desc 18+
you found him broken in an alley and thought you were saving him. you didn't realize he was something hungry, and slowly deciding you belonged to him.
a/n req from @zyasia ♡. thank you so much for being the first, i honestly love reqs because sometimes a girl gets brain fry and cant think of anything, but its just fun to see some interesting ideas and improving my works. i actually loved this idea so much and omgoshheje i fucking love tamsy with my whole being you dont understand hes so gorgeous. pls enjoy…
wc 1460
you find him collapsed in the shadows of the alley, half-hidden behind a dumpster, shoes scuffed, hair falling across his face in a way that almost hides it. at first you think he's hurt, maybe drunk, maybe worse—but there's something about the way his body moves, even when still, that makes you pause. he doesn't look at you, doesn't flinch. he just tilts his head.
"hey," you murmur, voice low, careful, "you okay? want some help?"
he finally meets your eyes, and you swear something flickers there—interest, amusement, hunger—and it sends heat straight to your chest. he doesn't answer, just lets you crouch next to him, lifting his wrist to check for a pulse, brushing the dust off his pants.
you find yourself talking to him anyway, offering water, wrapping your jacket around his shoulders, feeding him scraps of your snack. he watches you while you move around, still, silent, and every glance lingers too long, every tilt of his head too deliberate. it's unnerving and thrilling.
he hums once when you brush your fingers over the cut on his cheek. low, soft, almost a purr, and your stomach flips. "you're gentle," he murmurs. "interesting."
you pause, looking at him. "i'm just… trying to help."
"help?" his lips curl into the faintest smirk, shadowed in the dim alley light. "hm. yes. your human instincts."
something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten. your hand hovers over his arm, and he lets you touch him, leans into it like it's exactly what he wanted. the subtle thrill of holding him, the heat radiating off him, the quiet dominance in the way he allows it—it all coils around you.
he finally sits up fully when you guide him to your apartment, still silent except for the faint sound of his breathing, and it's enough. enough to notice the tiny details about him: sharp nails, the way his jaw catches the light, the way his pupils dilate when he catches you staring. and slowly, inch by inch, you start to realize something's… different about him. not human different, not injured lost human different. dangerous different. alluring different.
you've been taking care of him for days now—feeding him, tending to the scratches you swore were nothing, making sure he's warm, letting him lean against you while he recovers. each small gesture, each quiet moment together, has built a tension you hadn't fully recognized until now. the way he waits for your attention, the way he studies you in silence—it's becoming impossible to ignore.
you inch away from the couch and he leans against the armrest, eyes never leaving you, voice low and smooth. "don't wander too far. i like having you in my sight."
that's when it hits—you feel it in your chest, in the small hairs on your arms. the way he watches, every glance, every flicker of muscle, like he's memorizing you piece by piece. the heat radiating off him, quiet but insistent, makes your skin hum and pulse in a way you didn't expect.
your movements feel deliberate now, almost instinctive, every shift of your weight pulling him closer. every brush of your fingers along the couch, every tremble in your breath, makes him lean in, pressing his heat against you. the tip of his nose brushes your shoulder. his hands roam—gripping, kneading, dragging along the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw, the swell of your chest. you shiver under his touch, back arching, hips tilting into him without thought.
he murmurs your name over and over, low and wet against your ear, calling you his human as his lips trace shallow kisses down your neck, then biting just hard enough to make you gasp. his hands wander to your thighs, pressing, squeezing, moving you against him until every inch of you aches for more. you grind against him, chest flush, nipples brushing the fabric of his shirt, desperate for friction, for contact, for the way he dominates without words.
when he tips you back, presses you fully into the couch, skin sliding against skin, you're caught entirely but you don't pull away. you let him have you, let him teach you, let him mark you as something beyond just a human who cared for a lost stranger in an alley.
his mouth moves lower. his teeth graze your lower stomach, trailing kisses as his hands hold you steady. you gasp, hips tilting instinctively as his tongue brushes against your slit, teasing over your wetness, tasting you. your back arches as he moans softly, lips sucking, tongue pressing, fingers dragging along your thighs. you clutch his hair, tug him closer, moans slipping past your lips.
"so sweet," he growls, voice low and controlled. "you taste incredible, my human."
you're trembling, thighs quivering as he licks, sucks, teases. fingers curl into your hips, pressing you into him as your body reacts, every flick of his tongue sending shivers, every press of his lips drawing gasps from your throat.
he alternates between sucking and teasing, fingers brushing, tongue curling, every motion deliberate. you moan openly, hips rocking, hands gripping his shoulders.
he pulls back just long enough to line himself up, hips pressing against you, hard, teasing. your body writhes, desperate for more. he pushes inside slowly, letting you feel every inch before moving fully.
"there you are," he growls. "so perfect."
your back arches, chest pressed to his, every nerve on fire. his hands clutch your hips, controlling the rhythm. your moans grow louder, head tipped back, nails raking down his back.
he leans down, mouth brushing yours in a heated kiss, groaning over your lips, jaw, neck. you're trembling, completely lost.
"cum for me," he murmurs.
you do, almost immediately as if he was in complete control now. clenching, shivering, crying out into his neck as he presses, thrusts, holds you tight, milking every sound, every quiver. lips on your shoulder, voice harsh, needy, praising.
he's still inside you, thick and impossibly hot, every thrust slow and dragging out the tension until your body shakes. his hands grip your hips, thumb circling your clit.
"you feel exquisite, so warm…don't make me stop," he says, teasing and commanding.
"yes… don't stop…" you whisper.
he chuckles, thrusting deeper. "that's it… my good human. so perfect, trembling for me."
you moan, hips lifting instinctively, trying to ride him, and he presses you flat.
"you belong to me," he growls. "every sound, every shiver… i feel it all."
his hand cups your ass, pulling you flush against him. "don't fight it. scream if you need to… no one else hears it."
"please— keep going…" you gasp.
he smirks, teeth grazing lightly. "i'm far from done."
you arch, legs trembling, body wracked with pleasure. he presses harder, rolling his hips slowly. you cry out, hips jerking, every nerve on fire as he drags you up the edge again and again, whispering filthy praise into your ear.
"look at you, squeezing me… mine… all mine," he hisses. "cum for me… human, all over me."
and when you cum, it's not gentle. thighs clamp around him, body convulsing, chest heaving, voice raw. he doesn't pull away, grinding slow, deep, circling your clit as he whispers, "good girl… not done yet."
your vision flickers but he stays, moving again, dragging you into the next wave. moan after moan, gasp after gasp, breaking apart in multiple staggered climaxes. he hovers, lips brushing your jaw, murmuring, nipping, reminding you how tight and wet you are.
"don't fight it," he hisses. "finish again… i know you love it."
you cry out, arching, shaking, writhing under him, cumming again, muscles clenching, shivering, and he keeps going, hands pressing, lips claiming, voice low and steady.
finally, your body trembles uncontrollably, mind swimming, vision flickering—but he's still there. still inside. still moving. still claiming. whispering your name, "so good… so perfect…"
your body goes limp, shivers fading… and you feel him continuing, deliberate, a low hum vibrating against your skin, keeping you tethered as consciousness slips.
when you wake, your body is warm. heavy. sore in the best way. your chest rises sharply as awareness comes back in pieces, he's still there, still inside. eyes glowing faintly, gaze fixed on you with possessive hunger. not moving fast. not rough. just slow. steady thrusts, like he never stopped. when your gaze finally focuses on him, his mouth curves.
"there you are," he says quietly.
his hips roll once, deeper, just enough to make you gasp.
"i was wondering how long you'd last."
his fingers slide along your jaw, down your throat, over your collarbone—possessive.
"did i exhaust you," he asks softly, "or do you want me to keep going?"
and the way he says it makes it clear—he absolutely will.
desc tamsy has a habit of starting his mornings specifically noisy and chaotic. you just want five more minutes of sleep — but somehow end up staying awake anyway.
a/n based on one of my fav tamsy panels, hes so silly i love him ♡. thinking about making this into a series... potentially. ( YIPPIE FIRST SERIES ).
wc 476
tamsy's mornings have always started the same way. he woke up already wrapped in baggy clothes — an oversized shirt almost slipping off one shoulder, sleeves hanging past his hands. his hair was down, loose and slightly tangled, clearly untouched by anything resembling effort.
the radio came on next. loudly. he twisted the dial without hesitation, static crackling for half a second before the music burst through the speakers at full volume. no easing into it. no warning. just immediate noise, like the morning had personally offended him.
he stretched as the song built, rolling his shoulders, nodding along. when he moved, it was slow and fluid, almost absentminded — like he followed the rhythm without thinking too hard about it. and when the chorus hit, all restraint disappeared. full head banging. hair flying everywhere as he threw himself into it like the song had challenged him to some sort of dance battle.
that's when the door flew open.
"why. the hell. are you blasting music this early!?"
tamsy startled, spinning around so fast his hair whipped across his face. he stared at you standing in the doorway — wrapped in a blanket, hair a mess, eyes barely open and expression murderous. he reached over and turned the radio down a notch. not off. just… lower.
"it's not that early," he said smugly.
you squinted at him. "it's seven."
"seven is basically afternoon."
you stared at him for a second, then shuffled fully into the room and flopped onto his bed without asking. you turned onto your stomach, face buried straight into the blankets, your voice instantly muffled. "do you have to do it at concert volume?" you muttered, the words swallowed by the blankets.
he snorted, leaning back against the desk as he glanced over at you. "you know i can't hear you like that, right?"
you lifted your head just enough to glare at him, then let it fall back into the blankets. "good."
he laughed at that and turned the radio down just a little more, letting it fade into the background.
you peeked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "were you just violently attacking the air?"
the realization came a moment late, dulled by sleep.
he raised a brow. "do you normally barge into peoples rooms?"
pausing for a moment. "because i was. yeah."
you rolled your eyes and burrowed deeper into the blankets, with every intention of going back to sleep. "you're unbearable," you mumbled.
"you love it."
"debatable."
he moved past the bed toward the door, nudging your knee lightly with his as he went. "you want coffee?"
your reply came muffled again. "you're making it."
"figured."
he headed for the kitchen, music trailing after him, softer now. you stayed where you were, curled into his bed, stealing his warmth like it was yours.
annoying as he was, the morning felt… fine. somehow.
desc
you're a new recruit of team eager, assigned to back up team akuta, and tamsy is the only one who makes this chaos feel bearable. but when raiders collapse the building, you're trapped, badly injured, and for the first time, he loses control, tearing through the rubble until he finds you. now, in recovery, he won't leave your side, showing you exactly how much he cares.
a/n heheheh thank you @zyasia again for the req. your ideas are actually such a fun way to actually see what i could cook up, its very challenging but enjoyable! i swear they open my eyes but again, thank you. enjoy!!
wc 2825
the pit doesn't ease you into anything. it throws you in and waits to see if you climb back out. you did, three times.
by the third mission, the weight of your gear felt less foreign against your shoulders. the smell of rust and dust didn't make your stomach twist the way it used to. your hands still shook sometimes after, but you learned how to tuck them into your pockets before anyone noticed.
tamsy noticed anyway. he always seemed to catch the small things — the way you lingered half a second too long before stepping into unstable ground, the way your breathing went shallow when the air got thick with debris.
after your first mission, you'd been scrubbing grime from your gloves at the wash basin when he leaned against the edge, bumping his elbow lightly against yours.
"i see you're still alive, huh?" he said, voice low, smirk faint. "i was starting to think i'd have to drag you back in pieces."
"charming," you muttered.
his smirk was faint, but it was there. "you're faster than you look. for someone who trips over their own boots half the time, that's impressive."
"half the time?" you said.
"precision is in the details," he shrugged, not breaking eye contact. "you miss the details, you're dead. most people here don't notice until it's too late. you're lucky i do."
you tried not to smile. "lucky me."
he let out a low hum. "don't let it get to your head."
and you didn't, at least not yet.
you barely had time to think about it before the next assignment came along. team akuta needed backup, a sweep through a stretch of no man's land where raiders had claimed collapsed high-rises as nests. decades of rot and impact damage had left the structures fragile, but they had turned it into an advantage, maybe attempting to pick shots from heights no one else dared to reach.
the building was worse up close. concrete sheared open like bone, metal ribs exposed and rusted through. the air inside tasted like old smoke and something bitter underneath. dust clung to your throat.
the silence stretched longer than it should have. not the hollow quiet of something abandoned, but the kind that made the back of your neck prickle. team akuta fanned out ahead of you, boots careful over fractured tile and old glass.
"they're here," rudo muttered under his breath. "they have to be."
tamsy didn't respond. his hand hovered near your elbow as you stepped over a split in the flooring, not touching, just close enough that you knew he would if you slipped.
the makeshift barricades lining the hallway weren't defensive in the way you expected. splintered desks shoved together. it looked less like preparation for a fight and more like something dismantled in a hurry.
you crouched near one of the doorways and brushed your glove over the concrete. the top layer of dust shifted too easily, revealing a darker patch beneath it.
"tamsy," you said quietly.
he moved beside you without hesitation. "what."
"i don't think this was settled naturally."
his eyes traced upward, following the lines in the ceiling. fractures spread from the support beams in branching patterns that looked almost deliberate. the metal brackets had been tampered with — not obvious at first glance, but once you saw it, you couldn't unsee it.
a low metallic creak echoed from somewhere above, not loud enough to be dramatic, just enough to seem wrong. realization settled heavy in your stomach. they hadn't waited to ambush. they hadn't planned to trade shots from the upper floors. they'd prepared the building instead.
"we need to clear out," tamsy said. the shift in his voice was subtle but immediate.
team akuta began backing toward the exit. you fell into step beside tamsy, heart beating faster now that the pattern made sense. the absence of combat wasn't luck.
another metallic strain carried through the structure, deeper this time. the floor beneath your boots vibrated faintly, like something heavy had shifted its weight.
"move," tamsy ordered, sharper now.
you were halfway down the corridor when something snapped above you. the lights flickered once before dying completely, plunging the hallway into a dim wash of gray from the broken windows at the far end. dust shook loose from the ceiling in thin streams.
the far wall buckled inward with a deep cracking groan. concrete split along the fractures you'd noticed minutes earlier, spiderwebbing outward. the building seemed to exhale — a long, grinding release of tension.
"stairwell!" zanka shouted.
you ran, and tamsy stayed at your side, one hand gripping the back strap of your vest now, not trusting proximity alone. the floor dipped again under your weight. a railing tore free ahead with a violent screech, clattering down the steps.
they hadn't meant to bury you instantly. they'd meant to collapse exit points first. a section of ceiling dropped behind you, sealing off the corridor you'd just cleared. dust exploded forward in a choking wave. someone coughed hard over the chokers.
"we're boxed—" riyo's voice cut in static over the chokers.
the stairwell landing trembled as boots pounded across it. you reached the turn in the stairs just as the support column beside it split clean through the middle.
"down!" tamsy barked.
you barely had time to react before the landing tore free. the world tilted violently. the stairs didn't fall in one clean drop; they broke apart in jagged sections, slabs shearing off at different angles. you felt yourself lose footing, your hand shooting out for balance and catching fabric instead.
tamsy's sleeve.
for a split second, your fingers locked. his other hand grabbed for you, but the concrete between you shifted, ripping the space wider. your grip slipped.
you fell.
the impact knocked the air from your lungs so completely you couldn't even scream. debris followed in a cascade — smaller pieces first, then something heavier that struck your hip and pinned you hard against the fractured floor below. the debris rained down from the impact points, fine gray powder coating your hair and lashes. your chest refused to expand properly. every inhale scraped raw. you tried to move your legs.
nothing.
above you, faint but frantic, voices filtered through layers of debris.
"we need to pull back!"
"status, anyone?!"
"she was right here!"
that one. even muffled, you'd recognize it.
you forced your eyes open wider, fighting the urge to let them close. the weight pressing against you felt endless. claustrophobic. like the pit itself had decided to swallow you.
"tamsy," you tried, but it came out broken.
blood trickled warm along your temple. the air felt thinner by the second. another piece of rubble shifted overhead. light filtered through a narrow break in the debris, thin and blinding, and then his face appeared in it. eyes scanning with a focus that bordered on frantic. they locked onto you. something in him changed instantly.
"hey—hey!" his voice broke when he saw you. "don't shut down on me. look at me."
you focused on the sliver of sky behind him. on his face streaked with dust and blood. there was a cut across his brow you didn't remember seeing before.
"you're not allowed," he said, voice shaking in a way that didn't match the tamsy you knew. "you hear me? you don't get to leave like this."
you''d have laughed if breathing didn't feel like knives.
his hands tore at the debris pinning you down. someone shouted at him from behind to stop — the structure wasn't stable. he ignored them completely.
"i've got her," he snapped, and there was something feral in it.
when the weight lifted from your leg, pain detonated up your spine. you gasped, vision flashing white, and his expression crumpled like he'd been the one crushed.
"i know. i know," he muttered, voice low and frantic. "just stay with me."
he slid his arms beneath you carefully, as if you might shatter, and lifted you free from the rubble. dust cascaded around you as he carried you through what remained of the hallway. the building groaned behind him, threatening another collapse.
"we're getting you out," he said quietly, eyes never leaving yours. "don't you dare make me repeat myself."
you faded in and out against his chest, aware only of the way he kept saying your name like it was an anchor.
the first thing you register is the sound, steady and mechanical and entirely wrong compared to the groaning collapse you remember. then the light presses through your eyelids, too bright, too sterile, and when you finally manage to open your eyes the ceiling above you is whole and unmoving.
your body feels distant, heavy in places and sharply aware in others. when you try to shift, something pulls tight along your ribs and pain blooms slow and deep, anchoring you to the mattress beneath you.
voices reach you before your vision fully clears.
"she should've woken up by now."
"that's not how head trauma works."
you turn your head slightly and regret it immediately, breath hitching as the movement sends a protest through your side.
tamsy is sitting so close to the bed his knee presses against the frame. his forearms rest on the mattress near your hand, like he hasn't allowed more than an inch of distance since you were brought in. dried blood stains the collar of his shirt. the cut across his brow has been cleaned but not properly treated. he looks like he hasn't moved in hours.
eisha stands near the end of the bed, posture straight but not relaxed. her arms are folded, though the tension in her shoulders gives her away.
tamsy's head snaps toward you so fast it's almost jarring. he's on his feet immediately, chair scraping softly against the floor.
"hey," he says, and the word is steadier than the way his hands hover near you, unsure where he's allowed to touch. "don't try to sit up."
you attempt to speak and your throat burns. he notices and reaches for the water at your bedside. his hand slides carefully behind your head, lifting you just enough to drink. his touch is restrained, like he's afraid even gentleness might hurt you.
"slow," he murmurs when you swallow too fast. "you're fine. you're here."
you lower back against the pillow and look between them. "how long?"
"eighteen hours," eisha answers. "fractured tibia, three cracked ribs, mild brain bleed that stabilized on its own. you were lucky."
tamsy's jaw tightens at that word.
"lucky," he repeats quietly, like he doesn't agree with it.
you glance at him. "you look worse."
there's a flicker of something in his eyes that almost resembles a smile, but it doesn't fully form. "i'm not the one who got buried."
eisha steps closer to the bed, studying you carefully. "i will need to run another scan in an hour. you'll be here a while."
you nod faintly, the movement exhausting.
there's a brief silence that settles, heavy but not uncomfortable. then eisha looks at tamsy. "you should get cleaned up," she says. "i don't mind staying with her."
he doesn't answer immediately. his gaze is still locked on you, like he's confirming you're real and conscious and breathing.
"tamsy," eisha presses, softer now. "you've been here the entire time. you haven't even changed."
"i'm fine."
"you're not."
he finally looks at her, and whatever sits behind his eyes makes her pause.
"i said i'm fine," he repeats, quieter but immovable.
eisha exhales slowly, weighing her next words. "she's stable. i can sit with her while you—"
"no."
the word isn't loud. it doesn't need to be.
eisha studies him for a long second. "you don't have to do this alone."
his hand moves then, almost unconsciously, finding yours against the blanket. his fingers curl carefully around them, mindful of iv lines and bruising. he doesn't look away from you when he answers.
"you can go," he says.
it isn't harsh or unkind. but it's definitely stern enough to scare.
eisha's gaze flicks to the way his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles, grounding himself as much as you. something in her expression softens.
"call if anything changes," she says to him, then to you, "and you shouldn't make a habit of this."
the door closes behind her with a quiet click that feels louder than it should. the room settles into a different kind of silence after that.
tamsy doesn't move right away. his hand stays wrapped around yours, thumb brushing once over your knuckles, still trying to confirm something. when he finally exhales, it's slow and unsteady, like he's been holding it since the building came down.
"she's right," you murmur, your voice thin but steadier now. "you look like hell."
that almost earns you something real. almost. his mouth shifts at the corner before flattening again.
"don't," he says quietly.
you study him instead of answering. the dried blood at his collar isn't all his, and there's dust still ground deep into the seams of his sleeves. his gloves sit discarded on the bedside table, knuckles torn clean through, fabric split and stiff with dried red where it soaked past the rips, as if he kept digging long after they stopped protecting him.
"you found me," you say.
his jaw tightens. "yeah."
"they told you to pull back."
it's a guess, but the way his eyes flick down tells you it's right.
"that wasn't your call," you add.
"no," he agrees, voice level in a way that feels carefully constructed. "it wasn't."
you shift slightly, wincing when your ribs protest. he's on his feet again immediately, one hand hovering near your shoulder, the other bracing against the mattress.
"stop moving," he mutters. "you shouldn't test the stitches yet."
"i'm not testing them."
"you are."
you look up at him and for the first time since you woke up, you see it clearly. the crack in his composure. the way his control is sitting just barely over something volatile.
"i thought you were dead," he says suddenly, like the words have been waiting and he's tired of holding them back. "when the landing gave out and you slipped, i couldn't see you. the chokers were static. the whole structure was shifting and they were yelling at me to fall back."
his grip on the bed frame tightens slightly.
"i couldn't get a clear read on you, you weren't responsive."
you swallow.
"so i went back in."
it isn't dramatic. he doesn't raise his voice. he says it like it was the most obvious choice in the world.
"tamsy—"
"don't." his eyes snap to yours, not angry, but sharp. "don't say my name like that. i don't regret it."
you stare at him for a long second. "you could've been buried too."
"i know."
the fact that he says it without hesitation makes your chest ache more than the fractures. he drags a hand down his face, then steps closer to the bed again, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him even through the layers of blankets and bandaging.
"when i saw you under there," he continues, quieter now, "you weren't moving. there was blood in your hair and i thought—" he stops, jaw working once before he forces himself to finish. "i thought that was it."
your fingers tighten weakly around his.
"it wasn't."
his gaze drops to your hand in his, like he's memorizing the weight of it.
"no," he says. "it wasn't."
you watch the tension shift through him slowly, settling into something more controlled. his thumb moves again, absent and repetitive, like he needs the motion.
"you're not allowed to do that again," he says after a moment.
"get crushed by a building?"
"disappear on me."
the words hang between you.
you try to lighten it, even now. "i didn't do it on purpose."
"i don't care."
his voice isn't harsh. it's just honest.
"you don't get to scare me like that," he adds, softer. "not after—"
he doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't have to. not after the wash basin. not after every half-second he's hovered near your elbow without touching. not after the way he ignored orders and tore concrete apart with his hands.
you shift your grip, careful of the iv line, and thread your fingers more securely through his. "i'm still here."
his eyes lift to yours again, and there's something unguarded in them that he doesn't usually let anyone see.
"yeah," he says quietly. "you are."
this time, when he pulls the chair closer and sits back down, he doesn't hover like he's unsure. he keeps your hand in his and leans forward just enough that his forehead almost brushes your knuckles.
and when he stays, there's the faintest brush of his lips over the back of your hand, gentle and he doesn't let go.
desc the coffee machine goes down and hq collectively forgets how to function. definitely a team effort. and yes, enjin has one sided beef with the machine.
wc 667
hq notice: the coffee machine is out of order
the sign is handwritten. that alone makes everyone uneasy. it's taped on crooked — someone tried to fix it and gave up halfway.
tamsy reads the sign once. that's it. no reaction. no spiraling. he presses the button anyway, mostly out of curiosity. nothing happens. "…okay," he says finally. "but what if it's wrong." he lifts the sign to check underneath it. there is nothing underneath it. he exhales sharply and rubs a hand over his face.
enjin stops dead in front of the machine. reads the sign. then reads it again, slower. "…you've got to be kidding me." he presses the button. harder. waits. presses it again. nothing. he stares at the machine like it personally made this decision just to spite him. "no. absolutely not." someone nearby very carefully suggests tea. enjin turns slowly. "say that again," he says, calm in the way that means he is not calm at all. they do not say it again.
zanka is already there. already has a mug. no one saw him arrive. no one saw him pour it. he leans against the counter, unbothered, watching enjin spiral in real time. takes a slow sip. "skill issue." he leaves before anyone can ask questions.
rudo takes one look at the sign and shrugs. "good." everyone turns to stare at him. "coffee's disgusting," he says, genuinely confused by the outrage. "smells burnt. tastes worse." someone asks how he functions without it. he lifts the water bottle in his hand. "this," he says. "like a normal person." he watches enjin argue with an inanimate object with full judgment.
gris shows up halfway through the chaos. he reads the sign. squints at it. "…that's unfortunate," he says, entirely too calm. someone gestures at enjin, who is still glaring at the machine. gris nods. "for him, especially." he pours himself a glass of water instead. adds ice. takes his time. "hydration is important," he offers, like this solves anything. it does not.
follo stands there holding an empty mug. looks between the machine. the sign. enjin. "…so," he starts carefully, "do we… wait?" enjin doesn't answer. tamsy pats follo's shoulder on his way past. "don't," he says gently.
corvus has already decided this isn't his problem. he glances at the sign once, then at the clock. "hm," he says. and leaves.
enjin steps closer to the machine. stares at it like he's considering violence. "i'm just saying," he starts, already reaching out, "it wouldn't be broken if people treated it with respect." someone asks what that means. "it means," enjin says, tapping the side of the machine once, "that this is a challenge now." the machine does nothing. he scoffs. "unbelievable."
tamsy leans against the counter, completely relaxed. "you're arguing with it," he points out. enjin doesn't look away. "it knows what it did." tamsy hums, like this is fair. "give it a minute," he says. "maybe it'll apologize." enjin straightens slowly. "you think this is funny." tamsy smiles. "a little." enjin exhales hard through his nose, runs a hand through his hair, and steps back like he's making a responsible decision against his will. "fine," he says. "but i want everyone to remember this moment when i'm unbearable." tamsy nods. "we already do."
you arrive late. you take in the sign. enjin still glaring at the machine. tamsy entirely unbothered. rudo drinking water like he's morally superior. you don't comment. you turn around and leave. no one stops you.
when you come back, you're carrying mugs. not enough for everyone, just enough to change the mood. the room goes quiet. tamsy smiles. "see? problem solved." enjin takes his mug like it's sacred. stares at it for a second. "...i forgive everyone," he says, voice going strangely high. rudo watches this whole exchange. shakes his head. "still gross." he takes another sip of water and walks off.
zanka passes through again at some point. glances at the mugs. nods once.
desc 18+ ⸝⸝ college au
zanka keeps his distance. jabber doesn't. late nights, sharp words, and quiet tension blur the line between hate and something else.
a/n found myself doomscrolling yesterday and stumbled upon a video w this prompt, uhhhh can you tell i fell in love immediately, creds to @/b4ku.kk on tt. this was so fun to make and is another long one, i hope you enjoy it ♡ ( also yes i based the room number after the first ep they encountered each other, am i a genius or what ).
wc 1362
the dorm assignment email was a mistake. that's what zanka told himself the first night he walked in and found the room already hazy. not messy. not loud.
hazy.
the window was cracked open even though it was november, a fan wedged against the sill like it could outrun the smell. sweet. burnt. unmistakable.
jabber was sprawled across the bottom bunk, one leg dangling off the side, headphones crooked around his neck, eyes half-lidded and red in a way that wasn't from crying.
"you must be my little valedictorian," jabber said, not bothering to sit up. voice slow. vowels stretched thin. consonants swallowed whole. "c'mere, lemme look at you."
zanka stood in the doorway with his suitcase still in hand.
"you're smoking in here."
jabber grinned, "was."
zanka didn't smile back.
he walked in, set his suitcase upright, already mentally calculating how to file a room reassignment request without sounding dramatic. jabber watched him unpack like it was live entertainment. crisp folded shirts. labeled folders. color-coded binders.
"jesus," jabber muttered. "you alphabetize your socks too, mr bad attitude?"
zanka's jaw ticked, "dont call me that."
jabber sat up then, slow and deliberate, elbows on his knees. his hair was messy in a careless way that looked intentional. his hoodie hung loose, collar slipping just enough to show collarbone and ink.
"what should i call you, then?" he asked, smirk curling lazy at the edges. "sir? your highness? dean's list?"
zanka shut his drawer harder than necessary.
"just don't talk to me."
jabber laughed under his breath.
"oh, this's gonna be fun."
it got worse before it got better. jabber never studied in the room, but he was always there. music low. window cracked. lighter clicking. laughing at nothing. inviting people over and then forgetting they existed ten minutes later.
zanka tried noise-canceling headphones.
tried the library.
tried ignoring the way jabber's voice dragged through the room like smoke, low and amused and constantly pushing.
"you ever relax?" jabber asked one night, watching zanka rewrite the same paragraph for the third time. "or you just live like that? tense as hell."
zanka didn't look up.
"some of us care about our futures."
jabber leaned back in his chair.
"some of us don't need to kill ourselves to feel smart."
silence.
zanka finally glanced at him.
jabber was watching him differently now. not just amused, assessing. eyes dragging slow over the way zanka's sleeves were rolled neatly to his elbows. the way his fingers tightened around his pen.
"you're always mad," jabber murmured. "what's got you so wound up, mr bad attitude?"
"maybe you."
jabber's grin sharpened.
"yeah?"
zanka stood abruptly.
"i can't breathe in here."
he moved toward the window. jabber stood too.
"window's already open."
"it's not enough."
jabber stepped closer, close enough that zanka could feel the heat of him. the faint scent of weed and something darker underneath, skin and smoke and recklessness.
"you're not mad about the smell," jabber said softly.
zanka's breath stuttered once before he caught it.
"you don't know what i'm mad about."
jabber tilted his head.
"i think i do."
and then he reached out. just two fingers. hooked into the fabric of zanka's sleeve. not pulling, just there. zanka could've stepped back yet he didn't.
"don't," he warned.
jabber's voice dropped lower.
"don't what?"
their chests were almost touching now. zanka's pulse was visible in his throat. jabber's thumb brushed against his wrist, slow. testing.
"you act like you hate me," jabber whispered. "but you look at me like you wanna break something."
zanka's composure cracked first.
he grabbed jabber by the front of his hoodie and shoved him back against the desk. the chair scraped loud against the floor. papers scattered. jabber's breath caught — not scared.
thrilled.
"there he is," he murmured, eyes darkening. "knew you had it in you."
"shut. up."
zanka's hands were still fisted in his hoodie. jabber didn't move them. instead, he leaned forward into the grip.
"make me."
the kiss wasn't soft or romantic. it was teeth and tension and weeks of pretending they didn't feel it. zanka kissed like he studied — precise at first. controlled. jabber didn't. jabber bit and laughed against his mouth.
"you're so fuckin' angry," he breathed. "it's hot."
zanka shoved him down onto the desk fully this time. the lamp tipped and books slid. jabber's hands finally moved — gripping zanka's waist, dragging him closer.
"say you don't want this," jabber murmured, voice thick, teasing even now. "c'mon, mr bad attitude. say it."
zanka didn't say it. he kissed him again instead. harder. angrier.
consent wasn't spoken — but it was there in the way jabber arched up into him, in the way his fingers hooked at zanka's belt and tugged.
"you're impossible," zanka muttered against his neck.
jabber laughed breathlessly.
"you love it."
clothes came off in uneven pieces. shirts first, buttons flying, fabric tugged hard. then hands everywhere — desperate, clumsy, heated, gripping, exploring. zanka's anger had been loud and sharp, but once jabber's back hit the mattress, it turned into something else entirely. something jagged and raw, and entirely under his control.
he hovered for a second. breathing heavy. jaw tight. pupils dark. you could feel the tension in his chest radiating through every inch of him.
jabber reached up and brushed his thumb along zanka's cheek. softer now. careful. grounding.
"you good?" he asked quietly. no teasing. just checking.
zanka swallowed and nodded once. that was enough. then jabber's hands found him fully. sloppy, heated, wandering, gripping. palms on shoulders, fingertips dragging along ribs, thumbs brushing over skin that shivered under contact. zanka's back arched instinctively, hips tilting against him, desperate for friction.
it wasn't gentle. not really. not even considerate. but it wasn't cruel either. it was friction and heat and hard, shouted curses, lips colliding, teeth grazing, gasped breaths mingling. jabber's lazy voice, usually so cool and teasing, had gone rough and breathless. broken phrases, half-formed praise, each word scraping against zanka's ear like fire.
"that's it— yeah… you're so fuckin' tense… let go…"
zanka did. in pieces. in shards. each sharp inhale. each shuddering grip. each soft whine pressed into jabber's shoulder. each grunt of effort and release. every time jabber whispered "mr. bad attitude", it was intimate, almost worshipful despite the mockery.
jabber's hands didn't stop. explored every ridge, every curve of tension, finding places that made zanka hiss and buck instinctively. fingers pressed, dragged, thumb rubbing, skin burning under his touch. each time zanka came, jabber held him there, steadying, teasing, pulling, until the shivers subsided just a little before starting again.
the mattress creaked, soft and uneven under their movements. zanka's own hands gripped at jabber's arms, pulling, scratching lightly, claiming him as desperately as he was being claimed.
then jabber shifted, pressing closer, mouth brushing the nape of zanka's neck, teasing, biting just enough to make him groan and arch again. zanka's legs tangled with jabber's, hips grinding without conscious thought, desperate, needing more friction, more skin, more heat.
his fingers slid along zanka's sides, tracing the taut muscles, teasing over sensitive spots, brushing along inner thighs, pressing and curling. each touch, deliberate, almost intimate in its chaos. the room filled with breaths and wet sounds, curses, laughs broken by moans, and the occasional sharp hiss of pleasure.
when zanka came again, it was harder, messier, loud enough to shake the thin walls. jabber's hand moved with him, coaxing, stretching the release, never letting go, never letting him fall too far.
afterward, the room was quiet except for their heavy breathing, slow, ragged exhales. the fan hummed weakly in the window. the moonlight spilled over the tangled bodies, catching beads of sweat on skin that glimmered in the dim light.
zanka laid on his back staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, limbs trembling. his fingers still twitched where jabber's had been moments ago.
"you're gonna pretend that didn't happen tomorrow, huh?"
zanka didn't answer. jabber smiled faintly.
"that's fine," he said. "i like when you're mad at me."
a pause. then, softer:
"just don't switch dorms."
zanka closed his eyes and didn't move away when jabber's fingers slid into his.
desc 18+
he doesn't say you're his. he doesn't have to—not when he watches you across the party like he's counting every second you spend pretending to ignore him. the moment you brush past him with that look in your eyes, it's done. he barely says a word, just pulls you outside and shoves you into the passenger seat. by the time you reach his place, you're breathless, and he's already pressing you back against the door.
a/n never uploaded smut on here before... kinda been thinking about enjin lately. i've actually been going feral for this man for days on end. pls enjoy as much as i did... ahah ♡.
wc 703
enjin's mouth is hot and demanding against yours, his hands bruising your hips as he walks you backward into his apartment. the door slams shut, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. you can taste the anger on his tongue, the possessiveness in the way he grinds against you. this is always how it is with him—a frantic, consuming need that leaves you gasping for air and begging for more.
"you were looking at him," he growls against your neck, his teeth scraping over your pulse point. "that fucker in the blue shirt."
"i wasn't—" you start, but he cuts you off with another bruising kiss.
"don't lie to me," he warns, his fingers digging into your flesh. "i saw the way you smiled at him. like you forgot who you belong to."
the possessiveness should scare you. it should send you running. instead, it sends a thrill straight to your core, making you wet and wanting. this is the part you hate most about yourself—the way you crave his control, his ownership.
he doesn't bother with lights, just navigates through the dark apartment with a familiarity that makes your stomach clench. your shirt is ripped off before you reach the bedroom, his hands everywhere at once, taking what he believes is his.
"you're mine," he whispers against your ear as he pushes you onto the mattress. "say it."
"i'm yours," you breathe, and the words barely leave your lips before he's on you again, his mouth trailing down your body, leaving marks in his wake. he yanks your skirt down, tearing the delicate lace of your panties without a second thought. his fingers find you instantly, sliding through your folds with a familiarity that makes you gasp.
"already so wet for me," he smirks, circling your clit with his thumb. "did thinking about me get you like this? or were you imagining him?"
you shake your head, unable to form words as his fingers work their magic. "only you," you manage to gasp out.
"good answer," he growls, positioning himself between your legs. he doesn't give you time to prepare before thrusting into you, filling you completely in one smooth motion. your back arches off the bed as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving deeper than the last.
"look at me," he commands, gripping your chin and forcing your eyes to meet his. "i want you to see who's fucking you. i want you to remember who owns this cunt."
his words are filthy, degrading, and they only make you wetter. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting his thrusts with equal desperation. the bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful movement.
"tell me," he pants, his pace quickening. "tell me who you belong to."
"you," you cry out, your nails digging into his back. "i belong to you."
"damn right," he grunts, flipping you over suddenly. he pulls your hips up, entering you from behind with a force that steals your breath. his hands grip your ass, spreading you open as he drives into you relentlessly. one hand moves to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, just resting there as a reminder of his control.
"you're going to cum for me," he growls in your ear. "and you're going to scream my name when you do."
the pressure builds, coiling deep in your stomach. his fingers find your clit again, rubbing in tight circles that push you closer to the edge. when his teeth sink into your shoulder, you shatter, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash over you.
he follows moments later, his thrusts becoming erratic as he spills inside you with a low groan. for a moment, you both collapse onto the bed, tangled in sheets and sweat. later, when you're both breathing heavily, he traces patterns on your skin. the gentle touch contrasts with the roughness from before.
"you're not going back to that party," he says, not asking. "you're staying here tonight. with me." you nod, knowing there's no point in arguing. you belong to him—body and soul—and even when you hate it, you can't deny the part of you that craves it.
