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moonstruckme · 5 months ago

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omg as a diabetic i've not really seen many fics about this but your fic was lovely!!! what about a diabetic read with the marauders )any ship or person) where they had a slightly nasty argument and she's not feeling well (sugar levels or whatever u decide) and she doesn't tell them because of the fight and comfort with sprinkles of angst ensue? it was just a thought, if you're up for it! <3

Thank you lovely <3

cw: reader has diabetes, dizziness/lightheadedness, brief mention of blood, for anyone unfamiliar with diabetes the “meter” here refers to a blood glucose meter which reports blood sugar levels

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words

You seem to have inadvertently laid claim to the sitting room. Sirius stalked off into the kitchen and hasn’t come back, and Remus is down the hall avoiding the pair of you, as he’s taken to doing whenever you and Sirius argue. He might come talk sense into you if it were really serious, but Remus has had his own share of domestic squabbles with both of you; he leaves you to sort this one out by yourselves.

A few minutes ago, through the smog of your anger, you recognized a feeling of wrongness. The timing is uncanny. Sirius had only just gone into the kitchen when you realized you needed to be there yourself. Now, even if you could brave the iciness of your boyfriend’s rancor, you don’t think you could stand to get what you need in front of him.

The second you reach for one of your glucose-boosting shakes, Sirius will know your blood sugar is low, and then you’ll be a victim to him.

Or not a victim, necessarily, but someone in need of care. Someone he has to look after, and who he can’t be angry at, and that’s not fair to him. Even if you do want to stop fighting, you don’t want to win that way.

But a few more minutes of doing nothing and you aren’t sure you’ll be able to stand properly from this couch.

Remus peeks into the living room. Finding only you, he comes over.

“Okay?” he asks quietly, sitting beside you. He means your argument; Remus is perceptive, but he’s not that good.

“Yeah.” You loose a breath. “He’s so stubborn.”

“So are you,” he says, not without fondness.

“But I’m right.”

Remus hums and kisses the side of your head. You try not to melt too obviously; your head is starting to ache from the drop in blood sugar, and you really are beginning to feel somewhat pitiful. “If I tell you something,” he murmurs, “you have to keep it a secret.”

You look at him, intrigued. “What?”

Remus’ lips give a slight tug. “I agree with you.”

You grin, smug and extremely vindicated. Remus holds up a hand.

“But,” he goes on, “I think you should apologize to him.”

Just like that, your smile dissipates. Your headache feels like it’s getting worse. “Why?”

The look Remus gives you is kind, but tinged with bemusement. “You were harsh with him, sweetheart. I understand being upset, but you didn’t need to lay into him the way you did. It was only a small thing.” He lowers his voice. “I think he might not have dug his heels in quite so deeply if you’d only asked him nicely.”

You frown, guilt and irritation warring within you. “He’s always stubborn. It doesn’t matter what I say.”

“It matters,” says Remus. “Listen, I can’t know for sure, but I think if you apologized to him, he’d apologize back. And maybe then you could find an agreement about the whole thing.”

You sigh, letting your weight sag into Remus’ side. Your hands are starting to tremble in your lap. “I’d rather just tell him you think I’m right,” you say.

You hear the smile in Remus’ voice as he kisses your head again. “I know.”

You manage to stand without teetering. Remus waits in the sitting room while you go to the kitchen, where you find your boyfriend eating frosting broodily out of a tin. He spares you hardly a glance as you come in, sucking his spoon clean.

“I didn’t mean to be harsh,” you say softly.

Sirius scoffs. “Didn’t stop you.”

“I didn’t realize I was being so harsh,” you amend. Even as you do, it’s hard to keep the bite from your tone. You know that you’re particularly irritable when your blood sugar is low; however, knowing that doesn’t actually make you feel any less irritated. “I’m sorry.”

Sirius shakes his head. He’s still looking at the cabinets rather than at you. “Just because I don’t do things the way you want me to doesn’t make me completely incompetent.”

This apology might take longer than you bargained for. You set a hand on the counter as a wave of dizziness passes over you. Maybe you can drink your shake while apologizing? But Sirius is standing between you and the fridge.

“I wasn’t trying to call you incompetent,” you say through the fog that’s descending over your consciousness.

“That’s sure what it sounded like,” Sirius bites out.

“Well, I don’t think you are. I just…I think I’m in a mood, and I’m saying things I don’t mean. I’m sorry.”

It’s a rare enough admittance from you that Sirius looks over. One of his dark brows is half quirked, intrigue palpable.

“Really?” he asks.

“Really.” It feels like a weight off your shoulders; you think you physically slump. “I still think I’m right, but I shouldn’t have been so mean. Not,” you add, unable to help yourself, “that you were very nice to me either. But I started it.”

A corner of Sirius’ mouth kicks up. “You did start it,” he agrees, softening. “I’m sorry, too. For not being very nice.”

“It’s okay.” You try to smile back at him, eyeing the fridge. “Um, could I…I need the fridge.”

He laughs, stepping aside. “Awe, that’s my darling girl. She’s feigned an apology because she’s hungry for lunch.”

“Ha ha,” you reply drolly.

As you step around him, Sirius palms the back of your neck, pulling you in for a brief kiss. You wish you could appreciate it better. You’re starting to feel rather unsteady, your lips tingling without the warmth.

“Hey,” he says.

You open the fridge, pushing condiments aside and reaching towards the back. Sirius sets a hand to your lower back.

“Baby. You’re sweating.”

“I’m okay,” you tell him, closing the fridge. You see him register the bottle in your hand, and you try to affect an expression of insouciance as you screw off the cap. “Just a little low.”

“You’re low? For how long?” Sirius is gripping you with both hands now, one on your waist and the other at your elbow. He seems afraid you’ll keel over; you wish it were a less founded fear. “What’s your blood sugar at?”

“Not sure,” you admit quietly. Your meter is in here, too, just behind where Sirius is standing. You sip your shake, nearly draining the small bottle. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll be good soon.”

“Sweetheart.” Sirius’ brows bend, worry and bafflement warring in his expression. “Why didn’t you say?”

“Because it’s fine.” You shrug, avoiding his eyes. “I didn’t want us to stop fighting just because of that. You were angry with me for valid reasons.”

“I’m still angry with you,” he says, making you look at him in surprise, “but now for completely different reasons. What were you thinking?”

His raised voice attracts Remus, come now to keep the peace.

“It wasn’t a big problem,” you try to reassure Sirius. “I had it handled.”

“Staying away from what you need just because I’m upset is not handling it, baby.”

“What’s going on?” Remus asks, looking between the two of you bemusedly. It’s not like Sirius to use sweet names when he’s angry, or like you to be so defensive after you’ve agreed to patch things up. “Have you managed to start another row already?”

“Her blood sugar is low, and she wasn’t going to do anything about it because she thought I was angry with her,” Sirius tells him.

“You were angry with me,” you say.

Remus looks at you, his eyes skimming you over quickly. “How low?” he asks.

Sirius crosses his arms. “She doesn’t know.”

You let out a breath, starting to feel teary. Another argument, on top of your headache and dizziness and the general weariness of your physical form at the moment, is too much.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say. “I knew I was low, I was already handling it.”

“Of course it matters, lovely,” Remus replies, disappointment permeating the usual kindness in his tone.

He finds your meter behind Sirius, opening your small kit and putting in a new test strip before taking out the lancet. You let him prick your finger, throwing your empty shake bottle in the trash. Your meter beeps when it gets the reading.

“Oh,” Remus sighs. “Alright. That’ll come up now you’ve had your drink.”

“I know it will,” you mutter.

“Hey.” Sirius all but traps you in a hug, his arms pushing underneath yours and squeezing you harshly. “Don’t do that. Okay? Please.”

You feel yourself soften. One of your hands comes up to stroke the ends of his hair where it falls between his shoulder blades. “You don’t need to worry,” you say.

“Oh, piss off. Try and stop me.”

“I saw you shaking,” Remus admits, his voice soft. You look at him, surprised, but he meets your guilty expression with a half smile. “I only thought it was because you were upset. It’s an odd thing to keep secret from us, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t keeping it a secret.” You tuck your chin into Sirius’ shoulder. He gives your back a couple of firm rubs before pulling away. “I just didn’t want you to feel like…like you needed to look after me.”

“Too bad,” Sirius says, stubbornly. “We’re going to look after you anyways. Shocked you wouldn’t know that already.”

Remus smiles. He sets a hand to your back, soothing it back and forth between your shoulder blades. “He’s right,” he says. “No matter who’s upset, please don’t hide these things from us. It’s important that we know.”

“Okay,” you mumble, chastised. “Sorry.”

Sirius raises his eyebrows. “Two apologies in one afternoon. Christ, you really must be feeling poorly.”

Remus chuckles. “Should we sit for a while? Give you time to come up.”

“Sure.” That sounds amazing, actually. Even with the glucose working its way into your system, you’re still finding it difficult to stay on your feet. You start back towards the sitting room. “Thanks.”

“Oh, my poor baby.” Sirius wraps his arms around you from behind, forcing you to take small steps to accommodate him. “You’re still shaking, sweet girl.”

“This,” you say, “is exactly what I didn’t want.”

Sirius laughs. He lets you go so you can sit before flopping down beside you, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Maybe next time,” he suggests, “you can be honest with us from the beginning, and I’ll let you be a bit choosier about what reaction you get.”

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hoe4hotchner · 8 months ago

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hey! i love your stuff :)! was wondering if you could maybe do a short fic with hotch where he's interrogating the reader (who is a suspect, but is actually innocent), and the reader politely informs hotch that they're about to faint (they have a fainting condition, like POTS or something). hotch doesn't panic bc he's, well, hotch, but he calls for medical help. meanwhile, reader is just casually lying down on the cold floor of the cell and being really chill waiting to faint, even making conversation. anyway, hotch finds out that the police officers who had arrested the reader had denied them their medicine, and he rips them a new one.

OBVIOUSLY DONT WRITE IT IF YOU DONT WANT TO, I THINK YOU'RE LOVELY AND I DONT WANT TO PRESSURE YOu

have a nice day!

Unexpected Interrogation | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader | WC: 0.9k | CW: Hurt/comfort?, medical condition (POTS), mistreatment by law enforcement, fainting, medication.

A/N: I'm trying a new layout for when I answer requests, I don't know if I'll commit to it, but I like it for now.

Also I don't know anything about POTS or other fainting conditions, so I hope I did it justice - feedback is appriciated.

Hotch sat across from you, his expression stern and unyielding as he leaned forward in his chair, the dim lighting of the room casting sharp shadows on his face. To any observer, you would seem calm - your hands folded neatly in your lap and eyes focused - but inside, you were already feeling the telltale signs. The tightness in your chest, the lightheadedness creeping in. You’d been here for hours, and now, without your medicine, it was simply a matter of time before you would faint.

"You've been uncooperative since the moment we brought you in," Hotch said, his voice level but carrying the weight of suspicion as he couldn't quite figure out if you were guilty or not. "Tell me why you were at the scene."

You took a slow breath, trying to center yourself. "Agent Hotchner," you said politely, your voice a little too soft for the intensity of the moment. "I understand why I'm here, and I will tell you everything you want to know, but I think I should let you know… I'm about to faint."

He blinked, his gaze sharpening but not a trace of panic crossing his face. If anything, his brows furrowed, a mixture of confusion and concern settling in his expression. "You're about to faint?"

"Yeah," you nodded, shifting slightly in your seat, trying to ignore the swimming sensation behind your eyes. "I have a fainting condition - it's called POTS. Normally, I’d take medicine, but..." You gave a tired shrug. "The officers who arrested me didn’t let me have it."

The tension in the room shifted. Hotch leaned back slightly, the gears in his mind already turning. He wasn’t a man to panic, even in strange situations. He pressed a button on the desk to signal for help, keeping his eyes on you. "I’ll get a medic in here."

You offered him a small smile. "Thanks, but it’s cool. Happens all the time. I’ll just… lie down." Without waiting for a response, you eased yourself off the chair - thankful that you weren't cuffed to the table - and laid flat on the cold tiled floor, your head resting on your arms as if this was the most natural thing in the world. The coolness of the floor helped somewhat, but your vision was already narrowing at the edges.

Hotch stood, watching you for a moment before kneeling next to you, his tone softened slightly. "How long have you been without your medication?"

You glanced at him from your place on the floor, blinking slowly. "Since they arrested me… hours ago? Honestly, it could be worse. But you know, fainting isn’t great for clearing one’s name." You chuckled lightly, trying to make the best of the situation, though it quickly turned into a weary sigh. "I’m innocent, by the way."

He didn't respond to that directly, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something acknowledging the injustice of your situation. "How often does this happen?"

"Often enough that I’m pretty used to it," you said casually, your breath slowing as the dizziness increased. "But hey... it gives me an excuse to lie down on the job, right?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of Hotch’s mouth - just for a moment - but then his professional mask slipped back into place. "Don’t talk. Just focus on staying calm."

You hummed in agreement, though your vision was blurring fast. "I’ll be out soon, but when I wake up, I’d love to continue this conversation. I mean, I know I’m innocent, but it would be great to convince you of that too."

He gave a short nod. "We’ll get to that. First, let’s get you taken care of."

Moments later, the medics arrived, rushing into the room with a stretcher and medical kit. But Hotch didn’t leave your side, ensuring they knew about your condition, making sure they were doing everything right. As they checked your vitals and prepared to move you, you started to fade, your words becoming slow and drowsy. "Thanks, agent… you’re not as intimidating as I thought you’d be."

The medic smiled at that, while Hotch’s lips pressed into a thin line, the smallest hint of amusement in his eyes. But once you were being taken care of, Hotch’s focus shifted back to the situation that had led to this. The officers who had arrested you. The ones who had denied you your medication.

Minutes later, Hotch found the officers outside the room, his demeanor stone cold. “Which one of you denied the suspect their medication?”

One of the officers, a tall man with a smug expression, stepped forward. “We didn’t think it was relevant. They didn’t say it was urgent.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a low tone. “Didn’t think it was relevant? You’re lucky they’re stable, or you’d be facing a lawsuit at the very least.” He took a step closer, towering over the man. “You do not withhold medical treatment from anyone in custody. I don’t care if they’re a suspect, a witness, or guilty. Do you understand?”

The officer faltered, clearly not expecting the sharp reprimand. “Y-yes, sir.”

“I’ll be filing a report about this. You’ve jeopardized a life today. If I ever hear of anything of the sort again, you’ll be out of a job.” Hotch didn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and heading back toward the interrogation room. There were few things that set him off more than mistreatment, especially under his watch.

He returned just as the medics were finishing up. You were still unconscious, but stable. Hotch stood by the door for a moment, watching as they prepared to transport you, his expression unreadable.

Innocent or not, he was going to make sure you were treated right.

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have-you-seen-my-sanity · 2 months ago

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Heeey! Would you write possessive yandere Joe Goldberg smut? Joe captures reader and puts her in his cage. After some time she starts to develop feelings for him. You know...the good ol' Stockholm syndrome😏and they end up having sex in the cage like in the show

No pressure ofc 🥰

Hiii! :D

I've got this😈

YOU are my everything

YOU masterlist

Yandere!Joe Goldberg x fem!reader

Cw/triggers: Joe Goldberg is his own warning, nsfw, kidnapping, captive reader, smut, p in v sex, impression of stalking, Stockholm syndrome.

There you are, so innocent, walking home and giving me the pleasure to watch you while you do it.

Ever since Joe bumped into you at some random store he became infatuated with you. Your eyes, lips, how friendly you were to him, everything!

I don't even know if I was lucky enough to stumble upon you or if you are lucky that it was me. But I'd like to think both.

Joe adjusted his cap and moved to stand at a tree opposite from your window where he could get a look inside just nicely.

He has broken into many homes by now and yours were no different, so he watched the place carefully. Joe returned later when it was rather late and he figured out you must have been asleep already.

Joe was careful and mindful, moving slowly before efficiently sedating you and gently carrying you out to Mooney's without raising suspicion.

After you've been placed into the cage and securily locked up Joe walked back upstairs to get some things done.

It was a few minutes later when you woke up drowsily and confused. Immediately you felt lightheadedness come over you and your head ached a bit. You looked around, feeling panic rise up as you realized you were in a cage. You stood up slowly, trying the door but it wad locked. Screaming wasn't smart because your kidnapper might hear you and instead you kicked the strong glas but it held strong.

"What sick asshole puts people inside cages like animals?" You thought to yourself.

Then a key getting inserted into a lock could be heard before the lights have been turned on and slow steps descented to the room you are in.

The person came into view, with a bag in his hand and you looked puzzled while he just looked back at you with a small but persistent smile.

"I brought you something." He started, moving closer to the small movable plate next to the door and placed the bag on for you to take.

"Who the fuck are you?" You ask.

Joe stepped back while you eyed the bag with suspicion. "Don't you remember me? I was the guy you bumped into couple days ago. I'm Joe."

Joe. You remember him, he helped you with the groceries which had falled on the ground and apologized sincerely. He seemed kind.

You frowned. "And why the hell did you lock me into this?"

He moved closer once more. "Because I felt something between us, don't you too?"

You shook your head. "No! You're just a guy I bumped into, a stranger!"

Joe's gaze darkened. "Just a stranger? A stranger surely wouldn't do all the things I would do for you."

You let out a half nervous half frustrated laugh. "Are you serious?"

Fuck, you're so hot when you're angry.

"Yes." He nodded. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. For us." Then he gestured to the bag he gave you. "There's a sandwich, water and some painkillers."

"Why am I here?" You ask.

Joe simply smiled. "Because I love you. I would do anything for you."

"You should think about us." Were his last words before he made his way back upstairs.

How the hell did that happen? What did you do that this Joe is so in love with you? You carefully opened the bag and grabbed the bottle of water for some freshness.

You tried getting some rest on the makeshift bed but it wad hard with all the things going on but eventually you fell asleep. The next day you woke up to the surprise of Joe sitting outside the cage, watching you sleep.

"Were you watching me sleep?"

Oh yes

Joe slowly stood up. "Yes," he moved closer now standing infront of the door, "did you think about us?"

You frowned at him. "No, I-..." you didn't finish the sentance and looked down on the ground.

"Think about all the ways your life will be so much easier with me in it." Joe started softly. "All the ways I would love you, spoil you or care for you." Then he placed his palm flat on the glas, seemingly waiting for your hand to do the same. "Please." He pleaded quietly.

Your emotions are going nuts inside you, frustration, fear and even pity?

You slowly walked towards him and placed his hand right where his was. Joe's gaze was fixed on yours.

"Will you let me love you?"

Something inside you couldn't bring it on to say no, something made you want to say yes, be loved by the man who brought you here.

"Yes." You whispered.

As soon as Joe heard you he reached into his pocket, getting the key out and opened the door. With every step inside, you took one back, unsure what will happen now until your back met with the glas behind you and he stood right infront of you.

Joe placed a hand beside your head. "Don't be scared." Then he moved closer, nearly pressing his body against yours and leaned in. You didn't pull away, instead when his lips met yours you leaned into his touch, his other hand moved to your hip as he kissed you.

You felt him grind against you, the outline of his hard cock met your core, making wetness pool inside your panties.

When you pressed yourself against him, Joe quickly moved to undress you and helped you lay down on the cool floor.

"Are you ready?" He whispered huskily.

At your nod, Joe spared no time in pulling your panties off and fishing his hard cock out of his boxers. He positioned himself between your legs and brought his cock up to your wet pussy.

"Tell me you're mine." He demanded softly, pressing the tip of his cock inside you making you gasp.

"I-I'm yours.." You gasped when he pushed deeper, slowly until he bottomed out.

Joe set a slow pace, he felt you getting wetter with each thrust and he couldn't help but groan. "Fuck."

Your head fell back as you arched into him, his thrusts getting harder.

"Do you belong to me?" He asked suddenly and you felt his cock hitting you just right, causing you to become cockdrunk. You could only moan in response but Joe leaned in and asked again, "Do you. Belong to me?"

"Yes, yes!" You mewled, wrapping your legs around him, feeling your peak getting closer and closer.

"That's my good, perfect girl." Joe cooed, pounding into you faster, feeling his orgasm approach aswell.

"Joe I'm about to cum!" You warned breathlessly. Joe looked st you with a small grin, "Then cum for me as I cum for you."

And just like that, your pussy clenched around Joe's invading cock and gushed your juices all over him.

"That's my girl." Joe groaned, thrusting into you one last time with a loud groan before spilling his hot cum into you.

Joe collapsed onto you, breathless and pulled out and rolling off beside you. He turned to look at you lovingly, and brushed a bead of sweat off your brow.

"Will you let me love you?"

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

#you netflix #joe goldberg #penn badgley #yandere!joe goldberg #yandere joe goldberg #you season 5 #joe goldberg smut #joe goldberg x reader

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bumblesimagines · 4 months ago

Text

For Science

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Jake Sully may not be the brightest of the bunch but he's the most enthusiastic and always eager to help.. in the name of science, of course.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Avatar warnings, idiots being idiots, sexual content, jake being jake

divider by the-voice-beckons-below

~~~

Pandora was a world straight from any scientist's dreams, and (Y/N) felt right at home studying the diverse planet. He loved everything about it: the flora that effortlessly dwarfed anything human, the wild and untamed fauna that often had more than four limbs and came in an array of colors, the culture of the locals and how intuned they were with the place they called home.

Everything about Pandora made him breathless and giddy with excitement, even if his studies were limited to the outskirts of the Omatikaya clan territory and any information Jake Sully managed to retain. (Y/N) made do with it. Once they warmed up to Jake, they'd warm up to the rest of the team, (Y/N) was certain of it.

He eyed the invisible border he was forbidden from crossing (primarily to avoid getting impaled by arrows and angry Na'vi) and made a mental note of it before he dropped down into a crouch and squeezed his eyes shut at the lightheadedness that overcame him.

It had been months since he was given his avatar, months of adjusting and working with Grace to get the hang of things, but he wasn't used to being nine feet tall, having a tail with a mind of its own, or having heightened senses. Their newest addition to the team had adjusted to everything almost instantly, and he almost envied him despite the circumstances that brought Jake on board the program.

Once the lightheadedness faded, he dug through his satchel and retrieved his tablet, his abnormally long blue fingers tapping on the translucent screen before he held it over a puffer plant to scan it. His ears twitched on their own whenever he picked up sounds, mostly the soft rustling from his swaying tail or the distant call of an animal. He tried his best to ignore how his body reacted to everything around him and focused on the information appearing on the screen of the fungus.

Gently, he set the tablet atop the satchel and moved closer to study the pink fuzz covering the plant, a soft hum leaving him. Just as he reached for the tablet to jot down some things, a body slammed into him. Long limbs wrapped around him, and the body twisted around to absorb the impact of hitting the forest floor. Familiar cackling filled his ears, and he scowled, squirming in the soldier's hold.

"Jake!"

Jake flashed his canines at him in an amused grin, his big round eyes crinkling with mischievous delight. "You didn't hear me this time, (Y/N)! That means I'm getting better at this Na'vi stuff, huh?" He seemed positively pleased with himself despite the dirt now caking his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," (Y/N) stumbled onto his long legs and huffed, his tail lashing wildly behind him and lightly smacking against the brush. His fingers rubbed at the dirt along his legs until it faded. "That's great, Jake, but I'm working. You know, being productive and helpful. I know those words aren't part of your vocabulary these days."

Jake scoffed playfully and stood up, slightly stumbling and carelessly brushing the dirt off his blue skin. (Y/N)'s eyes briefly flickered down to the only piece of cloth on Jake's body but they darted right back up before he could be caught staring. It was part of Na'vi culture, he reminded himself, not meant to be erotic in the slightest.

"I think I'm being pretty damn helpful, actually. I don't see you or Norm cozying up to the Omatikaya to become a warrior, do I? You guys are out here lookin' at plants while I'm learning how to hunt and climb these big ass trees." Jake laughed again, his footing clumsy as he motioned to the trees around them. His laugh was warm and gleeful, a hard contrast to the grim yet curious man he met weeks prior.

"Plants are interesting." (Y/N) muttered defensively under his breath, his ears pinning back briefly and lips jutting out into a pout. Jake grinned at him again, a small chuckle rumbling in his throat. "And I doubt Neytiri has you out here ambushing scientists for fun. If you're slacking off, she will find out."

Jake waved him off. "Why do you always assume the worst of me? I'm singing your praises to the Na'vi people and you repay my kindness by doubting me."

Jake reached down to lift the tablet and satchel from the ground, one hand offering over the satchel while the other brought the tablet closer to his face. (Y/N) dusted off the bottom of his satchel and slipped it over his shoulder, his gaze studying the muscles Jake developed over weeks of training like a Na'vi. He was leaner, quicker, more... animalistic, in a way. His transformation was fascinating.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

His face burned. "Shut up, Sully."

When he went to reach for the tablet again, Jake raised it just out of reach and grinned again like the bastard he was. (Y/N) groaned and moved closer, even going as far as rolling onto his toes in an attempt to snatch the tablet from his hand. His clothed chest brushed against Jake's bare one, but he hardly noticed until he stumbled into him and felt their noses brush.

Jake's arm instinctively curled around his waist to steady him and the closeness allowed (Y/N) to breathe in the woodsy scent clinging to Jake's skin and count the faintly glowing freckles scattered across his cheeks. He swallowed harshly and glanced upward, his ears perking when he realized Jake's arm had slightly bent at the elbow. With a swift jump, he grabbed the tablet and tugged it free from Jake's fingers.

"Quit slacking off and go train, Jake." (Y/N) turned his back to the soldier and stuffed the tablet into his satchel, ignoring how his skin burned and tingled beneath his clothes. His rapidly swishing tail was starting to irritate him. "You've got a long way to go before you can go through iknimaya, and Grace will be disappointed if you get this body eaten or thrown off the side of a mountain."

"Neytiri has me memorizing the territory, alright? I've got plenty of time to 'slack off' and bother you." A chill shot up through his spine and he stiffened when Jake grabbed his wriggling tail, his fingers gingerly squeezing it. "Come on, we barely spend time together."

"I'm-" (Y/N) jerked his tail free and curled it around his leg. "-working, Jake."

"Well, I'll teach you some stuff."

(Y/N) tilted his head to look over his shoulder and arched a brow. "Yeah? Like what?"

Slinking forward and swinging an arm around his shoulder, Jake forced him to walk side by side whilst he pointed out various flora and everything Neytiri told him about them. It took a few seconds before (Y/N) scrambled to take the tablet out and type everything Jake told him, his heart skipping a beat with every piece of information that flowed into his perked ears.

"And over here are patches of tsawksyul that are used to create ornaments and necklaces. You guys call them sun lilies. They like growing here, by the river, because the sun hits them just right." Jake explained, motioning toward the patches of brightly colored flowers growing along the riverbank.

(Y/N) brightened at the sight of the flower and slipped the tablet into his satchel so he could crouch down by the flowers. "They're my favorite. They come in so many colors." He ran his fingertips over the vibrant cyan petals with dull magenta edges.

"Yeah." Jake kneeled beside him and bumped their shoulders together, his eyes crinkled with warmth. "How 'bout I ask Neytiri to help me make a necklace? It might help her get used to the idea of being around you."

(Y/N) glanced at him, his lips quirking even wider. "That'd be nice of you, Jake."

"I'm always nice." Jake leaned back until he was fully sat and brushed away dirt and leaves from his knees. (Y/N) could count on one hand the number of times Jake went out of his way to be 'nice'.

"That's a stretch."

"Would an asshole spend his day teaching you about boring plants?" Jake raised his thin eyebrows and poked his side. (Y/N) snorted and swatted at his hand with a light shake of his head. "Would an asshole ask if you want to learn more about Na'vi bodies?"

At his words, (Y/N) blinked and turned to look at him, his forehead creasing in confusion. Jake reached behind him to pull his braid over his shoulder, his fingers running over it until he reached the end and raised it so the hairs fell back to reveal the queue at the end. Pink, fleshy, and small tendrils rose, swaying as they searched for another queue to connect with.

His breath caught in his throat. "Jake, we can't."

Jake blew a raspberry. "Why not? Don't you want to know how it works or feels?" He looked entranced by the thin wiggling tendrils. It was hard to look away from queues and their strangeness.

"Who doesn't? But it's- it's tsaheylu, Jake. It's a bond. The Na'vi do it with each other when they choose their mate. It's serious. You haven't even completed iknimaya; Neytiri will be upset if she finds out."

"I'm not going to fall in love with a Na'vi, (Y/N). Grace would kill me." Jake raised his amber gaze to study him so intensely that it made his face flush. "It's in the name of science, alright? Besides, it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission."

(Y/N) rolled his eyes at what seemed to be Jake's life motto despite the way his heart stuttered. He swallowed and set his satchel aside carefully, his eyes dropping down to his queue. "Just tsaheylu?"

Jake smirked. "You want to go all the way?"

"Jake." He groaned, the heat across his cheeks spreading down to his neck and chest. Neytiri must've had the patience of a saint or a good amount of self-restraint to have lasted this long without sticking a knife into Jake's neck. "That's not funny."

"I'm not joking."

A silence fell over them, one bubbling with underlying tension and unspoken words. (Y/N) tore his eyes away from Jake and poked the forest floor with his fingers in contemplation while Jake stared a hole into the side of his head. His hand danced over the moss coating the dirt, the vibrant green fuzz tickling his palm. His stomach fluttered and jumped as he considered it.

On one hand, sleeping with Jake wasn't forbidden, hell, most people on the compound had friends they slept with and it was strictly casual. On the other hand, tsaheylu was a serious bond amongst Na'vi; the human equivalent of marriage. But neither of them were actual Na'vi...

He prayed he wouldn't regret this later.

"Okay." He breathed out.

"Okay?"

"Yes, fine, let's- let's do it. For science, or whatever." (Y/N) desperately ignored the flames coursing through his body and focused on steadying his heart's pace. This was Jake Sully; the marine that reeked of being a playboy. There was no reason hooking up with him brought on such an annoying flurry of emotions. He whirled around to look at him and jabbed a threatening finger in his direction. "But don't you dare mention this in your video logs, alright?"

Jake's face lit up and he nodded, his tail beginning to sway rapidly behind him. "Scout's honor."

"You weren't a scout but I'll take your word for it."

The two moved, kneeling in front of each other and resting back on their thighs as they took each other in. Jake leaned forward first, his lips ghosting over (Y/N)'s throat and trailing upward until he claimed his lips in a needy kiss. His canines lightly nipped at (Y/N)'s bottom lip until he tentatively parted them, though he'd been mindful to avoid drawing blood.

Almost overly eager, Jake pressed his lips harder against him, his body shivering when (Y/N) quietly gasped at his tongue darting past his lips to explore him further. Jake's palms pressed into (Y/N)'s shoulders until he toppled backward and found himself caged between the ground and Jake's body. Jake grabbed his jaw to keep his head still while the other hand worked on pushing (Y/N)'s shirt up his abdomen.

"You know how long-" Jake spoke breathlessly when they parted to tug the shirt over (Y/N)'s head. "-I've been waiting for this?"

(Y/N) felt woozy. "What?"

Jake released a husky chuckle and nipped playfully at his cheek, his hands roaming over newly exposed skin. "I've been flirting with you since I got here, genius. For a scientist, you don't catch on quickly." He pressed a hard kiss to his jawline

"I study biology, not sociology." (Y/N)'s whiny tone only made Jake laugh.

The revelation had (Y/N)'s heart thrumming wildly against his ribcage but he had little time to think hard on it. Jake tugged impatiently on his khakis and briefs, nearly ripping the fabrics until (Y/N)'s trembling hands reached down to help him slide them down his thighs and toss them aside. Jake moved swiftly, his mouth leaving wet kisses along his collarbone and chest while his hands roamed over his thighs, squeezing and massaging the fat with heedy need.

Jake leaned back onto his knees and grasped at the end of his braid again, his chest lightly heaving and pupils dilated. (Y/N) was fairly certain he looked the same, or worse. He mimicked Jake's action and took in a deep breath when the strands fell back to reveal his queue, uncertainty and anticipation bubbling in the pit of his stomach simultaneously. Jake shot him a reassuring smile and extended his queue towards his. The tendrils automatically reached for each other, curling together until each tendril was wrapped around another.

The bond was almost instantaneous. Air rapidly escaped (Y/N)'s lungs as his brain was swept under a wave of new emotions, and new sensations. Arousal slammed into him like a truck, mixed and muddled with an overwhelming feeling of warmth and care. Jake's pupils expanded into saucers, the black almost swallowing up the color of his eyes and leaving a small ring of amber as his breathing picked up and he twitched beneath his loincloth.

(Y/N)'s vision blurred briefly and he blinked rapidly, his breath coming out in short puffs while he attempted to regain his composure. His vision focused once more and he found himself staring up at Jake's face, entranced by the way the sunlight shining down on him made the lighter stripes along his body more prominent. Jake was beautiful. The solider smiled widely, affectionately, and leaned down to kiss him again.

Every touch and grind and feeling was intensified tenfold by the bond. Everything Jake felt, he felt. Everything that caused Jake pleasure, caused him pleasure. It was overwhelming yet euphoric, over-stimulating yet grounding. An emotional, neurological bond; it was all making sense. They were one being now.

Jake practically ripped his loincloth off and pressed a sloppy, distracted kiss on the side of his throat, his teeth lightly dragging over a pulse point and making (Y/N)'s breath stutter. Jake's hips pressed against his and he grinded against him messily, pre dripping from their flushed lengths and leaving their abdomens wet and glistening. Incorerhnet words fell from (Y/N)'s lips, the bliss and pleasure running circles in his head making it hard to think or even breathe.

Jake moved away to shift (Y/N) around until his ass was flush against his weeping cock. His fingers massaged the flesh of his ass tenderly but his hips jerked and moved as if they had a mind of their own, as if they were acting on pure instinct. (Y/N)'s hands planted themselves clumsily against the ground, fingers curling to grab handfuls of soft dirt to steady himself. Groans and pants were ripped from their chests with each sharp jerk of Jake's hips.

"You ready, baby?" The pet name went straight to his head and then promptly darted downward. Jake laughed again, sounding thoroughly out of breath. "You're ready."

(Y/N)'s breath hitched, his tail wrapping tightly around Jake's slim waist when Jake's tip prodded at his entrance, whines and whimpered pleas leaving him in breathy chants as Jake bullied his way past the tight ring of muscle and agonizingly slowly bottomed out. (Y/N) felt everything: the burn of being stretched combined with the warmth of his walls enveloping and squeezing Jake, the heavy need to rut his hips back but also forward, the overwhelming feeling of relief and glee and love.

His arms gave out on him and his legs threatened to follow suit but Jake wrapped a sturdy arm around his hips to keep him on wobbly knees. His cheek pressed against the ground, the dirt and moss rubbing and digging into his skin. He breathed clearly for a moment and felt tears build in the back of his eyes. Jake loved him. Someone loved him. Lips kissed the back of his shoulder as if to confirm his thoughts before Jake grabbed at his hips and drew back.

The whine that built in (Y/N)'s throat was shortlived. Jake snapped his hips forward, shoving himself back in with a hiss before he repeated the motion, each thrust quicker and harder than the last. The air was knocked out of (Y/N)'s lungs, the front of his boots digging helplessly into the ground but his body eventually gave out, left to the mercy of Jake's pistoning that made his body jerk and slightly drag along the forest floor.

Jake draped himself over him, his arm still holding him up, muttered and hissed praises filling (Y/N)'s twitching ear. Jake pressed his lips into his shoulder again but instead of kissing, he dug his teeth in, carefully enough to only leave an imprint behind. (Y/N) squirmed and cried in his hold, each attempt at stabilizing himself and grounding his mind futile. It was pure animalistic drive and love fueling both of their bodies, Na'vi blood mixing with the human genomes.

(Y/N) managed to catch Jake's lips in time to release a muffled cry, releasing and sputtering over the dirt and leaves. Jake's hips stuttered a moment later, overwhelmed by the feeling, and he buried himself as deeply as possible before releasing as well. (Y/N)'s mind went blank, devoid of coherent thoughts, and completely focused on Jake. Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake.

Jake slumped over onto his side and pulled (Y/N) along with him, his face rubbing along (Y/N)'s back affectionately in a way that reminded him of felines. (Y/N)'s chest rose and fell with heavy, tired breaths, and he reluctantly lifted his head so he could use Jake's arm as a pillow. Jake pressed his palm over his abdomen and chuckled softly, teeth lightly nipping at (Y/N)'s ear and causing it to flick.

"You.." (Y/N) sighed tiredly. "You could've just asked me on a date. We're technically married now."

"I like taking shortcuts."

"You look like you had a long day," Norm commented through a mouthful of reheated oatmeal, his eyes darting away to watch with a shy look Trudy as she stepped by them. She smiled down at him teasingly, her hand resting over Norm's shoulder briefly before she continued down toward her bunk. "Did- Did you go further than normal?" Norm cleared his throat.

(Y/N) swirled his spoon around in his own small bowl of oatmeal. "Jake took me on a walk." He answered, craning his head to peer back at the link beds where Jake's remained shut and operating. His lips threatened to stretch into a grin so he stuffed his mouth with oatmeal and shuffled through his satchel until he found the tablet and offered it to Norm. "Neytiri taught him some things about the flora of the forest."

"No way." Norm swallowed everything in his cheeks and straightened up, wiping his hands on the napkins before clutching the tablet to his chest and reading through everything (Y/N) typed down. "Grace is going to love this, (Y/N). I'm going to tell her- God, this is good."

Norm scrapped the last of his oatmeal onto his spoon and stuck it into his mouth, the squealing of the metal chair scraping against the floor filling the room when he stood and hurried away to show Grace his findings. (Y/N) chuckled and took his bowl into his hand, twisting around in his chair and watching Jake's link bed until its whirring slowed down to signal he'd put his avatar to sleep. He stood and walked over, carefully adjusting his wheelchair so it'd be easier for him to get on.

The top of the bed lifted and Jake's human face greeted him, his blue eyes blinking up at him until they adjusted to the light. Jake's lips stretched out into a teasing grin. "You can't get enough of me, huh?" He snickered despite the light pink dusting the tip of his ears.

"I should throw your wheelchair into the river." (Y/N) huffed and stepped back, watching Jake maneuver himself off the bed and onto his wheelchair with practiced ease.

He adjusted his legs and tugged at the end of his sweatpants before leaning back and smiling up at him cheekily. "C'mon, admit it, you like me. I felt it." (Y/N) rolled his eyes.

"And you love me." It was (Y/N)'s turn to grin when Jake looked away from him, soft pink blossoming along his face. "You owe me a date, Sully. I expect something good after all this talk."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x male!reader #avatar 2009 #avatar 2009 x reader #avatar 2009 x male reader #avatar 2009 x you #avatar 2009 x y/n #avatar x reader #avatar x y/n #avatar x you #jake sully x reader #jake sully avatar #jake sully x you #jake sully #jake sully x male reader #jake sully x y/n

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the-trinket-witch · 1 year ago

Text

TWST Signature Spell Effects on the Body

Because I'm a wordy, purple-prose kinda bish, I thought about what each Unique Magic might actually feel like on the body (at least the ones that affect other mages when cast). (SPOILERS FOR BOOKS 5 ONWARD)

(CW: Loss of motor function, scopophobia, senses being messed with, forceful sleep)

Off With Your Head:

The moment it slaps around your neck and shoulders, there's that deafening rush of blood to one's ears. If you and your magic were lightning, the collar just became your glass bottle. Outside of the momentary dulling of senses, one may have a general difficulty breathing, either from the collar fitting itself or the lack of support without one's magic. Lightheadedness and an internal hollowness make the collar leave you feeling like after a flu.

Bet the Limit:

His magic literally amplifies and pushes back your magic, but to do that he has to rip control of it from you. Bet the Limit gives one that jerking tug on the shoulders, a jab of pain that burns into your neck almost. Sometimes if one resists or tries to wrench control back, they're left feeling like their shoulders have been dislocated. They haven't of course, but the feeling is still enough to keep one from moving them for a while.

Doodle Suit:

There's a metallic, fruity Sichuan peppercorn-like numbing on the senses before it's replaced with what he decides. Pretty straightforward.

(Legit tho: I think his is kinda scary in terms of utility. The possibilities o_o )

King's Roar:

Burning. King's roar doesn't have fire but there's still a dry burn. Rug or rope burn, an allergic reaction, or being splashed with hydrogen peroxide, it all makes the nerves curl away like shriveling plants. Skin on downwards begins flaking like baked mud, falling off into sand like chunks of slate.

Laugh With Me:

Laugh With Me at first feels like the pinch of nerves. But pulling against the bindings is like hyena teeth biting and yanking your muscle and bones; you're not in control. That tugging hurts much less, more of a firm mouthing on your body in whatever direction he wants.

It's A Deal:

Much like his flattering words, his magic leaves one feeling glittery. But there's a cold tentacle-like grip on the heart for a quick moment; a reminder of what lies in the undertow. It's not a memorable sensation, but memorable enough to know what happens when it returns upon failing to fulfill your end of a contract. The resulting Anemone doesn't feel like much until one touches it, like a large zit.)

Shock the Heart:

The sudden wash over you feels like the splash of cold water after getting dumped out of a boat. Pharyngeal jaws scrape and tug on your tongue to reel you in, truth dripping off of you like seawater.

(Truth is a lot of times subjective so why nerf it further? HC he can use it multiple times but lies cause it works on those unaware)

Oasis Maker:

Rain that's always the perfect refreshing temperature. Never frigid but never feeling hot. A relaxing shower of jasmine and chai, without the stifling steam

Snake Whisper:

A burning cobra bite to the skull. It's venom sears every wrinkle in the brain as you feel yourself get pulled along by the collar of proverbial tail coiled around your neck. Resistance feels like hot sand filling your brain cavity. Eventually the oppressive weight of said sand makes one submit.

Sleep Kiss:

Sleep Kiss seems pretty straightforward. It probably feels like sitting in a soundproof glass box, with cold air filtered in. Every chilly inhale acts like anesthesia, or the tug of exhaustion by hypothermia.

Fae of Maleficence:

His 'Blessing' feels like being laid into a patch of semi-prickly twigs; a dragon's nest or roost. It hurts slightly, but the diligence is paid to lay you gently in so they don't prick. Eventually you can somewhat relax, but adjusting or moving reminds one of the thorny poking all around you. It just becomes preferable to sit still, rather than try waking or even attempt at getting comfortable.

Meet in a Dream:

Many mistake Silver to have soft hair, but the only downy lightness about him, I think, is Meet in a Dream. Whatever sensations one feels when dreaming of flying, that fills you to buoyancy as he leads you along the Dream Corridor.

#twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #unique magic #signature spell #twst silver #jamil viper #riddle rosehearts #epel felmier #azul ashengrotto #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #trey clover #deuce spade #jade leech #kalim al asim

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monayen · 10 months ago

Note

Ouuu maybe something where Sebastian finally snaps ( ´ ▽ ` )

there is like no fics about him x reader!

Hungry | Sebastian

➷ Paring - Sebastian x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - Noncon, fingering, choking, breath play, rough, mental break, unsafe sex

a/n - sometimes it hits me that im writing freakiness with a character who has de tomato smith chicken legs in his name. yes i'm still writing... inbox open for any requests or ideas, i love to see them still :3 (oh and if you like charlie from smiling friends i have a fic uploaded on my ao3)

Sebastian doesn't know how long it's been since he's had a good meal. His stomach aches for something delicious, and he can feel how his body slightly trembles at the growing malnutrition.

He's gotten used to a lot of things since his “adoption”, but hunger isn't one of them. The mush Randal attempts to give is questionably edible (and probably not safe for the human body) and Luther believes a “sustainable” mixture of bland, flavorless ingredients is enough to satiate.

The pressure in his head can also be accredited to Randal’s voice. He's lost track of what he's rambling about today. Something about ghosts, he deduces, and he much prefers not to listen. He just wants to go to sleep, he really does, but his throat itches and he's reminded that Randal has neglected once again to refill his water bowl.

“Can I, uh, get some water?” Sebastian asks, interrupting the trainwreck-train of thought spewing out of Randal’s mouth. “I thought you got water like three days ago! You thirsty boy.” Randal cocks his head to the side and Sebastian can only sigh in response.

“I need it every day. Food and water every day.” It's fruitless to try to get him to remember, but his lightheadedness is getting worse, and he just wants to be properly taken care of.

Randal shrugs, turning his focus to one of his dolls, tugging at the flimsy cloth arm before it completely rips off. A dark, small thing crawls out of the fluff, and immediately scampers into a vent in Randal’s room. He doesn't note it and tosses the torn doll to a shadowy corner in his room, probably not to be seen again.

“Eh, go ask someone else.”

Sebastian doesn't waste time to exit the room, already cycling to the next person who could actually listen to him. He grits, the ache growing in his stomach and head becoming almost unbearable.

He just needs to find you, which… he doesn't actually know where you are. As much as he’s tried to understand this house, it's complicated and confusing. It brings him back to his thoughts of you.

You're everything this house isn't.

You’ve been here longer than him, listed as one of Luther’s pets. However, you’ve seemed to actually gain some independence from that. Different from the adherents that are Nyen and Nyon, instead being more akin to a housemate.

You also don't seem to have any of the… oddities that everyone else has. No crude whiskers or unblinking eyes. You’re allowed your own wardrobe, nothing like the frills and puffs he has to wear. It's almost taunting how pretty and kempt you are.

It’s actually a bit interesting how Luther could allow this, but he assumes you pull your own weight enough to be well fed and unbothered. Sebastian scoffs, how fortunate is that?

Both of you haven't actually interacted that much, and it only serves to add to that untouchable status he's framed around you.

You are in your own world, independent and capable of leaving. But you don't. You continue to stay and wander around the house without a care. While Sebastian is stuck as a poor entertainer at for a bizarre young man, scrambling for any chance of freedom.

Despite this, you don't actually torment him in any way that matters. His envy does run deep, but you're the closest thing to a saving grace right now. He knows the catmen don't really care, and Luther might just shoo him away like the nuisance he is.

Finally, after checking room after room, he spots you sitting on a vintage leather couch with an unmarked book resting on your lap that definitely would be hard to read with how dim the lights are.

He hovers in the doorway, unsure how to start a conversation. His eyes also don't know where exactly to look, do you realize your skirt is riding up?

You beat him to say something, looking up at him through your lashes, “Hi Sebastian. Do you need something?”

You're as courteous as ever, offering a small smile that doesn't help at all to calm Sebastian’s nerves.

“Do you have anything to eat?”

You set aside your book and give him a look he can't place. Now up and off your seat to get closer to him, he can see how your brows furrow and lips purse. Suddenly, soft hands grip at the side of his face, and he stammers reactively.

“God, you look terrible. You poor thing.” It comes out sickly sweet, the proximity only heightening the warmth spreading over his freckled face.

“I–I know…” He sighs, not moving from your touch, “Please, can you just feed me?”

It sounds pathetic, but at this point he's practically begging for something, anything from you. He relaxes when he hears you giggle, hands leaving his face.

He sees you walk over to the nightstand drawer beside the couch, rummaging through it before pulling out… a stick of jerky and a juice-pouch, setting it on top in all it's glory.

It isn't much, but it's enough for Sebastian to practically salivate and let out a sound of relief. It could be stale for all he cares, as long as he can taste the added sugar and salt, he’s happy. He almost wants to jump into your arms and thank you.

“Ah, that's perfect–”

You cut him off, a smile planted on your face, “What are you going to do for it?”

It catches Sebastian completely off guard, mouth agape, “What?”

You don't falter at all, sitting on the couch as you stare at Sebastian’s shaking figure, “C’mon, you play with Randal all the time, don't you? How about we play something?”

Sebastian doesn't know how to respond. He's tired, hungry, and growing frustrated. Your voice stays sweet and it provokes a realization, how stupid is it to think you of all people could give him some slack? You aren't any different than the rest of these weirdos, no matter how you hold yourself.

His stomach growls on cue, and Sebastian can't seem to shake this feverish feeling anymore.

You notice the lack of a response, his face shaded by the dim lighting. Deciding to only poke him further, “...Unless, you aren't really that hungry.”

You don't realize how his fists ball on the side of him, teeth slightly gritting to push out his words, “Just give it.”

A small laugh leaves your grinning mouth, teasing and like nails on a chalkboard to Sebastian’s ears, “Ooo,” You sing, “feisty!”

Sebastian’s nostrils flare for a second, seemingly thinking something. He’s red, and his lips tremble ever so slightly. You stare intensely as he pauses and huffs before making his way towards the nightstand.

“Another time.” He simply states, an unrecognizable irk coating his words. You don't allow this, grabbing his arm as he reaches out for the food.

“I said,” The same saccharine smile stays across your face, “what are you going to do for it?

A switch almost seems to flip in Sebastian’s brain. You don't get to comment on the deep redness that adorns his cheeks, before he suddenly grips you by your shoulders and pins you down on the couch.

Yelping, you trash against his grasp as he hovers over you. He's breathing heavily, his chest drumming up and down as you push your hands against it.

“W-wait!” Sebastian doesn't care about what you have to say. It's all stupid words, stupid words out of your pretty mouth. His head is still reeling, and he doesn't know where the strength to keep you down is coming from.

All he knows is that he's the one with control right now. Something he hasn't had for a long time.

“Stop moving!” He huffs, eyes wide as he grasps the bottom of your shirt and bra, flipping it up to expose you.

His movements are almost thoughtless, as if a ghost possessed him to cup your breast and snake fingers between your thighs. Thoughtless doesn't make it any less rough, and soon enough your bottom half is exposed too.

“Listen, Sebastian, you– you can just have it! I was only messing around!” You try to excuse yourself, but his hand remains groping at your body like you're the first soft thing he's had to hold in forever. As if you're going to be ripped away from his hands at any second.

His erection pokes at your pinned down hip, the fabric of his outfit practically straining him. “I don't listen to you.” Sebastian spits, nor loud or quiet.

It's directly for you to hear.

More words sprew from his mouth. “You think you can just taunt me? Mess with me? Like everyone else?” They come out faster than you can respond, jaw hanging open to croak out any excuse.

“Shut up, I don't wanna hear it.” He suddenly moves and flips you over onto your stomach, head pressed down onto the aged leather of the couch, hands forced behind your back.

“I need this.” Those words are whispered to himself, low and dark. If you could look at him directly in the face, you’d see the cloudy look overcasting his eyes, the sweat that builds on his forehead, and the furrow of his brows as he looks at your figure. The dim room isn't enough to hide you.

All you can see is leather and flipped strands of hair in your vision. Instead you can only focus on the sound of his deep, shaky breath. Along with the sound of him shuffling to remove his own clothes. He moves on top of you, lanky body pressing against your behind, practically caging you. So close that it's hard to thrash around. And even if you could, you'd only be pushing up against him more.

You gasp when he puts his skinny fingers between your thighs, spreading you apart with a swift motion. Sebastian doesn't waste any time in pushing his fingers inside of you, hunched over as he continues to whisper to himself.

The pounding of your heart is loud in your own ears, you're sure he can hear how it patters against the couch more when he decides to curl his fingers. You whine, almost unintentionally arching at how good it shouldn't feel. But it does, and he knows because he lets out a laugh, “You like this?” It sounds both mocking and genuine.

The leather muffles you, but you manage to moan out a “No–” to which Sebastian seethes at. He leans into your ear, fingers still pumping into your heat. “Don’t lie. You– you wouldn't be this wet if you didn't.”

You’re unsure if Sebastian is trying to convince himself or you. The slight waver in his voice pairs with the hastiness of his fingers, itching to draw out more moans from your mouth. It’s impossible to ignore the several digits Sebastian pumps into you, him noticing how your thighs begin to quake and muscles tighten around his fingers. As quickly you're brought to the edge, Sebastian retracts. You whine at the now empty sensation, practically huffing like a brat. You don't even realize. Now his hand grips at your side of your hips, your own wetness uncomfortable on your skin.

“Maybe you’ll like this more.” Sebastian whispers, prodding at your entrance with this length. It’s hard to speak with how he continues to push your head down into the cushion, though any denial would fall on deaf ears even if you could. He slips in too easily, practically bottoming out the second your tightness wraps around him.

Sebastian is all too loud, words and moans mixing into pure nonsense. You wonder why nobody has heard anything yet. The door isn’t even locked. He doesn't care at all it seems, too engrossed in the feeling inside you to even consider the consequences of being caught.

Sebastian’s hand on the back of your head releases, and you think maybe he’ll let you turn. Maybe you’ll actually be able to scream properly for Luther with air properly filling your lungs and mouth not pressed against leather. He isn’t slowing down at all though, his hips snapping roughly against your ass. A hand snakes around the back of your throat and squeezes, your heart dropping at the growing pressure on your windpipes.

Sebastian's grip on your throat tightens, the need to claim something, anything, overtaking him. He's spent. He's so close, and he's not about to stop now. He's on the brink, and the feeling of you tightening around him, the way you're almost helpless under him, only serves to push him further.

You can't breathe, your eyes widening frantically, and the only thing you can manage to do is grip the couch. The lack of air is making your vision blur as Sebastian continues to thrust into you, not seeming to notice or care. Your mind begins to swim, the dim room now spinning in your vision.

It's a terrifyingly intense sensation, being so close to the edge yet being choked, the mix of pleasure and pain leaving you feeling dizzy. Your body betrays you, arching and pulsating at the rapid thrusts. Croaking out whatever air left in your lungs, you come with a shudder, your muscles gripping Sebastian’s cock as he continues to pound into you.

Sebastian follows with a guttural moan, thrusts becoming more erratic as he reaches his own climax, shooting into you. The hand around your throat tightens momentarily, before finally releasing, sending you gasping for air. He practically collapses on top of you, his own breath heavy.

He still holds you against the couch, though you wouldn't have the strength to move him to begin with. You feel the shuffle of him getting off on top of you, finally pulling out with a small groan and letting you at least get onto your side. He now lays beside you, body wrapped over yours. The couch barely fits you both, all you can feel is the heat of both your bodies and the sensation of wetness dripping between your thighs.

Sebastian nuzzles against you like a baby. He looks exhausted, eyes shut and brows furrowed. You look to find any empathy—any guilt. It isn't there. If anything, he looks content. As if you both will stay like this forever.

“You're right.” He murmurs, a soft rasp in his voice you aren't used to. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

#ranfren #randals friends #dark blog #dark content #sebastian de tomato smith chicken legs #sebastian de tomato smith chicken legs x reader #ranfren x reader #sebastian ranfren #tw noncon #tw breath play #tw choking

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fletcherwilbury · 1 year ago

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@febuwhump Day 14: Blood-Stained Tiles

Warning for Illness, flu, pneumonia, fever, coughing, wheezing, blood, dizziness, lightheadedness, fainting, overworking, exhaustion, medication, mucus

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woneazy · 1 month ago

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THE ONE TO FALL

sypnosis: you would've waited through it all if he let you.

Part 2

wc: 1.2k

cw: ooc rin?, childhood friends to lovers to exes, no happy ending, not proof read (im not good at tagging)

You'd been there through it all. You were there when he used to jump off climbing frames with you head titled dumbly to the side wondering why anybody would do something as reckless as that. You were there the day he fell into a tower of jenga blocks - the day you became "friends". Or atleast friends to you.

It wasn't any sort of special meeting but it was memorable nonetheless, mainly because Rin decided it was a great idea to dive headfirst into your class' jenga tower. "Hey Rin! Why'd you do that?" It was a semi-curious question riddled with childish annoyance. He wiped his nose and responded blankly, "Do what?"

"Fall on the tower."

"Saw it on TV."

Truthfully, you never understood his response. You never found a video where someone fell into a Jenga tower and you never figured out why he would copy them in the first place but you knew that Rin was kinda interesting. He'd eat from the middle of his curry and rice because of the Battle of Sekigahara (what?) and he'd always talk about playing football like his brother on Parents' Day. You used to follow him around and talk to him, getting responses when he wanted to talk. It sort of frustrated you as a little kid but when you got a little older, Rin and you were friends.

Primary school was boring but simple. The boy you spent your childhood with was boring but simple; he liked his brother, football and you (sometimes). When Sae was out playing football, his parents would invite you over to play. It'd sometimes end in broken toys, or having Rin patched up but you enjoyed it nonetheless. You later found out that his parents were hoping you'd become a good influence on him after he mentioned you in passing to them. You also realised that Rin was a waiting game and you realised it quicker than most.

His parents eventually gave up trying to get Rin to change and hoped he'd just grow out of it. He did, by the time you were in secondary school Rin had grown into a passionate football player, playing alongside his much adored brother, Sae. The blossoms of youth had turned him from a weekend playdate to a friend. You spent break times chatting together or helping him do homework that was left forgotten at the bottom of his bag : sure he never particularly cared for his grades but it was better than being in detention instead of out on the pitch after school. Some days, you'd be on the pitch too - well sitting on bleachers watching the club play or doing your (and Rin's) homework. Then you'd walk home together talking about whatever came to mind with Sae occasionally contributing his own thoughts. It got quieter the summer he left but you spent more time together.

After schools became just for you two. The blossoms had fallen and sun came in full blaze leaving you both in a tender season of youthful joy. Between the quiet giggles and secret conversations tucked away in the shadows of shortcuts home, your heart started beating a little faster. At first, you'd brushed it off as summer's euphoria - the same soft smiles you'd shared with your best friend for years - but when days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, you realised something. Something that had been years in the making. You'd fallen. Figuring the feeling, that gentle, warm and fluttering feeling, would go away with time, you left it. In hindsight, talking to Rin in class, watching Rin play football after school, walking home with Rin after school, texting Rin late into the night and still expecting that dizzying lightheadedness to dissipate wasn't rational - but neither is love. And it was loud. The pounding beat of your heart and the rush of wandering thoughts was so loud; when you let your imagination drift, the echo of his laughter and voice was so loud. Slowly, you knew that the drums of your heart were playing a tune dedicated for Rin and you let it.

You weren't sure how it how it happened but the winter Sae came back Rin changed. He kept you around but the feeling of orbiting him like Neptune to the Sun instead of buzzing like a bee to a blooming flower changed the steady, beating excitement of your affection to the worrisome of an out of tune violin. It made you feel amateur. So you waited, slowly corroding the walls he built and melting the ice of snowy days until you were back where you were: Rin's best friend. And back in the spring where flowers bloom, something else began to blossom too. Like a quiet unfolding of pink flowers, a quiet "I like you" danced it's way into the air - sharing it's humming melody with ears hidden by dark teal hair. The tips of his ears flushed pink.

For Rin, that spring meant harmony - the moment when fulfilment came back to him. He felt his heart pick up its pace in a way that was so different from the rush of football. Rin smiled and took your hand in his, keeping it for the rest of the walk home. He had never felt louder than when he told you "I like you too". You heard it so clearly. The words with the weight of nights and nights of wandering dreams fell so loudly upon your ears. It was a melody that came together just for the two of you at age 15.

The next winter, he set of for Blue Lock. It got lonelier without him, but you waited. Through losses and wins, you waited for him to come back to your arms and he always did. At age 18, Rin transferred overseas. You knew the game and you played it. Waiting for him was something that was second nature, patience encompassed by the dull tune of his heart.

At age 22, the melody stopped. You thought you were fine, the both of you. Sure it wasn't ideal, Rin had been playing overseas for a while now and you were busy interning with a company but you were fine. Rin had promised you that at your graduation last summer - he flew in just for you. So why is he here telling you something else?

"I don't think this is working and I don't see it working out in the future. I'm sorry Y/n." A blunt but sorrowful voice speaks like an arrow he had shot bullseye onto your heart. It feels more like Rin had found the instruments playing and wrecked them to bits, leaving the poor recording of a cacophony in his wake.

"But why?" you question, "we're fine, you said it yourself, we're fine, what changed?" and you plead.

Rin looks tired. With his eyes in low spirit, he pulls you close and presses his lips to the top of your head, a hand holding you firmly. "I'm sorry." There aren't bags under his eyes or the cadence of frustration in his voice that comes with irritation; you'd know, you had talked through nights both in Europe and Japan with him over the phone. Luggage slouches at his side while he apologises. "Don't wait for me this time." and he leaves.

The sound of luggage wheels drags away. Its quiet after that. No aria of future and no warmth of dream, no blossoms to realise and no sun to swoon. The winter Rin leaves is the winter your life goes silent.

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xiagf · 2 months ago

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caleb character introspection

cw: mentions of death

no bird imagines falling when it takes flight.

caleb, man, boy, god. all rough and hard around the edges.

he’s not naive. caleb never not noticed the hushed whispers when he walked around. how the other students hung their head low and recited his accomplishments, his feats. how gideon casually jokes that caleb never needs to try, he simply succeeds—and how timothy’s face contorts in a subtle frown.

when he catches timothy in the break room, fresh out of the centrifuge, he thought of what to say to him. he also thought about whether he should say anything at all. timothy wasn’t his beloved childhood friend—caleb didn’t know timothy well enough to figure out how to comfort him, or if his own presence was welcomed at all.

“caleb,” timothy, mouth agape, breathes out. “... what are you doing here?”

quick, caleb. think of an excuse. you certainly did not see him leave the dorm so suddenly.

“i had to come in for my mental health interview.” caleb reasons out. “i haven’t eaten yet though. do you want some?”

timothy shakes his head no. he goes on with saying caleb probably doesn't need to worry about anything at all. that they would declare him god, should it be possible. caleb takes note of timothy's words. it took a lot to make caleb hurt, and so he questions why the words sort of stung.

—

caleb takes flight. he disappears for a week.

timothy, patrick, and gideon didn’t know if he would come back. and if he did—would he be alive? did the cosmos rearrange caleb, tore him apart rib by rib, strangled out of him the air of confidence he carried?

in the cockpit, caleb doesn't really think of anything anymore. he doesn't count how long his aircraft has been floating around in a sea of nothingness. he remembers his failed psychological assessment. how he was told about death, how for people like him, flights might always be a one way trip.

then, for the first time in several days, caleb thinks of the small girl he left behind. like instinct, he reaches for his chest, and his skin is greeted with cold metal. then, he realizes: he's still alive. after a beat, he asks: why?

he looks over at the control panel in front of him. half the LEDs are lit red. something malfunctioning. something turned off. something broken. he looks over a screen where his location should be shown. he wonders if his mind is playing tricks on him, he sees the ghost of coordinates and lines, but when he reaches out it fades to nothing.

the oxygen levels are depleting. his fuel might get him to another four kilometers at best. and then what? will they even find him?

the lightheadedness doesn’t leave him. for today, and more days to come, it would be his sole companion.

caleb cuts off the signal. he doesn’t turn his aircraft around; he goes further and farther away. no bird imagines falling when it takes flight. but caleb—man, boy, god—he doesn’t really, either. he thinks of his situation and decides that this is a great way for him to go. in space, in a place light barely touches. here, he is a nameless vessel. here, he is bare and naked.

here, he is only a boy who had dreams of soaring.

and he is realizing that dream now.

this came to me in a dream (i was sleep deprived and bored). i love him so much pls lmk ur thoughts !

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #caleb

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moonstruckme · 18 days ago

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Hii Mae, how are you? Could I request a poly!emt marauders (if not, just poly marauders is totally fine as well) x anxious!reader. Lately my anxiety is killing me, I stared feeling very lightheaded due to that pretty often I’m a little scared and also I’ve keep getting tingles in my fingers (like almost non stop, help) and it’s making it 100 times worse. So a fic along those lines would be so comforting. If any of this is triggering/unconfy I’m so sorry, ignore this. Anywayy, Ilysm angel <3

Thank you lovely <3

cw: anxiety, lightheadedness, brief mention of nausea

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Your heart feels like it’s sitting in your throat. You keep feeling like maybe it’s because you’re lying on your side, that it’s lodged there because it can’t go up or down, but you know well enough that sitting up won’t help. It’s not going anywhere. This surety should help, but it doesn’t. It’s still blocking your air.

This is one on a list of things that won’t let you sleep.

You want to sleep. Oh god, you want it so badly. You’re so tired. It’s unjustifiable, really, how you can go through a day like any other and yet feel as though you’ve been through the hardest day of your life. Now you finally have the reprieve of a soft bed and your boyfriends’ body heat under the covers and you can’t. You can’t shut down.

The covers shush quietly past each other as Remus shifts. You move to make room for him, surprised when instead he snakes an arm over you to cup the back of your neck. You draw in a breath.

He doesn’t even open his eyes as he draws you closer, putting his lips to your forehead and mumbling, “You’re awake.”

“You’re awake,” you breathe back to him.

“Yeah,” you can hear a tinge of amusement in his tone now, “because you are.”

A quiet, selfish part of you is relieved. It’s nice not to be the only one awake, the only one whose mind is still spinning the same spindle of neverending thread. Misery does love company.

“I’m sorry,” you say anyway. “I can’t sleep.”

Remus shushes your apology away, kissing your head again. “What’s keeping you?” he asks.

“I have pins in my hands.”

It’s the thing worrying you the most. Worse than the migration of your heart or the low, inconsistent nausea, is the steady prickling from your fingers down to the meat of your palms. It’s like they’re coming awake, but they’ve been waking for hours now.

“Yeah?” You can’t tell if Remus is genuinely concerned or only humoring you, but he reaches beneath the covers for your hands anyway, taking them one at a time into his. His thumb presses into your heart line. “In both?”

You hum, nervous. Less so with him looking after you.

“Do you feel it anywhere else?”

“No?”

Remus looks at you patiently. “Are you sure?”

“I…maybe a little in my feet. But not as much.”

He hums. It’s a funny sound, half curious and half knowing. Very Remus.

“I’m going to get your pulse,” he murmurs, turning your hand over in his grasp to feel your wrist.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Sorry.”

“Shh. Stop that.”

“Just that I woke you up.”

“You didn’t wake me, love, you—” Remus pauses as a brawny forearm comes around his waist. “Well, I woke James. That’s not your fault, either.”

“What’s going on?” James slurs, his face appearing over Remus’ shoulder only to slump down onto it in the world’s sleepiest (and most adorable) hug. He’s squinting, his glasses on the nightstand past Sirius, but his eyes land anyway on where Remus is holding your wrist. “Alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Remus says placidly. You’ll never not be impressed by how good paramedics are at counting in their heads while multitasking, your boyfriend’s free hand coming up to pet James’ hair.

James allows himself to be pacified. Quite happily, really, his cheek sinking further down Remus’ bicep. “Why’re we awake?” he asks.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you murmur, apology in your tone. Remus gives you a look like he’s barely just letting it slide.

James’ compassion is immediate and palpable. “What’s the matter, lovie?”

“It’s nothing.” You feel rather ridiculous now, three of you awake at god knows what hour to address the mysterious case of the tingling hands. “My hands are just prickling, it’s distracting me.”

James makes a soft, concerned sound. He tilts his head up to see Remus. “What are you thinking?”

“I have an idea,” Remus replies. “Can you sit up for me, sweetheart?”

You do, your own concern mounting. “What’s wrong?” you ask, pushing up on your elbow.

“Nothing to worry over.” Remus is sitting up with you, James releasing him so that he can. “I think your extremities may just not be getting enough blood flow.”

“What does that mean?” You take in a quiet breath as you get all the way upright, splaying a hand on the bed. “Oh.”

“Fucking hell.” Sirius’ grumbling comes from your other side. “It’s too early to get up.”

You feel his face bury itself against your hip, but you can’t see him, or much of anything, through the thick spots smudging across your vision. They’re dark, but so is your bedroom, the only thing distinguishing them being odd bits of color. You might think they were pretty if you weren’t so unnerved by them.

“Oh?” Remus asks, ignoring your grouchy boyfriend for the moment. “What’s oh?”

“Nothing.” You blink hard, and the spots begin to ebb. “Just had a head rush.”

Remus does that hum again. “Lightheaded?”

“A little.”

Sirius groans into your hip. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” you say, at the same time as James says, “She’s having circulation issues.”

Sirius takes a pause. He turns his head up, seeming more awake. “Is something actually the matter?”

“No,” you and Remus reassure him. You firmly, Remus calmly. It reassures you, too, that he agrees with you. You weren’t so sure of yourself.

“Try something for me?” Remus asks you. You nod, of course, because you’ll do anything he wants. “Take a breath, as deep as you can.”

You inhale through your nose, surprised by how difficult it is. There’s still your heart, obstructing a good portion of your throat, but even when you manage to get air past that it gets all tangled up in your lungs.

“It hurts,” you say, alarmed.

“That’s alright,” Remus promises you.

“What is it?”

“Sweetheart, shh, hey.” That’s James’ hand on your back. He’s moved up on the bed to reach around Remus, and somewhere along the way he must have figured out whatever Remus has, because he looks less worried now. “Take another breath. You’re fine.”

“I think it might help to have some tea,” Remus says. And just like that, the decision is made, Remus sliding past James and out of bed.

“Tea?” you echo after him. You realize it’s not unheard of for some people, but your boyfriends have never really been known to remedy medical afflictions with tea.

Sirius is sitting up now, too, looking between you and James like he wants to ask a dozen questions but is trying to parse things out on his own first. His brows are woven together over bleary eyes.

“Rem,” James’ voice harbors a fond smile, “you can’t just leave like that.” He looks at you, sighing. “He’s just sleepy. You know how he forgets to talk.”

“What’s wrong with me?” you ask him instead.

James draws his hand back and forth over your back. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he soothes. “The tea is just to help you relax. I think you’re tingly and lightheaded because you’re not breathing enough, sweetheart.”

The heat comes to your face so fast, and maybe you’d already guessed, because the first thing to slip from your mouth is a frail, “I’m trying.”

“Hey.” Sirius may not have a grasp on what’s happening, but he knows enough not to like this newest development. You find your face tucked under his chin within a handful of moments. “Hey, we’re alright, aren’t we? There’s no need for tears.”

“You said it hurts when you breathe in,” James says gently, “right?”

You nod, blinking fast.

“That’s something that can happen when there’s lower levels of carbon dioxide in our blood. The same thing that causes pins and needles, and dizziness.” He takes your hand, lips to your knuckles. “It’s not your fault, angel. We just need to get you breathing a bit better. Having something warm to drink might help you calm down.”

“Oh,” you murmur. Because yeah, that sounds about right. It’s the dead of night. You should be sluggish, yawning, nodding off, but instead you feel like there’s static buzzing in your veins; if there’s one thing you’re not, it’s calm.

Sirius makes a low, sorry sound of understanding. “Come here, baby.” He coaxes you up, half stumbling himself as he leads you into the kitchen.

There, you’re sat down on the couch with a heavy blanket thrown over your lap and James’ hand to hold as you please. Remus kisses your head while pressing a steaming cup into your hands. It smells herbal and nice, and maybe it’s wishful thinking but you really do feel like the first inhalation of that aroma makes progress against the tightness of your chest. You imagine the steam curling inside you, soothing you from the inside out. Sirius falls asleep on James’ lap before you’ve taken two sips.

It all helps. Maybe it’s just that things feel less miserable when there’s company.

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freyito · 4 months ago

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happy 1K!! I've been a huge fan of your writing since the fics u wrote in march/may last year and I'm so so happy to see you get the recognition you deserve!! 💜 may i please order a tiramisu and soft drink for boothill? ><

✭ pairing(s): boothill x gn reader

★ in which: boothill decides that perhaps laughter is the best medicine... among other things.

✩ tiramisu + soft drink w/ boothill!

✦ entry for my 1k follower event, Freyito's Maid Cafe! check out the link to figure out how to send an order!!

✧ a/n: AUGHHHH the idea that someone has been reading my fics for near a year still cant make sense in my brain CAUSE WHAT DO YOU MEAN PEOPLE HAVE BEEN HERE FOR THAT LONG!!!!!!! THANK YOU REGARDLESS IT MEANS A LOT AHSGDHAGJD

ALSO!! thank you everyone for all ur requests!!!! i am working on them (as well as working on requests outside of this event, my plan is to (hopefully) drop 2 maid cafe fics and then a regular request and then repeat... hopefully...) as fast and as best as i can teehee... i must warn you that with monster hunter wilds in a week i will most likely not be writing that much... BUT IM TRYING I SWEARRR!!

🗒 cw: gn reader, you try to undress him but its not even suggestive, id say ooc but i wholeheartedly believe hed do this, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.3k

ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴅᴇᴅɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ꜰʀᴇʏɪᴛᴏ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪᴅ ᴄᴀꜰᴇ !

When you were sick, you were downright miserable. Gone were the days that sick days meant you could stay at home, play video games, read, and do anything that wasn’t school. No, now you have to take care of yourself, and cook, and clean… What a cruel world we live in. Not just that, but you could’ve sworn being sick never came with such lethargy and body aches as a kid. You could barely find someone to cover for you at work, and there was still so much to do at home.

You, with achy bones for no reason at all and the desperate want to stay in bed, chose to complain. To Boothill, of course. About the loads of laundry you had to do, about the dishes you had to clean, all of it. He was sympathetic, offering all sorts of ‘sorry’s like he was the one who got you sick, before offering to come over and take care of you. As much as you wanted him to, you decided to tell him it’s no big deal. He ends up leaving you on seen, which is normal, considering his occupation. But for once, you can’t help but complain internally about this, wanting nothing more than to text your boyfriend all day. Of course, you can’t get what you want, but no one can blame you for wanting to talk to your boyfriend a little more, especially when you’re sick.

This cycle was broken, however, by a knock at your apartment door. Part of you really, really wants to just ignore it, roll over and continue your ‘nap’. Still, you’d rather not waste away, so you choose to answer it.

With a groan, you sit up, your head feeling all too heavy. Slowly, like an old dog ridden with arthritis, you slide out of bed, making your way out of your room and to the door. Even with how much care you took to get up, your vision blacks out for a moment, feeling a sudden wave of lightheadedness. You lean against the wall to catch your breath, looking down while your vision and strength (or, what little you had) return to you. As you finally wander over to the door, the one and only thought on your mind is ‘apple juice…’

Opening the door you are met with a fever dream. What you see has barely registered in your mind, before you decide just closing the door and going back to sleep would be much better than facing the problem in front of you. You start to close the door, but the man at the door pushes it back open.

“Awh, darlin’, don’t be so surprised!” He chimes, his voice so eerily energetic and carefree, especially considering what he was wearing.

“Boothill–”

“Ain’t I pretty? C’mon now, it ain’t that bad…” He hums, before his shoulders slump a little. “... right?”

“You are,” You utter, finally allowing yourself to process what he was wearing. It’s not that he was hard to look at, quite the opposite, really. Granted, you thought he was handsome in whatever he wore.

He was dressed in a rather classic maid outfit, not too many frills. A simple black, ankle-length dress, and a white apron. He had put his hair back, leaving it in a low braid. Of course, he left his bangs alone, still hiding his other eye. What a shame, you can’t help but think to yourself. It’s always a treat when he shows you his other eye, damaged as it was.

Apparently, your gaze had lingered for a little too long. While you were simply trying to formulate your thoughts, he took this as a sign that you were quite enamored with his getup. Perhaps if you were more lucid, you would be. He strikes a little pose for you, hand on his hip, other hand raking through his bangs, tilting his chin up with a smile.

“Say it like ya mean it, sweetheart! I know I’m rockin’ this fit, and I know you know that,” Boothill flaunts, shaking his head a little to let his bangs down once more.

All you can do is stare back up at him and sniffle a little, while one of your neighbors walks behind him in the hallway. They are stunned for a moment, their stride slowing for just a moment to take in the spectacle of the maid cyborg at your door. They chuckle, then continue on down the hallway. Boothill’s cheeks flush at this, his previous bravado whittled down.

“Okay, c’mon, lemme inside. I wanna help you out,” He ushers you back inside, quickly following you and closing the door. “Gonna make you some soup and then get some cleanin’ done.”

You blink, then shake your head, putting your hands up. “No, you don’t have to–”

“I want to–”

“– I can do it myself. Just wanted to complain, that's all.”

He deflates a little, shoulders slumping. He pouts, and stares at you with sad eyes, like a puppy. Now, it’s not that you didn’t want him to stay over, you’d be more than happy if you did. But you don’t exactly want to burden him with your chores, no matter how badly you didn’t want to do them. However, that look he gave you was hard to ignore. So, you turn your head away to avoid it.

“Please, darlin’? I got dressed up ‘n’ all…” He pleads, taking a step closer. Goddammit, he did, and he chose to be here– “You don’t look too good, and I don’t want you to overwork yourself–”

“Fine. Fine.” You relent with a huff, finally turning your head back to him.

“Oh, sugar, you’re really warm,” He pulls away all too quickly, like you zapped him. Before you can say anything else (like tell him he’d get sick– which, you realized that perhaps he couldn’t considering he is a cyborg after all), he leans down and scoops you up into your arms. You don’t even argue, knowing all too well how it will end. He places you down on the couch, patting your knee before pulling back. “Need anything before I start?”

“Mh, water… and my blanket, please,” You mumble, allowing yourself to settle back into the couch, practically melting into it.

Boothill walks off to your bedroom to fetch your blanket, before draping it over your legs, too afraid that he’d accidentally bake you if he had placed it any higher. Then, he walks over to your kitchen, grabbing a cup from your cupboards, and knocking a couple of icecubes out of your ice tray, before pouring some water into it. He tops it off with a straw, before placing it on your coffee table. He places his hand on the back of the couch, leaning back down and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Alright, I’m gonna start cookin’. Holler if you need anythin’, darlin’,” He smiles, lingering for another moment, before pushing himself back up and walking back to the kitchen.

With that, you reach out for the glass of water, taking a sip before placing it back down. The cold water feels like pure heaven against your sore and raw throat, and for a moment, you feel fine. If you were to ignore the pains in your joints and the heat beneath your skin. You fall back into the couch, pushing yourself up so the arm could act like a pillow, even though it was uncomfortable. Despite the sound behind you every now and then, you find yourself falling back asleep. You fight it for a bit, keeping your eyes open but squinting, before ultimately allowing your eyes to close and eventually falling back into that half-awake, half-asleep state again.

Every time you opened your eyes, you swore Boothill somehow found his way in front of you. Or, at least, in your living room. The first time, he was standing across from you, wiping down the coffee table. The next, he was vacuuming the carpet. At some point you rolled over, only getting peaks of Boothill over the back of the couch, either walking around or working on the soup. At some point, you ended up actually falling asleep.

An hour later, Boothill watches you over the back of the couch. The soup is done, and he feels as if he’s done most of what he could. He had vacuumed, cleaned the countertops and the table, and done the laundry. As of now, your sheets were in the dryer. All that was left to do was the dishes, which he’d save for after you had your soup, and the blanket you were laying under. He didn’t want to take it from you, and he also didn’t want to wake you.

He stands awkwardly in the kitchen, messing with the hem of his apron as he weighs his options. He doesn’t want your soup to get cold, but he also doesn’t want to wake you up. Sure, he could always put it in the fridge and reheat it over the stove for you, but wouldn’t it taste better if it was fresh…? He chews at his lip, before making up his mind. He grabs your bowl, heading over. He places the bowl down gently on the coffee table, before reaching over to you and placing his hand on your shoulder. He pauses for a moment, as if regretting his decision, before shaking you lightly.

“Darlin’...” He hums softly, earning a soft groan from you.

You open your eyes for a moment, rolling over to your other side to mumble something at Boothill, but all you succeed at saying is utter gibberish. You close your eyes again, like he was your alarm. There’s an odd taste in your mouth, and some drool gathered at the corner of your lips. Boothill reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb, chuckling softly.

“C’mon, wake up. Soups ready and I want you to eat it hot, at least,” He pulls back, before pushing your legs up so he could sit down at the end of the couch. You allow him to do so, only to put your legs over his own once he's sat down.

Slowly, you sit up, opening your eyes to a squint, looking over at him. Ah. He really is in that dress. You really thought it was a fever dream, almost hoped for it. Kind of. Perhaps if you weren’t feeling so icky you’d get a laugh at it, then ask him to wear it more. You did, however, quite like it when he braided his hair.

You lick your lips, realizing just how dry your mouth was. You reach forward and grab the bowl, bringing it up closer so you wouldn’t have to hunch over to eat it. Boothill smiles, placing his hand on your shoulder. The chill of the steel is so soothing for once, welcome against your heated skin. You sit criss-cross applesauce, placing the bowl of soup in your lap, making sure it won’t spill, before grabbing his hand and placing it on your forehead. You can’t help but groan at this feeling, leaning your head back.

“Feels that nice, hm?” Boothill coos, reaching over with his other hand to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

You can feel the steel warming up against your forehead, but can’t really bring yourself to care. You feel your head clear just a bit, enough to utter out a ‘thank you’, which earns you a low chuckle and a warm, compassionate look from him.

“You want me to feed you your soup?”

You think for a moment, closing your eyes and basking in the fading coolness of his hand. It’s almost enticing, but you didn’t want to feel like a helpless kid. “God, no, just please don’t move your hand.”

He throws back his head with a heart laugh, ending with an ‘alright’, as he simply watches you, feeling all warm simply at the thought of you enjoying his cooking. You two sit in silence for a couple minutes while you eat. He had replaced his hand with his other, so you could soak up the cold from there, as well. It’s a perfect combination, the soup chasing away the feverish chill within your body and the steel helping to keep your temperature regulated somewhat. At least, it helped you feel that way.

After you place your empty bowl back on the coffee table and leak back, Boothill gestures to his outfit with his free hand. “So, tell me, should I dress up again, sugar?”

“No. Yes. Maybe,” You can’t decide on an answer, but you do know one thing. His hand has become warm and you feel as if you can’t live without the cold. “I want you to take it off, though.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to take it off cause your hand is warm now,” You reach for the collar of his dress, trying to get him to unbutton it and take off the dress.

“Hey! Hey! Slow down,” He half laughs, half warns. “Stop itt! C’mon, darlin’, I know your sick but I gotta keep my decency!”

You raise your eyebrow as he pulls your hand away. “You don’t have anything, though.”

“Doesn’t matter! Still wanna keep my decency in tact! Just wait for my hand to cool down again. You’ll be fine.”

“Ugh.”

“The dress is startin’ to get kinda stuffy though.”

You look back up at him, with pleading eyes, hoping he’d just take the damn thing off.

“No, sugar!”

DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

#⁺◟freyito #⁺◟freyito's maid cafe #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #boothill x reader #boothill hsr x reader #boothill x you

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l1tw1ck · 2 years ago

Note

Is this a thirst yes maybe idk… I keep thinking about Joel using reader to get off,, maybe some face fucking,, I’m ill

idk which way you wanted this but ive been thinking about dilf pussy so (warning i am feeling very perverted today) this is also kind of nonsensical i just love dilf pussy

dom bottom ftm joel x sub top male reader

cw: afab language, cunnilingus, squirting, asphyxiation, scent kink

the first time joel rode your face, he was scared he'd break your nose but after a while, he completely forgot about it and now he loves doing it

joel grinds down onto your face, moaning loudly as he overindulges in the pleasure. not that you mind of course. drowning in his fat pussy is the best way to die. he arches his back, coming for the third time.

~~~~~~~

Joel plops down onto the couch and sighs. it's been a difficult day at work and all he wants is some relief. good thing he has his loyal lover to help him out. he lightly jerks his head, motioning for you to come over. he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants. "be a good boy and eat me out." he orders, spreading his legs. you quickly slot yourself between them and shove your face into his clothed cunt, taking in his delicious musky scent. he loves watching you get off to just his scent but he's in dire need of pleasure. he pulls your head back and pulls his boxers down. "eat." he says, pulling you face first into his wet cunt. joel grins, watching you with half lidded eyes as you happily feast on him. your tongue feels amazing inside him. this is just what he needed.

you try to pull away to get some air but he pushes you back into his cunt, keeping you there. "don't you dare stop." he almost growls. you moan, the vibrations of it bringing joel pleasure. you continue to devour his pussy as you lose oxygen, knowing joel will let you breathe if you tap his thigh. he bites his lip, enjoying the power he has over you. "good boy." he bucks his hips up and basically starts fucking your face. "that's right..." he squirts all over your face but doesn't stop moving and continues to smother you in his pussy. you ignore your lightheadedness and let him do whatever he pleases.

~ you finally get released from his hold and look up at him with a smile on your shiny slick covered face. he almost wants to make you eat him out again

#wicks🕯️shorts #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #the last of us x reader #the last of us x male reader #top male reader #male reader #joel miller x male reader #🕯️joel miller

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nametakensff · 9 months ago

Note

spring prompt request: hitching and inopportune for k/im ideally in your fet!h/arry x k/im setting

Hellooo, I am sooo sorry this prompt has taken months in the making but I am finally finished!! Thank you for your patience 💕 Please enjoy 8.4k of K/im having a hard time

K/im is already feeling under the weather when an allergic reaction to dust at the worst of times makes his day even more exhausting. At least H/arry is there to help 😇

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, K/im is a kinky motherfucker, (oncoming) cold sneezes, dust allergy sneezes, sneezing whilst hiding, stifles, rapid sneezes, handkerchiefs, tissues, some mild mess, spray, hitching breaths, K/im generally has a very persistent tickle, sneezing on someone, catching someone else's sneezes for them, brief cold denial, blowing nose into hands (in the shower), handjobs, frotting, masturbation, elements of domination/submission, embarrassment, some voyeurism/exhibitionism, dirty talk, fetishy dirty talk, praise kink, graphic descriptions of semen, mentions of phone sex, caretaking, not orgasm denial exactly but neither have nutted in a while

CW: mentions of drug abuse, mentions of homicide, standard police stuff, general mentions of lightheadedness and not feeling well

NSFW - Minors DNI!

Kim awoke with a distinct feeling the day ahead was probably going to suck. He’d been feeling out of sorts this week, in the way that one does when one is probably coming down with a cold. He sighed, covering his eyes with the back of one hand as he lay on his back. After a moment he peered at his alarm clock, promptly remembered he couldn’t see jack shit, then reached for his glasses.

The clock read exactly 04:45 AM. He’d only gotten around five hours of sleep, still had over an hour before his alarm was meant to go off. He could try and go back to sleep, but he also knew from experience that he probably wouldn’t get very far. Once he was awake, that was it. He sighed again.

Just after 5 AM, Kim crawled out of bed and set to getting ready for the day. He figured he could use the extra time to get through outstanding paperwork (although there was admittedly very little ever outstanding for him) and decided to eat breakfast at the diner nearby the 41st precinct. The artificial, glaring lighting paired with a black coffee would hopefully make him feel a little less like the walking dead.

Sitting at the diner just after 6 AM, his first sneeze (of which Kim hoped was not many) had him scrambling for his handkerchief one-handed, the other clutching his newspaper. He decided, gently wiping at his nose in the aftermath, that to pay it any mind would be to invite more, so he simply returned to scrutinising the daily crossword, occasionally taking sips of coffee and meagre bites of a breakfast muffin. The façade of normalcy didn’t last especially long; he wasn’t hungry, the coffee hurt his throat, and the crossword seemed to be taking up entirely too much of his mental energy.

It was as if the admittance that things were amiss operated as a kind of signal to his treacherous nose. In the wake of that earlier sneeze, the tickle that had prompted it – instead of being purged by the sneeze – had merely lingered, hidden away in the depths of his sinuses. It reared its head once again, giving him a little more time than before to prepare, but still peaking rapidly enough that he had hardly gotten his handkerchief to his face before his chest swelled with a definitive inhalation.

“Hhtt-! Hh’gxt! N’Gkt!! Hh’NGxt’chu!!”

Instead of a sense of relief, the sneezes merely left him bleary-eyed and worse for wear. He snuffled discretely into the cloth, grateful that the other patrons hadn’t registered his outbursts (or more likely, that they just didn’t care). He allowed himself to rub indulgently at his nose, wriggling it from side to side in the hopes he could externally quell the internal irritation. It worked a little, but he was still sniffling against one crooked finger as he left the diner and climbed back into his MC, the leather of his glove coming away damp.

Luckily, nobody seemed to notice the desperate triple of sneezes he stifled between the pinching grip of his thumb and pointer finger, striking him right as he entered the station. They were nasty sneezes, total bullies that fought as hard as possible to burst past the barrier of his resistance. Kim winced more at the audibly liquid sound of them than the way they almost unbalanced him, walking at his brisk pace. He sniffled, trying not to cringe when the crackling resonance of it prompted a cop stood nearby to peer over at him in thinly-veiled disgust.

Once he was at his desk (and more importantly – sat down in his chair), he felt he could relax for a moment. The Major Crimes Unit was temporarily bereft of Major Crimes, so their officers were being lent out, as it were, to slightly more menial affairs. Jean had been complaining openly about this. The day before, as he stood in the kitchen whilst Kim and Harry picked at their lunches, he had grumbled that they were slowly becoming the Minor Crimes Unit, and the flat affect of his voice had made Kim laugh hard enough to almost choke on the crust of his sandwich.

Today, Kim was grateful they were evidently still the Minor Crimes Unit. It meant that half the officers were away on patrol, and that the rest were either plowing away through paperwork – or chatting amongst themselves in various nooks and crannies. It suited Kim just fine – this way he didn’t have to worry about stifling the persistent sneezes into total silence, and the lack of a fixed audience meant he could occasionally indulge in openly tilting his head back, nostrils flaring and face creasing, as any particularly irritable sneezes started to build.

So content had he become in the mechanical routine of write, pause, sneeze, resume writing that he was almost disappointed when Harry’s warm palm gripped him by the shoulder and shook him out of his trance. His partner grinned at him, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder that they were getting the hell out of dodge. Kim offered a small smile back, tried to ignore the slight vertigo as he stood up and gathered his things.

Harry filled him in on the way to the garage – a new witness for a case that had gone cold years ago had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, promising vital information regarding the homicide of a 35-year-old mother of two. Harry’s enthusiasm could perhaps be described as in poor taste to some, but Kim understood. The thrill of all the pieces coming together, a case finally hurtling towards a successful closure was as potent a source of adrenaline for him as high-speed pursuits.

Kim pulled the MC out of the garage, more on autopilot than anything else, as Harry continued to natter. Kim found he was struggling to listen and drive at the same time – not good. Not usual, for him. He focused as much of his split attention as he could, thanking his lucky stars when Harry remained so wrapped up in his own hyper-focused ramblings that he didn’t notice as Kim’s head bobbed forward with three expertly stifled, silent sneezes.

~~~~~

The witness was a frazzled former meth user. Conversation with her seemed to bounce back and forth, and when Kim asked her what year it was, she was a decade off. Harry’s enthusiasm appeared to visibly wane as time went on – even his abilities as a human can-opener could only do so much in the face of synapses fried by years of abuse.

It seemed like a lost cause until Harry mentioned the name of a previous suspect – released from custody almost immediately due to lack of solid evidence of his involvement. Raking her hands through her hair, the witness seemed lucid and engaged all at once. Kim quickly flipped open his notebook and began to jot down the conversation in shorthand, even knowing Harry would memorise it entirely.

His nose tickled ever so slightly, and he sniffled, nostrils arching delicately. It was a mistake; he immediately needed to sneeze. The tickle was fast to come on but not especially strong – he did not find himself bending in half with the body-shaking force of it. Instead, his head gently bobbed forward which each sneeze, an unremarkable triple. It was a quick, efficient affair; he barely even shuddered with them. He might have been able to avoid detection entirely, had he not indulged in an audibly liquid sniffle immediately afterwards.

The witness glanced at him, a microscopic shift in body language, before her eyes were fixed back in the general vicinity of Harry’s shoulder. It was all that was needed for Harry to glance over at Kim - right at the moment that sniffle ignited the tickle into an unexpected fourth sneeze.

Kim’s eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled sharply. Harry was already watching him, concentration on the witness effectively broken. He needn’t have attempted to stifle this sneeze into total silence for his sake, but he felt he didn’t want to spook the witness out of her relative lucidity. His head bobbed forward again as he convulsed under the pressure of the release – stronger than the preceding three; strong enough that the sneeze was audible despite his best efforts. An awkward, entirely nasal stifle burst out of him, and with it a tiny stream of mess from his left nostril.

A gloved hand shot up to his face at once, pinching away the mess before dutifully returning pen to paper. Harry was rigid beside him; Kim bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from breaking out in a mischievous smile. The way he could render Harry dumbstruck with a single sneeze was one of his newfound delights in life. He felt like shit, and really didn’t want to be catching this cold, but now that Harry had noticed his struggles, he didn’t much feel like suppressing his sneezes any longer.

They thanked the witness, who had supplied them with a further lead in the form of a supposed hideout for the gang member she suspected committed the murder. It was probably a dead end this long after the crime, and both of them knew it, but it didn’t stop Harry from perking up in hope, just a little bit.

He perked up even more as Kim stopped walking, and Harry, several paces ahead, turned just in time to watch him sneeze an uncovered, unhindered triple of sneezes.

“Hh-Hh-h-!! Hupt’ISSHH’uu!! ‘TSScHh’iew!! Hh! Hah’AHDT’Tsziew!! Ahh, Mon dieu.”

“God, Kim. Bless you.”

Kim brought his handkerchief up to his face to snuffle into, smiling behind the fabric. It had felt fantastic to sneeze openly and as loudly as he wanted, and it felt just as fantastic to hear the poorly restrained arousal in his partner’s voice.

“Thank you. That felt good.”

Harry swore under his breath and continued to make his way to the MC, Kim following right behind him and doing his best not to beam in satisfaction. Back in the car, Harry turned to face Kim, eyes roving over his face in question. Kim simply sat there and gazed back at him, allowing the silent scrutinization.

“You okay, honey? Got a tickle?” Harry asked, doing an impressive job of sounding like he wasn’t sporting an extremely obvious erection.

“Hm.” Kim sniffled, starting the engine and glancing towards the road. “Yes. Just a tickle. A very persistent one.”

He pulled the car out onto the road, making his way towards the district of interest. Harry was squirming in his peripheral vision.

“That’s too bad. Hope you get some relief soon.” He offered after a moment of silence.

Kim nodded, stifling another smile. It seemed they were both refusing to take the topic any further. It was fine with him if Harry wanted to focus on work – he encouraged it wholeheartedly, and he didn’t particularly feel like surrendering to the other man how under the weather he felt just yet.

Fine. Let them both be stubborn, independent of each other. Kim drove a little less quickly than usual, on account of the occasional sneeze, and Harry did his very best to look entirely interested in everything that wasn’t his boyfriend sniffling several feet away from him.

~~~~~~

The hideout looked like any other drug den one might expect to encounter in Faubourg. Kim immediately felt uneasy walking up the short path to the front door, but it was a familiar unease he’d grown used to after decades on the job. Harry was alert and focused beside him. They turned to one another, reaching tentatively for their holstered guns – a habitual motion, just to confirm everything was in order in case things went south.

They needn’t have worried; nobody answered the door, which was unlocked, and a quick skim of the property confirmed it to be entirely empty. Harry nodded at him and Kim put his pistol back in its holster. They both wandered somewhat lazily around the shoddy bungalow in companionable silence, torches out due to the sheets pinned over every single window.

“Well. Fuck.” Kim heard Harry mutter, coming to the same conclusion as he that the only kind of organised crime this property had been related to in recent years was the procurement and consumption of drugs. The numerous needles littering the carpet were as good a sign of that as any.

“We got to her too late. This place is a wash. Shit.” Harry kicked an empty takeout box across the room, spreading fragments of ancient chow mein asunder. Kim sighed.

“It’s an old case, detective. We knew this was a likely outcome.”

Harry crossed his arms and let his head fall forward, sighing dramatically. Kim reached out and squeezed his bicep conciliatorily.

“There may be another lead yet. We’re not in any rush, we may as well investigate the property thoroughly.”

Harry looked up and smiled at him. Even in the dim light of the room, Kim could make out a grateful twinkle in his eyes. The almost childlike serenity of it had him smiling back in an decidedly uncool way, rife with affection and tenderness. The corner of his eyes were even crinkling, for fuck’s sake. But then again, this was Harry. He’d been a sucker for him from day 1.

Kim slapped him harder on the bicep than was necessary as he pulled away, then got to work.

~~~~~

He should have considered this. He didn’t understand why he never seemed to remember how irritatingly allergic to dust he was until he had already started to have a reaction. Breath catching and head tipping back for what was probably the tenth time since they’d entered this dust trap of a crack house, Kim briefly fanned at his face with a gloved hand before he was sneezing again, shuddering with the force of it.

“HhHH’DZZSTShhh!! Hih-!! Hup’TSCHhhht!! ‘TSCHhhuu!! Hh-Hhh!! HAHDt’Tssieww!!”

The frantic post-sneeze sniffle he indulged in just seemed to stoke the tickle right back into fruition – another thing he ought to have remembered not to do in the middle of an allergy attack, and yet. He gasped, chest jumping uncontrollably with every hitching breath, and sneezed even harder.

“HUPTt’TZzSHHhh!! AhHD’TZSCHhuu!! ‘DTZSCHhttt!!”

Even through post-sneeze bleary, blinking eyes, he could make out a cloud of aerosol spray lingering in the light of his torch for several seconds before dissipating into the air. If he was with anyone but Harry, he would be mortified.

“Fuck. God bless you. Again.” Harry offered from the other room. He was audibly aroused, and Kim would be lying if it wasn’t getting to him even whilst he felt absolutely miserable.

He didn’t have long to dwell on the matter before the tickle, utterly maddening in its feathery intensity, had him gasping and sneezing anew, nearly stumbling forward under the force of it.

“HH-!! Hhh’AGKk’TSschtt!! Hupt’TSCHHhh!! Hup’TSZSHhieww!! HAGK’TSSHhhuu!!”

Harry blessed him again, but Kim could hardly focus through the supreme irritation. He reached for his handkerchief and blew his nose hard, trying not to blush when his congested sinuses produced a rather undignified honking noise. Relax. Harry likes this. The thought provided him with a little relief, though extremely short-lived as his sinuses started to fill immediately, triggering yet another tickle. He tucked the torch under his armpit and reached to steady himself on a nearby wall, gasping hard into the protective cover of his handkerchief.

“Hih! Hh-HHdt-!! HDTT’TZzshhh-‘TSSH’uu!! HdDDZT’Tzshieww! HAH-! AEESCHH’uu!! Ohh…”

This was no good. One might even say he was fucked. He was getting hardly any reprieve between sneezes now, and each fit left him increasingly weaker and trembling in the aftermath. He felt Harry’s broad palm reaching between his shoulder blades, stroking his back as his breath scissored in and out of him. He hadn’t even heard him approaching the musty bedroom he’d been stationed in, so consumed had he been with purging the tickle. His eyes leaked twin streams of irritated tears down his flushed cheeks and saturated the fabric of his handkerchief. Harry’s hand felt like a grounding anchor amidst it all.

“Kim. Babe. We’ve officially seen enough, okay? I’m ending this investigation. We need to get you some fresh air.”

Kim nodded, unable to speak as another vicious triple tore its way out of him. Harry cooed at him, wrapping an arm around his waist and standing him upright. Kim allowed him to press a soft kiss to the side of his face, unprofessionalism be damned given the circumstances. He felt horrible; his body arched towards Harry, seeking the comfort like a lifeline.

They’d hardly taken a couple of steps forward when the sound of approaching footsteps and gruff male voices from outside had them freezing mid-movement. Maybe the joint wasn’t abandoned after all. The almost marching and level sounds of the steps – the domineering, unwavering cadence of the men…it didn’t sound like a pair of drug addicts. They sounded like they meant business. Fuck.

Upon the sound of the men reaching the doorstep, Harry yanked Kim back into the bedroom and behind the door, slightly ajar. The front door opened, and they held their breath as the men strode inside. Their current hiding place was a terrible vantage point – neither Harry nor Kim could watch them, only listen as they rummaged around, opening draws and shifting furniture. They weren’t saying much of anything – there was no urgency in their banter, nothing frantic about the sounds of their movements. Kim clutched his handkerchief to his nose, pinching hard, and with his free hand clutched at the gun in his holster. Beside him, Harry’s hand rested on his own weapon.

Kim’s mind raced through the possibilities. Somebody must have been watching their approach and informed these men. Their MC was parked a couple of streets away to avoid becoming a spectacle, but perhaps it had been discovered, or they’d been seen entering the property and recognised by the RCM insignias on their jackets. Were the strangers actively looking for them? No. They would have moved with frenzied purpose, were that the case.

Maybe they were drug addicts after all. Maybe they were opportunistic scavengers. Maybe he and Harry ought to emerge from the bedroom, guns before them, and make their presence known? They’d hidden instinctually, perhaps preemptively. He frowned, rigid beside an equally rigid Harry as he thought and thought.

The most pressing matter, beyond all of these possibilities and their outcomes, was remaining concealed. Kim was excellent at this; he’d been described as catlike, both to his face and behind his back, and took pride in being light-footed and discrete. Keeping quiet was not a problem.

Correction. Keeping quiet was not a problem except for when he was in the midst of a terrible fucking allergy attack.

Like clockwork, the tickle peaked once more, and Kim shuddered in place with a harsh, punishing triple, stifled between pinching fingers into his handkerchief. Miraculously, they remained silent; the shivering exhale he couldn’t help but let out made more noise. He sensed Harry glancing at him, but he couldn’t so much as turn before his breath was snagging and another three sneezes forced their way out of him, wracking his slender frame.

This was no good. In fact, this was terrible. He barely had a moment’s breath where he wasn’t inhaling and sneezing, the allergy attack now in full swing. Try as he might to keep the sneezes absolutely silent, they were getting increasingly more difficult to suppress.

“Hh’GKTt!! NGX’tt!! ND’Tt!! ‘Ngxt!! H’NGxtsh!!”

He felt Harry squeezing his shoulder – a gesture either meaning ‘Are you okay’ or ‘Shut the fuck up’ – likely a mixture of both. Kim merely shook his head before sneezing again. Gun forgotten (probably for the better – he would never live down a gunshot triggered by an unruly sneeze), Kim struggled to hold his handkerchief to his face, now drenched and clinging to the fabric of his glove. He leant his back against the wall behind him, free hand bracing himself as his knees weakened with the effort.

“’Hddtsh!! NGX’tshh!! H’GXT’shh!! NGt-GXT’tsh!!...Hg’GXTZshht’u!!”

Fuck. That last one had not only made his temples throb in pain as it forced its way past his trembling fingers, it had been messy. Worst of all, it had been louder, an explosive burst of sound. Harry’s grip on his shoulder flexed, just once. Through the roaring of blood in his ears, Kim couldn’t hear any significant change in conversation in the other room. Good. He managed to stifle the next few into silence once more, but it didn’t feel like much of an accomplishment. It was only a matter of time before he would simply have to let loose entirely.

Suddenly, the voices drew closer – so close, in fact, that Kim was certain the strangers would stride into the room and find them there. What a sight that would be – a Disco cop and his partner, currently almost doubled over sneezing his proverbial brains out. It would be a funny thought if it wasn’t such a viable outcome, and also perhaps if Kim didn’t feel as though he was about to pass out. This tickle was a bully; it didn’t matter how much he sneezed, it simply demanded more.

Miraculously, Kim at last heard the footsteps of the men receding, followed by the front door closing. He hadn’t been able to follow the conversation, but it seemed that whatever they’d been looking for, they’d found.

“’MP’tschh!! Hh! Hg’GXTtt!! NGXtt!! H-Hh-!! Hh’GKShhht!!”

God, just let this end. His eyes were streaming down his face in a constant onslaught of allergic tears, and his nose felt as though the ticklish fibres of the fluffiest feather possible were touching every part of his nostrils all at once. The itching sensation seemed to fill his entire head, even. It felt as though he would never stop sneezing.

He had been vaguely aware of Harry leaving the room, but it wasn’t as though he could inquire after, or indeed follow him in his current state. When he returned several minutes later – in which Kim was still sneezing, though admittedly much less quietly – he knelt in front of him. Kim peered through bloodshot, miserable eyes at his face. Before Harry, he hadn’t realised it was possible for human beings to wear expressions so perfectly torn between arousal and intense concern, but there it was, staring right back at him.

“Okay, they’re gone. I watched them leave, they’re not coming back. Probably just grabbed some product and fucked off.”

Kim nodded, sneezed, sneezed again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Harry reached out, pulling Kim just enough that he gave in, let himself slide down the wall into a sitting position. He had not the least bit of energy to resist as Harry pulled his handkerchief clad hand away from his face, didn’t protest as Harry quickly swiped away with his thumb at the prominent mess under his nose and over his lips. He felt a fresh handkerchief – Harry’s – being held over his face, securely, by his partner’s broad, warm hand.

“It’s okay.” Harry murmured again, hand expertly following Kim as his head tipped back with a gasping inhale. “Let it all out.”

Kim didn’t have much of a choice either way. Gripping Harry’s wrist for purchase, he trembled under the force of the sneeze, fully unhindered as he practically roared into the handkerchief.

“hhHUPTT’TISSHHHIEEWwww!!!”

The bliss, the relief from finally sneezing without restraint, was monumental. Kim’s entire body shivered pleasantly, goosebumps breaking out on the surface of his arms. He moaned, losing himself for just a moment – and then geared up to do it all over again.

~~~~~~

They drove to Harry’s apartment, it being the closest. Harry had taken the wheel, to their mutual displeasure, but it would have to do, given that Kim was still sneezing. He was winding down, gradually, the pauses between hitching and sneezing and sighing growing much longer – but sneezing nonetheless. In a way, Kim considered it a boon that he had been sneezing since that morning already. As the allergic reaction began to fade, the odd couple of sneezes every now and then felt almost like returning to a familiar baseline. God, he was tired. He felt weak and unwell, truly exhausted from the sheer number of sneezes his body had been subjected to, and the magnitude of those he had finally let loose. That Harry hadn’t cum in his pants as Kim had sneezed against his palm was truly impressive.

Towards the end of the journey, Kim wondered if it wouldn’t have been just as well that he had driven. Harry was so riled up and distracted it was a blessing he hadn’t gored any pedestrians with his drifting and last-minute breaking. He would jump when Kim sneezed, rigid and alert between each release as he expectantly waited for another. It was funny, and it was flattering, but Kim had reached out more than once to steady the wheel as his partner’s trembling palms lost their slippery grip. Harry’s cock stood to attention the entire way home; it persisted even as they climbed the stairs to his apartment, Harry insisting Kim walk in front of him to shield the tenting of his pants from prying eyes. He moaned as Kim’s sneezes echoed in the stairwell.

“You shower first, baby.” He’d offered, pupils blown and shifting from foot to foot. “You need to get that dust off of you.”

Kim didn’t disagree – didn’t even have it in him to ask Harry to join him. He tossed his clothes into Harry’s laundry basket, grimacing as the dust the motions stirred up promised to bloom into another tickle. It did, several minutes later; he didn’t hold back as the sneezes ramped up again, aided by the steam opening his sinuses.

“AESCHhhh!! HdtT’TSCHHHhtt!! ‘DZSCHhh’uu!! Fuck…Hh! hHUPT’TSshhh!! ‘TZSChh’uu!! AhDT’TSsHhiewww!! Ah…”

They were harsh, full body releases. Each sneeze brought with it a stream of mess, hanging over his lower face before the next sneeze would displace it, soaring onto the floor of the shower. Within moments, his runny nose would be dripping, prompting another sneeze in what he was sure would have been an endless cycle had he not indulgently blown his nose into his hands, stemming the flow and dulling the itch.

He swallowed hard, clearing his throat against the tickle. At least the fluttering, allergic sensation that had made his entire face feel itchy and alive with irritation had now dissipated. Though brought on by dust, these sneezes, like this morning, felt distinctively…unwell. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool tile wall, allowing the shower water to sluice down his back for a time.

~~~~~

When Kim emerged from his shower, one towel round his waist whilst he tousled at his damp hair with another, Harry all but bolted past him and into the bathroom, hesitating for a split second to utter a small “love you” and press a kiss to Kim’s bare shoulder. Kim barely had a chance to blink before the door was closed just shy of slamming behind him.

He chuckled to himself before locating a change of his clothes in Harry’s dresser – folded neatly and just as he had left them, in sharp contrast to Harry’s own crumpled and pell-mell shirts and slacks. He took them and placed them on top of the dresser, noticing that Harry had placed there a fresh box of tissues, a glass of water and a small blister pack of antihistamines, some of the pills already missing. Harry must have taken some – or more likely, Kim suddenly realised, Jean. It would be just like Harry to keep some around in the rare instances Jean went without. Kim smirked, taking a pill himself and chasing it with the entire glass of water.

Kim began to towel himself dry, but the day’s exhaustion, more than doubled by that ridiculous allergic reaction, proved too much. He lowered himself, towel wrapped round his waist, into the armchair Harry had started using as a desk chair. (They’d had sex on this chair a good few times – Kim had absentmindedly wondered where it had vanished from the living room as they entered the flat.) His upper body was dry enough that leaning back into the fabric didn’t feel entirely awful. He sighed, resting his eyes and allowing himself this small break. He would get dressed when Harry was finished; they would be leaving together anyway. There was no rush – he felt he could claim this small pocket of time as entirely his own.

He'd been drifting between the periphery of consciousness and oblivion when an audible groaning sound caught his attention and pulled him out of his doze. He was a light sleeper, both a blessing in this line of work and a curse for literally every other reason. He listened, eyes still closed, focusing on any other noises over the gentle hissing of shower water. The distinctive moan he had heard didn’t come again – only the sounds of plastic toiletry bottles being rifled through.

He didn’t want to be nosy; he tried his best to allow others the privacy he so desperately clung to, reserving any meddling for his detective work. One could argue that the unmistakable sound of his boyfriend orgasming in the shower whilst he was sat in the next room was none of his business – if Harry wanted to masturbate in private, who was Kim to judge? One could also say, however, that when his boyfriend is orgasming in, no doubt, direct response to his allergies, he is entitled to speculate and enjoy whatever snatches of sound it may induce. Tired though he was, his cock stirred and started to harden in response. He palmed it lazily under the towel, humming as sordid images danced through his mind - of Harry moaning, fucking his own fist, legs trembling as the shower water washed away the evidence of his orgasm as quickly as it had materialised.

He stopped teasing himself when he heard the water shut off. A couple of minutes later, Harry emerged in his own towel, doing a quick double-take at Kim lounging in the chair and watching him.

“Not gonna get dressed?” He asked, sounding incriminatingly relaxed and amused as he began to go through the motions of drying himself. Kim peered at the nape of his neck, the way the damp tendrils of his unruly mane curled there.

“Oh, I will. I’m tired, though. I didn’t feel like rushing.”

Harry hummed in response, the sound morphing into a continuous melody, toweling wildly at his hair. Kim watched him, secretly wishing he could afford the same luxury of such rough treatment. He would rather die than admit out loud the fact that he patted his own hair dry with gentle tentativeness, hoping to avoid thinning out his receding hairline any more than nature had already cursed it to.

Kim smiled fondly at his back.

“You’re in good spirits.” He stated, resting his hand on his prick.

“It was a good shower.” Harry merely said by way of response, dropping the towel and walking naked towards his closet for a change of clothes.

“It sounded like it.” Kim said. Harry didn’t turn around, didn’t see him squeezing himself through the towel, though he did tense a little before exhaling a little laugh.

“Sorry, sorry. Had to…scratch an itch.”

“You’re insatiable,” Kim laughed, even as he reached under the towel and took himself back in hand. Harry rifled through his clothes, humming again.

“That’s twice in my career, now,” Kim started, “That I’ve had to hide in a dust trap and stifle my sneezes into near silence to avoid detection.”

Harry paused his rifling, face still hidden by the open wardrobe door. Kim smiled, lazily teasing his own urethra with a circling fingertip. He went on.

“The tickle is always so maddening, but when I can finally let myself sneeze unrestrained it’s such a rush. Though I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir. Still – that was an enjoyable fit.”

Kim had to fight back a giggle at the sight of Harry as he turned round with a tortured expression, cock already half-hard and standing out like an exclamation between his legs. His eyes widened at the sight of Kim stroking himself.

“See?” Kim drawled, leaning his head on one propped up hand against the arm of the chair and pulling at his cock with languid strokes. He nodded towards Harry’s erection. “Insatiable.”

Harry blinked, looking for all the world like he was short-circuiting, before uttering a comically resolute “Fuck.” Kim watched as he walked the short distance to his bedside table, reaching inside to extract a small bottle, and lay back on the bed. He started to laugh in genuine amusement as Harry, stony-faced, squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his hand and started masturbating at a frantic pace.

There was nothing else for it, really. He walked over to the bed and swung one of his legs over Harry’s hips, leaning forward on his forearms, framing Harry between them. The Lieutenant looked up at him with twinkling eyes, crinkling in the corners with affection. Kim smiled back at him, certain his eyes were a mirror image of adoration.

“Hi, Kim.” Harry mumbled between hitching breaths.

“Hello, Harry.”

Kim leaned down to kiss him, almost startling at the voracity with which Harry kissed him in return. He pulled back a moment later, sucking on Harry’s tongue as he went.

“Well?” He peered at Harry, who looked kiss-drunk and confused. “Aren’t you going to make me cum? You’re one orgasm ahead.”

Harry reached for him immediately, squeezing his slippery fingers in a warm vice around both of their cocks. Kim’s breath hitched at the contact, their solid lengths throbbing against each other, the sound of it morphing into a happy, shuddering sigh as he lowered himself down and onto his forearms. Hips pressed together, they were soon thrusting at a coordinated pace, chasing their mutual pleasure with a heated urgency. Kim’s whole body seemed to vibrate with elation.

“I’ve missed you.” Harry suddenly said in such a melodramatic voice that Kim’s eyes, having slipped shut as he lost himself in the hedonistic rhythm of fucking, snapped open at once. He smiled in exasperation, nosing at Harry’s sideburn.

“But I’m right here,” he muttered into Harry’s mutton-chopped cheek, enjoying the gentle scratch of facial hair against his lips. “We see each other every day.”

“Work doesn’t count!” Harry protested, cutting himself off with a loud groan as Kim’s hand, having joined his own, teased at his frenulum after a particularly languorous upstroke.

Kim thought work counted a little. They were fucking right now on work time. Harry wouldn’t want to hear this, though, and Kim didn’t particularly feel like having the conversation. Every stroke on his cock felt wonderful, incredibly sensitised.

“When did we last have sex?” He breathed out, half-thinking-out-loud and half-asking.

“Nearly two weeks ago.” Harry replied bitterly.

Shit. That meant Kim also hadn’t had an orgasm in just as long. That explained why he was feeling absolutely out of his mind with pleasure in this moment, despite Harry’s grievances. He could cum at any moment. He decided to try not to do so and cleared his throat.

“We can have sex all of this weekend. I want to have sex with you, I’ve just been – “

Kim groaned as Harry squeezed them both, his dick throbbing and throbbing in the tight tunnel of that huge fist. He hoped he needn’t finish his sentence – he was far too turned on to partake in any further mollification.

“It’s okay, I get it. We’re work junkies.” Harry grunted. Good, Kim thought. Crisis averted, orgasm very much on track.

Harry turned to press his mouth to Kim’s ear.

“If you really mean it, about this weekend – I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Lieutenant. I’m gonna make you scream. You’ll be limping into the office on Monday, and everyone will know why. So prim and proper, except for when you’re not.” He finished his statement by starting to suck on Kim’s earlobe, which he knew drove him crazy. Kim’s cock drooled down his knuckles in response, and his whole body shivered.

“Fuck,” Kim moaned. He hadn’t even realised how badly he’d needed this. Everything else had paled in the face of work, even when work was slow - a bad habit of his, he knew.

He wanted to reply with some acerbic, flirtatious comment about making sure Harry would be the limping party rather than him, but a sudden wave of exhaustion and lightheadedness overwhelmed him, rendering him incapable. He sighed and leaned forward, pausing the motions of his hand as it gripped their cocks and resting his forehead on Harry’s chin for a moment, waiting for it to pass.

“Hey, hey,” Harry said, frantically but gently, using his free hand to smooth down Kim’s back reassuringly. “You okay?”

Kim considered lying. He considered doing what he had done for years with various former boyfriends – keeping them at arm’s length the second any legitimate concern was levied his way. It used to be easy enough. But now his boyfriend was Harry Du Bois, human can-opener. Lying, or at the very least downplaying, was no longer an option. More importantly, he found he actually didn’t want to lie. And so he didn’t.

“I’ve been feeling a little…off.” He admitted, resting for a moment longer. Harry continued to rub his back and gently cradle their dicks. They were so hard that Kim could feel both of their heartbeats as they nestled together.

“Mm. I thought so. Tell me how?” Harry murmured, careful not to jolt Kim as he spoke.

“Hm. Like I might be coming down with something. A cold, maybe.”

Harry’s cock gave a significant twitch at that, and Kim couldn’t help grinning despite himself.

“Ohh, honey, that’s terrible.” Harry cooed, sounding perfectly concerned and saccharine even as his hand wandered down Kim’s spine before settling on Kim’s left ass cheek and squeezing it, hard.

“You’re awful.” Kim teased, allowing himself to lean back and resume his straddle above Harry now that the headrush had started to recede.

“I mean it!” Harry offered a crooked grin that seemed to imply anything but. Kim raised an eyebrow at him, then batted Harry’s sticky hand out of the way and resumed stroking his boyfriend’s cock with renewed vigour, transforming that devilish smile into a contorted mask of pleasure.

“Sure. I totally believe you.” Kim deadpanned, trying not to show just how turned on Harry’s open lustiness was making him.

Harry was a walking collection of vices, Kim had very soon realised. If it wasn’t drink and drugs, it was something else. He lived voraciously – he worked himself to exhaustion, thought himself to despair, ate himself to temporary immobility and fucked himself to stupidity. Kim didn’t mind the last one, especially, but the point still stood. Himself being a veritable pinnacle of self-restraint and deferred gratification, one might argue Harry was his polar opposite – and yet when they were together like this, everything felt electric. Kim had never put much weight into the saying ‘opposites attract’ – not until he’d met Harry. It just – worked.

Harry seemed to suddenly remember he was a human being on this mortal plane and that Kim’s dick was currently unattended to. His hand reached between them and resumed stroking and squeezing with such passion that Kim nearly swooned with it. God, he was going to cum embarrassingly quickly.

Kim soon felt regretful over the way his tempo was beginning to falter in exhaustion, his wrist beginning to ache. It made him feel notably old and unsexy. Harry didn’t seem to notice, bucking into his grip enthusiastically, loving it all the same. That was reassuring, at the very least. Harry deserved pleasure. He wanted to give him all he could.

Something Harry liked – listening to him speak. It hadn’t taken them long into their relationship for him to confess to Kim just how much he loved the velvety smoothness of his voice, in sharp contrast to the rumbling timbre of his own, one evening over the phone. (Kim had been quick to assure him he was mutually as appreciative, both verbally and by coming into his own hand as Harry uttered pure filth down the receiver to him). He could work with that, always. Now was as good a time as ever to put his voice to use and talk Harry up to orgasm before he fell into his own.

“You know,” He started, prompting Harry to open his eyes, temporarily closed in a rictus of pleasure. “It’s relieving to get it off my chest. I’ve been sneezing practically all day – it’ll be nice to let myself sneeze freely for the remainder of this cold.”

“Fuck, Kim – you can always do that. Please always do that.”

Kim smiled, kissed Harry’s bristly cheek.

“What if I don’t think you deserve it?” He teased, rubbing his thumb in a lingering swipe over the head of Harry’s cock. It drooled precum in response.

“I’ll – fuck, I’ll be good!” Harry was almost panting.

“Yeah? You’ll be a good boy for me?” Kim murmured, stomach tingling and tightening in arousal. “You know what good boys get? Hm?”

Harry groaned in response, hips starting to buck arrhythmically. So, so close. Kim leaned to croon directly into Harry’s ear.

“They get my sneezes all over them - on their face and their cock. I use them instead of a tissue, until they cum for me. Are you my good boy, Harry?”

Much as Kim predicted he would, Harry had no chance to respond before he was shuddering and moaning, tossing his head back as the efforts of Kim’s voice and his stroking hand tipped him over the edge. Kim watched his face, one of beatific torture as the pleasure washed over him, and grunted as his own orgasm lurched ever closer. He squeezed Harry throughout, milking his cock for all it was worth and enjoying the trickle of semen over his knuckles that hadn’t spurted over their stomachs. For a man who had had an orgasm no more than fifteen minutes earlier, he still came a great deal. Kim wondered if Harry had been actively denying himself release these past two weeks – waiting for his touch until losing it today. The thought of that made him moan, cock twitching and neglected, Harry’s hand having fallen to his side mid-orgasm.

Harry finally relaxed, sinking into the mattress with a long, satisfied sigh. He wrapped his arms around Kim in a bear hug, pulling him flat down onto his chest and sandwiching their sticky torsos together. Kim chuckled in exasperation, thinking about his recent shower. Ignoring the way his solid cock dug into Harry’s lower stomach, he allowed himself to be held. This kind of full-body, skin on skin contact always felt so good. He nuzzled his nose into Harry’s neck, enjoying the sensation of those ridiculous mutton chops brushing the side of his face.

“That…was so fucking good. Shit. Fuck. I love you. Oh God…”

Kim kissed his neck by way of response, allowing the post-orgasmic platitudes to wash over him. Harry was right – two weeks without moments like this had been too fucking long.

He was pulled out of his contemplation just seconds later when his burgeoning cold decided to strike again with a vengeance. That oh-so-familiar tickle peaked almost instantly, giving him no time to warn Harry or pull away. With a surprised gasp, Kim cringed into a small fit of outrageously tickly sneezes, leaving beads of irritated tears at the corners of his eyes in their wake.

“Hh-HDZ’tzshhh!! ‘Tishhuu!! Hupt’TSshht!! ‘GXTt’shuu!!”

He snuffled and rubbed his itchy nose against the skin he had dampened, drinking in Harry’s moan and the way his body tensed against him. His nose was starting to run in earnest, so he wriggled a hand free of Harry’s embrace and reached up to pinch at his nostrils. Harry reached wordlessly for the tissue box beside the bed and handed Kim a bundle of fresh tissues. Kim took them gratefully, feeling the exhaustion of the day suddenly intensify. He lay his head on Harry’s collar bone and worked his own nostrils in lazy circles through the tissue.

“Mm. ‘Scuse me. My timing was a little imperfect.”

“Bless you, honey. You really are catching a cold, aren’t you? Poor thing.”

Kim allowed Harry to slide him off of his chest and onto his back on the bed. He watched through lidded eyes as Harry swiped at the mess on his stomach for a moment before he leaned over Kim in a reversal of their previous positions. He had almost forgotten he was still very much hard when Harry’s damp, warm hand returned to his cock. He gasped and jolted a little as those fingers wrapped around him and gave a decisive tug.

“Ohh, fuck…” He groaned a little, reaching up to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders as the bigger man picked up the pace, jerking him hard and fast.

“Your turn, baby. Gonna come for me?” Harry drawled, back vibrating with the timbre of it under Kim’s hands. Kim shuddered and sighed.

“Fuck, yes – don’t stop-!”

Harry didn’t – he stroked and squeezed him expertly, just the way Kim liked. The build up to his orgasm was almost too much to bear; he clung to Harry, tense and leaking, hardly remembering the last time he’d felt so desperate as his world focused in on the sensations of his twitching cock, eclipsing everything else.

Remarkably, even as the pleasure started to crest to the point of no return, Kim’s nostrils twitched devilishly, flaring wide with the sudden and undeniable need to sneeze. His head felt fuzzy, like it was stuffed full of cotton; everything was so intense, and the warring teasing in his nose and cock were maddening in the most incredible way. The building tickle felt orgasmic in its own right.

“Ohh, baby – need to sneeze again?” He heard Harry say. He couldn’t respond, hitching and gasping in equal parts pleasure and irritation. Harry moaned, and the sound of it made Kim throb and pulse in his grip. He truly didn’t know how much longer he could exist like this, right on the precipice of both sneezing and orgasm. An irrational part of his mind wondered how it could ever end, how he could possibly handle both releases in such close proximity.

His body made the decision before he was consciously aware of it. Hitching breaths culminating into one final, wrenching gasp, Kim was thrown forward helplessly, pressing up into Harry and gripping him tightly. He peppered the air with sneezes, no doubt all of them raining down onto the skin of Harry’s back as he shuddered with them in quick succession.

“-!! AESHHHTttt!! ‘DZTSHhh-TSSHh’ieww!! HahDTT’TSHhh-Hupt’TISHHhh’uu!!”

Kim barely had a second to recover, gasping as his orgasm hit him, seemingly without pause from the tail end of that last violent sneeze. Temporarily mute from the euphoria, he trembled against Harry, fingers digging into his back as he held on for what felt like dear life. His cock throbbed rhythmically, deeply, sending waves of pleasure through his body as it shot arcs of cum over his stomach, the most powerful climax he’d experienced in what felt like forever. When it released him, he went boneless against Harry, moaning low and long, feeling like his body was now jelly in the shape of a human. Fuck.

“Fuck.” Harry said, mirroring Kim’s thoughts, and he wanted to laugh but the exhaustion was back again, and he was so, so tired…

~~~~~

Kim woke gradually, slowly brought to the surface of consciousness by the feeling of Harry stroking his hair with a feather-light touch. He stirred a little, opening his eyes and realising, as the form of Harry remained a blur hovering over him, that he was no longer wearing his glasses.

“Hey, Kim.”

“Mmrmmf.” Was all Kim was able to manage initially, moving to sit up. Harry, however, pressed him back down against the pillowcase with a soft but firm hand. Kim was too exhausted to resist, going willingly. His brows furrowed in confusion before he remembered all at once that firstly, he was coming down with – or rather, had already caught – a gradually worsening cold; secondly, he had had an insane allergy attack earlier; and thirdly, he had seemingly fallen asleep immediately after coming his brains out. He chose to believe that the falling asleep part was due to both feeling unwell and the fact that he hadn’t orgasmed in a fortnight, not some newly encroaching middle-aged development.

“What time is it?” He asked after a couple more minutes of lying there, letting Harry pet him lovingly. He realised he wasn’t sticky and was securely bundled up in Harry’s duvet – he’d evidently been cleaned up and positioned thus whilst deep in sleep.

The blurry form of Harry raised an arm to presumably look at his watch.

“About three-thirty. You’ve only been asleep for ten minutes or so.”

“Sorry.” Kim muttered, watching blurry Harry shake his head. “Can I have my glasses? I want to see you.”

Harry gently placed the glasses on his face, and Kim smiled as he looked up at his expression of naked adoration.

“You feeling okay?” Harry asked, cupping Kim’s cheek in his palm.

“I’m tired. Really tired.” Kim sighed. “You tucked me in?”

“Sure did. You need to sleep.”

“I need to work, Lieutenant.”

“Nuh-uh.” Harry muttered plainly. “You were dead to the world, just now. You’re sick and you’re overworked, and you had an amazing – uh, horrible allergic reaction, so you’re going to spend the rest of the day and evening luxuriating in my humble abode. I changed the sheets last night, by the way. Lucky you, since we fucked on top of the duvet and all. No sleeping in the wet patch.” He finished with a wink and twin finger guns pointed at Kim, who suddenly no longer had any desire to oppose him whatsoever.

“Is that an order, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor?” He mumbled, feeling himself quite embarrassingly starting to fall asleep all over again.

“Oh, it certainly is, Lieutenant. And you’d do well to follow it.” Harry smirked down at him.

Kim laughed softly, feeling his eyes already starting to slip shut. He felt Harry removing his glasses, heard him placing them gently on the nightstand. Harry was saying something else to the tune of ‘I’ll be back later’, but all Kim could focus on before he fell back into a deep sleep was the gentle warmth of Harry’s fingers ghosting over his temple.

#genuinely been trying to get this baby out there for so long lol #nametakenfic #d/isco e/lysium #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz fet #snz kink #snz fucker #snzblr #sneeze fucker

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