart pounding in time with the pulse of need that rises in you.

But you don’t forget what you’re about to do. Your pulse quickens as you shift your knee, pressing just above his waist, feeling the twitch of his body against yours. His breath hitches, muscles flexing beneath your touch, and despite the flutter of nerves in your chest, you smile at his reaction, fully aware of the effect you’re having on him. The tension thickens, the unspoken challenge between you both only growing stronger.

You let your foot graze lower, brushing against his arousal in a teasing move that has him groaning, his grip on you tightening just a fraction as he fights to keep control. The moment his eyes snap open, wild and raw, you know it’s only a matter of time before both of you lose yourselves completely in the overwhelming tension between you.

His breath catches, a deep grunt rumbling from his chest, and his eyes flash with an intensity that makes your body ache with need. “Become my prisoner… or my master,” he says, voice low and deliberate. Each word tastes of a challenge, an invitation—and you feel every ounce of it.

The wicked smile that curls on your lips matches his as you reach up, wrapping your hand around his neck, and pulling him closer. The heat of his breath against your skin sends a shiver through you, and the connection between you becomes even more undeniable, more electric.

“You can never… leave me,” he murmurs, his voice rough and unsteady as his lips brush over yours.

The kiss starts slow, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. The pressure between you—too much, too overwhelming after everything that’s led to this moment—pushes you both into something more. The kiss deepens, urgent and desperate, a clash of lips and tongues as you both crave the release that’s been building.

His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, his body molding to yours as your mouths crash together again and again, hungry for more. Your hips instinctively grind against him, a steady rhythm driven by raw need, and the weight of his body above you only fuels the urgency. The heat, the tension, the desire—every inch of him presses you against the floor, every movement igniting a fire that spreads through your body.

Zayne’s fingers trail down your spine, gripping your hips harder, holding you in place as he pushes you into him with more force, guiding your grinding motion with growing urgency. You can feel the heat radiating between you, the pulse of desire making every second more intense than the last, every touch heightening the ache that has taken over you both.

Breathless, Zayne breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. His chest rises and falls heavily, his eyes dark with hunger. His hands move lower, gripping your thighs, guiding you—slow but sure—as his lips find yours again in a kiss that’s fierce and insistent.

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Winter returns once more.

As you watch the light snow falling outside your window, it dawns on you: another year has passed since you and Zayne last parted ways in that interrogation room.

In the aftermath of that day, you walked away alone. The bitter truth that you couldn’t take him with you… You’d known that all along.

Even when he confessed that you were what he wanted, it wouldn’t have stopped him. Zayne has always been this way. Deep down, you’ve known it from the start.

After moving to this small town, you severed almost all ties with Linkon City. You made a conscious effort to avoid any news about him. You convinced yourself that if you didn’t see anything about him, you wouldn’t think about him anymore.

Then this morning, someone mentioned that a new doctor had opened a small clinic called Akso just a few blocks away. The moment you hear the clinic's name, your thoughts immediately go to a certain vet clinic with the same name—and a familiar doctor who became the prison’s warden. The person you’ve been trying to forget for a year. Zayne.

So, of course, you rush home, snatch your pet turtle from its cozy sunbathing spot, and dash off to Akso.

Arriving at the clinic, you push open the door, breathless from your frantic run. After a year apart, the silhouette you’ve yearned for stands right before you.

He turns to you with his usual calm demeanor. “What is it?” he asks, though the corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly.

Without a second thought, you place your pet turtle on the nearest table and rush toward him, wrapping your arms around him in a crushing hug. Then you pull back just enough to crash your lips against his. Before he can even react, you pull away again, eyes wide, your cheeks burning.

He chuckles softly, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Avoiding his gaze, you scoop up your pet turtle and cough lightly. “Dr. Zayne, I think my pet turtle might be sick. It’s been really lethargic. It doesn’t even want to sunbathe anymore. Can you take a look at it?”

Trying to hide your embarrassment—and your excitement—you straighten your posture and meet his eyes. His amusement is obvious. He’s trying not to laugh.

“Miss, this clinic only treats human patients,” he says, his smirk growing wider.

Your face burns up again. You bite your lower lip and close your eyes, mortified...

That’s when you hear his footsteps approach. You open your eyes to find him standing right in front of you, gently taking your hand in his.

Then, something rare—a smile curves on his lips, soft and unguarded. It’s fleeting but real, and you can’t help but mirror it. Your heart skips, and for a second, the tension feels lighter, almost electric. You suppose he’s just as excited as you.

You clear your throat, trying to regain a bit of control. “...I see” His smile grows, contagious and impossible to ignore.

“Well,” you say, this time with more confidence, “I think I’m coming down with something. Would you mind giving me a check-up?”

He holds your gaze, bringing your hand to his lips. “I don’t think this is how I’m supposed to treat my patients.” His voice drops slightly, warm and low, the flicker of desire in his eyes unmistakable.

He steps closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But for you… I might make an exception.”

Your heart races as he pulls back, his smirk sharp and teasing. He releases your hand, turning toward the hallway.

“Follow me, Miss,” he says, the slightest smirk playing at his lips.

As you follow him, your pulse quickening, you realize this is the treatment you’ve been waiting for—especially with Dr. Zayne.

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

Notes:

Pstttt there's another extended of the extended version! here And another card's fic over there! Zayne - Fragrant Possession Celebration (Smut)

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 3

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Johnny has a good day.

Tw: ableism; implied sexual assault

#

That night you dream about fucking the two neighbors in 5C.

It’s good sex, too. You can tell by the sweat slicking your skin and the ache in your thighs. You are naked on the big one’s lap, his huge hands on your hips while he bounces you on his cock. Behind you, the shorter one loops his one arm around your waist and grinds his cock against your bare arse. 

“Did Jesus send ye?” his voice rasps against the sensitive side of your neck. You tilt your head to give him more room to suck and kiss and bite. Then, as his hand slips down to tease where you need a soft touch the most: “Are you gonna finish me off?” 

The one beneath you cums, a flood of warmth deep within your aching cunt. His groans have you teetering on the edge of your cut of the pleasure. You lean down to kiss him, but before your mouths can meet, hands grip your hips and lift you free—his cock slides out with a wet rush of fluids, leaving you feeling cracked open and empty.  

Your boyfriend passes you on to his friends who are waiting for their turn with you, and then it is no longer a dream, but a memory. 

#

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are for physical therapy. Tuesdays and Thursdays are for cognitive rehabilitation. Both of these are paid for by the British government and accomplished in the ‘comfort’ of Johnny’s own home. Like that’s supposed to help; he’s going to have to sweat (literally) and bleed (probably figuratively), but as long as it’s on his own carpet, that’s quite all right. Johnny isn’t sure which he hates more, the physical or cognitive rehab. Both hurt, just in different places; one hurts the stump of his arm, the muscles of his shoulders and neck, his fake knee. The other hurts his pride, leaves him tired and second guessing his broken mind. 

The other scares him. It’s one thing to lose his arm—one terrible, traumatizing thing. But the idea that he’s going (or gone) simple is too much to take.

The cognitive rehabilitation therapist’s name is Anna. She wears horn-rimmed glasses and sloppy buns that Johnny fantasizes about gripping in his fist and throttling her with during their less productive sessions. 

By sessions, he means they play games together. Simon sits on the sofa in the living room pretending not to watch. He thinks he’s so fucking clever, turning his pages even, but Johnny knows. Simon’s gaze is a tangible thing, as physical as a touch, like a finger running up the back of his neck. There’s no hiding from it. You don’t get a name like Ghost without raising the hairs on some people’s arms with just your eyes. 

“It’s your turn, Johnny.” 

“I fuckin’ know it. Sorry—sorry.” 

Anna puts up a hand to stall his sorries. She is younger than he is; shouldn’t she be older? Wouldn’t that make this less painful? “Take your time.” 

It’s a simple matching game. There are less than a dozen tiles left on the board, and Johnny has seen most of them two or three times by now. He keeps forgetting their placements, even though he is burdened with the memory of having chosen them. 

His shaking fingers reach for a tile…a red car. Sweat breaks out on his brow. He’s seen this fucking Red Car no less than six times. His fingers hover over the board, moving from one tile to the next. Here? Or here? If he sees the Rose again, he’ll lose his head; he knows it. He can feel his blood pressure rising like the mercury in a thermometer, up up and away, blackness eating at the edge of his vision.  

Finally, with absolutely no idea where the other red car is, he picks a tile at random. 

Red Car. 

Johnny shouts out in triumph, holding up the tile for Simon to see. Even Anna—eternally unimpressed Anna—gives him a smile, infected by his joy. 

“Good job—now do it again.” 

Groaning, he picks up another tile. 

Rose. 

#

“Come lay down with me,” he says to Ghost after taking two of the green, oval pills that are the only things which take the edge off his pain. They make him so fucking tired, though—perhaps that’s their secret; if they can’t take the pain away, they’ll at least help him sleep through it. 

“Alright,” says Simon, putting his book down. He doesn’t bother marking his place; they both know he wasn’t reading it.  

The two of them slip into the bedroom. It isn’t much: a bed against the southern wall, the doors leading out onto the balcony—blinds pulled shut to keep out any hopeful rays of sunshine, a desk piled high with medical bills that the government will front. 

Johnny is pretty good about getting his shirt off with just one arm. He reaches up and back, gripping the collar, and tugs it off over his head in a smooth, fluid motion. He’s thinner after his three-month stint first in the hospital and then in inpatient rehabilitation, but he still looks good. 

He hates the stump where his arm used to be, but today he doesn’t even care. It’s a good day, a purely tolerable day. He presses himself against Simon and kisses him, the first true-kiss he can remember giving him since the accident, though his memory is not what it used to be. Simon’s hands—large and warm and strong—settle on his waist pulling him closer. It’s desperate and messy, too much teeth and tongue, neither of them quite settling into the old easy dance they used to be capable of; likely because they aren’t the same people anymore. 

“Fuck, I want you,” Johnny pants against Simon’s feral mouth.

“You can’t,” Simon grits out, dragging Johnny’s hardened cock against his own. 

“Like hell I can’t!” Though…already his knee throbs, a deep ache punctuated by glass-like shards of sharpness when he bends it. He could take it—but it would hurt. But fuck, what doesn’t hurt these days? “I need you, Ghost.” 

Simon grips him by the hair which has grown out too long and badly needs trimmed. He tugs back til Johnny’s neck pops uncomfortably. “You’ll take what I give you,” Simon says, sounding on the verge of madness, at least as desperate as Johnny feels. 

“‘n what? I can’t beg for more?” 

“Oh, you can beg,” says Simon darkly. 

He pins Johnny against the sliding doors of the balcony, rustling the blinds around his body. Knees bent to bring them to just the right height, he fists both their cocks in one large hand, his face buried in Johnny’s neck, muffling groans against his skin.

“Yes,” Johnny gasps, his nails digging into Simon’s back. “Yes, jus’ like that—fuck! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—“

Simon keeps jerking off his spent cock well after Johnny cums, even after he begins whining and pulling back, shoulders thudding against the glass doors behind him. Ghost makes Johnny fuck his fist through the sensitivity until he cums too, both their seed slickening his hand and turning the sound of his handjob filthy-wet. 

“Thank you,” Johnny sighs, blissed out. He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his stump or his knee or his head or anywhere. Maybe it’s the pills, but maybe it’s Ghost. Maybe it’s the relief of knowing they haven’t fucked up their relationship beyond all repair, that they’re still capable of loving one another like this. “I needed that. 

Simon feeds two fingers soaked in cum past Johnny’s full lips, relishing the way his hot mouth sucks the digits clean. He admits: “So did I.” 

He cleans them both up and they curl up on the bed together for Johnny’s afternoon nap—the doctors say all the sleep he needs is good for his brain. 

Simon doesn’t intend to fall asleep. But he does. 

And when he wakes, Johnny is not there beside him. 

#

You’re just thinking how cold it is out on the balcony, wondering if it is worth it to risk going back inside for a sweater, when the balcony doors from 5C open and out steps the man you almost hit with your car. He looks likely to be cold as well, wearing only a t-shirt and loose pants, his feet bare against the concrete. 

A cigarette is tucked in the corner of his mouth, unlit. He gapes at you, and it falls to the balcony floor. Glancing behind himself into the darkness of his apartment, he shuts the door with careful tenderness before bending down with a wince to pick up his cigarette. 

 The sleeve of his missing arm dangles innocuously. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here.” 

“Sorry,” you say on instinct. It’s ingrained in you; a lifetime’s worth of apologies. “I can go in and give you some privacy.” 

“World’s big enough for two,” Johnny says coolly. There are chairs out here, but he doesn’t sit. Instead he leans against the doors with his good side and pretends to look out. It’s a lovely view of the parking lot. You do the same, except you can see the spot from here where you almost hit him with your car, and it makes your stomach turn. Speaking of: “Sorry about all that in the parking lot. My temper got the best o’ me.” 

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” you admit. “I was distracted. I can’t say it enough, I’m so—so sorry.” 

“Water under the bridge,” he says. He holds out the only hand he has left. “Johnny MacTavish.” 

You hold out your own left hand, shaking via air from the distance between your balconies. When you give him your name, he mutters it under his breath two, three, four times. 

“I’m going to forget that,” he warns you at length with a sad little laugh, fiddling with the unlit cigarette still in his hand. “It’s not you, it’s me.” 

“It’s alright,” you forgive. “It’s pretty forgettable.” 

Johnny frowns, putting the cigarette back in his mouth and working his hand into his pocket. His accent is so sweet to listen to, syrupy and dropping the consonants off of his words as he assures you: “Didn’t say that, did I, lass? Don’t get twisted.” 

Mollified and embarrassed in equal measure at his simple admonishment, you duck your head. 

“Got a broken brain,” he says in explanation, reaching up to tap the cigarette against the scars at his temple. “Forgot one of my own sisters’ names on the phone last week and she wept like a bairn. In my defense, I have several of them.” 

“I forget people’s names and I don’t have a head injury,” you say. 

Johnny snorts softly, the sound carried away by the wind.

He withdraws a lighter, one of the cheap disposable ones you can buy beside the registers at gas stations. His hand shakes as he tries to spin the sparkwheel once, twice, thrice, but no dice. Johnny takes a deep, slow breath, like a little boy trying not to lose his temper. He tries again, the familiar noise of steel rasping on steel, but no spark. 

You wait, patiently, eyes turned out toward the parking lot as he begins muttering curses beneath his breath. Anxiety itches beneath your skin. His building anger is a tangible thing in the air like heat thrown off by a lit flame or the smell of burnt rubber, tires squealing in the parking lot as you slam on the breaks. A man’s anger is familiar to you. It predicts pain. Your skin flashes hot and then cold, and you are just about to make a polite escape inside when: 

“Can you catch?” he asks, sending your gaze swerving to him from the parking lot.

“Can I—? Fuck!” you throw your hands up just in time, scrambling for the lighter even though he only tosses it underhanded like an easy pitch for a tee-baller. It slips from one of your sweaty hands to the other like a slapstick comedy routine, but it doesn’t clatter to the concrete nor does it fall off the balcony altogether. Holding it in your hand, you light it easily to make sure it works, missing the hungry, bitter expression that comes over his face when you do. “How? I can’t reach you from here.” 

“We can meet in the middle.” 

You can’t. Even with him outstretching from his side of the balcony and you from your own, there is a good half a meter of distance between you both. You can’t help but remember the other man’s words—I just want one fucking cigarette without worrying about him taking a swan dive off the balcony. 

“Be careful,” you admonish when Johnny slips a little, his ribs digging into the iron-wrought railing. He doesn’t have good balance, you realize. Does losing an arm fuck something like that up? The answer you don’t know: it fucks up everything. Taking a deep breath, you glance over the rail and take note of how high you are from the ground. High enough for a healthy splat should you fall…

“Forget it,” he says morosely, his brows low. He is the picture of dejection, a kicked dog. “Doctors say ‘m not supposed to smoke anymore anyway.” 

“Don’t they say that to everyone? Just—hang on.” Tucking the lighter into your pocket, you throw one leg over the railing. 

“What are yeh—you-uuu fucking nutter,” he laughs as you test the stability of the railing. It doesn’t shift or creak at all under your weight. Heart in your throat, you lift your other leg over, feet lodged in the narrow space between the railing and the concrete floor. Gripping the rail with a tight fist, you let your weight lean into the space between your balconies, reaching into your pocket to remove the lighter and flick it to life. 

Johnny looks like he could laugh or cry or both, stretching out his shaking arm so you can light the cigarette and then quickly bringing it to his mouth to suck it to life. 

“Yer crazy,” he says breathlessly, words tinted with smoke as he watches you scramble back over the railing and to safety. 

The sliding doors open. For a moment, you mistake the sound for being closer than it is—for being your boyfriend finally noticing how long you’ve been gone and coming to find you. He’s going to find you out here with Johnny and the same arguments will be born all over again—arguments about your disloyalty.

But it’s Johnny’s doors which slide open. The taller man comes out, the circles under his eyes standing out darkly  against his pale skin in the late afternoon light. At the sight of Johnny, an expression of raw, poignant relief comes over his face. 

Johnny drops the cigarette over the ledge of the balcony, face sheepish. 

“Was just meeting our bonnie neighbor,” says Johnny, slipping his arm around the other man’s waist. If there was any doubt left of what they were to each other, it disappears: seeing them together, you can see the magnetism that draws them together. They act like plants which turn toward the sunlight, except they are the sunlight. The bitterness inside you rises up in the back of your throat. “Grateful to be doing it without a car in between us. This is Simon.” 

“Nice to meet you,” says Simon. 

“You too,” you offer, like perfect strangers. 

You don’t find the lighter still in the pocket of your pants until later, when it is past midnight as you are collecting your clothes from the floor, aching between your legs and raw-eyed from crying. You flick the sparkwheel, watching the flame come alive. Glancing behind you, you make sure your boyfriend is fast asleep before creeping to your dresser drawers, opening the one with your socks, and shoving the lighter towards the back as far as you can. 

[mrspasser]

I'll lay my head down here

Sterek fanfiction Stiles needs a place to sleep. He chooses Derek.

Also available on A03.

image source

“I’m not sleeping on the floor again, you assholes!” Stiles throws a balled up burger wrapper at the infuriating werewolves who took over his intended sleeping space. 

Isaac bats the greasy paper ball away with a quick flick of his hand, hardly having to look at it. “You snooze, you lose, Stilinski,” he says meanly, as he snuggles deeper inside the couch pillows to drive his point home. “Besides, I gave up my bed, I shouldn’t be the one to sleep on the floor.”

Stiles perks up when an idea crosses his mind. Upstairs, in Isaac’s room, are Lydia and Cora. Maybe he could -

“Don’t even think about it, Stilinski!” Jackson cuts his unspoken thought off with one sharp remark. He glares at him from his spot on the couch he’s sharing with Isaac: one asshole werewolf on each side. The guy is extra touchy because Lydia picked Cora as a sleeping partner over him - which is more than fair, if you ask Stiles, both Lydia picking Cora over Jackson and Jackson being sour over getting the cold shoulder from his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry, Stiles, I don’t think you’ll fit,” Allison offers apologetically from his right. She’s squeezed in the large armchair with Scott, who’s already fast asleep and snoring softly. 

He waves her offer away. If he’d try to squish himself in the chair with them, neither one of them would sleep a wink all night. Same goes for the couple in the other available chair, although Stiles is more sure to survive the night with Scott and Allison than with Boyd and Erica. That only leaves - 

“You could try Derek?” Allison blinks innocently at him. 

Stiles huffs a laugh, letting the sarcasm bleed through in generous helpings. “Yeah, right.” He leaves it at that, too tired to hope to put up the proper facade of pretending to dislike the Alpha werewolf. Hey, we all deal with our crushes in our own way! Stiles has to do what he can when literally living with a pack of wolves, who can smell pheromones and who knows what else.

Eventually, he settles for stretching out on the rug that Lydia made Derek buy a while back. It’s not overly cushiony, but it’ll do the job. It’ll have to. Besides, he hasn’t had a proper night of sleep in four or maybe even five days, staying up researching and worrying most of the night. The Big Bad is dead, the worrying is over and his research paid off: he should be able to sleep now, right?!

At first, Stiles uses his hoodie for a pillow, yet after about twenty minutes he gives up and pulls it back on because he won’t be able to sleep if he’s cold. Derek patched up most of the holes in his loft and it’s actually resembling a nice apartment these days, but it’s still the middle of the night in February and Stiles is lying on the floor without a blanket or a pillow. He misses his own bed. His comforter. His pillow. His other pillow, the one that’s older than him and oddly lumpy, but it was the one that was in his mother’s bed until the day she died. It hasn’t smelled like her in a long, long time. Stiles has also washed it a couple of times during the years, he’s not that much of a pig, despite popular opinion. But it’s familiar and comforting and he still takes it with him for sleepovers with Scott. 

He considers whether or not he would’ve brought his pillow if this impromptu sleepover had been planned in any way. He’s known Scott since kindergarten, he’s his best friend. He wouldn’t say or even think anything bad about Stiles still needing a special pillow to sleep even when he’s almost twenty one years old. And while he knows most of the people in this room for five years or even longer and trusts them with his life, that doesn’t mean that they’re not a bunch of dickheads who will tease him every chance they get.

It’s a pointless thought exercise, because nothing about this sleepover was planned. They were supposed to kill that wyvern during the day, when it slept in his creepy little cave. That's what all Stiles’ research was for! He even found a way to kill the beast without having to hack it to pieces, which was nice because in the end he was against animal cruelty, you know? But then there were witches, two of them. They weren’t planned, neither was the ensuing fight in the woods. The unexpectedness of it all had left everybody antsy, especially the werewolves. And even though they recouped with a movie night and a nice pack pile, nobody wanted to be very far away from the others. Hence the impromptu sleepover that had Stiles sleeping on a rug, between the coffee table and the couch. Which wasn’t fair, because he totally knocked a witch out with his bat! He did his fair share and pulled his weight and what not. The least he deserves is a nice night of sleep.

Another hour later, Stiles is sore all over and chilled to the bone. There’s no way he can sleep like this. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he whispers to the leg of the coffee table that he knows has Isaac’s claw marks on it. 

As quietly as he can he makes his way upstairs on the rounding stairs. On the landing there’s three doors to choose from: the one on his left leads to Isaac’s bedroom, where Lydia and Cora are sleeping. The one in the middle is the bathroom - with a bath, for heaven’s sake, Derek has a tub! - and that leaves the master bedroom on his right. The Alpha’s den. Stiles has never been inside it. He even doubts if Isaac has set foot in the room very often, besides for cleaning purposes.

Stiles never really intended to go into Derek’s room, because despite what the others seem to think, he actually values his life. And his dignity. He thought it better to take a chance with the girls, take on the risk of Jackson wanting to kill him the next morning when he discovered Stiles had slept in the same bed as his girlfriend.

But…

The door to Derek’s bedroom is cracked.

Stiles can see inside. 

He can’t see that much, with it being the middle of the night and the only light coming from a gap between the curtains in front of Derek’s window. But the moonlight is just right, illuminating the sleeping form of the Alpha in the bed. A bed that is more than large enough for two people and Derek is neatly sleeping on one side of the bed. If Stiles is quiet enough he might even be able to slip into the bed without waking Derek. The werewolf got hurt pretty badly today and healing always takes a lot out of him. There’s a pretty good chance the guy is sleeping like a log.

Stiles takes a deep breath. He’s gonna risk it.

***

He didn’t think he’d actually do it, but after a few minutes of indecisiveness on the landing, Stiles quietly tiptoes into Derek’s bedroom. He rounds the bed to the unoccupied side of the mattress and gingerly lifts the tip of the blanket.

“You’re not getting in with your jeans on,” Derek says, without opening his eyes.

Stiles yelps and he’s already stammering halfway through an apology when he suddenly shuts his mouth. His back teeth actually click together. There’s a few seconds of silence and then: “You’d let me into your bed?”

“Not with your jeans on,” Derek repeats. Usually he wouldn’t do this, but he’s been listening to Stiles toss and turn downstairs for a while now and with all of his pack members sleeping peacefully, he’d like the last one to get some rest too. Besides, Stiles would continue to keep him up with his restless behaviour otherwise; Derek just can’t seem to tune him out. It’s been that way for years already, maybe even from the beginning.

“O-kay.” He can feel Stiles staring at him in the dark and he patiently waits for the decision he knows the boy is gonna make. No, not a boy. Stiles will be 21 this Spring. Derek has seen him grow up, literally and figuratively, along with the rest of his ragtag pack of teenagers. Stiles still wears jeans and plaid most of the time, but the garments don’t hang as loose on him as they did when he was 16. He’s grown into a handsome young man, with a good head on his broad shoulders. Derek counts himself lucky to have Stiles as part of his pack, to have him close. Not as close as he sometimes might wish, yet Derek is always conscious of not playing favourites. So he usually keeps Stiles at an arm length and takes care to treat him just like everyone else. It helps that the two of them elevated snark and banter to an effective communication style. Despite all the sarcasm and barbs, Derek is pretty sure there is no-one in his pack who sees through him like Stiles does. It was scary at first and it made him lash out, but Stiles stood firm. Derek is immensely grateful that he did.

There’s the rustling of clothing hitting the floor, jeans and a shirt, then the blanket lifts and Stiles scoots underneath. Derek feels him settle in behind his back, a foot or so away. “Thanks,” Stiles whispers in the dark.

“Go to sleep,” Derek grunts, eager to go to sleep and not think about the young man who is sharing his bed.

***

Derek’s bed is pretty comfortable, Stiles thinks to himself as he digs himself in. Oh, who is he kidding?! Derek’s bed is amazing. The mattress is just the right combination of firm and soft, the pillow hugs his head and shoulders just right and the comforter is warm but still light to the touch. It’s a million times better than his bed at home, even when he’s not counting the fact that he’s sharing the bed with a hot werewolf.

Yet Stiles can’t sleep. 

Yes, the pillow is heavenly. Yes, the mattress allows his tired body to finally relax. Yes, the comforter hugs him nicely. But there’s something missing and Stiles knows exactly what it is. His pillow.

He needs to hold something. He needs to be able to curl around something. Or someone, his traitorous brain suggests as he feels Derek move across from him.

“Why aren’t you asleep, Stiles?” Derek asks in that long-suffering tone he uses when Stiles is doing something to annoy him. Which is pretty often, although Stiles knows the annoyance is mostly for show these days. He has turned onto his back, his eyes glinting in the moonlight where they are looking over at Stiles.

“Can’t,” Stiles laments, trying to catch the comforter between his arms in lieu of his dearly missed pillow. It doesn’t really work, because the comforter also has to cover Derek’s bulk and there’s little left to use. Little to none, especially when Derek snatches the comforter back from where it was probably leaving a cold gap on Derek’s other side. The sudden move has Stiles sort of falling over from where he was laying on his side. He’s more on his front now, filling up the space that was between them at first. He can feel the warmth of Derek’s body from just a few inches away. It’s actually kind of comforting.

“Try harder,” Derek commands and he closes his eyes again.

Stiles thinks of answering ‘Yes, Alpha’, but thinks better of it. It might make Derek move again, to push Stiles out of bed instead of pulling him in to have a cuddle. So he stays quiet and closes his eyes, focussing his mind on the almost tangible presence of Derek’s bare shoulder mere inches away. Derek is warm and smells nice and if Stiles was a werewolf, he’s sure he’d feel even better about having his Alpha so close. Yet even though he’s not a werewolf, he still enjoys it. A lot.

He falls asleep.

He knows that, because he wakes up at some point, at an unknown hour of the night. He’s warm, so warm. And comfortable, even though his pillow is a lot firmer than he remembers it being. It also moves a little, because his pillow is Derek and the Alpha werewolf gently moves his arm in what Stiles suspects is a more comfortable position. He would panic about sleeping half on top of Derek if he were not so damn comfortable. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. Surely if Derek wouldn’t want him sleeping on him, he’d push Stiles off. Instead, Stiles feels Derek’s arm wrap around his back, accompanied by a soft sigh from the Alpha.

Stiles sleeps.

***

Derek is not the first to wake up, although he is certainly not the last. He becomes aware of the world with Stiles wrapped around his torso, his head pillowed on Derek’s chest. He’s only a little surprised by how good it feels to wake up like this and it takes a while before he brings himself to carefully move out of Stiles’ embrace. The boy mumbles a little, but doesn’t wake up. Derek watches him for a moment, standing beside his bed. He’s not sure how to feel about this, except for some embarrassment about wanting to crawl back into bed and slot himself back into Stiles’ arms.

Downstairs, most of the pack is still asleep. Isaac has his arms wrapped around Jackson’s lower legs, as if he’s cuddling a particularly bony teddy bear. Jackson is still asleep, even snoring softly. Scott snores too, curled around his girlfriend in the large armchair. In the other armchair, Boyd is watching him carefully, his arms wrapped around his sleeping girlfriend. 

“Morning,” the dark man rumbles quietly, not to wake Erica.

“Morning,” Derek answers, keeping his voice down as well. “Coffee?”

Boyd inclines his head in thanks and Derek ambles on to the kitchen, where he finds Lydia, immersed in a science journal. She has a cappuccino sitting in front of her, the cup half empty. “Good morning, Derek,” she says, briefly glancing up from her reading material.

“Morning,” he repeats, busying himself with the coffee maker. He brings a cup to Boyd when he’s done and returns to join Lydia at the table. He sits back in his chair, his coffee in front of him, to catch the rays of pale sunlight that slant through the high windows. It’s quiet in the loft, with most of the people still sleeping and the ones that are awake quietly starting up their day.

He sips from his coffee, listening to the sounds of Cora waking up and going into the bathroom. She comes downstairs not long after, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt - same as her brother, her bare feet hardly making a sound. He points to the mostly full pot of coffee on the counter when she enters the kitchen and he gets a hair ruffle as thanks from his little sister. She pours herself a cup and leans against the counter, enjoying the sunlight on her face just like he is. 

It’s Stiles who comes down next, although Derek can hear from the way he drags his feet that he’s barely awake. Why he’s not sleeping in like he should be, is anyone’s guess. He expects Stiles to stop in the living room, to wake up Scott or maybe even Jackson if he’s feeling particularly cheeky, but he doesn’t. The footsteps pretty much make a beeline from the stairs towards the kitchen. Derek opens one eye from where he closed them against the sunrays to see Stiles shuffling towards him in his boxers and T-shirt, rubbing a hand over his face and yawning soundlessly. His hair is standing up on one side. He’s wearing socks, navy blue ones with a red line near the toes.

The werewolf opens his mouth to point his packmate towards the coffee maker, but before he can say anything, Stiles has reached his chair and slings a hairy leg over his lap. He plonks down unceremoniously and lays his head on Derek’s shoulder, arms wrapping loosely around his waist. 

“You were gone,” Stiles mumbles disapprovingly, his mouth moving against Derek’s collarbone. And just like that his heartbeat evens out and he’s fast asleep again.

Derek sits frozen in his chair, his heart beating loudly inside his ribcage. If Stiles were awake he could probably feel it pound against his own chest. His hands hover uselessly on either side, not knowing whether to wrap around Stiles or pick him up and toss him to the floor. 

Stiles is oblivious, his sleeping body moulding easily against Derek’s. He’s warm and pliant, just like he was when they were sleeping together in Derek’s bed. 

When he chances a look at Lydia across the table, she’s already watching him steadily with a sly smile playing around the corners of her lips. “Glad to see you two finally got your heads out of your asses,” she comments eventually, before primly taking a sip from her cappuccino and going back to her reading.

Behind him, Cora snorts quietly in amusement. She comes up at his back and puts a hand in his hair again, running her fingers through the short strands. It’s grounding and Derek only notices how much he needs that when she lightly scratches her nails across his scalp. 

“He’s cute like this,” his sister remarks and even though he can hear the humour in her voice, he can also hear the truth in her heartbeat. “Best not wake him up, big bro.” She runs her hand through his hair one last time and then she wanders off, leaving him to carefully wrap one arm around Stiles’ lower back.

Slowly, Derek feels himself relax. The loft is quiet and peaceful and Derek is in his own little bubble, with the sunlight on his face and Stiles in his lap. Almost automatically, he starts to rub his hand slowly up and down Stiles’ back. Aside from some sleepy snuffling, there’s no real response. Derek picks his coffee back up and slowly drinks it, tilting his face towards the sun. It’s a nice morning.

[fredshechinger]

If you fall, I will catch you — steddie

pairing: steve harrington/eddie munson rating: M word count: 6.5k content/warnings: 18+ MDNI, trans!eddie, bisexual!steve, coming out, abusive parents, lots of crying, depression, self harm scars, hospitals, showers, cuddling, first kiss, hurt/comfort, wounds, sexual thoughts on ao3

summary: Eddie pretty much moves into Steves house after being discharged from the hospital. Showers are had and things are revealed.

Ever since Eddie woke from the coma, Steve had not left his side. Besides literally getting dragged home to take a damn shower every once in a while by Robin. It was … surprising. The first thing Eddie saw when he woke up was Steve, curled up, sleeping in a very uncomfortable looking chair next to his bed. That had truly been the last thing he expected. You know, besides being alive. He's still not quite sure if he IS alive. But apparently, he didn't die in the upside down, only barely though. He suffered severe blood loss when Steve, Robin and Nancy got to him and Dustin. Steve wasted no time throwing Eddie over his shoulder and taking off to the portal. After that, getting Eddie to not bleed out and into the hospital was a blur for everyone. No one really knew how they did it. But they did. And Eddie was extremely grateful to all of them. But especially Steve.

The thing is, he didn't want to die back there. But he also didn't not want to die. He liked life, music, his friends, even the little brats. But it was exhausting. Life was exhausting. Hiding who you are, who you are attracted to, meanwhile getting bullied for your entire life for just fucking existing? Not conforming? Yeah, it sucked. 

Only two people in his life knew about him, his uncle Wayne and his lifelong best friend Gareth. And yet with every insult thrown at him in school, every shove, every punch, he feared everyone knew as well or that it was only a matter of time before people found out about him. 

Him skipping P.E. wasn't just because he hated it and that he was lazy. And no, it also wasn't because he would pop a boner in the locker room from seeing naked dudes, like everyone said that's the reason why he's never there. Fuck, he wishes that was it. That would at least mean he had a dick. But no, he was already sweating more than enough in his makeshift binder and he would NOT change in front of everyone, let alone take a goddamn shower. Like that wouldn't be a sure fire way to get assaulted and probably killed right then and there. Nope, nope not even going there right now, Munson. Absolutely not. 

Anyway, Steve . Jock, Arrogant, Asshole Steve, who was in fact neither of those things. Well, he was a Jock, and a little bit Arrogant. But he's forgiven because he is also legit the sweetest, most caring person Eddie had ever met. And isn't that a surprise? He can't even hate him anymore. Not an asshole AND saved his life? He's going to be the death of Eddie. Which, ironic.

After another agonizing two weeks in the hospital he was finally cleared to go home. Which opened up a whole different can of worms. He didn’t technically have a home anymore. The trailer was gone. Wayne didn't know he was still alive, and isn't allowed to know until Hopper manages to clear his name for good. So, he can’t go live with him in his new fancy government paid apartment. And staying in the Hospital for any second longer was also not an option. So when Eddie asked the Party where the hell he was gonna go, Steve immediately volunteered his house. And to be fair, it makes sense. Steves parents are never home, in fact they have never evenonce called their son to ask if he's alright. Or even still alive after the “earthquake”. How fucked up is that? And he thought his parents sucked. Well, they do but that’s for a different day.

So with no one to have any better option, Eddie pretty much moved into Steves house for the foreseeable future. Which posed a number of problems for Eddie, but he also can’t complain about living rent free in someones house now can he? 

Thankfully the house is huge . It has like 5 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms, who even needs all that space for 3 people? But right now, he’s glad rich people are weird like this. He gets his own room with a connected bathroom. Which is also big, it has a shower and a tub. Eddie doesnt know if all the other bathrooms do as well but at this point he wouldn't be surprised if they did. 

Steve’s room was right opposite Eddies temporary room. Steve said something about being closer when Eddie needed help, or he could hear if he fell down or something. He’s starting to understand why the kids all call him Mom, he truly is a Mother Hen. 

Most of Eddies wounds have closed up, but moving around is still exhausting and painful. Especially since the Demo-bats decided to give Eddie an impromptu top surgery with eating half his tits and the doctors finishing the rest. Not that anyone knows about that part. Conveniently, they did see Eddie nearly being torn to shreds so having his chest still bandaged because it took the most damage isn’t too far fetched. 

He only got a look at his new flat chest a handful of times while changing the bandages. It’s mangled as hell, more scars than anything else. But he sure as hell isn't gonna complain about free top surgery. Even if the circumstances were not the greatest. Scars are metal and he’s gonna rock them come summer, what are a few more to his already scarred body?

The first two days after getting out of the hospital Eddie spent mostly sleeping, eating, and watching TV. He doesn't really have much energy and Steve encourages him to rest, makes him food and gets him water. Which he felt slightly bad for as Steve himself was also still recovering from his injuries. While they weren't as bad as Eddies, it still can’t be pleasant to be moving around this much. 

But now he’s starting to itch. It's been nearly a week since his last shower and his little cat baths are starting to get less effective. The thing is, he’s kinda scared to take a shower. At the hospital he took two showers, both times with a nurse who helped him. She was supposed to only be there the first time because he was still very weak and could barely stand. He did get dizzy and nearly passed out when he tried to lean down to wash his legs. Thank god for the nurse and her quick reaction time that he didn't slip, fall and split his skull open on the tile. The second time he was still nervous and asked for her help again, which she very kindly did. He did get dizzy again, not as bad at the first time and she helped him with his hair because he could not (and still can’t) lift his arms up high to do so. So yeah, safe to say he’s scared he's gonna pass out and also not be able to wash his hair properly, which it really, really desperately needs. 

But a nurse at a hospital who sees people's junk every day is different than asking the man in whose house he currently lives in, who also has no idea he’s trans. And gay. And who he has a super mega crush on. Maybe he could just … leave his underwear on? Would that be weird? Would Steve think he’s weird? Well, weird is better than outing himself and probably getting kicked out. 

What other choice does he have? 

— 

Later that evening, they both sat on the couch watching a movie. Eddie wasn’t really paying attention as he was too busy trying to gather every bit of courage he has to ask Steve to help him shower . 

Eddie cleared his throat, “Hey, uh … can you maybe do me a favor? Not like you don’t already do with me living here and all…” Eddie started to ramble. Of course, even when he thinks about what exact words he was going to say he’s gonna fuck it up anyway.

“Sure, what's up?” Steve cut his rambling off, smiling at Eddie. “I… I need to take a shower.” Steve looked at him a little confused, not quite understanding what Eddie was getting at. 

“And I can’t do it alone yet. I can barely lift my arms to get a shirt on. I can't wash my hair and also in the hospital I got really dizzy every time and I just don't want you to deal with me splitting my head open and bleeding out, again .” Steve blinked at him, processing the words as a blush crept up his cheeks. “Oh. Oh yeah, sure. I can totally do that. No problem-o.” 

“Really? You don’t … mind?” 

“No. Of course not. You need help, I’m here to help. You wanna do it now?” 

Eddies heart started to pound in his chest. Right, asking was one thing, but actually doing it was another. Oh, this is going to be terribly awkward. “Yeah, I do. Or after the movie if you wanna finish it.”

Steve laughed at that. “To be honest, I wasn’t really paying attention to it anyway. So, let’s go upstairs. I’ll get you some of my shampoo, because I just realized you don’t actually have anything and I’m a bad host.”

—

After gathering everything Eddie might need, they found themselves in the bathroom connected to Eddies room.

“So, how do you wanna do this? Do you just want me to stand by in case you need help or do you like … want me to get in with you?” Steve said with a blush creeping up his cheeks again. 

Seems like he didn’t think about this much further either.

Logically Eddie knew Steve only needed to be there to help him wash his hair, watch him behind the shower curtain in case he passes out, maybe help him wash his legs. But part of him wanted to see how far he could take this. Without completely and utterly embarrassing himself. And potentially outing himself. “Can you … get in here with me? I can just … not turn around?” Eddie stuttered. “Oh! Yes. Sure. Uh… do you need help undressing as well?”

“Just my shirt, the rest I can do myself.” Unfortunately.

Steve nodded and stepped closer to Eddie. He lifted his arms up to Eddies waist, he hesitated for a moment before he took the hem of Eddies shirt in his hands and slowly lifted his shirt up. Scarred skin, bandages and tattoos revealed themselves as Steve lifted the shirt higher and higher. Eddie thinks he caught Steve looking at his torso a few times, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. Slowly Steve slipped his head through the opening, following both of his arms. Finally, with the shirt off, Steve discarded it somewhere on the floor.

“We should probably take those bandages off. Getting them wet would be a mess and we need to change them after this anyway.” Eddie froze before slightly nodding. He hoped the scars on his chest looked just like the other bat bites to Steve. 

Carefully Steve undid the bandaged around Eddies chest. He was so slow and careful, Eddie got goosebumps everytime his fingers slightly touched his exposed skin.

With his bandages off, Steve threw them in the bin and carefully examined Eddies wounds. If Steve only knew what he was actually looking at under all that mangled mess. Eddie shudders at the thought. Steve, probably thinking Eddie is getting cold, immediately starts to remove his own shirt. Eddie just stared at him, transfixed. He should move, turn around. Stop staring at that wonderfully hairy chest that just got revealed.  

“My eyes are up here, you know.” Steve said with a smirk. 

Eddie mumbled out an apology and quickly turned around. Cheeks burning and red. 

Eddie took his pants and socks off, leaving his underwear on for now. Suddenly feeling very self conscious and scared again. This was a bad idea, Munson. 

Of course Steve knew something was wrong immediately. Like he can feel the energy shifting in the room. He slowly approached Eddie, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. I was just joking, you know. I don’t … I’m not mad at you.” Steve said quiet and careful. Eddie let out a huffed laugh at that. Yeah no shit, Eddie knew Steve wasn’t homophobic, his best friend is a lesbian for fucks sake. And yes, Eddie knew. And Robin knew about Eddie being queer as well, they clocked each other the second they met. Wasn’t that difficult to figure out. But that’s not what Eddie was worried about. Well, a bit embarrassed, yes, because he didn’t wanna be the weirdo making a move on a straight guy, but not worried about Steve hating him for being gay. 

Eddie was silent for a few seconds too long for Steves liking “Eddie, can you please look at me? I promise, it’s okay.” 

Immediately, Eddie turned around. Eyes going wide as he realized how close Steve was. He could practically feel Steve’s breath on his face. 

Taking a few steps back to put some distance between them, for Eddies sanity and complete lack of self control to not do anything stupid like kiss those stupidly beautiful lips right in front of him.

“Okay.” is all Eddie said, he didn’t know what else to say.

Steve smiled at him wide. Eddie smiled back and once again turned around to slip into the shower. Hidden by the shower curtain, Eddie gathered all the courage in the world to take his boxer briefs off. Like ripping a bandaid off, he practically ripped his underwear off of him and threw it onto the floor. Steve took that as a sign to step into the large shower as well. Eddies back was to him, so he couldn’t see Steves eyes roaming all around his body, soaking him in. 

Awkwardly Eddie turned the shower on and stood under the stream. He was still extremely tense. One wrong move and it would be over. But the water felt good as he aimed his face at the shower head. Silently Steve reached for the shampoo bottle, opening it and squirting a good amount of the liquid into his hand. 

Eddie was so lost in his own thoughts and the water pouring down on him he forgot Steve fucking harrington was behind him in the god damn shower. Naked. That was until he suddenly felt hands in his hair. He flinched forward so hard, nearly hitting his head on the wall in the process. 

“Shit! Eddie! Are you okay? I’m sorry I should have warned you.” Steve sounded panicked and genuinely sorry. He put his hand on Eddies shoulder again. 

The warm hand on his shoulder felt like it was burning him. He slowly stood back up, starting to feel dizzy from the sudden movement. He swayed slightly and Steve immediately put his arm around Eddies waist to steady him. 

“You’re okay, I got you. I’m not gonna let you fall.” Tears started to prickle at Eddies eyes. Being in Steves arms, having him whisper encouragements in his ear, Eddie wished he didn’t have to hide himself. Could stay here, in his arms, forever. He wishes he could just crawl into Steve and never come back out again. Knowing Steve would keep him safe and warm. Unconsciously Eddie started to lean back into Steve, whose arms tightened around Eddie. Steve rests his forehead against the back of Eddies head. 

Both of them enjoying the moment for a few seconds. Needing the comfort and closeness of the other after all that happened in the past weeks. 

Eddie slowly came back to himself, while still enjoying this position they are in, he also realized that yes, that was Steves dick currently pressed again his lower back. Heat started to rise to his cheeks again. Just a few inches further and he could just slip right inside him, Eddie wouldn’t resist. Would probably beg for Steve to take him. He felt himself get wet at the thought, wanting nothing more than to arch into Steve, rubbing his ass all over his cock. Getting it hard, sliding in between his ass cheeks. 

So lost in the thought Eddie didn’t realize he was actually slowly rubbing against Steve. Just small little movements, but at the sharp intake of breath right by his ear he stopped. Frozen in place. Fuck. Eddie scrambled away from Steve. Well tried to at least, but Steves arms tightened around him. Keeping him in place. “Stay. Please.” Eddie felt his knees go weak at the desperation in Steves voice. How could he say no to that? Eddies heart was pounding in this chest as he nodded and leaned back into Steve. 

At that Steve sighed happily, burying his face into Eddies wet mess of hair. 

Eddie was confused. Needing comfort was one thing, but pretty much begging Eddie to stay after he started grinding his ass on his dick was another. His mind was racing, his heart continuing to pound against his chest.

Eddie doesn’t know if it's been minutes or hours that they’ve been standing there in the shower under the stream. Water not even going cold, being rich must be nice, Eddie thought.

Slowly Steve let go of Eddie, taking a step back. “I’m going to wash your hair now, okay?” Eddie, already missing the warmth of Steve against his back, only nodded. 

Repeating the motions from earlier, putting the liquid onto his hands and putting them into Eddies hair. This time, he was prepared for it. He didn’t flinch, instead he leaned into it. Letting out a small sigh at Steve massaging the shampoo into his scalp.

Eddie loved the feeling of Steves hands on him. His fingers massaging his scalp, running them through his long hair. It felt absolutely heavenly and Eddie wished he would never stop. But unfortunately, Steve was satisfied enough with his work. “I’m gonna wash this out now, alright?” Eddie just nodded. Steve took the showerhead and carefully rinsed his soapy hair out. Taking his time, making sure it’s all out. Eddie thinks he never spend this much time in the shower, let alone for his hair alone. But with Steve, he doesn’t mind. It’s nice.

All too soon his hair was deemed shampoo free and the showerhead was back on the wall.

“Uh… Do you mind if I also just take a quick shower while I’m already in here?” Steve asked nervously. 

“Yes! Sure, yeah. Totally fine with me!” Eddie squeaked out. God he really needs to get a grip on himself. 

“Okay cool. If you feel dizzy or weird again, just say something. I’m right here.”

“Thanks, Steve.” Eddie smiled, Steve was so thoughtful and just cared so much . 

As quickly as Eddie was able to with his limited mobility, he scrubbed his body down. Already starting to feel so much better than earlier. Careful to not turn around to reveal anything, or to stare at Steve washing his body right behind him. Oh god. For probably the first time in his life he was glad he didn’t have a dick so he couldn't pop a boner right then and there at the mere thought of Steve Harrington sliding his hands over his soapy muscled body. God, Eddie wanted to be the one doing that. So bad.

He stood under the showerhead trying to let the hot water ease away the thoughts. It was only somewhat successful. 

“I’m gonna … get out while you, you know. Finish your shower.” Eddie said pointing his thumbs towards the shower curtain. 

“Wait with your hair til I'm done, I’ll only be a minute.” Steve said, already stepping into the spot Eddie left behind to rinse his body off. 

Eddie quickly grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his waist and let out a breath. Safe. He was safe now. 

His hair was dripping wet, running down his back and leaving a puddle on the floor. But true to his word, Steve emerged from the shower not a minute later. The second the curtain opened Eddies eyes widened and he turned around to give Steve some privacy. 

He could hear Steve quickly toweling himself dry. Suddenly everything went black and Eddie panicked for a moment until he heard Steve chuckling and realized he just threw his towel onto Eddies face. At that Eddie turned back around, ready to argue until his eyes were met with a half naked Steve, only in boxers and his hair still damp. And holy shit, maybe he should have gone to P.E. at least a few times only to see this .

Steve, seemingly unaware of Eddies thoughts, grabbed the towel and started to dry his hair. And Eddie just stood there, frozen. His eyes still stuck on Steves slightly damp chest, that was so, so close to him. At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if the puddle at his feet wasnt from his hair but from the way his pussy was just dripping from this entire experience. He couldn't wait until he was alone in bed later to get some relief because holy shit.

When his hair was mostly dry Steve stopped and hung up the towel. “You okay there, Eds?” Steve said when he turned back around. Worried with the way Eddie was just … standing there. Zoned out. He came closer again just as Eddie finally came back to himself. He stumbled backwards, his lower back hitting the sink as the towel caught and fell to the floor. Too busy focusing on the pain in his back, Eddie didn’t notice until it was too late.

“Fuck! That hurt.” Eddie rubbed the spot he hit with his hand. Face screwed in pain. This was gonna leave a bruise. 

Suddenly, he realized he was standing butt ass naked in front of Steve. His eyes went wide and he quickly picked the towel up to cover himself. 

Way too late though as Steve has surely seen everything already. Eddie was scared to look at Steve. He was quiet, too quiet. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” Huh? What? What the fuck was Steve sorry for? Eddies head snapped up to look at Steve with a very confused look on his face. But all he could see on Steves face was … worry? Sadness? 

“W-What are you sorry for, Steve?” 

“Your thighs." Oh. Oh. Steve wasn't concerned about the lack of dick between Eddies legs but his … self harm scars. 

Eddie just blinked at him. That's what he was worried about? That’s what he cared about? He’s been clean for a while now, he didn’t even think about the scars most of the time. Sure some nights are harder than others and he got some bad thoughts, but he never acted on them.

“They’re old. Uhm … It’s fine, I’m fine! I promise.” 

“I’m still sorry you had to go through that. That must have been a bad time.” Steve said quietly, looking down. 

Yeah, no kidding. It fucking sucked. He was super depressed. Hating his body, hating himself. Getting bullied, hit, shoved. Blinking back tears at those memories, Eddie stepped closer to Steve. “Thank you, Steve. Yes. It was a … bad time. And frankly, I didn’t think I would even make it this far. But I’m glad I did. I’m glad I met you, and the kids. And all the others. Even if the circumstances were less than ideal.” 

Steve looked back up into Eddies eyes, unshed tears in his eyes. He suddenly lunged forward, putting his arms around Eddie and burying his face into his neck. Eddie was stunned for a few seconds but put his arms around Steve in return. There was clearly an underlying thing here that Eddie didn't know. But right now, it doesn’t matter. Steve needed this, needed the comfort of another person. Even if that person was Eddie.

After a few minutes Steve pulled back. No more tears in his eyes, but still looking sad. Eddie wanted to ask so badly what was wrong. But he needed to ask another question more urgently. 

“So … You don’t mind?” Steve tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy. 

“Don’t mind what?” 

“Uh … the very obvious lack of dick between my legs?” Eddie asked, dumbfounded. He couldn’t possibly have missed it when he very clearly looked around that area. Seeing his scars and all.

“Oh.” Oh? Oh? That’s all he had to say? 

“I mean, I am a little confused but … You don’t need to explain yourself to me if you don’t want to. You clearly didn’t want me to know so … I wasn’t going to push, Eddie.”

And that? That was not the reaction he expected. Ever.

“I can explain. It will probably be a bit uh confusing but … I trust you.” At that Steve smiled, he missed seeing that smile even for this short period of time. 

“I appreciate that. But again, you really don’t need to. Or don’t need to, now . You can take your time. I’m not gonna tell anyone anything. I promise.”

Eddie was still a bit taken aback by the response. He nodded before saying “I’m gonna tell you, but first let’s get properly dressed. And I would prefer not having that conversation in the bathroom if that's okay.” 

“Yeah! Of course that's okay! Take your time, I’ll be uh … in my room.” Steve said.

When Steve started to leave, Eddie looked around the bathroom and realized he didn’t have any clothing besides the dirty clothes he had on before. They didn’t think about getting Eddie any clothes. 

“Steve! Wait!” Eddie almost yelled. 

Steve immediately turned around, worry all over his face again. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Do you need to sit down? Need water? Need me to carry you to bed?” And woah alright, that's a lot to unpack. Another time.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I’m okay, I just don’t have any clothes? And I really don’t wanna put those dirty hospital clothes back on.” 

“Oh god, Eddie. I’m so sorry I didn’t even think about that! You can borrow some of my clothes until we get you some. Wait here, I’ll be right back!” Steve said, rushing out of the door in the direction of his room.

A few minutes later Steve came back into the bathroom carrying a pile of clothes. Eddie looked up from where he sat down on the toilet seat. 

“I know my clothes aren't really your style but I tried my best to choose stuff you wouldn't mind too much?” Steve said, fidgeting with the clothes in his hands.

Sweet, Sweet Steve. Like Eddie would complain about wearing any of Steves clothes. Okay well, he would definitely complain about those polos but even then, it would be worth it just to be wearing his clothes.

Eddie laughed, “Thanks Stevie. I promise not to complain too much about your choice of clothing.”

Steve handed him the pile of clothes with a smile. “I’ll be in my room when you’re ready, okay? Take your time.” With that Eddie was alone in the bathroom, staring at the clothes in his hands. 

Dropping the towel Eddie stepped into Steve's boxershorts. Next he put on the grey sweatpants and an old school shirt. Really? Steve put Eddie into his old swim team shirt? Eddie wanted to hate it so bad, but he couldn’t. It felt … oddly intimate to be wearing this shirt. At the feeling of the shirt on his chest Eddie flinched in pain. Right, in all this chaos they forgot to rebandage his chest. With a huff Eddie put the towel up to dry and took the med kit in the cabinet with him to Steves room.

The door to Steves room was slightly open. Eddie just stood there, staring at the half open door. Is he really going to do this? Tell Steve about him? He only really knew the guy for like 3 weeks, and most of that he wasn’t even conscious. But Steve didn’t seem to be freaking out, or otherwise he probably would have already kicked him out. No. He told Eddie that he didn’t even need to tell him anything. Steve was safe. He trusted him. 

With a deep breath Eddie lightly knocked on the door while he opened it. Steve was sitting on the edge of his bed, seemingly lost in thought as he startled at the knock. 

“Uh before anything, could you help me bandage my chest again? We kinda … forgot about that part.” 

Steves eyes went wide, “Oh shit yes of course! I’m sorry I completely forgot. Come here, sit down.” He gestured next to him. 

Eddie sat down next to him as Steve immediately went to help him with his shirt. 

They were both silent during the entire thing, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Not at all. Steve seemed focused on his task and Eddie just watched him. Watched his big hands wrap the bandages around his chest, holding it in place as he taped the ends down. His hands were huge and spread across Eddies chest made them look even larger. He had to suppress a noise at some filthy thoughts that made their way into his head.

When Steve was done he helped Eddie back into his shirt and went to throw the trash away. 

Steve sat down next to Eddie again, and now with nothing to do the quiet got awkward. Eddie didn’t know how to start this. Didn't even really know what to say if he was being honest. He’s never really done it like this. 

“So. I’m … You know. Fuck .” Eddie shook his head. He was supposed to be good at talking.

“It’s alright. Take your time.” Again with that.

“Okay so. I wasn’t exactly born a boy? But I never associated with being a girl. I fucking hated it. I’m a guy. My body just didn’t get the memo.” Eddie sighed.

“When I was like 9 I kept telling my parents that I’m not a girl. I’m a boy. And at first they just laughed it off, you know? Probably just a phase. But no, it wasn’t. I didn’t stop saying it, telling them to call me Eddie. Stop buying me girls clothes. They didn’t like that.” Steve put a hand on his back in support. 

“They were both drunks. My mom was an addict and overdosed when I was 10. That was kind of the catalyst of everything. My father … he was never a good man. Been in and out of Prison my whole life. He didn’t take it well when she died. Kept telling me it was my fault. That I killed her with my bullshit. He hit me a lot when he was drunk. One day he said if I wanna be a boy so bad why do I still have long hair?” Tears were now falling from his eyes at the memory. Steve gathered him into his arm. Rubbing his back, telling him it’s alright. Eddie just let himself cry into Steves neck for a few minutes. He leaned back to continue his story, Steve still having his arms loosely around him. 

“He held me down and cut my hair off that day. I cried so damn much. I yelled at him too. I guess that was his final straw as he pretty much dumped me on Waynes doorstep the next day. Not even telling him about it first. I mean how fucked up is that?” Eddie laughed in disbelief. “Wayne was in shock at the state I was in. He knew my father wasn’t the greatest man. But he didn’t think he was gonna stoop that low. And I didn’t trust Wayne at first. I mean why would I? I barely knew the man and he was my fathers brother after all. But he was so kind. And patient. Nothing like him at all. He didn’t question why I wanted to be called Eddie. He just … accepted it.” 

“I’m glad you have him. He sounds like a great guy.” Steve said, smiling at him. 

Eddie nodded, “He is. I don’t know where I would be without him. But anyway. Yeah that’s pretty much it I guess? Not born a boy but still … a boy?” Eddie grimaced. Why did he say it like that. Stupid brain.

“Thank you for trusting me with this, Eddie.” Steves hugged him, pretty much smooshing him into his chest. And if Eddie wasn’t still injured he would have just accepted it. But alas, he was injured and it hurt. “As much as I like the hug and I’m glad you dont mind. You’re kinda hurting me here.” Steve immediately let him go, looking guilty. “Shit Eddie, I’m sorry I forgot. Are you okay?” Eddie nodded, “Yeah. I’m okay. I promise.” And for the first time in Eddies life he actually believed himself when he said that. 

“So …” Steve started, looking nervous as he fidgeted with the hem of Eddies shirt. 

“While we are pouring our hearts out here, can I tell you something as well?” 

“Yeah, of course. You can tell me anything.” Eddie said serious. 

“I think … No. I know . I’m … bisexual?” Steve said, unsure. 

“For knowing it you sound very unsure about it.” Eddie replied with a smirk.

With a smile Steve said, “Shut up. I do know. I just didn’t know the term til like … a week ago? Robin told me about it after I had a “sexuality crisis” as Robin liked to call it. Not that I think it was a crisis really. I kinda knew I was into guys? I just didn’t know you could like both? Does that make sense? I feel like I sound stupid.” Steve looked down nervously. “You do not sound stupid. This shit can be super confusing, believe me, I know. I’m glad you got there in the end though.” Eddie smiled, lightly jabbing his elbow into Steves side.

“So you don’t … mind?” Steve said, repeating Eddies earlier words.

Eddie just stared at Steve. He can not be serious right now. 

“Steve. Steve. Are you serious? Do I mind? You do know who you’re talking to? I just told you I’m trans and you think I have a problem with you being bisexual?” 

“I don’t know! Maybe?” Steve mumbled. 

“Alright. First, no Stevie I do not mind. And second, You do know I’m gay right? Like, I really didn’t think I was hiding that very well.” 

“You … I mean. I had an Inkling. And the rumors in school … But I didn’t want to assume anything!”  Steves cheeks heating up as he hid behind his hands, and Eddie thinks it's the cutest thing he has ever seen. Oh, he was down bad. 

With a low mumble Eddie said “Cute.” Smiling like an idiot. This could not have gone any better, he was so relieved. And also Steve was into guys! Holy shit! Does that mean Eddie might actually have a chance? Alright, don't get your hopes up Munson that doesn't mean he likes you .

Eddie stifled a yawn, not wanting the moment to end, but Steve caught it anyway. Looking at the clock on his nightstand that showed 11pm already, Steve said with a  gentle smile “We should probably head to bed huh? You still need to rest and this was a lot.”

Knowing Steve was right, Eddie reluctantly agreed and nodded his head. He didn’t want to be alone though. Nights were the hardest. He knows his body needs rest but the nightmares just didn’t let up. More often than not he woke up crying and hyperventilating at the images in his head. Chrissy floating up the ceiling, her eyes completely white. The creatures in the upside down. The Demo-bats ripping Eddie to shreds, he would feel all the pain every time. But the worst of the dreams was when they involved Steve. Steve drowning in lovers lake. Steve getting ripped to shreds instead of Eddie. Bleeding out in Eddies arms, not being able to safe him. It was awful, and he hated it. The memories of the nightmares bringing fresh tears to his eyes, he immediately turned his head and stood up. Steve had seen enough of Eddie crying today. 

“I’m gonna … go to my room. I guess. Uh … good night, Steve.” Eddie said awkwardly pointing towards the hallway, trying his best not to let the tears fall.

“No wait! You can … stay here? If you want?” And after a moment added a small “Please.”.

Eddies heart nearly bursts into pieces at that, Steve sounded so desperate and sad. Fuck, he probably also had nightmares and needed comfort in another person. Wiping his eyes on the borrowed shirt, he turned back around to a miserable looking Steve. Yeah no, he can not just leave him alone like that. Absolutely not. “Yeah. I can stay.” 

And Steve just beamed at that. Sadness leaving his eyes as he warmly smiled at Eddie. 

Eddie slipped into Steves bed, under Steves bed sheets. And all he could smell was Steve. He sighed happily, how will he ever be able to sleep in his own bed ever again after knowing how this feels?

Meanwhile Steve got up to turn the light off, on the way back to the bed he stripped off his shirt and threw it somewhere in the direction of a chair. When he reached the bed he lifted the covers up and slipped under them turning to face Eddie. 

It was dark but the moonlight let enough light in so they could still see each other. Eddie felt giddy with happiness, something he never thought he would feel. 

Suddenly Steve shifted closer, their faces nearly touching at this point. Eddie could feel Steves breath on his lips. Slowly Steve leaned his forehead against Eddies, closing his eyes. One of his arms came to rest on Eddies waist while the other soughed out Eddies hand.

Their fingers intertwined under the blanket and Eddies heart skipped a beat. He doesn’t remember ever holding someones hand and never thought it could be this nice. To just touch someone and be close. He felt like he was touch starved, pressing closer to Steve, needing more. Steve chuckled as his hand that was at Eddies waist slowly crept up to his face. 

Cupping Eddies face in his hand, he slowly leaned forward closing the gap between the two and pressing his lips to Eddies. It was so slow and gentle. Just a soft press of lips against his. When Steve started to lean back again, Eddie immediately chased his lips again, bringing a chuckle out of Steve. “Needy aren't we?” He teases. But Eddie just nodded dumbly. Steve pressed another light kiss onto his lips, making Eddie sigh happily. 

When they parted, Steve pulled Eddie closer to him, holding him in his arms. Eddie laid his head on Steves chest and smiled as Steve pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Sleep well, Eddie.”

[urfavslytherclawgirl]

Unusual Visit

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 900+

Warning: Swearing, only one POV, bruises, blood, needle (closing a deep cut).

Summary: Bruce breaks into your house wanting you to heal his bruises and because he wants cuddles.

You woke up with a weird noise coming from your living room and glass breaking, you got up and got a baseball hidden in your closet, mostly because Gotham isn't the safest city of all and because your boyfriend, Bruce, suggested you did it in case someone tried to break into your house.

"I have a bat and some internal rage I can use!" You announced slowly walking into your living room with your bat raised into the air.

"Calm down--shit--it's just me." A shaky but familiar voice said near a shadow, the further you walked the more you noticed Bruce wearing his suit and using the wall as support.

"Bruce! What happened to you?" You asked throwing the bat on the couch and walking towards your boyfriend, Bruce was hurt with blood going down his face under the mask and his suit almost ripped in a few spots.

"You should've seen the other guy." He laughed as you helped him lay down on the couch and take his suit off so you could see what was bruised, the longer you saw the more you got worried. He had a nearly broken rib, two purple bruises on his chest, and a deep cut on his stomach, his arm had a few purple spots and his nose was bleeding.

"I'll go get my first-aid kit." You announced walking away quickly and going into your bathroom, after getting it you kneeled down on the floor next to the couch Bruce layed on and opened the kit.

"I have a needle to close the cut and arnica ointment for the purple bruises, which one do you want first?" You asked as Bruce looked at the needle then at you.

"Do you know how to use that thing?" Bruce asked in true concern as you rolled your eyes, getting up and walking towards your kitchen to get a bottle of whiskey.

"Drink it, it's good for pain. And yes, I do know how to use it, Bruce." You answered handing him the bottle and getting the needle and nylon thread.

"I'll start in 3, 2--" you said before starting to close the wound on his stomach, Bruce whispered swears as you were to focused on the deep cut to care.

"Fuck, you forgot the 1." He pointed out making a face of discomfort looking at the cut.

"I know, it's a tactic I learned it with my doctor when I was a child. Every time I'd get a shot she'd do this, it helped a lot." He nodded and closed his eyes.

"All done." You said, making a knot with thread and cutting it with a pair of little scissors that came with the kit. You got up and went to your kitchen to get a pack of ice and a wet cloth.

You kneeled again and started to clean his mouth and nose full of blood then lightly pressed the ice pack on his nose. You got the palm of his hand and pressed it on the ice pack, meaning you wanted him to hold it so you could apply ointment on his other bruises.

After putting back the first-aid kid where it belonged you helped Bruce walk towards your bedroom and lay down on your bed.

"Get some rest, Bruce." You said sitting on the edge of the bed, he put his hand on your cheek, moving his thimb left and right.

"Stay with me, please." You nodded and got up from the edge of the bed walking towards the other side, you lay down next to him and pressed your chest on his back, wrapping your arms on his chest under his arm.

"Take more care of yourself, Bruce. I need you alive for us to be together." You whispered, making Bruce laugh then hiss in pain, you smiled and kissed his back, his scars.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Living Weapon Whumpee part 11

Warnings: forced living weapon/fighter, captive living weapon, war, bleeding & bullet wounds, several deaths

"I'll rejoin the fight as soon as I can once I get more ammo -- Leader's ambush took us all by surprise, and none of us were armed or ready for it.”

Whumpee paused, staring down at the lethal weapons in his hands. Was he really prepared to fight or even kill the very people that had made him into Weapon? But there wasn't time to ponder it. The longer he stayed here, the more innocent people would die.

...Fight one last time, and you will be free...

Flint's words echoed in his mind, and he felt something he hadn't felt in decades: hope.

"Well, Weapon? Whose side are you on?" Whumpee glanced back to Flint, whose pupils were dilated with fear -- fear of him, and he realized just how bold of a move it was for Flint to unleash the monster he'd been holding captive. A giant leap of faith. Of hope.

Whumpee strapped the leather sheaths to his belt, face hardening with practiced impassive stone. "...You really mean it? I do this, and I'm free?" He growled gruffly.

Flint nodded sincerely, and Whumpee turned toward the door.

"Then consider me your most deadly ally," he threw over his shoulder. He charged out of the prison, veering left and taking off down the hall. It wasn't hard to find his way through the maze of the foreign facility -- he just followed the sounds of gunfire and screams ringing in the distance, growing louder.

Whumpee's heart was pounding, ice-cold adrenaline flooding his veins as he slipped into the familiar composure of the honed warrior he was trained to be -- though this time, he was the enemy's living weapon. Leader was not his handler anymore.

He clung to the fractured memories he'd rediscovered, the feeling of the family Leader had taken from him -- and let it fuel him.

The terrified screaming rattled in Whumpee's skull as he drew near to the fight, so much like the screams of the innocent victims he'd taken in the past -- but this time around, he was fighting to save those people instead of eliminate them.

Whumpee rounded a corner and skidded to a stop. There was a path of destruction down the hall he was facing, bodies and blood on the floor amidst rubble and chunks of concrete from explosive blasts. Both from soldiers and civilians alike, children and mothers slaughtered alongside those who had tried to protect them.

He didn't hesitate as he ran down the hall, careful not to slip on all the blood and jumping over the bodies. But then a low groan caught his attention, and he paused to kneel beside an injured soldier -- still alive.

The soldier was bleeding heavily from several fatal bullet wounds, bleeding out fast. The man's gaze locked with Whumpee's, his eyes widening with fear.

"Weapon--"

"Which way do I go to find the other children and women?" Whumpee demanded before he could speak. "I'm on your side this time."

The soldier didn't have time to question if Whumpee was tricking him as he pointed a trembling finger down the hall. "Right... left... left..." He gurgled weakly, and then his eyes rolled back in his skull, and he went limp. Gone.

Whumpee took off, following the directions the dying man had given. The screaming and crying was so loud now, and he came barging into a giant room to find himself caught up in total chaos. At least two dozen men were engaged in close-combat, wearing the colors of their leader -- and he knew Leader's colors by heart, having worn them himself into battle countless times.

But despite all the action, Whumpee's arrival was quick to be noticed, his presence.

"Weapon's loose!" A bellowing shout warned. Flint's fighters grew panicked, faltering.

Whumpee could see a group of women and children huddled in one corner, Flint's men creating a line in front of them as they struggled to hold off Leader's fighters. Flint was right, hardly any of them were armed, wielding only blades and batons. They were losing badly.

...But Whumpee could change that.

A few of Leader's soldiers cast unconcerned glances Whumpee's way, expecting him to join and help kill the enemy... but the mood instantly changed when the weapon lunged forward -- and drove his blade in the back of a Leader's soldier.

Leader's men cried out in confusion, whirling around to face the new unexpected threat, and it was the perfect distraction for Flint's men to take advantage of.

"The freak's on our side!" A joyous voice howled, relief clear as day.

Whumpee snarled and tore through the fight, flinging men around like ragdolls with incredible strength, dangerous and powerful. Bullets hit his vest and ripped through his skin, but he plowed onward like the living battle machine he was, fighting without holding back. He crushed faces and skulls with his fists, severed arteries with his blades... no matter how much damage he was taking, he just kept going...

...And the tide slowly began to turn. Whumpee was giving Flint's soldiers a fighting chance.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

[archangeldyke-all]

okay, hear me out… spiderman!sevika 😮‍💨

granted, i've never seen any of the spider man movies so this is all just guess work but... u are definitely onto something with this, anon.

men and minors dni

singed and silco, two scientists on the cutting edge of genetic modification and microbiology, joined forces three years ago to experiment with spiders in order to produce webs that could be used in surgeries to quickly close badly bleeding arteries.

you and sevika, their respective lab assistants, have been working together ever since.

while the two doctors make their rounds at various government agencies and universities, asking for grants to fund their research; you and sevika spend your days holed up in the lab together, studying spiders and looking through microscopes.

you guys have grown pretty close. your work is your life, sevika's is hers: you're both in the lab for upwards of twelve hours a day on average. which means that you guys know each other really well. you're lucky your lab partner is so attractive and charming. she's lucky that you remember to eat three times a day, and always drag her along with you.

you're there the night sevika gets bit by a spider that singed named 'shimmer.'

you're right by her side, watching in horror as the bite swells her hand up until it's the size of her face-- and then deflates and goes back to normal within a minute. you're there to gasp in horror as you watch sparkly blue streaks engrave themselves up sevika's left arm, onto her neck and jaw. you're there to catch her when she passes out, you're the first thing she sees when she wakes up after.

she comes back to work the next morning insisting she's fine and refusing to make eye contact with you.

she's obviously not fine. but you don't mention it.

you don't mention it when she starts coming to work with bruises and scrapes-- broken glass in her hair.

you don't mention it when a mysterious new vigilante starts making the rounds around town-- preventing crimes that just so happen to occur while you and sevika aren't in the lab-- apparently shooting webs and swinging away before anyone can get a good look at them.

you don't even mention the police scanner she brings in to listen to while the two of you work.

but when you get the lab one late night to check on some spiders you've been trying to get to mate and find sevika in a shredded red costume, bleeding profusely from her side-- you can't hold your tongue any longer.

"oh, for fuck's sake, sev!" you cry as you grab the first aid kit off the wall and rush over to her, pushing her hands away from the gash in her side. she's delirious from blood loss, her eyes glossy as she looks up at you.

"'m sorry. 'm gettin' blood everywhere..."

"fuck-- just-- sit back for me okay?" you ask.

"don' take me to the hospital... they'll take me away for tests 'n i'll never come back." she mumbles. your heart breaks for her and all the fear in her voice, and you nod, promising her. she passes out moments after.

you patch her up and get her out of her blood soaked costume, then lay her down on the little couch in your break room.

you don't take your sight off of her the entire night. you keep your eyes focused on the steady rise and fall of her chest, and you keep your mind focused on the scolding you're going to give her when she wakes up.

and when she does wake up, and seemingly remembers all that's happened, she immediately tries to cover it up.

"it's not what you think, i got robbed!" she says. you groan, resisting the urge to punch her now that she's injured.

"sevika, you can lie to yourself all you want, but i was there when you were bit." you say. she blinks.

"you...you've known the whole time?" she asks. you chuckle.

"you're not subtle!"

"i... why didn't you say anything!?"

"it was cute watching you think you were gettin' away with it." you say, shrugging. sevika chuckles a bit, and you kick her shin, sighing. "look, sev." you say. "so you've got superpowers. fine. you wanna be a vigilante? cool. but you can't-- you're gonna end up dead before you can do any real good if you don't have someone watchin' your back for you." you say. she sighs.

"i know..." she mumbles.

"and..." you continue. sevika raises an eyebrow at you and you huff. "i really don't want you dead, sevika. you're a good lab partner, and a better friend and..." you trail off shaking your head. "'s stupid." you chuckle.

you can hear sevika's throat click as she gulps. "what's stupid?" she asks. you huff. "the spider bite gave me psychic powers, y'know, i'll just figure it out myself." she says. you burst into laughter.

"no it did not." you say. sevika huffs.

"no, it didn't." she sighs. "c'mon just tell me!"

"sevika, it's stupid!"

"stupider than me being a fucking spider powered superhero?" she asks. you giggle.

"yes!"

"how is it stupider than that!?"

"because i'm not a spider-powered superhero, i've got a fucking crush on one!" you say. sevika's eyes go wide, and you cringe. "fuck-- forget it."

"will you be my sidekick?" sevika asks. you snort.

"that's even worse than a spider-powered superhero."

"but will you?" she asks. you shrug.

"if you pretend i didn't just say that." you offer. sevika snorts.

"that wouldn't work though..." she says. you look back up at her and she shrugs. "i was kinda thinking it could be like a sidekick/girlfriend/labpartner 3 in 1 kinda thing." she says.

you grin, and sevika smiles, and then-- she's kissing you. you don't know how you ended up in her arms-- you could feel the webs drag you toward her but you didn't get a good look at how she did it-- but you can ask later... when she's done kissing you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub

[moodymisty]

If I held konrad and pet his head and maybe ran my fingers through his hair then.. well it wouldn’t fix him but it might calm him down for a little while.

Also on a similar note may I request a konrad x reader?

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: eepy Konrad, coming right up.

Relationships: Konrad Curze/GN!Reader

Warnings: It’s Konrad Curze, Toxic ‘relationship’, Fear and vague illusions to abuse/threats of violence, I mean you're with Konrad like what did you expect lmao

The sudden sounds of heavy footstep and doors closing jolts you up out of sleep, and you rub your eyes just enough to see Konrad entering the dark room.

He was in another fight, you can instantly tell.

The clothes that Fulgrim had gifted him are disheveled and torn. Blood is dried in the corners of his mouth; His hair is even messier than it usually is. He walks with an awkward gait.

You wonder who it was with this time, as many of the Primarchs have been quite obvious in their unending hatred for him. You can more than understand why, though he doesn't hate them, oddly enough. But their punches do little more than fulfill his own martyring prophesy. Most of them look at him with little more than seething hatred, and you with pity.

“Konrad?”

You whisper hoarsely, still rough from sleep.

He approaches in the near pitch black room, rounding the massive bed. You hear his bare feet on the cold floor, his harsh and ragged breaths.

These moments are some of many that frighten you the most; With Konrad, they could go either way; You have no clue if he’ll snap, and in which way. Sometimes he'll wilt, other times he'll want to make you bleed so he'll forget his own suffering.

The massive bed meant for a man of his size still creaks with effort as he shifts his weight, and flops onto it. In the faint light, it's obvious the blood from his face staining the pillow, and the cuts on his body smearing onto the blankets and your clothes. You can also see him staring off into nothing, lost in thought. He shifts his jaw, and swallows what you presume to be a mix of spit and blood.

Laying on your side you shift upward slightly, leaning on your left elbow. Konrad has no response to your shift in movement.

Some of his hair is stuck to his face, either from blood or sweat, and you take your hand and gently rake it away from his forehead. Your finger glide along through his hair, and you feel his heavy arm pull off the bed and lay over your side, hand laying limp behind your back and holding you down.

You do the same motion again, and again, but you don’t say anything. You won’t risk it. Your hand brushes along his forehead, through his hair, and you can see his eyes shift behind his closed lids.

It’s after what feels like hours does he finally seem to be asleep, and you pull your hand away after tucking a chunk of hair behind his ear. You feel safe enough to sleep again now that he’s lulled, no longer teetering so close to the edge. Both a danger to you and himself. Whatever happened can be dealt with in the morning, or swiftly forgotten among the myriad of other times he's fought with his fellow primarchs.

Shifting off of your elbow to lay back down his arm follows you, still laying over your midsection. It dwarfs your smaller body, covered in a myriad of scars. You're glad he's more comfortable now, but a deeper part of you knows his comfort comes at the expense of your own. Perhaps that's why the other Primarchs pity you so.

You're one of the only things keeping Konrad's feet on the ground, but how much longer can you last?

It only takes moment for you to fall back asleep however, hearing the rare sound of Konrad softly breathing.

[spaceprincessem]

last day for robstar week and im pretty excited about this one. still set in that time of when the brotherhood of evil plot was going on. this is based around the song creatures in heaven by glass animals (which is such a good fucking song) and feels very much like a big robstar song so please go listen to it! also more robin angsat heh @robxstar

day 7 - playlist

it tears through my head, does it haunt you too?

never really said that i loved you, too

lucky, lucky you, 'cause i'm fortune's fool

such small words but they hit so huge

He’s almost there he’s almost there he’s almost there—

“You never said their tower shimmered.”

Robin’s hands come to rest gently at Starfire’s waist as he pulls away from the crook of her neck. There’s a mark in the shape of his teeth blooming beautifully against her tanned skin he desperately wants to trace with his tongue, but he tilts his head and looks out the small, attic window.

In the distance the Eiffel Tower is lit up in gold, sparkling against the Paris night sky. It’s memorizing to watch, even more so when Starfire is silhouetted in the light. She’s soft and warm beneath his touch, his fingers digging a little harder into her skin if only to hold onto this moment just a little bit longer.

He feels a little drunk.

Both from the champagne they bought and the taste of the alien space princess still hot and heavy on his tongue. 

It’s nearing three in the morning and their time is running out. Different missions on nearly opposite sides of the world hang over them like a cloud of doom. They were able to see each other only by chance and a little bit of luck and while Robin likes to follow rules when it comes to these sorts of things Starfire always seems to be the exception.

As soon as his ship lands his communicator is in his hand, the dial tone grating against his ears. 

It was a trap. 

All of their hard work — their sleepless nights and weeks apart — mean nothing now. The Brotherhood was always one step ahead, always lurking around the corner, and they were always going to beat Robin at his own game.

He has no one to blame but himself.

“Starfire,” his heart is in his throat, “are you okay?”

“I am,” she responds quickly, but slightly confused, “but I fear Argent is not.”

He waits for the rush of relief to wash over him, but it never comes. They are all in very real danger and he’s on an island in the middle of nowhere.

“Robin,” Starfire says after a moment, breath catching in her throat in the way it does when she’s nervous, “there is no one here.”

Stay where you are, I'm coming for you — is what he wants to say, but he never gets the chance. 

“I wish we had more time.” Starfire murmurs, finally looking away from the lights.

Her hands move to cup Robin’s face and he pulls her closer, the sheets falling into a messy pile around them. 

“It won’t be forever.” He says, has been saying the last couple of weeks.

Because they can’t keep living like this. It’s not good for them or any of the Titans. He knows they’re all ready to go home. He can see the light at the end of the tunnel and it’s the only thing getting him through the thought of leaving this tiny bed in an attic room in the middle of Paris with Starfire. 

“I know.”

Their foreheads touch, eyes fluttering close. 

They both have to go soon.

Robin thinks he should give them a better show. 

He should beat and pound at the glass until his knuckles are ravaged and his nails bleed. His blood should smear the prison they’ve put him in; a sign that he’s going to fight until the very end. 

Except, he’s alone right now. 

He can hear the fanfare going on through the wall and it won’t be long now, but he doesn’t really have the energy to give it his all, at least not until he’s out in the open. He’s always been a natural performer. 

Right now he lets himself fall apart.

He failed the Titans around the world. He failed his friends. He failed Raven and Cyborg and Beast Boy. He failed Starfire. And there’s some part of him, that deep aching part that lives right in the marrow of his bones, that tells him not to give up, but he’s tired. 

He lost.

Maybe he deserves this eternal punishment.

“I think I will be quite bored when all of you Titans are gone.”

Robin grits his teeth, hastily wiping at his eyes before Madame Rouge can see just how fragile he is. She waits for him to turn around, a knowing smile spreading across her face when he finally does. He’s surprised one of them has waited this long to gloat in private. He supposes the Brain wants a more public humiliation.

They don’t say anything for a while, the silence only broken by a chorus of insidious cheers from the other side of the wall. Robin’s not here to give her anything else, not that he has anything to lose anymore.

“She really was beautiful.” Madame Rouge says after another moment of heated silence. “Did you tell her that you loved her too?”

Robin’s jaw quivers with rage. 

This doesn’t belong to anyone but him and Starfire. 

He swallows back all his anger and hurt, but it doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so it sits like a weight in his stomach, threatening to drag him down to the core of the earth where he will vaporize into dust. 

“I love you,” Starfire says, kissing the corner of his mouth, “I love you.”

Robin kisses her back. He holds her tight and kisses her deeper, harder. The sweet taste of champagne mixes with the briny salt from the tears trekking down his face, but they don’t stop, they don’t stop.

“No?” Madame Rouge’s grin twists into something wicked. “Pity.”

She disappears before Robin can scream or fight or tell her to fuck off.

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. Because he does love her. He loves her so much it terrifies him sometimes. It’s always been so dangerous to love another person like that and not just because they’re heroes. Robin knows grief; it follows him like a shadow. He knows what grief can reduce you to, the monster it can make you become.

But loving Starfire is worth it.

He loves her.

He loves her.

He watches her leave through the open window, their fingers intertwined until the very last second.

It’s not until the shimmer from the Eiffel Tower catches his eye does he realize he never said “I love you too.”

Robin closes his eyes, fate accepted.

He told them it wasn’t over. That he wasn’t giving up.

But he gave up the moment Starfire was gone.

I love you too.

[wolfpawzjakey]

Prompt - It Was All a Dream.

Jercy.

Brief description - Percy wakes up in the infirmary of Camp Jupiter and thinks that he dreamed of Jason's death and funeral, but Reyna and Annabeth, who were next to him, tell him that it was real... And Jason is really dead.

I will be very glad if you answer :)

Thank you thank you 🤲🏻

So, I wrote this without editing and rereading it. Writing ideas vs actually writing is hard. I’m working thru a writing block so thank you for sending this to me because maybe I’ll actually write something in full again one day 😎 (im crying under the shades)

-

Percy wasn’t unused to death. He was well accustomed to it in fact. He’d neared it himself on many occasions. He’d killed others with him own hands and actions. Death weighed on him, but living his life meant he had no other choice but to deal. Death wasn’t a friend or an enemy, he’d always fear it but knowing its certainty had made it a more comfortable burden to have.

But this death, this death had his system on high alarm. It was too soon, too much of a surprise for him to be able to process what was happening but it was right in front of him. Here he was, watching the life drain from the eyes of his boyfriend, the person he loved the most. It was not meant to happen right now, it couldn’t be happening right now.

But now? He could feel the blood between his fingers mixed with the gritty texture of the dirt from the ground as he tried so hardly to stop it from seeping out as fast as it did. His throat and chest is filled with cement and razors as his voice reaches his own ears like he’s underwater. He can feel the blood seeping into his keens from where he kneels aside Jason’s fading body while Jason’s eyes fight to focus on Percy or anything actually. His words are distorted, he can’t even make out what he’s saying to Jason but he knows it’s filled with dead end attempts as reassurance (both directed at Jason and himself… mostly himself). And gods, the thing he feels the most is Jason’s breathing coming to a slow stop, he feels as his chest starts to shake and stutter, and how each breath becomes less frequent and more spaced apart. How his last few breaths make his chest rise so high before falling like there’s a weight holding his lungs down. Then he sees his eyes dull entirely, no longer that human like glistening that reminds you someone’s alive. He looks silently at Jason’s still body, a body that is so familiar but now so pale and dead eyed. It’s like he’s somehow looking at a stranger now, because there’s just no way that Jason would leave him like this. There’s no way. So, he just sits, hands still pressed over the no longer bleeding wound. Jason’s still warm, he couldn’t possibly be gone.

When he’s shaken from the trance he’s fallen into, all hell breaks loose. He screams and sobs, holding on as his friends desperately try to pull him off. His hands slip away from Jason’s body… and then he’s sat up, eyes frantically searching the new surroundings for the horrific scene he’d just been in. His hands are clean, he’s not wearing the clothes he was in, there’s no blood anywhere on him. And then there’s Annabeth and Reyna, they’re looking at him with concern which means he must’ve been the one in danger right? Because Jason couldn’t be dead, right?

No, no, Jason wasn’t dead. That had just been a dream, it was easy to convince himself that he’d just be able to get up and go into another room of the medical bay and Jason would be there, healing just like him if he wasn’t just out elsewhere. Of course, Jason was fine. Relief flooded his body and coursed through his veins because of course Jason couldn’t be dead. Percy has had these types of dreams again, why wouldn’t it happen now too?

“Percy?” That was Annabeth’s voice, “Perce, are you okay?”

“I think so.” He says, sigh heavy as it leaves his lungs. “I don’t feel that much pain anywhere, I think I’m okay.”

“That’s… good.” She says back, but her smile stays sad, and that’s never a good side. Reyna looks closed off too, which is also not a good sign, but he just couldn’t understand why? Had he been injured that bad? Had something gone wrong when he was?

“Percy,” Annabeth starts again, her voice is guarded and gentle, it’s not unlike Annabeth but again, it’s not usually a good sign. “I’m asking more so… are you okay? After what happened?”

What happened? Panic flashes through him, fast paced images of Jason’s lifeless body and his body all over Percy, but that, it was just a dream right? “What do you mean ‘after what happened’? Annabeth, what happened?”

Her face falls and Reyna’s darkens more than he thought it could. “Percy, I’m sorry but Jason’s dead. You were inconsolable, you fainted after we’d tried to take you away. But… he’s gone.” And Percy’s world shatters again.

He doesn’t yell and cry this time, he doesn’t struggle and nor does he get up to leave the room, he just sits there. Annabeth wouldn’t lie about this, Reyna wouldn’t let anyone lie about this. It was real. The dream in its entirety was real. The grit and slide of blood and dirt between his fingers. The iron scent of the blood that soaked into his jeans. The harsh and slowing breathing echoing through the room. It was all real.

[xxmcr05xx]

Baby Blue | BoJack Horseman x f!Reader

Summary: BoJack stops a suicide

Warnings/Contains: Suicide attempt, descriptions of gore, description of self-harm, angst, married to BoJack, ambulance, Diane

WC: 901

Originally Posted: 19/02/23 on AO3!

Title Song: Baby Blue - Badfinger

18+ MDNI!!!

Divider by @d-oie

The air was filled with sorrow and tension as BoJack came back from filming Philbert.

BoJack could hear the soft low melody of Baby Blue coming from the left corridor. His wife wasn't on the couch like usual which was strange. He couldn't waver away the worried feeling, the house was too quiet.

No loud laughing.

No obnoxiously loud crying.

Where was F/N?

"F/N? F/N, where are you?" BoJack asked worried, he could hear quiet sniffing as the music came from the bathroom. "G-Go away Bo..." F/N croaked out from behind the bathroom door, BoJack was even more worried now. "F/N, open the door, I- I'm serious, please."

F/N looked down at her wrists, feeling nauseous as the blood squirt out. She looked at the door handle and prayed that it kept BoJack locked out. "F/N goddamn it! Please I'm worried, what's wrong!" BoJack asked. He started to panic even more as the strong smell of blood wafted to his nose.

Oh God the panic starting.

BoJack's heart started racing as he starting slamming against the door, "Fuck fuck FUCK PLEASE!" BoJack cried out as he felt disorientated. "BOJACK FUCK OFF!" F/N screamed but she felt glued to the floor of the bathroom.

After multiple attempts of trying to slam against the door he finally did.

Oh no.

No no no no no no.

The scene was too much for BoJack, his wife was laying on the floor with her wrists slit, possibly hitting her veins a few times. "F/N... F/N why..." BoJack stared down at her with wide eyes, his chest felt heavy as he felt frozen. F/N looked down and cried, apologising over and over.

BoJack gulped down his fear and trauma as he leaned down to F/N's level, "I- I'll clean this up, you're okay baby, you'll be okay," BoJack looked around the medicine cabinet, grabbing a roll of bandage. The man focused on his breathing as his shaking hands carefully unrolled the bandaging.

He couldn't let her die. No not again. Not another one.

The bandaging was carefully wrapped around F/N's wrists as he put pressure on them, "Y-You're okay, see," BoJack reassured out loud, meaning that towards himself. F/N sniffed as she just sat down on the bathroom floor, not realising that her shirt was soaked with blood. "I'm gonna call 911, okay? I'll be right beside you."

BoJack held F/N's hand as he was on the phone with the 911 operator, he kept pressure on the bleeding areas as instructed and waited for an ambulance. "Why F/N, why do this to m- yourself?" BoJack couldn't hold his emotions in any longer.

Warm tears trickled down onto his face as he looked down, "Why... we- we're suppose to stick together," BoJack's voice croaked as he looked to face his crying wife, wiping away her tears as he kissed her face. "I'm so sorry BoJack... I'm really sorry!" F/N looked down in shame as she realised just how much blood she lost.

Soon the paramedics arrived, taken aback a bit by the bloodied scene.

BoJack walked back as he let the paramedics do what they had to, one of them checking up on BoJack. "I- I can come with her, right?" BoJack asked one of the paramedics, they said yes as they put F/N on a stretcher to the back of the ambulance.

Minutes passed as F/N waited outside of F/N's room as they stitched her wounds together.

"You can see her now, just remember she's a bit disoriented."

Those words were all BoJack needed.

He opened the door carefully, seeing his poor wife laying on her side, staring outside of a window, "Oh thank god you're okay," BoJack sighed out in relief as he walked to sit down next to her. F/N looked up at BoJack, her eyes dead and full of sorrow.

BoJack looked at her and teared up, "Why?" BoJack asked, his voice cracked as he started to cry, holding her face with his warm hands.

"I'm sorry Bo... I..." F/N stopped talking as she held BoJack's hand close to her face, "It just happened... I don't know."

He didn't believe her.

"Just tell me F/N, it's just us," BoJack whispered and kissed her hand. F/N sighed and looked at BoJack.

"I just feel like a nuisance, to everyone- especially you Bo... I love you."

BoJack couldn't believe what she said, never once has F/N been a nuisance to her. The horse shushed her and rubbed her face, "You've never once been a nuisance to me F/N, not once ever," BoJack whispered.

F/N smiled sadly as she closed her eyes, "Mmm.. let me sleep now, okay?" F/N asked. BoJack nodded and kissed the top of her head.

After leaving her room BoJack stood outside, thinking about how stupid he was for not noticing. He took his phone out and called Diane.

"Mmm.. what is it BoJack? We just finished filming?"

"F/N... she- she just tried to kill herself."

"Excuse me... what?!"

"She... she was in the bathroom with the door locked and... Oh God it was all over the floor and on her wrists."

"Holy shit BoJack! Is she okay? Are you okay?"

"I'm... I'm fine. God I feel so dumb."

"Hey, don't feel dumb BoJack. We can stop filming if you two need time, I'll just tell Princess Caroline that there was an accident."

"... Thank you Diane, I'm gonna go now. Bye"

[sapphire-weapon]

Intereshting… do you still think that way? I mean, you think people who write fanfiction are so detached from reality that is scary?

(Side note: I’m genuinely interested if you would’ve been a writer if you didn’t grow up w such fandom…idk prejudices?)

honestly, it's a relief for me that that stigma is dead in fandom, and modern fans can have fun in ways that I wasn't allowed to. so -- no, I don't think that self-shippers are detached from reality at all. if anything, I'm jealous.

but homie it's all good, you don't gotta worry about me. I got my own AO3. I've been writing fanfiction since I was 7.

I'm just paranoid about self-inserting (or being perceived as doing that).

so, here. would u like a snippet of an EagleOne fic that I started and have since abandoned involving Leon going to visit Ashley the night before her dad leaves office?

here u go, friend

-

Stopping just outside of her bedroom door, Leon closed his eyes and took another slow, steadying breath. He could feel his pulse beat at his temples and behind his eyes, and his hands in his pockets felt unsteady as the tips of his fingers tingled. Suddenly, it seemed as though the shoulders of his suit jacket were too tight, and the knot of his tie was overly constrictive at the hollow of his throat. In some ways, he almost felt like he was back in high school, trying to psych himself up to ask out the girl he liked.

It was stupid. Ridiculous, even. He was a grown-ass man now, and Ashley wasn't the cute girl in his Algebra II class. Ashley was just… Ashley. She'd already seen him bleeding and sweating and exhausted and covered in actual literal human shit. What was he so afraid of?

Opening his eyes and steeling his nerves, Leon raised his right hand and lightly rapped his knuckles against the heavy wood of her bedroom door.

At first, he was met with only silence. One full second passed without sound or movement. Then another. And then a third.

On that fourth beat, he heard some light shuffling from behind the door. And on the fifth, Ashley's voice finally called out, muffled and confused.

"Who is it?"

"Room service," Leon called back.

There was another extended pause then, followed by some more shuffling. A few seconds later, the door to her room swung open to reveal a very confused-looking Ashley, who practically had the words "what the fuck?" etched into the wrinkles of her furrowed brow. She clearly hadn't been expecting any visitors; her blonde hair — which was a bit longer than he remembered it being — was still damp from what Leon could only assume was a recent shower, and she was dressed only in a black band shirt and beige pajama shorts. If he hadn't known any better, Leon would've sworn he'd just knocked on the door of her college dorm room.

Within seconds, her expression switched from confusion to surprise, and she took a half-step back as the realization of what — or, rather, who — she was looking at seemed to finally sink in.

"Leon?" she asked breathlessly, her tone that of complete and utter disbelief.

He shoved both hands into his pockets and offered her a quiet, nervous, close-lipped smile. In truth, he didn't really know what to say to her. It wasn't as though he'd come here with a plan — or that he'd planned to come here at all.

"Hey," he offered simply. "Been a while."

It took her a moment to react, but when she finally did, her entire demeanor changed. Ashley's eyes lit up as a wide, genuine smile split her face. She nearly toppled over in her shock and excitement, with both shoulders jerking forward before she seemed to catch herself with a hand on her chest. It was as endearing a spectacle as Leon had ever seen, and he barely noticed the edges of his mouth tug further upwards into a more pronounced smile.

"Oh my god," she exclaimed.

Before all three words had even left her lips, she'd closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around Leon's shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug. And just like that, all of the anxiety and tension that'd been building up in him since President Graham's request vanished. A wave of relief came over him as her body crashed into his, and he suddenly had to wonder what he'd been so worried about in the first place. Chuckling a bit, he was quick to hug her back, and he even leaned down the slightest bit so that she wouldn't have to overextend her posture.

As they both settled into place, Leon couldn't help but notice just how well they fit together — how the contours of her body molded perfectly into his, as though she was the missing piece of a puzzle. It wasn't the first time he'd had this thought — this was something he'd felt all the way back at that very first time he'd caught her out of the window of the church in Spain, but back then, he'd eventually chalked it up to a combination of adrenaline and hyperfocus.

Neither were present here, and as the seconds ticked by in a hug that was going on much longer than it probably should have been, Leon was slightly alarmed at just how little he wanted to separate from her. He dragged his open palms down the length of her back in a gentle, comforting little motion, as he tried desperately to ignore how the sheer intimacy of her breath rolling against the side of his neck made him feel some type of way that he wasn't at all ready to acknowledge yet.

"I was scared I was never going to see you again," she whispered. Her voice was quiet and vulnerable, as though she'd just told him a secret that only he was ever meant to know.

Leon felt her words more than he heard them, and he felt himself wince in response. That horrible, oppressive guilt he'd felt earlier crept back into his awareness, slithering into the center of his chest and coiling around his heart. The weight of it was almost like an anchor, threatening to pull him down to the floor and leave him helplessly stranded there.

It was then that he finally broke the hug, but he didn't pull away from her completely. He kept his hands resting gingerly at her sides, and as she slid out from his embrace, her own palms came to settle on his biceps.

"Oh, come on," he said while putting on his best poker face. "You didn't really think I'd let you leave without saying goodbye, did you?"

A look of genuine unease spread across Ashley's delicate features, and her eyes shifted to the side, avoiding his gaze. After a second, she offered him a nervous, half-hearted smile and the weakest shrug he'd ever seen.

"Honestly?" she said. "At this point? … Yeah, kind of."

The sides of Leon's neck grew hot, and an embarrassed flush traveled up towards his ears. He'd never been good at reacting to people calling him out on his bullshit, and Ashley's close proximity to him made it even worse. He took a deep breath through his nose and dropped his head slightly as though to hang it in shame. The next time he spoke, his voice was quiet and gentle, as though he was returning the secret she'd told him earlier.

"I'm sorry, Ashley," he told her. "I didn't mean to disappear on you like that. It just… kind of happened that way."

"It's alright," she said in a tone that told him that it was anything but.

With that, she took a full step backwards, pulling away from him completely — though, her right hand stayed on his arm, traveling downwards until she was able to wrap her fingers around his wrist.

"Come on," she said. "Come inside. People will talk if they see us out here like this."

He nodded numbly, and she released her grip on him. Without a word, he followed her into her bedroom and quietly shut the door behind him.

[minusgangtime]

The apocalyptic kitty crew batch 11 bios:

“You’re right,a little water can’t hurt,but a lot of it,CAN.”

Name: dory

Age: 20

Status: immune

Feeling: neutral

Bio: the cat half made up of water.dorys actually relatively the same. When she fights infected you’d think water isn’t a good weapon,but you’d be wrong. She uses her water power to push away infected and shove water down their throats to make them choke as a warning.

“NOT ANOTHER STEP FOWARD!!!”

Name: smolder

Age: 20

Status: immune

Feeling: enraged

Bio: the part dragon kitty,her half very strong dragon bloodline is so strong it blocks out any infections. She has built up so much fury from being inside the house,when defending the house,she tears infected apart with her claws or she will set them on fire with her fire breath.

“I’m..I’m scared..s-so scared..”

Name: breezy

Age: 20

Status: infected (stage 2 of glitch infection.)

Feeling: scared

Bio: breezy had gotten infected relatively late into the apocalypse. She had stayed inside entirely before she got infected,she got infected when she decided to fly over to get supplies,she got caught off guard by the glitch,by pushing her wings to the limit after one was torn off,she got home without much injury. However,a glitch had formed on her torn wing,and her glowing eyes told everyone that no doubt,she was infected. She now mostly stays in her room now,she always looks at her wing,feeling scared of what will happen to her,fearing that she may turn one day..

“Don’t worry,I’ll be back in a flash!”

Name: Alice

Age: 20

Status: healthy

Feeling: neutral

Bio: she hasn’t changed much since the apocalypse began,in the beginning,she was so bored she would often fly in circles around her room,actually giving her wings more strength to fly faster and longer. When Shelby allowed her kids to help. Alice decided to help with getting supplies. Cause her wings are much faster than breezys butterfly wings,she can get anywhere in a flash. Currently,she has remained unchanged from her optimistic and carefree self.

“A ice witch? Oh I’ll show you how much of a cold ICE WITCH I CAN BE!!!”

Name: frost

Age: 20

Status: immune

Feeling:neutral

Bio: with her ice cold body from the experiments,her body was so hard that no infected bite or scratch can penetrate it and infect her. When defending the house she will summon a harsh blizzard to chase infected away,since they don’t like the cold,for those who stay,mostly zombies,she will quite literally freeze them to death,encasing them in ice before shattering it. Thus why the infected call her a witch. Which she HATES as she thinks it means she’s an uncaring and cold hearted psycho. Other then that though,she is still the intelligent and graceful person she’s always been.

“Ugh..guh..I feel like I’m dying..”

Name: pollen

Age: 20

Status: infected (stage 1 of zombie infection.)

Feeling: sick

Bio: like her winged siblings,she had tried to get supplies. She didn’t get far before getting bit by a zombie in her wing. She was given the zombie vaccination,However..cause of her bug like immune system,it’s incredibly weak,even with her being at only STAGE 1,it could mean she could die if she gets to stage 2 or three..this also makes it so her bite mark and mouth are almost always bleeding her green blood..every month,for two days she will be bed-written too sick and ill to move,often vomiting entire meals or her own blood..she is miserable..always remarking she feels like she’s dying..

“HURT ME?! I’LL NDVER LET YOU HURT ANYONE AGAIN!!!”

Name: quartz

Age: 20

Status: immune

Feeling: emotional

Bio: her blood,being made of poison,makes it so any venom that gets in her skin,it gets immediately gets wiped. Quartz has such intense anger for the infected and darkon for making her family upset,so she lets out that rage on infected,getting so angry and shouty once that the sides of her weak skin around her mouth tore apart. After she takes care of infected with poison,she will sleep multiple hours in her bed cause of how tired she gets. When awake and not angry,she’s often just numb emotionally unless she’s set off by either making her happy,sad or angry.

“You will all return to where you’ve come from.”

Name: flour

Age: 20

Status: healthy

Feeling: neutral

Bio: when fighting infected,she has an ability that makes infected unable to get her. She has physic abilities that give infected such an intense headache,they can’t move. She then lifts her enemies into the air,she flicks them away from her home. She feels apathetic to how much pain she causes infected,feeling nothing for them. Other than that,she’s the same as she’s always been.

“Why would anyone wanna be around me?..I’m a hazard to everyone now..”

Name: clover

Age: 20

Status: infected (stage 5 of swamp fever.)

Feeling: isolated

Bio: clover was originally immune,but darkon got sick of how many immune cats there were,so he chose to spite her,cursing her with swamp fever,a disease originally from equestria that turns it victims into trees. Cause this was darkons version,it caused her more pain through its stages,eventually ending with her feet growing roots,her hair and tail/furr becoming more leaf like,longer and fluffier and a giant flower growing out of her eye. She mostly stays in her room,now seeing herself as a curse and burden on her family,the only reason she’s still alive is cause her DNA had the DNA of trees in it,so she couldn’t become a tree..she’s fully aware she could spread her infection by normal means of a flu or cold,but isn’t aware that shelby has a BUNCH of leftovers of the cure if that happened..

“Target, acquired. Preparing for elimination.”

Name: Susie

Age: 20

Status: immune

Feeling: neutral

Bio: being pretty much a full fledged robot,of course she couldn’t get infected. When confronting infected outside,she assaults them with nothing but hundreds of missiles until they’ve fled or their dead. Other than that,she’s pretty much the same,doing daily life still as stone faced as ever.

-mod shelby

(Oh man- I'm scared for the doggies if you're doing them next ;w;)

[thewriter]

Knives flashing, constantly turning and moving. The boss and two of her remaining minions had driven me into a corner, almost succeeding in killing me as they attack me simultaneously. The right minion managed to stab me into my leg but didn’t expect me to immediately drop into him, knife first. He doesn’t die immediately, but it won’t take long. It creates a gap, giving me the opportunity to get back to free ground.

As I jump forward the boss brings an axe down on my back, it’s not fatal, but I won’t be able to fight much longer with the blood loss. I force myself to turn back and slash my knives towards her, the boss was too close to defend herself with her axe and goes down. I’m not sure where I hit her or if it was fatal, but at least she won’t interfere with this last fight.

The left minion, or more accurately, the last one, lunges and manages to drive me back. She’s got a sword, I’m at a disadvantage with my much shorter knives. She catches my shoulder as I make a cut on her stomach, but then she pulls a knife from her belt and puts it to my throat, effectively stopping the fight. I see in her eyes that she won’t spare me, honestly can’t blame her, I did just kill 7 people she knew.

Even though I couldn’t blame her, I wasn’t planning on dying today and simply let myself fall backwards. I landed heavily, the wound on my back seemed to be lit on fire and my vision turned black for a few seconds. If the minion hadn’t been distracted I certainly wouldn’t have survived. She was standing over me, both her sword and knife pointed at me, but het gaze was turned to the doorway on the other side of the room.

‘Dude, she still hasn’t managed to kill them all! Can you believe this? I thought she was the best you could find!?’ A mocking voice, Mark’s voice, pierced the air, he was part of the team of adventurers who hired me to kill these people.

My first thought was; for fuck’s sake, that asshole? Closely followed by; never mind that they’re assholes, at least now they can help me finish off this last one and get me a healer before I bleed to death.

The minion made a mistake by not using that moment to kill me. ‘Let me go and I’ll let her live!’ She seemed to think they’d fight like normal people, she was wrong.

I saw Curtis looking up and smiling. He has a nasty smile, too wide and with a cruel twist. ‘That sounds like a good deal, doesn’t it boys? But I actually feel like barbecuing today instead.’ The rest laughed as he stuck out his arm in the girl’s direction and punched the air. A ball of fire and smoke launched itself at her and went straight through the sword she’d brought up to protect herself, hitting her square in the chest. She died instantly.

Once again I wondered why they’d hired me to kill these people when they were so obviously more powerful and had a large group. I decided I didn’t care, all I wanted was a healer to fix the wounds on my leg and back, my money and my bed. I scrambled up to my feet with a pained groan and waved at the adventurers. ‘Hello, yes, you people. I’d love to chat, but right now I think I need your healer to help me out, they did quite a number on me. And after that I’d like to get paid.’

They were with 5 people, one of them was certainly a healer, he wore the signature pink pouch. ‘Of course, Lily, was it?’ Mark and the others walked closer to me. Warily I nodded, something wasn’t right with his tone. Focusing on Mark I didn’t notice someone sneaking up behind me until she almost touched me. I whirled, knife out and almost cutting her. ‘Woah, easy, little flower.’

Curtis guffawed from behind me, and only now did I realise they’d surrounded me completely. ‘What are you doing? We made a deal! I killed them and you’re paying me.’ I turned to Curtis and Mark, the leaders. ‘You didn’t though. I killed that girl, so you didn’t hold up your end of the deal. Which means we won’t have to either.’ Curtis struck out his arm, making me flinch to the side sharply, into the girl I evaded seconds before. She brought her hand to my face and then…

I was blind. Only loud whoops and laughter came through. Suddenly images flashed across my mind. A place filled with people. A person, seemingly in a world of his own. A house, hidden behind a wall of trees. Speeding up. More places, faces, thoughts. What’s happening? Sudden stop. I can see again. Disoriented. Pain in my leg. My back.

I’m propped up against a wall, the girl isn’t touching me anymore. Better. She is staring intently into my eyes, that’s uncomfortable. I try to avert them but I’m unable. I don’t panic yet, but when I try to move, hit her, get up and nothing happens, the feeling takes flight.

Don’t worry. Stay here and don’t move.

I can tell it’s her voice, even though she isn’t talking. She must be one of those mind people. She rooted through my head and can order me to do things! That was stupid of her. She’ll regret this.

I get the childish urge to have fun with it, although threatening had to come first. Just so you know, this was a mistake. I’ll get my money and you’ll be sorry for crossing me. Aside from that: I think you deserve to know what happens in my head. Then I poured all of my experiences and fantasy into the most horrifying images I could think of and sent them straight to her.

Her previous expressionless face was gone, and her astonished and thoroughly shocked face was a delight. She quickly severed the connection and went over to the others.

They were looting the treasures from the room. I hadn’t noticed it while fighting, but behind the round table there were several chests filled with gold coins, gems and other valuable items.

Still under the influence of the mind magic, everything sounded like it was tempered, almost as if I were underwater. Despite that it was clear that the adventurers were taunting me. They paraded the most egregious items around, waving them at me before stuffing them carelessly into their bags.

The only one who seemed even a little regretful was the healer. He kept looking at me, or more accurately, my wounds. A few times he tried to talk to the others, gesturing vaguely at me while speaking so softly I didn’t even hear a murmur, clearly he wasn’t too influential as he eventually stopped trying and avoided looking back at me.

The chests were almost empty now, and Mark came over as the rest gathered near the door. He was speaking loudly enough to get through the mist in my head, but I tuned him out anyway. Nothing he could say would interest me. He went on for quite a long time, seemingly unaware of my disinterest, I wondered whether there was a restaurant near here serving scrambled eggs. I had the weirdest cravings.

A few minutes later I saw he’d finally stopped talking, he was standing up. Relief swept in, when they left I would be able to move again.

Then Mark swung his fist at my head and after an explosion of light, darkness took me down.

You’re a mercenary hired by adventurers to defeat the boss. After the battle, they loot the treasure and abandon you wounded. The defeated boss crawls over and says, “Guess we’re both expendable, huh?”