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honeyhotteoks · 1 year

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this night together - chapter one (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter one: a safe place to land

summary: you're finally getting your dream job, working with some of the best dancers in the business, but a job change means a break in your healthcare coverage and suppressants these days are expensive. going into heat at the studio pretty much seems like the worst case scenario, but you find yourself in the care of two alphas who won't let you go through it alone. note: reader and the boys are not idols in this fic, but instead are part of the bb trippin dance crew. the idol group mentioned in the fic's name is 'new world' which was one of the early options for ateez's name, and i just thought that was cute. overall though, i know very little about dancing and choreography. i did my best to research what that field might be like, but please know there are likely inaccuracies. also.... i have no idea how healthcare coverage with jobs work in korea and my research wasn't too helpful. we're going with what i know which is often a ninety day waiting period before you get health coverage at a new job, which means reader here cannot afford her medication out of pocket. go with it, for me ♡

warnings: just.... so much smut including: heat, nesting, knotting, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, big dick yunho, implied breeding kink (it's omegaverse so ya know), gratuitous praise to make reader feel better, lots of pet names, lots of heat symptoms like cramps, slick, and insatiable horniness.

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader

genre: smut, abo/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 13.6K

next chapter | AO3

The first sign is the headache, a low, dull throb at the back of your skull. It’s not a full-blown migraine yet, but it might become one and that’s your first indication that your heat is close. You’ve done your suppressant rationing and your bargaining and your plotting and planning, but in the end it’s going to come down to luck if you can make it through the recording.

You had asked the company about their heat leave policy in the most casual way that you could, still new enough to KQ that it seemed natural for an omega to be asking. You don’t know why you were surprised, but as always the policy is disappointing. Full health coverage only after ninety days of employment, and until then not only are your suppressants not covered any heat leave is fully unpaid.

You had studied your cycle calendar in detail and tried to map out the dates, but no matter how you drew it or cut up the last of your suppressants to try and extend the effects, your heat was going to fall on or around your first real performance. And it’s not like you’re an idol, it’s not like the camera will be focused on you, but the idea of letting your new crew down two months into being here is too fucked a thought to entertain.

Your throat feels dry after the first run through of the routine, unnaturally so, a tight cough building in the back of your throat as you try to hold it together. The minute the music fades you’re falling out of formation before anyone else and covering your mouth with your elbow, coughing dryly into your sleeve.

“You good?” San asks from his place next to you.

“Mhm,” You nod tightly, but the cough is lodged in your throat, “I just need to,”

A bottle of water is pushed into your hand and you nod in thanks, unscrewing the cap fast and knocking it back, letting the cold water soothe your throat.

“Are you sick, y/n?” San crosses his arms to appraise you better, ducking his head and getting a good look at you.

“No, no,” You take a deep breath now that you can and shake your head, “just dry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to slow us down.”

“Let’s take five,” Yunho announces from the front.

You take another sip of water and the group starts to break apart. The cool bottle keeps you grounded and as far from anxiety as you can possibly get with the knowledge of this hanging over you.

“You good?” Yujin, one of the few other female BB Trippin dancers, asks, her chest heaving as she jogs up to you.

“Yeah, yeah,” You assure her, “I just need a minute,”

She squeezes your shoulder before moving past you, and you lean back against the wall nearby before taking a deep breath. Your eyes go unfocused towards the mirror as you collect yourself, drinking more water and hoping that no one’s upset with the delay. You’re still new here, but so far you’ve been accepted into the fold well, only a few of the dancers more aloof, so focused on the work you haven’t had a chance to try and make friends. You hope they aren’t upset at your sudden need for a break right on the first run through on the big day. You feel hot eyes on you, and you focus, catching Minseok in the mirror. He’s always pleasant and polite, but never overly friendly, and when you catch his gaze momentarily you see that his jaw is tight and his throat jumps like a spasm as he swallows and averts his eyes from yours.

Your brow knits in confusion, but Yunho appearing next to you breaks the brief moment of concentration and you turn towards him.

His eyes are soft, but his face is still serious and wired into work, “You sure you’re good?”

“Definitely,” You protest, “really,”

He chews the inside of his lip for a moment before adjusting the cap on his head and holding out a little bottle of pills, “Your head?”

“How did you know?” You thought you were good at concealing it.

“You keep wincing when I put the high lights on,” He nods up towards the fluorescents, “migraine?”

“A little one,” You assure him, you know he’s got to be worried about you dropping out of formation right before recording, “but I got this,”

As the lead choreographer and director of today’s stage performance, he’s been on edge this week. He’s so incredibly focused on the finer details down to every precise placement, finger extension, facial expression. You’ve been a dancer for a long time, and you’ve worked behind idol groups before, but not like this. The atmosphere here is different, and working with New World doesn’t feel like backup dancing at all. And for Yunho, it’s become clear to you over the past couple of months that while he isn’t the boss, he is the leader here and he takes that responsibility incredibly personally.

But despite all that pressure and responsibility, he surprises you when he smiles at your admission, “I get them sometimes. Do you get auras?”

You shake your head.

“I do,” He offers you the bottle again, “it sucks, but you know, the light sensitivity is always the worst thing,”

You take the bottle and tip the migraine medication out into your palm, “Yeah,”

“Are you sure you don’t need to tap out?” He offers, voice a little softer so that it’s a conversation just between you, “I know you don’t want to, but I can’t have you falling on stage,”

“No, honestly, I wouldn’t put the team in that position,” You look up, trying your best to convey with your eyes that you can make it, even though the low throb in your skull says otherwise.

“Okay,” He nods once, “I just had to ask. Are you ready?”

“Ready,”

“Alright,” He takes a step away and moves back towards the main part of the room. This time he doesn’t adjust the lights, he keeps the room low lit and calm and he claps as he turns back to the room at large, “Let’s run it again. We have an hour before the van gets here, and then from there it’s go time. We ready?”

A chorus of yes echoes back, and you lend your voice to the mix, shaking off the pounding in your brain. You can do this. You can. Wooyoung punches your arm softly as he walks by you to get to his starting position, flashing you a smile and an encouraging nod. With a deep exhale you let it go, and you get to work.

By the time you finish the third run through, your muscles are screaming, but you’ve managed to hold the rest tightly in. The migration medication seems to be helping, and though you can sense Yunho continuing to glance at you in the mirror he seems pleased that you’re keeping up. You just need to make it through this day, and then you can let it all fall apart.

With a glance at your watch, the hour now up, you realize just how much more time there is to get through. It’s only six in the morning, the earliest you’ve had to get up and be ready for this job yet. You’ve been told that if you’re ever a supporting dancer for a comeback stage it will be even earlier, two or three to accommodate pre-recording time. For this though, you’re not filming a comeback stage. You’ll get to the studios alongside New World at around seven-thirty, spend at least an hour or two getting ready in the green room, and then from there it will be a waiting game, and you don’t really know how a show like this will go. Music shows are a well oiled machine of time management, but this type of larger long program for their survival show stage is something you just aren’t used to.

You just have to, without question, make it back home, but that might be eight hours from now or twelve, and that level of uncertainty makes your stomach churn.

On the bus you take stock. Sore muscles, dry throat, ever so slight cramping in your back, bubbling migraine, fatigue. You’re not yet feeling the waves of hot flashing blush or deep, burgeoning cramps, but it’s not too far off. It feels like at the very least the quarter suppressant you choked down this morning might be doing just enough to mask the scent of your pre-heat, and that’s the best you can do. At least for now, no one’s noticed how close you are to the edge. No one, except possibly Wooyoung.

“Here,” He says from his seat next to you, offering you a lozenge from a bag, “for your throat,”

You stare for a second at the offering before your brain fires and you accept one with quiet thanks. Omegas often keep cooling lozenges around for their heat and pre-heat, something to take the edge off the soreness and dryness and it doesn’t surprise you that the only one attuned to your slight discomfort is another omega.

“You can keep the bag,” He places it on your lap, “if you need it,”

“I’m good,” You pass it back, not wanting to admit how close you really are, “like I said, just dry,”

“Okay,” He nods, and then he lets the subject lie, “are you ready for today?”

“Yeah,” You swallow tightly, “nervous, but yeah,”

“Mm,” He grins, relaxing back into his seat, “it’s fun, I promise,”

“Yeah?”

“When you see it all come together on the monitors,” He nods, “it just makes it all worth it,”

“All the work, you mean?” You can’t help but glance up the length of the bus, to where Yunho sits alongside San and Mingi, all talking quietly and seriously amongst themselves.

“Yeah,” He nods, “you’ve been working a lot of nights too, catching up,”

“I just don’t want me being new to be the reason it’s not perfect,” You reply with ease.

“That’s good,” Wooyoung says, “and I promise if you weren’t nailing it, you’d know by now.”

“Would I?”

“You wouldn’t be sitting here,” Wooyoung nods towards the front, “Mingi would have cut you ages ago,”

“Mingi?” He’s been nothing but nice, flirty, and funny. He’d been helping you out at night to get better, you thought so that Yunho and San didn’t have an inkling that you’re behind.

“His opinion is the one that matters,” Wooyoung laughs, whispering to you so the rest of the bus can’t hear, “have you not picked up on that yet?”

You shake your head slowly.

“y/n,” Wooyoung smiles as he realizes just how clueless you are, “Yunho would recommend we all stop drinking water if Mingi said it was a good idea. Mingi trusts his gut, and Yunho trusts Mingi,”

“Oh,” You breathe.

“Yep,”

“What about Jaemin?” You ask softly. You’ve only met the actual crew leader a few times here and there, but most of the time he’s not at the studio itself.

“He keeps the work coming and the doors open,” Wooyoung says, “but they keep us moving.”

You let his words sink in, the reality that for weeks you’ve been working side by side with Mingi and confessing all your fears of inadequacy, that he was the person who had to approve of you all along and you never knew it. You sigh, “Are you just trying to hype me up, or are you being serious?”

“I don’t lie.” He says, full stop, no room for misinterpretation.

The menthol lozenge burns a little on your tongue, but soothes the cut feeling in the back of your throat when you swallow and you find that finally for the first time all night you’re able to really exhale. With a soft nod you turn to him, “Okay,”

“Okay?”

“Let’s fucking do this,”

He grins, “After this stage you’re officially one of us, you know,”

Your eyes narrow, “You said that after my first week,”

He rolls his eyes, “Okay, maybe I lie a little,”

For the afternoon, with the lightness of Wooyoung by your side, you forget about your headache. The day happens fast, even with all the sitting and waiting in green rooms. There’s so much to remember, from camera positions to where the light is coming from, to how to adapt to the stage floor being just a little smaller than what you were working with back at KQ. The members seem suddenly focused in a way you’ve never experienced, you know what this means to them. To all of you. By the time it’s filming, you’ve had at least six lozenges and taken two more painkillers for your migraine to keep it at bay, and you're starting to feel exhausted. You film it twice, from two angles. Wide for choreography and tighter close ups on the members for cinematic facial expressions and intricacies of movement.

When it’s all over and you pile back into the van, your legs feel heavy and disconnected. If you can just make it back to the studio, you can change and call an Uber and get inside before it knocks you sideways.

Someone suggests drinks, someone else suggests a celebratory meal.

You want nothing more than for the van to speed up.

You grip your hand tight and breathe through the tight sensations in your body and no one ever notices a thing, not even Wooyoung who seems caught in the euphoria of the performance, your quietness blissfully overlooked for the moment.

At the studio, it takes time for the locker room to clear out after the show, everyone else riding on the high of the performance too and slow to pack up for the night. It had gone so well, despite the way you had to push through the pain. As the pain worsens, you’re not sure how you’re going to get home, but you know you need to figure it out soon. You can maybe call one of your roommates, but on a Friday night it feels unlikely that they’ll be available or sober enough to get you.

A cramp ripples through you, and you grip down on the wooden bench, your leg bouncing to try and distract you from the waves of sensation washing over you. It’s been years since your last heat, and you can already tell this is going to be hard and heady. Sweat is collecting on your brow, waves of uncomfortable warmth passing through your body, and you can feel the way your breath is tightening. You really don’t have long, a matter of hours maybe, but it’s obvious to anyone who looks at you what’s going on.

You fish your phone out of your bag and scan through your contacts, blinking hard to try and clear your blurring vision. The phone keeps ringing, first one of your roommates, then another, and when you hit their voicemail boxes for the second time, your phone slips from your fingers in frustration. Tears prick the back of your eyes, your hands shaking. You really thought you had more time.

A noise across the locker room startles you, the heavy metal clang of a locker closing and you realize someone’s still in here with you. You’re trembling, a mix of abject panic and pain, your omega surfacing inside you in a way that you can’t control. Footsteps come closer, and though you’re still shielded by a row of lockers and can’t see him, you can smell him. Rich, cocoa and cinnamon.

Mingi walks past your section of lockers, and you hope he won’t notice, but you’re never, ever that lucky.

“Hey,” He says when he catches sight of you, “you did good tonight,”

You keep your eyes away from his, curling down further to tug at the laces of your shoes and hope that he doesn’t notice the way you’re clenching your jaw to keep from crying, “Thanks,”

“Yeah,” He says, and you hear his steps shift and then pause.

Your eyes press closed as you hide behind the curtain of your hair.

“y/n,” Mingi asks, “are you okay?”

“Mhm,” You pull your laces tight, your insides cramping painfully as your body registers the presence of an alpha.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek you steady your voice, “Yeah, I’m good, just tired.”

Mingi doesn’t answer, doesn’t move, and there’s really only so long you can pretend to tie your shoes. You tug your other laces taut and then do your best, leaning back up into a normal sitting position despite the pained pressure inside you. You grip down on the bench again and breathe slowly through your nose.

“Are you hurt?” Mingi asks, concern evident in his voice, “Did you pull something?”

You shake your head, you can’t trust your words.

“Something’s wrong,” Mingi takes a step forward and you jolt back, sliding off the edge of the bench with a tight sound, your back connecting hard with the lockers behind you. His eyes widen at your sudden movement and you hold a hand out to keep him right where is.

“Stop,” You plead, body shaking, “don’t,”

“You are hurt,” He can feel your fear, and his eyes are panicked as he scans your body, “what happened?”

“It’s not,” You sigh, shaking your head, another hot flash making your cheeks light up with blush and cutting your words.

When he takes another step forwards you watch his face change, the way his breathing settles low into his chest as he regards you and comprehension starts to relax his face. Your eyes press closed as another cramp ripples through your abdomen, and suddenly you feel the first rush of slick.

“Fuck,” Mingi says, “what are you doing here?”

“Working,” You groan, opening your eyes again.

“You should be on heat leave,” He shakes his head, “you should be home,”

“I know,” You nod, your throat growing tight and tears bubbling back up, “I-I asked, but it would have been unpaid, and with the performance… I couldn’t afford to not be here. I thought I had a little more time,”

“Okay,” He steps a little closer and you shake your head, pressing your body back further against the lockers as if that will do anything, “it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know that,” You laugh humorlessly, “but right now your scent is making this harder,”

“Oh,” He swallows hard, “I didn’t mean to,”

“Mingi,” You meet his gaze and his eyes soften, “I need help,” You wish you didn’t have to ask. You wish you had just stayed home, not rationed your suppressants, and just handled this on your own.

He nods, straightening up and swallowing hard, “Okay, let’s go,”

“Go?” You watch as he picks up your bag and slings it over his shoulder with his own.

“Can you walk?” He holds a hand out to you, an offering and nothing more if you want it.

“Yeah,” You stammer, pushing yourself off the lockers, but one step already has you shaky and you grip his hand and let him hold your weight to keep you standing.

“Alright,” He shakes his head, “I’m sorry, just hold your breath or something,”

His arm wraps around your back, pulling you up and supporting your weight with a sure hand on your forearm and with his help, you take a step. His scent is dizzying, equal parts calming and arousing, and tears roll down your cheeks as you try to keep quiet and hold it together. Slick pools between your thighs and you’re sure he can smell it, but he’s doing a good job of saying nothing about it to you.

“W-where are we going?” You manage as he pushes the door to the locker room open and steers you out into the dimly lit hallway of the dance studio.

“We need to get Yunho,” He says with ease, like it’s obvious and poses absolutely no problem.

At the thought of him, your body clenches and you bite down to keep a tight, pained sound inside. “No, Mingi, he can’t,”

“We’re past that point,” Mingi is all but dragging you now, “I need his help, I can’t get you home by myself.”

Yunho’s the only one with a car between them, not the mention a driver’s license. Mingi typically hitches a ride with him or using the subway, and at this stage in your heat, it’s not safe to take public transportation or put you in a taxi. There are too many variables, too many people you don’t know, and you need someone you trust to get you to a safe location to ride this out. The idea of Yunho tears your body in two, caught between the feeling of wanting him and never wanting him to know about this, but you know he’s safe, that safe place.

There’s a light still on in the office at the end of the hall where you know Yunho is going through footage from the day and making notes while things are still fresh in his mind. When you’re close enough to the door but still safely in the hall, Mingi calls out, “Yunho!”

“Yeah?” He shouts back, and you can hear the distraction in his voice, a clear picture of him writing something down as he calls over his shoulder.

“I need your help,” Mingi adjusts his grip on you, holding you close as your body trembles in his arms, “like right now,”

“Uh,” Yunho trails off, “yeah, okay, yeah, I’m coming.” You hear Yunho jump up from the chair in the office, his quick footsteps, and another wave of fear flutters through you.

“Mingi,” You grip down on his hand.

“Right, fuck,” He remembers himself, tucking you closer to his chest, “slowly,”

“What?” Yunho’s voice comes from the office but you can see his shadow on the floor in the hall as he gets closer to the door.

“Yunho!” Mingi’s voice is deep, clear and firm and you let your head rock back on his shoulder, “Slowly, seriously,”

He’s not distracted anymore, he’s incredibly alert. Yunho steps into the hallway slowly, just as directed when he hears the tenor of his best friend’s voice, and it takes him seconds to size up what’s going on.

“y/n,” He takes a half step forward and stops himself, arm outstretched, “oh no,”

His soft tone soothes you instantly but it doesn't help the emotional live wire you feel like you’re walking, and a little sob bubbles out of you, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”

“You’re in heat,” He says, shaking his head, “it’s not safe for you to be here, why are you here?”

Your omega shrinks and more tears spill over, the wave uncontrollable now, “I’m sorry, please,”

Yunho’s eyes flick to Mingi’s before he comes closer, reaching out for you, “I’m not upset,”

Relief washes through you, “You’re not?”

“No,” He assures you, his voice dropping to a warm and even tone, “I’m just worried about you, I want you safe. Come here,”

You comply instantly, stepping out of Mingi’s hold and straight into Yunho’s arms, letting him tuck you close into his chest before he adjusts his stance and brings your face up to the crook of his neck. His scent washes over you like a salve, nothing but warm rain and fresh cut cedar.

“Shh,” He soothes you, running a hand down your back, “there we go, take a deep breath,”

For a minute, it feels like your cramps have passed, your head clearing. He grounds you and brings you back into your body with his touch and you breathe low and slow, your hands gripping his shirt.

“Okay,” Yunho murmurs, “what’s your heat plan? We can take you and get you there safe,”

You shake your head into his neck, nuzzling closer to his skin, “I don’t really have one,”

“What do you mean?” He asks, clearly not understanding.

“You can take me home,” You tell him, eyes drifting closed, “I usually can take care of things myself,”

“That’s insane,” Mingi says from behind you both, and you feel Yunho’s hands tighten on your back.

“Who’s there with you?” Yunho asks, “Don’t you have roommates?”

You nod, resting on his shoulder, “Mhm,”

“y/n,” He prompts you, “what are their designations?”

“Mm,” You’re feeling so warm wrapped in his scent, “Ari and Hyejin are betas, Hyunwoo is an alpha but he’s probably out tonight,”

“Tonight,” Yunho shakes his head, “you go through heats like this with an alpha home?”

“Not like this,” You mumble into his chest and he shifts you in his arms.

“What did you say?”

“Not a heat like this,” You manage, “I’m normally on pretty heavy suppressants,”

“She can’t go home like this,” Mingi says, “this is still just pre-heat,”

“I think so,” Yunho’s voice sounds far away, and you sink into the steady sound of his heart and the feeling of his hand smoothing a comforting line up and down your back. When he finally speaks again, his voice is so tender you almost don’t recognize it, “Can we bring you home? Let me help, you can’t go through a heat this hard by yourself,”

“Yunho,” You shudder against him, “we can’t,”

The thought of his cock inside you flashes through your brain, and you imagine the feeling of his swollen knot locking in, your body full and sated and the cramps dissipating. Your core throbs at the idea and you feel another rush of slick rush through you.

“You’re in pain,” He murmurs, dropping his head a little lower, “you need an alpha. Let me take care of you, let me take you home,”

You should say no, you should take your chances in your apartment with your box of toys and a bottle of lube, but you keep breathing in his steady scent and all you can do is say yes. Yunho’s been kind to you since the beginning, taking care of you for weeks even if he didn’t really know it, and he can take care of you now too if you just let him.

“We’ll take care of you,” Mingi cuts in, offering his help softly, “and make sure you’re safe until it’s over,”

“Are you sure?” You pull back from Yunho’s neck, leaning heavily on his chest still.

He cups your cheek in his broad hand, bringing your eyes up to his, and nods, “Positive, and if you don’t,” he swallows hard tries to find the right words, “if you don’t want to have sex we can figure something out, but you need a place that’s private, and you need to be with more experienced alphas who know how to keep their hands to themselves.”

They’re not wrong. You just have to trust them. You just have to let go.

Your body makes the decision for you, the way your aching and throbbing is soothed just being between them, and you let your mind follow.

“Okay,” You sigh, leaning into his hand, “yes,”

“Alright,” He sighs, “don’t worry about a thing, okay? We’ll get you home.” Yunho’s thumb rubs a soothing pattern into the soft gland at your wrist and it relaxes you further. He looks over you for a moment, “Mingi, I need you to take her for a minute, I’ll get the car.”

When Yunho steps away, just to try and pass you back to Mingi, the lack of contact strikes panic through you and you shake your head, “No, no, don’t go,”

“It’s not for long,” He assures you, his hands sliding down your arms as he separates from you slowly, “I’ll be back in 5 minutes,”

A panicked whine leaves your throat and your mind spins, “Don’t leave me!”

“Hey,” He soothes you but you don’t respond, all you know is he’s leaving and you’ll be without him and the thought makes your body clench. “y/n, hey, y/n,” He tries again but you’re shaking your head. “Omega.” His voice roots you to the spot.

Mingi’s hands close over you gingerly from behind, and Yunho nods as your panicked noises stop, “Okay, see?” He says, “Listen to me, omega, I’m not going far. You won’t be alone, Mingi’s right here. I’ll be back in five minutes, and then I won’t leave you again, okay?”

“Okay,” You lean back into Mingi, and let his touch keep you warm.

Yunho nods and then keeps his eyes on you as he moves back to the office, darting out of your eye line for a moment. You can hear him grabbing his things; the zip of his bag, the jingle of his keys, and the lights flick off before he jogs back out.

“Here,” He says, holding out his jacket, “put this on,”

Mingi takes it from his hands, and eases it onto you. When you pull the jacket up, his scent washes over you again and you sigh.

“Better?” Yunho asks.

“Mhm,” You murmur, and tucked into the warmth of Mingi’s chest with their combined scents easing you, you can breathe. You keep your eyes closed, but you hear when Yunho walks out the front door and your body clenches a little, but you take a deep breath in.

“Mingi,” You finally say, looking up at him, “thank you for not leaving me,”

“Hey,” He shakes his head, “I was never going to leave you there,”

You nod, twisting in his arms so you can tuck your face into his chest and let his arms wrap fully around you, “I’m sorry,” you sigh, “I’m not usually such a touchy person,”

He chuckles, smoothing your hair with his hand, “It’s okay, I like it,”

“And Yunho?”

“Oh,” Mingi laughs, “he’s a cuddler, don’t worry.”

Your stomach cramps and you groan into his chest, “God,” you grip him, “I forgot how much this hurts,”

“How long has it been?” Mingi shifts his grip so that more of your weight is supported, “You know, since your last real heat?”

“Years,” You tell him honestly, “they’ve been so much easier on suppressants,”

“Mm,” Mingi nods above you, “when this hits it’s going to be intense,”

“Have you helped a partner through heat before?”

“I have,” Mingi says, “but Yunho hasn’t,”

“Oh,” You have no idea why Yunho offered himself up immediately like he had done it a thousand times before if he’s never shared a heat with someone. The sure, practiced tenor of his voice when he called you omega rings in your ears.

“Don’t worry,” Mingi assures you, “I know what I’m doing, and Yunho’s got a handle on himself. He won’t touch you if you don’t want him to,”

“I’m really, really not worried about that,” You sigh.

“Good,” Mingi’s phone starts to vibrate in his pocket, and he adjusts his arms around you so he can find it, “We’ll take care of you - Hey? Are you out front?”

You can’t hear Yunho’s side of the conversation but you just wait, held against him.

“Okay, I got her,” Mingi says, and you smile.

You forgot the way that heat takes over every physical sensation, every little thing heightened until you feel like you’re on a razor’s edge. In a matter of hours you’re going to be a writhing mess, in so much pain you might be delirious - you might ask anything of them, beg for anything. You have to reconcile with your shame now, and let them help. After weeks of dancing around Yunho, what you really want is to ask him out for coffee, not this. Mingi is no stranger to being flirtatious, those sparks between you already evident, but it always felt like a little inside joke between friends, not a step towards anything more.

“Alright, just a little further,” Mingi urges you as he slips his arm under yours.

It takes time to get to the car, but when you get there, Mingi slides into the backseat with you instead of taking the front with Yunho like he normally would. Enclosed in the warmth of the car, you relax into Mingi’s arms and find Yunho’s eyes studying you in the rearview mirror. Their scents settle you a bit, more than any other alpha’s ever has.

“I’m okay,” You assure them, “it’s coming and going,”

“We don’t live too far,” Yunho smiles, “so just try to relax and we’ll be inside soon, okay?”

“Yeah,”

Mingi eases you against him, feeling your exhaustion, until you’re nestled in his lap with his fingers softly carding through your hair. Yunho’s eyes flick back to you again and again as he drives, but for the first time since the locker room, you’re not in too much pain.

“Yunho,” Mingi murmurs and his friend hums a noise of acknowledgement, “we need to pick up a few things for her,”

“What do you mean?”

“She needs to eat before this really starts,” Mingi says quietly, “I think we have water bottles at home and ice packs?”

“Yeah we do, I went to the store a couple days ago,” Yunho glances back at you again.

“Okay,” Mingi’s fingers keep up their soothing brushes on your scalp, “and we need condoms, in case.”

“Oh,” Yunho blinks and opens his mouth to say something but you get there more quickly.

“We don’t need them,” You twitch as a cramp ripples through you, “I’m on birth control,”

“If it would make you feel more comfortable though,” Mingi offers.

“No,” You groan a little and shift on the uncomfortable back seat, “really, I’m good.”

The car is quiet for a minute, the reality sinking in that they won’t just be keeping you safe tucked away in a room in their apartment, but they will be helping you. Yunho clears his throat, “Then we’re good, let’s get you home and in bed, and then we can order food? Do we have time?”

“Mhm,” You assure him, “I’m okay now that i’m with you both,”

“Exactly,” Mingi soothes you as your fists tighten, eyes closing as you breathe through another small cramp, “your alphas will take good care of you,”

You release a shuddering breath, the word sinking into your chest and keeping you whole.

“Almost there,” He murmurs, “just breathe, omega,”

Getting you upstairs to their apartment proves a little challenging, moving through the lobby of the apartment building and ferrying you into an elevator. They stay close to you, keeping you firmly tucked between them as they walk you in, and you do your very best to seem in control and not draw any unnecessary attention.

The minute their apartment door closes though, your legs give out and Mingi scoops you up, “You did so well,” he assures you, and it’s evident now that he is the one with the experience here, knowing exactly what the primal part of your brain needs to hear.

“I’ll order food,” Yunho says, giving you a small smile.

“Get her some meat,” Mingi directs him, “broth too, and lots of rice,”

“You are good at this,” You sigh.

“We got you,” Mingi grins, acting like this is second nature, “now… I can put you to bed, or would you like a cool shower before you lay down? I know that helps,”

“Mm, yes please,” You nod.

“Alright,” Mingi nods and looks up, “get the food going, and then meet me in my room with some water and the ice packs.”

“Right,” Yunho looks at you, “are you okay with just Mingi?”

“Yeah,” You smile, “I’m feeling okay,”

“Good,” Yunho smiles back and pulls out his phone to order the food, “then I’ll meet you there.”

Mingi sets you up in the bathroom with ease, making sure you have towels and everything you need. Your heat is coming, building inside your body with every cramp and rush of warm blush, but their combined scents keep things calm enough for you to take care of yourself a bit. He asks you to keep the door unlocked in case you need help, and leaves you to your moment of peace. You let the cool water settle your body, taking solace in this dip of your pre-heat before things get worse.

When you’re done, wrapped up in fluffy towels and feeling decidedly less sticky from the combination of sweat and slick, you make your way out into the hall. There are three bedrooms, an empty one you assume is Yunho’s, one that’s been converted into an office, and then one larger room at the end of the hall that you know must be Mingi’s.

He appears in the doorway before you make it too much further and smiles, “Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you so much,”

“Mhm,” He reaches for you, “come on in, we got everything ready for you,”

His bedroom smells overwhelmingly like cinnamon when you first cross through the door and you feel a tense flutter in your core. His room is tidy, clean and organized well, which feels surprising for Mingi given how chaotic and busy he can seem at times. The bed is made, but the covers are pulled back for you and you see a folded shirt and thin sleep pants at the edge of the bed. Yunho is sitting in a chair in the corner by the foot of the bed and waiting, the dresser adjacent to his side equipped with almost everything you’ll need. Water bottles, pain killers, and ice packs, an unfilled bowl with a few washcloths stacked inside.

“How do you know all this?” You catch Mingi’s eye.

“My girlfriend in college went through terrible heats,” He explains easily, directing you towards the bed, “I remember what used to make her feel a little better,”

“Ah,” That explains so much of him, and his easy reaction to finding you in the locker room.

“Do you need help getting dressed at all?” He asks.

“No, I just really want to lie down,” Your limbs are starting to feel heavy and achy.

“We’ll leave you be then,” Yunho offers, “and when the food gets here we’ll bring some in,”

“Mhm,” You sigh, sinking down onto the bed, “thank you both again, so much,”

When you’re finally alone in Mingi’s room, you start to take stock of your body and how it feels, getting a sense of how far you are from the real thick of your heat. Judging by the intensity of your cramps and the fact that you’re starting to produce slick, you know you’re not too far off, maybe a few hours at most. The onset of your heat is normally much slower than this, a long few days of light pre-heat into a couple of days of uncomfortable cramps and extremely high arousal. On suppressants it feels easy, off them everything is unpredictable.

You pull on the clothes they left you, but they smell like stale lavender, artificial like laundry detergent and it’s not helping. You find the hamper in the corner and toss off the top, digging through Mingi’s clothes until you find a hoodie and you bury your face in it before taking a deep inhale and letting the warm smell of him pass through you. It might be crossing a line, but you don’t really care, you need them.

A pulsing wave passes through you and you collapse back into the bed, tugging on the hoodie and curling yourself up in the covers. The bed smells like him too, and you gather a pillow to your chest and take a deep inhale. Your neediness is starting to build up again with every passing minute, flushing heat through your chest and where you were cold a moment ago you’re suddenly overheated. You kick off the covers, but keep them close, and pile the pillows around you too so you can better inhale his scent.

Slick rushes forwards again and you bite your inner cheek to stifle a moan and keep things in check. You push off the sleep pants they had given you, and fish through your gym bag until you find a clean pair of underwear and some wipes. You clean yourself up a bit, and change your underwear for the third time today, before deciding that there’s no point in putting the pants back on. Mingi’s hoodie falls low over your shorter frame, dragging along your thighs.

You bury yourself back in his bed, and do your best to get a little rest before what’s to come.

When you wake, it’s to Mingi pushing back his hoodie so he can see your face a little better, “Hey,” he murmurs, “how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” You sigh, “and sore,”

“Okay,” He smiles and tugs lightly on the strings of his hoodie, “is this helping?”

“Mm,” You nod into his palm, but nervous knots start to curl up in your belly, “where’s Yunho?”

“I’m here,” Yunho’s voice comes from the opposite side of the bed, and you twist in the sheets to find him, a cramp pulsing through you as you do and you groan, gripping onto the bed sheets beneath you.

“Easy,” Mingi scolds you softly, “you need all the rest you can get,”

Yunho finds your eyes and smiles, “What’s wrong?” He asks gently, noticing your nervous fidgeting.

“I don’t know, I thought you left,” You manage.

“I’m an idiot,” Mingi sighs behind you and his hand that rests on your hip shifts away, “stay with her a second,”

“Mhm,” Yunho’s eyes don’t leave you, and he reaches out to rest his hand on yours, “we’ve got dinner, and then once you eat you can rest, we won’t go anywhere.”

You watch his face as he studies your features, his breathing slow and steady, when you hear Mingi come back into the room behind you. “Here we go,” He says, and you feel a large, soft blanket draping over you. The smell of wet earth and rain in the air fills your senses again and you drag the blanket up and around you with a sigh.

“You’re nesting,” Yunho observes, his mouth dropping open, “of course,”

“She couldn’t smell you in here,” Mingi explains with ease, “she needs you to relax,”

You nod, your cheek pressed against the blanket, “You smell like a thunderstorm,”

Yunho sits slowly on the bed by your side, brushing your hair back behind your ear and smoothing his thumb along your cheekbone, “Is that right?” he smiles.

“I love thunderstorms,” Your eyes drift closed.

Mingi chuckles, “I think she’s found herself a heat partner,”

“Only if she wants one,” Yunho presses, “and only after she eats,”

Your eyes reopen, and you push yourself up to your knees, dropping the hood of Mingi’s sweatshirt and running your hands over your warm cheeks. “We need to talk now,” You blink hard and take a deep breath, “before I get too far into this,”

“Let’s eat then,” Mingi gestures for you to sit back more comfortably and you watch as he and Yunho both produce boxes of take out from bags on the dresser, “what are you thinking?”

“Well,” You shift up the bed to lean against the headboard, dragging Yunho’s blanket with you, “I haven’t gone through this in a while. I’m not sure how it’s going to be, but you said you wanted to help. What did you mean by it?”

Yunho looks like he’s not sure exactly what to say or where to start and Mingi cuts in smoothly, “I’m willing to help with all of it. If you want me gone, I’m gone. If you want help to come to take the edge off, I can do that, and if you want me to actually knot you,” he gestures for you to fill in the blanks.

“Right,”

“But,” Mingi cuts in and your eyes shift back to him, “You seem to want Yunho,”

His eyes flick down to the way you’re rubbing his blanket between your thumb and forefinger and you drop it instantly, not even realizing what you were doing. Mingi smiles softly and adds, “I think you prefer his scent,”

“No!” You exclaim, wincing at the way your body tenses up, “No, it’s not that, at all.”

“Earlier,” Mingi takes a seat on the edge of the bed, “you said my scent was making it harder, that’s not what I want to do for you.”

“Mingi,” You shake your head, “I meant because it’s good, both of you. So, no I don’t have a preference.”

“Oh,” Mingi smiles, and then turns to Yunho, “how are you feeling?”

He clears his throat softly and nods, “The same as you, I’m all in.”

“Okay,” You exhale slowly, “then so am I,”

Mingi passes you a take out container and a pair of chopsticks, “Eat this, okay?”

“Mhm,” You’re caught between exhaustion and adrenaline, but you stay focused on the task at hand. You all eat quietly, the atmosphere a little awkward now that you’ve all agreed.

As you finish the container of food, Yunho smoothly passes you another and he says, “So, you feel comfortable with us?”

“I do,” You nod, shifting a little at a slight pain in your back, “I like you both, and if I can trust you in the studio, I can trust you with this.”

“And if you ask us to knot you?” Mingi prompts.

“Right,” You swallow, resting the container of food on your lap, “I guess there are some things we should say now,”

They look at you, waiting expectantly.

“People say things during heat,” You start, imagining all the things you might beg them for for the next few days to come. “It’s not like I’ll be out of my mind or anything, you know that,” You nod to Mingi.

“Mhm,”

“But it’s still hard to control,” You explain, and Yunho listens intently, “I don’t know what it’ll be like for me. It’s been a long time, but you have my permission to do whatever we need to. If I ask you to knot me, knot me.”

“Okay,” Mingi nods, “it’s good that we’re clear.”

You feel another flush up your chest and you breathe slowly, “But no matter what,” you hold their gazes, “if I ask you to claim me, don’t. Don’t do it, even if I tell you I’m sure.”

“Absolutely not,” Mingi’s brow furrows, and he looks shocked that you’d even have to say it, “there’s no way.”

“I know you know,” You swallow and reach for a water bottle on the nightstand, “but Yunho, you’ve never done this before.”

“That might be true,” He shakes his head, “but I know you wouldn’t mean that, it would just be the heat talking,”

“Exactly,” You nod, “I might sound like I want that or like I need that, but I don’t.”

“Understood,” Yunho nods, “I wouldn’t, I swear,”

You sink back into your pillows and tuck back into your box of food, “I just want you to be prepared,” you explain, “and before I start crying and begging you to give me a pup, I wanted to say it,”

Mingi laughs into his food, choking a little, “Sorry, no, not funny,”

You smile, the mood a little lighter now, “It’s kind of funny.”

Yunho smiles, shifting further onto the bed as he all but inhales his noodles, “You seem a better, I thought it was going to just get worse,”

“Oh, it will,” You shrug, “but the food is nice, and you’re both here with me. When Mingi found me I was scared and alone, which always makes it worse,”

Mingi’s hand rubs a comforting line up your shin, “You’re very safe now,”

“I know,” You nod.

“Eat some more,” Yunho notices that you’ve taken too long of a pause, and he gestures for you to keep going, “and then what would be nice? Some sleep?”

“Maybe,” You dip back into your rice, “would you stay?”

“I’ll stay,” Yunho murmurs.

“Me too,” Mingi adds.

They keep on you to eat, making sure you’ve had your fill. Afterwards, you rest between them watching some television, keeping your mind off things as best you can while you’re still feeling somewhat okay. They’re careful of you though, every shift of your body and soft hiss through your teeth drawing their attention. Mingi is still cool and evenly calm, but surprisingly Yunho is too, and you wonder what they talked about while you were in the shower. Did they discuss what to do at all? What the night and the next few days would be like?

You’re so exhausted, slipping further down into the bed, nestled in pillows and wrapped in Yunho’s blanket. They naturally gravitate closer, their hands finding their way to your skin, and you’re not sure if it’s just their alpha nature or if it’s them, but you’ve never been more grateful for it.

The cramps start to become unbearable again soon after they start to hold you. You’re not sure if their presence is making things move more quickly, let alone being with two alphas, but within the hour the pain sets in.

You curl into Mingi’s chest as tight pain cuts through you, “Fuck,” you pant against him, “it hurts,”

“I know,” Mingi soothes you, scooting down the bed until he’s eye to eye with you, “but you’re not alone,”

A sharper, biting pain rips through you and a flood of heat washes over you. You grip down hard on Yunho’s hand, curling into yourself with a taut moan, “It… it hurts,”

“Shh,” Yunho kisses your hair, running his hand up and down the expanse of your abdomen, “I know it hurts, jagiya,”

You whine at the name, desperate to hear him call you anything and everything. Your omega thrums inside you - every touch telling you just how much closer your heat is than you realize. “Please,” You plead, but you don’t know exactly what you’re pleading for, “I can’t breathe,”

“Yes, you can,” Mingi tries to sooth you, his hand on your cheek, “look at me, y/n, come on omega,”

Tears well in your eyes, heat flooding through your veins and a pulsating need fluttering through you. If they don’t touch you, you might wither into nothing. Your hips tuck back into Yunho’s and you groan, “I can’t,”

“She’s burning up,” Yunho murmurs from your side.

“Let’s take this off then,” Mingi tugs on the sleeves of his hoodie slowly, coaxing your arm through. He can see your rising panic at the idea you won't be wrapped in their scents, but he shakes his head slowly, “easy, love, let your alphas help,”

As the heavy sweatshirt is pulled away, you drop back on the bedding between them. The thin t-shirt they gave you is all but soaked through with sweat, sticking to your curves. Your head is aching, waves of feverish heat washing over you again and again, and you whimper, your legs twitching as you try to find a somewhat comfortable position.

“Hey, hey,” Yunho’s thumb settles over the swollen gland in your neck, and he strokes it soft and slow, “just breathe,”

It settles you, just a bit, and you let your eyes drift shut. With a sigh you reach for Mingi just to feel a bit of his skin on yours, “I’m not even properly in heat yet and I feel like I could crawl out of my skin,”

“Hot?” Mingi brushes the damp hair back from your forehead.

“It’s like my skin is tingling,” You murmur, “like a nerve,”

“Okay,” He nods. He shifts off the bed and your eyes flutter open. Mingi soothes you with a gentle hand, before moving towards the dresser, “Yunho, get those clothes off her,”

Yunho’s eyes lock on yours, “Can I?”

You nod, your head feeling full and pained.

Yunho’s hand slips under the edge of your damp shirt, coasting up your stomach as he pushes the fabric up and the drag of his hot hand sends a pulse through your body. You moan, head dropping back into the bedding, and you feel another gush of slick.

“It’s okay,” Yunho soothes as you he drops your shirt to the side of the bed, “there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,”

You huff, a light laugh as you shake your head, “Easy for you to say, you’re not falling apart whenever I touch you,”

“Yet,” He smiles.

“Who are you kidding?” Mingi returns to your bedside with a bowl of cool ice water and a damp washcloth. He throws a smile at his friend before ringing out the washcloth over the bowl, “The minute you saw us in the hall you were all alpha protection mode, scenting her and everything,”

“Shut up,”

You grin, but Mingi sweeps a cold line up your body with the cloth and you shudder, “Fuck, that’s nice,”

“Good,” Mingi murmurs, passing another wet washcloth to Yunho. When Mingi presses a firm line up your chest, and sweeping a little too close to your neck your body arches and your nipples harden into painful peaks.

You blush hard and drop a hand over your face, “I can’t believe we’re doing this,”

“Why?” Yunho asks gently, wiping your brow with the cool cloth.

“We work together,” You sigh, “closely together… I probably should have made you take me home or something but,”

“Do knotting dildos even really help?” Mingi asks bluntly.

“I mean,” You shrug, “they get the job done,”

“Hmm,” Mingi shakes his head, “not with a heat like this,”

“Maybe,” You sigh.

“y/n,” Yunho asks, “have you had a heat partner before? Have you been knotted?”

“A long time ago,” You nod, “it wasn’t a great experience, but you know, it is what it is.”

Yunho passes the cloth down your chest and you shudder, but he keeps the conversation going, “Why in the world are you off your suppressants then?”

Your eyes flick down, and you swallow hard, “I can’t afford them right now,”

“Wait,” Mingi shakes his head, “what?”

“The brand I’m on is the only one that works for me,” You explain, “they’re not priced like the generics, and I don’t have coverage yet. I’ve been rationing them out, but,”

“You should have talked to me about it,” Yunho shakes his head, brows knit together in concern, “we could have done something for you,”

“Yunho,” You meet his eyes, “I appreciate that, but I’m still kind of new here. I’m just trying to prove I belong here, and I didn’t want a reason to need a special exception.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but settles on nodding, “I can understand that.”

“I’m,” You tense up as your cramps intensify, “I’m glad to know I can talk to you, I’ll do it in the future, I just couldn’t come to you about this.”

“Alright,” He nods, his voice shifting to soothe again as your eyes clamp tightly shut.

“Are they worse?” Mingi asks.

You can’t answer, not yet, your muscles are locked up in crippling pain and you feel like you’re drowning in a sudden wave of hot air. You gasp as you feel your body produce more slick, your thighs surely sticky now, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of their hands and where they rest on your body.

“I think,” Your hips jerk as Mingi slides the washcloth just an inch up your side, “oh God, I think,”

“Okay,” Yunho pets your hair gently, “okay, just breathe,”

Your fingers tighten in the sheets beneath you and an overwhelming ache between your thighs reminds you just how empty your body is. You press your thighs together, feeling a throb in your core, and you can’t stop the whimper that bubbles from your lips.

“Let’s get these off too,” Mingi murmurs, his hands settling on your hip and tugging at your underwear to slowly peel them off.

Things are spinning around you, tense and painful suddenly and no amount of cool washcloths or gentle touches are going to help you now. Your vision feels blurry, and you curl into yourself, tucking your body into Yunho’s chest with a pained hiss.

“Oh, come here,” Yunho tucks you close, “I’ve got you,”

“Alpha,” You feel like crying suddenly, your stomach tense, “alpha, please,”

“What, jagiya?” Yunho murmurs against your hair.

You can’t explain what you need, all you know is that you can’t feel him close enough and you push the edges of his shirt up to try and find more of him, “Please,” you whine as you try to feel more of his skin on yours.

“Whoa, whoa,” He tries to catch your hands but it just makes you more tense.

“K-knot me,” Your stomach cramps, your cunt feeling swollen and sensitive, “please,”

“y/n,” Yunho tries again to pull your hands away but you drive forwards, pressing your cheek against his bare chest where his shirt is ridden all the way up and you sigh into his skin, pressing frantic kisses along his body.

“Please,” You beg again, “I’ll be so good for you, so good,”

“I know you will,” He manages, but he can’t deter you, and you feel the moment his body responds to yours. His hands tighten pleasantly on your hips, and you hear the change in his breath. He releases your hands and swallows hard, “Alright, alright,”

“No,” Mingi interrupts, “not yet,”

“Why?” You sob.

“You’re not ready yet,” He soothes, shifting closer behind you and placing a warm kiss on your bare back, “and Yunho and I are not going to hurt you tonight,”

“I don’t care,” Your hands slide down Yunho’s chest, searching for his waistband.

“Mingi’s right,” Yunho groans, attempting to disconnect your hands from him.

“Omega,” Mingi’s voice is firm, and your hands fall away, “be still.” You’re sure you’re shaking like a leaf, and he sighs, “You need a little sleep,”

“I can’t sleep like this,” You shake your head, “everything hurts so much,”

“We’ll help with that,” Mingi pulls you away from Yunho’s chest, ignoring your tense whine at being pulled away from him, and slides a hand down your thigh to press your legs open, “we’ll help you sleep,”

Yunho rests his hand on your inner thigh, bending your knee to open you up for Mingi’s hand, “Let your alphas make you feel good,”

You’re shaking in their grip, Yunho’s hand feeling like a lead weight, and Mingi settles down low by your side so that you’re almost nose to nose, holding your gaze as his fingers gently sink into your wet folds.

“P-please,” The sound in your throat is tight, “I need you to fuck me,”

“Mhm,” Mingi nods, unfazed by your sudden shift in demeanor as your heat finally starts to build, “we will, but not yet,”

You stifle a groan and turn your head away from him, tears gathering in your eyes as Mingi’s middle finger flattens out over your clit and starts to rock. All it does is stoke heat inside you and your vision blurs, the empty pocket inside you aching like never before. “Alpha,” You sob, “it’s not enough,”

You expect Mingi to respond, but instead it’s Yunho, cupping your cheek and drawing your face towards his, “Shh,” he shakes his head, a gentle expression on his face, “we have you, sweetheart,”

Something in his face calms you for a moment, the feeling of his warm gaze filling you and you want nothing more than to know he likes you. Approves of you. Your breath is slight, just a whisper in your throat.

Seeing your response he slides forwards, pressing his mouth to yours in a warm, tender kiss. His hand slips down and he brushes over your gland again to keep you at ease, “Be patient for us,” he kisses you again, “and you know we’ll knot you nice and full,”

With a desperate pant you catch his mouth again, moaning against his mouth when Mingi finally, finally sinks a finger deep inside your aching core.

“You’re still so tight, omega,” Mingi murmurs. He pushes a second finger inside and starts to pump them in and out, and it’s not enough, nowhere near enough, but little blooms of pleasure spark up your spine and you fall back from Yunho into the bedding once more.

“More,” You widen your legs and cant your hips, “please, Mingi, please,”

He presses his lips to your forehead, nuzzling you softly until his mouth is close to your ear, “You’re so beautiful, omega. Did you know that?”

A wash of pleasure crashes through you and his fingers speed up, pushing into you more firmly, his thumb catching against your clit to heighten every thrust. You moan against him, gripping hard on his shirt and jutting your hips into his hand.

“And so good for us,” Yunho kisses your shoulder, traveling down until lips close around one of your stiff nipples.

“Ah,” You arch into his mouth, “ah, god,”

“Close already, omega?” Mingi teases, shaking his head despite the smile across his lips, “Are you that sensitive?”

“D-don’t tease me,” Hot pleasure sparks up your body and your head twists back, your body tight and stiff.

“Then come,” Mingi bites down on your earlobe gently and you whine.

“Do as your told,” Yunho urges you, sucking hard on your nipple and pressing your leg open wider, “our sweet little omega,”

You come so hard your brain whites out, your ears ringing and your body trembling. After an entire week of build up to your heat, and hours of feeling like your body was being stretched out long like a rubber band, snapping apart in their hands hits you so much harder than you ever could have imagined.

Your brain reconnects when you feel Yunho’s soft blanket tucked around your naked body, and you’re too exhausted to open your eyes, but you feel them cuddle close before you drop off into sleep drowning in cedar and cinnamon.

You have no idea what time it is when you wake again, your brain is too foggy and pained to even check the time. All you know is desperate need, all consuming emptiness and aching. When you reach out in front of you, the bed is empty and you stifle a sob. You’re alone, they’ve left you alone. You’re alone and you’re in heat, and you thought they wanted you, but all you can feel is shame. The primal part of your brain tells you that you’re not good enough, that if you had been a better omega for them they would have stayed. You’d be good and knotted by now.

Curling into the sheets you try to push yourself up, but find the effort even harder than before. You’re soaked in sweat, trembling uncontrollably, and the throbbing pulse of your cunt is so heady that you find yourself seeking any friction at all, squeezing your thighs tight and grinding against the balled up comforter.

You feel a body roll behind you, shifting closer, and when you hear his groggy, sleepy groan, you almost cry in relief. “A-alpha?” You can’t move too much, too it’s too painful, but you reach back for him.

“Hey,” Yunho’s voice is a little hoarse, and it takes him a minute to realize what’s going on, but in the early morning faded light he watches the way you’re struggling. “Oh,” he breathes, “it’s really started,”

You nod desperately, “I need help, alpha, please,”

“Okay,” His voice drops, and he slides across the bed to slot himself perfectly behind you, “I’m going to take care of you now,”

“Y-Yunho,” You squeeze yourself further back into him, “I’m so empty,”

His face is above yours now, studying your expression to try and determine if this is really it, and you don’t know where Mingi is to guide the situation but at the feeling of Yunho’s body behind yours, your will to care is fading away into nothing. He’s not touching you fast enough, and with a whimper, you twist your head in the sheets, bearing your neck and submitting.

“Oh,” Yunho’s hands tighten on you, “oh,”

“Please,” You press again, “it hurts, alpha,”

His cock stiffens behind you, and you almost cry in relief, rolling your hips back against him. “Fuck,” His face drops against your hair, “oh my god,”

“Inside me,” You beg, reaching back and tugging at his shirt, “now, please,”

He moves so much more quickly this time, pushing down his sweats and reaching between your thighs to check you, finding you soaked with slick and aching for him. You moan when you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, and in one fluid motion he slides home, fully seating himself inside you.

You’re shaking in his arms, the feeling of being this full making you almost delirious with joy. Yunho doesn’t move though. He has you pulled as close as possible so that your back is flush with his chest, arms wrapped around you and keeping you perfectly still. His forehead rests against the top of your head and you can hear his shaky breath. You need him to move, to fuck you, to fill you with pups and never leave you, but he doesn’t.

Slowly, his hips draw back just a little before sinking forward again, thrusting inside your tight channel experimentally like he’s trying to get a feel for you. Despite how your body prepared you for this, making you wet and relaxed to be able to accommodate an alpha’s knot, the feeling of his cock stretching you open is almost enough to make you come right then and there.

He thrusts again, slowly, and you whimper against him. You need more, and fast.

Yunho groans as he holds himself deeply inside you again, caressing your body with his free hand, “You are the best thing I’ve felt in my entire life,”

Your brain spins, pleasure flooding you and distantly you can hear yourself asking him to knot you. You’re not prepared for what he’ll feel like fucking you in earnest.

“Is that what my girl needs?” Yunho pants, and hand locking down over your hip to help pull your body back against his hard thrusts.

“God, please!” Your eyes close, falling apart into the sensations of him inside you.

He groans against you, “Tell me what you need, omega,”

The low tenor of his voice is nothing but alpha now, his instincts guiding him just as much as yours. You’re never going to last, not if he’s going to talk to you like this. With a taut moan you beg him, “Fill me up, alpha please, knot me please,”

His hand slides up your chest, up your neck until you’re shaking with need, and closes his fingers on your jaw until he draws your face up so he can watch your eyes. His hips shift their pace, no longer driving into you with frantic need but instead firm, deep thrusts of his cock. His eyes are blown wide with desire, his mouth falling open as he watches you falling apart on his cock, “You’re all fucking mine,”

You nod, hot tears gathering in your eyes from the overwhelming sensation and you cry out desperately for more.

“All mine,” He repeats and surges forwards to lock his lips on yours, “you belong to me,”

“Yes!” You choke, “I’m yours, only yours,”

“Good girl,” He angles his hips, and on the next thrust you’re spinning fast into the crest of your orgasm. With his face pressed against you, his lips at your ear, his next words snap you open. “I’ll give you perfect pups,” He pants, his knot swelling, “I’ll breed you so full,”

There’s nothing now but the feeling of him, all encompassing as your orgasm crashes down over you, muscles spasming around his hard length. You’re a babbling mess, but so is he, so close to coming that the first sensation as your eyes reopen is his knot pressing hard at your opening.

He’s so large already, larger than any partner or knotting dildo you’ve ever used, and you scramble a little in his hold, “Y-Yunho, I can’t,”

“Shh,” He holds you against him, “you can, I know you can,”

Pushing your hips down with his broad hands, he angles himself upwards until you feel the pressure of his knot pushing past your entrance and finally slipping inside you fully. It burns, your body aching to accommodate him, but with the way he’s holding you and the throb of his cock inside you, none of that matters.

He grinds his hips desperately into you, his knot swelling further inside you, and when he comes, releasing hot with a shuddering groan, you finally feel sated. Your body melts into him, pleasantly foggy and at ease, his knot no longer uncomfortable but essential.

You’re finally, finally full.

It takes time for Yunho to come back to his senses, his hands still locked on your skin and breathing shaky as he tries to regulate it. You realize now that you have a little clarity that it was his first time. Deep, instinctual need had guided him, but the longer he stays quiet, the longer you wonder if you did well for him.

After another minute or two you find his hand and lace your fingers together, “Yunho?”

“Yes?” He murmurs from behind you, his forehead still against your hair.

“Can you hold me please?” You murmur, squeezing his hand.

“Come here,” He sighs, shifting slightly to spoon you properly. As he does, the knot locked inside you shifts and you make a startled hum at the sensation. He smooths your hair back and tries to get a good look at you, “Does that hurt?”

“No,” You shake your head, adjusting so that you’re resting on his bicep, “I just feel full,”

“Mm,” He kisses your temple, nuzzling your skin with his nose as he breathes in your scent, “you’re perfect,”

Warmth blooms in your chest, “So are you,”

“I want you like that again and again,” His hand slips out of yours so that he can coast it over your body, feeling your warm skin under his hands.

“You can have me like that again and again,” You smile, “I’ll be in heat for days.”

“Days of this,” He sighs, his hand dipping down over your hip and settling over your stomach. He inches his fingers down, passing over your sensitive nub and feeling the place where your bodies connect, locked together.

“Does it feel good for you too?” You murmur, a little breathy as his hand slips back over your clit.

“I’ve never felt anything like this,” He presses closer to you, “it’s incredible,”

You chuckle, kissing his arm and relaxing further into his touch. You’re about to agree, to say more, to confess that in truth it’s your only experience in heat that so far hasn’t been terrible, but the door to the bedroom opens and Yunho tenses.

Mingi opens the door slowly, and Yunho pulls you close, his hand closing over your stomach and his other arm wrapping around your shoulders. It’s just Mingi, but Yunho’s brain must still be fogged with the intrinsic need to protect you and in the presence of another alpha, he can’t see that it’s just his friend.

“Mingi,” You shake your head, feeling how tense Yunho is behind you, “give him a minute,”

“You’re okay?” He checks, staying rooted to the spot at the door, knowing that Yunho could hurt you if he stops thinking straight and tries to defend you against the imagined threat of another alpha.

“I’m perfect,” You assure him, “I promise,”

“Is he?” Mingi looks anxious.

“He’s fine,” You nod, smoothing your hand across his arm to try and relieve some of his tension, “but we need some more time.”

Mingi nods, “Come find me when you’re done,”

“We will,”

Mingi’s eyes flick to Yunho, “Be careful with her,”

“I got it,” Yunho’s voice sounds strained.

Mingi nods once, and then disappears, leaving the door open, and you suspect it's so he can hear things a little better should you need him. Yunho’s muscles unlock slowly, his thumb unconsciously rubbing a steady line over your abdomen, and he exhales heavily into your hair.

After a while, you expect his knot to have gone down, but he’s just as locked inside you as ever. The overwhelming alpha quality though has started to fade, and you rest lazily in his arms as he plays with your fingers and waits it out.

“Does it normally take this long?” He asks finally.

“Not usually,” You shake your head, “but it’s your first time knotting someone properly, so it might just take a little bit.”

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs.

“Why?” You tug him a little closer to your back, “This is exactly what I need,”

“Everything felt right?” He pushes himself up onto one elbow so that he can look down at you a little better, propping his head in his hand.

“Mhm,” You assure him, “Better than right,”

He smiles, his eyes flicking over you appreciatively.

“What about for you?” You bring him back to center, rubbing a circle into his palm with the pad of your thumb.

“It wasn’t what I expected,” He says honestly, and your mouth drops open. “No, no,” He cups your cheek, “I meant that it was just… much more intense than I expected. I said a lot of things to you, and I don’t know, I guess I thought that type of thing was just played up in porn,”

“Oh,” You grin, delighted a little by the way his ears run red.

“Yeah,” He smiles, blush creeping into his cheeks now, “I just couldn’t stop myself,”

“Mm,” You nod, “I get it, completely. This is why I wanted to talk before I was in heat,”

“Was it too much?” He checks in.

“No,” You assure him, “It was just what I needed to hear, and it doesn’t mean anything outside of my heat, it’s just instinct.”

He nods and sighs, dropping back to the bed and cuddling you close again, “Good,” he murmurs, “then don’t worry about how clingy I’m about to get,”

“You? Clingy?” You giggle against his chest, “I don’t believe it,”

“I’m a softie,” He shrugs, “I don’t know what to tell you,”

“But you always seem so serious at the studio,” You murmur, “and I’ve seen you go out with a lot of women,”

“Ah,” He laughs, “well the studio is work, and I’m responsible for a lot there. And as far as the dates,” he corrects, “I am trying to appease my mother because she desperately wants me to find a wife, which I’m not really focused on right now, but she’s pretty obstinate.”

“Such a mystery, Jeong Yunho,” You prod him lightly.

“Not really,” He kisses your hair, sighing into you, “I’m just a guy,”

You hum and let your eyes drift closed as he holds you.

He yawns and sighs again, “So, forgive me if I cuddle you to death while you’re here, like I said, softie,”

“I’m not complaining,” You sink into his touch.

He groans a little, his knot finally softening but he stops you when you shift your hips, “Go slow, I don’t want to hurt you,”

“It’s okay,” You assure him, feeling the way his knot fades down into being barely there. His cock starts to soften, and you slowly ease your way forwards while he shifts his hips back, disconnecting you both with a soft wet sound.

His release floods out of you, leaving you messy and sticky, but Yunho kisses your shoulder and shifts away, “Hold tight, I’ll get a towel,”

He seems incredibly unembarrassed about the messy state of heat sex, which you’re eternally grateful for, and within a few minutes you’re cleaned up and dressed again in yet another pair of clean underwear and one of the largest shirts of Mingi’s that you’ve ever seen.

“How are you feeling?” Yunho asks as you finish cleaning your face up in the mirror of Mingi’s bathroom.

“A little sore,” You tell him honestly, “and cramping a little again, but it’s not too bad yet.”

“You want to come see Mingi then? Get out of this room for a minute?” He brushes his fingers down your back as he watches you in the mirror.

“Perfect,”

In the living room, Mingi is waiting. He’s pouring over with nervous energy, his leg bouncing and his fingers fidgeting with his phone, refreshing his social media feed over and over again. The television is on, but he’s clearly not watching, and instead you see him perk up at the first sounds of you emerging from the bedroom.

“Hey,” He twists around on the couch, looking a little relieved when he sees you completely fine and cleaned up wearing one of his t-shirts.

“Hey,” You smile, moving towards the couch, “can I sit?”

“Of course,” He gestures towards the couch, but that’s not exactly what you meant. The sight of him waiting for you, and the palpable taste of his anxiety in the air makes you feel needed, and you push his arms open to settle in his lap.

“Oh,” He adjusts his legs to give you a better seat and winds his arm around your back, “is everything okay?”

“Mhm,” You take his hand, rubbing your thumb gently over the gland in his wrist to soothe him, “you can relax, I’m perfectly fine,”

Yunho takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch, chewing the inside of his cheek as he watches you and Mingi together. With a nudge to his friend’s thigh he gets Mingi’s attention and shakes his head, “I’m sorry I snapped at you,”

“It’s cool,” Mingi shrugs, “I know the feeling.”

“Where did you go, anyways?” You ask, leaning into his chest. The familiarity between the three of you should feel strange, before last night you really were only coworkers to each other. You might have even become friends, but now you’ve pushed so far past that you don’t know what you are except to accept that their hands on your skin feels right.

“I shouldn’t have left, I could feel you were getting restless,” he explains, “I went to make you some broth and get cold water, just putting a few things together, but by the time I got back you were both in it,”

“Ah,” You blush looking down at your hands, “sorry,”

“Don’t be sorry,” Mingi’s broad, warm hand rests on your bare thigh and gives you a subtle squeeze, “I’m glad Yunho could help. I just didn’t think it would be smart to interrupt you,”

“Good thinking,” Yunho adds, running a hand over his face and sighing, “you were right,”

“I told you,” Mingi nods, “it can be intense,”

Yunho passes a hand over your shin before pushing himself back up to stand and he stretches long and tall before groaning, “Alright, I’m starving.”

You clap a hand over your mouth, chuckling into your palm, “Classic,”

“Can I make you something?” He asks, “Either of you?”

Mingi shakes his head, “I’m good,”

“Me too,” You agree, “I should be hungry, but I’m really not,”

Mingi’s nose crinkles, “You should still eat,”

“Maybe in a bit,” You try to appease him.

“In a bit you’ll be jumping our bones again,” Mingi counters.

“I know,” You sigh, “but really, I’m okay. I feel pretty good,”

“This is really just because it’s day one right?” Yunho asks, a little less joking than before.

“Yeah,” You nod, “day one and two are never as bad, and you definitely have more lucidity as long as you’re managing the spikes well. Day three, four, and sometimes five if it lasts that long, are usually a lot harder.”

“How much is a lot?” Yunho asks, stepping close and running his hand over your hair, “You were already in a lot of pain,”

“I’ll be less coherent, and the fever can be worse. I probably won’t have down time like this,” You explain, “the pain isn’t necessarily worse, it’s just more consistent,”

He frowns, “Then you’re eating now,”

You sigh heavily and shake your head, “Honestly, you don’t need to, I can make myself something in a bit or,”

Mingi cuts you off and makes a dismissive noise with his tongue against his teeth, “y/n, relax. This is what we meant when we said we’d help you through your heat. It’s more than just orgasms and knots,”

You swallow back your words, holding his gaze.

“Alphas are meant to provide,” He reminds you, “so let us,”

A flutter of warmth bubbles through you, and you can only nod, no use arguing now when your mind is spinning and telling you to accept. Yunho drops a quick kiss on the top of your head, before disappearing into the kitchen. You’ve never had an alpha provide, never once. In your limited experience before going on suppressants, you were used to being knotted incredibly quickly and then left alone, or having a partner that never really knew how to fully satisfy, leaving you to feverishly deal with your needs while they slept. You’ve never experienced a heat where you felt wanted before.

You ease into Mingi’s chest, resting a head on his shoulder and letting your muscles relax for as long as you can. They make you food, massage your sore hips, and keep you distracted with stories and memories from before your time at the studio. They hold you close, and they ease your pain, they provide.

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vodika-vibes · 25 days

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Hey I was wondering if you could write a crosshair x reader where they have a lazy morning maybe with batcher too.

Lazy Morning

Summary: You decide to sleep in on your day off. It leads to a very relaxing day with the love of your life.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1087

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I started writing this ages ago and then put it on pause, before continuing it today and I have no idea where I was originally going with the story, so I'm sorry if the vibes changes midstory. The only problem now is that I want to lounge by the pool. Alas, there is no pool.

It’s early, though not so early that the sun isn’t high in the sky, and you groan in annoyance when the bright morning sun hits your face, waking you from your very nice sleep.

Wait.

You’re fairly certain that you shut the curtain before you fell asleep last night.

You crack open a singular eye just as something large and heavy lands on the bed, and then you yelp as the solid mass of muscle flops next to you. “Batcher-?”

The lurca hound releases a happy little noise and buries her head under your pillows and blankets.

You groan and roll onto your back, flinging your arm over your eyes, “Crosshair? Why is your dog in my bed?”

“I’m fairly certain it’s our bed, angel.” Crosshair replies from somewhere on the other side of the room, near the door. He’s probably the one who opened the curtain too.

“You don’t live here, leech.” You counter without any heat in your voice.

“Rude, and I went through all of the trouble of making caf and breakfast for you. But, since you aren’t interested-”

“I hate you. What did you make?” You ask as you slowly sit up and squint at the man leaning against the door frame, “And how’d you get in anyway?”

“I made a quiche-” You shoot him a look, and he rolls his eyes, “Believe it or not, I am capable of following instructions from a recipe.”

“Yeah, but normally people start with, like, pancakes. They don’t tend to jump to quiches.” You reply as you swing your legs off the bed and stretch your arms over your head, “And you didn’t answer how you got in the house.”

“I picked the lock.”

“Cross!”

“Hey, you don’t want me to pick the lock, then give me a key.”

“Ugh, I haven’t had a copy made yet. I’m working on it.” You pad over to him, yawning widely, and then you thump your head against his chest, “Why’re you and Batcher over here anyway.”

“My brothers are annoying.” Crosshair replies as he sets his hand between your shoulder blades, “I needed some quiet.”

“Mm,” You slide your arms around his waist, “And you decided to make breakfast for me while enjoying the quiet?”

You feel him shrug, “You deserve to be spoiled. Maybe.” He says, his hand sliding up to rest lightly at the back of your neck.

“Maybe?” You ask with a laugh.

“I do have a reputation, kitten.”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember.” You rub your nose against his chest, allowing the sharp scent of Crosshair to fill your lungs, and then you pull back slightly, “Thank you for making breakfast, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” He lightly rubs the back of your neck with his thumb, a small, slightly crooked, smile on his lips. “It still needs to cook for a bit, so you have time enough to shower and wake up.”

You hum thoughtfully, “Yeah, I might do that.” You lean in to brush your lips against his jaw, only to giggle as he ducks his head to kiss you properly. You lightly trail your fingers against his jawline, “Good morning, Crosshair.”

“Mm, it is a good morning now,” He murmurs, before he drops one more kiss against your lips, “Go take your shower, I’m going back to the kitchen. Batcher, off!” The dog whines but jumps off your bed, dragging your comforter with her.

You sigh, and Crosshair chuckles, “I’ll handle it, kitten. I’m planning on spending the day lounging by your pool, so maybe grab a swimsuit.”

“You just want to watch me parade around for you in a bikini.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You huff, though there’s no heat, and you lightly kiss him one more time before you meander over to your dresser to dig out your swimsuit, “Why do you want to use the pool when we live on an island?”

“Uh, there are people at the beach, and there aren’t people here. Besides, you’re the one who owns a pool in spite of living on a tropical island.”

You scowl at him as you pull out your bathing suit, “I didn’t build the pool, the house came with it.”

“You still bought it.”

“Inherited it.”

“Same difference.” He walks over to you and tugs your bikini out of your hands, before pulling a different one out of your dresser, “Wear this one.”

“...this is white.”

“I know what I’m about, kitten.”

“You’re such a man sometimes,” You take the bikini though and turn towards the bathroom, “I’ll be down shortly.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Fifteen minutes later, you step into the kitchen, clad in the white bikini and a sarong hung low around your hips. Crosshair offers you an appreciative whistle, before he tosses a ball out the back door for Batcher to chase.

“Prettier than a sunset,” He praises, a small smirk on his lips.

“Only because I’m wearing this thing,” You counter as you walk over to him and lightly pluck his toothpick out of his mouth.

“You could take it off, I won’t complain.” He drawls with an appreciative drag of his eyes down your body.

You point at him with his toothpick, “Pervert.”

“Guilty as charged.” He pushes your hand away and stands so he’s able to catch your lips in a kiss, “I opened the umbrella and put your breakfast on the table outside already. I also put out towels for us, as well as the sunblock.”

“Well, you have everything in hand, don’t you?”

“All that’s left to finish the perfect morning, is you sprawled out in the sun.” Crosshair replies.

You laugh softly, “Well then, who am I to deny you?” His arms snake around your waist and he tugs at the knot holding the sarong in place.

“You’re not going to need this, kitten. It’ll just get dirty.”

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with wanting to see my legs.”

“Of course not.”

“Uh-huh.” You slide your hands up his chest and then wrap your arms around his neck, “It’s a good thing that I actually like your attention.”

“Oh, how much do you like my attention?” Crosshair asks as he bumps his forehead against yours.

“Enough that I’m considering inviting you to spend the night.”

He chuckles, “Well then, I’d better behave so you don’t change your mind.”

And you laugh one more time, before you pull him down into a kiss, leaning your weight against him. He’s right about one thing, this is definitely the perfect morning.

#star wars #tbb #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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oceantornadoo · 1 month

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hii! can you do what it would be like asking price to put pads on the shopping list?? and then when price goes shopping he has to call you to ask for what size ?? 😭😭 btw i love love your work, hope u had a good day💞.

im pretty sure you're referring to this post but i decided to make this price x reader so :) enjoy!

bsf marriage pact!price x reader, he's slightly creepy but he's sweet (this is actually a bit dubcon but its in good spirit)

you had had a shit day. actually, make that a shit week. emotional the whole time, feeling lonely, depressed, and with the weirdest cravings. right when you were about to call your best friend and rant about how terrible you felt, you had went to the bathroom and- oh.

that explains a lot.

and now here you were, sitting on the toilet for the past ten minutes, contemplating. you were completely out of all period products and your flow was so heavy there was no way you were making it to the store free bleeding or with toilet paper as a makeshift pad. of course, that's when john decided to call you (let's be real, who doesn't take their phone to the bathroom. don't judge.)

"evenin', duckie."

"ugh john, i told you not to call me that. its so annoying."

john grunted a chuckle into the phone, swiping a hand over his beard. "you love it." silence. he could practically hear your eye roll. "dinner tonight?" he was pacing his apartment, uncharacteristic for a man like him. calm, cool, collected. never when it came to you.

"can't, sorry. maybe in a few days." he grunted. "could order a takeaway?" you sighed in his ear, the sound a melody he craved to hear over and over again. on lazy saturdays and in-between small fights over laundry. baby steps, though.

"its just not in the cards tonight, john, i'm sorry." you were never like this, withholding information. even when you cancelled on him, it was with a long-winded explanation with the names of about seven people he didn't know and plans you didn't want to go to. "'s wrong, duck? got a hot date or somethin'?" he mentally crossed his fingers, not allowing a physical expression. he wasn't that whipped. not yet.

"no, im just sick. and tired." his muscles relaxed. he started putting on his boots and grabbed a fleece, something gaz insisted was not too tryhard for someone like him. "i'll run to the store and grab ya medicine, hm? what'dya need?" you sighed again, rubbing your fingers to your forehead. he obviously was not giving this up and you did really need pads...

"ill text you a list when you get there. thanks john."

"anythin' for you, duckie."

list: pads, advil, that one chocolate candy you know i like, something for dinner

shit. price had been with a woman or two, but had never had to buy her pads. of course, he'd never let it get to that stage, not when he had you to take care of. but now here he was, staring at playtex and always and what the fuck was a diva cup? he'd better call you.

"all ok, john?"

"ya didn't give me a color on your pads, duck." you giggled. of course he paid attention to the green versus orange pads.

"its pretty heavy so some of the overnight and extra daytime ones would work." silence.

"...there's numbers." your cheeks warmed. you couldn't believe you were talking about this with john of all people.

"god, john. this feels so embarrassing. so weird to talk about with you."

"why? gotta know this for the rest of my life, duckie." shit. he was referring to that night a couple weeks ago, when you confessed to him you thought you'd never find love. when he said he'd marry you in a heartbeat, just say the word. when you compromised by telling him if you were still single in two years, you'd go to the courthouse then and there. when you didn't see him turn and write the date in phone, just as a reminder.

"5, john. there should be a moon symbol or something. and then 3. should be green, i think?" he grunted an affirmation, putting the respective pads in his cart. he turned around, having said goodbye and ended the call, and was subsequently greeted by three women, staring. paused in their product selection, staring openmouthed at how nonchalant he was about buying pads.

30 minutes later he was at your place, groceries and takeaway in hand as he used his spare key to let himself in. "duck?" all quiet. he stalked through your place and noticed the light on in the bathroom. one, two, three quick knocks. "john?" "'s me. can i come in?" "no i- need you to get me something." he waited patiently. "can you go to my dresser and grab a pair of underwear. something ugly, lots of coverage." who was he to say no to a free invite to your underwear drawer?

john dropped the pads outside your bathroom door and headed to your bedroom. finding your dresser, he had to give himself a second. calm down, old man. they're all clean.

that didn't stop him from sniffing a few, reveling at the scent of your laundry detergent. he almost groaned at the scent, imagining you in them. even in the "unsexy" pairs, your curves clothed in cotton and elastic, wrapped up in a lovely package. all his.

john selected a pair with "lots of coverage", whatever that meant, and headed to your bathroom. he opened the door with ease, setting your pads down on the counter. you shrieked.

"john! im half naked, you need to knock." obviously, the sight of your bare thighs and the top of your mound peaking out was most welcome, but he was more concerned about getting you off the toilet and putting food in your belly. "jus' me, duckie. come on, show me how to do it." he gestured at the pads. he couldn't be serious.

you slowly unboxed them, taking care to cover your naked body as much as possible. even while moving slowly, your shirt still shifted and he caught glimpses of your pretty pussy. an image for another day, when you weren't in pain. he focused on your fingers, deftly putting the pad on your underwear with years of practice. he memorized how you placed the pad, ensuring it stuck to your underwear before tearing the paper off the wings and tucking them on the other side. you looked up at him and he nodded, mission complete. "thank you, by the way." he kissed your forehead, so quick you could have missed it in a blink.

"turn around, i have to put it on." he sat back on his haunches, staring. "go'on. 've gotta learn somehow." you were too tired to care, ready to devour your dinner. you missed his hungry gaze as you revealed your cunt to him, wanting even though it was covered in blood. you missed his fingers twitching as you slowly pulled on your underwear, fabric caressing your skin like he yearned to. you got up, flushed, and washed your hands, missing how he tucked his fingers in belt loops and leaned back into the wall, a move he'd done many times in his tac vest.

"thank you, john. truly." he gave you a grin under the muttonchops, all satisfied. task finished, mission accomplished. you had asked him to do this, a husbandly duty. after you dried your hands, you made a move for the door, but he stopped you with a hand to the jaw. he brushed his beard against you, feeling the shiver in your bones. his mouth hovered near your ear, accent coming out low and sultry. "anythin' for my future wife, duckie."

ngl this got a bit weird but i like it??? had to struggle to not lean into my simon riley weirdness tendencies as im still learning john as a character.

#john price #price #cod price #captain john price #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #price imagine #price headcanons #price one shot #john price x you #captain johnathan price #john price x y/n #tornadothoughts

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ofallthingsnasty · 6 months

Text

tags: toxic dom/sub dynamics, fat (and insecure about it) reader, face-fucking, a little bit disgusting because it's a punishment mini disclaimer: i'm still not up to date with one piece but this is is pre-canon. this started out fluffier in my head but it's crocodile so hey, haha. just a little pwp. pairing: sir crocodile/f!reader word count: 1.9k

“Darling.” His voice floats to you through the half-closed door of your walk-in closet, where you’re currently hiding - eyes on your reflection, fingers pinching and prodding at seemingly too-snug fabric.

You know that tone, the barely concealed sigh. Shit.

“It’s your size, is it not?” Is it? You aren’t quite sure, yourself. You got into it just fine, the tight fabric easing over your thighs, your ass and then your stomach way better than expected (there have been garments that surrendered before they even got over your hips, that wouldn’t zip over your soft back) - but when you gave yourself a once-over, your face fell at the sight of your stomach in velvet, very clearly there, very clearly on display. It fits in theory, you think, but it looks beyond unflattering, makes you feel uneasy, as though you’re already being judged by strangers who are bound to stare should you wear this outside of your home. The soft clink of metal on wood pulls you out of your thoughts.

The door moves behind you and through the mirror, you can see Crocodile slowly ducking into the room, cigar smoke lazily following him.

He looks tired, eyes half-lidded and hair just a smidge out of place - he's had a long day but the sticky, heavy weight of your insecurity doesn't care, keeps your thoughts hot and oh- you cross your hands in front of your body, suddenly anxious to be seen by him. (It’s silly, so silly, and you know it, because he has seen way more than this.) “So it does fit.”

His face is hard to read - some part of you half-expected him to pull a grimace at the way the garment seems to exaggerate your belly, although he’s never done that to you.

“Don’t you think that there is too much on display like that?”, you ask and your brows furrow in ugly self-doubt, turning around to look at him. Expensive or not, the fabric seems to cling to your hip dips in such a way it makes you want to crawl into one of his fur coats and never emerge again, to be hidden away forever. His steely eyes flick down for a split second, one puff of smoke the only indication that he has registered your words. His shoulders sink with a long exhale.

“You know, I’m starting to think that you’re just being an ungrateful little brat.” Out of everything that could have left his mouth, this is not what you expected. Your head snaps back to your stunned eyes in the floor-length mirror. Something akin to panic makes your heart thrum, not wanting to appear like you’re trampling his expensive gifts with your bare feet. “No, I-” Another heavy sigh interrupts you. And like a thoroughly trained dog, it makes you shut your mouth.

“You get nothing but the best this town, this country, has to offer and yet you complain about every single piece of clothing I pick out for you.” You shrink into yourself, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. He’s right and you know it. You have rejected, tossed aside any dress, any blouse, any pair of pants he had brought to you in the last few weeks. Not out of malice, never out of malice - but out of frustration with yourself. “It’s not like that, really-”

“Then what is it? Your silly little insecurities again?”, he says, so nonchalantly that it almost makes you groan. “How tiresome.”

He closes his eyes and his forehead twitches as his frontalis muscle strains. You're in trouble now. “Strip.”

His tone doesn’t allow any backtalk - even your wide eyes don’t soften his face, although he can clearly see them through the glass of the mirror. “I’m sorry”, you wobble over your lower lip. “It’s just-” A wave of his hand is enough to stop you, a lone strand of hair that has fallen loose moving in sync with the shake of his head.

“Where are your manners?”

Oh. So that's how he wants to play. You’re both mortified and glad, because it means that he isn’t going to storm out of your bedroom and hide away in his office. This is an open, an opportunity to make things better. Just do as he says, just be good for him.

“I’m sorry, Sir”, you eke out while you reach for the closest zipper of the dress. “I don’t care.”

He stares and stares as you peel off the layers of clothing, right until you're naked, a pile of neatly folded fabric right by your feet, still with your back to him. Weird as it sounds, you feel better - freer, without any area of your body highlighted by tight fabric or harsh shadows.

Still, you have a hard time holding his gaze - too afraid to catch his ire, for this to be nothing but a ploy to humiliate you. He steps closer until you can feel the heat of his body on the skin of your back, until the smell of tobacco grows so thick you feel it settle itself into sinuses. Strong fingers dig into the fat of your cheeks, press so harshly into it that they must be able to feel the curve of your teeth as they push your mouth forward. It’s not a loving touch. You stare at your reflection, looking as stupid as you feel right now.

“I work all day, all night to provide for you, to keep you fed and happy. And then, when I try to indulge you, you pick apart any gift I bring to you.”

He lets the words settle in for a moment and holds your eyes through the glass.

“Do you know how that makes me feel?”

You can guess. You probably know. But you don't want to say it out loud, guilt still heavy in your stomach.

“No, Sir”, you slur against his grip.

He raises a thin brow at your audacity. That little bit of disobedience is going to cost you later, no doubt.

“Like shit”, he spits out and lets his hand fall away, dragging your head to the side with it.

“Do you know what I'm going to do now?”

“Yes, Sir.”

You don’t. But you don’t expect him to be gentle, not with the way his brows are still tightly knit together.

He clicks his tongue. “Turn around. On your knees.”

You do as he says, hands wringing around each other just over your lap, a nervous gesture. His gaze weighs heavy as he just takes his time to appraise you - soft form, rolls and stretchmarks, dimples and all - and it makes you even more uneasy. “Are you having fun playing stupid today? Do I have to spell it out for you? ”, he says around his cigar. You shake your head, almost furiously so. Even though you feel like a broken record with the way you’re responding, it’s simply part of this, part of your role, your place beneath him. “No, Sir.” You reach up to undo his pants, nervous fingers busying themselves with freeing him just enough for you to take him into your mouth. He’s still soft as you take him into your hands. You can smell the long day at work on him - he isn’t usually like this, he usually joins you once he’s clean, but this isn’t necessarily about pleasure - not yours, anyway. You sit and wait for his permission to start. He grants it with nothing more than a lazy nod and soft exhale.

It’s easy to work him until he gets hard, you’ve done it many times before - but when you finally wrap your tongue around his cock you can’t help but wrinkle your nose. He tastes sharp and salty, and your base instinct tells you to spit him out again. So you hesitate. A mistake.

Your tiny act of defiance is quelled by him simply pushing himself down your throat and it makes you gag, both out of reflex and disgust. The sound is wet and blubbery, more animal than human. The tips of your ears grow hot in humiliation. He doesn’t need to warn you a second time. You start to move on your own again as soon as his hand lets you, trying to counteract the taste of him with extra saliva - you’re just glad he allows you to grab him to stabilize yourself, which saves you at least a little bit of a tired neck. He lords above you, chewing on his cigar, icy eyes unreadable as he simply stares at you as you work your face hot for him, gag and drool and still hold his gaze like he expects you to. Not a single noise leaves him and with every second your brow creases more and more, feeling more guilty and small and insignificant every time you taste him on the tip of your tongue. Minutes pass like this, the room silent except for the loud effort of your tongue.

“Not enough, not enough”, he mumbles from up above, slightly out of breath. “Hold still-”

His hand suddenly clutches the back of your head and he pushes himself down your throat again, until your nose is pressed against his pubes and your face framed by his open fly. The only thing you can do is let a spit-bubble - equal parts mucus and saliva - pop in your face. Your mouth makes an ungodly sound, the soft muscles of your oropharynx jumping at the intrusion, unwillingly massaging his cock. Tears shoot into your waterline and you look up, eyes big and forehead grooved with strain. You feel like you’re about to puke on him, that’s how deep he is. Valiantly fighting the urge, your epiglottis flutters when he pulls out and starts fucking your face in earnest, holding you in place. He’s rough - you’ve earned it, you figure, for being so cold, so uncaring - and you try to relax as best as you can, just holding your mouth open.

Concentrate. From one breath to the next. Don’t get distracted by the miserable, wet noises you’re making right now. It sure would be easier if he didn’t suddenly start talking.

“I should have you walk around in the nude for a little while, see how you'll like your clothes then.” Oh god, you think and gurgle in protest. Knowing him, he’d make good on this promise. “Don’t like that, do you?”, he asks, entirely rhetorical. If you were to nod now, with his cock down your throat, you know you’d spew on his expensive leather shoes. His eyes flash with something and he ruts your mouth so hard you get dizzy. “That’s right.”

“You take what I give you. At the very least, you'll take this”, he grunts out and crushes you against his stomach, suddenly emptying himself into you. It’s hot - and burns the tender flesh of your throat that he irritated with brutal friction. You can feel that familiar itch at the back of your nose, the sharp feeling of his load working its way up. You can vaguely taste him - salty and terribly unappetizing, smoker that he is - but he stays right where he is, his grip iron and his eyes closed as he enjoys the last traces of his quick orgasm. You can feel him twitch in you, you think. He plucks you off his dick himself - you’re pushed away by his fingers on your forehead, and you lose all of your tension, torso lulling forward. Your ears are ringing and you can’t stop the wad of cum and spit and something that seeps out of the corner of your mouth, landing on the ground with a disgusting splat. He doesn’t care. Neither do you.

A deep inhale from above signals that he’s satisfied with your performance - you look up to find him pushing that little strand of hair back that has cut itself loose, eyes considerably warmer than before.

“Now let’s get something that is more to your taste, darling.”

#one piece x reader #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #/one piece #/crocodile

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lovelybucky1 · 7 months

Text

Laced Up

Kinktober Day 18- Crossdressing

warnings: GN!reader, slight feminization, dom/sub dynamics, slight jealousy, dry humping, mentioned sex tape, slight humiliation, 18+ minors dni

main masterlist

kinktober masterlist

"When I said I'd do whatever you wanted, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Jake says from the bathroom.

You sit on the bed, smiling with amusement as your boyfriend gets dressed. He walks out of the bathroom, almost naked save for the pair of pink lace panties that are slung low on his hips. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives you an unimpressed look.

His bulging muscles and hard planes of his body contrast sharply with the delicate fabric. It looks so out of place, so unfamiliar, but oddly, it looks good.

"What did you think I was gonna ask for?"

"I don't know," Jake sighs. "But I didn't think you wanted to play dress up."

You roll your eyes fondly. Jake has always been such a drama queen, you're not sure why you thought he'd be any different about this.

You get off the bed and cross the room to stand in front of him. You're still fully dressed, much to his chagrin. You gently trail your fingers down his abs, letting your nails catch on the divots of his muscles.

"You look good," you say with a smirk.

Jake looks down the bridge of his nose at you. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. We should play dress up more often," you say.

Your fingers ghost over his semi-hard cock that presses against the fabric of the panties. He shudders at the contact, feeling oddly sensitive already.

"The shit I do for you," he says while shaking his head. "Now what?"

You shrug your shoulders. "Whatever I want."

"What do you want," he asks with a huff.

"Maybe," you start with a smirk. "I just want to look. It's not often I get you looking so pretty for me."

"I'm always pretty," he says.

"Yeah, but this is different. You're dressed up, not in some Longhorns t-shirt and boots."

"You don't like that look?" he pouts.

"I do, but maybe I'd like it more if I knew this was waiting for me underneath," you say, now stroking his dick through the fabric.

Jake groans and lets his head fall to the side. "You're not gonna stand here and tease me, are you?"

"You lost the bet, Jake," you grin. "I don't know why you thought you could out drink Rooster, but if he keeps making bets that benefit me, I'm not going to stop you."

"I still can't believe you were in with him on that. Thought we were in this together," Jake complains, though you can tell he's not actually upset.

"We are, but if the only way I can get you in a thong is by making a deal with Rooster, then I'm gonna do it."

Jake puffs out his lower lip and puts his hands on your hips. He steps closer to you until your chests touch, suddenly taking on a dominant air.

"You know how I feel about you talking to Rooster, baby. Guy's bad news, a real heartbreaker I've heard. I bet he'd see a pretty thing like you and think he has a chance."

"Don't be ridiculous, Jake. He wouldn't try anything to break us up," you roll your eyes.

"Yet he's trying to emasculate your boyfriend by putting him in some pink panties? Might wanna rethink that, babe." Jake ducks his head to press his lips against your ear. "But I'm gonna have you screamin' for me, even while wearing these things, so you can be sure to thank Rooster for the gift."

The sudden role reversal catches you off guard, but it's not unwanted. Jake holds you tightly and grinds his hips against yours, chasing the stimulation you have been teasing him with.

Maybe you'll send Rooster a thank-you card, or maybe a feature length home video of Jake showing off.

#top gun #top gun maverick #jake seresin #hangman #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin imagine #hangman seresin #hangman fanfiction #hangman smut #jake seresin smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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scummy-writes · 3 months

Text

A Dousing Perversion

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Gilbert/Reader

Words: 1616

Tags: Piss, Piss Drinking, Piss Kink, Cuddles, Reader has vagina

Summary: Gilbert has an odd request, but you decide to let him indulge.

It’s difficult trying to feel confident when you’re so vulnerable and exposed, even with a man who has such a damning reputation built upon him resting before you. Fire burns across your cheeks the longer you take in the scene of Gilbert on his knees, his hands resting on your thighs as you ponder his obscene request. You mull over how casually he asked such a thing from you, but there you were, entertaining the idea regardless.

Gilbert’s thumbs gently work at your inner thighs, massaging comforting circles against the tense muscles. His gaze is calm, lovingly patient as he looks up at you. Your heart pounds, recognizing the look in his eyes.

“I’ll be fine.”

Fine, he says. With such an easy-going smile on his lips, that knowing look that you wish you could curse. It’s as though he can read your thoughts so clearly, turning your pages with ease.

You find your voice again, with a deep breath, “I think a certain doctor would disagree.”

“You don’t believe me?”

His voice is a pout, but his expression stays the same, only his grin spreading when you sigh, your fingers tangling in your dress.

“Forgive me for being nervous.”

“Don’t I always?” More cheek. Enough to make you recognize how much you love this man, even through the huff you give.

“You do…”

“So,” his index fingers slip under the sides of your underwear, testing their give, but going no further than that. Familiar warmth, resting at your hips, “will you?”

The question hangs in the air as you debate. As each second ticks by, Gilbert still sits between your legs. Humming to himself, comfortable toying with your clothes, your thighs, yet there isn’t an erotic intention to each caress. He’s just happy to touch your skin, have contact that only he’s privy to.

It’s moments like these that you realize Gilbert’s respect for you rests high. There were times that he may bully you into submission, to twist your words to play into his games- however there were lines he wasn’t keen to cross. Lines like your comfort with sexual pleasures. His patience was limitless with most of your timidity in bed, even if he was keen on prying your unspoken desires out.

But his requests, for what you had considered far more perverse than you had encountered in your books? He offered reassurances to hesitant questions, his attitude towards the subjects made clear that your word was final. The knowledge that you were safe in his hands, that this was not something he expected, only asked.

That, in the end, is what drew your answer out.

His breathing is… Ragged. Barely so, but in your hyperaware state, it’s all you can focus on. Each puff tingles against your folds as he holds your lower lips apart. He smacks his own together at the sight, tongue darting out to lick his lips, as if supplementing the want of tasting you.

It’s been…Arduous. Minutes passing with you standing rigidly, his mouth so close to your clit as your calves and arms ache with how tense your body is. Your focus keeps breaking, unable to get your bladder to work with your mental pleas.

It’s now that Gilbert looks at you, the heat against your cunt dissipating as he moves back to do so. Fresh embarrassment forms as he spots the way your eyes prickle with frustration. You see him start to talk, opening his mouth to do so, and it’s then, as your nerves hit a peak, that your body finally listens.

It’s an unsteady spurt, one that splashes onto Gilbert’s thigh and onto the tile of the bathroom, filling you with dread for immediately making a mess. Your muscles clench with the realization, but Gilbert acts fast, ducking his head back between your legs.

His lips find your clit at first, the jolt of pleasure causing you to take in a sharp breath, before lapping just below- and it starts once more. Another nervous gush, this time continuing in earnest with your eyes clamped shut.

Gilbert gasps, the stream hitting his chin before he manages to readjust, moving to catch what he can into his mouth.

The sensation of his mouth there, hearing what overflows hit the floor in a quiet trinkle… It’s mortifying in ways you did not expect. Half of you wants to back away, shame eating away at your core, disgust trying to take over your senses.

Yet Gilbert persists. His grip tightens, and you can feel the tremor of excitement that runs through him. It’s quick how he shifts his position, moving to be able to drink easier without wasting too much, but you hyperfixate on the puddle growing beneath you, wetting the underside of your heel.

Gilbert says nothing, but his mouth stays busy. You can hear how he tries to gulp mouthfuls in the beginning, but after being able to ruminate on the taste, he lets you hear his groan. Soon, your urine cascades from his chin, and down his body- he moves back to let this happen, to let your warmth soak into his clothes.

On impulse, you want to stop yourself, but one look at his expression stills your breath.

His eyes are hazed over, watching how your fluid exits your body and lands on him. His breathing is so minimal you’re scared he’s stopped completely, but a shiver and moan proves otherwise.

Trailing your eyes down his body, the way his clothes now cling so tightly along his chest, torso, his pants… you see the outline of his erection, straining against the dampened fabric.

An itch tingles at your skin, another shallow breath eases out of you to soothe it.

It’s what you’ve been doing as Gilbert cleaned up in the bathroom while you waited on the bed, trying to keep your nerves at bay while you battled the flurry of thoughts in your mind.

Gilbert drank from you. Gleefully. Nothing you had done previously during sex had incited such a reaction from him, and you were troubled, trying to figure out what that meant. How you felt.

It was true that shame consumed you the most, making your nails crawl along your skin, but you were painfully aware that was just a conditioned response. That in any other context, the act of pissing on Gilbert would have been disgraceful.

But he had wanted it. And after all the ways he had indulged you in bed, you wanted to attempt giving to him as well- especially since he so rarely propositioned you in such ways.

You curl in on yourself, bunching the covers close.

Truly, what were you scared of? That he would look at you differently from now on?

Gilbert?

He had caught the look in your eye, as you saw his degeneracy. You’re not sure what he saw there, but it was enough for him to ease you to rest against the rim of the tub, keeping yourself steady.

And…He cleaned you. His tongue roamed between your legs, savoring the last drops you had to give. It followed the trails left on your thighs, up to between your lower lips, letting out soft groans with the mixture of your arousal and urine.

From that moment on, the grip he held eased. He coaxed you with words you couldn’t focus on, but the cadence of his voice was enough to allow yourself to be washed traditionally.

With such loving murmurs and brushes with cloth, why were you allowing yourself to be so riddled with abashment?

Light peeks into the room as the man of your thoughts comes in from the bathroom. There’s a pause to his steps, then they’re more determined, yet careful.

Careful, to where they’re not loud. Careful, in the way he eases his weight onto the mattress. Careful, in the way his palm gingerly meets your side, settling in behind you.

No words come out. Instead, he slides his arm around your middle, nosing the side of your neck. The action is familiar, and you ease into him- just enough for him to understand you’re not fearful of his presence.

“I love you,” A pause, waiting, and then he continues, “what is on your mind, little rabbit?”

Too much, truthfully. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but the need for reassurance runs high. Quickly, you tangle your fingers with his, and he squeezes your hand in return.

“That… You…” Words fail you, but you persist, trying to formulate what your mind buzzes about, “Would you be upset if I said I’m not sure I could do that again?”

“No,” The reply is quick, firm, and you doubt it for a second.

So, you challenge, “but you were so-”

“When it comes to these matters, I value your willingness more than anything else.” His grip tightens momentarily, “I may understand that your will is buried under layers, but I want it there, little rabbit.”

Breathing comes a little easier, but your muscles ache with your stubbornness. Slowly, you quietly whisper your next concern.

“You… Didn’t finish.”

His laugh is soft, muffled as he relaxes against you, “I finished just as I wanted. Don’t worry.”

It’s hard not to, even when he says so. Gilbert knows you far too well, however, and hums against your skin.

“I don’t always want to cum. I want to endure the sensations for as long as I can manage, to let them overtake my senses…” He trails off, “I’m satisfied, little rabbit. Now, I just want to rest with you.”

That, you could do. All the ache ebbs away as you allow yourself to uncurl, to let him embrace you fully.

“That’s all I want, too.”

folds my hands. do I even explain myself? is there an explanation? all I can say is that I do not foresee me writing this topic again, at least not any time soon.

Taglist (Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!): @yarnnerdally @katriniac @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @bakaneko-chan @skoetiepoetie @bestbryn @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lokis-laugh @queengiuliettafirstlady @candied-boys @drachonia @keithsandwich @bubblexly @ridiculouslly-ridiculous @portrait-ninja

Ikepri Masterlist | Ikevamp Masterlist | Ikepri/Ikevamp Discord

#ikepri #ikemen prince #ikepri gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #ikemen prince gilbert #tw piss

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spacesquidlings · 1 month

Text

Interlude for Lunch

Being invited to Rafayel's studio that morning had promised a lazy, sleepy day spent with him while he painted, and yet it was quickly turning into something more as she tried taking care of her hungry, tired artist in pain.

Pairing: Rafayel x MC Tags: Fluff, comfort, implied/established relationship, domestic-ness Taglist: @aluneposting

A long, drawn out groan drew her from her reverie.

She had been reading, half-asleep on the couch in Rafayel’s studio. Soft blankets had been strewn across it, pillows fluffed until they were puffy as cotton-candy clouds. Honeyed sunlight had spilled from the windows, washing over the floors and furniture like a gauzy veil.

It had been as alluring as a siren song, and she had nestled into it as Rafayel had painted. He’d called her that morning, asking her to come over, but when she’d arrived he’d only waved a hand, telling her to make herself comfortable as he’d frowned at his painting.

So she had, settling into the couch that had suspiciously been covered in all her favourite blankets. It had been far too easy to doze, even though she’d tried valiantly to remain awake, focusing her attention on the book she’d brought with her. But the blankets had been so soft, and the pillows so fluffy, and the sun so warm.

The snatches of melodies Rafayel had hummed had been the proverbial nail in the coffin, like scraps of a lullaby woven together in the air, soft and serene, lulling her to sleep.

But when he groaned, loud and raspy and full of distress, she snapped awake at once, bleary eyes searching for him in the cavernous room that served as his studio.

She found Rafayel leaning back on a stool, teetering precariously close to the edge, his head thrown back. His bangs spilled back, a mess of lavender and lilac and violet as the light caught in it. He had tossed his paintbrush to the side, trailing a line of azure as it rolled across the floor, one of his hands gripping at his wrist.

“Rafayel?” She struggled to stand, the blankets tangled and knotted around her legs. “Darling? What’s wrong?”

He leaned further back, very nearly toppling backwards as he spied her. “You’re awake.”

“Of course I am.” Finally she managed to free herself from the tangle of blankets, getting to her feet and crossing the room towards him. “I heard you. Are you okay?”

He clicked his tongue as he straightened, still clutching his wrist as he stood. “My wrists have been hurting all morning, and now I can hardly hold a paintbrush.”

“What?” She hurried to him, hands outstretched towards him.

He raised his brows, but made no comment as she took his hands, prying away the one that was clinging to his wrist.

“When did the pain start?” She squeezed his wrists gently, trying to feel for swelling, a bruise, a broken bone, anything. “Did you do anything yesterday? Why did you go to the doctor? Why did you keep painting today?”

He sighed, flipping his hands over and wrapping his fingers around her wrists. “You’re asking the questions too fast for me to answer.”

“Oh.” Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she ducked her head, staring at the dried paint splattered across the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey.”

She looked back up, finding amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Don’t pout,” he chided, shaking his head even as he gave her an impish smile. “I’m already hurt, are you really going to make me feel worse?”

She ground her teeth together, looking away as his smile grew wider. “My mistake, you must not be hurt that badly if you’re making jokes.”

She tried to pull away, but his fingers tightened on her, yanking her back before she’d even taken a full step away.

“Wait.” His eyes widened, his smile melting into a frown. If little pinpricks of silver had appeared at the corners of his eyes she wouldn’t have been surprised.

She conceded, letting him reel her back in. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

He looked down, a line forming between his brows as he dropped her hands, squeezing his wrists again. “I’d been hit with some inspiration, so I spent all of yesterday painting. When I woke up this morning they were hurting, but I thought it would go away once I started painting again.”

She frowned, reaching for his hands again.

“Being awfully touchy today, huh,” he said, the corner of his lip twitching.

She remained silent, glowering at him until he wilted, muttering a half-apology.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked

“Well I was gonna,” he whined. He shifted from foot-to-foot, and the image of a sulking child coming home with scrapes all over him rose in her mind, refusing to make eye contact as he shuffled his feet. “But I forgot.”

“You forgot?” She blinked. “You made it sound like it’s been making it impossible to paint.”

He rolled his eyes with a huff. Definitely a petulant child. “Well it hasn’t made it impossible, but I wanted to get as much done as I could while I was inspired, and whenever you’re around I feel more creative…” He trailed off, glaring at the far wall. “I got distracted, but now it hurts too much to work on any of the finer details.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, warmth like the first blush of light as the sun rose spreading rosy fingers through her chest, reaching through the spaces between her ribs.

‘Whenever you’re around I feel more creative…’

She would save that to tease him with for later.

But right now she was worried about the pain in his wrists, and even more worried that he’d tried to work through it, that he probably would have ignored it entirely until it got so much worse.

“Have you ever had this kind of pain before?”

A shake of his head, as dramatic as a stage-actor embellishing their movements. “No, never!” His words were an exclamation, loud and exasperated. He heaved out a long breath, shoulders rising and falling, head tossed to the side. “This has never happened before.”

“Rafayel…” She trailed off, flipping his hands up then down, palms to the ceiling, to the floor, her fingers carefully probing to see if she could find anything.

“It’s probably nothing,” he groaned, slumping forward now, head very nearly knocking into hers. “But I can’t finish my painting while it hurts!”

He jerked his head back up so quickly he nearly knocked their foreheads together. She barely had a moment to lean back before he was peering up at her, crocodile tears shining in his eyes, his bottom lip quivering like he was about to sob. “What if I run out of inspiration? It took me weeks to find it!”

She sighed, giving his wrists a squeeze. “Before we jump to the worst case scenario, we need to handle this, okay?”

He groaned, tossing against his shoulder, slumping sideways like he might spill onto the floor. “How can we handle it? Are you going to swim into the ocean to find wishing fish to cure me?”

She blinked. “Are those real?”

“You really need to be less trusting.”

She groaned, rolling her own eyes now. “Come on, Rafayel. I’m worried about you, you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Excuse me?” He scoffed, looking offended. “I take care of myself perfectly well. It sounds to me like someone is making things up!”

She frowned, pulling out her phone to check the time. “Did you eat breakfast?”

There was a short intake of breath, like he was about to answer, and then…

Nothing.

She looked back up to see him pouting, looking away as he puffed out his cheeks.

“You didn’t eat breakfast, did you?”

He yanked himself from her grip, crossed his arms, shielding himself from her. He puffed his cheeks out even more, still refusing to answer.

She giggled, unable to resist poking his cheek. “You know it’s the middle of the afternoon, right?”

Still no answer. All she got in response was Rafayel half-turning away from her, wrinkling his nose as he shot her a scathing look from the corner of his eye.

She reached for him again, settling her hands just below his shoulders. “Come with me, love.”

He looked back at her, his expression softening, although his tone was still thick with suspicion. “What are you planning?”

“I’m planning-” she took the opening to take his arm, dragging him towards the couch. “To get you to sit down so we can get you feeling better.”

“Hey. Hey!” Although he protested, he did not stop her from pulling him from his painting, nor did he stop her from nearly shoving him against the cushions of the couch.

“If you wanted me to sit you could have just asked,” he whined, squeezing his wrists again. “I’m delicate, you know. You have to be gentle with me.”

The memory of the last time she’d been unwell surfaced in her mind, Rafayel dragging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and all but chucking her onto the bed and telling her to rest.

“Mmmm,” she hummed instead, unlocking her phone and opening her delivery app. “Okay, baby. First of all, let’s get you something to eat.”

He groaned, eyes rolling so high all she could see were the whites as he threw himself back against the cushions.

Delicate indeed.

“I’m fine,” he groaned, waving his hand in the air. “I’m not hungry, I just want my wrists to stop hurting!”

She clicked her tongue. “You need to eat something, Rafayel. It’ll make you feel a little better.”

He wrinkled his nose, turning his head to the side with a huff.

“Alright.” She widened her eyes theatrically, waving her phone at him. “So if I order you a large garden salad with no toppings, that will be fine?”

“No, I don’t want that.” Suddenly he was up, trying to snatch the phone from her hands as he protested. “If you’re going to order something, order something good.”

“Oh? Like what?” She pulled her phone just out of reach, pressing her palm against his chest to stop him from grabbing it. “What do you think would be good?”

“Well not a salad.” He made another grab for her phone, narrowly missing. “And don’t go ordering that awful sushi like you did last time.”

“What do you mean, awful?” She gaped at him, mildly offended. She’d really liked the sushi she’d ordered last, the crispy bits along the sides adding a nice little crunch and the sauce being perfectly spicy. “I thought it was good!”

“Not only are you guileless, but you have no taste for seafood, either.” He grabbed her wrist, sliding her hand from his chest and lunging forward.

She laughed, rolling to the side and nearly falling from the couch to stop him from snatching her phone. “What is that even supposed to mean?!”

“It means,” he huffed, cheeks puffing out again, pouting at his loss. “That if you want seafood, you should just ask me to make it, and not order from some overpriced restaurant.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she giggled, clutching her phone to her chest as she readjusted, sitting up on the couch once more. “But I don’t want you to cook right now when your wrists hurt.”

“I wouldn’t cook anyways,” he grumbled, leaning back. A light began shining in his eyes, and the corners of his lips turned up in mischief. “Unless you asked very nicely.”

She hummed, choosing not to acknowledge him. Instead, she scrolled through the delivery options on her phone, reading them off to see his reaction.

“Pasta?”

“Are you kidding? It’ll make me too sleepy to keep painting.”

“Soup?”

“That’s hardly filling.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “What about curry? There’s a place that does really nice Thai curry.”

He narrowed his eyes, nose wrinkling. “Fine, if it makes you happy.”

“You have to eat it, too, Rafayel,” she pointed out. “You are going to eat it. Right?”

He groaned, throwing his head back, draping his arm across his face. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you?”

She beamed. “No.”

“Fine.”

She tried passing her phone to him, but he waved her off, turning to the side so he looked every bit the troubled damsel. “Choose whatever.”

“Are you sure?”

He sighed, long and drawn out, like the wind whistling across ocean waves. “Yes, I’m sure. Just make sure it’s a red curry, and make sure it’s not too spicy.”

She had to bite back a smirk as he continued listing off his preferences. He wanted to pay extra for shrimp, he wanted jasmine rice not white rice, he wanted one made with coconut milk if they had it.

“Anything else?” She asked, hovering her finger over the ‘order’ button.

He peaked up from beneath his arm. “Don’t forget to order something for yourself, too. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Hey.” She pouted, wrinkling her nose to mimic him. “You’re the one who didn’t even eat breakfast.”

He shrugged. “I was hard at work chasing my inspiration. What’s your excuse?”

“I did eat breakfast.”

“Good, and now you can eat lunch.” He reached out to tap her phone screen. “Order something for yourself, I’ll pay.”

At that she balked, her stomach roiling; she hated making people spend money on her, hated being an inconvenience, a burden. “That’s okay, Rafayel. You’re the one who’s hurt, I don’t want you to waste your money on…”

The glare he fixed her with was sharp as his daggers, hot as flame. She felt her skin warm, burn beneath the force of it.

“It’s not a waste,” he said, his tone a proclamation, an insistence buoyed by sparks that billowed into fire as they caught on kindling.

“I-” She was a little dazed, speechless in the face of the sting in his tone.

He drew in a deep breath, sighed slowly, his expression slowly softening, the lines around his eyes fading. “If you expect me to eat, then you have to eat, too. You need your energy just as much as I do.”

She hummed, trying to discern whether he was teasing her or being genuine. “Why? Are you planning something?”

His smile turned wry. “Who knows? Maybe I had something planned once I finished this painting.” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “Although that probably won’t happen now, since I’ll never finish the painting.”

“You’ll finish your painting,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, you’re acting like you’re going to lose your hands.”

“And what if I am?” He whined. “You’ll have to hand-feed me my lunch. You’ll have to move in to take care of me.”

“Wow, I’m so honoured you’d want me to live with you just to take care of you,” she said, tone dry.

“Well there might be other reasons, too.” His smile was infuriating, smug and enigmatic at once. “But that would be my excuse.”

“I’m touched.”

He rolled his eyes, making another grab for her phone. “Just hurry up and order, I feel like a fish drying up on the beach.”

She snorted, quickly tapping in what she wanted and hitting ‘order.’

“There,” she said, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “At least I can make sure you’ll eat something.”

He tipped his head to the side, propping it up with his fist. “You know, if you’re that worried about me eating, you should come over more often to remind me. And bring me my favourite snacks.”

“I already stock your favourite snacks at home,” she said, ignoring the way her heart fluttered, fast as the beat of hummingbird wings, at how the light touched his eyes, how his bangs fell over his brow, half-covering one eye. His hair was soft, she knew it was, and her fingers tingled with the sudden need to touch it, to smooth it back.

“Yes, but you don’t bring them over,” he countered, brows rising. “How am I supposed to eat them when they’re at your house?”

“I gave you a key,” she reminded him. She gave him a light kick, earning a feigned huff of pain. “You’re in my house more than I am.”

The corners of his lips turned down, a waning crescent moon lost in the indigo sea of the night. “Well you should come over here more. Maybe it will convince me to keep more food in the house.”

“And if I ask very nicely, will you cook too?” She parroted his words from earlier back at him, even as fluttering wingbeats swooped in her belly and embers caught on the pyres beneath her skin.

“Maybe,” he hedged, his lips quivering, like he was trying to hold back his smile. “If I don’t lose my hands before then.”

“Here,” she leaned forward, holding her hands. “Give me one of your hands.”

“You’re not going to do something weird to it, are you?” He sounded dubious, but he gave her one of his hands, settling it between her two cupped palms.

It was so much larger than hers, dwarfing both her hands in comparison. She swallowed, butterfly wings forcefully fluttering against the borders of her body, trying to escape.

“Yes, I plan to steal the artistic talent from your hands,” she teased, ignoring the cascade of wings, the rise of heat in her chest. She slid her fingers to his wrist, gently pressing her thumbs into the spaces between the joints at the centre, feeling the flit of his own pulse. “I’m going to be the famous painter now, and you can protect me.”

“Don’t know how much protecting I’ll be able to do with useless hands.” Now he was smiling, his eyes bright, the blue seeming to deepen, a blue like ocean tides. “But I can certainly try my best.”

She started with small circles, pressing them gently into the middle of his wrist, pausing frequently to make sure he was comfortable, that she wasn’t hurting him.

“You know you should probably do wrist and hand exercises,” she mused, sliding her thumbs to the sides of his wrist, repeating the same small circles at the sides. “I think you can find some online if you look. And you should rest more often and do some stretches.”

Rafayel scoffed, although it sounded weak, strained. When she looked up he was steadfastly staring at the ceiling, his lips pulled into a pout.

“I mean it,” she continued, sketching her fingertips over the back of his hand. “If you don’t, you really are going to lose your hands! And then you won’t ever be able to paint again.”

“Oh please.” He pouted harder, lines creasing between his brows. He tilted his head back more, although she could feel his gaze on her, watching her careful ministrations.

“No it’s true.” It was difficult, holding back her smile, and she had to lower her head, letting her bangs act as a veil between her face and his searching eyes. “When pain like this gets too extreme they just chop people’s hands right off.”

She could feel as he shifted, as he leaned towards her, and she could only imagine the narrowing of his eyes, the jut of his lip from his pout.

“No it’s not,” he said, but there was hesitation in his voice.

She only hummed in response, pressing her thumbs over each individual finger bone, delicately adding pressure and sliding up towards his wrist. His skin was soft, and warm, and she could feel the small calluses on his hand from holding his paintbrush, and from what she could only assume was wielding his daggers.

The roughness was strange, at odds with the softness of his skin, and her mind wandered each time her fingers brushed against one, remembering the feel of his palm against her cheek, the back of her neck, against her own palm whenever he took her hand.

It was far too easy to get distracted, for her thoughts to melt away and heat to billow in her chest and belly, from the storm of flitting gossamer wings, from the rush of her beating heart, from the lingering smell of cologne underneath the sting of the smell of paint.

“I guess this is it for me,” he groaned, flopping backwards again. Now she did look up, snorting in laughter as he tossed his free arm over his face again, slumping against the couch like a ragdoll.

Focusing on his dramatics made it easier to ignore the nonsensical thoughts rising like a wave, threatening to crash over her. She could feel her senses drifting away, caught in his undertow and whisked out to sea. There was only Rafayel, and the weight of his hand in hers, and the smell of him, and the song of his voice.

But it was his words, and his melodrama, that fell like an anchor, holding her in place where she would have been lost in the ocean of what was rising in her heart. And she held onto that anchor for dear life, knowing that if she slipped he would tease her relentlessly, an incessant waterfall of jokes and teasing that would leave her flustered and furious.

And then he would do something equally infuriating, like taking her face and kissing her stupid, until he was the only thing occupying her mind.

As if he wasn’t already the only thing occupying her mind.

Warmth was beginning to bloom in her cheeks, unfurling like wildflowers, one petal at a time. But Rafayel didn’t notice, or if he did he didn’t much care, too wrapped up in his whingeing.

“I’ll never be able to lift a paintbrush again,” he groused, back arching as he took a deep breath, then collapsing against the couch all over again. “I’ll have to make you paint everything for me, so my inspiration doesn’t go to waste.”

She arched a brow as she flipped his hand over, pressing her thumbs into the centre of his palm. His fingers curled over slightly, brushing against the backs of her hands, a shiver going through her at the touch.

It was only through sheer willpower was she able to keep her body steady, massaging circles into the very centre of his palm, slowly working towards the sides of his hand and down towards his fingers.

“What do you mean you’ll make me paint everything?” She asked. “I’m not the professional artist.”

“And who’s been adding those doodles in the corners of my sketchbook.”

She kept her focus trained on his hand, the weight of his gaze bearing down on her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“You can’t fool me.” He leaned forward, flicking her forehead with his free hand. “I’m not the one with seaweed for brains. I know it was you.”

She puffed out her cheeks, petulance growing like bubbles in her chest. “And what if it was?”

“It means you’ll be the one painting for me when I lose my hands. And it means you’ll have to spend more time here.”

Her lips lifted of their own accord, the rough peevishness replaced by a rose-stained warmth. It was golden sunshine seeping across the horizon, indigo bleeding into lavender and cerise. An excuse to spend more time with him, close at his side, was welcome as the dawn, as desired as sun-warmed waves foaming around her ankles.

He was always finding reasons to appear at her door unannounced, but she felt forever nervous whenever she considered visiting him. She did not want to distract him from his work, did not want to be a nuisance that took up space when he needed things in exact, particular ways as he created. She did not want to be needy, to be seen as clingy and desperate, her skin prickling at just the thought of him regarding her poorly, of scoffing at her and sending her away because he couldn’t deal with someone clinging to him at all hours of the day.

She was needy though, and she craved his presence, the feelings sticky as honey. It clung to her skin and the back of her throat, clogging her veins and the valves and pumps of her heart. With each breath she could feel it, pooling in her lungs, choking out the air, each intake of oxygen fruitless as she drowned in her own neediness.

She did not know what to say that would have hidden such things from view, so she hummed instead, massaging around his knuckles. If she spoke she would surely reveal herself, and the mess of her heart.

Rafayel clicked his tongue, oblivious to the riot of her mind, the disarray of her heart. “Although we would need to get you some art lessons; your understanding of colour is abysmal.”

She could not look up, her face burning now, as if he’d set her alight with his own flames. “You know they don’t actually chop your hands off,” she said, whisper-soft. She needed to focus, on the moment, on his theatrics, on his hand cradled between two of hers.

She was trying to help him, to take care of him as best she could. Not to melt into a puddle of yearning, her mind utterly bewitched by the touch of his hand.

“But you do have to take care of yourself more,” she said, louder now, more firm. She lowered his hand, beckoning for him to give her the other one. “If you don’t do stretches and exercises regularly there can be a lot of issues in the future. You won’t lose your hands, but it might become too difficult to hold a paintbrush.”

As she repeated the process all over again, starting with his wrist, slowly making her way around it before pressing the pads of her thumbs into the back of his hand, she could feel his body slumping back again. The cushions beneath them shifted, his free hand dangling over the side of the couch. He groaned, eyes squeezing closed as he shook his head. “Do I have to? Surely this is only a one-time thing.”

“Rafayel.” She said his name like a sigh, closing her own eyes. “If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for me. I’m always worried about you.”

When she opened her eyes again his face had become a riot of colours, brilliant vermillion and deep carmine. Splatters of scarlet and crimson, of peach and strawberry, seeped across his face, vanishing beneath his hair. His eyes seemed all the brighter, the blue nearly drowning the red with its intensity. They were bright as gems, a vivid cerulean that she could have drowned in, lured into its depths by his siren song.

It took her breath away, made her own face burn, flames licking up her bones, racing along her veins, singeing her heart. Had she any further words to say, they were gone now, consumed by the heat of the fire in her cheeks, in the flush covering every inch of her body.

But it was Rafayel who spoke next, or tried to, anyways. He looked at the ceiling, at the wall, down at their joined hands. He cleared his throat, ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall at odd angles as he looked up again, anywhere but at her.

“O-oh?” His chest rose, fell, eyes trailing over some detail she wasn’t focused on. All her focus was on him, even the stammer of his voice mesmerizing. She was enthralled, lost to him despite her best efforts.

He covered his cheek, still refusing to meet her gaze. “You-you worry about me all the time?”

She nodded. “I do.”

Like a switch being flipped, his eyes finally cut to hers, the red returning in a blaze of fire. His brows drew low, lines deepening between them. “Well maybe you should come over more often, then, and you wouldn’t have to worry.”

Had she said something wrong? “Rafayel, it’s not that I don’t want to think about you, I just want you to be okay.”

“Then you should come over more,” he said. Although his expression softened, his tone was no less insistent. “I’ll be okay as long as you’re here.”

The breath went out of her then, her heart thrumming so quickly she didn’t feel it at all.

She opened her mouth, not even sure what she would say, only that she had to say something, the taste of her own neediness in the back of her throat.

Only to jump at the ring of the doorbell.

She gasped from the suddenness of it, feeling wild as she jerked her head to the side, towards the door.

Rafayel swore, the hand she’d been holding suddenly gripping her own, like he was the one anchoring himself in a storm. “Hey, baby-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as loud raps cut through the air, severing the last strand of the spell they had woven.

Grumbling, he shoved himself to his feet. “I’ll get it!”

More loud raps, impatient.

“I said I’ll get it!”

She sat, stunned, watching as Rafayel vanished from the room. She was left with nothing but a tingling in her hands, the echo of his warmth beside her, and the smell of the paint drying on the canvas.

She stared down at her hands, where she’d cradled his only moments ago. Severed from her anchor, lost in a storm, the ocean carrying her far away to somewhere unknown. That moment had been like wine, heady and intoxicating, leaving her senseless. If the doorbell had not rang, what would she have said? Would she have told him? Would she have admitted to her need, her yearning for his presence?

She didn’t have a chance to wonder for long, a cold pop-can pressed against her burning cheek.

“Here,” Rafayel said, waiting for her to take it from his hand. “The food’s arrived.”

Quietly she nodded, taking the bag he offered her next.

Silence descended, a heavy mantle that stifled everything but the beat of her heart, so loud it pulsed in her ears, so insistent she could feel it in her fingertips.

It was even, rhythmic, the beat to a song she could not quite place.

He settled beside her, rifling through the takeout bags and divvying up the food.

“I meant it, you know,” he said, a knife slicing through the quiet, shattering the stained glass of the moment. “You should come over more.”

She fiddled with her food, daring a glance at him. “Why is that?”

A shrug. “For my health, and my art. And just because.”

She hummed, poking at her food. Her belly churned, her heart beating all the fiercer at the meaning hidden in his words.

He wanted to see her more, he wanted her near more.

She was so worried that he would see her as needy, as pathetic, and yet was he not admitting the same thing that she kept hidden? The need to be closer, to be near?

Only then did she understand; the song that her heart was a part of. That it was for him. That she wanted it to be for him. And if he wanted her close, and she wanted to be close, then couldn’t she let the song play until its final note?

“Rafayel?”

He arched a brow at the sound of his name, turning to look at her fully “Yes?”

Her heart was in her throat, each word another note, another part of the melody. She could taste the sweetness of it, like honey, but she did not fear it, did not feel it cloying her senses as she’d once been certain it would. “Then, could I come over again? Tomorrow?”

He blinked, a flicker like silver beneath waves in his eyes. Then he was smiling, wide and infuriatingly smug and utterly wonderful. “You really can’t wait to see me again, can you?”

She really couldn’t, giddiness bubbling golden-bright. “Maybe I just want to make sure you don’t push yourself too hard, and actually eat regularly.”

He snorted. “A likely story.” He paused, his eyes softening. “I’ll make sure things are ready for you, so you can come over whenever you want.”

“Won’t you get tired of me? If I come over all the time?” She scooted closer, a flower basking in the light of the sun.

Light as the breeze, his fingers brushed across her temple, slipping over her hair. “No, I could never be tired of you.”

He lowered his hand, sudden sharpness shooting through her face as he pinched her cheek. “So you’d better come over all the time, and you’d better not make me wait. And if you don’t then I’ll come find you.”

Laughing, she pushed his hand away. “I promise, I’ll come over all the time.”

His gaze burned, bright as flames for the briefest of moments before he leaned back, nodding once. “Good. And if my hands start hurting you can help me again, I already know what I want to paint next.”

“Okay.” She spoke softly, smiling down into her food, joy flickering like colourful tails beneath the waves, like sunlight across water.

Tomorrow spread before her, and all the tomorrows after that, as boundless as the sea. And perhaps she would lose herself, and she would be dragged away by the tide. But he would be with her, his smile, his laughter, his maddening teasing, and even the force of the ocean’s waves could not tear that away.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #lnds rafayel #lads rafayel #qi yu #rafayel love and deepspace #qi yu x mc #rafayel x mc #rafayel lads #message in a bottle

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silver-itallics · 4 months

Text

My Favorite Inside Source pt 2

Part 1!

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader

Warnings: smut, masturbation, toxic behavior, mentions of rape, heavy choking, Leon being a grumpy old man, p in v, light mentions oral and fingering (f receiving), guilt (kinda)

!! Contains dark content !!

"do it and do it again..."

Leon is silent for a few moments. You're looking at him like he hung the stars. Really all he did was hang your knees over his shoulders last night.

"What?" He blurts.

He never was the type to think before he speaks. But this doesn't throw off your rhythm, though. Maybe there's more cotton in your head than there is a brain.

"I wanted to say thank you." You repeat, holding up the pan of bacon. "I had a good time last night."

You didn't seem like you had a good time. Leon looks down, confirming that you're still not wearing panties. That's because he stuffed them in his drawer, and your blood is still on his sheets.

For once, you're not the one looking stupid. Leon knows he looks like an idiot, but he can't stop staring at you like you're in one of those old carnival freak shows. But this just makes you laugh. You turn back to the stove, finish off the bacon and put it on a plate.

"I actually wanted you to do that. Sorry I freaked you out. No one has ever tried to do something like that to me before," you're grinning, despite the fact that your words could send you to a psychiatric ward.

Leon just stares wide eyed at you, as you sit him down on his ripped couch, putting a plate of food on his lap. First, you're his rape victim, and now you're his housewife? He's not sure if he should be thankful or not. Definitely not.

He pokes at the plate as you set a cup of orange juice near him. "You shouldn't be thanking me," Leon mutters. His voice is cold, shaggy bangs hanging in his eyes. He can't see, but that's the point. He just wishes you'd disappear.

"I know it's messed up, but…" you blabber on about the fantasy, and Leon tunes you out. You're just like him, in a way; you're both stupid, and neither of you know when to shut up. But at least you're not a monster. If anything, you seem like a sweet kid.

Kid.

Fuck.

"How old are you?" Leon asks, completely interrupting you. Slowly, you blink at him a few times. You look like you're going to say something to him about interrupting you, but instead you just answer.

You explain how you're in college, only a semester in. A smile crosses your face again as you chatter on.

Leon groans, covering his face. The plate in his lap tips, but you catch it before the scrambled eggs splatter on the floor. You take it from him gently, setting it on a cluttered table nearby.

"Did I do something wrong?" You ask, kneeling at his side. Your smaller fingers massage the muscles in his knees, and Leon has to try to push your hands away as politely as possible. He's so touch starved he might get hard just from the innocent gesture.

"No. You didn't do anything wrong," Leon sighs. He's the one that's gone and fucked up, yet you can't seem to understand that. The only thing you've done is started to follow him around like a baby duck does to its mother.

You look at him with big, watery eyes and he bites his lip to stop from groaning in annoyance. Before you can say anything, he cuts you off again.

"Don't you have school today?" He asks, trying to get you to take the hint to leave.

"It's Saturday," you reply, squeezing Leon's knee.

"Go buy me a six pack of beer from the gas station, then," he suggests. Please, please leave, Leon pleads in his mind.

"I'm not twenty-one yet," is what you reply. Leon should've known. God abandoned him years ago.

He doesn't want to yell at you, but he does. "Christ, kid!" Leon finally lifts his head up, grabbing his wallet on the crowded table. He shoves a twenty in your hands, the force pushing you back and startling you.

"Go buy some candy or something. Knock yourself out." He stands up, hoping that'll force you to leave. Maybe he'll take an angry shower. Sometimes that helps.

You clasp the dollar bill in your hands, looking like a deer in headlights. "Do you want anything?" You ask cautiously.

Leon turns, giving you a glare. "Go." With that, you scurry out the door to find the nearest gas station.

As soon as you're out of the door, Leon needs a fucking drink. You've definitely got the same type of parasite that he has, but yours is a more obnoxious, loud one, while his is a silent killer.

He's not sure if he'd rather go at the hands of this parasite or his own.

In his room, Leon yanks open one of the drawers in his nightstand. The one that has the "emergency whiskey" as he calls it. Instead, he finds your stupid panties that he shoved in there on a whim.

He reaches forward, hooking a finger in the lacy fabric. Underneath is a flask of whiskey, which Leon downs in a few seconds. As he does, Leon unfolds your panties from the ball he crumpled them into.

They're pretty. He never really looked at them last night. The panties are white lace, with a small bow at the front.

Leon blames the parasite when he lifts them to his nose. He inhales the same sweet musk from the night before. You.

Your pussy is probably your best feature, in look, feel, and now smell.

The drawer snaps closed, the contents disappearing along with the panties he'd thrown back in.

He needs a shower.

The warm water soothes his muscles, but comfort isn't something Leon is used to. Warm reminds him of you. Your cunt, your tits, you sleeping on his chest.

He switches the water to cold.

That's better. The water makes him feel a little more awake, more coherent. Things stopped making sense the moment he slipped those pills in your drink.

As Leon washes himself, he starts to think that the shower is helping with the thoughts of you. Then he gets to his crotch. He's not gross, most of the time, and actually washes his dick.

But the moment he takes it in his hand, he's imagining your smaller hands around it, the teary eyes you were giving him earlier. Which reminds him of the way you sobbed around his cock, and makes everything worse.

Leon can feel himself getting hard in his own hand. He's literally remembering raping you and getting hard?! Well, you did squeeze him tighter than any chokehold he's gotten put in, but that's not the point.

He slams his head against the wall of the shower, causing one of the three shower bottles to clatter to the floor. Your knuckles tap on the door, startling him even more than his own thoughts. You must be back from your trip to the gas station.

"Are you okay, Leon?" You yell over the running water.

The way you say his name reminds him of when you said it before, hands on his chest to try to push him off. He stiffens even more.

"Fine," he yells back. Nothing about this is fine. Why are you still here? And why is he getting hard to the thought of you again? That was supposed to be a one time thing. Or a never thing, really.

Hearing your footsteps recede, he takes his cock in a firm hand, stroking like he's done so many times before. His hand isn't as tight as you. For a moment he wonders how wet he can get you next time.

His fist squeezes hard on his dick, causing Leon to wince. What the hell's gotten into him? Reluctantly, his hand starts moving again, loosening his grip. He cums with a low groan to the thought of your tits.

Panting, Leon watches his cum wash down the drain. He wishes he could wash you away.

Apparently that won't be happening, as when he gets out of the shower and dresses himself, you're in the living room. You're eating gummy bears, sorting them into piles by color. One of the stupid toys out of a kinder egg is on the floor nearby. God, you're really a child. Not really, but you act like one. Can't believe he stuck his dick in you, now he's watching you make Frankenstein gummy bears.

You look up when Leon enters, immediately looking away because he's only wearing sweatpants. He rolls his eyes, but tries to ignore the way your shyness makes his heart thump.

"Why are you still here?" He really needs to work on watching his mouth. And not raping girls he found in bars, but that's a personal issue.

You look a little sad for a moment, but smile as you pick up some coins and a dollar off the table. Leon stares at you with a look of disapproval.

"I gave you a twenty," he scolds, like you're a child. Mentally, you probably are. Physically, you've got some nice tits.

"I know. Inflation is really bad nowadays," you bite the head off a green gummy bear and stick it to the body of a red one.

"What the hell did you even buy?" This is getting ridiculous.

"Uh, a bag of gummy bears, a kinder egg, and a soda. Oh, I also got you this!" You smile, taking a coke and two chocolate bars from behind your back. They're both different kinds because you didn't know what he liked. Leon watches as you set the items on the table.

"I told you not to get me anything," he's standing over you like he's trying to intimidate you, but you don't seem to notice. When he's not angry with you, you think he is. But when he is, you don't care. You're even worse than a child.

"I know," you chirp. "But I didn't want you to be sad while watching me eat."

Leon goes quiet. Really, it's a nice gesture. Even if it's his own money. He sits next to you on the couch, doing his best to put as much space between the two of you. You eat until you feel like you're on the cusp of a stomach ache, and fold up the bag of candy, then put it on the table.

Then you're lying your head on his shoulder, melting into him. Leon wants to push you away, but he's more shocked when you speak. You seem to do that a lot. Surprise him. He never liked surprises.

"Do you know where my underwear went? I accidentally went out without them," you chuckle, like it's funny. It's not. You're stupid, parading your pussy around in a tiny skirt. Don't you know that gets the wrong kind of attention? But Leon isn't the greatest person to give that type of advice, considering he's the one that gave you the wrong kind of attention in the first place.

"I lost 'em," he lies. Leon doesn't even know why he does. Maybe he wants to keep them, or just wants to get a glimpse of your ass when you walk around his house. He used to take an hour to get it up, but now he's popping a boner at the sight of you. Why don't you just kill him already? Y'know, you probably are already. Slowly, and quietly. He won't know he's done for until his eyes fall out of his skull. Maybe you'd finally leave if that happened.

But like that parasite, he can't seem to get rid of you. Like you're a tumor on his frontal lobe, he can't get rid of you without it killing him or changing him permanently. Seems like you've already done the second one, though. He never thought about taking someone unconscious or even without consent before you. You're like the forbidden fruit, but full of maggots and rot.

What the hell are you even doing to him? He's screwed. But probably more screwed up than anything.

But the worst part is: you won't leave.

The sun set a long time ago, leaving you two in the near dark with some cowboy movie playing on the TV. There's a take out box in your lap from a cheap Chinese restaurant that Leon ordered from. He's not really sure why he did it. You were complaining that you were hungry, and he wanted to shut you up like a baby with a pacifier. Did the trick for about fifteen minutes, but now you've got that look on your face that means you're thinking. Leon didn't know you could do that.

"Leon, what are we?" You ask, clicking your chopsticks together after shoving an ungodly amount of noodles into your mouth.

Leon almost powers down at the question.

His silence makes you start to ramble.

"Well, I was just wondering… because I've never really had sex with anyone. We hit it off last night and I-"

Sex. You think that was sex? Good God, he's really messed up. Or just chose the wrong victim. Leon isn't sure if he'd rather you go to the police or do what you're doing now. Honestly, he'd rather you try to lock him up. Maybe that'll control him. He wouldn't get out of his job either way.

"That wasn't sex," he snaps at you.

You wilt like a dying flower. Leon can't look at you when you make a face like that. He feels too guilty.

"I never said you had to have feelings for me. There's like, friends with benefits," you're trying to convince him to put a label to you. Leon wishes he didn't even know your name. That way he wouldn't have any reminder of you. But you're like a tick, digging your fangs into him so you stay stuck to his skin.

Leon remembers some shitty therapy session he had after a mission. They told him to take deep breaths when he's upset. Ground himself. But Leon isn't a man of therapy. He believes he can't really be fixed. So he yells at you. Again.

"Why can't you get it through your thick skull? You're a victim!" He sets his food down. His appetite disappeared a long time ago. Standing up, he tries to get away from you. But there's really nowhere to go. Especially with the way you draw him in like a magnetic force field.

You stir your food a few times, not sure how to feel. On one hand, you're angry that Leon doesn't seem to get your intentions. But mostly, his words hurt.

"I told you: I wanted it. I don't really mind it… whatever you call it," you sigh, setting your food down as well. When you start to clean up after him is what makes Leon's heart ache.

He's so mean to you, but you come back like a dog playing fetch. Each time, you drop the ball by his feet, a smile on your face. You run and go get the ball no matter how loud he yells or how hard he hits you. You remind him a little bit of himself in that sense. He wants you surgically removed.

"We can even do it again if you want. I'll let you," you try to plead with your eyes, doing everything in your power to get Leon to like you. He doesn't really like anything, especially himself.

Your words make him feel sick, leaving the older man to ignore you most of the night. But without a verbal cue to leave, you stay. You're not sure why you do it, but the next thing you know is you're fast asleep on Leon's ratty couch. At least you're smart enough not to sleep in bed with him.

Reluctantly, you sleep on Leon's couch. The springs dig into your back and you can barely get comfortable. Leon didn't give you a blanket either, so you're cold. The only one you found isn't even big enough to cover you.

Leon can't sleep. Your words repeat in his head, over and over. You're like an itch- the more he thinks about you, the more it bothers him. But he can't force himself to stop thinking about you either.

With a groan, he pushes up out of bed. He needs a beer. His emergency whiskey is gone, since he drank it this morning, also because of you.

Past his bedroom is the living room, then the kitchen. You left the light on in the kitchen as a night light, illuminating your form on the couch. You're an obstacle blocking his way from greatness. Technically, a cold beer. Same thing.

He inches forward, and you shift when a floorboard creaks under Leon's weight. Why is he even so scared or cautious? You're just a kid, couldn't do a thing if you woke up. The thought goes directly to his cock, reminding Leon exactly why he's been so guarded around you.

While he's caught in his thoughts, you move onto your stomach, that tiny blanket doing nothing to cover your ass. God, he wishes now that he gave you some clothes, since your puffy lips are poking out from underneath your skirt.

His mission is immediately forgotten.

Leon beelines for you instead, moving faster than he has in ten years. Pushing your legs wider, he kneels between them, hovering over you. Were you always this pretty? Or maybe he just likes you when you're sleeping. Fucking creep.

One hand holding himself up on the arm of the couch, he reaches around you to toy with your nipples. Last time, he was just searching for an object of pleasure, anything would do. But now he's got this little attachment to you.

This relationship, if it can even be called that, is closer to folie a deux than love. The madness of two. You've got this shared sickness between you both and only the other one can quench it.

Which is a very eloquent way to explain that Leon doesn't know why he wants to fuck you. Or why he's gently rubbing his bare knee over your core.

He's rough still, but he pays more attention to you this time. In his mind, you're almost a person. Almost.

Leaning down, Leon pulls his hands away from your tits, prying your thighs open instead. Slowly he licks you open, tasting the sweet slick you produce. It's not like candy, as Leon's a pessimist. He doesn't like to sugar coat things. But he can't stop his tongue from dipping in your slit and down to your clit until you're squirming and whining.

He wants you awake this time.

Maybe you'll fight like last time, maybe you won't. He isn't sure which he likes better. You're sweet, and it almost seems like you'd do anything for him. He wants to earn that privilege. Even if he's nowhere near worthy of your trust.

You moan softly, struggling to break through the barrier of sleep. Leon's tongue moves faster, holding your ass cheeks apart so he can watch the way you clench around nothing. When you cry out is when he knows you're awake. Your hips shift much more, he's not sure if you're fighting or if his tongue just feels good.

"Leon..?" You mumble, looking over your shoulder with glassy eyes. All you can register is the tingly feeling you've got between your legs. Then he stops.

You're flipped over on your back, Leon above you. He didn't know he still had strength like that. Guess being horny gives you superpowers.

This time he actually undresses you. He's treating you better than garbage, but only slightly. Leon's callused hands are still rough as he pulls and pinches your nipples.

Once you're conscious, you seem to be into it. Leon's not used to that. He's used to being pushed away, ridiculed for his taste and constantly manipulated. Maybe that's why he keeps you around: because you treat him nicely. Or just because you don't leave.

But what Leon is good at is self sabotage. He's excellent at it, actually. Once your skirt is off, he pushes two fingers in your hole without bothering to trim his nails earlier. You can feel him scratch your insides as he stretches you out.

He watches you squirm and cry in pleasure and discomfort, ultimately deciding it's not enough for him. Leon pulls himself out of his boxers, spitting on his hand before pumping a few times.

"You said you wanted this, yeah?" He asks, but it's a little late for asking permission. Before you can nod, his bulky hands wrap around your throat. At the same time, Leon pushes his dick inside all the way to the hilt. You feel like you're being torn in half and twisted like a pretzel at the same time.

"Thought you wanted this," he says again, taunting you. He pushes all the way inside just to pull almost all the way out at a slow pace.

You'd scream if his hands weren't blocking your airway.

Leon knows the difference between choking for pleasure and choking to kill. He's knocked his fair share of people out using the same method he's using on you. You can barely focus on the feeling of him moving inside you when you're worried he's going to kill you.

You trust Leon to an extent, but you know he's unpredictable. Which is why you squirm, thrash, and kick as much as you can.

"What, can you not handle it? Can you not handle me?" He lifts you up by the neck just to bring your body back down to the couch as he speaks. Leon feels like he's losing it as his hands clamp down on your fragile windpipe.

If he was choking you for your pleasure, he'd just squeeze the sides of your neck to cut off your blood flow. Make you a little dizzy. But right now, you can't breathe.

After having no oxygen for a few seconds, you start to run on instinct, panic flooding your body. Leon can feel your walls tighten around him as you weakly thrash in his grasp. For a few seconds, he likes it. But your nails are clawing at his arms, eyes wide and mouth open.

You're terrified. Of him.

The same person that refused to leave his apartment all day is looking up at him in pure terror. Leon slows his thrusts when he realizes all the usual pigment in your face is gone. He doesn't choke you for more than a minute, but it feels like eternity.

You gasp, hands flying to your own throat as soon as Leon lets go. Tears flood your eyes in relief. As much as you talk about wanting to be raped, for some reason, Leon's brain is hellbent on making you hate it. Teach you a lesson, maybe.

He means to say he's sorry. He wants to. But the only words that come out of Leon's mouth are: "you're an idiot for staying."

Part of the sentence is an apology in itself, but he's too much of a coward to come to terms with his feelings. In his job, he was always told he was too emotional. But everywhere else, he's too cold.

Leon shallowly thrusts in and out of you, looking at your tits instead of your terror-stricken face. You're still moaning, but the sound is strained and scratchy, not sweet and soft like usual. Turns out toys aren't as fun if you break them.

You don't cum, even if you tighten around him. Your brain is still too fearful to fully relax enough to orgasm. But Leon does. Maybe he gets off to the fear in your eyes. Just a little.

But really, he likes the power he has over you. Nobody else listens to him, but you do. Why do you do that? You're really unlike everyone else. You treat him differently. Which is why he has to treat you differently too.

He has to break you, but not completely. Just enough for you to understand that he's no good. He's a rotten old perverted man that only has a good ten years left. Only if he doesn't get snapped in half on his next mission.

Leon pulls out, groaning quietly as he busts on your stomach. Your skin is painted in white, like he's claiming his territory. You don't speak and he knows that's a bad sign.

He tucks himself back into his boxers, standing up. You expect him to leave and Leon plans to. At first, he did. But you're looking at him with those big, sad eyes of yours. Leon thinks you look like a trembling baby bunny. Seems like his attempts to push you away don't work. You just rely on him more.

"Stay right there," he mumbles before disappearing for a few minutes. Leon comes back with a washcloth and a glass of water. There's also a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel tucked under his arm.

The bruises in the shape of his own hands are starting to form on your neck. Why can't he just leave hickies like a normal person?! This job has fucked him up so bad that all he does is destroy.

Leon sits across from you, a guilty look in his eyes. You can tell he's sorry, but he refuses to say it. He sets the glass of water near you, wiping the cum off your stomach with the wet washcloth. The action is the closest thing to aftercare he's ever done. Mostly because he doesn't get treated very nicely after sex either.

He reaches out for your neck again, causing you to flinch. Leon curses under his breath, wishing he could be better. For himself mostly, but now for you.

"Why do you stick around?" He asks in a strained voice. Leon almost sounds like the one that got choked with how he's struggling not to cry. He picks up the bag of peas and unwraps the towel to show you what's underneath.

"Ice pack," he explains, trying to get you to lie down so he can place it on your neck. You take a few seconds, but eventually you relax enough to lie down. Leon adjusts the ice on your throat, hoping it'll help with the bruising and the pain.

"I'm not a very good person to stick around," Leon says, speaking more than he has before. He's also being more vulnerable than usual.

"It's okay, I'm used to it," you explain, trying to comfort him. But your confession just makes everything ache more. You're worse than any concussion or cut he's ever gotten.

You make him deal with his emotions.

Leon gives you a look that you can't decipher. His expression holds so many things that he wants to say, that he wants to do. But he doesn't let them out. He just needs to drink himself to sleep and bottle up his feelings to make himself feel better.

"Night, kid," he pats your knee before rising with a soft grunt.

Leon disappears for a few seconds before returning with a few things in his arms. He throws them at you, landing on the couch in a heap.

Then he turns and leaves.

You reach out, touching the soft fabric he's given you. When you hold it up, you realize what it is.

Clothes and a blanket.

Maybe he isn't so bad after all.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon smut #leon s kennedy #resident evil #dead dove do not eat #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #x reader #dark content

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fandomfluffandfuck · 22 days

Note

CHRIS WITH CURLS?? MY PANTIES, I MEAN POOR SEBASTIAN

related to this ASP video, also in gif form

I KNOW, I fucking love how his hair looks, it's so fucking pretty. I am crossing my fingers that that's what he's gonna look like for Honey, Don't!

The wavy, curly hair that's a little longer... 🤌🏻🤌🏻

My first thought, though, was that I wish he were wearing his glasses. I just know that with his glasses he would look like the hottest fucking professor. That hair gives off the sweetest, most passionate, and slightly unkempt professor vibes. I am so here for it.

I just know Sebastian is running his hands through that hair as often as he can, though! He's cuddling up close in bed, lounging on his chest, and reaching up to twirl those longer strands of his boyfriend's hair around his fingers. All the while, he smiles softly to himself, watching how the strands curl and stick up adorably, especially ruffled when he first wakes up and has yet to shower. Right after a workout--sweaty and damp--Chris' hair gets extra curly, too. And for Seb, it's all-consumingly adorable and yet also so attractive he can't stand it. He wants to hold onto those curls between his thighs, moaning as Chris works him over until he shudders and shoots down his throat). Too, Sebastian will walk behind Chris while he's chilling their couch and scrub his hands through his hair before moving on, so fast that Chris doesn't get a chance to duck and cover so his hair isn't a complete mess. He's just going to get a snack from the fridge, and he's just enough of a nuisance for Chris to jokingly call after him, "hey!" Sebastian sticks his tongue out at him, turning to look over his shoulder. It makes them both giggle.

Later, Sebastian pushes Chris' glasses up for him when they're cuddling side by side on the couch in the evening, sinking into the cushions, half watching the TV, half scrolling through their phones. Chris is looking down at his phone, gravity pulling his glasses down. Seb's not paying attention, relaxed, so the words just fall out of his mouth in a whisper, teasing and yet true, "there you go, Mr. Handsome."

Chris huffs at him, exhaling through his nose, and bats his hands away, not wanting to take the passive compliment, but, oh ho ho, this is the man that insists Sebastian learn how to take compliments and believe them, this is the man that compliments Sebastian at least a hundred times a day, this is the man that is maybe the most deserving of compliments (have you seen him!?) so... that just won't do!

Of course, then, Sebastian has to glide the tips of his fingers down Chris' cheek to his jaw, using his thumb and index finger to grab his chin and turn his head so they're face to face.

"Hey," Chris whispers, his phone completely forgotten. He's almost blushing. Usually, that's Sebastian's MO.

"Hey yourself," Sebastian matches his volume. He can't not smile at him, Chris makes his heart beat faster. Always.

The space between them closes. Sebastian's definitely leaning in. Maybe Chris is, too. It's hard to tell. All he knows is that the noise of the TV falls away, and he's focused solely on the press of their lips together. Soft and plush, underscored by the heat of their scruff scratching together. Sebastian's hand finds its way to the nape of Chris' neck, squeezing until he hums and falls more into the kiss. Weakening.

Their mouths break apart to heave in air, only a fraction of space between them. Chris' eyes are still closed, so Sebastian lets his hand move from the short hair lower down to the longer hair at the crown of his head, tangling his fingers up.

Breathily, Chris laughs more, nudging his cheek with his nose, "you're fixated."

"You're gorgeous," Sebastian can feel his boyfriend's face get hotter against his own.

Sparing a quick kiss, Chris murmurs against his mouth, "and I'm never gonna have a good hair day again if you keep tugging on it."

"Who cares," he kisses back, a chuckle riding on his exhale, "stay home, nobody'll see."

"Mmm, tough guy, huh?" Chris bumps their foreheads together, eyelashes fluttering open, his eyes searching Sebastian's before landing on his hair, Seb's is also longer than normal right now--in playful retaliation, Chris tugs on it, "that your plan, gonna keep me all to yourself? Lock me up so nobody else gets to see me?"

"Yup," Seb grins kittenishly before jerking his chin up, snapping his teeth at the tip of Chris' nose, frisky, "you know I gotta keep my handsome man all to mys--"

Chris cuts him off, shutting him up by kissing him hard.

"--mmmm!" Sebastian's lungs give up a sound somewhere between a hum and a moan, his scalp tingling as his boyfriend pulls his hair.

That's alright, though, Seb doesn't mind being shut up like that. He'll get him back, too. Just wait.

✨️boyfriends✨️

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #chris evans #sebastian stan #evanstan #rpf #real person fanfiction

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queengiuliettafirstlady · 13 days

Text

A lovely date

Fandom Ikemen Prince

Pair Chevalier Michael x Tala Amouzgaar

Part of Mayday Heyday hosted by @olivermorningstar and @lorei-writes

Thank you so much for hosting such an original event I was so happy to have joined in. 🤗😊

This is my gift for the darling @m-mmiy.

I really do hope you will like this work, but above all I wish is for my portrait of your OC to be faithful enough to the picture you have of her. 🤗😊

It was a nice day, spring approached fast in Rhodolite in a much more gentle way she was used to.

The birds returned from afar told tales of exotic countries' wonders chirping excitedly waking ever so softly the animals from the hibernation of the winter whose chilly breeze still lingered in the air like the snow still present on the hilltop that was slowly but constantly melting under the tepid rays of a sun getting each day warmer.

It seemed like a dream to her, familiar and strange at the same time.

The coming of season was nothing new to Tala but the sensations blooming in her heart like a rose surely were.

She shot a glance at him, the source of that feeling walking unfazed by her side.

Chevalier Michael a brutal beast for anyone but her the only man that before her heart captured her mind with his cleverness.

A genius admired and feared alike she would have never got tired of talking to.

A source of everlasting knowledge whose discussion never failed to thrill her mind.

In that instant he shot her a glance while his pale lips twitched upward in a light smile rare like the desert rose and like it breathtakingly beautiful.

A gift for her alone to admire making her heart beat faster at the sight of his sky blue eyes glimmering with happiness.

"Do you like spring ?"

His voice as cool as ever not revealing any emotion even though she could perceive the slightest hint of curiosity coloring his tone.

"I neither like nor dislike it."

"That's a peculiar answer."

"It's merely a season there is no need for me to favor it more than the others."

A shadow clouded over his features almost as he was genuinely curious to know her better but bad at communicating his desire he retorted to avoid speaking at all.

"I have to admit it's quite nice here."

Sun returned to his gorgeous features dripping over his smile.

"How so ?"

"It's less humid than in other countries I visited."

They resumed their strolling basking in each other's presence, speaking no words for there was no need to.

Suddenly something emerged from the bushes to cross their path.

Even with her expression hidden from the brown veil he could perceive her smile reaching to her amber eyes glimmering brighter than the sun as a small duck approached her.

A jolt of warmth filled his heart at the endearing sight of the girl he came to grow fond of petting the small animal humming in delight as more ducks crowded around her for a chance she didn't deny them to be caressed by her delicate fingers.

Noiselessly he accommodated himself under a tree far enough to admire her and avoid scaring away the ducks but he had just sat on the grass when a duck approached him only to pick on his leg.

He stared dumbfounded at the creature looking into his eyes with open defiance before walking confidently toward him.

His bravery was rewarded as he stretched his long fingers to caress his feathered head so tiny in comparison to him and yet brazen enough to have him fascinating hom for reasons oddly resembling her/ that girl that caught his mind and heart.

It was the first time an animal approached him willingly it was strange but not unwelcome.

The endearing sight sudden and warm like the spring rain her eyes crinkled with affection as his hand that so often were drenched in blood and calloused from holding swords were now petting such a tiny creature delicately because there was gentleness underneath them.

A fresh breeze whistled among the garden guiding the ducks back in the luscious greenery where they came from.

It was like a dream if not for the tender smile he offered her as they resumed their pleasant date.

#OCExchange2024 #ikemen prince #my writing #ikemen prince chevalier #ikepri chevalier #ikepri

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ryndicate · 1 year

Text

Reckless ⨳ Hanemiya Kazutora

Sometimes, you really do know better.

notes: written in response to this request/ask. Alright hades we're seeing if tumblr will cooperate this time, fingers crossed. Even if it doesn't though, I promise I'll leave it this time. I'm just happy with how the fic came out

warnings: female reader, drugs/drugging, alcohol,noncon, in this reader is shy, an absolute fangirl and absolutely not a party girl.

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult/dark content, and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

Rules & Main Links

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" You hiss at your friend, tugging on the much-to-short skirt she'd pressured you into wearing tonight, desperately trying to make sure your ass is covered as the people who move past keep jostling you, threatening to expose you less than socially acceptable undergarments.

She's tapping her foot, full of excited jitters as she turns her head constantly, looking for her so called "hook up".

You're both waiting where she said he agreed to meet, but it's been nearly twenty minutes since the encore ended.

"Don't be a baby! He said he's friends with the band. When are we ever gonna get a chance like this again?"

"If you're sure I guess," you mutter, pressing closer to her as another wave of concert goers shove past you guys to exit the venue. "We still have a ride home right?"

"—There they are!" Your friend squeals under her breath, palms smoothing over her clothes with anxious excitement.

You swivel your head to see where she's looking and your mouth dries out. Holy shit, she wasn't kidding. Heading right for you guys is the charming blonde who claimed to be tight with band, and following close behind him is their drummer, Keisuke, and he's way hotter in person.

Anxiety simmers in your gut; you don't see him yet, but reality hits that you might actually get to meet your favorite musician, the man you so desperately wanted to see on stage if only for an hour that you begged your friend to get tickets with you to come here tonight.

Kazutora. You would have been satisfied just fine with getting to see him from beneath the stage, only a few rows back and thankfully no giants to block your view. His command of the crowd, bright smiles but fierce energy as he sang so hard his throat probably bled, sweat dripping down every inch of exposed inked skin, and a cunning smirk that would burn in your fantasies for months to follow... yeah it would have been enough.

But in person? Speaking to him? Your heart is fluttering in your throat, and sudden giddiness evaporates all your previous misgivings in an instant.

Your breath is caught up in your throat as they approach you, deep amber and striking green giving both of you slow, appreciative once-overs.

Keisuke turns back and gives you a hard stare, your heart thumping, and glances at his friend—you still can’t remember his name—grinning. “Perfect score, ‘Fuyu.”

A bolt of unease tempers your thready pulse, but you brush it aside as your friend cuts in, giving a sickening pout at Chifuyu (his name came back to you the moment Keisuke uttered the nickname) about how long he made you wait. Really you would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t just as eager to hear his response.

“Sorry,” Chifuyu grins, glancing between you both. “Things got a little crazy after the final set ended. Hope you don’t mind?”

“It’s fine,” you murmur shyly, your friend echoing behind you.

“We could make it up to you,” Keisuke cuts in with a low rumble, and you’re struck by his voice, smooth and deep, for a moment your mind wandering to why he’s never added his vocals to any of their songs. His voice would blend really well with Kazutora’s higher baritone. Thoughts getting away from you, you miss the part where the two men are inviting you somewhere.

“—you in?”

Keisuke ducks his head a little, forcing eye contact and your eyes refocus in time to see him quirk his brow at your silence.

Heat flames to your face as you scramble to answer, but your friend digs her elbow into your side. “Of course!”

“Yeah?” Keisuke drawls, amused, tipping his head as he looks at you again.

Helplessly, you nod, giving him a wavering smile.

He takes that with a nod, throwing an arm over your shoulders to help you move back through the crowd, and your mind goes blank. What did you just agree to? Where are you going now? You want to look back at your friend, but you can hear her chattering away with Chifuyu behind you, sounding blissful and unbothered, so surely it can’t be that bad?

You’re led past the stage, through a chaotic whirl of people and moving equipment until you’re standing in front of what looks like a dressing room.

“You guys can hang out in here while we finish up and then we’ll go, yeah?”

“Sure!” you friend chirps, and they depart.

“What’s happening?” You demand the moment they’re out of earshot.

“What’s with you? They invited us to a party! There’s going to be other bands there, famous people!” She squeals, bouncing a little, completely thrilled.

But you’re hesitant. This sounds way bigger than what you’d imagined, maybe going backstage and getting to meet Kazutora and get an autograph, a handshake at best? “I don’t know... should we go? Big parties aren’t really my thing. It sounds kinda…—”

“Are you insane? Of course we’re going!” She stares at you like you’ve lost it, and her reaction is so genuine that you question yourself. It wouldn’t hurt just once right? A few drinks, over a couple of hours, getting to meet a few famous people you never dreamed you would? That kind of thing is supposed to be the memories you look back on when you’re done being young and wild.

“Fine, just don’t get too crazy with it, okay?” you plead, grabbing her arm.

“Aw, not even a little crazy?”

You stiffen, pulse going haywire as rich, teasing voice speaks up from behind you, where the dressing room door had previously been closed.

You’ve listened to his songs for hundreds, thousands, of hours of your life, watched interviews, fan recordings, binged his one movie documentary more times than you can count—you’d know his voice in the blinding dark, but it’s surreal to hear it directly, unaided by a speaker.

Kazutora. You turn to see him and are struck dumb by how attractive he is in person, blonde and black hair framing his face and spilling down his shoulders. He’s still in his clothing from the show, fraying black jeans slung low on his hips, his signature beige-white jacket hanging off his shoulder, and a black button up, the buttons popped all the way down to his sternum, cuffed at his elbows. It’s a simple look, an understated one. One you know very well not many are capable of. Expensive, if you know what to look for; in the way the shirt drapes over his chest and around his arms, in the perfectly precise way his jeans taper down to the ankle, not an inch of denim out of place.

Your eyes track the swirling ink that leads from his neck, down his chest and disappearing further beneath the fabric and try to remember to breathe. “H-hi.”

“Hi,” Kazutora laughs, and the sound dissolves some of your tension. He leans out the doorway to look left and right. “I assume Keisuke invited you, unless I need to call security again.”

His easy tone is enough to unwind your nerves a bit as you nod. “He said something about a party.”

“And you’re going with him? That’s a shame, I’m way more fun.” His eyes are suddenly bright and focused, voice light and playfully coaxing, and you can barely believe it. That was flirting right? He’s your idol and you’re aware of how lovesick you are but there’s no mistaking that right? That was real? He really—

“Keisuke and his friend said they’d hang out with me,” your friend cuts in confidently, nudging you surreptitiously towards the lead singer. “She’s not spoken for.”

“Oh? You want to be spoken for, princess? ‘Cause I’ve got no one to keep me company tonight, sure would suck to party by myself.” Kazutora grins teasingly, leaning against the doorframe now.

You swallow and struggle to speak, miserably anxious that you can’t at least appear normal and somewhat collected.

“Mmm, she’s the quiet and cute type, huh,” Kazutora winks at you, turning to your friend, and it feels like he’s trying to help you out.

“That’s her!” Your friend agrees wholeheartedly. “She’s great when she opens up though.”

“I bet.” His tone drops an octave and something warm twists low in your stomach when you see the low lidded look he’s tossing your way. “So what’d’ya say?”

“Sure,” you breathe, finally finding your voice.

He gives you the biggest smile, just in time for his friends to reappear, and the winning smile falls back into the smirk you usually see onstage that gives him his cunning reputation. “Thanks guys. We ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

“Yup, car’s ready.”

He reaches a hand out for you, that you take in a daze, not quite able to believe this is real life right now, noting how much length his fingers have on yours, his nail polish shiny and miraculously unchipped despite playing guitar on and off for most of the show.

“Let’s go then.”

After arriving at the party, in a sprawling condo overlooking the city that puts your one bedroom apartment to a crying shame, Kazutora had left you on a couch in the thick of the people there, promising to be right back with a drink for you. Your friend had disappeared with Chifuyu and Keisuke not long after, and after checking your phone reflexively for the fourth time, you come to the crushing conclusion that Kazutora probably forgot about you.

Which in your mind makes sense. With all the people around you, much better dressed and more suited to be here, you’re not sure you would have come back for you either, if you’d been in their place.

But your friend isn’t answering her phone and you have no idea where you are to even begin calling a ride service, even if your phone weren’t on three percent battery life.

You barely have the confidence to stand from the couch, but you do, the sudden desperate urge to escape this letdown of a situation stronger than your social anxiety.

With how many people there are, and the loud, disorienting music, you struggle to make your way through to another room, and come face to face with the sight of people cutting up lines of white powder on a glass coffee table. You knew that this kind of crowd lived a life beyond your imagining but it’s strange to see it up close, your stomach twisting into nervous knots as you scamper into a hallway filled with more people.

It’s less crowded here though, so you take a moment to lean against the wall and breathe, trying to even out your fiercely beating heart.

Your head whips up when you hear your name being called, hoping your friend has found you, hoping you can finally end this miserably disappointing night—

Kazutora stops in front of you, a concerned look twisting his handsome features. “Whoa, hey, hey, you alright? I went looking for you, but you were gone. Are you feeling okay?”

There’s two drinks in his hand that he looks down at, before tossing one back with two easy swallows and setting the glass right on the hallway floor to free one of his hands, taking yours and leading you further down the hallway, into a small room that’s suddenly much quieter. You can still hear the thumping bass in the distance, but it’s like you can finally hear your own thoughts and you take a deep breath.

“You okay?” Kazutora asks again, setting the other glass down on a low-rise table next to a plush looking chaise.

“I’m fine,” you finally manage, looking up at him with a wan smile. “Just got a little overwhelmed. Never been somewhere like this before.”

“I’m sorry,” he winces, looking abashed. “I didn’t think I was gone that long, should’ve known better.”

“It’s alright...”

“Still want the drink? It’ll help you feel better, take the edge off,” Kazutora offers, still looking guilty.

“Sure. I’m fine really.” Suddenly feeling bad that you’re causing such a fuss, you reach for it, and take a deep swig. If you knew more about alcohol, maybe you’d be able to tell the difference between cheap and expensive, but you’ve never been good with the stuff, so it’s still just bitter, still just burns.

It’s warm though, and you feel a bit of your worries ease away as something light begins to trickle through your veins, and you tip the rest back to get the full experience. “Thanks, I needed that actually.”

“Yeah?” Kazutora’s grin slowly returns, darker in a way that you don’t notice, eyeing you intently as your eyelids droop. “Want another then?”

You feel that little tickle of doubt again, but when he wraps an arm around your waist, you stubbornly push it aside. Live for the moment right? So you accept the next drink he pushes into your hand, and the next one. And the one after that even though the room went fuzzy around the edges a little while ago. You go with him when he leads you back towards the music, and you lean into him when he pulls you against his chest, his fingers digging tight into your hips as he guides you to grind back on him. You don’t question him when he takes you upstairs, and there’s no protest when he pulls you into a dimly lit room with a bed fit for angels, the sheets a warm coffee brown that feel so soft you could probably slide right off of them.

But you don’t, just sinking into them as a heavy warm haze sinks in around you, leaving you warm and pliant.

“One more for me, baby? Yeah?” His hands are at the back of your head, propping it up as he tips another glass to your lips—where did he even get this one? You feel a warning flicker in your mind that urges you to push it away, and you feebly try, but your limbs feel wrong, too heavy, and you miss. Cool glass meets your lips, and you feel the burn of liquid against your tongue and try to turn away. You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s starting to get scary. No, you’ve had enough. Even a little bit more would be too much.

The glass leaves your lips and you feel relief until Kazutora sits you up at the edge of the bed, sliding behind you and letting his legs frame your thighs. His hands are on your throat, forcing you chin up, and he’s cooing something in your ear, but you can’t hear it anymore. You thrash he forces your head back and the last drink down your throat. A fair bit misses, spilling down your neck and chest, staining your shirt in the process, but the damage is done

“Don’t make such a mess, princess, c’mon now,” feral enjoyment bathes his tone and there’s a heady fear and helplessness in your veins now, flames licking down your body as he traces the spilt rivulets down your throat with point of his tongue.

You whimper.

Something soft, hot is pressing to your inner thigh, a warm pressure inside you, and your legs shift sluggishly, trying to escape the feeling.

“Mmn—” you try to say something, but it comes out a hum and you struggle to raise your head, not remembering laying back down in the bed.

“That feel good?”

You blink through a thick fog to see Kazutora kneeling between your thighs, watching as he nips at your thighs again, wiping wet fingers on them, his warm skin causing you to notice your missing skirt, left in only the black thong your friend said would be fun to wear. His lips inch up over your hips, pressing to your stomach and you realize that the tiny little thong is the only bit of clothing you’re wearing.

“Kazu…” you slur brokenly, head falling back to the bed. “No—”

His weight settles over your body, and you feel something warm and hard pulsing against your stomach, a broken whine sounding deep in your throat as you realize what is is.

“You’re gonna feel so good, baby. Knew you would from the moment I saw you. Innocent girls like you always do.” His breath is warm on your neck, teeth nipping at sensitive skin as he presses hot kisses to your throat and chest.

He maneuvers your thighs over his own, his dick sliding over your exposed pussy as he pulls the fabric of your thong aside.

“Don’t…” You whisper.

It’s like he can’t hear you. Maybe he doesn’t. Did you actually say something? You can’t even feel your tongue.

Kazutora sinks his length into you with a throaty groan, his head tipping back to display his adam’s apple, a crazed smile on his lips. Your hips jerk at the rough intrustion, a pitched keen tearing from your lips at the thick stretch, cracking in the middle.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathes, watching your tits bounce as he thrusts into you, setting a quick, rough pace right away.

You search for the strength to do something, to move your arms, to shove him off—something—only to find your arms secured tightly to the bed, some kind of navy fabric strap pinning you down.

A broken wail tugs at your throat as his fingers press down on your clit, through the wet fabric of your thong to keep the stimulation from become too intense. Huffs and moans and sobs waterfall from your mouth with nothing to stop them as he abuses your body in its weakened state, a heat spiraling through your body as he works you over. Your body comes hard and there’s nothing to ease you through it as your thighs shake, your muscles rippling. You close your eyes to the heady assault, trying not to sink through the bed as the thick cloud wisping over your body immediately tries to carry you away.

Kazutora’s groans get heavier, less staggered, ripping through his chest with each wet smack of his hips to the back of your thighs. “Yes, fuck yes, yeah - y-yeah, hah fuck,” his last curse is a laugh, an extended, broken laugh as he slams into you one last time, sinking deep and filling your belly with a hot pool of sticky warmth.

“I fucking needed that,” he slurs, collapsing over your chest and nuzzling up under your jaw. “Thanks, baby.”

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