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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

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best laid plans, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: It’s the middle of the night. You’re asleep next to your model boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook, who is jacking off while touching your tits. Wait. Hold on a second. What? (He is still your model boyfriend though, even after all that.)

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship; playful banter and shitty jokes; actually low-key crack and fluff; smut (fem reader, m-masturbation, handjob (while sucking on JK’s balls, lucky guy), tiny bit of nipple play and pussy slapping, edging, cowgirl, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS; the parenthesis are the reader’s inner thoughts and i did make a Dynamite lyric reference with JK’s dick and you can’t stop me

yes, the title is a pun, channeling my inner seokjinnie it’s what you think it is and it’s also not

–

Your dreams were always vivid and intense.

Was it normal to have movie-level, hyperdetailed, sometimes not even involving you or anyone you knew (at least consciously), insane storyline dreams on a constant basis (without medication causing them)? You know, maybe not. You should get that checked out. But not today, because this is not the story about that (you really should get that checked out).

This is the story about you dreaming about your boyfriend jacking off next to asleep you and then realizing it was not a dream.

At first you were like, man, that sure sounds like Jeon Jungkook breathing hard. Was he working out? Why are you having dreams about Jungkook working out? That's literally the most pointless, mundane dream you could ever have. Also, you weren't seeing anything, just blackness. What was the damn point of this dream you couldn't even look at him?

(To be honest, that’s very rude of you, brain.)

Jungkook always asked you to work out at home with him but, one, he was annoying as fuck to work out with because all he did was stare at you ("oh yeah, my bad for thinking you're sexy, holy shit, what a crime to think my girlfriend and future wife is hot!"); two, you literally had zero motivation to work out (not lazy, just, you know, didn't give a shit and Jungkook called that your great flaw of being his perfect girlfriend – but he loved all your soft bits so he was sending you mixed messages, tsk tsk); and finally, three, it always led up to fucking, so why go through all that trouble hyping yourself up in your leggings and sports bra, only to spend five minutes in them and forty-five doing a whole different kind of workout that didn't require clothes?

Exactly.

Just skip that shit and get to the naked part.

Oh, right, back to the whole deep-breathing Jungkook and you seeing darkness thing.

Sometimes you had dreams with only sound and very little visual. It was disorienting, giving you the feeling of being trapped in a maze with no way out (dream analysts would be all over that shit) and once the images returned, you were usually naked (psychologists would have a field day with that). But this time, you were unmoving. Listening to tense inhale, drawn-out exhale, over and over, and you only recognized it as Jungkook because he did that thing where he sucked on his teeth a little, making that almost inaudible hiss noise.

You felt heavy, tired, sluggish, as if you were dragging yourself through mud, in between the brink of conscious and subconscious, in that brief moment where you could control the dream but not your body, that little pocket of utopia. You searched for Jungkook in the darkness, curious to find him, and you couldn't, but he seemed to be beside you, to your right, where he usually was when you slept. Next to you, sometimes snoring so you'd have to smack him in the chest and he'd snort and stop (for a hot second, then you'd roll him to his side so at least he wouldn't be snoring in your ear). His pectoral muscles were bigger lately (you hated working out but you sure as hell didn't hate Jungkook working out) and the slapping sound was pretty satisfying now, palm to hard muscle.

Kind of like the sound right now.

Wait.

You weren't slapping Jungkook's pecs.

You furrowed your brows. Huh? Why were you hearing that soft smacking sound over and over, Jungkook's low hiss and then your name in a deep hazy whisper and why was your front cold? You usually slept with only panties, no bra, but you weren't usually cold up top – that's what the linen duvet was for (you paid way too much for that, but you saw it on Instagram and, hey, it's your money, go off) and, to be honest, you used to be a cute pajamas person but, ever since you started living with Jungkook, he wanted you to wear as much as he did when he slept (read: literally only his boxer briefs). Lots of begging (and him being on his knees for you) later, and now it was your habit to strip before sleeping.

Anyway, back to being cold.

You scrunched up your face and listened to the labored breathing in your right, a hand drifting on your stomach, tracing your bellybutton, moving up, light, delicate touches, the sound of skin on skin. A gentle fingertip brushed your nipple.

You cracked your eyes open.

There was a tiny bit of light from your computer, the RGB keyboard casting a faint rainbow. You shifted your eyes to your right.

Jungkook's left arm was in an awkward position, softly caressing your nipple as he violently pumped his dick.

On the bed.

Underwear gone.

On the floor? Probably.

He looked pretty damn hard. (Nice.)

Your eyes floated to his face and his eyes were closed, mouth open, trying not to make any noise, gasping your name. Shapely jaw, soft cheeks, dark lashes, ash blond hair framing his handsome features, so beautiful it was unreal. His head turned towards you and his dark brown eyes slowly opened, purring your name lovingly.

"Yeah, Jungkook?"

You saw the single blissful second it took for Jungkook's brain to catch up.

Then he choked.

On air and his dick by squeezing it far too hard in complete and utter shock.

"HOLY FUCK!"

He yanked his hand back, off your chest (feels bad man) and released his cock, causing it to bounce a little in the air (kind of sexy, not gonna lie), both of them shooting up to cover his rapidly reddening cheeks, one tattooed, one not, his inked right arm tense and his hand glistening with points of pre-cum.

You blinked innocently at him.

"Oh, shit, fuck, I'm so sorry, um, l–listen," he sputtered, dick still sticking straight up, completely oblivious to Jungkook's embarrassment (ignorance is bliss). "I... I have a good reason, I s-swear."

You rolled onto your side and squished your tits together. Jungkook's brain seemed to implode a little, staring at your squashed breasts and hard nipples like it was the first time (even though you knew he literally sees them at least once a day).

"You're horny?"

Your voice cracked a little from sleep and you coughed to clear your throat (not sexy, but such is life).

Jungkook's shaking pupils were too busy staring at your titties. "Y-Yeah, I just woke up randomly horny as fuck, but I know how much you hate having your sleep disturbed so I was just going to edge myself a little... well, maybe finish…"

"You masturbating while touching my tits is not going to disturb me?"

"I... I've done it before..."

???????

"Uh..."

"I don't touch you very much!" Jungkook blurted, grabbing your hands. "P-Please don't be mad! I only touch you a little and always very carefully! I never try to take advantage, I'm just horny, please, please, please don't be mad!"

He grabbed you by the shoulders and hugged you tightly. You grimaced, not because of the hug (Jungkook’s hugs were top tier), but because his hard dick jammed right into your thigh and smeared a giant line of pre-cum onto your skin (a little cold and not nearly as sexy as internet smut stories make it out to be, but maybe that was because you literally woke up to Jungkook jacking off without giving you so much as an invitation, rude). You gasped and retreated a little, but that made Jungkook try to grab you tighter and his cock bent upwards and jabbed you in the lower belly.

Still leaking everywhere, by the way.

"Oh shit–"

"Look here Excalibur, I'm not the stone waiting for the king," you winced, swiping your hand across your skin and wiping it on the side of his ass (hey, it's free real estate). Jungkook yelped, letting go of you.

"Hey!"

"If you're horny, let's fuck, not joust. I don't have the proper equipment for that and I'm not an undercover Lancelot, as dope as that would be."

"I should be turned off by now," Jungkook muttered under his breath (probably cursing your poorly timed King Arthur jokes – you did have a tendency to wear your mind on your sleeve). "But I'm not because, fuck, look at this body..."

His hands were already running all over your skin and, if there was one thing Jungkook had an extra zest for, it was fucking you – all the time, twenty-four seven, rest in peace responsibilities if you ever decided to become a nudist, but thankfully you had self-control (not when it came to terrible jokes at inappropriate times though, that was your vice). However, sleepy you had less self-control and let him do whatever he wanted, running his fingers all over your chest, making you shiver and slide closer to him, rubbing your thigh against his length and he sucked in a breath, whispering your name hotly against your cheek.

"S-Stop, I'm going to get horny..."

"You're already horny," you hummed into his chin, running your fingers through his blond hair, closing your eyes again, listening to his soft moan against your cheek (he always sounded so good, so fucking sexy, it was sinful), your left hand sliding down between you both. his palms pressed into your breasts, squeezing them roughly as you cupped your hand around his length and balls (Jungkook was really warm and your hands were kind of cold, this turned out to be a win-win situation, sweet). You wound your fingers around his length with two fingers hooked around his balls, bouncing them lightly as you rubbed his velvety skin, sighing against his neck.

"Pog."

"Do not Twitch chat talk to my dick," Jungkook muttered. "Also, what kind of weak-ass handjob is this, are you just warming your cold-as-fuck fingers–" (well, shit) "–oh, fuck!"

You gripped his cock with your left hand and buried your fingers in his hair, tongue between your lips as you roughly stroked his length, making Jungkook squirm and gasp above you, jerking back. You kept your hold on him, tighter, feeling him swell and get harder, grinning, your eyes still closed, working him fast and firm.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jungkook swore repeatedly, pinching your nipples and rolling them between his fingers (damn, he was making you work to keep this smirk on your face, but it was worth), tendrils of pleasure snaking through you. You bit the side of your lip, increasing your pace, squeezing just under the head the way he liked, pre-cum pooling around the pocket of your index finger and thumb, adding lubrication.

"Stop, s-stop, I'm gonna e-explode," Jungkook moaned, planting his hands onto your tits and sinking his fingers in the softness once more (hello? where's the titty love, this ain't all about you, Jungkook).

"I like dynamite," was you answer, cracking one eye open. "Light it up."

Jungkook growled in his throat, glaring at you. "I swear to God, if you weren't so fucking hot, I'd be so fucking limp right no–aah, d-don't, oh fuuuck, please..."

You slid down the bed, switching hands, attaching your mouth to his balls (he was probably grateful for that, can't talk with a mouthful of nuts, sad) and put your breasts on his thigh, rubbing your nipples all over his hard muscle as you sucked, starting off slow, then faster and faster, one to the other, tongue all over, Jungkook loudly rambling nonsense above you (you weren't paying attention, you had a dick to jack off and some balls to rearrange with your masterful tongue) until Jungkook squealed at your firm grip on the head, cutting off his orgasm once again.

"Stop edging me," he hissed angrily above you.

You blew a raspberry on his nuts.

"A-ah, fuuuuuuuuck!"

Oh, that turned out to be more pleasurable than either you or Jungkook imagined, because his eyes were gigantic and his hips were furiously humping your hand, but you weren't holding him tight enough for him to cum. You raised your eyebrows at him and Jungkook gave you the most displeased expression he could muster (he looked cute as fuck, a complete fail), ash blond strands clinging to his forehead, nose scrunched up.

"That was for jacking off without me," you tutted.

"You would have gotten pissed if I woke you up to fuck," he pouted.

"I need beauty sleep to be beautiful."

"I hear facials actually help quite a lot."

You burst out laughing and Jungkook followed suit, his rich, full, almost wheezing laugh, until he realized you had swiped a condom from the nightstand (yup, they were casually in a little moon-shaped dish by the bed next to the chap stick and phone charger, says a lot about you two), fitted it on him, and then you sat on his dick.

"W-Wait – oooooooh, fuck!"

You waited a second for your body to adjust, forcefully stretched out by his thick girth, but it wasn't that bad when you were controlling your muscles and expecting it, so you started rocking your hips after the second, sighing in satisfaction. Jungkook's eyes rolled back into his head, his long fingers bunching up on his chest, raising his ass to get deeper with every slap of hips to hips, your body talking to his, heat rising through you, branching out your spine and to your limbs, the best kind of workout (your only workout, be honest here), clenching your core, making Jungkook snap his head back in panic, shaking his head furiously.

"I'm g-gonna cum if you keep going l-like that..."

You leaned down, brushing his hands away and spreading your fingers over his pecs, running your nails over his hard nipples. Jungkook whimpered, chewing on his lip, you turning the tempo from a fast one to a longer, slower, more complete stroke from head to base, soft ass smacking his soft balls. He looked up at you, moaning softly, pupils blown wide, rainbow shadows over his face (damn, he's pretty, eleven out of ten, for sure), gasping your name, his hands finding your forearms and caressing them, eyelashes fluttering.

"O-oh, fuck, p-please... faster... wanna cum... you're so fucking sexy... ah, fuck, wanna cum for you..."

No one could say no to that, especially not you.

You slid your arms down to the bed, right beside his head, and increased the force, intensifying it all, Jungkook's fingers flying up and holding onto your nipples, the sheer wildness of your own pace tugging and pulling on them, your breathing deepening, panting hard, wispy and hot, his name on your lips, pleasure all over, passionately fucking him into the bed, and him jutting his hips back into your soaked walls, throbbing against the tightness, so hot, fire coursing through you, your juices soaking his crotch and balls.

“Jungkook, oh, fuck, yes...”

You squeezed him hard and Jungkook thrust into you with a groan, all hardness and thickness violently burying itself into your overwhelming heat and you moaned lustfully, pussy shuddering around his wonderful cock, feeling it shiver repeatedly, his orgasm filling up the condom so much that you felt the latex stretch inside you, jarring jerks with each of Jungkook's soft cries, his head shoved into the pillows, blond hair fanning out like a halo and practically wearing out your name with how many times he was chanting it.

You reached and held down the condom as you unsheathed (the beast), collapsing against the bed and laying down, wheezing a little, greatly satisfied at your work.

"Boom."

You weakly reached up and mimed a firework with one hand.

"Like dynamite."

"Oh, my fucking God," Jungkook muttered, peeling off the condom and immediately snatching the towel next to the bed (also says a lot about you two) and another condom, yanking off the other one (trash can next to the bed already, again says – never mind, you get it) and cleaning himself off before putting on the new one. "On your back."

You rolled on your back, snickering. "Three parts dynamite, with a nitroglycerin cap–"

Jungkook clapped a hand on your mouth and it smelled a whole lot like his cum. "This is not the time to be quoting the Addams Family, you animal."

You nuzzled out of it, grinning. "I'm just saying I want an orgasm equivalent to blowing up a small house."

"Oh, you'll get it," Jungkook growled, yanking your hips to the center of the bed, pushing your legs up to your chest, almost bending you in half. "You ready?"

You bit your lip, still grinning. "Of course."

One hand left your leg and you were confused for a split second.

The next you were gasping, Jungkook rapidly smacking his hand into your clit and pussy, not hard, but constant, swift smacks that got you wetter and wetter, quivering and struggling for breath.

"J-Jungkook, oh f-fuck, Jungkook..." you whined, fingers digging into the sheets, twisting them, bouncing your hips towards him. He inhaled sharply, fitting his finger onto your clit and raising himself.

"W-wait – oh fuck!"

Jungkook chuckled and thrust into your wet warmth, rubbing your clit at the same time. Your body squirmed, trying to alleviate the sudden high rush of pleasure, but Jungkook was stronger (was this the reason he worked out? no complaints here), his free hand pressing your leg down into your chest, your other leg crammed against his shoulder, his hand snaking in between and stimulating your clit, not having to move because you were moaning helplessly, rutting against him repeatedly, pulsating all around him, so good, so good, throbs of desire against his callused fingertip, eyes rolling back. Hard cock, engorged clit worked into a frenzy, your own hips fucking him back so hard that Jungkook was moaning with you, your name tumbling out from those pink lips.

"Cum for me, fuck, you sound and look so sexy, come on, come on..."

You would have praise for him too if you could breathe, but you couldn't, pleasure so overwhelming that your eyes closed, getting there, getting so close, and Jungkook he kept going until you wailed his name, back arcing, your tits hitting your thighs, forearms taut and straining, lower body lurching towards him and leaking out slick juices all over his crotch and yours, so much so that his finger slipped and his nail nicked your clit, turning your moan into a howl of ecstasy.

"Oh, shit, are you ok–"

You grabbed his hips, ignoring whatever the fuck he was saying, and slammed him down into your pussy, making Jungkook lose his balance and put his hands on the bed, yelping, and you hissing in his face, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, please, Jungkook, give me your cock, and Jungkook was saying something but your body gave no fucks, ears mysteriously broken at that specific moment, raising your hips to meet his as he sank down, Jungkook's face scrunching up and his pleas finally reaching your ears.

"H-Hold on, I want to last, stop, stop, stop..."

"Who cares about that, I need dick," was your very impatient response, but Jungkook grabbed your thighs and pinned you down, stopping you and him from moving, you whining and clenching around him.

"This is not p–"

Jungkook immediately fitted his hand over your mouth, narrowing his eyes at you. "No. Bad. Shush."

(How did he know you were going to say 'this is not poggers'?)

You wiggled your ass and Jungkook growled, pulling out and slamming back in, not fast, but powerful, cock getting harder and harder with your whines and cries behind his palm.

"This is what you need," he panted, deep and gravelly, one hand on the bed and one on your mouth, fucking you so hard that your ass was bouncing on the bed, creating a wet spot on the sheets with how drenched you were for Jungkook's lust-filled, husky voice. "Need me to fuck you silent, fuck, you're so tight and wet, come on, cum for me, cum for me, you sexy, sexy woman..."

Your body was already complying, pleasure wrapping all around, body so hot from the fire within, tongue pressed against his palm, moaning lewdly around his fingers as you came again, and he was so hard, fuck, Jungkook was so fucking hard right after he woke up, always, (a fucking mystery and eighth wonder of the world and your pussy was thoroughly investigating), so deep and so thick, your muscles clutching him tight, sucking him back in. His fingers separated a little, loosening his grip, and you heard your needy whimper mildly muffled by his digits.

"You're so good Jungkook, I love you, fuck, I love your cock, Jungkook..."

You looked up into his eyes, at his long hair hanging around his face, jaw clenched, smirking as he saw your gaze, biting the side of his lips in concentration.

"I love you too," he breathed. "You're the sexiest, most beautiful woman in the world."

You clamped around him and Jungkook groaned, eyelids fluttering, grunting as he forcefully thrust into you, your name mixed with a moan as he came again, fully sheathing himself in your quivering, abused heat, warm pulses soothing him and you all over. The sheets stuck to your ass, covered in your sweet-smelling cum.

(Good thing that was on his side of the bed.)

His hand glided up your face, pushing back your hair, shuddering as he rutted into your core a few more times, savoring your tightness.

"You alright, my dude?" you whispered nonchalantly, gasping slightly.

Jungkook cracked one eye open. "Yeah, I'm fucking fantastic, bro."

"Pog-"

Jungkook shoved two fingers into your mouth and you choked a little, pouting around his fingers (you weren't surprised though, you knew it was coming).

"I will whip this dick out and slap you in the face with it."

"That's kinda nasty, but also sounds kinda hot," you gargled around his fingers.

"... You're right. Damn, he's asleep. Shit."

Jungkook pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the towel, frowning as he glanced down.

"Only him and not us, something seems a little inverted here."

Jungkook chuckled and leaned down to kiss you (another reason why he was the perfect partner, still being affectionate, regardless of your loony antics).

"I love you."

in which you anger jjk by being annoying - wait, that’s every day well, he still wants to bang you counter point

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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katsuhera · 3 years

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BAD GIRLS GET PUNISHED | DILUC RAGNVINDR

pairing: diluc x f!reader wc: 1.6k tw/warnings: nsfw (18+) smut, blowjob, hair pulling, he pushes your head down, exhibitionism, not proofread

you’d begged diluc to let you stay around him while he worked, tending to monstadt’s drunkest, and finally, finally, he complied, realizing that he couldn’t deny those sweet, wide eyes of yours any longer.

you’d begged because he was always such a refined gentleman and utter sweetheart to you, so you couldn’t understand why others seemed to be so intimidated—and almost scared—of him. diluc ragnvindr? the man who comes home to you every night bearing soft kisses and bouquets of cecilias and windwheel asters? you simply couldn’t fathom it.

a thought crossed your mind one day that his reputation must have something to do with the way he is at work. maybe he’s too strict with his patrons? does he impose obnoxious rules in the tavern? there had to be something.

and the night had started out surprisingly calm and without incident. like you’d promised him at the beginning of his shift, you were a good girl for him and stayed put at the counter, not raising any suspicions amongst the townspeople about the relationship you and diluc shared. you made it seem as though you were there just for a casual drink, no more and no less.

but when the rowdy drunkards started to flirt with you—diluc decided that enough was enough.

at first, he tried to let it slide. he kept his mouth shut but his eyes on you, making sure that no fool got too close to you.

but the constant flirtations and sickly smiles sent your way were becoming too much for him to bear, and finally he sent them upstairs begrudgingly, telling them that they were too drunk to continue drinking, and if they wanted to stay, they would have to eat something upstairs first.

you smiled to yourself, holding your head upright in your hands as you watched him pout, cleaning glasses that were already sparkling.

“what’s wrong, darling?” you asked sweetly, though a little slurred.

his eyes softened as he looked at you, and he let out a soft sigh before beckoning for you to come behind the counter.

“come, my love,” he said, and you looked behind you towards the back area of the first floor to make sure no one was watching. for once, six-fingered jose was home and not at the tavern.

“no one’s here but the two idiots upstairs,” he reassured you, pulling you into his chest, keeping his palm flush against your lower back. “and charles, but he’s upstairs taking their order.”

you let the alcohol swirl in your mind so that all you could really focus on was the warmth radiating from both within your body and from diluc’s, and you smiled contently, resting your head against his chest.

“you know what you did wrong, though, right?”

diluc spoke in a low tone, just loud enough for you to hear. for a moment, you almost didn’t respond—too preoccupied with the way you could feel his chest muscles through his clothing were you to fully process his words.

“me? what did i do?”

“you really don’t know what you did?” he sounded surprised, but you had no clue as to his facial expression. with one hand he held you securely about your waist, and the other gently stroked the back of your head. “all night, i had to deal with watching you smile and laugh with them, those idiot knights of favonius. to an outsider, it might have seemed as though you were really going to let them take you home.”

you were stunned speechless, slowly replaying the events from just minutes prior in your head.

“i swear—i would never, i wasn’t—”

words came tumbling from your lips, and you tried to wriggle out of his grasp so that you could look at him, but he held you still.

“even if you didn’t mean to, it still happened, my love.”

“but—”

“don’t you think you deserve a punishment for that?”

the pangs of guilt that pulled at your throat were interrupted when you noticed the shift in his tone.

“diluc…?”

his clothed cock stiffened against your body when you said his name, so sweetly and innocently. it was the one sound that he would never trade for anything in the world, hearing you call his name.

you let out a small gasp as you noticed it, but could barely react as the sound of footsteps in the background got gradually louder.

“shit,” diluc cursed under his breath. you’d just begun to turn your head around to see when diluc suddenly pushed you down by your shoulders, forcing you to kneel at his feet. “be a good girl and keep quiet, love. they don’t need to know that you’re still here.”

wide-eyed, you nodded silently.

“oh—where’s y/n?” one of the knights slurred. a dull thud punctuated his sentence—you assumed it to be the sound of his friend plopping himself back down at the bar.

“went home,” diluc responded curtly. “here—last glass of wine for you two. you’re much too drunk.”

he slammed the glasses on the counter—not so hard that they would break, but hard enough to wake the two out of their drunken stupor.

your cunt throbbed, hearing the finality in his voice. it was something you never really got to hear, since he kept everything about himself so much more gentle and soft around you. you didn’t know it, but to him, you were like a flower that he wanted to cherish forever. a flower whose petals he hoped he would never have to see fall; he always felt as though every one of his actions were too rough and harsh around you, though you’d never minded. but it was a habit of thought that he simply couldn’t shake.

but seeing this side of him awakened a new kind of desire within you. biting your lip cheekily, you slid your hands up his thighs while making yourself comfortable on your knees.

you dragged your fingers up lightly along his inner thighs, palming his quickly hardening bulge teasingly before lifting yourself up slightly to kiss it.

diluc’s entire body tensed, thanking barbatos and all that was holy that the countertop was so high.

a calloused hand met the top of your head, fingers rooting themselves in your hair. he tugged firmly, a silent warning, ordering you to stop.

but you ignored it, keeping your focus on undoing his pants as quietly as possible.

ever since you felt him press against you earlier, you couldn’t deny the unmistakable ache that’d started to grow in your core.

you inwardly praised yourself on being able to unzip his pants so quietly, and excitement bubbled up inside you as you palmed his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, squeezing it teasingly before dipping your fingers below the waistband and pulling it out entirely.

you noticed his thighs stiffen as you did so, and you kissed them lightly while stroking his length.

his grip in your hair tightened, but it didn’t stop you from pressing gentle, open-mouthed kisses to the tip of his cock, flicking your tongue ever-so-slightly to collect the small pearly bead of precum that betrayed diluc’s otherwise stoic appearance.

diluc cleared his throat in a futile attempt to hide the groan that had bubbled up to his throat so suddenly. making sure that the two patrons in front of him weren’t watching him, he allowed himself to peer down at you, watching as you bobbed your head on his cock, looking up at him with doe eyes all the while.

he choked back a moan, and his cock hardened impossibly further in your mouth. you pinched yourself to prevent your gag from being audible, but a small part of you almost—almost—wished that someone would hear you.

you dragged your tongue along the bottom of his shaft, bringing your hand up to gently cup his balls, massaging them as you brought your head back up until just the tip was left in your mouth.

you ghosted your fingers over his length, trailing along the thick veins that you so loved.

you were taking your time sucking on the head of his cock, flicking your tongue between his slit and going no further than just below the tip when he forced your head down, forcing you take him entirely. involuntary tears started to bead at your lashline, blurring your vision, so you shut your eyes tightly, causing the salty tears to flow down your cheeks.

the conversation the two knights were having became fuzzy background noise, and all was blocked out from your senses as you yielded control to diluc, who set the pace with his hand buried in your hair.

your face was wet with saliva and tears, and you’d barely even noticed when he came, salty hot cum shooting into the back of your throat as he held your face close to his hips, keeping your mouth full of his cock until you sucked him dry of every last drop of cum.

“alright, bar’s closed. get out,” diluc said flatly to the two patrons, and you could make out some disgruntled shuffling and murmuring as they packed up their things and headed for the door.

you swallowed quietly, trying to still to make as least noise as possible. he softened in your mouth, but you could still feel the imprint of his dick in your throat, the bruising he’d left behind.

yanking you by your hair, he pulled you off his cock and angled your head up to look at him.

“darling,” he cooed darkly. “oh, you’re all wet.”

he took out his handkerchief, patting your cheeks dry of your tears.

“i thought i had told you to be a good girl for me, what happened?” he asked, tucking himself back into his pants before squatting down to meet you at eye level. “don’t you know that bad girls get punished?”

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#diluc #diluc smut #genshin smut #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact smut #diluc fanfiction #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfiction #diluc x you #diluc x reader #diluc x y/n

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beelsnack · 4 years

Text

Obey Me! Boys and the Hidden Talent You Wouldn’t Expect Them To Have

Lucifer: Honestly, they had thought it was just for decoration.

Considering how little the brothers actually used anything in the music room, they had just assumed most of the instruments in there were just for show. The only reason they were proved wrong was by sheer accident.

Their insomnia had been a hindrance back in the human realm, but now that the constant darkness of the Devildom had taken a hammer to their circadian rhythm, they found themselves wandering the halls of the House of Lamentation more and more frequently in the middle of the night. While they knew they weren’t the only one awake at this hour (they had made the mistake of wandering too close to Asmo’s room and discovered that his nights were very active) they typically were the only one out of their room.

It was their second pass around the first floor when they heard it. A faint, unfamiliar melody ringing softly down the hall. Before they realized what they were doing, their feet had brought them to the music room. When they peeked through the doorway, the sight made them freeze.

Lucifer was seated on a bench, eyes closed in an uncharacteristically serene expression. The soft candlelight shone behind him, making him look every bit like the angel he once was as his long, graceful fingers plucked skillfully at the strings of the harp. The song was hauntingly beautiful, much like Lucifer himself, and something about it made the human’s breath catch in their throat.

They hadn’t thought they made a noise, but demon hearing was something else. Lucifer’s eyes snapped open, hands halting over the strings as the two of them made eye contact.

At first, it seemed like Lucifer was preparing to scold them, and they felt themself reflexively tensing. Instead, Lucifer’s expression softened.

“You should be in bed.” his voice betrayed how tired he was, even if he appeared just fine.

“I couldn’t sleep.” they murmured. Speaking too loudly might break the spell, and this gentle illusion would shatter.

“Hm.” he motioned them forward, patting the spot next to him. The bench was small enough to when they sat down, they were shoulder-to-shoulder with Lucifer. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

“I didn’t know you could play the harp.” they blurted out. Lucifer, caught off guard by their bluntness, stared down at them for a moment before sighing. A nostalgic smile pulled at his lips, and they found themself wishing he would smile like that more often.

“A skill left over from the Celestial Realm. Playing always put me at ease.”

“Will you keep playing for me?”

He chuckled softly. “Of course. Shall I play a lullaby for the two of us?”

Mammon: “Are we done studying yet? This sucks!”

They didn’t even bother looking up from their textbook. Mammon had done more complaining than studying at this point, and they were honestly too worked up about passing this test tomorrow to worry about entertaining him.

“You can be done if you want, I’m going to keep going.” they mumbled. They talked big, but they had been reading the same sentence over and over again without taking in a single letter. They knew that it wasn’t really helping, but they were convinced that if they didn’t spend every last second studying the material, they were going to fail spectacularly. Honestly, after one semester of Potions, they were never going to complain about chemistry every again.

“You’re gonna ruin your eyes, at this rate.”

They nearly jumped out of their skin. When had Mammon gotten up? How had he gotten behind them without them noticing? Shit, maybe they did need to give it a rest.

“Alright, alright,” they sighed. “I’m not retaining any of this stuff anymore anyway - ow, fuck!”

“What’s wrong?” Mammon sounded unnecessarily terrified, the big worrier.

“Nothing, nothing, sorry.” they brought a hand up to the back of their neck. “Been hunched over for too long, my neck and shoulders are mad at me.”

“Damn, human, you had me thinkin’ you were dyin’ or something.” he breathed out. “Here.”

“What are - “ they cut themselves off as Mammon’s warm hands settled on their shoulders. His thumbs worked soothing circles on the column of their neck before sliding down to work on their shoulder blades.

They felt their eyes slipping close without their consent. “Holy shit, Mammon.” they probably should be a bit more concerned with how breathy their voice sounded, but he was working wonders on their stiff muscles.

He knew just how much pressure to apply, just how to move his hands. The warmth of his palms seeped through their shirt, and they let out a sigh that might have sounded a bit like a moan.

“Hey, you can’t go makin’ those noises while I’m doin’ this.” his voice had gone just a bit lower. “You’re gonna make it awkward.”

“Sorry.” they muttered. “But you’re really good at this. You should open up a massage parlor. You would make a killing.”

“Heh, I thought about it.” he pulled his hands away, and they almost whined at the loss of contact. “But I don’t want to have to rub my hands over some crusty old bastard.”

“Oh well,” they shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to just keep you to myself then.”

Leviathan: “Hey, normie, open up!”

They considered ignoring him in favor of finishing up this very intense Pokemon battle, but it was pretty rare that Levi came to their room without texting them first. With a sigh, they shut their DS and hopped off of their bed to let him in.

“What’s up?” they leaned against the doorway.

“Didn’t you hear? That new MMO is having an exclusive pre-release event. Only the first 300 can get in! Go get set up, people have been talking about this new totally OP armor they’re going to - “

Levi cut himself, peering over their shoulder and wrinkling his nose. “What’s that?”

At first, they thought he was talking about their DS, but when they looked behind them, they realized what he meant.

“Ah, yeah.” the walked over to their bed and picked up the old stuffed dragon toy. They creadled him gently to their chest and frowned a little. “He got a little roughed up on his way to the Devildom. I had to get creative.”

The toy was clearly well loved, but the real attention-grabber was the piece of duct tape holding its front left leg to the rest of it. Little bits of fluff could be seen beneath the tape and it was clear that the repair job wasn’t going to last for much longer.

Leviathan clicked his tongue. “That’s never going to hold. Bring him over after the event tonight.”

“Why?” the human tilted their head, clutching the dragon tighter like they were afraid Levi was going to mercy-kill him.

“I’m going to fix him for you, duh.” there was a faint dusting of pink high on his cheekbones, and he looked away quickly. “I don’t like to bring my sewing stuff out of my room, I’ll lose it for sure.”

“You can sew?” they sounded incredulous. “Since when?”

“Th-there was a contest a while back. Whoever made the best TSL cosplay got to have a meet and greet with the cast of the movie.” Levi looked like he was about to catch fire now. “Of-of course, I couldn’t just go buy stuff, everyone knows the handmade stuff is better, so I learned how to sew.”

“Levi, that’s amazing!”

Levi blinked. “I-It is?”

“Duh!” they beamed up at him. “I could never do anything like that! I definitely owe you one if you can fix him up for me!”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he muttered, staring down at his feet. How was he supposed to handle getting compliments like that?

“It is!” they placed their toy back on their bed in favor of wrapping their arms around Levi’s middle. “Thank you so much!”

“Whoa, hey! You can’t just d-do that all of a sudden!”

Satan: They quite enjoyed their study dates with Satan. The two of them could sit in amiable silence for hours and just focus on getting their work done. It was peaceful, and Satan never minded if they took a rest on his shoulder

As they struggled to keep their eyes open (a coffee break might be in order soon) they caught sight of something in the margins of Satan’s notebook.

It started as idle pencil marks in the corner of the page. Little spirals that slowly transformed into vines winding their way down the side. Delicate little flowers soon began to bloom at random intervals until finally, in the bottom corner, Satan was in the middle of doodling a lotus flower.

“That’s so pretty.” they felt Satan jump as they broke the silence.

“What?” he blinked, refocusing. “Oh. Sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

“I should have known you were a doodler.” they laughed. “I read somewhere that people who doodle in class actually retain more information.”

“Is that right?” Satan muttered, more to himself than anything. “That explains my notes in class. I wonder if there’s a reason I enjoy drawing outside of a learning environment?”

They nudged him before he got too deep in his own thoughts. “You’re allowed to just have a hobby, Satan. There’s no need to psychoanalyze it so much.”

Asmo: When they had admitted that they had never gotten their nails done, Asmo had wasted no time in whisking them away to his room. He insisted that everyone should have a manicure at least once in their life, sat them down on the chaise lounge in his bedroom and set to work.

Admittedly, they probably should be taking care of their nails better, and it was nice to have someone pamper them a little bit. They hadn’t really been expecting the hand massage at the end.

“Oh, you have earth hands, darling.” Asmo said as he worked his thumb into the center of their palm. “Reliable, stubborn, practical. Fits you to a T!”

“Huh?”

Asmo ignored them, continuing to analyze their hand. “Your love line starts under your index finger. Well, with seven partners, I should hope you’re content with your love life.”

“Asmo, what the hell?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry, darling.” Asmo laughed, tracing his finger in a circle in the center of their hand. “I suppose I should ask before I read your palm.”

“Is that what that was?” they asked. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Mm, there’s plenty of things I can do, my dear.” he practically purred. “An old lover of mine was a practiced chiromancer. I always thought it was fascinating, being able to read a person just by the lines on their hands, so I had them teach me. If nothing else, it’s a neat party trick.”

“Wow...” the human murmured, staring at their hand. “What else can you tell?”

Beelzebub and Belphegor: It had been decided long ago that Beel could not be trusted with cooking duty on his own. So the twins always had joint cooking duty.

It had also been decided that Belphegor couldn’t be trusted with waking up for cooking duty, so Lucifer tacked the human on as well.

None of them particularly minded it. Well, Belphie minded it a little, seeing as Beel had to literally fireman carry him to the kitchen. But all three of them worked well as a team.

It wasn’t terribly uncommon for Beel to hum to himself when he cooked. The kitchen was his element, and cooking always seemed to put him in a cheerful mood. It was uncommon, however, for Belphie to join in.

They hadn’t really been paying attention, simply registering the twins as background noise while they focused on their task. But soon, Beel’s humming turned to lyrics in a language that the human didn’t understand, but sent a shiver up their spine anyway.

Beel sang in a smooth baritone voice that they could feel thrumming through their chest. The human found themself closing their eyes and listening, nearly forgetting that they were supposed to be chopping up mandrake root.

They almost chopped their finger off when Belphie joined in.

When they turned around, the twins had their backs facing either other, but they had paused in their work. Both of them wore identical expressions of nostalgia - eyes closed, lips tugged upwards in a soft smile. Belphie’s soft, clear tenor mixed with Beel’s low timbre, and, despite not understanding a single word, the human felt goosebumps rise up their arms.

When they finished the song, the twins opened their eyes and looked at each other over their shoulder. Beel honestly looked like he was going to cry out of sheer joy.

“It’s been a while since we sang together.” Beel grinned.

“At least a century.” Belphie nodded, shaking his head. “I’m surprised my voice hasn’t broken.”

“I feel like I’m intruding on a family moment, here.” the human muttered. They honestly hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but by the time they realized, it was too late. The twins had turned their gazes on them like they had just stood on the table and started screaming.

“What’re you talking about?” Belphie drawled.

“You are family.” Beel smiled, crossing the kitchen in three strides to ruffle their hair. “So you can’t be intruding.”

They stuck their tongue out at Beel, ducking out from underneath his hand. “Can you two teach me that song?”

#I want obey me character songs #shall we date obey me #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

Text

My Only Comfort

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: Periods can suck. Supportive partners, less so. (This is in the “Only For A Moment” universe but can be read as a one shot.)

Warnings: None just FLUFF

A/N: This is purely self service. Idk if anyone will even care to read this. BUT my period had been brutalizing me for days and I just wanted to write a quick little fluffy bit to make myself feel better. Maybe you need it too!

It’s funny how easy it is to forget the little things over the years. Like how you loved the cherry blossoms in Brooklyn. Or how costume storage often smelled like mothballs and vodka. Or how much being on your period absolutely sucked.

When you had your first full medical exam in Wakanda and they asked when your last cycle had been you honestly couldn’t say. It wasn’t something you spared much thought to. Until then you hadn’t even thought much about birth control or any other form of contraception. For a moment you’d felt a little surge of panic.

Turned out you were worried over nothing, at least as far as getting knocked up went.

You almost laughed when they found that Hydra had sterilized you. For years you’d fought to get your tubes tied or any other kind of permanent birth control - the last thing you needed or wanted was to bring a kid into the world - only to be constantly denied due to your age. For once, Hydra had done something you’d actually appreciated.

Your lack of a menstrual cycle could be pretty easily chalked up to them likely controlling it with hormones when they had you and the time after to constant stress. No big deal.

Except, being in Wakanda had taken away a massive load of that stress. No longer were you afraid to be found daily, living a false life, always ready for the next fight. Now, you were rebuilding your life, both of you were. It was almost a dream.

Until your uterus made you dream of being stressed enough to shut her up again.

Your first period had been pretty light, nothing to really complain about. This one though… Maybe Hydra had actually replaced your uterus with a tiny angry monster that was going to claw its way from your body Alien style.

Around 3 a.m. you wake, your entire lower body screaming literal bloody murder.

Slithering from the bed you’ve only one thought on your mind - hot, steaming, scalding water. Quickly you rid yourself of your wrecked underwear and turn on the shower. Leaning your head against the tile wall you let the water pound against your throbbing back, silently praying your body will stop this mutiny so you can get some sleep.

Tomorrow was a full day with classes and drills with the Dora Milaje, none of which you wanted to miss. There wasn’t time for this bullshit.

Sighing you open your eyes, turning to face the water and catch a figure outside the steam covered shower glass. Logically, you know it’s Bucky but your tired foggy brain still sends a startled gasp tumbling out of your mouth. Some warrior you were.

“Holy shit, Buck!” You exclaim, opening the door enough to see him.

“Sorry!” He holds his hand up, face looking a little pale. “There was blood and - I just, I didn’t think.”

Guilt and just the slightest bit of embarrassment flood you. In the grip of the pain, you hadn’t even thought to check the bed. Of course, his mind would go to the darkest option first upon seeing blood.

“No, it’s ok.” You move to turn off the water, “I’ll deal with it. Sorry.” His hand stops yours. When you look back that kind smile is on his lips, it always sucked your breath right from your chest.

“There’s nothing for you to deal with. Take your time.” He must read the defiance in your expression. “If you’re not in this shower for at least 10 more minutes I’m dragging you back into it myself.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” you quip before a stab of pain makes you groan. He kisses your knuckles and leaves you to the steamy room.

When you finally turn off the water, a little pruney but feeling a bit better you find one of Bucky’s shirts and a fresh pair of underwear on the counter. This man. Toweling your hair you step out to thank him only to see him remaking the bed with fresh sheets.

“Babe,” you protest, “you didn’t have to-”

“Hush.” He gestures to a steaming mug on your bedside table. “It’s the tea Okoye gave me, the relaxing one.” Before you can say anything he reads your mind, “I know you hate tea but drink it anyway.”

“Just hot leaf juice,” you grumble with a smile on your face as you lift the mug to your nose to smell the contents. Earthy and slightly floral.

“Coffee is technically hot bean juice,” he says, putting a pillow back in its case.

“Blasphemy! I demand a divorce.”

He rolls his eyes, “Maybe when the sun’s out. Get in bed.”

“But my hot leaf juice,” you say in a false whine. He settles his back against the padded headboard, arm held out.

“You can bring your leaf juice, just come here.”

With a sigh, you crawl into bed. Bucky holds you tight, your back to his chest. You sip your tea, begrudgingly admitting that it wasn’t the worst and seemed to be coaxing your tense muscles into submission.

“Thank you for changing the sheets,” you say, voice groggy.

“Of course, doll. Anything else I can do?” You shake your head, tucked under his chin. “Here,” he plucks the half-empty mug from your hands, setting it on his nightstand.

He scootches you both down into the warm fresh bed. Your head rests on his chest and unerringly your right-hand finds it’s way over to the steady beat of his heart, the feeling of its rhythm under your palm always soothing.

Before you drift off you hear him whisper, “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Your alarm is an unholy sound scant hours later.

“Not yet,” you grumble - hand flopping to turn it off.

“Not at all,” Bucky says, his own voice still thick with sleep.

“I have to-”

“You ‘aveta’ nothin’,” a bit of that long lost accent slips out. Even in your exhausted state, it makes you smile. “You need to rest.”

“Bucky,” you sit up, “it’s a period, not the flu I will be-”

“Staying home. Glad we agree.” He hooks his arm around you tugging you to him.

“I need to at least let Okoye know-”

“I told her last night. Now. Sleep.”

You do. Hard and deep. When you awake it’s to the familiar smell of bacon and the sound of Bucky, singing softly along to the Beetles in the kitchen - the words to “Hey Jude” clear.

The only dark spot on the otherwise perfect moment was the feeling that you were still being torn at from the inside. Quietly you swear that this is the last time - whatever you have to do you’ll do it to keep this beast at bay moving forward.

Before going to the kitchen you fist one of Bucky’s flannel button-ups from the closet and slip it on over your tee. The familiar scent so soothing.

“Morning gorgeous,” Bucky beams at you as you walk into the kitchen.

“Haha,” you say. You’d seen yourself in the mirror. Shit was rough.

Turning from his pan he catches you before you get your mug. His blue eyes glitter causing your heart skips several beats. When he kisses you he tastes like coffee and love and home.

“You are always beautiful to me, Y/N.”

You smile so big your cheeks hurt, “Sap.” Batting him away playfully you pour a mug of coffee.

“Go on and have a seat,” he says pulling the bacon out. “The eggs’ll be quick.”

You perch cross-legged at the little two-seater table, unable to hold back a contented sigh.

Eggs plated he brings the food to the table. Your heart swells, as it does any time he makes you breakfast, always reminding you of the first morning you spent together.

“One more thing,” he heads back into the kitchen and pulls out something from the oven, covered in foil.

“Pancakes?!” You stare in mouthwatering wonder.

“Yup,” he says smugly, reaching into a cabinet to produce syrup. He tops off your coffee before settling down.

“I say we eat, take a nap, eat again, maybe watch something. I’ll cook dinner, and-”

“You’re going to cook dinner?” You ask, more than a little surprised. Bucky was pretty confident in the breakfast realm but dinner was a different thing.

“I’ve been learning!” He protests. It was true, he often joined you in the kitchen, though he tended to be a bit frustrated by your inability to give clear instructions. His face softens as he reaches his hand across the table to stroke the back of your hand.

“Let me take care of you.” It’s not a question. He’s learned that sometimes he has to match your stubborn self-sufficiency with his own immovable will. And for your part, you’re learning that it’s not so bad to let someone take the wheel from time to time.

You smile and nod, surprisingly happy to let go and bask in the comfort of his care.

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @fairislesheets @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @wintersoldierswhore @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @jewelofwinter @siriuslycloudy2 @hardygal69 @marvelousmeggi @jdoenson @gamorazenn @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @demonlover87 @winterboobearsworld @this-kitten-is-smitten @damnaged-princess

#bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fluff #comfort fluff #soft bucky

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undergroundkid · 3 years

Text

9. Keep provoking my curosity

The new guest tore his gaze away from the phone to meet yours, acknowledging you with a simple nod. The lack of words was a little surprising, but he didn’t seem to hold grudges against you like some of the previous quiet guests from the last floor. Still thinking about how you’re better than everyone here? With a bitter swallow, you reached for his bag. - I will take your luggage – you took it with a huff, shocked about its weight:- Please follow me, Mister. He did so, tapping slowly on the screen of his phone. You weren’t quite sure if his silence was a pleasant turnaround or disturbing occurrence. Between rare small talks and not so infrequently quarrels, ignorance suited most of your guests. Chae’s reservations never played by these rules, though – wild cards, all of them.

The man beside you hide his phone but didn’t utter a word. You rode in the company of the elevator hum, signaling the 4th floor with a soft ding. You walked towards his door, the beginning of standard formula at the tip of your tongue: here’s your keycard, the restaurant is open… A loud groan stopped you in your tracks. You turned around with startle, only to be met with the surprised face of until now silent guest. He took off his facemask, showing off light, perfect skin. He giggled then, a warm, almost adorable sound, so dissonant with the rest of his visuals. - Oh, I am sorry Miss – he apologized with a small bow:- I’m just terribly tired and yawned before I could stop myself. You laughed along with him. - It’s alright, let’s make it quick so you can rest properly – you suggested, opening his apartment. Once inside, you dropped luggage and gave him short instructions about hotel regulations. Taking note of his earlier behavior, you drew the curtains and dimmed the lights to let his eyesight relax already. - If you need any help, don’t hesitate to call reception. - Everything seems perfect to me, thank you – he took his bag without any effort and laid it on the bed, which made you think why the heck he couldn’t do it earlier and left it to you to drag it all the way here. Why did people love to make your life harder? You should’ve call Yoonho to do this, it’s his job.. You’re exactly like your guests. Uneasy feeling sat in the pit of your stomach again. - Not sure about my coach though, he may nag you about anything really – the man laughed in a low voice. You glanced at his baggy tracksuit, awfully white sneakers, big, heavy bag – in addition, you caught a peek of a sport t-shirt inside with bright caption TEAM WONHO. He must be some kind of athlete, then. - Always glad to be of service – you decided to stay polite. - Ahaha, please, don’t encourage him – he snorted, sitting on the bed. In poor lighting, bags under his eyes weren’t so prominent as before, but his face hid some uneasiness. You weren’t sure if it was fatigue, though. Better to be cautious. He was one of Chae’s friends, after all, he could snap at you anytime. Or do something else; your tattooed wrist burned with a reminder one more time. - Hope you enjoy your stay, sir. - I hope so, too.. trainings are insane lately – with a sigh, he leaned his elbows on knees, slouching:- What's the point in trying anymore? All I do is mess things up anyway.. Unconsciously your feet already pointed towards the door; it wasn’t a conversation you should or even want to have with a man you didn’t know the name of. Damn, what were you supposed to say? You’re not a psychologist. How to act tactfully here? The question was if you really wanted to be tactful; or if you just wanted to leave. Your personal life was a solid confusion enough lately. Sir, please let me just do my job.. - I think you just need a proper rest – you spoke calmly, trying to induce such an effect on him. Luckily, he nodded in agreement. - Yeah, that sounds wonderful.. You bowed and left the apartment, closing the doors gently. Letting out a deep breath of relief, you wondered why your work is getting harder like this. Tourism was always full of surprises, as many of people-related businesses. But roller coaster like this was new; one day you are getting psychotherapy with a tattoo artist, another one you are deeply insulted, sometimes you briefly met someone decent and then you are getting tricked by tarot reader and.. well. Today you were met with a depressed sportsman. The small voice in your head recommended extra blankets and nice champagne to add in hotel system info about this room, but mostly you just wanted to get back to the backroom in reception. You didn’t want to bother about another messed up client. Sitting alone, pretending to work but being able to dwell in your own thoughts.. just being ignorant and properly don’t care.. just like your typical guests. You’re exactly like your guests. - Giving a poor hotel guide again? More than a reminder of harsh words, you were startled by the same voice behind you. Turning around, you were met with the main cause of your distress lately, your own nemesis, however dramatical it sounded. - Mr. Chae – you responded tightly. He looked a bit different; his hair a little washed out, not so outstandingly bleached anymore. He wore all black again, his blazer slightly damp from the weather outside. As much as it was normal, it was weird to see since you remember how unaffected he was by the snowstorm when you saw him for the first time. When he was a gentleman making odd reservations. - Not much changed, I see. But you did, sadly. The blonde slid keycard beside the knob to his door, not facing you, which didn’t stop him from talking: - I wonder when you will understand how short-sighted you are. What needs to happen for you to realize? Hearing harsh words from this man wasn’t new. Somehow expecting it, your feelings weren’t as hurt as before. Anxious, yes, but not stunned. Chae stepped into the room, finally looking at you with clear incomprehension. - You got help all this help from Changkyun only to be swept into your ignorance once again. A pity, really. Your breath hitched. - A help? – you whispered with the strained voice once again; stunned by Chae’s word, once again. - He’s a gifted reader – the man shrugged and added with a little, mocking smile:- And passionate lover, I suppose. You watched with horror as he started to close to the door; holy shit, your heartbeat loud in your ears, he knows, everybody knows, does everybody in this hotel know- - How did you know? Your heels stopped his door from closing; your instantaneous act making him raise his eyebrows. - So now we’re talking, I see ..? You weren’t so talkative- - How did you know?! - you almost hissed at him, all work etiquette thrown out of the window. You could already feel sweat forming at your temples, the effect of the mixed shame and anger. I am talking before thinking once more, you thought, but the rush of emotions muted any rational thoughts. All your fears building through the whole day came alive sooner than you expected. Hyungwon clicked his tongue. - You are missing the point, why am I not surprised? – he flicked lights on and stepped inside, taking off his blazer and simply ignoring you. You followed him inside, determined to find some closure on your constant distress. - You’re the one who’s not listening! I asked you how did you know! - Know what? How you were offered all the answers and still didn’t bother to act? - No, I mean me and Mr. Changkyun! - Seriously, I am saying the words and you stubbornly.. – his gaze fell upon your angered posture, clenched fists, and finally, teary eyes. He immediately softened:- Oh. You think I am judging you, do you? - What? – you tried to blink away the blurriness:- No, I want to know how do you know.. did you two speak? Does everybody know? He shook his head, stepping closer. You were babbling your nerves way. - Did you speak with anyone else? D-did you speak with my manager? I really don’t want to lose this job.. - Hush with his nonsense – he said, sweeping your tears away with his cold hand:- Why are you like this? Why are you afraid? - What.. what everybody will think when they will know? - Who is ‘everybody’? Your clients? Boss? – he took your right hand in his, thumb drawing circles in your uniform’s cuff. Your tattoo burned under the material:- Or is it you? Are you afraid to admit to yourself that you enjoyed this? You silently dropped your head. I am only a stupid doe. - You silly thing – he chuckled:- Did you want it? Not brave enough, you just nodded. - You wanted it, so you got it – his fingers under your chin made you look up. His face wasn’t as malicious as always:- Like a strong and independent woman do. You tried to turn away after his absurd words, but he stopped you. Chae’s eyes were nothing but sincere and a little bit playful as if the situation amused him. The small hint of a smile danced on his lush lips. - You conquered a fine man – he clicked his tongue, sound like before, but with faked shock:- Feisty huntress, someone would say. You couldn’t help but laugh. - I am nothing but hunted doe. - Tsk, tsk – he took both of your hands:- Only the dancers will know who leads the dance. Not sure how it worked, but you were able to let your worries go away – at least, for this moment. Saying your concerns out loud helped to realize how feeble they were actually. Unnecessary paranoia almost killed possible good experience; you should accept how free you felt then, after all. Freedom and being desired could build your self-esteem that your ex-boyfriend and the exhausting job definitely destroyed. Finally filled with comfort by the last person you would suspect, all your tense muscles could relax. This gave you a chance to inspect the man before you closely; marvelous as you remembered him. Long face, big, mischievous eyes. Your own followed the shape of his mouth; his tongue licked his lips. - Looks like I’m the prey– he murmured:- Where did little doe go? You gave him a small, mysterious smile, inching towards his face. - Oh I see.. – his breath mingled with yours:- Let’s the hunt begin, then?

thank you for reading

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#shangri-la fc #My writing #my works #Monsta X #monsta x fanfic #monsta x imagines #wonho imagines #hyungwon imagine #hyungwon fic #hyungwon x reader #finally

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domesticatedantelope · 4 years

Text

grayscale

Pairing: Colt x MC

Rating: Explicit | 18+ (*breathplay*)

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: The one where Mercy can’t sleep.

🌩️

It never storms like this.

Mercy stares up at the darkness of the ceiling, and she listens to the downpour. Sheets of rainfall lash across the roof and rattle in the gutters, and the sound of it should soothe her to an easy slumber, but she keeps herself awake with that insomniac arithmetic, counting down the hours she no longer has to sleep. Her body turns and fidgets, tense with restless energy, her thoughts an anxious tangle too obtrusive to escape.

She drags the sheets over her head, shutting out the storm and the uncomfortable reality that she is far too late to get a full night’s rest already. In the stuffy, muffled quiet of the covers, she laments her morning in advance. Future Mercy will have hell to pay.

For now, she forces herself toward something productive - if she repeats that last word to herself, it feels a little less like giving up. She risks an arm to the frigid air, groping blindly for her phone and swiftly tugging it beneath the covers. Squinting against the glow, she notes the time - past late, stretching into early - with only a grim sense of resignation before settling back into her French reading. One more chapter, and this wasted night will have been worth something at least.

She’s worked her way through two and a half grueling paragraphs when she feels the warmth of familiar fingertips at her shoulder. They trace a lazy, knowing path down the slope of her arm, rising to trail that roughened touch over the delicate veins in her wrist, the soft, open hollow of her palm - and then Colt swipes the phone from her hand.

She emerges from the covers to the rumble of his laughter, frayed with sleep. Her phone illuminates his smile and the dark splay of his hair as he peeks an eye open at her. “Nerd.”

“Thief.”

“You make it too easy.” He slinks closer with a smirk that she can barely make out through the darkness, reaching past her to deposit her phone safely beyond her grasp. His limbs are still heavy with sleep, but he seizes on the chance to linger, the warmth of his mouth landing somewhere near the tender hollow just beneath her jaw, and the heat of his bare skin against her own soothes at the fraying edges of her nerves. “It sounds like one of those ten hour thunderstorm videos outside and you still can’t sleep?”

“I’m tryyying.”

He breathes a sound suspiciously like laughter, low and fond. “I noticed. You're gonna be up all night trying that hard.”

“I’ve accepted my fate,” she says dryly, her lips shaping a soft apology against his temple. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

She feels his teeth latch briefly at the slope of her shoulder, just long enough to summon shivers. When she gasps, he grins and shakes his head, an obstinance she knows well creeping into each word: “You first.”

He says it like a challenge, with a tone that says I dare you, and she’s never been the type of person to back down before. “It could be a while.”

The windows flash with lightning, their room illuminated in split-second flickers: the rumpled sheets of their bed, Colt’s sleep-messy hair and naked shoulders and the black of his eyes as his thumb rolls lazily across her cheekbone. “I’m not going anywhere.”

This is hardly the best solution. Come morning, Colt will be exhausted too, and then they’ll have each other to contend with, but her restless muscles ease against him, lulled finally to something almost restful. Before she can resist, an airy sigh lilts on her tongue, and she is sealing herself greedily against his chest, clinging to the warm stretch of his shoulders.

When thunder shatters through the steady drum of rain, Mercy can almost feel the rumble of it in her bones, a thrill of expectation running wild down her spine. The hitch in her breath catches his attention, knowing fingers drawing down her side to cradle the curve of her hip. “Scared?”

“Startled me, s’all.” Her eyes slip shut against the racing of her heart. A pleasing warmth descends her stomach at the weight of him above her, pinning her securely to the sheets. The responding blush lifts hot across her face, and even in the darkness of a stormy night, she knows that he will see it. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not,” he promises, unhurried, hushed beneath the howl of the wind outside. His fingers frame her jaw, tilting her face up so his mouth can find the column of her throat and leave a trail of stinging kisses in his wake, teasing little pains that slowly ebb into a trace of something sweeter. “I’m helping.”

She bites her lip against the urge to smile; a word like helping shouldn’t bring such filthy memories to mind, but her rushing thoughts all race to fill the syllables with sinful connotation. She arches into his touch as his lips continue down her shoulder, nudging at the thin strap of her tank top. When his teeth catch hold and drag it casually aside, she can’t resist a telling shiver, fingers clutching at the firm expanse of muscles in his back. “O-okay…” she gasps, and struggles to contain the giddy laughter in her lungs. “Maybe a little.”

He smirks against her skin; she knows it by the timbre of his voice, rough like black asphalt and altogether far too smug. “I’m just getting started.” One long hand slips among the tresses of her hair, finding place to grip and gently tug until a moan lifts from her tongue and fades into the constant pounding of the rain above them.

Another peal of thunder crashes in the distance, and the chill of goosebumps trickles up her arms to the skin at the back of her neck. Colt’s fingers twitch around a fistful of her curls as he searches her expression with that slow, enraptured look that feels like something meant for holy relics. His focus settles on the soft shape of her mouth, his free hand cradling her jaw when he leans in and claims a languid kiss. For one immeasurable moment, he is gentle with her, lips moving tenderly against her own; and then she parts to let him taste her, and his teeth nip at the plush curve of her bottom lip, his voice a rumbled groan at the back of his throat.

Before Colt and his clever, wicked mouth, Mercy never fully understood the faith behind communion. She could see nothing sacred in an act so base and human as consumption; but Colt’s kisses have descended to the dip between her breasts, and he consecrates her skin with teeth and tongue until she feels devoured and divine all in the same breath. When he drags his mouth over the dark peak of a nipple, pleasure twinges heavy in her belly, and she understands abruptly why believers kneel and drink from silver cups and call it worship.

Rough fingers edge the hemline of her shirt up, baring her stomach to his questing lips. One slow kiss lays claim to her ribs, then the beauty mark above her navel, and another to each hip. He pauses there to catch her gaze, flashing a smirk at her before his touch continues up her thighs.

She writhes under his fingers, gasping when they reach the flimsy cotton that so scarcely keeps her decent, thin enough to feel the scorching pass of his touch down her folds. A shudder leaps across his shoulders, and he bites a strangled noise against the muscles in her thigh. “Shit - Mercy, you’re so wet.”

She whines and clutches at his hair, a wicked heat flaring across her face. The rush of need pounds in her blood and in the ache between her open legs, where he teases fingertips against her through her underwear, waiting with a patience he reserves only for her.

Mercy strains to work her tongue around the strictures of her shyness. “ Please -” Her voice breaks, and she swallows thickly past the knot in her throat. “Colt…”

He palms her thigh in a certain grip, his fingers digging in just hard enough to press the most delicious pain there. “Tell me what you need.”

Need, need - the word repeats a crooning mantra in her head. She searches through her scattered thoughts, once a restless deluge now all shaped into the smug curve of his lips, and how very desperately she wants to feel that smirk against her body. “I need you,” she breathes finally, and runs her thumb along his mouth, shivers at the bare intensity that heats his gaze. “Please - take care of me?”

It tilts into a question, and Colt answers with a husky groan and the wet heat of his mouth sinking down against her, sucking through the fabric, fingers hooking past to draw it easily aside and taste her fully.

Her body tenses at the firm curl of his tongue, twisting a hand into the sheets as he angles her thigh over his shoulder. The sudden crack of thunder knocks her heart into a frantic rhythm, chills erupting down her spine and culminating in the hot, hot sting of pleasure that knits through her. His lips part hungrily against her clit, lashing his tongue across the bead of it until the nerves there jolt with overstimulation.

“Ohgod!” Her ankles lock, only the barest glimmer of awareness keeping her from driving both her heels into his back. “Baby - that’s… fuck! ”

A rumble of satisfied laughter sounds between her thighs, and she pulls weakly at his hair, struggling to summon more than breathy whimpers when he has her legs spread trembling around his shoulders and the softest part of her under his tongue. He squeezes fondly at her hip before his hand drifts down to join his mouth at the slick heat of her sex. His touch is teasing, slow and easy, gentle when two of his fingers slip together and fuck into her, edging in with agonizing care, and it’s the softest counterpoint to how his mouth sucks down around her clit, and oh god, she can barely catch her breath when it all strings down tight into the throb of building tension in her belly, catching like a struck match and reverberating in the brutal surge of climax that consumes her.

She doesn’t feel her nails drag lines across his shoulders, nor her thighs clench in around his head, just stumbles through the blinding white of coming until there are only aftershocks left twitching in her muscles, and she finds herself curled in around Colt’s body, clutching at the hand he laces with her own as she comes floating back down from her high.

Her legs are shaking when they sink against the sheets, and he soothes a lazy kiss to each before he scrubs a palm over his mouth and smiles at her. The sheets have tangled somewhere out of reach, and she succumbs to a delicious shiver at the open air that cools across her skin.

In contrast, Colt is firm and fire as he kisses up her heaving ribs. The darkness of the storm saps all the color from her vision, casting the sharp lines of his face in grayscale shades when he settles above her and devotes his lips to both her blushing cheeks. She turns to catch his mouth against her own, and he deepens the kiss with a flick of his tongue, hooking an arm around her waist to yank her closer.

The dark waves of her hair spill back over her shoulders, baring her throat to his teeth when his attention wanders down her neck. Her fingers tremble at the waistband of his boxers, slipping past it to wrap lovingly around him, thrilling when he twitches in her grip.

He muffles a groan against her skin, thrumming with breathless laughter. “You’re gonna be fucking exhausted tomorrow.”

Mercy hums and nips her teeth at the slope of his shoulder. Her heartbeat sprints behind her ribs, still pounding from the comedown and the crash of thunder and his cock so thick and hard against her palm. “Then I should probably make the most of this.”

Colts puts up no resistance when she pushes him against the bed, emboldened in the wake of coming, climbing over him to coronate his hips and marvel at the way she fits above him. The rigid heat of him bobs eagerly between her thighs, his body jerking as that restless energy she couldn’t find a place for drives her mindlessly to motion. She rocks through a few clumsy passes of her weight over his cock before he has her thighs clenched in his hands, securing her in place to fuck against her.

“Brat,” he groans, and Mercy laughs, biting down to stifle how it frays into a whine as the heavy head of him drags teasingly over her clit. His cock drifts to the tender point that wracks a jolt of livid heat along her backbone, and she catches her own urgent need reflected back in his gaze when he grits his teeth and nudges slowly into her. “Nh, fuck - ”

She babbles blindly at the same time, “please, yes, perfect,” reeling from the slow, delicious stretch. The feeling always steals her breath, the devastatingly snug fit of him as he fills her in steady increments. Her lidded eyes drink in the tensing muscles of his chest, his lip caught tight between his teeth, that urgency restrained to rigid stillness while her body learns the size of him again.

“Colt.” Mercy reaches for him, pressing a swift kiss into his palm before leading his hand shyly, blushing, trustingly against her throat. She meets the deep black of his eyes, and she may struggle to form words of her desires, but she can say I dare you in a thousand different ways. “Don’t hold back on me now.”

Understanding flits across his features, a knowing smile at the corner of his mouth as his fingers curl under her jaw and hold the faintest pressure there. “You know me better than that.” He rolls his hips into a languid thrust that prods his cock against that perfect point inside of her, drawing a filthy word out from wherever it was hidden at the bottom of her lungs. He laughs then, panting, clearly pleased with her reaction. He rocks into her again, setting an easy pace and driving her hips down to meet him, and the solid presence of his palm maintains that grip around her arching neck so that she feels the weight of it with every breath.

She’s just beginning to move with him when his fingers twitch and tighten at her throat, leashing in against her pulse until it sounds like pounding drums between her ears. She bleeds out a blissful sigh and strains to take in air again, barely breathing past the border of his hold, and something shivers through her at the deficit, leaving an exquisite sense of fullness in her nerves.

“Fuck, Mercy.” Colt swallows as his eyes roam greedily over her body. “You look so good like this.”

With his hand around her throat, she can only voice a soft moan in response. Her anxious thoughts have all subsided to an empty, pleasant buzz, and she drifts into that void with tears of bliss welling and sliding down her cheeks. His hips fall back into the same slow, lazy rhythm, and each sieging shift that cradles them together pulses like a beating heart within her body, wracking her in mindless rapture.

Her lungs feel it first, sharp like thirst: the gentle burn that crawls up through her chest, the meager remnants of her breath rising into a single affirmation - yes - that hisses through her teeth and disappears. The room throbs at the edges of her vision, and she whines against his grip, gasping broken syllables she hopes might shape his name.

Between her knees, Colt watches her with rapt attention, holding her gaze as his free hand hunts across her hip and settles fingertips against the slickened folds where she stretches around him. He rolls a thumb in stubborn loops around her clit, slinking nearer with each pass and driving her into a tortured arch between his hands. She jerks against his grasp, lungs aching for the breath to beg him, though she lacks the sense to name exactly what she needs.

He seems to know regardless, tracking how her muscles tense and tempering the pressure of his touch until she’s rocking down against his fingers, seeking more. Threads of livid pleasure web between her shoulder blades and pool in shivers at the bottom of her spine, and she curls her nails into his hips for something to hold onto as his thumb winds her closer and closer to coming.

“I need -” She tries to speak, lips working soundlessly around the words, her world a perfect storm of burning lungs and flashing lightning and the thick, abrasive pleasure of his touch. Colt knows her body with unerring certainty, and it doesn’t take him long to have her gasping voiceless noises through her teeth, violent shudders locking in her hips, every atom of her body screaming almost, almost there -

She’s so close it’s nearly painful when his fingers ease around her throat, and her entire being strains to drink the cool air deep into her lungs, the taste of it like honey on her tongue as she sobs in relief. Thunder rumbles deafeningly through the earth nearby, and she feels it tremble in her starving limbs, her heart a wild force behind her ribs, and lost among the lunacy of pleasure, Mercy thinks it never storms like this and comes apart into a thousand tiny pieces.

A soundless scream tears from her lungs, the knot of pressure in her belly giving out to span the tender branches of her nerves with lightning heat, striking through her with the kind of force that forges grains of sand into white glass. Colt grips her hard enough to leave the imprint of his touch, holding her against him as he fucks her through the rhapsody of her undoing. She chants his name, the only sound that still makes sense when she is floating somewhere in the storm clouds high above them, and he unravels to the soft smoke of her voice, spilling at the deepest point of their connection with a shattered whine.

Shivering, still breathless, Mercy rolls her hips against him, and they moan together when she feels the wet, hard press of him inside her. She holds herself in that delicious fullness as the tremors start to gradually recede, sapping any strength left in her muscles until she collapses in a heap against his chest. He breathes a winded laugh and gathers her into his arms, drawing close enough to drop his lips in tender kisses down her throat. If Colt is thorough when he’s fucking her, then he’s meticulous in the stillness that follows, leaving no bruise or bite mark unattended.

Her eyelids sink like anchors by the time he’s deemed her properly adored. The rain still lashes at their window, muted to a soothing hush that washes over like the ocean at low tide. Colt sprawls against her back with one arm bent possessively around her, and she closes her eyes to the steady rhythm of his breathing, thinking blissfully of nothing as she tumbles into sleep.

🌩️

In the morning, the only signs left of the storm are murky gray clouds and a lazy drizzle that pelts softly at their window. Colt groans in protest at the sound of her alarm, but they drag themselves reluctantly from bed and stumble to their feet, moving slowly through the stupor of fatigue. Her eyes ache from the hours she spent staring at the ceiling, but she rolls her window down on her commute to hold her hand under the tiny drops of rain, and when she smells the ozone tang of it that lingers on the pavement, she can’t bring herself to regret it.

#ride or die #rod #colt kaneko #colt x mc #ns*fw #choking cw #we can have a little comfort kink... as a treat #when in writing block hell i have no choice but to self indulge #don't mind me i am in my soft choking feelings #this might be a little strange - to dedicate a smut fic to someone you admire #but this one goes out entirely to cami #who inspired me with the perfect prompt of colt and mercy in a storm so many months ago #it has been rattling around in my head ever since and i was compelled to make it happen #all the love and thanks to you - you lovely angel person #ship: power couple #mc: mercy castellano #dom writes

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spookyboywhump · 4 years

Text

I have a problem writing Soft stuff cuz I can’t tell if it’s boring or if Soft stuff is just like that

This is part people wanting Zander to get the massage he deserves and part me wanting Zander and Wren to be good friends and genuinely enjoy each other’s company oops

***

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Zander assured him, grimacing as he tried to massage the pain out of his shoulder. It must’ve been getting colder out, everything was flaring up again and his shoulder was always the worst. He figured that was the prize he got for several past dislocations and pulled muscles. He couldn’t do much about the rest of the aches he had, by now he was accustomed to the constant pain in his back, he wasn’t sure how much of it was the general stress and tension that came with his life and how much was old aches coming back to irritate him.

With Wren doing all the fighting he thought he’d have more time to recover, but it turned out a good portion of the pain he was always in was permanent. His ribs ached where they didn’t heal right, pain in his right hand flaring up from a past meeting with a hammer. Everything hurt and he was in no desire to move from his spot in the corner of his bed, even though it would probably do some good to relieve the stiffness in his back.

“You keep massaging your shoulder. Did you get hurt…?”

“Oh yeah, plenty of times.” He rolled his eyes. “Not recently though, I’m just… sore. As always.” He shrugged, looking over at him. Wren had been pacing the room, something he seemed to do often, but he had stopped, just watching Zander. That was just another thing he did often, he frequently caught him out of the corner of his eye just looking at him. It was weird, but Wren was weird in general so he didn’t think too much about it.

“Want me to help?” He asked, eyebrows raised. “I mean… I could do it for you, probably be better than doing if yourself…” he offered. He considered it for a moment, but it didn’t sound that bad. It’s not like anyone else was offering, anyone else sane that is.

“I… yeah, if you don’t mind anyway…” he shrugged, sitting up.

“I don’t mind at all, honestly.” Wren came over, kneeling on the bed. “Lay down on your stomach, okay?” He instructed, and Zander did as he said, folding his arms beneath his head and at least trying to relax while Wren positioned himself over him. He started with his shoulders, Zander wincing as he dug the heels of his palms into the sore muscles.

“Holy shit…” Wren muttered, causing him to scowl and try and turn his head to look at him.

“What?”

“You’re… really tense. Like, really fucking tense.” He said, causing Zander to laugh.

“Yeah, living here will do that to a person. That’s probably six years of pent up stress and anxiety, so good luck I guess.” He told him. He felt Wren change positions, digging his elbow into his shoulder and causing him to yelp. “That fucking hurts!” He snapped, starting to get up and push Wren off of him.

“Stay still, I know it hurts.” He told him. “It’ll feel better later though, trust me.” He kept a firm grip on his shoulders, making him lay back down again. He figured he’d just have to grit his teeth and bear it, it wasn’t like it was the worst pain he’d felt but he still wasn’t thrilled about it.

He slowly worked out the pain in one shoulder before moving on to the next. Zander kept his complaints to himself this time, especially once the pain faded away and he realized he was feeling more relaxed than he had in… well, a long fucking time. By the time he’d finished working out the knots in his shoulders and moved on to his back he had a feeling he’d be asking Wren to do this again sometime.

“Why are you so good at this?” He asked, closing his eyes as Wren kneaded at the muscles in his back, flinching as he worked on an area that still hurt from a muscle he’d pulled years ago.

“I’ve had practice. At least I can put it to good use now.” He applied more pressure and Zander hissed through his teeth, tensing up again. “Relax,” He said gently, “It’ll feel better soon.”

“I know, I know. It just really fucking hurts.” He muttered, eyes squeezed shut tight.

“You really live like this every day, huh?” Wren asked. “You must be in constant pain, I’m surprised you’re not dead!”

“Me too, kid!” He laughed. “Eventually you just get used to it. Hell, sometimes Cain even gives me some painkillers, strong enough I don’t even know my name, much less feel any pain.”

“That sounds unhealthy.” He said bluntly.

“A little, but they work pretty damn good. Of course, this is doing almost as good, and I’m actually conscious, so that’s nice.”

“Well, I’m happy to help.” He had moved so he could massage his lower back now, a pinched nerve causing Zander to squirm uncomfortably. “If you need me to do this again just let me know, I don’t really mind.”

“Mm, thanks…” He sighed, finally relaxing as he worked out the discomfort. “You know, you’re my favorite replacement.”

“What?” The movement from his hands stopped for a moment, but Zander stayed still anyway.

“Cain gets “replacements” whenever I piss him off all the time, he’s had plenty of them, never actually replaced me till now. You’re by far my favorite though.”

“Is a massage really enough to make you like me that much?” He laughed.

“If I’m being honest, probably, but you were my favorite before this.” He said, a genuine smile crossing his face. “I dunno, maybe the bar is too low for me, it’s nice to have someone around who's actually nice to me.”

“You put up with enough already, I probably couldn’t be mean to you if I wanted to.” He finally got off him, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Well… thanks for that. And for this.” He sighed, allowing himself to relax and honestly feeling amazed by how good he felt for once. He’d been so used to constant pain he forgot what it was like to feel this way, able to lay comfortably without worry of some part of his body betraying him with another remnant of an injury.

“You can sit up now if you want, I’m done.” He told him, but it would probably take an act of god to get Zander to move right now. He almost worried that if he moved it would all come right back, every single ache hitting him at once.

“Nope. I’m perfectly fine here, just like this.” He opened one eye to look at him. Wren was watching him with a slight smile on his face, seeming pretty content himself. “What’s with that look?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Not… angry. Or stressed or anxious or in pain or anything. I’ve never seen you smile like that here.”

“I guess not, there isn’t really much to smile about around here.” He snickered. “Kind of a shame, people used to tell me I had a nice smile.”

“You do. I think so anyway.” Wren said with a shrug.

“Thanks, kid.” He couldn’t help but smile wider, it wasn’t often someone said something like that to him. “How long do you think I’ll be able to stay like this?”

“Probably until Cain gets back, what, a few hours from now?”

“Hmm, I’m not moving till then.” He said, and Wren laughed as he got to his feet.

“I think you’ve earned that much.” He said, a hand ruffling through Zander’s hair. He had figured out by now that if he let him, Wren had no real problem touching him. He figured that was just how he was, physically affectionate. He couldn’t help but think that his friends were really lucky to have him.

“Damn right I have…” He said with a smile.

It was nice to be free from the near constant pain he was in, even nicer to know that this came with no strings attached. It wasn’t something Cain graced him with and it wasn’t something Vanessa was using to bait him, Wren wasn’t like that. He would return the favor somehow, not because Wren made him but because he wanted to, and honestly, to him, that little bit of control was almost better than the newfound lack of pain.

#comfort #my writing #my oc's #Zander #Wren #caretaking #massages #Zander get's what he fucking deserves #these boys will be close friends one day and I love them

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hornsbeforehalos · 5 years

Text

Waste Love: Part Twelve

Pairing: Colson Baker|Machine Gun Kelly x OFC Warnings: Language, Alcohol and Drug Use, Smut, Violence, Angst, Fluff A/N: Smut warning for this chapter!

As expected, the morning the interview was uploaded, everyone went nuts.

Tiffany eventually disabled her messaging on all social media platforms, the constant buzzing of her phone’s notifications driving her up the wall.

While the majority of the reactions were positive, there were plenty of hate wishers. Comments ranging from “finally!” To “she’s only with him for clout,” and other things like “let’s see how long it lasts this time.” As well as even worse flooded her news feeds until she eventually just turned her phone off with a roll of her eyes.

“It’ll blow over in a few days, babe, calm down,” Colson reminded her as they sat at her kitchen bar eating breakfast, his smile reassuring and sweet, “Promise.”

“I hope so,” Tiffany sighed, her lips flapping together as she exhaled deeply, looking down at her cup of coffee, “I’d like to be able to check my Instagram without the death threats.”

“Smile,” Colson said suddenly, holding his phone up to take a picture of her quickly. She groaned and tried to reach for the device, but he quickly jerked it away and jumped from his seat, “‍Nice. I got this, babe.”

“Colson, no!” She argued with a whine, “I look like shit, please don’t post that.”

“Too late,” Colson snickered, mischievous grin curling his mouth as he typed away. He dramatically hit the screen with a pop of his lips, beaming his signature smile at Tiffany as he proclaimed, “Posted!”

Tiffany narrowed her eyes and shook her head at him before standing, collecting their now empty plates and dumping them in the sink before leaning against the counter to finish her coffee. Colson approached her slowly, his hand reaching out to grip her hip as he leaned into her. She pressed her face against his chest with a sigh, setting her cup down before wrapping her arms around him.

“Love you, Tiff.” He murmured before kissing the top of her head, squeezing her close to him.

Tiffany hummed in response, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the feeling of having him near her. That they were trying. That things were gonna work out.

“I’ve gotta get ready for work.” She stated with a groan, lifting her head to look up at him while still pressed against his chest, “What are y’all gonna do today?”

“Dunno,” Colson answered with a shrug, his face falling slightly as he caressed the side of her face with his fingers, “Prolly make sure everything’s set up for the flight back home and chill here.”

Tiffany nodded sadly at the reminder that he would be leaving soon, her teeth finding purchase in her lip as she looked away.

“Hey,” Colson started, tilting her head back to look at him with a finger under her chin, “It’s not gonna be for long.”

She nodded again with a sigh, swallowing the lump in her throat as she stood on her toes to kiss him. His lips pressed against hers softly, his hands on either side of her face holding her in place.

“Imma take you out tonight.” Colson declared after they broke apart, a new determination sparking in his crystalline irises.

“Yeah?” Tiffany asked, smirk painting her lips as she cocked an eyebrow at him, “Where to?”

“All over. Gonna show you off.” He replied, his hands snaking down her frame to grab two handfuls of her ass, “So don’t stay gone too late.”

Tiffany chuckled as she pulled away from him, turning to head towards the bathroom to get ready for work as she replied over her shoulder sarcastically, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Ya gonna get it, girl!” Colson called out with a silly voice as the door shut, the sound of her laughing on the other side of it making him smile even brighter than before.

—

“Hey, girl, you almost done?” Norman asked as he walked into Tiffany’s office, his face concerned as he looked up from his phone to the woman, who was wearing a frustrated expression as she clicked away on her computer, “Kels called me to see if you were still here. Why’s your phone off?”

“It’s been off all day,” Tiffany shrugged, clicking a few more times but still unsatisfied with the image in front of her’s contrast. Sighing deeply, she continued, “And yeah. I give up on this stupid fuckin’ thing for today, it’s pissing me off.”

“Take your time, lady, it’s fine,” Norman assured as he leaned against the side of her desk, “Go home and get ready for your hot date.”

Tiffany rolled her eyes as she exited the program before closing the laptop. She sat back with a huff, turning in her seat to look at her boss, “He tell you about where we’re going?”

“Nah, but he said for you to hurry cuz he made reservations somewhere.” Norman replied, reaching over and grabbing her hand, “So come on, let’s go.”

“Fine,” she sighed as she let him pull her up. She grabbed her bag and followed him out, helping him turn off the lights throughout the office space until they reached the parking lot.

“He goes back to Cali here soon, don’t he?” Norman asked curiously as he walked her to her car. The wrinkles around his eyes softened as he watched her dim, disappointment in her eyes as she nodded.

“Yeah, for a little bit before he starts the fall tour. It’ll be a little bit before I get to see him again. They’ll be here for a show in October though that I’m gonna go to.”

“That’s not too bad,” Norman replied as they reached her car, “I’m about to be gone ‘till November prolly for the show.”

Shocked at the new information, Tiffany recoiled slightly, “What? Not even for the weekends?”

Shrugging, Norman pushed up his sunglasses as he replied, “Diane and the baby are gonna be in Germany while she films this movie, so I really don’t have any reason to come home.”

“Well that fuckin’ sucks.” Tiffany huffed, yanking open her car door as she glared at Norman, “You’re just leaving me like that?”

“I’ll be back, sweetheart. Plus, I’ll probably even need you to fly down there for a bit at least once.” He answered with a goofy smile, his hands in his pockets, “You’ll probably be so busy you won’t even know I’m gone.”

“Whatever,” Tiffany growled as she squinted at him, “This is a betrayal.”

“Oh whatever, crazy. Get in the damn car and go. I’ll call you if I need you tomorrow.”

“Fuck you, Reedus,” Tiffany deadpanned as she crawled into the vehicle, rolling her window down as she closed the door, “This isn’t over with.”

“Byeeee,” He cooed, waving to her before turning around and heading in the direction of his bike.

—

“Are you fucking done yet, bitch?” Colson voice called out as the sound of the door opening and closing echoed through Tiffany’s apartment.

“Almost!” She yelled back, her reflection in the mirror staring back at her as she adjusted her the sleeve of the shirt she was wearing. She slipped her black flats on before smoothing the long, flowing skirt out one last time and exited her bedroom.

“Finally, God damn,” He huffed in faux annoyance, his eyes drifting across her frame as he held the joint between his fingers out for her. “Holy fuck, you look good.”

“Well thank you, Mr. Baker,” She blushed, taking the joint from him and hitting it as her gaze raked itself over his appearance as well. The black v-neck t shirt he wore with matching colored jeans making the blue in his irises ever more vibrant, “You look pretty fine, yourself.”

“Come ‘ere real quick,” He said, pulling her to him when she tried to move past him in the hallway. His hands snaked down her waste and to her ass to give it a squeeze as he breathed into her ear, “We can be a little late.”

“Oh really?” She smirked, feeling his lips brush against her neck as she hit the joint, exhaling as she spoke, “I thought we were in a rush.”

“Not anymore.” He rasped lowly, leading her back towards her bed while pulling her skirt up around her waist. She fell back onto the mattress, hitting the roach one last time before holding it out for him to put out. He disposed of it in the ashtray on the nightstand before returning his attention to her, his bottom lip caught in his teeth as lust danced around his eyes.

One of his hands found her foot while the other trailed up her other thigh, pulling her shoe off as she kicked off the other. His long fingers wrapped around the arch of her heel before yanking her to the edge of the bed, his nails on her thigh scratching her sensitive flesh.

“Mmm,” Colson hummed, licking his lips as he pulled her foot closer and kissed the top of it, eyes drifting as he watched her legs spread for him, “God damn.”

A whimper left Tiffany’s throat as her body shivered with anticipation. She kneaded her own breasts through the fabric of her shirt as he kissed and bit at her ankle while his hand between her legs found her core.

“No panties?” Colson smirked at her before pushing his fingertip inside, “Dirty whore.”

“Fuck you,” She breathed, rolling her hips into his hand when he crooked his finger, “You love it.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” He quipped back while his free hand worked open his belt to free his cock. A moment later, twin moans echoed through the room at the feeling of him filling her deep.

“Fuck yeah, Tiff. Take it,” He grunted as he bent her in half, her legs hooked over his shoulders as he leaned over her on the mattress, “Take it, baby.”

“Colsoooon,” She mewled as he thrust hard inside her, her nails finding purchase across his back under his shirt and making him hiss. “Fuck, baby. Yes.”

Her muscles tensed and released against his throbbing cock, sensations of bliss circulating through the both of them. He continued to push in and out of her, her pussy dripping with arousal as she neared her orgasm.

“Holy fuck, yes, that’s it, baby,” He praised as he felt her tighten around him, “Gimme this pussy, girl.”

“Fuck, Colson,” She gasped when he dug his hands into her hair with a sharp tug, her eyes rolling to the back of her head with the pleasurable pain, “Harder.”

“Yes mam,” He growled, his pace quickening as he drove impossibly deeper inside her body while tightening his grip in her waves, “Come on, Tiffany, come for me.”

“Shit,” She hissed, feeling her walls flex again as her vision began to blur and body began to quake, “Yes, Just like that.”

“Take my dick so good, baby,” He murmured against her skin, his lips dragging across her jaw to her throat to lick and bite, “Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours, Colson,” She keened in reply, vibrating as the waves of orgasmic bliss finally crashed over her. Wetness flooded between them and Colson growled, unable to handle holding himself off anymore.

“Fuck,” He barked, driving his hips into hers with a sharp thrust that knocked the wind out of her, his cock pulsing as it pumped his come inside her, “God damn, Tiff.”

“Fucking hell,” She breathed, her heart pounding and chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She tapped Colson on the shoulder to get him to move, the man breathlessly rolling off of her and onto his back.

“Okay, we really gotta go,” He chuckled, exhaling deeply before sitting up and looking down at her, “We’re gonna be stupid late for dinner.”

“You just killed me and expect me to be able to hop up and go to dinner?” Tiffany deadpanned, cocking an eyebrow at him, “Fucking hell.”

“Get up,” Colson commanded, smacking her on the bare thigh as he stood to tuck his dick back in his pants and buckle his belt, “Get up, get up, get up.”

“Okay, okay,” She replied, sitting up and running her fingers through her hair, “I’m coming.”

“Still? Damn, I really am good.” Colson teased with a wink, dodging the shoe she tossed at him as she stood.

She got herself put back together as Colson rolled another jay, the man yelling for her to hurry again as he waited in the living room.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Tiffany replied as she came out of the bathroom. She plucked the joint from his fingers before he had the chance to light it, holding it between her lips as she put on her jacket, “You’d be late to your funeral.”

“Yeah, probably cuz I was waitin’ on your slow ass.” Colson sassed, smacking her on the butt playfully before stealing the spliff back, “Now come on, we got somewhere to be.”

“Where are we even fuckin’ going?” She laughed as she grabbed her purse before following him to the door.

“To get as drunk as possible, baby.” He winked as he held the door open for her, “Tonight is gonna be great.”

Masterlist

Tags: @cobainscocaiine @coffee-obsessed-writer @through-thesilver-lining @daryldixonandfrogs @buckyscrystalqueen@mgkobsessed@iamdorka @creatureofthen1ght-v3@xxencagedxx@xxkellsvixen19xx @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @bvibunny138

*credit for the bomb ass banner is to best friend @coffee-obsessed-writer

#colson baker x #colson baker imagine #colson baker x reader #colson baker x ofc #mgk imagine #mgk x you #mgk smut #mgk x ofc #mgk x reader #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #machine gun kelly x you #machine gun kelly x ofc #colson baker #mgk

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dylinski · 5 years

Text

Watch Me Bleed (4/?)

Warnings: Angst, Cussing, Flirting, Slow burn

Relationships: Mitch Rapp/Reader

Word Count: 2513

Author: @dylan-obrien-fanblog

A/N: new chapter. hope ya like, ya bastards.

Chapter 4

Mitch gazed out the window as you drove the two of you in your old sedan. His eyes never moved, meaning he wasn’t paying attention to the world passing, but somewhere in his own world. You would occasionally look over and catch glimpses of him, lost in thought, from the corner of your eye. The closest hospital was two hours away, which was the whole reason for you living on the perimeter of the facility. If anything life threatening happened to the recruits, you could keep them stable until help arrived. Thankfully, nothing like that had ever happened. You’d already been on the road for half an hour, but it seemed like Mitch was back to his old self, silent and trapped in his own mind. All your anxiety and anger towards him melted away a little more with every glance you stole of the sad man. You could feel his sadness just by looking at him, so instinctively, you placed your hand on his knee.

He blinked and looked to you, as if he had been in another reality. He gave you a forced smile, relaxing into his seat and then closed his eyes. You realized he did look exhausted, his eyes were heavy and bloodshot. It looked like he hadn’t had a good night's sleep in a long time. As he laid back in the chair, his head hung over his left shoulder, facing you. His limp body was finally at peace. You watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath. His lips were slightly parted and as his breath slipped through the tiny slit. You found yourself staring at his lips too long, biting your own bottom one when you suddenly heard a car horn. You jerked the car to the right, realizing you had drifted to the other lane of oncoming traffic.

“Holy fuck.” Mitch jumped in his seat, heart racing. He looked confused and scared. For a split second, he was innocent and vulnerable. Your face turned red with embarrassment just as quickly as his face turned hard and he gave you a stern look. You hesitantly smiled at the irritated brunette, but he seemed unchanged. “Pull over. I’m driving.” “No. First of all, you don’t know how to get to the hospital. I do. Secondly, you have one good arm.” Mitch rolled his eyes and turned to look out the window.

“At least I have one good arm.” He mumbled under his breath. You rolled your eyes, and like that, the arrogant asshole was back. You let out a deep sigh, which Mitch seemed to notice. He turned back to you, his features softened. He watched you as you drove, staring deeply, analyzing all of you.

“Can you not do that? You’re making me nervous.” He smiled and chuckled at your discomfort, but his smile is always so contagious, so you returned the gesture. “I need to get some gas.” You say as you take the next exit off the main road and pull into the station. You pull up to the pump and get out of the car. When you shut it, you close your eyes and compose yourself. You had never met another man like Mitch before. He stirred things in you that you didn’t know where there. How could you be so irritated and fascinated with him at the same time? You desired him but were disgusted by him. He made your mind and body a raging sea of feelings and emotions that became unbearable and put you on edge. A constant state of anxiety and paranoia. Being outside of the car and escaping his presence gave you a relief, but also left you feeling empty. You shook your head from your thoughts and started pumping the gas. Of course you had to fucking pee now that the meter was running. You opened the door, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Um. I need to pee. Can you watch the pump for me?” Mitch laughed and nodded as he got out of the car. Feeling like you were about to pee your pants, you ran to the bathroom door outside of the station. You slammed the door behind you in a rush and sat down on the toilet just as you thought your bladder was going to explode. You let out a sigh of relief. When you were done, you washed your hands and caught your reflection in the mirror. You looked at your sunken eyes and it hit you how tired you were yourself. You hadn’t slept very well the last couple nights and it was catching up to you.

A knock at the door startled you, “Just a minute.” You shouted as you threw water on your face. Another knock sounded. Now annoyed, you shot back, “I said another minute!” You grabbed a paper towel and started to dry your face when the door opened. You froze with the paper towel over your face, remembering you forgot to lock the door in your rush. You slowly pulled the paper down and saw Mitch leaning on the door frame, smiling. “Don’t scare me like that!You could have been a bad guy!” You said as you shoved his right shoulder. He winced, grabbing it. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” You touched his arm to help.

“Not helping!” He shouted as he winced a second time from your touch. Despite his agony and pain on his face, for some reason you had the urge to just laugh. He looked at you like you were crazy, but soon his features relaxed and he laughed with you.

“Honestly, I am sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. But you’re gonna have to make it up to me.” He smiled and gave you a wink. Horror reflected in your eyes, trying to think of what he could possibly want from you. He turned around and started walking towards the car as you trailed behind him. He got into the passenger seat as you sat in the drivers. You looked at the clock and estimated you had about an hour drive left. Hopefully it went by quickly, because you weren’t sure you could survive much longer alone with him before you lost your shit. Mitch seemed more light-hearted as you moved along, he would look at you every now and then, shooting you a crooked smile. You had turned some music on to distract yourself from him, which seemed to help until he turned it off.

“Are you okay?” His question surprised you. He had never shown interest in you or your feelings in this way before. He wasn’t one to be sentimental or show concern. You took a quick look at his face before returning your gaze to the road and it showed true worry. You were always asking your patients and everyone else if they were okay, it came with the territory of your job, but you couldn’t remember the last time someone asked if you were okay. You weren’t sure if Mitch was aware of that fact or not, but it hit you hard and in your core. If you were being completely honest, you couldn't remember the last time you asked yourself that question.

“I don’t know.” You whispered, afraid the words would bring life to their meaning. You were as confused by your answer as he was, but he could tell you didn’t want to pursue the conversation, so he backed off. “Are you okay?” You asked him back, trying to throw the focus off yourself. He looked out the window as he answered.

“I don’t know.” He whispered back. Despite your lack of words, you somehow still understood each other and found comfort in the sound of the road and each others breathing. You both listened to those sounds until you arrived at the hospital. You pulled up and parked, then sat back and looked at Mitch, pulling out a file,

“I have your file, but it’s been changed some.” He raised his eyebrows. “Everything in here is the same with the exception of your name and being shot a couple years back.” He gave you a worried look. “No. I don’t know what happened to you. All they gave me was the medical report. Apparently Stan and Irene want as few people as possible to know about it.” His face relaxed as you answered his unasked question. You didn’t mean to sound that way, but when you answered, there was a hint of disdain. You hadn’t minded not knowing what happened to him, but after seeing how much it affected him, it's all that you could think about when you saw him. He noticed your tone, but chose to ignore it. “Let’s go.” You both got out of the car and headed into the building.

When you got inside, you went to the front desk, telling them you were there to see Dr. Kane for Irv Walters. They had you fill out some paperwork and then told you to take a seat in the waiting area. As you sat, Mitch sat with a chair between the two of you. He looked uncomfortable and on edge, like the last place he wanted to be was a hospital. You got up and moved over a seat to sit next to him. Apparently he didn’t appreciate it since his body tensed and he made a face of annoyance. “Why are you acting like a child?” You asked him with a stern tone.

“I don't like hospitals. And I definitely don’t like doctors.” You showed confusion as you looked at him like he was an idiot. He glared back, insulted by your look.

“I’m a doctor.” Realizing why you had made the face and that he unintentionally insulted you, he relaxed his muscles and looked at you with the most sincere look you had ever seen on him.

“You’re different.” Before you could say anything, a nurse entered the room and called you both back to see the doctor. You followed her into the back and down the hall until you were guided to an exam room, much like yours back at the cabin. You sat down in a chair and Mitch got onto the examination table. She did the basics, listening to his heart and lungs, taking his temperature and heart rate. You could tell he was annoyed, but he hid it well enough that the nurse was oblivious. You learned to read him and could tell how he was feeling and what he was thinking most of the time. When you don’t use words, a person always finds other ways to speak. The nurse went over the reason for the visit, confirming it was to examine Mitch’s arm and then she left.

“Mitch.” He looked at you, his face blank. “Why am I different?” He looked confused, but then remembered what he had said in the waiting room. He smiled and chuckled in his chest.

“You don’t bullshit.” You raised your eyebrows with a questioning look, so he elaborated. “Most doctors will dance around things and pick their words carefully, whether they’re with a patient or friends. You’re the opposite. You tell someone how it is. Not just when you’re being a doctor, but in your life too. You don’t pretend to be someone you’re not, and you’re not scared to be yourself either.” He smiled and was amused by the shock on your face. It had never occurred to you that he watched you the same way you watched him. Before the last 24 hours, you had never spoken a verbal word to each other, but felt like you had said a million. In that moment, what you saw in his eyes, the way he looked at you, something changed. You had only seen one other person look at you like that before, and it sent a fire down in your soul. Just as you were about to say something, the doctor walked in. Mitch tore from the locked gaze you shared, turning to meet the doctor. Rattled to the core, feeling like Mitch had just looked into your soul, you kept your eyes on him, dumbfounded.

“Dr. Y/L/N?” Dr. Kane looked at you.

“Um. Yes. I’m sorry.” You looked to the aged man, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.

“I was just discussing with Mr. Walters about how he injured his arm.” You gave him an accusatory glance, unsure of what he had told him.

“My arm got caught in a door.” He said, giving you a look that read to trust him, and you knew deep down that you did.

“Yeah, right. A door.”

“Well, Dr. Y/L/N, what was your analysis?” You changed your tone and body language to be more professional, something Mitch hadn’t seen before. “Well, I concluded that he either pulled or sprained his shoulder ligament with a possible hairline fracture on his humorous.” Mitch shot you a mocking look and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yes. I see that in your report.”

Unable to maintain your self control, you whispered under your breath. “Then why did you ask me?” Only Mitch heard and he laughed, leaving a smile on your lips and the doctor confused. He looked back down to the file, ignoring you both.

“Well, let's get you that x-ray then, Mr. Walters.” Dr Kane closed the file and set it back down on the table next to Mitch and left. As the door closed, both of you burst with laughter at his discomfort. You had never seen him laugh like this before, it was beautiful. His eyes were empty of the pain he always carried and filled with happiness. The noise calms and you take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. You reach out and touch his thigh, expecting it to be a nice gesture, but he tenses and jerks his leg away, looking down to the floor. You pulled back, feeling like you just misread the situation, but you hadn’t. Something changed and pulled him back just as quickly as he had escaped it. The nurse came back in and asked Mitch to follow her, he left the room following her, leaving you alone.

They were gone for a while, so you had time to yourself. After spending so much time with Mitch, you hadn’t realized how alone you actually were. How sad you were. Working with Orion wasn’t easy. You couldn’t build relationships or get to know any of the men, and most of them you wouldn’t want to. You had no friends and stopped talking to your mother years ago. While finally feeling happy and making a ‘friend’ was nice, you hated it. It was moments like this, when you were alone, that the thoughts of doubt and anxiety crept into your mind. It made you feel pathetic for being so dependent, but that was a part of human nature. We weren’t designed to be alone. We craved connection and communication. No one was immune to this basic instinct, not even Mitch.

Taglist: @daisyxbuckley

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jonnmurphy · 6 years

Text

Kinktober Day Eleven | Object Insertion | Literally | Murphy x Raven | The 100

Words: 2897

Tags: Object Insertion, Anal Sex, Rimjob, Inappropriate use of mechanic’s tools, Questionable Sanitation, Questionable consent, Rough sex, No climax, Semi-public sex

Note that this is a kinktober prompt fill. It will be explicit smut, and quite likely, kinky. Mind the tags.

ao3

Raven can fix almost anything. She knows this, and unfortunately, so does everyone else. Which means she doesn’t get any time off, because there’s not enough people who know what they’re doing to repair all the broken stuff around Arkadia. Even when she tries to make herself scarce like she did today, someone manages to find her and tell her they broke the rover. Again.

It’s a damn good thing the rover bay is empty when she gets there, because Raven is annoyed enough to have snapped at anyone just for looking at her. She’s been working flat out for weeks, doing more than most, nevermind her leg which wakes her up with phantom pains most nights. She’s exhausted, in constant pain, stressed, and based on the telltale cramping she’d woken up with this morning, PMSing as well.

Lord have mercy on anyone who gets in her way today.

She manages to work out a bit of her frustration against the rover, throwing tools and wrenching parts around with more force than is strictly necessary, cursing vehemently under her breath the whole time. By the time she’s got the biggest problems mended, Raven is almost in control of her anger. But then she sees an oil leak and a wrecked tire, and that goes to hell.

She’s just about to curse both the parents and the descendants of whoever the hell had messed up her baby so bad when the thud of boots announces the approach of someone, moments before they open the door. Raven whips her head around, expecting another emergency, but finding only a new annoyance.

“Go away, Murphy,” Raven says without any hesitation, grabbing rags and patching materials to try and at least slap a bandaid on that oil leak.

“My, my, she’s feisty today,” Murphy drawls as he completely ignores her words, strolling further into the room as if he owns the place. Not that it’s off limits or anything, but still, it feels like an invasion of her privacy.

Which, it occurs to Raven as she opens her mouth to tell him off, is probably exactly Murphy’s intent. Little attention hog, he knows the best way to get anyone to talk to him around here is to piss them off. Him and Raven get along better than most - sometimes she might even call them friendly - but today she has no patience for his shit. So she does the best thing she can think of; closes her mouth, lays down under the rover, and ignores him.

“What, no smart response? Come on, Reyes, you’re letting me down,” Murphy sighs dramatically.

“Do you actually need something?” Raven grumbles, wiping oil away to see what the issue is. A small crack, nothing she can’t handle, but that doesn’t change the fact that she shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place. She’s told those drivers a million times, this thing is tough, but it’s made for slogging through gunfire, not ripping off road. Once upon a time, maybe, but the rover is a patch job just like everything else around here.

“Nah, I’m just bored. Didn’t feel like mopping today.”

Raven bites back her indignant response to that. He didn’t feel like it, so he just didn’t do it? Why does Murphy, who has no real skills other than pissing people off, get to live like that, and she doesn’t? She tries all the damn time, and it just gets taken advantage of. It’s not like she could just say no, it would kill her to see someone else butcher her work.

Raven bites her tongue and shoves a rag into the leak to seal it while she preps the area for a patch. She should weld one on, but honestly, she’s not sure the substrate would tolerate the stress of a full thickness metal patch. So it really will just have to be a bandaid, then, metal bonding adhesive and some metal-fiber patching material. It won’t hold up that well, but if people just stop using the rover like a punching bag, it’ll do until someone can salvage a better part for her.

“Wow, you really are in a mood. Not even going to tell me to leave you alone again?” Murphy pointing out her sour temper does absolutely nothing to help the situation. “You wanna talk about it?”

While his words may not be the worst, his tone is entirely patronizing. Raven closes her eyes and breathes in the thick scent of old motor oil, calming herself. Sort of. She’s calmer than before, but definitely not actually under control. She grits her teeth, bonding one side of the patch. She’ll have to be quick about it, before the oil leak starts again and ruins the prep work she’s done.

Raven coats the remaining edges of the patch with adhesive, swipes the rag out and slaps the material in place in a heartbeat. She breathes on it, heat activating the bond, using the proximity to inspect for any leaks. She doesn’t see any, although she’s distracted by the sounds of Murphy rifling through her stuff. Her teeth creak as she grinds them. He knows how to get a rise out of her at the best of times, and this is not the best of times.

The patch looks good, so Raven pushes out from under the rover with a heavy sigh. Just gather up the tools for the wheel, swap it out, and keep ignoring Murphy.

Come on, Raven, you can do this.

Her mental pep talk works until she sees the mess Murphy made of her workbench, and that he’s twirling one of the tools she needs in his hands as if it’s a toy. Raven stalks over, grabbing everything else she needs before turning on Murphy.

“Hand it over,” she demands, holding her hand out. Murphy raises an eyebrow at her, scoffing and walking away, not a care in the world.

“So you’re talking to me now, huh?”

“Not if I can help it,” Raven mutters under her breath, depositing her tools and the spare tire next to the rover. When she turns back, Murphy’s looking at her, almost sadly.

“Come on, Raven, this is no fun. You’re gonna burn yourself out like this,” Murphy points out, shaking the wrench at her as he speaks.

Okay, maybe he’s right. But he shouldn’t say it, because Raven doesn’t want to hear it. She wants to get this done with and go back to her room and be miserable. Granted, imagining killing Murphy is taking her mind off of her cramps and other things, but still.

“I swear to god Murphy, if you don’t hand me that torque wrench right now, I’m going to take it, and I’m gonna shove it where the sun don’t shine,” Raven growls, advancing on Murphy who simply smirks.

“That’s more like it! But be careful, Reyes, or I might think you’re sweet on me, making promises like that.”

Murphy twirls the wrench in question in his grip again, and Raven grinds her teeth. God, of all the people on all the days to try her patience…

“Don’t let your mouth write checks your ass can’t cash,” Raven cautions, and Murphy shakes the tool at her sternly.

“Hey, I’ll have you know my ass is perfectly capable of cashing any and all checks.”

He probably means it as a joke, just more of their back and forth bickering that he seems to enjoy so much, but it causes a mental image to spring up in Raven’s mind. Murphy, bent over, being drilled mercilessly until he can’t talk shit anymore- Raven shakes her head to clear her mind of the image, blaming it on her fluctuating hormones.

“Give me the torque wrench, Murphy,” Raven grits out through her teeth, taking slow, even breaths against her anger.

“Nah.”

His flippant reply is the absolute last straw for her. Raven lunges, and Murphy retreats quickly in his surprise. Too quickly, for someone who doesn’t know the layout of the room as well as Raven does; he stumbles back into her workbench, materials clattering to the floor.

“Shit!” Murphy yelps, dropping the wrench and spinning around to try and catch things before even more falls to the ground. The mess does nothing to help with Raven’s fury, and the sight of him bent over the table does nothing for the images in her head.

She scoops up the torque wrench from the ground with a disgusted sigh, mostly at herself. She shouldn’t even be considering this. It’s Murphy, and sure, maybe they’ve fooled around a few times when moonshine is involved. Maybe even once or twice when it’s not. But it’s always Murphy panting after her like a desperate dog, not her pressing up against him, mouth hovering next to his ear.

She does so, despite her better judgement, tapping the wrench on the back of his neck. Murphy goes entirely still before chuckling awkwardly.

“Come on, Ra-”

“Shut the hell up, Murphy,” Raven cuts him off rudely. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

“You did, but-”

“I told you exactly what would happen, but you kept pushing anyway, huh? You always do that, don’t you? Well, guess what, your actions have consequences,” Raven grits, anger at an all time high. It’s not solely Murphy’s fault, of course, but he’s the closest person she can take it out on.

Raven shoves at Murphy’s shoulders, forcing him into a more bent over position, and he doesn’t fight back. Because of course he doesn’t, isn’t this just giving him more of the attention that he wants? Well, it also serves Raven’s purposes, to treat him as her personal punching bag.

Raven kneels behind him in order to drag his pants and underwear to the ground around his ankles, and she stays crouched there, ignoring the protest in her knee. Much as she would love to just ram the wrench up his ass, she knows that’s not exactly feasible. Plus, he does have quite a nice ass for such an annoying prick, and there’s something Raven’s always wanted to try. She places the wrench in her lap and leans forward, spreading Murphy open with her hands.

“What the- fuuuck, Raven.” Murphy’s words of confusion rapidly become eager as Raven drags her tongue over his hole. She presses firmly at the tense ring of muscle with the flat of her tongue in slow, hard drags. “Holy shit, Raven, that’s-”

“Don’t you ever shut the hell up?” Raven growls against his tailbone.

“Oh come on, it’s part of my charm,” Murphy drawls, as if she’s not currently got him bent over a table, ass spread.

Raven spits in between his cheeks, saliva dripping over his hole. Well, he’s sort of got a point; if he hadn’t been so fucking annoying she’d never have hit her breaking point like this and needed to show him who’s boss. She wouldn’t exactly call it charm, though.

“How about this?” Raven says, dragging the pad of her thumb through her spit, spreading it over his hole and pushing slightly, making Murphy shudder, “You stay quiet, and I won’t stop. You say anything that pisses me off, and I walk away.”

“You wouldn’t,” Murphy cranes his neck to look over his shoulder at her, offended.

“I’m not invested in this,” Raven punctuates her words by pressing her thumb more firmly, forcing the muscles to give way ever so slightly, “I can leave whenever I want.”

She probably wouldn’t, if she being entirely honest, but it’s a hell of a satisfying idea. To bring Murphy to the edge, and then just walk away, leaving him a mess, letting him sort himself out. With that scenario playing out in her mind, Raven drops her mouth back to his rear again, resuming the diligent work of her tongue.

“I- fuck!” Murphy starts to speak, but he cuts himself off as Raven pokes the tip of her tongue into him. Just a little, just enough to tease him. The next noises that come from him are muffled, and Raven breaks away just long enough to look up and see Murphy biting the back of his hand.

“So the cockroach can take directions, who would have thought?” Raven chuckles.

Murphy doesn’t respond, which is all good in Raven’s book, so she returns to lubing him up with her saliva, and loosening him with her tongue. He responds quite nicely to her touch, actually, rocking back desperately against her mouth. It only takes a few dozen thrusts of her tongue into the burning heat of him before she feels his muscles relax and stay relaxed.

With a few more spit heavy licks of her tongue, Raven pulls away, turning the torque wrench over in her grip to hold the head, presenting the shaft towards Murphy. It shines in the light of the rover bay, and Raven feels a certain twisted pleasure in the coolness of it against her skin. This is going to feel cold as hell to Murphy, and Raven has absolutely zero sympathy for him. He brought this one himself, and given the pathetic whining noise he makes, he even wants this.

Well, Raven does always help out in any way she can. With a vindictive grin, she presses the cold metal against his prepared hole, forging forward even as he jumps with a gasp. He’s burning up from her attentions, the unyielding steel must be a harsh contrast to the soft touch of her tongue. Raven watches him clench around the handle of the wrench in surprise, slowing its progress.

“What’s this, Murphy? Did you talk too much game?” Raven taunts, and she watches as Murphy forces first the muscles in his back, then lower down to relax.

“Fu-” Murphy starts to speak, and probably to say something uncharitable by his tone, but Raven twists the torque wrench, cutting him off.

“Careful,” she cautions, tapping a finger firmly on the shaft, knowing he’ll feel it through the metal.

Murphy shuts up, hanging his head heavily. Raven can see him biting his lower lip from this angle, and isn’t that just a pretty picture. The loudest mouth in Arkadia, shut up because of her. Raven drives the wrench in a few more inches, watching Murphy’s chest heave as he breathes in sharply.

“See Murphy, you can’t just keep running your mouth and expect to get what you want,” Raven lectures as she draws the wrench out halfway before slowly pressing it back in. “People will only put up with you for so long.”

Raven keeps up the slow thrusts with the shaft until the movements become easier and Murphy begins making noises in his throat again. He even moves his hips, and she’s sure if he could talk right now without fear of her leaving him with a hardon and a wrench shoved up his ass, he’d be demanding more. Well, Raven is happy to oblige even without the verbal demand.

She drives the wrench faster, watching the drag of it in and out of him. It’s almost hypnotizing, the way his muscles twitch, so obviously telling her what he wants. She can see when she hits that sweet spot inside of him, the way his whole lower body twitches, and his whines and moans cut off as he loses his breath. Raven hits it time and time again before purposefully avoiding it. She said she’d shove the wrench up his ass, not that she’d get him off with it.

Murphy squirms desperately until Raven releases her grip on his ass to deliver a swat to the cheek she’d been holding. That gets him to hold still for a moment, and Raven keeps intentionally missing his prostate as she pushes to her feet. She places the hand not fucking him in between his shoulder blades, forcing him down to the table and holding him in place.

“You still think you get what you want? You pissed me off, Murphy, I’m just holding up my end of the promise,” Raven explains.

She sets an almost punishing pace; although, considering that the metal has no give and isn’t intended for this purpose, it probably is less than comfortable. But the whole time, as Raven twists her wrist and thrust the wrench in and out, Murphy keeps his mouth shut. So, even like this, he doesn’t want her to stop. Which works well for Raven, because she’s having too much fun, ghosting over his sweet spot and watching him jerk when she does so.

Raven thinks she could keep this up for hours, teasing and drilling Murphy until he’s half mindless, a mess under her touch. She has half a mind to do so, but the sounds of boots in the hallway reminds her that they’re not exactly in a private place, and there’s no lock on the door. Raven’s heart stops, and she reacts quick as she can.

“I’ll deal with them. Finish yourself off, or at least clean yourself up,” Raven mutters in Murphy’s ear, and then does exactly what she threatened to. She walks away, leaving him with the torque wrench still firmly planted within his ass.

As Raven distracts the would-be intruder in the hallway, she wonders if there’s any way she can get a new set of tools, because there’s no way she’ll be able to look at that wrench the same way ever again.

#murven #john murphy #raven reyes #kinktober #the 100 #fan fic

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toosicktoocare · 6 years

Text

ice ice baby

I have a million prompts in my inbox, but here I am writing this instead...

College AU, Pre-Klance

Summary: Cancelled classes = ice sliding and bruises

Word Count: 2,008

Keith would be lying if he said he isn’t slightly annoyed as he slips his boots on over thick, wool socks. He had plans to spend the surprise free day curled up under multiple blankets in bed with a textbook, but Lance had messaged him, pulling him from the comfort and warmth of his bed with a "come outside ASAP" message.

He could have ignored this easily, but he knows Lance would have persisted with multiple texts before coming to their shared dorm and dragging him outside, whether he was dressed appropriately or not. So, it's better, Keith thinks, to blow the fire out gently by meeting Lance's request as opposed to fanning the flame with resistance.

Outside, the wind is freezing, and snow is still fluttering down, as it has been all night. Keith shivers despite the added layers he packed on and fishes his phone from his pocket to call Lance, because 'outside' could literally be anywhere. Squinting, he cups one hand over his eyes for the snow is borderline blinding to his tired eyes. The other hand presses his phone against his ear, and he looks and waits, listening to the ring-back tone of some current song Keith doesn't know.

After a minute, Keith hears Lance answer with a loud "Hey!" that echoes close by. Frowning, he pulls the phone away and looks to the right to see Lance racing toward him from the resident lot.

"You've gotta come see this!" Lance shouts as he stops beside Keith and drapes a cold arm over his shoulders.

Shuddering, Keith shrugs Lance's arm away and spares a side glance to see Lance's rosy cheeks and red-rimmed nose. "How long have you been out here?"

"All morning," Lance says with a wide smile, voice borderline breathless. "Hunk, Pidge, and Shiro were here earlier, but Hunk and Shiro had to go to work, and Pidge went in because she was too cold."

Nodding, Keith crosses his arms, feeling cold himself despite only being out for a few minutes. While Lance looks cold, he isn't acting like it, leaving Keith arching his brows slightly as the two walk. Lance always boasts about how he's from 'the most tropical place in the universe,' so Keith's honestly surprised that the brunet isn't complaining about the biting wind and single-digit temperatures.

When they reach the resident lot, Lance motions with a wide wave toward the ice-slick pavement. "Look at it!"

With furrowed brows, Keith toes an edge, boot sliding instantly. "You made me come outside to show me ice?"

"No," Lance starts with a laugh. "I made you come outside to show you this!" He gets a running start before sliding across the ice, hands waving about on either side for balance as he skids all the way across the lot until he latches onto the back of Keith's truck to stop himself.

"Impressive," Keith calls out dryly as Lance bellows with laughter.

"Try it!"

Keith shakes his head and jams his fists into his pockets.

"Come on, Keith!"

"No!"

"It's fun!"

"I don't care!"

"Just come on! I did it!"

A twitch of annoyance tugs at Keith's face because Lance knows the one weak spot and is constantly stabbing at it with a long knife. Keith has a competitive streak, kind of hard not to when your step brother is a small-town legend, and Lance knows this, being somewhat competitive himself.

"Keith!" Lance continues, drawing out the name with a sharp pitch that has Keith cursing under his breath.

"This is so fucking stupid," he mutters as he slowly walks toward the ice. He toes at it again, gauging how slick it is with a swipe of his boot. His shoe slides across it quickly, easily, and he frowns, prepared to back out on the grounds that this is reckless and stupid, but Lance is shouting again, yelling his name repeatedly. His voice grates along Keith's nerves until he's backing up then running full force to the ice.

Wind whips at his face, feeling like small, frozen daggers, and pushes his beanie up and over his head. His knees wobble as he goes flying across the lot, and he's in a constant state of feeling like he may fall at any second. His heart is hammering against his chest, loud enough to echo in his ears, but whether it's racing from fear or thrill, he's not sure. He's approaching Lance rapidly, and it occurs to him at this very moment that he hasn't calculated how to stop. He squeezes his eyes shut as his truck comes closer and closer, and he throws both hands out in a poor attempt to not completely crash against the truck, but instead, cool, soft arms wrap around his middle, and the two bodies slide a little until slowing into a stop.

"Holy shit," Keith breathes out along a puff of adrenaline as he pulls away to see Lance holding his waist and smiling at him.

"Fun, right?"

"Dangerous," Keith mutters, but a smile plays on his lips as he glances across the icy parking lot.

"You rock climb for fun, Keith. I think this doesn't really compare in terms of danger."

Keith can only nod as a tug of want pulls at his heart. "Race you?"

An impossible smile pulls at Lance's lips, and the two break apart and start toward the snowy bank off to the side to quickly get back to the other end of the parking lot.

For what feels like hours, Keith and Lance race each other as they slide across the parking lot. At times, other students join in, but majority of the time is spent alone, just the two of them pushing and pulling at one another as they glide across ice to try and be the first back to Keith's truck.

It's been a while, Keith thinks, since he's had this much. His body is slightly sore from small tumbles, but the thrill of whipping across the parking lot keeps him going, that is until his latest slide across the ice.

He's ahead of Lance, for once, but his shoe hits a snag, a crack in the ice, and it sends him flying forward. He manages to turn onto his side before his body smacks hard against the cold ice, leaving him hissing sharply from a blasting spike of pain that shoots all across his side.

He can hear Lance laughing loudly, and the laughter grows louder and louder until Lance is skidding to a stop beside him.

"Holy shit!" Lance shouts in between breathless laughs. "Are you okay?"

Keith sits up, face pulling into a sharp wince as his side almost burns with pain. He nods anyway, and Lance bends over to help him to his feet.

"You're soaked," Lance says, still puffing out breaths of laughs as he steadies Keith with a hand to Keith's back. "Wanna take a break?"

"Yeah," Keith answers, and the two start slowly back to their dorm room, shivering and sniffling as they hurry to their building.

The stairs are murder on Keith's side. He grips the banister tightly and grits his teeth as he climbs them, following Lance all the way to the third floor and to their room. When they reach their room, Lance mutters that he's running to the dining hall for hot chocolate, leaving Keith alone to change.

He starts taking off layers of cold, wet clothes. His jacket comes first, then his sweater, and finally the long sleeve shirt he's got on underneath. He pulls it over his head with a muted hiss before he drops it to the floor to rummage in his closet for something dry and warm.

He's eyeing one of Lance's hoodies when he hears a sharp gasp followed by something splashing to the floor. Whipping around, he sees Lance gaping at him in the doorway, with a now empty paper cup rolling in a puddle of hot chocolate on the floor.

"What the hell, Lance? I'm not cleaning that-"

"Your side."

"Huh?" Frowning, Keith tilts his head, not liking the concern painted across Lance's face.

Lance doesn't offer a verbal reply; instead, he steps through the hot chocolate on the floor and moves until he's standing right in front of Keith. Keith can feel his cheeks burning with a blush as Lance reaches toward him, but whatever warm, shy feeling that was threatening to take hold of his heart is replaced with a burning sting that has him glancing down to Lance's fingers brushing along his side.

It's then that Keith sees it: the dark blue and black bruises already starting to color his side. "Oh," Keith says because his mind suddenly can't remember many words. "Shit."

"You're hurt," Lance mutters, crouching down to study the bruising with a deep frown. "This looks bad."

"I'll just ice it," Keith says, thankful that he can make his tone sound convincing. "I've gotten bruises before."

"Yeah, but those weren't my fault."

"It's really not a big... wait, what?" Keith snaps a gaze down to lock eyes with Lance's suddenly somber ones, and he holds the gaze as Lance slowly gets to his feet. "Your fault?"

"I made you do it."

"You didn't make me do anything." Keith's tone is a little sharper than intended, and he swallows back the flicking hint of anger. "I chose to."

"I bothered you until you did."

Shrugging, Keith turns back to the closet and snags one of Lance's hoodies. "You do that with ninety percent of things. I'm used to it."

"Yeah, but you've never gotten hurt because of me before."

Keith's never seen this level of guilt before, and honestly, that sad look doesn't match the bright color of Lance's eyes-- it makes him look younger, innocent. Keith shakes his head and starts toward his bed. "It's really not a big deal, Lance. I'll get some ice and take it easy." He slips the pale blue hoodie over his head before he bends over, very slowly, to start unlacing his boots. He swallows back the pain, but before his fingers meet cold laces, Lance is guiding him to a chair.

"Let me."

"I'm not an invalid, Lance. I can take off my own shoes."

"It's hurting you."

"It's not-"

"I can see it. Your muscles tense up. You're trying to hide it."

Keith's eyes grow a fraction wider as Lance crouches down to start unlacing his boots. Lance doesn't come off as the observant type-- he's more... easygoing, for better lack of words. At least, that's what Keith has always thought about the brunet. Perhaps he was wrong though. Maybe he's got to start peeling off the layers that make up Lance McClain.

Lance knows enough to let Keith at least change his pants on his own, though, and when Keith is secured in bed with two blankets wrapped around him, Lance starts toward the door.

"I'm going to get ice."

"Lance," Keith tries, and Lance pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

"Aren't you going to change first? You have to be freezing, Mr. 'I'm from a super tropical place.'"

"The faster I get ice, the faster you aren't in pain." Lance says, looking over his shoulder with a frown.

"You don't have to do this."

"You didn't have to slide on the ice."

Keith tilts his head at his. "No, but I guess I wanted to."

A soft smile plays at Lance's lips. "Then let me want to do this for you."

Before Keith can argue further, Lance slips out the door, leaving Keith huffing out a breath of frustration as he sinks back against the pillows propped up behind his back.

Of all things, his mind goes back to the cold outside, when he first slid across the lot and Lance caught him with those long, slender arms around his waist. His cheeks warm to a soft pink as another groan slips past his lips.

If Lance wants to do this, then, Keith guesses, he will let him.

#voltron #vld #whump #whump fic #whumpfic #klance #pre-klance #college au #my writing #my voltron writing #i literally have been watching slipping on ice fail videos and boom #here we are #also we had a lot of sleet today so my deck is super icy rn #so this fic is just very fitting lol #keith kogane #lance mcclain #check out that cheesy af title tho

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theshatteredrose · 6 years

Text

The Treasure Seeker - Saga 1 (Chapter 10) - Etrian Odyssey 5 Fanfiction

AN: Happy Australia Day for all my Aussie readers! Finally getting to some action in this chapter and a new character is briefly introduced, but information about him won’t be until the next chapter. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading~

AO3 | Wattpad | FFNet

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 10:

Drayce followed Nashoba closely as the white wolf led him through the clearing and toward a path that seemed to snake further north into the labyrinth. He gritted his teeth as he prepared for the situation he may be running into. He knew that someone was in trouble or at least terrified. It was common courtesy amongst explorers not to scream out unless they legitimately feared for their life, feared for someone else’s life, or was in general deep shit.

And the cry he heard, though weak, told him that they were heading toward a dangerous situation.

Rounding a tight, blind corner, Drayce heard Nashoba utter a warning growl and he momentarily stumbled to a halt when something appeared on the ground in front of him. It took him a second to realise that something was a person. A Therian.

And the Therian with red-hair was laid sprawled face down on the ground. A male Masurao by appearance. He also appeared to be unmoving. Unconscious.

God please let him just be unconscious.

Drayce’s attention was soon drawn to something else that was red. A four legged creature with red fur and glistening canines. That was all he could see as it seemed to be making a beeline toward the fallen Therian as well.

The specifics of what that monster was or what had happened to the Therian would be worked out later. Right now he had to stop that thing from attacking and there was only one way he knew to do that. And he needed to get to him before that four-legged monstrosity did.

Without a second to waste, Drayce sprung forward and bypassed the Therian to instead plant himself in the monster’s line of sight and in its direct path. With his shield between him and the four-legged brute, he gritted his teeth in anticipating of the impact.

And the monster hit his shield hard. Harder than he expected and he felt himself stagger back a couple of steps, almost stepping on the very Therian he was trying to protect.

Pushing back his own alarm, he peered over the top of his shield and grimaced when a pair of beady black eyes looked back at him.

Typical. The first monster they encountered had to be the notorious big-mouthed Wild Dog.

“Drayce!” Blayke called out to him, his voice filled with obvious alarm.

“Get him to safety!” Drayce ordered over his shoulder as he tightened his grip on his shield, pushing back against the monster as much as his strength allowed him. “Then get ready for battle! This thing won’t be scared off!”

He received an uncertain reply in return. But even though Drayce’s attention was focused on ensuring that his shield stayed between him and the gapping jaws of the Wild Dog, he could sense that his guildmates were assembling themselves in some manner. He didn’t need to see them to know that they were ensuring that they themselves stayed out of danger while getting the Therian to safety.

Putting his shoulder into the shield and digging his heels into the ground, Drayce closed his eyes as he concentrated on calling out a Decoy Shield. He aimed for the space just a little behind the Wild Dog, hoping that the agitating qualities of the bunker would cause the monster to turn its full attention on it rather than against Drayce’s shield.

And thankfully it did. The second the Decoy Bunker came into physical form, the Wild Dog whirled wildly around to face it. With a snort and a growl it launched forward with incredible speed and slammed its head directly in the centre of the shield of the bunker.

Drayce felt the bunker buckle under the impact and he knew that it wouldn’t last a second hit. A hit that the monster was about to deliver.

Shit. He needed to call for another one!

“D-Drayce!” Came Faelen’s shaky voice.

“Don’t panic!” Drayce found himself shouting as he repositioned himself. “Remember the game plan; Blayke, attack when it’s not looking in combination with your chain skills! Faelen, Kamali, use your long-ranged skills to help him! Nashoba, don’t let this bastard near anyone! Fiorello, look after the Therian. We’ve got this!”

Though he receives a chorus of replies that were uncertain and even afraid, he trusted that Blayke and the others of his guild would know what to do. And that they would work together to get things done.

So all he had to do was ensure that the Wild Dog didn’t get even ten feet of any of them.

Before he could call for another bunker, the Wild Dog unexpectedly whirled around toward him and rammed its enormous, bulky head against the very centre of Drayce’s shield. He felt himself reel back at the impact, the corner of the shield striking the side of his face.

But he stayed on his feet and ignored the slight stinging sensation against his cheek as he summoned another decoy. The second that came into form, the Wild Dog once more whirled around to face it. This time it uttered a guttural, primal growl of rage as he raced toward it.

Better keep those Decoy Bunkers coming!

This red-furred bastard sure was a strong one!

“Drayce!” Blayke called out in alarm again.

“Stop worrying about me!” Drayce shouted back as he concentrated on summoning another Decoy Bunker. “Just focus on attacking it at a safe distance! I’ll keep its attention on me!”

With a low grunt of exertion, Drayce summoned a Decoy Bunker the second the Wild Dog destroyed another one. It soon whipped its head around to glare at the newly summoned bunker. With yet another fearsome roar it charged toward the decoy once more, completely forgetting about him.

Uttering a low curse under his breath, Drayce concentrated on calling forth another one. It was starting to get taxing. He wasn’t sure how many more he could summon without getting mental fatigue. No, it didn’t matter. He would summon as many that was needed. If he couldn’t call for anymore, he would just use his own shield.

He told himself it would be fine and just concentrate on keeping the monster preoccupied and away from the other. He had absolute faith that his teammates would do what was needed when it was needed.

He could see glimpses of Blayke as he darted forward in tandem with Kamali’s fire spells and Faelen’s arrows. He could see Nashoba dart around the monster, seemingly purposely coming at it from its blind spots before darting back with grace and agility that only a wolf such as Nashoba could possess.

The Wild Dog’s movements were starting to slow, the constant attacks and exertion of attacking the bunkers weakening it. But its actions were still very frantic. That could only mean that it knew it was losing this battle. Just a little bit more.

They’ve got this!

Drayce quickly manoeuvred his shield in front of him, kicking out the stand as he reached for his gun. He hunkered down behind it as levelled his gun at the red-furred beast as it destroyed his last decoy. As the bunker disappeared in a puff of smoke, Drayce held his breath and narrowed his eyes.

One last time. He just needed to gain its attention one more time.

He squeezed the trigger.

The bullet struck the side of the Wild Dog’s head. Immediately, it whipped around to face him, its beady black eyes narrowing in on him. Blood and drool dripped from its oversized mouth, of which it opened on another bone-rattling roar. Its muscles tensed as its body turned, ready to launch in Drayce’s direction.

But before it could move another inch Blayke appeared in its blind spot. With his face creased into a look of determination and concentration, he took his blade and pierced the back of the monster’s head.

Surprisingly, the Wild Dog didn’t utter a sound. Its head simply tilted to the side before its whole body slumped unnaturally to the ground, almost taking Blayke along with it.

Blayke huffed as he sluggishly hefted his sword out of the monster’s head, a disgusted expression appearing on his face from the sticky, sloppy sound the movement made. He then staggered back, still panting, as he stared cautiously as the Wild Dog.

The Wild Dog, however, didn’t move. There was no fight left in it. Possibly no life either.

Drayce felt his adrenaline abruptly fade and his shoulders sagged in exhaustion. He slumped to the ground before falling back to sit down with a ‘flump’ noise. He placed his hands on the ground a little behind him as he leaned back and tilted his head back to look up at the sky as he panted softly.

Well…that was an unexpected experience.

For their first battle it was a hard one. But everyone was alive and no one had been hurt, so it was definitely a successful experience!

“Drayce?” Blayke’s voice caused Drayce to lower his gaze from the sky and look forward once more, to find his friend standing before him, still slightly breathless as he looked at him in concern. “You all right?”

Drayce grinned tiredly at him. “Never better. Totally knew we could pull it off. Awesome footwork, by the way.”

Blayke nodded his head idly as he kept his blood covered sword hanging loosely by his side. “Those bunkers are useful, holy shit.”

“No kidding,” Drayce chuckled.

He rolled his head to the side when he heard the slight patter of feet on the grass and saw that Nashoba had made his way over to him. He then uttered a low whimper sound before he pushed forward to lick at his cheek, the one that Drayce had injured earlier.

Drayce chuckled tiredly as he reached out a hand to gently pet the wolf in return. “Great job,” he said quietly.

A pair of arms suddenly encircled his neck from behind him and a weight rested against his back. Slightly startled, he turned to look to his left to see a mop of bluish-purple hair. Though still surprised, he recognised Faelen immediately and reached up to pat him on the head as well.

“You did great, too,” he said.

Faelen nodded his head but Drayce could feel that he was still somewhat shaky, most likely from the adrenaline from the battle still coursing through him. “That was…scarier than I thought it would be.”

It really was a shame that the first monster they faced was a violent Wild Dog. Would have been better if they met a Rabid Acorn or two in order to ease themselves into battle. Talk about jumping into the deep end.

Still, it could have been worse. There could have been two of the rowdy bastards.

“Drayce.”

Fiorello calling his name in a serious tone caused Drayce to abruptly remember the reason why they were thrown into battle against the Wild Dog in the first place. Also as if just realising, Faelen removed his arms from Drayce’s neck to allow him to turn around to look in the botanist’s direction.

The redheaded Therian was resting in a semi-sitting position at the base of a tree. His head was lolled to the side with his chin reaching his shoulder. His light-brown skin was marred with several bruises and scrapes, as well as dirty patches. His red hair, seemingly quite fluffy normally, was matted in several places and one of his canine ears fell limply against his head while the other remained straight.

In short, he didn’t look too good.

Fiorello stood to one side of him with his bag and many of its contents on the ground before him while Kamali knelt on the other side of the patient. Kamali wore an expression of concern on his face as he looked at the unknown Therian, while Fiorello looked particular displeased about something.

Forcing himself to his feet, Drayce snared his shield and gun before he made his way over to them. “How is he?”

“Alive,” Fiorello replied as he folded his arms across his chest. “Lacerations and bruises. No broken bones or internal injuries, thankfully. However, there were other signs of abuse.”

“Abuse?” Drayce muttered with a deep frown. “What do you mean?”

Fiorello looked at him with a terse and serious expression. “His hands were tied together,” he unexpectedly said.

Drayce’s eyebrows immediately reached up toward his hairline as his mouth dropped open in surprise. “His hands were tied?” he repeated. “What-? Who-?”

Fiorello shook his head. “Obviously, I don’t know. And I obviously don’t like it.”

Drayce glanced down at the Therian’s wrists and noted that they appeared red raw and bruised as well. He didn’t have any armour and there was no weapon to be seen. Clearly something untoward had happened to him and he either managed to escape his captor’s clutches or was dumped in the labyrinth with the goal of him being taken care of by a monster or two.

If Drayce and the others hadn’t arrived when they did, he could very well have been killed.

What kind of bastard would do something like this?

“I sense something,” Kamali suddenly said with a tone of confusion. “Mana. I think it’s coming from him.”

Mana? Was this guy carrying something on him? Or was it rather him and the reason for the restraints? The mana may even be the reason why that Wild Dog was chasing him.

There was a lot of questions that needed answers, but right now their main priority was ensuring the Therian’s safety and to get him out for further healing. Now, what would be the best way to do just that?

A soft, almost inaudible groan caused Drayce to immediately turn his full attention on the Therian once more. Setting his shield to the side, he crouched down in front of wolf-eared Therian as he began to stir.

Instead of sitting upright in a panic, he murmured something incoherent and tried to open his eyes. But he couldn’t open them all the way. He managed no more than to peer through his lashes. A sliver of green could be seen, but no more than that. Almost as if he couldn’t open them any further. Obviously he was exhausted, not just fatigued from the injuries.

“Hey, you’re ok now,” Drayce said as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be safe with us, I promise. Whoever did this to you certainly won’t do it again.”

The Therian stared at him for a few more moments before he uttered a sigh and Drayce could see the whites of his eyes for a second before he slumped forward. Alarmed, Drayce immediately reached out to catch and steady him. “Fiorello?” he immediately asked for the botanist.

“He just fainted,” Fiorello immediately replied. “He’s in no danger of dying, but I want to get him back to that clinic of yours as quickly as possible.”

Right.

Drayce took one of the Therian’s arms and slung it over his neck. “Blayke, take his other arm.”

Sheathing his sword back to his side, Blayke wordlessly took the Therian’s other arm and with a big of teamwork, they both stood with their new patient slumped between them. He was out cold, so getting him through the labyrinth and back to the entrance wasn’t going to be easy.

Damn, and the monsters are likely interested in the scent of blood.

With the Therian balanced on his shoulder, Drayce shoved his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the map with the compass folded within it. He then shoved in in Faelen’s direction. “I need you and Nashoba to lead us out of here.”

Faelen looked stunned, his mouth dropping open. But then he looked uneasy. “A-are you sure?” he asked.

“You’ll do fine,” Drayce replied immediately. “Use the compass. The way to the entrance should be east from the clearing and following a single path south through and archway, after that it’s west to where Virgil is, and after that, south once more to the entrance. It’ll be a clear path, don’t worry. We’ll be right behind you.”

Faelen still looked uneasy, but he retrieved the map and compass from him with a deep, but shaky breath. “Ok,” he uttered. “Don’t stray too far behind me, ok?”

Drayce gave him a reassuring smile. “As I said; we’ll be right behind you.”

That seemed to offer Faelen some reassurance and he gave him a slight smile in return. He then pressed his lips together as a look of concentration appeared on his face and unfolded the map, grabbing the compass tightly.

“Orientate yourself by finding north first,” Drayce instructed as he readjusted his grip on the Therian’s arm and waist. “After that, do a one-eighty and head south. Kamali, Fiorello, stick close to him and offer your support. Blayke and I will focus all our attention on getting this guy to safety.”

“Of course,” Kamali immediately replied.

“You got it,” Fiorello also affirmed as he hastily placed the empty medicine bottles into his bag.

Drayce tightened his grip on the Therian and clenched his jaw. “Ready, Blayke?” he asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Blayke replied. “The quicker we get out of here, the better.”

“Agreed.”

Ignoring his own aches and pains that were starting to set in due to the sudden drop in adrenaline levels, Drayce focused on simply walking in step with Blayke as fast as he could as they carried the limp and heavy Therian on their shoulders. Every now and again he could hear the Therian utter soft moans of pain and he felt the need to utter an apology for each time he unwittingly stumbled or jarred him in some way. But he kept quiet, instead focusing on the path in front of him and his inner mantra to simply get to the stairs and get out of here.

As they pass through a naturally formed archway created by a twisting tree, Drayce felt a small sense of relief when he looked up to see a familiar guard standing a few yards away with a flurry of chickens at his feet.

Virgil. Good. They were almost to the stairs.

Virgil idly glanced in their direction before he did a double take and his mouth dropped open in surprise. “Oh,” was all he managed to utter as Drayce and Blayke dragged the unconscious Therian toward him.

“Hey,” Drayce greeted with a half-hearted smile. “Saved him from a Wild Dog. Do you recognise him?”

With a frown on his lips, Virgil shook his head. “I’m sorry; I don’t recognise him at all. Perhaps he entered during the night shift? I only work during the day here because of my chickens. They like to head in to sleep when the sun sets, you see.”

Drayce was a little disappointed by the answer, but also felt assured that if the Therian had been dragged in against his will, someone would have put a stop to it. But he was also worried that the bastards who did do this to him were still loitering about. If they were heartless enough to bound someone and drag them into the labyrinth, they may also be volatile enough to attack a guard. And he didn’t want anything to happen to Virgil also.

“I don’t know his story, but be extra vigilant just in case, yeah?” Drayce said to him. “We’ll take care of this guy, don’t worry.”

“Request the guards from the city to help you,” Virgil immediately said. “They’ll take him to the inn where he can recuperate.”

Drayce shook his head. He didn’t know the guy, sure, but he knew he was in some kind of trouble. And honestly just dumping him at the inn and making him someone else’s problem didn’t sit right with him at all.

No, he wanted to keep an eye on him himself.

“The Crescentia,” Drayce said. “We need to take him there instead.”

Virgil looked mildly surprised as he tilted his head to the side. He had a curious look on his face, but didn’t ask him any questions. Instead he straightened his posture and nodded his head. “The guards shall help you take him wherever you like.”

Ok, good. Carrying his shield, gun, and an unconscious Therian was starting to take its toll on him. He’ll think about that later. First, he needed to get everyone out of this place.

This was not how he envisioned his first trek into the labyrinth would be…

#Etrian Odyssey #etrian odyssey 5 #fanfiction #The Treasure Seeker #Angelward Guild

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archive-creamycomet · 7 years

Note

Same gal who asked about the alpha/omega/beta dynamic aND HOLY SHIT SO MUCH WISDOM, and if you get the chance can you write a one shot (or full blown story) cause that would be amazing! Also I'm so fucked up cause the idea of Gaku exploiting Satoru in heat is just LORD HAVE MERCY HOT

(whispers quietly) i am a sinning man and these are my sinning hands.

Also on AO3 here: [link]

People often asked Satoru what it waslike, waking up after fifteen long years. They wanted to know whether he sawlight at the end of a long, dark tunnel; whether he heard anything when he wasasleep; what thoughts went through his head while he lay there, eyes closed andunmoving. More often than not, Satoru was able to answer with a little shrug ofhis shoulders. It took days before his eyes had adjusted, so he didn’t seeanything. His ears were the same—he hadn’t even heard when his mother hadwished him that first good morning. And as for what he thought—

Nothing. One moment, Satoru had beenleaving his house in the morning, frantically looking for his recorder andracing off to school. The next, he was in a hospital bed. There was noin-between: just the nothingness of sleep, deep and dark and over in aninstant.

But what he does remember, from the moment he first became aware of himselfagain, was that he wasn’t alone.

Before any of his other senses, Satoruhad felt it: something that wasn’t himself, mingling with his mind. A gentlehand grazing against his soul, curious and holding its breath, not yet daringto hope. And though he couldn’t move his limbs, couldn’t even bat an eyelash,he weakly reached back out to it—and Satoru felt his own consciousness tanglingwith the other, offering a feeble little nudge in the void.

And then too much—devotion and awe and unrestrained euphoria—crashed intohim like a tidal wave. The presence pushed its way into his head, wrappingSatoru’s thoughts up in an embrace that was desperate and tight. It clutched athim in a crushing, suffocating grip—yet Satoru found himself sinking into itall the same, feeling these feelings that were not his own, too weak to fightthe pure joy he felt humming across the bond.

It’s you, itwhispered, disbelief etched in every word. You’reawake.

It was that familiar, comforting voicethat lulled him back under.

Everything smelled. The next timeSatoru felt himself stirring, that’s what hit him first: all the scents thatwere now assaulting his senses, stirring him awake. The muscles in his facetwitched, his nose curling in displeasure. For some reason, everything carriedan aroma, even the air itself, and it made his head spin. Made him want to turnand bury his face in his pillow until he fell back into a deep, scentlesssleep.

But he couldn’t even move his head,let alone do anything as ambitious and moving. So with every inhale, he workedat identifying what he could: antiseptic, laundry detergent, fresh plastic,cleaning supplies. And distantly, buried under it all, something else:something inherently softer, comforting and warm. Something that smelled likecooked rice and home.

Slowly, Satoru peeled his eyes back,only barely managing to stare at the blurry world beyond his eyelashes. A darkshape moved into his vision, and a voice came to him muddled and distorted, asif he were listening from underwater. He couldn’t make out the words, butSatoru knew that sound—and his aching voice left him in a sigh. “M…om…?”

Her hand slipped into his, giving areassuring squeeze. And in his skull, that not-him was also there, dutifullywrapping his anxiety in a warm blanket of emotion. It wasn’t perfect by anymeans, but it would do; Satoru let himself go, floating somewhere betweenasleep and awake, wrapping himself in his mother’s scent. Feeling her fingers,tracing soft little circles against the back of his hand.

Days must have passed, but Satorudidn’t remember them; there were just bits of awareness, bubbles occasionallyrising to the surface of his mind. One moment and his mother was there, thenext she wasn’t; sometimes he could see light, blinding and bright—andsometimes none. The only constant was that feeling of someone else: alwaysthere, always coaxing and comforting, soothing and smoothing out the franticthoughts in his head.

Well, that—and Kitamura-sensei.

Satoru watched the doctor bustlearound his hospital room, inspecting machines and replacing IV bags withsingle-minded purpose. He liked Kitamura. He was little straightforward andlacking in tact, but the honesty was refreshing. His mother, the nurses—Satorucould tell they were side-stepping his questions, placating him with a smilebefore changing the topic. At least Kitamura didn’t… coddle.

Satoru observed the doctor with acertain detached interest, his head leaned back against the pillows. His bodystill wasn’t strong enough to move on its own, so all he could really do wasgaze at the world from his bed. Powerless to do anything but watch therevolving door of specialists and orderlies, cycling in and out of his hospitalroom.

At least Kitamura smelled better thanthe others.

“That’s probably because I’m a beta,”the doctor replied, tapping at the IV drip.

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that outloud.

Satoru stared pointedly down at hishands, his fingers twitching restlessly against the blankets. Kitamura wassilent for a moment as he stared down at his clipboard, flipping through thecharts and check-up notes. He eventually broke the silence with carefullymeasured words, never tearing his eyes from the page. “Can I ask you something,Satoru?”

He weakly nodded, his neck aching withthe effort. “Sure.”

“Do you remember when you presented?”

Satoru stared at him for a longsecond, his mouth parting. Of course, he’d assumed he must have presented atsome time—he wasn’t a child anymore, and his body had gone through puberty,even if his mind wasn’t along for the ride. But as for the moment itself, likeso many others, it was lost in the haze of his memories. Just one more piece ofhimself, pulverized by his jumbled mind. “No.”

Kitamura paused, before letting thepapers flip back into place. “I see. That’s fine.”

Satoru frowned, his shoulders shiftingagainst the mattress. Now that they were talking about it, he’d be lying if hesaid some part of him wasn’t curious. He’d wanted to ask this entire time justwhy the world seemed to smell so strong,and it was increasingly clear that Sachiko wasn’t going to tell him. So hesteeled his resolve and stared his doctor in the face, his stomach tight.

“What,” he started, swallowing thecroaking in his throat. “What am I?”

The physician tensed for a longmoment, not tearing his eyes away from his clipboard, as if it were suddenlythe most interesting thing in the world. Satoru could practically see thewheels in the man’s mind turning, before he tucked his notes back under his armwith an awkward shuffle. “An omega,” he answered.

Satoru’s brain stuttered, and heblinked up at his doctor. “A—what?”

“Omega,” Kitamura repeated, staringSatoru in the face. “You presented a week or two before the accident. I’m notsurprised you don’t remember.”

“Oh.”

And for some reason, Satoru—wasn’t assurprised as he should have been, either. Just like when he had seen his new,adult face, the shock just… didn’t come. The truth settled into his brain andbones easily, like an answer he had known all along—like a puzzle piece finallyslotting into place. Satoru stared down at his lap, trying to ignore thatpresence that was still brushing affectionately against his own, practicallypurring in his head.

“I, uh,” he started, struggling forsomething to say. “I thought only girls could be omegas.”

Kitamura stared at him for a longsecond, before pulling up one of the fold out chairs and lowering himself intoit. “99.9 per cent of the time, you’d be right,” he explained. “It’sexceptionally rare, but male omegas do exist. And you’re one of them.”

Satoru’s nose crinkled. “Is that whyeverything smells so much?”

Kitamura tried to hold onto hisimpassive stare, but the corners of his mouth were twitching up. “Basically.Your hormones are playing a bit of catch-up, so your body is kicking itselfinto overdrive. It’ll settle down eventually.”

Thank god. But that wasn’t the worstof his concerns, and Satoru’s fingers twisted and tangled nervously in thesheets. “So, does that mean I can get—” He stopped, the word clogging in histhroat, but he forced it out anyway. “P-pregnant?”

“No,” Kitamura promised. “You’re anomega, but your body is still male. Your hormones and biology just—aren’t reallytalking to each other.” He paused and adjusted his glasses. “Think of it likethis: your body is tricking itself into thinking it can carry a child, even ifyou can’t. So you’ll still be having heats, unfortunately.”

He leaned his head back against thepillows, feeling a shiver crawl over his skin. An omega heat: Satoru couldn’tremember ever experiencing it for himself, but he could just barely feelsnippets of it, the muscle memory buried deep in his nerves. The feeling ofthat never-ending hot, boiling under his skin—the primal need for something totake the fever away. The desperate scramble to get rid of the ache coiled inhis core, by any means necessary.

By anyone.

Something possessive and dark growledlow through the bond, and that was all the warning he got before the lustpoured in. It hit him like a wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. It was—Satoru, my omega, my mate—making his body burn, and he panted desperately againstthe feeling. But it was so hard to breathe when he could sense that gaze on hisnaked skin, when he could feel teeth bearing down on his throat. A cold leatherglove, brushing against his cheek—

Satoru squeezed his eyes shut andgasped, his heart monitor jumping wildly. He needed to calm down, he needed—need, yes, please—needed to get this under control. His head was trying toreign it in, but it was like riding a mechanical bull; all he could do was holdon to whatever logic he had, trying not to get bucked by the foreign lustflowing in his veins.

A glass was pressed against his lips,and Satoru found himself gratefully swallowing down water. It was a cold splashto his system, shocking it back to reality. As he drank, he could feel theintruding thoughts retreating—pulling back with little half-apologies scatteredin their wake.

When Satoru opened his eyes again,there was still only Kitamura, frowning as he pulled the empty cup back.“Fujinuma—?”

“Sorry,” he murmured, gratefully inhalingoxygen as he sank into the pillows. He could feel a thin sweat covering hisskin; he at least wished he had the strength to wipe it all off for himself. Heforced his eyes open again, half-staring at the ceiling as his heart steadiedout of its staccato rhythm. “That—wasn’t me.”

The doctor’s scowl deepened. “Wasn’t…you?”

Satoru weakly nodded. His body feltcold, colder than before—all of him soaked and damp, craving someone’s touchand shivering without it. “It’s like,” he started, brows furrowing, “likethere’s… someone in my head sometimes.”

All the time, really—but Kitamuradidn’t need to know that.

“I… see,” the doctor murmured, hiseyes narrowing as he gripped at his chin. For a long second, he just stared atSatoru, something calculating passing through his gaze—but then it was gone,and Kitamura was pushing himself to his feet with a small sigh. “I’d like youto meet a colleague of mine this afternoon, if you feel up to it.”

Which was code for you are absolutely seeing anotherspecialist, whether you like it or not—so Satoru just nodded along, eyesclosing. “Okay,” he murmured, sinking under the blanket. Right now, all hewanted to do was rest. Wanted to curl up on himself in his bed and wrap hisarms around himself, as if he could trick himself into thinking he wasn’t alonein the sheets.

He’d deal with the afternoon when hegot there.

But later and eventually alwaysended up turning into now—and Satoruwished he’d bothered to ask Kitamura even a single question about this wholething. As it was, he was already caught unaware: after forcing down some foodand sleeping most of the afternoon away, he’d been woken up by a knock on hishospital door. Satoru had barely managed to wake up when the door slid open,and the smell of sugar cookies jumped into his nose.

Satoru stared at the new face, a bitof hair still stuck in the drool drying on his cheek. She wasn’t like any ofthe other doctors that had visited him so far: there was no lab coat, nostethoscope, not even a clipboard—just a little notepad and a warm smile, acozy sweater draped around her frame. She looked… pleasant. And disarming. Evenher scent screamed comfort: sweet and slightly maternal, inherently omega. Shewas charming, in every sense of the word.

A little too charming, actually. Every alarm bell in Satoru’s skull wasringing, flashing neon warning lights, and he felt his weak body tensing underthe blankets.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fujinuma-kun,”she started, clicking her kitten-themed pen as she took a seat by his bed.“Your attending physician, Kitamura-sensei, asked me to have a quick chat withyou. Is it okay if I asked you a few questions?”

Satoru continued to stare at herwarily, his hands curling into fists. “I… guess.”

“Great!” She started brightly, tuckinga bit of hair behind her ear. “We’ll get this over with quickly, okay?” Shepressed the nib to her notebook, never taking her eyes off her patient.“Kitamura said sometimes you feel like you’re not alone, is that right?”

Satoru blinked at her, his mouthparting a little. Is that what this was about? As if sensing his surprise, thatother presence gave him a small and curious tug, as if confirming that Satoruwas still there. For the moment, he ignored it; the specialist was stillstaring at him, waiting with a patient but expecting glance. Satoru couldn’tescape the feeling that he was being assessedsomehow, and it made his mouth go dry.

“I, uh,” he started, rubbing at theback of his neck. “Yeah, sort of.”

She immediately began to scribbleblindly on the page, nodding knowingly. “What would you say it feels like?”

He furrowed his brow. It was a goodquestion; he’d never taken the time to really try to dissect the feeling, buthe gave himself the luxury now. Steadily, he began poking at the foreignexistence that hung in his head like a fog. He’d often felt it making itselfknown, but this time, it was Satoru who pulled at the sensation—and wasimmediately rewarded with an eager and overflowing affection, warmth spillinginto his chest.

Satoru stopped and stared down at hishands. When he was a little kid, he and Atko had made a telephone made out ofcans and a piece of string. To a four-year-old, it had been the coolest thing:that he could feel Atko’s voice, thrumming up the thread and into his ear. Fordays he would insist on only speaking to his mother through the make-shift toy,feeling the vibrations humming against his little palms.

It was something like that—but that seemedtoo difficult to explain, so he flexed and unflexed his stiff fingers, feelingthe phantom thrum. “Like… a thread, I guess.” It felt like a terriblecomparison, a huge oversimplification of whatever this was—but it was theclosest thing he could think of.

The doctor tilted her head to theside, continuing to frantically take notes. “What’s at the other end?”

“Someone that’s not me,” he mutteredwith a small shrug, “with feelings that aren’t mine.”

“But you feel them?”

He nodded again, feeling the affectionat the other end of the telephone steadily twisting into concern. As much as hecould, he tried to ignore it—tried to force back down his own guilt welling upin response, threatening to spill over. “They’re not my emotions,” he said,“but I can’t help but have them anyway.”

She gave a small hum at that, stoppingsuddenly and staring at his face. For a long second, she just scrutinized hisexpression, her tone measured and careful. “Fujinuma-kun,” she asked, raisingan eyebrow. “Is it there right now?”

Satoru paused for a second, toyingwith the end of his blanket. “Yeah.”

“I see,” she muttered, pressing theend of her pen against her lips. “How long have you had this, again?”

“Since I woke up.” And probablybefore. He didn’t remember ever experiencing this feeling, but that didn’t meanmuch; there were still plenty of blank spaces in his brain. The memories were in there somewhere—he knew that, at least—but they were marred andburnt-out, like damaged film reel. No matter how much he tried to get it toplay, all he saw was the black. Who knew what his mind was or wasn’t hidingfrom him.

The specialist gave a low hum, her pentapping against her chin. For some reason, the sound put him on edge, a twitchingand anxious restlessness crawling under his skin. That formless other personwas immediately there, all guilt and worry and protective, and Satoru tried topush them back—tried to create distance between him and the “other” in hishead.

“Okay,” she said suddenly, droppingher hand back into her lap. “If you’re willing, Fujinuma-kun, I would like youto try something.”

He eyed her carefully. “Something…?”

“You said it was like a thread,” sheconfirmed. Carefully, she set her pen and notebook down against her thighs,balancing them in her lap. With two fingers, she formed a crude imitation ofscissors, snipping at the air. “If you’re comfortable with the idea, I wouldlike you to try to cut it.”

For some reason, the words stabbed himthrough like a knife, his breath snagging painfully in his lungs. Something inhim was snarling at the very idea, something he couldn’t blame on that otherpresence. Though he didn’t know why, Satoru knew that this feeling—this defensive, protective, aggressive something—was entirely his own. Hisshoulders rose like hackles as his breathing quickened, adrenaline beginning tobeat through his veins. “Why?”

She didn’t seem surprised by hisreaction, but he could pick up her scent, cranked up to eleven—sickeningly,pacifyingly sweet and soothing. It only made him more on edge, his eyesnarrowing as she spoke. “I’m just curious if you think you’re able to,” shesaid easily. “If it’s not something you feel up to, then you can forget I saidanything.”

Satoru’s lips twisted into a frown. Hisgut reaction was no, absolutely not, whoare you to even say that—but even he didn’t understand why he was feeling that way. And it wasn’t like there weren’t timeshe wished he was actually alone in his own head, free to think and feel withoutinvisible eyes following his every move. A part of him undeniably craved thatprivacy, that autonomy.

Was it really such a bad idea, then?

His head was still roaring at theidea, but he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe past the growling in hisskull. “Okay,” he muttered. “I’ll try.”

“Alright,” she said, her smile brightand easy-going. “Take your time. There’s no need to rush it.”

Right. Satoru let his eyes fallhalf-lidded as he began to blindly feel for the intangible string that tied himto the stranger at the other end. As if on cue, the presence gave a curioushum—and Satoru could feel the thread, reverberating between them. Felt ittangling around the fingers that only existed in his mind, the cord slidingover his palms.

His eyebrows scrunched together as heconfirmed its shape for himself, testing its strength, tugging and pulling andexploring. The outsider was there, watching attentively, half-curious andhalf-amused—but standing respectfully back, giving Satoru the space toinvestigate to his heart’s content. Which he did: it was the first time hethought of this thing as a thing, somethinghe could grasp for himself. Something he could control and manipulate.

Slowly, he took a long, deep breath,holding that thread in one hand—and imagining a pair of scissors in the other.Imagined the feel of the metal, heavy and cold; imagined sliding the stringbetween the blades, his fingers ready to snap down. For the briefest ofseconds, Satoru hesitated; he paused to take a long, deep breath, steadying hisnerves.

There was a jolt, as if the string wassuddenly pulled taut, before—

Satoru’s eyes shot open, and he screamed.

His hands snapped to his head as pain, real pain speared into his skull. Someone had stabbed a red-hotiron between his eyes, carving and slicing up his brain; had taken asledgehammer to his head, smashing the bone to bits. The pain even strangledhis lungs, twisting and wringing the air out of his chest—but his mouth wasstill open, choking for air, he couldn’t breathe—

There were hands on him, pushing himagainst the mattress, but he couldn’t feel any of it; voices that were callinghis name, but he couldn’t really hear them. All there was was that screechingin the very core of himself, full of betrayal and rage and heartbreak and no, not ever, I won’t let you go, don’t you dare try to leave me! The wordswere like claws, reaching across the bond—and they buried themselves intoSatoru’s soul, the talons digging in deep.

A tight and strangled noise toreitself out of his throat. Satoru shook his head frantically, trying to push boththe pain and the voice away. His feet kicked wildly against the empty airbecause he needed it gone, needed itto stop, begging through the bond to please, make it stop, I can’t—

Something pierced the base of hisneck, and everything went blissfully black.

For the hundredth time, he woke up tothe sound of beeping.

Satoru stared blankly at the dark ceiling,his vision unfocused and eyes only half-open. There was a hissing in his ears,and it took him longer than he should have to identify it: the sound of oxygen,rushing into the mask on his face. He was too tired to even turn his head, hiswhole body heavy like molasses and lead—but he could hear the whirling of atleast half a dozen machines, scattered and stationed around his hospital bed.

And, more distantly: voices, muffledby the closed door separating his room from the hallway. Everything—his limbs,his mind, even the thread—it was all numbed, but he still strained his ears,trying to catch snippets of conversation. His mother’s voice cut through thehaze easily, strained with a barely-contained fury. “What the hell happened?”

“I asked Satoru to try to sever thebond.” Was that… the specialist? Her voice sounded—different. Professional andclipped. It had been an act, then.“If it was an accidental bonding, then the bond might not have beenpurposefully maintained. In which case, he should have been able to sever iteasily.”

“Obviously, that’s not the case.” Ah, Kitamurawas there too.

“So,” his mother started, her tonetight, “you’re telling me this bastard wantsto be bonded with my son?”

“It would appear that way,” thespecialist said. “For one reason or another, the culprit has maintained hisbond with Satoru and kept it strong, despite him being comatose for fifteenyears. And he seems unwilling to let that drop now.”

“I’ve spoken with the police investigatorsin charge of Satoru’s case,” Kitamura added. “We’ve come to the mutualagreement that it would be best to have an officer stationed outside ofSatoru’s room from now on.”

There was a long, tense moment ofsilence, before Sachiko spoke again. “You think he’s going to come for him.”

“If he feels so strongly about beingbonded to Satoru,” Kitamura said, speaking slowly, “then we shouldn’t take anychances.”

Bonded…? And who… was coming for who?Satoru blinked up at the ceiling, trying to detangle the words, but it was nogood. It was all jumbled together like a knot of string, his muddled brainunable to work it through. On the other side of the door, his mother gave aharsh sigh, before her voice dipping low to a whisper. “How is he?”

“Sedated,” Kitamura said. “It was apretty intense shock to his system, but there isn’t any permanent damage, asfar as we can tell. But he’ll need plenty of rest, I’m sure.”

“Fujinuma-san,” the specialistinterrupted. “There are ways to… silencea bond without severing it. Once he is feeling strong enough, I think it wouldbe best if Satoru familiarizes himself with them.” Her voice dipped lower, abit of concern seeping into her tone. “Bonds are powerful things. If your son is bonded to the one behind his incident…it would be best to minimize his influence before it gets worse.”

Before… what got worse? Satoru could feel his eyelids starting to droop. Hetried to force himself to stay awake—this was important, he needed to… neededto… needed to what, again? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t keep his eyes open.The pull of sleep was too strong, and he slipped off the edge of consciousness,the voices fading back into nothing.

The next time he opened his eyes, thehospital room was bright.

Too bright.Satoru immediately winced and squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help asmuch as he’d hoped. Light was filtering through his eyelids, and he resignedhimself to waking up, cracking one eye hesitantly open. Someone had opened thewindow, and sunshine was pouring in, carrying with it a cool breeze. Satorutried to breathe it in, but only got dry and filtered air, pumped through hismask. He frowned and weakly reached up to take it off, IV tubes following hisarm.

In the end, someone else did it forhim. Satoru looked sleepily up as his mother unhooked the machine from hismouth and nose, a coy and exhausted smile on her face. “Finally decided to wakeup, huh?”

Satoru stared at her for a moment,before his nose twitched. Something floral was tickling at his senses, and heslowly turned his head towards his nightstand. The vase on his bedside tablewas stuffed with fresh flowers, pale petals and soft hues bursting andoverflowing out of the rim. Sitting next to it was a smaller glass jar, clearand brightly-coloured candy waiting inside.

“Yashiro-sensei brought them for you,”Sachiko explained, setting the mask down beside the gifts.

“Ya… shiro?” he whispered, his voicedry.

“That’s right.” Sachiko was alreadyreaching for the water jug, pouring him a glass. “We told him you weren’t seeinganyone today, but he insisted on having them brought to you.”

Satoru nodded as he accepted the drink,precariously holding it in both hands. He sipped at it slowly, still staring atthe presents out of the corner of his eye. Yashiro-sensei… some memories werejumbled up in his brain, but he remembered Yashiro very well. The teacher who alwaysoffered an understanding smile and a listening ear, ruffling his students’ hairat the end of each day.

His hands fell back to his lap,loosely balancing the empty glass between his palms. For some reason, thinkingof Yashiro-sensei felt—warm.Comforting and calming, like a hot spring welling in his chest. Satoru couldn’tresist the small smile that melted onto his face as he thought back to thosedays, to the man laughing easily as he leaned against his desk. Yashiro-senseihad always been kind, hadn’t he?

(A prickling, tingling sensationitched at the side of his neck. Satoru ignored it.)

The easy feeling didn’t last long. Itwas only seconds before Satoru felt itagain: the presence at the other end of the thread, humming and crooning at him.He inhaled sharply as it made itself known, memories of pain making his wholebody tense. His grip tightened on the glass until his pale knuckles were a purewhite, his eyes shutting and bracing for another round.

But it didn’t come. The strangerremained distant, tentative and unsure—though Satoru could feel its distressall the same. It carefully reached out like a wounded animal, approaching withits head bowed low. Satoru grit his teeth as it brushed against hisconsciousness, gentle and apologetic, like fingers tucking away a stray hair.It was in that brief moment that he felt it: remorse, self-loathing and guilt, intense enough to make Satoru’sintestines twist up into his throat.

And beneath it all, the littlest speckof hope, a weak little plea for forgiveness.

Satoru jerked away from it all as ifit burned, scrambling as far away as his mind would allow. The outsiderimmediately retreated as well, bitter disappointment and fresh regret trailingin its wake. Satoru waited for a few seconds to make sure it wasn’t going toapproach again before giving a harsh sigh, his grip on the glass finallyfalling loose.

He should have cut the thread when hehad the chance.

“And—Satoru?”

He looked up, and his mother gave himan unimpressed look. “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

“Sorry,” he murmured, shakily settinghis empty glass down on the nightstand.

“I was saying,” Sachiko began again,sitting at the edge of her son’s bed with forced levity, “an inspector will bestopping by with Kitamura later. They want to talk about your case.”

He frowned. “I still don’t rememberanything.”

“I know,” she said, offering her sonan oddly sad smile. “But I think you’re going to be the one asking thequestions this time, Satoru.”

They told him everything.

Satoru had already pieced togetherbits and pieces of what must have happened that night, but not much. Only thatthere had been an “accident,” that they had pulled him out of the frozen river,and that he’d slept for nearly fifteenyears. But beyond that, nothing. Most of the month leading up to his comawas a blank page he couldn’t fill in on his own, no matter how much he wrackedhis tired brain.

And now the inspector was there,sitting at the foot of his bed with a grim expression, walking him through itall with an almost clinical detachment.

It hadn’t been an accident at all. Abasketball was found wedged against the gas pedal, purposefully pushing the carinto the water. The seatbelt lock had been tampered with, keeping him trappedto his seat. There were abrasions all over his chest when they brought him in:deep red lines where he’d struggled against the strap, trying to force his wayfree.

There were so many problems with hisbody—the lack of oxygen to his brain, the hypothermia, the fact that he wasn’teven breathing on his own—that theydidn’t address the last one until the police had already arrived to photographthe evidence on his skin. “You had a bite mark,” the inspector told him,pointing at the base of his own neck. “Here.”

Satoru pressed his hand against theskin of his throat, the crook between his shoulder and jugular veins burningand itching beneath his palm. A thousand questions were already racing throughhis head—a frantic clamoring of what andwhere and why—but nothing could getpast the stupefied silence that had killed his voice. “And,” the inspectorcontinued, watching Satoru intently with hands entwined in front of him, “someof your clothes were torn.”

“What?” Satoru muttered, his braintrying to play catch-up with his ears. The implications were already forming inhis brain, but some part of him just couldn’t accept them; something continued to whisper wrong wrong wrong, prickling under his skin. He pursed his lips together,keeping his hand defensively against the side of his throat. “Why didn’t youtell me sooner?”

“You didn’t remember,” Sachiko said, ashred of guilt making its way onto her face. “We thought it would be easier foryou this way.”

Satoru’s frown deepened, his own nails digging into the sideof his neck like teeth. The inspector cleared his throat, looking seriously inthe patient’s direction. “It’s likely you were targeted because you’re anomega,” he explained regretfully. “Probably by an alpha with a… tendencytowards children.”

But that’s wrong, Satoru’sbrain screamed, but he swallowed down the thought—and tried to ignore the factthat the officer was an alpha himself, his strong and heavy smell spiced withcigarette smoke. “So why are you telling me this now?”

Kitamura finally spoke up from his seat, carefully adjustinghis glasses. “That feeling you said you have,” he explained, “it’s called amating bond. It can occur when one person bites another, usually on the neck.It’s most common in alpha-omega pairs, for some reason or another.”

Satoru could see where this wasgoing, and his stomach was already stirring, furiously nauseous and churning.He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from being sick. A the shivercrawled across his body, seeping into his bones; distantly, he could feel theother presence in his head—worried and fretting—making itself known. Satoru breatheddeeply, a bead of sweat crawling down his neck.

“Then,” he started quietly, “thatperson tried to kill me.”

No one said a thing, but they didn’t need to. Hisfirst instinct was to deny it all: the voice in his head had been kind, always trying to comfort him withwordless assurances. Satoru could feel what it felt, devotion and affectioncoming as naturally as breathing. And when he’d first stirred awake, it hadbeen overjoyed, relief flooding over them both and grabbing onto Satoru like itnever wanted to let go. It just—didn’t feellike that person wanted him dead.

But. His body still remembered that pain. How it had seared into his skull, tearinghis limbs and muscles apart; he could feel it even now, raw and achingsomewhere beneath his skin, like a wound that hadn’t healed. Could stillremember how it had roared and raged like a hurricane inside his head, violentand unrelenting; yet cold and calculating, like claws and thorns made of ice,digging into his flesh.

A deep certainty settled into Satoru’s bones. Thatpresence, that person—they had killed before. Definitely.

He dropped his hand away from the bite’s phantom pain,still pulsing on his neck. “How do I get rid of it?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Kitamura said, tucking hishands into the pockets of his lab coat. “Not right now, at least. It’s amiracle your body managed to withstand what happened yesterday. Maybe whenyou’re stronger, we can try again.” He gave Sachiko a quick glance, beforeturning back to Satoru. “In the meantime, there are ways for you to shut themout.”

“That being said,” the officer interjected, “if youhappen to feel anything across the bond that could help the investigation,don’t hesitate to tell us, Fujinuma. There will be an officer outside your doorfrom now on—just let them know if you think of anything relevant. Evensomething small can be a huge help.”

“Right,” Satoru murmured, staring down at his lap. Hecould see where the inspector was coming from, but frankly, the last thing hewanted to do was engage with the killer atthe other end of the thread. The sooner he could tune him out completely, thebetter.

There was barely a beat of silence before his motherwas there, stepping away from the window and fixing both men with a hard look.“Kitamura-sensei,” she said, staring directly at the doctor. “I think that’senough for today.”

The doctor easily gave a nod as he stood to his feet.“I agree,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. He’d probably longlearnt not to even try against Fujinuma Sachiko—but the officer wavered for amoment longer, standing but not moving, watching Satoru out of the corner ofhis eye.

“Here,” he said, slipping a business card onto the nightstandnext to Yashiro’s gifts. “In case there’s anything.”

Satoru nodded without a word, and watched as hismother ushered both of them out of his hospital room. Only when the doorslipped shut again did both Fujinumas release a slow breath, their shoulderssinking together in slow motion. Together, they listened to the sound of thetwo of them walking away, their voices hushes and footsteps fading. Only whenit was all silent did Sachiko turn back to her son, her brows furrowed. “How doyou feel, Satoru?”

Confused. Conflicted. A bit irritated, though hedidn’t know at what or at who or why. But most of all, he felt powerless—unableto do anything one way or another, trapped in this goddamn bed. His handscurled into fists in his blankets. “It’s,” he started, turning to look at thejar of candy by his bedside, “a lot… to take in.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed again. “It is,”she confirmed, the corners of her mouth tight. “More than you should have to.”She tipped her head to the side to stare at the flowers for a long moment, hervoice coming out achingly soft. “What do you want to do, Satoru?”

“I…” He stopped, staring at the presents on the table.He could barely figure out where—or who—he even was right now, let alone wherehe wanted to be. It seemed like every day he was learning something that threwhis reality for a loop. He didn’t even know if he could trust the voicesringing in his own head, didn’t know what emotions were even his anymore. But what he did know was—

“I want to stand,” he said firmly, turning in hismother’s direction. “Alone, on my own two feet. And then, I can move forward.”

Sachiko stared at him for a second, before a smilebroke out her face, small but fiercely fond. An almost-laugh left her lips in arush of air, even as her eyes turned wet. “I watched you change for all theseyears,” she said, a tear managing to slip out of her eye, “but you really are agrown-up now, aren’t you?”

“I already was one before,” he countered sulkily, andhis mother laughed again.

“I think you might be right,” she said, patting hisknee. She took a moment to wipe at her eyes, before fixing him with a genuinesmile, strong and determined. “Alright. Let’s start getting you on your feet,then.”

As promised, the bond specialist taught Satoru how tokeep the killer out. Apparently, it wasn’t too different than cutting thethread—which is probably why they had two nurses standing by with anestheticand sedatives, just in case. Satoru tried his best to ignore them, turning hissenses inward, to that dark and formless place; breathing steadily until hecould follow the string again, floating and swaying between their minds.

The person on the other ended was immediately atattention, observing hopefully, with longing thrums echoing along the bond.Satoru shuddered, because he didn’t want any of it; didn’t want something so affectionate coming from someone who killed people. Who had tried to kill him, for some reason he still didn’tunderstand.

“It’s easiest for most people to imagine a wall, or adoor,” the specialists offered, whispering in his ear.

Satoru nodded, pursing his lips tight. A door: eversince waking up, he’d felt like his memories were behind a locked door, so itwas easy to imagine it. In his mind, he could see a pair of big, impenetrablewooden things, thick and branded with metal plates; the string ran through thetwo, swirling and disappearing into the invisible beyond.

With a shuddering breath, he began to push the gatewayclosed. There was that shock of realization and panic from the other end of theline—just like last time—and Satorugrit his teeth and tried to move faster, scrambling to close off theconnection. This time, there was no pain: just sorrow and pleading, a bitterresignation, and then—

The doors slipped shut, and everything went silent.Satoru let out a soft sigh and opened his eyes, blinking as the bright lightsof the hospital room came back into view. The specialist was there, her kittenpen clutched tightly in her hand. “How does it feel, Fujinuma-kun?”

He waited for a moment just to be sure, before a smallsmile made its way onto his face. “Quiet.”

A week ticked by, and then two of them.

Mostly, things stayed the same. Bit by bit, Satoru wasallowed out of his hospital bed—only ever in his wheelchair, of course, but atleast it was something. More oftenthan not, he found himself out in the gardens, inhaling the fresh air andfeeling the unfiltered sun on his face. With his sense of smell still out ofcontrol, the freshness of the outside world was a welcome change. Inside the hospital,there was the constant stench of medication, antiseptic and sickness. In thecourtyard, there was only the grass, the leaves, the wetness that came afterrain—

And the police officer, following a couple of stepsbehind him.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, being constantlywatched and observed. They never came into his hospital room, but Satoru couldstill see them through the frosted glass, a constant reminder of the killerthat was still in his head. For better or worse, the bond hadn’t been broken—andSatoru was forced to learn the hard way that a silenced bond wasn’t completely silent.

The locked door kept him from feeling the other’s emotions,but the outsider was still there, hovering on the other side. Every so often, Satorucould feel a knocking—a set of three gentletaps against the door, politely asking for re-entry, to be permitted back intohis mind. As much as he could, Satoru ignored it; tried to drown it out withthe Wonder Guy theme song, playing through a pair of headphones.

Sometimes, it worked. Other times—

Satoru stumbled, just barely managing to catchhimself, his grip on the wooden beams tightening. His body was hot, every limb aching as they wereforced to move again—and through the sweat on his face he could see thephysical therapist, arms out and ready to catch him if he fell. “You’re doinggreat, Fujinuma,” he promised. “Just a few more steps, okay? Almost there.”

Satoru winced, but nodded. The polite knocking hadgiven way to a frantic pounding, asif the killer was trying to tear down the door between them by force. Asalways, he tried to ignore it—tried to focus on the fire burning in hismuscles, the heat under his skin, the way his breath was coming out indesperate pants for air. Tried to focus on the next step, his legs screaming asthey were forced to move.

His foot shuffled across the mat, not really able tolift, barely managing to move forward. Just one step, then another. But thistime, Satoru’s entire body spasmed as the killer threw themselves against thedoor with a bang—and this time hisgrip on the bars wasn’t strong enough to keep him from hitting the floor.

His limbs landed with a soft thump against the cushioned ground, his muscles shuddering. Bothhis hands reached up to clutch at his head, a low growl of pain and frustrationmanaging to slip past his grit teeth. The therapist was there in an instant,crouching down next to his patient. “That was great,” he assured him, his voicebright. “You’re making real progress, Fujinuma.”

The pounding was already starting to ebb, and Satorulet his hands drop, flopping against the mattress as his body heaved. Usually,the mats were refreshingly cold—but right now, all he could feel was the heatstill pouring off his body. “Not,” he panted, “not enough.”

“You have to be patient.” The man beamed down at him.“Your efforts won’t be in vain, I’m sure of it.”

Ijust couldn’t let your noble efforts end in vain, Satoru.

Satoru’s eyes widened. Who had… said that before?

A ragged gasp ripped itself from his mouth, his headthrown back. Satoru could feel his body suddenly convulsing, every muscle screamingunder his skin. For some reason, he couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t manageto cool down. There was a deep ache coiling not in his limbs, but somewhere deepin his stomach; and he wrapped his arms around his middle with a high-pitchednoise of wanting. His body was hot,too hot, but he couldn’t worry about that now—not when there was that voice,ringing in his ears but far away, whereare you—

His legs weakly squirmed against the mat, a desperatewhine coming out of his throat. He could hear his therapist’s voice, but that’snot right, that’s not who should be here.His hand clapped down on his nose and mouth as his body twitched, trying toblock out the scent of not him, it’s nothim! Satoru’s vision was blurring in front of his eyes, his mouth openlypanting, his skin burning, the smellof—

—leatherand candy, assaulting his nose. It had brought him comfort once, but now itonly strangled him, panic tighteningaround his throat like a noose. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything exceptwatch through the car windows as Ishikari faded into the distance behind them.Satoru could smell his own scent, frantic and distressed, pumping out of hispores: the sweet smell of vanilla, stained with adrenaline.

Besidehim, Yashiro paid it no mind. The man didn’t even look in his direction as herolled down his car window, staring up at the sky. “It’s snowing, huh?”

Thecar—the car had stopped. Desperately, Satoru threw himself against theseatbelt. He repeatedly plunged his fingers into the buckle, trying to press itloose, his shoulders twisting. No good, no good, no good: it didn’t so much asbudge, and he gave a short, frightened whine, his legs frantically kicking atthe air.

Tohis right, Yashiro just continued to stare out at the river, his voice even.“It’s game over. For you and for me.”

Asob tried to rip itself from his throat, but Satoru bit it down, his lipsshaking with the effort. This wasn’t happening, it wasn’t happening, this was alla lie, it just had to be. He squeezed his eyes shut as he thrashed, hot tears cutting down hisface. He needed to escape, he needed to get away, or—or he was—Yashiro was going to—!

“Tobe honest, I’m stunned you cornered me like this.” Beside him, his teachereasily unbuckled his own seatbelt, and Satoru could do nothing but watch as theolder man leaned over him. His body froze as the alpha’s scent stormed hissenses, thick and predatory, coveting. Atwisted smirk curled slowly over his features, wild and deranged, so unlikeYashiro-sensei that it sent a shiver down Satoru’s spine. “It’s almost likeyou’ve seen the future.”

Fingers,cold as ice, reached up and brushed against his cheek. Satoru inhaled sharplybefore hitting the hand away, a small snarl rumbling out of his throat, even ashis legs and knees curled defensively close. “D-don’t—don’t touch me!”

Thosefingers drummed against the headrest of Satoru’s seat, and Yashiro tilted hishead, bangs falling across a pair of sharp eyes. “I did a little research,Satoru,” he started, still leaning over his prey. “Did you know? Since theystarted counting, only 127 male omegas were ever reported in Japan, notincluding you. Tell me—how many of them do you think made it to their thirties?”

Satorupressed his lips together, eyes red-rimmed and wet.

“Sixteen,”Yashiro continued, “out of 127. A little over 12.5 per cent, mathematicallyspeaking. Do you know why?”

Hecontinued to glare, his hands still wrangling with the buckle, the seatbeltdigging painfully deep into his chest. “Because of people like you?”

Yashirothrew back his head and laughed—a joyless sound, dry and cold. “Yes, I supposeyou could say that,” he responded. “Sexual assault, discrimination, abuse.Extremely high rates of suicide. Many died from health complications related tosuppressant overdose.” Yashiro’s eyes were practically red in the low light,his fingers still tap-tap-tapping just over his student’s shoulders. “And somejust disappeared. You’re a smart boy, Satoru—I’m sure you can figure out why.”

Asmall growl, pitiful and high-pitched, tore itself from his choked-up throat.“Wh-what’s your point?”

“Well,I obviously have to kill you,” Yashiro said. Satoru’s stomach flipped, collidinginto his lungs and kicking his breath out of him. There was no emotion to thewords, no feeling; if anything, his teacher looked bored,staring down at Satoru with a detachedcuriosity. “But someone will always wonder. Why you? Why Satoru Fujinuma? Whatdid he know?”

Itwas then that a killer’s smile stretched slowly across his face. “So I thoughtto myself,” he whispered lowly, “why risk turning you into a martyr… when I canturn you into a statistic instead?”

Thewords hadn’t even sunk in when a hand clamped down onto Satoru’s throat.

Hegave a strangled gasp as Yashiro’s fingers wrapped around his windpipe, hishead thrown back against the seat. His immediate reaction was to scream—but thegrip was tight, too tight, his cryfor help coming out as more of a stifled gurgle. Desperately, Satoru’s fingersreached up to claw at the offending arm, his legs trying to kick away at thealpha looming over him. “L-let—me go—!”

Athumb grazed against his jugular vein, and Satoru felt it press down at thebase of his neck. A shock shuddered through his system like lightning, his entirebody tensing. Already, he could feel the pheromones and endorphins rushingthrough his veins, melting the tension in his muscles—and Satoru could donothing but whimper, his limbs struggling to keep up the fight. “B-bastard…”

“Language,”Yashiro chastised, his thumb continuing to rub circles into Satoru’s scentgland. That hand remained tightly wound around Satoru’s throat, coaxing hisbody into an unwilling submission—but the other moved farther down. Satorucould feel the cold leather glove slipping under the neck of his shirt,brushing against his collarbone.

Yashiro’shand curled into a fist and pulled. Satoru winced as his shirt tore with along, slow rip, the thin fabric falling apart easily. He shivered as cold airmet exposed skin, his hands weakly trying to dislodge the grip still wrapped tightlyaround his throat. No use: it might as well have been made of steel, for allthe good it did him.

Methodically,Yashiro’s hand moved lower, fingers slipping into the miniature belt loops onhis jeans. Satoru shut his eyes tight as the killer tore his pants apart, hischeap clothes splitting at the seams. He knew that the killer didn’t sexuallyassault his victims—not the Ishikari ones, at least—but that didn’t stop hischest from rising and falling rapidly, panic flushing into his lungs.

Eventually,Yashiro leaned back with one hand still firmly keeping Satoru pinned by thethroat. He gave a small hum, his eyes roaming across the omega’s form,assessing his work. “It feels like something is missing,” he hummed. “Wouldn’tyou agree, Satoru?”

Hecouldn’t even shake his head, let only speak—so Satoru continued to glarethrough wet eyes, swallowing thickly. Slowly, steadily, the grip on his throatcrawled upwards, the thumb trailing up and tracing the arteries beating underhis hold. Satoru could feel Yashiro’s other hand clutching at his shoulder, trappinghim firmly against the seat. There were fingers digging into his chin,wrenching his head to the side. For a brief moment, Satoru didn’t understand,didn’t know what was happening—

Butthen hot breath brushed against his skin of his neck.

“No!”he gasped, his fingers digging into Yashiro’s sleeve. The heel of his footcollided with Yashiro’s stomach, but nothing happened: the older man didn’t somuch as flinch, wet exhales landing against his scent gland. Satoru staredfrantically beyond the windshield, his heart leaping into his mouth as theman’s teeth grazed against his throat. “Yashiro—!”

Theman’s teeth sank into his veins, and this time, Satoru really did scream. Thecanines split the thin flesh apart like knives, sending fire shooting throughhis blood. It set his entire body on fire, like everything under his skin was boiling,sweat and tears rushing down his face. Even his breaths felt like they weregetting swallowed by the murderer’s maw, his lungs and chest hitching, unableto even inhale as Yashiro’s jaw worked at his throat.

Afterwhat felt like hours, Yashiro’s teeth slowly slipped out of his neck, a longtrail of saliva following his lips. His tight grip on the omega was suddenlygone, and Satoru gasped as the air flooded his lungs, his legs curling in tightas his hands flew to his throat. The wound underneath his palms was slick andhot, pulsing under his touch. When he pulled his fingers back, even in thedarkness, Satoru could see the red that was smeared all over his skin.

Thesame red that was staining Yashiro’s lips. The man wiped at his mouth with agloved hand, the leather smearing a streak of blood across his cheek. Satoruglared up at him, futilely trying to stem the bleeding as tears ran down hisface. “W-why?”

“Didn’tI tell you, Satoru?” he explained, reaching behind him into the backseat.“You’re going to be a statistic. Just another male omega who didn’t get to growup, killed by an alpha who couldn’t resist your scent.”

“Y-you’rean alpha!” Satoru yelled. His head felt heavy, like molasses was pouring in tohis brain; he tried to keep his head clear, focusing on the sharp sting still throbbingfrom the bite. “You’ll be at the top of the suspect list!”

Asmile twitched at the corners of Yashiro’s mouth, and he pulled a duffel baginto his lap. “There are rules about working with children, you know,” heexplained, slowly unzipping. Satoru watched every movement, his body heaving.“I’ve been on suppressants ever since I started teaching. A single blood test,and my name will be cleared.”

Hishands lifted the basketball out from inside the bag, a grin stretching acrosshis face, revealed his blood-stained teeth. “Besides,” he added, a fake andmocking sadness seeping into his tone, “I didn’t even know you were an omega.Your friends did such a good job of hiding it, after all.”

Satoruwatched as Yashiro unlocked the door on his side with a flick of his wrist, thebasketball balanced on one hand. “Just to be clear,” he continued, “I’m notdoing this out of revenge. Honestly, I bear no hatred towards you, Satoru. Ihope you understand that.”

“Ithought you said it was game over for you too!” he snapped, his skin tingling.His clothes were ripped, it was the middle of winter—yet Satoru felt oddly hot,his breath coming out in little bursts of white fog.

Yashiropushed his door open and stepped out, one hand resting on the roof of the caras he peered inside. “It is,” he said simply. “I’ll be leaving Ishikari. You’veearned this town’s peace. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asked, smirking. “AndI earn a death for my sake, at my hands. We all deserve a return for ourefforts, don’t you think?”

Thefire underneath his skin exploded into a rage, and Satoru threw himself againstthe seatbelt holding him down, his lips curled back into a snarl. “Yashiro—Iwon’t die until I see you destroyed!”

Thekiller stared at him for a moment, before jamming the basketball against thegas pedal. “That,” he said, stepping back, “is what they call aiming too high.”

Afrustrated cry shot out of Satoru’s throat as the car began to roll steadilyforward. His hands—slick and soaked with blood—frantically reached for the beltbuckle again, his hips trying to twist out of the hold. As always, it held: themechanism didn’t so much as shudder, and Satoru felt the car pitch wildly aroundhim. His head whipped up just in time to watch the water surge over thewindshield, the glass cracking under the weight of the river.

Liquidice poured in from the open windows, and he gasped, the cold shocking hisoverheated body. The surge buffeted against his face, the taste of wintercrashing against his cheeks. He shook his head, as if it could somehow stop thetorrent flooding into the car, his legs kicking wildly. He needed to get out,he needed to get out now—but the water was rising, the river rapidly crawling up his stomach.

Satorusqueezed his eyes shut and cursed again. He didn’t want to die here: he wantedto eat his mother’s cooking again, and go camping with Kayo like he promised.He wanted to thank Airi for believing in him and talk with Kenya on the stairsagain. He wanted—

Hewanted to survive.

Satoru’seyes shot open, and deep in the core of his being, two puzzle pieces snapped loudlytogether. For a second, all he could feel was the vertigo—the feeling offalling, before being yanked back, his entire soul wrenched and pulled along.But then he felt a tether, holding it together; a bond, tying his mind down,wrapping his consciousness in spider’s thread.

Andfrom the other end—through his own fear and panic and screams of I want to live!—he felt it: adeep-seated satisfaction, a thrum of happiness and pride, twisted and pervertedpleasure beating from the wound in his neck. Instinctively, Satoru knew whoseit was—and he clamped both his hands down against the bite, throwing his headback.

“Yashiro!”he shouted, his fingers digging into the blood with a piercing cry. “I knowyour future!”

There:a tug of curiosity, confusion lacing that homicidal delight. Satoru let out ashuddering breath, before the river licked at his chin; with a panicked yelp,he took a deep and desperate inhale. The water slipped over his nose, lickingat his temples—and then it overtook him completely, silently swallowing him whole.

Shit!His feet stamped against the bottom of the car, his torn clothes floatingaround his body. His fingers were turning stiff and unruly, his grip slippingoff of the buckle; his body was losing the ability to even feel anything exceptthe cold all around. Already, he could feel his limbs slowing to a stop, hislungs burning and threatening to burst inside his chest.

Hewasn’t going to make it. The truth had settled into his brain, but he didn’twant to believe it; his body continued to weakly jerk against the seatbelt, alast-ditch effort to survive. Eventually, even that stopped—and Satoru wasforced to finally open his mouth, the last of the precious oxygen slipping awayfrom his lips.

Atendril of blood floated in front of his face, staining the river red. He couldvaguely taste it on his tongue as he inhaled the water, the world alreadystarting to dim. His body wouldn’t—couldn’t—move anymore. Even his brain wasshutting down, he knew; even the panic was gone, replaced by an empty resolvethat he couldn’t fulfill.

Fromsomewhere far away, it felt that moment of realization, the clarity cutting thekiller’s mind in two. Desperately, the other presence reached for him; anddespite himself, Satoru weakly reached back, their two minds reaching for eachother in the void. How weird: now, it was the other one who wasafraid—desperately pleading for Satoru to wait, to hold on, to just keep hiseyes open until—

—his body lurched, gasping and heaving, raw airscraping its way down his throat. Burning burning burning: the cold was biting at his body, only it wasn’t cold atall. No—no, this was heat: all-encompassingand inescapable, as if burning embershad been buried under his skin. Desperately, his fingers clawed at his chest,his head throwing itself back against the mattress. It needed to stop, how didhe make it stop—

A cool cloth was gently placed on his forehead, andSatoru immediately sighed, his chest still heaving despite the respite. Still,he reveled in the small comfort, trying to focus on it—and not the painshooting through his stomach, the ache between his legs, or the wet feelingthat was smeared all over his thighs. Not the growing, hungry need for someone who smelled like candyand leather, his toes curling with a desperate whine.

Someone was calling his name. Satoru forced his eyesto crack open, his mouth open and panting, legs twisting against thesweat-soaked sheets. “Ki…tamura?”

“Hey there,” the doctor said, wringing out anotherwashcloth. This time, he pressed it to the omega’s neck—and Satoru had toresist the urge to force that hand to go elsewhere,his arms wrapping around himself and gripping at his shirt. But he stillarched his neck back, revelling in that amazing chill, giving a happy exhale.

“You gave us quite a shock,” Kitamura continued.“Usually, omegas show signs before going into heat.”

Satoru opened his mouth, but another jolt of pain shotthrough his stomach, swallowing his words with a desperate groan. “Youshouldn’t talk,” Kitamura continued, frowning slightly. “This is your firstheat in fifteen years. You’re going to need all your strength.”

Heat? His eyes shot open, his lungs leaping in hischest. He’d—gone into heat? When? How? Frantically,he looked around, and realized that this wasn’t even his hospital room; therewere no flowers or gifts, no comforting yellow walls, not a hint ofsentimentality. Instead, this place seemed almost sterile: the walls and floorsa pure white, the room empty of furniture except for the large bed he was in.

He turned his eyes to his doctor, pleading andconfused. “You’re in one of the hospital’s heat rooms,” he explained. “It’sscent-proof and soundproof. Your hospital room would have been too… open.”

Satoru weakly nodded. That made sense, but—but beinghere, in this place devoid of scents and sound and people sent something in him on edge. It made him want to thrashand scream and cry out, because this place wasn’t familiar, wasn’t safe. All the pillows piled up aroundhim didn’t change the fact that he was isolated and alone, when all he wantedwas his mate.

Wanted Yashiro.His eyes widened suddenly, a ragged gasp scraping out of his mouth. YashiroYashiro Yashiro: his mate, his alpha. His fingers flew up to his neck,but the bite was gone—and that alone made Satoru want to scream, his nailsdigging into the skin of his throat desperately. He needed him here, he neededthose teeth to sink into his neck, he wanted Yashiro to tear off his clothesand mean it. He needed—

He needed to tell someone.

Satoru grit his teeth, his breath quick and rabid. Someoneneeded to know that Yashiro was the killer: Satoru wouldn’t be able to stop himlike this, but someone had to—or morepeople were going to get hurt. Somehow, that logic managed to cut through theheat-haze; weakly, he reached out to his doctor, his fingers curlingdesperately into Kitamura’s sleeve.

“P-please,” he panted, sweat trickling down his face,“K—Kenya.”

Kitamura stared at him for a second, before droppinghis hand onto his patient’s wrist. “Satoru,” he started slowly, “I know you andKobayashi are close, and that he’s an alpha you trust. But you need to getthrough this alone.”

What? No! Satoru gave a frustrated whine, his armtwitching. “I just—I need,” he grunted, eyes squeezing shut, before shaking hishead against the pillows. “Then—p-police.”

“There’s one outside,” Kitamura said, placing Satoru’shand back across his stomach. For the first time, Satoru noticed the long, thintube attached to his arm: an IV, the needle nestled in his veins. “A beta, ofcourse. He’s going to make sure no one goes in or out but me, but he’s notcoming in.”

For fuck’s sake, how can someone so smart be so stupid? Satoru gave a strangled curse asanother round of pain and lust punched him in the gut, his entire face twistingin discomfort. His hips squirmed against the bed, desperate for relief—but thiswas more important. He needed to make Kitamura understand, he needed to makesure someone knew.

“The killer,” he whispered, swallowing thickly. Heopened his mouth, but the syllables died on his tongue. All he had to do wassay the man’s name—Yashiro Gaku, Nishizono Manabu, whichever—but for some reason, his voice failed him. His lips couldn’tform the words, reined in by something desperate and wanting, hot and coiled in his core.

“He isn’t going to get anywhere near you,” Kitamuraassured him. “There’s the officer outside the door, and security at everyentrance to the wing. You’ll be safe here.”

Justsay it. Satoru parted his lips, but the heat had strangled hisvocal chords. Deep down, something was growling that it would be a betrayal, atreason, protect your mate. Satoru’sfingers curled into the sheets, and he gave a short and irritated cry, rage andfrustration burning in his bones. He wanted Yashiro brought to justice, he did,he did—but something kept it allcorked inside, and he felt like he was going to explode.

Kitamura readjusted the wet cloth on Satoru’sforehead. “I know it’s hard, but try not to pull out your IV. It’s going tohelp keep you hydrated,” he explained, pulling the stand closer to the bed. “Ihave to go now, but I’ll be back in a few hours to get some food and water inyou.”

It’sYashiro! He tried to kill me! He’s going to kill someone else! Butno matter how loudly his mind was screaming, it never made it out of histhroat. After all this time, Satoru had finally found the answer he was lookingfor—and he couldn’t even tell anyone. As it was, his body couldn’t even move;the limbs too weak to do anything but thrash and squirm, powerless against thehormones rushing through his veins.

Satoru could feel the failure pooling in his eyes, saltyand wet. It was just like the car all over again. He couldn’t do anything.

Kitamura pushed himself to his feet, giving hispatient a slightly sympathetic glance. “I’ll see if I can get something youhelp you with the symptoms,” he said, walking towards the door. “Until then,try to hang in there, Fujinuma.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Satoru wasalone.

For a long moment, Satoru just stared at whereKitamura had disappeared, his body heaving and panting. With a loud grunt, he somehowmanaged to roll himself onto his side, his face desperately burying itself intothe pillows. The scent he was looking for—familiar, warm, mate—wasn’t there, and he hated himself for looking for it in thefirst place.

Goddamn it. With Kitamura gone, without anything totake his mind off of it, his body was even harder to ignore. A single washclothdid next to nothing to stave off the heat-wave crawling along his skin, impossiblysweltering and hot. It felt like someone had dropped him in the middle of adesert, and Satoru tangled both of his hands in his sweat-soaked hair, growlinguselessly at the world.

But the worst of it was concentrated below hisstomach. Between his legs he was aching, andhis hips weakly tried to rut against the mattress. It was so desperate that it hurt, and all he wanted was relief,wanted someone to come along and take it away.But even he knew that that fingers and touches alone wouldn’t be enough;the slick pouring down his thighs made that very clear, his pants alreadysoaked through.

Bleary-eyed, he stared forward into space, his handsslipping down—one resting on his neck, and the other travelling lower. Slowly,Satoru slid that hand beneath the band of his pants, his fingers weakly takinghis length in hand. He tried to get a grip, tried to move at a speed that wouldat least take the edge off—but his muscles were too weak, and a needy groanrumbled out of his throat.

He couldn’t do this alone. He needed someone to come,to help take all of this away. With nothing else to do, Satoru took a deepbreath and tried to pretend that he wasn’t here. Immediately, his mind took himback to that dark car, watching the world become small in the rear-view mirror.

In his mind, the car would stop somewhere far away,private and unseen—and this time, he wouldn’t flinch when Yashiro came closer.The very idea of the locked seatbelt—keeping him held down, unable to escape,practically on display—made the ecstasy spike under his skin, and Satoru pantedopenly, lust building in his belly.

He knew this was fucked up, disgusting and wrong in so many ways—but Satorucouldn’t stop it, his head rushing away from him faster than he could hold on.Yashiro would be slow, but firm; every touch just a little too rough, a littletoo tight. Too easily, Satoru could imagine himself coming undone under thosehands, the feel of cold gloves moving against his exposed skin. The pricking ofthe older man’s teeth against his neck, breath hot and heavy against the wintercold. The feeling of his knees being pushed apart as Yashiro—

Satoru’s eyes shot open, the fantasy broken.

For a long second, he just waited there: panting asquietly as he could, his eyes suddenly jumping to the door. He hadn’t imaginedit, had he? All of his senses were more sensitive, his hearing included—and hecould have sworn he had heard something, but now there was only silence. Satorustrained his ears as much as he could, trying to hear the world over the soundof his own frantic heartbeat.

Then it came again: that three-tone knocking, echoingfrom inside his own head.

“Yashiro,” he whispered, his skin crawling. That washim: his Yashiro, his alpha—reachingout, calling from behind the locked door. So close and yet so far, but yet nothere. Satoru could feel his entirebody itching and prickling with ecstasy, every fibre of his being craving theperson behind the barrier.

Ifyou open the door, his traitorous mind offered, he’ll come.

Satoru slapped his hand over his mouth, his teethsinking into the flesh of his palm. No: he couldn’t. After everything Yashirohad put him through—killing his mother, killing Kayo, not to mention drowninghim—he couldn’t just, just let the killer back in. No matter how much hewanted it, no matter how much his body shook and shuddered with need—

Yashiro knocked again, and the breath left Satoru’slips in an uneven moan.

He knew the older man had regretted everything: Satorufelt it every time they brushed together, the man’s deep-seated guilt buried inevery emotion. Yashiro had been kind, affectionate and warm since the moment hewoke up; comforting him, making him feel safe.Despite himself, Satoru could feel his mind already crawling closer to thedoor; could feel his heat-hazed brain trying to claw at the locks, fumblingwith fever.

“Don’t,” he whispered out loud, shaking his head. Hetried to hold on to the memories of pain:the ripping, tearing, all-encompassing ragewhen he’d tried to sever the bond. More than once, that person had hurt himmore than anyone ever had. Satoru tried to tell his head that, tried to get itthrough his own thick skull. Yashiro Gaku was dangerous, he was a killer, he—

He’syour mate, his mind reminded him, before it threw the doors open.

The reaction was immediate: Satoru could feel theother presence, relieved and elated—and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.His mind was a hurricane of lustdesperation anxiety lonely where are you please help me—and he could feel the moment the force of it hit Yashiro,the other man practically staggering in surprise. Still, desperately, Satoruclutched at him, wrapping himself up in his mate’s head, his distressshuddering across the bond.

Satoru could feel as the realization dawned onYashiro, his own thoughts echoing Satoru’s own. First came lust, then thefrustration and fury of being apart, simmering angrily and low. Still, hemanaged to send comforting thoughts thrumming up the thread—and Satoru let outa pleased sigh, the shivering of his body slowing to minor shudders. Steadily,Yashiro’s thoughts seemed to settle into something firm and resolute, a promiseentrenching itself in both their minds.

Don’tworry. I’m coming.

That was bad. That was very, very bad. People couldget hurt, and Satoru knew that, knew he had to tell him to stay away—but despite himself, he found himself nodding, reliefflooding through his system.

Yashiro was coming. And then everything would be okay.

Time went by agonizingly slowly when you’re alone inheat. Satoru remembered that from his past life: the few times he hadn’tmanaged to suppress his heat, the days seemed to crawl by, every minute feelinglike an hour. This time was no different, except that it was possibly worse: this body had only ever had itspresentation heat, and nothing since. Almost an entire lifetime worth ofhormones was hitting him at once, and there was little Satoru could do but liethere—squirming, sweltering, suffering.

And waiting. He breathed openly against the pillows, droolingand swallowing down precious air. Yashiro was still there in his head, resoluteand single-minded, a man on a mission. When Satoru reached out to him, theother man was quick to offer assurances and comforts—but he was clearly focusedon something else, overtaken by a single-minded determination.

But still not here.Satoru didn’t know if he was relieved or betrayed—maybe both. Just havingYashiro there in spirit did wonders for the emotional side of his heat, but hisbody was still being ravaged by the hormones, spasming wildly when another wavehit. There wasn’t much he could do but whine and ride it out, watching the sundip lower and lower in the sky outside his window.

He suspected he might be slipping in and out ofconsciousness, but he couldn’t really be sure—or, hadn’t really been sure until he jerked suddenly awake. Satoru cameback to his senses with a jolt, frantically looking around his empty room. Inthe evening light, the sterile white room looked orange and warm. But thatwasn’t what woke him up.

It took Satoru longer than he should have to identifyit, staring blankly at the ceiling, his lungs heaving.

There was a ringing. For a second, he thought it waslike the knocking—something coming from inside his own head, bouncing aroundhis skull—but no. His nose twitched, and immediately, Satoru could smell…ashes, and smoke. His brows furrowed together slowly, his hazed brain slowlychurning, before the conclusion snapped together in his brain.

The fire alarm. The hospital’s fire alarm was goingoff. Satoru’s eyes widened, inhaling the scent of burning as he turned overonto his side. His heart was hammering inside his chest, fear and hope beating togetherin time. Coincidence? No, there was no way: the timing was too perfect, tooconvenient. It had to be—

“Yashiro,” he whispered.

Yashiro was here. For him. For a second, joy surged through his body and soul, a softsmile breaking out on his face. He would make all of this better; he would makethe heat and the pain go away. Satoru swallowed thickly, his wet thighs squirmingin anticipation. Yashiro was coming, any minute, any second—

The killer wascoming.

Satoru’s eyes widened, his body freezing. That’s right:Yashiro was the killer. The person who had tried to drown him, all those yearsago; the person whose deadly resolve he could feel in his head, even now. Thesirens continued to wail in his ears, and he breathed frantically, his eyesdarting to the door.

He needed to get out of here.

Satoru grit his teeth and forced his arms underneathhim, his limbs shaking as he pushed himself away from the mattress. The dampsheets stuck to his skin, and he weakly kicked at them, detangling his legs.Just propping himself up sent his head reeling, nausea and vertigo making theworld spin in front of his eyes. Satoru panted, and slowly began to crawltowards the edge of the bed, grunting with every inch.

His fingers reached out blindly, and Satoru felt hisfingers hit the IV stand. With one hand, he grabbed hold, the tube tying hisarm and the bag together—with the other, he reached for the needle end, stillburied under his skin. Satoru took a deep breath, and pulled. Fuck, it hurt—the needle scraped againsthis vein the entire way out, leaving a bleeding patch of skin where theconnector had been.

With both arms now free to move, Satoru gripped holdof the IV stand, and began heaving himself to his feet. Immediately hiswobbling legs tried to give out from under him—they hadn’t been able to supporthis own weight in rehabilitation, and that was with supporting bars and braceson his thighs, not to mention his heat. Still, he refused to fall—so he leanedalmost the entirety of his weight on the metal pole, his knees buckling. Hislegs quivered with the effort but remained, ultimately, standing.

It would have to do.

Sweat and slick were still coating his every pore, andjust breathing seemed to invite more of the hotinto his lungs—but Satoru forced himself to take one shuffling stepforward. Every fibre of his body was screaming against it, heat-weary andexhausted; Satoru couldn’t even stand up straight, hunched over and panting,clutching at his make-shift support. But—

He needed to get out of this room before Yashiro gothere.

The door slid open, and Satoru froze, his headwhipping up to stare at the figure in the doorway.

The two of them met eyes, and then police officer’sshoulders sagged in relief under his uniform. “Fujinuma-san,” he started,“thank goodness you’re awake.” The man took two tentative steps into the room,making every movement slow and deliberate, his hands help up in a placatinggesture. “It looks like we’re going to need to evacuate you to another wing,alright? I’ll get you—”

Satoru barely saw the shadow crawling up from behindthe officer, before he felt the hot blood splatter across his shirt.

His eyes widened, his overheating pulse turning cold.Slowly, Satoru’s eyes dropped down to the floor. Red, bright red was splashedall over the pristine white room; he could already feel some of it was poolingat his toes, seeping under his feet. Somehow, the police officer was on theground—his body writing in pain, his mouth opened wide in a silent scream. Bothof his hands clutched at the fountain of blood gushing out of his neck, crimsonpooling out from between his fingers.

Satoru stared, his mouth parting but unable to make asound. The officer ripped one hand away from the wound, reaching blindly forthe two-way radio strapped to his hip—only for a pair of feet to step forward,crushing the man’s fingers with a crunch.Satoru shuddered, and followed the arch of that leg, his gaze crawling up untilhe was staring the killer in the face.

He was dressed in doctor’s scrubs, latex gloves on hishands and a medical mask covering his features—but Satoru would have recognizedhim anywhere. Under the thick metallic taste in the air, he could smell it: theheavy scent of leather and candy, possessive and overpowering, filling theroom. Nonchalantly, Yashiro tossed a bloody surgical scalpel to the floor,dropping it into the growing puddle spreading under the officer’s body.

Then he turned his attention elsewhere, and stared theomega in the eye.

Satoru gripped the IV stand in both hands, holding itdefensively in front of him like a weapon. Through his sweat-soaked bangs, heglared at the intruder, his arms and legs shaking with the effort. Everythingin his being was buzzing—it’s him, yourmate, he’s here, he came, just like he said he would!—but Satoru tried toswallow it down, even as the slick slid down his leg.

“Get,” he started, one foot sliding backwards, “getaway from me!”

The alpha stared at him for a long moment, unmoving, untilthe police officer’s movements slowed to a stop. Then, Yashiro lifted his footfrom the man’s hand, purposefully stepping closer to his mate. Satoru’s entirebody tensed, bracing itself as Yashiro closed the distance. The older manstopped in front of him, a pleased and fond sigh escaping his lips from behindthe mask.

“After all these years,” Yashiro whispered, reachingup and brushing his fingers across Satoru’s cheek, “you truly haven’t changed.”

Satoru stared up at his face, and felt somethinginside of him snap like a thread.

His knees were the first to go. There was a moment offreefall as Satoru’s legs gave out underneath him, his body lurching forward. Twoarms wound themselves around him, catching him and cradling him against someone’schest. Yashiro clutched him close, whispering comforts into his ear as helowered Satoru towards the ground. Distantly, he could hear the IV standclatter to the floor, bouncing in the blood before lying still.

A desperate whine escaped Satoru’s throat, and hesquirmed in Yashiro’s grip, the heat engulfing his body like wildfire. Thelogical part of him knew he needed to fight back, needed to get away—but none of his limbs werecooperating, all of them stiff and twitching. Even his head had rolled back,his neck wide-open and exposed; gently, he felt someone’s thumb brushingagainst his throat, hovering above his scent gland.

Satoru’s eyes fell half-closed, his breath hitching inhis chest. “D-don’t—”

“Shh,” Yashiro whispered, pressing down. Satoru’smouth fell open, the last of the fight ebbing out of his bones. He wanted toprotest, to fight back—but everything was already getting muddled in his brain,the finger swirling firm circles against his skin. Every muscle had turnedlimp, his arms and legs hanging uselessly and unmoving. Even his vision wasblurring, the world fading together into colours and shapes.

He opened his mouth to call for help, but all thatleft his throat was a shuddering moan.

“That’s it,” Yashiro continued encouragingly.Eventually, the finger left his throat—and Satoru could feel an arm looping itselfunder his knees, the other adjusting itself to cradle him his shoulders. With asmall grunt from the older man, Satoru felt himself being lifted, his head landingagainst the crook of Yashiro’s neck. Eagerly, he inhaled that familiar scent:leather and lollipops, just as strong as it was that day. It filled somethingin Satoru that he didn’t realize had been empty; a void in his own heart, screamingout for his mate.

“Don’t worry, Satoru,” Yashiro said, carefully steppingover the corpse. “No one will separate us again.”

Weakly, he gave a little hum, his eyes finallyslipping closed. How strange: like this, in Yashiro’s arms, with the scent ofblood still still clinging to them both—for the first time since wakingup, all those weeks ago—

Satoru felt completely at peace.

#yashisato #ABO!au #omegaverse #boku dake ga inai machi #erased #it feels like this fic goes from zero to sixty #t-though it takes fourteen thousand words to get there

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