#wayv pinned | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sxcret-garden · 8 months

Text

Yangyang ღ 4:56pm [M]

ღ WayV Yangyang x fem-bodied!reader ღ words: ~1.7k ღ genre: smut (dom!Yangyang is a bit demanding, some teasing, fingering, unprotected sex) ღ warnings: (he picks the reader up, reader is implied to be smaller than him) ღ prompt: against the wall

A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his hot breath tickling your neck, lips ghosting over the skin to tease you. His hands are firmly placed on your sides, meant to keep you from escaping his hold, while your back is pressed up against his chest. You wouldn’t have tried to get away even if he let you, and he probably knows, because the next thing you hear is him letting out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Babe… come spend some time with me,” your boyfriend Yangyang says, making it sound desperate, as if he was begging for you, but you know it’s all an act to have you wrapped around his finger faster.

“Baby…” you mumble, about to say that you have things to do, that you have no time to spare, but when you feel him attaching his lips to your nape and dragging them towards your jaw with sloppy kisses, the words simply get stuck in your throat.

“I’m really horny…” he mutters as his mouth hovers above your ear now, before he kisses your cheek. “Want you…” Reason leaves you as you feel him continue to scatter lingering kisses all over your neck, and as he pulls you even closer to him, so you can feel his bulge against your ass. You don’t have a single thought to waste on what you should be doing right now, with your needy boyfriend working so hard to put you in a similar state to his.

As he drags his lips back up the side of your throat, one hand leaves your hips in order to get a hold of your chin instead, turning your head so he can lock lips with you. The way he demandingly moves his lips against yours makes you moan into his mouth, which he takes as permission to deepen the kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth as he spins you around in his hold so you’re facing each other now, and then he slowly makes you walk backwards. Your shoulders gently hit the wall behind you just when he breaks the kiss, and his half-lidded eyes remain rested on your mouth.

“Yangyang…” you whisper his name, unsure of what to follow up with, but your boyfriend merely draws back in.

“What?” he mutters against your lips, before kissing you again. Your hands find his shirt, fingers digging into the fabric as you try to hold onto him. With his hips against yours, he pushes you fully up against the wall, keeping you in place, and as you part, you find a dangerous glint in the way he looks at you. “You’re so cute…” he breathes, and you frown at him.

“Where…?” Yangyang grins at you now, reaching for your wrists and even though you try to resist him, he brings them up above your head with ease, pinning you to the wall.

“Everywhere,” he answers, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth, before he elaborates, “Especially when you’re all flustered like this."

"Where am I-?!” You get ready to argue with him, but even you can’t deny the way his words and actions make blood rush to your whole face, and the way your heart beats like crazy.

“Everywhere. As I said.” Your boyfriend gives you another grin - a victorious one, because he knows that he has you exactly where he wants you now. Then he buries his head in the crook of your neck, starting to kiss and nibble on your skin.

“D-don’t leave a mark…” you say, but he doesn’t want to listen.

“But I want everyone to see that you’re mine,” he simply retorts, and you can feel your knees growing weak. As he’s making his way to your collarbones, lips exploring everywhere your shirt isn’t covering your skin, he moves his hips away from yours, slipping his hand down in between your bodies instead. He unbuttons your pants with one hand, sliding past the hem and making you shiver as his fingertips find the fabric of your underpants. A moan escapes you as he begins to lazily run a finger up and down your folds, and warmth rushes to your core.

“L-let’s at least take this to the bedroom…” you mumble, and he lifts his head to look at you.

“No,” he says, pressing his finger against your clit to make you whine again. “I want you right here, right now.” You feel a need to protest - after all you’re in the hallway between the living room and the kitchen, which is not a very good place to have sex in your opinion - but somehow the lust-filled look he gives you won’t let you speak. Instead, it just makes you anticipate what he would do to you, and so you decide to be patient.

Yangyang’s lips meet yours again, and you almost sigh in disappointment when his hand wanders from your core to your stomach, pulling up your shirt. He parts from you for a second to slip it off you, tossing it to the ground as he reaches for your hands that you didn’t dare to move from their position above you, and he shoots you a satisfied smile, as if he wanted to praise you for keeping them there. His other hand reaches behind your back, unclasping your bra skillfully and removing it, letting it fall to the floor as well. Then he guides your arms to his shoulders for you to put them there.

“Hold onto me,” he tells you, and you obey, wrapping your arms safely around his neck as he goes in for another open-mouthed kiss. He is quick to cup one of your breasts with his warm palm, kneading the tender piece of flesh and teasing your nipple, causing you to throw your head back as you break the kiss. Attaching his lips to your exposed throat, he kisses his way down, eventually nipping at your collarbones as you hold onto him.

“Feels good?” he asks, and you immediately nod, moaning in response. “Then how about… this?” Yangyang lets his fingertips dance down your belly, now slipping his hand underneath your panties and touching you directly.

“Mmhh… f-feels better…” you mewl, shutting your eyes tightly and moving your hips towards his touch. You moan as he dips a finger inside, but he pulls right out again, repeating the procedure a few times until you’re starting to get frustrated. “Baby… m-more, please,” you beg, and you earn yourself a kiss before he pushes his finger inside properly.

“More?” he asks. “One finger can’t be very satisfying…”

“P-please…” you whine.

“So cute…” your boyfriend coos over you, and he rewards you by pushing another finger inside with ease. Slowly curling them against your walls, he watches your reactions closely, and eventually you can feel your thighs starting to tremble from the pleasure. You let your head fall forward, leaning against his chest as you hold onto him tightly, moaning and begging for more.

“More…?” Yangyang repeats. “I’ll give you something even better, then.” As he pulls his fingers out, you’re overcome by a sense of deprivation, but when he begins to unzip his own pants, pulling them down just enough so his bulge covered in his boxers is visible, you begin to understand what he’s about to do. “Help me out here, babe,” he whispers, before reaching behind him to retrieve one of your hands, guiding it to his core. You touch his length, palming him through his underwear, earning yourself a groan while he places his forearms against the wall on either side of you to support himself.

“Fuck, babe… Y/N, I want to fuck you so bad…” he groans through gritted teeth as you can feel him grow under your touch, until the strain must be painful for him. Eventually, he makes you stop, and he pulls his boxers down too, ordering you to remove your pants. You’ve barely slipped out of them when he places his hands behind your thighs, telling you to hold on tight, and when you’ve safely wrapped both arms around his shoulders, he picks you up. Pushing inside you with one eager thrust, he makes you moan and he stops his movements right away to let you adjust to his size. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he says, and you can feel his breath on your cheeks as he speaks.

“I’m ready,” you let him know soon after, and Yangyang doesn’t hesitate for a single second. He rolls his hips against yours in slow, smooth motions at first, but as he gets more impatient, he quickly picks up some speed. “F-fuck…” you curse, unable to do anything other than cling to him and to moan at the pleasure of having him inside you. “F-feels so good…” You can feel him digging his fingernails into your skin, the pain mixing with the pleasure and sending you into a state of pure bliss. Legs wrapped around him, you try to move your hips so he would reach deeper inside you as he fucks you against the wall.

“I won’t last long, babe,” he tells you, his voice sounding strained. “You feel so good…”

“D-don’t stop now… please don’t stop…” you find yourself begging, head spinning from the position you’re in and the way he fucks you so good. “I-I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum…” You come undone while moaning his name, feeling your walls contract around his cock, and along with him growling your name, he fills you up with his warm seed. You stay in your position for a few moments, so you can each come down from your highs, until eventually he slips out of you, setting your feet back on the ground.

“That was… nice…” you say, back leaned against the wall while you’re still trying to catch your breath. Your boyfriend draws closer to give you a short kiss, and then he grins at you.

“We can still go to the bedroom now,” he mischievously suggests. “And have round two there.”

#wayv smut #yangyang smut #nct smut #wayv x reader #yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv scenarios #wayv imagines #wayv drabbles #yangyang imagines #kpop smut #smut

404 notes · View notes

hexonthepeach · 6 months

Text

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 22: sated

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [21: confrontation]

wc: 8.4k

warnings: cousin incest, explicit m/f smut (rut sex, breast worship, omega locking) between omega/alpha-passing!omega (trans 2nd gender, use of Alpha as affirmation), switching, a little breeding kink, pet name: baby

recommended listening: i'd pick something sweet from shalala like ruby but let's be real all i've been listening to is wayv's rodeo

You'd woken to a new day well after dawn, clouded by winter snow, watching the swirls of white this far up recede into an unknowable horizon. It's dark outside, but you begin your work to make this space your own bright refuge, your own hospitality in the smallest of measures taught to you by your former servants.

Candles lit, ambient music played once you'd found an appropriate channel. You'd attended to yourself the same, donning another of the traditional robes from Taeyong's closet, hem pinned to keep it from dragging, tied back carefully.

And then, finally, you get to work on your meal. It might be for others, but it’s for your benefit most of all, a gift and a blessing.

Doyoung had delivered on his promise to have everything you needed brought up before you woke. He'd quietly come in to sleep beside you and Taeyong last night after you’d fallen asleep talking, but you never expected him to stay. Today is not much different.

Back when you'd been training you'd been given carte blanche access to one of the many Imperial kitchens servicing your household, after rigorous instruction in much smaller spaces.

What would you do if your mate demanded you bring him his mother's hangover soup after a late night business meeting? What would you make to show another pack's Alpha you respected his tastes in Renaissance Shanghai cuisine?

Traditional Goryeo cooking still eluded you with the new overwhelmingness of garlic on your fingers or onion in your eyes but you had a mastery of technique. It was better to make this, you think, than any of the European dishes you'd grown sick of.

You attack your project within the hours given you, pulling out every ingredient and lining them up like soldiers on the spotless countertops, next to crates of freshly harvested vegetables and a beautiful array of crocks, an entire pallet of eggs awaiting your destruction of them.

You imagine chickens clucking and pecking away deep in the belly of NeoTech HQ and have a laugh at that. You hope they are warm and safe and happy, their little bird bellies full.

Your first guest is, of course, your fellow residents. Doyoung enters, smelling vaguely of snow, as if he's been outside. Trailing him, shyly, is your guest of honor.

"No waiting," you say, pushing plates in front of Taeyong the moment he's near the low island. "You have to tell me if this is edible."

The other fox hesitates, removing his suit jacket, sniffing the air. He looks flushed but relatively healthier, eyes bright as he sniffs at the banchan.

"Do you need help?" his eyes go even more round at the sight of the kitchen. You've managed to keep everything orderly but there is more than enough going on, all 6 ranges and both ovens on for warming.

"I need you to eat," you remark, turning back to your work. "Is there a dish you're craving?"

You empty a bowl of eggs into a pan of sauteed tomato, ears backwards for a response from him as you watch the whites congeal.

"Anything you make," he says, softly.

"Try the jeon," you say. "I understand we both like sweet potatoes?"

You peer over your shoulder to find him eating the last fried slice, crumbs and oil glistening on his mouth.

"It tastes like my sister's." Taeyong sniffs, tears pouring from his eyes.

"Thank you," Doyoung concedes, tying his apron. "He's never had that reaction when I've made it."

Together you fall into a steady routine, Doyoung darting out of the way to allow you to work, managing dishwashing when you begin handing him your used utensils and pans. You don't realize you have a second set of hands at your disposal until the steam from an opened cookpot of radish stew burns you, and your hands are enveloped in long fingers.

"Are you hurt?"

You look up to see Jungwoo's watery gaze.

"No," you say, fighting the urge to pull back. "Can you finish the–"

"Allow me." Taeil fights his way between the other two, already fixated on the next round of jeon in the pan. "Run cold water over it. No ice. Taeyong has an aloe plant somewhere, get a cutting."

It's directed at Jungwoo, who flees just as quickly as the thought is put into his mind.

"Thank you," you murmur, moving to the sink.

"You've done a lot more in this kitchen than Taeyong ever aspired to. Is that fresh crab?" Taeil says.

You preen a bit, remembering how much work it had taken to pick it free of the shell after boiling it.

"I wanted to use it for stew but I ran out of burners. Should we make it now? The chrysanthemum greens are over there."

Taeil laughs a little, adding green onion to the pot that burned you.

"There's more than enough with what's on the table." He looks up at your first glimmer of disappointment, cued to your response in a way that has you back under the tap, fingers shaking.

"Do you mind if I add it to the fried rice? I think we'll have more than enough, then," he says. Quietly, for you–"Thank you. Sorry for oversleeping."

You shake your head, smiling.

"You're just in time. I couldn't do this without you," you say, appreciating the way he takes over for you now.

Your eyes drift over the occupants. The long unloved dinner table you'd cleaned of dust last night is the center of chaos with Doyoung managing the hotplates and the central pot, swatting Taeyong's hand as he steals radish and kimchi to shove into his mouth. You sight Haechan arranging plates, immediately turning away before his gaze can lift past the rice he's diligently doling out.

"Is he coming?" You ask, tail smashed against the cupboards.

"He'll be here," Taeil answers. "They just needed time to arrange everything."

"Is it too early to drink?" you ask, earning a dark look.

"After tonight, I owe you one." he says.

Now that you're unoccupied you hear the door open, are ready for a new intruder. You're not prepared for the silence that takes over–the shock on the other's face as they rush to help the person who came in.

"Found him stuck on the stairwell," Jungwoo says. "___, I think you should come here."

You turn off the water, breathing deeply, rounding the corner to the living space to set eyes on your first real challenge.

Wrapped around Jungwoo is a person you are wholly unprepared to witness, clad in much more comfortable athletics clothing under his sling, his face drawn with effort.

"Mark," you breathe.

Tears make your vision swim as you move to support him–embracing him more, arms encircling his solid chest. After a few moments, his free arm twines around you to pat your back.

"Might be the drugs but I'm kind of . . . Well, no. I'm really glad you're alive," he says, voice husky.

"Because of you," you say, so only he can hear, nose in his ribcage and ear against his chest, lulled back into peace by his steady heartbeat. "I didn't know you'd be able to make it. I hope I made something you like: meat, eggs–"

"Who doesn't like that?" He extricates himself, slowly, more agile than you expected after what he'd been through.

There's something else in his scent–a new bitter melon green that has you holding on even as he hobbles away.

"Let me get you some water," you say, fighting back tears. You're denied entrance to the kitchen by someone already carrying two full pitchers. It's nice to see your needs answered so quickly but you look up into bottomless eyes and drown, smile fading.

"Here."

You try to take Jaehyun's offering, realizing too late he's just telling you that he's taking care of this for you.

"Are you . . .?"

He leans down, lips ghosting your forehead. "Thank you."

Then he's past, bringing Mark his water. You watch them for friction, for a flinch, only to find the younger man nod his head in thanks, your new mate moving counterclockwise around the table to fill each glass.

You feel utterly unnecessary in this moment, picking up the abandoned piece of aloe on the island to rub against your scalded red skin.

"Relax," Taeil says, handing you a plate. "He's coming."

"I feel like I need to do a headcount," you joke. "I need some air."

"Do me a favor–take a walk and try some pranayama," Taeil says. “Breathe through your nose for four seconds, hold the breath for 7 seconds, exhale through your mouth for 8 more. And take your time."

You slip out without protest, heading down to the next level with anxiety clinging to each hair raised on your body. Your rounds of breaths are only a few when you're startled by Yuta at the end of the hallway.

"Princess."

"I burnt myself," you say, lifting up your palm. "Taeil told me to get something for it."

Yuta looks at your hand, then up to you, stony face unbreakable as a smile tugs on his lips.

"Looks like you already found it." He pulls something out from behind his back, the bag heavy and redolent with blood. "I heard we needed beef?"

"Yes. Thank you." You feel nauseated by the sight of so much marbled flesh.

"Have you seen Johnny?" You ask, hyper aware of your last guest.

"I'm here."

You don't turn. At least, not quickly. When you finally do your eyes remain on his chest, the peek of gold skin above a thin shirt, leather jacket padding his shoulders.

"Can we talk?" You ask for him, feeling the question between you.

Yuta leaves without another word, feet pounding on the stairs, clearly wanting no part of this.

"Here?" he asks, quietly.

"Where else." You say, exhausted already. "I have nothing to say others can't hear."

"Fine," he says. "Here."

Something is thrust under your nose, the scent overwhelming enough you immediately begin to sneeze, eyes watering beyond tears.

"Oh," you say, watching him pull back the offering and reaching out to snatch it before he can take it back. You're in a tug-of-war for a moment, your hands brushing against the wide splay of his knuckles around a bouquet of golden flowers, wrapped in paper.

Dedication, you think, though you doubt he brought them to you with any intended meaning.

"Are these from–?"

He sneezes, too, turning away. You have a momentary impulse to place your hand between his shoulder blades, snuffing it out in favor of inspecting the blooms.

"I had them delivered from a place I know in Six. Hothouses, obviously."

"Sunflowers in winter," you say, quietly, sniffing the blooms, sneezing again. Their scent is waxy and slightly artificial but you appreciate the color–the way red and orange hues dance down the petals from purplish-red centers. "They’re beautiful."

"Here," he says, pulling a bag from his jacket. "You can plant them if you want. Or eat them, I don't care. They said they won't grow until they know the time is right, but they gave me the instructions if you want to simulate the light and heat cycles–"

"Johnny." You stop his rambling, heart aching in your chest. "Why did you come back that night?"

"For you," he says.

"For Taeyong," you correct.

He sighs, boots creaking as he moves away.

"If nothing had happened, if Taeyong could have been cured, would you still be here?" You ask even if the answer is clear in his irritation.

"I wanted . . ." He ends his statement before he even begins. "No. I would have left as soon as I knew you were back where you belonged."

"Where I belonged?" You finally look up, meeting his steady gaze. "Where was that exactly?"

"Doyoung is–was–working on a solution to transfer you abroad," he says, leveling you with how sure he is in his answer. “One of the EEC countries accepting designated refugees.”

"Even if I wanted to go North to find my–"

"Don't give me that line about going back into that hell. You were a target there when you were a kid, even more now. That will never be your home."

He realizes his mistake, wiping at his face and his cold-reddened nose and cheeks.

"You would have shipped me off to another country, rather than help me?" You bite your lip to keep it from trembling. "I see."

"No, you don't," he argues. "Everything I've ever done, always, since the first time I dragged you out of that godforsaken pit, was to make sure you were safe. It's not my fault you chose to run headfirst into danger at every opportunity."

"No," you counter, paper crinkling as you hold on to your first offering, fighting the urge to toss it in his face. "Don't twist history to make it seem as if you're prioritizing my needs. You had a decade. Ten years to do something that mattered. Spying on me in my own home doesn't count."

"Right," he says. "Did Jungwoo show you that before or after you fucked him in my bed?"

You slap him. He's too tall to get a good hit but your nails are long and sharp, red scores rising on his jaw. Immediately you've plummeted into regret, feeling the hurt you've caused magnified in the echo in your own, burning face. But you hold fast against it.

"You don't get to make accusations like that without asking me first, directly. Do you understand?"

You watch him battle through the rage, nostrils flaring. It so easily disappears when you're back to hyperventilating, remembering the sting when you'd cut through the back of your own ankle on the floor of his room, unable to see how deep. No you'd just felt it–felt it again when Taeil had been forced to cut you open to restitch the nerves and tendons back together so they could finally heal.

"___," he says, but you're not there anymore. You're underwater. Counting seconds between breaths.

"I'm sorry," he says, forgetting your unspoken directive not to touch you, shaking you.

When you don't respond he crushes you against his chest, flowers mangled, face in your hair.

"Please. No. I'm sorry. I fucked this up–I have so much I want to say and I just didn't–"

"Let her go."

You expect someone who can feel you to intervene, one of the Canids–maybe even Doyoung. But the person who pulls you away one-handed, the other leveling his gun, is your most unlikely of saviors.

"You have a choice to make right now, Suh, so I'll keep talking to you like I don't know you're thinking about ripping my arm off." Yuta's voice is level, posture expectant.

"You're going to take a minute and think about what you owe us as Prime. I'm going to take her back upstairs and let her recover. And then you are going back into that room together, as one. Got it?"

Johnny may have nodded–you didn't see it before he turns and leaves–but immediately you feel the empty hallway grow wider, the space less constrictive.

"Thank you," you say, turning away from him as if an automaton. "You didn't have to."

"Technically speaking, I'm the one who fucked you on his bed," he says. "I'm just not apologizing for it."

You look back at his sly face, too astounded by his candor to feel anything other than morbid amusement.

"Yet," he adds. "Didn't want to ruin our first and last meal together."

"In the spirit of community, and to honor our coming together as a tribunal tonight, I would like to ask that we all hold hands and say a prayer."

Doyoung's voice breaks through the tense silence and the ringing of metal utensils on dishes. It takes a long time for the group to respond, eyes turning heavenward for other reasons.

"From youngest to oldest, please," Doyoung adds, looking directly at you at the head of the table.

You fold your hands in your lap, bowing your head slightly.

"Oṁ amṛta tejovati svāhā," you say.

You realize everyone is looking to you to continue, or for an explanation, but you nod your head instead towards the slack-jawed face of the second youngest, seated as far away as possible.

"Well, that's useful," Haechan says, the table shaking when Mark kicks it's leg instead of the one he'd been aiming for under the table. "Dear Heavenly father. Glad eomma and appa decided to stop fighting and fucking eachother long enough we could enjoy this home-cooked meal."

He looks up, smiling wider at the horror on everyone's faces. "Amen."

"Jesus Christ." Mark repeats, blinking slowly at his plate. "Thank you for this meal we're about to receive. Thank you for keeping me alive a little longer, I guess. Sorry for not having the words to say what I mean. Drugs are great, doctor."

He lifts his water like it's a toast in Taeil's direction as Doyoung sighs heavily beside you.

Jungwoo stands up, earning another, more quiet sigh.

"I would like to thank ____ for the meal." He's toasting you, too, but with what looks like a half-drunk glass of tea. He bows his head, mocking but somehow deferential. "God doesn't deserve the praise for whatever you added to the jjigae to make Haechan cry when he ate most of it earlier."

"It was too spicy–"

Jaehyun pulls him down by the shoulder. You meet his direct stare, unsure of what he's thinking. There's an icy wall between you now that you're bonded, but there's nothing malicious or frightened in his regard.

"Thanks," he says, quietly dipping his head in your direction. "For bringing us back together."

"It's been too long," Doyoung murmurs in agreement, hands folding in front of him. "Heavenly creator–"

He has to pause at Haechan's muffled laughter, sitting up to his full height.

"--we have not had an opportunity to be together in a long time. And though it comes with its trials we know that these moments of peace are more precious than we have any right to expect or ask for."

He grips your hand at the left side, making you only more aware of Taeyong's weak and sweaty hold in your right.

"Amen," Doyoung says, quietly staring daggers across the table.

"Amen." Yuta echoes. After a moment he looks up around him, confused. "That's it, right?"

"You're supposed to say something meaningful before it," Taeyong intervenes before Doyoung can explain.

"Oh," he nods, thoughtfully. "Amen."

"Alright well," Taeyong says, finger drifting on his agent. "I'm going to follow ____'s example and share another sutra."

Awkward silence follows his admission, but you squeeze his hand once it's back in yours. He clears his throat.

"’It is like a lighted torch whose flame can be distributed to ever so many other torches which people may bring along; and there– therewith they will cook food and dispel darkness, while the original torch itself remains burning ever the same.’"

The only sound is the bubbling of the stew, Jungwoo offering a solemn nod of understanding.

"Was that AI-generated–" Haechan is cut short by Johnny standing and slamming his palms on the table.

"Are you finished?"

Haechan mimes zipping his lips, but remains silent.

"Good," he says. "Sorry, Doyoung. I have something to say and if anyone interrupts me they can eat from the floor like the animal they are."

No one even breathes in his direction.

"____ is the newest person at our table, but she's also the reason some of us were able to cross paths in the first place."

He looks up, hands flexing on the edge of the table. "We wouldn't be a pack, and we certainly wouldn't be sitting here in the same capacity. For better or worse, we owe her that."

He sits down again, table vibrating with the quake.

"Thank you for that . . . Inspiring gesture," Doyoung murmurs.

"I guess that makes me the last to speak," Taeil says, crossing his arms and leaning back. "I also have known ____ for as long as Johnny. Incidentally, I think by practice amidst designated, we're now also common law married."

Johnny clears his throat, but he defers to the Doctor. You remain in horrified shock, baring your teeth in what you hope resembles a smile.

Taeil raises his glass between you both, and you get the impression from the viscosity of the liquid in it that it's not water.

"May we attend to each other's needs in a way that no longer leads to bodily injury, crisis, or divorce," he says, clearing the shot in one throw. "Let's eat."

The words are echoed–mumbled in Mark's case–the nine descending on the food like they've been starved for weeks. Meanwhile you sit staring at the man across from you, a new hunger manifesting where your appetite should be as you watch him in his element.

As upset as you know Johnny is, he's also content with the atmosphere of normalcy–relaxing into the conversation around the table, occasionally glancing up at you to hold you fixed in his steady gaze. It’s impossible to not feel sadness at being included in this scene, as more of a misfit and outlier than ever.

You don't know what to say, how to relax into it.

"Eat something for me," Doyoung says–not an order–as Jungwoo fishes out crab meat from his own bowl of fried rice to place upon your own and someone else passes down grilled meat.

You pick away at the meal, feeling a dreary sense of finality and the distant sense that, even with you all here, you don't belong. Every bite is flavorless. Taeyong looks just as miserable beside you, black-tipped ears in his pinkish hair pinned back.

"Suppressants?" you ask, leaning in so only he can hear, hyper-aware of the others' eyes on you.

"That. And painkillers. Stimulants, hormonal therapy," he says, swallowing saliva. "I ate a lot already, though–thank you–just trying to let it settle."

You move your chair closer to him, enveloping him with an arm around his quivering shoulders, rubbing his bicep through the layers of fine, loose clothing he'd dressed in for what should have been a more formal affair. He’s not in the state to be doing much, you know.

"Let's try to stomach a little more, and then we can go watch the snow together, maybe?"

He nods, sleepily. Your hand drifts to his head to scratch his scalp at the base of his fur, the sound he makes in his chest loud with the silence that immediately follows.

"Really? Some of us are still eating here," Haechan says across the table, chewing.

"Please, continue." There's a little bit of a snarl in your response, but you don't meet his glare for long, standing up and bowing.

"You'll excuse us," you say, giving Doyoung a measured look before attempting to lift your pack's leader from the table.

He helps you, the both of you navigating Taeyong awkwardly back to their quarters. Johnny moves to stand and you stop him with a flick of your head.

Doyoung tries to guide you to the bedroom but you rally your strength to veer a different direction with Taeyong's weight pressed into your side.

"I'll take care of him," you say, slinging his arm over you as you duck into the nest. "We just need sleep. We’re not going to be able to do this if he's not in the right state of mind."

You think the Lepid will give you a warning or a speech but he simply nods, bending down to make sure you're able to navigate the crowded space before closing the too-small door.

"You don't have to stay," Taeyong says, collapsing into what you hope is just a pile of pillows. Your eyes are adjusting now–seeing the space, finally. It's chaos, yes, but organized in a way you assume has less to do with his mates' concern than his own self-soothing.

Everything is clean and smells of a rich leather and woodspice, green rising up from unlit candles and plants illuminated by soft ultraviolet lamps. The floor is missing under a sea of rugs and blankets and pillows in different colors, shapes and sizes. Trophies of a life that you can only imagine litter ceiling-high shelves, between books and statues and even a little aquarium burbling in the dark.

On the ceiling are stars, of sorts–pinpricks of strung lights spider-webbed beyond a veil of curtains, glass lamps and paper lanterns dimly lit above.

"It's lovely," you say, looking down at his curled form. You make a decision then, shuffling out of your slippers and leaving on the heavy, embroidered robe you'd changed into for the meal.

It's warmer in here than outside, but you still feel a chill as you sink down beside him.

Taeyong's breathing evens out the moment you're in view again, his eyes open and watchful as you pluck a blanket to drape over you both, inching forwards to knock your knees against his.

"Is this going to be alright?" you ask, seeing the uncertainty in his dark gaze. The purplish light paints him almost two-dimensionally, his plush mouth set in a frown.

He nods after a time, radiating that sharp scent of clean musk you know so well.

"I can just hold you for now," you say–more a caution for your fox than his. His tail beats in answer, making you smile. "That helped last night, didn't it?"

"It did," he says. You'd fallen asleep in a similar fashion, fingers laced between each other as you spoke of your histories, your futures. You suspected he’d needed that time even more than you did to feel comfortable with what would happen today.

"We have a lot to work out later. My penance, first, for marking you without your consent," you say, voice cracking.

"Remember. No apologies," he whispers. "Promise me something, though?"

"Anything."

"Only stay if you want to." His words don't match the pleading in his expression, the distress transferred to you through the tenuous bond you share.

"Promise." You find his hands beneath the cover, cold and clammy, lifting them to your mouth to press kisses to his knuckles.

His exhale is a shudder of relief, turning around to press himself closer to you. You have to move a few velvety pillows and what looks suspiciously like a stuffed animal in order to find a comfortable spot behind him, wrapping around his taut back like a smaller, softer sleeve.

This, finally, feels like home.

There's something enrapturing about being so close to someone like you–with Wooyoung out in the Wilds it had been the necessity of shared body heat and the species familiarity that had you locked together at night, no sensuality whatsoever.

Here, pressing your nose into the hair at his nape, a different design is at hand. His heartbeat is loud and steady beneath the white noise of the water filter, slowing with yours. This is safety, you think.

Soon he begins to purr. The sound is too precious for your fox to ignore, finding yourself nuzzling at his bare skin in answer, brought back by the sharp swishing of his tail.

"Sorry," you murmur, pressing a chaste kiss to his spine. His tail swats you again before you can lock it under a leg thrown over his bony hip, hands kept at a safer distance beneath your chin.

"Sleep," you say. You feel languid, finally, tension easing from every muscle and joint and distant throb in the healing of both.

With the heat and the comfort you feel between you, you drift down with him.

"No!" You’re not drowning, now, you’re on fire. Green light arcs across your vision, bound for the valley beneath you. "NO!"

"Wake up," You recognize the command and pull yourself up and out of the abyss, throat ragged from screaming.

A door slams open, air rushing in cold and bitter burnt, and you hear Taeyong growl–loud–shifting over you.

You come back to consciousness with the other fox straddling your hips, strength incredible as he holds you down by your arms while twisted in aggression against the other men outside. It’s still daytime out there, grounding you more in the present.

"I have her. We're safe," he says. "Don't you dare let him in."

Words are spoken, anger pin-pricking at your mind until the door slams shut. The feeling recedes, leaving you panting as sweat breaks over your face and body.

"Shh," Taeyong says, dropping down to press his equally damp forehead to yours. "It was just a nightmare."

"I know, I know," you say, blinking back tears. "I'm sorry to bring them here."

He laughs a little, easing his hold. "You think I haven't had them? I grew up with the airstrikes, too–"

"What did you say?" You feel another wave of cold and pain begin to subsume you, grasping on to rational thought.

"I still dream about the bombings–" his dilated eyes widen, suddenly just as aware. "Wait. That was you. It was so intense. I felt like I was actually there–"

"No," you protest. "No, oh no."

"Shh," he says, eyes flicking over his shoulder, voice lowering. "We'll be alright. Just relax, please."

You begin to cry, prompting him to let you go, fingers soothing your wrists as if to make up for holding them so tightly.

"No, no, ____. It will be alright."

"I really didn't imagine I could ever have that kind of influence. I am a curse, aren't I–?"

Taeyong growls, fisting the pillows beside your head rather than pin you.

"With me," he orders. "Stay with me."

Surprisingly, your fox complies. You hiccup, meekly, watching his face for a sudden change or danger that never arrives. You only see his ears lower, eyebrows raising.

"Damn," he says, quietly, shifting back to take his weight off your thighs.

"What?" you ask, still drowsy, sitting up with your robe hanging from your shoulder.

"That–" he begins. "I think I need to–"

"Go?" you finish for him, followed up quickly by an urgent desire for the opposite. "Please don't go. I can leave if you prefer."

"You don't understand," he says, creeping back.

"Stay," you order.

He looks down at you with disappointment, sinking onto your legs until you can feel what he's so pointlessly tried to hide. He's erect in his loose pants, cock trapped against your robed thigh.

"Oh," you say, cheeks aflame. "Of course. Sorry."

"You always apologize for the wrong things." His eyes clench shut, hips involuntarily rocking into your thighs–just once before he pulls back. "I'm the one who should be sorry. You just . . . you feel so good. You have no idea."

But you do. Warmth spreads through your belly at the sound he makes in the back of his throat, choked and needy.

“I’m going to help you,” you say, rolling your hips up.

"I can't, though–we can wait until–" he's pleading more with himself than you, you think.

"We talked about this. Yes, you can." You grasp at his shoulders to pull him down. He flops down comically beside you, looking defeated. His head is buried in the bustle of pillows beside you, eyes losing focus as you pet him.

"I know I’m not myself, too, but I meant it when I said I wanted you first," you say, running a hand over his head, pushing back his fur to hold his ears down. "Let me fix what I started. Mate me.”

"But . . ." Taeyong's lip wobbles.

"Unless you don't want that? Do you need me to do something . . . Else?"

You're not entirely sure how this will work, but you know it's only fair that you help break his heat. Time was running out.

He pulls you into his arms, sharp chin atop your head.

"You're so precious," he murmurs.

"If you like I can be in control," you say. "I can take care of you. Taeil showed me."

He laughs into your hair, rubbing soothing circles into your back.

"Did Doyoung tell you I'm a pillow prince?"

"You do have a lot of them," you sniff.

That makes him laugh harder.

"I know it must be strange being in another person’s nest. If you . . . we'll help you build your own. Wherever you want it."

"Thank you." You try to keep your voice light but he's tuned into the sadness of realizing how useless it would be without your claims to share it. He clutches you so tightly you have to actively fight the claustrophobia.

"I really should have stayed here," he says. "As useless as I am when I'm in heat–rut–whatever this is, I think I could have taken care of you, too.”

You feel hot and itchy at the admission.

“Do you know, I couldn't stop thinking about you.” His voice is even lower now, nails soothing your spine. “What it would be like to be needed by someone like you.”

"Did you really want to?" you ask. "It's not just because I bit you? Or because of . . ."

There's so much in your mind to try and quiet, doubt ever present. You let his scent infuse you instead, playing with the strands of hair curling under his jaw.

He rubs his face against your hairline, pressing a dry, soft kiss to your forehead.

"I've never been with a girl before, much less another omega . . . Not that I'm not attracted, it was just too dangerous to be with anyone outside the pack. Do you understand?"

You nod.

"So in a way, I'll be your first?"

"You know you feel safe to me, too," Taeyong whispers.

It's a comfort to hear that, after everything. At least even if you feel estranged from them all he's still on your side. Perhaps it's just because you’re family, or shared species or birth designation, but you won't take it for granted.

"How does this work?" you ask. "What can I do for you?"

"We don't need to rush. Let's take it slow and see what we both like, yes?"

You enjoy the thought of exploring with him, even more when he moves lower to kiss your face, smooth lips tracing your features. Unlike Johnny's shyness you think he's trying to keep from appearing desperate, avoiding your mouth until you take it for yourself.

You kiss him, gently, teeth kept locked away as he licks into your lips. He's an incredible lover in this regard alone, stroking your tongue with his and swallowing your soft moans.

Soon you're entwined, your hips rocking together through your clothing, almost more sensual without bare skin. But you want it, stroking his belly beneath his thick shirt until he takes it off. You're immediately exploring the dark, winding pattern of a tattoo wrapped around his lean torso, distracted by how intricate it is.

"A dragon?" you ask, pressing your lips to the scales inked into his shoulder. It's a traditional, ancient design–greens and blues muddied by the magenta light. Like the old myths, you think–a fitting enemy for a tiger.

"Yes–" Taeyong gasps as you lick at his nipple, sucking the bud into your mouth. He seems to enjoy it, but pushes you down after a moment.

"May I?" he asks, waiting for your nod before his firm hands trail down your body, plucking at the sash of your robe.

He looks at you dangerously, eyelids lowered as he parts the clothing to reveal your thin underwear. Slick has already drenched your thighs, a little noise erupting in the back of your throat as he curls down, pulling aside your bra to taste you.

"You're so, so soft," he whispers, sucking gently on your breast, rolling the other beneath his thumb. Your hands bury in his thick hair as he pushes the meat of it upwards, exploring your shape. “And sweet.”

You're losing yourself already at the tender laps, sex throbbing as he teases you, ears brushing against your thighs when he goes lower and you shyly close your legs around his head.

"Open up for me, baby." His tone is deeper, a little more rasped with need.

"I should be pleasing you," you whisper, but he shushes you by flipping you onto your stomach. For a moment you're paralyzed by the memory of being face-first on a cold floor, and just as quickly he's recognized it and off of you, soothing your curled back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"

"No, no," you breathe, sitting up. "I'm not afraid. Just. Do you think I could be above you?"

You’d wanted to know what it was like to be with a less dominant mate, you think this might be your only chance.

"I don't think I could say no to that even if I wanted to." His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale as he lies back, pulling you on top of him as you try to strip down, distracted by the hands and mouth fighting to explore every inch of exposed skin. You feel as hazy as if you were sedated, too, moaning when he grabs your thighs to pull you down onto his face.

You fist the pile above his head as his breaths make you cool, his nose brushing against your heat as he laves carefully at the sensitive gland at your inner thigh. It's such a light touch but your body responds intensely, pleasure like butterfly wings brushing inside you as your nipples harden and your toes curl.

"Oh gods," he says, tongue darting out to collect drips of sweat and slick from your skin, dragging across your underwear. "It's better than I imagined. Kind of like ambrosia."

You whine in earnest now, back arched to present yourself for him from above. He licks into your folds, pulling aside your underwear to bury his tongue in your heat. Your hips move of their own accord and it makes him even more bold in fucking you with his mouth; the deeper he works the muscle into you the more you writhe, clamped down by his hands spreading your gap to expose you for him.

He pulls away the moment you feel like you're getting closer to your climax, breathing just as hard and glossy with your release.

"I don't want to breed you just yet," he murmurs, making you whine. "Can I just do this until your legs can't hold you up, anymore?"

"Please, Alph–" you stop, realizing your mistake, but he only laughs, thumbs kneading the fat at the crest of your thighs.

"You can call me that," he soothes.

"Do you like it?" you ask, cocking your head to look down at him. He's not capable of recognizing your question, it seems, as he buries his damp face in your tail, marking you with your own scent.

"Don't you want to breed me, Alpha?" you ask, experimentally.

"Fuck, don't stop," he says, finally shuffling free of his pants, almost making you collapse on him in his haste. You hold steady, moving down his body to take him in your mouth, grabbed loosely by the scalp to stop.

"Let me make you feel good," you say, already licking a stripe up his shaft and tasting salt and something sweeter. He's a solid weight in your hand–a little softer than you expected and lacking a significant knot but perfect, you think. Yours.

"Turn around, then," he says, rough. "I'm not finished."

You don't know what he means until you're dragged bodily back, underwear torn by what you think might be his teeth, unable to see with your face buried in the crook of his thigh as he devours you again. You struggle to wrap your lips around him, too lost in the scrape of canines on your inner thigh and your own muffled noises, feeling the tightness in your belly ebb whenever he pulls back just as you're close to sliding over into bliss.

"Please," you whimper, grip tightening on his cock to slow him down. "Please, Alpha."

"Not yet," he moans, muffling it with your sex. "Want to feel it."

You struggle out of his arms, settling down over his narrow hips to rub desperately against his length, coating him and your fur equally in slick and spit. He pulls you down, holding you tight to keep from riding him as he slides between your folds.

"I can't wait, ____, it hurts so bad not being in you," he groans in your ear. "Tell me you want it."

"Knot me, Alpha." You don't know if he's capable of it but you don't care, too hellbent on having him fill you. It was silly of you to think you could take your time, you know he needs this as much as you do.

"Want you so badly, Alpha," you say. "Breed me, please."

Desperation has you clawing the pillows beneath your legs, trying to angle yourself to guide him inside of you. He holds your hips, hoisting his own to catch you just right. The first slide into your heat is so much different than what you expected, the perfect fit in how easily he can move inside you, hitting the curve in that sensitive place just inside.

He doesn't pull out completely, instead rocking into you until he’s fully sheathed, dragging against muscles inside of you that tighten for you automatically, gripping him hard.

"That’s so good," he repeats, claws digging into your skin below your breasts as he pushes up into you fluidly. "So soft inside too, velvet."

Any concern about him not having a knot to ease your suffering is erased as you feel his thick base stretching you wide, fighting against the constriction that is utterly out of your control, like you can't and won't let him go now that you have him at your mercy.

You hold his head to you so he can lose himself in the pleasure of tonguing your shape, suckling and biting in a way that makes you flutter even more inside.

"You really like that, don't you baby–" He loses his words when you tense on him again, not sure if you're forcing him out or drawing him in deeper.

"Yes, Alpha." Your mind is obliterated, disappearing into the soft light and the ache of pulsating around him. You feel so good and warm and wanted. "Breed me, fill me with your pups."

When Taeyong comes it's with his teeth scraping the softness over your heart, tongue wrapped around your nipple. He jerks inside you as warmth surges in your belly, your voice's higher pitch mixing with his low growls and whines. He doesn't stop pumping into you, throbs of heat radiating between you as you finally can't hold yourself up anymore.

Artificial fur slides against your back, real fur under your stomach where your tail, or his, is trapped between you as he pulls you over. Now on top he fucks you into the pillows, rough but somehow tender, teeth closing on your neck to tug at the healed skin, not breaking it but bruising it deep enough to mark it. It makes you lose yourself, too, scratching his strong back until he bites you more, and harder.

"Don't stop, please don't stop," you cry out, finally feeling that dam break inside of pure euphoria, your own release a hot gush squeezed out of you around him. That tightness in your core doesn't let up even with the tics of pleasure around him softening inside you.

"Good omega, good baby," he says, finally able to make a word that isn't a grunt or moan of pleasure. "Can't stop, you're already making me hard again, I'm sorry–"

"What is happening . . . ?" You can't finish what you're murmuring either, gasping at the way each word makes you seize again, like you never finished in the first place. You expected him to slip out of you but that's not happening, nor is his spend coming out of you.

He picks you up, gently, rolling you both onto your side so you can breathe more deeply, pulling you against him.

"You locked me," He laughs softly, choking a bit as you try to squeeze the muscles inside you experimentally. "Never in a million years did I think . . ."

"Is that bad?" you ask, feeling vulnerable. Taeyong nibbles at your bottom lip, licking immediately after in case he's caused you pain.

"No. It's perfect. You're so perfect it's hard not to believe you weren't actually made just for me."

Your fox is in rapture, being told she's good enough–for once not empty praise but something to make you feel like you belong. You hold his head to yours, noses bumping. Rubbing his scarred ear between your thumb and index makes him pant a little as his fingers dip between your closed legs, buried in your fur.

"Relax for me," he says, "Now we can really take it slow."

"Yes, please, yes," you whimper, gripping his shoulders to push against him. "Yes, Alpha."

"I should be calling you that," he murmurs, licking at your jaw. "Since you claimed me."

"Oh," you say.

There's not very many thoughts in your head with adoration and joy circulating instead but you do remember the physiology of female Alphas being markedly different than yours. It was unfortunate that it was often spoken of in the context of failures of hybrid breeding programs, the unstated prejudice against them even more taboo than male omegas in an intolerant culture.

But you don't feel like a failure, or a mistake. Not now, not with being able to please your mate so thoroughly.

"You feel like both to me," you gasp out as his fingers lazily explore your sex, answered in the tensing of your walls around him. He's still only half-hard but you can feel him rousing for you, ready to give you more.

Taeyong grinds into you, leg twining over yours to deepen his thrusts. "You feel like both to me, too."

Kim Doyoung [Lepus europaeus α]

"This is bad."

Doyoung checks his agent again, the sky already darkening as mid-afternoon passes into evening. It's not just the deadline, or the weight of dread in his chest, but the fact that it's been an hour and a half since your screams turned into different sounds altogether, loud enough for his sensitive ears and unfortunately–everyone else in the vicinity.

"Make a call, then." Johnny says, a cold towel draped over his face. Like some of the other members of the pack he'd already taken it out on gym equipment, hands a little bloody despite healing from pummeling them raw. The others had evacuated to their own retreats not long after clean-up, Mark and Haechan heading down to the lower levels to check in with what little remained of their meal. From the distant sounds of gunfire below some of the others must be running CQD drills as their preferred form of distraction.

"I'll separate them," he sighs. "We shouldn't have left them alone in the first place."

"No, we shouldn't have. But here we are." The Felid is currently stretched out on his couch, having become a somewhat permanent fixture in his home. It wasn’t like he didn’t understand the desire to constantly be near one’s mate, certainly never able to travel far during ritual.

"Are you going to help me?" Doyoung sighs,

Johnny pulls down the cloth, cracking an eye open. "Why? Afraid she'll take a bite out of you, too?”

"It's not her I'm worried about." One of the many benefits of hybrid companionship, he thinks–was being intimately familiar with the mating habits of vulpes vulpes. He checks the syringe gun Taeil had left them–two just in case.

"How do you want to go about this?" he asks.

"I thought you were the planner here," Johnny remarks, tone acid.

"Oh for fucks sake, be an adult about this." Doyoung paces, loosening his tie. He's not sure if he should get fitted into gloves or body armor but he supposes it would only make things worse considering how tight the space is to navigate.

"I go in first and get her. You get Taeyong."

"Brave," Johnny says dryly.

"She can order you, jackass."

"Should I wear earplugs?"

Doyoung doesn't waste another second fielding the Alpha's snark, heading to the dreaded foxhole. Lord knows he's been in a similar position as you before, thankfully with the wherewithal and means to order Taeyong down. It didn't mean you couldn't do the same, just that if his hunch was correct, you lacked the mental capacity to do so.

"____," he asks, quietly, opening the door.

The room is positively drenched in the overripe fruit scent of sex, nothing unexpected considering it had been seeping through the cracks for a while. One of the requirements of any good nest design was ventilation, of course, that had been accounted for but two omegas-worth of perfume could not be contained that easily.

He hears a soft whine, and then a low growl–too deep and masculine to be yours. Of course, he thinks–he knew that burning sensation in the pit of his stomach wasn't imagined. It had been a long time since Taeyong slipped into rut behavior but it was always a strong possibility with the therapy he maintained.

"It's just me," he says, cautious as he slips in, eyes adjusting to the low light.

Thank god his species was nocturnal, although another reminder that it was to avoid being preyed upon by the creatures in the room. Another snarl startles him from behind, causing him to hit his head on the nearest shelf.

Immediately there's chaos as someone–something takes a swipe at him, claws snagging in his shirt. He's thrown back, syringe gun dropping from his startled grip as Johnny threads past him, mostly beast, pinning Taeyong with a massive paw.

Doyoung pulls back as he finally meets your wild, slitted gaze, teeth bared.

"Down," he says, sitting up and fumbling for the medication. As soon as you see it your tail curls, shoulders hunching into a shape best suited for a lunge.

"Get that thing away from me." Your voice is strained, overgrown canines making you lisp slightly. He fights the urge to laugh at your feral appearance, placing it on the shelf close enough to reach in a hurry before raising his hands.

"Do I need to order you, again, Princess?" he asks, keeping his tone neutral even though his heart is racing beyond his control. He's not immune to the instinct to avoid those orange-touched eyes looking at him like he's your next meal, choosing to lock eyes with you.

You know who's in charge, eyes sliding down submissively even as you snap your teeth.

"Don't order me." You shake your head, grimacing after a moment as you adjust under the robe you'd half-heartedly covered yourself with. Doyoung sits up, hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. Immediately you're stilled, tail flopping fish-like behind you.

A cry bursts out of you as Taeyong chooses that moment to fight back, trying to reach up past Johnny to claw him off of you–Doyoung is prepared for his mate's betrayal but not your intervention.

"Sleep!" you bark, voice pained.

It works like a charm–he's never seen Taeyong respond to a command that quickly or effectively, perhaps aided by the exhaustion so clearly lining his face. You look terrible, as well, drenched in sweat, hair tangled around your ears so even their movements are obscured, flattened in pain and anxiety.

It’s not what he expected to find after that prolonged session but he suspects from the minor wounds you both bear your animals had taken over in more than just behavior. You're probably sore.

"Thank you for obeying," he murmurs, stroking your neck. “Let’s get you out of here and bathed–”

"We have a problem." Johnny is human again, thank goodness, already attempting to lift the unconscious Vulpine from the wreckage of unstuffed pillows and torn clothing.

"We do," you whine, hunching down over Taeyong protectively.

"We're stuck."

[previous] [next] [check the masterlist before you proceed]

#agtbtb #nct 127 fic #nct fic #nct smut #nct x reader #nct 127 fanfic #nct imagines #nct 127 cyberpunk au #nct fanfic #nct omegaverse au #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 smut #nct 127 imagines #taeyong x reader #taeyong x y/n #taeyong x you #taeyong smut

57 notes · View notes