#L joint pain

[energysoda]

OW OW OW JAW HURT

[noxiousgrace]

Krs was probably relieved that he no longer had to deal with fucked up knees after he became Cale henituse

[academiccockroach]

it's 1 AM and I have a very specific bone to pick with a very specific thing I consume, enjoy and endorse wholeheartedly

here's the thing about vampire bites. they are depicted as this little unhinged and nasty but mostly sexy thing right. our guy (gender neutral) gets bitten and it's like ah! it hurts but also it hurts good ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). and here im talking about like. proper vampire teeth, non of that twilight bullshit just two to four proper fangs nothing more nothing less

well clearly the person writing the sexy biting smut scene has never been bitten by a cat. I dont mean like 'ah no Scruffy bit me a little' i don't even mean 'oh no Sceuffy bit me a lot' i mean like a fully grown ass feral cat that has never been touched by human in its life and craves the taste of flesh biting thru skin muscle cartilage -even sometimes bone- whatever the fuck you got in your meat sack that tiny needle thin tooth is piercing right through it

and here's the thing. it doesn't hurt at first oh no. okay well it hurts but if doesn't hurt too much ya know what i mean. and it leaves a cute little mark nothing serious at all

but in a day that wound is gonna swell. and it's gunna. hurt like all fuck because it just directly injected about five gazillion bacteria directly into a neat little incubation pouch and then closed it right up. its gona swell its gonna ooze and throb and hurt and if that shits in your neck ur pretty much done for i mean an infection right next to the jugular is just easy mode for the bacteria

so unless your vampire boyfriend gargles with antiseptic beforehand you aint gotta worry about turning or bleeding out or developing a biting kink cus youre gonna be delirious from meningitis with a football sized phlegmone in your neck beggjng for the sweet sweet release of death thank you for coming to my ted talk please ensure your vampire boyfriend employs proper dental hygiene

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

why do all of my joints HURT

[partycityistotallyofficailguy]

@totally-ikea is a dookie head and walking L

[ketavmorningkick]

Supplements for Inflammation: Natural Solutions for a Healthier You

The process of inflammation is a healthy reaction of the body to damage or infections, but if prolonged, it may cause pain, stiffness of the muscles, and other problems associated with health. For those who are looking at a more holistic way to treat inflammation, OMIT PAIN, a special pain and inflammatory management supplement from Ketav’s Morning Kick, provides an alternative to such medications. This is a unique formulation designed with effective natural herbs to curb the inflammation process, promoting a healthy and active lifestyle.

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OMIT PAIN is designed to address various tissue inflammations and provides:

OMIT PAIN has been developed to relieve different types of soft tissue inflammation and offers:

Elimination of muscle tension to ease the movements and enhance comfort.

Management of chronic pain through appropriate anti-inflammatory measures.

Quickening of the recovery process of the injured muscles and connective tissues.

Inhibition of secondary changes in bones and joints.

Improved muscular functioning and physical fitness as a whole.

OMIT PAIN is one of the best supplements for arthritis online in India which offers a successful solution to any inflammation-related issues, whether you have arthritis or suffer from just muscle pains.

Key Ingredients and Their Functions

OMIT PAIN is distinguished by the selection of its natural components, each ingredient being central to the effectiveness of treating pain and inflammation.

Boswellia Serrata

Boswellic acid is one of its major constituents and acts as a potent inhibitor of pro-inflammatory enzymes. 

Relives smooth muscle contraction and tissue proliferation during inflammation. 

Protects against degradation of connective tissues, enhancing joint health.

Asparagus Racemosus

A herb with adaptogenic properties especially in managing physical and mental stresses. 

Acts as a wholesome restorative, boosting energy and well-being.

Curcuma Longa (Turmeric)

Renowned for its anti-inflammatory properties.

Modulates pro-inflammatory cytokines, reducing pain in muscles and connective tissues.

Piper Longum

A potent anti-inflammatory and muscle relaxant.

Alleviates muscle tension and provides lasting pain relief.

The herbal-based paradigm of OMIT PAIN makes it preferred among consumers looking for natural supplements for joint pain and inflammation management products.

Why Choose OMIT PAIN?

OMIT PAIN is a natural pain relief remedy that provides health benefits that are beyond the use of the medication. It is anti-inflammatory, yet promotes general well-being as well. It also fits well with the objectives of maintaining healthy living by encouraging a regimen that embraces natural products such as green tea for sustainability and wellness.

For individuals managing health conditions like arthritis, joint pain or even muscle injury, this supplement helps other health products, like the other antioxidant supplements online in India, to create a wholesome health approach.

Conclusion:

Pain and inflammation can have adverse effects on the way you perform your day-to-day activities and your health in general. There is a solution to this problem with OMIT PAIN, as it is all-natural and works in easing inflammation, promoting joint functionality, and helping in performing optimally. Its effective ingredients such as Boswellia Serrata, Asparagus Racemosus, Curcuma Longa work together to fight the sources of pain and inflammation for long-lasting relief and energy replenishment. Making an effort towards ideal health can be possible when besides using the OMIT PAIN, added to the morning routine and a healthy lifestyle is maintained. Take advantage of the natural supplements and lead a better and more energetic life with Ketav’s Morning Kick.

[gwynbleidd892]

.

[sidotherobot]

girl please can i get a break

[magicdustsworld]

𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀(4)

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Profanity, illness, fluff, mentions of blood, no curse AU, no mentions of y/n.

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟒: 𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇

A/N: ik i haven't posted in a while (in my defence, school is taking up too much of my time to focus on anything else) but I got an off day and this was a quick write up (actually not) jhjhjhs wc - 3.7k. Hope you enjoy <3

Divider credits - @cafekitsune

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟑

It's not usual for Sukuna to fall ill.

However, when he does it’s like all the pathogens known to mankind have taken it upon themselves to infect him.

This time, it isn't so different after all.

Since the break of dawn Sukuna's been awake. Body twisted in an uncomfortable manner under the duvets, the dim flicker of the night lamp proves to be a companion in the otherwise solitary room.

"Fucking hell," He curses under his breath, shifting his position to ease the persistent ache that ripples through his body; his joints, for some reason, seems to have tightened itself to his bones. Slight movement proving to be difficult. While the air conditioner functions properly, a sheen of perspiration aglows his forehead—he swabs the moisture only to meet with another thin layer marring his skin, seconds later. He forces open an eye, trying to contemplate why your figure beside him does seems so fuzzy. No sooner, he can clear the mystery does a wave of shiver runs down his spine. "What the hell is this?"

The question leaves his lips, followed by strange churn of his stomach and on instinct he smacks his hand over his mouth.

The next minutes are blurred. Literally blurred for the brief time as if his body is set on auto-pilot, beckoning him to rise from the bed and walk to the bathroom.

As the expunging liquids leaves his throat and down the toilet does his distinct vision returns. Lips apart, he breaths in copious amount of air while the room seems to spin in a whirl. Once his senses have returned, he reached to flush down the contents only to halt.

Is that... blood?

.

"Temperature 101.6 °F and he threw up in the morning."

Sukuna would rather be anywhere but here.

Sitting in a doctor's cabin with you while the former wouldn't stop with his ridiculous questions. Inadvertently, he rests his scalp against the wall, a searing pain ripping from his chest every once in a while, causing him to jolt as if he's being electrocuted.

"Any other discomfort? Body ache or...?" Shinzo trails off, continuing with the physical examination of his patient.

In response, Sukuna shakes his head negatively. However, you take it upon yourself to be honest, "He does and he coughed through the whole drive."

"Not the whole—"

"Keep your mouth shut." Harshly you rebuke, shooting a scornful glare his way.

His lips curl down, on the verge to retaliate before the notion of it seems indolent. He's already been through a series of blood test and chest X rays since the last thirty minutes, exhausting him beyond relief; no need to add more to the list. Therefore, his mouth forms a thin line.

Shinzo hums, finishing with the check up as he returns to his seat across you. Scribbling down on the prescription, a knock sounds from the door and soon his assistant strides in with a number of reports. While the doctor reads through the files of his current patient, your hypertension manifests itself upon your being when your eyes find your boyfriend.

Awfully muted, his throat must have chipped while he threw up—reason to the unusual bleeding. Shoulders raised in a manner, tints of red stains his skin and the groans that escalates from him whenever he attempts to move just causes you to wince. You chew on your bottom lip, fiddling with the fabric of your jacket as the momentary silence in the room stretches. For too long that this might be the loudest silence, you’ve been in.

"Does he need to be hospitalized?"

"No—"

"I am not talking to you."

Sukuna clicks his tongue, just taking a mental note to give you an earful once all of this shit is over. It's so fucking funny. Oh, for heavens... he is perfectly fine. Well yeah, maybe some coughing fit but he can work through that for the day. No way did you call Kenjaku and call in sick for him. And he allowed that? Allowed you to drag you here as well? Alright, maybe he is sick.

Shinzo sets the files down, "Stage I Pneumonia," He concludes, straightening his posture and continues with the prescription. "No need for hospitalization but I am prescribing an antiviral— Tamiflu. Thirty minutes after breakfast, lunch and dinner for three days. Ibuprofen remains whenever he gets high fever and for the cough..." He pinches the bridge of his nose, ripping the sheet before passing it to you. "There's the Honiitus syrup, he can have 10 ml now. Rest, you know."

You nod, scanning the sheet in your grasp, irises halting on the specific medications. Craning your neck upto him, you ask, "Thank you and anything else?"

"Adequate rest and homemade food and he's good to go."

.

"Don't be difficult now, drink it."

"No."

Sukuna scowls at you and you scowl back. His eyes shifts to the tin medicine cup-cap in your hand filled with the amber coloured liquid which is supposed to heal his sore throat.

Currently, confined inside the four walls of his room, this place is 100 times better than that doctor's cabin and any hospital bed. He is sure just a whole day of sleep will make him back on his feet but you just have to be so... persistent.

"I am not asking, drink it." You extend your hand, bringing the liquid to his lips, only for him to turn his face away.

"And I said no," He spits back, eye twitching as he disregards your terse call. "Get that shit out of my face."

"This is for your own good, Sukuna. Stop acting like a child."

Sukuna only huffs in response, muttering a string of curses under his breath. No way is he letting you win this plus that thing in your hand smells disgusting.

“Absolutely not.”

You heave out loudly, "I don't want to force you."

That draws an almost amused chuckle out of him, he tilts his head—eyes shutting down and mouth clamping with a sound as another wave of nausea overrides him. Once composed, he reopens his eyes, challenge swirling in the crimson hues, "You think you can force me?"

“I don’t think so,” A mirthless smile curves into your own mien, you regard his dare with one of your own. "I know so."

"Sure."

"So are you going to be a good boy and drink it or do I need to make you?"

He scoffs, "Go on and try."

You pause for a second, bringing the cup down, gaze settled on him and for reasons unknown, Sukuna senses trouble. "Remember, you asked for it."

He shuts his eyes, rolling the irises behind the lids. You are just so funny sometimes. To think you can force him? Really? Even in this state, he can easily overpower you without even trying. Pick you up and throw you on the bed without any effort. But just for the jokes and laughs, he will let you get a head start.

In the reverie, he is when your warm palm grazes his jaw.

Here it comes.

Until it doesn't.

There's no hint of strength, no force, nothing as you let your palm trail over his skin. He opens his eyes and good lord's... You are close. Too close for his liking. Not that he is complaining. Of course. You can be closer if you want but wait– he is infected, right?

So you shouldn't be near him.

But it's like some hypnotism that's in play as he gazes into your eyes. With the added bonus of your soothing touch on his jaw, the pad of your thumb running on his lower lip—you pull down the flesh. He can see you more clearly than ever, from the slight furrow of your brows to the twitch of your lips and the light reflecting on your eyes.

It's clear.

So, so clear.

A heat spreads through his cheeks, mingling with the blood flowing in his veins and in seconds, his heart rate amplifies. Was it one of the side effects of Pneumonia? Shinzo obviously didn’t mention this but- fuck! You are here and the proximity only hitches the breath in his throat. Your rhythmic exhalation of air fans his skin and he swallows a lump.

Fuck!

He is truly sick.

You draw him in, "Open your mouth."

Before he can make sense of the situation, his body complies. Lips parting and soon you are pouring the medicine down his throat. He gulps, eyes still trained on you and yours on his.

You sit back on the bed and Sukuna blinks.

Wait– what just happened?

"That wasn't too hard now, was it?" You chuckle, pouring some water on the cup and swirl it.

"You– you tricked me."

"Oh? Did I?" Feigning innocence, you laugh again. "And what if I did? ...Oh, and don't make that face now, it doesn't taste that bad.”

“Taste it yourself then speak.”

“I am not the one who’s sick, you are” You muse, cleaning the cap and fastening the lid. He mutters an incoherent curse under his breath and you stand up. Straightening the duvet, you beckon him to lay down.

Something he does without any protest. However, his eyes flickers to the door for a brief second and now only, he is met with the yellowish eyes of a feline.

He raises an eyebrow, “What do you want?”

Kuro passes him a languid stare, his whiskers tremor once almost like its scowling. Only serving for the former’s vexation, the man waves him off without a thought. A low squeal is erupted from him and he is on the verge of pouncing of him when step in.

Picking up the cat, you bring it up to your face, “See Kuro, your papa is sick. So no trespassing here for a week.”

He blinks and answers you as though he understands what you mean.

You’re pretty sure he will try to barge in the second you leave but hey! What’s the problem to hold a little hope? Setting the cat down, you usher him out. Turning towards your boyfriend, you shoot him a heads up. One which he returns with a dismissive gesture.

“Get some rest in the meantime. I will be in the living room, just call if you need something.”

The lights dim out, curtain pulled over – creating the perfect atmosphere for an hour or more nap. Chirping of birds and the revving engines of cars from outside fades into background as comfort envelopes Sukuna amidst the sheets.

Despite it all, hollowness unfurls into his being.

The notion of silence returning again while he the room cloaks itself in darkness strikes an anonymous melancholy though his chest. A garter wraps around his neck, tightening with each passing second. And just like that the calm veneer crumbles into dust.

He pries an eye open and although the blackened room vanishes everything, its difficult to amiss your retreating figure. The haze increases, mouth sealed shut – he can’t speak. So, he extends an arm.

Wait-

The door closes shut.

.

He is walking through a mirage.

Surely, he has strolled through this area before. Once. Twice. Thrice. This is the fourth instance he is met with the same beige tinted cottages with scarlet thatched roofs.

He walks through the secluded lane across them.

Where is he going? He doesn’t know that. Just he is walking all alone. On his own. Just cause he has to.

Sky obscured with thick clouds, every once in a while does the thunder cracks. Lightening over the whole region. Sound so prominent, so daunting that it shakes the whole neighbourhood. For reasons, Sukuna finds an undulating spark tightening over his frame as every step forward becomes a struggle on its own. Down pouring heavily, the droplets causes his clothes to stick to his skin. Dripping down his ink stained countenance, clouding his vision. Breaths filled with raggedness, he wipes the moisture off- it isn’t removed.

He tries again and again and again.

Doesn’t work.

Nothing works.

How can anything ever work when-

Only a singular step he has taken and its like he is pushed off from a building.

Falling down, he doesn’t know what awaits him.

However, when he returns to his feet, the whole scenery has changed.

Instead of the murky countryside stretching with grasslands till the horizon, he is met with the picturesque view of a beach. Sparkling waves rises with all its glory, flaunting its sheer power before crashing on the sandy soil. Seagulls fly over the water bodies, their voice being a distinct reminder of this serenity. Murmurs of human life accompanied by distant tune from seaside eateries greet him. The gentle wisp of the sea breeze ruffles his hair, wafting sand into his eyes and nostrils; he doesn’t flinch.

When he looks around, everyone vanishes.

From the footprints on the soil to the sea castles to all the tourists. No one’s here.

The seclusion stalls on him only a second later. That’s when he realizes, everything’s truly gone.

The scorching sun blazes in fury, momentarily blinding him. Humidity persists in the air, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The waves crash again and he walks towards it. For some unknown reason-this feels right.

What’s the point of continuing anymore?

The sand prickles under his feet as he staggers towards the water. Sky high waves flicker and dance, crashing onto him and even though the musky salt should cause him to recoil, the intensity should strike some agony – he feels nothing.

Paving his way through the water until the very liquid surrounds him. All of this, just seems so empty.

“Sukuna,”

As if broken out from a trance by the mere call of his name, he turns.

Once again the vast expanse of the world does everything shift.

“You’re holding yourself well,” Jin remarks, wiping some specks of soap water from a plate. “Better than I expected you to.”

Sukuna’s eyes drift to take in the surroundings; standing across the kitchen counter of his apartment. His brother indulges in cleaning some utensils, a forlorn lilt of his lips prompts the former to raise an eyebrow. The room remains quiet only broken by the usual cling of the cutlery. From his periphery, he could see his nephew crouched down before Kuro, the boy ruffles the feline’s hair and now the cat should retaliate. Until it doesn’t.

“Taking care of Kuro as well,” Jin stares down at the duo. “Give yourself some credit y’know.”

Wait- since when did his brother know about the cat? And since when did Yuji turn to silent?

Gazing out the window- his eyes widen.

When did his neighbourhood change so much?

Without any explanation, Sukuna marches out of the apartment.

Greeted by a hoard of stones situated all over the grassland. Each of different shapes, sizes and perhaps… something just might be written on it. He doesn’t wait to read. Why should he doesn’t have his reading glasses with him?

Feet squashing the lifeless grasses, the leaves don’t crunch under his boots. His steps are steady, turning round a corner or more whenever he so pleases. Maybe this is the way out of the labyrinth of stones.

However, he halts before a particular stone.

For reasons unknown, Sukuna feels life slipping out of his fingers.

.

Sukuna wakes up with a jolt.

Eyes wide open, he breaths in through his mouth. Fingers trembling with the surge of adrenaline as his shoulders rise and fall in a cadence. Think coat of sweat mars his whole body, vest clinging to him like a second skin and the duvets covering his form renders him panting fit.

What was that? The beach? His brother? Those stones?

What- what was happening?

The eerie maze where he walked? Ran?

Wait- what occurred?

The ceiling lights blinds him with all the intensity, he shuts his eyelids, grunting out like a wounded animal. Some external voice rings out, too loud, too disturbing that he’s forced to press his palm over his ears. Touches guide his skin from his cheek to shoulders and a burst of repulsion compels him to push the person away.

Who the hell was it to hold him like that?

He’s got a girlfriend for fuck’s sake. Get the hell away from him.

However, instead of leaving him alone they are inching closer. He is met with the same touch again but the noise starts to clear as well.

“…Just a dream, you’re fine...”

Albeit begrudgingly, Sukuna removes his hand from his ears.

“…You’re home, calm down…”

It’s a gamble but he manages to reopen his eyes.

“Are you ok? What happened?”

Sukuna blinks, stupefied for the second.

There you are, standing before him while cupping his face in your little palms. Thumb running circles over the tattoos on his face, irises pooling with sheer concern, your eyes are solely focused on a subject. That subject being him.

He looks around.

Notably, nothing has changed. He is still in his bedroom, sitting on the bed with the comforter pooled around his hips. From the traces of light pouring from the ajar window, he can make out how the light fades to dark as twilight tints the skies in hues of violet and blue.

“Hey,” You tap his cheek, urging him to face you, “Why aren’t you speaking?”

He only responds with long stare.

“Sore throat? Should I bring honiitus again?”

“Don’t even think about it, woman.” He barks, lips curling down in utter disgust as the very prominent taste of the damn syrup lingers in the back of his mouth.

Without making a fuss about his sudden outburst, you place your backhand over his forehead. “Mhm… you don’t seem to have fever.” You nod, “No ibuprofen, then.”

“Fucking finally.”

“Don’t celebrate too early,” You snort, a mirthful smile creeping onto you, “Tamiflu after lunch, remember?”

“Well genius, I didn’t have lunch.”

You snap your fingers, “I know, and there it is,” You point to a tray stacked with a lidded container resting on top of the nightstand.

He stares at it for a second too long, “What’s that?”

“Boiled vegetables and… no–” You flick your index finger in the air, a clear negative sign. “No more tantrums, you’ll shut up and eat.”

“As if,” He scoffs, twisting his body away from the utensil, he faces the wall as if the blank canvas seems more interesting than the food you cooked.

You sigh, sitting down on the limited space provided for you on the bed across him, “Just because I call you baby doesn’t mean you have to act like one.”

“I am not enacting–  no, just– fuck,”  He curses under his breath, fumbling with the words too many times before he reaches a conclusion. “I am not acting like a god damn child.”

“Sure.” His eyes narrows down while he regards you. You stretch your arms, the joints cracking under the evident tension, “I added a few pieces of meat for taste, just so you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, retorts accumulating in his mouth. Just a second away from being unleashed before his gaze lands on a bowl and a pack of damp towels. “What happened with that?”

“What?”

“That.”

You glance at the way he points, taking a moment to contemplate before you answer, “I called Dr. Shinzo again, he said applying cold water towels will help with the fever so…”

Sukuna doesn’t know why, but he stills. “You were doing that all this time?”

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

You tilt your head, “Maybe cause you need it?” He blinks and you find your patience wearing thin. Dismissing the confusion clouding his visage, you reach for the tray and pick it up. The clattering of the utensils due to your unstable balance rings through the whole room. “See, this won’t be that bad. Besides, it’s only for a few days, you can manage, right?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Aw c’mon, now,” You unfasten the lid, dipping the spoon. “I will feed you as compensation. How does that sound?”

He still doesn’t answer but with the way he doesn’t protest your offer, he hopes to let you know his affirmation.

.

Sukuna refuses to let you know that the boiled vegetable soup isn’t as bad as he thought.

.

Two days later

.

Credits to his above average immunity or whatsever but Sukuna is almost back to complete health in just a span of few days.

Finally.

Done he is with all the ibuprofen and every other shit he has to endure.

Never again.

As a ritual, only does the lunchtime ends with the empty hot pot of boiled vegetables being lidded back does Sukuna notice the uncharacteristic clattering of the utensils as you try to hold them in place.

“Give me that.”

Before you can reply, the tray is already being grabbed by your boyfriend as he sets it down on the nightstand.

“That needs to be in the kitchen.”

 Instead of gracing you with a proper answer, you are met with his crimson hues filled with something you can’t quite put a finger on. He urges you to sit with him and you comply. Feeling the need to for some reason.

“What?” You ask. His eyes darts down, following his gaze, confusion clouds your head for he is looking at your hands. “Huh?”

No sooner does the word leave your mouth than he grasps both of your hands on his own. You gasp yet don’t try to pull away.

Sukuna traces his thumb over the ridge of your knuckles to the tips of your nails. Turning them around, he draws every single contour lines on your palm as if he’s etching them onto his memory. It’s not the first time, he is holding your hand but it’s the first time he is noticing all the details. Like how a tiny callous has formed beside the edge of your thumb or how the tiny scar runs down the side of your ring finger.

His grasp tightens over yours, nothing to make it hurt. He would never.

He brings them up, pressing his lips over each and every, societally deemed, imperfection. At last, he turns to your backhand. This time, keeping his gaze stilled on you, he kisses your knuckles.

Perhaps, he’d have kissed you too but he doesn’t want the infection to pass.

Perhaps, you’ll know someday that… he is grateful.

Taglist: @comeonatmebruh @sweetpo1son @malazloje @tadabzzzbee @o-ikawaii

[moonstruckme]

can i request a doctor!remus fic where maybe reader comes into the er and is very panicked by doctors and hospitals and they call remus in to help because he’s like known for putting people at ease….this may or may not be based on when i freaked out over a needle and they had to bring in a special doctor :l please and thank you and i’m obsessed with your fics <3

Thank you sweetness <3

cw: hospital, needle

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Your heart is in your throat. It’s pounding so hard you can feel its beating in your teeth, and no matter how you try you cannot get tears to stop leaking from your eyes. 

“Wait,” you say again, the word a wobbly, tight-voiced mantra. You keep thinking that if you can just calm yourself enough to seem credible, you can reason with these people. Convince them that you’re actually fine, so there’s no need to touch you, or poke you, or try to move your already agonizing shoulder. 

There are already three people in your tiny curtained-off room with you, so when the curtain pulls back and a fourth enters, you angle your hurt shoulder away from him unconsciously. 

“Hello,” the new doctor says. His voice is low and velveteen smooth, cutting through the thrumming panic in your brain like a warm knife through butter. The other doctor and the nurses who have been trying to pacify you fall quiet, seemingly relieved this other man is here. He glances quickly at a clipboard. “Y/n? I’m Remus.” 

“Hi.” You feel pathetic and a bit wild, tears still trudging down your face as you try to keep an eye on everyone in the room, especially the nurse with the needle. They’ve promised you several times now that they’re not going to do anything until you agree, and it’s not that you don’t trust that but you’re wary of anything happening without your notice. 

Remus walks over to you as though this scene is completely normal for him. He takes a seat on the edge of your bed and sets the clipboard down. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, looking as though he’d really like to know. His expression is kind and concerned. 

You give a little laugh, using your good hand to wipe under your eyes. It comes out sounding pitchy and stilted. “I’ve been better,” you admit. Remus’ lips curve in a small, sad smile. “I just, I’d really rather not be here.” 

“That’s understandable,” he replies patiently. He seems the least urgent of anyone you’ve interacted with since you’ve been here, and there’s a tranquility about him that’s contagious. You feel your tears slowing. “This isn’t really somewhere people end up when their day is going according to plan. What is it that’s making you nervous, sweetheart?” 

All of it, you want to say. The doctors and the nurses and the machines and the hair-raising sound of a baby crying a few rooms over. You hate hospitals and you always have. The idea of needing to be in more pain to relieve the one you’re already experiencing makes you feel like you’re trying to breathe through a straw. 

“I don’t like needles,” you say. Understatement of the year. 

Remus nods, seeming to mull this over. “Well, you have a dislocated shoulder,” he says, mouth pinching sympathetically. “The only way to fix that is to put the joint back into its proper place. It’s not the sort of thing that takes care of itself.” As he talks, his hand moves to rest on top of yours, forefinger stroking a slow back-and-forth across the back of your hand. “It can be fairly painful,” he tells you, “and if you move you could make things a lot harder for yourself. So, we’re going to give you medicine to help you calm down and alleviate the pain.” 

In his steady, dulcet voice, the thing that’s been explained to you twice over already sounds a lot more sensible. His thumb works over your hand, light brown eyes gently coaxing.

“The good thing about this procedure is, both parts are done with fairly quickly. And if you’d like me to, I can hold you while Dr. Michaels works, if that’ll help you at all.” 

The other three people in the room are moving again, somewhat slowly, but Remus doesn’t seem to notice. He holds your gaze. 

“Yes, please,” you say tightly. You know it’s an acquiescence. Even as you say it more tears are blurring your vision. 

“Alright, it’s alright.” Remus wastes no time in moving to your side, his hip pressed to yours while he wraps one arm around your middle and uses the other to turn your face into his shoulder. “You’re fine, sweetheart.” 

You feel childish and embarrassed, wetting his scrubs with your tears, but he only sweeps his thumb over your ribs, shushing you compassionately.  

“We’re going to give you the medicine now, try to stay relaxed.” 

You tense when you feel the cold wipe, and a quiet whimper slips past your lips at the bite of the needle. 

Remus’ hand tightens on your head. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. The needle slips out. 

“Breathe,” Remus instructs. You hadn’t realized you’d stopped. You let out a tremulous exhale, and he brushes some hairs away from your face, your forehead still resting on his shoulder. “That was good,” he assures you. “You’re halfway done now.” 

“Thank you,” you say, more than a little humiliated as you swipe the wetness from your cheeks, sniffling. 

Remus offers a small smile. It’s absurd how much it relaxes you. “Don’t mention it.” He looks to the other doctor. “How do you want her for this next part?” 

“Lying down, please.” 

He turns back to you. “Okay? You want help?” 

Your good hand has gone back to holding your shoulder, so he uses a hand on your back to help ease you horizontal on the bed. Once you’re settled he coaxes your hand away, taking it in his own. His skin is warm and scarred in some places, cruel lines that feel like a violation to touch. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

Remus gets you talking, about the fall that landed you in here, your day before that, your life in general. His responses are understanding and amused at times, seemingly genuinely invested in what you have to say. As you speak his thumb is moving over the side of your hand, down to your wrist and back again, slow and hypnotic. A few minutes later, your eyelids and limbs are heavy, the movement of Remus’ thumb the center of your focus as he tells you about one of the many scrapes his ostensibly reckless friends have gotten into over the years. 

“Seems like it’s working,” he says with a little smile. You blink, not having realized he’d finished his story. “How do you feel, love?” 

“Sleepy.” Your voice sounds stretched and lazy. “My arm still sorta hurts, though.” 

Remus makes a sympathetic tsking sound. “Unfortunately, we can’t make all the pain go away, but it will be a lot easier than it would have otherwise.” He trades hands, taking your hand in his other one and using the first to make sure your face is angled towards him. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here with you.” 

Somehow, that makes everything seem a lot more manageable. 

[lorelune]

O4O: part iii // PART 2

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega4omega w/ milfy jing yuan || wc: 19.7k of 37.3k  || ao3 ||

Your heat, and the sickness that comes with it, has set in fully. Jing Yuan contends with the type of closeness he craves with you.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

💦🎀 this piece is apart of SPRING FEVER: an omegaverse collab! 🎀💦

✨ O4O masterlist ✨ // part i — part ii — part iii -> PART 1 & PART 2

🩷 extended author's note

❣️ please note! part iii of o4o is separated into two posts here on tumblr. part 1 can be found linked above and at the end of this post as well. part iii is up as a single chapter on ao3 additionally! ❣️

notes: part 2!!! my god we MADE IT!!! my friends!! please enjoy. milfy jing yuan actualized. for new readers, please see above for links and such. enjoy dears 💗

CW: omegaverse, omega reader, omega jing yuan, top jing yuan (in this part) milfy jing yuan, mommy kink (both explicit and implicit), cry baby reader, fisting, knotting toys, biting, faux nursing, hurt/comfort, sickfic, past dan feng/jing yuan/yingxing, author-created omegaverse lore

Your pre-heat ends slowly. It festers hour by hour over the course of two days. 

During that time, you’re achy and tired more than anything else. You spend most of your time laying on top of or next to Jing Yuan, tucked near his neck to breathe, open-mouthed, near his scent glands. You doze through most of your pre-heat. When you are awake enough for conversation, it’s mostly sensical. Needy and whiny in the most endearing way, but still intelligible.

He manages to feed you throughout your pre-heat. You’re not very hungry, but Jing Yuan convinces you to eat a few morsels every few hours. The prepped fruits, rice, and granola mixes get you through the worst of it.

On the second day of your pre-heat, you are properly miserable. You shiver with your heightening fever and your teeth slam together with the accompanying chills. You’ve changed your soft, lounge clothes at least half a dozen times in the last day. Your preferred position is your face smushed into his chest, forcing out labored breath after breath.

It is not easy to watch.

Discomfort is one thing, but you are clearly in pain. A fair amount of it. He knew you would be, but that doesn’t make seeing you in this state any easier. There is only so much he can do at this stage to ease you. Forcing you to take little bites of snacks and sips of electrolyte water is better than nothing. Massaging your now less-tender scent glands helps the most. You enjoy it, and you tell him so with your words and in the way you keen with his touch and roll to leave your most sensitive spots more open for him to touch.

It’s still only taking the edge off.

“It won’t be much longer,” he tells you. Filtered starlight beams down from the Luofu’s sky, leaking in from the edges of your blackout curtains. He tugs one a little to the side, back to darkness, jostling you in the process. “How are you feeling?”

You grumble, “L-like shit. I need to peel my s-skin off.”

“Too warm?” He asks.

“N-no too— cold. And itchy. And wrong.” You nestle closer to him, heading your cheek against his collarbone. “I w-want it to stop.”

“I know,” he says gently. “I know it isn’t comfortable.”  

“It i-isn’t. A-Are you sure that I h-have to go through with this?” 

“I’m sure.”

He’s certain.

At this point, you’re fully titrated off your suppressants. The only medicinal intervention that you’ve been prescribed to safely take at this point is tinctures for nausea and headaches if needed as well as an anti-inflammatory oil to use on any sore muscles or joints for once your heat begins and you inevitably put yourself and get put in various uncomfortable positions. 

(There is, technically, another medication you’ve been prescribed as well. A chalky powder that can be broken off and ground down between Jing Yuan’s fingers and then rubbed on your gums and under your tongue. Per Lei Huiling’s firm instructions, this remedy is only to be used under the worst, heat-sick-induced circumstances.)

At present, and per Jing Yuan’s predictions, you will simply need to tough out your heat.

He’s there though.

Jing Yuan reminds you of this with a kiss, tilting your head up by the jaw and capturing your lips with his own. You kiss him back, eager and clumsy. Still trembling, but it doesn’t stop you from returning the gesture just as sweetly as he gives it to you. 

“You’re doing well.” He speaks against your lips.

You whine, squirming, “You need to be careful, saying such sweet things to me.”

He chuckles, “Why is that?”

“Because.”

“‘Because’?” 

“You know why!” Because it flusters you, clearly. Your palms cup his cheeks and you struggle to meet his gaze. It’s cute that you try.

“Could you enlighten me?”

“You’re teasing me now!” Your words carry no bite as you nip at one of his cheeks. “When you’re so nice, it makes it hard to think straight. Especially now.”

“And is there anything wrong with that?” He’s certain that you enjoy being teased, just as much as he enjoys teasing you.w

“... No. But, you’re weakening me. To your wiles. Sufficiently.”

“Am I now?”

“Yes!” You gasp as he noses below your ear. “Very much so!”

“Considering that you’re my omega,” he glances up at you, smug. “I would hope that my ‘wiles’ would be quite effective on you.”

You squeak, sputter, and nose into his hair to muffle the half-joking cry that you let loose. It’s clear that his intentional word choice, calling you his ‘omega’, is having its intended effect of turning you into a content, happy-scented puddle.

He preens.

It won’t be very long now.

...

Your heat properly erupts in the middle of the night, perhaps early morning.

Jing Yuan wakes up on his back, with you straddling his hips, grinding in tight, hard circles over his own sex. The straps of your bedclothes, indecently thin garments, slip down your shoulders. Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth and you brace yourself with your hands cupping over his breasts.

You’re leaking so much slick over him it feels immediately obscene.

“Baby—” His voice rumbles, gravely from sleep. 

“—‘Started,” you tell him. “‘Started really bad, Jing Yuan. Hurts.” 

You crumple at your middle, still grinding but ducking over him. Your mouth is on the scent gland in his neck instantly, lapping with flat-tongued strokes.

The scent of your heat engulfs him then. It’s— it’s strong. So strong, that a single meaningful lungful has him feeling light-headed. The pheromones you’re pouring out are heady and thick. Jing Yuan swears he can feel them in his throat. The usual warm scent and the acrid undertone that preheat had given you have been burned away. It’s still warm but it’s— spiced— Like dark tea brewed and served with a dollop of creamy honey. The lingering warmth of perfumed clothes just removed. A mouthful of a fresh, moist pastry— 

Perhaps Jing Yuan isn’t thinking very clearly and he just wants you in his mouth.

He’s no alpha. He has no knot that begins to make itself known in response to the pheromonal firestorm that your heat has created. The white-iron hot desire that he feels in his gut is entirely something else. A delicacy he hasn’t had before, truthfully. Not like this. His cock is already hard and his cunt has been leaking between his legs as you’ve been clumsily taking your fill of him.

“When did it start, dear?” he asks. 

You speak into his skin. “‘Don’t know. A few hours? In my sleep, I think.”

Your words are slurred and your sentences are already choppy. Jing Yuan mainly asked his previous question to gauge your sense of lucidity and your faculties. They’re fading already. 

He takes a hold of your waist and pets down your back, gathering his bearings. You talked about this together; he knows how to proceed. Your desires have been voiced, and your trust has been entirely placed in him, no matter how nervous you have been.

Jing Yuan covets that trust. 

He will take good care of you.

It takes essentially no effort to flip you gently, so you’re on your back within your nest. You blink at him, dazed. 

“N-No—” You throw your head back against the mound of pillows with an angry huff. Your hips roll into the air, seeking friction that you’re not being given. “I—I need something, please, please—”

He shushes you, (“I know, I know.”) before wedging his soft, thick thigh between your own. The contact makes you cry out, clawing at Jing Yuan’s arms where he holds you. You— twitch with the contact, barely grinding before your hips stutter. 

A choked noise works its way out of your throat. Jing Yuan’s heart aches.

“I’ve got you,” he assures. “Does this hurt, or feel good?”

“I—” You squeeze his shoulders and throw an arm over your arms. “G-Good? Maybe? ‘S lot.”

“We’ll go slow,” he promises, petting your sides, silky with the robe that barely remains on you. 

Little trickles of slick have begun to seep from your cunt. It soaks through your thin panties, dampening his thigh. Jing Yuan purrs. Sweat soaks your robe as he carefully unties the loose knot at your waist, exposing your soft tummy and heaving chest. Before you can flinch from the exposure, Jing Yuan is petting you, hushing you. 

Heats don’t demand slowness, usually. They demand haste. Excess. As much contact and pheromones other than one’s own as one can conceivably inhale. Most omegas demand near-constant fucking, or at least penetration, for the duration of their heat. There are salves and oils for abrasion and potential tears, some of which Jing Yuan has already stocked for you. 

Slowness doesn’t necessitate them. Not right away anyway.

He smooths his hands up your ribs, stopping to cup your cheeks and rub below your eyes. “I’ve got you.”

You keen and arch into him. “‘So good to me—”

“As you deserve,” he chuckles. It’s easy to be good to you. 

You kiss him. Your lips are chapped, just barely, and he feels the drag of the dry skin when he angles his head to better deepen the kiss. You’re sweet about this kind of contact. You surge forward, closer, seeking his touch, prodding his lips with your tongue until he parts them just enough for you to lick into his mouth.

The two of you moan when you do. Pheromones in spit— the mixing of yours is divine. It makes Jing Yuan’s eyes roll back in his head behind his closed eyelids. The taste of you melds with your scent. It’s an intoxicant, truly. He laps at your tongue and sucks it into his mouth until you’re making soft, needy noises against him.

You pull apart, just far enough away to breathe full breaths. You pet over his face, pupils blown so wide that only a thin ring of your iris remains. Your lips stay parted. Wet, with drool visibly pooling in your mouth.

Slick is beginning to soak your nest beneath you.

You notice this at the same time Jing Yuan does, and a twisted look appears on your face. It mars your expression for the briefest moment before you wipe the back of your hand over your lips with a huff.

Jing Yuan observes.

(He expected this much. For you to impede your own pleasure, to scorn your own desire.)

It will take some whittling, he has known this, but you will enjoy this. At least some of it, he will make sure of that. If nothing else, you will be sated and well taken care of.

His wide hands hike up your thighs on either side of him, braced on his own hips. He purrs your name with a tilt of his head, “Can you be good for me?”

“O-Of course— I can.”

“I mean it.” He speaks low, almost dark, nosing the sensitive shell of your ear. “I know you can be.”

His words make you whine. It’s a pathetic, whimpering sound that makes his cock twitch. It’s sweet and so cute. It makes his insides flutter and he kisses you with the feeling. 

It’s an engulfing sort of thing, your heat. Jing Yuan still retains his level head but he can feel the different edge his arousal carries now. It’s not like his own heat. He has a blessed amount of clarity, but his gut is pierced by heat that is so searing, his cockhead is already purpling. Your slick is beginning to mix together.

You’re— losing yourself. He can see it as he breaks away to kiss down your neck. Your breaths are too fast, maybe a little too shallow. When you do inhale, there’s a little sound that cuts the air that concerns him. Your hands stay fisted in the sheets at your side, and you squeak as he nips at your collarbones.

“Baby—” The pet name rolls off his tongue without thinking. “I’ve got you, okay?”

You nod, jerkily. Uncomfortable, clearly. He rubs your sides with a frown.

“J-just—” You barely get the words out as you curse under your breath. “Hurts. I don’t— I don’t—” 

“It’ll feel better if I touch you, don’t you think?”

With the suggestion, he cups over your chest, running a thumb over the tender flesh there. You jump with the sensation.

“I—I just—” Your voice breaks, and you manage to push yourself up. Shooing Jing Yuan off and a bit away, running a hand down your cheeks. You can’t manage eye contact, instead stare into the warm shadows of your bedroom. A scowl plays on your lips. “I—I don’t k-know, it feels bad. It hurts and it feels bad and I don’t know— I don’t—”

The panic in your voice is so clear. It makes his heart ache.

“Does it not feel good when I touch you?”

“Not— not not good. Just not... comfortable. I don’t—”

He says your name softly.

Your breath comes too fast, “Are you sure you w-want to be helping?”

He says your name again. You don’t seem to hear him.

“I mean— I’ll be fine. If you don’t want to, I can handle this on my own. All the help already has been r-really nice—”

He says your name firmly. You still don’t hear him.

“I—I just— I don’t deserve your kindness, y-you know? And it’s only going to g-get harder, you should just l-leave before it gets worse—”

(Leave? Leave? LEAVE you like this? For Jing Yuan to even fathom leaving you alone, suffering, heat-stricken, and alone in your nest, makes him ache in all new ways and it sends a sparking line of rage in him that demands attention.)

He says your name once more, hard enough in tone that you jump. Before you can protest more, and attempt to shutter yourself from support again— he places a hand over you both and levels his gaze with your own.

His voice comes out far more gently than he thought it would. “Please do not suggest that I would leave my omega alone while in the throes of heat sickness. I know you’re scared, and that it is difficult, but I’m here to take care of you, and I mean that, so truly.”

“But it’s a lot—”

“It’s really not.” Jing Yuan cuts you off. “It won’t ever be ‘a lot’ to be in your nest, with you. Pleasuring you and providing you comfort? They’re joys, not chores.”

“I—” You put a hand in your hair, gripping your hair at the root. “Even s-so, I— I don’t t-think, Jing Yuan, I don’t think I r-really deserve all of your kindness... do I?”

Your last words are quiet, so quiet that he hardly hears them. The moment they’re out of your mouth, you make a pained sound, your chest heaving, and you tug at your hair and—

Jing Yuan can’t have that. He can’t.

In a fluid motion, he has your bent in half.

Your feet dangle off his shoulders, your calves rounding his cheeks. Your own cheeks flush with the motion. Your thighs squish against the softness of your belly. Jing Yuan disentangles your hand from your hair with a gentle hum. You protest, just a little, squeezing your legs together the best you can. 

He cows you down with ease. You settle for draping the damp bits of your robe over your core. The hint of modesty has you relax, just a little.

He laces both of your hands together and presses them into your nest on either side of your head. 

“I won’t have you being cruel to yourself,” Jing Yuan says. His tone brokers no argument, and you don’t attempt to give him one regardless. “I won’t stand for you hurting any more than your body already is.”

You only look guilty and sad, barely managing eye contact. “O-Okay.”

“And—” Jing Yuan brushes his nose with yours, his hair falling like a veil around you both. “You deserve to feel good, don’t you think?”

“M-Maybe. It’s a lot—”

“It’s not a lot.”

“But it is.” 

“It is to you, in your mind, perhaps.” He rationalizes. “But, it’s not a lot for me. And I’m the one with you now, aren’t I?”

You blink at him, chewing your lip.

“... You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t wanna be, huh?” Tears gather in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t. And, I very much want to be here.” With you, in your nest, bringing you pleasure and comfort. It’s all he wants, and he’s so close to being able to give it to you. “I know it is frightening to trust someone enough to give them yourself like this. But, I’ll take good care of you. I promise.”

“I know— but, it i-is scary.” You sniffle. “... Are you sure i-it’s okay?”

“Very sure.”

“O-Okay.”

You don’t look completely settled, there’s something deeper in you that’s showing itself now. It's an insecurity he’s seen glimpses of, but now that he’s between your legs, folding you at the waist, it shows itself more completely. 

You swallow. “... You’ll tell me if it’s not okay?”

“Of course.” He kisses you again, reverent. “But that won’t happen.”

“You can’t be certain.” 

“I can be.”

“But you— can’t—”

“I can be.” He repeats. “Please, trust me.”

That’s all this is, isn’t it? An exchange of trust. You wrestle with giving yours to him, more than him to you, and that’s okay. There are pieces of you he doesn’t know, and that’s alright. He has time to learn them at whatever pace is comfortable for you. He is a patient man, after all. 

At this moment, there’s still worry.  He is sure that there are wounded parts of you that are keeping you from (and have kept you from) luxuriating in the pleasure a heat can bring, or accepting the comfort you so desperately need now. 

He’ll pick those apart later. 

For now, he waits for you to process, to unfurl slowly with his plying and prying. He’s never been one to beg, but he thinks he would, for you.

You don’t make him. 

“I trust you.” Your voice is the most solid it’s been in days.

He kisses you then. Once, twice, a third time. Until the haggard little breaths you were giving him turn to sweet, burgeoning moans that he drinks up greedily. Your core grinds against his own, slick with you, mixing with him. It’s not enough contact, not enough to be sating, but it’s a promise of something so, so deserved.

...

Your heat rages.

Jing Yuan has only his own heat as a point of reference— maybe the lingerings of Baiheng’s he witnessed in the past— regardless, by comparison, your heat is far more intense. If his heats are the singe of sitting a bit too close to an otherwise comfortable hearth, yours is much more like setting on fresh, live embers without the ability to move away from the burn of them.

He still attempts to take his time. He wants to do this right. 

Jing Yuan grinds his cock against your core. You’ve soaked him; you’ve soaked your nest too. It’s an obscene amount of slick. He’s already had to pause a few times to get you to sip from one of your well-placed water bottles, despite your protests.

“Be good,” he reminds you. You are good, so you let him tip the bottle against your lips. Once the water hits your tongue, you drink greedily. 

You’re becoming less lucid. 

Jing Yuan still rests between your legs, on his haunches despite the ghosts of hip pain. He drags his lips over your ankles, leaving light, calming kisses. You whine with the contact, bucking your hips.

You want more, he knows this— he knows, but he wants to give you enough without overwhelming you. It’s a delicate balance that he is learning in real-time.

The head of his filled-out cock catches on your clit. Your back arches and your scent goes aflame.

It— it is a lot. Not too much, not unmanageable, but Jing Yuan would be lying if he said that being with you now wasn’t a lot.

Your scent is so potent, so mouthwatering, that Jing Yuan has found himself drooling. His mouth is full of spit when he kisses you, pushing you back into your nest (where you are warm and safe and tended to.) You’re so warm to the touch. Feverish, clearly. 

(Despite the ramping contact, the looming presence of heat sickness remains.)

Your arousal is so apparent. You’re so sensitive, despite your neediness and needs. 

(This is already so overwhelming for you.)

Jing Yuan pulls away from your lips. You both pant. The melding of your scents (in his fucking mouth) has him grinding against your core, holding your hips in a grip that is verging on bruising. You don’t seem to mind, you may even be enjoying it, based on the way your eyes are half-lidded.

He rolls you both into your side, resting with one arm under your head and his other meandering down your torso.

Playfully, Jing Yuan rubs the pad of his thumb over your nipple. He relishes the sound you make in response, something cracking and dry and so needy.

“Please—“ 

(He wants you to break; he wants to bring you there.)

He kisses the words from your mouth. Shameless. As he deserves to be. 

You extend your neck for him, probably without meaning to. You bear your burning scent gland to him and give him a silent plea for relief, one that he answers without question.

It’s following an instinct, really. The urge to help, quell, to make better— it’s such an integral part of how he lives. It’s why he has been such a well-thought-of, reliable General. It’s why he has weathered quiet pains that others would run from in order to bring about something better. 

On a personal level, the latent instinct to ‘care’ does not present itself that often. It does not have much opportunity to, especially these days. Perhaps when Yanqing was just a scrap of a cub, maybe, he was aware of the itch in his chest to ‘care’ with his own two hands for another.

Yingxing and Dan Feng didn’t care to indulge those feelings of Jing Yuan. Not with any frequency, anyways. They enjoyed crumbs of it but preferred to tend to Jing Yuan instead. He does enjoy receiving care, and they lavished him with it while skillfully avoiding the most intense of his own urges.

You, however, welcome them.

Part of it is that you… are a little pathetic. Especially now, wet-eyed and soft in your tummy, wordlessly begging for more of him and the relief he can so easily bring you.

He kisses down to your scent gland, gentle over the sensitive flesh before sucking at it. You warble out a cry, scrambling for purchase over his shoulders. He can feel the round gland under his tongue, softening minutely, but still firm and hot. 

Your scent hits his tongue in the most raw way. It makes his eyes water and a pure purr rips from the base of his throat. He grips your hips, hard, to drag you closer. He has to as he sucks there and takes mouthfuls of your scent like a fine, effervescent spirit. 

His hand slides over the expanse of your hips, hovering near your sex without broaching too close.

“Can I touch you here—?”

“Please!” You shove your face into the crook of his neck, throwing your leg over his hip, so your dripping core is exposed. 

The cold air makes you jolt, whine, and shove closer to him. Desperate and burning. That’s all it takes for Jing Yuan to slip a hand between your legs, wide, and cover your cunt completely.

(He wants to feel you.)

The heat coming off you is obscene. Startling, even. You really are in heat and burning up. Your cunt radiates the heat of fever as he squeezes over it. Over you, and your most vulnerable core.

A watery, desperate sound is muffled into his neck.

He’s touched you before, during his own heat. Laying with you then was a pleasure, truly, but the memory of it is heat-blurred. He cherishes the flashes and afterimages he does have. Even from those fragments, he remembers you are sensitive. He knows now that he is the first one to ever touch you like, hold you like this, and be near you like this and— 

(Well, it’s doing something to him on such a carnal level that he feels like he’s being slowly rewritten within your nest—)

He has been so careful with you. Chaste, before this too. Partially to not overwhelm you, and partially because he is, perhaps, being a bit covetous about this. Sharing a heat, sharing many of your firsts with you— he is grateful and possessive of these things in equal measure.

Jing Yuan gives you what you need, running a knuckle between the seam of your cunt. Your chest heaves against his own as he does so. He rubs against the bud of your clit, switching to the pad of his thumb to roll small circles over you.

You moan for him, dissolving into soft pants and desperate sounds.

It’s easy to pleasure you this way. You’re so sensitive; it doesn’t take much. He’s aided by the unconscious grind of your hips toward his hand. The pressure won’t be enough, but for now, you take it in kind.

Your slick coats his fingers, dripping obscenely onto your thigh, only to spill onto the bed below. He drags his fingers through it, relishing the slip of it.

“Inside?” he asks.

You nod, vigorous and eager.

And you’re so good for him. Taking what you are given, asking when you need more. You’re so sweet for him; he hopes you know. He’ll make sure to tell you. He’ll show you too.

He teases your hole only for a moment before gingerly pressing his index finger into your cunt.

You’re tight. He expected this, but you’re still tighter than he thought you’d be—

(He wonders, latently, if you ever touch yourself here, or if your discomfort with knots and nearly-new collection of toys is indicative of a preference against penetration under different circumstances.)

You gasp at the intrusion and wriggle. Aeons, you shudder with the contact and somehow tense even further. Something— something old and soft in him aches.

“It’s alright,” he assures. It’s all he can do. “I’ve got you, it’s alright.”

You whine, “I k-know.”

It’s the most lucid you’ve been since your heat has started.

Jing Yuan doesn’t move his finger; he focuses on petting down your side and lavishing your cheeks with kisses. You loosen up with his attention, enough for him to comfortably move inside you just the smallest bit. Slick wets his wrist.

“S-Sorry—” You twitch when he barely curls his finger. “‘M not good at this—”

“Hush,” Jing Yuan scolds, lightly, with a tender tone in his voice that he hardly recognizes. “You’re doing very well for me. All you need to do is feel good and remember that I have you, hm? Can you do that for me?”

It’s condescending to speak to you this way. It lights a fire in his own belly, all the same. You respond so well to it— nodding, sniffling, and readjusting your leg over his hip so that you’re even more open. 

He rubs your clit with his thumb, adding another finger when he deems you ready, then another when your cunt is practically gushing. The scent is— intoxicating. Worryingly sweet, heat sickness creeping in despite everything, but Jing Yuan will do all he can—

In a flurry of motion, he kneels between your legs, pressing a hand over your navel with his thumb circling your clit faster. He pumps three fingers into you at a steady pace, deep and curling. He has been hitting your sweet spot, he knows. He can feel the way your cunt flutters around his fingers.

You’re debauched.

Every motion forces a little sound from you. Sweat pools in the valley of your chest. Your hair is mussed up from friction and static. You white-knuckle the sheets at your side.

You need more, but Jing Yuan can only give you so much in small doses for now.

When you come, it’s an intense thing. Your legs tighten around him, ankles locking against his lower back as your back arches off the bed. You throw a hand over your mouth, attempting to muffle the filthy moan that cracks from it—

He’s quick to bat it away— with his mouth. He— he needs to hear you, actually. In a decisive, quick move, he nips at your wrist while finger fucking you through your orgasm. Tears bead at the corners of your eyes

Your chest heaves as you come down from the high.

Jing Yuan’s cock is hard. It’s not much of a concern for him, not now— it’s better he put off coming until he actually fucks you. He’s pouring slick from his own cunt still, and it’s cooling against his thighs. He shivers.

“‘S’okay? You?” You slur, blinking rapidly. “C’mere please.”

You bundle up together in your nest. 

In the afterburn of pleasure... you don’t seem sated. If anything, your scent is more tart than before. It’s worrisome. You mewl, something soft and sad and pathetic, squeezing your thighs together as they tangle with his own.

“Oh, dear,” he says. “I’ve got you. It’s alright.”

His reassurances will only go so far, he knows. Your omegan hindbrain has cravings that cannot be satisfied just by sweet words. There are other comforts you need, too. You wriggle next to him, seeking out the scent gland in his neck, and that feeling in his stomach presents itself and twists.

...

Jing Yuan is very glad that he massaged out your scent glands prior to your heat. If he hadn’t, it probably would have resulted in some sort of medical emergency truthfully. 

Your heat rages, and quickly heat sickness sweeps you up.

He is good to you because he wants to be so badly, but it’s not enough. 

After using his fingers, he uses one of your toys next. He lets you on top of him, chest-to-chest. You grind over his painfully stiff cock, while he fucks you with one of your dildos. It’s one with a fierce curve, scrapping over your sweet spot.

You cum twice more, in quick succession, gushing over top of his cock and lower belly. The release unfortunately does not do much of anything to soothe your ache. Your scent grows beyond acrid and bitter, suffocating the room. The intertwining pheromones of your mutual arousal are swallowed by it. Your scent grows more concerning with more stimulation. It’s— worrisome. Deeply troubling.

(You need knot. He knows you need it. You probably know it too, if only in the most carnal, base parts of your brain. You need to be fucked, filled and stuffed full before you’ll feel well again. Each touch he gives you that isn’t knot, no matter how pleasurable, is not enough. It can’t ever be enough.)

(Attempting to provide you relief with your assortment of toys without... pushing was wishful thinking. A valiant, worthwhile attempt, but nonetheless, insufficient.)

Jing Yuan, truthfully, expected this. He planned contingencies— he always does— they just... will be potentially unpleasant for you.

(Or, cleaving for the two of you, perhaps, if he is not careful. If he chooses one particularly daring path.)

Your nest is rumpled. You lay on your side, panting with an open mouth. Your eyes are bloodshot and half-lidded. Jing Yuan cups your cheeks and rubs over the burning flesh.

“I feel so bad,” You tell him, glancing up at him. There’s slick halfway down your thighs. “‘M gonna die?”

“No.” He corrects swiftly. He laps over your cheeks, following his own latent instincts. It feels right. “You’ll be alright dear, I promise—”

“You sure?”

“Certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

You don’t respond, just lean into him. Your lucidity is mostly gone with heat and fever.

“Baby?” He asks, the endearment slipping from his lips (almost out of his control—) “You trust me to take care of you, don’t you?”

“‘So much, Jing Yuan.”

“I’m glad.”

He kisses you on your lips, chapped and cracking as they are. You’re sweating and slicking out liquid faster than you can drink and stay hydrated.

It’s concerning, all of it is— but he has your express permission. Consent to push, in this instance. You need it, he knows this and he can see it. He mentally reminds himself where the most important of your medications are kept and where the spare packets of electrolyte drink powder have been stashed.

You lean into his touch, flame to flame.

...

Jing Yuan is putting off fucking you.

Because it is not what you need right now.

What you need is fullness, without knot, which Jing Yuan can provide you. Granted in a way that he’s only seen in pornographic immersia and read about in dirty online forums under a pseudonym, but he has a great deal of confidence in himself to deliver. 

It is still somewhat daunting. 

Especially considering that your state is continuing to worsen. Night falls more quickly than he would like. And, despite his own sore wrist and slick-stained chin, you’re worse for wear.

You’re tucked against him. You’ve been fervently seeking closeness from him in a grabby, cute way. You sit sideways in his lap with your cheek squished against his breast. A sheet has been thrown haphazardly over the two of you, less for modesty and its meager offering of heat, and instead for some amount of grounding. An additional tether, other than himself. You wear the scent-gland stimulating cuffs tight on your wrists. 

You pant, whine, and shove your face into his chest.

”A-Awful—“ Your words slip and grit out from clenched teeth.

“I know.” Jing Yuan finds himself whispering, “I’m sorry.”

“I—“ You grind your teeth. 

Jing Yuan grabs your lower jaw and squeezes, just enough so that you release the tension there.

“Be good.”

”I-I’m— I’m trying.”

You dissolve. A sob creeps from the back of your throat, onto your tongue before spilling from your lips. One after another, frantic sounds punctuated by ragged, high breaths.

It hurts to hear; it hurts to know you’ve fallen to this point while he is in your nest. 

It’s for lack of trying, you both know that. (Or he hopes you do. He isn’t certain that you’re within yourself enough to make those types of assumptions.) 

“It’s alright,” he tries to soothe, but you’re past that point. You hiccup around your breath and jolt against him. 

(The sight of you so overtaken by tears does something to him. A simultaneous affection and urge to... coddle? Keep? Have? It’s hard to identify. It lingers in the aether of him and tangles with his instincts in such a way—)

Jing Yuan presses his fingers into your mouth.

You accept it, you always do, even if you fight with the digit for a moment. Your jaw tightens up and your lips purse like you’re ready to nip him. He probes around your mouth, and you relax almost instantly with the motion. He pets along your tongue and your gums— even pushes toward the back of your mouth, just shy of where your gag reflex will trigger. Your tension drips away as he explores. 

You suck on his finger, dutifully, just as he intended.

He likes this— he has since the first time he deigned to follow this impulse. It seems to relax you as well. Settles you, even now, when you’re heat-flushed and so poorly. He pets along your cheeks too. Your tears don’t quite dry, but your breath evens out beautifully. 

“It’s alright,” he coos, relieved. “So good for him.”

You preen with the praise, and rest against him, an everburning coal. 

This is part of the indulgent thing that Jing Yuan struggles to acknowledge. It’s hard to get his teeth around, and even harder to word. He’s been gifted with an eloquent silver tongue since his youth; he’s never found it difficult to string together his thoughts into words. This feeling is an exception. There have been very few in his lifetime.

(You’re— his. You’re his. His. He has to take care of you. Make sure you’re well, even if it hurts to get there. He’ll take care of you, so well. You’ll let him because you’re good for him, and you listen so well and don’t fuss anymore than you need to.)

He swallows.

“Let’s take care of you now, hm?” He hums. 

You’re agreeable when he slides you off his lap, and back into your rumpled nest. He takes time to re-fluff it around the two of you, letting you sink into the space further. You shove your face into one of the shirts he’d left with you that made its way into the core of your nest. You hold it to your chest and watch him.

He settles between your legs. Steadies himself and shifts his hair to one shoulder. You watch him with attention that must be hard to muster within your fever. The soft thing in him cracks further, yearns harder.

“Baby,” he says, soft and reverent. “Can I help you feel better?”

“Y-you have been—”

“Not like before,” he tells you. “I’m going to fill you up. It’ll make you feel better here.”

He presses his flat hand over your navel. Your hips jump sharply.

You eye him warily. 

“… N-No knots?”

“No knots.” He assures you. “Just me. Is that alright?”

You nod immediately. Instantly. You trust him so deeply; it almost hurts to think about.

He kisses you. The finger that had been in your mouth probes downward, past your ribs and soft tummy, to your steadily leaking cunt. He drags the digit up and down there, pressing into your slow and steady. He refuses haste here. He wants to take his time.

His own arousal feels secondary, especially now. The plan he has crafted, the act that he is beginning, will be more than sating enough. He doesn’t even really feel the urge to be sated physically. It’s an act of giving in a way that makes something older in his hindbrain purr at the prospect of actualizing. 

He adds a second finger into your hole, pumping them in and out, slowly. 

You mewl under him, desperate and... small. Not actually, not really, but in the way that he is perceiving you. Like a kitten needing the tending of its... 

(Mother.)

Oh.

There’s clarity in putting a word to the desires he feels. He... suspected something similar. But hadn’t come to him so bluntly before. It feels almost lewd in its nature, maybe fetishistic. He doesn’t particularly mind, truthfully. There’s a shuddering, warm kind of pleasure he takes in having a grip on this burgeoning type of desire. The shape of it is clearer. 

“Jing Yuan?” You say, soft and wet. “‘S okay? You okay?” 

“Mhm,” he hums, kissing you again. Stealing any potential doubts and worries you could have.

He slips a third finger into him, and he swallows the moan that tumbles from your lips against his own. 

You’re loose from prior stimulation and the incessant slick. Three fingers is hardly a stretch, but four is. He rolls your clit while teasing his pinky finger at your entrance. Your cunt flexes around his fingers and you make a sound of vague confusion, pushing up to see better.

Moderately unnecessary.

Jing Yuan cajoles you a bit, keeping his fingers inside you as he does. He fixes the angle of you so you’re flat on your back with your leg raised up on either side of him. Folded in half. If he presses down on your legs, you’d be held down into a favored omega mating position. You must enjoy it, as a gush of slick streams from your hole. You pant and squirm.

He spits on his fingers, letting a ball of saliva drip to where he enters you. 

His pinky finger bullies its way inside of you. It’s a slow affair, pressing in and a little deeper with each gentle thrust of his fingers. Enough to stretch, but barely ache. Your toes curl as he tends to you.

“One more,” he tells you. 

“... ‘S more?”

He hums. You’re so feverish. You haven’t caught on, have you? 

Jing Yuan shapes his hand just right, spitting again and scooping up excess slick on his thumb to smear over the rest of his hand that remains outside of you. He toys with your stretched opening, giving you a moment to put together his action.

(Such a sweet thing, needing this so badly from him.)

He pushes the last of his fingers inside you.

“O-Oh—” You watch as he does, jaw going slack and your legs falling limp at his sides.

This is a stretch. It’s too much, probably, but once the ache of all of his fingers carving your cunt open subsides, it will be so good for you. He’s confident.

Jing Yuan bites his own lip when you whimper, sweat beading on your neck. It’s unpleasant. It hurts you. He knows. He knows and he persists despite the resistance at your opening. He hopes— you don’t tear. You shouldn’t, you’re so slick and warm and wet that you should be just fine. The thought that you could still frightens him enough that he feels sick to his stomach—

(His baby— that can’t happen. If it does, he’ll lick you clean and well there until you’re all better.)

It’s a snug fit when he finally manages to wedge his thumb inside of you. His fist slips inside of you, and the opening of your cunt only has to stretch around his wrist— which still isn’t small. Neither is his hand. Neither of them line up with the anatomy of an alpha cock and knot, but it’s closer than anything else. It’ll sate the need you have for fullness.

His mouth waters at the sight of his hand in you. The bulge it makes in your belly. His gaze flickers back to your face and he— 

His cock twitches, he nearly blacks out.

You’re a vision. It’s obscene. Your lips are bitten raw, bleeding at a corner. Drool slips down the side of your lips, and you’re struggling to keep your gaze focused, but it’s trained on him. Near him. Slipping down to where Jing Yuan has managed to work his entire fist into you. You fist one of the pillows under your head, and the other is wound up in the sheets at your side. 

When he dares to move his fist in you, even a little, it shoots to grab his free wrist.

He hushes you, then. Your breath is too fast. Overstimulation just from insertion is to be expected, that’s what he had read. He kisses the crook of your knee with a hum.

“J-Jing Yuan—” Your voice clips, frantic. “Too much, too much—”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s not a knot, dear. It’s just me, taking care of you. I can take it out at any time.”

“I— ‘re s-sure?” 

“Certain. But I think this will help you. Doesn’t it feel good to be full?”

“... Full.”

It’s what an omega craves so deeply. Full of knots, love, and care, that they can both give to others and receive in kind. They desire to be cherished, really. He wants to cherish you. This in itself is an act of complete adoration. Jing Yuan feels giddy with it. 

He barely moves his hand, the motion can barely be called a thrust— but he presses against your womb all the same. All of your insides.

The stimulation is enough that you come, constricting over his hand with a gush of slick so obscene, Jing Yuan can’t help but dip his head down and lap up the spill that runs down his wrist. He gives your clit an errant kiss, and that had you crying out, squirming, and then freezing with the abrupt pressure.

You cry out his name, watery and endless.

It’s good, like this. His cock is so hard it hurts, and his cunt drips its own puddle into your nest. It’s easy to ignore, put aside, as you lay yourself bare for him. He’s as locked inside of you as he can possibly be without an alpha’s anatomy. The closeness of the act turns his own guts as he lavishes you with kisses.

You arch with each of his movements, jarring and overstimulated pleasantly. Little streams of pleas for more, for him, for his touch and presence dribble from your lips as he works his fist in little thrusts inside you. You cum, at least twice more, maybe three times. He loses count once you gush and squirm so much that it coats your navel and up to his forearm.

He’d like to make you do that out of heat when he’d be able to see your embarrassed expression and hear your bashful words.

Now, you glut yourself, begging with little grinds of your hips and pulling his hand to your lips to suck on his free fingers. It’s obscene, it’s perfect, and you’re full.

“So good for me,” he licks your cheek, his hair covering the two of you like a veil. “Do you know that, how good you are?”

You nod, drunk on pleasure, and relief, more than anything. 

“Say it for me, baby.”

“‘M good,” you smile, toothy and pure, and throw your head back when he ducks down to lick at your scent gland. 

“Once more, please?

“I’m good— f-for you—”

“For who?”

“... For— Jing Yuan?”

“Try again, dear.”

You make a helpless sound. “...G-General?”

“Once more. I know you can do it.”

Jing Yuan doesn't know— how to communicate this wordlessly. It will require words when you are more equipped to hear them. This is already pushing what you can handle in your overheated mind.

But he tries— because he trusts you just as much as you trust him.

He opens his mouth, jaw wide, and hovers his teeth over your scent gland. He doesn’t bite, he wouldn’t now, but he makes his teeth known with a brush of his sharp canines around the round, inset organ. He knows you feel them. You shudder. His fingers dip in your mouth again, just for a moment, to press down on your tongue and demand attention—

He withdraws them and your breath catches. Your scent blooms into cedar and cinnamon.

“Oh.” You go still. “... Mommy? Mama?”

Jing Yuan groans, something unadulterated and unfiltered. It’s a sound of his own relief, his own quenching and realizing coalescing. It’s punctuated by a sharp worry, that if this is misread and wrong, this tender thing that belongs to you just as much as it belongs to him will be rejected—

But the feeling is washed away easily when he gets a look at your face, awestruck. Open and soft. Yearning in a way that’s cracked open. You wouldn’t give this to anyone else, would you?

It calms him, instantly. You surge closer to kiss him, sobbing against his lips as the motion presses his knuckles into your sweet spot and your cervix makes you come again, easy for him, as you so deserve to be.

You melt then. Into him, into your nest, dissolving into a puddle of slick and soft-hearted tears. Jing Yuan catches you easily, as he has wanted to do for so, so long.

...

Having another omega as a heatmate is about comfort, ultimately. 

It’s not the same as having an alpha in your nest. There’s no cloud of pheromones that urges one to fall to their knees and present prettily for a knot. The craving for fullness is there, but the parched feelings of desire are more lucid. One does not drown in desire, but rather swim and tread water. 

Having another omega as a heatmate helps keep one floating.

After the discovery that Jing Yuan’s fist is a proper and satisfying alternative for a (comfortable) knot, your heat sickness begins to ebb off. It’s slow, but your fever reduces from sweltering down to toasty. Working his fist into you every eight hours or so keeps your symptoms manageable. Along with mini-massages to your scent glands, the edges of heat sickness have smoothed out, much to his relief.

There’s another aspect to your relief, of course. His own too. The fledgling dynamic that has been realized is... good. So good. Jing Yuan has felt it growing since his own heat. The need to care for you, to dote and coddle you as you need (maybe a little more than you need—), but he didn’t have the words to describe the urges. The relationship that he instinctively wanted to have with you— his omega.

It seems obvious in retrospect. From the first moment he took interest in you, you have scratched a particular part of his brain that he hadn’t isolated and examined thoroughly previously. Perhaps if he had, the expression of care that you’ve now put a name to would’ve been birthed far sooner.

Regardless, it’s good to have now. And to indulge it in the presence and explore it under these conditions where it is so, so needed. 

Your mind is still foggy; it’s very evident. You’re snuggled up, between his thighs, rolling the pudge above his hips in your hands. You’re purring. It’s a uniquely omegan sound that he has been twinning with you often. Including now.

It sounds like a harmony, his own a few steps lower than yours.

You sink lower down his body, dragging your nose and lips over his thighs. Your gaze is clouded and your mouth is wet.

“‘Wanna take care of you—” you say, nuzzling into the juncture of his thigh and pelvis. You suck in a breath, tasting his musk on your tongue. 

You shudder.

“If you’d like,” he replies, running a hand through your hair. “Take what you need.”

It’s his presence that you need, really. You need to be drenched in his scent, and there is no better way than being between his legs and mouthing at the head of his cock.

(He remembers this feeling during his own heat with you as well. Needing you to be inside him, to glut himself on you— his mouth was the best way to do it.)

He imagines you feel similarly as you stroke him, licking away a pearl of pre that appears at the tip. A shuddering breath leaves his lips.

It feels... good. Everything has felt good. The physicality, the intimacy, the literal closeness, the sexual contact you have shared— it’s been good. Pleasurable. Even if he hasn’t been on the receiving end for much of it, it has still been satisfying and filling in a way that gets him purring louder and rougher. 

“‘Can I?” Your words slur and you drag the tip of your nose up the length of his cock. “Can I suck you off, mommy?”

Jing Yuan has to stifle the sound that catches in his throat. He nods; he doesn’t trust himself enough to speak. You sink your mouth down his cock with a moan, eyes shutting and you work your tongue against the underside of it. It’s sizable for an omega. It’s a perfect mouthful for you. 

It feels good— so good. He’s sensitive; he doesn’t touch himself particularly often. It shows now as he inhales sharply, raking a hand through your hair to rest on your crown. He strokes his fingers there, shaking all over. 

You lack technique, but your pure want makes up for it. Your mouth is wet and lush around him. So sweetly, you keep purring, the vibration of it curling around him in a way that threatens to make him go cross-eyed.

He is embarrassingly close embarrassingly quickly. 

Jing Yuan manages to hold off with a measured sigh, attempting to unfurl some of the tension in his stomach. You suck at him with unrelenting vigor regardless.

Even more unfairly, one of your hands drifts lower, to the seam of his cunt. Your eyes crack open just enough to look at him, mirthful and mischievous as you pull off him. Strands of spit stretch from your lips to the rapidly purpling head of his cock. 

“‘S good?” You ask with a tilt of your head.

”So good, b-baby.” 

His voice trembles, he doesn’t mean it to. You sink a finger into him and curl without reverie. It scratches his sweet spot, pressing up against the most fragile parts of him.

He arches his back with a groan— it’s so much. The scent of him has drool dripping from your lips, down onto his cock while you thrust your fingers gingerly in and out. Even heat-brained, you are so thoughtful with him.

”I—“ Your voice breaks, dry. You swallow. “I want you to come in my m-mouth. Please?”

”Asking so sweetly,” he muses as you wrap your lip around his cock once more. “How could I not?”

You purr even louder, fucking him deeper and harder. Pleasure crackles up his spine. Your scent is sweet and warm in his mouth, like aromatic spices, warmed over a heart-bound stove. It’s creamy honey on his tongue. His cock twitches in your mouth and you moan with it, wanton.

It’s too good, really. It’s better he spills early, rather than later. Your stamina will surely outlast his own and he’d rather have some resilience left as your heat progresses.

He comes down your throat with a cracking moan.

It’s higher and softer than he’d used to. He’s not usually loud— not when he’s by himself, anyway. Yet he can’t restrain the way he falls apart under your touch, pouring cum down your throat in spurts, his slick drenching your hand. 

You pull away with a kitten cough. Jing Yuan is breathless, floored, and hollowed out in some ways. Your overt desire is undoing to him. He wants you— in his mouth.

You lick the cum and spittle off our lips with a wry grin. You meet his gaze as you lap up his slick from your fingers. Your tongue lays flat and moves slowly. You sway between his legs, panting a little too quickly for his liking.

He feels himself growl, cowing.

He doesn’t mean to, but he does despite that. 

“Be careful now, baby,” he reminds you. 

He doesn’t mind the display of your confidence. You’re so rarely cocky. But it’s so satisfying to see how you crumble to this dynamic, the way you yearn for his hand and guidance.

”Why’s that?” You tilt your head cutely.

He hums, “I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself.”

”Oh.” You blink at him, nodding. It’s demure and sweet. “I understand. S-Sorry.”

”There’s nothing to be sorry about." He kisses you. Your mouth tastes like both of you. He licks against your teeth for the lingerings of his own spent. “It’s quite flattering, but I know best to take care of you, don’t I?”

This makes you pause. 

There’s so much trust between the two of you; he knows this. He’s so intensely aware of it. None of this (your companionship, sharing your nest, both of your heats) could occur without it. Yet, he asks for more. 

(He wants you to say it. That he can take care of you.)

”Y-Yeah,” you say and reach for his hand to squeeze it. “Y-You know best, mommy.”

You both shudder when you speak. He curses under his breath.

...

You need to be taken care of. Jing Yuan feels entirely confident in that fact as he lies with you.

You— deserve it. Maybe it is the pheromones affecting him, or maybe it’s just the way you’ve broken down and he can see how easily helpless you have become.

Desire looks good on you. Neediness, even better.

You squirm below him, pawing at him to come close. You can’t stand for him to be away from you too long. You had warned him about this, but truthfully he thought you were exaggerating in some sense. He knows now you absolutely were not, and his presence is required in his nest at nearly all times if you’re awake. 

(When you’re sleeping, he manages to disentangle himself from you (however painful) to wash up and collect enough food and water from your little kitchen to last through the next romp.)

Jing Yuan holds a warm cloth in his hand, damp but not soaking. He rubs it over your inner thighs in smooth circles. There’s a caked layer of slick there, uncomfortably clinging to your skin. He’s certain that you don’t notice, but he feels better knowing he’s able to clean you up.

He peaks at your cunt while he does so.

You’re... warm. So warm between your legs, scalding, and still so wet. Puffy from all of the contact and friction, but he doesn’t note any immediately concerning abrasions. He’s been careful when using his fists. Your hole is stretched with heat and all of his tending.

He feels contented. Especially so considering you’ve settled and are close to dozing above him.

It’s a good feeling. He kisses over your navel.

...

When Jing Yuan fucks you for the first time, he lets himself be as reverent as he truly desires.

It’s only the two of you and the soft, lulling whir of your home’s scent locking system, several days into your heat. Nighttime stretches late with moonbeams that leak around your curtains. He doesn’t bother fully closing them now. He’s far too comfortable. You’re curled against his side, cheek laid against his breast. Your breath is smooth and slow with easy sleep. His own twins your pace. 

The moon is good company for this particular type of peace.

It’s late enough that the orb of it is high, bathing the Luofu’s peaceful floral district in a downpour of silver. It looks nearly light out. It’s enchanting to see slivers of it, slicing into the stillness of your room in thin rays. One lays across your face, crossing the bridge of your nose. 

(Jing Yuan would be lying if he said that it didn’t make him feel melancholic. The moon reminds him so easily of Dan Feng, the same way that the swathes of stars and inky cosmos remind him of Yingxing. He has no reason to mourn now, he has already done plenty, but he can’t help but feel the ache in the moon spray all the same.)

You stir. His scent must have changed.

“Jing Yuan,” you murmur, voice slurring and thick with sleep. “‘S okay— what’s wrong?”

You roll so you lay on top of him, propped up on your hands.

“Nothing important. You can sleep.” He tries to assure you, but the tone of his own voice is weaker than he means it to be. The lingering mourning creeps in.

You nudge your nose against his cheek.

“I don’t wanna,” you say the words into his skin with a kiss. “Not if you’re upset. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s alright, dear.” It really... is. He thinks so with some amount of confidence.

(Jing Yuan is so careful with his ghosts, so skillful in the way that he keeps them from those who cares for in the present. He doesn’t wish to share his grief anymore. The wounds have closed and all that remains is the occasional ache of scar tissue. That much he can manage on his own.)

“Nooo—” You whine with a nip. “You gotta tell me. Please?”

He concedes; you make it so tempting to.

“I’m only thinking about the past.” He sighs. The sound fills the room. “Nothing but bygone times, dear. There’s no reason to trouble yourself about it.

“... Are you thinking about your old mates?”

“Perhaps.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“The moon makes me fragile.” He admits.

You don’t respond. For a moment, he’s worried that you’ll be offended by his wandering thoughts. He is sharing your nest. 

His worry is misplaced.

You straddle his hips and kiss him, soft and slow. Your thighs tighten around him as you urge him back into the sheets, drawing away only to press the kindest words into the cheeks.

“It’s alright to be fragile,” you tell him. An assurance of your own, given to him.

(Is it alright to be fragile? This thing with you, all of the newness of this dynamic and intimacy requires fragility to be shown. It’s vulnerable. Jing Yuan has been so, so careful with such things. To process his grief well and fully and still be a steadfast, unfailing leader. There’s a middle path he traverses well, but your new venture together is so different.)

He swallows. You kiss the swell of his throat with a hum.

Jing Yuan coaxes you into the sheets next to him, by his side. His hand slips between your legs. You gasp, so tender and sensitive after days of heat. You are fragile. In a similar way to him, but so different too. It makes something between his ribs shake. It’s wanting and craven in a way that feels foreign.

You cup his cheek then and kiss him. Your lips are so soft. The taste of you, the scent of you fills him as you lick into his mouth. Needy. You chase his cowardice away so easily. He breathes into your mouth with a happy sigh.

(There’s no alpha-driven drive for ownership in him. Just the need to have you be his because, you’re— you’re his baby. His soft, sweet thing that must never forget how cared for you are.)

You moan together.

Jing Yuan runs his finger up and down your sex. You’re soaked and sore, but wanting. So wanting, trembling next to him as you kiss him desperately. All little noises of desire, drenching him and the stillness of the room. The moon watches.

“Want you—” You say against his lips.

“How?” You may need his fist again. Or a toy. Or, something else.

“You,” you gasp, pulling away enough to cry out as he toys with your entrance. “You— you— you in me, please—”

You don’t need to beg, but it is cute that you do.

He shushes you with a kiss on your forehead.

“Me?” There’s a hint of mirth in his tone. 

You huff and whine, “Y-Yes— I want— I want you inside me.”

“More than my hand.”

“You!”

“Use your words clearly, dear,” he brushes his nose with yours. “I’d hate to misunderstand what my baby needs.”

A shattered sound comes from your throat and you squirm.

“I—I—” You swallow. “C-Can you fuck me?”

Oh, he can.

“Of course,” he breathes the words over your lips. The ghost of the sound caught in the shaft of moonlight that paints your cheeks. “I’ll take good care of you.”

He will, he will, he will.

It’s not hard to coax you onto your back. Your thighs spread around his hips, leaving you open to his prodding. Omegas traditionally enjoy presenting on their knees for an alpha, but there are no pheromonal, instinctual urges here. Just the sticky kind of feeling that has you gasping as he presses two fingers into you.

There’s no need to stretch you; this is for pleasure. He curls his fingers for the sheer shake of carving out your insides with all of his desire. He rolls your clit with his thumb, practiced in the things you like, the things that have you rolling your hips and gasping for more.

His own cock is hard, stiff against his soft tummy. It leaks an excess of milky pre, dripping down his shaft. It’s obscene. He pulls away from your cunt only to pump his cock once, twice, smearing his fingers with pre. You make an aching, wanton sound as he pushes back into you. The mix of your drips down his wrist, down to your ass.

You moan his name and grab his wrist, “I’m ready— please—”

“Shhh,” he hushes. He kisses your protests away. “Mommy knows best, don’t you think?”

You nod, helpless to his influence. It’s cute. It’s molten in his hands and he wants it in his mouth.

He leans down to kiss your collarbones, then lower to your chest. Your nipples are peaked with your heat. He’s neglected them, truthfully. It’s an easy thing to rectify luckily. He kisses down until he has the right one in his mouth. He laps at the pearl of it, greedy. You cry out beneath him, wracked with pleasure, riding out what he gives you. You trust him so much.

Your hand winds into his hair and you pet him, as though he’s a big housecat. He can’t say that he minds.

He fucks you with his fingers as he switches to the other side of your chest. He sucks marks in his wake, to match all of the others he has left in various stages of healing.

By the time he pulls away, you’re panting, tears in your eyes, so close to coming it’s visible. Your core is tight, your jaw is slack and drool pools, wet, on your lips.

“My sweet thing,” he slips lower, licking down your stomach in a straight line. He rests his cheek on your inner thigh, breathing hotly over your cunt. The scent of you has him dizzy and pleased beyond belief. “I think you should come once I’m inside you, what do you think?”

Jing Yuan kisses your swollen clit with a teasing smile.

You make a helpless, confused sound as he draws away, deflating into the sheets. Fidgeting, you peer up at him as waits for your response.

“... If you think so, mommy.”

“Won’t it feel good?” He plies. “To come on my cock?”

“Uh-huh,” You nod. 

Jing Yuan plucks a bottle of lube from within the folds of your nest. It’s unnecessary, but the effort matters. He slicks himself up, hissing through his teeth. 

“I w-want,” you say, struggling to sit up with your shaking limbs. “I-I want you to c-come inside me— please?”

“Begging?” Jing Yuan can’t help the smile that grows over his features. His baby is so, so sweet. “For something I’ve already wanted to give you. So sweet, so good—”

You sob. It’s a helpless, fragile, sound. It sparks something in him, an urge that’s fast and immediate. You need tending, care— he kisses the sound from your lips with a quiet hush. A whispered ‘I have you, I have you, I have you’. 

This position is vulnerable. Showing your stomach like this leaves you open. Unprotected. There are old wisdoms that say omegas present on all four to protect their most vulnerable parts— their primary scent glands and tummy. Despite the calm of the air, the softness of your nest, and the presence of a gentle, kind moon, you still look a little scared.

“I have you,” he reminds you, inches forward on his old knees. “You know that I do, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes, mama—” You shake as the head of his cock rubs your clit.

He stifles a groan, and you outright moan, reaching for his arm, wrist, hand— anything to ground you. It’s so easy to grab your hand in his own, press it into the sheets, and slide into you.

It’s your first time— you’ve taken toys, his fist— but this is different. It cores you; he can tell by the way your hips jolt and your mouth goes slack. An ‘oh—’ is punched from the center of your chest, and you squeeze his hand.

His cock isn’t a stretch for you, but merely being in you hollows you out and lets him fill you up all the same.

“‘S good,” your voice breaks from your throat. “So good—”

Jing Yuan steels himself with a thick breath, slowly, slowly, grinding into you a little more with each thrust. Until with one last roll, he’s buried to the hilt.

You’re hot. He’s never fucked someone in heat. Aeons, he hasn’t fucked anyone in centuries, and he had forgotten how overwhelming the sensation of being surrounded by wet, hot bliss could be. He hangs his head low and tries to collect himself.

It takes a moment, then two, then three—

“Mama?” You ask him, soft and sweet as you cup his cheek. “C-Can you move? Have I been g-good enough?”

He whines, he hears his own sounds, and kisses you hard on the mouth as draws his hips back in the same motion. He speaks against your lips, “You don’t need to be good for me to have this. You deserve it— sweet baby.”

It’s easy to fall into this role, so easy. Too easy, in a perverse, indulgent way that nearly has him cumming with his own words but he collects himself enough to fuck back into you.

He sets the pace, slow and as deep as he can go. Each thrust is a punch to your insides, the angle of your hips has the head of his cock rubbing against your sweet spot perfectly. Tears drip from your eyes, down into your hairline.

The sight of you, below him, chest heaving, soft, melted, has him stopping, half-in you to steady himself. He nearly has to withdraw from your cunt entirely to circle the base of his cock his fingers just to stave off orgasm.

“Baby,” his voice shakes more than he has heard it do so for half a millennium. “It’s hard to last when you feel so good.”

You try to get out some snarky remark, something too mouthy and wordy for his baby, so he cuts you off with a swift thrust back into you. You dissolve. Your eyes scrunch closed and your back bends beautifully off your nest. Your grip flails from the sheets to him, and then back to the sheets as you attempt to ground on something.

(Him— you need to ground on him. Jing Yuan will take such good care of you. He’s filling you up, keeping you warm and well-loved.)

He deftly pulls your hand from the sheet and intertwines your fingers with his own. He brings you palm-to-palm, before pressing them down into the mattress. You make a shattered sound, all for him.

Drool seeps out of his own mouth. He kisses you, then, mixes spit with your own to taste you just as much as he feels you.

It feels like gluttony. An indulgence, to have you like this. He isn’t one to deny himself simple pleasures but this feels beyond ‘simple’. It’s complicated. Layered, something he’ll need to decipher and chew on when he’s more within his own faculties. When you are too, so he can consult you as much as is appropriate. Part of him wants to bar you from it. You shouldn’t have to think so much about it, you’re his baby—

You grow tighter around him, wetter. The sounds coming from your cunt and his cock are obscene. He’s leaking along with you.

Jing Yuan lets go of your hand. You whine. Cry. Something sad and shaking. Your eyes are bloodshot and teary as you scramble for him. Jing Yuan coos, little sweet things that drip like confections from his lips. He slides his hands up the backs of your thighs, to the backs of your knees, and anchors himself there.

He bears his weight down and folds you in half.

Your panic stutters, then stalls. Your jaw falls open.

It’s an instinctual thing for an omega in heat. To be pressed open like this, fucked open by a loving mate.

Your head tilts to the side and bears your scent gland.

And—

(Jing Yuan will not bite you. He wants to. He wants to so badly. Once you understand what that means, to have your mama’s bite on you in that way, then he can. He thinks you’ll want it just as much as he does.)

“Oh, baby—” His own voice sinks into a low groan as he pushes back in. “So beautiful for me. You know just what to do, don’t you?”

You whine and tilt your head even farther to the side. It almost looks painful. “Please, m-mama—”

He kisses over the spot your sweet, little heat brain wants him to. His hip cant forward pressed to the hilt. It’s enough that you come with a sob, your legs quivering under him.

“S-Soon, baby,” Jing Yuan can barely keep it together. He licks his lips, the remnants of you and him there. “I’ll make you all mine— all mommy’s, hm?”

“P-Please!”

Your begging is its own declaration. Your desperation, your helplessness, and the ways in which you are cutely feeble really have done something to Jing Yuan that he could never have expected. He doesn’t dislike it. The way he wants to care for you, feels attracted to the idea, and intimacy of that feels blinding, even if he doesn’t know all of the intricacies of it yet. He’ll find them out, along with you, by his side— in his lap— maybe on your knees— against his chest and in his nest—

There’s such certainty in your mutual desires. 

Jing Yuan can’t— he can’t bear it— 

He comes. The sound that rips from his throat is between a moan and a whimper of his own. Cracked and wet all at once as he presses all of his weight into you. He fills you up the best he can’t— omega cum isn’t very thick, more watery— but considering his own restraint, it’s plentiful. It spills out as he fucks you through his orgasm and the last dredges of your own.

You grab at his shoulders, tucking your own face as close as you can.

Jing Yuan can barely hold himself up as he pants to catch his breath. His knees shake as he rights himself just enough to but without fully slipping out of you.

His vision blurs as your scent surrounds him. He can’t help the smile.

He pulls away just enough for his cockhead to pop from your cunt with a gush of cum, tangling and connecting to him in strands. It’s— erotic. An image branded on the inside of his brain.

A shattered noise comes from you— in heat— unfull—

As quickly as he can manage, he wiggles his fist inside you. 

It sates you immediately. Jing Yuan can’t help but coo as you go limp and gooey into your nest with a soft cry. Your chest still heaves, tears streaming down your cheeks.

You’re a mess. Debauched in all ways. And Jing Yuan got you that way.

It makes him feel unjustifiably prideful. A bit smug, even, if he were to be so transparent about it.

The feeling settles down into something... warming. Contentment that scratches an urge that’s both buried in his hindbrain and stitched into his soul, perhaps. A high that continues even as he settles next to you, tugging you snuggly against him as you happily shake through your ‘knotting’.

It’s easy to rest then. To bask and enjoy the heat, the stillness of the evening, the companion in the moon, and your honey-sweet presence by his side. 

“Mommy,” you whisper into his cheek with a kiss. “Jing Yuan— t-thank you.”

“O-Of course.” He whispers back like he’s exchanging a secret. “I have much more to give you if you’ll let me, sweetling.”

Your breathe catches, eyes wide. 

“Mama is spoiling me.”

“Mommy is giving you what you rightfully deserve.”

Before you can counter, he kisses you. Dumb and sweet all at once. You smile against his lips with a giggle that he eats in the next moment. 

A morsel, all his own.

...

As your heat abates, your sweet dynamic grows. It has time to breathe and be more than a desperate connection born from the discomfort of your heat and his own need to tend. Now there’s just the honeycomb richness of a new desire that you both indulge. Test. 

Now, you’re in Jing Yuan’s lap while he rests against your headboard. You’ve just finished sharing a bowl of rice pudding and red bean jellies. Jing Yuan has spoonfed you, as he is finding he very much enjoys. Partially because it is such a transparent act of care and also because he finds your vague indignation and fidgeting to be quite cute.

You’re still fidgeting, now, in his lap. Your legs on either side of his thighs, tense. His cock is buried in you, warm and steadily hard. 

Your cheek lays against his collarbone. You’re settled there, comfortable after some initial adjusting. It has been your sheepish request that initiated your current lap-sitting and cock warming, but Jing Yuan can hardly complain. He’s quite pleased. Your cheeks are hot against his skin, though flushed now with embarrassment more than heat.

You huff,  “M-Mama— Jing Yuan— Do you have to read that?”

He hums, teasing. “Why? Do you not enjoy my choice of story?” 

Jing Yuan holds a small book in one hand, thumb pressed into the inner spine of it. He’d plucked it from the bottom of your nightstand while you’d been dozing and found the story quite... interesting. 

It’s one of the raunchy erotica fictions that gets sold out of little carts in Aurum Alley. The cover is plainly pink, aside from the title “The Lion-Strong Lieutenant and The Fox-Hearted Maiden”. Jing Yuan had paged through it with some amount of uncontained curiosity. The story follows a freshly deployed (vaguely familiar) Cloud Knight lieutenant and a foxian healer on the front lines of a Hunt on a distant planet. It’s filthy, really. There’s smut within the first few chapters that he skims through. Decently written too. He can see why you enjoy it and keep it by your bedside.

When you rouse enough to notice that he’s reading, and what he’s reading, you’re mortified. You’d attempted to snatch the book away from Jing Yuan, but unfortunately for you, he’s quite a bit taller and in better shape than you are. He simply holds it above his head rather pleased with himself.

How his cock ended up inside of you is rather lost on him. You really do enjoy your perch in his lap, and at this point in your heat, being filled by something of any girth is more pleasant than being entirely empty. 

Reading the book aloud to you is more for himself. Because you’re very, very cute when you’re so embarrassed and a bit shameful. 

You hide in his neck and whine.

“I don’t t-think this one is meant to be read out loud...” Your voice wobbles like you’re going to cry.

“Why’s that, dear?”

“It’s... u-um, too dirty?”

“Hm,” he clicks his tongue, coaxing your head up so he can meet your watery gaze. “That may be true. Why was my baby reading it then?”

A nervous chirp clicks from your throat and you shift in his lap. His cock jostles in your cunt. 

“Because—!” You huff. “It’s f-fun to read when I’m alone.”

“‘Fun’?”

It’s hard to keep himself from teasing you.

You squeal and squirm more, before tucking yourself close. You grow quiet, brooding as much as Jing Yuan will allow before intervening. He chuckles as you do, petting down the back of your neck, over your soothed scent glands, and down your bare spine. 

He relents and sets down the book.

“Would you prefer a different story, dear?”

“... Y-yes, please.”

“That can be done.”

He hums and pets you, enough that you calm down and sniffle through the beginning of your tears. 

Jing Yuan should’ve known his baby needs a story that is easier to swallow. Something less dirty—

(As if his cock isn’t buried in you. As if your cunt is fluttering around him whenever his hips so much as twitch.) 

“P-Please, mommy?”

(Ah, how simply and purely you affect him.)

“Of course, dear.” 

You don’t need to beg for this. Jing Yuan adjusts enough that you’re able to slouch fully into his chest. 

He pets you while he tells you a story about something simple. Something easy. About a traveling merchant who falls for a witch on a lush planet. It’s a fable plucked from an immersia that Jing Yuan vaguely remembers from when he was young. It’s a good bedtime story, much better than genuine pornography.

His voice carries in your room, growing rougher and lower as sleep tugs at his own eyelids. At some point in his tale-winding, you begin to drag your lips up and down his neck, mouthing at his scent glands. It’s a silent plea for him to rest, to relax, and to exchange scent. Jing Yuan can intuit it from you so easily.

He ends up dozing along with you, words fading as you drool over his collarbone.

The last thing he does before fading into sleep himself is commit the stillness and peace of this to memory. 

...

You clearly thrive under the specific type of care that Jing Yuan gives you.

‘Mommy’ and ‘baby’ do something good to your brain. It makes you float, and exit the spaces and feelings that make you so anxious and off-kilter. He knows that on a day-to-day basis, you can be quite fractious and unsure of yourself. (Your tears were the first thing that endeared you to him, after all). He can already tell that this dynamic is allowing you a specific type of respite from these anxieties. 

Not having to think too hard is good for you. Jing Yuan thinks it is a good thing in general, and especially now, during your heat, something you’ve been so worried about before and during. He thinks it’ll be good for you afterward as well... if it’s something you’d like to continue. 

(Jing Yuan truly hopes you will. He wants to.)

It’s a reprieve for him too.

You’re a precious, little thing that needs care that he can provide. You’re the only thing he needs to worry about then, too. He’s always latently aware of his greater responsibilities, it feels impossible to not be, but they feel further away when you’re snuggled closer to him with hazy eyes and a soft smile meant only for him to see. 

There are different layers to this that he’d like to explore. Little bits and actions that he can see the appeal of, perhaps that he even craves, but he knows that they must be treated gingerly. This is new for both of you. And there’s truly no need to rush.

(There is, however, one thing that sticks in his mind in an unignorable way—)

(A curious desire, one he wants quite badly.)

Jing Yuan is propped up by a mountain of pillows, snuggled deep in your nest with a pastel, knitted blanket tossed over his legs. You’re on his lap, rump over his thighs with your legs curled up to the side of him. You’ve slipped quite low like this, your cheek pillowed against his sternum. It’s one of your favorite spots, he’s learned.

Two of his fingers are in your mouth, resting on your tongue. 

This is one of your favorite things, he thinks. He thinks that it is one of his own as well. It may have started as a teasing action at first, during his own heat, something to wordlessly test the waters of this dynamic when it first began to present itself, but now it feels like something more weighted. 

It’s a precursor at the very least.

You suck on his fingers lightly; you’re half asleep as you do. Drool shines on the corners of your mouth in a cutely messy way. He wants to lick it off. One of his arms cradles you, around your back with a hand tucked firmly against your waist.

There’s a temptation to push things a little... further.

It’s not an entirely chaste thought, though it’s hardly burgeoning on sexual. Jing Yuan supposes that the nature of your whole dynamic, really. The line between the carnal and the pure has been so blurred, it might as well not be there. It’s safe and intimate— refreshingly so. There is nothing more than it needs other than that.

Jing Yuan swallows, his mouth feeling dry.

You make little sound, the beginnings of a purr as you rouse enough to blink up at him.

“Dear,” he asks. “May I try something? You can stop if you do not like it.”

You blink at him a few more times, before nodding, your top teeth bumping against his fingers in your mouth. 

(How trusting, how sweet, how pliant and good for him you— is what he desires to do next, not just a manifestation of that?)

He slips you lower, so your cheek is smushed up against his chest instead. 

The ample swell of his breast is never something he’s minded. He’s always been a bit fuller than his peers, perhaps a lot these days, considering all of the deskwork he does has resulted in some weight gain around his middle. It’s hardly noticeable under his official costume and regalia; it looks more like muscle then. 

Now, bare with you and skin-to-skin, his chest is round with muscle and soft tissue. His stomach rolls over, pudge covering the muscle he has maintained. He’s sure you feel all of it. He hopes it makes you feel safer, knowing that your omega can look after you in those ways too.

And Jing Yuan has confidence that in those physical ways, he can. The tender way he wants to explore is more uncharted.

He withdraws his fingers from your mouth and coaxes you into turning your face against his breast fully. Your lips brush one of his dusty pink nipples and he twitches. You freeze, glancing up at him with wide eyes. There’s only trust there, thick and rich and all his. Your scent is so warm now, so warm. You look back to his chest, going a bit cross-eyed, then back up to him.

You nose around his nipple before taking it into your mouth. Fully.

He gasps as you do— he’s— he’s sensitive. It’s not a place he really touches himself. The contact makes him stiffen up; both his spine and his nipple that is under your tongue. You freeze as he jolts, pausing, but not drawing away.

Jing Yuan takes a moment to steady himself, before petting down the back of your head, a wordless sign to continue.

And you do, because you are so good and you trust him so much. You lap around his nipple and suck without question, easily sinking back into the headspace that you both enjoy so much. You’re dutiful, at first, enthusiastic, but the fervor of it fades after a minute or two.

Instead, you relax even further. Your legs splay, heels sliding along the bottom of your nest. Your thighs fall open and a burst of your scent, both calm and aroused, floods the room. You lean all of your weight into him, seeking more as your eyes slip fully closed.

It’s good. So good to see you relax, to feel your against his chest. Jing Yuan is both sated and aroused all at once, his own scent turning as you suck. It’s... creamier, milkier. You seem to enjoy it, making a high, happy noise against him.

“Oh, b-baby—” His own voice shakes, just enough to betray his overwhelm.

You calm him by shifting somehow closer, sucking deeper and harder on his nipple. There will surely be a mark there.

Jing Yuan’s cock is half hard as you suck, and he can see slick begin to leak out from your cunt, stickying your thighs. He— he wants to touch you. To satisfy you even more. He reaches between your thighs, cups your sex, and rolls your clit with the two fingers that had previously been in your mouth. You gasp against him, suck harder, and moan.

It’s— it’s all debauched. Sensual yet so comfortable, Jing Yuan can’t help but luxuriate. The pleasure you’re exchanging exists only for pleasure's sake; neither of you feels hastened toward completion. Instead, it’s just this— you nursing on his chest and him playing with you just enough that your hips tilt and grind for more, but never to glut.

(Jing Yuan— part of him— he’s not even sure which part, wishes he could give you more than nursing. He wishes he could give you milk too. If he can’t fill you up with a knot, why not fill your belly up with his milk? He would like that. You probably would too. Warm and full and content against his chest.)

He feels— a little out of his mind about it. In a good way. Perhaps, if this is something you’d like to indulge in again, something could be done to make that a reality. Jing Yuan is sure he can make a few anonymous accounts and poke around forums for an answers. Perhaps call in a few favors at the Alchemy Commission, if it comes to that.

The desire for this— this dynamic that’s gratifying dynamic that’s growing and fleshing itself out in real time— has him ready to go the distance without question. He’s excited to. 

It’s easy to be excited, with you content and within pleasure so deeply against him. 

He’s quite excited for whatever comes next. 

...

Your heat ends after nine days. 

The last days of it are slow. Exhaustion has settled into both of you, and the intimacy you share is unhurried and lazy. There’s no fever to it, only the want for closeness amidst your own fatigue. 

As post-heat creeps in, there is somewhat of a chill that’s spread over your home as well.

It’s a quiet feeling, one that neither of you addresses at first. Jing Yuan can smell it on you, and on himself, before he identifies clearly that something isn’t quite right. You aren’t mad, there is no anger in your scent or the way you carry yourself. Your words are not cruel, nor is their tone. If anything, it’s the opposite. You cling to him harder, squeeze closer, and beg for more of him whenever you can. Not for sex. You just want to be near him.

You sit in the bath together quietly, watching the rainbow-slick bubbles in tandem. 

Your bath isn’t quite big enough for the two of you. Jing Yuan’s knees stick up just out of the water. Your own are nestled beside his as you sit between his thighs. You’re wiping a warm, soapy washcloth over his offered arm in little circles, a soft frown on your face. 

You’re both very aware that this— you— will end soon. This state will.

Jing Yuan has a ship to head. He has taken a great deal of (abnormal) time off to accommodate your heat, which he has no regrets about. However, he is all too aware of the mountain of paperwork he’ll have to complete and the amount of catching up he will need to do once he returns. He’s been assured by Qingzu and Fu Xuan over text that the Luofu’s various affairs are being handled well and accordingly, and he’s sure that they’re doing a fine job at managing things in his absence—

But, he must take up the helm once again. Along with the full brunt of its responsibilities. Having you as his own does not change that.

Jing Yuan has never cared much for his image, not beyond managing perceptions that may be genuinely damaging to the stability of the Luofu’s denizens. As much as he has a reputation for loafing and lounging about, he’s reliable. No other Arbiter General has held this title for as long as he has and kept their ship as hale as he has. As much as he’s known to be a ‘Bachelor Alpha’ — he’s fairly certain taking you publicly as his omega will not damage his reputation, not in any meaningful way.

He worries for you though. Your station is lower. For as much of an eye as Madame Yukong keeps on you, and as much power he can exert, you will more than likely face backlash. Beyond already-buzzing rumors, he is certain you’ll face some amount of questioning from those around you. Criticisms. Both of you will undoubtedly face judgments as well. Jing Yuan is certain he’ll hear at least from the other Generals, if not the Marshal herself.

(The Divine Foresight, an ‘Alpha’, taking a simple administrative staff as his mate— it could be quite the scandal. If mishandled.)

(One thing at a time—)

You break the stillness of your steam-filled bathroom with a low hum.

“How’s this gonna work?” You ask. “... Mommy?”

“That’s a good question.” He kisses the back of your head, over your wet hair. You smell like the herbal shampoo you favor. “How would you like it to?”

“Please don’t leave this all up to me.”

“I’m not.” He squeezed your middle, hiding his own face in your shoulder. “I’d appreciate your perspective.”

“I figured you would have put it together already.”

“Oh?”

“I know how your mind works.” You bump your head into his own. “Or, I think I do. I, at least, have an idea of it. You’re always a few steps ahead of me, you know?”

“And how do you think that is?” 

“... You know me before I even know myself a lot of the time.”

You’re more keen than you give yourself credit for. He ought to help you work on your self-esteem. 

“Even so. I would like to hear your own genuine thoughts from your mouth, rather than my inferences and deductions.”

“Only if you tell me what you want too. Just as genuine.”

He nods, conceding easily. “Of course.”

You grab his hand in your own. Your thumbs roll into his palms, the ghost of a massage. “I... I like being... your omega. Your b-baby too, even if I don’t, um, quite know all the details of how it all works. Or if you know, either. But you know lots, so maybe you do. I dunno— I— it’s just—”

“Take your time, dear.”

You sigh and run your fingers over the pulse in his wrist. “... I don’t want to lose this just because my heat’s all over. I— I want to keep being yours.”

Thank Lan.

“The feeling is mutual,” he admits, smothering yourself with the fragrance of your skin. There’s melancholy in his tone that twins your own. “Very much so.”

“I’m glad.” You nose into him harder, more insistent for closeness. “I’m glad we want b-both want that. I’d... prefer we be somewhat private about it. I know that people are already talking about, um, us. I’m sure Li Ming has already been texting me about it. And I don’t necessarily mind people knowing that we’re together. I think it’s unavoidable, really.”

“I would agree.”

“But, I’d like this... this...” You hold your hands together, and dip his fingertips shallowly into his mouth, before withdrawing. “To be just ours.”

“I feel similarly.” 

There’s any number of commonplace, and less commonplace, dynamics that exist on the Luofu and across the Xianzhou. Your budding dynamic, truthfully, isn’t all that odd given this variety (Xianzhou natives have certainly had a long while to cultivate them—). Regardless of this, Jing Yuan would prefer to keep things private unless... certain circumstances arise. And those can be talked about—

(If specific types of encouragement or discipline in conjunction with care is something you desire and something he thinks would be beneficial for you, there may be a place for some public showing of dominance and submission. But, that’s not relevant now. Not yet. The details can wait.)

“And um— well, you—” You squirm to look at him. Almost pouting. “Y-You can bite me. I-I want you to. Claim me, if you want. I know it’s not really gonna do anything but—”

“You want my mark?” 

Jing Yuan feels light-headed with the knowledge. He assumed as much but still—

“Y-Yeah, really bad. It took everything during my heat not to ask for it.”

Jing Yuan would’ve been able to hold back if you had. But— it would have been... more difficult, had you begged. He’s weak for it, weak for you.

“I would like to leave my claim on you as well.” He has to swallow, clear his throat. “Not now, or during this heat of yours. I’d like to wait until we have a better moment established for it.”

“Something a little more preplanned ... Make it meaningful, yeah?”

“Yes, I’d prefer it that way.”

“I-I like that idea. Besides, it would be unfair for you to mark me and take my virginity during a single heat.”

His cock twitches. You clearly feel it as you grin, smother him with a smattering of kisses to his cheeks. 

For all the details, all the little things to sort, and preferences to wade through, this is easy. The exchange of physicality and comfort is good. Jing Yuan— well— it’s not something he’s had in a long time. It’s not something he’s really craved either. Now, he feels greedy for it as you press a kiss to the apple of his cheek. He can feel your smile there, content and happy. 

“I’ll take good care of you,” he tells you. It’s a confession and an assurance all in one. “Do you trust me, dear?”

“More than anything,” you say simply like you aren’t bearing your soul to him. Like you don’t hold the most fragile part of him in your own hands as well.

“I’m glad.” 

Jing Yuan covets the exchange. He cherishes you and this dynamic and this new thing that has opened up for him after he has been convinced for so long that he’d subsist on silicone toys and scraps until Mara ate him. 

There’s a hope in his chest, tended by more than kindling. It’s warm and full of comfort, just as you are, purring and content against his front.

“... What do you want?” You ask, soft, a little more timid. “I know you said you feel similarly, but I want to hear your thoughts too.”

Jing Yuan collects him, and the slow accumulation of thoughts he’s had in the past few days crystallizes behind his eyes. 

“I would prefer not to hide you.” He admits, barely masking the tremble in his voice. “The nature of our relationship may remain private, as I said I’d prefer it that way as well. However, I’ll ask you to forgive me for my selfishness— I would prefer not to hide my affections for you.”

He squeezes you.

It’s not easy to confess. But he—

(Jing Yuan recalls the rumors of him and the High Elder fraternizing. And of the short-life craftsman that stole his heart. He didn’t mind it back then. He didn’t. His ego was much larger and younger. But, stealing kisses in the shadow of Aurum Alley and in the deepest, darkest sections of Imbibtor Lunae’s delve make him sad to think about now.)

(Jing Yuan thinks he is too old to hide himself so much. As adept as he has become in his inscrutability if you would permit him to be selfish—)

“I can accept that,” you reply. “I... I get a little nervous about it. But... you’ll take care of me, won’t you?”

You parrot his own words back to him. He slips his fingers in your mouth, as you both so enjoy. A reward. A treat. He can feel you grin around the digits. 

“Of course.” He can shield you from the worst of it. “I would also like if you would mark me as well.”

“‘Bite ‘yu?” Your words are garbled on his fingers as you whip around to look at him. There are practically stars in your eyes as the water of the bath sloshes, bubbles foaming up to your shoulders.

“A mutual claim.” He confirms. “A visible one.”

“You’re ‘slure?”

“Entirely ‘slure’.” 

Jing Yuan has thought about... perhaps in excess while your heat has been pittering out. It’s not unheard, but not traditional either. He doesn’t particularly care. He just wants your mark on him too. 

An excited, trilling purr rips from your throat as you smatter his face with even more kisses. Insistent ones, that douse him in your scent. He can feel the elation thrumming off of you, and he can’t help but be soothed by it. 

(Mutual want after so long still feels so foreignly good after so long starved.)

Jing Yuan gathers your face in his hands and kisses you, open-mouthed and long. His grip slips down your thighs, ass, waist— wherever he can squeeze and feel you most. Your hands land on his chest, groping there (a new favorite activity of yours—)

You pull away, breathlessly. Your eyes crinkle at the corner. The water is cooling, but Jing Yuan finds himself not caring all that much. The heat of you is enough. The warmth between you is a rolling hearth that keeps him toasty, through and through.

“I like you a lot, Jing Yuan.” You confess, nosing into his cheek. You speak your next words so softly, he hardly catches them. “‘Like you lots, mama.”

“Oh, baby,” his voice slips, so transparently full of desire it almost shocks him. He’s okay with the surprise. He may even want more of it, if it’s from you, especially if it’s from this. “I like you very much as well.”

So, so much. 

//💦🌺💦//

You and Jing Yuan were right about many things. One being that rumors explode once you and Jing Yuan make yourselves a public item.

They’re entertaining, if nothing else.

“The Divine Foresight — Shacked up in his tenure.”

“The Lazing Luofu General’s omega smells like orange blossom and sea salt: FACT OR FICTION!”

“Knot: CONFIRMED! Does General Jing Yuan’s battle prowess carry over into the bedroom?”

“WHO IS THE DIVINE FORESIGHT’S OMEGA?! The latest scoop from Little Gui!”

The tabloids across the Xianzhou Alliance had already been publishing half-baked stories about the Luofu’s General’s omega lover who he keeps sequestered in a lush garden with specific security clearance in order to access it. But, the details were paltry and the photos they’d somehow acquired from your visits to and from the Alchemy Commission were quite blurry.

Now, however— the Divine Foresight has a claiming bite on his neck. And the omega on his arm has one as well. And the pair of them where matching courting bracelets around their wrists. 

The stories they print are... wild. And for the first while after the news breaks, you’re bombarded by reporters and internet personalities, wanting the freshest, juiciest scoop on your relationship with the General. You always politely declined to tell them any details, providing them the (prefabricated and rehearsed) direction to contact ‘the Divine Foresight’s publicist’ with a provided contact number.

(Jing Yuan only revealed to you later that this was The Master Diviner’s contact, and she chewed each and every shameless, drama-mongering reporter so intensely that they dared not to attempt to chase either of you down again.)

The fanfare of it all fades rather quickly. A new reality sets in and you quite like it.

As much as you favor Jing Yuan’s first garden, the one that the two of you shared so many lunches in, you’ve become quite partial to his home. The spacious courtyard and its two massive ponds are your favorite features. The inside of his estate being lavish and increasingly homey doesn’t hurt either. You’ve started to spend most of your time there, sharing his nest.

You like it very much.

Jing Yuan does too, you think. He never wears scent patches at home, these days, even if it makes Yanqing dramatically crinkle up his nose and leave the room half the time. Jing Yuan tells you that he’s ‘just at that age’. Jing Yuan also tells you that Yanqing presented young. And that there’s a spitfire alpha girl under the wing of the Zhuming’s Flaming Heart who Jing Yuan thinks would make a good match for him. ‘Strings are being pulled’, he says. 

Jing Yuan is always pulling strings.

Not that you mind it. You notice it, but it doesn’t bother you. If anything, being more keenly aware of Jing Yuan’s inner workings makes observing the way he moves within the world and the machinations he employs allows you to make more sense of him as a person. He holds such a heavy burden. And as much as you’ve known this for the entire duration of your friendship, courtship, and subsequent mateship with him, you’ve grown to have a new perspective on it.

You can see that weight more easily.

It’s why the dynamic you have together works. Jing Yuan can still strategize and control as much as he pleases but on a smaller scale. You think it must be very... nice for him to have you, his very sweet omega who is much easier to please than the many denizens and political factions of the Xianzhou Alliance. The control is still there, but in a different dose, played with within a different frame. 

It’s been good to explore.

You like it very much too. You like... being his baby. Not thinking so hard. Feeling secure enough and trusting him enough to not have to look over your shoulder so often. He does take care of you very well, and you feel so very fortunate to have him.

You rub over the scar of your claiming bite absent-mindedly. 

The day is quite young, and Jing Yuan has taken you out to a small shop just outside of the Alchemy Commission. The walls are lined with shelves, packed with stacks of neatly folded fabrics. A well-dressed vidyadhara has you up on a little pedestal, diligently taking your measurements as Jing Yuan browses through their selection. A censer hangs in an open window, burning a cool-smelling incense that wafts over the space. 

Jing Yuan wants matching pajamas.

(Or, rather, you raised the idea and Jing Yuan is humoring you with such a great deal of enthusiasm that one would think he raised this want, and not yourself.)

It’s very cute to see Jing Yuan be so excited. 

The omega, in full regalia, looks quite at home throwing a few bolts of fabric over his arm as another worker advises him on the best fabrics for this type of garment. He listens intently, despite probably already knowing a great deal of what the worker is telling him. It’s very sweet of him; at least you think so. The ribbon he wears in his hair bobs as he nods along.

You smile to yourself.

“What are your thoughts on a looser fit?” The vidyadhara asks from behind you. “I would recommend it, given the styles the two of you selected.”

“I would agree.” Jing Yuan says from across the shop.

The question wasn’t directed at him, but he answers for you regardless. This isn’t that odd for an ‘alpha’, perhaps some omegas would be a bit chuffed about it. But you like it. Especially like this. When you know Jing Yuan is spoiling you with a day out full of treats and presents and companionship and an evening that will certainly devolve into you, in his lap, with your mouth on his tits—

Jing Yuan hums from behind you, his voice breaking you from your very lovely fantasy. Your scent must’ve changed, however minutely. Your arousal is something for Jing Yuan’s nose only.

(You still don’t wear scent blockers. Lei Huiling heavily suggested that you keep it that way, in addition to the low-dose suppressants that you’ve been taking.)

“I-I like loose,” you say. “Loose is good. Can we get new robes too?”

“Of course. Perhaps a few sets of day clothes as well?” Jing Yuan has a new appreciation for loungewear. It’s a good use of the insane amount of capital he’s accrued over the years as General. Not to mention he deserves the comfiest and nicest garments for loafing about.

“Let me fetch a few catalogs,” the vidyadhara excuses themselves to the back of the shop, bustling about.

You stay atop the little podium as Jing Yuan comes around you, looking you up and down. He looks content as a cat splayed out in a sunbeam. He lifts your arm, inspecting it like he intends to measure you himself, despite having no sewer tape himself. He rubs his hands over your arms in circles, trailing upwards. Despite his wrists being covered by his vambraces, and below that scent-blocking patches, he still attempts to scent you.

(Such a possessive creature, really.)

“I’ve been considering,” he begins, “Commissioning a set of lingerie, perhaps. From a shop with a bit more discretion.”

“F-For me, or for you?” 

“Either, or. Which would you prefer?”

You think about Jing Yuan in— in stockings, a well-fitted bra, and garters and your scent must change because he’s giving you a rich, full-bodied laugh a moment later and rubbing over your cheeks with your thumbs. 

He teases, “How brazen.”

“You—!” You feel indignant and embarrassed all at once. A part of you slips lower, and you trust Jing Yuan to catch you. “You s-started this!”

“So I did,” he hums. “With an honest question. What do you think, dear?”

“U-Um—” You struggle to find your words. Acutely aware of the environment you’re in and distracted by the thought of perching in his lap in a skimpy robe and your own set of lace, it makes you feel dumb and wanting. “... B-Both?”

“I would concur.” He hums, pleased with himself. “I’ll do some research into it, hm? What do you think?”

“T-That sounds good to m-me.”

“Does it now?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, grabbing his hands in your own, squeezing. A sunbeam warms your back and Jing Yuan warms you from the front. “It sounds very good.”

“And so it will be done.”

... 

You and Jing Yuan giggle behind closed doors about the general public’s perception that he is an alpha.

Jing Yuan certainly has become good at acting like one. He has the posture and way of speech down. He’s larger and broader than most would think an omega to be, even if a decent amount of that is soft fat that you like putting in your mouth. He fights like an alpha too, but that’s from fighting plenty of alphas while training in his youth.

(His Master was an alpha, he tells you. She let him be an omega in private luckily. Jing Yuan speaks of it fondly, if not a bit wistful.)

When it’s just the two of you, he gets to act more like an omega.

Like you’re omegas. 

It’s all the affection and stickiness you could want. 

You’ve never had care like Jing Yuangives you— not from your alpha mother or your beta father. Not from the gaggle of friends you made while traveling through the Alliance, long before you settled on the Luofu. Not from the few alphas who attempted to court you, and the omegas you twirled with at the little clubs you enjoyed during your time on the Zhuming. 

It’s different than everything you’ve had before.

You’ve had bits of it before, morsels that you could hold in your hands or on your tongue... but it never felt right. It never satisfied enough, or felt safe enough to indulge to the point of being satisfying. Flings at clubs were fun, but you never did anymore than kiss in dark corners. Your brief stint with your traveling friends were a handful of betas and a few alphas who treated you like something to be held like a trophy and paraded around, as much as a friend. Your mother— your father—

(They did not know what to do with a soft-hearted omega child. You think that they tried your best, but you know your mother resented— resents your presentation, even now. She tries in the ways that she knows how. There’s always a chunk of money in your account that shouldn’t be there at the end of the year. She made sure you had the best scent locking system available.)

(Empathetically, you can tell that she cares, and this is her way of showing it.)

(Yet, it doesn’t change the callous off-hand comments. You can’t find it in yourself to fully forgive her for trying to marry your off for two decades straight. Or, the way that she had last looked at you with your neck bare. Or, the comment that follows.)

(“Shouldn’t you be more careful? Alphas will think you’re a slut if you don’t mask that scent of yours. Why aren’t you using that body wash I sent you?)

(You haven’t seen your mother in years now. It’s for the best.)

Jing Yuan treats you well and cares for you in a way that you hadn’t fully known you’d craved. You are very thankful for him. 

It’s a more comfortable type of care. Maybe, because it came about slowly. You had been dining with Jing Yuan over lunch for... several years, probably, before you shared a heat with him. Even if you thought he was an alpha, he has always been a safe alpha. His presence, even before all this, made you braver. So has Madame Yukong’s guidance and Li Ming’s friendship. You like being an omega. You like being an omega with another omega. 

...

Nights with Jing Yuan are your favorite.

Jing Yuan has you underneath him, rolling his hips against yours. His cock is soaked, wet, and slippery as he grinds over your clit. His cunt pours slick onto your own as you match his pace, his rhythm the best you can. His weight is braced on his arms, folded on either side of your head.

He licks into your mouth as he kisses you stupid. Truly dumb, because you’re just his baby at this moment, and you don’t need to think too hard or do anything other than be a helpless thing in need of coddling. Jing Yuan gorges himself on you in these instances. He fucks his tongue into your mouth as he keeps you closed. 

There’s no haste to this. Neither of you have the desire to be filled. You could— Jing Yuan will probably fuck you later, or he’ll put a harness and strap on you and ride you himself. But you don’t have to have that type of play for this to be enjoyable. 

You just need him.

The taste on your tongue is just him. There are no alpha pheromones, just the sweet, sunshiney, milky scent of Jing Yuan that you’ve come to crave, and clamor for when you don’t have it for too long. It’s so good, you don’t mind suffocating on it. You want to. 

“So good, baby,” he says into your mouth, pulling away just enough to press his fingers into your mouth. 

He pushes them deeper than he does so casually. They stretch to the back of your tongue, nudging the back of your throat. You startle, just enough to whine, before he gives you a little ‘shhh, shhh, shhh—’. The broad plane of his free palm cup the case of your skull as he fucks your mouth.

The silver of his hair falls like a veil of moonlight around his cheeks. The gold of his eyes has been almost eaten by desire, pupils dilated so wide. Desire looks good on him. Want makes Jing Yuan bloom, and it makes you feel that much more content. It’s easy to go lax under his hands and let him fuck your mouth and pet over your tongue as he sees fit.

You like this so much. Being a cherished, sweet thing that’s both used and (loved) in equal measure. It’s safe. It’s good. He’s good, for all of the details and roles he must juggle, you know Jing Yuan is good. 

Later, when you’re held against Jing Yuan’s chest, lazily sucking at his breast while he plays with your hair, you bask in the goodness of it. You giggle and laugh when Jing Yuan teases you, and huff when he presses you just enough. It’s reciprocal. A wordless, ever-moving exchange. Safety for safety, (love) for (love), even if neither of you has said the words yet.

That night, wrapped in the sheets, rising from your pleasant stupor, you study Jing Yuan.

You like him like this. His face is slack and relaxed. The painted purple circles under his eyes don’t seem quite as dark. The slope of his nose is gentler, and the pudge of his cheeks is more pronounced.

You soften for him. How can you not?

A honey eye cracks half-open and you squeak. You’ve been caught.

“Dear,” Jing Yuan’s voice crackles with sleep. He brings you closer with a thick bicep around your waist. “Should you not be sleeping?”

“Mommy,” you whine, smothered against his chest. “You look too pretty to sleep. ‘M just admiring.”

“Flattery won’t make up for a lack of rest.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

He laughs above you. It’s a rough sound, good-natured, and all for you. You preen and nose into his jaw. You lap at the claiming bite you left on him, feel the divots of the scar beneath your tongue.

“Being so sweet to me,” he croons. “Is there something else you’d like?”

If you wanted more, you could have it. There’s part of you that itches to be warmed on his cock. Or warm his cock with your mouth. Or kiss until you quite literally can’t stay awake any longer. There’s a central idea to each idea that comes to mind. 

“Just you.” You tell him. 

You hear his breath catch. The thump of his heartbeat, fast, loud, and strong. 

“That’s all?”

“Mhm,” you settle closer, into the safe heat of him. You let it envelop you. “I just want you.”

He squeezes around your waist, tethering you. It feels like a strong enough grip to weather most anything, from the roughest of your heats to the worst storms. You lean into it. Bask.

“My baby is so kind.”

“Just for you.”

“Just for me?”

“Just for you.” You repeat, and kiss him, soaked in moonlight and your woven scents. 

part 1 link if you need 💕

thank you for reading 🩷

[sturnsdarling]

teenage dirtbags, part three

Skater!matt and overachiever!reader study in the library

vibe check: enemies to lovers au, a lingering look from reader? matt being goofy, bickering, just all the shit we love guys come on

1.6k words

A/N: this is like a filler part before the actual fun bit where they aren't just studying and bickering. ugh i'm sorry its taken me so long to get out a part three i'm so busy with uni. send me ideas for what you wanna see from them because your girl is braindead. also you know i had to make matt a feminist skater boy...being able to yap about philosophy in my fics gives me a little too much joy. anywaysssss i hope you love this

intro, part one, part two

love and cigs, merc

You had told Matt to meet you in the library, not wanting to be in a confined space with him like your room like you had been the last few times you'd studied, being around him was painful enough, you didn't need it to be a private one on one situation every single time.

You were sat, one leg up on the creaky wooden chair with your head tucked in your current read, absent-mindedly twirling a small strand of hair by your ear into a ringlet around your finger. The library is near enough silent, the only sounds being that of a whirling printer and a few whispers from people doing joint projects a few tables over.

The serenity of the building was quickly interrupted by an obnoxious slam of the giant stain glass doors, one hitting the door frame after the other. Everyone in the room turned to look at the noise with a scowl, and the loud crash was followed by a small 'sorry'. You were torn from your book, only to be met with the apologetic frame of Matt, shuffling through the tables, his board in hand and an apologetic look, that was hiding a boyish grin, spread on his face.

you couldn't help but roll your eyes as he sauntered over to you, not a care in the world as he loudly placed all his belongings on the old, shiny oak table you were sat at.

"wussup, y/l/n" Matt said, shocked that you were already here, "am I late?" he said.

you looked at the gold, vintage watch on your wrist with a deadpan face, "only three minutes" you said, looking back to him, "lets get started" you pulled your notes for him out your bag, spreading everything out on the table.

"Jesus, not a minute to waste, huh?" Matt chuckled, sitting down opposite you and getting his notebook out, followed by all the readings you had assigned him.

"I'd like to cut the amount of time I have to be seen with you in public down to a minimum so, yeah" you said, shooting him a sarcastic smile that he returned.

Matt laid out his books on the table, all five of them riddled with little sticky notes and tabs, seeming to be very throughly annotated and read. You scanned his collection, you only assigned him three, albeit they were the heaviest with the dark green tabs you had given him, but not only had he actually done what you'd asked, he did more.

A small smile attempted to form on your lips but you quickly reminded yourself of your distaste and forced your face muscles into compliance.

"I, um, I liked this one a lot, she seems like she knows what she's talkin' about" Matt said, picking up Simone De Beauvoir's little red book and scanning it quickly.

"Beauvoir was one of the first modern philosophers I read, she's pretty cool" You nodded, focused on the hundreds of tabs in the pages, "you annotated these really thoroughly" you picked up his copy on Fanon, fanning through the pages and creating a little wind tunnel in front of your face.

"you asked me to" Matt said non-chalantly, shrugging.

You caught his eye line and let a downwards smile form on your face, raising your brows quickly before tearing your eyes from his.

You and Matt got right to it, going over everything he had written previously and cross referencing it with all the new content he had consumed. His approach was near enough perfect now it just needed its 'meat and potatoes', as Matt would say, and he was good to go.

It was nice, being able to talk to someone about philosophy in a way that wasn't just them trying to prove that they knew more than you, helping Matt study was easy and, despite the company, a nice break from the dick slinging competition your degree often felt like.

"I think I want to make Beauvoir more central to my point" Matt said, "I feel like this whole concept of 'the Other' can be applied to further corners of society and... I kinda wanna try" His final words came out more nervous than the rest, as if he lost faith in himself half way through.

"okay" You nodded, pulling out your own copy of Beauvoir and flitting through the pages, "you can definitely do that" you nodded with a shrug, not looking at the way his face lit up in response to your confidence in him.

You and Matt spent the next few hours reading basically every bit of text the library had on Beauvoir, silently flicking through everything she'd ever written, trying to find the perfect point. Matt was man spreading on his chair, back low against the seat as his leg bounced at a rapid pace against the old, dusty blue carpet, his fingers effortlessly twirling a highlighter in circles as he lost himself in the tattered book in his hand.

You were cross legged across from him, head hung low on its hinge as you chewed on the end of your pen, scanning through applications of Beauvoir, trying to find something that hadn't been said, and hoping Matt was smart enough to say it.

You knew he was, he wasn't an idiot, he just never tried. It was infuriating, how despite his complete lack of effort, he was still always on the podium with you, taunting you with his effortless wit and intelligence.

"can you stop shaking your leg" You said, growing more irritated by his movements by the second

Matt looked up from his book, "it helps me focus" he said, still shaking his leg.

"its annoying" you said, huffing and placing your feet on the floor

"more annoying than your little incoherent mumbles?" Matt said, cocking his head to the side

you slammed the book shut in your lap, "what are you talking about?" you screwed your face up at him

Matt chuckled and shifted in his chair, "so maybe if we, actually no, oh actually what about, hmm, no that won't work" Matt mumbled, mimicking you down to the pen in his mouth. Once he had finished his performance, he looked back to you with a smug smile

"I don't do that" you scoffed, looking him up and down

"yeah, you do" Matt nodded

"no, I don't" you pushed, tone growing more annoyed by the second.

"yes, you do" an unfamiliar voice sounded from beside you, a stranger, joining Matts side

You immediately turned your head to shoot him a dirty look, returning your attentions to Matt, his lips tight in a smile as he lazily pointed at the stranger as if to say 'told ya'

you rolled your eyes with a deep sigh, pulling your legs back up under you as you opened you book in a strop. Matt smirked, biting down on the end of his pen with a small shake of his head.

"nothing to say, y/l/n?" Matt taunted

"just read your book, Matt" you snapped, looking him up and down once more.

Matts eyes widened slightly as his smug smile grew on his face,

"yes ma'am" he said, sarcastically as he returned to his book, no longer shaking his leg.

You both returned to silence, losing track of time in your selected readings. Matts legs were crossed over one another on the table, creating a small bridge between the surface and his chair. He had taken his beanie off, exposing his fluffy brown hair that fell in a perfect yet messy middle part. A toothpick hung from his lips as he once again twirled a pen round his fingers, unable to just simply read without doing at least something. You were tucked up in a ball on your chair, back against where your ass should go and legs hung over the arm rest slightly as you held yet another text above your face, mumbling to yourself.

You caught yourself mid mumble, and it tore your attentions from your reading. You shifted in your seat, looking over to Matt, who was perfectly illuminated by the green table light, his bright blue eyes flitting over the lines on the page. You let your gaze linger on his mouth for a moment, watching how he let the toothpick dance over his teeth, guiding it with his tongue.

As if he could feel you looking at him, he locked eyes with you, his head and body unmoving. You quickly looked away and soon noticed that everyone in the library had begun to filter out one by one, leaving you the only people in there other than the librarian.

"we should go" you cleared your throat, sitting up completely.

Matt looked around, seeing all the lights other than yours turned off and hearing the jingle of keys from the librarian getting ready to lock up.

"why?" Matt said

"because the library is closing?" you said, explaining it to him in the tone you would a five year old.

Matt deadpanned at your condescending tone, tilting his head slightly, "I know that, dickhead, what I mean is, lets stay"

"but the library is closing..." you said, cocking your eyes to the side.

Matt let out a short chuckle and shook his head, collecting all his things messily and getting up, "come on" He said, ducking into the darkness of the towering stacks of books.

taglist: @sturniozalt@mattslolita@shaquilles-0atmeal@blahbel668@sleepysturniolo@le4hsblog @sarosfilms @joemamaaa42069 @2muchofaslvt @seluky10 @cherib3lla @jetaimevous @witchofthehour @sofieeeeex @ncm9696 @lovesturni0l0s @pepsicola-pussy @ifwdominicfike @dani-sturn @stupendousjellyfishpost @aesthetixhoe @sturn-rose @mattsnronebitch @chriscorqutte @elizasturn @ribread03 @st7rnioioss @maggieflms

[theambitiouswoman]

Supplements & Vitamins

Here's a list of some of the most commonly used supplements and their benefits. Please remember that while supplements can be beneficial for certain people, everyones nutritional needs are different. It's always a good idea to consult with a specialist before adding any new supplements to your routine, as individual needs may vary.

Multivitamin: Provides a range of essential vitamins and minerals to support overall health and fill potential nutrient gaps in your diet.

Omega-3 Fatty Acids: Promote heart health, brain function, and reduce inflammation. Typically derived from fish oil or algae.

Vitamin D: Supports bone health, immune function, and may have a positive impact on mood. It's commonly obtained through sun exposure, but supplements can be useful, especially in winter or for those with limited sun exposure.

Probiotics: Help promote a healthy gut microbiome, aiding digestion, nutrient absorption, and immune function.

Magnesium: Important for muscle and nerve function, bone health, and energy production. It may also help with relaxation and sleep.

B vitamins: Help convert food into energy, support brain function, and maintain healthy hair, skin, and nails.

Vitamin C: Boosts immune function, acts as an antioxidant, supports collagen production, and aids in iron absorption.

Zinc: Essential for immune function, wound healing, and cell division. It also supports normal growth and development during pregnancy, childhood, and adolescence.

Iron: Required for red blood cell production and oxygen transport. Iron deficiency can lead to anemia and fatigue, but it's essential to get iron levels checked before supplementing.

Calcium: Crucial for bone health and muscle function. It's often combined with vitamin D for better absorption.

Coenzyme Q10 (CoQ10): Plays a vital role in energy production within cells and acts as an antioxidant. It may benefit heart health and cellular energy metabolism.

Curcumin (Turmeric extract): Possesses anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties, potentially supporting joint health and cognitive function.

Ashwagandha: An adaptogenic herb that may help reduce stress, promote relaxation, and support cognitive function.

Green Tea Extract: Contains antioxidants and may support cardiovascular health, weight management, and cognitive function.

Glucosamine: Commonly used for joint health and may help alleviate symptoms of osteoarthritis.

Chondroitin: Often taken alongside glucosamine, it may help reduce joint pain and improve joint mobility.

Probiotics for Gut Health: Certain strains of probiotics can help restore and maintain a healthy balance of gut bacteria, supporting digestion and immune function.

Melatonin: A hormone that regulates sleep-wake cycles, melatonin supplements can help with insomnia or jet lag.

Vitamin E: An antioxidant that supports immune function and may help protect against cellular damage.

Ginseng: An adaptogenic herb that may help increase energy, reduce stress, and support cognitive function.

Prebiotics: These are non-digestible fibers that promote the growth of beneficial gut bacteria, supporting gut health and digestion.

Magnesium: In addition to its previous benefits, magnesium may help reduce muscle cramps, improve mood, and promote relaxation.

Probiotics for Vaginal Health: Certain strains of probiotics can help maintain a healthy balance of vaginal flora, reducing the risk of infections.

Cranberry Extract: Often used for urinary tract health, cranberry extract may help prevent urinary tract infections.

Resveratrol: Found in grapes and berries, resveratrol has antioxidant properties and may support heart health and longevity.

L-theanine: An amino acid commonly found in green tea, L-theanine may promote relaxation, improve focus, and reduce anxiety.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

What about fluffy comfort fic where Reneé and Billie where both girls notice artist!reader has chronic pain and is limping during their performance. Its subtle but reader continues their concert jumping singing dancing and stuff but there are lirrle momemts where it seems reader hesitates about moving or dancing. The second the concert is over they rush to take care of them because the pain is worse? Please and thank you, you rule... 🐇

Focus on Us

|| Billie Eilish x Reneé Rapp x artist!genderneutral!reader

|| Warnings; reader has chronic pain, lots of pain mentions and descriptions, use of pain relief pills, light swearing, hurt/comfort

|| Summary; when Billie and Reneé notice reader's limp on stage, they take care of their partner after the performance.

Requests open!

Started; october 29th

Finished; october 29th

~~~

Tonight was one of your big stadium performances, so your girls watched from their private box suite that had a perfect view of the stage. They were dancing along, singing their hearts out to your songs. What? Did you really think they didn't know every word? As time passed, you could feel the familiar pain creeping up in your joints. A grimace tugged your expression, but you tried your hardest to keep your face neutral. In fact, you upped your performance levels to the max. Bouncing and jumping around on stage, interacting with your closest audience members and keeping that wide smile. All despite the searing pain in your leg. It was something you trained yourself to preform with. You had chronic pain, so it was hard to know for sure whenever it would flare up. Sometimes certain things would be a trigger. Other times it would just happen without warning.

As the performance continued, Billie would be the first to notice your limp. Having glanced at the TV in the suite for close up at your dancing when she saw it. She nudged Reneé. "Neé, do you see that?" She asked, pointing to the screen at your limp. Reneé's eyes widened. Both girls exchanged worried glances. You were limping? But you continued to push yourself? Why the hell were you doing that? They wanted nothing more than to go down there and end the performance right then and there. They knew they couldn't, but they sure as hell wanted to.

Instead they stayed in the suite box, watching with a frown as you pushed yourself further. Jumping around on stage and just doing the most for your performance. It was a good show, probably one of your bests but your girlfriends couldn't unsee the limp. By the time it was over, they made their way to backstage and right to you. You were in your dressing room; whimpering as you sat on the couch. Leaned against the back and hand gripping at your knee. Oh it hurt so fucking bad. This was one of your worst flareups in a hot minute and you knew it was mostly your fault. You pushed yourself past your limit on stage. Doing way too much just for a good show and the hope that fans wouldn't notice your limp.

When the door opened and your girls stepped in, you looked at them with a pout. You couldn't even fake being okay anymore. It was getting to be too much. They rushed to either side of you, Billie on your right and Reneé on the left. Billie's hand came up and played with your hair as she leaned against you; a frown that mirrored your own on her lips. Concern evident in her eyes," how bad is it, babe?"

"L-like 9 or 10.." You grunted out, stuttering through your words a bit as the pain got intense for a moment. You couldn't help but whimper and your girls exchanged glances with each other. Reneé gave your cheek and neck light kisses, hand resting as she cupped your cheek and quietly shushed you.

"Shh, we've got you, baby. You're going to be okay. Focus on us, alright? Is there anything I can get that would help?" Reneé asked and you tried to come up with something. Knowing there had to be at least something that might be able to even ease the pain for you. But the pain was making it hard for you to focus on your thoughts. You grimaced as you tried to think. Your pills should be tugged in a pocket in your bag and there was a stash of glasses on the shelf; Reneé could fill one with water. It wouldn't help a whole lot, but it would be a good start.

You pointed to your bag and looked at Reneé," My bag has my pills and there's glasses on the sh-shelf. If you could g-get me some water." A wince left you a couple of times, Billie sat up and moved your hand from your leg.

"Stay still for a moment," She murmured, you looked a little confused but then gasped and gritted your teeth; feeling her hands on your leg. She was giving you a much needed massage. Little noises left you whenever she'd hit the right spots while Reneé smiled and went to get what you asked for. It took her a moment to find your pill bottle but she managed. Then Reneé got you your glass of water and soon came back into the room with your things. She made sure to help you take your pills and water, not wanting you to do more than you had to. You were grateful as you felt the cold water flow down your throat. Another small gasp escaped you as Billie used a bit more pressure in one of the tighter spots. "Sorry." Billie mumbled, knowing she accidentally hurt you. She was trying her best not to.

It took a good moment before your pills started to work, making you sigh as the tension started to leave. Billie noticed and looked to you, giving you a small kiss as her hands continued their massage," feeling better?" She asked and you nodded, looking at Reneé.

"Thank you," You whispered and she smiled, giving the side of your cheek a kiss.

"Always." She replied.

The pain wasn't as bad after that; especially with your girlfriends help. You were grateful to them for everything they did.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Kintsugi  金繕い [Spencer x Reader]

Photo credits Left (@mon-petit-coeur-noir) Center (@whoisspence) Right (@shakespearesdaughters)

Prompt: When the reader gets kidnapped for being friends with Spencer, she is mentally tormented to get back at Reid, and the reader and team, especially Spencer,  have to find a way to communicate before it’s too late for her to make it out alive. 

Pairing: Spencer x BAU-Fem!reader, Nerdy!reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns

Category: angst/hurt/comfort [happy ending] 

Word Count: 15K

Content Warnings: Mention of death and sexual assault, mention of blood, mental torment [threat of assault, being unclothed, forced partial blindness - eyes glued open, forced partial deafness - loud music is played, degrading comments (reader)], physical harm [being cut with a knife, being put in a feezing unit, being beaten (reader)], distress, mentions of hospitals. If I missed any please let me know. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! If you are a student on Summer break I hope you are having fun and relaxing! As always, I return with a novel of a Spencer story. This story was requested by an Anon, thank you so much, and I hope you like it! I do throw in a few Star Trek and literary references in this fic, but I try and explain them well. My requests are open, so feel free to request a fic from me if you like anytime! I do want to encourage you to read the tags as this is a bit dark for me (though it has a happy ending). If you like this concept and would like to see part two of the reader’s healing process with Spencer, let me know. Please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

y/c/h = your color hair 

y/l/n = your last name 

t/c/s = tea/coffee/soda 

y/n’s head was pounding. It was throbbing with pain and the hard floor and air itself seemed frigid. y/n clutched her sides and rubbed. She was grateful that their clothes were still on. Given the unsub the team was dealing with, it wasn’t what y/n had expected. But then again, the man the BAU had been trying to find in the last week had been full of surprises. He didn’t fit the early profile the team had created, and now y/n was alone and scared, but she pulled together her strength and courage and opened her eyes. This was her job and she’d been doing it for a year. She’d seen team members taken, and harmed, and sometimes almost died, but if there was one thing y/n knew about the BAU, it was that they cared for each other. Everyone on the team would be looking for her. They wouldn’t leave a stone unturned until they found her. That was what had drawn y/n to the Unit in the first place. 

The BAU had done a joint operation with y/n’s Counterterrorism team where they were the unofficial data specialist and literary nerd. As soon as Derek had seen y/n and Reid together, he looked at Emily and said, “Well, this is going to be trouble,” to which both agents looked up and said in unison, “What?” It was during that case that Spencer had been in danger, and y/n was a bit too. Spencer had put himself in harm's way to ensure she was okay. Just seeing how the BAU responded with more than just professionalism, but also with care had sealed y/n into wanting a transfer. It wasn’t for another two years before that became a possibility. There was some issue with the documents that she had mailed to the Quanitco office, eventually, she sent fresh ones and drove them down herself. 

It was that knowledge, that the team was looking, at that filled y/n with warmth and shared determination. She opened her eyes and realized why she was so cold. From the looks of things, the white cement floor, the fluorescent lighting, and the crusted blood on the ground, y/n was in a meat packing plant. She sniffled and rubbed her shivering torso as she opened her eyes and sat up. There were conveyor belts on the far side of the wall, along with sharp meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. This setting would make sense given that the bodies of the three victims that had the team come down in the first place had seemed very fresh, even though they had passed a few weeks ago. The thought of the women and what the unsub had done to them and their bodies made y/n want to vomit. 

They had been killed excruciatingly. Not only had they been tortured, but they’d been assaulted as well. With this in mind, and possibly in her future, y/n moved away from the dried blood on the floor, not sure who or what it was from. y/n wondered how long the man kept his victims alive. The team had hypothesized that he was a sadist and loved long drawn out kills, to watch the victims suffer. The unsub had a type, and y/n fell into it. There was a sound at the far side of the room, and y/n moved to the center of the space. There was no point in cowering in the corner. She decided to face the unsub head-on. Show no fear, even if she was filled with it to the brim. The man’s outline filled the door making it unable for her to see him, but y/n knew that would change soon enough. 

As y/n waited to test wits with the man in front of her, the rest of the BAU, many miles away had set up a tent at the Kansas State Fair. Their team tent looked much less adorned than those of the food and game vendors with their bright colors and light. The satellite pop-up of the BAU and police presence were needed to gather information and vet the people leaving the fair since y/n had been taken. Their tent was on the far side of the fair. It would be unassuming if there weren’t loads of cops, police cars, state troopers cars, and a SWAT team all moving in and out of the space. Aaron and Rossi were heading up the operation and working through the bureaucratic tape and interdepartmental things that would otherwise slow the team down. There was a tension in the air that permeated each member of the BAU. It was palpable with all of them, but with Spencer, it was coming off him wave after wave. The lithe agent was with Emily and Derek, walking through the empty mirror house where y/n had been abducted. As Reid, Em, and Morgan move through each cranny and trick door for guests and employees. He caught his reflection in mirror after mirror and it all felt like a sick joke. Reid was absorbed in his own reflection for a moment before he heard Derek’s voice cut through his brain fog. Spencer snapped up and moved toward his friend's voice. Emily and Morgan were kneeling down next to an employee entrance. Reid was upset and angry, and the sight of a blood stain on the bright floor along with a few strands of y/n’s y/c/h should have made him feel good, but the blood only meant that y/n was already hurt, and probably being hurt more at this point made his stomach churn. 

Emily looked at Spencer’s serious face and re-asked “Can we get a blood sample vial, Spence?” The question finally registered with Reid and he replied sharply, “I’ll do it. Can you just step aside a bit?” Derek’s brow furrowed. He knew that Spencer had a thing for y/n. Everyone on the team did except, infuriatingly, the pining agents themselves. But that didn’t give Spencer a reason to be hot at them. Morgan replied, “Easy Spence. We’re doing everything we can.” Spencer couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Well not enough to keep her safe when she was with you both.” At that statement, both Prentiss and Derek stood and looked at Spencer disappointingly, like a child who had said a naughty word they had been told not to say. They both moved back and their physical reactions made Spencer drop his head in shame. He took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes, and said to the floor, “I’m sorry.” He was trying to hold back all the emotions. Emotions he often didn’t let himself feel. He looked up at his friends and continued, “I’m sorry. I… I don’t think I know how to deal with this. I know it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything, and you both care about y/n as much as I do. I let my emotions get away from me.” 

Morgan and Emily looked at each other as Reid said that they both liked y/n as much as he did, knowing it wasn’t true. Yes, they both loved y/n, but not like Spencer, and that realization justified Reid's words for them. They both moved forward. Derek gave Spencer’s shoulder a firm squeeze, and said, “It’s okay, kid. Now, have you got that vial Em needs?” Reid released a relieved breath, pulled a sample kit out of his shoulder bag, and handed it over to Emily who was back on her knees near the evidence. As she began taking the sample, Morgan and Spencer moved down the narrow trap door to see where it led and to see if there were more clues about the unsub or y/n’s location. 

As the duo moved down the narrow hallway, it became apparent that y/n must have been unconscious or tightly bound as she was being taken away by the unsub. There would have been more of a struggle on y/n’s part if she’d been awake or free, but none of the boxes or supplies for the House of Mirrors seemed to be broken or messed up. Derek didn’t know if this was a good or a bad thing, and Reid’s mind was moving too fast, even he couldn’t keep up with it. He knew the team needed to find all of the physical evidence first, to vet the guests and vendors that were leaving for information, but that could be a slow process and all Spener wanted to do was use his full brain power to think about the victimology, update the profile, make a map pinpointing the locations of the victims, but this process had to be done first. The team was a member short, and they all knew the police weren’t helpful in situations like this, so Reid sucked it up and kept moving beside Morgan, trying desperately to still his brain for once. 

Back in the freezer, y/n looked as the mountain of a man came into view. He looked disheveled and red-faced. He wore jeans and a button-down T-shirt. y/n looked at him. She wanted him to make the first move, to understand him better -- his ticks, any weaknesses he had. Anything she could use against him. Force wasn’t an option right now, but she had her mind, and that was worth a lot. The unsub grinned and said, “This will be fun. You’re prettier than I expected. That look of fear on your face, he’s going to love that.” y/n swallowed and replied, “‘He?’ Don’t you mean you. You’re the one taking and killing the woman. And thanks for the compliment.” The man chuckled and said, “You have a mouth on you alright, just like I expected. Of course, he’d like you the little bitch. And who he is doesn’t matter. For now at least. But it will be fun. Not for you of course, but for me it will be. I’ll get so, so very much pleasure from you. I just didn’t expect you to be so cute. It’s a shame, really.” 

y/n frowned. She couldn’t tell if this was dissociation or multiple personalities, but the constant mention of her looks and another person was odd. There hadn’t been any signs of a second unsub, nor was there any other DNA evidence on the victims. As the man made a fast step toward y/n, she moved away from him. This only had the unsub smile and laugh as he moved toward y/n again and said, “You can’t run away from me little bird. You’re only going to make it worse on yourself.” y/n stopped at that. y/n stopped immediately. She swallowed thickly. If she was someone else, like Hotch, Morgan, or Spencer who had the presence and size to act brave in a physical altercation she would bluster and make herself big and threatening. But y/n wasn’t them and didn’t take risks like they did. Firstly, because even y/n assumed Morgan would be physically intimidated by the man’s size and bulk, secondly, y/n was still new to the BAU. Not that she hadn’t picked things up quickly or was good at the job, but it was still more difficult for her to pick up small tells or things like Reid or Emily could. Plus, it wouldn’t help her in signaling the team in some way if the first thing that happened to her was to be fully incapacitated. 

The unsub noticed her submissive posture and liked it saying, “That’s it little bird, now I need you to get out of your things.” y/n looked up at him, biting her lip asking, “Why? What happened to the bird when it gets defeathered, defrocked?” y/n knew what to expect next, assault was part of this man’s MO and if she could postpone that, she sure as hell would. The man laughed again, harsh and cruel, like he was in on a joke that she wasn’t. The man replied, “I’m not going to break you like the others. I could, and I will if you give me too much bratty attitude, but that’s not the plan. All of that other shit with the women and how I treated them, that was to get your attention. Their attention. And I don't think physically breaking you would hurt him either, but don’t test me. However, for now, just take off your clothes and I won’t touch you, that way.” 

y/n didn’t look forward to being undressed in front of anyone. It was uncomfortable for her to be vulnerable with their body like that, even with close friends like Penelope and JJ. In fact, a memory of Emily trying to get her to buy a more revealing swimsuit for the summer popped into her mind and the coaxing it took for y/n to finally buy and wear the skimpy swimwear. Of course, Spencer’s attempt to not look over her body with rapt attention had made the discomfort worth it. When the unsub grabbed at her shirt, y/n began undoing the button of her shirt. It took longer than she expected as her hands shook with cold and fear. y/n expected the man to ask her to move faster, but he didn’t. Again, he seemed to have a sick enjoyment of watching her cower. y/n took this opportunity to think and think fast. The man had said he was trying to get the team's attention. Not only the team’s attention but ‘his’ attention. So that narrowed it down to four people. That was something to go off of. Second, this unsub was someone y/n would have remembered if she’d dealt with him before, but she didn’t, so he was someone from before her time. This was some kind of lesson. There was only a small glimmer of hope that y/n had for her health, both physical and mental because if the unsub wanted to break a member of the team through her, it was going to take more than just taking them captive and keeping them in a poorly regulated freezing unit. 

At this point, y/n was down to her undergarments, and she wondered how pushing the man would be. How quickly he would react, and with how much force? There was only one way of finding out, and she intended to know this early on. This way she could better gauge her actions and submissiveness. If that turned out to be a thing he liked, then she could use it as a small way of gaining control later. So y/n stopped when she stepped out of her pants, and the man quickly changed his demeanor saying, “Don’t stop now. I may not be interested in you, but I know he is, and it’s no good if we’re keeping this at a PG-13, scary movie rating. I need this to be the unrated version birdie, so get out of those panties and bra.” y/n now knew that the man’s emotions were volatile and could change on a dime. That was all she needed to know to get out of her last things. The cold chilled y/n further now that she was nude. 

y/n couldn’t stop herself as she moved her hands to cover her nudity. The unsub bent down not even noticing her discomfort as he picked up her undergarments and examined them to an odd degree muttering, “Do you think he knows you match your bra to your panties? Because he will soon enough.” y/n stepped back, slowly onto one of the patches of dried blood which made y/n cringe. The serious ‘he’ was back and the expression of rage on the man’s face was so intense that y/n wanted to run to the door to try and escape. Whatever this man who had supposedly wronged the unsub, there was a vitriolic rage for him simmering underneath the surface. Before y/n even had the chance to fully think through making a run for it, the man stood up and whipped his hand over y/n’s face so hard that the blow threw her back and into one of the metal supports of the conveyor belts. 

The pain in the side of y/n’s face shocked her into stillness as her jaw clicked oddly and she grunted in pain. Again, before y/n could react, the unsub was on her again. He kicked her torso, legs, and face with the steel tips of his boots breaking the skin every time another blow landed on her prone body. Along with the damage to her front, every time the man’s foot met y/n’s bare flesh, her back was pushed back and harder into the sharp corner of the convey belt. y/n quickly figured out that the unsub was being fast and efficient. When she looked up at his face, he seemed bored as he landed each kick. There was a callous disinterest in what he was doing. He seemed to not be affected at all by what was happening to his victim. Due to this y/n began planning accordingly. Shifting her position slightly so the blows landed on a more padded part of her body, and along with giving her lower back a break by shifting the hits to her lower shoulders, this meant her breasts getting hit, which was not pleasant in the least, but it was somewhere new, and somewhere padded by a bit more. 

y/n felt jostled to the core and rattled to the bone. The pain she was experiencing was blinding and she couldn’t think about much more than trying to protect her face and groin, both of which got hit anyway. What felt like an eternity’s worth of blows ended as soon as it began, and all y/n could do was lie on the ground and grit her teeth against the pain. Her attempt to stay strong physically and mentally was already being tested, but she refused to lick her wounds in front of her captor. If this was about being broken, then she wasn’t yet. The unsub knelt with a grunt and jerked y/n’s face up and into the light, looking at the bruising on her face examining her like a piece of meat for consumption. Something about her battered appearance didn’t suit his liking and he said like a painter finishing a masterpiece, “Just a bit more, right there.” His large stubby pointer finger gesticulated at her lower face and he gripped her hair more tightly and rammed her head onto the floor splitting her lip and jarring her jaw again. 

With that, the man dropped y/n’s face, stood, and walked straight out of the room. Just for the fun of it, he kept the door open for three minutes as he watched y/n turn onto her side to find any place that was comfortable enough to breathe. y/n looked at the open door and the look of delight on the man’s face as he stood by the entrance, and y/n realized that this was going to be her form of torment, an option in view but not accessible. When the large metal door finally swung shut and was locked from the outside, y/n closed her eyes and tried to use her brain. There would be time to assess her physical damage later, for now, she could use one thing that she had. She made mental notes: that the unsub walked with a limp, that he had a New York accent, that he wasn’t over fifty years old. He also had a large size footprint to match his large stature. He also had a mermaid tattoo on his left ankle. Next, she thought about his mental patterns. He was volatile and not afraid to cause harm, but he took no pleasure in doing so to her. It was about a certain result. He had also said that he had only killed those other women, and eviscerated them, to get a man on the team's attention. y/n could work with that. Try and use that to her advantage. If only she could find out who the man was. As the pain took y/n over, and her brain shut down to the basic feeling of hurt and cold, y/n’s mind turned to Spencer. How I must have looked at the moment. Stressed, tired, on edge. It wasn’t a pleasant sight, even if it was for her. She wished she could pull him into a hug and say “It’s alright Spence. I’m holding on. I promise.” The last sentence would stay silent, but he’d know. Because he always knew her. And with that thought, y/n closed her eyes, curled in on herself, and attempted to rest. 

The night was not pleasant for anyone but the unsub. But even Moore Eiarty, the unsub, was worried that his plan wouldn’t succeed, That he couldn’t break the genius of Spencer Reid. But all the pieces were finally in place, and now it was time to play. As the team finally got through vetting the people in the park, they got back to work. The main thing they had to go off of was that one of the performers, the Giant Man, was missing. He’d been added last minute to the tour and there had barely been time to get his paperwork in order before the Kansas Fair began. And it wasn’t until that evening that they discovered that the man, Mr. M. Earity, had very well-forged documents. Not just one, but all of them. That gave Penelope a lot to work on while the team took the angle of victimology and reworked the profile. The BAU had moved back to the police precinct except for Derek and Rossi. Spencer knew that Morgan was taking this especially hard because y/n had been taken while she was with him, but Spence’s head was too full of ideas and concerns to worry about how the others felt right now. 

Aaron watched the team do what the team did. Perhaps they were working a bit more hectically than normal, but this was one of their own on the line and Hotch would rather die before he stopped working to get y/n back. As he looked at Spencer, writing on over seven whiteboards with three coffees on the table, he considered that Reid might also die if they didn’t find y/n soon. That thought sat with the Unit Chief, and he tucked it in the back of his mind for later. This felt especially pertinent to this case, though he didn’t know why yet. Nothing much came in terms of developments for a few hours. JJ released a statement for the press, Derek and Rossi returned to the team, and the Fair was shut down for legal safety. The tip line ran nonstop and everyone felt the weight of time. It wasn’t until 3:00 AM that the first real forward momentum was given to the team, and target to Spencer specifically. 

It came in the form of an email from an unlisted account. It was labeled Urgent Dr. Reid - Re:y/n, y/l/n. Spencer looked at the email and decided to open it. He was tired, and his brain was beginning to numb at all the stimuli that were assaulting his mind. What he saw once he opened that email made him drop his coffee and whip his hand over his mouth in horror. Aaron and Emily were in the room with Spencer, and they both noticed their colleague’s distress. Prentiss moved to Reid’s side and looked at the laptop as well. Her mouth went slack and she whispered, “Oh my God. H-hotch…” It didn’t take Aaron more than four strides to see what had both of these friends looking like they were going to be sick. As soon as he saw the first picture of y/n, naked, heavily bruised and bloody, and head down he knew why Reid and Em had reacted as they had. y/n’s hands were forced above her head with zip ties and strung to a hook hanging from the ceiling. The position she was in had her knees barely brushing the floor which meant that all of her weight was in her wrists, elbows, and shoulders.

y/n wore a pained expression, and Hotch’s eyes darted up for a second out of proprietary. He didn’t want to have to see y/n undressed. To be forced into such a humiliating position and know others, people she trusted, would see it made Aaron pause. It hurt. He composed himself and said as professionally as he could, “We need this on the big screen. Em, can you get on that? Reid, is there any text in the body?” Prentiss and Spencer came back to themselves, though it took Spence a moment longer, and they registered their Leader’s questions. Emily nodded and moved to pull down the projector in the room and pushed some of the whiteboards Reid had been using aside; meanwhile, Reid scrolled past the 25 attached photos to where there was some text. He read it in a millisecond and said, “Yes there is. I’ll get Gacia on Zoom while you get the rest of the team in here.” Hotch nodded and took one more second to look at Spencer to see if he was okay. This was targeted at him, which was both a good and a bad thing, but right now, the smartest member of the team looked determined to get to the bottom of this, so Hotch moved to the door to get everyone else into the conference room. 

After the team looked at all of the photos and the attached email, they split into smaller sub-groups to work more efficiently. Aaron and Emily agreed to look at all of the images with a more critical eye. They would break down every angle and shot and bruise on y/n’s body. The one positive thing that the pictures did show was that y/n was alive. Or at least she had been, and given the unsub’s propensity to draw out his kills, there was a good chance that y/n was still alive. The time stamp on the email had been from only a half hour ago and didn’t appear altered. Hotch assigned Spencer and JJ to look at the body of the email. He gave this task to Spencer so he could do something he excelled at. He was the best linguist and forensic document analyst in the FBI after all. JJ was also excellent at identifying patterns in writing and could help Spencer. It also gave Reid an out for not having to look at y/n’s prone and exposed body. 

Aaron as the leader took that burden of looking at y/n with Emily because Prentiss was also very good at compartmentalizing her emotions related to her friendships and the job. Derek was working with Garcia, who was on overdrive to find the source of the email and pin down a location along with about ten thousand other things. She’d gone as far as calling in Janet, another Technical analyst at Quantico to come and help her because two computer processors and brains were always better than one. Lastly, Rossi coordinated with the police on-the-ground operation of searching for y/n. Even though a lot of moving pieces were happening at the same time, the BAU did what it always did -- work with excellence and as a team. Aaron looked at his team for a moment, proud of them. He was worried about Spencer, who was more on edge than normal. Hotch turned his eyes back to the screen, he’d check in on the genius in a few hours, for now, he had a difficult job to do. 

After a few hours that slipped by like grains of sand in an open palm, the team had discovered a few things. The first thing that Spencer and JJ broke down was the email which read: 

I have waited for a long time to get this opportunity. While I have watched you all, the most famous and infamous team in the FBI, I have been looking at one of you in particular. I wonder if you know who you are yet? Let me give you a hint. Last I saw you, you were just a child not even weaned on crimes or violence. Do you know now? Estranged from your friend, I wonder if you’re floundering like I have been before because of you. Sorry if this is all a bit obtuse, but this is fun, and I’m going to draw it out for you. Try not to get too excited yet, the best is yet to come. Rest assured that your friend will face the consequences of knowing you so well. Only when I see you so ruined as I have been ruined will I be happy. Yesterday you were so determined to catch me, do you feel that way now, or are you feeling the fear in your veins? You can find me eventually, but not before I find you. Other things may happen too. Under my control, I may make y/n do anything I want. Don’t worry though, I don’t have plans like I had for the others, this is different. Ready now. Ready now. Enough of waiting for you, and this moment. I’d start praying for y/n, and you, my friend. Dare we should meet in person and you’ll see what I’ve done to her and you’ll finally taste my revenge. 

It didn’t take Spencer more than a minute to read the ‘secret message of’ I will destroy you, Dr. Reid, in the unsubs email. He almost laughed at the grandiose nature of the writing. JJ then pointed out that y/n wasn’t even mentioned until the end of the rambling message. This told the team that this kidnapping was all about Spencer, as it was clear from the email, and had little to do with y/n. That y/n was being used as a tool to get at Reid. Of course, the pictures of y/n who was bruised heavily all over her body, showed that the unsub was still willing to inflict serious bodily harm on her. But this fact made Emily and JJ feel slightly better. 

Spencer had come up with at least seventeen facts, grammatical patterns, and hints at a personality based on egomania. After Reid had said about five of them in the span of a few minutes, Derek gave him a look and Spencer stopped talking. Aaron and Emily then broke down the patterns of bruising and how the depth of the day-old bruising was likely from one sustained moment in time. That there didn’t seem to be layer upon layer of bruising on y/n’s body. Also, from the look of it, there didn’t seem to be any sign of sexual assault. Hotch had caught onto the dark red-rimmed circles under y/n’s eyes, indicating that she hadn’t slept much if at all since she had been taken nearly twenty-four hours ago. It was also pretty easy for Aaron to tell that y/n was being kept in some kind of industrial freezing unit. This was concerning as staying anytime long-term in such a cold space could lead to frostbite and long-term nerve damage. 

After the team had gone through the information and made a start at a new profile that focused mostly on the unsubs' hatred for Spencer, this put even more pressure on Spence. The rest of the team took a small break to just breathe or step outside or get a drink of the bad coffee from the office breakroom, Reid stayed behind and furiously wrote in his notepad and looked at the photos of y/n while biting the inside of his cheek so hard that he broke the soft pink skin. Spencer turned off the bright light to let his eyes and at least his occipital cortex have a break. The rest of his body was working pell mill. Derek moved back to the room ten minutes later and Spencer was leaning, his hands forward, and head bowed toward the wooden table. He looked like he might collapse. Morgan could see his friend’s outline backlit against the brightness of the screen. He looked frailer than normal, skinnier than his usual tall body. Derek knew this was hard for Spencer because it was y/n who had been taken, and it was because of him. Even if Spencer hadn’t realized he had feelings for y/n yet, he still felt the weight of what was happening to her because of him. Morgan entered the room with a cup of coffee and said gently, “Spencer, I brought you some coffee.” Reid hummed softly like he hadn’t really heard Morgan and Derek said, “Reid,” a bit louder. Spencer’s head shot up and toward Derek and his hands gripped the side of the table harder, knuckles turning white. Spencer snapped a “What?” at Morgan before taking a breath and relaxing his shoulders. Morgan didn’t mind Spence’s tone now. It made sense. 

Derek moved into the room and said, “I brought you some coffee. Maybe we could step outside for a minute? Get some fresh air?” Reid dropped his head again and he said mournfully, “I can’t rest right now. I have to figure out who has y/n.  I don’t know who the unsub is, but they know me and I don’t want y/n to have to pay the price for that.” Derek sighed and replied, “Spence, y/n would never blame you for being her friend, for being someone special to her.” Reid sniffled and replied, “She won’t thank me if she’s dead and neither will I.” Spencer’s voice broke off halfway through his last sentence. Morgan stepped forward and placed his hand on Reid’s shoulder. He gave is a gentle squeeze and replied, “Well thinking like that isn’t going to save her. And you need that super processor of a brain of yours to cool off before it shuts down on it’s own. And y/n is a tough cookie, she’s going to make it Reid. If there’s anyone who can find her, it’s you. And if you start letting this guy get to your head, then he’s already won. And we don’t let fuckers like that win. I know y/n sure as shit won’t thank you for that. Now let's go outside.” Spence allowed himself to be led out of the dark room, and Morgan closed the door behind them. 

y/n was beyond tired, she dozed off on and off as she lay in the corner of the room. She was too sore to move around. She did take a look at her surroundings every time she woke abruptly from an unknown sound. She’d look for the man who called himself Mr. M., or to shift from side to side to try and increase her circulation and shift the pain to a new place if that was possible. Much to Mr. M.’s credit, he didn’t seem to enjoy stringing y/n up to the ceiling and he’d taken her down as soon he’d finished taking what seemed like an endless stream of photos. He’d positioned her more like a clay statue looking at angles and composition than as if she was a human in pain. This gave y/n an indication that he might be a sociopath given that he seemed immune to her pained sounds as he adjusted her body again and again. He’d muttered “He’s going to love these. To see what I’ve made of you so far.” y/n opted to stay silent. To see if she could get any more information from the man, but he didn’t do much more than complain about the lighting and make comments about the ‘he’ in question. y/n highly considered that the male member of the team could be Rossi or Aaron, whom Mr. M was muttering on about. M seemed to address this person with such dignified authority that would fit those two people on the team. But that didn’t make sense, as y/n didn’t think Hotch or Rossi held her in any higher standard than the rest of the BAU. Yes, she respected Aaron as a leader and he respected her back. And surely he was beating himself up for not looking out for her, but it didn’t seem to fit with the rage that M felt toward this person. 

It seemed even more outlandish for the ‘he’ to be Rossi. Rossi was like a father figure to y/n. He had helped her really learn the ropes of the team and cases. Especially the paperwork after a case was finished, but if Mr. M wanted to hurt Rossi, he’d surely know to find one of his Ex-wives or someone closer to Dave. It was the odd reverence that the unsub continued using that threw y/n off of the real person he was targeting. The next interaction that y/n had with the man would clear things up for her significantly, and give her an option to use her brain to help the team find her. 

Mr. M came back sooner than y/n had wished. Her exhaustion and numbness made not only her body weak but her brain slow. When she saw that he was holding her underwear and a knife, she sat up and crawled back against the wall clumsily, not liking that combination of objects together. The man snorted and said, “Trying to fly away bird, I’m going to clip your wings if you do that too much. Then you won’t be able to run, ever.” y/n slowed her movements,  not willing to test the huge man in front of her. y/n swallowed thickly and looked from Mr. M.’s passive face to his hands holding the mismatched objects. The intimate and the violent. The man watched her eyes,  tracked their movements, and when he saw where they landed he genuinely laughed and said, “I told you before, I didn’t like doing those things to those girls. It was to make a point. Touching people intimately is my least favorite idea of a ‘good time.’ I just plan on making him think I’ve had you that way. Send him a little surprise gift and watch as he tries to process his loss of that part of you.” Somehow this response baffled y/n’s sleepless brain even more. Who the hell on the team wouldn’t be upset if she got assaulted in that way? If fact y/n could imagine each member of the team taking Mr. M out in rather lurid ways. It was stupid, but it gave y/n comfort and she even smiled softly at the thought of Derek beating the man up, or Spencer setting some kind of trap of wits for him. M. saw her happy look, and struck her face with the back of his fist, now only a foot from her body. He sneered and said, “‘he’ won’t be as happy as you are right now when he gets our present.” M grabbed her left arm, placed the tip of the knife on her forearm, and pressed it into her skin. The man drew a line down her wrist. 

The red liquid bubbled up and out of the wound like a stream. The cold of the freezer numbed the pain a bit. In fact, the feeling of the hot blood dripping down y/n’s arm was warming and she would have spread it over her arm if she was just a bit more tired. However, she didn’t have the chance as M grabbed her arm in a vice grip, and with his other hand, grabbed her panties. He ran the crotch of her undergarments over her fresh cut, spreading blood over the inside seam. He then dropped them to the ground and turned her arm over. He pinched at the wound, causing the bleeding to increase and easing large red droplets onto her already-soiled underwear. 

y/n felt disgusted at being used this way and said to fill in the oppressive silence, “I don’t think Derek will find this appalling, mainly he’d going to think it’s gross as fuck.” y/n hadn’t really meant Morgan, she’d just said the first name that popped into her head. As tough as Derek was, he wasn’t great with blood, just like Gracia. The slip was the best thing y/n could do as M dropped her arm and looked at her like she’d grown a second head. He shook his head and said, “Lord, and I thought ‘he’ liked you for your brain. It seems you may not have one up there. Dr. Reid is who I am referring to bird. Not agent Morgan. Derek couldn’t figure this out if you put all the pieces in front of him on a board.” 

y/n was astonished for a moment. Not only at the apparent racism of Mr M. but his other statement as well:  Spencer! This was about Spencer! How the hell this guy knew and had been wronged by her best friend on the team was beyond her. Certainly, Reid would have told her about him if they’d had run-ins in the past. They spent so much time together that they basically knew everything about each other. The weariness and pain were starting to get to y/n and she muttered as she closed her eyes, “Why would Spence care about this, he’s seen me on my period before. He’s gotten my sanitary products before, hell I bitch at him when I get cramps, and he takes it.” M stopped looking at the work of art which was y/n’s blood-soaked underwear and said, “You really are hopeless. And I don’t see the appeal to the good Doctor. He’s in love with you and you can’t even see it. Hopeless bird, I’ll take care of that though. You won’t have to think for much longer.” The vitality that y/n had been lacking came back in a rush of heat as M said that Spencer was in love with her. y/n sat up and took her injured arm and cradled it to her chest. The pain finally registered in her synapses. She let out a prolonged breath and said. “You think Spencer is in love with me? That’s a bit of a stretch.” y/n knew in the back of her mind that this might get her hurt more, or killed, but she was finally getting answers and perhaps if she had more answers she could do something with that. Actually use her brain, which the unsub had insulted she didn’t. 

M sighed and replied as if this was a normal conversation, “Bird, the data adds up. Dr. Reid puts himself in forty-three percent more danger when you are in a dangerous postion on a case. He puts himself in the line of fire for you over and over. At least five times by the records I’ve seen. Not only that, the chronically lonely young man who shuns women’s attention chooses to spend time with you above his other friends, even the likes of Morgan or Penelope. If that’s not the start of a crush, then I don’t know what is.” y/n looked up at the man with awe. Not so much at his intellectual prowess that he seemed to think he had, but at how stupid he sounded. Perhaps, maybe, maybe, there were some more feelings between y/n and Spencrs than friendship, but the other things he said were just crap. His use of statistics, and characterizing Reid as a lonely hermit was laughable. However, y/n was more aware than ever now, and this time she kept their mouth shut. She knew that saying those things out loud might likely get her knifed to death, and although the current situation was far from comfortable, she didn’t fancy dying. M hadn’t broken her yet, and now she was more determined than ever to live through this moment. 

The unsub noted that y/n had calmed down slightly and said, “I’ll be back shortly. I can’t let you or him rest too often now. I need to pick up the pace, but I need to send this little gift his way. Any loving words you want to tell him with my little letter? Perhaps it will give the Doctor some comfort.” The man said it sardonically, but y/n pulled herself together and tried to do her best acting and used a sorrowful tone as she said, “Tell him I’m sad it was my first time like this. I’d wished that we’d done it in Tanagra when we had the chance, but he knew I wasn’t ready. I won’t be ready.” y/n let the words slip off her tongue like she’d said them with a longing sadness and it put M at unease to see the odd shift in emotions; however, he shrugged his shoulders and replied cooly, “I’ll be sure to relay your sentiments.” 

Once the man had left the room with the knife, y/n lay back exhausted. The unsub had said he’d be back shortly, but maybe he was playing a game and he’d just leave her there to rot or starve. Either way, y/n needed to use this renewed time to think, and not just about the fact that she was trying to come to terms with the fact that she might love Spencer more than she’d allowed herself to do before. She needed to leverage this situation and not let those feelings overwhelm her. She’d already hopefully set one clue and one trap, she’d just need a bit more information to let the trap work. She pondered these things as she rubbed her skin which was slowly losing sensation as the minutes ticked by. 

When the package arrived at the precinct, the team was more prepared for it this time. The police stopped the carrier to ask him a plethora of questions while the team opened the box with some apprehension. Emily took on the role of the person who opened the box. Given the nasty surprise of the pictures of y/n in a state of complete undress in the first contact with the unsub, nobody wanted Spencer to get that kind of a shock again, even if the box was addressed to him alone. Inside the well-packaged cardboard parcel was a letter which Prentiss handed over to Morgan and then she pulled aside a good deal more pink tissue paper than was needed for the pair of underwear in the box. It took Emily and the team a moment to realize what they were given the blood had caked and dried, wrinkling the thin fabric into a distorted blob shape. The team looked at the item not so much with disdain as confusion. Some members of the BAU, JJ, Emily, and Penelope, had seen y/n in her underthings when they shared rooms in a busy hotel, but none of them, especially not Spencer, could immediately identify that they were y/n’s panties until M stated that directly, and implied that he’d done to y/n what he’d done to all his other victims before slowly killing them. 

This information did seem to shock and horrify the team until Derek read this part of the letter aloud with a hint of awkwardness, “And the little bird has a song for the doctor ‘I’m sorry that this was my first time, and that she wishes you had both done it in Tanagra.’ How unfortunate for both of you that that wasn’t the case…” Spencer cut Derek off before he could go into more grotesque details from the letter about what the unsub had done to y/n by saying, “Wait, wait, say that again.” Morgan paused and the team looked at Reid with questioning expressions. Derek repeated the last sentence, and Reid let out a soft breath in relief as he confidently said, “He didn’t touch her,” then under his breath, “thank God.” The BAU was more baffled than ever, and JJ looked over at the soiled underwear now back in the box getting ready for processing by the forensics lab. With hesitation, JJ replied, “Spencer, y/n’s underwear is telling a different story, as does the bruising on her body” 

The team was at a loss for what to think. y/n had been a reserved person far before she joined the team, and the reference that she might have had sex with Spencer, or wanted to have sex with Reid was not totally a shock, given that the BAU knew the two agents were in love, even if they didn’t. But for her to state it like that either showed signs of mental duress or something of that nature. It was just incredibly out of character for her to say anything like that to anyone, even the women on the team. Reid’s response was even more shocking as he said, “y/n’s had plenty of sex. She’s been in a lot of relationships before, so why would she say this was her ‘first time.’ That doesn’t make any sense. Also, I think she would have singled out something more extreme if she had been hurt in that way. It’s all too faux intellectual.” The team stood in stunned silence for a moment before Derek said, “And you and y/n talk about your sex lives often?” 

Spencer flushed at the intrusive question, realizing that he was putting a lot out there about his and y/n’s friendship. Things they may not have shared with other members of the team and kept between themselves. But this was a case where revealing some private details could save y/n’s life, and Spencer would rather die than lose y/n, so he replied steadily, “Yes. Sometimes. When we hang out we talk about our relationships. Why they worked or didn’t? How we’re, different.” Spence omitted the line, “How we can be hard to love.” He meant it more for himself than y/n, even though she echoed that sentiment whenever he brought it up. Spence never really got that. When they’d lay sprawled out under a blanket arguing about the symbolism in Dr. Who, or what the best adaptation of Jane Austen was, he felt like loving y/n would be the easiest thing in the world. Of course, he’d never said that to her either. The team was still silent when Reid came back from his internal journey and Hotch, who most of the time came forward and realized patterns and trends asked, “And Tanagra? Is it a small island or something? I’ve never heard of it before.” Spencer’s eyes moved up and he said, “It’s a reference to an episode of Star Trek we both like called ‘Darmok.’” The team looked at Reid for further clarification because, unlike Spencer and y/n, they didn’t go on overnight watches of Star Trek the Next Generation. 

Again, Reid reddened but patiently explained, “In the episode Captain Picard gets sent to a planet without any weapons. There’s another alien there as well. The Enterprise crew thinks it is some sort of setup, as does Captain Picard. But as it turns out, Picard and the alien, Dathon, need to come together to fight a common enemy. They end up beating the enemy, but Dathon dies. The moral is that they had to find understanding to become united, not only as fighters but as a species.” After Reid quickly gave his recap highlighting the plot and moral of the episode, the team, with the new information seemed to be revitalized, and put at ease. It was just a sliver of hope because y/n had managed to gain some way of communicating with them. Aaron cleared his throat and said, “Alright, Reid, and you Morgan take the letter. If y/n is sending any other covert messages then you should be able to find them.” Hotch felt the weight of pressure from this case on his shoulders and raised a hand to his forehead closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Rossi saw his friend's distress and continued the conversation, “Aaron and I will go and check some of the places Garcia flagged as potential locations that y/n could be kept. JJ, you and Emily accompany the forensics team and get us the information once they have some, stat. Is that really y/n’s blood, are there any toxins present, all that? Okay?” Everyone nodded. Now that they all had a direction to go and a specific task to do, it felt more manageable. 

Despite the bright light and thanks to sheer exhaustion, y/n had managed to get a few hours of sleep at some point after being cut by M. She woke with the sound of the door opening. y/n had lost all track of time at this point. There were no windows to tell if it was night or day, and her circadian rhythms were off. Logically y/n knew that it couldn’t have been more than a few days, but at this point, it felt like a week at least. The constant stress, hunger thirst, and cold had drained her so much that she struggled to get up to a seated position to see what her captor was doing this time. M seemed uninterested in y/n, but he did glance at her, the door, and then at her again, as if taunting, “Try me.” The man had brought in a bigger load of items this time. Thanks to his size and strength, he could hold multiple trash bags and a backpack which he could handle all in one trip.

y/n watched M with apprehension and fear as he pulled out a multitude of lights and stands. M set up the lights like a makeup influencer might. M set what looked like extra bright lights in a square formation only a few feet off the ground. y/n bit her lip. If the man was planning on filming something, mainly her, she would be so close to the ground that it would be uncomfortable for him to have to lean down like that. The setup seemed to make no sense, and y/n didn’t like that. In interrogation training, she, along with new FBI agents, were instructed to mentally prepare for what was going to happen to them to better not spill state secrets. However, in this scenario, she couldn’t guess what would happen and it really wasn’t about her. It was about what her deteriorating mental and physical state would do to Spencer. She was important to the extent that she was important to Spencer. 

The unsubs plan became clear as he pulled out a makeshift stand that looked like a prop from a horror film where someone’s eyes get removed. The stand, which M set down and then slotted the wooden frame into was so heavy that even he grunted as he set it down with a loud clanking sound on the floor. y/n closed her eyes and began trying to move away and toward the exit. But y/n wasn’t fast enough. She felt like she was running in knee-deep water as she moved and was quickly grabbed by the hair and pulled to the center of the room. y/n muttered, “Please no, please…” Her cries fell on deaf ears as M bound her hands to the rough wooden post with zip ties so tight that they felt like the plastic was cutting into her wrists. y/n dipped her head down but it was jerked up again as M set her chin on a portion of wood with a cut out for her chin. Just close enough to the skin of her neck was a sharp piece of metal that would slice at her jaw and chin if she tried to move her head; effectively keeping it in place as the unsub lowered a heavy plate for her head and secured it with screws on either side of her face like a vice. When the lights were turned on they were so bright that y/n tried to pull her head back but was stopped by her constraints. Even with her eyes closed the light was searing hot into her retinas and there was no espacing it. Even though the light was bright, y/n took this time to try and pry more information from the unsub as he moved close by her. 

y/n asked with false confidence, “Why do you hate him so much. He certainly doesn’t talk about you.” y/n appealed to his sense of ego which worked. She could hear his heavy footsteps fall silent. There was a long pause and M finally said, “I’d hurt you for that, but I’m planning on that already. If you think this is bad now just wait.”

The words were meant to intimidate y/n, but she knew there was nothing she could do right now but get info and try and relay it to the team. So she stayed firm and didn’t show how scared she felt. Again the silence seemed like a gulf between them but M liked the sound of his own voice and he continued, “And I don’t like the doctor because he bested me. And you did too funnily enough even though I don’t care about you. I applied to the FBI Academy twice. As a Vet with an interrogation specialization, I thought I was the perfect fit, but what happened? Jason Gideon picks some lousy, scrawny kid, and appoints him to the BAU straight out of college, and he didn’t even go to the academy when I DID. Then they hire some woman who ends up leaving under dubious circumstances anyway and then you you -- whore. I don’t know who you had to suck off to get onto that team but both you and the good doctor took a spot that I deserved. I got stuck working at a local college teaching government classes, but I was planning this too. I didn’t want it, but by God am I going to make the FBI regret picking either of you above me, because neither of you will be fit to serve when I’m finished? And I’m far far from finished with you. After M said this, he opened y/n’s right eyelid and instantly she was blinded further. It was with the full intensity of the lights on her that y/n did feel like she might be broken. She didn’t know if she could handle this. But the team stayed in her mind and she grit her teeth. She’d signed up for this, and y/n did her best to remain strong for as long as possible and not lose herself. Not yet, not when there was hope. And if that hope took the form of Spencer Reid, so let it be, it could hardly be a secret to her anymore anyway. Not after this. 

By the time the team got their next message from Mr. M. a few things had happened. The first was that Hotch and Rossi had crossed out a few sectors and limited the range of where y/n was likely being held. The second was that Penelope had caught a red eye and came down from the Quanitco field office to be closer to the action. Lastly, Spencer and Derek had made a solid guess from the tone of both letters that the unsub was likely in the military or the police force and had changed career paths to something like office work or business. This would explain his blunt prose yet stilted attempt at sounding academic or over-intelligent. The team was unprepared for when loud music blasted in their ears when Penelope opened the unlisted video link on her computer. Everyone covered their ears, and Garcia quickly turned down the volume. The team watched in horror, and Pen almost felt like she was going to be ill as the unsub circled y/n with a handheld camera. He zoomed in on y/n’s eyes which seemed glued open and directly facing a very bright light.

y/n was panting like she couldn’t breathe and she hardly looked alive anymore. Not that she wasn’t alive, just that her face was either so pained or slack with the torment that she was being put through that she couldn’t take anymore. All eyes were glued to the gruesome sight and it took a moment for anyone to notice that the music had cut out and the unsub was speaking. Garcia let out a sharp breath, skipped the video back ten seconds, and then raised the volume again. Once the music was cut, and in a calm voice M stated, “Smile little bird, you’re on camera. Have anything to say to the doctor?” y/n’s mouth moved for a moment before she let out a small breath and screamed in a worn and hoarse voice, “Oedipus and his lover, Mr. Dimmesdale was great at his job.” y/n cut herself off with a lot of coughing at the effort of even speaking. Even trying to say something. M pulled the camera back to get a better wide angle of y/n as the unsub said, “Isn’t she great? She sings such a pretty song. I hope you’re enjoying it doctor because I don’t know if she’ll be singing much longer.” 

While most of the team paid attention to what the unsub was saying as a coping mechanism of not having to fully process the mental agony that y/n was going through, Emily paid closer attention. Suddenly Prentiss said loudly, “Roll it back Pen. y/n is mouthing something while the unsub is talking. I’ve almost made it out. I just need to see it once more.” The team, who was looking at Spencer to interpret what y/n had just signaled, and some of whom feared that y/n’s mind was already cracking beyond repair, looked back at the screen as Garcia went back once more. Penelope muted Mr. M, and everyone’s attention went back to y/n, who was clearly mouthing something. Prentiss said softly, and then more loudly, “There are four lights?”  Hearing this Spencer couldn’t stop the tears that came to his eyes with relief, and he sagged with those words. Derek and Rossi helped support Spencer, and the team huddled around him as he brushed the tears aside and said, “She’s okay. She’s saying she’s okay with the ‘four lights’ line. He hasn’t ‘broken’ her yet. At least not her will….” Reid couldn’t stop himself from saying, like it was an inside thing between just y/n and him, “It’s another Star Trek thing.” 

Another thrill rang through the team at this news. They knew y/n was strong, but she was also a good actress as she had played up her first statement. It became less and less of a surprise that y/n and Reid had spent so much time together. That they knew each other so well. This interaction was just solidifying what they had already assumed. But the picture of y/n’s eyes glued open and looking at the bright light also stayed with the team. Reid had his hands in his hair in frustration now trying to parse out the clues that y/n had left him, but he couldn’t fully match those pieces of information with any one person he knew. Dr. Reid did have some enemies, he did work for the FBI after all, but he didn’t think about them like that often. He didn’t just have people hating him enough to go and kidnap and torture the person he cared about the most. His brain didn’t process things like that even though he had calculated the risk every member of the team took with each case. And he did make sure y/n’s score was lowered thanks to him. But it wasn’t clicking because his brain was doing too much. Reid had jotted down a list of people that might come after him for various reasons and he’d given it to everyone in the BAU to see if they had any ideas. Of course, Penelope had made a whole spreadsheet and also found all the information about each person on the list as well. Spencer had gone over those fifteen names thousands of times now and was doing it again, trying to expand it to make something fit. 

Emily finally broke his train of thought and asked, “Spence, what about the other things y/n said? Is that more Star Trek stuff? It honestly sounded like a foreign language to me.” Only after Prentiss said this did Spencer realize that the rest of the BAU didn’t get all the references or implications in y/n’s words. Reid took a steadying breath while he composed himself. Aaron and Rossi simultaneously pulled out legal pads and pens to try and keep up with Reid’s speaking speed. Spencer started with the first part of y/n’s shouted sentence, saying, “Well. It’s kind of Star Trek. You actually just made me think of that Emily.” The parts and y/n’s wit began to click better and Spence continued, “We have to go back to the thing y/n said in her first letter about Tangra.” The team nodded and Hotch was already writing furiously, his hand gripping white on the pen in his grasp. “So Pircard can’t understand Dathon because their species speak only in metaphors, so I think y/n is giving us, me, a metaphor about who the unsub is.” This is where Hotch jumped in and said, “Then it’s not directly related to Trek. Just a way of signaling something. The first part of her metaphor was a reference to Oedipus Rex.” Everyone’s eyes moved to Aaron and they seemed surprised, but he brushed off their apparent shock at his classical literature knowledge and continued for those who didn’t get the reference, “Oedipus Rex is a tragedy about a prophecy that the son of a king will end of killing his father and marrying his mother. The king is horrified and has his newborn son, Oedipus, arranged to be killed. The man meant to kill him takes pity on the baby and spares him, thus many years later the prophecy comes true.” 

Spencer nodded along, and Garcia couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Wow, that’s really messed up.” Before Aaron could remind the technical analyst that it was a thousand-year-old work of fiction, Reid replied, “Yes, Oedipus does end up fulfilling the prophecy, but he didn’t want to. He doesn’t even know about it until later and he leaves his town to try and not fulfill his destiny, but he ends up doing that anyway. That’s why is a tragedy.” The team took in the information and Rossi offered, “So the unsub wanted to do the right thing but ended up doing the worst possible option?” Spence nodded along and then said, “And the second part about Mr. Dimmesdale being good at his job, I assume that’s a reference to The Scarlet Letter. Arthur Dimmessdale is the pastor who gets the protagonist pregnant and ends up being shunned from the Puritan society.” Emily asked, “So are we looking for someone who was thrown away for no reason? Or for doing something that appears bad?” Spencer nodded no, and thought through his list again, expanding it to the new parameters saying, “No. y/n specifically mentioned Dimmesdale, so I think we’re looking for a man. Clearly, Mr. Dimmesdale didn’t love his job because he did something that he shouldn’t have done either. He ends up having a breakdown because he can’t keep his secret. He ends up getting publicly humiliated.” 

The team thought for a moment and Penelope asked, “So is there someone you ended up humiliating enough to do something this horrible? I mean, not intentionally, but like when you were in grad school or at the Bureau? Anything?” Reid shook his head unknowingly. He couldn’t place someone he had specifically wronged except for those he’d put in prison, and thankfully many of those men and women were already dead or sentenced to life, but a picture started forming in Hotch’s head. The Unit Chief stated, “I don’t think you’d know him. Or have even met him, yet? Oedipus didn’t know his father when he killed him. He only figured that out later. So this is more about what you did to him than anything else.” Dave looked at Aaron and asked, “Do you have an idea of who he is?”  Hotch nodded and said, “Yes. This was while Jason was still here and you were ‘retired.’ You know Gideon hand-picked Spencer for the BAU much to the chagrin of the director. But it wasn’t only them, there were other members of the academy who wanted Reid’s spot. There were a few NATS that were more than flustered. Jason and I fielded quite a few complaints. There was one man in particular, an ex-Marine who threatened Gideon and me. That instantly excluded him from our recruiting, and once Gideon invited Reid, we started getting real threats. That man dropped off the map, but he continued sending threats through alternative accounts, and many were targets to you, Spencer. Garcia took care of them actually, took care of blocking them so you didn’t ever see them.” 

Spencer looked up at Hotch shocked and said, “Why didn’t you ever tell me this.” Hotch dropped his head and said, “You were so young Spencer. So much was happening in your life at that time and Jason and I thought it was for the best. I apologize. That was a mistake.” Reid let out a breath, knowing now wasn’t the time to be upset with Aaron. Instead, he asked, “Do you still have his contact information? Do you have anything at all on him?” Before Aaron could even reply, Penelope said, “I do. I keep everything, and this time it’s legal. Any threats that are filed against an agent or a former agent are kept in a database that I helped update.” Morgan said with a happiness he hadn’t felt since arriving in Kansas, “God bless you, woman. Now is the time to show us those computer skills of yours” Penelope smiled and turned back toward her screen, cracking her knuckles, “Glady my friends. Watch me do my thing.” 

y/n slumped onto the ground limp. When M finally released her from the contraption that had held her in place, y/n was too overwhelmed to do anything else but lie. Once the light in front of her had been turned off, she felt like she was in an abyss of black. Even though the man had unglued her eyelids after what felt like an eternity. Just being in front of the light with her eyes shut was still like looking at the sun without shades. Again time was a reality that had left y/n out of place, out of being. It could have been months or years since she’d been bound since she’d been put in this place. Because of the loud noise from the speakers M had brought in, y/n couldn’t hear him moving around. Her ears were constantly ringing even though the sound had ceased. Besides that, y/n didn’t have the energy to try and figure out what was happening around her; she knew whatever it was wasn’t good. At this point, y/n didn’t even feel she was in her own body anymore. She was somewhere else entirely. 

y/n didn’t register anything much apart from pain until the unsub, who had set up the room as a trap, started a livestream that he sent to Spencer, and kicked her in the side. The sharp pain radiated up y/n’s ribcage and she let out a moan though her voice was gone from screaming. Even M had to shout and shake y/n to get her to hear him say, “I’m letting you go. All you have to do is get to the door. You’re useless to me now. I don’t see your doctor coming to save you, so you might as well get out. I guess you’re not as important to him as I thought you were.” Deep down, y/n knew that the man wouldn’t let her go. She’d not leave this place alive. She also knew she was special to Spencer. That he would do anything for her, and that he and the team were still looking for her, but she was so tired and mentally broken that she began to believe it. It felt like for no reason other than to just move instead of being killed not trying, that y/n began to move on the floor. She was too weak to even get on her hands and knees.

Instead, she just moved on her stomach in a direction even though she couldn’t see anything except bright spots covering most of her vision. The rest was so blurry that it only added to the migraine she already had. y/n hardly noticed that there was glass on the ground until the warmth of the blood from her stomach made her realize in horror that she was crawling on a sea of broken glass. y/n stopped and M began berating her for not being strong enough. Not having the willpower to want to get away. That he had won. It took the last of y/n’s strength to speak her mind. To tell the man the truth. She knew it would get her killed, faster, but she would have a clear mind. 

“You’re an idiot.” Y/n couldn’t hear her own voice, but she assumed M was listening and she didn’t let anything he did distract her from continuing, “You are the dumbest person I’ve met. You got Spencer all wrong. You don’t understand him at all. He might like me, and I like him too, but Spence isn’t some weirdo who doesn’t have any friends. He doesn’t stay up at night plotting revenge on people or thinking of zany puzzles because he’s so bored and doesn’t have friends. Spencer is a smart guy, but that intelligence doesn’t push him away from people or relationships. He’s just a smart guy who works for the FBI. It’s clear to me that you’re the weirdo with no friends, and you’re just going to have to accept that you couldn’t cut it in the FBI, forever. It sucks to suck.” Mr. M moved to grab a knife he had brought in the room to finish the job. He couldn’t handle y/n insulting him,  and he was going to finish her off, slowly. He had very little restraint when he was scorned. Before he could get to y/n, he was knocked back by a load of gunfire as the BAU along with a SWAT team swarmed into the room. y/n was so far gone that she couldn’t even tell as Reid knelt next to her and wept. 

The next few days stretched into apparent eternity for many of the team. y/n was taken immediately to the hospital, accompanied by Spencer and Emily, while Derek and Aaron took the unsub into custody for interrogation and criminal proceedings. Rossi, JJ, and Penelope stayed behind to handle the police presence, forensics teams, and clean-up process. In part, the BAU was relieved to find y/n still alive, it was a weight lifted, but the reports from y/n’s team of doctors at the hospitals painted such a picture of pain and mental suffering that y/n must have endured that it broke their hearts. How they could ever forgive themselves for what had happened, to y/n? They didn’t know. But they had to keep moving because that was what the job required. That was the nature of the work, and they all prayed that y/n would get better, and also understand what they had to do. 

Spencer felt shielded from most of the work side of things, as he stayed mostly at the hospital and heard the doctors and nurses' multifaceted and comprehensive care plan for y/n with the majority of it working on how to deal with y/n’s partial loss of vision, mental health, PTSD, and the chronic pain that would likely come in the months ahead. Spencer took in this information and researched and planned and found medical trials and anything that he thought might help. He mostly did this to fill the time. y/n had been put in a medical coma to help facilitate her physical healing. Spencer knew in the end that no amount of research he did it would but y/n It would be up to her to want to keep living after this. And given all that she’d been through, he wouldn’t blame her if she decided to just be whatever was left of herself because of him. Reid was trying to take in the very real possibility that she might never want to see him again given that being his friend had made this fate happen to her. Spence was only out of the hospital when another member of the team tagged him out for a day or a few hours. Even then, Spencer didn’t rest. He just tossed and turned. 

When y/n was taken out of her coma four days later, it was Penelope who was there when her fingers twitched on the sheets and felt the crisp material. y/n’s eyes opened, seeing only the blurred brightness of the room which she quickly closed them again. Garcia leaned forward in her chair and said softly, “I’m here y/n. You just rest for now.” Penelope stayed with y/n for the next few hours as the doctors and nurse checked on y/n’s vitals and her sight and she lay exhausted in every way, just let these things happen to her. Her mind was somewhere else. It wasn’t in the hospital room, part of it was still on the team, like an outsider looking in, and part of it was at her apartment watering the one plant she’d kept alive since college, and another was in the park where they sold a t/c/s that she loved to drink and people watch with, but the majority of her brain was still in that freezer, waiting for death, waiting for the worst to happen. And even though part of her mind knew she was alive and being helped, it couldn’t register beyond what had happened to her. y/n stayed in this state of being in and out of herself and her body for another day. The next time y/n came back to herself, it was still Penelope sitting by her. 

Garcia came back into the waiting room where Spencer was, as always, sitting and waiting for news, waiting for anything. Penelope walked over to him and leaned over his seated form. Reid looked up at her, his brown eyes lit up slightly. He asked something quietly back and Penelope nodded her head. Spencer got up and shook out his legs. They’d gotten stiff with all his awkward sitting positions. He followed Garica and a nurse to y/n’s room and took the place where the blonde and spunky Technical analyst had been for the last two hours. The nurse gave Reid a few words before leaving the room. The mood shifted a bit. Penelope just lit up a room where as Spencer brought a more calm mood to the room. He looked around the space which he’d seen while y/n was unconscious. It was still light, a sad beige color, and lots of pretty soft flowers from the team and friends. It seemed that Reid could look everywhere but y/n. The nurse and Penelope had both warned him that y/n still hadn’t said a word since she had woken up apart from his name. Reid didn’t expect y/n to just become whole because he was near her, but the fact that y/n had called for him had given him hope. But as his eyes finally landed on her face which was healing from the heavy bruising she’d received, her eyes remained mostly closed, but every now and then they opened, took in whatever they could, and then closed again. One time she turned her head slightly toward Spencer, and he wondered if she could even see him, or if she knew he was there. 

It wasn’t until the next day that y/n said in a very soft and hoarse voice, “Spence?” that Reid looked up from his lap and shifted forward in his chair. He didn’t want to be imagining things, but y/n’s voice had been so faint that he could have just made his name up. Anyhow, he softly replied, “Yes, y/n. I’m here.” y/n swallowed and turned her face toward him. She couldn’t see him, but she’d left like he was there. It didn’t seem like Penelope anymore but given how she’d felt, and the things that weren’t real that she’d seen before being saved had messed up her sense of reality. Hearing Spencer’s response helped, and she held back a sob as she asked, “How do I know you’re real? How do I know if any of this is real?”

Spencer desperately wanted to take her hand and reassure her that everything was going to be fine, but he didn’t want to promise things he couldn’t guarantee. He also knew touching y/n might make her nervous and panicked. Spencer looked over y/n and replied, “It’s real because you know it is. Because you’re strong enough to wake up and talk. Because maybe life isn’t so cruel to let this be a dream for either of us.” y/n turned her head toward him again and tried to make out his face. She’d have liked to see what he looked like right now. Was he sad, relieved, or feeling as empty as she was? She wanted to know because she didn’t know how to feel or act or do. For now, there wasn’t more than resting and waiting to see if this was all a charade. To see if she’d suddenly jerk awake to see death in the face again. To be back with M. again. For now, she let out a sigh and tried to feel anything in her body. Her pain receptors were either shot from what she’d been through or she was on so much pain medication that it was intentional. Either way seemed preferable, and yet the pain had grounded her in her time in captivity and now that it was gone there was a strange void where it had pulsed all over her body. y/n rested her head in a more comfortable position and let the sleepiness come back to drag her back under. 

The rest of the BAU shuffled through sitting with y/n as Spencer got his mandated rest and time off ordered by Aaron. The presence of the others and the changes in the atmosphere with each of them helped y/n pull herself back together. The next time Spencer came back she was slightly more herself. She was sitting up on a few pillows and she sensed when Reid stepped into the room. They sat together for a few minutes in silence before y/n said, “The last time you were here you said I was strong. But I don’t feel strong Spencer. I feel broken. I mean I am broken. I can’t see anything and my hearing’s shot too.” Reid bit his lower lip and thought for a bit before responding. He could tell her that she was very likely to get her hearing back and that her vision would improve in time. That with time and care she could resume a pretty normal life. 

But a pretty normal life didn’t feel fair. None of this felt fair, and Spencer knew that. He also knew that the team in charge of y/n’s care would have told her that as well. They would have been doing everything that would attempt to boost her spirits. As it was like Spencer to do, he chose to go with a more metaphorical take on things. It was one of the things that had drawn y/n to him in the first place, and he hoped it would bring her comfort now. He focused on her hands which were gripping the sheets tightly as he said, “No one chooses to be broken y/n. That’s not their fault, but that doesn’t mean that the thing isn’t beautiful, it’s just changed.” y/n let out a breath and said, “I’m not Fitzgerald or Beethoven. I don’t think the tortured broken artist thing will work for me. I’m just a profiler. Was just a profiler.” Spencer could see the disappointment and pain on her face, and he replied, “Not that exactly, but your knowledge about art and literature did make it possible for us to find you. I was useless on this case, and I’m so, so sorry for that. You saved yourself on this one, and given what you’ve been through, you deserve a good life after this, a peaceful life if you want it.” 

y/n wanted to believe Spencer, but his speech so far was giving, “A broken clock is correct twice a day,” and that wasn’t the most uplifting thing she’d heard so far. She didn’t know what she wanted after this. Didn’t know how to want anything after she’d thought she would die over and over again. However, y/n knew that Spence wasn’t done yet. It was a tell in his cadence, and just as y/n expected, he continued, “Have you ever heard of kintsugi?” y/n nodded her head no, and Reid explained, “It’s a form of Japanese pottery. When a plate or vase or anything that’s been fired breaks; the potter puts the pieces back together with gold.” y/n let out a breath, it sounded like a beautiful thing, and it was a nice metaphor, but her pessimistic side said, “So I’m just a broken thing and painted pretty so I’m not a profit-loss?” Spencer sighed and said, “No. What I’m trying to say is that. What I’m trying to say is that things that are broken still have value and beauty. They still deserve to be cared for and looked after. They’re different, but it’s still a precious thing. It is to me at least.”

y/n couldn’t hold back the tears that were now overspilling from the corners of her eyes, and she moved her hand out, palm open. An invitation to let Spencer take it, which he did. Spencer bowed his head over their joined hands and y/n felt his soft hair on her skin. It was the first time she’d felt grounded since waking up. It was the first time she felt real again. y/n sniffled and said, “I don’t know what to do Spence. I don’t know who I am anymore.” Reid nodded and said while gently squeezing her hand said, “I know. And you don’t have to know that right now. Every part of you is still there, but it’s going to be a hard time to dig those things back out of yourself. Maybe some of them you’ll want to leave behind. But I want to be with you as you try to become this new version of you. If you’ll let me. I was such an idiot y/n. I’m so sorry,” y/n nodded and said, “Don’t be. I don’t regret it, Spencer. It’s worth it to know you. I want you here, please.” 

Spencer nodded, and y/n felt tears that weren’t her own on her hand and arm now as Spence ever so lightly brushed his lips over her knuckles. Neither of them said it, but the love in the room was so much more than what it had been before. Perhaps it wasn’t the fluffy teenage love they could have had if none of this had happened, but it was clearer now than ever, and that was worth it. There was a future in that, whatever it looked like. After a few moments y/n asked, “Can you read to me? I knew you had a book in your lap before I said anything and the quiet is slowly driving me insane.” Spencer sat up and said, “Well it’s just a collection of Ginsberg poems and I know you don’t like Ginsberg.” y/n scoffed lightly and retorted, “What do you mean, I love Ginsberg.” Reid shook his head and said, “Liar.” y/n pouted like a child at being read so easily and said, “Fine, but maybe I love Ginsberg when you’re reading him to me. Please?” Spencer chuckled and said, “Anything for you, y/n. Anything.” As Spencer began reading, and y/n listened, neither of them thought about the future or the past, they were just there, and for now, that was as meaningful as gold holding something broken yet precious together.

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[babydray777]

party girl

draco x slyth!fem summary: draco and y/n has been going in and out of their weird friendship/situationship/enemiship? they had. one night she decides to go out, secretly wishing for him to come so they can have some little fun between cups. even though he disagrees, she finds a surprise once she arrives to the common room already planning to go to bed. warnings: idk mention of marihuana and alcohol? wc: 1.1k

The heels resonated in the hallway with their specific echo.

My friend by my side, giggling and trying to keep it low as we were not supposed to be out of our common room so late at night. Theo and a Ravenclaw boy a few steps from us, speaking about something unknown to me and honestly impossible to understand in the current state of my mind.

We arrived to the little stair that lowered down to the dungeons and we stop. Hayley hugged me and the other ravenclaw boy by her side said their goodbyes.

“Don’t be a stranger, y/l/n. Gryffindor party next weekend!”

I laughed a little and we leave them to go straight away to their common room.

Theo and I started to walk down into the dungeons and the only thing I could get my mind into was the peace I was going to experiment once I got into my bed.

We had been into a little party at the Hufflepuffs, Hayley, who was a Ravenclaw, was my favorite party duo but anyone at my Slytherin friend group was in the mood for some drinks and cool music.

I was disappointed at the beginning, Pansy has led me down over the objection of not wanting to cross paths with some ravenclaws she disliked, Blaise was tired, and by far the worst, Draco was an annoying straight edge prick who decided he was too much for a stupid hufflepuff party.

But here was Theo, who would have never rejected the slight possibility of a clandestine wild night at the Hogwarts castle.

So now, after a few joints at the beginning and a few more drinks alongside the night, we were walking back to our common room, tired and drunk, charting nonsense about the funny face that the portraits made when they surprised you out at night.

“Shut it, Nott.” I said whispering between laughter once we finally entered the common room. “They are going to kick us out of school”

He replied with a little short laugh and turned to the right to leave to the boy’s dorms. “Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow y/n” He smiled a little and left.

“See you”

I walked a few steps into the common room to reach the stairs that led to the girls room. A drunk smile on my face as I remembered the jokes. I was completely into my own mind when a quick gaze to the fireplace catch me something unexpected.

The back view of a blonde head lying in the couch, he seemed to be like sleeping in a position that would make anyone cause the most annoying back pain in the morning. I debated with myself how good of a person I was cause the options ware to go and wake him or going straight to bed.

Sadly, I held pretty a deep affection for the platinum boy behind my own personal comfort, so I walked towards him.

I smiled a little as I saw him there, lying on the couch completely unconscious with his head resting on his arm. His mouth slightly open as he breathed in a calm rythm. He looked so peaceful that nobody could recognize the same Draco Malfoy that was always so tense and angry at the world around him.

I sit by his side and put my hand in his shoulder, kind of rubbing it to make him wake up. “Draco” I whispered.

A slight sound came out of his mouth, like a groan. He frowned in his sleep. “Huh?” He recovered his consciousness a little, moving in the couch as he fought to open his eyes.

“You need to go to your dorm” I whispered again

“y/n?” He took a deep breath and sit properly on the couch, with his eyes still fighting to open up completely. “You smell of alcohol” He murmured half sleep.

I smiled and rolled my eyes. God this boy couldn’t stop being annoying even when sleepwalking.

“Come on, let’s go to sleep.” I put myself up off the couch and grabbed his hand to make him stood. He did it, still half sleep but walking instantly. “What were you doing on the couch? It’s three in the morning.”

“I thought you were arriving earlier, to be honest.” He replied with a raspy voice.

“Draco Malfoy waiting for me? What a gentleman!”

We arrived to the stair that led to the boys dorm and he stood there, lying on the wall as he completely opened his eyes a little more awake.

“I regretted not going to that party, I should have come with you, not Theo”

He looked at me with those piercing blue eyes. My world was spinning around me, dizzy from the wine, but his face was static and serious, I couldn’t keep my eyes away from his.

“I had a good time with Theo”

“You would have had a better time with me.” He replied.

The was he was pinning his eyes at me made me crumble. He was not joking and at the same time fighting for not crumbling down the wall and sleep on the floor.

“Come on, you are tired. Go to bed.” I murmured and smiled a bit. Before leaving I got closer and put a little kiss on his cheek.

Draco seemed like being put out of a dream as how he recompose himself. I turned around to walk to my dorm.

Before I made a single step, I felt something grabbing my wrist, his hand was pinning it and made me turn around.

“Wait” He murmured. From looking straight at me he suddenly turned his gaze to the floor, I was expecting him to continue as my heart raced in my chest. His grab was secure and firm though his attitude was shy and cute, debating with himself whether to speak or not, it made me appreciate him a lot more in the course of a second. “Want to sleep with me tonight?” He finally let out. “I mean… I don’t want to do anything just… Maybe just cuddle. I thought I could ask you that so I waited reading in the couch but I didn’t know you would come so late and I fell sleep but…”

“Okay, okay.” I cut him with a smile. His anxious effort to explain would have lasted hours otherwise and it was enough humbling for Draco Malfoy that night. “I accept your cuddle proposal, Malfoy. You just don’t need to sacrifice your back next time.” “Oh shut up, y/l/n.” He recomposed himself into his own character and now grabbed my hand. “Come on, follow me.”