#[ That's Another Chapter Closed ( Archived ) ] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crguang · 4 months

Text

love language

Overworked and always putting themselves second, both Himeko and Natasha just need someone to help them relax after a tiring day <3

fluffy smut, sub!himeko, sub!natasha, gn!reader, oral sex, fingering, squirting (himeko), ~3k words for both

A/N: this was in the drafts for 2 months… finally polished it off enough to post it omg.

You’re cozy between warm sheets and fluffy pillows, the light of the cabin dimmed to help you relax as you read the last few sentences of the volume in your hands.

You’re entirely focused on the story’s conclusion until you reach the last words and blink out of the daze you’ve been in for the past… three hours? You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand, disbelievingly at first, then softly close the book. It’s past midnight, you hadn’t planned to finish it tonight and you’re surprised you managed to get through the end without getting interrupted. The day’s fatigue accumulates at the corner of your eyes. For a minute, you sit in the bed, simply taking in the book you just read. It left you somewhat unsatisfied, you’re not a fan of the protagonists walking different paths after spending most of the story working to reunite with each other. It reminds you of the Astral Express, of the bonds you’ve forged with the Nameless; the thought of one day separating from them saddens you. You know each of them have a road to follow but they’ve become family over the years, that also goes for Stelle, who’s the team’s newest addition.

As you reflect on your book, you realize— a little late— that you’re alone in the cabin. The spot beside you is untouched as it was this morning, not a crease on the clean pillows. You frown. Himeko must still be working on the train, even after telling you it wouldn’t be long and that she’d be ready for bed before you could finish another chapter. You don’t care about her not fulfilling her word, concern swells in your chest instead because it’s the third day this week where she’s slept past one in the morning, too preoccupied with making sure the Express runs smoothly. She easily forgoes rest to prioritize her work, and while you’re all grateful for her dedication, you wish she would not consider herself second best.

You lift the comforter off your body and step into your slippers. You stretch your arms over your head as you make your way to the door, softly sliding it open. The train car is quiet, only a low whirring sound can be heard from the archive room, the familiar noise relaxing you. The lights are dimmed, never completely shut in case of emergency. You walk down the corridor to reach the parlor. The door slides open and you hear soft murmurs of conversation as you step into the parlor, blinking a couple times to adjust to the bright lights. Himeko is seated on one of the large couches, discussing something with Pom-Pom, and doesn’t hear you come in. The conductor does since they’re facing you, but they only nod pensively at whatever Himeko is saying.

You cross your arms over your chest and wait, leaning on the wall. It gives you the chance to admire your pretty girlfriend; her coat is discarded somewhere on the train, leaving her shoulders bare, and from this angle you can pinpoint the few dispersed moles on her shoulder blades while the rest are hidden by her silky, red hair. Her face is bare of any makeup, long lashes brushing her cheeks with every blink and plump, pink lips you can’t help but stare at. You can almost smell her signature perfume if you concentrate long enough, it’s usually mixed with a strong coffee aroma to create a scent specific to her. Himeko is a refreshing sight no matter the hour of the day.

You don’t mind waiting for her to notice you, not wanting to interrupt her conversation. She eventually does when she gestures to the phonograph, eyes glossing over you for a second before she turns back to Pom-Pom, then head whirling back to you as she registers your presence in the room. Himeko smiles softly at you, waving in greeting, and you return it easily. You can’t really hear what they’re saying because of how low they’re talking, only snippets and words that make no sense out of context. After another minute where you assume the conversation is getting wrapped up, Himeko stands from the couch and bids the conductor goodnight. She walks over to you and reaches for your hand the moment she’s close enough, fingers lacing with yours.

“You’re still up?” Himeko asks, her thumb absentmindedly rubbing your skin.

“Mhm. I finished my book.”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. I had to fix a couple things, then Pom-Pom wanted to share their thoughts on something, I lost track of time. You shouldn’t have waited.”

Her free hand comes up to cup your cheek for an instant before lowering down your bicep. Himeko is always touching you in some way, whether it’s with a palm on your lower back or her fingertips tracing shapes into your forearm. She does it unconsciously, you noticed. It warms you to think that her body seeks yours out whenever you’re in the same room.

“It’s nothing,” you say, “I’m more concerned about you.”

“Me?”

“You’ve been sleeping later and later recently. Are you okay?”

Something gleams in Himeko’s eyes at the worry lacing your words. Her gaze softens like it often does when she looks at you and a small smile grows on her lips, squeezing your hand once.

“Of course. There’s always something to do on the Express, is all. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you.”

You see appreciation on her face. Himeko leans forward to press a sweet, chaste kiss on your lips. Her hand tugs you along as she opens the parlor door and begins to walk towards her cabin.

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

You let her lead you to her room. It’s in the same state you left it, but it feels warmer with her here. You settle onto the bed as Himeko rummages around for the gown she sleeps in and unashamedly take in the curves of her body as she undresses. She shoots you an amused look that has you smiling innocently, pulling the gown over her head and smoothing out her hair. She joins you, lays down against the pillows and wraps her arms around you to gently pull you into her. You inhale slowly into her neck. One hand strokes your hair and you sigh softly at the same time Himeko makes a noise of contentment. A comfortable silence stretches between you for a moment, broken only by the reassuring sound of the Express in the background. You sneak an arm around her waist to hold her tighter.

“I love having you like this…” Himeko murmurs with a slow exhale. “I look forward to it every night.”

You hum, nuzzling into her. Your reply is slightly muffled, “You do so much in a day. You deserve to feel this relaxed more often.”

“Sometimes I don’t know how you have the energy to deal with me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Himeko sighs again, and her hand trails down your back in soothing motions. “You're so understanding with me, indulging me when I need it. You're always there, even when I don't know I need something, you give me the help I need. You don’t mind me working late so often; you have… so much patience for me.”

You pull away from her to look her in the eyes, brows furrowed in confusion. “Himeko, you’re the sweetest, most reliable person alive. How could I not be patient with you?”

She laughs quietly and cups your cheek. Her lidded eyes are full of affection as her thumb caresses your skin.

“You and your sweet words. It's hard not to believe them when you say them with such a sincere tone.”

“That’s because they’re true.”

Himeko brings you close with a hand on the back of your neck. Her lips meet yours in a tender kiss and your eyes shut in bliss at the feeling of her mouth moving against yours. She’s soft and warm and loving, keeping you in place until she’s had her fill and lets you lean back to catch your breath. You rest your foreheads together, noses brushing. Himeko’s hands travel up your body, from your hips to your waist and back down in steady touches, enjoying the feel of your curves. You plant gentle kisses on her jaw and almost feel her melt under you.

“You deserve every ounce of kindness…” your lips trail up to the apple of her cheek, “every show of appreciation…” you kiss her forehead then descend to the bridge of her nose; it scrunches up slightly with her growing smile, “and affection that comes your way.” You press another languid kiss to her lips.

Himeko’s gaze shows only adoration when you pull away to look at her, breathing a little heavier. Her lips are parted ever so slightly, her hands squeezing your waist. You swipe some hair out of her face as your palm rests on her cheek. Any fatigue you previously felt disappears at the sight of her under you like this, looking up at you with such admiration. It still feels a bit unreal, for someone so good to stare at you this way, it makes you believe that perhaps you too are deserving of others’ love.

You lean closer, the tip of your nose grazing hers, voice soft and eyes fluttering shut. “If you’re still in doubt, I could show you, if you’d like.”

Himeko’s smile turns teasing as your hand slips under her nightgown to slide up her knee. She pretends to think about it.

“Mmm… That depends on how you plan to do that.”

“Well, I have a few ideas… They all include you whimpering for me.”

Her chuckle makes you smile.

“Whimpering? You’re confident.”

“With reason, I assure you.”

Himeko welcomes your mouth on hers with enthusiasm, one of her hands curling around your nape. You’ve learned how to make her so dizzy with need that she’s entirely at your mercy, and it starts with the gentle swipe of your tongue over her bottom lip. Her lips part wider to deepen the kiss and you feel her fingers tighten their hold on your neck. Her tongue slides over yours, accustomed to your taste and still so breathless, while you rub her thigh. She hums low against your mouth as you try your best to adjust your position above her without breaking the kiss. Your thigh lodges itself between hers, feeling them clench once before relaxing into the bed.

Himeko is easy to please; loving touches up her torso to her chest makes her gasp softly, your tongue past her lips has her pulling you closer, and the slight pressure from your thigh between her legs is enough for her breathing to stutter. You kiss down her jaw to her neck and she tilts her head to make herself more accessible to your mouth. You know which spot makes her sigh in pleasure and which causes her to jerk her hips into your touch. You suck on her pulse point, humming at the fingers that tangle themselves in your hair at the gesture. The skin of her throat reddens and you lick it to soothe the pain before pulling away from her completely.

You sit up, gazing down at the flush of her cheeks and the rise of her chest. The square neckline of her nightgown gives you a tantalizing view of her cleavage. You bring a hand to touch the mole over her right breast, index finger massaging the flesh around it.

“So beautiful you are,” you say absentmindedly, pulling her clothes down with your free hand to watch how her breasts spill from their confines.

Himeko bites her lip in anticipation. The obvious desire in her gaze spurs you on, and you take handfuls of her heavy breasts to fondle them. The friction of your warm palms on her hardening nipples has her fingers sinking into the sheets. You twist a pink nipple between two fingers, delighting in the quiet moan that follows. Himeko’s breasts are so pliable, so plush, you can’t help lowering your mouth to one and sucking it like a pacifier. Her nipple puffs up under your wet tongue and you swallow a sound of pleasure at the feeling. Your teeth graze the soft skin of her breasts and leave faint marks across her chest everywhere they go. Her breasts shine with a thin coat of saliva when you finally separate yourself from them, and Himeko’s audibly breathing through her mouth, fingers curling around your locks. Her hips seek friction for her pussy by pressing into your thigh, but it’s not enough to relieve the need between her legs. Her nightgown has risen up to the top of her thighs, barely hiding her damp panties from sight.

You take in your work of art on her chest, the glisten of her puffy nipples and the shades of red on her skin slowly shifting into gorgeous blues and purples. Your thumb circles her sensitive bud as you watch Himeko’s brows quiver in pleasure. She won’t beg you for more, yet, even if what she needs is spelled out on her face.

You hook your fingers under the thin strap of her gown and let it snap against her skin as you let go. “Take it off, princess.”

Satisfaction swirls in your gut when she complies, sliding her arms out of the straps and pulling the material down her waist. You move to allow her to take it off completely and discard it somewhere on the bed, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. Your hands greedily travel up her thighs to her waist, squeezing the soft curves of her love handles along the way. Tiny moles decorate her body from her chest to her inner thigh like final touches on a meticulously painted artwork. Blood runs hot under her skin, adding a little color to the painting that she is. She’s stunning, and she’s yours.

You settle between her legs and prop her knees up to spread her thighs. Himeko grips your hair once more, her favorite, as you knead the flesh of her inner thighs.

“Seriously, Hime,” your eyes are glued to the damp patch on her cotton panties, arousal pooling in your belly, “the Knights of Beauty should be worshiping you.”

Himeko’s breathless laugh turns into a low moan when you use two fingers to rub her lower lips over her underwear, feeling her arousal ruin the material until it sticks to her pussy. You can see the outline of her labia under the fabric and you don’t even have it in you to tease her. Your index pulls her panties aside, revealing her glistening cunt and making you bite your bottom lip in lust. You lean forward to kiss around her labia. The smell of her arousal fills your sinuses and you feel desire tighten your stomach. Himeko urges you closer to her pussy with the hand in your hair, hips jerking towards your mouth. Your tongue darts out to lick her leisurely, slithering between her folds and ignoring her twitching clit. You moan into her cunt at the taste of her and Himeko lets out a noise close to a whimper, bucking into you to feel more of your tongue on her pussy.

You quickly tire of keeping her panties at bay, so you waste no time in sliding them down her legs and tossing them on the floor. Her cunt is entirely exposed to you, slick dripping between her ass cheeks. She’s so wet, her clit stands at the ready, waiting for you to wrap your lips around it and suck. You spread her lips with two fingers and lower your mouth to her pussy, licking up her slit like a thirsty kitty.

“Mmngh…” Himeko makes the sweetest noises above you, from breathy moans to quiet whimpers as you work her up, eyes shut in pleasure. Her free hand grabs a fistful of the sheets under her. “Ah… Nnh…”

You tease her entrance with a finger, not quite sliding inside. Your tongue swirls around her aching clit, from base to tip, and you’re rewarded by a poorly restrained moan from your pretty girlfriend. Himeko’s thighs twitch as you lap her up but she finds the strength to keep them spread for you, instead gripping your hair a bit tighter to pull you towards her cunt. A finger tentatively pushes into her pussy to the knuckle and her hips stutter in their steady rocking at the welcomed intrusion. She gets used to the sensation quickly, brows twitching, and you curl the digit to hit a specific spot inside her, a drawn out moan escaping her.

“Nngh…” Himeko whimpers out your name, chest heaving, “m—more…”

You can’t refuse her when she sounds so fucking pretty. You harshly suck her clit, feeling it throb, and push another finger inside her clenching cunt. She squeezes your digits but takes them like a champ, allowing you to plunge deep into her to hit the spongy spot that makes her cry out. You look up at her as she grinds her pussy on the flat of your tongue, lost in pleasure. Her breasts move with every jerk of her hips, her lips are forever parted to let out soft mewls and her creamy skin glows under the lights from the sweat accumulating on her body. The wet sounds of your digits thrusting into her cunt are sinful, they fill the cabin along with Himeko’s barely contained moans. Her belly tightens with need, and she clenches around your fingers with another desperate whimper. You flick your tongue on her engorged clit a few times, drilling into her with a pace you know she likes, hard and fast. Slow, loving touches on her body will turn Himeko on like nothing else but when she gets like this, only thinking about her release, she needs it rough enough to push her over the edge. She meets your efforts halfway and grinds into you, swallowing your fingers further into her wet pussy.

You can tell how close she is by the pitch of her voice; it gets slightly higher with every passing minute you spend with your nose buried into her cunt.

“P–Please—” Himeko babbles, “Let me…”

You find it adorable how the last push she needs is often just the confirmation that she’s allowed to come.

“Come for me, princess.”

Himeko whines, squeezing your fingers tight as she gushes into your mouth. Her cum coats your lips and chin and you lap it up eagerly, moaning at the taste. You clean her up diligently while her thighs threaten to close around your head and her clit throbs with her orgasm. She comes on your tongue with a pretty noise of pleasure and you ease your fingers out of her fluttering pussy to keep her thighs pinned to the mattress. You lick up her slit once, twice, desperate to swallow more of her cum. Himeko inhales sharply when your tongue flicks over her sensitive clit. You know her body inside and out, and so you know that sucking her clit right after an orgasm will make her squirt like she is now, spurts of cum coating your face and her needy cries filling your ears. She makes a mess for you, ruining the sheets under her, until she can’t take it anymore and has to pull you away from her cunt by the hair so she can catch her breath.

You relent, swiping your tongue over your lips and looking up at her with a cocky smirk. Himeko struggles to regulate her breathing, chest heaving and limbs still twitching from the aftershocks. You hover over her to press a gentle kiss to her jaw.

“We really should relax this way more often.”

“You work yourself too hard.”

Your warm, muttered words send a shiver across the skin of Natasha’s nape and the sensation spreads down her back as would a chilling gust of wind, the kind that only appears during Belobog’s most forgiving winters. It leaves goosebumps in its wake that you chase away with the palm of your hands firmly pressing over her shoulder blades, tracing the protruding bones lower down her back before slowly bringing your hands to rest on her shoulders. You hear her soft sigh as you massage her skin and undo knots of long accumulated stress from her muscles. You’re sure her eyes are closed despite being unable to see her.

“I have to,” she replies, her voice just as low, like speaking any louder will disturb the quiet around you.

Your hands run down her arms at an unhurried pace. You love touching her, love the feel of her. It’s a beautiful thing, touch; the warmth of her merging with yours, the particular bumps and wrinkles and stretch marks unique to her can all be felt under your fingertips. You have discovered every crevice, every nook and cranny of her with only your hands. On nights like this one, when the pressure catches up to her, she’s pliable under your touch and all the more enchanting. You bury your nose where her neck meets her shoulder, inhale the scent of the perfumed soap she used in the bath an hour earlier and lace your fingers with hers when your hands end their trek on the sensitive surface of her wrists.

You feel her lean into you a little more when you speak, “One day soon, you’ll be able to take a break without the sky collapsing.”

It’s unfair, though you understand how much the Underworld needs Natasha. She stepped forward when no one else did and naturally took over the responsibility for its citizens’ wellbeing, she is without a doubt an integral part of the small society you built around the mines. She bears this burden with a humble heart and a tired smile. The pride you feel for her goes beyond the Underworld’s dark ceilings, maybe even beyond the white clouds she sometimes tells you about when you question her about the surface. She is a diamond amongst pebbles, wasting her time on even the most worthless of you because she believes that everyone deserves a fighting chance. Her selflessness knows no bounds, and you feel sad. The bags under her eyes get darker every morning. Sleep claims her the minute her pretty hair touches the pillows. You wish she would allow herself some reprieve but Natasha has no self-serving bone in her body. She can’t be selfish, so you have to, lest she gets buried under unreasonable demands and complaints. With the appointment of a new Supreme Guardian, however, and the channels between the two worlds open once again, things are looking brighter. The fragmentum has stopped spreading and for once, you see a glint of hope in the gazes of the Underworlders. The Supreme Guardian’s plans for a painless future lift some of that persistent weight off Natasha’s shoulders. You’re grateful for it.

“I think part of me won’t know what to do when the time does come,” Natasha admits. She brings your arms tighter around her frame and sighs. “I can’t imagine not being needed…”

“People will always need you. You just won’t have the pressure to uphold half a city from the brink of disaster. You deserve that.”

She doesn’t reply to that. You free one hand and lift your head, then delicately grab a hold of her jaw to tilt her face towards yours. Her eyes blink open and you see the fatigue incrusted into their rubied depths.

“You deserve that,” you repeat firmly, watching as her gaze grows softer. “You of all people deserve to be free of anxiety and responsibility. I’ll make you see it one day, too.” Your thumb trails up her chin to her bottom lip. “Until then, I’ll take care of you when you won’t.”

Her lip twitches and her eyelashes flutter, taken with sudden emotion, before she simply leans closer and captures your mouth with hers, an unsaid “thank you” dying in her throat. The hand still intertwined with yours squeezes gently as she kisses you. It keeps you grounded to her presence in your arms and her touch on your body. You taste her chapstick on your tongue when she opens her mouth further to deepen the kiss. It’s the same she wears every day but it’s no less intoxicating.

“Nat…” you murmur against her lips, “I want to help you relax, if only for tonight.”

You hear her intake of breath as you plant open kisses up and down her jaw, following invisible patterns of affection on her skin like carefully woven threads. Natasha nods softly when your lips reach hers once more and the happy smile that grows on your face fills her with warmth even the bulkiest coats couldn’t provide.

She lets you adjust yourself behind her. You guide her to lean back so your chest is flushed against her and her breath tickles your neck.

Your hands brush the sides of her chest over her shirt and curl to hold her breasts properly. Natasha sucks in a breath when you squeeze them a little; you know she’s always been sensitive there, how pleasant it is for her. You palm her flesh, enjoying the softness of it beneath your hands and its quickly hardening tips. Your thumb swipes over one nipple and feels it grow from the sensation. You give the other the same attention and it’s not long before your pointer fingers join the fun to gently pinch the doctor’s nipples. Natasha shifts slightly, bringing one leg up to squeeze her thighs together, and you almost huff out a laugh at the action. You can feel the embarrassment radiating off of her at how easily aroused she’s getting, so you decide not to tease her too much. Verbally, at least, because your hands aren’t leaving her breasts until her underwear is well and truly ruined.

A muffled noise of pleasure escapes Natasha when you twist her nipples just right between two fingers. Her lips are parted and her breathing has gotten heavier. She grabs your thigh with a hand to compose herself somewhat. Though her face is obscured from your sight, you know her eyes are squeezed shut as she allows herself to enjoy your attention.

“Ah…” She breathes out as you finally slip your hands under her shirt and caress the plane of her stomach. Goosebumps follow wherever your touch strays.

Her nipples are like pretty pebbles on her chest, a rosy color you can’t yet see. They’re hard and sensitive judging by the way Natasha squeezes her legs together every so often, and you can’t help the fondness you feel at her compliance. She’s aroused and ready for you to go further, but she takes what you give without complaint or plea. It makes you want to give her everything she needs, patience be damned. You bite your lip at the thought. Tonight is all about Natasha’s pleasure, after all.

Keeping one hand around her breast, you trail the other down her torso until it reaches the edge of her pajama pants. Her thighs spread almost immediately to accommodate you and you coo softly at the sight, breathing out a chuckle when you feel Natasha press further into your neck out of embarrassment.

“Don’t worry,” you say, slipping into her pants to brush her underwear, “I’ll take good care of you.”

“…I know,” she replies, voice soft.

The trust she willingly puts in you is heartwarming, it expands your chest cavity to make place for your inflating heart. You explore her covered sex with two fingers and feel the arousal seeping from the thin cloth. She always gets so wet from nipple stimulation… Cute. Natasha moans when you spread her lips and apply pressure to her clit. You long to feel it twitch under your tongue, but you’ve teased her enough for now. Your hand slithers past her panties to finally give her what she wants. Natasha’s moans are breathy “oh”’s and “ah”’s that she no longer tries to conceal. Your fingers smear her arousal all over her cunt before paying special attention to her puffy clit. Sensitive as it feels, you enjoy the way her thighs twitch as you massage its base while pinching her nipple. The added stimulation coats your hand in warm, sticky fluids.

“Ah! Please…” Natasha mutters with a swallow, grip tightening on your thigh.

You shush her nicely, swiping the pad of your index finger over her clit in firm circles. “I know, Nat. Just relax.”

You imagine her brows twisting in pleasure and her pretty lips trembling. Her chest heaves with uncontrolled breaths and you have half a mind to yank her shirt over her head so you can see her perky nipples rise and fall with the flow.

You give her clit some reprieve and ignore the immediate little whine of indignation that follows. She’s so wet as you trail down her cunt to her entrance that you decide to push two fingers inside her instead of one. You feel her cunt clench around your digits and bite back a groan as you rub her walls. Natasha moans your name, voice breaking in the middle, and her toes curl when you pick up the pace inside her. She’s a vocal mess despite not uttering any actual words. Her panting against your neck is so arousing you only plunge your fingers harder into her.

You twist and pull her nipple with your other hand. Natasha somehow restrains herself from squirming under your touch to make your job easier and you make a mental note of rewarding her for her consideration.

“Just like that,” you encourage her, her cunt squeezing you like a vice. “I’ve got you.”

Your only response is a small whine and the bucking of her hips against your hand. They move in tandem with the rhythm of your fingers, greedily chasing release.

“You’re doing so good, Natty, letting me help you like this…”

Your words make her cunt clench. The noises filling your bedroom are positively filthy as the heel of your palm grazes Natasha’s sensitive clit. She’s close, you can feel it, so you keep up the pace until she comes with a cry into your neck, teeth brushing your skin and hips stuttering. You slow down inside her only slightly to help prolong her orgasm and one of her hands grabs yours on her breast when she arches towards the ceiling. It takes a moment before Natasha settles back against you, breathy and slack. You gently slip out of her.

You let her catch her breath, instead bringing your hand to light to see how her arousal clings to your digits. Spreading them makes a string that connects the two and you hum before turning back to Natasha. You push her forward a little, enough to be able to capture her mouth in a sloppy kiss. Your tongue pushes past her lips to intertwine with hers.

Natasha pulls away to rest her forehead on yours.

“Thank you…” she says softly.

“You’re welcome. But I’m not done with you yet.”

She leans back to look you in the eyes and her incredulous expression makes you laugh.

“You’ve done more than enough. Let me at least—”

“Nuh uh,” you interrupt her, moving from behind her to saddle her waist. She makes a noise of surprise when you push her fully into the bed.

You steal a kiss from her as your hands travel up her torso to raise her shirt over head and toss it to the floor. Leaning back, you can finally appreciate the sight of her bare chest rising to meet you. You take a pink nipple into your mouth, humming in satisfaction when Natasha lets out a little moan. Her hands grip your hair to keep you close. Your tongue swirls around the hardened bud, coating it so it shines in the light when you pull away. You waste no time in sucking the other one, hard and fast, enjoying the feel of it in your mouth and Natasha’s growing pleasure.

Your own lips shine with saliva when you tear your mouth from her chest and look up at her in reverence.

“You’re so pretty, Nat,” her lidded gaze meets yours as you speak, blood rushing to her cheeks. “I wanna fuck you until you can’t walk.”

“Oh…” is all she can say, bringing one hand to partly cover her flushing face.

“But,” you move to take off her pajama pants completely before settling between her thighs and wrapping your arms around them, “I said I’d help you relax, not incapacitate you… I’ll choose my words more carefully next time.”

Her heel digs into your back when you bury your nose in her slick cunt. She’s intoxicating and still so sensitive from her previous orgasm that you only need to blow on her clit for it to twitch. Your tongue darts out to taste her fully, the flat of it licking up her slit to take her pulsing clit into your mouth. Natasha’s hips push against you even as her thighs shake from the stimulation and the hand in your hair pulls you closer to her slippery sex. All you can hear, feel, taste is her. The noises she makes are a melody to your ears and the warmth that overcomes you can’t be put into words. You trail wet kisses all over her cunt, groaning at the way it pulses under you.

You focus on her clit, sucking and licking and teasing until her thighs close in on you, pressing against your ears.

“F-Fuck…”

Natasha rarely swears. Knowing how much of a mess you’re making of her for her to utter such a word is such a turn on. You squeeze your legs together in a failed attempt at relieving the pressure between them. You want tonight to be all about her, so you ignore your needs and slurp her folds like a starved kitten. The tip of your nose bumps her clit as you do and Natasha’s soft mewls spur you on.

It doesn’t take long before she’s coming into your mouth with a long moan, hips bucking closer to your tongue. You lap up the arousal leaking from her puffy cunt and let her grind into your face until her orgasm passes. Natasha falls back into the bed after a moment, audibly panting, eyes still squeezed shut. You look up to see her features slowly morph into a tired, fucked out expression. Pulling away from her sex, you lick your lips and wipe your face with your clean hand.

You climb up the bed to press a tender kiss to her jaw. Her eyes blink open, her gaze warm and in love as she looks at you.

You cup her cheek with a hand and mutter, “I hate to ask more of you, but promise me you’ll make an effort to take better care of yourself. For me?”

Natasha sighs, lips stretching into a small smile. “If I can’t, you’ll be there to do it for me?”

“Of course. Anything for you.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #himeko murata #hsr himeko #himeko x reader #sub!hsr #himeko x you #hsr natasha x reader #hsr natasha #hsr natasha x you #hsr smut #hsr x you

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simonsrosebud · 4 months

Text

new fic alert!!

working on an aftg au based off this age old tumblr post😈 i’ll post a tiny snippet under the pic… quite excited about this one

“Abby will not be happy that you are overworking,” Andrew said instead of ‘where the hell are you?’ or even ‘i’m getting fucking hungry and we were supposed to rot in Sweeties for dinner’.

Wymack grunted. “I’m trying to practice that thing called giving second chances.” He spoke up again in favor of letting Andrew answer. “Hey, why don’t I call in takeout from Sweeties and we can eat it in the office? I have a sixteen year old boy in the back of the patrol car right now that I’m running to the station.”

Andrew scoffed quietly to himself and set the phone on speaker to light his cigarette. Muffled, he said, “He better be eye candy if I’m coming to that dump.”

Andrew inhaled deep and closed his eyes for a moment before blowing the smoke out through his teeth. On the other end of the phone, just as he was bringing the cigarette back for another drag, he heard Wymack say, “Hey, my son wants to know if you’re cute.”

Andrew coughed up his lung at that surprise, but he didn’t miss the way that a distant voice piped up with, “I want to say yes, sir.”

UPDATE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56540140

#aftg #neil josten #all for the game #andrew minyard #david wymack #nathaniel wesninski #andriel #my writing

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wolvesroampastelgalaxies · 2 months

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Edit: All chapters up on tmblr & ao3 :p

Okay, so I got alot of hits on my last FoP:ANW ficlet. Which had me re-reading it frequently. So instead of healing, I desperately wanted to fix this situation. I think I am genuinely affected that Timmy isn’t the MC anymore.

My child hood = 💀

Anyway, I made a continuation kinda. I’m much better at introspection than writing out actions (I think). So if this piece is not of the same quality as the last. Lemme know, I really wanna do this concept justice. :p

On a Wing and A Wish 🪽

I wish Timmy Turner got back all the memories of his fairies and could be apart of his family forever.

“What is this?” Dev asks, “Whose Timmy Turner?”

Peri harshly shushes him, hovering in close while darting his eyes around Dev’s room.

Begrudgingly, the kid whispers, “What’s the deal? No one is here. What. Is. This?”

This - was a note looped with periwinkle ink on what was balled up paper. Peri couldn’t believe what he was doing. Sneaking behind his parents’, and worse, the Fairy Council’s back, asking his own god-kid for a wish. He never thought to go through with it, even if he did frequently imagine the outcome. But it was the one thing he’d wanted since his brother left.

No. Not left. He forgot. They made him forget. He never left us.

Never left me.

He sighs, resuming the usual distance. Dev can finally breathe in air that’s not Peri’s cologne and takes in his god-parent’s appearance. The fairy did not look good. Usually quaffed hair was flat and tussled, like he forgot to shower then tossed and turned all night. Which, ew, he probably hadn’t showered or poofed himself clean or whatever fairies do based on the pit stains. Sweat was also causing clammy hands that were attempting to wring themselves dry. His usual calming, lavender eyes were bloodshot from what he could tell. Well, when they weren’t searching for a haunted house jump scare.

Dev waves his arms, “Hello? Earth to Peri!”

The beat of wings is audible as Peri jumps a foot higher in the air.

“Are you broken? Can fairies malfunction?” Dev gets a dimmadome idea, “Do I get a new one if you do?”

This absurd question has Peri descending from the (literal) high level of anxiety to a level of annoyance. That level being eye to eye with his god-kid, where purple and blue begin a standoff. If there was a movie in the pinpricks of their eyes, it would reflect a tense western gun fight. Peri would have a wand at his holster and Dev would be there, arms crossed and smug as can be. His mouth loaded with the bullet 'I wish…' and Peri would be dead on the dusty road.

A wing and a prayer is the saying. He had wings, he just needed the prayer.

Or a wish.

Peri surrenders, realizing picking a fight will not work in his favor.

“Fairies can’t grant their own wishes.”

The ginger scoffs, “That’s it?” He thought his fairy was dense, but he didn’t realize Peri was actually challenged. “Just, have another fairy grant your wish.”

Rather than meeting with some Peri-fonted, copy-paste of Da Rules, Dev saw as his god-parent open and close his mouth. Pale lips pressing in a thin line. His small body seemed to curl in on itself, shielding not from Dev, but the irony of what he had said.

Without looking at him, Peri said, “They can’t. It’s not how it works. Only a god-kid can make wishes.”

The hitch and crack at the word 'can’t' did not go unnoticed by either. Peri flinches. He had spent all week wrestling with the notion. It was only last night that he had scribbled the note down. There was nothing in Da Rules about another kid wishing for someone to not lose their memories. His mom was right, there are a lot of loopholes.

Peri had hoped and hyped himself up enough that being a godparent would fix him. If he could recreate it, he wouldn’t feel the dreams of his childhood each night turn to mourning. Deep nostalgia for a time that seemed imagined rather than the most impressionable years of his immortal life. Hijinks among his and his parents’ god-kids flooded him with memories. Waves of jealously crashed down as Dev and Hazel shared their youth, times they’ll have forever.

Peri could not live eternity drowning.

The human boy felt awkward, it never occurred when he wasn’t the most grieved one in the room. Dev knew, though not consciously, that grief was not just losing someone. It was being lost yourself. Each day happened, it was not unnoticed, but it wasn’t remembered.

“Well….what would I even be wishing for? I was taught not to sign something before reading it, err wishing.”

Peri’s wings flutter briefly. Was Dev considering it? What was he supposed to say? He gathers himself as much as he can to stop shaking from nerves.

“Timmy Turner is someone really important to me. Like, he’s kinda the whole reason I exist.” He pauses, waiting for Dev’s reaction.

“I thought the green fairy was your dad?”

“No, not like that. Although, I guess he did wish for my dad to get pregnant.”

“Your dad was WHAT?” Dev shouts but Peri is quickly on him again, hand pressed tight over the kid’s mouth. Dev only briefly struggles to push him off, dramatically gasping for breath.

“It’s complicated okay? I just, it would mean everything to me, to my parents, if you could wish this.” Peri interjects before Dev can close curtain on his overreaction.

Cutting a glare that isn’t so much as throwing the knife but threatening to, Dev straightens himself. “What’s in it for me?”

Whatever miserable feelings Peri has disappear into steam when he reddens from frustration at the kid’s incredulousness.

"'In it for you?!' You literally have anything you have ever wanted at your finger tips. You have ME! A fairy! With an endless amount of wishes. There is nothing I can’t give you if you want it!” Peri hisses. He might pass out, all the breath pushed from his lungs at this nightmare of a child. He takes a deep breath.

“It’s a favor. I’m asking a favor Dev.”

The kid did feel a little stupid saying that. It was such a habit. He’s never been in a situation that wasn’t an exchange. It’s not like Peri was going to stop granting him wishes if he said no. And besides being less annoying, there was nothing more the fairy could do if he said yes.

Dev sighs, he knows he’s going to make the wish.

“Do you know why kids get godparents to begin with?” Peri’s tone is drained of any animosity. It sounds hollow, like an echo instead of the real words.

He isn’t sure if Peri is looking for an answer, but Dev is still feeling sheepish after his own selfishness.

“No...”

Fairy eyes are known to have a slight shimmer in their iris’, as if they held infinitesimal pieces of glitter. Dev hopes that it’s just the light magnifying the effect in Peri’s and not him on the verge of tears.

“Because life isn’t fair. When life isn’t fair, kids get fairies. The fairies stay until life gets better or they grow up. But,” he falters then, a strained attempt at composure, “but they always forget.”

He flutters down onto the side of Dev’s bed. Wings mirroring his melancholy as they droop. This is not a reserved sadness, it’s not something you can leave till nightfall, not anymore. Not now that he has to face it every day, worse that’s of his own volition. It’s a lonely feeling that twists and winds itself so tight he can’t stand it. Something had to be done.

“I just can’t forget.” And there is a tear now, one he hopes his god-kid cant see with his head bowed.

Hesitantly, Dev sits down. It’s rare for them to be on an even level when he’s not hovering. Peri is so small compared to the 10 year old, who feels like moving an inch might shatter his fairy.

“Was he your first god-kid? Is that how, fairies like, reproduce or something? You run out of fairies for kids and when you need more you just…..your dad?” Dev can’t decide between disgust, curiosity, or confusion.

Peri chuckles, plugging any leaks he has with a sniffle. He guesses he’ll get a few awkward questions on that later.

“Eh, no. We grew up together. He’s kinda like - he’s my brother.” The statement is the only solid thing he can cling to. That one simple fact.

He’s my brother.

“I know it doesn’t make any sense, and it’s a lot to go over. But I promise if you do this for me, I will explain everything. Anything you want to know.”

There is another thing that makes Dev feel like an idiot, and that’s his dad. Anytime there might be a sliver of a chance for him to pay attention or choose Dev over some money scheme, Dev falls for it every-time. A swell of hope and admiration fills his chest and then he’s getting the breath knocked out of him when, surprise, he’s never his dad’s choice. Peri was right about life not being fair. And it doesn’t just seem unfair for humans. But, if he got a fairy to even it out for him, maybe he could try too.

Besides, he was going to-do it anyway.

“Hey Peri?”

He rubs his eyes with his sleeve for good measure and gives a mosaic smile of all the shattered hurt inside.

“Yeah kid?”

Dev takes a breath.

“I wish- “

#fairly odd parents a new wish #peri fairywinkle cosma #poof fairywinkle cosma #dev dimmadome #timmy turner #this is not up to snuff for me #fairly oddparents #this is not coping or healing this is sabotage

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sapphoherselz · 3 months

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howdy!! two literal people have asked for some andreil rec so here they are!! my most favest fics EVER in the first 50 ao3 pages (I'll keep updating tho as I read!)

Not yours to bleed:

The Pros were never in the cards. Not for an ex-medicated alleged psychotic with a dysfunctional family and an Exy career he’d rather not have. But even if it wasn't his first choice, no matter what happens, it can’t possibly be worse than that one fucked up sophomore year when he stood toe to toe with the Yakuza-and won.

At least, that’s what Andrew thinks until a familiar face shows up.

Another Raven!Neil AU. Or, the one where the boys don’t meet until the Pros.

**Updates every other Wednesday, whatever hell may come.**

The Sun Still Rises:

Somewhere on the road, Mary Hatford gets pregnant with her second child. When she passes, she leaves behind not only Neil, but his toddler brother. Survival is difficult without also raising a kid. Worn out and desperate, Neil still somehow ends up at Palmetto, only this time, he brings his four-year-old brother with him.

TALE OF A MARTYR IN XII PARTS:

Neil closes his eyes and counts the things that he knows:

One: Death has a name.

Two: He has met Death before. Several times, in fact.

Three: Someone is trying to kill him. Permanently. But it's only kind of working.

Or, the one in which Andrew is the Grim Reaper, Neil is very, very good at dying, over and over and over again. They teach each other a few things over the centuries.

Hearthlines:

The Fae king and queens have gone away, closing the knowes behind them and abandoning their offspring to the mortal world. As the Fae have spread far and wide, their bloodlines thinning if not vanishing forever as they flee from mortal persecution... two Fae have found a way to reopen the knowes - Kayleigh Day and Tetsuji Moriyama. The Fae regroup once more, the balance of power shifted amongst them, and 'changelings' appear now and then in the mortal population.

Andrew Doe is one of those changelings, a young child suffering in the foster system, shunned by his peers for some reason and hearing voices in his head.

Alex - the latest name gifted to him by a charm - is on the run along with his mother from his father, using their talents as shadow walkers to slide between worlds and stay one step ahead of the powerful Fae. Except even that is not enough anymore. Except that's not Alex's only talent.

*******

An urban fantasy where I throw Fae, necromancy and magic at TFC characters, pretty much!

Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die):

Neil Josten goes to the Nest for Andrew, but he stays for a lot more.

"I'm sorry Coach," he muttered.

"For what kid?" Wymack shifted. "You've got to give me something to work with here."

Wymack watched the thin traces of sorrow as paper exchanged hands and he was looking down at a contract with the Edgar Allan Raven's.

"I signed them Coach, I'm sorry."

The one where Neil doesn't come back from Winter Break.

Amor Vincit Omnia:

“I said it already,” the man said, “Your cluster.”

“But what does that mean?” Neil asked.

“It means that you are no longer just you,” the man said tersely, “Congratulations.”

It didn’t feel like anything worth celebrating.

A Sense8 AU where the foxes all share one subconscious and kick a lot of ass

The Real Thing:

Andrew was more than willing to turn down the Ravens' offer to be their newest goalie, unwilling to play five more years of Exy - let alone for someone with a too-sharp smile and a manic gleam in their eyes.

That was, until he realized that a member of their Perfect Court was his soulmate. (That was, until Riko Moriyama realized that Nathaniel Wesninski, the Ravens' #3 in waiting, was Andrew's soulmate.)

Andrew always knew that Fate loved tormenting him, he didn't need a reminder yet again via a too-attractive soulmate who appeared to loathe him. Yet things aren't always what they seem, especially in the Nest.

mad girl says she's wolf-proof:

Keeping her grip light on Nina’s throat, Andrea drops her gaze to her plump lips. She smiles—coldly, slowly. Fangs on fangs. Salt tombstones. It is not a nice smile, none of Andrea’s smiles are, but Nina’s eyes are stuck in it regardless. “And I will answer, all the better to eat you with.”

(Andrea Dobson vs girlhood and lycanthropy.)

lessons in caretaking:

Neil was acting shifty, and Andrew knew why; that motherfucker was leaving. Despite the promise between them, Neil was prepping to run. Andrew wasn't upset about that, not at all. After all, if notorious Neil "No-Swing" Josten needed to leave after Andrew admitted his desires regarding his proximity to Neil's shorts, who was Andrew to stop him. But that doesn't explain why Neil was stealing socks, or why he wanted Andrew's clothes.

Whatever. That was probably unrelated.

Sauntering Vaguely Downwards:

They’ve known each other since the Beginning. Not the Beginning Beginning—they didn’t meet until after the War in Heaven, where they kept to their own sides, or until after the subsequent Fall. It wasn’t even until after the Exodus from Eden, but only by a couple minutes. They’ve witnessed the rise and fall of empires, sampled all the cuisines the world has to offer, and weathered several very silly fashion trends.

Andrew doesn’t think they’re friends, exactly, but it is natural to become accustomed to the presence of the only other being who has been around more or less consistently for six millennia. It wasn’t anything more meaningful than that.

A Good Omens AU where Andrew is a grumpy angel, Neil is a sharp-tongued serpent, and it takes them literally six thousand years to figure out they belong together.

#aftg #neil josten #andreil #all for the game #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #andreil fic #fic rec #aftg fic rec #aftg fic

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keykittygirl · 3 months

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Macaque hesitated. "Kid, are you sure? I mean, this is pretty dangerous."

"Yes, I'm sure," MK said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Macaque sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, fine. But if things go south, I'm taking you out of there. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Okay, follow me."

Without another word, Macaque led the way, with MK following close behind. (UIS chapter one by @1shcakes)

I never seen those before...

previous || next (TBA)

Wait... What are those thing dripping from that some sort of table...

Anyway...

Remember those comic that I did before about my perspective in UIS? Well yeah I decided to continue it and redraw the first page into two page. And those earlier paragraph are belong to @1shcakes UIS fic chapter one. He's the owner of this AU and he cook a really great story, I encourage you guys to read it, and also you can read it here

Also a reminder, since the fan comic that I make is based on my perspective before the first chapter even released, it'll be a lot of difference from the original fic, since I also make the script before the first chapter out.

Huge thanks to @noteverystarisasun for helping me out with the dialogue and stuff

Anyway have fun reading everyone and hope you all enjoy my fan comic (//v^)

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softpascalito · 4 months

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I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 1 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 7k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: this work has been quite a while in the making and im very excited to finally share the first chapter! a huge thank you to the wonderful josie for being my beta reader and listening to all my rambling <3

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 1 - The Before

‘‘I will be very sad to leave here’, Yves said, suddenly. ‘I have never been happier than I have been in this house.’ ‘I have been very happy too. I wonder if we will ever be so happy again.’’ - Another Country, James Baldwin

You’d been on the run for what felt like weeks but could only have been days when you found the gas station next to an abandoned mall. It had looked promising, the half-rotten advertisements plastered to the walls, reminding your stomach that it had gone far too long without a proper meal, or any meal for that matter.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so starved or so tired, you would’ve heard them coming, the Infected that stormed through the back door practically the moment you slipped into the building. A yell escaped your throat, your hand instinctively reaching for the knife you kept buckled to your leg. You didn't even get the chance to pull it out of its makeshift holster before the creature was on top of you, pinning you to the floor with what felt like inhuman strength.

“Fucking- get off-” you grunted, but even if the thing on top of you had been one that listened to commands, your thin and shaky voice likely wouldn’t have impressed it.

So this was how you were gonna go out. In a town you couldn't even name, somewhere in the snowy mountains of Wyoming, after finally escaping the life you’d been stuck in for so long. You hadn't even made it a month.

For a second, you considered trying to reach for your gun, still tucked into your pants and pressing into your back uncomfortably. You could feel its outline against your skin, a pain shooting through your spine as the Infected seemed to double its effort to reach your neck with its mouth, half-rotten teeth close enough that you could recognize the foul smell of death.

Then, the gun went off. Or you thought it did. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang in your ears as the Infected collapsed on top of you. But the feeling of your pistol pressing into your back was still there. It had been a gun. But not yours.

“I got her!” a voice above you bellowed out, an unmistakable southern drawl. “Tommy, give me some cover here, goddammit!”

You hadn't even noticed the second man, who was now aiming his gun at another runner storming towards him. He fired, once, twice, and the Infected let out a howl before its body hit the tiled floor with a thud.

“Hey, you with me?” The man above you leaned down, shoving the Infected that had been on top of you to the side unceremoniously. He was dressed in a worn jacket, jeans and boots, the latter two splattered with blood. His right hand, covered in a weathered leather glove, was stretched out towards you, an invitation to, well, you weren't exactly sure.

“She good?”

The second man approached the pair of you, your eyes flying over to him for a split moment. He was dressed similarly, except that he looked a little younger than his partner. He shouldered his rifle and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Your gaze flew back to the man in front of you, to the brown eyes that carried an unexpectedly gentle look, not quite matching the gruff way he looked. Shaking slightly, you placed your hand in his, and the next moment, he was pulling you to your feet.

“There you are.”

You nodded, a motion that looked more like your head was jerking on its own accord. But the man seemed to accept it. As the other one stepped towards you, the taller of the two men spoke again.

“You clean?” When no response came, he pressed on, his tone getting a little more impatient. “Did it bite you? Scratch you anywhere?”

The other one gently placed a hand on his chest, forcing your attention onto himself. “Can you walk? Our horses are two houses over, we've got a place where you can rest, get some food-”

“I'm not going anywhere with you,” you blurted out. You'd had your fair share of people, of men offering you ‘help’ and it never stopped there. There was payment, always. In this world, it was stupid to think there wouldn't be, that anyone would help you out of the kindness of their hearts.

“You're not going anywhere else by the looks of it, either,” the man with the gloves muttered, more than loud enough for you to hear. “You won't last a week.”

“I've lasted longer, asshole,” you shot back, suddenly angry at the stranger in front of you. He didn't know you, he didn't know the things you'd gone through to get here. So what if he had saved your life? It didn't give him the right to predict your death.

The other man nudged his ribs, extending his hand to you as well, though it was more of a formality this time.

“Name’s Tommy. The asshole is my brother Joel.”

He paused for a moment, clearly thinking about how to approach this the right way. “Look, I'm sure you've been traveling for quite some time. We can give you a place to recover. You can leave anytime, I promise.”

You eyed him carefully. It did sound too good to be true. But it also did sound- good. A roof over your head, warm food in your stomach- two things you'd been craving for quite some time.

“Okay.”

The man who had introduced himself as Tommy gave a short nod and led the way to the horses, following tracks in the snow the two men had left while coming to your rescue. Joel pulled up the rear and you had a feeling that his eyes were trained on you, watching carefully, maybe for a twitch or anything else out of the ordinary. Again, you weren't sure why, but it made you angry.

“I told you I wasn't bit,” you repeated in his direction as Tommy began untying the horses.

Joel raised a brow, clearly surprised by the attitude in your voice. “‘ts what they usually say.”

“Well, I'm not,” you replied, turning your back on him and focusing on his brother instead. Tommy pretended not to have heard either of you but somehow you were certain he had.

“C’mon, you can ride with me. It's not too far.”

Not too far turned out to be a good hour, the crisp autumn air making you shiver, and you were thankful for the warmth of both the horse and Tommy. But what the ride lacked in temperature it made up for in views, the sun coming out just as you passed the first sign that read ‘Jackson County’.

You didn't even mind Joel's occasional glances towards you as much, finding that with the sunlight playing in his brown curls, his look screamed less of danger and more of concern. Whether it was concern for Tommy or you or something entirely different, you weren't sure.

The answer came to you in the form of your housing arrangements. After getting over the first shock of riding up a busy mainstreet in what looked like an actual, functioning town, a thing you hadn't thought possible anymore, you had made use of what must have been the first functioning toilet you'd seen in months. You felt like a child being steered through the crowd at a busy carnival, if the food hall, the functioning plumbing and electricity and the music drifting from one of the smaller shops was any indication.

“You know we ain't got any unoccupied places and Maria and mine’s no good with the baby screaming all night,” Tommy muttered urgently and you frowned a little. The two men were standing a few feet away, clearly unaware that you were already back and you awkwardly shoved your hands in your pockets, considering going back inside for a moment. But then Joel opened his mouth and you couldn't help but listen in on their conversation. The older man seemed as much a mystery as the entire scene around you.

Tommy piped up before Joel even had a chance to argue. “It's just for a couple of nights. I’m sure Ellie and you will manage. You take her in, explain the basics and as soon as we got a place, you can go back to shutting yourself off from every goddamn person in this town-”

“I don’t-” Joel interrupted before shaking his head, a low grunt leaving his throat.

“Fine. Until Thursday, no longe-” He broke off at the look on Tommys face, one that was aimed directly at you. You shyly nodded in his direction and closed the distance between you in a few quick steps.

The younger man cleared his throat, giving you a reassuring smile. “Find everything okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you replied politely. You hated how forced the conversation felt, already regretting listening in on it at all.

“Joel here’s gonna get you settled for the night, you let him know if you need anything else. I'll stop by in the morning and introduce you to Maria, she’s-”

“The boss,” Joel finished for him, earning a small glare from Tommy.

“One of our elected leaders,” he corrected, another smile playing around his lips at the mention of what you assumed must be his wife. “Well, I'll leave ya two to it.”

Joel took you home. He still gave you that look, and with Tommy gone, you could be sure that it was actually aimed towards you. It was like he was still on guard but whether it was of you or something else, you couldn't tell.

“Here's how this is gonna go,” he started as he fumbled with the front door of the house clad in white. “You get a quick check-up, a shower, some fresh clothes- you get the idea.”

“I get the idea,” you repeated as he led you into the hallway, unable to keep yourself from glancing around for a moment, catching a peek of the dining room. “You live here by yourself?”

“Why?”

His question hit you out of nowhere and you stuttered for a moment, racking your brain for a good response, “Just- I was making conversation. Jesus.”

“Right,” Joel nodded, his gaze softening a bit. He placed his bag onto the floor and tapped his right thigh absent-mindedly. “Come on, follow me.”

He took you into the upstairs bathroom that smelled faintly of soap, reminding you that you hadn't had a proper wash in more days than you cared to count. There were a few small containers, mostly re-used mason jars, that were labeled ‘shampoo’ or ‘body wash’, sitting orderly on the small shelf next to the tub.

You felt more than heard Joel shift behind you and turned to meet his gaze. He was still watching, arms crossed, seemingly waiting for something.

“Do I- shower?” you asked softly and he sighed a little at that.

“I need to check you for bites.” His voice was low but still carried a small note of sternness in it.

Oh, right.

“I didn't agree to that.”

You could see his hand twitch, the handle of his revolver still sticking out the back of his jeans. “You're bit.”

It was more of a statement than anything else, like he already knew what was waiting for him under your clothes, maybe a bite on your leg, a scratch on your stomach. Joel had dealt with enough people that had been marked for death like that to know the signs of it. The thing was, he was wrong.

“Is this what it is?” you asked, quietly, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

“Excuse me?”

“Is that why you go outside, save people? So you can bring them back here, get them to take their clothes off for you-”

“Whoa-” Joel held up both hands, shaking his head very slowly. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I need to check you for bites, it’s protocol.” His voice was still deep, that southern drawl you heard earlier in the gas station still present but somehow softer. His features had shifted, seeming genuinely surprised by the turn of your conversation.

“Now, if you want someone else to do it, I can get a lady and let her look you over. We just want to be sure we don’t bring Infected in, that's all.”

“That's all?” you asked as he kept his eyes trained on you, his hands still up in the air and his expression soft.

“I swear, that's all. If you can show me you're not bit, I'll get you that shower, some food, you name it.”

You gave a small nod at that, your body deflating a little. It had been an incredibly long day and the man in front of you seemed genuine. If he wasn't, you could still try and bail.

Joel turned slightly under the pretense of grabbing a towel from below the sink but you knew he was attempting to give you a bit of privacy- even though he clearly didn’t trust you enough to fully turn his back on you. With shaky hands, you began to strip, holding back a wince as you forced your bruised body to move. The fabric of your shirt clung to your skin, dry blood forcing another whimper out of your throat.

You felt Joel's head snap towards you at that but ignored him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of showing quite how uncomfortable you felt about going through this with him next to you.

He was quick and professional, his large hands brushing over your skin as he made sure you were clean.

“All good,” he commented shortly when he was satisfied, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he reached for a stack of folded towels. Then, his gaze rested on your head again, more specifically, on your matted hair.

“You want me to get someone to cut that for you? Might be easier than-”

“No,” you quickly piped up. You knew your body was malnourished and likely had a dozen other things wrong with it. You didn’t want to lose your hair too.

Joel nodded, his hand absent-mindedly trailing over a particularly nasty knot. “I think I got some soap conditioner in the closet. You want to give that a try?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you responded curtly and Joel disappeared from the room for a few moments. He came back, as promised, with a soap smelling of jasmine and cotton.

He didn’t seem as hesitant, now that he knew you weren’t bit. At least that’s what you assumed had caused the shift in him. It didn’t occur to you that it might be the fact that you were sitting on his bathroom tiles, shivering, assuming the worst in him, in men, hell, in society. That you looked like a wounded deer, ready to take off at the slightest notion of danger, no matter how badly you were already bleeding.

Joel was a lot more gentle than you would have expected a man of his build to be. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, reaching just far enough to cover your entire hair, but never letting any conditioner run down onto your face. It made you wonder if he was a father. Then you remembered his brother had mentioned a girl earlier, Ellie. Still, you knew better than to ask. You’d likely be gone in a few days anyway.

But, there was one question that you couldn’t keep from slipping out of your mouth.

“Why did you think I was bit?”

Joel paused for a moment, his fingers slowing down ever so slightly as he seemed to think about his words.

“You weren’t fighting hard enough. To stay alive, I mean. You were acting like someone who knows that their time is up.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you. You felt his hand brush over the crown of your head, lathering the matted mess that was your hair with soap in small, circular motions.

“I thought it was,” you whispered, honestly. You couldn't bring yourself to lie to him. But you couldn't bring yourself to explain it either.

He didn’t ask.

Neither of you spoke again until you were curled up in his bed, him insisting to take the couch for the night. He’d fed you some soup, relieved when he saw that your stomach could handle that. He’d warned you that it might not, after getting so used to going days without food. You’d gotten some worn but warm clothes to wear after the shower and now your body was sinking into an actual mattress. It was more than you’d dreamed of just that morning.

Joel paused in the doorway, his hand tapping against his jeans, a habit you had already picked up on. It was like he didn’t know what to do with his hands when they weren’t holding a gun.

“You don’t have to leave,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

Your mouth went dry as you tried to keep your tone nonchalant. His expression told you that it wasn't exactly working. “Who said I was leaving?”

“You look like you will.”

Again, a quiet fell over you and you shook your head softly. “What, you were a psychologist before or something?”

He smiled weakly. “Contractor.”

After a short pause, he went on. “I know it's hard to- to trust. When ya first get here. I felt the same.”

You felt a small breath leave your throat at that. “But it gets better?”

“There's hot water, three meals a day, fair working conditions. I don't think it gets much better out there,” he pointed out softly before giving you a small nod.

“I'll be downstairs if you need anything. Good night.”

27 months later

The almost-empty soap sits on your bathroom shelf, the one that’s screwed to the wall just above the worn-out bathtub. You’ve gotten it refilled every few months, sometimes sooner if you wanted to allow yourself a little treat. It still reminds you of your first day in Jackson, of the safety that you so quickly felt in every room of Joel's house.

You still have some time before you have to head to work and the blue sky promises a cold but clear day so you decided to go and check if you’re in luck with any available refills today. Stock always changes throughout the week and while there’s usually something available, you prefer to get your chosen products if possible.

No such luck.

“Sorry, we’re all out. Think patrols cleared out the store that had these a while ago,” the woman behind the counter says apologetically. “We have some others if you’d like to try a new one, there’s-”

“I’m good,” you quickly insist, giving her a small smile when you notice you may have sounded a little harsh. “I’ll just wait and see if some more comes in.”

In one quick motion, you turn around and head towards the door- only to run face-first into a broad chest draped in a thick, brown coat.

“Whoa.” The deep voice above you immediately sends a gentle warmth through your body and you take a small step back to be able to squint up at the man you bumped into.

“Sorry, Texas, didn't see you there.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Joel mutters weakly, fumbling with the small bag he is carrying before handing it over to the woman behind the counter. She thanks him and quickly begins to sort the items he has brought back from patrol. He’s wearing the thick coat you see on him whenever it drops below freezing, his dark boots leaving small pieces of wet mud on the floor of the small store. He’s been doing the creek trails then, most likely.

You’ve rarely been on patrol yourself, focusing your energy more on tasks inside the community. If it hadn’t been for Joel, you know you probably would have taken off in the first few days, maybe stolen some food and been on your way. But he’d gotten you to stay. With him, for a few days. Then they had found space for you in a small guesthouse close to the mainstreet, to be shared with a young woman not unlike yourself that had offered up her vacant bedroom.

You’d taken an instant liking to Lane. Joel had dropped you off at your new home, with the few things you owned, and you and her had both stood in the small kitchen in awkward silence, racking your brains for a good conversation starter. Of course, you’d come up with the one she probably heard every other day.

“I like your hair.”

It wasn’t a lie. Her hair was cut short but thick, and most importantly, it was blue. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen colored hair. It seemed to fit her though. The roots were brown and the overall color a little less vibrant than you’d seen in magazines of people before the outbreak. If anything, you liked this more.

“Thanks,” she said lamely, twisting her hand around the small cup she was holding. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m the worst at social shit,” she finally blurted out and it looked like she was half glad to admit it and half afraid of your reaction.

“Don’t worry. Me too,” you admitted, a grin spreading over both your faces, the silence seeming a lot more bearable now. She shrugged towards the counter, half a dozen muffins sitting on it. “You like blueberries? A friend let me nick these.”

She paused for a moment, brushing a strand of blue hair behind her ear. “I mean, technically they’re not real blueberries, the ground here is too dry for those. I think they’re called juneberries, but we never call them that.”

You figured she’d be a solid roommate if she’d just met you and was already sharing her sweets. Half an hour later, when you had vomited the blueberry muffins back up in your shared bathroom, Joel’s warning about solid food still ringing in your ears, when she was standing beside you, holding your hair back and handing you a washcloth when you were finished, you knew she’d be more than a roommate. She’d be your friend.

She had also been the one to get you into teaching. You’d been fascinated when she first told you about her job in town, teaching the children of Jackson practically every subject she could. Neither of you had been in school before the outbreak so it was all the more impressive, the way she managed to control a class without the need to get loud or hand out punishments.

You’d taken a liking to the classrooms of Jackson as well, reminiscing on the last summer before the world had gone to shit and the way you’d looked forward to being in school, learning all the things big girls did. Not getting to sit in a classroom, and you didn’t count those at FEDRA as actual classrooms, had been only one of so many things you felt you had missed out on.

So it felt even more special now when, after you got Maria to assign you as teacher alongside Lane, you spent your days in the colorfully decorated classrooms, teaching a variety of subjects and a variety of ages. It was similar to life in Jackson, not without its fair amount of challenges. But, just as Joel had promised the first night, you learned to trust and the more you did, the easier it was to let yourself be. Above all, to let yourself be happy.

Joel steps outside alongside you, his head jerking back towards the small supply store. “Did ya get everything?”

His voice is soft, and you like to imagine that he sounds a little more gentle when speaking to you compared to the others. Not that you see him talking to a lot of people either way. You're pretty sure it's why he prefers the patrols, less people to bother him and less voices to listen to. Even though you had a feeling, about a year after you arrived in Jackson, that he also preferred being paired up with Esther, a pretty woman who took care of the horses and frequented the patrols. Especially those with Joel.

You had almost hoped for them to end up together, to drive the images of Joel alone at his too large dining table out of your head. But they didn't and the images stayed. You had him over for dinner, every other month. It started as a thank-you for helping you through your first days and quickly developed into a rare but regular thing. Ellie or Lane joined you occasionally, happy to get a nice home-cooked dinner and some of the wine Joel usually brought along.

You didn't see too much of him outside of your little gatherings, only the normal occasions that presented themself around town. But it was nice to know that he was there, that he would bring his wine and compliment your cooking and make small-talk and listen to the new developments of your life.

“It makes sense for you to be a teacher,” he’d agreed after you’d updated him on your new position, causing you to raise a brow.

“What is that supposed to mean? Think I can’t handle myself out on the group patrols?”

His face slowly changed at that, Joel urgently shaking his head, “I didn't mean-”

You cut him off with a small laugh, no longer able to stay serious at how panicked he looked. “I’m messing with you, old man. I know what you meant. I think it makes sense too. I like it.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, grumbling a little under his breath.

It's Joel's voice that brings you back to the present. “I asked if you got everything?”

You shake your head to get rid of the thoughts, then it turns to shaking your head no. “They’re out of conditioner. But it’s fine, I can stretch mine a bit longer and maybe they’ll get some next week.”

“Ya still using the same one?” Joel asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat and you nod. It's sweet that he remembers. It's been over two years, after all.

“Yeah. Liked it, never saw a reason to switch,” you explain lamely. He only gives a short nod, motioning for you to follow as he starts walking.

You do, though perplexed. “School’s in the other direction.” “Thought your class didn’t start until ten today,” he points out. It never appears to you to ask how or why he knows this. When your steps slow down and your thoughts speed up simultaneously, he nudges you along.

“You want your soap or not?” he grumbles and your face lights up a little at that.

“You got some?”

Joel gives another quick nod. “Brought them back a few weeks ago. I would’ve given them to you if I knew ya still used them.”

You trot beside him like a puppy, making your way down Rancher Street and up the flight of stairs that leads to the small house clad in white. The noise of the wind chimes tied to a beam above his front porch drifts over to you, the gentle breeze creating a slow melody.

You haven’t been in his upstairs bathroom for years. It’s odd and it feels too intimate, seeing the place where he brushes his teeth in the morning, where he washes himself after a long day. You don't belong in a space this personal. You don't belong to him.

It felt different when you were curled up on the same white tiles, letting him check your bruised and battered body for signs of Infection. For a split moment, it did feel like you belonged, in a way.

Joel's hand brushes over yours as he hands you the soap, the one smelling of jasmine and cotton and safety.

The rest of the day is a blur of lessons and grading, but the smell of the soap seems to linger, the comforting feeling in your stomach getting you through the work day. It doesn’t end until seven with you staying behind to tutor some kids for an upcoming exam and then to finish preparing said exam. The smell of food fills the air as you open your front door and you smile as you poke your head into the kitchen, “Smells good.”

Lane is seated at the table, a few papers in front of her. Likely an exam of her own, you think to yourself. Even after the world has ended, finals season still exists.

“My mum made that pasta you like so much today. Figured I'd save you some,” she says, nodding towards the tupperware sitting on the counter.

“You're an angel.” You whistle as you head deeper into the house, putting away your jacket and bag, fishing the soap out of the latter and placing it on the bathroom shelf. It makes you pause for a moment. You give a nod to yourself at the sight of the refilled container and make a silent vow to treat yourself to a nice bath today.

An hour later, your stomach is filled with warm pasta, the bathroom damp with steam and your hair soft, smelling just the way you like it. The clock in the small hallway reminds you that it's already past twelve and the knowledge that tomorrow is another day filled with teaching makes you want to crawl into bed fairly quickly. But you're thirsty.

Lane is still in the kitchen, her blue hair a little messy and crowned with a pair of headphones. The music spills out a bit, enough for you to be able to hear the low, steady humming of a song that seems mildly familiar.

You do remember a few songs from before the Outbreak- mainly the ones they played on the radio. But you know that Lane doesn’t, being a few years younger than you, meaning that she barely has any memories of the before.

You're already in your pajamas, shuffling to the sink to pour yourself a glass of water. Somehow it always tastes better at night. Or maybe your brain is playing tricks on you.

“Hey, you remember Joel is coming over for dinner on Sunday, right?” you ask with your back to your friend. When no response comes, you gulp down the last bit of water and turn around, giving a small wave in the air between you.

Lane sits up a little more, pushing one side of her headphones back just enough to free her ear. “Hm?”

“Dinner with Joel, Sunday,” you repeat, a yawn escaping you.

After a moment, she nods. “Right, I remember. We’re out of blueberries again, by the way.”

“I’ll make sure to restock this weekend then,” you agree, already halfway across the room. You give another small wave and finally head to bed. It looks exactly the same way you left it this morning, the blanket tucked into one side, the pillows arranged against the headboard.

“It's so good to be home,” you mutter to yourself as you crawl under the covers, stretching your body a little. Your left hand reaches for your nightstand and finds the book you've been reading, hoping to get just a tiny bit further tonight. With all the work and the winter festival coming up, you’ve barely made progress, the wooden bookmark still sitting near the front. You put it aside, glancing down at the finely carved piece of woodwork for a moment. Joel gave it to you for your first birthday in Jackson. Then you open the book properly, the worn-out spine cracking slightly. Just a couple of minutes.

But your eyes start to droop after just a few pages. After half a chapter, you're in a deep slumber, the book slipping out of your hands and onto the wooden floor below just as the front door slips shut.

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing and commenting <3

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helluvaslut · 2 years

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Open Starter : Betting On The Dragon and Ice Queen [ Male/Female/Futa ]

“Tell you what, if you manage to beat the both of us in the next few turns. We’ll do a threesome with you.” Yang boldly suggested towards the other as she leaned against the table. Cleavage in full view, while Weiss looked at her friend in pure bafflement. “Wait, I never agreed to this!” She retorted while blushing, both women are looking at the you, both blushing and grinning.

#[ Muse : Weiss Schnee ]#[ Muse : Yang Xaio Long ]#[ Open Starter ]#Open To All #[ Read Rules Before Interacting ]#[ That's Another Chapter Closed ( Archived ) ]#[ DNR ( Do Not Reply ) ]

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crepesuzette2023 · 6 months

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Hold up ,,, Mal called Paul his love in his diaries?

Yes. In his autobiography. He also analyzed their relationship in his diaries. For some context, here's a longer passage from Ken Womack's book, Living the Beatles Legend (Chapter 31).

As January 1970 came to close, Mal began drifting into an emotional slide that has been developing over the past several years. "Seem to be losing Paul," he wrote on January 27. "Really got a stick from him today. He let me down," and ominously added "Fixing a hole," "Pepper," and "directorship" to a growing list of disappointments. Apparently, the conversation had turned yet again to the issue of Mal's servile role in Paul's life, with the roadie believing that the association was bounded by friendship and love. "A servant serves," Mal wrote, "but he who serves is not always a servant," he added, echoing John's philosophy from December 1968. "Love is as sharp and piercing as a sword, "Mal reasoned, "but as the sword edge dulls — you sharpen it. So love's keenness needs honing — needs honesty." *

[...]

On February 11, Mal joined John and Yoko for a lip-synched performance of "Instant Karma!" on Top of the Pops, with the roadie, clad in beige suit and a light-green tie, playing the tambourine. By this juncture, Mal's long-standing relationship with Paul was in freefall. A few days earlier, he have been awakened by a 1 p.m. telephone call from the Beatle. It went "something like this," he wrote in his diary:

Mal: yeah? Paul: I've got time at EMI over the weekend. Would like you to pick up some gear from the house. Mal: Great, man. That's lovely. Session at EMI?! Paul: Yes, but I don't want anyone there to make me tea. I have the family – wife and kids there. Mal: [thinking to himself] Goes my poor head, "Why????" **

By the next week, Mal found himself behind the wheel of the Apple van, moving Paul's gear from EMI Studios to Morgan Studios, another Northwest London facility where Paul could work incognito. At one point, Neil cornered Mal about Paul surreptitious recording sessions, demanding to know more. "Where's Paul?" he asked, to which Mal tersely replied, "Not telling you."

In other instances, Mal ordered a Mellotron for Paul, while keeping him fully stocked with plectrums and other gear. In late February, Paul asked Mal to move everything back to EMI, where he was set to record "Maybe I'm Amazed" in Studio 2. For Mal, everything came to a head at 7 Cavendish Ave., when "my long love, Paul, to whom I have devoted so many years of loyalty, turned around to me and said, I don't need you anymore, Mal." *** *, ** : Evans, "Diaries." [1963—1974.] 10 vols. Malcolm Frederick Evans Archives. Entries from Jan 27 & Feb 5, 1970.

***: Evans, Mal, 'Living the Beatles Legend: Or 200 Miles to Go.' Unpublished MS, 1976. Malcolm Frederick Evans Archives.

#Mal Evans #Ken Womack #Living the Beatles Legend #Paul McCartney #Mellotron #When you told me you didn't need me anymore...#Mother Malcolm comes to me

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winchester-reload · 1 year

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Directions: Fill each prompt ON or After each day listed (the 1st-15th of October, then again on the 31st for our bonus day), then post it on your desired social media platform using tag #suptober23. Be sure to include which prompt you're fulfilling in each post. You can write, you can make art. You can do both! You decide. Rules: All posts must be Supernatural-themed. Like, comment, and reblog others' posts. No hate will be tolerated, including actor hate. NO AI. Do not throw a photo in a Photoshop filter and post it as art. Challenge yourself to create. Noncon, incest, and hate will not be reblogged.

To include your work in the Suptober 2023 archive, you must ALSO post it to the collection in Ao3!

In previous years, I've worked diligently to reblog each and every post listed in the tag to include in an archive on tumblr. However, more than a few things have changed in the past six years, including my earlier creeping bedtime. This year, I'd like to move the archive to Ao3 for something more inclusive. That means this year, it's up to you to get your work in there! Authors: be sure to use tags so your stories are searchable! * Artists: mind ao3's rules for images. You may choose to include a clickable link instead of the art itself.

Posting starts October 1st, 2023.

Special thank you to my friends over on Patreon for their help with this year's list! Truly without them, this would not be happening. Consider joining to help support more events like this! For a text copy of the prompts go here! Join the Discord

FAQ's

Why aren't there 31 prompts this year? Because I'm changing it up to something a little less overwhelming for you and me. Fill all the days, and if you're still hungry for more, send me a message and let me know it wasn't enough so I can take that into account for next year!

I posted my work and you haven't reblogged it. What did I do wrong? Probably nothing. I may have just missed it, which will happen. The good news is, it's up to you to include your work in an archive this year, so be sure to do that! Also be sure to tag it correctly using #suptober23, and the day you're fulfilling.

I'm really busy in October, can I post it later? Yes! The collection won't close.

I can't write or draw, is there another way I can participate? Yes, you can support all the creators by liking, commenting, and reblogging their work. It's just as important as the things being posted. Also, I bet you'll soon realize you absolute can make art and write too! There's no skill level required to have fun.

How long do the stories need to be? There's no word length just be sure to make a good effort, and challenge yourself.

Can I include multiple days in one fic? Sure, but don't post early, and be sure to tag for each day both here on tumblr (if you're posting to tumblr) and on Ao3. In the past, people have used each prompt as a new chapter, and that works great for a cohesive project!

Can I repost the prompt list with my posts? Yep. Go ham. Use at will.

More questions for me? Send me an ask!

#suptober23 #the suptober 2023 prompt list #supernatural #spn fanart #spn fanfic #ao3 #creative challenge

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dronebiscuitbat · 2 months

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Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 59)

Two more weeks had gone by, a new sense of normalcy beginning to take hold within the household. Uzi would wake up around 4 or 5 am, sometimes she would be dizzy enough to get sick, other times she was woken up by hunger pains or just a random ache in general.

Then N would be up soon after, either sensing something being wrong or just jostled awake by her movement and he would do his best to make her feel better, sweet nothings, kisses, cuddles, anything and everything.

The hunger was increasing, the silicone chips weren't enough and neither was the oil, but she didn't know what else to do.

She was having a dream…

She was… outside. Not just home, outside of the bunker, flitting between buildings, sniffing the air and feeling the rough concrete beneath her claws as she dug them in. Her stomach growled painfully and her tail swung low.

There was a worker walking through the desolate city streets, looking around, wary and scared. Their back was hunched over, looking up and to the side.

She slunk closer, the worker had blue eyes, glasses, and no hair… as far as she could tell, but it might have been hidden under his helmet. It didn't matter anyway. Her stomach growled louder.

She glided down further, perching in a peice of rebar as she readied herself, wings arching backward as they prepared to lunge her forward.

Then the wind was screaming down around her as she rocketed towards the ground at high speeds, tackling the drone from behind as he let out a terrified yelp, they both went skidding across the slick ground for a moment before they stopped, her claws dug into his back, through his clothes and deep into his casing.

“No! No- no! Don't kill me! Please!” He screamed and begged, but Uzi quickly shut him up, sinking her teeth deep into his neck, oil gushed into her mouth as her prey thrashed wildly, trying desperately to buck her off as his voice box gargled.

Her tail wrapped around him, holding him down as she sunk her teeth deeper, savoring the taste of fresh oil, she held him until the thrashing slowed to a stop, hands came up to try to pry her off but were quick to loose function, until he finally went limp.

She waited a few more seconds before releasing the body, letting it slump into a heap in front of her, she licked the oil off her lips, growling in delight as she looked over her kill.

Then, without another moments hesitation, used her claws to rip him open, exposing the tangle of wires, metal frame, and dead core to the world. The oil wasn't what she was after…

She sunk her open maw into the open chest cavity, and began to eat her meal…the titanium, the silicone, and rubber all mixing into a heavenly cocktail that had her closing her eyes, she was starving…

She woke up far more gently then she expected after a dream like that. She felt around in her mouth only to realize she was drooling and snapped up. N was sound asleep beside her, hand outstretched like he had been holding it in his sleep.

She was drooling? After having a dream about hunting and eating someone…

Hunger hit her fast and hard, harder then it ever had before and she doubled over, clutching her stomach. She hissed in pain, squirming helplessly against it. N was jostled awake, and he turned on the light before trying to comfort her.

“Uzi… what-?”

“Hungry.”

“W-what?”

“Hungry!” She yelled, not having the wherewithal to say anything else, N just blinked before running off into the kitchen, finding that the cabinets were all empty, Uzi had eaten everything in the house And he'd only bought more snacks a couple days ago.

She'd mentioned that the snacks were not working as well, but he hadn't expected how quickly he'd gone through them. Okay N, think, clearly snacks weren't working, what else could it be?

What had seemed to work to sort out her cravings before? Silicone chips, oil, rubber chews…

Wait…

What were drones made out of again?

Like a lightbulb that had gone off in his head, he sprinted out the door without bothering to change and made the trek to the nursery, scaring the life out of Mrs. Rayn, who looked like she'd just gotten there, which made sense… it was 5 am.

“N!? What are you doing here at this hour?” She yelped at him, looking from side to side.

“I'm sorry. Do you- do you have the material to print a body just… lying around?” He asked quickly, face flushed as Rayn looked at him suspiciously.

“If you're asking me to print a baby N, it would take a few days, and I'd need to have proof of Uzi carrying neural network code.”

“No! Uh, not that. I just need the raw material.” He explained, trying not to give away his immense fluster, or the fact she was carrying a neural network code.

She stared at him before sighing and going into the back, coming out with a roll of titanium, a little brick of silicone, and a ball of rubber. “Here, don't know what you need them for… but here.” She handed them off and he quickly said thank you before sprinting back through the hallway to his apartment and skidded inside the door.

“Uzi?! I’m back! I have something that might help!” He shouted, briskly walking into the bedroom with the items he'd acquired. But…

Uzi was gone.

#murder drones #uzi doorman #serial designation n #nuzi #biscuitbites #oil is thicker then blood #tera doorman #Uh oh...

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severinapina · 2 months

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TOXIC (and I love what you do) PART ONE

July, 2009

Satoru knew that some of the Japanese earthquakes, most of them and the strongest ones, were caused by the movement of the Pacific plates. But he also knew that others, generally those under six on the Richter scale, were the fault of Namazu, the giant catfish that lives even deeper than the deepest trench of the Japanese archipelago. A few days ago, Kashima, the god in charge of controlling this immense fish, had escaped. He wasn't very powerful, really, but they couldn't let him abandon his guardian duties. Namazu had been very restless lately, and the people didn’t need to keep reliving that over and over.

That's why, when the academy received the request for help from the Sendai municipality and despite any second-rate sorcerer being able to handle it, Gojo didn’t think twice. He liked the city and something inside him said that the sea air would do him good. Plus, they sold his favorite sweets there.

For Satoru, exorcizing it was a piece of cake. The hard part was finding it. On the first day, he searched almost the entire coast, without success. It shook three times. On the second day, in the residential neighborhoods. Six small tremors, but no trace of the god. On the third day, he decided to leave the city, heading more towards the countryside. There, at the entrance of one of the forests, he found an old man around 70 years old who emanated enough cursed energy to be a Window.

He wasn’t wrong. The old man recognized him immediately.

“Gojo Satoru?!” the old man shouted from afar. “They did well to send you! Come closer, please!”

Gojo huffed and approached as slowly as his long legs would allow. He hated interactions with locals who acted like fans. Almost two meters from the old man, it shook. Satoru stopped and waited for it to stop. He walked again. Another tremor. And so on, until he got close enough to have a conversation.

“What’s going on, old man? How’s the cursed energy around here?”

The old man, shocked by Satoru’s lack of respect, could only point towards the forest.

“Is it there?”

The man nodded.

“Oki doki, old man. Thanks a lot,” the albino said, smiling cheerfully. However, the smile vanished once he set foot in the forest; he felt a cursed energy that was, to say the least, familiar.

That cursed energy. That damn cursed energy.

“No, impossible,” he thought, waving his hands to dispel the images that had come to his mind. He ventured into the forest and, even though he stopped feeling it, the nervousness didn’t leave him.

After walking about four kilometers, he found an abandoned house and, like a lightning bolt, a terribly familiar smell hit him. “Oh, shit. It’s his trail. No doubt about it.” He turned his head in all directions, his face contorting into an almost terrified grimace. “No. It’s not just the trail. It’s…”

He looked at the roof of the house and saw him. Suguru dressed completely in black, hands in his pockets, and hair fully tied up. He watched him, cold, almost impassive, and handsome. As handsome as the last time.

Satoru swallowed hard.

“What are you doing here, Geto?”

Three days ago, Suguru had captured the god in charge of the mischievous underwater fish with the sole purpose of extorting the Sendai municipality. However, when his contacts warned him that someone from Jujutsu Tech had been sent, Geto thought it would be fun to stick around. Nanami? Shoko? Which of his old colleagues would be the lucky one to have a session with him?

Never in his damn life did he imagine it would be Satoru. This was beneath his level. And no, it couldn't be just for that reason. Could it? He found himself smiling as he felt his cursed energy, the moment Satoru entered the forest. Yep, it was definitely for the sweets.

“I was waiting for you, Gojo,” he lied with a wicked smile.

Satoru felt like throwing up. “What is this? How could I be so stupid?” he thought, distressed. He looked at Suguru, who was still smiling at him, and felt a rage he couldn't remember ever feeling. He clenched his fists, trying to stay cool. “No, I won't react. I have to look calm. It has to look like I don't give a damn.”

Suguru jumped down to his level.

“Long time no see!” he said, waving.

He looked at him more closely and, realizing his eyes were covered, stopped smiling. He didn't like it when he covered his eyes. In his opinion, it made him look weak. And he hated seeing Satoru weak.

“You've changed. I see you went with the bandages.”

“You look the same,” the albino said apathetically. He was trying his best not to breathe heavily, but the rage kept building. Of course Suguru looked the same. Just like all the times Gojo had caught him spying, at the same station as always. Did he really think he didn't notice?

Geto, on the other hand, was expecting a different reaction from the albino. He knew he had seen him those times. He did it on purpose. “I guess this is the game he chose today,” the curse manipulator thought.

He smiled at him again, this time sweetly.

“Ha, maybe freedom suits me. Doesn’t it suit you, Gojo?” Suguru had started circling him slowly, scrutinizing every detail of his long body. “Hmm… Maybe not.”

Gojo breathed slowly. Who was this idiot? His gaze, his movements, even his voice seemed like they belonged to someone else. “Obviously. This isn’t him. It’s Geto Sama. A cruel murderer. A son of a bitch.”

“Enough with the nonsense,” said the albino, moving away from Suguru. “What do you want? Or are you going to tell me it’s a coincidence finding you here, old friend?”

Suguru started walking towards him again. “Old friend, Satoru? Would that have been better for you?” he thought, amused.

“A bit of this, a bit of that. Come on, aren’t you going to try to kill me right away? Maybe I woke up wanting to die,” he said, putting his right hand to his forehead in a dramatic gesture.

“Don’t give me that shit.”

“Wow, Gojo. Why so violent? Wasn’t I the monster, the beast?” he asked sarcastically, getting closer and closer to Satoru.

Gojo didn’t know why he wasn’t smashing his face in at that moment. What was he up to? He didn’t believe for a second that he was there ready to die. From what he knew, Geto Sama was everything but a suicidal. He scoffed, remembering the teenage and depressive version of Suguru.

“Or are you still mad at me for that day?” Geto continued, now so close that their noses were almost touching. “When was it? September 2007?” He stretched out his right palm and counted on his fingers, out loud. “Come on, it’s been almost two years! Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

He said this while still smiling, but now with cruelty. The accumulated rage he felt towards the albino was getting the better of him, and contrary to what his disciplined personality dictated, Suguru gave in to the impulse to torment him, even though he knew that with just one gesture, one small gesture, he’d be turned to dust. And Geto didn’t want to die, especially not at the hands of that idiot Satoru.

Or so he thought. Having him so close, after all that time, was stirring up feelings he thought he’d forgotten and god, what rage. He fixed his purple eyes on him and tried to hit him with his chest, but Gojo activated his technique.

The albino was fed up and confused. Why did his six eyes still think he could trust him? No, it was impossible. He didn’t even know the man standing in front of him.

He remembered that day. The cold, the wind, and the feeling of not knowing his own life. The first time he dissociated and the first time he realized that he was, truly, fragile. Arrogant. Weak. A puppet. All those things had been told to him, between the lines, by the person who was once his entire world, a world that now was leaving and abandoning him.

“Almost two years, yeah. That’s what you stole from me with your madness, you son of a bitch,” he thought, clenching his fist even tighter. He felt a small trickle of blood coming from his hand. He breathed very slowly again and, in a very calm voice, said:

“Don’t flatter yourself, Geto. You were nothing but a whim.”

“God, I’m disgusting,” he thought immediately.

Suguru looked at him indifferently, even though he could visualize, and feel, a silver knife piercing his dark heart. The albino was lying. Obviously. But that didn’t explain how betrayed he felt hearing those words.

“A whim? Wow… makes sense. Is that why you weren’t there when I needed you, Gojo?” he said with his most charming smile. “A year of loneliness, where ironically, I slept with you every night. In theory and to everyone else: the perfect couple. In practice: it was all about you and your path to perfection. In the end, it was all empty words. Do you remember the promises you made? Pff. A whim, of course. A whim of privileged people. Maybe it was my fault for expecting anything, anything at all, from you.”

Gojo knew he couldn’t continue in this dynamic, or he’d lose. Suguru’s words made him realize that he always loved him more than he did. What an unfair mess. Why didn’t he just kill him? Maybe just to see if he could hurt him the same way.

He lowered his bandage and locked his eyes onto his.

"We both said a lot of things that weren’t real, Geto. Probably just because of our age and who knows what else. I thought you were sexy. I wanted to sleep with you. So yeah, I played along with all that stuff you’re talking about. Can you blame me? You obviously know how hot you were, though not so much now."

Geto frowned. He wasn’t expecting that. But Satoru wouldn’t get under his skin. No, Suguru wasn’t as shallow as him. Still, he used all his meditation techniques to breathe calmly because his heart was racing.

"Oh, poor me! The great Gojo Satoru used me as his sex toy! And I... well, I..." He looked him up and down, piercingly. "I know I said I loved you, but it was never really like that, so we’re even."

He smiled mischievously. He knew Gojo had loved him with all his being. Probably still did. But what about him?

"Me? Did I stop loving him? No, that doesn’t matter now", he thought.

Satoru tried to breathe as calmly as possible. His heart had shattered with every word. He could feel there were no pieces left.

"I’m lying, Suguru. But it seems like you’re not", thought.

"So neither of us fell in love, blah, blah. How boring. Whatever. The truth is, you’re here, and I have to kill you. Are you really the suicidal type, Geto? No... you think too highly of yourself. Oh! Actually, you think you can beat me!" he said while covering his eyes again. He smiled. "That’s it! HAHA. You never could. You never will, Geto Suguru," he added mockingly.

Suguru felt humiliated. Defeated. "Touché. Weak spot, Satoru. You’ll see."

"Ha."

“Shit, he got here before me,” Satoru thought, realizing Geto had the spirit of Kashima; a rumble came from the depths of the earth, and a magnitude five quake shook the place.

Suguru looked at him, impassive, while Satoru thought quickly. He couldn’t leave Suguru with a curse of such power, but what could he offer him? Apparently, he didn’t just resent him; he hated him. He opened his mouth to ask him to stop, but didn’t get the chance: a blade passed by his head and cut a bit of his hair. Gojo looked at Suguru, alarmed. “He’s really strong, he won’t beat me, but...”

Suddenly, Suguru called Kashima, and he emerged from the ground with a beautiful and ethereal katana. The tremor stopped.

"Come on, Gojo Satoru. You’re right. We both know I won’t beat you. Not like this, at least. I just wanted to show you that I’m stronger than before. Do you really want to keep wasting time?"

Suguru was still annoyed, not really understanding why he had attacked him. “The bastard managed to get under my skin. All this time and he still does it. I hate him.”

Satoru was really confused. “What the hell is wrong with him? What’s the point of all this?”, he thought.

"So, what’s all this fuss for?" Satoru asked. "I thought maybe you’d want to make me sweat a bit before your end."

Hearing those words, Geto couldn’t help but think of Satoru sweating.

He remembered being on top of him during those hot summer nights when sweat would run down his white hair, and with every thrust, it would wet his face. Suguru would fake disgust, and Satoru would smile at him, lick his face, and then kiss him as tenderly as the heat of the moment allowed. Then he’d go back to thrusting, until the sweat mixed with everything else.

As those moments came to mind, Suguru automatically blushed; Gojo did too when he noticed. Their minds were filled with the same images that had invaded the black-haired guy’s. They stared at each other for a while, both with blank minds. They seemed like teenagers again. Suddenly, Satoru said:

"Uh…when I said sweating, I meant physical exercise, like with your hands—" The albino felt embarrassed. When did the situation take that turn? "Ah, I mean a fight to the death," he added nervously, thinking he was being a complete idiot.

Suguru, on the other hand, felt very irritated, but with himself. Seeing Satoru hesitate like that reminded him of his teenage years, when he had just met him and his clumsy flirting. That feeling of nostalgia not only made him feel unexpectedly tender but also made something stir in his pants. "No. No. NOT NOW, STUPID."

"That’s what you’d like..." Suguru grumbled.

"That stupid thing I said by accident... got you turned on, Suguru. Is that why you’re here?" Gojo thought. He had noticed what was happening to Geto. After all, it had been countless nights and days together. It was about a month after their first time that Satoru’s six eyes could even detect the change in Suguru’s blood pressure when it came to sexual desire.

The albino took a breath and teleported next to Suguru so he could whisper in his ear:

"Well, well. Don’t you remember how well I know you... Suguru?"

Without thinking and intuitively, Gojo moved his hand toward Suguru’s crotch. Geto felt his erection grow even more. However, he grabbed Satoru’s wrist tightly.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he said, pushing him away with disdain.

Gojo’s eyes were wide open and he felt even more confused. "Why did I do that? Ugh, no, I can’t go back to…", thought.

Suguru’s view of summoning the kami again interrupted his thoughts and made him get on guard. However, he noticed that his ex-boyfriend’s expression, besides being angry, seemed strangely melancholic. Satoru waited. He didn’t want to be the first to attack.

However, Suguru put the curse away again. He felt awful. The memory of his teenage years not only brought him that excitement from their passionate days together but also the bitter taste of the time following Riko Amanai’s murder.

"It's ironic that you bring up how well you know me. You perfected your senses to notice when I was turned on. Congrats. You’re right. Thinking about you sweating turned me on. You still turn me on," Suguru said, staring at the ground. "But why couldn’t your eyes see that I needed you? Why didn’t they tell you to come find me? Why didn’t you come looking for me? Five days. I waited for you for five days, in our spot."

"Or maybe you always knew who I really was," Suguru thought. "Can I blame you? Not really. No one knows me like you do. Ugh. I don’t understand what I’m feeling. What a messed-up situation; I need to do something about it. I need to know if it’s real."

Satoru lowered his hands slowly. He didn’t know how to react. He felt sadness, but it was fleeting. Looking at his former lover, he saw cold eyes. Not the ones he loved. Not the ones that really excited him. "He’s playing with you. Stay strong, Satoru. You’re strong", he thought.

"I already told you. It was just sex. I played with you. For a moment, I thought about playing again. But why bother if…"

He stopped when he felt Suguru’s right hand touch him. Suguru had walked over while he was speaking, and the Infinite had automatically deactivated.

Suguru smiled genuinely. Apparently, the albino was also lying.

"Can I touch you just like that? Wow…."

Following his intuition and desire, Suguru gently slid his index finger into the waistband of Gojo’s pants. The albino tried with all his might to fight against what was coming, but it was useless. His mind was blank. He only knew he was rock hard.

"Does your instinct still trust me?" Suguru continued, bringing his face closer to the albino’s. "Or is it…" he whispered, sliding his entire hand into the pants, "…something purely carnal?"

"Suguru…no."

"Shh. Didn’t you want this a minute ago?"

He started masturbating him. Moving closer to his ear, he whispered:

"Don’t you remember how you used to play with me… Satoru?"

He said his name with a moan, just the way he knew he liked. He stopped thinking about the consequences of what he was doing, and like Satoru, only knew he needed to feel that body inside his again and again. He slipped his other hand into the pants and started to caress Satoru’s anus. Gojo was shocked, but he didn’t care. He was frozen. He wanted to fight Geto but couldn’t. He had called him by his name. It was something insignificant, maybe even ridiculous, but it worked like a curse for him. No one else called him that. Not like that. Not as if they cared.

Even so, in that intoxication, Satoru knew there was a chance he was just being used. He tried to think, to ground himself, but damn, it felt so good. It felt like coming home.

"Suguru…" He dug his nails into his shoulder. "…stop."

"Years ago, it was the same," Geto whispered, ignoring Satoru’s plea. "A tiny hint and… just feel me," he added, pressing against him.

Suguru rubbed his erection against Satoru’s and started moving slowly. Yes, just like when he was a fifteen-year-old with hormones raging, he had fallen prey to the innate charms of the Six Eyes bearer. He still couldn’t make himself immune. No, apparently, for Suguru, reaching nirvana was much easier than resisting. "I can’t stay still; it’s been too long; nothing compares to this smell. Oh, Satoru. I’ve missed you," he thought, resting his chin on his shoulder. He touched his chest, and even through the clothes, he could feel his nipples hardening. Slowly, he started to open his mouth near his neck. He stuck out his tongue and ran the tip close to Satoru’s ear. Gently, with his left hand, he pulled up the blindfold.

"Let me look at you, Satoru."

Suguru was about to kiss him, and Gojo knew that as soon as he felt the touch of his lips, he would explode.

“No, no. No. If I come, he’ll have me in his hands. More than I already am,” Satoru thought, confused. The curse user’s words still echoed in his soul. He didn’t believe that the excitement he was showing was real.

As a result, he pulled away violently. Geto looked at him as if he had been told the worst insult in the world.

“STOP, SUGURU! We can’t… No—” He moved away, fixing his pants and blindfold. “Let’s stop this crap. Tell me what you want. Quick. And before anything else, no. I can’t spare your life. It’s not up to me and…”

“Neither do you want to.”

Despite wanting nothing more than to let him live and fuck him every day, away from the sorcerers and their mundane problems, Satoru lied shamelessly:

“Yeah. I don’t want to either.”

Few things had hit Suguru’s ego like those words. His first reaction, like a wounded wild animal, was to kick him in the stomach. Instead of casting a spell, Satoru went straight into hand-to-hand combat with Geto.

They fought intensely. Kicks, punches, and pushes came and went relentlessly. The sound of their blows was all that could be heard, as they didn’t speak a word. Both had their minds blank.

Suddenly, Suguru’s superiority in martial arts became evident. He pinned Gojo to the ground with a hold. Geto saw only red and began to choke him.

Tears started running down the face of the one who had once been his lover. “Come on, move. Ugh, I shouldn’t even have to try. One flash and it’s over for him. But… okay. Maybe it’s time to let go,” the albino thought. “In his hands? Tsk. It’s… whatever. Better him than anyone else.”

Struggling to speak due to the pressure on his vocal cords, he said:

“Okay, do it. I won’t resist you anymore, Suguru.”

As soon as he heard his voice, Geto realized what he was doing. At that moment, he could end the Six Eyes bearer and easily pave the way to his new world. At that moment, all his cult leader's dreams would come true. But at that moment, Gojo Satoru would cease to exist, and with that, any chance of seeing him, touching him, or hearing him say his name.

The question was: Did he really want to live in a world without Satoru?

Surprised to be back to those thoughts, he let go. Satoru gasped for air, recovering and coughing. He was on his knees, looking at the ground, with his back to Suguru.

Geto was also breathing heavily. “Has it really been that long? It feels like it was yesterday. Why the hell can’t I let him go?” he thought. He straightened up and walked over to Gojo. He watched him for a moment. “He doesn’t want to let me go either. I can feel it in my bones.”

He offered his hand to help him up, which Gojo didn’t accept. The albino’s crystal blue eyes fixed on him, still gasping. He was realizing what had just happened. He had handed his life to him, the worst of all sorcerers. To Geto Sama. To Suguru. The love of his life. And he hadn’t taken it. For some reason, he felt offended. He wanted to spit at him. He wanted to hit him. He wanted to grab his silky hair and show him that Gojo Satoru’s life wasn’t a gift someone could afford to disregard like that. He wanted to tear him apart.

Suguru sighed deeply. He had squandered the chance to be the killer of the great Gojo Satoru, and why? Just because he had remembered the corner of his mouth when he smiled? The sparkle in his eyes when he greeted him in the mornings? His unmistakable purple scent? God, how he hated the albino. Maybe he did want to kill him. Maybe. But not before getting tangled up between his legs. He was already there, in a place he knew he couldn’t escape from. No turning back now.

“Damn it. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t try”, Suguru thought.

“Unless you tell me otherwise right now, I’ll go to your hotel tonight, Satoru.”

Gojo’s expression hardened. “Is this really happening? DID HE REALLY SAY THAT? After what just happened, after the words earlier… he still wants us to fuck? Wow. This guy…” the albino thought, furious. He opened his mouth to tell him off and fill him with insults, but no sound came out.

Suguru waited a few seconds. Not getting a response, he walked away. “Oh well. At least I’ll have material to deal with the others.”

Suddenly, he heard Gojo’s voice:

“Suguru…”

Geto froze. “Wow, I got nervous. Am I a complete idiot?” He nodded, indicating he was listening.

“Room 603.”

Suguru, without turning around, gave him the peace sign. He couldn’t help but smile, a smile that came from the bottom of his soul. “I’m a complete idiot,” he thought as he left.

As Satoru adjusted his blindfold, he also reflected. “Suguru is a complete idiot. But I’m worse.”

—————-

Part two on: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57588175/chapters/146534281

Image by https://x.com/lxzemathena?s=21

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