(please let me know if any of the links aren't working as they should be)
Characters I'm currently writing for: Simon the Convict (Iron Lung), Head Engineer! Mark, Murderiplier/Murdock (In Space with Markiplier), Darkiplier, Wilford Warfstache, Yancy, the Host, Illinois, Jim (Markiplier Cinematic Universe), Actor! Mark, Damien (Who Killed Markiplier?), Heist! Markiplier (A Heist with Markiplier), Antisepticeye (Jacksepticeye's Cinematic Universe), Date! Mark (A Date with Markiplier), Dave Torres (The Edge of Sleep), The Drowned Man! Mark (The Drowned Man)
Anon list: Sea urchin anon, starlight anon (always accepting new anons, so don't be shy)
current plan of future works (liable to change)
announcement for requesting nsfw
Simon the Convict (Iron Lung)
SFW
general headcannons/thoughts
you lose control and simon helps you clean up
scraping together an extraterrestrial paradise (remnants of eden)
muzzle me, wild dog me
one more for the road? (kiss + affection headcannons)
over and over and over and over again (I'm glad it's you)
recovery headcannons
NSFW
come home to me (pt. 2 > carve a home out of me)
give in to your anger, mold me to its shape (you know better)
werewolf simon drabble hcs
Head Engineer! Mark
SFW
headcannon edition
the things we do for the people we love (the ones we should hate)
NSFW
starve against me, one bite at a time
Darkiplier
SFW
what, you thought you were the only one? (actor! Mark's kid)
just a bit of sunshine, smeared on your face
chronic illness headcannons
NSFW
do as you're told
too much (too little)
Wilford Warfstache
SFW
the rabid prey, the chase, and the gun against your teeth
Antisepticeye
SFW
the voices in the radio spell out your name (is anyone out there?)
closer; colder, closer; warmer (your skin is loose) (additional explanation/sketches)
NSFW
do as you're told
Yancy
SFW
break me out, break me in... to your home?
Various
SFW
Markiplier egos + Antisepticeye > nicknames, petnames, just anything but your name
By the Scruff of Your Neck OR Acquisitive consideration
Summary: You wake up to something behind you. Unfortunately, you already know what it is
Pairing: Antisepticeye x reader
Word count: 1.38k
A/N: Anti's characterization in this fic is inspired by my mootie @no-b4rk-only-bite. I can't write the atmosphere as well as you, and I'm sure I butchered him a bit, I made stuff up as I went for ~cool effects~ but uh... both content and a gift at once so uh, no take-backs! For any of my regular readers finding this, this'll be a tad different from my usual writing, or at least that was my aim. Or maybe it's literally the same because I'm bad at analyzing my own writing style—
If you want more Anti content like this, here is Bite's origin story for you and Anti, and in the reblog of this post you'll find a (very excellent might I say) visualization on how Anti's body works
TW: Anti is possessive but also doesn't care about you enough to be nice to you? Think Anti in the IRIS related content
You woke up in the middle of the day with your back hurting.
In the middle of the day, because you were having a night shift today, your blinds drawn and the flimsy curtains closed as much as possible. Honestly, you were surprised your cheap apartment had curtains in the first place.
Back hurting because of the body pressed against it. If one thing was certain, it was the fact that that thing had a body. Or more like owned? You could never be sure if he took it from somebody or made it himself in the image of actual people. There was no denying that he was the furthest thing from a person. You figured that much since he never let you ask a lot. Unless you wanted it to end badly. You didn't, but with someone as volatile as him, it was unavoidable.
You shifted a bit to hopefully get into a less painful position for your back, but it proved an impossible task. His ribs were digging into the flesh of your back no matter how you positioned yourself. Since he was currently dormant, the flesh-adjacent mass, which usually cushioned his ribs, had retreated into itself. It's not like it was a hard rule that it did that when he was sleeping yet it happened sometimes.
You could best compare the sinking tissue to being submerged in a body of water. You weren't so sentimental as to equate him to the ocean and such, but it was a practical analogy. If your hand is underwater and you move it down slowly, the water lets you, gently keeping its pressure around the foreign object it is encasing. Allowing it to move. But as soon as you want to move it faster or use any sort of pressure, the water resists. It's harder to move, yet it is the same water. Where water diverges from him is that it acts that way with everything, and he can do so at will. His flesh is a twisted thing, just like his character. Origin as mysterious as his. Rising, falling, sticking.
It wasn't a perfect comparison, after all, his flesh could turn firmer than water ever could. Unless you include ice in the definition. But that would be too much when for him. You hoped.
Due to his many visits, you unfortunately already recognized patterns in the undulating of the mass. It had been around a year after all. Even a rabbit will start to notice when a fox is grooming itself instead of stalking around its den. Not necessarily for its survival but simply as recognition of behavioral patterns. Purely because the rabbit has nothing to do except wait when the fox will pounce back at the opening of its living space.
His forearms have had their resting place somewhere between your stomach and chest since he had first decided on this whole … mandatory co-sleeping habit. When he didn't opt for having you pinned on his chest, this was a common place his hands ended up. You haven't yet been able to figure out why it was particularly there, but you knew there was some purpose to it. He was anything but unintentional.
Due to the positioning, your attention was brought to his arms with every breath you took. Even with the limited lightning (your curtains were still cheap), you could see the dark hairs on his forearms, contrasting his pale skin. You never understood why he would even choose to have body hair. To blend in with his prey more? You doubted he actually needed it, but maybe he figured the lack of it would draw attention. His nails were dull this time, still black but not at their claw-like shape when his skin starts turning inside out and that... liquid starts showing. He was sleeping after all. As much as a thing like him can sleep. Sleep and not let go of the toy in his arms. Actually, that description was generous.
When you were held by him, it led your thoughts to winter. Particularly to that time around the holidays. His grasp more akin to a child who begged their parents for a kitten or a puppy. A child who need only ask, and they'll get whatever they want. And due to that, the defenseless animal who had known nothing else in its life gets grabbed, yanked, and dragged around. Lifted by the scruff of its neck at the fickle whims of the child.
But at the very least, an animal can eventually defend itself. A kitten gains claws, and a puppy teeth. If that does not work, then as it ages and loses the cuteness that had made it appealing, the child loses interest, and the abuse stops. You have neither. No means of defending yourself from the thing that invaded on what little freedom in your life you used to have. No luxury of the possibility of starting to be ignored. On the contrary, it seemed that with the passage of the months, since he had forced you to stalk him, his hold on you had only tightened. He wants to keep you close. No matter what you do.
You should probably try to fall asleep, but with his ribs digging into you, you may not have much success. It's strange, somewhere along the road of despair that was his introduction (more like intrusion) to your life, you had started having fewer nightmares. Before that... you stopped counting. It can not be due to the account of you feeling safer. That would be laughable. Feeling safe during any time in your life? With that thing, especially? No. A more probable and actually realistic explanation was that the nightmares have migrated to your waking hours. By his doing. Nightmare incarnate.
"Puppet."
Albeit familiar by this point, the shiver that creeped down the length of your spine from his voice directly in your ear debilitated you every time. His arms tightened around you. Not unbearably so, just to make a point.
"You're not sleeping." His tone could be taken as the murmur of someone who had just woken up. But he was never one to wake up slowly.
"You know," he continued in that signature sing-song of his, "if you're not gonna sleep, you're gonna be hallucinating at work."
His chin shifted slightly along the top of your head, a cat rubbing its head against you to spread its scent. His body was taller than you. You suspected it was by design. He seemed like the kind of being to want to use it to his advantage. Though in the end, tall or not tall, it would not diminish all that he was. Unsettling at his best and at his worst…
"You like it better when it's me doing it, right? Not your sleep deprivation."
Your throat tightened. He wasn't doing it nearly as much as he used to in the beginning, before he'd first shown himself to you. You'd thought that he would stop doing it completely. Silly you, getting hopeful again. When will you finally quit?
"But," he started, popping the 't' sound, your hair jerking with the puff of air, "I will be busy. So I can't be there to fill in this time. So, sleep." His voice radiated calm certitude. You wouldn't dare not listen (would you?).
Was he seriously going to be jealous of the possibility of you hallucinating due to something other than him? You couldn't even have torment generated from your brain. No, everything had to come from him. Day and night, no escape. This child is never getting rid of the pet it had caught, grip never loosening, pet never resisting.
His grip did, in fact, tighten, pulling you against him more than he did when he was dormant. You stiffened, bracing for dull sharpness. But... you couldn't feel his ribs anymore. You weren't able to turn around due to how close he was holding you now, but you didn't feel them. Only that pseudo-flesh of his. That softer state of it. The depth of water when you wade through it slowly. Not consideration exactly (he would never be capable of that)... but your body did relax for the first time since you'd woken up, and your eyes did start to feel heavier.
hi :) just saw your to do list and first of all holy shit. im so grateful to be a part of 'em (and three times no less??), especially knowing the truckload you've got in the inbox 🫶 secondly, glad you're finding a balance between everything! take care of yourself, b.
also, phm 👀
the audiobook is amazing! the narrator is so goofy he adds so much life to everything (and if you found grace attractive in the movie, the book is 10x better) and while i can't give spoilers, just know that it's so good. it helps with the science portions being narrated to, if that's your cup of tea! especially because grace tends to go on for quite a bit with the specifics (which, i guess is normal for us scientists) but it helps newer people out a lot to acclimate to that kind of scientific-spiral way of thinking.
for me personally: i think that's mostly because of the added cadence/character--otherwise it'd feel like just another one of my textbooks with quotation marks 🤣 (astrophysics major here; by god if the book i pick up for leisure starts explaining my lessons to me when i'm reading it to take a break, i'd be pretty sick of it)
anyways; thank you for all the food ❤️
-s
im so grateful to be a part of 'em (and three times no less??)
listen, I'm so glad you're grateful but also. did you forget you sent that many asks???? TuT and I'm over here counting them each dayyyy- /j
nah, but thank you for the nice messages. I'm going to try to take care of myself, frankly, I'm usually bad at that, but uh- I'm for sure going to try :] and yes, it is a truckload. honestly, I kinda just posted that to at least show y'all that I do, in fact, have my own stuff planned. it just takes a while to write it all down. and of course, to get you hyped. and to excuse my own lack in ask provisions because some of them are so old... there's a lot of excuses. it's all excuses- (story of my life)
it helps with the science portions being narrated to, if that's your cup of tea!
oh??? hm, I'll have to listen to that soon then. genuinely, right now, I'm on like, I think episode 4 of The Edge of Sleep? so I'm- I want to finish that because I have the entire lore buildup for Dreamwalker! Reader, it's going to be awesome. the only problem is, I say that and then you'll actually get it months after because of the priority list that's just... everywhere, right now. as soon as I write down what I'm going to work on first, my brain decides it has more inspiration for something else... of course. sea urchin's been telling me about and sending me snippets of the book though. I don't have the resources to buy it right now, so that may have to wait, unless there's a free version floating around somewhere - but I did want to read it first exactly because of all the scientific stuff going on and I'm pretty sure it's better explained in the book than it is in the movie. (ugh, I have to keep reminding myself to take things slowly. I get mentioned stuff I'm into once and my whole world flips upside down, haha.)
but, no way, you're an astrophysics major???? that's incredibly, incredibly sick. maybe you'll be able to help me with the logistics, when I'm able to read the book, then? if I have any issues, and if you want to, of course :] but that's a good ways away, so, no pressure. eventually, if you decide to stick around that long.
I haven't updated what I mean to do in a while, so, here it is. the full plan and program. (I've been keeping a lot of this on papers around my room so this will hopefully help me stay organised, haha) also gave up on being as vague as I was in hopes that someone will get interested enough to ask me to do specific things on this list, plus just so you can see that I, indeed, have plans. (sorry to my anons and askers who have been waiting so long for me to fulfill your asks :[ ) (sidenote: gonna talk at the end about some thoughts I'm having on other fandoms I want to write for, but am unsure about, so let me know if anyone's interested in that)
(I'll try to keep updating this periodically just so you can always reference back to it, for those who are interested)
current asks I have to write:
starlight anon's headcannons for all egos: neck kisses edition (and yes, I have recieved both of your mentions on Dave and your own ideas on how he'd receive them, don't worry)
starlight anon's 'confession scene for Engineer' (derived from my headcannons for him)
starlight anon's 'Damien asking you on a date' scene
Nxva's sickfic headcannons for all egos
anon's general yandere headcannons for most egos (of my choosing)
(I assume since you previously said you asked for those kinds of headcannons since there's no signature) starlight anon's 'Damien or Actor's daddy kink more in depth (nsfw)'
creatoraa's 'mundane things and little personal headcannons for each ego'
sea urchin's 'physicality of Dark's auras/temporary clones and how they could be used'
sea urchin's 'Dark receiving a hickey'
Nxva's 'soft responsive and sensitive nsfw with Yancy'
sea urchin's 'teaching Simon how to kiss'
current personal ideas I have yet to explore:
playing catch up with the newest egos I added (so, adding their jealousy and petname headcannons -> Damien, Muderiplier (Murdock), Jim, Date! Mark, Dave Torres, The Drowned Man! Mark)
supplying stories for both Readers and characters, categorised by ego:
Darkiplier -> general headcannons, comfort scene after Reader being affected by Dark's aura for too long (set shortly after the decision to become a couple)
Head Engineer! Mark -> Engineer getting fed up with not getting attention after Captain! Reader is too busy setting up the colony (nsfw? sfw? generally agitated and possessive Engineer)
Murdock -> general headcannons (Victim! turned Accomplice!/Apprentice! Reader)
Wilford Warfstache -> general headcannons, part 2 to the rabid prey, the chase and the gun against your teeth (where Reader gets interviewed) (+ maybe nsfw that's an addendum to that?)
Yancy -> conjugal visit scene (nsfw + sfw - prior to getting parole, exchanging letters)
The Host -> general headcannons, helping Host get over his fear of writing again, exchanging letters with the Host as him being a fan of your writing (Writer! Reader) and falling in love in the process, visualizing an nsfw scene for your next novel with him (nsfw, naturally)
Illinois -> general headcannons, Illinois competing with a new assistant or fellow adventurer trying to get your attention (Museum Clerk! Reader, prior to getting together, realizing he's attached and going through a change of character)
Jim -> general headcannons (history with Reader, how they came to meet, etc. - Supernatural Researcher! Jim x Demon! Reader)
Actor! Mark -> general headcannons, headcannons with him as a father figure (Child! Reader, platonic), scene of being an assistant to him on set and him appreciating you for it (but secretly, because who would he be if not a jerk)
Damien -> general headcannons, some scenes of him and Reader going through university together?
Heist! Mark -> general headcannons [need to work on his Reader]
Antisepticeye -> continuation of Reader's and his' story as told through headcannons (unsure about this part for now, but hopefully I'll get either asks which I can lean onto and add story to or I'll figure it out eventually)
Date! Mark -> general headcannons
Dave Torres -> (not to be written with much detail until I have finished the podcast for the Edge of Sleep, buuuut-) general headcannons (Dave x Dreamwalker/Eldritch! Reader), nsfw through dreams? (on the fence about that one)
The Drowned Man! Mark -> general headcannons (Ghost Hunter! Mark x Rival! Ghost Hunter! Reader - ultimately needing to collaborate because of the failure of both podcasts and as a last ditch effort), ghost possession scene (nsfw? sfw?) for The Drowned Man! Mark and Reader putting up with him (silly)
Various -> proposal/marriage headcannons, parent headcannons (as in, the egos as parents), reactions to receiving something handmade by Reader headcannons, celebrating your successes/providing solace for your failures headcannons, cuddling headcannons, love language headcannons
3. starting to write continuing chapters for this fanfic, possible rewrite later down the line (maybe)
characters I am thinking about writing for (thinking being the key word):
Yandereiplier, Pornipliers (maybe, like, once. they're silly and I like that), Googleplier (Google), The God of Night (I need to watch the associated content first, but maaaan, the Greek mythology associations are strong with this one)
other fandoms I'm interested in writing for (but unsure about):
Minecraft Horror Mods + ARGs, specifically:
Mods: The Knocker (+ the Obssessed Knocker mod for Bedrock), the Obssessed, Entity from the mod 'From The Caves', Wonderland.jar, Herobrine (From the Fog)
ARGs: Searching/Destroying a World that Doesn't Exist, Verity, The Search for the Leviathan
2. Project Hail Mary (though that might wait until I get the chance to read the book, or I'll announce that the work I'm posting is strictly from the information found within the bounds of the movie)
I wish I could give you a more cohesive review but I read the werewolf thing in one go, cause it gripped me and refused to let me go
Ugh
I love him
So feral, so yearning
UGH
~ Sea urchin
heheheh, no, it's fine, I get it. it gripped me too, I wrote this in one sitting and that was it. in the words of Brittany Broski and her fanfiction on Cole Sprouse, and I quote: "Pen to paper. Artistic inspiration!"
I still appreciate that you liked it, thanks for reading! <3
tw: NSFW and NSFW-adjacent content, cursing, mention of blood and viscera, werewolf content and instincts (in terms of NSFW: mention of predator/prey, mention of dominant! Reader, fixation on licking and scenting)
word count: 3196
MINORS DNI
what an opener, truly. but this is a passing thought I've been having since I wrote that last oneshot, so let me know if you want any more of this or if it should be reigned into this post alone, but! hold my hand when I say this to you, hold my hand, hold it.
werewolf Simon?
now I know, I know, I know. hush, hush, I know - this is so far beyond cannon I can not even begin to start writing it to fit it into any story, but hear me out. just as a concept, hear me out on this one. (and mainly because if I don't write it down I will explode, not to mention some of it may not even fit his character but we don't talk about that. this is purely for the love of the game, the game being every concievable possibility within fanfiction as a genre of writing. alright? alright.)
Simon, whose personality fits so well into that of an older, guarded wolf - maybe even someone pretending to be human in order not to get found out, face littered in scars and personality violent enough that when the urges do come out (in the form of shouting or being just, overtly agressive or ferocious), everybody around to witness it is already shrugging it off as 'something he does'. or, the more empathetic ones even pity him - how much has he been through to not be able to communicate properly? oh, no, they don't blame him, of course it's hard. and the stricter ones, appreciative of his strength enough to ignore the ferocity of his, well, what they think is his personality
he's been beaten, been fighting, been struggling his entire life, just to get a breath in - just to live. and then he meets you. you, who treats him like just another person, who doesn't care even when he pulls the wolf in him out of the shadows, when it becomes too much and you accidentally witness it. who only meets him the next morning, not talking about the way his teeth seemed to glitter in the moonlight (or was that the blood that was on them that was making them wet?) and the way the viscera, the veins of the meat, that stretched from tooth to tooth seem to still be present in bits in the gaps between his teeth. you don't talk about it. you just treat him the same as you always have. ('we all have our secrets', you think, 'there's a reason they're secrets, until they start impacting me, or the ones I love most' - but he's not a murderer. sure, there's been gossip, rumors, whatever have you, but he's not- he only feasts on animals, as do you. when you make sure of that, you leave it the hell alone. no reason to go poking around places you don't belong.)
and once you know his secret? this man is watching you every step of the way. when will you tell? when will you notify someone? (not minding the bit that, as he gets closer to you, the more of you he finds out about. and the more of you he knows, the less you tell, the more you shrug off others' warnings and talks and rumors, the more he finds himself... fascinated with you. in a weird way. it's weird, right? he shouldn't be- you're, human. he shouldn't be this interested. he should just be grateful that you're keeping to yourself. but then again...) you give him hidden glances across tables, sly smiles when your eyes meet - and while that's threatening, at least to the peace he wants, he can't help but notice how pretty... you look, when you bare your teeth. (nevermind the fact that's not your intention at all, and that you're just being a tease.)
the turning point comes when you unintentionally let it slip. not in front of others, no, it's not your secret to tell - but in front of him. the more he hangs around you, the more you hang around him - teasing, subtly messing with him, poking at him - really, it's all in good fun, or so you tell yourself. subtly, you notice that he likes it too, when he sees it really is all just a joke. that there's no real intent behind your words. he chuckles at you then - low, almost growling, and pearly white teeth to boot. the man's got a reputation, especially due to the scars all over his body, but with you? you find that that reputation is undeserved, to some extent. he can't play super dangerous with you, because you just. don't. care. it's way funnier to make fun of him, too - in good fun, of course. something he too can laugh at
you're toeing the line, all the while, and then - unbeknownst to you, you cross it, by way too fucking much. when he growls at you again after one joke too many, a growl which, to an untrained, inexperienced person may seem like just a raspy breath considering how he muffles it, tapering it off, you lean in instead. "awww, did I upset the poor puppy?" with a hand immediately following, petting him like a lost dog. really, it's ridiculous - and it's meant to be. the most you expected is for him to shake it off, call you weird, move on with a shrug of his shoulders and a stretch before he continues with his work.
but, he doesn't. Simon freezes in place instead, a stutter of his body and a sharp shudder after you don't remove your hand, continuing to make small left to right motions in what was supposed to be a condescending manner. this brute, this hunk of rock - he shivers when he realizes how much he likes it. how much he'd missed being touched, because, really, no one touches him anymore, not that he has anyone talk to him as much as you do anyways. (this would need at least months of proper build-up, of course. he isn't going to let just anyone do that.) and then, looking at you, it's you. it's not just anyone, it's you. you, even with your devilish smirks and your constant poking, constant threats and silly accusations that mean barely anything, it's you. you, who he seriously started considering that he may actually like, but... how can he be sure? he can't even trust you.
after that, the silence between you is palpable. you, assured by your own subconscious that you'd crossed a line, stay back, and him - desperate for your attention, but too shy to say anything, leaning back. until he realizes a few weeks in that he needs that. it's not a want - you crossed that line. it's your fault. he needs it. needs the touch, needs the contact. so, what, you think he'd tell you? straightforward and honest? usually, that is Simon's style - he's all bark and all bite, all the time. but now? oh, no. now, he's sneaking around you, trying to initiate conversation, trying to pull you back in. maybe he gives small offerings, he seems like the guy to be into wood carving or something, maybe as a way of distraction - so when a small figurine is plopped into your hand of a wolf, you can't help but marvel at it, mood immediately lifting and going back to your normal shenanigans (nevermind the fact that he's trying not to stare at the way your eyes sparkle as you look over it in all angles, all perspectives, and nevermind the way his heart beats in his ears. that's not a thing. that's not happening, nope)
and then you start dating.
Simon, who is the perfect balance between monstrous and cute, the big bad and your adorable boyfriend. his blood can still boil - threatening and looming when he wants to be, and you don't mind when he goes out and doesn't come back home for days at a time, as long as he brings you something back. the life of a hunter, huh? and, that's why his place is so far out anyways, right? you have to let the dog off the leash sometime, after all. and when he comes back to you - oh, it's as if he's not been the one away, but you have. so caring and thoughtful, clingier than he'd like to admit that he is, always seeking out your attention without saying it directly (and sometimes, if he's frustrated enough, saying it directly) and asking if whatever he's doing is okay with you, gentle under your care and just happy to be home
Simon, who gets bolder. not in the sense of him being more dangerous or taking advantage of his more natural abilities with you, but who doesn't ask for touch, not when he needs it most - he takes it. because you've seen him - the monster, the wolf, whatever have you, and you turned around, whistling all the way back home. you don't care. so you're okay with him just... being that way. right? it's your fault. it's your fault he's so needy, and whiny, and that his instincts won't shut the fuck up about you, so the least you could do is fix it with you soft hands and your pretty voice. such a pretty, pretty voice. yes, just keep your hands there, on his face, on his body - wherever you want, just keep. touching. him.
Simon, who's disgusting in his own, affectionate way. imagine, waking up in your cozy sheets, your neck somehow warmer than the rest of you. only to realize that while you slept peacefully until the late morning, he'd been up since sunrise (used to it, from his work) and has been laving you with attention. it's your scent, he assures you - and when you move your shoulder and neck, even the pillow underneath it wet, you cringe from the sticky feeling. he'd been sucking on it and giving you attention even while you slept - making sure he'd scented you properly. and even when you can see the darkening hickeys on your neck, now that you're littered with them - "whaaaat?", he asks behind you. "everyone knows we're together, anyways. and don't you feel prettier? now that you can see how mine you are?" (his possessive instincts, ones he got from his more beastly side, on full show) you feel as though he's picked up a few tricks from you, with all the time you spent around him before you started dating, now catapulted back into your face
Simon, who doesn't have heats or ruts as you expected he would, but is instead - just wired, all the time. it takes very little to rile him up, and he usually just blames it on his hindbrain immediately activating when something like that comes from someone his brain considers his mate, regardless of the fact that you haven't even talked about it yet. isn't that, like, a super serious topic of discussion? almost compared to the way human marriage works? would that make you married? he's afraid of asking you about it, but really - he already considers you it, he just hasn't told you. but it's so easy to get under his skin that way - just a few pets on his head (as much as he's embarrassed by the fact you keep calling him 'puppy' and not something bigger like 'wolf', well... when you say it so cutely, he really, really can't help the way he just simmers under your touch and your gaze, lazily nodding his head. say that again, won't you?) and he's pressing you against the nearest wall, rumbling and chuffing against you until you notice the core of the issue. oh, he's- khm, well. you didn't think he was that weak to you, but uh, that's not necessarily just another one of his tools pressing into your leg, is it?
Simon, who is soooo keen on eating you out. it doesn't matter what kind it is, he loves giving oral, as well as manhandling you around. you don't want to move? no worries, he's got you right where he wants you, and if he doesn't? he'll make you get there regardless. call it experience or whatever you want, but he's gnawed enough meat off of bones to have a good amount of control over his tongue. (and, really, it's not a 'good' amount of control, it's perfect, strong enough to press down on your most sensitive spots and flexible enough to reach them.) on top of that, body odor? scent? sure, some of it is unpleasant, but at a far smaller range than it would be to a human. he can smell you better, but that's just the thing - to him, that's smell of sweat is irresistible, just another way of showing how hard you're working, and so, so, indescribably you. no other smell can compare. so when he tastes you where he wants you most? he's groaning into it. his stamina is keeping up too, he could do it for hours. you don't believe him? fine, then. should he prove himself in a more... physical, manner?
Simon, who laughs and smiles so, so wolfishly. you didn't notice it before, maybe because he'd always looked so annoyed, but - when he grins, the canines just seem... a bit too sharp. teeth always clean and perfect, even when you know he'd been out hunting for days. and the way his mouth stretches, perfectly showcasing every. single. one. it's cute, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you, but just a few inches with your gaze, down his face, and there's something else, something, more deadly. you're unsure how that makes you feel. (but he can definitely smell how it does.)
Simon, who becomes so much more protective as soon as you're in the picture. he's been outside of a pack for so long that, really, most of those instincts have died off, but with you? even if you're bigger than him, or smaller, whatever size or attitude you may be, he's stepping up as a protector - unaware he's even doing it. fetching stuff for you, helping you carry things, reaching stuff for you, supporting you when he feels you might fall easily, doing things for you - it's something he just... started, and never stopped doing. even if you get annoyed by it - because, really, you can do stuff by yourself - he can't really control it. it extends to the bedroom, too. you always sleep curled up into each other and the way he intertwines with you, it's almost like he does it to cover you up. always sleeps closest to the door or any other opening, and on cold nights makes sure you're bundled up, warm and safe. (not that he needs the extra heat. he'd slept in worse conditions before and been fine.) even in fights, or arguments with someone else, he'll step in front of you and argue in your place, or loom behind you with you securely strapped to his chest, even as you struggle to get out of it. don't worry, if they come closer, you won't even have to do anything. just let him do it, hm? (if he can't perform all of those things for you, it bums him out. he'd seriously feel as if the relationship is unfair and that you're doing more, even if you aren't and are just blocking him from doing too much. seriously, he needs it.)
Simon, who developed a weird obsession over his skewed ways of scenting you. most werewolves just rub against each other to scent themselves, to confirm that each other is pack. but Simon? he does it by licking you. maybe it's an effect of not knowing werewolf culture, being separated so early from his mother and pack, or the fact he's been solitary most of his life, or just his own quirk, but he loves teasing you with it. you're looking at something in the hallway of your home, fixing the clock or something and he passes by with the laundry he's going to get done? stops for a second, thinking, looking at your nape, and out of nowhere your tools are scattered all over the floor - dropped from your hands from the sensation of him leaning in and licking across your nape with purpose. and when you turn around? either escapes with a smirk or grins at you as you stare at him, baffled. hello??? what was that??? he has zero excuse. he just thought it was funny, and well- no matter how much you complain that it's disgusting, he doesn't hear any of it. he will be doing it again, preferably as soon as he can. also likes to suck and lick at your skin in general. a scrape? poor baby, let him see ("no, Simon, that's disgusting, I'm going to get an infection- SIMON!"). you're sweaty from your work outside? he's eyeing the droplets of sweat on your arms, just itching to sneak a bite. he knows he's a freak, but hey. you're still with him, aren't you? (and in regards to scenting - there is... cumming in you. of course, there is, and every time you do it- sorry, sweetheart, he just can't help himself. he'll clean you off, yeah? and just as you think that means a bath, he's in between your legs, lapping away at you. freak, literally, and doesn't give a single shit, at least not with you.)
Simon, who's never been this whiny before. he's kneeling by your feet, desperate after he'd returned after a week away, just begging for an ounce of attention. you know he doesn't do it with anyone but you, right? doesn't that make you feel special? that he's only your boy? that he's willing to be weak, just for you? (he struggled with it in the beginning - he's always been so rough his entire life, both to others and himself, so how could he ever be gentle, when he feels like everyone wants to hurt him? and by extension, how could he ever whine and paw at your feet? that's pathetic, that's too much, that's- but- the way you handle him, mh- you don't... does that actually feel good? does he actually feel okay with this? he can barely believe how good it feels when you're in control.) he's like a newborn puppy, with you - only when you're around. in public, he's still the same - big brooding hunk of a man that does what needs to get done and doesn't tolerate shit. but when you pet him, grab his face with your hands and coo over him a bit? a puddle on the floor. what did you want again? he'll give you anything, anything, anything, just say the word. his brain is mush and all he can think about it what a perfect mate you are, how pretty you are, how well you take care of him
Simon, who, on the other spectrum, has never been harsher. you unlock something in him, and, maybe that's just because of how human and yet accepting you are, but- he wants to hunt you down. his cute, little baby - he doesn't have to be horrible and mean as a response to fear, as an active retaliation of his own body. no, now- now, he can be mean because he wants to be. he can corner you in, can test you like you've done to him - and as much as he was worried about acting out when you're trembling and scared, as much as he thought your tears would trigger him - there is nothing to be triggered by. you're defiant, and prodding, and pushing - the exact thing he needs. even when you're scared, it doesn't look like it, and he checks in on you, of course he does, but you hardly need it. you're always pushing him to do worse, more, harder - and he can finally let the beast out a bit. he's never been more satisfied in his life than when bringing out along to hunt, only for you to become prey when the sun sets
ahhh, I'm so down bad for this man. with this kind of writing, I should really work on that yandere ask, haha. soon, soon.
FIC SKETCHES!!! These oh so lovely drawings were a nice render practice, and they're inspired by this fic by Bite! Check it out! It's a very lovely Yancy fic, and I've been OBSESSED with it.
Colorless version, too 😋 Because I tried value rendering, and I'm gonna be annoying about how proud I am about it 😋😋😋
Heyo, Bite! I was just doing some rendering practice and I decided to draw some things from your Yancy fic! Surprise!
Also, have a colorless version because I'm super proud of it 😋😋
Yancy in a burgundy button-up 🤤🤤🤤 (Also, this is me asking if it's okay if I post these on my account and tag ya in them?)
no waaaay! no way, no way, no way!! that's awesome!! ohhhhh, I love ittt!! it looks so, so, soooo good! the little sketch of him and his Reader too, aaaaaaaa! cutiesss!
and your art skills too, oh- how much more impressive can you get, Nxva??? that's- literally, just amazing. I love them. thank you for this, and genuinely, it means so much that you got inspired so much by my work to actually use it to make some art! kissing you on the forehead (consensually, if you want to)!
oh, of course you should post them! everyone needs to see this, and again- it is your art, regardless of whether or not it's been inspired by my fic, you don't need to ask me, dude, haha. but yeah, definetly, go ahead!
thank you so much for showing me this! sending you all the love!
wait, THAT WAS YOU??? WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING??? I know you weren't my anon back then-
Genuinely forgot I even request it haha
but he would definetly go a bit further beyond what is generally considered reasonable.
True. As much as he has standards though, I would think at the beginning (especially during the academy) he might've idolized Cap to an extent? And though the unhealthy side of it slowly fades away (as with your headcannons with him; love the slowburn there), I think he's always going to have that tidbit of yes, I'm here, I'll do anything for you if you ask me to do it; well, almost anything, some things are off limits but you get the-okay I'll stop talking now as Captain just raises their eyebrows fondly.
About Captain
Most of the time I think of them as, well, us, but there are some scenes when you write them (like this) where I see them as the faceless man/woman that you sometimes get in your dreams? They become their own character entirely to me at times and it's the best thing ever. Hence my slight... attraction to their... behavior with Engi :)
but it's who you want to be right now, because it's way too damn good not to be. catching onto what I'm putting down?
so I think the whiny part of it is half him playing it up for you, and then it actually does turn into him being whiny for real, but those are my passing thoughts when I was writing.
Caught and tossed straight into the blender. It makes so much sense that he's playing it up before he gets super whiny; I read it again and had to stop myself from giggling when it got to those parts because yes I see it now. Then again, it depends on your interpretation, and I quite like this one :)
Thanks again for the meal <3
-s
sorry for not responding earlier.
Most of the time I think of them as, well, us, but there are some scenes when you write them (like this) where I see them as the faceless man/woman that you sometimes get in your dreams? They become their own character entirely to me at times and it's the best thing ever. Hence my slight... attraction to their... behavior with Engi :)
mmm, I worry about that sometimes. like, the fanfiction is supposed to be 'x Reader', right? and as much as you enjoyed that jump from the usual (which I'm very thankful for), sometimes I worry about that, as in - I may have seen way too many people comment on how, "oh, it's an x Reader but this character doesn't fit what I'd do at all" - and again, as much as that can be a bit off-putting for me too when I myself am reading other people's work that's like mine, well... I don't know. I'm just writing what I want to write, and while I leave enough general space for your own interpretations (for you to insert quirks about yourself, I don't mention your body, don't mention your height, weight, eyes and generally try to stray away from using terms like, oh, your f/c (favorite color) or Y/N (your name) because I feel it makes you jump out of that feeling of immersion by quite a bit) yeah, it's not going to fit everyone. I'm trying really hard for it to show up as something where you could insert yourself fully, and as much as I know that I can't really please everyone, I try to.
I give Readers quirks (the Captain with their anxiousness, for example) because they fit the character I'm writing about. Engineer would be weak to a secretly flawed, but strong to everyone else character, it's just how I see him, for example. In so doing, I make him a perfect fit for you, and you a perfect fit for him (in my mind, at least). for some Readers, I don't hold these specifications - but that's mainly because they haven't been developed yet, which they would be, if anyone requested anything for that character. like, by that point, I would have to sit down and think about that, if I was to write them, you know? but I do worry. I worry about going off-script a lot, but it would be better to be like this, than for you to be completely flavorless, like a protagonist in a harem anime or something, haha, no?
Then again, it depends on your interpretation, and I quite like this one :)
haha, I'm glad, and yes it does. no matter what I say, you can interpret my fics as you like - I mean, just because I wrote them doesn't mean I have the ultimate say. final, maybe, but ultimate? not really. so go ahead!
of course, you're welcome! and thanks for reading!
I'm getting ready for work, right? Get a notification that you posted, open tumblr, and begin checking out your new post.
As soon as i start reading "if head engineer has some problems taking control, right? specifically the press him up against the wall a bit--captain notices, and flips it" I go:
Wait. Why does this sound familiar.
I go into my notes app to check the list of asks I sent as an anon (keep in mind it's seven in the morning) and I find out that this was one of the first few I sent to you when i wasn't sure if I should list myself down as star.
and ohmygod PLEASE YOU DID IT??
i fucking forgot i requested this until i read the ask several times and went "this sounds like something i've... wait a minute."
I'm screaming.
Anyways.
You ready?
Because even if I can't quote everything on this masterpiece, you'll be damn sure I'll be putting in my favourites. And I'll have you know it's very hard for me to choose.
Let's start with when I opened the post. Right? I'm grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. 12 thousand words? Oh you've really out done yourself this time, B.
Just a slight glaze over that accompanies his breath hitching, a heavy, full blush across his face, a bit of sweat, of grease, the proof of his own work – dirty and awful, and unsure and trembling, filthy and so, so hardworking. Such a good boy, you distantly think.
the way his lip wobbles and his skin is suddenly, so, so soft and smooth, his teeth so kissable and the eye bags under his eyes just begging you to manhandle him into caring for himself-
The way Engineer just stops when Captain comes around?? UGH. He's so sweet and attentive and just ready for anything that the Captain having to hold themselves back is the only appropriate reaction, I'm afraid. Although I bet they're shaking with how much they want to just go at him. And on the manhandling Engineer into taking care of himself?? I bet it would take a whole village normally--still does, even if it's the Captain--but it'd be 10x more easier if they're the ones who get him to do it.
Especially if they use their Captain voice--woah who said that?
You could eat him alive, one strip of meat, of skin, of muscle, at a time. Slurping up the remainders off him from every bone, so clean they don’t even have to purify them to preserve them.
Holy shit. No, I'm not elaborating.
The breath he lets out is stuttery at best – unfinished at worst, and his hands intertwine themselves in between you in a nervous tic, twisting this way and that as they weave together.
Started giggling around this part.
Couldn't hold it in, I'm sorry.
(Something you could lap up with your tongue, something you could savor, something you could suck the essence out of with a greedy enough tongue.)
You have this way with slithering in internal thoughts in a way that's almost seamless, but jarring enough that they feel like intrusive thoughts and it's so good.
“Right, Daddy?”
I fucking slammed my laptop shut.
Fucking hell, B. If anything I'm feeling a little like Engineer right now.
I imagine Captain just taunting Engineer with the honorific with the both of them knowing full well who's fucking who and wow. Just. Yep.
“That’s not what you say.” You mumble against the base of his throat, lips meeting the beginnings of his beard, teeth grazing at the stretched skin. “My Engineer would never say things like ‘I can’t.’”
Remember what I said about him being so willing??? He'd just do anything if it's for the Captain--I mentioned this some time before in a reaction to that gut-wrenching one-shot you wrote with the both of them, but I'm feeling the brunt of it now. (And not in the angsty way.)
No quotes for this take: but he's so whiny right off the bat?? I've never imagined Engineer as the whiny type when he's just getting started but reading the way you wrote him in this situation it makes so much sense.
His eyes are glazed over, dumb and uncoordinated, a tiny bit of drool seeping from the side of his lips.
His eyes are unfocused, and where now, he at least is looking at you, he almost doesn’t see you, dizzy until he restarts, licking the remains of you off his own lips with precise, pedantic movements of his tongue.
I've always been a sucker for when character's are described as so wanton they start to drool?? When they get a bit ditzy? A bit pathetic? How the fuck did you know.
You allow a moment of tenderness – just a sweep through his hair with your fingers as you cradle his face, your pointer fingers making up and down motions across the sides of his beard.
“Your overalls need to be off, darling.”, you remind tenderly.
“Don’t worry, I’m not leaving. Don’t worry, don’t worry.”
Mean, but not cruel, I say.
“I feel like, you could fill that role better than me, Captain.”, he admits sheepishly, a small smile peeking out before he turns out of your grip, smushing his face into your thigh, suddenly embarrassed.
He's so cute my heart lurched.
You want to reach out and break his neck with a sick, reverberating crack and pop - he’s so cute and perfect and wonderful- it makes you violent. It makes your eyes twitch.
You described it perfectly wtf. Me too, Cap. Me too. There's a certain type of want that makes you want to rip something apart, then slowly, slowly put it back together (not in a way that truly hurts, but enough that it stings) and this is it.
With a gulp, he slithers up and slowly, slowly, finds the zip of your pants - the teeth of it separating with an almost silent riiiiip.
Please know that I imagined him doing this with his teeth :)
Pretty privilege, your ass. Even the most gorgeous of people can be trained into shape, and if he really insists on it. Well. Then it’s his own damn funeral.
SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK. The people being Engineer. Just him, I swear.
“Learned your lesson?”
Hey. So, can the Captain talk to me like that. WOAH WHO THE FUCK SAID THAT--
Will you ever know such things with him? Or is that the surprise every old couple keeps talking about, something that keeps you on your toes no matter how many years pass between you?
Tenderness in the midst of the heat is so :(
Did Captain... did Cap fuck him so hard he dropped into subspace?
Now I'm not going to quote the specific explicit scenes but please know that the mix of Captain's rabid and tender thoughts (+ Engineer's utter mindlessness) was so delicious I ate it up so bad.
The reminding him of the honorific?? The constant check-ins?? Arghhh.
I love how their dynamic still stayed the same despite everything going on. They're still partners, despite everything, yeah?
I'm sorry if it's a lot; I tend to ramble.
I also tend to apologize a lot, now that i'm thinking about it, but still stands :)
Hope you're doing good. Well done as always, and thank you again <3
hi, hi!!
wait, THAT WAS YOU??? WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING??? I know you weren't my anon back then, but- (oh goodness. oh good grief. seriously, s?? just when I thought your ideas couldn't get any better) genuinely, I was sitting there before I began writing the thing, way before that announcement, thinking that I have so many asks but then I got this one and I just- ough. I couldn't. I couldn't resist.
I'm grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. 12 thousand words? Oh you've really out done yourself this time, B.
hehe, thank you!! I seriously got possessed, I don't know what happened. I blacked out and I had like, 5k words and I hadn't even gotten to the actual meat of the plot, and just- I don't know, I don't know. but hey - I'm grinning like that now, too! goodness, I love when you guys review my stuff! (is that selfish to say??) but I'm so happy I got you so excited!!
I bet it would take a whole village normally--still does, even if it's the Captain--but it'd be 10x more easier if they're the ones who get him to do it.
you mention more on this later, but this specifically reminded me - when I was talking to sea urchin about how I want to portray Engineer in my future fanfiction, I brought up that exact idea of him being needy, and whiny, and so on and so forth. I get how that can be a bit controversial because he does have his moments in canon contradicting all that, sometimes (khm khm, that hand grabbing scene with the 'Don't.', khm KHM-) but personally? I headcannon that Captain may even be Engineer's first relationship, so he's very much in the zone of 'I'm willing to sacrifice everything to make this work.'. not necessarily to the measures that, for example, Date! Mark or Yandereiplier would go, or anything (he has standards, still) but he would definetly go a bit further beyond what is generally considered reasonable. plus, as I said, there's more to this than just 'oh, we like each other.' - as I mentioned in my headcannons, Engineer and Captain have been friends since recruitment (if you want to call it that, since training basically) and best friends since the construction of the first Invincible, roughly. so it's not just that he likes you - he trusts you, more than he does anyone else. you're his circle. you're a package deal. it's basically cemented in his mind!
plus, if we look at the canon (and maybe this is a bit of my wishful thinking, and may even be more of a hint towards the overarching plot set up by the Actor, rather than Engineer's original actions, but I digress) we do have quite a bit of moments where Engineer shrugs other people off (maybe not very visibly, hence the wishful thinking) in favor of talking to the Captain. you've literally tamed him - and, with the addition of an closed off and somewhat shy, reclusive, anxiety-riddled Captain (which is what they are in my versions, most of the time) except when they're with Engineer, you've actively tugged at his heart strings too. you've quite literally got him wrapped around your finger, so the situations where he might be a good bit different with you versus everyone else (being a bit more dismissive, or calmer with everyone else, and completely melting around you, willing to do whatever you ask) are frequent. not that there's an inherent connotation in that alone - plenty of tops go all melty for their subs, and vice versa, and I generally like to write most of the egos and the Readers as switches, just to showcase that they're both full people with a distinct sense of self-governance and strength and emotion, rather than tropes. but that's just me, and my versions, I know other people might have different preferences, hehe.
Started giggling around this part.
listen, we didn't get that finger pointing right finger pointing left photo from behind the scenes for nothing. he really is that guy.
You have this way with slithering in internal thoughts in a way that's almost seamless, but jarring enough that they feel like intrusive thoughts and it's so good.
yeeees!! that's the intention!! I love when writing works out the way I want it to, makes me so happy, ugh.
I fucking slammed my laptop shut.
Fucking hell, B. If anything I'm feeling a little like Engineer right now.
(devilishly smirking in the background)
Please know that I imagined him doing this with his teeth :)
ah. imagination is a wonderful, wonderful thing, isn't it? hahahahah
and to comment on all of your other notes:
why yes. the Captain did fuck him into subspace. you're welcome for that, haha. the notion of it also intertwines with what you mentioned about him being whiny - I wrote him like that specifically with that feeling in mind, you know the one - the half acting up, half unsure if you are even acting at that point, when someone tells you that you're meant to be something and you do it a bit too well? that. when the Captain kind of 'puts him in his place', and knowing that that's the dynamic that's supposed to be in place, and knowing that it's you, despite the fact that he could easily overpower you, or try to, anyhow (not to assume your physical strength or anything, haha) he leans into it. to the point where it's like, am I pretending, or is this actually someone who I am? and then slowly, slowly, realizing that, maybe, this isn't you entirely - but it's who you want to be right now, because it's way too damn good not to be. catching onto what I'm putting down? so I think the whiny part of it is half him playing it up for you, and then it actually does turn into him being whiny for real, but those are my passing thoughts when I was writing. I couldn't exactly put them down into it fully because I don't really write Readers that are all-knowing, or I try not to. what you see is what you get, and never presume you know everything that's going on, or that could be going on, you know? especially others' emotions, and their actions. you know each other well, yes but uh- do you really? there's always more to discover, after all.
the subspace part really starts after the oral part finishes, and he kind of tries to struggle against it, tries to care for you - hence the worry on his end for you. you don't really give him a choice though, so he slowly tapers back off and into it fully - that's why his speech is a bit incomprehensible towards the end. it's not all pleasure. it's also him being launched into subspace! I should write that in the trigger warnings actually, I completely forgot - to be fair, I did post this at like, 5 AM my time, so technically I pulled an all-nighter? I wanted to get it done ASAP 'cause I was working on it for a good four or so days already. nothing new for me, I'm afraid.
oh, and you do apologise a lot - but hey, so do I. can't really harp on you for that one, haha, but genuinely - you don't need to. I'd never outright take anything you say as harmful or offensive in any way, I'd assume the best option first. so no worries about that!
thank you for your review! and thanks for requesting it, again! I love these whenever I post something new, keep 'em up! long reviews are my favorite, actually, so. you can't apologise about that, haha. hope you're doing well, and that your day's going great, whatever you're doing :]
"My Engineer" Yeah, he likes hearing that I'm sure
Back in our Engie In Just His Undershirt Agenda, I see. Lovely to see
"You're disappointing your Captain" Oh, I love us, honestly
"If anyone asks, he's being written up" NAH— HILARIOUS
Captain's quarters, yeahhh, let's goooo! *pulls out popcorn*
'COME HITHER' MOTION IS SO GOOD
Captain having cuteness aggression so many times is hilarious
"Need a tutorial?" We are murdering this poor man xddd
Almost crying because of cuteness aggression, poor Captain xddd
"FUCK. You sure as hell hope this ship has some heart medication the way he keeps talking to you." Me too Captain, me too
"Wan' t' do it my-hayself." Hilarious way to write it. No notes 10/10. I couldn't have done it better myself
I like that we're not just fully domming but we're kind of also falling apart on the inside, but we're purposefully keeping steady for him (well technically we're trying to keep ourselves in control from becoming feral but shhhh)
"I'll decide, and you won't get a vote. Would you prefer that, huh?" Okay, I'll say it, we're kinda hot—
"He'll live, you convince yourself" AHAHAHAHA
"There's a dampness in his overalls, right in between his legs" Floored. Gagged. Mouth agape. That's what I am
"Kiss, please?" MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS AAAAA
Of course we had to think about his pecs. Naturally—
V-line getting attention yes!— I MEAN— WOW WHO COULD'VE SAID THAT, I HAVE NO IDEA
"Lagging behind in his auditory comprehension" that guy's brain is just mush now
"Not when there's an angel in your bed, in your hands" so sweet actually
"He stays like that - hips raised and clutching your midsection, curled around you as if the rest of the bed was burning him alive." That visual is in my head
"Work can wait. Until you've had your fill of him." Captain's workaholic tendencies have been cured by one golden retriever of an Engineer xd
Once again, I have been fed very well. Massive massive meal, but hey, we don't complain around here >:3
~ Sea urchin (with my aquatic family since I'm currently by the sea, and I'm trying not to step on the poor little guys)
oh babe, if it was up to me he'd always be in his undershirt >:] perpetually half-dressed. climate and temperature changes would fear this man. (or would he fear them??)
yeah, Captain's cuteness agression is mostly my own, I'll admit (though I'm sure you can relate). I mean, look at him!!! he's so- (squeezes him like a squeaky toy, stretches out his cheeks) you know?
indeed. conflict for the Captain all the way. it makes sense though, no? I wanted to (and hopefully this was obvious) keep the balance, like the Captain said in the beginning? as in, yeah, he is asking for the Reader to dom him, but also that man is beefy. if he so chose, he could literally just. not. do that. strength on both sides, you know? and vice versa for Reader. the Captain is strong also, but there's the doubt I keep talking about, both in my headcannons and in my other fics for Engineer, that kind of limits them. despite the fact that they do get swept up in the moment, haha. balance all around!
oh, the whole cleaning scene is my faaaaavorite part. soft Engie and Captain my beloved
of course I have to mention his chest. I mean, are we blind??? are we blind??? I don't think soooo!
thank you for the review, as always, hehe :3
always looking forward to your next one!
(invasive species be invading, huh, sea urchin? joking! hope you have fun on your vacay, stay cool!)
Hello :3 i had a silly lil' idea after reading your "what did you call me" hcs?
you can do this with all of them, really--i'm sure we'd eat it up--but im thinking; if head engineer has some problems taking control, right? specifically the press him up against the wall a bit--captain notices, and flips it.
asks head engineer if he'd rather call the them mommy/daddy instead.
i swear this bounced around in my head since i saw your hc list and i CANNOT get it out of my head!
sfw or nsfw is alright--whichever you're comfortable with <33 tysm
so, uh. this one got out of control, a bit. (mainly talking about the word count, oops?) the ending was a bit rushed, but hopefully you like it. it's been a bit since I've written smut. (and by that I mean a few weeks, haha) so praying I did it justice! fingers crossed! (thanks for requesting this!)
(I kabedoned your man for you, you're welcome. /j)
tw: NSFW content below cut, general possessiveness and a bit of a mean Reader, animalistic + grotesque imagery, gender neutral Reader, Reader has an internal power struggle/moral conflict
tw (in terms of NSFW): top! Reader + bottom! Engineer (and by that I mean fully top, not a power bottom, and a dominating one at that), oral intercourse (Reader recieving), fingering (Engineer recieving), daddy/mommy kink (I tried to keep it as neutral as possible, so I inserted both options whenever possible - just pick your poison, I guess, whenever you come across it), Reader can come across as demanding and assumption-filled about how Engineer may react/may be feeling but it's because they're besties your honor (you know if you read my headcannons) they know each other really well + they did the dirty before so that's my excuse (but we do have a check in, alright. this is consensual, don't get it twisted), power play???? I guess???? the Reader's a really dominant figure you guys I don't know what to tell you, and can be very mean at times, Reader feels somewhat bad about not being able to fulfill a fantasy and they take it out on the Engineer (RIP that guy's ass), vague depictions of genitalia (Reader), slight predator/prey dynamic, teeth/skin/muscle/flesh fixations (Reader), so much praise. bursting at the seams with the praise (but also degradation, just a bit, as a treat), Engineer enters subspace at the end
word count: 12, 618
MINORS DNI
starve against me, one bite at a time
“So.”
The hand splayed out across the firm, clinking, notch filled metal of the Invincible II seems almost like a caress, or an anchor. It’s a stone that corners in its prey, the last station before the flash of fear that engulfs you whole. And it is yours.
Though this is not a hunt. (Or is it?)
You’re leaning down into his space – slowly, slowly, slowly – a straight diagonal line that curves from your wrist, down the back of your neck, licking across your spine, and ending where your legs encroach his space. Pushing, punishing, closing in, filling yours and his lungs so much it feels like there’s not enough air to breathe due to the feeling. Like you’ll both burst open – him from fear, you from anticipation. Oh, and what a feeling it is – you ponder as you lick across your own teeth – to bear down on him specifically. Though this was meant to be amicable, something between teasing and being flat-out mean, something tempting that was supposed to be for him, more than you… it doesn’t feel like it, not entirely. There’s a gnawing inside, a tension, a spark, that giggles incessantly at his helplessness. That rejoices at the way he blushes like he’s eighteen again, like it’s your first kiss all over again, awaiting your approval with baited breath.
The way his eyes look at you like wounded animal in a bear trap - wide, anticipatory, ever-vigilant. It’s not much better than when he’s looking at you in admiration, not much further than the stars that dance around his pupils when he’s watching you work. Slight difference – now they’re empty of the stars, of the planets, of the dancing and the dreaming, just somehow… hollow. Empty. Clustering with scribble-laced thoughts you can’t seem to reach. Just a slight glaze over that accompanies his breath hitching, a heavy, full blush across his face, a bit of sweat, of grease, the proof of his own work – dirty and awful, and unsure and trembling, filthy and so, so hardworking. (Such a good boy, you distantly think. Such a good lackey, you can't help but note. The thought is a distant echo that pulls at you like a puppet. You can't help it.) A twinkle in his eyes from where the fluorescent light of the lamp flickers above you, right from where it hits the wettest parts of his face, though the rest of him is tossed into shadow.
Your fingers clench against the wall next to his head. (Steady, you reassure yourself.)
His hair is tousled in that boyish way that it always is – nicely done up for the first 15 minutes of his shift and then wrung out of order for the rest of the 10 hours he inevitably ends up working, striving for perfection. You never understood all those stories, the tropes that people liked – the big, bad overpowering partner and their cute, ditzy pair. But with him? You get the appeal. The distaste you hold for it is why you were trying to talk this through in the first place (an inorganic manner of getting through to him, but effective) – you don’t want to exude inequality, don’t want to let it shine through. Because he is experienced, and he’s capable, and can be overpowering when he wants to be – and he damn sure should be able to have the space to be such. But, the way he trembles, the way his chest heaves out of order whenever you pin him in place- the zipper on his suit straining to keep him intact and covered, even though the suit is meant to be limitless in moving capabilities, is meant to be a bit oversized- the way his lip wobbles and his skin is suddenly, so, so soft and smooth, his teeth so kissable and the eye bags under his eyes just begging you to manhandle him into caring for himself- well. It does seem like he’s more content on being here than anywhere else. (It almost makes you want to move away, want to escape from it. It’s too much, it’s too tempting, and you’re so, so weak for it all. It feels like your chest is a ticking time bomb.)
“Captain?”, he whispers, and you notice you’d been lost there for a moment. It feels like there are chains around you- a pressure that makes you want to tear your own palms into shreds with your own fingernails. Like he’s too pure – which you know he’s not, not, not – that he’s able, and that he can take it and all, but during this entire chase, you can’t help it. Who could deny that face? (It almost feels like he could cry at any given moment from how starstruck his expression is, like he’s always on the verge. And you chastise yourself incessantly for wanting it to happen, for wanting to push him even beyond crying, to make him want you despite the bruises that would be littering his body.) Taking a deep breath in, eyelashes fluttering as your eyes roll around a bit in their sockets, refocusing now, gathering all your strength, your hand solidifies where it sits on the wall. “You can’t run anymore.”
He blinks up at you at that, slightly confused and bubble-headed – and you curse inwardly for how cute he looks while doing it. (God, how can he be so clueless and so brilliant at the exact same time? And why do you like it so much?) You move in further – just a step away from gluing his body directly to yours, suit to suit, rank to rank – your medals and name tags smushing against his flesh, under the cloth of his undershirt, hugged into stillness and a deep pressure against the skin, an imprint, a reminder of who's in charge – and your other hand, like a spider, situates itself against the wall on the side of his right hip. Barely there, a breath away from grazing him, but you’re buzzing regardless. You’re sure you look intimidating, or at least somewhat mean – your face always pulls that expression when you’re concentrating, even if you don’t mean it to – but on the inside? You’re about ready to melt. A hulking, deeply embedded into the earth, primitive factory core that’s overheating as you speak.
“Come on, my Engineer. You know what I’m talking about.”
There’s a visible, yet soundless gulp that runs down his throat, harsh and glaringly obvious, and the sweat doubles on his face, eyes skirting around in half panic, half nervousness. The breath he lets out is stuttery at best – unfinished at worst, and his hands intertwine themselves in between you in a nervous tic, twisting this way and that as they weave together. Like scorned lovers coming back together again. Cute. (Why is everything he does so cute?) “You’re smart.”, you taunt, the smirk on your face obvious, shining brightly with the light behind you in the hallway between both of yours’ sleeping quarters, illuminated but casting a you-shaped shadow over his own visage. “You can figure it out. What did we talk about last?” You’re demanding, inching him closer into spelling it out for you. Poor guy’s actions worsen, hands jerking almost painfully as he diverts his gaze away from you – but oh, that makes the shadows on his face fall ever so elegantly over their curvature, as if they’re making space to adorn him. As if everything that’s ever lived, ever breathed, does so to accompany his own existence. You could eat him alive, one strip of meat, of skin, of muscle, at a time. Slurping up the remainders off him from every bone, so clean they don’t even have to purify them to preserve them.
“Ah-hm-“ He’s blushing unbearably now, there’s no denying it - you can almost feel the heat of it, even from this distance. It’s a gushing of blood that’s visible even under his barely hardened skin, under all his moles and blemishes, all his most adorable human imperfections, so intense it makes him look like an overripe fruit. Something you could pop if you just press a bit, if you just lean a bit too much. (Something you could lap up with your tongue, something you could savor, something you could suck the essence out of with a greedy enough tongue.) “C-captain, this- thi-is is high-highly, inapprop-priate-“ Your reaction is immediate – the hand that was inching towards him now tightly grips at his hip, feeling him up roughly and with an intent so immediate it makes him squeak adorably, flinch and break off his sentence, to stop whatever deflection he was planning on spilling right then. “Oh?” The voice you reign him in with – the hand continuing its path, squeezing and feeling him up like a piece of meat – is lower, not even intentionally, but just harsh and breathy. The kind of tone that seeps into your skeleton, that you want burrowed so far deep into his brain that all he has the attention to do is sit, be good, and obedient, and politely say ‘Thank you.’ whenever you give him even an ounce of attention. Like the good boy he is. “And it’s not, ‘highly inappropriate’, to tease your own Captain? Worse, your own partner?”
He’s squirming in your grasp – not necessarily away from you, (almost into you?) but in a sort of discomfort brought about by the sheer amounts of flusteredness coursing through him, the sinking feeling of being overwhelmed by positive emotions. It seems like bullshit, but you know that is what it’s like for him – you’d been told it many times now and have been assured he likes it – and you’ve come to recognize the signs. (All of them. You want to know him better than he knows himself.) “I-I didn’t-“ “Hm?”, you’re interrupting him again, cutting the lies off at the source. You know he’s being sincere – you know, but it feels like lying, when his body is telling a whole different story. (Or do you? With that face, who knows what he could sweep under the rug, right in front of you.) Your poor baby, so honest, so innocent – but you know best. It’s what he tells you anyways, doesn’t he? That you’re smart, capable, so good at your job… What’s the harm in believing him? It would be his own fault, then. “You didn’t? Didn’t mean to walk around, your suit-“, your hand tugs at the upper part of it, making his eyes zip to where it’s tugged at him, “- bunched up around your waist? Just in your undershirt?” You tut at him like a misbehaving child, and his head backs into the wall even further – ashamed, embarrassed. (So, fucking, cute.) “You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, did you?”
That arm of yours moves, smooth in its trajectory, sure and gliding, gripping to steady one of his hands at the wrist from where he’s still playing with them, the pace of the motions almost feverish but interrupted easily, wrenching them aside with planned fervor, almost forceful. “It- it was-“ His chest is rising even more, pulsating like a drum as his gaze follows the movements of your hand, a visible rise and fall in the rate of his heart pounding against his ribcage. “It was, just- j-just, hot, Cap-Captain. I was, nnn- working, you know?” His teeth graze at his lip, almost biting but not quite landing on the decision to do so, and your own tongue peeks out of your lip to lick at it, as if called forth. Just a bit, as if you could taste him through the air shared between you, between the little puffs of air he lets out as he breathes. “Sure. Fine. But you can’t possibly-“ Your grip shifts on his wrist, as if handling an animal and not a limb- “- possibly, blame me for what I called you then.” Looking at him up and down, you scan him – the little twitches his body makes, the way his fingers lash just a tinge out of control, clenching and unclenching against your own grip – involuntary, little giveaways, little shatterings of that precious facade. “’Inappropriate’ to call you that, is it? But it’s not ‘inappropriate’ of you to whore yourself out?”
You take a step forward, bodies flush with one another. When your own lips close in, right by his ear, tantalizingly approaching, he turns his head as if he wants to deny you, wants to run away. But that’s not his place. That's just the feeling of being on the brink of overwhelmed. That’s just pretend.
“Right, Daddy?”
And when your knee comes in contact with his crotch, all you hear is a barely subdued, low moan. “Captain!”, Engineer squeaks, his breath wavering, as if this is so upsetting, as if you’re being cruel. (Maybe you are. But that’s his own, damn, fault. Everything you say is true – even if he didn’t mean it.) “I-I wasn’t- I didn’t- mean it, please, Captaaain- mmmn-“He’s pathetic. Whining and squealing his way through the assault, a slow, pressing, constantly swaying motion. If you’d let him, he’d probably hump your leg like a dog, and really, you should’ve known better. You thought he could be someone strong for you, at least in that sense. That he could get angry, could crumble you into dust, make you behave? What a foolish choice. What an idea. You’re barely touching him and he’s panting across your shoulder like a pathetic little thing, yearning, eager. Fuck. What were you thinking? He’s your boy, yes, but… maybe, maybe this isn’t for him. It hurts, somewhat, that you thought you could find that in him, and yet failed to, but… doesn’t make you love him any less. This is a compromise you’ll have to swallow, you assume. Doesn’t mean you can’t be mean about it, though. (He’d eat it all up, anyways.)
“Engineeeeer…”, you sing-song, cutting into his breathy struggle, “You’re disappointing your Captain.”, you point out, venomous and unrelenting. The motion of you against him never ceases, the hand that used to cage him in lowering to grip at the back of his hair, stroking soothingly for now as your other pushes him into the wall until he’s one with it, your own body following. Sandwiched between the cold, harsh interior of his life’s work, and his perpetrator. He’s moaning like a man depraved, and for a second you worry that someone’s going to hear you – but what would they do anyways? You are the Captain, are you not? This is none of their business. If anyone asks, he’s being written up. (Whore. Like he’d mind.) “I’m- so-orry, Captain, please-“ His mouth is open, and though you can’t see it, you can hear the sweat building up on his skin from his varying noises. “I just, I can’t-“ The hand on the back of his head lashes out then, as if by its own will, gripping the hair there and twisting his head up, eliciting a hiss of pain that melts down into a grumbling moan, guttural and primal. Like something that wasn’t even meant to be let out. “That’s not what you say.” You mumble against the base of his throat, lips meeting the beginnings of his beard, teeth grazing at the stretched skin.
“My Engineer would never say things like ‘I can’t.’” He whines at that, the echoing of the cry cleaving through your ribcage and tugging at your heart strings – though not enough to let him go. Your own tongue peeks out – soft and supple, moldable as it adjusts to his skin, trailing a long lick right across his Adam’s apple and stopping at it, sucking gently. Pain from one end, pleasure from the other. Your boy. Yours. The noise he lets out at it is far louder than anything else he’s said – and this one is sure to get you caught. Though you doubt you could care at the minute. “Captain, please! khn- ahnnn-“ There’s a heavy, beating rhythm of ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ that signify his breathing, punching out the air from his lungs, desperate and wanting, clouding his mind. Like a treat he just can’t get, something so close yet so far. “I-ah-ah’m sor-rry-“, he hiccups, and you can feel it where your lips lay on his throat – bobbing up and down with the action. “I didn’t mean iiiit- p-hng-please, Captain, p-please-“ “Please what?”, you interrupt, strict and cutting in your remark, sick of his blubbery mess. (You’re not, not really. But you are sick of not seeing his face while he does it.) “Please stop it? Please continue? Please make it worse?” Your face reels in, inching towards the side of his head, all movements stopping as you whisper in his ear. “You deserve this. You don’t want to be in charge?” You grit your teeth, though it’s more for your own sense of self-control than anything threatening. (Though he doesn’t know that.) “Fine.”, you spit out, “But you don’t get to get away with shit like that.”
In a flash, you’re apart, and you can almost see the metaphorical strings of glue between you as you separate. Engineer’s body shifts towards you, as if following yours – but you grab at his collar instead, like a leash. His eyes are glazed over, dumb and uncoordinated, a tiny bit of drool seeping from the side of his lips. The tugging on his collar doesn’t cease – if anything, you’re pulling him along with you as you open the doors to the Captain’s quarters, across the hall from where you were crowding him against the wall, and he follows along diligently. (Not that he looks like he even remembers where he is at the moment.) You herd him inside, tossing him in almost as you let go of him – causing him to stumble onto your bed, clumsy as he is. The door closes with a pressurized hiss, the grey slickness of the metal gleaming in the dim light of the desk opposite your bed. It’s a small space – just a sleeping pod, of a size big enough to fit one person, crowded in by two closets and a desk opposite it, from which you can see the small window you have, one of the luxuries of being a Captain. Space floats by, constantly revolving behind the enameled glass of it, equally as mesmerizing as the eyes of the Engineer strewn across your bed, legs half dangling off the side of it.
“Off.” You point at the floor immediately, one hand already tugging at your own collar as you loosen up your uniform. Even in his state, his eyebrows furrow and his posture wavers, unsure of himself. That is, until your voice corrects him again, hands too busy struggling with your gloves. “Off the bed, I said. Don’t be stupid.” You can’t see him, but you hear the shuffling behind you as you put away your gloves – your own suit following along, folded neatly on your desk before you turn around. Thankfully, your own suit is detachable, not the kind of overalls Engineer wears – so you’re able to just keep your pants on, alongside your boots. Swishing around, he’s on the floor – legs splayed out around him, leaning on his arms in front as they keep him steady, waiting on his knees with the look of someone who’s basically nervousness personified. Usually, you’d be pressed to hush him, and by god, do you want to, but this is his own fault. He doesn’t want to play into it? He doesn’t have to. But he’ll have to take whatever you give him, instead.
As you perch yourself on the side of your bed, ass on the edge of it and legs splayed out, the soles of your boots hitting the floor, you beckon him with your hands, a gentle ‘come hither’ motion with all of your fingers, a twitch and nothing more. The way he settles in between your thighs is even more akin to that of a puppy – the side of his face leaning onto the meat of your left thigh, face slightly tilted up, and when he tries to rest his arms on them, you push him back with minor force – enough for him to get the message and instead perch his anchors below himself, on the floor right next to your feet. You allow a moment of tenderness – just a sweep through his hair with your fingers as you cradle his face, your pointer fingers making up and down motions across the sides of his beard. He hums, content in your arms, sagging and visibly relaxing at even the smallest displays of affection, and for a second – it’s like that confrontation in the hallway never happened. But you can’t let it not. It was real, and he will bare the consequences of it. (Or else you'll explode. Or fall apart. Or something worse. You can't take much more before you turn feral. Funny, that you'd called him sensitive, that you'd indulged in it - when really, the sensitive one is you. To him. Only for him.)
“I’ll be nice.” Your voice is harsh, a thin line he treads his way across, but one that cuts your flesh if you even dare to touch it, an almost invisible string he clings onto, bleeding continuously. “And give you one chance to explain yourself.” The look in your eyes is almost predatory, almost scolding, but hot and glaring, such an opposite of his – hungry versus giving, guarded versus open, steady versus nervous. (You’re going to ruin him without even trying.) “One.” Tapping your finger on the side of his face as you say so, you emphasize the statement with it. “Go on. Speak.”
Engineer licks his lips as he stares at you, eyes flicking down and up your torso. It’s not a sure way of figuring out what he’s thinking about – is he pondering what to say, or how to say it? Does he even have an excuse? Does he even know why he’s not that into it, or is it an unexplainable thing? (Are you being too harsh with him?) “I… just-“ He sighs, blinking as he does so, gently gnawing at his bottom lip with the corners of his canines, “It’s not that I’m not- into it, I just-“ Your fingers never cease their movement, slow and reassuring. Cradling your own world, creating a bubble within a bubble – one he could possibly feel safer in than outside in the hallway. The quarters are soundproof, after all. “I feel like, you could fill that role better than me, Captain.”, he admits sheepishly, a small smile peeking out before he turns out of your grip, smushing his face into your thigh, suddenly embarrassed.
Wait, what?
You squint your eyelids together as you gaze at him, trying to process what he'd just said. You, better than him at- at- what? At being in charge? You're in charge all the damn time, so much so you'd think he'd get sick of it by now - but he wants more? He wants you to be mean? Or coddling, he didn't specify. But, he wants more. More of what you already do. (More of you. Of what he tells you you are.) "Hm.", you hum, trying to chew through your own emotions like a particularly gamy piece of meat. Your heart, racing at least a million miles per minute - or so it feels like - pounds away in your chest, and you feel your face getting warmer. He, that- that kind of behavior, that kind of ask - that implies he trusts you with that sort of thing. And while, yes, you'd been a Captain as long as you can remember career-wise, this is different. This is more. This is torture and love combined into a ring of thorns on your and his head, a bundle of roses you keep holding onto with threaded through hands, even as their spikes stab through your fingers, your palms, and exit cleanly on the other side. Your core is throbbing, and the thigh his head is pressed against is somehow, now, hesitant in its solidity.
Fuck, that's hot.
He's hot. Your brain is turning into mush. It's all you'd feared - losing control, with him. With him in the room. With him as the witness. With him as the victim. It hits you so hard you almost lose track of your steady breathing, there - a solid smash against your torso that sucks all the air out of you. Your thoughts, as rampant as bunnies in heat, circle around your head, skipping stones across the river of your self-control and giggling at your misfortune. His face is ethereal when he looks back at you - a small, fluttery smile and glossy eyes, a nuzzle against your leg. You want to reach out and break his neck with a sick, reverberating crack and pop - he's so cute and perfect and wonderful- it makes you violent. It makes your eyes twitch, it makes the muscles underneath your skin squirm, stretch and massage themselves into readiness, awaiting the pounce. Salivating, sniffing him out like a shark out for blood, you're swallowing every few seconds and pressing your teeth together in order to not rip into him. (Sensitive, indeed.) "Elaborate." The voice you call out to him with is harsh, and gasping, though it may translate as growling or threatening, you think the moment it exits your mouth, through your teeth - despite this, you can't force yourself to care, in all your valiant efforts to keep yourself grounded. He blinks up at you, and your lip trembles in an attempt not to start panting on the spot. "Because you're, you know-", he licks his lips, and you know he doesn't do it intentionally, it's one of his ticks, it's one of his quirks, you know that, you know, you know- "- so good at organizing us. At running this ship. I know you don't think so, but-" His eyes, that melted, golden hour kind of brown that sinks into your skin like a parasite, a poison, and it hurts how much you love him- "I see you, Captain. I trust you. I love the way you lead us. And, honestly - I kind of, get a bit, uh, hot, under the collar, you know- watching you. So, I wanted- when you, wanted-" His breathing picks up a bit, picking his words carefully now, "I couldn't. I never could have done it better than you could have. That you can. I'd buckle." A chuckle from him at that, unsure, bordering on awkward, muffled and quickly waning.
Your stare is trained on that one spot - where his hands are spread across the linoleum of your quarters, wriggling every few seconds - not enough to make him unsteady, but enough to show some degree of discomfort as he rests the weight of most of his torso on his fragile wrists. "I know that maybe you'd want to take a break from being Captain-", and you already know what he's going to say. But you've made up your mind. Your hand strikes, unrepentant and swift, grabbing at the softness of his skin, intrusive and exuding pressure where it grips his jaw, hard enough to break off his sentence. "Quiet.", you grit through your teeth, as harsh as a landslide during a mountain climb and as omnipresent as the midday sun during a heatwave. You can't break off the gaze you share - you can't take your eyes off him. You physically can't. Your resolve is nothing but dust. You can't. You can't do anything. It's his fault. This is all his fault, his fault, his fault - "You're going to unbuckle my pants, now.", you whisper menacingly and watch his eyes open a bit wider than before, his cheeks biting into his eyes with the force they're being pushed up with. "And you're going to suck me off." You blink every now and then, but now - you're looking at him like a deer in headlights, and one that's intending to pierce the floodlights of his car with its antlers, no matter the cost. Just to spite him. Just for the violence of it. The one that covers your teeth in that sweet, addictive adrenaline. "Because you're good for me. Aren't you?" His breathing is fast and beating drums against his chest, deep and full from what you can hear. Like a panicked butterfly about to get pierced, about to be preserved for a collection. But you'll burn him before he even gets into the box. He nods his head vehemently, or as much as he can against the obstruction of your hand.
Suddenly, you let go without any warning, and he collapses against your legs like a man dying in a war. Your intense gaze never leaves him - lathering oil against his skin with your eyes, your fingers matches that are aching to flicker and crackle into light, bring your face closer to it so he can see what he has created. With a gulp, he slithers up and slowly, slowly, finds the zip of your pants - the teeth of it separating with an almost silent riiiiip. Thank god for these easy-to-remove suits. Thank god, you utter in your head, from where you can feel every cell in your lungs as they constrict and expand, punching through you. Engineer seems intimidated, for a second, and looks up to you for guidance. "What?", your eyebrow raises almost instantly, cocky and unabashed. "Need a tutorial? We've done this before." He squirms a bit, and his chest sways as he readjusts himself - and by every deity that exists, you're going to start crying in a second, your confidence and dignity be damned. Lucky you that he can't see that. His eyes bear into you, as if his gaze has x-ray vision, watching the way the saliva you force down trickles down your throat. Fuck. "Can- can you-", he bites his lip mid-sentence. He looks like a virgin again - though you know he isn't. This isn't your first time, and if this keeps up, you're in for the long haul - because if he keeps looking that good, you might not last long at all. "Can you- guide me?" His voice is almost breathy as he looks up at you, tongue catching on the side of his mouth, licking around his right canine, a visible bump underneath the cover of his lips. "Please, Mommy/Daddy."
FUCK. You sure as hell hope this ship has some heart medication the way he keeps talking to you. Did he remember to include that? He should have, if he was planning this. If he was assuming that anything like this would be even a possibility, even have a chance of happening. Oh, you're almost getting dizzy.
But you try, with everything you have, to not let it show. Fuck. This isn't good. This is so bad. The way he's looking at you, big orbs and licking at his lips- "Hmph… Fine." You relent, almost barely on the outside, but inside you're screaming. Anything he wants, oh god, everything, just keep looking at me like that- Your fingers envelop the side of his face in a cradle again, and- "Open uuuup-" You singsong as you wedge your thumb in between his lips, tracing the edges of his gums where they meet his teeth before he even opens it up, forceful and almost wrenching his jaw agape. The inside of his mouth is what it should be, but so erotic in the moment presented - sticky, and moist, and when he opens it, the puff of air that exits him is so, so, warm against your skin. Good fucking boy. "You want me to fuck your mouth or d'you want to do it yourself?" Your voice is sickly sweet as you address him, like a finely trained hound, and for a moment you have to stop yourself, reminding yourself that the question isn't rhetorical, that it doesn't present an illusion, but an actual choice. Though, he had chosen, hadn't he? (Stop. You need consent. You need to give him a choice, no matter how eager he is. No matter how hungry his eyes look.) "Wan' t' do it my-hayself." Engineer heaves out between the prodding of your thumb against his tongue, soft and juicy, would feel so good against yours- "Come here, then."
He nudges himself closer to the point he's almost pressed fully against your sex, that which has obviously been paying attention, and you have to remind yourself to take it slow. Slow, slow. Before your heart gives out. Or before your hands no longer know what the concept of 'control' means. You have to grip the sheets behind you, the hands crinkling the pristine surface, the floor-length mirror you have reflecting the both of you from where it's positioned, next to the exit, a pretty picture of sin - like you're the Devil and he's your willing victim."Here, baby." You mumble, somehow finding some inkling of care beneath all that raw pain (both which you want to cause and that which he's causing you currently), hushed and sweet as you grip the back of his head to guide him. (God, his hair is so smooth, so silky, so beautiful, so perfect, so tuggable, so breakable-) "You focus here, with your tongue." You guide his head to the spot you want, that one that makes your toes curl and your fist slam against the mattress. You know he knows it - but playing dumb never hurt anyone, did it? Or maybe he has forgotten. That slam against the wall when you caught up to him might've done something, or- has this rendered him as dumb as it has rendered you sadistic? You wouldn't blame him.You wouldn't blame him for anything. (Your boy, your boy, your boy-) "All of it. Press fully, with all of it, sweetheart." Where are these nicknames coming from? Has he made a sleeper agent out of you?
Everything disappears as he leans in even closer, tongue flat against where you wanted it most, and draaaaagging it against the surface of you, slow and steady, and purposeful. The squeak you produce when you press your own tongue against the bottom of your front teeth might as well be praise, sharp enough to embed the traces of your own ivories into the supple flesh of your mouth. He's taking his sweet time, all the while looking up at you, and you want to kill him. The feeling is getting worse. Fucking tease. "Good, good boy. Mommy's/Daddy's good boy." With the expanse of your palm, you pet, from the back of his head to the crown of it, back and forth - slow and solid as he is, and oh. He whines, pathetic and squirmy and so terribly aroused. You know. You've heard it before - but not at this stage. Not while he's sucking you off. Not during foreplay. What the hell is happening? "H-here-" You're almost trembling. The need to punch yourself, to kick something, to break, to lash out, is almost unbearable. Slow, slow. "Suck here, honey." Oh, and that hits the spot - his lips, velvety smooth, puckered up against where you want them most. Opening his mouth every so often, the breath hitting you like lightning, causing you to shiver and almost, almost buck up into him before you halt midair, your will that of gently disintegrating steel. Engineer chuckles against your skin whenever you do, and you tug at his hair in retaliation enough to give him the need to inhale again before diving back in. Fucker. He wants to laugh? He thinks torturing you is funny?
It takes you minutes, that feel more like hours, of him licking and pushing, of squirming and breathily, lowly, moaning against you, before you're ever ready to say what you'd meant to say since he brought it up - since you'd agreed, maybe not verbally, but fuck. How could you say no? How could you ever?
"This is how this is going to work." Don't pant, don't. Deep breaths. You're sweating already, at the smooth glide of his unmarred tongue, the taste buds of him bumping against you in a barely noticeable scrape. Shit. "You're either- you're going to tell me-" Gulp. "You're going to tell me how you want me." An inhale through your nostrils, and a refocusing of your eyes on the target, exactly when he twists his face to he side to look at you from below you, exposing his neck as if he wants you to bite him. (Don't, don't. Don't. Slow.) "I can be benevolent, coddle you, play nice with you-" Your fingers tread through his locks, and he moans absentmindedly at the action, the sound echoing against your shaking flesh and feeling dangerously like the delicious blade of a knife. "Or, I can punish you, like I intended to." A puff of air passes through your lips. "Since this is our first, like this, you can choose." Blinking rapidly, you begin counting your teeth with your tongue - anything to stop you from thinking too hard about how he's fully, open-mouthed, pressed against your sex. (You didn't instruct that. You didn't, but- fuck- oh, you're gonna lose it. That's not fair.) "And we need to talk about- about this." Your hands are shaking. "After. What this means for us. That's an order." He departs from the tenderness of you with a passing kiss to where he was just devouring you moments prior, and where you're so used to hearing 'Yes, Captain.', instead - "Yes, Mommy/Daddy." The inhale you take in is sharp, like ice in your veins. That's not fair. Especially as he smiles like that, the picture of innocence. As if he isn't the most tempting thing in the universe. (At least if he is, it's only for you.)
You sit there for a second - your own undershirt slightly sweaty and wrinkled where it raises on your heaving chest. The same issue off-white he wears, though- his contains his body, and as you glance at it, it feels like your retinas are on fire when you catch sight of his constricting and shortly after relaxed chest, of the scrumptious press and the wrinkles made by the tautness of his skin, from his shoulders that press the meat there together, tighter, tighter. You could cry. This can't be- not this soon- "S-so?" You gulp. Fuck, don't stutter. You're in control. He whines against you, a rebellious cat that has food being dangled in front of it. "I don't know, Mommy/Daddy. What if I want both?" He's cocky now, assured that you want this. Brat. He's testing your limits - you can see it in his eyes, smell it on his skin, touch and plunge into the essence of it through the roots of his teeth - those which scrape against his bottom lip. There's a wicked sort of glee in his eyes - and really, you were right with that whore thing, even as it stung somewhat, feeling mean and ill-deserved. No, he is. He really is. You almost want to laugh at it, but you're not that kind of person. You're not the kind of person who can handle laughing at someone who's only a few centimeters away from making you cum. You're not strong enough. For a flicker of a moment, you wish you were. (But that's why you wanted it in the first place, before it was reversed on you, no? You love being under him as much as he loves being under you. That, you can understand perfectly well.)
"Then I'll decide."
The sound of your announcement vibrates through him, so much that it's visible. Vengeful, you reach out for him, gripping at the hair on his forehead when you jerk his head back. "I'll decide, and you won't get a vote. Would you prefer that, huh?" It's blazing, the way the words exit you - like bullets, grinding teeth and factory settings thrown to the wind. When you get up, you drag him along with you - but you don't make it far. You don't need to. Just enough where you can get up, the positions reversed, and truly, you're dangling it in front of him now. He wasn't meant to be cocky. Had he just been good- (And a part of you thinks, maybe this is brash, impulsive. Maybe you're overreacting - but he's been teasing you, all, day, long. However unintentional it may or may not have been.) When he doesn't answer, fixated on your movements, transfixed and frozen besides the way his pupils follow you, your anger flares up. "Well?" you challenge, but it doesn't deter him. He's barely looking at your face, barely detecting words - and that pisses you off and turns you on beyond belief, which only inspires more anger, more displeasure. You grunt, disappointed and annoyed in equal measure.
"I'll take that as a yes."
When your sex comes in contact with his mouth again, it's filthy and disgusting - a shove that makes him gag instantly, the force too much, too soon, and then a rutting that doesn't leave him even a second to recover. But you hardly care. This was meant to be from the beginning - why did you ever stop bullying him like you started to out into the hallway? He proves, time and time again, that he barely deserves it. Pretty privilege, your ass. Even the most gorgeous of people can be trained into shape, and if he really insists on it. Well. Then it's his own damn funeral. "Come on, baby, just like I showed you." You mock, ruthless, because what you showed him is in no way connected to what's happening now. What you showed was slow, gentle, unraveling, barely noticeable but creeping. This? This is taking. This is redemption. This is horrible, the cold truth of what he is, and this- this is punishment. This is retribution. His tongue is almost clumsy in its approach, barely coherent - but you don't need him to be, not fully anyhow, as you grind, restless, over and over against his face. You almost worry about him breathing, but in your leaning to this side and that, you can tell he is breathing - shallow, but there. He'll live, you convince yourself. And just like that, from a dipped toe, you're fully sending yourself down, head first into the vat of blood. His blood? Yours? Who can tell anymore? You'll end up as one either way. Engineer's moaning against you, a man depraved, a man restrained and then led into a field of temptation, a feast most ravenous. Almost as if he's grown teeth sharper than usual as he keeps devouring senselessly.
"Oh, fuck- oh, I- shit-", you're stuttering above him, hips almost giving out, close to completion. Then, you feel him - hands moving from the floor and gripping your thighs when he pushes you further against him, squeaking here and there, high-pitched and pathetic, whiny in his core, a hare with its leg in a bear trap, or at least, pretending to be one. It's getting warmer, the closer to the inside of his mouth you get, like the belly of the beast, a molten heart. You're getting dizzy from the heat, from the feel, from the glue that slathers against you from his tongue, and he moans, and- and-
When you cum, you feel like you're dropping your own soul down his throat, stomach muscles constricting and breathing halting for a good ten to twenty seconds as your mind blanks. He moans against you when you do. Tabula rasa - a wipe and it's all gone, and your vision gets blurry for a moment or so there. Your knees, so firm before that, bend and shake, and as much as you force yourself to try to stay composed, you can't- you can't - You bend your hand into a fist, and bite down, hard. It hurts, and while it doesn't draw blood, it steadies you, to some extent. "Oh fuck, my boy, good boy, oh fuck- Engineer- oh, fucking hell-" You're babbling, the sound muffled and stringy through the bones, meat and skin of your knuckles, your own saliva slipping through the cracks of your half-open mouth, like you're infected with rabies. (Aren't you? Feral thing.)
You stay there, at least for a few moments more until you can breathe. Your finish crashes in well-paced jumps over you, bolts of lightning in an otherwise unobstructed field, and you can't help the panting that thunders across your hand. Your nether regions are still tingling - from the scraping of his teeth against it or from the friction of his beard, you can't tell. The feeling slowly glides over you as they grow less and less numb. Then, slowly, you detach - the trail of his saliva, where before metaphorical, now literally leaves a connecting point from your sex to his tongue. He looks… fucked. Genuinely. His eyes are unfocused, and where now, he at least is looking at you, he almost doesn't see you, dizzy until he restarts, licking the remains of you off his own lips with precise, pedantic movements of his tongue. And what remains they are - the entire lower part of his face is splashed with what you expelled - as if he's marked. The way he tastes it, like he's trying to dissect it, invites both dark intrigue and giddiness, thinking about it, in his own world. "See, sweetheart?" You tap at his chin, inviting attention, which he gives almost immediately - curious and slightly swaying, careless in his actions, but eager. Blinking up dumbly at you, a languid kind that makes you think about cats blinking in the same manner to show affection. "That's why we don't giggle and laugh at Mommy/Daddy. That's why- we're thankful for what we get, whatever it may be." You smile down at him, the picture of a saint in hell, of a well-off hunter coming back to the den, satisfied. "Learned your lesson?" He sniffles at it, eyes still half-empty and dumb. "Yes, Mommy/Daddy." The mumble he produces as he utters the response is sluggish, almost lazy.
It catches your eye just barely - a sweep over him, not meant to happen, but an almost instinctual thing - there's a dampness in his overalls, right in between his legs- "Oh, did you cum, baby?" Your voice is coddling, almost mocking, but not enough to really be - the kind of voice that comes from the roof of your mouth, sweet and enduring, everlastingly patient. "Didya cum from sucking Mommy/Daddy off?" As you regale him, your hand finds the side of his face again, and lets him rest it there. What a sight he is - drooling, messy, lost, and by the looks of it, the picture of a man who barely noticed he'd even cum, too drunk on your form to think about anything else. The kind of sight that fills you up with slowly boiling pride, stretches your smile into something wicked and dark, darker than the void of space you so dearly know, darker than the ink of your star maps. Dark like the gaps between your teeth, dark like the insides of your innards, unseen by the human eye. "'M sorry, Mommy/Daddy.", he blushes up at you, twisting his head 'round in a weak attempt at covering his face, but without any willingness in his hands for them to actually move and help him. "Mmmm, my poor thing. I don't mind."
Now that the edge has been taken off, your mind sharpens, less angry and impatient, and more strategizing and keen to please, keen to slump down and trail after your prey. (Keen on torturing him further, if you could call it torture.) Head staying perfectly still, but the rest of your body curling around what you want, feline-like and hyper-focused. Attempting to step towards your closet, removing your hand to fetch a towel, you release him for a moment. "Just gonna have to clean you, sweet-" "No!", he yelps, tugging at the pants that threaten to fall off your hips, and then, noticing he's tugging them down, twisting around your leg, rendering you immobile. You turn in temporary agreement, peering down at him as he looks as if he's going to cry if you try to wriggle out of his grasp. "Mommy/Daddy, I'm so- I need- please-" Where you'd turned your body sideways to walk properly, you now turn towards him, if only to bend down and enclose his face in your hands, providing a shield above him.
"What, baby? Tell Mommy/Daddy."
Engineer whines at that, a crybaby that melts in between your palms, and for a second you don't know if he's playing it up or not. He's always careful, you know that - a genius behind a glassy, open smile, a chess player in mind, and a lover in body. But with you? It's like he lets himself go, becomes a puddle of feeble emotion, or a rock of sturdy arguments, but always, always, honest. And now? That makes you suspicious. He's so weepy, so small - is this his true self? Or is he playing it up for your sake? That wouldn't make sense - this is for him. But then again… "M-mommy/D-daddy… I need- I'm so- empty. I need, you." He gasps lightly in between his words, like a rush he isn't able to get out completely without a hiccup or two. "I want- want-", he mumbles into your leg - his knees sprawled onto the floor in such a manner that it would be hard for him to get up even with help, seemingly helpless and so, so clingy. So cute. "Want to play some more?", you urge, thumbs caressing the sides of his face, a slow act of worship. Your lips pucker up lightly of their own volition, an unwilling pout strewn across your visage. Engineer nods back, the weight of him ever-present against your hands where they glide against him, resting against you, pushing himself into you. Like a tiny, free rag doll, loose and dependant. "Of course, precious. Just give me a second, huh? I need to wipe you down first." Tenderly, you release him - gradually removing your hands from him, gliding them down to his neck and pushing yourself off from his chest. Thankfully, he catches on - letting you go as well as you continue to coo at him. "After all, you were so good in taking that. A reward for you, maybe? If you can be good." When you glance at him, he nods again - now without the support of your hands, more rhythmically than before, silent but loud in the way his eyes trace over you when you step away from him.
As you rummage through the built-in closet, searching for soft enough cloth for him in your modest collection of towels (and pulling out your water bottle from where you'd left it when you were getting your clothes on in the morning, thanking whatever made you leave it there, pouring some onto the towel itself), you can't help but giggle inwardly at the fact that - how dog-like was that? For someone who gets at least mildly upset at being called a puppy, or a golden retriever, he sure does act like one. Down to the bone. (Even further - down to the bone marrow.) You remember to zip yourself up while you're at it, cleaning yourself off quickly so you can focus on him properly after.
He sits patiently on the bed when you twist back, a gentle smile on your face, as opposed to his nervousness, that has seemingly made a comeback - but which softens when it catches up with who it is exactly that's handling him. His foot is tapping in a constant, stress-filled rhythm across the floor, hands twisting and fingers fiddling in his lap before he raises his gaze. "Your overalls need to be off, darling.", you remind tenderly, tracing the line of the strap of his undershirt, on the outer side where his sleeve was meant to be starting, and where it makes itself sleeveless instead. A small 'oh', and he's getting up, slowly stripping. For a flash you catch yourself - thinking about the way he did that without even thinking about his privacy, without any shame - but then remind yourself you literally just came across his entire face. Where in the hell do you get off reminding him about his privacy? You pinch yourself for that one on the inside, a small warning into staying present. While you look at him strip, soaking in the view like a sponge that hasn't seen any liquid in decades, you can't help but rake your eyes over him. The way the muscles of his back constrict as he moves - smooth skin, not entirely muscle-filled inside, but with a small, semi-thin layer of fat underneath - enough to look gentle, enough to flex and look more than his relaxed size should the occasion ask for it. The way his hair licks at his nape, tickling the part where it tapers off into the rest of his neck. The way his forearm bones are almost visible when the muscle of them flexes, connecting securely to his elbow but showing when he shakes off his undershirt, thrown to the side into a bundled mess of clothes. You'd usually click your tongue at that, but you'll let it slide. This time. He must be tired, and well - you're eager to get him clean...er- as much as he is, you're sure.
"There you go. Sit." You coo, and he's on the bed as soon as you said it. Such an obedient sweetheart. You're standing above him, now - in between his legs as you brush across his face with a dampened towel. His eyes sparkle in that way they do when he wants something, and when he wants it bad. But he'll have to wait. At least until you're done. "Good boy.", you praise freely, "Need to clean your face first, so stay still, 'kay, bubs?" The constant overindulgent nature of your pet names is becoming second nature, and you can't tell whether you should let yourself love that or try to restrain yourself. Usually, you'd be even more frequent with it, were the decision up to you - but you know he can get embarrassed with those sorts of things. Sometimes. Sometimes he leans even further into them. Will you ever know such things with him? Or is that the surprise every old couple keeps talking about, something that keeps you on your toes no matter how many years pass between you?
The brush of the cloth you hold is pressing, but not by much - no matter how much you know he could handle it even if you scrubbed at his face, now… Now doesn't feel like the time to do that. You know he's eager, that he's waiting, and you want to hurry - really, you do. But this moment is too raw, too fresh to not take your time. So, with small increments of skin covered, you wipe with dabbing movements across his face. Starting with his lips - a slow, long swipe across his bottom lip, more force against his beard. After all, that would catch more liquid, no? And if it dries… well. You've seen him fresh faced and shaved before, and he's still handsome then, but you know he'd mourn it. At least for the few weeks it needs to grow back. Silly man. "Captain?", he pipes up, quietly, and you notice he's been watching you this entire time, while you - you'd been sinking into the domesticity of it, if even somewhat, too trained on cleaning him, too diligent, too hyper-focused. Sometimes, that's your main flaw, instead of a virtue. "That's not my title.", you shoot back without skipping a beat. He wanted more, didn't he? Wanted to spend more time entangled together in the same bed? Then it isn't over. Not until he says so, or you do. He gulps as you continue your tapping motions, dragging his skin slightly with them before the cloth disconnects from it, squirming almost unnoticeably where he sits. (You swear he's trying to rub his thighs together, but one sharp look at his legs and they halt, relaxing again.) "Mm, Mommy/Daddy." "Hmm?", you respond, a hum that vibrates your throat enough to be comfortable. "Kiss, please?" At the end of the question, his voice turns slightly higher, a leashed, barely contained ball of nerves and anticipation. A smile graces your face effortlessly, something small and reserved for him. "Of course, honey."
You connect without issue, the motion so natural that for a moment you're unsure whether you even had to think about doing it. His face is mostly clean now - the cloth clutched in your hand in a bundle, leaning onto his shoulder with the hand that holds it and leaving a wet spot across it. His lips are soft - softer with the addition of the water, but when are they not? He inhales as soon as your lips hit his, leaning into it even more, as if he was just waiting for you to give permission. For you to descend onto him, to give him a taste before he decides he wants more. It's short, and sweet, for the most part - a little bit more than a peck, a little bit less than an open-mouthed kiss. If it were up to him, he'd love to keep you there, and sure enough, his hands are already reaching for your shoulders before you take action and move away, the singular taps of his fingers skidding across it giving him away. "I think that's enough.", you mumble, looking him over. As soon as you see him begin to frown, though, you hurry to correct yourself. "For the- cleaning, for your face, I mean. I have to clean the rest of you." Instantly, the expression dissipates, an exhale and a small "Oh." before he relaxes again. "Don't worry, I'm not leaving. Don't worry, don't worry.", you reassure when you reach out to glide your hand across the crown of his head and through his locks, the volume of your voice lowering as you continue repeating it, hushed and secretive.
Maneuvering him over to lay on the bed, you settle beside him, and with the precision of a well-trained nurse (or, what you imagine they'd be like), begin to glide over him with the towel. He really has made a mess - though the stain was almost circular, smaller - the actual liquid that stained his underwear is much more than what showed on the outside, almost reaching his happy trail. (You're chewing your lip as to not just swallow him right there and then, past your gag reflex and spraying down your esophagus-) Of course, he shifts constantly - and when you look, stare sliding over to him without moving your head, his hand is clenched across his mouth, head and neck twisted to the side as if he's embarrassed. But he isn't - you know that - it's more about the restraint. Something you have in common, sadly. As much as you know yourself, you know him too. And telling him to look at you, to pay attention - it would only bear fruit for a few seconds before he's unwillingly twisting, the blush progressing from his cheeks and down his entire body, brain almost melting from the intensity of it. You don't need him melting, not yet. And so as you clean him - well, if you press harder, that's anyone's guess. You certainly won't be telling anyone anything. Gradually, you include your other hand - the cloth slowly slipping away in the middle of it. And with the ministrations, constantly gliding across him with smooth motions, the water helping the slide, he hardens more with each second. (So fast, you giggle inwardly. How adorable.) "Mmm-", he nearly moans properly, with full lungs and a hazy mind, before it tapers off into a low groan, and oh- that's delicious. You hold him securely, wrapped around him while your thumb forces itself, attempting to slot itself against his tip in the same manner as if it were trying to become one with him.
"Engineer."
Only now that you've somewhat deterred him in fully coming back to himself, do you attempt to capture his attention - vixen-like and cheating, devious in your pursuit. The expression on his face twists into something pained, you can tell from his muscles shifting, from where you can see the side of his face not covered up by his hand, and a low "Hnngh-" of struggle that reverberates from his chest. Speaking of his chest, it moves incessantly - only further proving your admiring of him as it showcases his pecs in the most delicious way, making your cravings even worse than before. You know they're sensitive, he's told you so. And you've discovered so before. And that - that makes it a tragedy that you can't be latching onto him immediately. "Baby, are you ignoring me?", you ask instead, low and treading into dangerous territory, a warning laced in pretty-sounding words. Urgently, he whips towards you, but his expression remains the same - eyes squinted and only one of them at least decently open, eyebrows pushing into the skin of his forehead, pushing the skin in between them into folds - but pretty ones. Like he could be anything but pretty, no matter what emotion he was portraying. (Even his crying is pretty, though you shouldn't think that.) His lip wobbles when he addresses you. "N-no, sorry, Mommy/Daddy." "Mmm.", you hum, satiated for now with that, and then continue, "Tell me what you want. You do want something, don't you?"
The way you're staring is less voracious now, more possessive - a golden bird in a gilded cage of steel and titanium, a pretty, soft body in drug-laced chains and silken restraints. Restraints that may or may not be just your hands. There's something dark behind all that - besides the most obvious darkness. There's a corruption there, a lead-like substance, threatening to infect him. To make him as vile as it has you, the cosmopolitan, luxurious opium to his clean, hard labor and harder joy kind of existence. "Tell me.", you push. He squirms further when you squeeze at him, beginning to flick your wrist with a constant focus at his tip, the most sensitive spot - and he almost jerks back violently at that, before coming back to look at you again. Good. He didn't forget. "M-Mommy/D-Daddy…", he pants into the open air, eyes pointed in your direction but not really looking at you, lost in his own world. There's a sheen of sweat that glistens across the span of his biceps, the one that's connected to the hand that's shoved against his face. A few droplets graze across it, a soft rain-against-the-window movement, and you get the urge to reach out and lick it off him. (You don't, but by god, do you want to.) The process of getting him off is momentarily eased by his precum, that globs at where you're smearing it, first just the tip and then his entire dick. The pants he expels match the rhythm at which his dick throbs in your hand, red and pulsating against the softness of your palm. (You're not really surprised, up to a point, at the pace at which he'd become hard again. He's always been easy to arouse, easy to get off. At least with you. You don't really care about anyone else, that would just make you unnecessarily pissed off if you continued thinking about it.)
"Didn't you say you were empty?", you whisper in his ear as you lean close, towering over him without disconnecting your hand, the rapid movements of your wrist staying at the same modest pace - not entirely meant to make him cum, but enough to make it intolerable and itching, a constant pleasure that gradually thaws him into frustration. Your lips hover over his ear, even as he shrinks away from you, shies away from your warm breath. "Want Mommy/Daddy to fuck you? Want something inside you?", you mock, you taunt. Engineer, surprisingly, isn't someone to ask for such a thing - if anything, most of the time, even while he's under you, he's in you - so this is a rare treat you intend to take full advantage of. "Yes, yes, yesyesyes-", he hisses, and as extra incentive, you roll your fingers around him in that one way you know he absolutely loves, causing him to groan like a man dying, "Please, want to be full, wanna have Mommy/Daddy inside, want, please- please, want, want-!" He rambles like he knows he won't get it, when he fully will. Maybe even more than he bargained for, too much, enough to make him never ask for it again and enough to never stop asking for it. "Of course. You just have to ask, baby. Did we forget our manners already?" You smile against his neck, in between his legs when he wraps them around you, the air between you stuffy and hot, like a heatwave brought to life. You're sweating too, but mostly on your stomach - where the stickiness of his filth touches you and stains you, the kind of filth you'd love to taste. (Later.)
The question you posed is rhetorical, naturally. More of a reminder, a slap against his back instead of a real warning. A soft tap against his gray matter, a squeeze against his throat. Just a small notion. "Spread your legs for Mommy/Daddy, sweetheart." Instantly, his legs - which had been wrapped around you like a snake would be, anchored on your hips, with a shake, relent and slowly lean to the sides of you. Regretfully, you have to let go of his most tender parts to adjust him yourself, because you doubt he could do it himself. When you tap at the side of his thigh, you meet his eyes before you can lower even further down- calling him to attention. "Color?", you inquire, hoping you're clear enough. The flicker of recognition in his eyes is what you're hoping for, and what he gives effortlessly. "G-green." A nod is all that's needed before you're back to your darkening persona, now reassured.
"You're so cute, baby.", you allow to slip past your lips as you tongue at his V-line, pressing open-mouthed pecks along his stomach - only mildly pudgy, in that way muscles are when relaxed, with a good amount of fat on top of them. Flush with your hand as it slips over it, yet fluid when his breath hitches at the action. Biting a hickey into the supple flesh, you delight at his breathy "Hah-" that rolls from the back of his throat and into the emptiness of the room. "Such a cute, cute little thing. You know, when you told me about this- this, what you wanted…" Your words are muffled against him, gently imprinting your teeth across his skin - not enough to hurt, but enough to feel, "I thought-" Exhaling harshly, you chuckle, "I was hurt, a bit, but now…" Laying smooth, quick kisses across the length of him, you can feel him shudder - that kind of chill that shakes at his spine, that traces against the bones laying there, "Now…" You're straying, trying to connect the moles he has into constellations, "Now I know that feeling was misplaced."
Delicately, you hook your hand into the crook of the underside of his right knee and push, push - until it almost kisses his ribcage. There's a dangerous glint in your eyes, and a helpless one in his. You're not even smirking anymore. Now, you're just observing. "Capt-ain?", he beckons, his voice worried - presumably at the notion of you being somewhat hurt by his actions, lagging behind in his auditory comprehension. "Don't worry, honey." Your eyes never leave his, looking up at him as you shove fingers in your mouth, lathering them up lewdly with your tongue, coating them in saliva. "I'm going to use that missing piece, to fuck you into the mattress." And only then do you smile. Soft, slow at pulling your face apart, small and half-absent, deadly. "Enjoy your reward.", you mutter, gliding your fingers, wetting his hole.
And then you plunge in.
His mouth opens, no noise exiting him when he's speared into. Your fingers aren't thick, per se, and you know that - but he hasn't been opened, well, you don't remember since when. It must feel so intrusive to him, or at least bigger than it would normally. Such a sensitive boy. So precious. The way you enter him isn't lenient, either - it's a forced push, it's a swift movement, meant to thrust the air out of his lungs and the blood from his veins. It barely gives him enough time to register it, already moving in and out of him at a moderate pace, uncaring of his emotions or comfort. Usually, you'd be gentler with him - hushing, small, amicable, loving on him as much as possible - but there's still something brewing right underneath your most exposed layer of skin, a kind of annoyance that doesn't make you want to lash out, but which doesn't leave you be either. A bug. An insect, burrowed into your brain and whispering nasty things into your prefrontal cortex. Your own pleasure is so far away from you, it may as well be detached from your body - the only sense of satisfaction coming from the way his body rattles in your bed, the way his sweat rubs off on you, the way his head jolts back against your pillow and the way your sheets will smell after you're done. Fuck.
It isn't long before you're adding another. His insides massage your fingers, almost sucking on them. You almost want to chuckle at that - if anything of his body's missed you, then this missed you the most. The very inside of him, connected to the rest of his innards, and that thought makes your vision haze over, pushing with a good, deep thrust into him, violently. The inside of him screams in joy at that, welcoming you and drooling around you. (Welcome home. Don't ever leave.) Your eyes roll back at the feeling before you refocus.
Engineer isn't doing well, moaning with half pained breaths interrupted by clattering moans as you scissor him, stretching him open, good and wide, before pushing in as far as you can go. This is, undoubtedly, at least to some part uncomfortable, you're sure, but he isn't complaining much. You're unsure if this is because he's too wrapped up in the feeling of something of yours finally, finally being inside him, or because he's trying to be good for you. Either one is possible, with his kind of behavior. His dick slaps against his abdomen as he's plowed into, your arm somehow harsher in finding his sweet spots, somehow more precise than anything else you could give him. It's a soft plap, plap, plap that intermingles with his breathing and the occasional moan and grunt, overlapped with the constant blubber of your name, your professional title, and "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy-/Daddy, Daddy, Daddy-". What a fucking freak. Your freak, you note as you lick over the his length, a smooth glide from the underside to the tip, never breaking that shattering pace. Cutie, the thought crossed your mind unwillingly, but not offensively as you suckle on the underside of his tip before moving onto the hole atop it, making space for the tip of your tongue. It's more of a distraction for you than it is for him - something to keep your mouth busy so you don't attempt to tear his skin off, but it gives you a rewarding result - a high-pitched keen that echoes throughout your quarters, bouncing off the walls and ending up back in your lap.
You don't stop laving it with attention when you insert the third finger - the thickness of them now considerable and more than noticeable when they pull him in with a come-hither kind of motion, crooking up into him, hooking him into you. Absentmindedly, you think about whether, if you left your fingers in there long enough, you'd be graced with the pleasure of fusing with him, but you snort that thought away. What a silly thing. (What a perfect fucking reality, being in him forever.) "'M- 'm-" He's trying to say something, but failing miserably. A part of you feels as though you know what he's trying to say, but you can hardly care as you pick up your pace, fully determined on fucking the words out of him. Engineer reciprocates in kind - bending your pillow to the side of his face and moaning loudly into it, for which the pillow is seemingly useless- the noise is loud enough to catch onto any passerby's attention when they pass by your room. Like you'd give a shit. Not when there's an angel in your bed, in your hands. Not when you're inside of him, in the unbearably warm heat, in the flesh of him, in the slickness and wetness of him. It's so warm. You could be in him forever. "Ha, hah, mmmn-", the volume of his voice increases, and you can tell he's close. Sweet boy. Doubling your efforts, your tongue spreads across him, lapping up whatever he can give, providing a soft and warm cubby for the half of him you have in your mouth to reside. All the while almost giving yourself a cramp with the speed with which you're pounding into him, and the pace makes the area so sticky it's as if it's dragging along with you, as if it doesn't want to let you go. Greedy, greedy, always greedy.
When he cums, it's as forceful as you'd been with him, but you don't mind. (Serves you right.) He's clutched the pillow with one fist, the other gripping the side of the mattress as if it wants to divide it from the bed frame, as if it wants to embed its claws into the bed frame itself, and he bucks up into your mouth so violently he inserts himself fully down your throat, making you gag and moan all at once. The fingers in his ass never leave him, either - just slipping a bit with the sudden movement, but you reinsert them immediately, slowly massaging against his prostate to lead him through it by the collar of his shirt. He stays like that - hips raised and clutching your midsection, curled around you as if the rest of the bed was burning him alive. His mouth remains open - gasping on air, away from you, until he slowly shrivels up into softness. His spend slides down your throat with ease, tart and sweet at the same time - coating the back of your throat, like a damned reward. For a moment or two, you swish it around in your mouth, just for a second longer. Tasting it. Writing down the fullness of it, the notes. It's been a while since you'd had the pleasure.
"I thought I told you before, pretty boy."
You smirk against his cheek when you finally settle against him, the shivering form of him closely snuggled into your arms, clutching onto you like a lifeline, breathing heavily, chest bumping against yours with every breath. Moving away slightly, with a gentle caress, you slide away the soaked hairs off his forehead, pressing a kiss into the crown of his head.
"Don't run from me in the future."
A smile lights up his face in turn, lazy but significant - you can feel it in the teeth pressed against your collarbone.
how has no one made this joke yet for that one moment or is this piece that unpopular :[
finnneeee, I guess I'll do it myself.
(as per usual, no reblogs without credit, no stealing, please and thank you!!)
anyways, I'm turning this oneshot into a series, finally. gonna be posting it on ao3 probably but also here, so. stay hyped?? I guess??
also for all my Dark enjoyers, yes, I remembered to leave the one piece of Dark without text for y'all. (throws the PNG into the fray) fight, dogs. (/affectionate)
i'm sorry if i made you feel like a carrier pigeon, b; not my intention. i'll leave my messages for the other anons in other adjacent asks next i do it, yeah? that way you're not just passing along messages :)
got distinctly reminded of that one scene from harry potter where ron and harry are right there and hermione just goes "i'm not an owl!"; still love ya though urchin
but the Captain would really need to step up, and remind Engineer that, 'didn’t you say you’d do anything for me?’ (yesss, blackmail him, Captain, blackmail him)
this is so cute lol
Engineer folding immediately would be the funniest thing
we mentioned so many AUs that I wonder how Rocky would fit into all of them. would they meet him when with Ryland? would they meet Rocky at all? or would someone else meet Rocky first before Ryland?
(seeing as he was already, in the movie, hesitant about jumping out of the Hail Mary in the first place, so maybe someone got to Rocky first, being braver? I can see the Captain doing that. didn’t they jump out of the Invincible II by themselves at some point, after all?)
yes! i think people (myself included) sometimes have the tendency to forget that rocky is older than all of them combined? i'd like think if rocky met the captain first they'd have a similar situation to that scene where rocky was actually pointing and ryland thought he was just tapping something out.
i feel like rocky could fix half the problems on the invincible and could point out a hundred more; but then also be a bit confused because why do humans do this this is so unnecessary to other more mundane things.
no, no, you're okay with the whole 'carrier pigeon' thing, haha. I was joking, but I must've not signalled it properly (because I just got up from bed then and I wanted to get the ask to you ASAP). you're fine doing it through my asks, my bad.
i'd like think if rocky met the captain first they'd have a similar situation to that scene where rocky was actually pointing and ryland thought he was just tapping something out.
oh, this makes me want to write a fic about Ryland x the Captain with that scene specifically so bad, but I have asks and other ideas to write >3< maybe some other time. regardless, that's adorable.
i feel like rocky could fix half the problems on the invincible and could point out a hundred more; but then also be a bit confused because why do humans do this this is so unnecessary to other more mundane things.
oh, definetly. definetly. the most random things too - I feel like, from Rocky's perspective, something that's completely irrelevant to us as human beings would be so important to him, and vice versa. so many cultural differences. has anyone made some headcannons about Eridian culture or am I just not that deep into the fandom yet? because that is an idea worth investigating.
surprise surprise, the reason i thought of this in the first place was the pilot (captain), scientist (ryland), and engineer (...engineer) line from the movie and i immediately went "HANG ON A SECOND."
And you knowww meee, love me some friends to lovers. (Even if it they do NOT START OUT AS FRIENDS. Enemies to lovers overrated, become friends first. Enemies to friends to lovers. GDYWUGAYDG)
It just hits harder when they're close friends with inside jokes before they realize, oh, they like this person. Plus, those friendships where they originally started by hating each other are so strong...
YES!! AGREE!! If there's an enemies to lovers, I always want them to become friends before lovers. so it's enemies -> friends -> thinking it's unrequited (my favourite) -> lovers
Also because friends to lovers (ESPECIALLY CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS?? GOD.) works better angst wise because you can add that element of a) i don't want to ruin what we already have, b) they don't like me that way, and c) after going through some arduous internal reflection that involved some jealousy and guilt right after--i've decided that i want them to be happy. i'll have to learn to live with that--even if they're not happy with me.
and the reveals are always so *chef's kiss*.
entirely self indulgent angst writer here; but i'd see engineer slowly backing off? after some time realizing why captain likes ryland and that he himself likes the mf he'd just be like "wait fuck what if... wait no..." and that small internal spiral he'd have--especially if they're already together, maybe, and they've gotten into a fight; because as much as engineer tries, he's still a tad possessive okay; there'd be that teensy element of what if they're happier without--until the captain stops him and goes "you know thats not true. that isn't how you think--pull yourself together."
and he'd puff out his chest and be like "wait what am i talking about it's Captain and Engineer tf??" captain just side-eyes him. "and ryland, yes, but still!"
but calling him out in a way that discredits his work, or his teaching career, or in any way insults his accomplishments? you, sir, are toeing the line, and Ryland will not have it at all. (and well, Engineer, I imagine - once he gets going, he can’t really stop. the Captain will have to intervene a lot, I’m afraid.)
definitely.
i think i mentioned somewhere before that this is where engineer is also running on fumes and is no way in hell going to back down--but somewhere in the back of his mind he's like, "this guy just called me a staggering waste of carbon and i want him to do it again." and he's probably only think about it later.
and even then, it's more in a like "why am i flustered?? what is wrong with me??"
especially in the earlier days--it'd be so fun to watch; captain, while internally panicking, is also relatively amused. they know engineer well enough to tell that the red by their ears isn't just from anger.
and mostly because a personal headcannon of mine is that ryland is still easy to tick off, he just regulates it better--especially because he was around kids. now that he's not though--the environment feels a little like he's back at the academe; like engineer was one of the people he looked up to booing him out of the academe (this is more based on the grace of the book, but you get the gist!)
all that being said, though, if the fight is ten times more serious (as in it gets personal), i don't think engineer would be flustered at all.
what i mentioned earlier about starting to slightly doubt himself? yes, yes, and yes:
but yes, inside jokes! I feel as though Ryland would be the one to make them, mostly, or the Captain, while Engineer seethes in the distance.
at a vulnerable moment, as a sort of peace offering when a fight goes too far, maybe Engineer’d pull it out as a reminder. as a sort of, 'this is how you tried to make us closer, remember how you care about me?’ and only then would some progress be made and some friendliness achieved, but it would be a long shot. a lot of fix-it moments, a lot of apologies, but they’d get there in the end, I think.
this is so :((
i can already imagine it. i feel like there'd be times that ryland pulls it out, other times engineer does, but it depends on who said what. one of them will find the other sitting on the edge of the dont go crazy room, feet dangling off the ledge, absentmindedly kicking their heel against the metal grate--and theyd sit there together in silence. captain watching them in the back probably doing bets with rocky on who'll give in first. it'll go on for a bit until one of them decides to speak. bonus points if they speak at the same time and do the whole "you go first" dance.
now im curious on ya'll's thoughts on when captain has had it.
has had it with mediating, or has had it with something else entirely--maybe being int heir head a bit, getting triggered by smth--and just can't stand the two of them right now.
-s
and mostly because a personal headcannon of mine is that ryland is still easy to tick off, he just regulates it better--especially because he was around kids. now that he's not though--the environment feels a little like he's back at the academe; like engineer was one of the people he looked up to booing him out of the academe (this is more based on the grace of the book, but you get the gist!)
did I hear college AU (or even the AU where they meet while working, maybe Captain showing Engineer Ryland's work while they're in training and then going to a convention because Captain is super eager and jumps at any opportunity to meet Ryland while Engineer tags along and that's how they meet?) with Engineer and Ryland being rivals? and Captain being a nerd for both of their respective fields???
captain watching them in the back probably doing bets with rocky on who'll give in first.
I WAS WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO MENTION ROCKY. (my beloved, Rocky, my favorite sedimentary rock alien amalgamation) what do we think about that? we mentioned so many AUs that I wonder how Rocky would fit into all of them. would they meet him when with Ryland? would they meet Rocky at all? or would someone else meet Rocky first before Ryland? (seeing as he was already, in the movie, hesitant about jumping out of the Hail Mary in the first place, so maybe someone got to Rocky first, being braver? I can see the Captain doing that. didn't they jump out of the Invincible II by themselves at some point, after all?)
now im curious on ya'll's thoughts on when captain has had it.
has had it with mediating, or has had it with something else entirely--maybe being int heir head a bit, getting triggered by smth--and just can't stand the two of them right now.
personally, I feel like it would be less of 'the Captain just wants them to kiss' and more of 'the Captain is tired of all the arguing'. sure, at first, it'd probably be funny to see them argue, their reactions and all, but to some extent I think Engineer is too proud to admit he likes anyone but the Captain (and that's mainly because somewhere deep down, I think the Captain knows, but doesn't bring it up unless they're already in a relationship) and Ryland is waaaay too shy to do anything. the guy had an S/O before but that failed - and for such a crucial reason that makes up such a large percentage of his personality. sure, you're all in some way connected to space, it's literally all of yours' professions to some capacity, but still, he'd probably feel self-conscious about dating in general after and is probably too used to being alone to even entertain such a notion. maybe he doesn't even treat it as an option, and all of the possibilities that he may like Engineer or the Captain go over his head (all the blushing, the nervousness when talking to them, how fun it is to actually argue with Engineer because finally, someone's challenging his intellect and up to a point, he'd missed that, etc.).
this is where I feel the Captain would have to intervene. sit them down for a chat, be firm and strict but also delicate as to not make them run off in awkwardness (like Ryland likes to do specifically). essentially, Captain becomes their couples' counsultant and would definetly need to put their foot down because 'guys, my head hurts from how much you keep yelling at each other and I can't do my work'. this is where denying affection comes into play - threatening Engineer with it (if they're in a relationship before getting with Ryland, and even if they aren't, you can threaten platonic affection) until this gets resolved, because let's face it - he's the main instigator. and he needs to calm, the hell, down! it's only fair. this would force Engineer to be nicer, and even if Ryland decides to start teasing to force the Captain to make their promise come true, if he ever got that confident, he'd have to suck it up. really, I think a good conversation would make everything okay and would force them to see the best in each other (later also being thankful to the Captain for 'setting them up' and including them in all that love), but the Captain would really need to step up, and remind Engineer that, 'didn't you say you'd do anything for me?' (yesss, blackmail him, Captain, blackmail him)
