[piphanies]

PIPHANIES PIPHANIES PIPHANIES PIPHANIES PIPHANIES

cécile ⋆ 9teen ⋆ she/her ⋆ black ⋆ occasionally inconsistent with posts but reqs will almost always be open 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 ⋆

; masterlist in progress ʚଓ

© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

—

[piphanies]

i just watched the movie ‘obsession’ and wow i have never been more psychologically unsettled

[piphanies]

i cant tell the difference between creating a masterlist and getting shaved down pipe cleaners shoved up my ass

[piphanies]

Hii, thanks for doing my request last time 💕 I was actually so happy!!

If it’s okay & if you have time, could I request bfJabber and the reader doing their nails together? I hope this isn’t too indulgent, 😭 I’m kind of bad at thinking of requests, in general I just want to read more of your writing.

— R U DOWN?: JABBER WONGER

[愛] content warnings - mentions of violence

[愛] a/n - so sorry this took so long, school has really burnt me out 🥹 haven’t been the best mentally either but i tried my best with this and as always feel free to lmk if you’d like it rewritten!! also i literally cannot land on a way to write jabber, he’s such a complex character to me so sorry if i seem inconsistent or inaccurate!!

jabber’s hands dwarfed yours—broad and heavy, the kind that made mankira look almost misplaced on him.

his palms were rough, worn down by too many fights to count. the skin was dry, faintly cracked in places, and every pass of your thumb caught on the subtle ridge of forming calluses.

you watched the sink water run pink, thin streams of crimson slipping between his fingers before disappearing down the drain. the pipes groaned, making the flow stutter unevenly.

slowly, the lines of his knuckles came back into view beneath the rinsing water. you tried to ignore the weight of his gaze against your temple, though you could already picture the smirk tugging at his lips. he didn’t flinch—just let the sting of the cold, unfiltered water bite into the cuts on his skin like it was nothing.

you shut the tap off and reached for an old t-shirt, patting his hands dry. your fingers slipped between his through the fabric for a moment before you pulled away.

“all done,” you said, glancing up at him. “want me to wrap ‘em?”

he was already sliding his rings back on, but they paused just short of his knuckles.

“nah, i’ll do it later.” his eyes flicked to yours, and he reached up, pinching your cheek between his fingers. “‘preciate you cleaning me up, though, baby.”

you pursed your lips and snapped at his hand, trying to bite him, but he pulled away just in time. his laugh followed as he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, arms crossed and pouting.

your fingers shook slightly as you dragged the tiny brush across your nails, the color laying down in an uneven, opaque first coat.

the polish was a little too thick straight from the bottle—half-dried thanks to a certain someone forgetting to screw the cap on all the way, letting the air get to it.

you blew gently on your nails, trying to hurry the drying process, your impatience starting to show. just as you reached for the bottle again, the old mattress behind you creaked, dipping under a familiar weight.

a sharp, feather-light drag traced across the bare skin of your arm, making you still. the flicker of surprise faded just as quickly as it came when you realized who it was.

“i’d appreciate it if you put your claws away, jabs,” you muttered, going back to your nails. “i’m in the middle of something.”

he chuckled low against your neck, the sound warm and close, before his teeth grazed just beneath your ear. it pulled a soft giggle from you despite yourself. he retracted mankira, his hands slipping beneath your shirt, the cool metal of his rings pressing against your skin and stealing your warmth as they settled there.

he eventually pulled his hands out, bringing them up to your face with his nails facing towards you. your eyes crossed for a split second as your eyes tried to focus on the sudden obstruction of your vision.

he closed and opened his hands, hooking his chin over your shoulder before speaking, “need you to fix my nails again, all pretty ‘n shit like you always do,” he requested, “messed em’ up in a fight again.”

you watched as his fingers grew restless at the absence of something to occupy themselves with, you lightly tapped your head against his and interlaced your fingers, leading them to rest in your lap.

you slowed your movements on purpose, careful with him in a way you weren’t with anyone else. his hands were big—too big, really—and they twitched every now and then like he didn’t quite know what to do with them when they weren’t wrapped around something in a fight.

“hold still,” you murmured, nudging his wrist when he flexed his fingers again.

“i am holdin’ still,” jabber grumbled, though he immediately went quiet after, like he didn’t want to risk you pulling away. his chin stayed hooked over your shoulder, breath warm against your skin, a low hum rumbling in his chest when your thumb pressed over one of the rougher patches of skin.

you reached for the small bottle beside you, twisting it open before brushing the polish across one of his nails. it looked almost funny—something so delicate against someone like him—but you didn’t laugh. you just focused, steadying his finger between yours.

though, you could feel him watching you.

it was hard to read him sometimes—no matter how well you thought you knew him. his personality had too many layers, and the way he carried himself, the way he moved through the world, often felt just out of your reach.

still, you’d started to notice a pattern. one that probably would’ve been obvious to anyone else long before it ever clicked for you.

he softened around you.

with the raiders, there were walls already broken down by default—but with you, it was different. it wasn’t just a crack here or there. it felt like his entire fortress, something usually so heavily fortified, had its gates thrown wide open, waiting for you to walk in and claim it.

in jabber’s mind, you were the most complicated kind of poison. he took a certain pride in the toxins he crafted for himself—carefully measured, controlled, designed to make him feel exactly what he wanted, when he wanted.

but you… you were unpredictable.

he had no control over you, no way to measure or contain you—and still, he let you run through his veins like something addictive. worse, he welcomed it. found himself content, even, with whatever consequences might come from it.

moments like this—quiet ones, where everything slowed down long enough to feel almost normal down here—were the only times he really let himself consider it.

what it meant to be vulnerable. what it meant to be free in that.

by the time his thoughts finally settled, his hands were still resting in yours, far steadier than usual, and you’d already finished painting all of his nails.

you capped the bottle, then reached up to tap his cheek, smiling when he leaned into it just slightly—like he couldn’t help himself.

“i’m done. you like ’em?” you asked, lifting his hands up for him to see.

he looked them over, humming low, dragging it out just a little. “mhm.” he flexed his fingers, watching the light catch the polish. “did ’em real good, baby. thanks.”

before you could say anything else, you felt his teeth at your neck—a light nip, more playful than anything—before he soothed it over with a kiss.

you melted under it anyway.

“i’m surprised you stayed so still,” you teased, voice lilting with something soft and mocking. “good boy.”

he huffed, but his annoyance didn’t seem sincere. “you say that like it’s a bad thing,” he shot back, twisting his wrists in your hold, testing your grip. “what if i’m into that, huh?”

you craned your head enough to get a good look at his face, your blank stare a contrast to the stupidly cocky grin he had plastered across his lips. you broke before he did though, giggling as you felt his fingers drum against your tummy.

“just overly freaky, goodness.”

© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[piphanies]

can u do tamsy x gn reader whos just as messed up as him but tries to hide it until it finnaly slips out, readers like the song come to me by bjork

— COME TO ME: TAMSY CAINES

[愛] content warnings - consumption of blood, morally gray characters, dark romance, obsessive behavior, power imbalance

[愛] a/n - i wrote this in the middle of the night, it’s not proofread i’ll do it when i wake up 🥹 as always, if this isn’t what you wanted feel free to let me know and i will gladly rewrite it

sins were a complicated concept.

your disobedience in regards to an all knowing entity results in an accumulation of highlighted misdeeds that follow you until they are combatted by a stronger good deed that will eventually allow for their dispersion.

the sphere was full of sinners, some just hid their ill intentions better than others. you, were no different and it didn’t change once you were tossed away.

but could your sins really be validated if you were carrying out good every day?

as a cleaner, being blessed with the ability to forge such a connection with an object that you can bend its abilities to it’s full potential—your priority is to help those who cannot help themselves, isn’t it?

of course it was.

but you can’t help but drink it in, those moments where you fail, when the suffering of another human is directly caused by a slip up of your own.

it builds fervency within your arteries, a passion overshadowing your will to protect blooms through the red rivers that make up all of you.

why must the misfortune of others, seem so fortunate to you?

your feet dragged as you rolled your shoulders, attempting to shake off the burdening weight that was dropped onto them.

the hallway was dim, with most of your subordinates and teammates having turned in for the night.

you blinked blearily, wanting nothing more to lay on the floor of your room and contemplate how to burn off the buzzing building in your abdomen.

you fumbled with the key, missing the jagged opening twice before hearing the satisfactory click ring in the hollows of your ears.

you did one last scan of the hallway, your eyes slid across the silhouette of a figure but the fatigue pressing onto your brain delayed your processing.

eventually your eyes doubled back, landing on the familiar figure approaching.

clearly your senses had been diminished by the prolonged hours of your mission, because you didn’t acknowledge his presence until he was mere steps away.

“hello, y/n,” he greeted, voice soft and polished despite the late hour.

you blinked once again, your tear ducts filling your eyelids with moisture in an attempt to combat the dryness.

“tamsy, hi..” you trailed off, clearing your throat and repeating yourself, “hi.”

he smiled, eyes surveying your body intently, lingering on a cut across your cheek. the blood was beginning to coagulate, he wanted nothing more but reach out and smear it across your skin.

“you look quite worn out, are you alright?” he questions with a tilt of his head, stepping closer.

the increased proximity makes you shift slightly, hand hovering above the doorknob.

you lick your lips, head craning slightly to catch his unwavering stare.

there was something so familiar in his eyes, but no matter how hard you tried to pry, you couldn’t seem to figure out the reason for the upbringing of such a feeling of pattern recognition.

you nodded, the movement strained and unclean, “i’m okay,” your voice came out as a whisper.

the hand opposite to the one hovering above the door was currently baring the press of nails against the supple skin of your palm.

tamsy’s smile never once cracked, despite your concerningly exhausted state.

“are you sure?” he questioned further.

his tone was a carefully curated melody of comfort, one meant to lower your guard. to coax you into his welcoming presence, like a wolf stalking for the soft skin of a lamb.

you swallowed, you hated how much he intimidated you—but most of all you hated how much you wanted to let him in. you shouldn’t do that, you tell yourself you aren’t allowed it. not a sinner.

you simply stare at him, making no attempt to answer the question. your hand lands on the knob, fingers twisting around the rounded surface. the door to your room opens slightly, you look inside for a moment before returning back to the man in front of you.

“you should come in.” you propose, although it doesn’t seem like an offer—more so, something you’ve already decided.

he smile widens, almost imperceptibly.

“pardon?”

he heard you perfectly fine.

your nervousness settles, you roll your shoulders again, the weights teetering off the edge of your shoulder blades.

“i said you should come in, tamsy,” you repeat, your nose twitches before following up your statement, “..please?”

his eyes sharpened; lashes fluttering as if to express his internal delight. you looked oh so vulnerable this way, it was truly a sight to behold.

he hummed, as if to cogitate, before responding,

“well, since you asked so nicely.”

his hand ghosts over the small of your back, encouraging you into your room. you try to mask the satisfaction glazing over your eyes.

you flick on the light, the bulb stutters before turning on. tamsy gently shuts the door behind him, following every move of your gloomy figure.

you sit yourself down on the floor of the middle of the room, not bothering for any formalities.

his amusement grows as he smoothly lowers his tall frame to the floor right in front of you.

you look up at him, your cleaner’s mask is beginning to leave an imprint on your collarbone from where it’s been pulled down and resting.

he leans forward and lifts it over your head, setting it on the floor beside you. at some point during the motion he must have shuffled closer, because now your knees are clearly touching.

his fingers glide up, brushing over your chest before landing on the marks across your collarbone. his hand rubs circles into the skin as if to soothe it. you practically purr at the contact.

you catch his eye again, there’s that look again. the one that’s so undoubtedly familiar. his eyebrows raise slightly, as if to allow you a pathway into his morality.

somehow that figurative push allows you to recognize that the presence of a wrongful nature is present within the both of you. isn’t it romantic?

that your shared adoration for the pain and suffering of others is what truly brings you together?

words don’t need to be spoken, years of refining the ability to perceive the tells of a person allow you to see what remains unspoken. verbally unacknowledged.

you lean impossibly closer, hands landing on his chest and sliding up to his shoulders. he allows you to straddle him, settling your wrung out body onto his much more stable one.

he’s finally able to do what he’d been wanting to do—his thumb sliding along the line of your jaw before settling over the cut on your cheek. he presses into it, just enough to undo the fragile work of your red blood cells, splitting the skin again and letting the blood gather slowly on the pad of his thumb.

he drags his thumb across your rosy cheek, leaving behind a thin crimson streak before bringing it to his lips and licking away the remaining blood.

“did you enjoy that?” he asks, thumb moving to hover above your own lip.

“no,” you lie, it’s blatant and left defenseless in the air.

he only chuckles in response, pulling you closer, his hands carefully maneuvering around the equipment strapped to your gear.

august’s percision could be so troublesome sometimes.

eventually, his cool palms find their way to the bare skin of your waist, sliding across it slowly. goosebumps rise in their wake where his fingers pass.

he slides a hand back beneath the fabric, unbuckling and removing the clunky equipment that had been such a nuisance before. once it’s gone, only the top of your uniform remains. his fingers find the hem at your waist, brushing lightly against the fabric before he lifts it, drawing the shirt up and over your head.

you fight the grogginess pooled in your bone marrow and lift your arms to make it easier. you shiver at the cold prickling at your skin, sucking in a breath as you try to reach for his warmth.

his hands catch your wrists, settling them into your lap. he removes the top layer of his own uniform, agonizingly slow, and drapes it over your trembling body. he surveys you with a look of satisfaction.

his hands linger for a moment longer than necessary after draping the uniform around your shoulders.

simply resting there.

studying you.

your eyes struggle to stay open. the exhaustion from the mission hums through your bones, heavy and slow, like sludge clogging every joint.

“there we are,” he murmurs softly, voice smooth in that careful, almost clinical way he always speaks.

his gaze drifts across your face again, pausing where the thin cut mars your cheek.

you feel it before you see it.

his thumb lifting once more.

but this time he doesn’t press into the wound.

instead, the pad of it brushes lightly along your skin, wiping away the faint crimson that had begun to dry there.

“you’ve been rather careless tonight,” he says gently.

it doesn’t sound like an accusation.

your head tilts.

“wasn’t on purpose,” you mumble, words slurring slightly from fatigue.

he hums.

the sound vibrates low in his chest where you can feel it through the thin layers between you.

“most mistakes aren’t.”

silence stretches between the two of you.

his eyes move again, slowly cataloging the bruises blooming along your arms, the stiffness in your posture, the faint tremor in your fingers where they rest uselessly in your lap.

finally, he exhales through his nose.

“you should have gone to see eishia.”

you huff weakly.

“too far.”

“mm.”

his expression suggests he expected that answer.

one of his hands reaches forward again, adjusting the way his uniform sits around your shoulders so it covers more of your bare skin.

the movement is methodical.

“and instead,” he says quietly, “you chose to collapse on your floor.”

your eyes flick toward him.

“worked out fine.”

his lips twitch slightly.

not quite a smile.

“has it?”

for a moment neither of you move.

his hand rises again, it doesn’t hover near the cut.

it settles against the side of your neck instead.

cool fingers pressing gently against the pulse there.

his eyes soften, just barely.

“your heart is racing.”

you roll your eyes tiredly.

“i just got back from a mission.”

“no.”

his thumb presses lightly against your pulse.

steady.

deliberate.

“that isn’t why.”

your gaze drifts away from him, settling somewhere near the floor.

the faintest hint of amusement crosses his face.

he lets the silence stretch again before withdrawing his hand.

“rest,” he breathes out, “i’ll make sure you don’t stop breathing.”

© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[piphanies]

just got an 85/100 on a literary focused assignment.. let me just quit real quick

[piphanies]

your writing is so freaking good 😭😭😭😭😭😭 genuinely love rereading your works.. it’s almost unhealthy LMAO

If you want (no pressure) could I request maybe bfTamsy with a reader who misses him a lot after one of his trips? 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙏🙏🙏

— NEEDLE & THREAD: TAMSY CAINES

[愛] content warnings - n/a

[愛] a/n - so sorry this took so long to get to, classes are kicking my ass!!! let me know if this isn’t what you wanted, if this is too short i will gladly rewrite and extend it ^^

you’ve been staring at the same page for an hour.

the paper’s gone soft where your thumb keeps pressing into it, wrinkled from the constant pressure.

you hated how much you depended on him. like he was some missing puzzle piece lost under the couch, leaving you unfinished without him there.

it wasn’t unusual for him to leave for extended periods of time. being a cleaner demanded it. you were one too, but for once corvus had insisted you rest — actual rest — so your body could recover from the strain of your last mission.

normally, that wouldn’t have been a problem.

until tamsy mentioned a trip.

a couple of days before he’d be back.

“…seriously?” you’d pouted, tilting your head as your gaze held his.

he chuckled softly, stepping closer before placing a gentle hand on your head, stroking through your hair.

“i truly do apologize, my dear, but unfortunately i have responsibilities i simply cannot shy away from.”

his hand slid from your hair, fingers tracing along your jaw before following the line of your carotid.

you blinked, glancing away as you grumbled under your breath; something that sounded very much like an insistent complaint.

it had been a week.

certainly longer than the couple of days he’d promised.

your injury throbbed dully as you shifted on the couch, a deep ache blooming beneath the bandages. you tried to ignore it, tried to settle into a more comfortable position, but the restless feeling beneath your skin wouldn’t ease. it hummed there — quiet, constant.

longing.

it felt strange without him.

wrong, even.

this was your room, your couch, your book abandoned in your lap — and yet the space felt subtly misaligned, like something essential had been removed from it..

your eyes drifted to the page again, though you hadn’t truly been reading for a long while now. eventually you sighed and glanced down at the small number tucked neatly into the corner of the paper, committing it to memory — filing it away carefully in that tidy little place your hippocampus always kept such things.

the book slid from your lap a moment later, falling open beside the couch with a soft thump.

you didn’t bother retrieving it.

sleep had always felt like a kind of quiet time travel to you.

why sit here, anxious and overthinking, waiting for hours to pass one by one… when you could simply close your eyes and wake up when the moment you wanted had finally arrived?

so sleep is what you did.

you didn’t know how long you’d been asleep when something warm brushed your hair back from your face.

the sensation was feather-light. deliberate.

your brows knit slightly, sleep still clinging to you as consciousness slowly tugged its way to the surface.

“…darling,”

the voice was soft.

gentle, with a familiar accent clinging to it’s consonants.

familiar enough that the tension in your chest loosened before your eyes had even opened.

when you finally blinked them apart, your gaze landed immediately on him.

tamsy sat beside the couch, close enough that his knee pressed lightly against the cushion near your hip. one hand rested against your head, fingers moving slowly through your hair as if he’d been doing so for quite some time already.

his expression softened the moment he saw your eyes focus.

“ah,” he murmured quietly, tilting his head. “did i wake you?”

his thumb brushed across your temple with careful affection, though there was something faintly possessive in the way his hand remained cupped around the back of your head — holding you there, as if ensuring you wouldn’t simply drift away again.

his gaze slid briefly across the room before returning to you.

to the blanket wrapped around you.

to the book lying forgotten on the floor.

to the bandages.

his eyes darkened ever so slightly.

“…you should be in bed,” he said gently, though there was a quiet firmness beneath the softness. “sleeping on the couch while injured is hardly proper care for yourself.”

his fingers smoothed your hair again.

“honestly,” he added with a faint sigh, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “what am i to do with you when you insist on behaving so carelessly the moment i step away?”

his hand slid beneath your cheek, warm and steady as he lightly lifted your head.

“come now,” he murmured, voice lowering in that soothing way he used when he was already halfway to indulging you.

“up we go, my dear.”

© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[piphanies]

oh bad bunny the man you are..

[piphanies]

non writing related.. but wow the grammys were.. something!

[piphanies]

⟢ bf!jabber who’s a shameless pouter—because despite his occasional rabid mannerisms, his ability to make you give in to his requests just by softening his eyes and jutting his lip juuust a little is honestly ridiculous.

🀥 bf!jabber who, after way too much convincing on his end, manages to get you to agree to a tiny prick from his claws. nothing dangerous, just a harmless little sting he swears is “for science.” whatever he uses only leaves you warm and floaty, all loose-limbed and giggly, and while he pretends it’s about the results, you can tell he mostly enjoys how much he enjoys seeing you in such a vulnerable state.

⟢ bf!jabber who cups your face with his ring-covered fingers the second you start whining about the heat, cool metal seeping into your skin as he gently taps his fingertips against your cheeks—half soothing, half amused, like he’s proud he thought of it first.

🀥 bf!jabber who lets you keep him company while he tinkers with new toxins and poisons, pretending you’re a distraction but never actually telling you to leave. if you sweet-talk him enough (which honestly doesn’t take much), he’ll sigh dramatically and pull you into his lap anyway, working around you.

“jus’ keep your hands to yourself, got it, little lady? wouldn’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

⟢ bf!jabber who pretends he’s too tough to cuddle but always ends up clinging to you anyway, secretly preferring to be held; still, you make him bathe first, scrubbing away the grime and poison coating his skin after every fight, and he agrees with a grumble only because the water stings his open wounds just right, and having your gentle hands on him makes it even better.

🀥 bf!jabber who insists on licking any cuts or scrapes you get during sparring like some feral little habit he refuses to drop; when you shove him away and call him gross, he just laughs, before tackling you to steal another quick lick anyway, the two of you tumbling into a messy wrestling match that always ends the same—with him pinning you beneath his weight, grinning.

⟢ bf!jabber who crawls into your bed all restless and buzzing after a mission, bruised and wired like he can’t come down from the adrenaline, slipping under the blankets just to poke you awake and mumble for you to hurt him a little—just enough to take the edge off so he can finally fall asleep against you.

“c’mon, baby, don’t you wanna go back to bed? jus’ hurt me a little, ‘kay?”

© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[puyopiyo]

what would you do if i said i was in love with you? ( ˶˘ ³˘)

[piphanies]

these r soso cute 🥹

[piphanies]

⟢ bf!tamsy who always accommodates for what you lack in height whenever you want to kiss him or touch his face—leaning down without complaint, but only after watching you pout a little first.

“careful now, angel,” he murmurs, “you’ll strain your achilles.”

🀥 bf!tamsy who lightly taps your cheek with his index finger when you zone out, head tilting as his gaze softens.

“…are you paying attention, hm?”

⟢ bf!tamsy who sends you off to missions with a feather-light kiss pressed to your temple, gentle enough to barely linger—while, unbeknownst to you, his tokushin slips an almost impossible-to-notice thread around your finger.

for safety purposes, of course.

🀥 bf!tamsy who, after enough nagging, finally gives in and lets you see the scars spread across his chest, eyes softening despite himself as you trace the jagged edges with the light drag of a fingernail.

⟢ bf!tamsy who takes one look at the tear in your clothes and doesn’t even consider sending you to august. absolutely not. he quietly takes them from your hands, needle already threaded, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to allow that scatterbrained man lay his fingers on fabric that’s been against your skin.

🀥 bf!tamsy who lets you curl up on his lap without a word, you pepper soft kisses along his cheek, and he waits—patient, indulgent—as they drift closer to his lips. when your bottom lip brushes his labret piercing, it catches just enough to remind you it’s there, cool metal against warmth.

⟢ bf!tamsy who feels the moment you lose focus, fingers coming up to toy with it instead, curiosity overtaking intent. a quiet chuckle slips from him at that, fond, as his finger brushes against your hip.

🀥 bf!tamsy who sings you lullabies when you tell him you feel restless. his slight accent catching onto the tips of his melodized words. the cadence deems itself unfamiliar to your ears, however, it’s hard to care when you drift off within minutes every time.

⟢ bf!tamsy who always makes sure you end up seated beside him in the car whenever enjin ropes team eager into another mission with team akuta. he lets you rest your head against his collarbone—but only on the ride back, when the job is done and you’ve already worked yourself thin doing exactly what was asked of you.

🀥 bf!tamsy who fights the muscles in his face, forcing them into stillness even as a shadow of a grimace threatens to slip through when your weak, fevered body clings to him in desperation. the mission he’s dispatched to is mandatory, but before he leaves, he gathers what little composure he has left and presses a careful kiss into your clammy palm, (despite all the germs he’s sure are wandering the surface).

⟢ bf!tamsy who lets you fuss over his injuries, deliberately steering clear of eishia just so your pretty hands can tend to him instead. he tilts his head, quietly amused, listening to you ramble about him needing to be more careful next time.

“now, now, my dear.. there’s no need to get so worked up.”

🀥 bf!tamsy who lets you braid his long, pretty hair to your heart’s content, patiently allowing you to intertwine his locks into a two-toned braid. he has one condition though, you have to face him while you work, so he can watch the adorable little expression you make when you’re concentrating—his words.

© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[piphanies]

I lovvve the way you wrote Jabber Wonger! Could we get one where he's jealous because he sees another person flirting with the reader?

— ORANGE MOON: JABBER WONGER

[愛] content warnings - n/a

[愛] a/n - i hope i executed this the way you wanted, if not ill be happy to rewrite it!!

he notices it before you do.

jabber’s leaning against a crate, arms crossed, half-listening to whatever’s going on around him when someone steps just a little too close to you. too familiar. too comfortable. their voice dips, laughter soft, eyes lingering in a way jabber recognizes immediately.

oh?

his jaw tightens.

you don’t look bothered—if anything, you look mildly amused, polite smile on your face as the person keeps talking. nodding. humoring them. that’s what sets him off. not anger, exactly. something unsteady.

possessive? perhaps.

jabber pushes off the crate and saunters over, unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world. the other person doesn’t even notice him until jabber’s already there, one arm dropping lazily across your shoulders, weight settling into you like it belongs there.

because it does.

“hey, mama,” he drawls, fingers curling just slightly at your upper arm. not tight. just enough to be felt. “am i interruptin’ somethin’?”

you glance up at him, brows lifting. “we were just talkin’.”

jabber hums, eyes flicking to the person still standing way too close. “yeah. figured.”

there’s a pause. the air shifts. the other person clears their throat, suddenly very aware of jabber’s height, his grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“didn’t know you were—” they start.

“off-limits?” jabber finishes for them, smile widening. “‘ts cool.”

his hand slides from your shoulder down to your waist, thumb brushing your side in a slow, deliberate motion. you feel it immediately, the claim in it.

the message seems to land the way he intended.

the person mutters an excuse and backs off, gone within seconds. jabber watches them leave before finally looking back at you, head tilting.

you cross your arms. “c’mon now, jabs, what was that?”

he shrugs, easy, but his grip doesn’t loosen. “what? they were crowdin’ you.”

“i could’ve handled it.”

“never said you couldn’t,” he replies, gaze dropping to your lips for half a second before meeting your eyes again. “just didn’t like the way they were lookin’ at you.”

your mouth twitches. “you jealous?”

jabber scoffs, leaning down just enough to put his mouth near your ear. “nah,” he murmurs. “territorial.”

his breath is warm against the shell of it.

you elbow him lightly in the ribs. “ridiculous boy.”

“mm,” he agrees, delighted at the contact. his lips brush your temple before continuing, “but you didn’t exactly stop ‘em.”

you turn in his hold, palms pressing to his chest, forcing him back a step. his back hits the wall this time, and that familiar smirk creeps onto his face.

“don’t start,” you warn.

he chuckles low, hands sliding to your hips like they’ve always lived there. “can’t help it. you get people lookin’ at you like that, i gotta remind ‘em.”

“remind ‘em of what?”

his eyes darken just a touch.

“that you’re mine.”

he says it without anger, an established fact.

you purse your lips, eyes narrowing a bit before you let out a fond exhale, hooking his fingers clumsily onto your own and dragging him away.

© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[piphanies]

— THIS IS HOW IT WENT: TAMSY CAINES

[愛] content warnings - n/a

[愛] a/n - he fine as hell bro i’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

“oh no, what do we have here?”

your attention pulls away from the angry gash along your side, eyes lifting to find tamsy standing nearby, lips curved into that gentle, knowing smile of his.

you blink, fingers pausing mid-reach over the neatly laid bandages before his presence fully settles in. “oh, oh— hi, tamsy.”

the words come out shakier than you intend, and you wince inwardly.

you’ve been helplessly aware of him ever since the first moment you laid eyes on him—unfairly pretty, calm in a way that feels deliberate. every interaction leaves you undone, his voice soft but precise, peeling you open piece by piece until you’re forced to retreat before you make a fool of yourself.

and now, of all times, he’s here.

“hello,” he replies smoothly, kneeling down to your level. “it seems you’ve found yourself in a little bit of trouble, hm?”

you avert your gaze at once, your mouth suddenly dry. clearing your throat, you answer, “really, it’s nothing, just a miscalculation.”

he studies you for a moment, head tilting slightly as your dismissal lands. the smile on his lips softens, then fades into something you can’t quite name, concern, perhaps? or curiosity.

after a brief pause, he offers, almost thoughtfully, “your injury is in quite a bothersome spot… perhaps i could help you tend to it?”

heat rushes to your face instantly. if this were a cartoon, your eyes would be bulging from their sockets, your skin flushing into an absurd, exaggerated shade of red.

he must notice your hesitation, because he lets out a soft chuckle and quickly adds, “unless… it would make you uncomfortable?”

his voice lowers, sincere. “i hope you know my intentions are purely to make things easier for you.”

you blink, scrambling to gather your composure—if that’s even possible. “no! no—i’m not uncomfortable. i mean, you don’t have to—but if you insist, i really wouldn’t mind—wait, i mean—”

your words tangle together for several seconds before you trail off entirely.

tamsy only chuckles again in response, the sound warm and unmistakably fond. he’s always thought you were far too easy, and far too adorable, to tease.

he seems to take your rambling as agreement, leaning closer until you’re acutely aware of the space he occupies. his hands hover just above the fabric at your waist, hesitant, eyes lifting to silently ask for permission.

your nod is small and unsteady, but it’s enough.

he lifts your shirt just enough to inspect the gash—and then pauses. almost immediately, he retreats, releasing the fabric as if he’s reconsidered. instead, he gently takes your hands in his, warm and steady, guiding them upward until you’re the one holding your shirt out of the way for him.

by that point, you’re fairly certain you’ve crossed into the afterlife.

tamsy exhales quietly once he’s certain you’re steady, his thumbs brushing reassuring circles over your knuckles before he lets go. only then does he return his attention to the injury, movements precise, practiced—careful in a way that suggests he’s done this before and still never rushes.

“there,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, as he cleans the wound. his touch is light, almost reverent, as if he’s keenly aware of how fragile you feel beneath his hands. “you were lucky. it looks worse than it is.”

the sting makes you flinch despite yourself, and he notices immediately.

“ah—sorry.” his voice softens further. “i should have warned you.”

he pauses, giving you time to breathe, eyes lifting to your face to make sure you’re alright before continuing. there’s no teasing now, no playful edge, only quiet attentiveness. when he resumes, it’s slower, gentler still, as though he’s trying to make up for the brief discomfort.

he finishes bandaging the gash neatly, tying it off with practiced ease before finally leaning back on his heels.

“all done,” he says, offering that familiar, gentle smile again—less knowing this time, more sincere. “try not to push yourself so hard next time, ‘kay?”

tamsy lingers there for a moment, still kneeling, eyes tracing the edge of his work as if double-checking something only he can see. then, satisfied, he finally straightens just enough to meet your gaze.

“you can let go now,” he says gently.

it takes you an embarrassing second to realize he means your shirt. your fingers have gone numb from holding the fabric up, knuckles pale with the effort. you fumble, lowering it far too quickly, the motion clumsy and rushed.

“sorry,” you blurt, immediately regretting it. “i—i didn’t realize i was still—”

he smiles. not amused. not teasing. just soft.

“it’s alright,” he replies. “you were doing fine.”

the reassurance does something dangerous to your chest. you swallow, nodding a little too eagerly, and avert your eyes before your expression can give you away.

tamsy watches you for a beat longer than necessary.

then he reaches out—not to touch you, but to retrieve the remaining supplies, methodically putting them away with the same care he gave the injury. gauze folded. tools aligned. nothing wasted.

“you should rest,” he says eventually, voice calm but firm in that quiet way of his. “that wound may not be severe, but strain will reopen it.”

you let out a small, humorless huff. “rest isn’t really my strong suit.”

his hands pause mid-motion.

“…i’ve noticed.”

you glance up at him, startled—not by the words, but by the way he says them. there’s no judgment there. no disapproval. just observation. understanding.

he closes the kit and sets it aside, then turns fully toward you again, posture relaxed as he settles beside you rather than in front of you this time. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, but not so close that it feels intentional.

“you push yourself because you think you have to,” he continues, almost thoughtfully. “as if stopping would mean failing.”

your fingers curl into the fabric of your pants. “you don’t know that.”

he hums quietly. “maybe not.” a pause. “but i know what it looks like.”

the silence that follows is thick, but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind that asks to be filled, inviting rather than demanding.

you don’t answer right away.

tamsy doesn’t rush you.

instead, he shifts slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, gaze drifting somewhere unfocused. “when i get hurt,” he says, “i tend to ignore it until someone else points it out.”

you blink. that’s… unexpected.

he glances back at you then, a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. “hypocritical, isn’t it?”

a quiet laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. it’s small, but real.

he notices.

something in his expression eases at the sound, like he’s been waiting for it.

“thank you,” you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can second-guess them. “for helping. and for… not making a big deal out of it.”

tamsy considers you for a moment, eyes steady. “i care about you,” he says simply. “that alone makes it worth tending to.”

your breath stutters. heat creeps up your neck again, familiar and relentless.

“…you say things like that so easily,” you murmur.

“do i?” he asks, genuinely curious.

you nod, then immediately regret it. “it’s—it makes me nervous.”

his brow lifts slightly. “does it?”

you shake your head, flustered. “forget i said that.”

another chuckle, low and warm. “i don’t think i will.”

he rises to his feet then, offering you a hand without hesitation. it’s not rushed. not expected. just there.

you stare at it for a second too long.

“no pressure,” he adds lightly.

you take it anyway.

his grip is steady as he helps you up, releasing you as soon as you’re balanced, though his attention lingers—watchful, protective, like he’s making sure you don’t sway.

“come find me later,” he says as he steps back. “i’d like to check on it again.”

you nod, heart pounding. “okay.”

as he turns to leave, he pauses at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder.

“…and next time,” he adds, eyes soft, “i’ll be glad to help you with any other injuries you happen to get.”

then he’s gone.

and you’re left standing there, both hands coming up to cover your burning face.

how naive you were.

© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[piphanies]

— HEY SUGAH: JABBER WONGER

[愛] content warnings - slightly suggestive, jabber’s just a freak

[愛] a/n - gachiakuta was straight gas, and i immediately loved jabber. i hope i did him some justice, the characterization might be a liiitttleee bit of a stretch though

you were all up in his face—well, his chest, really. the man was obnoxiously tall—but he let you have the control anyway, backing up until his shoulders met the wall. that smug little smirk on his lips only fueled your irritation.

“i mean, seriously,” you snapped, palms pressing into him, “is it really that hard to listen to a simple request? or are you just that much of a dickhead that you think you can do whatever the hell you want, huh?”

he watched you through half-lidded eyes, head dipping just enough to put himself closer to your reach—like he was offering you the floor. it made your jaw tighten. you grabbed one of his locs and tugged, forcing him lower.

you tilted your head, studying him before continuing. “are you even listenin’ to me right now, jabber?” you spat, completely missing the way his breath hitched at your tone.

he let out a low chuckle, gaze locking onto yours.

“’course i am, mama,” he murmured, voice smooth and lazy as it slid straight into your ears. “you just look reeeaal pretty when you get all worked up like this.”

you narrowed your eyes, refusing to give an inch. “if you even think about fixing your lips to say some shit like that while i’m yellin’ at you again,” you warned, voice sharp, “i’ll come for your ass.”

then you planted your hands on your hips, chest puffing out—trying (and failing) not to notice how he seemed to find your attempt at intimidation just a little too amusing.

it felt damn near impossible for the space between you to shrink any further without crossing a line, but somehow he did it anyway. he leaned in, slow and deliberate, until his breath fanned over your lips.

“shiiit,” he murmured, voice low and lazy, “i might just like that—don’t threaten me with a good time.”

your jaw tightened, refusing to give him the satisfaction. you didn’t move, didn’t flinch, even as his presence pressed in around you like a trap he was letting you walk into on purpose.

“you’re so annoyin’,” you muttered, fingers curling at your sides.

his grin widened, sharp and knowing. “uh-huh. and you’re still standin’ right here,” he replied softly, eyes dragging over your face like he was cataloging every flicker of irritation. “keep goin’. i’m listenin’. promise.”

you scoffed, rolling your eyes even as you stayed exactly where you were. “don’t act like you’re doin’ me a favor,” you shot back. “you hear me just fine. you just don’t care.”

your words hung between you, sharp and biting, and for a split second you thought you’d finally hit a nerve.

then his lips twitched.

you caught it—the way his jaw clenched, the way his shoulders rolled back like he was grounding himself. his eyes darkened, heat pooling there, and suddenly that smugness wasn’t just teasing anymore. it was… hungry.

“see, that’s the problem,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, rougher. “you yell at me like that, all fire and attitude, lookin’ at me like you wanna tear me apart,”

he leaned in again, close enough that it felt intentional now. close enough that you could feel the way his breathing wasn’t as even as he wanted it to be.

“—and you think it’s gonna scare me?”

his gaze dragged over your face, slow and unapologetic, like he was enjoying every second of your fury.

“you don’t even realize what you’re doin’ to me,” he groans, quieter now, almost amused. “keep scoldin’ me like that, little lady, and i’m gonna start misbehavin’ on purpose.”

the audacity of him, of how pleased he looked, only made your blood boil hotter. and judging by the way he swallowed, by the way his smirk strained just a little—

you pinched the bridge of your nose, already walking away. “yeah. no. i’m clockin’ out,” you said flatly. “you’re enjoyin’ this way too much and i refuse to feed into it.”

that only made him panic more.

“wait—hey, don’t do that,” he blurted, immediately on your heels. “don’t just stop.”

you didn’t look back. “jabber.”

“i’m serious,” he insisted, crowding your space again like a bad habit. “you can’t just read me like that and then leave me hangin’. that’s cruel.”

you finally glanced over your shoulder, unimpressed. “you want me to keep yellin’ at you ‘cause it gets you all hot.”

he didn’t even deny it.

“…maybe,” he said, too quick. then, softer but no less desperate, “but mostly ‘cause it’s you.”

you scoffed, shaking your head as you kept walking. “unbelievable.”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face before hurrying to keep up. “c’mon, mama, say it again.”

“say what.”

“anything,” he replied immediately. “tell me i’m annoying. tell me i’m an idiot. tell me i should know better.” he grinned, breathless, eyes lit up like he was chasing a high. “you’re real good at it.”

you stopped short just to give him a look—

“…you’re such a freak.”

his smile went feral.

“see?” he said, lighting up like you’d just rewarded him. “that. right there. keep goin’. please.”

you turned away again, muttering under your breath, but he followed without hesitation—buzzing, energized, hanging onto every scrap of attention you gave him like it was oxygen.

you walking away only made him want you louder.

© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[piphanies]

— ETERNITY: DOUMA

[愛] content warnings - dark romance, manipulation, emotional coercion, power imbalance, possessive behavior, consumption of blood

[愛] a/n - forgive me if some of the details are inaccurate regarding demon transformation (╥﹏╥), but this was really fun to write

you fit too easily in his lap.

that realization alone makes your stomach twist, not because you’re uncomfortable—no, that’s the worst part—but because your body relaxes into him as if it belongs there. douma’s legs are crossed lazily beneath you, one arm looped around your waist, the other resting against your thigh with feather-light touches that feel more intimate than any firm grip ever could.

“you’re tense,” he hums pleasantly, voice warm and melodic right by your ear. “i don’t like that.”

his fingers smooth up and down your arm, unhurried, affectionate. not restraining. never restraining. douma doesn’t need to trap you—he knows you won’t leave.

you swallow. “you’re asking me to give up… everything.”

“no,” he corrects gently, tilting his head so his cheek brushes your hair. “i’m asking you to stop losing things.”

you can feel his smile even when you can’t see it.

he presses a kiss to your temple, soft, almost reverent. it would be easy to forget what he is like this—no blood, no madness, no hollow-eyed followers chanting his name. just warmth, just closeness, just the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your back.

“you’ll grow old,” he continues lightly. “you’ll get sick. tired. fragile.” his hand slides to your stomach, thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of your clothes. “and i’ll stay the same. watching.”

your breath stutters despite yourself.

“that sounds lonely,” he adds, voice dropping into something quieter. more sincere. “for both of us.”

you shift, turning slightly so you can look at him. his eyes meet yours immediately—bright, patient, adoring in a way that feels almost too intense to be real. like you’re something precious he’s been waiting to unwrap.

“i don’t want to pressure you,” douma says, and his fingers lace with yours, squeezing gently. “i’d never force you. i just…” his brows knit, a perfect imitation of concern. “want to be with you. truly with you. forever.”

forever.

the word settles heavy in your chest.

“i’m scared,” you admit quietly.

his smile softens, and for a moment, something unreadable flickers behind his eyes.

“of course you are,” he murmurs. “that’s only natural.” he shifts you closer, your back flush to his chest now, chin resting on your shoulder. “but tell me, my dear—what exactly are you afraid of losing?”

you open your mouth, then stop.

family? they’re gone.

friends? distant. fading.

a future? one that already feels empty and uncertain.

douma feels your hesitation and hums thoughtfully. “see? you’ve already let go of so much.” his lips brush your ear, voice velvet-smooth. “i’m offering you something instead.”

his hand lifts your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze again. there’s no rush in him. no impatience. just certainty.

“strength,” he whispers. “beauty that never fades. a body that will never betray you.” his thumb sweeps beneath your eye, tender. “and me. always me.”

your heart pounds. this is wrong. you know it is. but it’s hard to cling to morality when it’s never given you anything back.

“it’ll hurt,” you say faintly.

he laughs softly—not mocking. almost fond. “only for a moment.” then, quieter, “i’ll be right here. i won’t let you go through it alone.”

his forehead presses to yours, noses brushing. his grip tightens just slightly, grounding, possessive without being cruel.

“you trust me, don’t you?”

the question isn’t a demand. it’s worse—it’s an assumption.

you close your eyes.

what do you really have to lose?

when you nod, just barely, douma’s smile blooms slow and radiant, like he’s been waiting for this answer all along. he kisses you then—gentle, lingering, sealing something unspoken between you.

“good,” he murmurs against your lips.

his arms wrap around you fully now, cradling you as if you’re already his in every sense that matters.

he locks eyes with you, patiently awaiting your response.

his arms tighten around you the moment the you express your agreement to his offer.

not possessive. not panicked.

reassured.

“that’s my sweet girl,” douma hums, pleased in a way that makes your stomach twist. “you always understand me in the end.”

he shifts, adjusting you more comfortably on his lap, as if this is something delicate he wants to do right. one hand slides up your arm, warm despite what he is, fingertips tracing slow, absent-minded patterns meant to soothe.

“look at me,” he says softly.

you do.

his eyes are beautiful in a way that hurts—rainbow-bright, gentle, utterly inhuman. there’s no hunger in them yet. just anticipation. reverence.

“i want you calm,” he murmurs. “i don’t want your last human moments to be afraid ones.”

last human moments.

your breath shudders, but you nod.

douma smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. then another to your temple. each one slow, lingering, like he’s memorizing you this way.

“you trust me, don’t you?” he asks lightly.

you hesitate only a second before whispering, “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t.”

that seems to delight him more than anything.

“good.”

his fingers slide to your wrist, lifting your hand gently. his touch is almost tender as he presses his lips to your knuckles, teeth grazing skin just barely—not enough to break it.

“this part is important,” he says quietly. “i need you to drink my blood after. don’t fight it. don’t stop halfway.”

you swallow. “and before?”

“before,” he says pleasantly, “i’ll take what i need.”

he turns you slightly, angling your body so your neck is exposed, resting against his shoulder. one arm locks securely around your waist now, not letting you pull away—not that you try.

his breath fans across your skin.

“relax,” he whispers. “i’ve got you.”

the pain comes sharp and sudden.

his fangs pierce your neck with terrifying precision, and you gasp, fingers clawing into his clothes as something hot and overwhelming floods your senses. it hurts—but not in a clean way. it’s dizzying, draining, like your body is being gently unmade.

douma holds you tightly as you weaken, murmuring praise into your skin.

“there you go… such a good girl… just let go…”

your vision blurs. your limbs feel heavy. your heartbeat thunders, then stutters.

then he pulls back.

you barely register it before he brings his wrist to your lips, slicing his skin open effortlessly.

“now,” he says softly, guiding your mouth. “drink.”

the blood is thick. burning. wrong.

you choke at first, instinct screaming at you to stop—but douma’s hand cups your jaw, steady, encouraging.

“that’s it,” he coos. “don’t waste it.”

the moment it slides down your throat, everything changes.

fire spreads through your veins, violent and consuming. you cry out, body convulsing as pain overtakes every thought. it feels like you’re burning from the inside out, like something is tearing itself apart just to rebuild wrong.

douma holds you through it all.

he doesn’t let go. doesn’t flinch. just rocks you gently as you writhe, whispering affection and delight in equal measure.

“i know, i know,” he soothes. “it’ll pass. you’re doing wonderfully.”

your heart stops.

for one horrible, endless moment, there is nothing.

then—

you gasp.

air floods your lungs though you don’t need it. sound rushes back too loud, too sharp. you can hear everything—his breath, the distant creak of the building, the faint echo of blood moving in bodies far away.

you tremble violently, clinging to him.

douma laughs softly, delighted.

“there you are.”

your senses scream. your body feels wrong—stronger, colder, alive in a way you’ve never been before. your throat burns. your mouth aches.

you pull back slightly, meeting his gaze.

his smile is radiant.

“welcome back,” he says. “or… forward, i suppose.”

he brushes your hair away from your face, thumb smearing away tears you didn’t realize were falling.

“no more fear,” he murmurs.

then, pleased and possessive, he presses you back against his chest, arms closing around you like a cage made of silk.

“you’re mine forever now.”

it hits you later.

not during the pain, not during the transformation—after.

you’re curled against him on the floor, head tucked beneath his chin, fingers weakly gripping his sleeves when a dull, aching emptiness blooms in your chest. it spreads fast, gnawing and insistent, until it’s all you can think about

you shift restlessly.

douma notices immediately.

“hm?” he hums, fingers stroking through your hair. “what’s wrong, darling?”

your throat burns. your stomach twists. it’s not a feeling you’ve ever had before—not hunger, not exactly. it’s sharper. louder. demanding.

“i…” you swallow hard, brows knitting together. “i feel… bad.”

“bad?” he echoes gently, amused. “how so?”

you whine before you can stop yourself, the sound small and embarrassed, pulling from somewhere instinctive and new.

“empty,” you mumble. “it hurts.”

oh.

his expression softens into something pleased and knowing.

“already?” he chuckles quietly. “you really are perfect.”

your fingers clutch tighter, frustration bleeding into your voice. “don’t laugh—i don’t know what’s happening. i just—i need… something.”

douma tilts your face up with a single finger, eyes glittering as he studies you. you look different already—brighter, sharper, more his.

“you’re hungry,” he says simply.

the word makes your mouth ache.

“hungry?” you repeat, breath hitching.

he nods. “that’s your body realizing what it is now.”

he shifts, settling back against the wall and pulling you fully into his lap again, holding you there like you belong.

“don’t worry,” he says lightly. “i planned for this.”

you squirm, whining again despite yourself. “it’s really bad, douma…”

“shh,” he coos, thumb brushing under your lip where your new fangs ache. “i know.”

then, without hesitation, he brings his wrist up and presses it gently to your mouth.

“here,” he offers warmly. “have mine.”

you freeze.

“…you?” you whisper.

he smiles, radiant and indulgent. “of course. it’s too much of a hassle to go out and find a human for you, and i’d rather your first indulgence be something safe.”

his eyes soften. “something familiar.”

your instincts scream yes even as your mind hesitates.

“it won’t hurt me,” he adds cheerfully. “and i happen to be quite fond of sharing.”

you tremble, hunger roaring now that the source is right there. your lips brush his skin, breath shallow.

“go on,” he encourages. “you’re allowed.”

that’s all it takes.

your fangs sink in instinctively, and the relief is immediate—warmth flooding your body, the ache easing as something rich and powerful fills you. you cling to him, embarrassed little sounds slipping out as you drink, completely unaware of anything except how right it feels.

douma sighs contentedly, one arm wrapping around you, the other steady at your back.

“there you go,” he murmurs fondly. “see? i’ve got you.”

when he finally pulls you back—gentle, careful—you’re dazed, breathless, still clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.

he laughs softly, wiping a thumb at the corner of your mouth.

“so needy already,” he teases affectionately. “i think i’m going to enjoy taking care of you.”

then he hugs you close again, pleased and possessive, voice warm in your ear.

“don’t worry,” he whispers. “you’ll never be hungry alone.”

© piphanies. please do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form