Summary: After an argument leaves Jay and Alex on non speaking terms, Alex receives a video from an unknown number.
Content/Warnings: Non/Dubcon, unsolicited sending of a sex tape, non consensual video taping of sex, cucking via video, implied break in, choking, anal sex, blindfolding, internalized homophobia, repressed Alex, sub/bottom Jay, dom/top Hoodie, Alex & Jay’s weird homoerotic situationship, Alex has complicated feelings, hints of angst at the beginning, Hoodie is a freak, this takes place during the canon towards the beginning when Alex & Jay are working together.
*This is not fully proofread. Please let me know if you see any errors.*
Stress.
That’s the only word for it, but it feels like a massive understatement. What Alex is experiencing is far more than a quickly approaching deadline or rush hour behind the counter of a fast food restaurant; not just stress, but damn near mortal peril, and it’s wearing on him, grinding him down to dust bit by bit. Anyone in this situation would be…tetchy, to say the least, but Alex’s strain often manifests itself as pure, unbridled rage, simmering at the surface of his mind and burning red hot.
As one could imagine, this doesn’t exactly bode well for his cautious alliance with Jay.
They’re both under tremendous pressure. They’re both struggling, they both need each other’s help…
…but God, he pisses Alex off.
Sitting there with that empty, placid look on his face like he’s a million miles away, but still stone cold sober. Always fiddling with his camera and always asking once, twice, thrice to have what was just told to him explained again. The way he looks up at Alex with those big doe eyes that don’t know anything, that oblivious expression that reminds Alex of those days in high school where they’d sit behind the bleachers and gaze silently at each other, both of them too afraid to lean in and just—
Stop, stop, stop. Just stop it.
Alex huffs in annoyance, shaking his head as if shaking the thoughts out of his mind. He flops back onto his twin mattress, staring up at the plain white ceiling of his bedroom. This old house has been his only solace these past few weeks, his only place of safety; it’s almost odd being alone in it now, seeing as Jay’s been practically living with Alex as of late for his own safety and peace of mind. He’d shown up at Alex’s door in the dead of night, panting, terrified, and begging to spend the night.
How could he say no?
He, perhaps too eagerly, invited Jay in, assuring him that he could stay as long as he needed. It was a bad idea, he realizes now, to allow Jay of all people into his domicile. Despite his constant self affirmations that everything from high school was in the past, where it belonged, suddenly being so close with Jay ignited an old flame deep inside of him. It burned just hot enough to make his insides uncomfortably warm, bringing beads of sweat to his forehead whenever he stood next to Jay for too long. The heat made him irritable—sometimes it turned him into a downright nasty jerk, and today his barely contained rage had really bitten him in the ass.
He hardly remembers what even started the fight. The massive amount of stress both he and Jay are under certainly helped it along, yes, but the inciting incident completely escapes him. All he remembers is yelling—no, screaming at Jay, hurling insults at him for being stupid and useless, dragging his feet while Alex was trying his damndest to just not die. Why can’t he just get off his ass and do something?!
The outburst of anger was short lived, but intense. It was as if the years’ worth of animosity that had been slowly piling up, like grains of sand pooling in the bottom of an hourglass one by one, had come crashing down. Old wounds were torn open without warning, gushing crimson and shooting a furious agony through him. Suddenly, he was 17 years old again, wrestling with his feelings and failing to find the impossible balance between Jay and himself and calculus homework and inevitable realizations.
Suddenly, he was that angry teenage boy again.
He hates that boy. He’s always hated him. He hated himself then, and he hates the person he used to be now.
Alex groans in frustration at his own juvenile fury. He rubs his eyes as he huffs a heavy sigh, realizing how truly tired he is now that the anger isn’t pumping through his veins. The moment of him storming out of Jay’s house with one last glare over his shoulder replays over and over again in his mind, poking and prodding at his addled brain with spindly little needles of regret.
He lets his hands fall limp once again. He lies there, lying flat on his back and looking up at nothing, for at least a few minutes. He’s not really sure why; perhaps something in his subconscious is trying to gain his attention, but is only strong enough to paralyze him with apathy. He doesn’t have the energy to wonder about that sort of thing right now, or address the slowly rising revelation that he is a giant asshole.
He turns his head to the side, and lays there a few minutes more to debate his next course of action.
“…I should call Jay.”
The words are painful in his throat. He barely manages to push them out, but it takes just a sliver of the guilty weight off his chest. Not nearly enough, though.
He rolls his heavy body over to the opposite side, now facing towards his bedside table. He sucks in a deep breath, and it evacuates his chest lazily. The herculean task of reaching out and picking up his phone taunts him.
Then, as if by some divine miracle, the moment his fingers twitch to life, his phone pings.
He sits bolt upright, practically scrambling to grab the device off the bedside table.
Jay must be texting him to talk about what happened; maybe he’ll just apologize and they can brush past it, after all it’s not like this is the first time Alex has had an outburst like that, and really, weren’t both of them at fault for—?
…An unknown number?
Alex blinks a few times, staring down at the notification in confusion. It doesn’t even look like a real phone number, just a random jumble of digits trying its best to imitate one.
“What the hell…?”
The message is accompanied by no text. All he can see on his lock screen is the completely black thumbnail of a video.
An uncomfortable shiver snakes down his spine, sending a trembling through his hands as the light of the phone reflects on his glasses. He has to force himself to lift his thumb, to swipe up and then enter his password, although he can’t feel the tapping on the pad of his finger. He swallows hard, debating whether or not he really wants to open that message and bear witness to whatever the stranger who sent it wants him to see.
It isn’t the first time he’s received something like this. He’s had to completely abandon three of his social media accounts to stop the constant harassment, to get away from the endless indecipherable codes and messages that were keeping him up at night, urging him to do something, but not telling him what. The constant looming threat of unknown doom was driving him crazy. He thought it was over when there was finally radio silence over the past three days, but now he just feels stupid for thinking it would end that easily.
He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry.
With a great deal of effort he brings his trembling thumb down onto the screen, holding it against the bubble icon for a moment before pulling back again. Everything is happening agonizingly slow, and yet he’s not sure if he really wants to see what’s waiting for him on the other side of the message. The icon expands, and for a moment he’s staring back at himself in a black screen as the app boots up, his reflection looking back at him with a sullen terror.
The world goes silent as he clicks on the contact, the message list swiping to the side to reveal the object of his horrified ire in full:
The thumbnail of a video, completely black, save for the silhouette of the play button on top.
Does he really want to watch this?
On one hand, no. No he doesn’t. Not at all, actually. He’d rather delete the message and forget about it completely.
On the other hand, he feels like he has to. If he doesn’t, if he erases it forever, it’ll eat him alive. What if this is the missing piece? What if this is the last clue that finally makes him get it? What if this is the final step into making all of this stop?
He can’t risk it. He’ll never forgive himself. It’s worth having to brave the horror of whatever lies beyond the play button if it means there’s even a small chance that he could end all of this.
His thumb twitches. Then it comes down, and before he can fully realize what’s happening the video is playing.
This is it.
He sits back in his bed, gnawing the inside of his cheek with furrowed brows as he waits for something to happen.
What’ll it be this time, hm? A slow, panning shot of his house? The inside of his room, even? Or maybe an inspection of some stolen trinket that went missing from his bedside table days ago?
He can’t hear anything for a few seconds. He forces himself to turn the volume up, and as the slider slowly rises the muffled noise of…something becomes clear. The screen stays black, but he can hear the distinct sound of the camera being pushed around against fabric. He tilts his head in confusion, eyes scanning the screen with heavy scrutiny for any hint of what’s going on, but all he can see is black.
The sound starts to get louder, more clear, like whatever was muffling the microphone has finally been moved. He can make some sense of the noise, finally.
It sounds like someone…whining, sort of, maybe crying, but the voice is hard to make out.
It’s a man, or at least someone masculine. Is something covering his mouth?
What’s that noise?
Why is it…wet?
The floor is creaking…no, wait, not a floor. It’s…
…Wait.
Oh.
Oh god.
Oh my fucking god.
No.
No.
No, no, no—
Alex’s brain nearly explodes into bloody chunks inside his skull. His entire body stiffens as though bracing for pain, eyes widening in reaction to an impact that never comes, but he feels like it should, like the moment the vagabond in the train tunnel hears the horn and realizes it’s too late.
The unmistakable sound of sex.
He can nearly feel his mortal soul desperately evacuating his trembling body when the camera moves, and suddenly the screen lights up as it’s lifted from what Alex can now see is the messy sheets of a bed. The audio is clear now, and the filthy sounds of wet thrusting echo in his brain and make his head spin.
The stranger behind the camera is breathing heavily right next to the microphone. Alex can hear him lick his lips, and the sound makes him cringe. The stranger focuses in for a moment on the torso of the man below him, his shirt pushed up above his midriff to show his pale stomach. Fortunately, Alex is spared the sight of anything lower than that for now.
The true horror is the slow chill of the realization working its way up Alex’s body as the camera pans upward to the man’s face.
Holy shit…is that—
“Jay?!”
Alex sits up so fast he nearly falls out of bed. His eyes struggle to focus long enough for a second look, but when they do his fears are only further confirmed.
There’s no doubt that that’s Jay.
He’s blindfolded, which is horrific on its own, but Alex still recognizes him without a doubt; he became deeply intimate with the shape of his jawline years ago. His mouth hangs open dumbly as an endless stream of meaningless noises and drool flows out of its corners. The most shocking part, though, is the strong hand clad in a pitch black glove wrapped tightly around his throat.
Not strangling him, no—there is no intent to kill behind the tightly wound knuckles of the stranger. His fingers twitch against the sides of Jay’s neck, and it’s clear how much he’s holding back in this moment. He has no intention of taking Jay’s life.
The thought provides Alex with no comfort.
The smallest whimpers of ‘oh, god,’ and ‘please, please’ are slurred out, but they’re hardly words. They melt on Jay’s tongue before he can get them out. The rhythmic thrusting makes his voice far too shaky, anyways. His trembling hands are wrapped around the stranger’s wrists, nails digging into the worn fabric of his hoodie sleeve, silently begging him not to squeeze any tighter, should he crush his delicate trachea to dust.
Alex doesn’t know what to do. In a second a bloody internal war has broken out in his mind. He shouldn’t be watching this. He has to turn it off…but he can’t.
Fuck, he just can’t.
He screams at himself internally for this. He should just turn it off, it would be so easy, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even look away. He doesn’t know why.
The best answer is morbid curiosity.
The worst answer is that he’s enjoying this.
Try as he might to push the latter possibility from
his mind completely, the thought sticks in his brain like a thumbtack on a cork board. He shifts uncomfortably on his bed, silently begging his body not to react despite that horrible shudder of what he can only call arousal that crawls through his nervous system.
Oh god, oh god…
He’s terrible, he’s just terrible. He’s going to Hell.
He’s going to Hell, he’s going to Hell forever for this.
His breathing is getting heavier by the second. Everything is quickly becoming unbearably hot, the mere warmth of his blankets over his legs feeling like enough to sear his skin. He blinks a few times to clear the moisture from his eyes.
The video starts to pan down slowly, agonizingly so. It’s terrifying how steady the camera is in the stranger’s hand as he takes the time to show off Jay’s body; his heaving chest, his bare stomach, now glistening with sweat, the thick happy trail of brown hair that starts at his navel and makes its way down, down, down, right to his…
“Nngh…”
Fucking Hell.
What an awful noise to come out of his mouth.
He would hate to hear himself utter such a sound in bed, in the throes of pleasure, let alone watching one of his closest friends be violated like this.
He doesn’t even realize he’s being recorded, he realizes. For years Alex was kept awake imagining this sight, countless high school nights wasted with his hand around his cock as the teasing image of Jay on his back, spread out perfectly for him, flashed in his mind, and now he’ll have to look him in the eyes knowing that he saw this.
He watched this. He didn’t look away.
He’s taking this to the grave.
He can feel the sight of Jay’s leaking cock bouncing with each thrust being burned into his memory. It’ll be a hell of an ugly scar on his psyche, that’s for certain, but right now that pain is nothing compared to the ache in his dick as he watches the precum lean down Jay’s shaft while it pulses with need.
Alex just can’t help himself. All at once he’s painfully aware and slipping into something catatonic and cold. A stream of thoughts flows through his mind but doesn’t stop, never letting him truly grasp anything as his body moves as if of its own accord.
Was Jay a virgin before this? Alex wonders as his free hand starts to push down the waistband of his sweatpants. He probably was, he decides, Jay would never do ass stuff on his own. He’s cowardly like that.
He’s watching Jay lose his virginity.
Losing his virginity to a stranger, the same stranger who’s been tormenting them both.
The stranger who knows exactly what he’s doing.
Something about this is just so personal.
It can’t be a coincidence, Alex decides, his fingers now under the band of his boxers; this is a targeted attack on him, meant to degrade him in a way nothing else could. The stranger knows what this is doing to Alex. All those painful years of wanting and waiting and never getting anything from Jay, it’s all been leading up to this in one way or another. This is the lowest Alex could possible be…
…but then his fingers wrap around the base of his cock, and suddenly none of that matters anymore.
This time he barely manages to bite back an even more pathetic moan than before. It’s like shockwaves racking his body. He hadn’t realized until now just how long it’s been since he got off. He’s gotten so sensitive; he’s nearly trembling already.
The camera travels just a bit further downwards, and now Alex can see the stranger’s cock as it slowly pumps in and out of Jay’s hole, which is almost certainly stretched it its limit. The slick sounds of the stranger’s length pulling out and pushing back in, making Jay whimper every time it brushed his previously untouched prostate, makes Alex’s stomach flip and twist in ways it never should.
Jay’s whines are only getting more and more pathetic, each one more drawn out and desperate than the last. He’s quickly losing his ability to speak at all.
“Completely fuckin’ cock drunk,” Alex mutters as he starts to pump his fist with more aggression, “fucking stupid…”
A particularly pitiful mewl makes him shiver. He’ll never be able to get off to porn again. There’s a fleeting moment where he makes a mental note to save this video everywhere he possibly can. Hell, he might keep a damn thumb drive in his pocket from now on, just to keep it with him.
The camera shakes a bit, presumably being repositioned in the stranger’s hand. Then it starts to move in closer, and it takes Alex a moment to realize that he’s leaning in closer to Jay, until all he can see is the blackness of the lens pressed against Jay’s chest. Jay sputters, able to feel but not see the movement. Just the thought of how nerve wracking that must be sends a jolt through Alex’s cock.
Jay makes an obvious noise of discomfort, and there’s a bit more shuffling. Alex tilts his head in confusion, though he doesn’t slow the pumping of his first at all.
Then, there’s a whisper.
It’s so quiet, especially on the less-than-great quality video, Alex can’t make it out. Jay stammers out a dumb little ‘huh?’, and the stranger huffs in annoyance.
“…Say it.”
Say it.
The command is sharp as a knife, its edge glimmering with a silent threat. Jay doesn’t say anything; the stranger repeats himself. This time, there’s a growl to the order:
“Say. It.”
“No, n-no, please, I can’t—“
Alex gasps at the sound of Jay’s pleading, which is swiftly cut off by his choking. He imagines the stranger’s hand tightening around Jay’s throat to squelch his disobedience, and the idea is so powerful he has to release his cock to stop himself from releasing too soon.
He watches with bated breath as the video screen remains black. The creaking of the bed has stopped, and now all he can hear is the silent sound of contemplation.
Finally, the stranger starts to pull back, allowing Alex to see Jay once more. The thrusting starts up again, and this time Jay’s lips are pressed hard into a thin line instead of letting the noise out freely. He chokes back a sob before he stutters:
“…A…A-Ale-ex…”
His hand isn’t anywhere near his cock, but just the sound of his name on Jay’s lips is nearly enough to make Alex burst with the sonic boom that rocks his insides like bass in a stereo. He goes dizzy for a moment as his hand clamps around his length once more, now pumping feverishly with no regard for pacing himself.
“Louder,” the stranger orders, his voice wavering just a bit as his thrusting starts to quicken with no warning. Jay cries out, arching his back.
“Nngh—! A-Alex…!”
Alex throws his head back against the wall, his legs twitching and squirming uselessly as he struggles to cope with the indescribable, overwhelming sensation currently ripping him apart from the inside. All he can do is close his eyes and imagine that the sweaty palm of his hand is instead the warm embrace of Jay’s virgin hole. Normally, such a far fetched fantasy wouldn’t work for a second; right now, it’s almost real. More real than it’s ever going to be, anyways.
Every time the stranger thrusts into Jay, he cries out for Alex once more. It’s rhythmic begging, the name slowly getting more and more slurred with each movement. Alex’s eyelids flutter as he continues to pump his cock without any meaningful pace or purpose other than to find his peak. All he can hear is the sound of Jay sobbing between every call of his name, and the dripping wet noise of the stranger forcing himself into him over and over and over again with no mercy.
If he opened his eyes, he would see the tears soaking through Jay’s blindfold, barely managing to roll down his cheeks without getting caught in the fabric. He can hear them in his throat, though; whether they’re tears of humiliation or overwhelming pleasure, he can’t tell, and he can’t really bring himself to care either way.
“W-Wait, wait, please—!” Jay stammers, and that makes Alex snap to attention, eyes back on his phone screen.
“Please, s-slow down,” Jay begs, “You have to— I-I’m gonna—“
The stranger’s hand tightens around Jay’s throat once more. Clearly, he’s not interested in his pathetic pleading. Alex is sort of glad he shut him up, even if some part of him knows that’s an awful thing to think.
Alex watches every detail of Jay with an eagle eye, and he can tell he’s unbearably close to orgasm, as is he. If he times it just right…
He starts to move his hand faster, watching as Jay’s cock twitches desperately as his body struggles to brace for the coming impact. Jay’s given up on trying to stop the stranger from choking him, instead keeping his hands above his head as he grasps at the slat headboard with a painful looking grip. The damn thing seems like it might snap in two with every thrust, creaking loudly in protest.
“Oh god, oh god…!”
A loud groan crawls up Alex’s throat, almost something of a growl. Through gritted teeth and his froth of animalistic need he mutters:
“Oh, like he’s ever given a shit…”
As if in response to the remark, Jay manages to give one last wail before he can’t take it anymore. His entire body tenses in a way that looks painful, every muscle holding tightly at attention as his nervous system is effectively set aflame by the foreign sensation of a prostate orgasm.
Alex’s eyes widen as he watches Jay’s cock twitch, then release all at once, soaking his stomach and ratty old shirt. He can hardly breathe as he frantically chases his own high, unable to make himself slow down at all. It happens fast and without warning, filling his vision with black spots. His head pounds as his body threatens to give out, unable to do anything but cry out.
He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, hands trembling as he feels his sin coat his palm and run down his shaft. It feels like an eternity before he finally opens his eyes again.
He looks just in time to see the stranger slowly pull his cock free, and the sight of his cum spilling out of Jay’s thoroughly ravaged hole makes Alex shiver. The stranger holds on that shot for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before panning upward.
A gloved hand runs up Jay’s heaving chest, and he flinches. The stranger gives him a soft slap to the face, only hard enough to make him squeal, and gives his face a squeeze before releasing him. Jay whines. The stranger inhales like he’s about to speak, and then the video stops.
That’s it.
Alex stares at the final, frozen frame until his phones turns off on its own.
The device drops from his hand, and he lays back, returning to staring at his ceiling.
He lifts his hand, cringing at the sight of it covered in his cum. He needs to wash his hands, but he’s not getting up anytime soon.
He expects to lay there for the rest of the night, uninterrupted. He’s completely exhausted now. Any wisp of a coherent thought dies before it fully forms.
Everything is silent for just a moment.
His eyes finally close, not ready to fall asleep, but finally tired enough to just rest—
And then his phone pings.
“The fuck—?”
He sits up fast, grabbing his phone with his clean hand and nearly dropping it. He unlocks his phone without looking at the notification, rushing to his messages, expecting to see another taunt from the stranger.
It’s a message from Jay.
“Are e yuo there”
For some reason, Alex doesn’t really know how to respond to that. He stares back at the letters on the screen for a moment.
Then he sighs.
He opens the stranger’s contact just long enough to save the video before deleting the conversation.
Then he messages back.
“Yeah.”
If you liked this fic, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out.
Was planning a lazy bumming and @boystabbed said he’llbring snacks and I said I’d bring a camera to larp marble hornets and it said the new totheark tape would be just munching sounds with filters and thus the drawing was born
Absolutely no fem readers. Sorry, trans guys need love. Y'all get plenty fanfics.
this is supposed to be a trans male, no bottom surgery done, but growth is there. Top surgery done, but still a mention of "fondling breasts".
Cw: riding, oral, frotting, uh..mirror fucking, size difference, (small) stomach buldging, sonar in his beast bat form, and I think that's it..
Robert holding your thighs open, his mouth sucking on your t-dick, praising you on how big you are in his mouth. He starts off slow. A couple kisses down your stomach as he whispers about how handsome you were. Soft whines escape past your lips, especially as he nears your center. Your hips twitch and he notices. He kisses above your boxer briefs, whispering a small question to take them off. You nod. The moment you're bare for him, his breath hitches. He whispers praises about how perfect you are. How beautiful you look coming undone on him. Oh but when you finish once, he doesn't stop. He kisses your neck, moans slipping out of you as you grip his shoulders. His cock is sliding between you, coating himself in your slick and bumping your cocks together.
Waterboy under you, moaning and whimpering. You're trying to silence him by kissing his lips, making them plump and pink. You're slowly riding him in the janitorial closet, most likely an HR violation, but nothing has been done yet about other issues so..why not, right? He's babbling out praises, looking down at you like you're the one who's on a higher level than him. He looks down further, at his cock disappearing inside you, a soft gasp and hitch of his breath as he looks back up to your face. You're in cloud 9, and he's the cause. His hips buck up, making you cry out. Every praise, everytime you moan his name is just yet another whine yanked from him. Not like it was hard to do it in the first place.
Flambae getting pissed off at your self deprecating words, so he decides to fuck you in front of a mirror. He's mad that you view yourself as any lesser than what you are, a man. He was buried in you, and he would stop moving anytime your eyes closed or you refused to look at yourself. He made you watch as his cock slid in and out of you at a dizzying pace. Your mouth was hung open, his fingers in your mouth as he whispered in your ear about how good you were, about how easily you broke just for him. When his fingers slid out your mouth, covered in your spit, he would jerk you off, watching as the overstimulation made you whimper. He wouldn't stop till you had your own fucked out body in your mind, till you no longer had any self deprecating thoughts. How could you when you didn't even have a thought?
Sonar, I believe, would be begging you to finally show him your body, and it would start off as kissing, his hands slipping your shirt off, seeing your toned breast tissue. His hands fondled them, thumb rolling against your nipples. It wouldn't be until you had straddled his lap with your clothes off that he would turn. It was due to an intense amount of emotion, but you weren't complaining, and honestly? Neither was he. He was so vocal, probably more than you. He moaned out babbles of how perfect you were, how much he's been waiting for this, and how badly he's been wanting you. You didn't pay attention. How can you when his cock is buried deep inside you to cause your stomach to bulge ever so slightly. All you did was lay there and moan, whine and grip at his back fur. When you tugged at it, it made him even more turned on, just making him go faster.
Hi gais, uh thanks a lot for my first post wows. Here's my other..deeply horny ramble, I'm awfully tired so it might be just that..
You heard the bedroom door creak shut behind him, felt the faint vibration of his boots descending the stairs, then nothing. He’d kissed you on the forehead before he went, and that’s honestly what probably spurred on this whole situation.
“Get some sleep,” he’d grumbled against your skin. “Gonna get some work done.”
That was three fucking hours ago.
Now the sheets are twisted around your legs and a pillow is shoved between your thighs because his scent is still soaked into everything, your senses drowning in his smell that makes your cunt ache every time you breathe it in. You tried to sleep, really you did. You rolled over, buried your face in his side of the bed, and tried to will yourself calm. But every inhale dragged that smell deeper, and every exhale came out shakier than the last. Your skin felt too tight, and your head was hurting, and between your legs… Christ, you were soaked before you even realized your hand had wandered down.
Your bedroom is dark except for the splintering blue glow leaking through the curtains from the streetlight outside. It’s late, some time past 3 a.m., and the house is so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat thudding between your legs.
Your thighs are already trembling when you slide a hand down between them. Two fingers push past the damp cotton of your underwear, then inside you with almost no resistance because you’ve been aching for hours. You bite the pillow to muffle the first wet sound that slips out when you crook them just right, but it doesn’t help much. Your hips jerk forward anyway, chasing the pressure, imagining your fingers are thicker and colder and longer.
“Jack…” The name comes out so shrill it’s embarrasing. You press your head harder into the mattress and fuck yourself faster, obnoxiously slick noises filling the quiet. You picture him pinning you down with that delicious strength of his, feel the wet heat of his mouths against your throat, feel the row of needle teeth graze your skin. Your other hand claws at the sheets, you’re already so close it hurts.
You don’t hear him come up the stairs.
You don’t even hear the door ease open.
What you do hear is the low, rumbling growl that vibrates through the air and straight into your chest.
Your whole body locks up. Your fingers are still snug inside you, still pressed right onto your sensitive nerves.
Jack stands frozen in the doorway, his shoulders rising and falling hard enough that you can hear the rough rasp of every breath. The low growl rolling out of him isn’t angry, it’s hungry.
You should pull your fingers out. You should say something. Apologize, maybe. Instead your hips give a tiny, involuntary roll, and you curl your fingers again because you have no self control. A fresh gush of slick coats your hand, and you feel it trickle down toward your ass and soak into your panties.
Jack’s growl cuts off into a sharp inhale. He reaches back without looking, pushes the door shut behind him, and then he’s moving toward you.
“Jack…” Your voice cracks on his name.
He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t even acknowledge it.
He stops right beside the bed, towering over you. One clawed hand comes down between your knees and he pushes them apart. Your legs fall open wider, your knees splaying until the stretch burns a little in your hips. Your soaked panties are shoved to the side, cunt on full display, fingers still pumping in and out with wet, obscene sounds that fill the space between you.
He stares.
Not at your face.
At where your hand disappears between your legs, at the way your slick coats your fingers, at how absurdly wet you are.
“Could smell you from the basement,” he finally says. “Couldn’t fucking focus. Kept thinking about what you could be doing up here—” His free hand gestures vaguely toward your dripping cunt. “—and what could’ve possibly gotten you this worked up. Had to come see for myself.”
You whimper. Your fingers falter for half a second, then pick up again because the way his head is cocked and his eyeless sockets are looking at you makes you feel downright filthy.
“Ja—”
“Keep going,” he cuts you off. “By all means, don’t stop now.”
His grip on your thighs tightens, his claws pricking through the softness of your skin. He holds you open, wide enough that the cool air hits your soaked folds and makes you shiver. You can feel his stare like a physical weight, tracking every thrust of your fingers, every hitch in your breathing, every time your hips jerk up to meet your own hand.
“Jack—fuck—” Your voice breaks into a whine as you grind your palm harder against your clit. The wet squelch is loud now, and you cringe at the thought of how pathetic you look right now.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “That’s it. Stupid little baby couldn’t wait, could you? So impatient.”
You moan desperately, your head tipping back into the pillows. Your free hand claws at the sheets uselessly.
“Say my name again,” he orders quietly.
“Jack—”
“Louder.”
“Jack—” It comes out as a sob this time, your hips bucking hard enough that your fingers sink deeper. You’re close and he knows it, he just wants to watch you squirm. Your thighs are shaking so hard under his grip that the bed is trembling with it. Every slow drag of your fingers in and out makes a wet, filthy sound that fills the quiet, and you can feel the coil in your belly winding tighter, tighter, so tight it’s impossible to stop now.
“Go ahead and come,” he huffs. “You know you want to. I can smell it all over you. There’s nothing you can do about it, baby.”
His claws dig just a fraction deeper into the soft meat of your thighs.
“Such a pretty mess,” he murmurs, tilting his head further. “There you go, you can do it. Come all over yourself. You’ve earned it.”
The praise hits like a spark of fire to dry grass. Your breath catches in your throat, your hips jerking up hard, fingers slamming in one last time as your whole body locks up.
“Jack—fuck—I’m—”
“Do it,” he growls.
You couldn’t hold it back even if you tried.
A choked sob rips out of you as your cunt clamps down hard around your fingers, pulsing in violent, greedy waves. You reach blindly with your free hand, your fingers twisting into the front of his hoodie, yanking him closer to anchor yourself. Slick gushes out around your knuckles, soaking your palm, your panties, the sheets beneath you in a hot, messy rush. Your thighs snap together instinctively but his hold keeps them spread, keeps you open so he can see every drop that spills out.
You’re still shuddering through the aftershocks when the clarity crashes in. Heat floods your face. You just came (incredibly hard, mind you) while he stood there and just watched like it was a show. Your hand is still inside your ruined panties, your cunt is still twitching weakly, and he’s just… staring.
“Oh god,” you whisper. “I’m—fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
You try to roll away, curling in on yourself, your cheeks burning, but Jack’s grip doesn’t budge. His hand hooks under your hip and drags you right back to the edge of the bed where you were.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he grins. A dark little chuckle rumbles out of him. “You think you get to hide after that? After making such a mess?”
Before you can stammer another apology, he catches the wrist of the hand that was just buried inside you. Your fingers are glistening, strings of slick stretching between them as he lifts your hand to his face. Your mouth falls open, watching in stunned silence as he parts his lips, one long, thick tongue pushing out to drag slowly up the length of your middle and ring fingers. He sucks them into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks, tasting every bit of you he can get. The wet heat of his tongue curling around your knuckles makes your spent cunt give a weak, helpless jerk.
You can’t look away.
He hums around your fingers, then pulls off with an obscene pop.
“So sweet,” he mutters. “So embarrassed for nothing.”
His other hand moves, finally, sliding up the inside of your thigh until his palm cups the soaked crotch of your panties. He doesn’t pull them down, he just presses the heel of his hand against your oversensitive clit, letting you feel the pressure through the drenched cotton, then hooks two clawed fingers under the edge and drags the fabric aside.
Cool air hits your skin and you hiss. His fingers splay through them, parting your lips, sliding through the mess you just made, coating themselves in your release. He drags the pads of his fingers up over your clit once and your whole body jolts like you’d been shocked.
“Jack—”
He chuckles again, leaning down until you can feel his breath on your cheek.
“Shh,” he says against your skin. “Don’t get too loud, yeah?”
His middle finger circles your entrance once, prodding at the ring of muscle, then pushes in, stretching you open while his thumb moves to press firmly against your clit.
Your back arches off the bed with a broken moan.
His middle finger slides in slow, agonizingly slow, stretching you open with a drag that makes your breath hitch and stutter. He curls his finger sharply on the pull-out, hooking right against your favorite spot.
“Fuck—”
A strangled gasp rips out of your throat. Your hips jerk up off the mattress before you can stop them, trying to chase the burn, but he doesn’t let you have it as fast as you’d like. He keeps the rhythm torturously measured, forcing every nerve to light up one by one until breathing feels like hard work.
You try to sit up out of instinct, panic, need, you don’t even know, but your hands are scrabbling at the sheets. But before you can get far, his free hand slams down flat across your chest. The weight pins you instantly, his claws curling just enough to prick through your top. Your own hands fly up to grab his forearm, your fingers wrapping tight around the thick muscle of his forearm.
“Easy,” he murmurs, it’d be almost soothing if it weren’t so filthy. “Where you going, huh? You're not going to get very far.”
He twists his wrist on the next thrust, curling his knuckles harder, pressing that spot until white sparks burst behind your eyes. Your back bows off the bed as much as his hold allows, a broken moan tearing free from your gritted teeth.
“Louder,” he says, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your clit. “Come on. Let it out. See if anyone downstairs hears you whining like that. Maybe they’ll come looking to see what’s got you so worked up.”
The thought sends a fresh gush of heat through you. Your hips roll up to meet his finger, grinding shamelessly and chasing more of that sharp curl, more of the fire licking up your spine.
“Jack—please—” The words tumble out messily. “Another one—fuck, add another—”
He chuckles, slowing his thrusts until he’s barely moving, just holding that thick finger deep and letting you feel how empty you are without more.
“Ask nicely,” he smiles. “You want it?”
Your face burns, but the ache between your legs is worse. So you swallow your nonexistent pride.
“Please, Jack… please give me another finger. I need it—need you—fuck, please—”
“So whiny.”
He doesn’t make you wait. His ring finger presses in alongside the first slow enough to feel every inch of the stretch, the burn, the way your cunt flutters and tries to pull him deeper. Two thick fingers now, both of them scissoring just a little on the thrust in and curling on the way out until your vision blurs.
“Oh god—fuck—Jack, that’s—better, so much better than mine—”
He laughs again, leaning down until he can pepper your cheek with kisses. You can smell him and his earthy smell, and you think that alone might be enough to make you cum.
“Yeah?” he rasps, picking up the pace just enough to make your thighs tremble. “Your little fingers couldn’t do this, could they? Couldn’t stretch you open like I can. Do you even realize how wet you are right now?”
He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit on every deep thrust, his fingers curling relentlessly and fucking into you with wet, filthy sounds. Your nails dig into his arm, leaving crescent marks on his cool skin, and you can’t stop the noises spilling out of you.
“Keep talking,” he orders. “Tell me how much better it feels.”
Your head thrashes against the pillow, your hips rolling with every punishing thrust, the fire building so hot in your gut you can barely breathe around it.
“Jack—please—god—fuck, don’t stop—”
“Talk,” he orders again. “Tell me how much better my fingers feel. Tell me how fucking pathetic it is that you came so hard on your own hand and still needed more. Go on—use your words, little thing.”
You open your mouth, trying your best to string something coherent together. “They’re—fuck—they’re so much better than mine, Jack, they stretch me so good, I can’t—”
He doesn’t let you finish.
His wrist snaps forward hard, slamming both fingers in to the knuckle with a brutal thrust that punches the air—and the rest of your sentence—right out of your lungs. A sharp cry rips from your throat instead, your hips jerking up off the mattress like you’ve been electrocuted.
And then he doesn’t stop.
He sets a punishing rhythm, knocking into your cunt with hard, bruising strokes that have you going dumb. Every thrust drives his palm against your swollen clit, grinding it in tight circles while his fingers curl and drag against that spot over and over until your vision whites out at the edges.
You groan, your head thrashing against the pillow, your legs trembling so bad his arm is the only thing keeping them open. Your hands flail, one still clamped around his arm, the other scrabbling at the sheets, then his hoodie, then back to the sheets because you don’t know what to hold onto.
He laughs while watching you fall apart under him.
“Fuck, look at you,” he says, grin splitting wide enough to show the row of needle teeth. “You’re close, aren’t you? Yeah, you are. I can smell it. Stop fighting it, already. You know you’re gonna come.”
You are.
You can feel it building, the heat coiling so tight in your belly it hurts. Your whole body locks up in warning, your cunt fluttering wildly around his fingers and trying to suck him deeper.
You nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Y-Yeah—mmm close—Jack, please—”
He presses soft, open-mouthed kisses along your cheek, your temple, the corner of your eye where the tears are starting to spill.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against your skin. “Let go, pet. I’ve got you.”
Your orgasm hits like a fist to the gut. Your back arches off the bed, a raw moan tearing out of you as your cunt clamps down vise-tight around his fingers and then pulses, gushing hot and wet in violent spurts. You squirt hard—harder than you think you ever have before—spilling across his hand, his wrist, the sheets, the inside of your thighs. The rush is loud, obscene, and you can’t stop apologizing even as your body jerks through wave after wave.
“I’m sorry—fuck—sorry, Jack—I’m making such a mess—mmm sorry—”
He doesn’t stop thrusting, he just keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out until every last tremor is wrung from you. His lips brush your cheek again, then your jaw, then up to your forehead.
“Stop apologizing,” he grins. “You think I mind? This is exactly what I wanted. Look at you, so pretty.”
He finally eases his fingers out, letting you feel the empty ache after. Your cunt gives one last weak flutter, a trickle of slick following his hand as he pulls away. He lifts his soaked fingers to his mouth, dragging his tongues along them and tasting you with a satisfied hum.
Then he leans down and presses one last kiss to your sweaty forehead, brushing the hair from your face.
But then kissing down your neck, then to your chest, then stomach—
“Wait—” You know where he’s going.
Before you can sit up, or clamp your legs shut, or even push his head away, Jack is already kneeling beside the bed and tugging your body his way, repositioning you so your legs dangle off the side.
“Nah,” he smiles, hooking his fingers under your panties waistband and tugging downward, feeling the wet cotton peel away from your skin. You can feel your pulse picking up speed, and Jack definitely hears it too.
You only get one last look at his smug smile and absent eyesockets before he’s dipping down between your legs, pushing his lovely three tongues out from between his lips.
Where they like to kiss you 😘 (Gachiakuta Edition)
Rudo: Cheek
He may be young, but he got his heart broken. Everything he does is now viewed with caution, almost hostility. Yeah, you're pretty cute an' shit, but that doesn't mean he's easy to open up. However, once you do start dating, likely, he's just gonna keep it simple and kiss your cheek. Just these soft, little pecks around the fat of your cheek are enough; oh god, he's turning red. The fact that he's even kissing is already crazy! He's kissing, and he's only fifteen! Of course, Enjin's all for whatever grade school romance is happening between you two, but Gris at least holds down a few ground rules on teen romance.
Enjin: Mouth, Neck, Back, Chest, Thighs
To be honest, the answer is "Anywhere", but I think these are the go-tos. (This has to be the most areas I've seen for a single character) Enjin's all for a curvy woman, so chest and thighs are obvious; you're constantly covered in bruises and bite marks. Kisses on the back are usually after sex, however, cuddles or surprise hugs behind the back are also acceptable. Mouth and neck are the most affected, usually because he just CAN'T get enough of your taste. You scold him to stop smoking, but he's gotta do something with his mouth. A simple peck throughout the day or just heavily making out in the crevices of the HQ, sucking against your neck just to rouse you into a quickie. Whatever's floating his boat at the moment.
Zanka: Nose, Forehead, Cheek
Soft Zanka for eva 😔✊. No, for real, Zanka's kisses would make you feel so soft and fluffy; every kiss is like taking a bite of your favorite dessert. Usually, he would kiss your cheek since it's the most basic, but just as domestic. He'd kiss your nose every morning before waking you up, or right before you fall asleep, or if he's just feeling a little playful; you two would definitely playfight, so be prepared to be kissed on the nose when he pins you down. He kisses your forehead whenever either of you returns from a mission or when you're sick/injured, lying on the bed, all flushed and tired. You two are so young, and yet you act so domestic; Riyo and Enjin would tease the hell out of both of you.
Riyo: Face
She's a little minx, so stay alert; you never know when you'll get a sneak attack. One moment, you could be training out on the basketball court, the next moment, there's a lip print on your cheek. And you're just like: "Where the hell did that come from?" (Lol, she wasn't even close to you 😭. She just came by in a flash.) You kinda get a little scared with how she's getting away with it, but she just plays it off as a little game. Riyo doesn't mean to scare ya; she just kisses your nose whilst you're cuddling together and rambling about weird dreams.
Gris: Hand
Such a gentleman ❤️. I see Gris being someone who would kiss his partner's scars. The most, of course, being your hands. Even if your Jinki—or whatever weapon you use—is not handheld, you still manage to get scraped by debris and shattered trash beast armor. Bandaged by strong hands and soothed by slightly chapped lips and soft goatee; God, I'm melting just thinking about it. When his strong hands just engulf yours in one swallow, capable of warming your fingertips because his internal heat is so much higher than yours. Lying on the hospital bed, you could feel the warmth radiating from his hands or his lips pressed against your palms as if he were praying for your survival. He's such a sweetheart.
Follo: Nose, Forehead, Mouth
Oh my gosh, him~ 🤧. He makes me giggle and kick my feet. 19 years old and yet the only crush he had was probably that girl from his childhood. While Follo has little romance experience, it's not as bad as Rudo or Zanka. Follo would definitely do Eskimo kisses/nose nuzzles. He'd kiss your nose as an excuse to warm it up, but it just turns into a casual thing, like after you give him a gift or you've finished a chore. He kisses your forehead when you're distressed or you had a nightmare; seeing you in pain only multiplies his ache. But the real passion comes into play when he kisses your lips. He never thought he was a good kisser, but there's some so...good, something warm, something intense of just colliding his lips with yours, sloppily making out not because of lust (well...maybe 😏), but because he just ain't good at it. Mistakes are human, and, me personally, I do NOT care how good you're "supposed" to be at kissing, just as long as you love me dearly.
Tomme: Cheek, Hand
Simple girlie. ✨Highly underrated girlie✨. Tomme doesn't really express physical affection that much; she's probably more of a "words of affirmation" person, but kisses are exchanged commonly. Mainly your cheek when you greet each other, a small peck on your inner cheek, maybe at the junction of your nose. Hand kisses are when you're more intimate, those moments when you're in a daze, lost in your thoughts, but not moving a single muscle because your brain's fogged with random thoughts and fuzz. She kisses your hand because their just involuntarily intertwined with each other, and she, too, is a little tired.
Amo: Cheek, Mouth
Amo is...quite passionate. We are all equally traumatized by her...past events, so that just the words "love" and "Amo" are hard to formulate a sentence, let alone think about it. When Amo loves, Amo loves dearly; it's a binary response, 1 or 0, on or off, fun or icky. So once all systems vote for yes, Amo is attached to your hip. In an instant, her eyes are on you and nothing else. Amo loves, Amo cares, and Amo wants to show you that. Wet kisses on the cheek are the start of it, not even trying to finagle any hand-holding or simpler physical touch. Even straight-up kissing you on the mouth/making out happens randomly, too. She's touch-starved, alright? Boundaries are still a mystery to Amo. She's still trying to move on from Mister and the tower and everything else that happened. And she's still learning about feelings. I know many people reading this are probably getting a little weirded out about it, but we cannot forget what happened. She grew up too fast, and everything Mister taught her was WAY BEYOND what she needed to learned at her age.
Tamsy: Jaw, Neck, Mouth
Ah yes, Tamsy Caines. Good God, where do I begin? These three areas are the perfect spot for his lips to attack. Oh, you flinch when he breathes against your neck? Your breath hitches when his fingers trace your face? You think his lips are soft and plush? A little birdie told him you even thought he was a good kisser? Well, now we've got to test that. Now, of course, these kisses must be private, as if he's getting caught doing such scandalous things to you, even if it's just kissing. He would line your jaw with a few soft pecks, suctioning to your skin. He'll flutter down to your neck, sucking your jugular vein. He wants to bite it, rip it off, and watch the sweet blood flow from your soft, cakey skin, drink it like a vampire. Every kiss siphons your conscience; your knees buckle under a new gravity, commanding you to plummet. He kisses your lips ever-so slightly at first, teasing you by cushioning his lips to yours. Once he does initiate it—once you're prime and ready—he kisses slowly and sensually. And you just feel that rush of lust, of frustration, of desire. Everything just boils into a red-hot fervor. Darling, that's not him biting your lips; you're drawing your own blood.
Bro: Hand, Arms
Another gentle giant, besides Delmon. Bro would literally treat you like porcelain. You just can't get enough of holding his hands, they're so warm ☺️. Bro's hands just cradle yours in holy unison, and it is just ✨perfection✨. He kisses your hands to comfort you, letting all of your troubles wash away. He kisses your arms when you're more intimate, you know? When the day is almost over, Dear and Guita are both in bed, and you just have nothing to do but relax in each other's arms. *swoon~* literally paradise~.
Guita: Face
You playfight. Of course, you playfight. The two of you can't go a day without rolling each other over like two kittens. It's a constant game of who's the strongest—who can pin down the other the fastest? And to be honest, you're tied. However, Guita's funny little secret is distracting you with kisses!!! It's your one weakness; everyone has a weakness. So be prepared to be peppered with kisses unless you want to lose!
Corvus: Hand, Shoulders, Forehead
The best forehead kisses! The ones that truly make you feel safe. The ones that make you cling to him like a lifeline. The ones that make you cry because even the childhood home you grew up in with the people you grew up with and took care of you was truly not enough. Corvus would kiss your hand whenever you greet and before you left; literally, you keep making up new excuses to see the boss, and Semiu is like, "you know what? just go inside." Corvus would kiss your shoulders as a reward for a long day's work. I'm telling you right now his kisses are WORTH IT!!!
Semiu: Jaw, Mouth
She's ✨freaky✨. She's gotta be. A little bit. I want y'all to estimate how many porn magazines she has under her desk. (I'm guessing 27) With how much willpower she holds, capable of holding down the law amongst the Cleaners, she's gotta have some dominating traits. She only kisses during sex, and when she kisses, it hurts. Hickeys lines your jawline, your lips swollen and bleeding from her teeth. What she means to or not, it doesn't matter. Holding down the fort, that's her job since the very beginning.
August: Face, Stomach
Peppers your face like crazy. Nowhere is safe, not even your ears. Even if you say you're not ticklish, somehow this man will make you giggle. His kisses are so random to the point where you can't even guess. You could be standing completely still for hours, modeling a design, and he'll just give the fattest kiss on his cheek. You could be sitting on his lap, lost in thought, and he would peck between your brow. You could be lying in his bed fiddling with your Jinki, and he would just stop whatever he was working on and tickle you with kisses. There's never a rhyme or reason for any of his actions. I bet he also blows raspberries on your stomach to make you laugh, hence why I put that, too.
Eishia: Nose, Cheek
✨Another underrated girlie✨. She's so shy, but it's all worth it in the end. There's only so much Alice could teach her, and only so much August could help, but Eishia tries to be a little more forward. Small efforts, small victories, and we congratulate her for that. The first time she kissed you was the first time you had to go to the infirmary; Eishia wished you and her could hang out more often, but this is not what she meant. She was so scared, but she locked in; her crush was in pain, and she needed to deliver. But throughout the process, she did peck your cheek when you were unconscious, silently praying for your survival. And she did peck your nose when you awoke. Nevertheless, that was both her best and worst moment of her life.
Jabber: Anywhere
Every kiss is a fight for territory and dominance. You don't play fight, you wrestle. Literally kicking and screaming, biting and bruising. It's the "you should see the other guy" meme, but you both look absolutely fucked up. Jabber is a menace with absolutely no self-control when it comes to you. What seems like a simple dogpile blooms a wet patch of saliva and blood on your shoulder. A hug from behind results in a string of kisses down your neck and spine. You shouldn't have kept yourself exposed like that, baby. It won't be a surprise if your whole earlobe is gone one day.
Zodyl: Hand, Mouth, Shoulder
What's this? Zodyl has potential husband material? Why must most villains of fiction able to be the most gentlemanly in a relationship? The big bad himself is able to be soft just for you and only you. He kisses your hand whenever you meet, apologizing for the lack of time. If you're mad at him, he'd kiss your shoulder, emphasizing how much he means his apology. If you're still mad, he kisses your lips. Really, he truly is sorry for leaving you alone—no—for having to live in this horrible place. He means when he says you're always on his mind. He's never felt so domestic like this, like your lives aren't in constant toil and pain, like you don't live in a shitty trash heap. Somewhere beyond this plain, like a dream. He doesn't dream, he plans, he envisions, and now he's trying to manifest whatever sanguine lifestyle the two of you scraped together tenfold.
Fu: Anywhere
Wherever you tell him, he'll kiss you there. You gotta tell him your preferences because he's not gonna do shit until you say something. Literally the shyest of the bunch, can't function without a simple command. It's fine, give him (a lot) some time, but you've gotta snap him out of his obedience obsession. Disturb his comfort.
Cthoni: Clavicle, Neck, Back
Wherever she can hide, basically. Cthoni is not really one for physical affection, but since you're together, she might as well try. She can kiss wherever she can reach, meaning it's probably gonna take her Jinki to reach above your chest. Unless you're lying down—or you're somehow shorter than her—then she's got a chance. She mainly kisses your back because she's a master of the behind-the-back hug, but she'll kiss your neck and clavicle whenever she feels like it, mainly during the off-season.
Momoa: Jaw, Cheek
Another one who tends to hide, shying away from affection due to her introverted self. She only kisses you whenever you're not looking; making eye contact is hard, ok? Especially for her when she tuned out the whole world. Let her hide in the crook of your neck, and maybe, just maybe, she'll kiss your jaw or your cheek. Sometimes, she doesn't really feel like doing anything, so don't expect a lot of kisses, but do cherish the times when she does.
Sink Your Teeth In Me — proxies x reader [masterlist]
summary: You were born a hungry creature, tainted and unnatural, yearning for a bite. Your father made you to be beautiful, the perfect angel — a gift to God. But you've defied your purpose from the start. Running from divinity, from perfection. Letting sin corrupt your appetite. Now you roam the forest, cold and free. Not any longer lonely. Will they teach you how to feel human again?
A story in which you live as a man-eating beast in the forest. You're entirely alone — relying on your sharp thinking and even sharper teeth to keep yourself alive. Until you meet them. You refuse to be a slave again. You fight and claw your way out countless times. They're sick of it. Sick of you. But none of you have a choice. You're in this together wether you like it or not. And you'll learn to like it soon enough.
total wc: 21.6k
pairings: tim wright, brian thomas, ticci toby and kate the chaser x reader
contains: agender, inhuman, cannibal! reader; character death, animal death, violence & cannibalism, religious cults & imagery, slow burn, angst, enemies to friends to lovers
a/n: i posted this on ao3 a while ago and decided to also post it here so uhhh yah ( ˙༥˙ ) forgive the long ass summary oops
i feel like it would be pretty interesting to romance brian.
(for the purposes of this post and any other post featuring brian, i follow the headcanon that he survived the fall in 83).
oh, brian. the charmer. he's similar to tim, in some ways. paranoid, scared that he's going to hurt you somehow, and commitment feels scary – not because he doesn't want to settle down and have a normal life, but because he fears he does not deserve it.
however, unlike tim, he won't push you away – not immediately, at least. in fact, the first time you meet him, he's charming. sweet, but not unnaturally so. he's looking for something to fill the void, the ache in his chest that just won't seem to go away. because, as much as he likes to pretend he isn't, brian is still human at the end of the day. he has wants, desires to be normal and not the shell of the man he is now.
so, when he starts seeing you casually, he has all intents of seeing if this will work. if you can make him feel normal. and, to his surprise, you do! for the first time in forever, his charming smile returns, with the dimples and everything so you know it's genuine. he laughs when you tell him a joke he's heard a hundred times before, because he wants to see you smile. he wants you to feel like you're important.
he falls. hard. and at first, he thinks, this is nice! he thinks that maybe, finally, his past is behind him. that finally, blessedly, he can live a normal life.
but of course, brian isn't normal. he's done too much shit to ever be considered for a normal life. it was too good to be true. so, he pulls away. suddenly, this charming man that had swept you off your feet is less responsive, cancelling dates last minute, and is now pretending that he didn't spend however long pining after you and making you feel things you'd never felt before. he becomes cold. not mean, but certainly not the same man you thought you knew. it feels robotic. forced. and what he tells you before cutting off contact gives you great pause:
"Look, I'm flattered and all, but no."
"Go find a good man. A normal man. One who can give you a normal life. Something better than this."
but this wouldn't be a post about romancing him if you listened, would it?
much to brian's dismay, you stick around. despite him trying to hide it from you, you end up discovering it yourself. he had ghosted you, so you had to do some digging until you found it – where he lives, a small apartment on the outskirts of town that barely looks lived in.
you didn't understand what he had said by a normal man until you find him roughed up and covered in someone else's blood, still not completely aware of what's going on around him.
you don't cringe. you don't judge. you don't push him away, make him feel awful for what he already knows is wrong. instead, without a word, you get him to the couch. you would take off his bloody clothes, throw them in the wash with a generous amount of peroxide,
the next morning, he won't say much. he won't even thank you, as if saying it would acknowledge the thing you had seen the night before, confirming it was him... in a sense. a version of himself that he had kept buried, deep down, in fears that this 'person' he turns into was the real him. but you don't need him to say much of anything. you sit in silence, giving him the space he needs. he doesn't tell you what it was, because you already know. he knows that. and he doesn't want to beat a dead horse, so to speak.
once he's realized you're not leaving, for whatever fucked up reason, brian cracks. he had already put you on a bit of a pedestal in his mind, and so when he realizes that you're staying, despite the things he said, despite ghosting you, despite the shitshow that was the night before... well, shit.
things move slow. he treats your relationship as if you are a spooked animal, giving you every opportunity to back out if you want. he always seems thankful when you just give him a look, as if to say, 'you're not getting rid of me that easy,' and continue with your relationship. he likes to show you off, buy you nice clothes that grab attention, that make people see you. he loves to spoil you, believing that you deserve compensation for sticking around despite it all. expensive gifts, things you'll actually use, anything that you can hold up and proudly say, "yeah, brian got this for me." he loves it.
he sticks around after your dates, making sure your home is safe and secure. if you let him, he'll practically move into your place, spending every night in your bed, holding you close, laying as still as possible. as if moving in his sleep will shatter the illusion, still not fully believing that you chose him. he'll never really believe it, no matter how many weeks, months, even years he ends up spending with you.
brian may not be a normal guy, but you make him feel the closest to normal he's ever felt. and he thinks it's okay if, at least for now, he holds onto that feeling for as long as you'll have him.
Fr! And I see so many fanfics describing him as "6' 1" muscly hunk" and I'm just like "huh?" Like, sure he has muscles, but a hunk? And he's 5' 6". Did we read the same story? He is not this dark brooding man. He is a silly lil psychopath! That's his entire appeal!
He’s a twunk at best MAYBE but a brooding brooder that broods? Naur. This is why I try my best to depict him in my fic (and not yet posted fics) not so… Stereotypical. Well, to me that’s more stereotypical than ‘realistic’ tbh. If you want a dark brooding 6 foot hunk go read a dark romance book, they have tons of that.
Thinking about a foursome with Tim, Brian and toby I mean... Just saying 😋
Personal word vomit: I JUST WATCHED THE FNAF 2 MOVIE IT WAS SO PEAK GUYS idc what the haters say brah ANYWAY I'm sorry this has been rotting away in my drafts for so long. I kept only writing bits and pieces for this because, let's be real, I have zero clue how a foursome works so this might SUCK ass cheeks😀
CW: nsfw, foursome, fem!reader, p in v sex, implied unprotected sex, maybe rough sex idk, oral sex (m!receiving), handjob, voyeurism, hair pulling, dirty talk/degradation, everything's being recorded lol, porn without plot, not proof read, written by a non-naitive english speaker
Tim, Brian and Toby do everything together. Missions, mission reports, and they even have to bath out punishments together. They may act like they hate each others guts, but they somehow can't hate each other enough to not share sexual partners.
Currently, you're being Eiffeltowered by Brian and Tim Sabrina Carpenter style, not regretting a single thing that brought you in this position. Your right hand's busy jerking Toby off, although the movement has started to falter ever since Tim has started pounding into you from behind like he was trying to get you pregnant. Filthy sounds of you gagging on Brian's cock, your pussy squelching around Tim and Toby's pathetic grunting everytime your thumb brushed over his sensetive tip.
All three men keep mumbling things under their breaths, but let's be real, there's too much going on distracting you from that. Brian's hand found its way to your hair to which he bunched it up to roughly pull your mouth off his dick — You took a deep breath like you haven't been able to in years, tipping your head back to look up at him. To your suprise (Actually, it wasn't really a suprise), he was holding his camcorder in the other hand, smiling down at you as he was looking through the screen.
"Mhm, look how fucked out you look.. Enjoying yourself there?" He asked you, eliciting a small chuckle from Toby. The latter leaned over to his friend, also watching Tim pouncing his cock into your embarrassingly wet pussy through the small screen of the camera like this was some kind of porno to get himself off to. "S—Sure fucking l-l—looks like it."
"And feels like it, too. Takes three guys to get you going, huh?" The rough voice from behind you muttered. You nodded your head ferociously, or at least as much as you could, while the only sounds that leave your mouth are loud moans or strained whines.
"Bet t—that pussy f—feels reaaaal good." Tim's hand reached around to your front, sliding his fingers down to rub your clit — God, the way your walls started to flutter around his dick was almost enough to make him cum on the spot. Toby's words just made the other proxy rolls his eyes, his expression basically telling him to "get in line" if he wanted a go.
Rough hands digged into the flesh of your ass as Tim's thrusts began to become more shallow. The pleasure which twisted and knotted your insides for like the fifth time that night made you feel like you were about to pass out — Toby grabbed you by the chin and stared down at you like you were true art, a muse for his perverted fantasies, and started saying something about how good you looked and how Brian should give his buddy the camera to "get a few shots from behind". Their voices were too tuned out for you to really pay attention to them.
"You sure she's still with us, dude?"
"I—I don't know, m—man.. maybe we s-should—"
Brian yanked you by your hair, pushing your face closer to Toby's pre-cum leaking cock, edging you to wrap your pretty lips around him. "Hey, lovie, I think it's his turn now," The blonde gestured to the man next to him, "give me a good show."
You heard both Brian and Tim chuckle when you did as you were told with basically no hesitation — Toby was definitely the most sensitive of them all. While Tim was probably able to pound into you from behind for a good 30 minutes or so, constantly edging both of you when he felt your pussy flutter around him, Toby seemes like he'd last five minutes max. To test the waters, you licked a generous strip up the underside of his dick, immediately getting his hips to buckle up against your lips.
Toby was also definitely the most soft of them all. He gently guided your head up and down his cock, stars spinning in his view whenever his tip hit the back of your throat and made you gag. "Sounds nice, doesn't it?" Brian mumbled to his friend, teasingly pressing his own tip against the side of your cheek.
With every thrust forward Tim made, your whole body moved with up, the force of his movements kept making you gag around Toby. Holy shit, it felt so good feeling your warm mouth around his cock — He might even go out on a limp and say it felt better than any pussy has gotten before. He loved the way your young always did the same swirly tease around his tip, he loved the way tears started to well up in your eyes which he could wipe away slowly, almost like he was savoring feeling them hit his hot skin, and he loved the way you were relentless with it. You had a clear goal: Making him into a whimpering mess after you're done with him.
Eventually, you lost track of how many times you made each of those three finish or how often you even had time to cum yourself, but nothing beats the euphoric feeling of being sandwiched between three guys that praise and kiss you and whimper whenever they're close. Rough hands tangled up in your hair slowly turned into soft strokes to ease the pain all the tugging has caused you, brusing grips on your ass, thighs, waist all didn't hurt so much anymore when they were kissed away and affectionate words spoken in low, hushed voices (as if none of them wanted the others to hear something nice coming out if their mouth) made sure you didn't feel used.
Definition: The Eiffel Tower is classic threesome geometry: you on all fours (hands and knees), one pounding you from behind, the other kneeling/standing in front getting deepthroated.
The restaurant in Ginza is the kind of place Hiromi picks when he’s trying and, mostly failing, to pretend he’s not exhausted from another 14-hour day. You’re halfway through dessert, laughing at the way he’s dramatically narrating the latest courtroom disaster like it’s a true-crime podcast, when you feel someone stop at your table.
You look up. Nanami Kento. Blond hair still perfectly parted, suit still immaculate even at 10 p.m. Your stomach drops. Hiromi glances up too, then does a visible double-take. His tired eyes widen behind his glasses. “Kento?” “Hiromi?” Nanami’s voice is surprised. “I didn’t know you were in Ginza tonight.”
Hiromi stands immediately—old habit from college days, apparently and claps Nanami on the shoulder “It’s been—what, six years? Seven? Sit, sit. You remember—” He gestures to you, beaming like he’s just won the lottery.
Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Your goddamn ex-boyfriend who Hiromi had no idea you’d dated. Nanami’s gaze slides to you. Politely nodding, “Of course.”
“Well,” he says, clapping his hands once, “this is fantastic. Small world. Kento, you’re not busy, right? Come back to our place. Catch up properly.” You stare at him like he’s lost his mind. Nanami hesitates then nods once. “If it’s no trouble.” Hiromi reassures him, already signaling for the check. “Anything to catch up with an old friend, right? No trouble at all.”
You’re going to fkning murder him.
Arriving home, the apartment door clicks shut behind the three of you. Hiromi immediately heads for the kitchen, shedding his jacket over the back of a chair, “Whiskey orrr whiskey?” he calls without turning around. You drop your bag on the entry table with more force than necessary. Nanami stays near the door for a second longer than he needs to, loosening his tie with the same deliberate calm he used to use when he was about to end a long day by ending things with you.
“Whiskey’s fine,” Nanami says. Hiromi pours three glasses without asking if anyone wants ice. He hands one to Nanami first then you. You all sit. You take the couch. Nanami takes the armchair across from you. Hiromi perches on the arm of the couch next to you, close enough that his thigh presses against your shoulder.
“So.” He swirls the glass lazily. “Kento. Still doing the corporate bullshit. “Or did you finally tell them to fuck off like we talked about senior year?” Nanami smiles, “Still employed. Still billing hours. You?”
“Still losing cases I should win and winning ones I shouldn’t.” Hiromi shrugs. “Same shit. You remember that class I had to retake four damn times?” “Oh—yeah,” he says, motioning toward you with a small lift of his chin. “You were in it. Same section. Same professor. You used to finish the hypotheticals before Ikeda even finished reading the facts. I sat behind you every Tuesday and Thursday.”
“Ikeda’s class. The one with the curved grading and the weekly hypotheticals that made half the section cry.” Hiromi clarifies. Nanami nods once. “That one.” Hiromi’s gaze snaps to you disbelieving, “You were in Ikeda’s morning section?”
You swallow. “Yeah.” staring into your whiskey like it might grow a mouth and save you.
Nanami continues, “We dated for a little over a year. Then I graduated early. Corporate offer came in. Timing didn’t work.” ‘GODFCKN DAMNIT KENTO why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut.’
Hiromi goes still. The room is so quiet you can hear the refrigerator hum. Hiromi takes a sip slowly. “You dated,” he repeats. Hiromi looks at you then sets his glass down with a soft clink. “So,” he says casually, “you two have history.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Hiromi—”
Hiromi lets out a short, incredulous laugh that has no humor in it. “I was in the afternoon section. Same professor. Same material. Same fucking hell. And you—” He points at you, then at Nanami, then back at you. “—were in the same goddamn classroom as him. Every Tuesday and Thursday. For a whole semester.” You open your mouth. Nothing helpful comes out. Nanami exhales through his nose—the same sound Hiromi makes. It’s uncanny. Hiromi’s eyes flick to you. “And then you met me.”
You glare. “You’re making this weird.” “I’m making it honest.” He leans back, arms crossed. “I mean, come on. My old college friend—who I haven’t seen in years—happens to be your ex. And neither of you thought to mention it until we’re all three sitting here.”
Nanami looks at you. “I thought you would have told him.” “I thought it was ancient history,” you mutter. Hiromi snorts. “Ancient history, sure. So, which one of us fucks you better?” Kento chokes on his drink, as you shoot your boyfriend a glare, “What has gotten into you?!”
“What’s gotten into me?” he echoes, “I don’t know—maybe the fact that my girlfriend’s ex is sitting in my living room, drinking my whiskey, and apparently sat behind her in the same goddamn Contracts class I used to come home and bitch about every single week. Maybe it’s the part where neither of you thought that was worth mentioning. Ever. Or maybe—” he tilts his head, eyes flicking between you and Nanami, “—it’s the part where I’m sitting here realizing the guy who used to steal my ramen and proofread my briefs is the same guy who used to fuck my girlfriend.”
Nanami sets his glass down carefully. “Hiromi,” he says gently, “That’s enough.” Hiromi’s laugh is bitter, “Is it? Because I’m just getting started.”
You stand up so fast the couch creaks. “Hiromi, stop.” He looks up at you angrily, “I’m not mad at you,” he says, “I am mad that you lied. For pulling this shit tonight. I’m mad that I invited him here like an idiot because I was happy to see an old friend. And I’m mad that—” He gestures vaguely at the three of you. “—this is happening. All of it.”
Nanami stands slowly. “I can go.” Hiromi’s head snaps toward him. “Sit the fuck down, Kento.”
Nanami doesn’t sit. He just stays standing, hands loose at his sides, waiting. Hiromi exhales, “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “That was out of line. The question. All of it.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I just… I don’t know how to process this without sounding like a jealous asshole.”
You soften despite yourself. “You’re not an asshole. You’re just… processing. Loudly.” He huffs a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Nanami goes to turn and leave, “I didn’t come here to cause problems,” he says. “And I’m not here to compete. If you want me to leave, I will. No hard feelings.” Hiromi studies him for a long beat. Then he looks at you again. “I don’t want either of you to leave.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his already wrecked hair. “You’re really gonna say that right now.”
You shrug, helpless. “It’s the truth.” He looks between you and Nanami like he’s weighing between jealousy, curiosity, maybe both and then his mouth curves into a smirk. “Alright then,” he says, sliding off the arm of the couch, settling properly beside you, one arm draping behind your shoulders, fingers brushing the nape of your neck as his eyes stay locked on Nanami.
“You still think about her?” Hiromi asks bluntly. Kento takes a sip before answering. “I don’t lie to myself about the past,” he says evenly. “Yes. Sometimes.”
Hiromi’s thumb strokes once against you, “And you?” He turns to you, voice dropping. “You still think about him?”
“Sometimes,” you admit softly, “Not like before. But… yeah.” Hiromi nods once, like that’s the permission he needed. He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Then go ahead and fuck him.” Your cough turns into a startled laugh. “Go on, baby. I know you want to.” He urges you again. You hesitate before softly saying, “Ken… come here.”
Hiromi shifts, pulling you back against his chest so you’re half in his lap, legs parting instinctively as Nanami sinks to one knee between them. Kento’s hands settle on your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress up inch by inch while Hiromi mouths along the side of your neck, “Look at her,” Hiromi murmurs against your skin, “Isn’t she so pretty.”
Nanami’s thumbs trace slow circles higher, higher, until they brush the damp lace between your legs. You arch without meaning to, a soft moan slipping out. Hiromi hums approvingly, one hand sliding down to cup your breast through the dress, thumb flicking over the nipple until it pebbles.
Kento hooks his hand through your wet panties, shoving them aside. The first swipe of his tongue is slow, like he’s relearning every inch. You gasp, hips jerking, but Hiromi bands an arm around your waist, holding you still. “Easy, baby,” he soothes, even as his other hand works the zipper of your dress down. “Let him taste what he’s been missing.”
Nanami groans against you, his tongue circles your clit once, twice, then dips lower, lapping at your pussy. Hiromi’s already hard against your ass through his slacks. His arm tightens around you, holding you open, “Tell him how much you missed this,” Hiromi whispers, “Tell him, baby. He’s listening.”
You start trembling and whimpering, “I—I missed your mouth, Ken. The way you… fuck, the way you always knew exactly—” Nanami doesn’t let you finish—just doubles down, sucking gently on your clit until your thighs tremble. Hiromi finally gets your dress off your shoulders, baring your breasts to the cool air of the apartment. He rolls one nipple between his fingers, pinching just hard enough to make you whine.
“Look at him,” Hiromi orders, “Look at how much he wants this.” You do. Nanami’s eyes are half-lidded and focused, blond hair falling forward as he works you over with devastating patience. When he slides two fingers inside making you whimper, back bowing. Hiromi laughs softly, “There it is. That sound I love.”
He shifts behind you, freeing himself from his pants with one hand while the other keeps you pinned. His cock presses hot and heavy against your lower back as he strokes himself lazily, watching Nanami devour you. “Think you can take both of us?” Hiromi asks, lips at your ear. “Like we talked about that one night. Remember my pretty girl?” Your brain short-circuits. “Yes—fuck, yes.” Nanami pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny. “Hell yes.”
Hiromi nods in agreenment, before pressing a kiss beneath your ear. “You heard him, sweetheart. He’s in.”
Nanami rises smoothly to his feet, shedding his jacket, The metallic clink is obscenely loud in the quiet room. Hiromi helps you turn, maneuvering you until you’re facing the back of the couch, knees sinking into the cushions, ass presented. “Hands here,” Hiromi murmurs, guiding your palms to the backrest. “Keep them there unless one of us says otherwise.” You nod, breath hitching.
He walks around behind you, slapping your ass as Kento appears in front of you. “Hi, pretty girl.” He tips your chin up with two fingers. “Open.” You do, tongue flat, and he slides in slow—filling your mouth inch by inch until your lips stretch around him. The weight of him on your tongue makes you moan around the shaft; he exhales sharply through his nose, hand sliding into your hair to guide the rhythm.
Behind you, Hiromi lines up, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave prints, the other spreading you open. He pushes in with one long, steady thrust, your back arching with a muffled cry vibrating around Kento's cock.
“Fuck,” Higuruma rasps, “So tight after all that arguing earlier. You were waiting for this, weren’t you?” You can’t answer—mouth full—but you push back against him, clenching deliberately. He groans, hips snapping forward harder, setting a brutal pace that rocks you onto Nanami’s length.
His control slips a fraction. Hiromi’s thrusts drive you forward forcing more of Nanami’s cock past your lips until the head bumps the back of your throat. You gag softly, eyes watering, swirling your tongue under the ridge just the way you remember he liked. The two of them find rhythm without speaking: one pulls out as the other pushes in, seesawing you between them until your whole body is shaking.
“Goddamn,” Hiromi growls, fingers digging deeper into your hips as he watches the way your throat works around Nanami. “Look at that. Taking him like you never forgot how.” He begins thrusting deeper, balls slapping against you with every snap. You whine around Nanami’s cock—drool slipping down your chin—as Higuruma angles just right. Kento tightens his grip in your hair, fucking your mouth while Higuruma rails you. Nanami pulls out just enough to let you gasp, strings of spit connecting your lips to his tip. “Words,” he says calmly. “Tell us how it feels, baby.”
You manage a whimpered, “F-fuck—full—don’t stop—” Higuruma’s rhythm stutters at your voice. They sync up—Higuruma slamming deep from behind, Nanami sliding back into your mouth. The position holds: you bridged between them, body rocking with every thrust, throat and cunt stuffed. Nanami’s thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a stray tear that slipped free when you took him especially deep. “Still so good at this. Always were.”
Hiromi laughs possessively, “Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know, Kento.”
Nanami’s eyes flick to Hiromi over the top of your head, “She used to come untouched just from sucking me off,” he says, “First time it happened she cried—thought something was wrong with her. Took me half an hour of coaxing to get her to admit how close she was.”
Hiromi’s thrusts turned punishing, that comment clearly hit a nerve. “Is that right?” Hiromi rasps, one hand sliding up your spine to fist lightly in your hair, tilting your head back so Nanami can sink even deeper. “You never told me that, baby. Keeping secrets from me now?”
You can’t answer—mouth too full, throat working frantically—but your body does: a fresh gush of wetness before you come first shaking hard, muffled screams around Kento as your walls flutter and clamp down on Hiromi as his pace turns erratic. “Fuck—fuck, that’s it—squeeze me just like that—”
Nanami pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, hand stroking himself fast, eyes locked on your wrecked expression. “Where do you want it?” he asks, voice strained. You don’t even have to think. “On me,” you rasp, voice hoarse. “Both of you.”
Hiromi swears viciously as he pulls out at the last second, flips you onto your back so fast the room spins, then straddles your hips. They stroke themselves in tandem—Hiromi’s hand flying over his cock, Nanami’s slower but no less desperate—until they both come.
Hiromi comes first, hot stripes painting your stomach, your breasts, one pulse landing across your nipple. Nanami follows seconds later, spilling over your chest, your collarbone, a few drops catching your chin when you tilt your head back for him. Hiromi exhales roughly, dropping down beside you, pulling you half into his lap before reaches for the throw blanket on the back of the couch and drapes it gently over your lower half.
Hiromi snorts softly. “Ever the gentleman even when he’s fucked my girlfriend. Classic Kento.” Nanami’s mouth quirks—just the tiniest hint of a smile. “Someone has to be.”
You laugh, weak and shaky, head lolling against Hiromi’s shoulder. “You two are ridiculous.”
Nanami disappears into the hallway without a word, returning a minute later with a damp washcloth and a glass of water. Classic fuckin’ Kento, what a sweetie. He hands you the glass first. You take it with trembling fingers, sip slowly, grateful for the cool slide down your raw throat. Then he kneels again between your spread thighs and gently wipes the mess from your stomach, your breasts, your collarbones with slow careful strokes.
Hiromi watches the whole thing with half-lidded eyes, one arm still slung around your shoulders. “You always this sweet after you come on someone else’s girl, Kento?” Nanami doesn’t look up from his task. “Only when she asks nicely.”
You choke on a laugh that turns into a soft groan when the cloth brushes a particularly sensitive spot. “Stop. Both of you.” Hiromi smirks, reaches over to take the washcloth from Kento’s hand, and finishes the job himself dragging the damp fabric across your nipple until it pebbles again under the attention.
You look back up at Kento, about to ask him not to leave before Hiromi beats you to it. “You should stay,” he says, “Since it’s already so late y’know.”
Kento looks up, eyes flicking from Hiromi to you. You reach out before you can overthink it, fingers curling loosely around Nanami’s wrist. “Please,” you add softly. “Stay.” He brushes your hair to the side of your face, “Alright, of course. I’ll stay.”
Hiromi smirks lazily, already reaching for the half-empty whiskey glasses on the table. “Good. Because we’re not done catching up.” You bury your face in Hiromi’s neck to hide your blushing.
Whatta small world, indeed.
a/n: several pussy pleasure breaks were taken during the writing of this and I j wanted to share that ALSO credits to @owwllly for this masterpiece of art they drew
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