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1864reruns · 2 months

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౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ kitty itadori yuuji / gn!reader ©mariademetal 2024

cw ... yuuji calls reader babe, blood(?) but nothing violent and no vivid description of a wound, if there's anything else lmk note ... haiii welcome to my lil established relationship yuji fic in which he is a stupid cat dad this is HEAVILYYYYY based on my experiences with kittens (every single kitten i've ever owned has shat on my bed once, as if just to get it out of their system before devoting themselves to a litter box) and the many fatal injuries i've received from them..... word count ... 3.1k

At first, you're the one that's apprehensive about bringing the cat home.

It's a little brown thing that ambushes you at the foot of your apartment's stairs, and who was very fun playmate for the first twenty minutes it followed you around, but got to be a little more trouble than you thought it might be worth after locking into climbing you like a tree and tearing a hole in your jeans in the process. At which point, you decided that while your hangout sesh was a lot of fun, it's time for your friend to go back to its mother.

To its fortune, just as you steel your resolution to leave your new friend at the bottom of the staircase on which it first attacked you, Yuuji shows up— of course he does— and decides as soon as his eye catches the claws hanging off of your shirt that he will simply keel over and die if the two of you don't foster the kitten.

"What if her last owners neglected her?" He pleads with you, looking you with the most convincing sad brown eyes you've seen in a moment while he speaks. (All while his new best friend bites his finger like it's made out of something positively delicious.) You're in the worst place in the world for this discussion, you think, still sitting at the bottom of that damned staircase. The fact that Yuuji will have won the moment you move into your apartment with that kitten keeps you in place at the price of your pride.

"Look at how fat she is, Yuuji," you gesture to her, and you can't even remember at what point in your heated discussion it became her. "What if her owners love her dearly and are waiting for her to come home? I'm not going to... catnap her."

"What if her mother died and she's looking for a new one?" He keeps asking these stupid hypothetical, rhetorical questions that prove nothing but still annoy you to no end. Not to mention the way he's cradling her in his arms— you have no doubt that by new mother he means himself.

"We already have a kid," you grit out. By kid, you don't mean an actual child, but rather a betta fish that Inumaki dared you to buy six beers deep and who you, unfortunately, discovered you could not return the morning after, nor ever. Yuuji stepped up as his father when you proved to be a little bit too absent as a single parent to him, and he's alive and thriving to this day, albeit in a tank you doubt is quite the recommended size. "What if she eats Fish? He's my pride and joy."

At this, Yuuji stops and thinks. "Aren't Nobara and Maki looking for a cat?"

"I think so," you hum, and tentatively reach over Yuuji's lap to rub your little enemy's stomach.

"Lets just take care of her until they're ready to take her," he smiles at you, tight-lipped and hopeful. "I'll make sure she doesn't eat Fish. I'll scoop her shit and feed her too."

You take your hand back to allow another tenant to pass between you and Yuuji and lean your head against the railing with a sigh. It's a bad idea and you know it. As much as you'd love to think you and Yuuji are ready to take care of a cat, dedicate the time and care it needs to it, you just can't. But if Yuuji says he'll take care of her just for the meantime, you know he means it. "... Alright. But the second she fucks with Fish, she's gone."

As it turns out, Kitty, as you and Yuuji have intermittently named her to match with Fish, is an only slightly worse roommate than Yuuji. If you were to rank everyone in your apartment by how much you all contribute, it'd go something like this— Fish in first place, obviously, for all the joy he gives you and Yuuji, as well as causing the least mess; you in second, for feeding and raising Fish up; Yuuji in third for cooking and paying the bills; Kitty at dead last for shitting all over your comforter on the first night she stays with you and having the audacity to beg you for food come morning.

Yuuji had prepared in every way he could think of— he bought her a litterbox, plenty of food for kittens, a collar (just until Maki or Nobara take her to get chipped), and enough catnip to plant a field. And, for what it's worth, when you’d first brought her into your apartment, just before Yuuji left to buy her supplies, she was an angel. She was the calmest you'd seen her the whole evening, carefully sniffing the floor of your apartment, sneaking up behind corners, checking for any harm that might come her way. So preoccupied with discovering this new, unknown land that she doesn't even acknowledge Fish's existence. It was only after she'd settled in that he ran to get her kitten things.

Naturally, Yuuji didn't think to check if Kitty actually knows how to use the elegant litter box he'd so diligently set up for her in your bathroom, so where you were expecting to sleep in and wake up to your boyfriend peppering your face with kisses, you instead wake up at the asscrack of dawn to the feeling of him jerking your blanket off of you (and the rest of your bed, you suppose), Kitty watching him from the floor with what you can only describe as morbid curiosity.

"Yuuji, what...?" You croak out, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

Then, the smell hits you, and you're confident you're not falling back asleep.

While Yuuji washes your blanket and lectures Kitty on the proper, sanitary way to relieve herself, you sprinkle some food in Fish's tank.

You stare down Kitty, who, in Yuuji's temporary absence, has taken to frolicking around your flat, as if she isn't a criminal, as if she didn't ruin your favorite duvet, and with a glare that softens by the second, you scoop out a can of cat food into a bowl and put it on the floor for her, despite the fact that Yuuji swore he’d take care of feeding her.

For what it's worth, you have to appreciate that, at the very least, she hasn't so much as glanced in Fish's direction. Despite how vehemently you're denying it at the moment, Kitty is, in fact, tearing and clawing and shitting her way into your heart— but if she does come to stay with you for any extended period of time, you'd rather it be one in which you don't have to constantly move Fish further and further away from her reach in order to keep him safe.

Fish, your first and beloved son— an accident, sure, but the happiest you've made in your life. There have been nights where you have been one dry heave away from throwing up your stomach in its entirety, and the only thing that could get you to stand up and drink some water was Fish, blub-blub-blubbing in his own, urging you with bulbous eyes to take care of yourself (because if you don't, you can't take care of him).

He's a selfish child, but all children are, you suppose. It’s their right.

Kitty finishes her food with a satiated meow and barely makes the three-foot journey to your coffee table before dropping down onto her side and passing out. It's an adorable sight, obviously, but one that also reminds you that that could've been you this morning if only she hadn't emptied her bowels onto your blanket.

Yuuji comes back to your apartment, empty-handed and head hung low, and you already know what he’s going to tell you; “Your blanket didn’t make it, babe.”

All you can do is sigh and throw your arms up. “I’ll pick up another one after work.”

Thankfully, after that fateful morning, Kitty didn’t have many other shit-related accidents. It was incredible, really, how easily she managed to fit into your life, how easily she forced you to carve time out of your day to spend with her instead— she sleeps on your couch since you tragically banned her from your bedroom, wakes you up like an alarm clock, consistently, to give her breakfast, and lazes around your apartment in tandem with you and Yuuji scurrying around to get ready for your respective days. You have class in the morning, he has work, and you always come come back just in time to deliver Kitty and Fish’s lunch. You’ve also found that Kitty has a taste in television— she screams at you whenever you put on Rupaul’s Drag Race, out of excitement or prejudice you can’t quite find out, and curls up into a ball in the crook of your elbow whenever you watch Seinfeld. Then, Yuuji comes back from work and if you don’t have plans, the four of you eat dinner together like a bonafide family.

Tonight, you don’t have plans, but Nobara, who has been promising to call you about Kitty for the past month you’ve had her has finally caught you on your phone.

“Of course I want her,” she insists, and you can see her bob swaying along with her head as she jerks it around in your mind's eye. (You love her dearly.) “It’s just… not a great time for Maki and I.”

Maki and I seems to be her favorite thing to say nowadays— you don’t think you’ve seen one without the other in some months. “That’s fine, but me and Yuuji can’t foster her forever, you know,” At the sound of his name, Yuuji whips his head around to see what you’re doing. Once he clocks who you're talking to, he mouths to you to tell Nobara he says hi. “Yuuji says hi, by the way.”

“Yeah, tell him I say hi too,” Nobara sighs. “We’re moving into Maki’s folks’ place, and I don’t know how they feel about cats and stuff.”

“Maki’s folks’ place is so big I doubt they’ll ever even see her.”

"I'm sorry, but can you just keep her until we're settled in?" Nobara asks with a politeness that's very out of character for her. Then again, if you had to live within a mile of the Zen'in compound, you'd be worn out, too.

It must be a sign from God, from Buddha, from the universe, or maybe just fate that before you have the opportunity to mumble out an uncertain I don't know to Nobara, Kitty wraps herself around your calf. She's gotten so big, you think to yourself— it feels like just yesterday she was small enough to fit in your shoe, but over the month you've fed her and scooped her shit, she's become big enough to play with your shoes.

"Yeah, of course," you splutter out. You press your phone against your shoulder and lean down to pick Kitty up while Nobara chatters away in your ear about gratitude and just hum when she asks you this or that. For a moment, just a moment, you wonder if you should be selfish and keep Kitty for yourself. Then you reprimand yourself, because she's still, for all intents and purposes, Maki and Nobara's cat.

Still, as you come to terms with the fact that Kitty's stay in your apartment will certainly be longer than you originally planned, it seems Kitty comes to the same realization— you and Yuuji discover that she's pointedly decided to make herself entirely at home. She was never well behaved, not really, what with the way she'd pounce on Yuuji whenever he fell asleep on the couch, or the way she'd dig her nails into your thighs whenever your petting skills failed to meet her standards, but it seemed that you, at the very least, had an understanding when it came to respecting the space you're all sharing— your apartment. She didn't scratch your couch, didn't spray litter all over your bathroom, and seemed to ignore fish in his entirety.

Now, though, she's picked up possibly the worst hobby of all— knocking shit off of other shit. Pens off of your desk, detergent off of your washing machine, cups off of your fucking kitchen counter. Yuuji, guilty for anything and everything he is physically capable of being guilty for, has cleaned up after her with a vigilance that you feel genuinely bad about. Unfortunately, he doesn't do it as carefully as you wish, which is why you're picking glass out of his hand with a tweezer at one in the morning after he stumbled out of your room to find what you and him had neglected to put away (what Kitty had managed to knock off of a counter) this time and found out the hard way. By tripping on the culprit in the darkness and falling hands-first onto the scene of the crime.

"Are you sure you can go to work tomorrow?" You ask, voice soft, and Yuuji, who has been smiling since he woke you up with a yelp, finally falters.

"I think I'll be alright," he murmurs back. "Nanami won't be happy, but..."

"When is he ever?" You snort.

"He likes Kitty, too."

"You've shown him pictures of her?"

"Of course! I've shown pictures of her to everyone in the department," he grins, and you can picture him, heavy in his uniform, lifting his phone up to his stoic boss' face with a picture of Kitty, asking Isn't she cute? Then him adjusting his glasses before nodding, Yes, Itadori, she's very cute.

You suppose that's the effect Kitty has on people. Yuuji, too.

He's sitting on the edge of the tub, you're sitting on the toilet seat, paper plate balanced on the sink beside you to drop the fragments of glass onto, Kitty passing and curling around your and Yuuji's feet. It feels odd to say it, but he got off lucky in this situation— only a few pieces of glass burrowed themselves deep enough into his skin to bleed, and the rest are just stuck on the surface. Still, you're pretty confident Yuuji's in a lot more pain than he's letting on.

"Really, Yuuji," you huff, "I think you should stay home tomorrow. Just so the swelling goes down and it'll be less painful the day after."

"It doesn't hurt," he starts speaking with his whole chest, but once he clocks the look you're giving him of complete and utter disbelief, his confidence wanes. "... that much."

"I know you're worried about money, but I'm worried about you," you start, and try not to wince with him after pulling out a particularly deep shard of glass. "And besides, if this gets worse because you went back to work too early, we'll have to pay for that, too."

He hums. "I guess so."

You wrap his hand up diligently, pepper his face with kisses, and shoo him away to your bedroom so you can pick up all the glass on the floor that didn't end up on that paper plate. He calls in sick.

You get through your classes like a zombie being pulled along campus by a leash. As it turns out, staying up until the early morning making absolutely sure that there wasn't any glass left on your floor did not prepare you for success when it was time to leave. Still, Yuuji solemnly swore to spend his day focused entirely on healing, so you achieved one little victory, if nothing else.

When you get home, before you can even grasp the doorknob, you hear Kitty yapping away, Yuuji sniffling, and something being shuffled around your living room. You don't know quite what you're afraid of— an intruder, Kitty growing to the size of King Kong, or Yuuji having shrunk of Kitty's height, but after peeking your head into the door, you can confidently say that it is none of the above. You do, however, see the assortment of Kitty's things gathered right by the door.

You step into your apartment, kick your shoes off, and greet Kitty as she practically jumps into your arms.

"Yuuji?" You call out to him, and realize he's in the bathroom, probably figuring out what the best way to remove Kitty's litter box would be. "What're you doing?"

He walks out of the bathroom, eyes red, bandage on his hand freshly, but messily changed, and his head hung low. "We have to give Kitty up," he says, and you immediately clutch her tighter in your arms.

"What're you talking about?"

He just gestures to where Fish is— rather, where fish should be. His tank isn't just empty, it's gone. You realize what happened.

"Did she eat Fish?" You ask. Your voice is calmer than you really are, but you don't want Yuuji to think you're mad at him for Kitty coincidentally killing Fish the one day he happened to stay home.

"No," he insists, and points to a red Solo cup he's placed on top of your bookshelf. "He's there. She... knocked his tank over. I saved him before he could die, but..."

You look down at Kitty, who is similarly looking up at you— it's like she knows what she did, like she knows exactly what your one condition to let her stay is, like she's pushing the rules just to see what you'll let her get away with before kicking her out. But Fish is not dead, albeit traumatized and certainly not thriving in his temporary home. You realize that you think you'd forgive Kitty if she clawed your eye out. You've been denying your truth— denying that you love Kitty like she's yours, because she is— for far too long.

"I-I remember what you said about only fostering her if she doesn't mess with Fish, and I agreed, so—"

"I don't want to get rid of her," you interrupt Yuuji, and his expression goes from distraught to severely confused.

"No," he insists. At first, you were the one who was apprehensive about keeping Kitty. Now, the roles have been reversed. "She messed with Fish. I get it."

"Yuuji," you say, softer, and walk towards him. You look at his hand and realize he must've worked so hard on his day off, to clean up the glass of Fish's tank, to clean up the water, the decorations, the plants, and how scared he must've been that Fish would die. How scared he must've been that you'd be mad at him. You love him too much for that. "We're not getting rid of Kitty."

"We're not?"

"Of course not. Do you want to?"

"Of course not!" He huffs, and makes a face at Kitty that she must not like, because she takes a swipe at him from all the way in the crook of your elbow.

"So... do you want to tell Nobara?"

"Hard pass."

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1864reruns · 2 months

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WAYS WE CAN HELP PALESTINE:

as of 9am today, 8131 palestinians were killed, 20438 are injured and 1.4 million have been displaced. it’s important for all of us to help palestine in as many ways as we can.

i also cannot stress how much just spreading awareness in general can help. staying silent because of your discomfort is not an excuse to sit by while a genocide takes place. when we learn about these events in history we often think “how was this allowed to happen?” but that’s exactly what’s happening now and it’s our responsibility to not sit by and let an entire country be wiped out. i will continue adding more ways to help to this post and i’d really appreciate it if anyone can spread this as much as possible.

it’s important to get educated on everything going on in palestine right now, here are some sources that could help!

decolonize palestine - made by two palestinians, answers a lot of questions regarding everything right now (including debunking a lot of myths from biased news stations) and provides a lot of historical context.

list of documentaries to watch if you want to gain further knowledge

list of accounts to follow on twitter that can also provide information

linktree with information

you can also donate to organisations! even if you can’t donate tons of money, you can help by spreading these links so others can also try to donate!

red crescent

PCRF

MAP

doctors w/o borders

palestinian social fund

palestinian in pain launch good

this website is free and uses ad revenue for donations, all you need to do is click it once daily!

some more places you can donate to and some more

boycotting will also help!! also some of the kpop idols we stan have brand deals with ones that support 🇮🇱 so please let’s not interact with their posts with those brands

list from BDS of companies to boycott

signing petitions!

write to representatives and demand they retract their support of 🇮🇱

ways to contact local governments about helping palestine

if you’re in the uk here’s a link to contact your local MP

change org ceasefire petition

Text "CEASEFIRE" to 51905 if you live in America. The link provided leads you to a page to sign and call for a ceasefire once the goal is met. They are so close to meeting its goal!!

here's a link that lets you send a letter directly to your state representatives

here are some threads that will also give you ways to help.

thread of things we can do to help palestine

HOW TO HELP PALESTINE!! resources and links to other threads on how to donate and spread awareness of what's happening in palestine currently!!! a thread 🧵

here’s what we know, and links to donate to help aid palestinians, a thread:

Here is a list of list of resources and people you can follow to educate yourself on what’s going on in Palestine RIGHT NOW🇵🇸

Ways US, Canada, and UK residents can reach out to their state representatives and MPs to call for ceasefire in Gaza:

if there are any more sources that you would like me to add pls send me an ask or dm me !!

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1864reruns · 2 months

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤman reimaginedㅤ౨ৎㅤ3.9k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©jwhoozi

synopsis. regardless of how zayne is worshipped in akso hospital— idolised as a man of unimaginable feats— he's no god; he's nothing but a man running on twisted desires. one, perhaps the only one, of those being you.

warning(s). nsfw, afab! reader, kinda violent imagery, oral (m! recieving), vague temperature play (not my fault, blame zayne), religious imagery, 1/4 proof read (as always :3), pet names: dear & darling, lmk if i shld add anything (oneshot so beastly, i think i dissociated as i wrote this)

from vyon. i can and will!! fight everyone on this characterisation of zayne!! idec, i don't wanna hear it!! look at his field of jasmine flowers and tell me that he's all alpha sigma in the bedroom without feeling shame and i'll still fight you actually... he actually came to me in a dream last night and told me that i needed to correct how he was written; made him into a little bit of a yapper but i can see him becoming a yapper during intimacy in my mind's eye so vividly that idc 🤗 took me a gruelling two weeks to finish this... i need to reconnect with my family now

do not repost / copy / translate.

Zayne has always been stern on the fact that the essence of his being was far removed from the basis of heaven; everything that he was made from stood against everything that heaven was known to be. He's long known that every life unwanted is breathed into him to prolong his punishment, if not to torture him like so, he'd be long dead to keep the world in balance. His bones were made by blacksmiths whose hammers have seen more blood than metal; his flesh stitched by the butchers who keep their carcasses hanging by the head; his organs arranged by surgeons who keep an ear close to the open chest on their table to hear the heart splutter dead; blood drawn from the disease riddled; cells made from the children that never made it into the world.

Still, he thinks if heaven had the capacity to ever come close to him, it'd never compare to this moment— never come close to the settling of your calloused hands over his slacks, your teary eyes looking up at his expression in search of validation. It surely wouldn't, he has no doubt about it. Zayne's hands settled on your cheek, a low grunt shudders from him through your body as he traced his fingers up, wiping your tears away with an elegance removed from the moment.

Zayne is no more than a man ruled by simple desires, every want in him fluctuated beneath a single layer of skin that erupts through his pores whenever you're close, it's why he managed to get himself cursed in the first place. Zayne knows that, he makes no effort to feign ignorance to himself. In another life, perhaps he'd be less man and anything else more and never allow you to your knees to serve him. In this life? He was chalked up of nothing but pure grieving desires; anything you offer to him, he'll take no questions asked. He would've followed the wisps of you back down to hell at Hades' feet and made a home beside you after light graced his face and gave him enough temporary assurance to turn back to see your shadowed features. It's wrong, it's unjustly cruel to have you on your knees for his mundane pleasure but his head swims with the warmth of your lips wrapped around him so he disregards the guilt that tells him no.

Days where he didn't have a shift at the hospital, either of his or others' he'd graciously offered to cover, used to come unsettling. His bare hands itched where ever he lay them, some gentle reprieve came from when he reached into his fridge and felt the cool air kiss upon his fingers like the cold metal of a scalpel; the towel draped over his shoulders after a needed shower came without the threat of twisting around his neck to strangle unlike his stethoscope— an unnerving flight of fight response kicked in whenever he tried to relax.

He'd made his peace with the gnawing discomfort when he was at home, flicking through patient reports and eyes always steady with his phone in view in case anything had happened to his patients, in case they needed his capabilities. Zayne would feel this way even in sleep. It's why he always finds himself in the hospital, picking up stray shifts for co–workers that he doesn't truly know; even then, he's a man of rational practices so he knows that even through the discomfort, the promise of null action is just as important for his body and mind.

Somewhere along the line of his stationary life, you entangled yourself into those lacklustre days. Creating a ragged incision down his chest and clawing your way to his beating heart, squeezing it in time with your deafening breaths and forcing him into your tempo; you've corrected his timid heart to beat in time with your soft steps across the wooden flood of his apartment and stitched him up so messily that it'll leave an inevitable scar. You uprooted all that he knew, made a home of.

The pillow underneath your knees will never truly recover from your weight, the feathers will always know how it felt to give you little measly comfort as you gagged around him. Zayne's head falls to the back of the couch, his scrunched up expression turned up to the ceiling as a pleasured sigh leaves him. His curt words of affirmation burning through your skin despite how far away they felt, your head heavy as your nose met the neatly clipped tuft of hair peeking out through his boxers. You feel your breath escaping you through your nose, face scrunched up as you forced a gag to settle back down.

You're unaware of Zayne's eyes on you until his hands are on your cheek, alleviating the burning heat of your cheeks and grounding you back into the moment, and guiding you back. "Breath."

Dizzying images of Zayne settled in your eyes, mirages of the concern in his otherwise blissed face collecting in the tears sat in your waterline as he pulled you to your feet. You stumbled, your legs feeling weak from kneeling. "You haven't cum yet," the clear oxygen runs heavy through your system.

"I'd rather you not pass out," he informed, an unamused look on his face as he guides you onto his lap. "Plus, this night is about you as much as it is about me."

There's a softness to the moment, one of his hands on your back and the other on your waist, that allows you to slump into his arms. "Give me a second then." The few seconds you take to catch your breath in an attempt to steady your mind feels impossibly tedious. Still, Zayne is meticulous in his ministrations, tying down all the nasty thoughts that cloud his head with refined touches.

Zayne— plastered in the heat of the world, stubborn frigid in all that he wants— offers you an out. "We can stop here if it's too much." His voice is gentle, a husky promise that denies the desirous part of him that beats loudly against his ribs, the him you've created with your fingertips makes an attempt to rip through his skin.

He isn't aware of his heavy, irregular breath on your shoulder until you shake your head against his chest. His otherwise ironed shirt crumpled in your fist as you say, "no, it's okay, I can keep going for you."

The next breath he takes feels as though he's squeezing out all the oxygen that's ever been available to him, it shudders through his entire being as your words ring in his head. This moment, you've stated, was for his pleasure. Zayne wants to confirm that you're sure, you've no doubts about it despite having slept with him so many times over the course of your relationship but he hears 'for you' again distantly and it feels as though you're not close enough even though every part of you that could stick to him undoubtedly is.

The world turns on its head, screeching to a halt as the clock continues ticking on the wall of Zayne's bedroom; he hovers over you in the new position, a hand stabilising himself by your head as he ducked his head down. It's nothing to be questioned as his lips met yours in a fervour that you've never imagined possible to come from the man but you respond anyways merely because it's Zayne. In its desperate need, improbable heat— as he manages to pry open your mouth and ease in his loving intrusion— it's Zayne at its brutal core. You've barely had a chance to reciprocate even a quarter of the searing vehemence of his tongue licking over the plaque of your teeth before he's moving down, kissing and sucking on your skin of your neck.

His teeth scrape over your skin as you gasped, licking over your teeth to chase after his taste, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth so it doesn't feel so empty without Zayne. Nimble and methodical fingers have already managed to work through the buttons of your shirt and despite the moment, you find yourself embarrassed when he brings his head back to study you.

You see a blurry image of yourself reflected in the field of green of his irises, each unclear feature swarmed with the fluttering of adoration. "You're staring," you pointed out, bringing up your hand to cover his face, his eyes so you couldn't see yourself in them anymore.

Zayne's face is foreign to you as his lips crack up into something resembling an amused smile, a crackling of chuckle lights your palm on fire as he hold his hand over yours. You give him an aggrieved look as he keeps your hand against his cheek, "aren't I allowed to stare?" His eyes are invasive, flickering from the slope of your collarbones, hooking onto your wet lips, clawing into your every ministration, features and softness laid bare. "Aren't I?" He asks again, his eyebrows raising slightly.

You don't answer but you must have given something away— you know you have because his amusement smooths out into unadulterated affection as he turns his head to press a kiss onto your palm. An itch settles beneath your skin where his lips meet, one you know you'll never be able to soothe even if you hammered through the spot with a nail. You struggle to know how Zayne will move as the moment softens throughout the room, turning into something malleable. He's nothing but slow, full of pliable details ebbing silky as he lowers his head back down.

His hair tickles as he ducks his head into the fold of your shoulder and neck, each otherwise perfectly laid strand creasing as they dust over the skin of your jaw. Squirming a little, you find your hands on his shoulders, the usual attentiveness in his actions running a little deeper than they always do. Zayne sucks at the skin of your neck, his teeth scraping along the expanse of unmarked flesh as he brings a knee between your leg. A sturdy arm comes over your front, a hand settling on your shoulder, arm running down the stretch of skin between your chest, and elbow down on your rib. "Don't move," a mere whisper that etches deep to your bones, "you're running from me."

"Running?" Your eyebrows crease and you squirm again, the heels of your feet digging into the mattress as you feel yourself move up the bed, weight shifting as your head hits the bottom of a pillow. "Oh," falls out your mouth dumbly as you realise you have been inching away from him. "Sorry." You allow your hands to fall from Zayne's shoulders, fisting the bed cover into your hands.

"Don't apologise," his soothing voice calls. When you turn your head back to look at him, his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips pressed thin, "you don't have to apologise." Zayne takes one of your hands and moves them back to their place on his shoulders. "Just let me care for you, keep still, hm?" You're more astutely aware of the aether core pounding in your heart now, its vibrant light pouring through your skin and how often Zayne has had the chest piece against your bare skin, how his eyes narrowed from behind rectangular frames as you shuddered from the cool metal.

You think that your heart has managed to resonate with his evol without your knowledge— with how often he's got his hands on you, professionally or otherwise, it wouldn't be too surprising. After a moment, you realise that Zayne is still waiting for an answer so you nod your head, opening your hand to press your palm against his shoulder blade. "Staying still."

Zayne gives you something close enough to a smile and lowers his head back down.

It's haunting how you recognise his moves enough to predict what he'll do and respond in kind, your head inches off the bed as you meet his lips again, legs parting under him as he slides a hand over the inside of your thigh. Intimacy with Zayne is staggering purely due to how cold he runs— you think it's all natural how his fingers run like ice over quivering flesh despite how warm his chest is when he's got you pinned underneath him. He's burnt where you've touched him, charred into muscle and cartilage are your fingerprints, your teeth, every mark of your nails that flame impossibly red. You're nothing short of heaven.

The fabrics of Zayne's adoration for you exists around him as a second skeleton, as your hips raise slightly for him to catch the waistband of your joggers and your hand falls next to his in an attempt to push them down without moving your lips from his. Pants and moans are transcribed into his tongue, he remembers the taste of every one, he'll think of them when he misses you, when he's forced away from his short instance of heaven as he wishes his hands ran a little warmer. The lingering salt of previous whines echo in his head, all from weeks and months ago flowing back to the cusp of his mind as your bare thighs finally grace his fingers. He wraps a hand around the meaty flesh, groaning into your mouth at the simple touch.

A shivering inhale from you makes Zayne's mouth turn cold as the oxygen is sucked all up, he takes the chance to move back down. He's got a hand sneaking up the half unbuttoned pyjama top you're wearing, another hand impossibly far away from your heat; you can't tell if it's too much or not enough. A gasp sounds in time with Zayne's hand over your chest, you feel a hardening nipple press up against his palm; the rest of the buttons trip over the loosening wear of the fabric and slide off your stomach. Your skin turns cold where he takes in a stuttering deep breath, his face hidden from you as he mouths at your other breast. "So," he murmurs, lips closing around your nipple. A lilting whine only acts to spurn him on, his hand dragging down your side and his nails light over the path that his palms works onto your skin, his teeth catch onto your nipple. "So— you drive me crazy." He confesses after cutting his own thought off prematurely, his saliva pooling around a stiff nub.

"You must know that right, dear?" Zayne continues talking, offering curt words in his impassive tone, slightly out of breath with his hair dishevelled. His cold hands are blistering upon your skin, lighting up nerves scathingly. Adding a little pressure between his teeth has you impossibly light–headed, one hand on your hip and the other close to your cunt. Zayne is nothing more than a drunken mouthpiece of his loving whenever he has you under him, all the words he's forced frozen in his throat over the course of years spilling out as your heat melted away the labyrinth he's had them locked in. "Do you do it all on purpose, knowing I'll never rid myself of it?"

You're moaning a 'please' before you know it when you feel a deft finger pushing against your slit through wet fabric. "If you're asking like that," he glances up at you, head tilting, "there's nothing else for me to do but oblige." The intrusion comes unpleasant first, walls tightening around a sole finger and quivering at the rigid temperature. Zayne lowers his torso closer to you, allowing you to wrap both arms around his shoulders; his eyes are still on you, studying each scrunched up wrinkle on your face with an almost apologetic look on his face. He leans down to press a kiss at the end of your eyebrow as his middle finger tactfully stills inside you.

"Keep going," you pant out, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck. "S'fine, you don't have to keep worrying."

Zayne wants to doubt your words, he'd never want any memorable pain tied back to his name when it comes to you, but he knows you've stubbornly pushed through worse. You're a shedding of God, one he doesn't really care for, a child of man that managed to cheat death nearly daily. "Don't keep quiet if you can't take it." He urges one final time.

You manage a breathless chuckle, "we both know I'd never take anything that hurts quietly, Zayne."

The response you're given makes you shatter, icicles spreading throughout your skin as Zayne shakes his head, a small smile on his face. Taken away from you are the next few moments to appreciate it as Zayne continues thrusting his finger inside you, managing to get in his ring finger, his palm kisses your wet folds with every decisive thrust. He bends his thumb upwards to work circles on your clit— that alone has you quivering, a hand going to grasp at his wrist but your arms are weak with his relentless work into making pleasure burst in your system.

The fables of heaven has never been described in any physical manner, nothing of soft clouds under foot, feasts that melt sweet on the tongue, wine that runs smooth down the throat; it exists only as the promise of eternal pleasure, therefore, is it a lie or an exaggerated truth if Zayne calls you his heaven? When he finally manages to pull that blissful cusp of orgasm over you, the response is delightful; your legs shake idly by your sides and you're clawing for something for to hold onto though you both know nothing will be solid enough in your grasp to keep you grounded to the moment.

His first thought is to offer you an apology, when he pulls three fingers out and watches you cry, shaking your head as your hips move back down in a search for him. The brief moment where he's away from you doesn't last too long as he aligns his aggrieved tip against your wet entrance, bringing his head down to press a chaste kiss on your lips. "I'm here," he comforts. "Right here, darling, relax for me."

You take in a breath from the heated room and keep it locked in your throat as the stretch burns through your body; nails digging into Zayne's shoulders. A broken whine eases through clenched teeth as Zayne pushes in slowly, miniscule inch by inch and keeps a hand on your face, brushing sweaty hair from your forehead and muttering idle love confessions. When a sigh smooths over your eyebrows, you know he's finally sunken all the way in. "Do you need another reminder to breath?" You hear his deep voice distantly, coloured in layers of amusement.

You huff, blowing away the trapped bit of oxygen in your throat.

"There you go," his words are nearly shy off being a sweet coo as his hand travels over your stomach, pressing down on the heated skin. "Feel me?"

His words causes a ricochet of mindless nods, "yeah, yeah— please Zayne." Your legs wrapped around his hips, feet filling into the dimples on his lower back. Zayne, with no other choice, gives you what you want. There's nothing that feels wrong about the moment, he's more certain of the fact than he'd ever been about anything that came previous to him. The pressure of the balls of your feet pressing into his skin, nails digging scars where he'd never allow anything else to draw blood, the weight of you brokenly calling his name like you were the one to have met your God. Each thrust back into you creates the stern foundation of Zayne's cruel and selfish humanity, it's like he's never known anything else— he's not sure he even wants to.

Nothing of his will ever want to know anything that's not you later on; rejection will the inevitable end of any attempt of a rebound that he'll try to introduce to his home. Zayne understands this notion, how would you expect him to go back to his previous norm when he's learnt how it feels to love at your feet? You could maybe remove yourself of him but Zayne is a stubbornly, almost idiotic, lover; he'll give chase after your scent in the wind and after the whisper of your laughter in the trees.

The moment your legs shake, trembling back down onto the mattress as you squeeze around him so delightfully, Zayne finally knows the sinful taste of heaven. He knows what how it feels to be weightless, as his feet met with the opaque clouds that gave away to his unassuming strides, as light followed his every move, how angels would echo his every devious thought in their hymns until God catches on. How much would He resent Zayne? Nothing but mere man, of flesh and bones; no more and no less, singing the praises of another one of His creations and stripping the holy title from God to plaster onto a husk of bones and absolute divinity. Whatever heaven is, Zayne knows he'll never care for it.

There's no basis in its existence. You, on the other hand. You writing underneath him, you with your blunt nails that'll be stained in his blood, you as you found your high in his timely thrust, you calling his name, you turning boneless as you came with a moan. You, you, you. Pants stained his name, a hand dusts over his cheekbones, brushing hair back from his forehead. Zayne meets the gates of heaven with his last shaky thrust, sloppy in aim as his weight expels through his bones and he falls down onto your sweaty chest.

A laugh passes through your lips before you're aware of it, wiping away salty sweat caught on the bridge of his nose with your sleeve pulled over your palm. "You got so into it," you pointed out with a smile on your face. Zayne drags his face to look up at you, his chin hovering over your collarbone. "I didn't even think you heard me when I said I was going to cum."

Zayne gives you a thoughtful hum and you give him an exaggerated frown. "Where you thinking about work again—?"

"I was thinking of how much I adore you," he cuts you off with a pointed look, "but it seems as though I'll have to rethink how much exactly."

"Nooo," you reached out for his face. "I was kidding! Please tell me how much you adore me."

He gives you an unimpressed look but says nothing more as he straightened up, pulling himself away from you. Your face turns an unruly colour of red when his eyes linger on where he was previously so intimately joined to you, snapping your legs closed. Zayne raises an eyebrow at you, if he has anything verbal thoughts on it then he doesn't express it as he gets to his feet. "Shall I go over every feature I adore in detail in the shower?"

You think he's joking as his arm hooked under your legs and the other spanned across your back. It's why you pressed your lips into a straight line, giving a thoughtful nod, "yes, in excruciating detail too."

He manages to wash your body thrice, help you shave, exfoliate, and keeps you stewing in the hot water long enough for you to feel light–headed as he shared a detailed, Shakespearian bible passage for each of your features that had managed to catch his eye over the years you've known each other.

#౨ৎ alma dedication #౨ৎ sample: responding to tags #breath!!!!#this oneshot & his newest limited card may be beating rafayel tf up #no more jeans!!#wtf does british dialogue even MEANNNN #confessing your love for me after i write ~4k word smut one shot..#feels conditional?#the british thing is still bothering me a little...

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1864reruns · 2 months

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the ball of one of my snake bites fell off on my gruelling trek to college... i look like a dickhead w/ it missing mmmm

#౨ৎ vyon adlib #its going to be hellish to try get another one on too...

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